#there’s just an edge to all his emotions and i love it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

its-avalon-08 · 3 days

Note

CONTROVERSIAL BUT - y/n leclerc and carlos sainz are dating. - she finds out about the ferrari announcement for 2025. - she flips out and is furious - argues with charles, both sob. - carlos's future (pls make it happy)

i love this with my whole heart. i did cry while writing this im sorry <3

please smile amore (cs55)

the champagne had barely dried on the podium before the news hit y/n like a rogue tire. her boyfriend, carlos, ecstatic from his surprise win, was pulling her into a victory hug when charles, had his face pale and eyes downcast. the phone started buzzing and ferrari's announcement about lewis hamilton moving into ferrari in 2025. y/n's eyes grew wide and carlos stiffened knowingly.

the room seemed to lose all sound. y/n froze, the echo of the murmurs words bouncing around her skull. carlos, oblivious, released her from the hug, a triumphant grin splitting his face. "y/n amore please breathe."

"i'm so sorry carlos, im so-," charles mumbled, avoiding y/n's gaze.

a low growl escaped y/n's throat. her vision narrowed, tuning out the congratulations and backslaps raining on carlos. "fuck off. no, fuck off. what the actual fuck does ferrari want? he fucking won char."

charles flinched. "it's not about that, y/n. it's..."

"it's about what?" y/n's voice rose, each word laced with a tremor that threatened to erupt. "is it about you needing another yes-man, charles? someone who won't challenge you?"

charles' head snapped up, hurt flickering in his blue eyes. "that's not fair. you know i respect carlos!"

"respect?" y/n's voice broke. tears welled up, blurring her vision. "respect doesn't put food on the table, charles! it doesn't secure a driver's future!"

"they have a plan, y/n!" charles pleaded, frustration creeping into his tone. "they..."

"their plan is a joke!" y/n screamed. "at carlos' expense!"

the room fell silent. everyone, mechanics, team personnel, even the bubbly podium girls stared at the leclerc siblings, their joyous celebration replaced by a chilling silence.

carlos, his face crumpling, finally stepped between them. "y/n, honey..."

"don't you 'honey' me, carlos!" y/n snapped, tears now streaming down her face. "this is your dream, your life! and they're throwing it away!"

"y/n, please..." charles choked out, his own voice cracking. "this isn't how this is supposed to go."

"how is it supposed to go, charles?" y/n's voice hitched on a sob. "tell me! how is it supposed to feel when they cast your teammate aside like yesterday's trash?"

charles flinched visibly. tears welled in his own eyes, mirroring y/n's. "i... i don't know."

silence descended again, heavier than before. the weight of their argument, of the broken dream, suffocated them both.

y/n, chest heaving with unshed sobs, turned and stormed out of the room. carlos, his own victory celebration forgotten, chased after her. charles stood frozen, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. he felt utterly alone, despite being surrounded by people.

later that night, y/n sat on the edge of their hotel bed, staring out the window. carlos sat beside her, his arm draped around her shoulders, a silent comfort in the storm. y/n leaned into his touch, the warmth a small solace in the cold reality.

"i'm so sorry, princess," carlos murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "i never meant..."

"it's not your fault," y/n interrupted, wiping away a stray tear. "it's theirs. it's ferrari's."

they sat in silence for a while, the only sound the city lights humming outside. finally, y/n spoke, her voice quiet but determined. "we'll figure something out, carlos. we always do."

carlos squeezed her hand. "i know we will. but about charles..."

y/n sighed, the anger from before replaced by a dull ache. "i just... i don't know what to say to him."

"he's your brother, y/n," carlos said gently. "he probably feels awful."

y/n knew he was right. charles had never been good with emotions, especially his own. but the image of his tear-filled face haunted her.

the next morning, y/n found charles in the team lounge, hunched over a coffee, a defeated air clinging to him. she walked over and took a deep breath.

"can we talk?" she asked, her voice soft.

charles looked up, startled. his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. he nodded curtly.

y/n sat down across from him. "look," she started, "what i said last night... it was out of line," y/n finished, her voice choked with emotion. "i was angry, for you, for us. but it doesn't mean i don't understand your position."

charles stared into his coffee, his jaw clenched. "i just... i don't want to hurt you, y/n. or carlos."

"i know," y/n said, reaching across the table to place a hand on his. "we'll figure this out. together, like always."

a flicker of warmth appeared in charles' eyes. he squeezed her hand briefly before withdrawing it.

"speaking of figuring things out," a voice broke the tension. max verstappen, arms crossed, stood by the table, a hint of amusement dancing in his steely blue eyes.

y/n's head snapped up, surprised. max, known for his bluntness, rarely ventured into such emotional team territory.

"y/n and i were just having a chat," charles muttered, avoiding eye contact.

max's amusement widened into a smirk. "actually, charles, your teammate and i were just having a very interesting conversation." he looked at y/n, his smirk softening slightly. "let's just say your boyfriend might have a new home soon."

y/n's eyes widened. "what do you mean?"

max's eyes twinkled. "let's say red bull is always looking for exceptional talent," he said, glancing at carlos. "and sometimes, opportunities knock when you least expect them."

the following days were a whirlwind. news of carlos' potential move to red bull sent shockwaves through the paddock. initially, ferrari put up a fight, but when details of red bull's significant offer leaked, they conceded defeat.

the official announcement came a week later. a joint press conference displayed a jubilant carlos in red bull colours, flanked by christian horner and helmut marko. cameras flashed, reporters shouted questions, and a sense of bittersweet joy filled the air.

y/n, watching from a discreet corner, felt a knot loosen in her stomach. while she'd miss carlos being by charles' side on the track, the competitive fire back in his eyes was a sight to behold. he deserved this chance.

after the conference, y/n found charles by the team truck, staring out at the racetrack. he looked lost, a mix of relief and disappointment etched on his face.

"hey," y/n said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. charles turned, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he offered a small smile.

"how are you holding up?"

"surprisingly okay," charles admitted. "i'll miss carlos as a teammate, but it's a good move for him."

"it is," y/n agreed. "and who knows? maybe it'll spice things up a bit next season."

charles chuckled, the sound genuine and warm. "maybe." he looked at her, his eyes reflecting a newfound determination. "besides, with carlos at red bull, the competition just got more interesting."

y/n laughed, feeling the tension dissipate. it wouldn't be easy, but they'd adjust, navigate the new dynamic. one thing was certain: the leclerc siblings were a team, and they'd face the future, victories and defeats, together.

the press conference lights dimmed, the final question answered. carlos hopped off the stage, a wide grin splitting his face. he scanned the room, his eyes landing on y/n standing by the side door.

a wave of relief washed over him, erasing the nervous butterflies that had been fluttering all morning. he weaved through the crowd, his steps light and eager.

y/n's smile mirrored his when their eyes met. she pushed away from the wall and hurried towards him. the second they were close enough, carlos swept her into a hug, the familiar scent of her hair filling his senses.

"you did amazing, mi amor," y/n whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

carlos chuckled, tightening his hold. "we did amazing," he corrected, nuzzling her cheek. "couldn't have done it without your support."

y/n pulled back slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. "oh, really? so all those motivational breakfasts and pep talks were for nothing?"

carlos feigned a gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "you wound me! how could you forget the pre-race good luck kisses?"

y/n giggled, leaning in to pepper his cheek with kisses. "alright, alright, you win. you're the best boyfriend a driver could ask for."

carlos beamed, his heart swelling with love. "and you're the best cheerleader a driver could ask for." he held her gaze for a moment, the seriousness in his eyes a stark contrast to his playful demeanor moments ago. "thank you, y/n. for everything."

y/n squeezed him tighter. "always, carlos. always."

191 notes · View notes

thef1diary · 1 day

Note

2k thot 🫣 voice kink w Pierre, just loving it whenever he speaks French even if you don’t know what he’s saying. Make it as spicy you want 🙃

Keep Talking | P. Gasly

warnings: 18+ smut, doggy (it’s Pierre okay 🫣), slight choking, and obvs voice kink

wc: 800+

masterlist

You found yourself on all fours, your body arched in ecstasy as Pierre's firm hands gripped your hips. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that consumes every inch of your being.

His fingers dance with precision tracing tantalizing circles around your swollen clit, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through you. But amidst the intoxicating symphony of sensations, it's Pierre's voice that truly sets you ablaze. It's not just the words he speaks, but the language he speaks in, his mother tongue.

"Tu es tellement belle, mon amour," he breathes next to your ear, his voice a velvety whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

You whimper in response, your body trembling underneath his as his words wash over you like a tidal wave of passion. Each syllable, spoken in his native French, is a seductive invitation to lose yourself in the depths of pleasure.

"Tu vas si bien pour moi," he murmurs, the intensity in his voice igniting a firestorm of desire within you.

Each whispered word, each guttural moan, reverberates through you like a melody, his voice a siren's call luring you to the edge of oblivion.

"You're squeezing me so tight, baby, missed me that much, huh?" He asked, switching languages so you can understand and give him an answer.

You whimper and clench involuntarily at his words, biting your lip as he speeds up his thrusts. His fingers slip away from your clit and you almost whine at the loss of pleasure but those fingers quickly wrap around your throat. With his lips grazing your ear, he whispers, "réponds-moi."

"Oui, please, please, Pierre, I missed you so much," you rush out in one breath before another wave of pleasure brings you closer to the edge.

His lips brush tenderly against the side of your head, and you can sense the curve of his smile before he mutters, "that's my good girl."

You make a concerted effort to stifle your own cries and whimpers as his fingers return to your clit, pinching and circling in time with his thrusts. You wanted to focus solely on the intoxicating sound of his voice. Each low groan that escapes his lips, every ragged breath he takes above you, becomes a precious melody that you yearn to etch into the depths of your memory.

Every time he mumbles anything, you clench around his cock, earning a breathless chuckle from him. His amusement is palpable as he realizes the effect his voice has on you, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Do you like it when I tell you how good you feel around me?" he questions, his voice husky with desire. His fingers trail lightly along the curve of your spine, sending a shiver of anticipation throughout your body.

With a soft whimper, you nod, unable to form coherent words as his voice weaves a spell around you, drawing you deeper into the throes of passion.

"Or," he murmurs softly into your ear, his words a tender caress against your skin, as if he's sharing a precious secret. "I think you love tout about my voice."

You inhale sharply at the sensation of his warm breath against your ear, a shiver running down your spine as his words sink in. The intimacy of his tone sends a rush of desire coursing through you, threatening to consume you whole.

"Is that what it is, mon amour?" He continues, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with a mixture of amusement and desire.

You can't help but nod, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotions welling up inside you. It's not just the sound of his voice that enthralls you, but the way it makes you feel — cherished, desired, and utterly adored.

You arch into him, grinding your ass against him as he slips in and out of you. You reach your hand behind you, placing your palm on the nape of his neck, bringing him closer.

"Please," you gasp, your voice a desperate plea as waves of pleasure wash over you, threatening to engulf your senses entirely.

Your eyes flutter shut, your head falling forwards in ecstasy as you struggle to form coherent words amidst the overwhelming sensation.

"Don't... don't stop talking," you manage to grit out, your voice trembling with need. Each syllable is a struggle, torn from your lips as if by sheer force of will. But the urgency in your tone is unmistakable, a fervent plea for him to continue, to keep the intoxicating stream of words flowing.

As his voice washes over you like a soothing balm, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, lost in a haze of pleasure that threatens to consume you whole. And in that moment, all you can do is surrender to the overwhelming tide, clinging to his every word like a lifeline in the storm of sensation.

So you do surrender to the overwhelming sensation, allowing yourself to be consumed by the raw intensity of his voice, knowing that in its embrace lies a sanctuary where time stands still, and all that exists is the intoxicating symphony of your shared desire.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @nikfigueiredo @sya-skies @wonnou

#thef1diary fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #pierre gasly fic #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly fanfic #smut #fanfic #f1 blurb #pierre gasly blurb #di celebrates

202 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 1 day

Note

William chuckles as he sees the pair of panties shoved in your mouth as you’re on all fours. He traced the vibrator to your bare skin before he wrapped his belt around your neck and pulled slightly. “You wanted to be a fucking brat? There is what happens." You whine against the handcuffs, and he clicks his tongue in dismissal as you whine against the handcuffs. He steps back and watches you as you regain your breathe. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you moan around the panties. The daddy kink with the innocent reader is in full effect

Oh fuck babe! 🥴🤭 Okay, so it seems I might have accidentally missed a few points here—please forgive me! 🙏🏼 But I just got so carried away with your idea, my mind sort of went on a roll 🤍

Having said that, I hope you still enjoy this next chapter 🌺 And yes, there's more dom!Willy on the horizon, considering the team's gearing up for the playoffs at this stage (no spoilers) 😉

Other requests combined; [going out][look at me]

Tropes & warnings; dom!Willy, public teasing, little help from the captain; Smut 18+; f masturbating, penetrative sex (p in v), cum inside, fingering, sex toys (vibrator/Magic Wand), light spanking, handcuffs, more penetrative sex (p in v), more cum inside;

Italic; sort of flashback

Word count; 5.3K

"Jag är din prinsessa, Willy... men jag är också din smutsiga lilla hora när du behöver mig." = I am your princess, Willy... but I'm also your dirty little whore when you need me to be.

“Jeg älskar deg, min skat,” = "I love you, my darling"

“Jeg älskar deg också,” = "I love you too"

「Inexperienced!reader x Willy」

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @Fortheloveofnylander @justwanderingbutneverlost

All good boys go to heaven - But bad boys bring heaven to you pt XVI I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️💦🌶️

If you thought the start of April was hectic, you couldn’t have braced yourself for the surprise halfway through the month when the Leafs were gearing up for the end of the regular season and the start of the playoffs.

Luckily, they had already secured their spot for the first round, but what you weren't ready for was the frenzy of the final games, which left your nerves and anxiety on edge. The other partners of the players were naturally beyond supportive, trying to help you navigate your very first season in the role of an NHL girlfriend, but it was far from easy.

Watching your boyfriend, William Nylander, hit the ice during the road trip for the final games, you often had to find solace in a good glass of wine. Especially since the Leafs suffered losses in the last four games.

And after each match, all you wanted was to fly out and wrap William in a comforting hug, reassuring him that everything would be alright. Yet, you settled for video calls with Pablo and Banksy on the side, as William always wanted to greet his beloved doodles.

Though, lately, perhaps the doodles had become more yours than his due to his busy schedule, yet you were grateful to have William's dog trainer step in when your own work demanded more time.

In short, everything seemed to be rather chaotic, and you knew you had to keep your mind intact to follow along. It's not that you didn't cherish the life you now shared with William, but suddenly you realised how your world had been turned upside down, thrown into a whirlwind of emotions and chaos.

You knew you loved William without a doubt. However, in moments when you needed to catch your breath and considering retreating to your own apartment, you couldn't help but reminisce about the slower, more relaxed times.

It hadn’t exactly been a love-at-first-sight scenario between you and William. At least, not explicitly.

You had been introduced through a mutual friend, and before you knew it, you found yourself among the partners of the Toronto Maple Leafs. And William had been nothing but a good friend from the start.

His calm and easy-going nature was simply what had initially drawn you in; enchanted by his laughter and captivated by his ocean blue eyes.

But what truly swept you off your feet was his caring and patient approach as you explored your sexual relationship together. As you’d come from a less adventurous past with a rather dull ex-boyfriend, William had gradually introduced you to a variety of sexual experiences - different positions, toys, locations, and more.

And you couldn't be happier that he did. Never in your short life had you imagined that a hockey player like William Nylander would be the one to guide you through such intimate experiences and ultimately form the most fulfilling romantic relationship you'd ever known.

Though no relationship was perfect, yours with William often came close. Sure, there were occasional arguments, usually stemming from jealousy on one side or the other. But in the grand scheme of things, they were nothing short of insignificant.

So, after finishing the call with William following the loss against the Tampa Bay Lightning, you retreated to the bedroom, where memories of the countless amazing moments you and William shared flooded your mind.

Resting under the duvet in your shared bedroom, you slowly slipped off your knickers, delicately tracing your fingers down to caress your inner thighs, imagining William's magical touch.

Though no touch could match his, while he was away, you couldn't resist the temptation to pleasure yourself while thinking of him. You even reached for your nightstand, retrieving the trusty Magic Wand that had helped you through previous times apart from him.

And as the buzzing sensation gently stimulated your clit, you fantasised about William and his incredible touch. You let your mind conjure up an image of him hovering over you, his pink lips meeting yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You imagined his muscular torso, his chest lightly covered in hair, pressing against your breasts, his rapid breath mingling with yours. His legs would be extending yours as he supported himself, his strong arms on either side of you, coupled with the sensation of his hardening member pressing against your core through his boxers.

It was an intoxicating fantasy as you felt the orgasm building within you, your lips parting as you gasped for air while the images played behind your closed eyelids.

You remembered the moments when William would make sweet, perhaps slightly rough, love to you. His face filled with pleasure as he moved his length within you, stimulating your walls with each motion. And as you recalled how he’d often reach his climax first, while he ensured to prolong your experience as he watched you lose yourself under his touch, it only brought you closer to your own climax back in the bedroom.

Especially after you became an official couple, William became incredibly attentive to your pleasure, including your behaviour when reaching climax. During sex, he was nothing but utterly drunk on love, riding high on endorphins as your bodies melted together, propelling you towards countless orgasms. Yet when the intensity became too much, you couldn't help but close your eyes as the rush overtook your mind.

However, William desired nothing more than to witness your pleasure first-hand. He wanted to see the effect he had on you, to deepen your connection even further. So, as he brought you to the brink of climax, he insisted you keep your gaze locked with his.

"Look at me, baby," he'd urge, his eyes seeking yours as he maintained his rhythm. "Your pussy feels so fucking good," he'd growl huskily, his sweat mingling with yours in the heat of passion.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, you sometimes found it hard to keep your eyes open, instinctively closing them as your cheeks flushed and your arousal intensified.

Yet, William wouldn't let you off so easily. He aimed to watch every moment as you neared climax, ensuring you felt nothing but pleasure under his touch. "Open your eyes, baby," he'd coax. "Look at me while I fuck you so good."

Even as William reached his own peak before you did, driven by the sweet sounds of your moans, he'd continue to thrust forcefully, watching intently as you approached your climax. And as your walls tightened around him, his words would only intensify. "Yes, baby, come for me, come" he'd encourage. "I want you to come on my dick. Yeah, like that, come for me..."

It was often rather overwhelming with William. And as your muscles clenched and the euphoria washed over you, he'd watch your body shake, playing with your breasts as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Even when he tried to kiss you deeply, the rush was too much to bear, and while panting for air, you struggled to meet his lips, still coming down from the high.

And just the mere memories of those occasions, had you moaned out William’s name as you reached your actual climax. With no William, just you and the vibrator, yet it was a wonderful orgasm.

The time apart wasn't always easy, but you found a way to make it work. And as the team wrapped up their final match in Florida, the reality of the playoffs loomed ahead.

And that's when Captain John Tavares took a moment to remind his teammates to appreciate those at home who stood by them through thick and thin. And it was an encouragement William needed to hear, as he'd been so caught up in his game that he'd sort of unintentionally overlooked his new relationship.

"She's trying Willy, and you know it's not easy. Please, remember to be there for her as well," John had encouraged during a private moment with William.

"What do you mean? What can I do?" William asked, genuinely wanting to understand.

"Maybe take her out or something," the captain suggested. "Show her that you haven't forgotten your commitment."

"Oh, right," William nodded, realising he might have been more focused on hockey than on you lately.

"It's her first season here, and Aryne's mentioned, that y/n is worried she's not being supportive enough," William explained.

"What? That's not true, she's amazing," William quickly defended, knowing deep down how supportive you had been throughout the season, despite it being your first experience with the NHL.

"I know, I know. Just make sure she knows it," John replied with a soft smile, giving the Swede a supportive pat on the shoulder.

William wasn't always the perfect boyfriend, and he knew that. His career was his life, and he didn't always have the time and energy to be there for you as much as he wanted.

But you didn't hold it against him too much though. And you also understood that William had been single for a while and that this season had been primarily focused on his career and contract signing, along with showcasing his skills on the ice.

Yet, a part of you wished he'd remember the mental effort that was required from you to navigate this new world, especially considering you were still adjusting to the intense life of the NHL, despite being together for several months now.

And while you received support from other partners and your family, they couldn't fully grasp the challenges you faced.

At the heart of it all, what mattered most was the connection between you and William.

However, Johnny's wake-up call swiftly reminded William of his role as a boyfriend, and he took it as an opportunity to do his best to shake off any nerves for the upcoming round one of the playoffs.

Though he was likely more excited than anxious, he couldn't ignore the daunting statistics of facing off against the Bruins. The Leafs hadn’t won any games against Boston and now they were to fae off against them in the first round of the playoffs.

In essence, the odds were stacked against them.

William tried to stay positive, focusing on his own skills and talents, despite the slight distraction of facing his long-time friend David Pastrňák. But ultimately, all he wanted was to unwind for the next day back at his condo, where he'd be reunited with you, his beloved girlfriend, and his dogs.

And to say you greeted him with open arms would be an understatement.

As soon as William arrived back home on Wednesday night-early Thursday morning, the two of you were swiftly swept up in each other's embrace. Despite his tiredness from the road trip, he wasted no time undressing you in the middle of the living room, his lips passionately locked with yours as his hands explored your body. Then with long eager strides he guided you onto his lap on the sofa, where you happily sank down onto his hard shaft.

The intensity of the moment was nothing but evident as you rode him, driven by the need for each other's touch. Moans filled the room as sweat glistened on your bodies, his hands firmly gripping your hips to guide your movements. Then in a swift motion, he flipped you over, thrusting deeply and forcefully, leading you to reach climax. And as your walls clenched tightly around his sensitive shaft, William followed suit and spilled his seed inside you.

It was quick and spontaneous sex, yet it overflowed with love and desire. Both of you had missed each other deeply, and the craving for each other's touch was nothing short of palpable. William hadn't been able to find release while on the road, with the team focused on games and training, so the sensation of being inside you, with your arms around him and your lips on his, felt almost heavenly like.

And while you had managed to climax with your vibrator a couple of times, it paled in comparison to having William beneath or on top of you, the rhythm of your bodies colliding as you both moaned in pleasure.

Moreover, finally, being back in his arms after a quick shared shower, as you were about to drift off to sleep, fulfilled one of your deepest desires. Especially as he whispered, "I love you, älskling," and "Thank you for being with me," your heart skipped a beat before you both fell into a deep, contented sleep.

The following day, after a few hours of practice before the big first game in Boston, William had tried to arrange for the two of you to go out for an early dinner, spurred on by the encouraging words from the team’s captain.

Despite you having to go to work, William then decided to play the role of prince charming, picking you up from the office in his Volvo carriage. And as you made your way towards his car in the car park, his jaw simply dropped at the sight of you. And you couldn't help but smirk as you stepped into the passenger seat, feeling like the princess he always called you.

You had chosen a dress that was both classy enough for a fine restaurant and just naughty enough to turn William's mind wild. And he could barely keep his eyes on the road as he navigated through the bustling city.

Then finally arriving at the restaurant, William's hand naturally, almost per instinct, found its place on your waist as he escorted you inside. It wasn't overly fancy, nor was it a simple take-away joint; it was just right, perfectly fitting for the occasion.

Upon escorted to your seats in one of the corners of the restaurant by a rather good-looking hostess, William then pulled out a chair for you, showcasing his best gentlemanly skills, before taking a seat next to you at the square table. It was a moment of mutual admiration as you both simply enjoyed the simplicity of dating like any other couple.

And with the playoffs looming in your minds, you reminded yourselves to cherish this moment a little extra, knowing that the coming weeks would be more intense than anything you'd experienced before.

Fortunately, the night unfolded just as perfectly as William had hoped. Your laughter filled the air, mingling with the ambient sounds of the restaurant, as you both shared stories about everything except hockey. You regaled him with a funny anecdote from work, eliciting laughter from him in return, and it was nothing short of amazing.

And what truly had your mind spinning was how great your boyfriend looked. You had missed him dearly, and even though Pablo and Banksy had been wonderful companions, having William home, even just for one and a half day, awakened your primal instincts.

It was as if you just wanted to imprint yourself in his memory before he left again. Especially considering the rumours about the team hitting up clubs in Florida to celebrate the end of the season before returning to Toronto and gearing up for the trip to Boston.

Despite your best efforts to avoid reading too much into gossip on social media, someone had sent you a link to an article with a rather blurry photo that vaguely resembled William, seated with a girl in his lap in the dim lighting of a nightclub. But you brushed it aside; your trust in William remained steadfast, and no blurry photo from a crazy fan or journalist would shake that.

Yet, the devil on your shoulder couldn't help but wanting to remind your boyfriend of who he belonged to. So, as you sat in the public space of the restaurant, casually discussing off-season plans, you couldn't resist letting your hand rest on William's thigh under the table.

William simply smiled at your touch, nothing out of the ordinary for you two. However, as another tall, brunette waitress approached your table, asking William if everything was satisfactory with a sweet and flirtatious smile, he couldn't help but chuckle as he felt your hand slide a little further up his thigh.

"Easy, babe..." William's voice took on a husky tone as the waitress left. "Don't be so needy." Though his words hinted at rejection, his dark chuckle and husky voice betrayed nothing but raw desire.

So naturally, you continued to let your hand explore further, keeping your eyes locked on him even as your shared dessert arrived at the table, which was one of course one of your favourites; panna cotta. And giving in to the devilish idea, you couldn't help but moan seductively as William romantically fed you a spoonful of the delicious dessert.

"Seriously, babe... you're turning me on here," William spoke softly under his breath as he offered you another bite, and you licked the creamy treat off your lips, gently gliding your hand further up to reach his crotch under the table.

"Sorry, can't help it, Willy... the dessert is just so good," you flashed him a smirk, feigning innocence, while biting your lower lip, sensing his need for release.

"Fuck, you're dirty... thought you were a perfect princess who could behave in public," his voice almost growled when you didn't remove your hand after the next bite.

Yet unable to resist the temptation to take the final step in your little game of seduction, you leaned in closer, whispering softly in his ear, "Jag är din prinsessa, Willy... men jag är också din smutsiga lilla hora när du behöver mig." (I am your princess, Willy... but I'm also your dirty little whore when you need me to be.)

What had gotten into you exactly, William had no idea. Perhaps it was the time apart that had triggered something within you, or maybe it was his romantic gesture that had sparked your other side. Regardless, he couldn't exactly complain.

With your seductive Swedish words, William could only retrieve the bill faster than he could skate. You had started the game, and now he was determined to finish it.

And so, during the ride home, William shifted the dynamics, letting his hand explore the inside of your thigh while maintaining his grip on the steering wheel. He pressed on your clit through the fabric of your lacy thong, eliciting a gasp and a moan from you, before sliding a finger inside your entrance.

But it wasn't all pleasure. William teased you, and you knew it, pumping his finger a few times before withdrawing, playing with your clit, and then inserting it once more, repeating the process.

"Don't come," he then commanded, his tone leaving no room for objection.

You knew you had played with fire during dinner, and that your actions would have consequences. Yet, as often was the case, you didn't care. This was a fundamental aspect of yours and William's relationship, a release from the demands of hockey where you both could give in to primal instincts.

And as you arrived in the condo carpark, William simply walked with long strides to your side of the door, where you expected him to simply open it for you, but to your surprise, he instead pulled you out with dominant force and pressed you against the car door. Then gripping your hair tightly, he growled in your ear, "You wanna act like a slut in public? Wanna grab at my dick under the table, act like a cock-starved brat?"

You could barely respond. His sudden dominance had your core already clenching and your breath catching. It was nothing short of electrifying. You and William were back in your playful game, the stress of hockey long forgotten.

And as he then dragged you towards the lift with his strong force, you couldn't help but whimper, trying to keep up with his pace. William knew exactly what game you had been playing all evening, and now it was time for you to face the consequences.

Of course, it was all consensual and fun, considering you had played this game a few times before. However, as he hoisted you over his shoulder and gave your ass a firm spank while carrying you into the condo and straight to the bedroom, he still made sure you were aligned with the rules.

"Safe words?" he quickly inquired firmly as he stood behind you, facing the bed.

"Yellow and blue," you replied softly, trying to control your breath as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

"See? Knew you could be a good princess..."

When William's voice turned dark and husky like in that moment, you knew you were in for a treat—or more likely, facing punishment for being naughty. His cool and cheerful demeanour was long replaced by dirty words, making it clear who was in charge.

And you knew exactly who dominated, especially when William simply ripped off your dress and chuckled as he admired your lacy underwear. "No need for that." His words were simple yet filled with raw desire. And as he effortlessly undressed you completely, you knew you had to embrace your inner submissive to please your master and obey his commands.

"On the mattress, baby—on all fours."

It was difficult not to smirk, though the dimmed lights of the bedroom helped conceal it somewhat. You knew it would only encourage William further. So, obeying his instructions, you positioned yourself on the bed on your hands and knees, with your buttocks completely exposed to him and your head facing the headboard.

The anticipation was palpable as William let you wait in position, closing the door to ensure you wouldn't be disturbed by Pablo and Banksy. And naturally, he took a moment to admire the vision before him, while slowly moving to the nightstand next to your bed to retrieve the trusty handcuffs you'd used a few times before. Then after securing your hands together, he gave your cheek a firm slap, eliciting a gasp mixed with a light moan.

"Mmm," William pondered his next move, his eyes studying you intently. "Can't have you making too much noise, now can we," he spoke rhetorically as he then retrieved your underwear and returned to you. "Open your mouth."

Once again, you simply obeyed, gazing up at him with pleading eyes as he placed your thong into your mouth, gently muffling the moans he was about to elicit.

Your body burned with desire as you watched his eyes darken with every passing moment. And as he moved away to undress behind you, arousal surged within you, the mere anticipation causing a rush of pleasure.

You knew William was creative when it came to sex, and in that moment, you simply couldn't predict his next move. It was only when you suddenly heard the buzzing noise behind you, you had an idea of what to expect.

"Hmm... have you been pleasing yourself while I was away?" William inquired, his husky tone still lingering as he kneeled behind you, delicately tracing the wand up the inside of your thighs.

"Mmm..." you hummed into the fabric in your mouth, the vibrations stimulating your body as he teased your core, not quite touching, only tantalisingly close.

"Such a bad girl... just like tonight," he murmured, moving the toy slowly up the bare skin of your back before returning downwards to your core, which grew increasingly wet with each teasing pass. "You were being such a brat, baby... you know that."

It wasn't really a question, you knew that. Yet you couldn't help but respond with a moan as he pressed the toy against your folds, teasing your sensitive flesh before carefully reaching your clit, eliciting another muffled moan from you.

"You wanted to be a fucking brat?"

Even though it wasn't technically a question, you knew you had to respond. So, you gently nodded in agreement.

"Hmm, then this is what happens."

And with those words, William then guided the wand to press against your clit, causing you to moan loudly into the fabric of your underwear as the rush of stimulation coursed through your body. However, in his teasing mood, William swiftly withdrew the toy again, noticing how your hands clenched against the handcuffs.

"See? It's no fun to be fucking teased..."

Then, once more, he let the toy touch your sensitive spot, eliciting the same noises and reactions from you as before while the impending orgasm formed in your core, the ecstasy of pleasure causing your vision to blur as your mind soared.

But you didn't quite reach it yet. As he pulled away the wand once more, you simply heard William chuckle as he watched you before him. It was pure torture yet exhilarating at the same time. William had complete control over you and your body, and all you could do was surrender to his commands.

And when he noticed a drop of your arousal slowly trailing down your thigh, he knew he had you on edge.

"Are you coming already, baby?"

You could only gently shake your head, though you knew it was a futile gesture. You could almost feel William's smirk as he observed your anticipation, the drop of juice trailing down your skin.

"Hmm, well... then maybe after being such a good girl, I should let you..."

William was thoroughly satisfied with his work, equally filled with devilish desire as you had been in the restaurant. Yet, he wanted the game to continue a little longer, despite the pre-cum dripping from his pulsating hard cock. So, he let the wand tease you a few more times, eliciting more muffled cries from you while your hands strained against the handcuffs.

But then, he heard a sound coming from your stuffed mouth, something that almost sounded like a word. So, he leaned over to remove it, just in case it was a safe word. But instead, it was something else.

"Please," you let out a soft cry, a tear of pleasure slowly trailing down your cheek. "Please fuck me, Willy."

And that kind of pleading, William couldn't resist. Though you were his naughty girl, a brat deserving of punishment, you were also the girl he loved deeply and wanted to make love to desperately, feeling his own need for release pressing on.

So, giving in to your desires, William pulled the wand away, took a strong hold of your body, and flipped you over onto your back. Still handcuffed, he leaned over your body, pinning your hands above your head by the chains with one hand, while holding the vibrator in his other hand and gently placing it onto your clit again.

"Oh, fuck yes!" you moaned loudly, your head instinctively rolling back as the rush took over, your legs starting to tremble while your toes curled, and your heels dug into the mattress.

It was pure overstimulation, and nothing less than mere seconds, William pushed you over the edge, and you let out a loud moan as euphoria flooded your mind.

It was pure bliss as he finally allowed you to reach your climax, and you could almost feel your cunt spraying your juices as he held the wand against your nerves.

Then removing the intense vibrations of the toy, William admired his handiwork of the mess he’d turned you into while allowing you to catch your breath. "See what happens when you’re a good girl, huh?" He grinned down at you as you slowly tried to calm from the high. "I knew you could be good…"

It was the praise that turned you on even more than his dominance. But what truly sent you into overdrive was feeling the tip of his member press against your entrance, slowly easing himself into your depths while maintaining his gaze on you.

"Look at me, baby," he then encouraged, urging you to open your eyes just as he used to. "So fucking hot when you come for me…"

It was just as perfect as all the other times when William let himself fill you up, finding a rhythm as he rocked his hips, his length easily gliding in and out of your core.

And you couldn’t suppress the moans escaping your lips. His shaft felt exquisite as it stimulated your walls, hitting your sensitive spot with every motion. And as William slowly picked up the pace of his thrusts, they gradually became fiercer and harder.

"Oh yes, fuck me, Willy…"

You had no control over your words at this point. The pleasure coursing through your body, mind, and soul had taken over completely.

Then releasing his grip on the handcuffs, William kneeled back onto his calves, wrapping your legs around his hips as he kept on pounding into you. And while keeping your hands above your head as he always wanted, you let him fuck you hard and good, your breasts bouncing in rhythm with each thrust.

"Shit, baby, your pussy feels so good around my dick…" William growled deeply as he too felt himself nearing climax. And sensing the clenching of your muscles around him once more, he knew he wanted to push you both over the edge together. So, picking up his pace even more, he took hold of the magic wand, turned it on, and placed it onto your clit once more.

“Oooohhh!”

You let out a louder moan this time, mixed with a cry, as you were nothing but overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

It was all too much. The sound of your bodies colliding echoed through the room, coupled with the buzzing sound from the toy and your loud cries of pleasure. Your body had completely surrendered as ecstasy took over, and your mind was lost in a blissful haze.

And as William kept the vibrator on your bud of nerves while thrusting vigorously into you, you almost screamed out in pleasure as you reached your second orgasm, clenching around his cock, coming harder than you’ d done in a while.

"Mmm, yes, baby, open your eyes… look at me when you come on my dick…"William commanded huskily as he pounded harder and faster, aiming for his own climax. And though it wasn't easy, you tried your best to oblige, tears trailing from your eyes as he let out a deep grunt and released himself into you.

Tossing the toy aside, he almost collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as you came down from the euphoric state. No words were needed, only the sound of deep panting filled the air of the room as both of you tried to come back to reality. It had been so overstimulating that you needed minutes to regain your senses, William keeping his cock buried inside you for a little while longer as he let the final drops spill.

And finally regaining control of his breathing, William found the strength to reach and undo the cuffs around your wrists.

Both of you were filled with pure pleasure as he carefully withdrew himself and came to rest next to you. And when turning your heads towards each other, none of you could suppress the smiles on your lips before gently leaning in for a tender kiss.

Despite the intensity of the dominant playful sex, there was nothing but pure love between you. As always, as you both retreated to the bathroom to clean up, it was nothing short of gentle and soft. Each touch and caress as you soaped each other’s bodies in the shower was delicate, and the kisses you shared were slow and deliberate.

And as you tucked in under the covers, William couldn’t help but admire your beauty, unable to believe that you were truly his. Sure, he needed some guidance in relationships from time to time, but as he came to think of it, this was all he truly wanted— you by his side.

“Jeg älskar deg, min skat,” he softly whispered as he gently stroked the side of your face, his eyes never leaving yours as you laid on your sides and simply relished the tender moments before the chaos was to unfold.

“Jeg älskar deg också,” you whispered back before letting weariness take over.

#my asks #18+#Inexperienced!reader x Willy #william nylander imagine #nhl smut #wn88 imagine #william nylander smut #nhl hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #SlutsforPresidentNylander

64 notes · View notes

schildpadkneus · 2 days

Text

Since there is a lot of misinformation when it comes to the "incident" that got Joost Klein disqualified I figured I'd put a post out with information from actual news outlets and not speculations from social media users.

If you are too lazy to read everything, here's a summary of everything I've been able to find:

After his performance in the semi finale, Joost was filmed despite agreements he wouldn't be.

The camera woman did not listen when he asked her to stop several times.

Joost got angry and made the camera woman in question feel so threatened the police was called on Joost.

Despite what fans think, it was confirmed by Dutch commentator Cornald Maas that the Israeli act and their delegation were not involved. I understand the frustration with their participation and I ranted about their disgusting behaviour at Eurovision here, but they were not involved with this incident.

He did not hit or even touch the woman involved.

Nor did she make any remarks about his parents.

STOP SPREADING MISINFORMATION.

Continue to read for more details.

Edited only for later addition (as indicated) and slightly changed the wording because I was rambling in the initial post.

According to Avrotros (the Dutch broadcaster of Eurovision), Joost had made a threatening motion towards the woman.

According to the Swedish Aftonbladet, multiple witnesses say he behaved very aggressively and damaged/broke(?) the camera.

The rest of this will be speculating. Hopefully as unbiased as possible.

Based on other interviews and discussions about the incident in Dutch media, it sounds like Joost was probably just very overwhelmed. It is reasonable to think the artists are under a lot of pressure to perform well, and it's fair to conclude the controversy of Israel's participation has only added to artists' frustration and the pressure. Add the whole aspect of this being Joost's childhood dream and the passing of his parents and the fact he had already complained about the many many rules of eurovision and you get this explosion of emotions and frustrations. Apparently he also gets very emotional during the outro, and I imagine such a performance does come with loads of adrenaline.

Considering that nice little cocktail of stress, frustrations, emotions and adrenaline, it is likely he just snapped. He was already on the edge, and then the employee filmed him when he didn't want to be filmed and didn't back off when he asked her to, so he did something stupid and irrational.

That is a human response, I don't think he's a bad person for that, I just think he did something stupid in the heat of the moment. If it was something really bad he would've been arrested and locked up, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not mean he should go unpunished, however.

Whatever he did, he made this photographer/camera woman (sources alternate between which one it was) feel so threatened the police got involved. I trust this judgement.

Don't get me wrong, I do think she should have stopped filming when she was asked, but we don't know the full story here. She could have misunderstood the situation, maybe she was unaware of the agreement she should not have been filming him, maybe it was just a stupid mistake.

Regardless of what truly happened, I hope we can all agree both were in the wrong but both have also been punished enough now.

The employee in question should not have been filming in the first place and stopped when asked.

Joost should not have done whatever it was he did.

For the love of god, please stop meddling in situations we know virtually nothing about and definitely stop taking sides. It is never ok to wish horrible things upon anyone.

We don't know what happened and chances are we will never fully know. We don't even know any of these people, we don't know what they are like, we only have little bits and pieces.

I also really want to know but it's not that difficult to just shut up and not say anything in favour of or against anyone until we have more details. You can condemn people for their actions but not when we don't even know what those actions were.

They both should have been punished and they both were.

A bunch of you should have been punished for the vile things I've seen you spout about Joost or this poor woman.

Basic fucking decency and common sense is not that difficult.

Later addition: (I've calmed down a bit)

I posted this about an hour ago but I want to add I do support Joost and feel bad for him but if it is true he punched and broke a camera it disqualification was not an unreasonable punishment. The awful rumours were just an unnecessary kick in the stomach.

If it turns out he did not damage the camera I will happily eat my words.

It is a pity he did not perform in the grand finale considering the huge potential it had but we can't excuse that behaviour. I hope he learns from this situation enough to prevent himself from getting in more trouble.

This does not mean I support the ebu btw <3 fuck the ebu

#eurovision #joost klein #esc 2024 #justice for joost

57 notes · View notes

lookingfts · 20 hours

Note

I love protective Anthony taking care of Kate, but in this relationship, Kate would bristle being another liability in the long list of people that Anthony has to take care of. How does she reciprocate?

“When do you want me to come over next week?”

His schedule was a little different each week, depending on his business meetings or family obligations, and Kate accommodated him as best she could, though he was understanding when a certain day just didn’t work for her.

He made a little noise in his throat, his fingers nervously toying with the ends of her hair. “I don’t need you next week.”

Kate flinched slightly at this tone. It just seemed off, like he was forcing the words out at gunpoint. Something heavy sank in her stomach as she wondered whether this was it. The moment he realized he was tired of her, and tried to let her go gently.

“Um, okay,” she said, attempting to keep her voice level. “Why?”

Anthony frowned, that little dimple popping out between his brows, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask questions. Though he should have known by now that she never simply agreed with him. “I have some family things I need to take care of. That’s all. I’ll see you the week after.”

He was trying to retreat into some space deep inside himself and for some reason, she didn’t want to let him. Kate rested her hand on his jaw, rubbing his cheek with her thumb, feeling him unwind under her touch. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”

For a flash of a second, Kate thought he might cave. His face softened, a heart-wrenching sort of sadness in his eyes, and then he exhaled and shook it all away. “Not about this.”

Sensing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight, she nodded, brushing a loose lock of hair from his forehead. “Okay.”

-------

She tried to enjoy her week off. Anthony had been taking good care of her; she could afford to spend some time on herself. Get a massage, catch up on sleep and TV, read the books that had been sitting idle on her nightstand. Go for runs and cook and get drinks with friends.

But Anthony lingered persistently on the edges of her awareness. Kate wondered if the other women living this lifestyle worried about their sugar daddies half as much as she seemed to worry about Anthony. Not just whether he was happy with her, but whether he was happy.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely unprecedented to form an attachment of some kind. Especially when the man was as kind and thoughtful and good-hearted as Anthony. She thought they were friends, at the very least, though the lines were all incredibly muddled.

When she hadn’t heard a word from him by Wednesday, she caved, holding her breath as the phone rang. He probably wouldn’t even answer.

Of course he did. It was her. “Hey,” he said, picking up on the fourth ring. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m just checking up on you.”

There was a long silence, and Anthony’s voice sounded a little thick when he finally responded. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” Inhaling deeply, she reminded herself to be brave. To say what she would want to hear. “I don’t know what’s going on this week, but obviously you’re trying to handle it alone and you just…you don’t have to, Anthony. Say the word and I’ll be there.”

Another achingly long silence. Maybe she was pushing too far, maybe she was inserting herself into his life where she didn’t belong. He hadn’t hired her to be his emotional support companion.

“Okay,” he said, sounding a little shaky.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Kate promised, immediately calling for a car. Anthony would give her money for the ride later, but she hardly cared about that. To her surprise, she felt a little desperate to get to him. Like she couldn’t settle until they were occupying the same space.

The car was mercifully quick, and she was letting herself into his flat twenty minutes later. Kate found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa and staring out into space. He looked drained, dark circles under his eyes and his hair unkempt and his beard less groomed than usual.

He gave her a look she couldn’t describe, except that she felt something deep inside her crack. Without a word, Kate was kicking off her shoes and climbing into his lap, her knees on the cushions and her arms around his neck. Anthony slumped against her, and she felt something wet against her shoulder.

They sat like that for a long time in silence, as Anthony pretended not to be crying and she let him pretend. Occasionally, she would kiss his temple or scrape her nails comfortingly over his scalp, until his heartbeat was synced with hers.

“The anniversary of my dad dying is tomorrow. Seventeen years,” he murmured into the quiet between them. “I hate this week.”

Kate kicked herself for not figuring that out sooner. She was much the same around that time for her father. Not to mention carrying the weight of her family’s grieving on top of her own. “I understand,” she whispered.

Maybe later, she would lay in bed and think about what it meant. That she was so relieved to be there, to lift his burden even a fraction. But that was a panic for later.

For now, she let Anthony slide his arms around her waist and hold her close, content to stay that way all night if it was what he needed.

#sugar daddy au #bridgerton #asks and answers #kanthony #kate x anthony #anthony x kate #bridgerton fic

37 notes · View notes

fumifooms · 8 hours

Text

Wait one darn diggity second what’s this about unmarried half-foot women being embarrassing for the family, what’s this about being unmarried as a half-foot being "different [worse than] for other races". Maybe Flertom and Puckpatti’s intensity about finding a husband is the norm, maybe Meijack, despite Chilchuck approving of her disinterest in romance, is the one who’s considered weird by social standards.

Maybe they’re less well-adjusted than I thought. Don’t misunderstand me I’m aroace, but if there’s a lot of societal pressure and it’s considered a failure if you’re not married, it is notable when all 3 of your kids haven’t married past the time that’s expected. For reference adulthood for a half-foot is reached at 14, Chil got married at 13, Puckpatti is 14 while Flertom and Meijack are 16. The other half-foot character we have is Mickbell who is also unmarried, unsurprising considering his situation. I don’t think them not having married is about their family being poorer, if anything I’d think Chil’s family is on the comfier end of half-foot families with the high wages he gets paid with and the nice living conditions we’ve seen (although we don’t know when he started being paid well). We know about Flertom having high standards, but she and Puckpatti are actively looking to date, so there’s something going on here whatever it is.

It is nice that it doesn’t seem like Chilchuck cares at all. I imagine that their mother must have also not pressured them into marrying at all, maybe even encouraged them not to marry if they didn’t have someone, which is sweet. And understandable, considering she might not want her daughters to live with…….. Being stuck in an unhappy marriage. And here comes in what I meant when I said well-adjusted, daddy issues. We aren’t shown a lot of Chil’s married life, but I would bet my life on there having been tensions and warning signs. Especially since since the daughters and Chil hadn’t seen each other since the separation before post-canon, there’s an air of not having been very surprised or panicked about the whole thing: the separation wasn’t unexpected. Having to watch your parents fall out of love and growing up in an environment like that can be hard, and not exactly put you in the mood to try and find romance and marry. Fear of abandonment, fear of intimacy, stunted emotional intelligence, fear of commitment… Oh girlies I am about to extrapolate so much from this

Half-foot society has a lot of coding I don’t have enough specialized knowledge to pin down, but they’re a poor working class people, anglo peasant vibes. They have tightly knit communities, but then the double edge is that if your community has expectations and rules to belong the pressure will be harsh and it can end up being more isolating if you deviate from it. Marriage historically and in Dunmeshi has a lot of economical aspects, in Laios’ Adventurer’s Bible profile for example dowries are hinted at.

So the pressure to marry might very well originate from the need to bring money in to your family, and to unite families as allies. And from there it grows into an expectation, and thus if they aren’t marred it’s "an unmarried woman was deemed unfit by suitors, something with her must be off"/"This woman was unable to provide for her family, she must be a burden on them" which results into the family having a bad reputation. If Flertom says it’s worse for half-foots than other races, the reasons must be either social or economical or both. There’s of course their lifespan being shorter too, so that might play into it, expectations to go about things quickly and to have a fast life cycle and making sure to have kids. As we see with Laios having kids is a pressure that does exist globally as well. Elves are another interesting example of how familial expectations are like in Dunmeshi and heirdom and whatnot, but free me I just wanted to bring up the possibility of Childaughters being societal misfits and having relational issues.

#Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Meta #dungeon meshi #chilchuck’s family #Flertom #puckpatti #meijack #fumi rambles #What if Chil’s family truly is considered like the local rich stuck up fam #“The father head of the family is a union man and daughters aren’t even married” they have it so good blabla don’t bring ur business there #Or something #I’ll be adding this to my family masterpost just gimme like a week

42 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 18 hours

Text

good luck, babe! — ieiri shoko.

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall that particular day. It was as though you were both bathed in sunlight, her brown eyes shimmering with happiness. But as you both confronted the reality of a future you could not share, tears poured from those beautiful eyes. There was only hurt—a hurt you had forced upon her. Her hands, strong yet gentle, had held yours with a desperate sorrow, promising a love that could not be confined by the world’s expectations, yet ultimately falling victim to them.

Genre: Hidden Inventory Arc to Pre-JJK 0, 2006 - 2015;

Warning/s: First Love, Emotional Turmoil, Breakup, Heartbreak, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mature Themes, Cultural/Familial Expectations, Internal Conflict, Cultural Challenges, Mental and Emotional Stress, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Romance, Love and Heartbreak, Healing, Growth, Reconciliation, WLW, Second Chances, Relationship Dynamics, Supportive Siblings, Breaking Traditions, Depiction of Implied Homophobia, Depiction of Comphet, Depiction of Smoking, Depiction of Alcohol Use, Mention of Divorce;

masterlist

listen: good luck babe by chappell roan

note: this is the au of let you break my heart again and magnetic. this is if gojo! sister lived and managed to not suffer from a curse. i think this happy ending is well deserved for the two of them. live long and prosper, shoko and gojo! sister!!! :']

2007

SHOKO THINKS IT’S FINE, THAT IT’S COOL. But as she takes another swing from lip and cigarette, to smoke and blow, she knows it's not fine, it's not cool. In the quiet confines of her office, Ieiri Shoko sat hunched over her desk, her usual composed demeanor replaced by a visible layer of distress. Papers lay scattered around, untouched, as her mind replayed the painful moment of your breakup over and over again. The clinical cleanliness of the room couldn't sterilize the heartache she felt. The memory of your words, the finality in your voice, pressed heavily on her, and yet, deep down, she understood the reasons but couldn't accept them.

Shoko had always known the weight of the expectations placed upon you as being Gojo Satoru's sister and a high-ranking lady of your clan. You had always lived in a world bounded by strict traditions and rigid rules—constraints that you, unlike Satoru, never rebelled against openly. Your compliance with these traditions was out of a sense of duty, perhaps even a desire to shield your family from scandal of Satoru’s dislike for tradition, and to maintain the facade of propriety expected of you.

It’s not like Shoko blames Satoru. He himself deals with the pressure of existing just by having his cursed technique. He’s stuck in a hard and a rock place with clan politics and just as much, loving Suguru and mourning his loss from his life — how he’s still protecting him even after all this time, There’s so much that the higher ups think they don’t like about him. You didn’t have to break up with Shoko about it. You can have a choice about it, as Satoru has. But you were too good, a goodie little two shoes. You felt like you had to make up for the mistakes, to correct yourself because the clan says so. And Shoko hates it, she hates that about you. But she hates how she can’t hate you. She hates how much she loves you.

For you, loving Shoko was a truth you buried deep under layers of obligation and appearances. Each stolen moment with her had felt like a breath of freedom, but also like stepping closer to the edge of a precipice. You knew the consequences of a life lived openly with her, how it would be seen as a defiance of your family’s values, a betrayal of the lineage you were born into. The love you felt for Shoko was real, potent, and transformative, but it was also a danger to the life you were conditioned to lead.

Shoko, with her sharp mind and gentle heart, had seen the struggle within you. She knew the love wasn’t one-sided; it was palpable, vibrant, and life-affirming. That was what made the break–up so excruciating. She didn’t feel like a fool for loving you, but she was a fool for hoping that love would overcome it all. She was hoping that love might be enough to inspire you to choose a different path. And somehow, with that hope, she just ended up disappointed.

The moment lingered between you, heavy and dense, the air thick with unsaid words and stifled emotions. Despite the pain that was evident in your eyes—a mixture of regret and sorrow—there was an undeniable firmness, a resolve that spoke volumes about the decision you had made. It was a painful choice, undeniably, but it came from a place deep within you, where truth outweighs comfort and where integrity demands sacrifices.

You stood there, your stance solid yet somber, reflecting the inner turmoil that had been a constant companion in the days leading up to this moment. The decision to end things hadn't come lightly. It was the culmination of countless sleepless nights, of endless internal debates, and of painful reflections on what it meant to truly love someone—not just in the joyful moments but also in letting go when the paths diverged too greatly.

As you spoke the words, your voice was steady but not without emotion. Each syllable seemed to carry a weight, each pause filled with the echoes of shared memories and dreams that would remain unfulfilled. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do," you admitted, the honesty in your voice cutting through the tension. "But it's necessary—for both of us.”

“Does what I have to say matter in this?” Shoko asks, her voice shaking as she looks at you, her face the epitome of grief. The break–up hasn’t even happened. And yet, she just felt like the world fell apart. “How…why? At least tell me why?”

“I can’t do this, Shoko. It isn’t just about us,” you had said, your voice trembling despite the firmness of your words. “I have responsibilities, expectations... I cannot be truly yours without losing everything else.”

Shoko had tried to argue, her own heart breaking as she spoke. “But what about what you want? What about love? I thought you loved me.”

You felt tears prickle your eyes. “I do. I do love you.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Your answer had been a quiet, devastating whisper. “Sometimes, it's not enough to just love. I’m not good enough to be strong, Shoko. I….I’m sorry.”

She huffs the air as though she was choking on it. Shoko starts laughing like a mad woman, which only made you feel as though tears would never end. Shaking her head at you, you looked at her almost pleadingly, as though to say, ‘please, i love you. I’m sorry.’ It was cruel of you, Shoko thinks, how you could easily pull her heart strings with your tears. Oh she hates it. She hates how she loves you.

“Then, good luck babe.” She retorts back at you, as though she was cursing you. As if she was releasing all the pain in one tsunami wave. “Really, good luck. Good luck. Good luck.”

“Shoko—”

She shakes her head again, raising a hand to stop you. “Leave. Please. I don’t want you here.”

Now, alone, Shoko allowed herself to grieve not just for the relationship lost, but for you as well. She grieved for the person who had to hide their true self, who had to mask their desires and dreams in the shadow of duty. She grieved for herself, too, for the future she had allowed herself to imagine, however briefly.

In her solitude, Shoko couldn't help but feel abandoned, yet she couldn’t truly resent you for your choice. She understood all too well the cultural and familial shackles that bound you. This understanding didn’t alleviate her pain; it compounded it, knowing you were out there somewhere, continuing to deny the essential parts of yourself.

As the night deepened and the lights in her office flickered softly, Shoko realized this might be her own crossroads: could she move on, knowing you were still in the world, just out of reach, yet forever distant? Her heart still ached with love for you, a love she feared might never find its resolution in her lifetime.

The door to Shoko Ieiri's office swung open with a soft creak, and there stood Satoru Gojo, his usual carefree demeanor slightly muted as he stepped inside. His arrival was unannounced, as was his style, but the timing couldn't have been more intrusive. Shoko, still engulfed in her storm of emotions, looked up sharply, her face a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"Not now, Gojo," she snapped, her voice brittle with barely contained anger. "I'm really not in the mood for your jokes or whatever you're planning to pull."

Gojo seemed to understand easily. For the first time in his life, he closed the door quietly behind him, his usual grin replaced by a more serious expression. He hadn’t looked this serious since that day. But Shoko thinks it doesn’t suit him. He was meant to be a foolish little boy in a grown man’s body. He ignored her request for solitude and instead, walked over and sat down across from her, with his long legs criss–crossed and his bright blue eyes meeting hers with an unusually heavy gravity. Shoko can only surmise that infinity is closed.

"I'm not here to joke, Sho," He said gently as he looked at her. "I heard about what happened between you and my sister. It’s just….. I'm really sorry."

Shoko's demeanor faltered for a moment, the hardness in her doe-like eyes giving way to a more wounded vulnerability. She looked down at her desk, her fingers playing with a pen, her guard slowly coming down in the face of Gojo's sincerity—a rarity that she knew meant he was genuinely concerned. She’s tried not to think about it. It was hard to think about it. But now that he’d brought it up, all she could remember was your tear–stricken face as you tried to turn around and run away, sobbing as you left her all alone.

"Sorry doesn't change things, Gojo. It doesn’t fix anything," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. “She still broke up with me. And now she’s damn…she’s left me, to uphold some bullshit lie about herself."

"I know," Gojo replied softly, sighing shortly after. Shoko thinks that Gojo understands best. After all, the love of his life left him too. And he doesn't know if he'll ever see him again. "Listen, she's hurting too. and I just..."

Shoko sighed heavily, allowing herself to meet his gaze. "I know she's hurting. But I’m hurting too, okay? She’s hurt me. She's keeping up with the lie she's been told, that loving me is going to be a taint on you and your family."

“I know. And it's not your fault. It’s none of your fault. It’s….” He lets a breath pass through his lips. “It’s just, she hasn’t seen it through yet.”

"Gojo, I just feel like a fool," She admitted, her voice a whisper of defeat. "I allowed myself to believe that things could be different, that love might be enough to overcome everything else. I love her so damn much, Gojo. I love her too much, I’m willing to go through this. But I should have known better."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, you're not a fool for believing in love and hoping it would work out" he said earnestly. "It's one of the few things worth being foolish for. And you’re not alone in hoping things can change. I think…I think she wishes things would change too.”

Shoko looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier, but the hurt was still palpable. "It's like we're being punished for something that should be celebrated. Our love wasn't a rebellion, Gojo. It was just... love."

Gojo's eyes held a deep understanding, tinged with a hint of sadness. He knew too well the pain that came with having love tangled grievous prejudice. His response was a whisper, meant as much for himself as for Shoko. "The world can be cruel to those who dare to live authentically, who dare to defy what it deems normal."

Shoko's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. The intensity of her feelings, the struggle to maintain her composure, painted a vivid picture of the emotional toll the situation had exacted. "Why is it," she choked out, the words barely a breath, "that what feels so right to us, so fundamentally pure, is what they seek to destroy? Why must love come with such high costs?"

Gojo reached out, his touch tentative, not wanting to presume but needing to offer some comfort. His hand found her arm, a gentle reassurance that she was not alone. "Because, Sho," he said softly, "Fear drives people to oppression. They fear what they cannot understand, cannot control. And nothing is less controllable than genuine human emotions, genuine love. It threatens them. It’s that powerful.”

Shoko turned to face him now, her gaze fierce despite the tears that streaked her cheeks. "And what if she can't see that, Gojo? What if she's too caught up in the fear, too wary of the repercussions to take a stand with me?"

The question hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Gojo Satoru felt the weight of her despair, mirroring his own past hurts, reflecting the battles he had fought to keep love winning—some won, some lost, but all leaving scars. But he hoped that Shoko wouldn’t give up. That you wouldn’t give up. He’d at least be happy to know that both of you got the happy ending that Suguru and him would never find in this lifetime. He gives a small smile at her direction.

"Then, Shoko," Gojo said, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt, "You fight enough for both of you until she can find the strength. You live your truth so boldly, so unapologetically, that it becomes a beacon for her... for anyone who’s lost in the shadows of their fears. You become the light that not only guides but also inspires."

"But what if that's not enough?" Shoko's voice broke on the words, a whisper of desperation lacing through. "What if my fight only drives her further away, into the safety of shadows, where I can't reach her?"

Gojo had no easy answers, no promises that the path they chose would lead to the outcomes they hoped for. "Then you love her from afar," he murmured, his own experiences lending pain to his words. "You love her, and you let her go, hoping that someday, the world you're fighting for—a world where love is celebrated in all its forms—will be the world she walks back into."

The silence that followed was filled with shared sorrow, a mutual recognition of the love and loss that had colored both their lives. Shoko nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance of the hard truths they'd laid bare. She wiped away her tears, straightening her shoulders as if physically bracing herself against the pain.

"Thank you, Gojo," she said finally, her voice firmer now, tempered in the fires of their conversation. "For understanding, for being here."

Gojo offered a small, sad smile. "Always, Sho. You’re almost like family — no, you’re family to me. No matter how dark it gets, you're not alone. Remember that."

As they parted ways, the resolve hardened in Shoko—a resolve not just to fight, but to endure, to hope, and to continue loving, no matter the cost. And in that resolve, she found a sliver of peace amid the turmoil.

As long as you’ll be waiting for her on the other side,

It would be worth it, being in all this pain and grief.

Shoko thinks about your smile, your kisses on her skin.

Maybe one day, she’ll see you in her arms again.

2013

YOU DON’T SLEEP VERY WELL. You fear that you’d sleep and see Shoko again. You fear that you’ll continue to be haunted. But you suppose, you already have too much that haunts you when it comes to Ieiri Shoko. Her judging eyes, the eyes you have so loved, piercing through over and over the lies behind your eyes — it hurts. It scares you. Because you had loved, still do love, her. And she continues to be your grief. A grief that perseveres in absolute devotion within the tenants of your truest heart.

In the quiet of the night, the world around you is silent and still, you find yourself once again caught in the grip of what-ifs and memories that refuse to fade. You turn slowly, your gaze falling upon the man beside you—your husband, chosen not by the whims of the heart but by the cold calculations of tradition. He breathes softly, peacefully unaware of the turmoil that keeps you awake, night after night.

He has been nothing but kind and considerate, a good man who respects the vows you both shared under the watchful eyes of the elders and your families. Satoru seems to like him enough, but your brother knows just as much as you that you wouldn’t love this man. And if you do, never truly with all your heart. Still, in these many years of marriage, he has upheld every promise he made to you, providing support, stability, and respect. Yet, as you watch him sleep, you feel a pang of guilt for the lack of love you feel, for the hollow space inside your heart that he has never been able to fill.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to Ieiri Shoko—the love of your life, the blue spring of your eternal summers, your white nights in the winter mornings. It was her laughter echoing in your memories, her eyes bright with the promise of a life less ordinary. You remember the warmth of her touch, the way her presence seemed to make everything brighter, more real. You had loved her, truly and deeply, in a way that you had never managed to love him. She was everything that made life worth living. And you get reminded as you think about a memory.

The balcony was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the fading sun casting long shadows that danced across the floor. Shoko stood against the railing, her silhouette outlined by the gentle light, a lit cigarette held casually between her fingers. As you entered the room, your gaze fixed on her, a subtle frown forming on your brow as you watched her with a mixture of concern and affection.

"Shoko, you know I hate that you smoke," you finally spoke up, your voice soft yet filled with genuine worry.

She turned to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a playful glint, a thin wisp of smoke curling upwards from her lips. Despite the seriousness of your words, her expression held a hint of amusement, as though she anticipated your next move. "And what, my dear, do you plan to do about it?" she replied, her tone teasing, a challenge in her voice.

Closing the distance between you, you reached out and gently took the cigarette from her hand, extinguishing it in the nearby ashtray with a simple flick of your wrist. The tension between you crackled in the air, charged with unspoken emotion and the weight of unspoken desires.

"I have a few ideas," you murmured, your voice low, filled with a mixture of determination and longing.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent declaration of your feelings. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intensity of your shared passion. Shoko responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer as she melted into your embrace.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, the air heavy with the heady rush of desire. Shoko's eyes sparkled with surprise and delight, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I love this idea," she laughed, her voice husky from the kiss.

Your heart swelled with hope and affection, a warmth spreading through you at her words. "Maybe we can make it a regular treatment," you suggested, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

"Sounds like the perfect remedy," Shoko agreed, her smile infectious as she leaned in for another quick kiss. As she whispered against your lips, her words carried a promise of a future filled with love and possibility. "Who needs cigarettes when I have you?"

Sitting up in bed, you stifle a sob with the back of your hand. The weight of your choices presses down on you, a burden you’ve carried through the years, growing heavier with each passing day. You had chosen this life, chosen duty and tradition over the desires of your heart, and with each choice, a piece of you had withered, lost to the shadows of regret.

You look at your husband again, his face innocent in sleep, undeserving of the resentment that sometimes brews within you. You know this is not his fault—it is the result of decisions made by others, choices rooted in outdated customs and rigid family expectations. But knowing this does nothing to ease the longing in your heart, the yearning for a path not taken, for a life lived in the full color of love rather than the grayscale of obligation.

Quietly, you slip out of bed, moving to the window where moonlight spills into the room, casting long shadows across the floor. As you gaze out at the world bathed in a silvery glow, you wonder about the life you might have had with Shoko. Would it have been easier? Would the love you shared have been enough to overcome the challenges you would have faced together?

But these questions offer no comfort, only a deepening of the ache that sits permanently in your chest. In this life, you are a wife, a role defined by others, your identity shaped by expectations you never asked for. In your heart, you mourn the woman you could have been, the life you could have led.

As the night deepens, you stand alone, lost in your thoughts, the silence of the house echoing the emptiness you feel inside. The realization that regret has become your constant companion is bitter, and you know that come morning, you will wear your mask again, the façade of the contented wife. But in the darkness, you allow yourself to grieve, to mourn a love lost to time and tradition, a reminder of all that could have been.

As you wandered through the dimly lit streets, your footsteps unsteady and your vision blurred, the city seemed to mirror your inner turmoil. The night was quiet, too quiet, and every soft echo of distant traffic or the rare passersby felt like an intrusion into your private world of sorrow. The weight of your decisions, the weight of a life lived in the shadow of what could have been, pressed down on you with every step you took.

The cold air bit at your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of tears that streamed down your face, but it was a sobering reminder of the reality you were living. The whiskey had promised escape, a brief respite from your pain, but it had betrayed you, leaving you more exposed, more raw than before. The stark truth was unavoidable now: no amount of alcohol could fill the void left by Shoko, could smother the flames of what you still felt for her.

You paused under a streetlight, the light flickering above you as if struggling to maintain its own existence. You leaned against the cool metal of the lamppost, feeling as though it was the only thing keeping you upright. Thoughts of Shoko swirled in your head—her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at you with so much love and understanding. It hurt, remembering her like this, as though she was just out of reach, separated from you by more than just time and decisions, but by the very course of life you had chosen.

The voice in your head, her voice whispering, "I told you so," wasn't one of condemnation but of a heartbreaking foresight. She had known, perhaps even before you had allowed yourself to admit it, that the path you were choosing would lead to regret. Shoko had always seen the parts of you that you had tried to hide from the world, the parts that yearned for freedom and authenticity.

And now, standing alone under the flickering light, you allowed yourself to truly feel the magnitude of your loss. Not just Shoko, but the part of yourself that you had silenced for the sake of conformity, for the sake of a peace that now tasted bitter. You drive yourself mad at the memory of day after day of your youth together. You huffed against the cold night air as you thought about how lonely it has been, how truly upsetting it is that you chose wrong.

Eventually, you knew you had to move, had to keep walking back to the life waiting for you at home—a life that, tonight, felt like a prison. But with each step, a resolve began to form amidst the chaos of your emotions. This pain, this profound sorrow, could not be the end of your story. You couldn't allow your fears and the expectations of others to dictate the rest of your life. You owed it to yourself, and to the memory of what you and Shoko once shared, to find a way forward, to find happiness not just for your sake, but as a testament to the love that had once dared to challenge the world.

As you reached your door, a silent vow formed in your heart: you would find a way to live truly, to honor the love you still carried, and perhaps, one day, to heal. Tonight, you mourned. But tomorrow, you would begin to fight for a future where your heart no longer had to hide in the shadows.

You want to call Shoko tomorrow.

You want to hear her voice again.

You want to see her face again.

You want to love her better this time.

2014

IT WAS HARD TO HAVE A NEW START. After the tumultuous end of your marriage, returning to Tokyo felt both like a defeat and a fresh start. The ink barely dried on the divorce papers, you carried not just physical luggage but a heavy burden of emotional baggage. The dissolution of what was meant to be a lifelong commitment had left you feeling raw and exposed, but also strangely liberated, ready to reclaim the pieces of yourself that had been lost in the shadows of an unfulfilling union.

The Gojo clan, however, had its own views on your situation. Tradition and reputation were pillars of their standing in the jujutsu community, and your divorce was seen not just as a personal failure, but as a stain on the clan's honor. The elders' threats to expel you loomed large, casting a dark cloud over your return. But amidst the storm of disapproval and gossip, there was Satoru.

Satoru, with his unwavering loyalty and irreverent disdain for outdated conventions, stood by you like a beacon of support. When you voiced your fears about the elders' threats, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and that confident smile that seemed capable of warding off any darkness.

The simplicity of Satoru's statement, "Happy together," carried with it a profound depth, echoing in the space between the two of you. It was a direct command, a plea, and a gentle piece of wisdom all at once. His eyes, usually so playful and mischievous, now bore the weight of genuine concern and a trace of personal regret, highlighting the seriousness of his intentions for you.

His words will always hit you with the force of a revelation. Satoru, despite his outward appearance of boundless confidence and joy, carried his own regrets—regrets about paths not taken, words not said, and choices made in the shadows of duty and expectation. His relationship with Suguru, whatever its depth and complications, had not led to the happiness that perhaps it could have, had circumstances been different.

In that moment, you understood that Satoru’s advice was not just about defying the elders or the clan. It was about seizing the chance for happiness that he, for all his power and freedom, felt he had missed. It was about living openly and without regrets, about choosing love over fear and societal expectations.

"Happy together," you repeated softly, the idea resonating deep within you. It was a simple concept, yet one that felt revolutionary given everything you had been through.

"Yes," Satoru confirmed, nodding emphatically. "You and Shoko have a chance to build something beautiful, something real. Don’t let fear or tradition stand in the way of that. Learn from our mistakes."

“Brother….” You whisper at your brother tenderly.

Seeing your hesitation, Satoru reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I know it's a lot to take in," he continued, his tone softening. "And I know you're worried about what fighting this battle might mean—not just for you, but for me as well. But you need to understand, I've been dealing with the clan's rigidness my whole life. I know how they think and how they operate."

He paused, ensuring he had your full attention. "What happened with Suguru... it taught me a lot. Life is too short, and the path of solitude and sacrifice for the wrong reasons—it's not worth it. I don't want you to look back one day, full of regrets, wishing you'd chosen differently."

The mention of Suguru brought a pang of sadness, a reminder of lost friendships and love that had once promised so much more. Satoru's voice was filled with a rare vulnerability as he shared these reflections, giving you a glimpse into the personal cost of his own experiences.

"And I don't want to see the clan's outdated prejudices destroy more lives, especially not the lives of people I care about," he added, his voice gaining strength. "You and Shoko have a chance at real happiness, a chance to live openly and love freely. That's what you should be fighting for, not the approval of some dusty old elders who cling to outdated traditions."

Your mind raced as you absorbed his words, the weight of your own fears battling with the burgeoning hope that Satoru's support ignited within you. It was daunting, the idea of standing up against the formidable structure of clan traditions and expectations. Yet, the thought of being with Shoko, of potentially creating a life filled with the kind of love and companionship you truly desired, offered a compelling counterpoint.

"Satoru, are you sure?" you finally asked, the concern clear in your voice. "Taking on the elders... it won’t be easy. They could retaliate."

Satoru smiled, a slight curve of his lips that carried both defiance and assurance. "Let them try," he said with a chuckle. "I’ve faced worse. And besides, it’s about time someone shook up the Gojo clan a bit. If not us, then who?"

His confidence was infectious, and despite the risks, you felt a surge of courage, bolstered by the support of someone who had become more than just a family member or a fellow sorcerer, but a true ally in your pursuit of happiness.

"Okay," you said, a newfound determination steadying your voice. "Let’s do this. For us, for Shoko, and for everyone else who’s ever been told they have to choose between love and tradition."

Satoru nodded, pleased. "That's the spirit. Now, go be happy. And remember, I've got your back."

With that assurance, you felt ready to face whatever challenges might come, knowing that whatever happened, you wouldn't be facing them alone. The path ahead was uncertain, possibly fraught with confrontation and challenges, but the promise of a life lived true to your heart made it a path worth taking.

As you walked through the familiar gates of Jujutsu High, your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. The school grounds were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a soft, forgiving light. It had been years since you last set foot here, years filled with longing and regret, but today you carried a new sense of purpose.

You scanned the area, looking for any sign of Shoko. As you approached the faculty parking lot, you saw her. She was just about to get into her car, her back to you, unaware of your presence. You paused for a moment, just watching her. Time had changed her, just as it had changed you. She seemed more confident, more assured in her movements, yet there was still that unmistakable grace about her that had first drawn you in.

"Shoko!" you called out, unable to keep the emotion from coloring your voice.

At the sound of her name, she froze. Slowly, she turned around, and when her eyes met yours, they widened in disbelief. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, as if she truly had seen a ghost.

You took a few tentative steps toward her, your heart in your throat. "Shoko, it’s me," you said softly, almost afraid that any louder voice might shatter the fragile moment.

Shoko blinked, as if to clear her vision, before a myriad of emotions played across her face—surprise, confusion, and then, a dawning joy. "I can't believe it's really you," she managed to say, her voice a whisper.

As you closed the remaining distance, Shoko's initial shock softened into a vulnerable hesitance. Her eyes, once brimming with an uncomplicated joy whenever she saw you, now held a guarded wariness—a shield forged from the years of pain and separation. Yet, despite the shield, there was an unmistakable flicker of the old affection, a tug at her heart that she seemed to fight.

"I—how long has it been?" Shoko asked, her voice shaking slightly, betraying the turmoil inside her.

"Too long," you replied earnestly, stopping just a breath away from her. You could feel the warmth of her, so close yet still so far, held at bay by the invisible walls she had built around herself.

Shoko swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the ground before forcing herself to meet your eyes again. "Why now? Why come back after all this time?" Her voice was a mix of hope and hurt, needing to understand your sudden reappearance, fearing the reopening of old wounds.

You reached out, your hand hovering in the air, hesitating before gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear—an intimate gesture that once would have been second nature. Now, it felt like a relearning of the language of her soul. "I realized something," you began, your voice thick with emotion.

She looks at your eyes, as though she was searching for life, for truth. “What was it?”

"I realized I've been living half a life without you. And no matter how hard I tried to move on, to forget, you were always there—in the back of my mind, in every quiet moment. I came back because I need to know if there's a chance, any chance at all, that we could be something again."

Shoko's breath hitched at your words, her defenses wavering as the earnestness in your voice called to her. "You left," she whispered, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "You left when I needed you most. How do I trust that you won’t do it again?"

The pain in her words stung, a harsh reminder of the consequences of your past choices. "I know I hurt you, more than I can ever make right," you admitted, your own voice cracking with regret. "But I'm here now, Shoko, and I’m not going anywhere. I want to make things right between us, no matter how long it takes. I'm not asking for immediate forgiveness or for everything to go back to how it was. I just want the chance to show you, every day, that I'm here for you."

Shoko looked at you, her eyes searching yours for the sincerity she so desperately needed to see. The conflict was palpable as she struggled between the safety of her guarded heart and the dangerous hope your return offered. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, she nodded, the smallest agreement, but enough to flood your heart with a tumult of relief and determination.

"Okay," she said, her voice barely a whisper, laden with cautious optimism. "We can try. Slowly."

Hearing those words, feeling the tentative acceptance in her tone, you knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But as you stood there, under the fading light of the setting sun, with Shoko's tentative permission to re-enter her life, you felt ready to face those challenges. Whatever it took, however long it took, you were prepared to spend every day proving that the love that had once bound you together was worth fighting for—a second time around.

You searched her face, looking for signs of the love you once shared, hoping it wasn't too late. "I've missed you, Shoko. More than I can say. I've thought about you every day. About us. I left so much unsaid, so much undone..."

Shoko smiled, a gentle, forgiving smile that melted any remaining fears. "I've missed you too," she admitted. "It's been hard, but I always hoped... somehow, I always hoped you’d come back. That we’d get some happily ever after like those cheesy fairy tales, you know?”

“We can have that now,” You whisper to her in a soft tone, her eyes bearing against your own. “Our own happily ever after, like those cheesy fairy tales.”

“Then give it to me.” She laughs softly as you let your fingers trace her cheeks. “Give me that cheesy fairy tale. I’ve waited long enough for it.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow that enveloped you both, making the moment feel almost magical. "Can we start over?" you asked, heart pounding with hope. "Can we give us another chance?"

"Yes," Shoko answered without hesitation, her voice firm and sure. "Yes, we can start over. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. We're worth another chance. We’ve always been.”

You beamed at her, taking a breath as tears of joy poured. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, you idiot.” She retorts back, tears of joy equally pouring.

As you stood there, holding each other in the fading light, the years of separation seemed to melt away, replaced by the promise of a new beginning. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but with Shoko by your side, you felt like you could face anything. This was your second chance—a chance to make things right, a chance to build a future together, founded not just on love, but on understanding, forgiveness, and renewed commitment. And this time, you were determined to make it last.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

You blushed at her words.

You reached out for her hands.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

She smiles and leans in towards you.

A new chapter finally begins together.

It was like blue summer all over again.

35 notes · View notes

cressthebest · 13 hours

Text

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 31

chapter 50: (15 chapters left)

1. oh SHIT the girls are fighting (sirius and regulus are at each other with nails and hair pulling)

2. “It's mean. It's nails and hair-pulling and brutal in the way only siblings can be. In mere seconds, they've both made each other bleed, and they don't seem inclined to stop there.”

i think the arena allowed them to do this, but they’ve been ready to go at each other like this for AGES. cause like, i want to go at my siblings like this sometimes. and then go watch tv together after

3. 😬😶 sirius just found out reg is a death eater

4. 😬😬 it was just revealed that reg did NOT in fact kill Coen. yikes dude

5. “"You're a fucking death eater?!" Sirius snarls as he dodges Yaxley's elbow.

"Yeah, it doesn't feel good, does it?!" Regulus snarls back ……

"How is this even comparable, you little shit?!"”

😭😭😭 plsss he’s so funny

6. damn, when sirius was fighting the others, he wasn’t going full force, cause he was having an emotional conversation. but he was still winning. and then he gets tired of fighting so he just in like two swift moves kills two people. jfc he’s scary.

7. “"I was going to lose James anyway, don't you get it?! I never even really got to have him! But you—I got you back. I had you back, and you took that from me. You weren't—you promised you wouldn't do that. How could you do that, after I—I begged you not to? And for what? Me? You think you did it for me? No, you did it for you. You tossed me aside, and it's not even the first time!"”

😧😧😧 holy shit, he just went right at it

8. “Grow up, Regulus."

"You won't let me!"”

😧 jaw on the freaking GROUND

9. jfc this fight is brutal. i think it would hurt less for them to just kill the other. cause like, these words hurt even ME

10. “"What I regret most isn't that you broke your promise, Sirius," Regulus continues. "It's that I wasted time caring enough to ask for a promise from you at all."”

yoooo wtf wtf wtf this HURTS

11. “”Let me guess, you told them only you could kill me? Something like that, yeah?"”

😭😭 sirius guessed it right and reg is like ‘😳 no…. i never said that. why would i say that?’

12. reg is like “😡😡😡 I HATE YOU” and sirius is like “liar ☺️”

13. i bet the entire hallow is on the edge of their seat watching this like the highest quality entertainment. no way has anything been this juicy in the arena for AGES

14. YOO WTF REG THATS OUT OF POCKET. HE JUST THREATENED TO HURT REMUS. MY DEAR, THATS YOUR FRIEND TOO! YOU CANT DO THAT!! LITTLE BITCH!

15. god, regulus is actually about to say it and just goes after regulus. like, hardly holding back. holy shit

16. “Sirius, for the first time, doesn't believe in his brother. Because Regulus wants to say Remus' name, and that would hurt Sirius more than dying by Regulus' hand.”

god, just stab me in the heart why don’t ya?

17. 😧 dagger raised above his head, ready to strike down in reg’s chest and just can’t. and then as he’s about to kill him, regulus says he loves sirius. good god, i’m actually crying so hard rn

18. “He can see it, suddenly. It does become clear, then, all at once. Regulus did trick him. He did fool him. Just not in the way Sirius was prepared for. He never imagined this at all.

Regulus never intended to go home.”

BAWLING LIKE A BIG BABY RN

19. “"Don't, please don't do this to me. Sirius, please just—please do it, or let me do it. Don't make me live without you, please don't, Sirius—””

YOU WOULD THINK THAT THE SADDEST THING HAS ALREADY BEEN SAID, BUT NO!!! IM SOBBING HARDER!! AND I HAVE A FINAL EXAM IN HALF AN HOUR

20. “It's horrible, because the arena has brought Regulus back to him twice, once when Regulus became a Victor and right this very second, but for Regulus, all the arena does is take Sirius away.”

BAWLING LIKE A BABY

21. oh SHIT james did not leave them a note this time

22. god, it hurts knowing that sirius doesn’t trust reg with a dagger. not because sirius is scared reg will turn on him, but that reg will kill himself

23. “"It has to be you, okay? It has to, because I don't want to go home if I'm not going home with you. I—I just don't see the point."”

that freaking HURTS

24. this entire chapter hurt like a fucking BITCH

#marauders #regulus black #jegulus #sirius black #crimson rivers

25 notes · View notes

its-avalon-08 · 1 day

Note

Amoreeee!

i love ur works and i have a very specific reuqest in mind. this is too detailed so please feel free to ditch a few details because im aware its too much. this is a mv1 x senna!daughter one.

max is hard racing some driver and he gets angry and flustered and he crashes because he act irresponsibly. y/n's heart stops because the way the car rotated and hit the barrier refletced her late father's passing.

her breath stops, max is ok but gp IS ANGRY at him because that could have been easily avoided. max is not hurt at all.

he is still angry when he comes back into the motor home. and then y/n gives him a cold shoulder and doesnt speak to him.

this makes max angrier leading to a passive aggressive arguement. max says something which leads y/n to say "fine then, fuck off and die see if i care" max is shcoked and so is everyonbe else in the motorhome

when she rushes out in tears she bumps into carlos/charles/lando and he comforts her and she says "i never shouldve said that"

they make up, hapoy ending make it extra emotional.

LOVE UR WORKS!

i have to confess, i love this one the most out of everything i've ever written. its extra extra long, and the anon messaged me and asked me to add a few more things, so i have done the same! anon ily ! (edit - i messed up the translation! its been fixed now!!) enjoy reading <3

coração valente (mv1) (brave heart)

find the headcannon here!

The roar of the engine was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears as she watched the battle unfold on the screen. Max was locked in a fierce fight for position with Esteban Ocon. Every aggressive lunge, every desperate attempt to overtake sent a tremor of unease through her. It was too reminiscent, too close to the edge.

Then, disaster struck. Ocon made a late move, and Max, fueled by frustration and a competitive fire, reacted impulsively. He swerved to block him, the car losing traction as it took the corner too tightly. The world slowed down as Y/N watched in horror. The Red Bull spun, a sickening ballet of red and blue against the asphalt, before slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch.

Her breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips. The way the car crumpled, the dust cloud mirroring the crash that stole her father… the memory flooded back, vivid and terrifying. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst through her chest.

Thankfully, the medical team rushed to the scene, and the relief was almost a physical blow. Max emerged from the wreckage, shaken but unharmed. But the reprimand from Horner was swift and brutal. "Unnecessary risk, Verstappen! You could have avoided that entirely!"

By the time Max stormed back into the motorhome, his anger was a palpable presence. He tossed his helmet onto the couch, the thud echoing in the tense silence. Y/N sat by the window, her back to him, a cold, hard wall where warmth and concern usually resided.

"Great job out there," Max spat, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Another brilliant strategy by Horner, putting all the pressure on me."

Y/N remained silent. Her silence was a punishment, far worse than any raised voice. Max, already on edge, bristled.

"You gonna say something, genius?" he snapped. "Or are you just gonna sit there like a statue?" Y/N turned a deaf ear to that.

The air in the motorhome felt thick enough to chew on. Y/N sat at the table, meticulously organizing spare race parts, a pointed silence radiating from her. Max hovered by the coffee machine, his usual swagger dampened by a heavy frown.

Christian Horner, ever the mediator, attempted to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he boomed, "what are we learning from this little spin?"

Max, bristling at the reminder, mumbled a vague response about tire strategy. Y/N, without looking up, chimed in, "Perhaps a lesson in spatial awareness wouldn't go amiss."

The air crackled. Max whipped his head towards her, his jaw clenched. "Oh, and who's the expert on spatial awareness, Miss Never-Been-On-The-Track?"

Y/N slammed a wrench down a little too hard, the metallic clang echoing in the tense silence. "There's a difference between calculated risk and reckless driving," she retorted, her voice laced with ice.

Max scoffed. "Spoken like someone who's never felt the pressure of a championship on their shoulders."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Pressure doesn't excuse stupidity, Max," she said, her voice clipped.

Horner cleared his throat, his booming voice a desperate attempt to break the ice. "Look, let's all take a moment to cool down. We can dissect the crash later. Right now, Max needs a clear head for the next race."

With that, Horner steered Max towards a debriefing session, leaving Y/N alone in the charged atmosphere. She picked up a stray bolt, turning it over in her hand, her knuckles white with repressed anger. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the workshop around her.

Just then, Charles walked in, his perceptive eyes catching the glint of tears on her cheeks. "Rough day?" he asked softly.

Y/N choked back a sob. "It's just… I don't know if I can watch him race anymore," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles pulled up a chair beside her, his presence a silent comfort. "You know Max," he said gently. "He makes mistakes, but he learns from them."

Y/N shook her head. "This wasn't just a mistake, Charles. It was reckless. And it brought back…" she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Charles squeezed her shoulder in understanding. "The fear," he finished for her. "It's always there, isn't it?"

Y/N nodded, a tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "I can't lose him too," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Charles offered a sad smile. "You won't," he assured her. "Max is stubborn, but he cares about you. He'll learn from this."

His words offered a glimmer of hope. Y/N knew Charles was right. But the fear, the raw terror that had gripped her during the crash, still lingered.

Max, a whirlwind of frustration earlier, had retreated into a sullen silence. Y/N, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, refused to acknowledge him directly. The tension crackled between them, a storm waiting to erupt.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he said, a touch too cheerfully, "what are we having for dinner? Surely Y/N has whipped up some magic in the kitchen?"

Y/N's lips twitched, but she remained focused on her phone, pretending not to hear. Max, still fuming, mumbled a curt, "I don't care."

The forced joviality died a quick death. Charles, sensing the undercurrents, offered, "Actually, I wouldn't mind ordering some takeout. How about some Indian?"

Y/N finally looked up, her voice clipped. "No, thank you, Charles. I'm not particularly hungry."

Max scoffed. "Suit yourself. More for the rest of us, then."

The passive-aggressive jabs continued throughout the evening, each veiled comment a fresh barb. Y/N praised Charles's recent qualifying performance, a clear dig at Max's reckless driving. Max, in turn, bragged about a new training program he was starting, a not-so-subtle jab at Y/N's perceived lack of understanding.

"Honestly that race was mine, Ocon fucked it up for everyone," Max proclaimed.

"Maybe," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "if you hadn't been so busy playing daredevil, you wouldn't have thrown away the race."

The words hung heavy in the air. Max felt a flicker of something cold and sharp twist in his gut. "Playing daredevil?" he scoffed. "I was out there fighting for the win!"

"At what cost?" Y/N's voice cracked, the dam of her emotions threatening to burst. "Do you even understand the fear you put me through?"

Max, for the first time, saw a glimpse of the terror that mirrored his own reckless driving. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, in a moment of horrifying clarity, Max blurted out, "Look, if you can't handle the pressure, maybe you should just—"

The sentence died on his lips as he saw the blood drain from Y/N's face. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a hurt so profound it took his breath away.

"Fine then," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "fuck off and die. see if i care."

The words echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone in the motorhome froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Max, fueled by anger, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.

Y/N didn't wait for a response. Tears streaming down her face, she bolted out of the motorhome, the slam of the door a punctuation mark to the shattered silence.

Max stared after her, a tapestry of emotions swirling within him – anger, regret, a terror that mirrored her own. He lunged after her, but Charles, who had witnessed the exchange, caught him by the arm.

"Let her go," Charles said gently, his voice laced with concern. "She needs some space."

Max sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What did I do?" he rasped, the anger replaced by a crushing weight of remorse.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone, even the usually jovial mechanics, seemed to walk on eggshells around the warring couple. Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she walked, the weight of the fight, the fear, and the unspoken hurt threatening to overwhelm her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The cool night air did little to soothe the burning in Y/N's eyes. She wandered away from the motorhome complex, her legs numb and directionless. The roar of the track faded behind her, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. Tears streamed down her face, carving clean tracks through the grime of the day.

Then, she saw it. Half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, a towering mural emerged from the darkness. It was a familiar image – her father, mid-corner, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of yellow and green. A wave of emotions washed over her – grief, pride, and now, a searing anger.

Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Y/N found herself talking to the painted image. "Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me how terrifying it would be to watch someone you love race?"

"Doesn't he understand, Dad? Doesn't he see the risk he takes? It's like he doesn't care! Doesn't care about the fear he puts me through, the terror that I relive every single time I see a car spin out of control!"

She slammed her fist against the concrete wall, a raw scream escaping her lips. The sound echoed in the quiet night, a testament to the storm raging within her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and angry.

"And then," she continued, her voice trembling, "he has the audacity to get mad at me? To act like I'm the one overreacting? Doesn't he see what his actions do? Doesn't he see what he almost took away from me today?"

Silence, except for the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. But in her mind, she could almost hear his voice, warm and reassuring. "coração valente (brave heart)," it seemed to say, the nickname he always used for her. "Fear is a part of it, but it doesn't have to control you."

Y/N wiped her eyes, a flicker of understanding replacing the anger. Her father hadn't raced because it was easy. He raced because of the passion, the thrill, the dance with danger. He wouldn't have wanted her to live in fear, but to find her own strength, her own way to navigate the world he left behind.

The sting in his eyes wasn't just from the acrid smoke billowing from a nearby barbecue. Max's chest ached with a dull ache that had nothing to do with the crash. Y/N's words, "fine then, fuck off and die. See if I care," echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his monumental screw-up.

He couldn't just sit there, stewing in his self-pity. He needed to find her, needed to apologize and explain the terrifying realization that had dawned on him during their tense silence.

Following a hunch, he made his way to the secluded corner where the mural of Ayrton Senna stood. In the dim glow of a single overhead light, he saw Y/N curled up with her back against the wall, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. A red mark marred her hand where it had connected with the concrete.

His heart lurched. He knelt down beside her, his voice barely a whisper. "Y/N?"

She flinched at the sound, whipping her tear-streaked face towards him. Her eyes, red and puffy, held a storm of emotions – hurt, anger, and something akin to pleading.

Max swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I shouldn't have said what I said," he began, his voice thick with remorse. "My anger… it clouded everything. I didn't…" He broke off, his own voice cracking.

Tears spilled down Y/N's cheeks. "And I..." she started, her voice trembling. "I never should have said what I did. It was awful, unforgivable of me." Her voice choked on a sob. "I don't… I don't want to lose you, Max. Not like that."

With a choked cry, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Max held her tight, the dam breaking inside him. He pressed kisses to her hair, each one a silent apology, a promise.

"I get it now, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand the fear. I see it reflected in your eyes every time I step onto the track. And I promise, I'll never do anything like that again. Not if it means putting you through that kind of pain."

They clung to each other, a tangle of limbs and broken sobs. The night air vibrated with the raw emotions they were finally releasing. Slowly, the sobs subsided into sniffles, leaving behind a fragile calm.

Max pulled back, wiping away a stray tear from Y/N's cheek with his thumb. "Let's go back," he said gently, his voice hoarse. "We can talk properly, sort things out."

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "Together," she added, a shaky smile playing on her lips.

Max grinned back, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "Always," he promised. "Together, no matter what the track throws at us."

As they walked back hand-in-hand, the mural of Ayrton Senna seemed to watch over them, a silent guardian of their love, a love forged in fire, tested by fear, and ultimately strengthened by understanding and forgiveness. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they knew they could face anything.

110 notes · View notes

twost3ps · 2 days

Text

Hazbin Oc voiceclaims LETS GOO

Ok so I've been brewing a bit and have been kinda busy. I got one last exam coming up and then I'm FREEEEE but I wanted to push something simple out so I decided to do voice claims because that is somehow easy (not)

These are partially for the scott pilgrim au, it makes it a bit more immersive to me

Anywayyysss: Heres the video of the voices (it's 4.5 min I'm so sorry)

and if ur interested: let me break down whyyy :3 + small oc blip (I still don't really know how to chracterize them it's all over the place) they go in order of appearance

Micheal: Johnathan Groff

Micheal is pretty closed off and cold. His answers are cold and short, and he doesn't like wasting time. Working 24/7 is his way of ignoring everything bad that has ever happened to him, until recently. He's trying to go back to his roots and have some fun. B4, in Eden he was basically a fun loving party guy who liked to bend the rules, but since his brother's betrayal, he grew angry and to snuff it out he just worked super hard. Super straight laced. But after a while he's trying to be silly again, people find it weird though because it's just been so long.

Initially, I wanted something deep- like deep deep. And while true, Micheal could have a fitting deep voice-

I think Groff just fits really well. He hits all my boxes.

His voice is rich and smooth but has a bit of dorkiness to it?? (Kristoff) The closest thing I can go into describing my Micheal is, again, an ex frat boy that caught depression when things got too real but now is recovering and healing. Idk Groff's voice just gave the vibe. His voice is kinda similar to Jordan's (Lucifur's va) imo, especially when they sing. Of cousre they're not gonna sound identical, but its like Emily and Charlie, it's just similar when they sing. Also Groff can pull off a rocker voice (the Bohemian Rapsody clip) and I need that. I want that rocker Micheal FEAFSEF

In general though, Groff has been my #1 option. Not just for my Micheal, but like, a lot of Micheals I've seen. I look at them and all I can hear is Groff soooo. Yeah. I also think that if Micheal were to be part of the actual series and be Lucifur's twin he'd be the kinda guy they're looking for. But yeah, hes always been #1 choice

Gabriel: Chris Fleming/Jshlatt

Gabriel balances out Micheal's colder demeanor. He's loud and a bit obnoxious about. But overall, this man is a goober. He's a man that can't keep a secret and keeps it real, a bit too real this man is way too honest. Won't shut up once you get him going especially when he's excited. It's bad when he peaks at one emotion because he goes all out. Overtime he's gotten better but still out af.

I wanted Gabriel to have some sort of gruffness. Some edge. Gabriel's thing is spreading the word of God and all but I can't think of him having a smooth voice. (I mean he yells all the time, how can he not???) I wanted something expressive, loud and gruff. A voice that you know does not stfu and does not hold back.

Fleming came to mind when I head him from bigtop burger (love that series) his voice is fun, low and gruff. Jshlatt was recommended by one of my friends when I showed them Gabriel. I was pretty unfamiliar with him b4 and when they showed me him my jaw dropped. His voice is what I kinda want it to be, just a bit higher. And the singing voice fits really well too :)

Raphael: James Earl Jones/Thurl Ravenscroft/Nat King Cole

Raphael is supposed to be this chill soft guy you can go to for comfort. He's like a marshmallow of a man and can be very empathetic. But underneath all that is a unit of a man who could throw you thousands of yards away.

I wanted something rich, deep and smooth. I had to ask my friend again with this one and we got Mufasa (James Earl Jones) Fits really well! So yes, smooth and soft, but an underlying tone of powerful. I also wanted his to have just a lot of bass to it. Something you could sleep to. Why Nat King Cole for the last option? I genuinely have no clue but it fit to me so I slapped it on this bad boy.

Azreal/Dumah: Steve Blum

Ok. Both of them are idiots. My version of them anyways. They fight a lot. I mean when you are suck together it’s bound to happen (They share one body but only one can take full control at one time- mostly Azreal because Dumah hates people. I’ll just show you guys one day. They can separate but only when they are given permission. Big fussy babies). They finish each other’s sentences a lot when talking. Azreal is the goofier brother who likes making jokes and Dumah is the more serious one. When retrieving souls Azreal is the one who takes it while Dumah judges. Dumah hates when people joke while on the job (he hates Azreal for this this) but he hates it even more when they go against God's word. Azreal could give less of a crap, he just finds reaping super fun.

Blum fit for me after watching Puppycat seeing his role as space outlaw. It shows his ability to be goofy but his other roles consist of also very serious characters which fits Dumah and Azreal pretty well. Blum has this crazy rasp about thing going on (is that what it is?) it makes him stand out which fits for the angels that deal with the dead. Makes you very awake imo. Idk there’s just something about it. While Azreal and Dumah share the same voice, Azreal is higher than Dumah’s. What I mean by that is (when looking at the audio clip from the video) when Blum’s voice is generally higher, that’s Azreal. When it’s pitches lower that’s Dumah. Dumah in general doesn’t speak much unlike Azreal- they’re what comes to mind when people think of introvert and extrovert lol

Sadly I couldn't find a sining voice for him :(

Eve: Lisa Hannigan

To me, Eve holds a lot of motherly energy. She's soft and kind, but she actually holds similar feelings to Adam about sinners. Don't get me wrong, she feels bad for their eternal punishment, but in the end, it's on them. Like, if she was presented with the hotel, she'd comply but try to take over it becoming this overbearing presence that would put you in your place without lifing a finger if you didn't fird her standard. If she'd hear one complain shed be like, "i know it sucks but really, you did this to yourself." But besides that, to everyone else, she's kind. In heaven, she's recluse, only really going to Adam for anything. Her punishment on earth did something to her, and unlike Adam, she does not like seeking comfort from others. Shes subtle about it, but you can easily tell by the vibes she gives off - they are STRONG (Idk about this over all this may change)

I feel like this is kinda a given. Then again it could be just me. I wanted Eve to have this soft motherly vibe. Like her voice is just barely above a whisper sometimes, but is still kinda deep. Blue diamond came to mind like immediately. There were other options like Esmeralda’s VA, especially the one from the musical, but I wanted to give Eve this sense of solemn, sort of driftyness and chill. Ngl her character really resonates with blue diamond so it kinda just fell into place. It’s in contrast to Adam’s sharper and more gruff voice, where he can hit more highs, she hits more lows.

Eve is literally Adam’s other half (and while in my au they aren’t in love anymore or maybe they were never in love at all idk, they were definitely soulmates who loved each other dearly)

Again, notes on the floor and everywhere. They thoughts are always super scatterbrained

But yeah that’s pretty much it! If you guys have any recommendations or suggestions yourself feel free to tell me I am welcome to anything!!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin hotel raphael #hazbin hotel gabriel #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel azrael #hazbin hotel dumah #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel ocs #voice claim #pls be kind im so bad at making ocs :')#i will get to that scott pilgrim au tho trust

44 notes · View notes

thef1diary · 2 days

Text

Little Big Blurb | 3

— Mother’s Day Special

Max and Isabella spoil you with love and breakfast

series masterlist

wc: 1.1k

As you stir awake to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, the sweet scent of pancakes wafts into your room, gently coaxing you from sleep. Blinking away the remnants of dreams, you stretch languidly, relishing the warmth of the cozy cocoon of blankets surrounding you.

You pat the other side of the bed, in hopes of feeling Max's sleeping body, but your hand is met with the softness of the blanket instead. You frown, squinting your eyes, realizing that you're alone in the room.

The realization dawns upon you—it's Mother's Day. Your heart swells with anticipation, and a soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you imagine the surprises awaiting you. The only reason you remember the date is because Max and Isabella have tried to be very secretive, conversing quietly at random times throughout the days prior. Unfortunately, Isabella wasn't a good whisperer just yet, and you caught the two words, "Mama's Day," coming out of her mouth.

With a contented sigh, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and slip into your slippers, eager to start the day.

Padding down the hallway, the sound of soft giggles and hushed whispers reaches your ears, filling you with warmth. Entering the kitchen, you're met with a scene straight out of a storybook.

You spot Isabella sitting at the kitchen table with her back faced towards you, as her small fingers hold a crayon while she diligently works on something.

Standing on the opposite side of her, Max beams at you when he sees you, his eyes alight with affection and pride.

In his hands, he holds a tray, filled with all your favourite breakfast foods. Fluffy pancakes adorned with sliced strawberries, a side of crispy avocado toast glistening in the morning light, and a steaming cup of coffee, fragrant and inviting. But it's the single red rose placed delicately in a vase that brings tears to your eyes, a simple yet poignant gesture that speaks volumes of his love and thoughtfulness.

Max places the tray back onto the kitchen table, and nudges Isabella. She quickly turns around to look at you, holding onto something which you realize is a handmade card. Glitter and stickers adorn the card, spelling out ‘Happy Mother's Day’ in vibrant hues.

"Happy Mother's Day, Mama!" Isabella exclaims, her voice filled with unbridled joy as she jumps up from her seat to envelop you in a tight embrace. You return the hug fiercely, feeling an overwhelming surge of gratitude and love for these two incredible souls who have filled your life with so much joy and happiness.

She hands you the card, and once you open it, you find that there's a photo of you and Isabella glued inside. It's an older photo, back when she was just four years old. Her hair was put up into two pigtails, adorned with various clips. You clearly remember this photo, taken from an older digital camera. It was the first time Isabella had asked you to make her hair as such, and you knew that you had to take a photo of it for memories.

Along with the photo, there was a message that was undoubtedly in Max's handwriting since it was cursive. ‘Best Mama Ever.’

"Thank you so much, Bella!" You peppered kisses all over her cheeks until she giggled.

Then, you glance at Max, who watched the interaction between you and your daughter with a warm smile.

"Good morning, beautiful," Max says, his voice husky with emotion as he round the kitchen table and stands in front of you. "We wanted to make today extra special for you."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you take in the scene before you—the love shining in Isabella's eyes, the warmth radiating from Max's smile. "Thank you, both of you," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. "This is the best Mother's Day gift I could ever ask for."

Isabella beams at you, her dimpled cheeks rosy with excitement. "We made breakfast all by ourselves, Mama! Well, Maxy helped me flip the pancakes, but I mixed the batter!"

Max chuckles, ruffling Isabella's hair affectionately. "She's quite the chef in training, isn't she?"

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you realize just how lucky you are to have these two incredible people in your life.

The warmth of the morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a golden glow over the room as you gather around the table, a sense of peace and contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. Isabella chatters animatedly about her plans for the day, her excitement palpable as she bounces in her seat, barely able to contain her enthusiasm.

"I want to pick flowers for you, Mama!" Isabella exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "And then we can have a picnic in the park!"

Max leans in closer, his gaze softening as he listens to Isabella's animated tales with rapt attention. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, princess," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm sure Mama would love that."

His love for her is evident in every glance, every smile, and you feel your heart swell with gratitude for the bond they share.

You nod, “yes, we can do that!”

As you tuck into the delicious breakfast spread before you, laughter fills the air, mingling with the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet melody of Isabella's giggles. It's moments like these—simple, yet profound—that remind you of the beauty and magic of motherhood, of the love that knows no bounds.

After breakfast, Max suggests a leisurely stroll in the park, a chance to bask in the warmth of the sun and soak in the beauty of nature, along with giving Isabella a chance to pick out the flowers she wanted for you.

"Can we bring sandwiches, Mama?" Isabella asks, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Of course, sweetheart," you reply, reaching out to ruffle her hair affectionately. "We'll pack all your favorites."

Hand in hand, you make your way to the park, Isabella skipping ahead, her laughter echoing through the air like music. Max walks beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, a silent promise of love and support that fills your heart with warmth.

As you wander through the park, the world seems to slow down, each moment savored and cherished. Isabella chases after butterflies, completely forgetting about the flowers as her laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves.

In that moment, surrounded by the ones you love most in the world, you realize just how precious life truly is, how every moment is a gift to be treasured and embraced.

Taglist: @keerysfreckles @d3kstar @xjval @hc-dutch @the-untamed-soul @multi-fandom-fan221b @lilymurphy03 @shreks-best-tits @nessacarty1 @ldynblack @lighttsoutlewis @ur-fave-ave @namjoonswaifu @llando4norris @dark-night-sky-99 @majx00 @xoscar03 @wonnou @samantha-chicago @mlioravanfleet

#little big fan fic #thef1diary fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagines #f1 series #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fluff #f1 blurb #fic series

302 notes · View notes

miguelsfangservice · 1 day

Text

BEYOND THE SPOTLIGHT V

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!Famous Idol Reader Warnings: Angst/comfort, fame has caused reader a lot of pressure and insecurities. Summary: It doesn't matter he's at HQ trying to keep the multiverse afloat, your face, your voice, your smile and laugh follows him everywhere. No, he is not losing it (yet); it's just that it’s kind of inevitable when most spiders under his command are... how did Gwen called it? Ah-staning you? Well, he can't really complain, it's his girlfriend, after all.

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V

The days after the whole drama with Ashley are nothing but a PR nightmare, everyone gets slandered and just a whole war has started in comment sections all over social media; Miguel tries to distract you by trying to make you go to the HQ with him, but you are hell bent on staying home and, eventually, giving up and reading comments online about the hiatus your company announced just hours after the incident.

Most people are blaming the company, but many others go straight for your throat; and they attack the biggest insecurities you had since you decided to leave the group for a while and go solo.

Some of the girls that used to be your teammates reach out and try to comfort you, cursing Ashley under their breath and trying to make you feel better about the whole ordeal.

But nor Miguel’s or their words work to make you feel ok.

There’s a few comments that catch your eye while having breakfast with Miguel one morning a few weeks after the announcement:

<<Looks like #Y/N couldn't handle the pressure after all. Always thought she was just riding on the coattails of the group. Solo career? More like solo failure.>>

<< It's sad to see #Y/N crash and burn like this. Guess she wasn't as talented as she thought she was. #SoloFlopped #Embarrassing.>>

“Cielo…”

Another one, with about a thousand likes says:

<<Who does #Y/N think she is, anyway? Leaving the group was the biggest mistake of her life. Now she's just another idol desperately trying to stay relevant. #Pathetic #GroupWasBetterWithoutHer>>.

You try to keep scrolling, tears pooling around your eyes. Miguel notices right away, he could see you getting pale and quiet while staring at the holographic display on your wrist.

He puts his hand on top of it, blocking whatever you were reading from you.

“You need to stop” he whispers. “Reading idiotic comments online won’t help”.

You nod, not looking at him, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you; from sadness, to anger, to defeat and some bitterness towards Miguel. But the rational part of you and, above all, the love you have for him has been keeping you from lashing out on Miguel.

He’s been postponing his Spiderman things to hang up with you at home, but every time he had to leave the room to receive a call from his comrades you knew he was needed, which made you feel a bit guilty.

“You’re right” you put your hand on top of his. “It’s just hard not to… it feels like there’s an itch in my brain and the only way I can alleviate is by reading all that”.

Just when he is about to reply, someone starts calling him; Miguel curses, taps something on his watch and mutters ‘sorry’.

“Miggy, you need to get out of those pajamas and go be a hero”

“It’s fine, I- Peter’s got everything under control”.

“That thing has been blowing up for the past few days; he may have it under control but maybe he needs a hand, love”

Miguel hangs his head a bit, defeated.

“This is my fault and I don’t know how to fix it”

“If you want to help me, I just need your support and trust on whatever decision I make” you try not to sound angry at him, but there’s probably an edge to your voice that he notices, because he lets go of your hand and tenses. “That’s what I need from you, Miggy; I know that even with what happened back at the company you were just trying to help, but I think what I need the most right now is you supporting me, even from afar while you help save the day.”

Miguel’s expression softens as he listens to your words, but still with a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. He knows he hasn't been handling things perfectly; Miguel is aware his sanity is constantly hanging by a tread and that seeing you struggling with the pressure and schedule was just too much.

"I'm sorry” he murmurs, reaching out to cup your face gently. "I've been so focused on trying to fix things that I forgot to just be there for you, I guess I forget I don’t have to intervene on everything..."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You have your hands full with several universes, you don’t need to carry my problems too, you know?"

Miguel nods, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you for understanding, cielo. But please know that I'm here for you, always. Even if I can't fix everything, I'll do my best to support you… without making another scene, I hope."

You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you. "I know you will, Miggy. And just knowing that you're here for me means the world, with a dramatic scene at my job and all."

In comfortable silence, the weight of the world seems to lift off your shoulders, if only for a moment. You find solace in Miguel's presence, grateful for his unwavering support. But despite the temporary reprieve, you know that the battle against the hurtful comments and relentless pressure is far from over; when he leaves to save the world, you’ll stay at the apartment with no one to stop you from reading, to keep you from your own negative thoughts.

“You should come with me today.” Miguel suddenly breaks the silence, he walks to your bathroom and opens the faucet. “I know you refused the last hundred times I asked but… I really would help you to meet them, it will take your mind away from all that”.

The idea of accompanying him to the headquarters has crossed your mind before, but the thought of facing the other spiders and being surrounded by the chaos of his world always filled you with anxiety; sneaking into the HQ had felt safer.

You already did not feel good enough for your world, much less for a world full of superhumans.

But now, as you look at Miguel coming out of the bathroom with his face wet from washing it, a hopeful yet hesitant expression, you find yourself considering his suggestion. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a welcomed distraction from the constant onslaught of negative comments and thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you finally nod, a small smile playing at your lips. "Okay, Miggy. I'll go with you today."

Miguel's eyes light up with genuine joy, a light you are sure no one has seen in years… only you. He is suddenly crossing the room to pull you into a tight embrace. "Thank you, cielo. I promise, it'll be good for both of us. But if they don’t let you breath you just need to tell me and I’ll…"

“Make a scene?”

He groans, embarrassed and you can’t help but laugh at his slightly rose tinted cheeks.

As you cling to him, a sense of relief washes over you. Maybe stepping out of your comfort zone and facing the world outside your apartment is exactly what you need right now.

❃❃❃❃

Every time you step into the HQ you can’t help but gawk at what Miguel has built. And you always get a sense of warmth in your heart, knowing he has people that goes through the same things he goes through…things that you can’t fully understand, no matter how much you want to; so it’s good he can go to his friends when you can’t help him with stuff like this.

This time, you enter the HQ without hiding, you go through the lobby and, just as you thought not everyone here would know who you are, you see in the corner of your eye, a Spiderman saying something to another one, looking directly at you, which has others doing the same.

You want to lower your head, a little embarrassed but as you are about to do it, you look at Miguel.

He always holds his head high, no matter what. And you notice how different he looks in this context, with all this amazing super heroes looking up to him and his leadership; even with the whole Miles fiasco, he was able to amend his bad choices and regain his peoples trust.

Seeing him walk proud around the place he has built with blood, sweat and tears makes you feel a bit better.

If Miguel can walk proudly, so can you. Specially while you are by his side.

As you continue walking, more super heroes start noticing and you can see some of them reacting like just regular fans; it’s cute seeing the lenses on their suits doing a half moon downturn, indicating their smiles.

Feeling a surge of determination, you straighten your posture and walk alongside Miguel with newfound confidence. Despite the curious glances and whispered conversations happening around you, you hold your head high, mirroring Miguel's unwavering pride.

As you make your way through the HQ, you can't help but marvel at the incredible diversity of the so called “Spider-Verse”. Each superhero you pass exudes strength and resilience, their unique abilities a testament to the countless battles they've fought to protect their respective universes. And, obviously, you can’t forget but admire their suits and gadgets you know they must make with all the love and care of the world.

“You got quite a few fans around here, you know?” he murmurs in your ear as he swings with you in his arms around the place; you make the mistake of looking down, it makes you dizzy and you have to press your body tighter to his, Miguel chuckles. “It all began with Hobie and then Miles spread your music here like wildfire.”

“Kids got a good a taste” you say smugly, but with a pink tint in your cheeks. It’s good to know that you got some support.

"And they have excellent taste indeed," Miguel agrees, his voice filled with pride. "But then again, how could they not be fans of yours? Your music has a way of touching people's hearts, no matter what universe they're from."

“Miguel, you adorable sap” You hear Peter yell behind you. Miguel groans and rolls his eyes. “Hello, miss. Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Mr. Parker” you reply with a smile.

Peter makes a fake wounded sound. “Please, please no “Mister”, makes me feel old”

“That’s because you are” Miguel tells him just when you finally land on the hallway leading to Miguels office, you keep walking alongside him, but much closer when you start seeing all the anomalies in their respective cages. Some of them eye you up and down, as if you were the prey. If they were to break free, you know you would be. “Now we need to get to work, Parker.”

“Everything is under control; you shouldn’t be back from your days off so soon”

“If everything is under control why Jess wont’s stop sending messages and calling? So has Margo.” Miguel counters, his tone serious.

Before Peter can respond, an urgent message comes through on Miguel's communicator. His expression shifts, a mixture of concern and determination crossing his features. "We've got trouble," he says, glancing at you. "A Venom anomaly has been detected. I need to go with the others to check it out."

You nod, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Be careful," you tell him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Your heart starts beating up fast; Miguel has told you a few things about the type of things he fights, so you are aware of how dangerous a venom anomaly can be.

Miguel nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns to Peter. "Keep an eye on things her, Parker. We'll be back soon."

With that, Miguel rushes off, leaving you and Peter standing in the hallway, the weight of the impending danger hanging heavy in the air.

“Are you hungry?” Peter asks, trying to sound cheery again, but you can sense his concern. “There’s some really juicy ‘Migueburgers’ in the cafeteria”

“…Migue-what?”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 #spider verse #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #atsv fanfiction

25 notes · View notes

flownwrong · 2 days

Text

dS rewatch shenanigans

So me and @mannequin3thereckoning rewatched 2.04 Bird in the Hand, 3.02 Eclipse and 4.03 The Ladies' Man (or 4.05, depending on the region; I like this ordering of the episodes better, it makes the season more equally paced to me). Somehow we picked a nice equal distribution between seasons 2-4 (sorry s1, I just did not have that much free time!)

It was fun to compare the impressions between us, a person who's fresh off a rewatch and one who didn't touch dS for some years :) Unlike my rigorous friend, I don't have it in me to do a separate post for each episode. It's all pretty chaotic, but here goes:

Bird in the Hand

It was funny to notice how much easier it is to judge the pacing of an episode while also chatting about it in real time compared to a regular watch. This one is pretty much perfect!

It's a great showcase for the side of Fraser that sometimes gets lost between screen and fic, or screen and meta—his lowkey permanent annoyance with his circumstances ("I'm not sulky. I don't sulk," he said. You know, like a liar!) and his masterfully contained intense anger. It's so funny how annoyed he gets with Turnbull! Finally, someone at the consulate who gets more shit than he does haha.

Also another great example of Ray consistently ready to both stir up shit and take shit for Fraser in a highly stressful situation where Fraser's hands are tied. “He’d shoot him for you if you asked"—even Dad knows <3 Linking this wonderful art to express my endless appreciation for how well-oiled Ray and Fraser's banter is. No one does put upon like Ray Vecchio. No one.

And, I mean, the emotional centerpiece of the episode is BRILLIANT. The tone balances on the usual dS edge between wacky and weighty juuust right for juuuuust long enough via Ghost Dad, and then it cannonballs right into heartbreaking because of the Ghost Dad in the span of two lines, sustains it for one of the most effective conversations in all of dS and eases out of it by—you guessed it—Ghost Dad diffusing the tension with continuous murderous overtures.

And I think Fraser's ✨Plan✨ in this one is a rare example of his speechifying that actually bares his underbelly as opposed to only expressing his beliefs illustrated by his experiences. He's very self-aware: he says to his father, "I'm no better", I, too, can't ask for help, I, too, can't express my love and my hurts—and then he goes and does exactly that—and then he immediately follows it by turning the tables on everyone and going "ah, but I stunned you all with my emotional openness on purpose so I could get the upper hand in the stand-off"—but it works both ways, and it's clearly also him using the excuse to actually be vulnerable for a second. Man, Fraser is a thing to behold in this episode.

But you can actually see how far he's come since the pilot, and how his partnership with Ray affected him—it's cool that this happens only two episodes after Ray bullies him into admitting his dissatisfaction with his circumstances. And here he's expressing grief, not the anger, not the desire for revenge, but grief, out loud, to everyone. "You broke my heart." Jesus.

10/10 episode, highly recommended.

Eclipse

This episode is like a favourite well-worn hoodie to me. Apart from the iconic "Do you find me attractive?" exchange it offers so many joys.

It's funny (The "now it's broken and it's working" exchange and "Mom, how you've changed—into cuban cigars" are both beautiful moments).

There's Fraser's "I'm acquainted with loss and, on occasion, loneliness" line which is I think a great thing to learn about him early in the season both if you tuned into the show without seeing s1-2 and if you're Ray Kowalski.

There's the great Ray intro, doubly so because we already had the intro, and were even given a lot of the info there that Eclipse reinforces (like Ray's compulsive need to express his vulnerabilities in hope of protecting himself from being judged too harshly, but also his competence—even if my man should really keep those glasses on—and his ability to think on his feet and his obsessive tendencies and his soft romantic underbelly and I could go on, we learn so. much. stuff. by the point we hear Fraser's exposition on Ray's professional record we're not even surprised).

I love that Fraser is immediately comfortable with his new position of being the more emotionally stable one in the duo, haha—while Ray Vecchio had his insecurities and great moments of learning to trust himself with Fraser's help, Fraser is clearly both fascinated by Ray Kowalski's openness and ready to offer his shoulder to lean on, with an added bonus of being in less danger of being perceived while near this dude who constantly makes himself available for perception.

Random little notes: I really love how Ray says his own name with so much disappointment when introducing himself: "I'm... *frustrated sigh* Kowalski." I love how he tentatively asks Fraser to repeat "friend" after his declaration of friendship. I love that he's a dork who throws the dreamcatcher like a frisbee. I love the b-plot letting us hang out with the station gang a little and see them stand up for each other. I love the insane angle on Ray's face while he's being interrogated (see: my eyelashes gifset). I love the birthday party. I love the crypt as a setting, and I love everyone in that impromptu holding cell.

And, in the words of my wiser friend, "ray finding out his imposter syndrome was caused by a guy who doesn’t even remember him is so very ray". I take my hat off to everyone involved in making this episode.

The Ladies' Man, which I'm very glad my friend suggested, bc otherwise I probably would've forced her to watch it anyway, and I'm not a fan of such cruelty.

Let's get some things out of the way:

Ray looks incredibly good in this episode. It's a crime to look this good AND suffer prettily on top of that. The fact that the camera that was already pretty obsessed with CKR these two seasons gets, like, terminally stuck on him here does Not hurt matters.

I have some Questions for the episode, and I'll get to them, but it's my top one dS episode on a pure viewing pleasure level because it pushes my buttons.

Can't say much about the cold open because it's pretty much perfect, tight and tense and we get the Homoerotic Calling Off Your Rabid Dog Partner When He's Losing It Before He Kills Someone, which is a timeless classic (complete with the obvious and iconic Look at me! Look! At! Me!), and Ray and Fraser are perfect characters to act it out. CKR is on fire, no notes.

One moment I somehow forgot from my many previous rewatches that really struck me during this one is Fraser's almost casual admission of imagining murdering his father's murderers—thinking again about Bird in the Hand up there. It's a great reminder late in the show, where we see this aspect of him less often, and it's cool that he can safely share it in the face of Ray's rawness, you know, as opposed to it being a great and painful admission when he's the vulnerable one.

A brief interlude to shake my fists at the sky and wail Why, o Paul Gross, did you have to add the singing—it's not just that the joke didn't age well, it didn't even land at the time, and I don't think it would in any episode, but especially here???— and the bark tea flirting—which is par for the course as far as dS goes and could be cute but it feels totally disconnected from the rest of the scene, let alone the episode, so, again, ???? It's not that I wanted a mournful monotony of an episode with no laughs—I would pick a different show then—but like, I think better jokes could've been made. Like later in the episode, where during a climactic scene they drop the "actually, all that exposition makes me feel a little thirsty" line, it works.

Back to the point: Dixie Seatle is fucking amazing??? Her and CKR work so well together that all the noise of failed gags and nonsensical continuity of Ray's cover and whatnot is super easy to wave away because they're the emotional core of the episode, and they deliver. They have such a fragile thing going on, with him being exhausted from all the guilt and her also being exhausted from his guilt on top of the, you know, the whole death penalty thing.

Which, speaking of, UM, that's one of Thee Darkest Premises in the whole show and encountering it for the first time was a trip, during a season I was not a fan of and considered dropping. And yes many rewatches later I'm still confused but grateful about it all. The world in this episode is brutal in the way it rarely is in the show; integrity and redemption and whatnot are big motives in dS, and the big point is usually that the world, imperfect and unfair as it is, can respond to kindness with kindness and this is worth upholding. It is Not So here; scenes like the whole precinct cheering away at the prospect of Beth's impending execution are just—wow, okay.

So, as far as dS goes, this is a super solipsistic episode. It's perfectly self-contained, and even though it could have, I don't know, implications for Ray the way some of Fraser's Bad Shit did for Fraser, it just isn't addressed in the end. And I don't think it should be. It's a character study, and whoever decided they needed a very heavy one for Ray is my hero. (Note: I think this is the reason I never read a coda for this episode that I enjoyed. Having your blorbo break down in tears right in front of his boyfriend right before the credits with no follow-up kind of begs for a coda, but—newp. It works so well because it cuts off with no big resolutions.)

And whoever wrote those two closing scenes deserves a medal; to have this much restraint is an achievement for late season dS. CKR and Dixie Seatle also deserve a medal each for creating something this excruciating with super precise line deliveries and body language.

Small things my mind always catches on:

Welsh and his pink duster, looking out for Ray

CKR's rolling over the car stunt (steam comes out of my ears)

tiny flashback Ray checking his hair in the mirror at the crime scene because of course he does

Ray casually fiddling with Fraser's hat as they walk around

Sam Franklin's whole deal. I mean, there's tension there. For god's sake he pats Ray's cheek like a proud mentor he played the whole time when Ray takes his gun during his arrest. I mean. Uh. Yeah.

the fact that truepenny quit her meta right before this episode is a human tragedy

Probably like 40% of what you've read above have been brought up or articulated by @mannequin3thereckoning, so thank her for all the fun. I hope we can do this again some time <3

#ds30below #due south #meta #benton fraser #ray kowalski #ray vecchio #i wrote this in seven sittings during work #and on my meds #and so hungry i couldn't think straight #so don't hold any nonsense against me

20 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 2 days

Note

I’d love a lil something for Vivian and #39 off the touch prompts list if it sparks your brain!!

OMG HEYYYYY!!!! thank you so much for this - and for letting me explore viv a bit more!!! her character was fun to come up with and i haven't really been able to dig deep into her thoughts and character yet and this gave me the PERFECT opportunity, so thank you so so much!!! i feel writing for me has been angsty recently and that's the direction we seemed to take with this here lol! BUT, we get a bit of ev blakely, whom i have been eyeing as of late for some writing and he plays the perfect part in comfort. it's been a few weeks where i had the first half of this in writing and couldn't figure out where i wanted to go with the second half - and HERE WE ARE!!! please enjoy!!!

ease the pain

(a/n): a lil look into vivian ratcliff and her emotions for long-time boyfriend james pennington across a war-torn sea. we get a bit of comfort in the form of ev blakely. prompt is: leaning into the other's side, which i absolutely LOVED and think worked really nicely here! viv, you deserve the most sweetheart, please accept the comfort blakely is trying to give you <3333 and enjoy your mashed potatoes too girl!!!

Vivian ran her fingers along the side of Silver Bullets, her calloused hands running over every bolt ever pumped into the sides of the B-17, careening over paint and brandished edges of metal that had been knocked back in place, mission after mission.

There was something comforting about the B-17, a maternal force none of them had out here, that carried them from mission to mission, always present. Always there.

Vivian stepped back and let her hands fall to her sides, hanging empty and broken. All the girls were back at barracks, Interrogation the shit show it normally was, cleaning up and readying for a night to forget. She was here. Staring at the B-17 in silence.

"Sergeant Ratcliff," Vivian turned quickly, glancing over her shoulder, and found Ev Blakely coming her way, removing his peak cap and smoothing a hand over his head, "some of the girls were beginning to wonder where you wandered off to." Vivian stared at him, as he came closer and then looked back at Silver Bullets, her eyes wandering up to the silver pant along the name on the nose and then sighed.

"Just came to take a look at her," Vivian said quickly, patting the side of the metal for a moment, before turning to him and crossing her arms, "needed a minute." He came to a slow stop in front of her, crossing his own arms and raising a brow slightly as he tilted his head. He nodded to her.

"You okay?"

Vivian had been a waist gunner for Ev Blakely back in their training days for a few months, before Captain Faulkner had started gathering a crew and requesting people, and she was transferred. But, she'd grown to enjoy his company and his thoughts, as well as what he had to say to his crew. She also enjoyed the fact that when she was spiraling, he was always there for her, even if he never cared to admit it himself.

"Fine," she said with a nod, shaking her head, before considering the look on his face, "what, what's that look for?" Blakely smiled at her and then glanced up at Silver Bullets, his face softening in the light before looking back at her.

"You were looking sentimental, wanted to make sure you were doing okay." he said, and then his face grew serious, "You heard from James?" Vivian grew quiet at his words and then glanced towards his eyes again.

"Not in a few weeks." she said softly, and then nodded, "It's fine though, he's fine. It's fine."

James Pennington had not written back in almost three weeks and nearly everyone seemed to know; even the men, who usually didn't get involved in any sort of discussion of lovers outside the realm of East Anglia.

But they all knew about Viv's Jimmy Pennington and Bessie's Tommy McKenzie.

Blakely watched her, and she knew, she knew from that look he was giving her that he didn't believe her for one second, but she swallowed that thought down.

"I survived another mission, I can't complain," she said quietly with a nod, "Jimmy'll get back to me when he does. He's fighting a whole other war across an ocean and a continent. I just….have to get out of my head. Gotta be grateful, too." Blakely continued to watch her as she spoke and she was sure she sounded half like a lunatic but she didn't care.

When Vivian had been sick as a dog a few weeks back, Blakely hung around at night and talked to her as best as he could through her coughing and vomiting. He'd seen her sweaty and half-dead after missions, distraught and in tears, drunk that one time off her ass when she couldn't deal with this stupid thing called war, bringing her to barracks and helping her settle in bed. Sometimes, she looked at him and swore in is eyes there was something there neither wanted to discuss, but she ignored it and took his friendship head-on more than anything.

"I'm fine, seriously," Vivian said, with a nod, convincing herself alongside Blakely, "everything's fine." She stared at him, "What?" Blakely smiled slightly and nodded.

"Let's get you some dinner, step away from Silver Bullets for a bit, she'll be here when you get back," he said softly and she felt the tension from her shoulders release a bit as he turned and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, "c'mon, there's barely a soul even in there. Plus, you need some food in your stomach before we even oughta consider drinks."

Vivian walked beside him slowly, a small laugh escaping from her lips as she leaned into his side a bit more as they walked, for once, trying to grasp onto something to stabilize herself more than anything. Because out here, when the mission was all said and done and you were alone with your thoughts and feelings, there was no one but yourself.

"What if he doesn't write back, Ev?" Vivian whispered quietly as his hand squeezed gently on her bicep, narrowly avoiding where part of her jacket had been burned from a bullet graze, "What if-"

"He's going to write back." Blakely said, stopping her spiral and glancing down at her as they continued moving forward, "You've told me in length about Jimmy and his writing and how he keeps up with it all. For you. He's going to write you back. It may be a war on, but guys don't forget that sorta stuff." Vivian swallowed the emotion in her throat and nodded against him.

"Ev?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." Vivian said quietly, reaching up to wipe at her eyes which hard turned misty just at the thought of Jimmy somewhere out there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with the Navy, on a submarine or aircraft carrier or wherever he was that he couldn't reveal.

She thought of his kind smile, those deep, brown eyes, his hugs, his touch. The last time they'd seen each other, and she'd held onto him for as long as possible before he'd had to go. How deeply and longingly he'd kissed her, whispering that he'd see her again and they'd be back on her daddy's ranch in no time. And she had believed him.

Now, with no letter, and no sign of life, she was spiraling.

They entered into the mess hall and found some of the cooks cleaning up, wiping down tables and turning up chairs. But, upon entering, Blakely let out a whistle and some of the cooks glanced over.

"You guys still serving?"

"Yes, sir." one of the cooks said, looking to Vivian, who stood quietly by his side, staring off at nothing in particular, "Two plates? I'll bring them over."

"Thank you." Blakely said as he led Vivian over to a table in the corner, pulling out a chair and helping her to settle into the wooden seat before sitting across from her. She sat there quietly for a moment, her body closed in on itself as she stared at the placemat in front of her, her mind spinning, her eyes struggling not to fill with tears.

"Hey, Viv," Blakely said, leaning forward and reaching across the table to put a hand on her shoulder, "you can talk to me, you know that? It wasn't long ago you were my left gunner and a part of my crew, remember that?" Vivian looked at him and nodded, sniffling briefly before leaning against the table, covering her mouth with her hands in an attempt to hold in her want to sob.

"I feel like I lost him, Ev," Vivian whispered quietly, her voice breaking as a tear snuck out her eye and trailed down her cheek, before she tried to gather herself together in some sense, "it's not like him. Not to write. I…." She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"It's stupid to even talk like that. When he…he could be alive, just….." Vivian shook her head, "I don't know this time." Blakely watched her with that familiar, calming presence that she had grown used to. He always had that extra care of keeping an eye out for her at the flying club or when they were at interrogation or even just around base at breakfast. He was always there, always a comfort. And right now, the only thing keeping her afloat.

"Here you are, sir," the cook said, coming over with their meal of turkey and mashed potatoes, with green beans, another cook behind him with coffee and water, placing down the plates, as Blakely leaned back and Vivian ran her hands down her face, "ma'am." The cooks nodded, with thanks and then disappeared as Vivian's stomach rumbled looking at the plate. But her heart ached and her head pounded and the tears in her vision hurt.

"There's nothing to ease that sort of thought and pain, Viv," Blakely whispered quietly, "but you can only do what you can for now. And taking care of yourself and eating are things that are possible. That's something you can do now." Vivian watched him as she wiped at her cheeks, and nodded.

Staring at the meal, she thought of that first date with James, back in Fort Collins, Colorado - out to Stewart's down the road, hot turkey, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, peas and carrots. Shakily, she lifted a forkful of turkey to her lips and ate it, before leaning back against the chair and biting back her bottom lip. She looked towards Blakely who was a mix of eating and worriedly watching her.

And in a split second of time, he was standing and coming around the table and pulling her into his arms, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Just for a moment, to be held while she felt like her world was coming undone, was the only thing to ease the pain in her mind and heart.

#viv just needs....so many hugs #can definitely say her storyline is much darker and sadder....but she's got the silver bullets girls and all the guys #especially someone like ev blakely #and we can thank him for that #ALSO HEY!!!!#bit of an intro to viv's character!!!#hope yall enjoy! :D #vivian ratcliff #everett blakely #masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #viv i am mentally hugging you sweet girl #you deserve only the best when this war is done :'(

16 notes · View notes