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#over the wasted potential of this show

lovegrowsart · 4 months

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it's pretty wild to me that people don't see that aang running off to save katara in CoD is his luke in empire strikes back moment, where he runs headlong into his want and attachment and he's narratively punished for doing so and not learning his lesson - aang runs after katara despite guru pathik's warning, like luke runs after leia and han from yoda on dagobah despite yoda's warning; similarly, as a result, things go to hell in ba sing se like they do on bespin - aang enters the avatar state before he's ready and gets killed, and ba sing se falls to the fire nation, luke fights vader before he's ready, loses a hand, and symbolically commits suicide after vader tells him he's luke's father.

the difference between their character arcs is that george lucas and co. actually went thru with luke's hero's journey and understood the fundamental difference between attachment and love, whereas I don't think bryke understood this difference and then dropped this from aang's arc pretty much completely and replaced it with aang digging in his heels into his want and attachment and he gets rewarded with energy bending from a lion turtle, the avatar state from a random pointy rock, and his forever girl from the self-indulgent white men that couldn't bring themselves to give their hero a compelling character arc that meant he might not have gotten everything he wanted at the end.

#the wasted potential of aang's arc gets to me so bad #the narrative and thematic set up is entirely there and they just shove it in the bin lmao #it especially irks as someone raised buddhist and dealing with writers that invoke these themes out of a fascination #with the religion and philosophy but then a complete unwillingess to actually commit to what those themes require of the character arcs #anyway sorry to say it #but zuko's arc does a better job embodying buddhist themes than aang's does in the end #despite all misappropriated aesthetics to the contrary #aang critical #but its really the writing like i LIKE aang i love his potential i hate how self indulgently he's written by the end of the show #atla critical #meta*#holly talks bs #also yes it would've been better narratively for aang katara zuko to the go the way of luke leia han #even if katara couldn't have been revealed as aang's surprise secret twin lmao #the thematic conceit of the triangle is the same in that luke and aang get over their infatuation with the first pretty girl he sees #and becomes the hero he needs to be #meanwhile hanleia and zutara are saving each other and being cool and kissing #anyway

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incesthemes · 3 months

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i got curious about mary's role post-resurrection so i looked at a list of all her appearances in season 12 only to discover that she's only in about half of the episodes. which is surprising because like, where the fuck is she going? where is her character arc going to take her such that she's separated from her children for entire episodes, 33 years in the future with everyone else she's ever known or loved dead?

i'm just eternally fascinated that supernatural is a show about sam and dean, and literally no other character including their own mother is allowed to impede on that. every other character has to be removed at some point from the brotherly unit so as not to infringe on their domination of the narrative. every other character is expendable, unnecessary for the show to function continuously. every other character can go off on their own for several episodes at a time and live a life separate from them. there's no limit to this and no one is allowed to get close enough to sam and dean to negate this reality.

#liveblogging: supernatural #i wouldn't say they commit to this very well because the presence of the recurring cast expands their world and does a disservice to the #themes of isolation and the idea that they only have each other established by early seasons #but the bunker also does a disservice to the premise of it being a road show so like there are plenty of criticisms to make about how #spn has changed over the years #anyway i have critiqued spn on its inability to commit to either a small isolated cast OR a large recurring cast #which is where a lot of the issues i have with many characters stem from #since they're not well developed for the roles the show is trying to force them into #and potential is routinely wasted #anyway. that's just tangential. at the end of the day the show does always bring it back to sam and dean. one unit.#and no one not even other main characters are allowed into that inner circle #made real and evident by their mere presence or absence across episodes #it's just an interesting thing #.txt #spn posting

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gmanwhore · 2 months

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Sparkles is this fandom I’m not in doing stuff to me rn.

Bendy and the Ink Machine is a game about letting go. To me. Those who can't let go will only perpetuate the cycle. And it is really hard to let go of things! It's hard not to be angry! But in the end you have to let go.

Everything comes to an end.

#asks #also not me realizing the wasted potential of literally showing the ink demon the end #IT COULD HAVE STOPPED THERE #it's the end. it's fine #it can rest now #the show is over #it doesn't have to be the lonely god of the studio anymore #everyone can go home #WAHHHHHHHH

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hypezombies · 10 months

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No cause seriously, the moment Will stopped being the driving point of everything, the moment the entire Byers family, soul of the show, started being sidelined and they started swaying away from the small town vibes, Stranger Things really lost a huge chunk of its appeal

#i was obsessed with the first two seasons when they came out #i kept rewatching them #with s3 and 4 the feeling of disappointment was bigger than anything else #especially after s3 #took me over a year to give it another chance #and the only thing that made me like it was the scoops troop #im still a huge fan of the show and it makes me sad to think of the wasted potential #stranger things

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thegrantwater · 1 year

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got stoned and rewatched mother [ouat 4x21] again and holy shit that scene when regina drinks the potion to become barren is fucking painful. i don't even have words to describe this right now other than i love regina mills so much and she deserves the fucking world. this poor woman went through so much and i think that particular trauma isn't talked about nearly enough. it also, at least to me, adds even more depth to her relationship with henry than we had before this, because we always knew regina never wanted to be like cora with henry and actively fought against that but then we see even before she had a child of her own regina wanted to protect anyone she'd love from cora at all costs - even if it meant her own chance at happiness. god i wish adam and eddy treated their characters with care and emotion and depth like they deserved instead of making major character points that explain so much of their actions and motivations into throwaway b-plots for one episode a season.

#regina mills #once upon a time #ouat #cora mills #henry mills #i love this show with my whole heart but what the fuck were they ever doing #there is so much wasted potential in all of their characters #i could ramble for ages about emma swan #do not even get me started on regina #i think i understand that woman's psychology better than i do my own #she is my poor little meow meow #imagine of a&e cared about characterization over pushing toxic straight relationships #maybe we would've actually gotten swanqueen #cj rambles #cjwritesouat

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morethanonepage · 1 year

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In episode 10 of Constantine, John says to Zed the Achilles tendon that nullifies magic is Chas' favorite trick. So he is into magic cancelling ropes... something to chew on. Happens around 5min into the episode.

sorry to have taken so long to answer this (though this is NOT the oldest chastantine related message i'm responding to tonight 😬) but also it's partly bc it's driving me insane that this wasn't a bigger deal when the episode first aired, or since then, bc obviously i went to look it up and:

(from a transcript site that doesn't uh identify the speakers, which is unhelpful, but that's john & zed).

i have to admit i haven't re-watched quid pro quo in literal years despite it i guess being one of the most explicitly (lol) chastantine-y episode, between the kiss (i still remember the showrunners being like 'ooooh just wait for episode 10, john's actually going to KISS a MAN' and then it was. chas and it was a cheek kiss which tbh i do still love but also the camera refused to actually let anyone perceive it fully, SO) and the arthurian curse that's forever binding chas to john (or at least till the 47 lives run out) and the hug and the pride flag hanging directly above john, zed, and chas as john looks smugly on at chas threatening someone w a shotgun.

but from what i recall there's a lot of talk in that episode about how well john knows chas (or how well john thinks he knows chas, which is actually what gets him in trouble/punched in the face, ultimately). so that exchange is a nice little hint of that early on in the episode, of john knowing that chas has a favorite (magic related) thing john does. and bc it's chas OF COURSE it's a magic-negating magic related thing (like, bondage potential aside, my first thought was -- was that the first magic-related thing john did for/around chas, to help protect him from whatever queenie was doing to him?) anyways i'm emotional about it, it's fine.

tho obviously the bondage implications ARE NOT LOST ON ME but i think i'd have to do a refresh by watching the episode itself to get a firm grasp on how that would -- potentially work.

#chastantine #(my secret unpopular take is that i actually didn't love that episode as much as i'd hoped i did)#(when i first heard they were going to do a chas- focused episode that dealt w What His Deal was)#(like i did think that part of What His Deal was is a good storyline -- john getting a spell that no one has ever gotten to work before #to work PURELY bc chas is such a selfless person #chef's kiss etc #but tbh i think the episode didn't focus enough on chas and also iirc it's the last episode he's in before the show ends!!!!!!!!!!!#or else he's very minorly in one other one bc i know neither he nor zed are in the ritchie simpson episode (one of the best standalones imo #nor in the finale #ANYWAY on goes my disappointment w the wasted potential of constantien (2014)#it's fine i'mm over it #(i'm not over it and it's been eight years which is like. sad at this point)#john constantine #john constantine kissing dudes 2k14 #chas chandler #he's a bear. and he's a daddy. he's a daddy bear

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eatsteas · 1 year

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my main issue with snw aside from the set design and the annoying quippy dialogue is the continuity. like it makes so many of the tos storylines kinda nonsensical. if the gorn are a known menace to humanity then arena doesn't make that much sense. (also i know it's a prequel but the whole point of arena was to not judge the aliens as violent and warlike.....and then snw comes and makes the aliens irredeemably violent and warlike.....) if t'pring is buds with everyone on the ship the reveal of everyone specifically chapel and uhura having no idea who she is in tos is super weird. id really love if they really started exploring strange new worlds instead of exploring the same plotlines from the 60s. i want to like the show but to me it's just mid.

#also stop trying to tell me spock fucks because i don't believe it #i mean it's no biggie. i can just not watch the show and pretend it doesn't exist #not going to lose sleep over this show.....i just think it's wasted potential....#so tired of rehashed nostalgia #i do like some things they're doing....i love snw uhura and m'benga....but there's other things that just make me go ugh.#not tagging because i dont want it to show up in anyone's search. people who like the show dont need these opinions

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pucksandpower · 14 days

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Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

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sahkuna · 2 months

Text

this is a follow up to this drabble i wrote abt fucking around with yuuji's older brother sukuna :3 but fret not, this can be read as a stand-alone

word count: 1.5k+

content warnings: 18+ minors dni, afab+fem! reader, childhood "friends" with benefits, best friend's brother trope, modern au, slight exhibitionism on the behalf of u and sukuna :3

You would rather die than step out into Sukuna's living room where his younger brother, Itadori Yuuji, sits blissfully unaware of your presence.

Half of you does not have the heart to walk out there and potentially expose the fact that ‘Hey, I’m that ‘random girl' that Sukuna has been canoodling with! Sorry about that, by the way!’ You couldn’t imagine his reaction and didn’t want to find out anytime soon, so you’re currently hiding out in Sukuna’s bedroom— praying and hoping that Yuuji would leave before you do.

After hearing the younger Itadori brother’s unrelenting fists pounding at Sukuna’s front door, you were absolutely mortified at the timing of it all. From his arrival to how Sukuna was balls deep inside your pussy— and showed little to no concern at the fact that Yuuji might hear the… commotion… on the other side— it all went from good to bad real fast.

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to grow irritated with the sounds of Yuuji’s incessant whining for him to open the door and not invite him over when he’s got ‘some girl’ there, before he finally pulled out of you, threw on some clothes and yanked the door open. Almost ripping it off its hinges.

Pushing back the thoughts of the sex (and how incredible it was), you focus on the main task at hand.

You need to leave. Now.

Squatted down on the floor, you search for your black lace bralette that Sukuna tossed into a corner hours before his little brother’s abrupt arrival. “Can’t believe this…” you mutter under your breath.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint snicker coming from the man who got you in this predicament in the first place. He watches you with careful eyes as you tip-toe around his room with nothing but your jeans and socks on, trying not to alert your best friend in the next room over of your presence. “Relax, the brat can’t even hear you,” he says.

“You don’t know that,” you all but hiss, throwing a threatening glare (one that he doesn’t flinch under) Sukuna’s way. “He could be waiting there, ready to accost me the moment I walk out!”

Honestly, you wouldn’t blame Yuuji if he did choose to confront you and verbally rip you to shreds. For Christ’s sake, you were fucking his brother behind his back! Quite literally.

But despite the circumstances of you starting a “friends with benefits” type of relationship with Sukuna and how terrible it made you feel to secretly withhold something so significant from your best friend, you’d be lying if you said you wanted to stop.

Judging how Sukuna’s gaze trails up the expanse of your belly and lifts higher to linger briefly on the swell of your breasts, it’s safe to say he thinks the same.

You toss a protective arm over your exposed chest to preserve some of your dignity despite the circumstances.

“Can you just—” you flounder for words, trying to find the best words to use next and finally settle on something. “Distract him? Talk to him so that when I leave, he doesn’t have time to digest that it’s me.”

There’s an amused glint in his eye, he’s far too entertained at your frail attempts to at least salvage this shitty situation. Your eyes leave him in search of your bra once more and breathe a quiet sigh of relief once you do spot it behind his dresser. “Just walk out the door. Who cares.”

Wasting no time you throw on the undergarment, clasping it shut before your attention is drawn back to Sukuna. Your face morphs into pure astonishment at how nonchalant he is about this… and reckless. “Are you crazy?!” you whisper-yell for the second time that day.

The corners of his lips curl up, forming a wicked grin. “It’ll be fine. You should go out as you are right now.” He gestures at your half-dressed figure with an uncaring hand. “I’m sure he’ll like it.”

Speaking of…

“Give me one of your sweaters. Preferably one that has a hood.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, and his tone lowers a bit. “Leave with what you came with. Don’t know why you’re so threatened over the fact that he’ll see you.”

“No! Yuuji’s seen me one too many times in this shirt,” you reference the tee that is scribbled with your university’s name on its front, “so he’ll know it’s me if he were to turn his head.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue with annoyance and though it’s brief, you catch an expression that you can only chalk up to be one of disappointment flicker across his face before he schools it back into indifference. “Fine.”

Standing abruptly, Sukuna leaves his spot on his bed to head toward the closet. He digs around for a few seconds before he pulls out a black sweater and flings it at your face, effectively clouding your vision until you peel it off. “Hurry up then.” Is all you hear before he leaves the room to go see Yuuji once again.

Okay. That went… pretty well? Excluding the tough time Sukuna gave you before and after.

You let out another involuntary moan when Sukuna drives his hips into you when another round of knocks echoes throughout his apartment. You can feel your cunt squeeze around his cock, feeling the intense heat from the predicament you both were in right now.

“You’re real perverted, huh?” Sukuna’s hand finds the back of your neck. He squeezes. “Don’t tell me you’re getting turned on by this?”

Another muffled exclamation escapes you as you try to refute it, but Sukuna laughs at your attempt.

Yuuji might hear. Yuuji might hear. Yuuji might hear. That was all you could think of.

“Cute.” Is all Sukuna says before he’s back to thrusting his hips against yours. Forcing you to take it as you lay in a blissful, helpless state on his bed, rocking the bed roughly with every movement he made.

In and out, over and over and over and—

You smack your palms against your cheeks. Stop! Stop. Thinking. About it! You remind yourself.

You’re sure you’ve spent too much time here anyway, so you throw on Sukuna’s sweater hurriedly. As you hype yourself up to exit, you tuck away any hair that may show into the hoodie.

Thankfully, it seems like Yuuji has delved into chattering boisterously away about God knows what to Sukuna, while his older brother just sits there only offering a few grunts and affirmatory noises to show that he was listening. Kinda… Not really.

Stepping out from the bedroom, you close the door in a manner that would have Sukuna chiding you to ‘hurry the fuck up’. Once that’s done, you very quietly pad down the hallway and make a beeline straight towards your shoes. You thank your lucky stars you chose ones that were easy to slip on.

Great. Everything is going smoothly so far.

Yuuji’s still talking away and unaware of your company and you’re all dressed, ready to head back out to where the bustling street of Tokyo awaits you.

But it gets shot down too fast. Before you can even grasp your hand around the doorknob, you hear Sukuna speak up from behind you.

“Leaving so soon?”

That fucking asshole.

No way in hell did he just draw attention to you right as you were about to step out the door.

Biting your cheek you keep your back facing them, forehead pressed into the door’s frame as you grip its doorknob to refrain from screaming. “Mhm!”

Sukuna’s laughter is low and taunting. You can tell that he’s basking in this moment, being able to mock both you and his little brother at the same time in a manner that screams I know something that you don’t know. “You know, she went to the same school as you, kid.” He’s now talking to Yuuji, prompting him to say something to you and he bites.

“It’s uh… nice to meet you?” you hear Yuuji say.

God, you can even picture that dumb confused yet polite expression he makes when he’s caught in an awkward situation.

“Mhm!” you repeat, because what the fuck else is there to say?

There’s a long beat of silence, the brothers don’t say anything and neither do you. You wouldn’t dare.

It isn’t until Itadori’s voice from the couch floats over to you. His tone is riddled with confusion and a bit of recognition. “Hold on, I think I—”

“I’m gonna see her off, don’t move.” Sukuna commands, successfully interrupting his train of thought. Swooping into the rescue, you hear him come up to you. He toes on his shoes and places his palm on top of yours so that he can twist the knob open. His hand dwarfs the size of your own.

Woof.

You’re ushered outside, and it’s like that all the way to the elevator with Sukuna’s hand still seizing your hand. It’s only when you slap your hand against the button calling for the elevator that he lets go. You don’t bother exchanging any parting words for him, seeing that you’re too peeved to do so anyway. Thus, Sukuna speaks up before the lift dings signifying its arrival.

“Same time next week?”

“Shut. Up!”

#sahkuna!#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #bfb sukuna #LETS GOOOOOO AHHHH #idk why when i put a divider it doesn’t show in the tags but whateva

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avatar-anna · 4 months

Text

Moments caught between Harry and Y/n on camera at the Brits

just something fun because harry at the brits was a mess but we love him for it!

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

The red carpet is loud and raucous, bright lights flashing as people shout for the attention of celebrities. One couple in particular is the center of attention the second they step on the carpet.

Harry Styles and a woman walk arm-in-arm, a broad grin on his face and a shy smile on hers. Harry seems to be whispering something in the woman's ear, his nose pressed against the crown of her head. It makes her visibly relax, her grin widening and becoming more authentic as they take a couple more steps.

The woman is the recently revealed Y/n Styles, Harry Styles' long-time partner that he'd somehow kept from the rest of the world for over a decade. But she was here tonight, just as she had been at the Grammys a couple weeks ago, and the cameras now track their every move, intrigued by this new-ish couple.

"Harry! Harry! Harry, over here!"

"Y/n!"

"Harry, did you really marry Y/n when you were in One Direction?"

"Y/n, how does it feel to be with the most famous man in music?"

Y/n, who's hard to miss in a red dress that fits like a glove, shrinks almost imperceptibly against Harry's side. Harry looks down at her, and the husband and wife share a look as if they're having an unspoken conversation.

Then he mutters something to her, and Y/n laughs as Harry kisses her cheek, but not before nudging his nose against it. The shouts double, so used to Harry's stoic approach to being out in the public eye, but both of them move steadily down the carpet, not paying the paparazzi and reporters any mind.

*.*

During their walk down the red carpet, Harry and Y/n come across a barricaded section for fans of the artists in attendance. They all cheer as each celebrity walks by, shouting compliments and proclamations of love for their favorite.

Y/n once again hesitates on Harry's arm, wary eyes darting toward the boisterous fans. At the same time, Harry is called to by a reporter asking for an interview. Checking in with his wife, he departs with a kiss to her forehead, murmuring words the cameras can't quite pick up.

Y/n stands on her own, one arm crossed over her stomach as she tries to stay standing tall. Fans call out to her from the barricade in a way that's difficult to ignore. She waves at them with a small smile, but it's clear they want her to come closer.

With one glance at her husband, who's still speaking with the reporter, and another to a security guard close by, she nods to the latter and they step closer to the barricade, just close enough in proximity that she can actually make out distinct voices and words.

"Y/n we love you!"

"Where did you meet Harry?"

"How long have you been together?"

"Ugh, you are so mother in that dress!"

"What's your skincare routine?"

"What's Harry's?"

The tense set of her shoulders eases a bit, no longer apprehensive of the fans and their potential to be cruel.

"I feel like I met him a lifetime ago," she says. "And I just cleanse, moisturize, and use SPF."

"How come we've never seen you at shows?"

"What's your favorite Harry song?"

"Are you friends with One Direction?"

"Where were you last year when Harry got wasted?"

Y/n chuckles at the last question, her eyes lighting up as her hand covers her mouth. "I've always had a soft spot for 'Ever Since New York.'"

"Taste!" a fan yells, decibels louder above the rest, which garners laughter from everyone.

"Can you make Harry release 'Medicine?'" another asks.

Before Y/n answers, Harry appears by her side, an arm snaking around her waist. "There you are. Got sidetracked by your own interview, did you?"

"They were just asking if I'd help them in their quest for a studio version of 'Medicine.' I'm not sure if I can, though. They don't know how stubborn you are."

A chorus of boos went up at Y/n's answer, but not at her. Harry raised his eyebrows at his wife as if in challenge, but her responding gaze is quite mischievous.

Taking everyone, including Y/n, by surprise, he leans in to kiss her cheek, saying, "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, darling?"

A chorus of aww's ring through the small crowd of fans as Harry places his hand on Y/n's lower back, ushering her away from the barricade. Y/n raises an eyebrow at her husband, who is conveniently not meeting her eye. "Nice save."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never call me darling."

Harry lets out a snort. "Lies. Lies on the red carpet tonight."

Y/n rolls her eyes but leans in close to her husband, carefully avoiding the fabric flower around his neck. "Mhmm. Let's go, darling."

*.*

An artist is being interviewed inside the O2, and Harry and Y/n are videotaped in the background.

In the very corner, the couple are leaning in close and talking, a drink in each one of their hands. Harry talks animatedly, gesturing with his drink to the point where it nearly spills on Y/n's dress. Y/n doesn't seem to mind and just throws back her head as she laughs. His eyes light up as he watches her, a word that could only be described as love encompassing his face.

*.*

During one of the performances, a camera pans to Harry's table. The house lights are dim, but he's still visible amongst the flashes of color from the stage. Harry sits in his chair, body slumped a little low so he can rest his head on Y/n's shoulder.

Both of their attention is on the performer onstage, not noticing as a few cameras are pointed in their direction as Y/n scratches the back of Harry's neck absentmindedly. He leans into her touch, looking up occasionally to say something to his wife.

*.*

"And the winner is...Harry Styles!"

Cheers erupted throughout the room, the table Harry is at standing up. Harry himself stays seated and curls in on himself, pumping his arms victoriously as he beams. His eyes are a little glassy, his hair unkempt, a sign that the night has progressed with lots of alcohol consumption.

He turns to his sister Gemma first as he stands up, high-fiving her before giving her a hug and fist-bumping someone else. Then he turns to Y/n, who hasn't stopped clapping since his name had been read for the third time from the envelope.

She opens her arms as if to accept a hug, but Harry has other plans. He leans forward and kisses her in a way that's merely pressing his smile against hers until they mold their mouths into a kiss. Then he kisses her cheek repeatedly, making her shoulders bunch as she smiles brightly.

When Harry finally pulls away, Y/n's cheeks are flushed as she tries to wipe at her husband's face with her thumb. With one last kiss, he heads up to the stage to accept his award.

*.*

Another performance, only this time, everyone is on their feet, including Harry and Y/n.

Harry's arms are wrapped around Y/n's shoulders from behind, his chin on her shoulder. Both of them sway from side to side to the rhythm of the song as Harry mouthed the words in Y/n's ear.

Her grin is wide as her eyes stay trained on the performance. Then, she looks back at Harry, who met her gaze as she says something.

Nodding, he kisses her once on the cheek before nodding back to the stage.

*.*

As Kid speaks into the microphone onstage saying his thank yous, Harry is having the time of his life behind his friend as he speaks to Stanley Tucci.

By now it's a little obvious he's had more than a couple drinks. His hair is nothing short of a mess, his dress shirt is a little more unbuttoned than it had been to begin with, and he throws his head back and laughs in a way that is fueled by drunken delight.

Briefly, the camera turns to Harry's wife, who stands beside Gemma. Y/n's hands hold her face as she watches her husband be ushered offstage by the people around him. She giggles a little before leaning over to Gemma and shaking her head. Gemma laughs along with her, covering her mouth as she says something to the woman beside her.

The camera flashes back to Harry, who turns around one last time so he can blow a kiss to the crowd, more specifically, Y/n, who the camera catches covering her face in her hands, cheeks as red as her dress.

*.*

Paparazzi shout at their latest persons of interest as they make the brief walk from the car to the entrance of a club where the after party for the Brits is being held.

Harry's arms are tightly wrapped around Y/n's waist, face set as he ignores the crowd of people shouting for his attention. Y/n, turned slightly inward towards Harry's chest, keeps pace beside him. Most of her body is covered by what can only be her husband's suit jacket, but with the open front, a hint of a sparkly pink dress can be seen, a drastic change from her award show attire.

The only time they separate is when Harry allows Y/n entrance into the club first before following close behind, his hand once again protectively hovering over the small of her back.

*.*

Photos are strictly forbidden inside of the club, so it isn't until the couple emerges from the doors once again that they're spotted.

Neither of them stumble, though paparazzi wouldn't have cared if they were. All eyes are on Harry's disheveled hair, the heels dangling from his fingers, the suit jacket draped over the arm not around his wife. They're on Y/n, whose dress is completely on display, the beading that covers its entirety flashing with every snap of the camera's shutter.

Then the collar of Harry's silk dress shirt shifted, revealing a harsh purple bruise that hadn't been there before. Neither Harry nor Y/n seem to notice, or understand why the cacophony of shouts became louder, they just continue on, Y/n's hand on the nape of her husband's neck idly scratching until he helps her into the car.

Following suit, Harry climbs inside. For a brief moment, Harry sticks his head out the open window of the car and winks and sticks his tongue out at all the photographers. Y/n appears from her side of the car, leaning across her husband to bring the window up. Not an ounce of care in the world, he leans forward to kiss his wife's exposed jaw. With an exasperated expression on her face and a delicate wave of her fingers, the window goes up, and though the windows are tinted, a hand is visible against the glass as the car peeled away from the curb.

#harry styles #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #young parent!harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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emeryleewho · 10 days

Text

Saw a fun little conversation on Threads but I don't have a Threads account, so I couldn't reply directly, but I sure can talk about it here!

I've been wanting to get into this for awhile, so here we go! First and foremost, I wanna say that "Emmaskies" here is really hitting the nail on the head despite having "no insider info". I don't want this post to be read as me shitting on trad pub editors or authors because that is fundamentally not what's happening.

Second, I want to say that this reply from Aaron Aceves is also spot on:

There are a lot of reviewers who think "I didn't enjoy this" means "no one edited this because if someone edited it, they would have made it something I like". As I talk about nonstop on this account, that is not a legitimate critique. However, as Aaron also mentions, rushed books are a thing that also happens.

As an author with 2 trad pub novels and 2 trad pub anthologies (all with HarperCollins, the 2nd largest trad publisher in the country), let me tell you that if you think books seem less edited lately, you are not making that up! It's true! Obviously, there are still a sizeable number of books that are being edited well, but something I was talking about before is that you can't really know that from picking it up. Unlike where you can generally tell an indie book will be poorly edited if the cover art is unprofessional or there are typoes all over the cover copy, trad is broken up into different departments, so even if editorial was too overworked to get a decent edit letter churned out, that doesn't mean marketing will be weak.

One person said that some publishers put more money into marketing than editorial and that's why this is happening, but I fundamentally disagree because many of these books that are getting rushed out are not getting a whole lot by way of marketing either! And I will say that I think most authors are afraid to admit if their book was rushed out or poorly edited because they don't want to sabotage their books, but guess what? I'm fucking shameless. Café Con Lychee was a rush job! That book was poorly edited! And it shows! Where Meet Cute Diary got 3 drafts from me and my beta readers, another 2 drafts with me and my agent, and then another 2 drafts with me and my editor, Café Con Lychee got a *single* concrete edit round with my editor after I turned in what was essentially a first draft. I had *three weeks* to rewrite the book before we went to copy edits. And the thing is, this wasn't my fault. I knew the book needed more work, but I wasn't allowed more time with it. My editor was so overworked, she was emailing me my edit letter at 1am. The publisher didn't care if the book was good, and then they were upset that its sales weren't as high at MCD's, but bffr. A book that doesn't live up to its potential is not going to sell at the same rate as one that does!

And this may sound like a fluke, but it's not. I'm not naming names because this is a deeply personal thing to share, but I have heard from *many* authors who were not happy with their second books. Not because they didn't love the story but because they felt so rushed either with their initial drafts or their edits that they didn't feel like it lived up to their potential. I also know of authors who demanded extra time because they knew their books weren't there yet only to face big backlash from their publisher or agent.

I literally cannot stress to you enough that publisher's *do not give a fuck* about how good their products are. If they can trick you into buying a poorly edited book with an AI cover that they undercut the author for, that is *better* than wasting time and money paying authors and editors to put together a quality product. And that's before we get into the blatant abuse that happens at these publishers and why there have been mass exoduses from Big 5 publishers lately.

There's also a problem where publishers do not value their experienced staff. They're laying off so many skilled, dedicated, long-term committed editors like their work never meant anything. And as someone who did freelance sensitivity reading for the Big 5, I can tell you that the way they treat freelancers is *also* abysmal. I was almost always given half the time I asked for and paid at less than *half* of my general going rate. Authors publishing out of their own pockets could afford my rate, but apparently multi-billion dollar corporations couldn't. Copy edits and proofreads are often handled by freelancers, meaning these are people who aren't familiar with the author's voice and often give feedback that doesn't account for that, plus they're not people who are gonna be as invested in the book, even before the bad payment and ridiculous timelines.

So, anyway, 1. go easy on authors and editors when you can. Most of us have 0 say in being in this position and authors who are in breech of their contract by refusing to turn in a book on time can face major legal and financial ramifications. 2. Know that this isn't in your head. If you disagree with the choices a book makes, that's probably just a disagreement, but if you feel like it had so much potential but just *didn't reach it*, that's likely because the author didn't have time to revise it or the editor didn't have time to give the sort of thorough edits it needed. 3. READ INDIE!!! Find the indie authors putting in the work the Big 5's won't do and support them! Stop counting on exploitative mega-corporations to do work they have no intention of doing.

Finally, to all my readers who read Café Con Lychee and loved it, thank you. I love y'all, and I appreciate y'all, and I really wish I'd been given the chance to give y'all the book you deserved. I hope I can make it up to you in 2025.

#publishing #writing #author #trad pub #traditional publishing #café con lychee #books

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