#(and not just because I'm not “trying hard enough”)

[salemrph]

Sleepy morning with Sylus

A/N: While I was reading some other posts yesterday, I came across a user asking what it would be like to wake up next to Sylus. My imagination jumped on it right away! I would say this is more of a headcanon than a fanfic. I focused more how he would experience it. Short write, just because I'm working on other stuff.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 1,430 | Reading Time: 5 min

Background music

Your laughter echoes through his bedroom as you try to break free from his grip, his breath tickling your skin. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, pressing himself against your naked body. You smell incredible, so intoxicatingly good that waking up next to you must be heaven on earth.

You squirm and kick, already in tears from laughing so hard. He can't get enough of that sound, of the way you smile, the way you close your eyes and lean your head back. Your presence is like a flowerbed in full bloom, vibrant and breathtaking. Blooming in its full splendor.

Whenever he can, he admires you. When you sleep, he counts the moles on your body, tracing them with his fingertips. He caresses the scars you've earned as a fierce Hunter, kissing every natural fold of your skin. His touch follows the curve of your back, the delicate shape of your ass, down to your legs. The same legs that always wrap around him in the intensity of passion.

He loves you, more than he could ever show to you. It wouldn't be enough, ever.

"Sylus—"  you gasp between laughs, struggling against him as your muscles start to cramp.

"You have so much energy, kitten" you keep laughing, you are so ticklish this morning. His nose brushes against your neck before he nips at your skin, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You squirm even more, still breathless from laughter. "I will pee myself... Stop!"

He hums against your skin, only tightening his hold. He isn't really awake, he wants to keep sleeping, enjoying the peaceful morning with you. Sylus has worked hard to clear his schedule, to be with you like this. To adapt to your routine, make breakfast, and simply enjoy a normal day at your side.

"Then pee..."  he teases. 

"Gross! Let go." You protest, thoroughly disgusted by his suggestion.

"Not even in dreams, sweetie" he chuckles while still kissing your shoulder.

"Sy..." you whine. That tone, the way you try to get your way putting that face, that tone in your voice. The one that makes his heart melt no matter how much he tries to resist. He growls, reluctant to release you completely. His grip tightening for a moment before he finally exhales and relaxes.

"Go. You have 2 minutes to come back". 

You waste no time jumping out of bed, only to earn a slap on your ass.

"Hey!" You spin around, shooting him a glare. Sylus only smirks.

"I like how it wiggles"

You disappear in the bathroom. Sylus shifts onto his back, crossing both arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a rare sense of peace. Yeah… he could get used to this. No, he wants to get used to this. The wealth he possesses and everything he has done has been nothing more than a way to ensure your safety. The years he spent searching for you taught him that he had to be prepared for anything. Losing you again was not in his plans. And if the day ever comes when you no longer love him, it won’t change a thing. He would still protect you, even from the shadows.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you sneaking back into bed. Carefully, you inch closer, suppressing a grin as you reach out to poke his cheek. But before you can even make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

"Feeling playful this morning, my love?"

"Just a bit" you smirk. Sylus laughed.

"What do you want to play?" You tilt your head, pausing deliberately as your eyes drift over his bare chest, trailing down to his toned abs. The sheets rest low on his hips, and the way you’re looking at him doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows that look.

With effortless ease, he shifts, pulling you toward him until you land on top of his body.

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. The color of your lips is already beautiful, but he loves it even more when they darken after passionate kisses. His lips part slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, mesmerized by the infinite depth of your shining eyes.

You lean in, pressing tender kisses across his face before finally finding his lips. Your entire body relaxes, melting into him. Savoring the slow movement of your mouth. Heat growing in your body. Between you two. The kiss deepens bit by bit, his tongue tracing your lips, later moving beyond, slipping inside, tasting you. You sigh into him, already lost in the spreading feelings of longing.

His hand has already trapped you. One sitting on your back, the other on your ass, keeping you close. He is getting harder by the second. His need for you is growing. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips grounding you in the moment. There is no rush, no urgency. You have the complete morning and day to melt in each other.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is warm against your lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he exhales deeply. This is a dream, he thinks. A damn good dream. And he has no intention of waking up.

One hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. He doesn’t need to speak; everything he feels is in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious. You cover his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. A faint smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again.

Sylus takes his time, enjoying how your body reacts to him, the quiet gasps, the way your fingers tangle in his hair. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper. He watches you with a quiet intensity, taking in the way you melt under his touch. The space between you disappears, lost in the unhurried way he moves. Once more, your worlds merge, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understand.

That's how you start the morning: with him, with you, with nothing beyond these four walls mattering. Just the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of your hearts, and the love that neither of you needs to put into words.

[worrywrite]

Okay, so I know there's a bigger branch of this post.

But I want to take this a different direction.

So, when Harrow and her team of spirits fight off Wake they win because Ortus believes so hard in Nonius that he brings a perfect fix-it fic version of Nonius into being that is just strong enough to fight Wake back. And for reference, Wake is quite possibly the strongest willed character in the entire series bar none (she orbital dropped onto Pluto with a broken space suit, crashes with next to no oxygen in her system and at lethal levels of hypoxia, and she's still trying to get to her feet still trying to get to the tomb, still cursing Gideon, the nuns have to put her down).

So imagine, narcissist Ianthe, tower prince, gets her brain shoved out of her puppet and there's Palamedes. She thought he was dead. But wait, what's this, it's his entire fanfiction cast that looks strangely like an erotic novel she read once out of boredom. But wait, again, something is wrong. Every character at his beck and call is imbued with the strength, skill, and determination of Camilla Hect the intergalactic badass that wiped the floor with Ianthe's swordmaster boy toy (let the record show that I tried to type "boytoy" and forgot the space but autocorrect changed it to "bottom" and I think that's very accurate, thank you auto-correct) that she stole her skills from. So Ianthe has to go all out against one of the most dangerous Necromancers she knows (possibly the most dangerous non-lyctor she is aware of) and a small army of regency smut clones of one of the most dangerous fighters she is aware of (and I'm not laundering Camilla's skill, she went toe to toe with an incredibly skilled lyctor while she had broken bones and blood loss and these clones are Camilla as Palamedes sees her, so even better). Also, maybe there's a Naberius specter in there and he's pissed too, but more of a third party to it all.

If this is an actual battle in a river bubble, it probably looks less like Ianthe struggling to hold her own and more Palamedes just relentlessly beating back an unstoppable force with countless immovable objects.

Though, let's be honest, it's a battle of wills. They're both incredibly stubborn. Palamedes just wants it more. For Ianthe this is a game for her pride and personal goals. For Palamedes, it's a battle of life or death.

Seriously tho Palamedes said his battle with Ianthe took "a great deal longer" than a few seconds. How long did it take?? What was it like?

It would have been in the River, like Wake and Nonius' duel. And it would have been between two master necromancers already proficient in navigating the River. It could be anything. All bets are off.

[zae-heeyyy]

Evanesce

Summary: You try to runway. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 3,673 Tags: angst, smut, mid-low honor Arthur, handjob, unprotected p in v, oral, breeding kink, tb? Don’t know her. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, toxic relationship

An: I feel like I ran a never ending marathon with this one. Drafted it a month ago, but I never really vibed with it. Challenged myself to just get it done and make sure I was proud of it. Once again, I'm trying to step out of my comfort zone. Shout out to @googoolies for the note idea! As always, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Tagging @hihomeghere because you asked ❤️

Evanesce: to dissipate like vapor

Worn floorboards of Shady Bell wailed under Arthur’s weight as songbirds began their morning melodies. The gunslinger scoped the eerily empty, quiet camp for traces of you, but all he found was a folded letter on his pillow.

Echoes of your last conversation flashed in his mind as he tramped across the narrow room to retrieve the note. Two nights ago, The Old Guard overlooked their kingdom from the second-floor balcony as they discussed their plans to wage war against Angelo Bronte. Bile stung the back of your throat as two-thirds of the trio outruled the other. Hosea’s final words to Dutch and Arthur, “You’ll damn us all,” filled you with dread and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom.

Arthur avoided your shadowed eyes as he reloaded his weapons and ignored your outcry against Dutch’s plan. Your desperation had turned swiftly to indignation, and an argument commenced, your voices clashing like swords. You begged him not to go, pleading with the enforcer to listen to reason for once, to listen to you. But he pushed back with the shield of obstinance he had long forged for survival. 

“I don’t take orders from you, woman, and keep your goddamn voice down.”

Thousands of tiny needles pricked at the backs of your eyes at the harsh directive, but you held firm. 

“Arthur, if you go I’ll–” 

“Don’t,” he warned dismissively, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and ambling to the door. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he twisted the knob. Your last words fell on ears deafened from years of gunfire. 

“If you leave, I won’t be here when you come back.”

Two days later, Arthur masked his guilt with anger as he skimmed over the last piece of you left in the room. Four words in the polite loops of your handwriting taunted him: Saint Denis. Train. Running. 

After a quick check of the cinch, he found himself begrudgingly engulfed in the city of smog and greed he’d come to hate so much. Riding through the maze of cobblestone, brick, and vermin was like laying under a guillotine, staring up at the blade and waiting for it to drop. Law on every corner, people jammed together, and now, Bronte’s men out for revenge–none of it felt right. 

Taking in a breath that didn’t reach deep enough, he started his search for you in this hornets’ nest of a city. Most of the hotels and saloons served him with nothing but a heavy dose of adrenaline and dead ends. As he approached Doyle’s Tavern, his last stop, he dug his nails into his trembling palm, savoring the sting of apathy that came with the pain.

Arthur made a beeline to Gabe Doyle, reciting his rehearsed description of you. A woman standing beside him, whose garments had seen cleaner days, tapped him on the shoulder. The outlaw didn’t even look at her, didn’t give her time to speak before he rejected her with razor-edge disdain. When Arthur finished, Gabe only shrugged his shoulders, but the woman, still standing close by, let out a derisive giggle.

“He won’t be of no help, mista’. Coulda’ told ya’ for free, but it’ll cost ya’ now.”

Ire made his ears ring, drowning out all the other sounds in the slum’s saloon. He drummed his fingers hard on the worn wooden bar, the taste of pride sour on his tongue. 

“How much?” 

Cleavage spilled over her top as she leaned towards him and twiddled brazenly with the collar of his shirt. 

“Well, for clients that play nice, seven dollars, but for you, rotten dirty bastard––times it by ten.” 

A minute later, he exited Doyle’s Tavern not a cent lighter, heavy with an indefinite ban, but finally, a real lead on you. Four new mocking words overshadowed ones from the letter: Whore house; Courtenay Street. 

A brothel—a goddamn brothel. 

Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor.

They tried futilely to stop his march down the hall, tried to keep him from getting to you, but the chaos drew you into the colosseum and into the lion’s direct line of sight. You yanked the man-turned-animal by the sleeve and sealed yourselves away before he could do any more damage. 

More tame now, sea storm orbs surveyed you in a quick but covert once over, then he spun on his heel, searching for anything else to focus on.

“Christ, been looking for you all day, woman,” he bit out through clenched teeth. 

The lone wolf prowled the new territory for a threat but was only met with a vacant cave and the empty feeling of shame. Deflecting, he found your luggage, lifting the bags with the practiced ease of carrying buckets of water to and fro. His biceps flexed with the weight of your whole life in one bag, but he nodded at you, matter of fact. 

“C’mon. M’taking you home.”

Home. You could’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. None of these places had ever been home.

“I ain’t going nowhere with you,” you fired back, grabbing for the suitcase in his hand. A brief game of tug-of-war ensued, your grip relentless, Arthur’s unwavering, until he finally let you pull one of the bags free. He dropped the other and exhaled with the sharpness of a saber but stayed silent at the conclusion of your weaponless duel. He’d fallen in love with that gnawing defiance, but now it was tearing him to pieces, bit by bit until it exposed the marrow of pure anger.

“Runnin’ off is one thing.” His nostrils flared, and the timbre of his voice deepened as he carried on, “But running off t’here–– selling yourself?” He shook his head and blew air through his teeth, “Yer crazier than I thought.”

You whirled away from him, swatting your hand like he was as insignificant as a fly.

“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Ain’t selling myself, you damn fool! And I’ll do whatever the hell I please. Right now, I want to get far away from this shit city and you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, dragging out the words. “I know you just as well as you think you know me. If you wanted away–really wanted away–you wouldn’t’ve left this pretty little letter, and sure as hell wouldn’t’ve told me where to find ya’.” He retrieved the letter from his satchel, held it up just long enough for you to see, and crushed it in his fist before discarding it on the floor.

“That’s what I think of your pretty little letter.” 

You had started a slow involuntary backtrack during his monologue, the flight response pushing back against the fight. He followed, sandwiching you between himself and the door.

“Screw you.” Scorn was hot on your breath.   

Just as you thought to turn the knob, to free yourself from the prison of flesh and wood, the iron teeth of a bear trap, his fingers, clamped around your wrist, bringing your hand to eye level. 

“And you still got something of mine.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on a small round sparkling opal set in a gold band on your left ring finger.

You’d never forget finding it on your pillow along with a letter from Arthur that just said, “One day…”

He had made promises he didn’t keep. First, you just had to wait for the Ferry Job. Next, you needed to survive Colter. Then you had to get far away from the Pinkertons, and most recently, all you needed to do was help case the Lemoyne National Bank. One last job, he’d told you. It was the same thing he said before leaving for that boat in Blackwater.

Contempt flowed through your veins as you tried to wrench free. God, you hated him right now, but you hated yourself more for letting him fool you.

“Let go.” You hissed, seething. 

Your hand throbbed as he gave your wrist another squeeze.

“You first.” Then he nodded towards the stone on your finger. “My ring,” he demanded.

Your knuckles collided with the wood of the door with a hard knock as you freed your hand. You flattened your palm against the wood behind your back, guarding the ring from the career thief’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you shot back, sinking into yourself. “It’s mine.” 

Your finger throbbed around the ring you’d seldom taken off. It had become part of you, melded to your skin like a vine coiled around a tree in a beautiful and deadly embrace. 

“Yours?” he huffed incredulously, shaking his head, trying to form your words into something he could understand. For a short beat, the heavy huff and puff of his breath was the only thing you could register. 

You had mined forever to find something other than cold coals of anger within him. You thought you’d found it—thought you’d finally struck gold when he confessed his feelings for you somewhere out west all that time ago. Now, you were left wondering if it was only fool’s gold you had stumbled upon. The cowardly knight was far too proud and far too afraid of getting stabbed to lay down his armor. But you were having a silent conversation with those sad eyes, reading words he’d never speak or ask aloud. What does that make me, then? 

“Yours.” He answered his inner thoughts without hesitation.

Mine. You thought back but only stared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of cracking under his scrutiny. 

“Yours.” He repeated assuredly, final. 

It was your turn to shake your head now; you could hear his vocal cords vibrating, generating sounds you were supposed to understand, but he may as well have been speaking another language because what the hell did he know about being anybody else’s? You repeated your thoughts bluntly.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his hand shot out, cupping your jaw and tilting your face toward his. He was so close, you could smell him now. The scents of liquor on his breath and leather in his hat permeated your whole being.

“You don’t think–” His voice was low and trembling with fury. “I been yours since the goddamn day I laid eyes on you, and you know it.”

Fight, flight, freeze, and now fawn all warred for dominance. Twin mirrors of blue cosmos peered into your soul, but you didn’t look back, knowing that black holes of destruction ruled in the center and could swallow you in the blink of an eye.

“You have to go, Arthur.”

You tried to reach for the knob again, but Arthur imposed on you further, his chest brushing against yours. 

“No,” he said. “I ain’t going nowhere without you, and you ain’t going nowhere without me. M’done talking about it.”

It’s like he couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t respect what you wanted. He only ever responded to shouting and violence. So you dipped down to his level, anything to get him to understand. Your open hand pushed full force against his chest, knocking the wind from him and making him stumble backward.

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!”  

But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw.

“No, dammit, cause you own me.” 

You balled your fists around cotton fabric and pulled him down into you, inhaling like you were bracing for the worst. This game, Predator and Prey, had become second nature to you. You would always be his fawn, thrashing and wailing, yet never escaping the salivating jaws of the coyote. And it always ended the same: a clash of heavy breathing and snarls before you surrendered.

Tobacco and whiskey never tasted so good, and they were just as addictive as him. Your teeth clashed together, and his left hand fell to your hip while his right twisted the lock on the knob. 

He was never gentle, but now, he was almost crazed. Rough hands that were trembling only an hour ago were all over you, gripping your jaw, sliding under your blouse, pushing and pulling you to his whim.

“Falling in love with you was the dumbest thing I ever did,” you confessed as he removed his hat and set it aside; he had better access to you without it. Heat surged through you as his hands bit into your hips, pinning you in place against the locked door. 

You mumble under your breath, “Bastard.”  

So far, he was ignoring your attempts to rouse him; you were his pretty little doe, caught in his chops, and a few barbs wouldn’t keep him from utterly devouring you. Dipping his head into your neck, he fixated on that pulsing artery, taking no time to roll the flesh between his teeth.

“Goddamn asshole,” you huffed but cradled his head as he claimed you.

He brushed over the ruptured blood vessels with his knuckles, and the bastard was smiling, eyes glazed over with lust and self-indulgence. Electricity sparked down your legs as he looped his fingers in the waistband of your skirt. 

You swore to yourself two nights ago that it was all over, that you wouldn’t let him slither back, yet here you were, Eve, being tempted by the serpent. Teeth sank into the forbidden fruit with the lift of your hips off the door, giving him permission to snatch both your skirt and bloomers down in a swift pull. Arthur didn’t need much persuasion to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; a man like him could have never lived for eternity in The Garden of Eden. 

The pair of you wore pride like heraldry, but neither of you was as honorable as you’d led the other to believe. You, provoking him with the threat of leaving, knowing you’d let this happen as you always did, and him never changing and never stopping the cycle of broken promises. 

Your scent was intoxicating, but he held off from relishing it, studying your face like he’d done many times before. Something was different this time, though. Only for a heartbeat, you saw something in his eye, a minuscule hint of vulnerability. You blinked, and it was gone like it was never there, replaced by an unabashed smirk. You kept the insults flying. 

“Jerk.”

Hearing the laugh rumble in his chest made your skin prick up the same way it did when a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon. The cowboy braced his hands against your thighs and peeked up at you, his lips still curved in the corners.

He lifted his eyebrow in question, “You done?”

“Shut up,” you responded, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him, not so gracefully, to the heat between your legs. 

Obeying, he flicked his tongue out to lap at you, drawing you closer in a hug, his palms resting on the curve of your ass cheeks. Steadying yourself against the door, you tugged on his hair like reins, but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. You grunted and cursed under your breath as that gluttonous, greedy grifter feasted on you. 

Blasphemous sounds rose up from your chest as you rocked your hips feverishly with every swipe of his warm wet tongue against your clit. Every tug of his locs and bump of your mound into his nose sent blood pulsing full speed to the bulge in his pants. He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display.

“Say you won’t go,” he choked out. 

Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Instead, you ushered him back to his feet and crashed your lips into his again, tangling your tongue with his.

In a swift motion, you popped his suspenders loose while you walked him backward. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he shimmied off his multiple layers just as quick as you unfastened the buttons on your blouse. You stood before him, a goddess, determining his eternal fate. And he waited, fixated on you, languidly stroking his engorged cock while you decided.

You replaced his fisted grip with yours, bending to meet his eye. The almost frown on his face made you wonder what he was seeing staring back at him. You imagined your pupils blown out, your lips swollen, and your hair disheveled. Arthur was the only man in the world who could turn you into a vixen. 

“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.” Your noses were almost touching as you tightened your grip and stroked him painfully slowly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded, his face downright solemn. 

“Mhm,” you went on, rubbing circles atop his hot, leaking pink tip. Your pace quickened as your cheek grazed his. A shiver ran through him as the vibrations of your voice tickled his ear.

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.” 

“I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back. 

“You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.  

“I–dammit–I–kn–know.”

The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch. 

“I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

Air finally flowed back through with the halt of your pumping. The mattress sunk with your added weight as you slung your legs on either side of him. Neither party stalled. You gave him a quick nod before he could even ask, and he sank his length into your warm, wet pussy. There were no hushing kisses, no waiting for you to adjust, no cajoling, just the smacking of skin and the aroma of sex in the room as he molded you to his girth. Bashfulness had never even crossed your mind. You rode him tirelessly, whimpering, gasping, and filling the air with his name. 

The roles reversed; you were the animal now, a lioness pursuing a buck. Chasing the high, you galloped hard and fast and grinding your hips against his to relieve the throbbing ache in your clit. You massaged the sensitive nub between your thighs, indulging in the pleasure you were giving yourself and receiving from him. The tip of his cock bumped that sweet spot inside of you, the one that made you tense and cry out over and over again. 

You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know what he was doing to you or how he was making you feel–how he always made you feel when he was burrowed deep inside of you. You couldn’t hide from him, though. He knew you–knew the faces and sounds you made, knew the way you tightened around him, knew how you stiffened, knew how your breathing shallowed when you were on the edge. He knew the control he’d have over you forever.

“You ain’t going nowhere.” He grunted as he pounded up into you, the knot in his stomach tightening with his own upcoming release. 

“Fucker,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and you love it.” 

You couldn’t deny it.

He took your hand in his and felt for the ring on your finger, stroking it, all while keeping eye contact and hammering relentlessly into your velvety walls. Four more thrusts and your eyes rolled back as the lightbulb of tension burst.

“That’s right, let it go, there it is.” Muttering, his upward ruts got sloppier as you rode out your body-spasming orgasm. Then he started babbling, lost in your sweet heat,

“Shit, I’m–bout t–m’close.”

The cowboy tried to lift you up, tried not to spill inside of you, but you buried your head in the crook of his neck and lowered yourself back down, taking him balls deep.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, hugging you to his chest, “the hell you doing, t’me, woman?” He panted and stared up at the ceiling like a man condemned. 

“Ain’t going nowhere,” you echoed breathlessly, still bouncing, before adding, “Yours.” 

In a few more strokes, he filled you up, grunting through his teeth and cursing up a storm that’d make even the most seasoned sailors look on timidly.

Outside noises of the establishment and the streets of Saint Denis droned back in as both of you came back to your senses. An ocean of things was left unsaid as you redressed and let Arthur lead you out of the room and to a proper hotel for the night. The next morning, you took Arthur up on his offer to get away for a few days. As the train you had boarded for your trip chugged on, something in the distance piqued your interest, a small homestead. You could vaguely make out a woman sitting on the porch and a man, presumably her husband, tending to a horse nearby. Of course, you didn’t know their life or their struggles, but if you could write your own happily ever after, it would be that. Arthur nudged you with his elbow, interrupting your daydream.  

“M’sorry...about everything,” he said, low, barely audible. The perpetual ache in your chest had almost gone numb after so long. Almost. 

“I know.” You replied and turned back to the window. The house was out of sight now, and you had a feeling your fairy tale ending had vanished with it.

[dyingswanpavlova]

Happier than ever

Part 1

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Reader × The Salesman

Warnings: Drug Usage, Overdose, Death, Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Suicide, Mentions of Sexual Activities, Mentions of Rape, Domestic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Anger Issues, Depression, Long Backstory, Minors do not interact!

Nam-gyu and you were a couple for the last eight years. But after you decide you had enough of his anger issues, you leave him and try to be happy on your own. Oh, how naïve you are.

Author's note: Okay, everyone.😩 I know you're waiting for the next part of "Your girl" and trust me, I am, too! I'm sorry that I haven't come up with it yet, but I needed to get my mind off of it for a moment, because I don't want to just write anything and publish it like that - the story means too much to me. I can't publish it unless I'm happy with it, but I promise you, I'm working on it. Until then, I started to furiously hit the key board and this happened. Whatever this is, it is Part 1 of it and I'm doing a Part 2, I just don't know when yet. I love you! 🤍 Lana

Loving Nam-gyu wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world.

In fact, it was almost impossible on most days.

But there was a part of you, a thing, a quiet voice – something that needed to be reassured, that felt like maybe you were the problem.

There had been good days, hadn’t there? Your birthday and the way he woke you up with pancakes every year. Of course they turned out horrible and were barely edible. They were raw on the inside and somehow, he still managed to burn them. But he made them for you. The memory still made you smile, despite everything.

Then there was the day you had your big ballet performance. You had spent so many months rehearsing, trying to be perfect. You went all Natalie Portman on that performance. Since the moment you’d been told you got to play Odette, you were fire and flame, spending every waking moment trying to be everything you pictured in your head. It was hard, very hard even. But you had the great hope that, if maybe you did well enough, they would come.

Your family would come and watch. They’d finally show you that they did indeed love you, that you weren’t just a burden or an accident. They would come and they would be proud of you. Your father would set his work phone down, your mother her pills. They would be there. For you.

But of course, they didn’t. You should have known better. It was your own fault, hoping and praying for something that was never going to happen. You should have known.

And still, the moment the curtain lifted and you glanced along the rows and rows of people, you felt disappointed. But you didn’t feel disappointed like normal people would, no. It was you after all. You felt devastated. You felt all of your creativity leave your mind. Your body slowly forgot the choreography. Your eyes glistened with tears. And your life was over.

You had your own issues. He had his anger. You had your world endings.

That was until the door flew open after everyone was already seated, waiting for the show to begin. A few heads turned and your gaze quickly flashed towards the now open door, revealing the face of the mysterious newcomer. He was out of breath and his hair was a mess, his cheeks glowing red and the look in his eyes pleading.

It was Nam-gyu.

You had just had the greatest argument of your life so far, throwing around dishes and screaming your lungs out at each other. Not even twelve hours had passed since then, so you were more than sure that he wouldn’t come. After all, he was the least reliable person you knew, alongside your family. And that fight had been particularly bad. You actually didn’t expect to ever see him again.

But there he was, his appearance disheveled and his eyes pleading with you. Pleading with you to forgive him, pleading with you to dance.

Dance.

You remembered the way you felt. The way your disappointment suddenly turned into something different, something hopeful and warm.

Something good.

He was good.

He was yours.

And you were his.

In that moment, there was nothing else. Everything around you faded into a dark cloud and all you could focus on was him and the way he stood in the middle of the audience, staring up at you. The world was quiet and everything smelled like flowers. The perfection you were striving for was suddenly there and it had nothing to do with your performance.

It was a slow dance, slow and sensual, between your souls.

Until suddenly the music started and your body remembered the movements again.

And you were indeed perfect.

Unfortunately though it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, he was simply complicated. When he wasn’t drugged out of his mind, he was angry. Not at all the time – but easily. All you had to do was say the wrong thing and he’d explode. And you’d explode right back, right into his face.

“I fucking hate you!”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb slut!”

“Who are you calling a slut?! You son a bitch!”

“Say that again!”

It always ended the same way. You sobbing on the floor, him slamming the door shut and disappearing. That were the good fights.

The bad ones were different. You couldn’t count the times you had been forced to take shelter in the bathroom, quickly locking the door, too afraid to let him even close to you. Of course you knew how to fight back. You didn’t let him get away with slapping you, oh no, you kneed him right in the balls so he’d know better not to fuck with you. He’d normally collapse and the fight would be over. But sometimes, on especially bad days, he got that look on him.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant. No, it was murderous and terrifying. You always knew there was something dangerous about him. That was probably what drew you in at first. But this…It was different. When he got that look, when the drugs clouded his mind like that, you were truly afraid of what he might do. And so you locked yourself in and listened to the way he pounded against the door, ready to break it down. So far, he hadn’t. A part of him was still in there, even when got like that.

But you didn’t want to push your luck.

After eight years of up and down, back and forth and through the gates of Hell, you finally left him for good. At first he probably didn’t believe it. After all, you had pulled the leaving card a million times before. But somehow you always ended up back in his bed, with him fucking your brains out and calling it making up.

But this time, you meant it. It had been a pretty normal Tuesday. You were at work, waiting tables and cleaning up after your mindless customers. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it paid the bills – albeit, barely.

After your father left and married a woman hardly any older than you and you found your mother on the bathroom floor, cold and stiff, her eyes wide and her chin and hair covered in foam and puke, you decided couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t be that anymore.

You moved in with Nam-gyu. It started off well at first. He was as cute as ever, when he was sober. Sure, you had fights already, but they were mostly trivial. Yelling was involved, throwing furniture around as well, but he never got violent with you so far.

He found a job, as did you and you paid your apartment together. It was tiny of course, but it was enough. You bought groceries and washed laundry. You even had some spare money to buy furniture and decorations. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You did everything the way you always pictured it.

You had been with Nam-gyu since you turned seventeen. You met back in school and immediately fell in love with him. He had been so sweet. Acting overly confident and arrogant, of course, but it was just a front which you immediately realized. Under all that he was actually rather silly. He made you laugh without even trying. Even he seemed surprised by how good you two matched. So far he’d been going through life, acting like everyone was beneath him. But in reality, he wasn’t popular. He was a bully. He was mean, with a cruel streak. But never to you. No, when someone dared to speak up their mind against you, he was there, ready to break their jaw. You formed a friendship of sort. He was protective and extremely possessive, while you were caring. His family was a bunch of assholes, just like yours was and neither of you had any real friends.

Most of your friends were other dancers and neither of those were really sentimental. Sure, it was enough to go out for a salad sometimes, but you really weren’t one for bulimia and cigarettes. Most of them were, unfortunately.

You loved food. You loved to eat and you appreciated every bite. You’d grown up rather lonely on your own, praying every night for a sibling or a real friend. Someone you could talk to, about real problems. Your ballet friends though? Whenever they asked you how you felt, they didn’t actually want to know. They were just being polite.

Nam-gyu was just as lonely, though he wouldn’t have ever admitted it. He had friends, who were to no one’s surprise, also a bunch of assholes. Some of them were just bullies, others were straight-up rapists.

“What do you mean, you changed your mind? Are you dumb? Shut the fuck up and take it. You agreed to this!”

Nam-gyu wasn’t. It was another thing he wouldn’t have admitted to out loud, but the thought of fucking someone while they were out of it was something he wasn’t after. A thing that really turned him on was to see the pleasure on the other person’s face. The moans, the sighs. He wouldn’t get that if he just made them take it. And so he didn’t. But he tried to keep a straight face, when his friends shared their immoral stories of last weekend. He tried to laugh, when they spoke about the way the girls curled up in self-hatred after they left them there, their cum leaking out of them.

That was until one of the girls ended up killing herself.

She had been super sad and melancholic for as long anyone could remember. She was rather quiet and no-one really spoke to her. She wasn’t weird or anything, just really shy. That was enough to get bullied. She was an obvious virgin and rather closed-off. A good challenge. A great bet.

So, one of his friends placed a bet with the others. Fuck the girl.

“No way that weirdo is letting you anywhere close to her.”

And she didn’t, at first. She didn’t trust anyone around, because people normally made fun of her. But that guy, who went by Nic, was a real good actor. He didn’t walk up to her and just made advances. No, he played shy around her. Sweet. Funny. He managed to tickle a smile out of her. A laugh. And he didn’t just do it once. He did it for days. Weeks. Two months. He played her boyfriend. Her sweet, shy boyfriend. Until her front slowly crumbled and she fell in love with him. Deeply. So much that she actually decided to give Nic her first.

According to Nic it had been nothing out of the ordinary, but Nam-gyu knew it was more than that. He could read the people around him fairly well, and he could also see the way Nic’s pupils dilated, the way his heart skipped a beat, whenever his sweet, little girlfriend was around.

But his friends, his friends, they were constantly at his back.

“Did you finally fuck her?”

“Did you stretch that weird little cunt, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that Wednesday Addams bitch.”

Nic had a reputation to uphold. And so he did what he deemed necessary. He had sex with her and then he dumped her. But not like any normal person would. No, he made fun of her in the worst ways and ended up sending her nudes to anyone who was interested.

The same nudes he had begged her to send him, to trust him, for only his eyes.

And the next day, the gruesome news were heard over speaker.

She was dead. Jumped off her apartment building, right into her death.

Nic had a mental breakdown. No-one else from his group really cared. No-one except for Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu spent the rest of the day in his car, staring down at the steering wheel and trying not to throw up.

You had heard the news of course and you were devastated. You hadn’t known the girl, but you had never been mean to her. You actually remembered a few interactions you had. You knew there had been something going on between her and Nam-gyu’s friend. But naïve, little you had had the hope that it wasn’t a trick. How stupid you had been.

You spent the rest of the day looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Right when you already thought maybe he wasn’t at school at all, you saw his car. He was inside and God, he looked horrible. With red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands, all day. You tried your best to comfort him, but it was futile. He felt guilty. Someone was dead. And maybe, just maybe, if he had intervened in time…

You tried to make him understand that it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. He never spoke to his friends again.

You’d later find out, that was the day he took his first injection. So far all he had been doing were mushrooms and weed, but Hell, who hadn’t?

You spent more and more time together, because he firmly ignored everyone who was so damn fucked in the head. He was trying to be good, he was trying so hard. Life hadn’t been easy on him, not at all, but he still tried.

A month later, you had your first kiss. Another three days later you had sex. It was your first time and he was being surprisingly gentle and considerate. You loved thinking back to it, because you didn’t regret it at all. No matter what else happened between you afterwards, you could never regret giving your virginity to him, because it meant so much to you. And it seemed to mean even more to him.

Two years later, it was safe to say you were made for each other. Even long after being out of school, you were still a couple. He still got these angry outbursts sometimes, but you tried to understand him. He had grown up, feeling unseen and unloved by anyone. As did you. You weren’t angry per say. But you got angry, when he did. You had these desperate mood swing. And whenever something didn’t go your way, you felt like the world was ending. You felt everything intensely.

Love was great. It was all-consuming. You loved him in the same way he did. You adored him. Anger was different. It felt suffocating. Sadness wasn’t sadness, but depression. And despair was enough to nearly kill you.

You tried going to university, but that didn’t work out, because your father left and so you had no chance to pay the tuition. Nam-gyu never even bothered to try, because he knew he would fail anyway, but he tried whatever he could to make your dream work. You wanted to work with animals, heal them, help them, do whatever you could to make someone’s life better. But despite all your – and his – efforts, it didn’t work out. It was simply too much. He was heartbroken when you were forced to leave school, because of your selfish prick of a father. But it was alright.

You’d find another job. You could still make it in life, even without university. Everything was good.

That was, until you couldn’t afford your dance practice any longer.

That was heartbreaking.

One day, you came home after a long day of playing cashier, only to find your mother had stolen all the money you had saved so far. She took it to buy pills or whatever else. You couldn’t even be mad at her, because she lay passed out in the doorway to her room.

You had no money. And all your dreams were dead.

By the time that happened you were far into twenty-one, so you knew that life was cruel and you turned more and more bitter.

Nam-gyu was simply angry, but there was not much he could do. His parents threw him out at nineteen, so he had been paying his own rent since then. He tried speculating with cryptocurrency, but that didn’t work out. He played it down, but you knew he lost quite the amount of his own savings.

A year later your mother died and you finally moved in together. So far you hadn’t been able to leave her on her own, but now that she was gone, you couldn’t stand to live in the same place where she had died. The cemetery of what could have been. Countless dour memories, not a single one good.

You had never had a particularly good relationship, but she was your mother nonetheless. The sight of her dead body and horrified face, it haunted you in your sleep. You spent more than one night, waking up screaming, sweating and clutching the linens. Luckily, Nam-gyu was there to catch you, before you ever managed to fall into the deep pit that was your mind.

He managed to calm you down somehow, every time. He was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.

Until he wasn’t.

You hated when he did drugs, especially so after what had happened to your mother. And so he said he wouldn’t, but it was obviously just to pacify you. You always noticed when he did it nonetheless, you knew the dazed look in his eyes, the paleness of his skin. Whenever he refused a meal, it was obvious to you. Normally, he’d choke down everything you cooked like a starved animal, but there were days when he picked at his food and that was always the first indication.

His short responses, his temper, suddenly so easily flared. It didn’t take long for your first real argument to break out. It was fine, up until the point when you saw his hand twitch. Obviously, you shot him a murderous look, daring him. If he dared to hit you, you’d break his fucking jaw.

And he refrained. For then.

Things went mostly normal, until the next fight. That time he wasn’t so gentle. Things got out of hand and he pushed you against the wall, smashing your head against it in the process. For a moment, you were simply stunned – and even he seemed to be. He stopped before he could cause any greater damage.

Things went between good and bad, it was a constant battle for dominance. One day was good, the next day horrible. You couldn’t even look at him without earning a harsh comment. You’d ignore him firmly for the rest of the day and eventually he’d come crawling back, begging you to let him back inside the bedroom. He didn’t mind the couch, he just missed you. And somehow you always forgave him, far too easily. Sometimes he did change for a while. Surprised you with flowers or his sad attempts at cooking. Every time he messed up a scrambled egg, you couldn’t help but get weak. He was so silly, it was endearing. Yet at the same time, you knew there was something dark within him. Most likely the drugs, but you could never tell for sure.

Maybe this was just who he was.

Things got better and worse again, until one night, he snapped. You had a fight about one of your co-workers, who he considered a threat. You never understood it, because to you it was so obvious that you never wanted anyone else. Despite your problems, you stayed fiercely loyal to him. You loved Nam-gyu. And a part of you still believed that in the end, things would turn out good. Maybe they would, right?

But that night was bad. He got so furious and when he yelled at you, the walls seemed to shake. You were normally so eager to fight back, so strong, but that day something was different. You were on your period and just a few hours earlier, you had met a dance friend of yours. She told you, she was sure that, if you had stayed, you’d be famous by now. But she wasn’t kind about it. She was subtly looking down at you, shaming you for the way your life had turned out. It made a tight knot form in your stomach and you felt your resolve slowly crumble. All you wanted was to cry, but even that didn’t work, because you came home to a furious Nam-gyu.

Your shoulders slumped and you refused to look at him, which only ever made him angrier.

You didn’t see the slap coming, but once it happened, you couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget the anger and the disappointment that welled up in you. When you looked up at him, you expected the tiniest bit of regret or guilt, but there was nothing. He was too deep in his bubble of anger and substance, to see clearly. He got more and more furious and you knew; if you didn’t hide then, he’d do something worse. It was the first night you hid yourself away in the bathroom, one of many to follow. You always told yourself it were the drugs. He was so sweet when he was sober, so gentle and loving. You kept telling yourself, things would be good one day. They would turn out well. With time and patience.

Until you snapped.

You were at work, staring off into the distance. You had been out of it all day, because you spent the previous night locked in the bathroom, until he finally passed out around four in the morning. You snuck out and made your way to your workplace, where you opened more than three hours early. You had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends, no one. Only you and your pain. All day you spent trying to cover the dark marks on your wrists, but no one seemed to care anyway. People went about their own lives and problems and you were just their co-worker, their waitress.

You stood silently, watching an elderly couple whose order you had just taken. They were so sweet, like they came right out of a movie. He held the door open for her and pulled her chair back. He caressed her cheek and she never flinched when he reached out his hand for her. They smiled at each other with such a tenderness, it brought tears to your eyes. That was the exact moment. That was the moment you realized you didn’t want to continue on living like this.

You wanted more. You deserved more.

You made your way back and gathered most of your things while he was still at work. Of course it wasn’t the most intelligent approach, but it was all you could do. You knew, the moment you sat down and tried to explain to him that you were going to leave him, he’d find a way to convince you to stay. It had been eight years, after all. Eight years on and off, eight years up and down. Drugs, violence, lies – at least he never cheated on you.

You’d keep that in tender memory of him. As well as the countless times he had comforted and fought for you. All the times he made you laugh, all the times he made you feel loved. The greatest sex you would ever have, no doubt.

But you still packed your things and left like a ghost. After eight years.

He tried to contact you of course, the moment he came home. But you took your paycheck and went to a motel. Whenever he tried to find you at work, you hid in the kitchen. Your co-workers tried to calm him down, to tell him that you didn’t work there any longer, but he saw through the lie. He got loud and furious, which you could kind of understand. You stayed in the kitchen, crying to yourself and feeling incredibly guilty, but you didn’t ever come out.

He kept coming, but it got less and less frequent. From what your co-workers told you, he seemed less and less like himself. The thought broke your heart and nearly made you go back.

You were constantly in your head, making more and more mistakes at work, until your boss’s patience finally snapped. When you messed up the third customers giant bill, he fired you. You instantly panicked, because you were sure, now you had to go back.

You even drove around in your car, trying to get a glimpse of him in the apartment. But to your horror, you didn’t see Nam-gyu in the window. It were other people, some couple actually. And when you tried to call him, the number wasn’t available. Suddenly, he was a ghost and you were knee deep in horse shit.

It didn’t take long for your money to go and so you ended up panicking. You had to leave the motel soon and if you didn’t get a job – you’d end up homeless. Which was as good as dead.

A few days later, after you realized that you seemed to have no special talents and that no one really cared to hire you, you sat at the metro station. You had only one option left or so you thought. Le girls girls girls. You were a dancer. You were graceful. You were too good for this.

But it was all you could do. After all, the girls didn’t have to indulge in any immoral transactions. They were just dancing, right? Fine, in light clothing, but still dancing. You could do that.

You were deep in thought, your eyes closed and your head leaned against the wall behind you, when you heard someone’s voice.

“Care for a game of Ddakji?”

This was when your life took a dark turn.

You eyed the handsome stranger with suspicion. It was super odd. A man going down the path of middle age, slicked-back hair, wearing a suit and a briefcase on him.

And he was asking you to play a game with him?

You frowned and glanced around.

“I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get it from me.”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side innocently.

“I don’t want anything. Just a little game. That’s all. You got something to win here. I got money.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not a fucking hooker.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I told you, all I want is to play a game. Are you scared?”

That made you bristle. You knew the game and you fucking hated it. You were fairly good at playing at, but you didn’t care for this idiot’s audacity. You were about to snap at him again, when you caught sight of the money. Your eyes widened and you sank back against the wall.

“I don’t have any money.” You murmured back.

“Don’t worry. You can pay with your body.”

Your head shot up and you were ready to lunge at him, but he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I have no intention of fucking you.” He said calmly. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared?”

You crossed your arms and got up, giving him a dirty look.

“Get to it, son of a bitch.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly. You had trouble adjusting your sight to the unnatural, neon light. The smell was odd, somewhat disinfectant. Something was really wrong.

You slowly stretched and turned your head, only to see you weren’t alone. That was enough to nearly make you shriek. You sat up quickly enough to get dizzy. Next to your own bunk was a woman who stared at you through her cat-eyes. She smirked devilishly as she lay on her side.

“Your fate is sealed. There’s no way you can dance your way out of this.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest. This had to be some freakish co-incidence. You took your gaze off her, only to realize you weren’t alone. Countless people surrounded you, some of them awake, others still asleep. They all wore the same green tracksuit, just as you did.

You took a shaky breath and carefully swung your legs over the bed, heading for the ladder.

What, in God’s name, was this? And why did you agree to it?

You only remembered how ashamed you felt and how good the prospect sounded of not having to dance half-naked for strange men.

But was this really better?

You glanced around in the hope of…Of what? The situation was far too fucked up.

The fact that they got you here unconsciously, getting you dressed…

You wanted to throw up. You stumbled through the great hall, hoping to get some answers to your questions, but that hope quickly got crushed.

These were the real strange men. Dressed in pink suits, wearing masks which covered all of their faces and even their voices weren’t their own. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a fun game, you suddenly realized.

That Ddakji playing motherfucker had deceived you.

You lost the first round, which resulted in him slapping you. And that slap, which hadn’t really been a gentle one, awakened some kind of beast in you. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the memory of getting slapped and hunted down your own apartment on a regular basis. Whatever it was, you didn’t lose another round. He gave you money and money and money. But you didn’t want his fucking money. You wanted revenge.

You kept winning, because nothing else was possible. And by the end of the game, he smiled at you while he handed you the damned card.

But right before he turned crawled back into the pit of Hell where he had come from, you called out to him.

“Hey, motherfucker.”

He cocked a brow and regarded you with amusement. “Are you still mad about that tiny, little hit? Come on, you took it like a champ.”

“Then you should, too.”  You slapped him with an intensity, you didn’t think you’d ever possess.

He looked at you like a statue, obviously ready to lunge at and murder you. But he hid his murderous intent behind a well-rehearsed smile.

“That one was free.” He said calmly. “And if I ever do see you again, I want a return match.”

He left and you were left with the card.

And there you were now. This wasn’t some childish game of Ddakji.

No one showed their face. You knew what that meant. Something was wrong – and you were in trouble.

You were about to leave the hall and take part in the first game, following after the others. You wouldn’t even have noticed, had you not bumped into him full-force.

When you pulled back your head, ready to apologize, you froze.

There he was. Your Nam-gyu. Staring back at you with wide eyes, behind them a mixture of something akin to surprise and fury.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

He rushed forward and grabbed your by the shoulders, backing you up against the wall. Your eyes widened and you tried to push him back, but he was driven by something far stronger than both of you.

“Nam-gyu?” You breathed out.

He frowned deeply and stared at you incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t-“

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.” He growled. “Where were you? What’s going on with you? Are you fucking-“

“Is there a problem here?” At first, you didn’t see the guy behind him with his ridiculous hairstyle and pouty lips. Immediately, you hated the sight of him.

“Fuck, she’s my-“

The purple-haired guy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Whatever, man. We should get going, huh? We’ll be late for the game.”

He eyed you in an odd way, but you pushed it down and used the moment to free yourself from Nam-gyu’s grip and run out, rushing after the others and hiding in the crowd. He attempted to follow you and even called out to you, but you were already gone.

Fuck, you thought.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[meanbossart]

So I've noticed you've been getting a lot of asks along the lines of "how do I make good porn like you?" and I just thought to add in my two cents, and if you agree with what I'm saying perhaps you could publish this and it might help others, if not feel free to just ignore xD

So first of all the fact that you're also a horror/gore artist adds to your skill, there's a lot of overlap between erotisim and horror in artwork because it involves being extremly familiar with anatomy and how the body moves, and in art, like a lot of things, you needs to know how something works before you know how to break it.

People also really don't appreciate how difficult horror is as a genre, it's not enough to draw someone covered in blood holding a knife, it's mood and lighting and expression, and these are also transferable skills to erotica as so much of what sells an image as erotic is everything happening around the people involved. Colour choices, the lines around the eyes, how you depict the shine of their sweat and saliva, all these little things are part of the greater whole.

Finally, I think when it comes to improving your craft when it comes to depicting erotica is that you have to make peace with the fact that the physical act of sex is wierd and gross when you look at it objectivly. You're in wierd, undignified positions, there's a lot of mucus involved, you're sweaty and red-faced, and if you're looking at it without your brain swimming in sexy hormones it's just kinda rediculous. I think once you get over that hump of "no, I have to try and make this as pretty and aesetic as possible" and reach "okay, sex is wierd and ugly IRL" you're able to start creating things that feel more real and seemingly paradoxically become able to create things that people find arousing, because it reads as 'true' to them.

Your art is beautiful and erotic because I can believe that these guys are sticky, covered in sweat and working hard to bring each other pleasure.

Like, IDK that's how I ended up being a fairly decent erotica author, you let go of the dreamy hollywood version of sex and embrace something a bit dirtier and closer to life. If you draw enough silly 'O' faces you'll eventually find one you like!

Anyway, I hope someone finds this helpful. Also the picture of Astarion with Cazador's skull is my new favourite, the way he's pushing his thumb into the eye as the head burns in the sunlight and the blood drips down is just... so powerful, I wanna print it out and stick it in my BG3 scrap folder xD

A really useful breakdown of what makes compelling erotica and/or effective pornography!

Not a disagreement perse, but I just want to clarify to anyone reading this that being familiar with horror and gory art isn't a necessary step in this process - it just so happens to have a lot of skill-overlap, like eyesofthrone said, making the transition from one to the other easier.

Thank you for doing this write-up, and I'm extremely flattered if you or anyone reading this finds my saucy art especially compelling for any of these reasons!

[sarbithewizard]

And then, the world went mad...

Before I would've said the world would go out in a nuclear blaze or something otherwise generically apocalyptic like that. Survival scenarios were always fun to think about in those kinds of settings. Then I stepped outside to go to work and the house across the street blew up. The wildest thing? I'm pretty sure I saw Susan flying into the distance wearing a blanket like some kind of sugar glider, but got distracted by her car hood banging to the road like it had been launched from the roof. I called the police to report the explosions and subsequent fire, but the operator just started flirting with me. Creeped out, I hung up and tried again only to get raucous laughter from someone else. I went to get a hose and maybe do something when I heard gunshots. GUNSHOTS! Gunshots in my sleepy little suburb, and I'm convinced they were shooting at me! What did I do?! I ran to my car and took off, console pistol in hand because I had no idea what was going on. I drove to my friend Dave's house, but he seemed bored by the madness I frantically described seeing in my trip over. "Time-loop, bud. You're lucky I stuck around this time to see you. Damnedest thing. I think you're the only one that doesn't know. Made me kind of a celebrity for a few years there, but now you're novelty has worn off. Oh, you'll get some attention still, but the North American Free People's Society has laid down some protection rules around you, but it's not like we can enforce any infrastructure in the beginning. Good luck with Today! I'll see you again Today." He just got up and walked out. He seemed listless about the whole thing. Strange accent as well. I found his corpse a few hours later. I'm still trying to convince myself that some worldwide mass hallucination happened, because I can't otherwise make sense of everything. Dave was right though, which makes it harder to believe. I ran into plenty of would-be-lovers, plenty of whackos trying to kill me, and quickly had a bodyguard contingent from this NAFPS group who shot a lot of people between casually chatting with me and maintaining a perimeter. I guess they have a daily rotation and it's considered some kind of honor.

Then the next day came.

There were all kinds of reactions. Orgies in the street, mass suicides, plenty of weeping in both joy and terror. Before no one wanted to talk to me about it anymore, probably because of all the questions I kept asking in the early days, I learned that everyone was in there for hundreds of years. Certainly explains some of the wild skills I saw from people who otherwise looked like normal service workers or business drones. It seems some considered themselves immortal, and being confronted by Tomorrow shook most up. The NAFPS is still around in some capacity. It seems there were groups that were preparing for Tomorrow all over the place, but never really expected it to come. It was clear who truly believed soon enough, from my perspective. I work with them as thanks for protecting me the day the world went mad, and I'm starting to believe them. This is all too orchestrated to be anything fake or hallucinated. It's just so hard to believe, you know? It seems that my celebrity status in the strange world I missed out on makes me a relatively trustable party for negotiations. I've been shipped to neo nation-states across the globe like the NAFPS as a kind of emissary of the world that was. To me it was just last Thursday, but I guess to them, that's when the world really started. I still miss Dave.

-Reflections from the diary of control entity, Jay, in simulation iteration 166,440. It can be noted that human society is starting to become stable, post-resumption. This researcher believes this to be a solid sign we are past the primal anarchic tendencies of the prolonged mortal persistence in a zero-consequence environment and refutes the claim of inherently chaotic nature in the species. Albeit did take several hundred years. The concerted effort to keep the control entity alive as a living monument to their culture and former society is of particular interest to this researcher.

Apparently, you are living in a time loop. Also apparently, you are the only person on Earth who DOESN'T remember the previous iterations. This is the first time you've experienced today; the rest of humanity has been stuck reliving today for years now.

[mctvsh]

first post here so i'm quite nervous, but!

all i can think of kidnapped!enemy!medic!reader x poly!tf141

cw: military & war inaccuracies + some medical inaccuracies as well, reader uses she/her pronouns, and is mostly girl based, mentions of religion & prayer, first time writing so it will unfortunately be sloppy 💕

let's just say the boys (mostly one you've come to known as, Ghost) haven't been too kind to you. taken from a random battlefield where you were technically there to help YOUR team. they practically throw you over their shoulder and find some fucked up abandoned building with nobody around to help..

great. now what?

you're mostly terrified, and a little pissed. you've heard a few things about them, whispers around your base which, to be frank, aren't the kindest words you've heard about someone! one of them is bleeding out, some guy with a mohawk and a Scottish accent. some gash on his.. thigh? you haven't really been listening since you're scared out of your mind.

your clothes are sticking quite uncomfortably on you, the wet concrete floor has made your ass numb. until they all come in. staring down at you like you're some piece of prey, holding a limping Scot.

"Fix him, yeah?" mutton-chops.

your eyes snap over to the guy who you assumed is the Captain. huh!?

"Uh- I.. need my tools-" you practically squeak out. avoiding eye contact. your medbag was taken from you the second they basically claimed you as 'theirs.'

you hear a grunt (Ghost, you're guessing) and then, thankfully, your medbag being thrown right at you.

you bite at your now chapped lips and create a makeshift bed with your jacket now on the floor and hesitantly nod to the dark skin. he was pretty, ah — getting side tracked. he was the one holding the Scot up, who had stopped his incessant comments (jokes, but weren't very funny) and was now grunting.

unfortunately, you're a medic, a person who helps people, before you're anything else.

the dark skinned male sets the Scot down, and you can see his shudder.. and you almost begin to feel bad before you feel a gun pressed to your back.

great.

"I can't help him if you're doing that." you swallow, thickly. you'll be killed!? isn't that a damn war crime!?

you feel the gun retreat after a few seconds of silence. you breathe out, albeit shakily, but trying not to give them a chance to know how terrified you were.

you locate the source of the bleeding, it isn't too bad at all. you open your medbag, grab some trauma shears, and you cut through his slacks, big enough to work on the stab wound which wasn't too deep but it still needed stitches.

you grab some gauze, disinfectant, numbing cream, and a thread and needle. okay, time to get to work..

it had been a little over 10 minutes. finally finished up with stitching as you place a bandage around his thigh, his pant leg wasn't fully cut off so it was definitely still wearable..

the second you finish up you're being pulled away by the scruff of your neck (Ghost again), your tools splayed out on the floor, thrown off to the side with a Captain staring down right at you.

"Your name?"

you blink up at him. muttering your name as you shuffle a little closer to the corner of the abandoned building. the dark skin and Ghost hover over the Scot instead. which meant that mutton-chops over here, was gonna grill you.. you think. until he stays silent and gives a hum in acknowledgment.

he would be handsome, kind even, if he wasn't staring down at you like that.

your eyes flick over to a Scot who had now been sat up with the help of a narrow eyed dark skin. you bite down, hard at your bottom lip. drawing some blood. you hear a grunt coming from the Scot who had, unfortunately, been feeling okay.

seems the numbing cream did it's job.. because he's back to flirting and making jokes.

"Thanks for patchin' me up, bonnie."

it's not like you had a choice... you nod at him and continue looking down at the floor.

"We'll take 'er back to base." Ghost.

your eyes widen and you suddenly feel a little more religious, praying to whatever God is up there and hoping for the best.

"Aye, a pretty lass, ain't she?" that damn Scot!

they're talking as if you're not right here!

"We still have hours before there's a chopper coming for us." the Captain, and that's all he says as he brings out a cigar. lighting it in your face as if it's some.. joke.

"Aye." the skull-mask says before his brooding body walks over to a corner, staring down at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

and suddenly, you feel a very familiar lump in your throat.. back to THEIR base!? who knows what they'll do to you..

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

[cryptidbear]

YES! YOU GET IT!!!

The angst of it all is just perfect, honestly.

the back and forth between his kids ending up as robins or vigilantes in general.

the fear of finding them dead like he did Bruce.

the fear of not returning alive to his kids like Bruce did.

But seeing younger him in them when they fight to be robin or anything else-

the same way he used to fight Bruce.

and he knows he can't keep doing it alone, knows Gotham needs a light he can't give to them now that he's Batman, something that only Robin could give.

but that fear is so deeply rooted that he feels stuck in place, unsure of what to even do.

I have some notes i wrote down back when i was brainstorming the au-

Jason wants to be a hero- he wants to fight alongside Dick. He wants to help Crime Alley- his home, and better it.

Dick's heart seizes in fear and he absolutely forbids it, a hard no. His foot is down. "I can't lose you too, Jason. I can't lose another family member, I can't watch someone I love die to crime another time. Just... grow up a normal kid. Please."

Jason is angry at this answer, his hands clutching into his hoodie as he shouts with tears in his eyes, asking Dick how he thinks he feels watching Dick go out all alone as Batman and coming back looking like a damned corpse? If Dick dies... then Jason is all alone again. He's afraid of another parental figure dying.

Dick is left reeling as the young boy storms off, his heart dropping into his stomach, stuck between a rock and a hard place, feeling like the weight of everything was finally crushing him.

But he doesn't take back what he says. It hurts, but he doesn't want to see Jason ever get hurt. He doesn't think he can handle it. He doesn't think he could survive it.

He's lost enough already, hasn't he?

And then one night, Jason steals Dick's old Robin costume from his early days from the display case, wrinkling his nose as he dawns the pixie boots. Because pixie boots, really Dick?

And he's sneaking out once Dick has left for patrol, long after the young boy was supposed to be asleep.

the suit is ill fitting but he feels light as air as he stumbles his way across rooftops, using his skills he'd learned while living on the streets to prowl unseen by Batman.

Or, at least he thinks he's being sneaky, until Dick is snatching him up by the bright yellow cape, and in a loud angry voice he's never had directed at him from Dick, the older male lets his anger gets the best of him. Yells at him on some random rooftop, all the emotions and fears he's kept bottled up for so long spilling out as he sees Jason in his old Robin suit.

He says things he doesn't mean, things he immediately regrets as he see's Jason's heart break and tears bead up in Jason's eyes.

watches with dread as the young boy just breaks down in a way he never has before right there on the rooftop, and before Dick can even apologize, the boy has run off, quick as lightning.

It takes two excruciating hours before he finds Jason hidden somewhere in Crime Alley, still sobbing and curled up, tucked away in some hidden corner, soaked from the rain.

Dick collapses in front of the boy and just draws him tight to his chest, covering the shivering boy with his cape and warming him up, his back against a wall and the tiny boy cradled in his lap, his head tucked beneath his chin.

they don't speak for a long while, silent as they both try to process their own emotions, as Dick tries to navigate something he never thought he'd have to.

"I'm afraid of losing you like I lost him." he admits, quiet in the wind as he holds the boy closer, almost desperately like he's afraid he'll disappear if he doesn't. "I just finally started living again... and i can't lose the one light I have."

its silent for a while once more, Dick weighing his options on what he should do,

Jason speaks up next, speaking of the way crime alley needed help, help that Batman couldn't give on his own. Things that he just couldn't understand without growing up there.

Dick listens to his son, listens to the passionate way he speaks, listens to how Jason opens up about Catherine, and about the gangs and how its barely livable there anymore.

Dick can't deny him anymore after that.

He breaks and gives in, a small, wet laugh leaving his lips. "There's no one else I'd rather be my robin." he whispers.

They don't discuss it anymore that night, Dick carrying the boy back to the manor.

They both end up with bad colds and Alfred scolds the both of them, but he doesn't leave the boy's side the whole time, trying to make up for his mistakes. for all the hurt he caused.

Once they're better, Dick lays out the rules, trying to find solutions to make them both happy.

School will be Jason's number one priority, and Jason can only do short patrols on weekdays, longer on weekends.

He would not go out until he had a few months of training, except to keep watch for Batman.

Dick would take him on patrol through crime alley, and they would work together to figure out what they needed to do to help.

He was not allowed on missions or to fight any super dangerous fights- no matter how much he wanted to. not until he was on the field for a long time, thank you very much.

Jason hates some of the rules, but he finally relents after a long time debating over it, knowing that Dick had some good points, even though he's never tell the man that.

Dick lets Jason redesign the robin costume to suit him better, and the first thing Jason does is add pants. he was really fucking cold in Dick's outfit and he didn't like it.

Jason becomes crime alley's Robin, recognized as one of their own. It starts to slowly blossom under his guidance, bit by bit over the years.

(one day I'll actually write this fully fleshed out as a fic and not just 3 am rambles, lol)

(and one day i'll write about the other kids too, i just haven't written past like, Jason and Tim meeting for the first time bc i'm brainstorming chapter by chapter oops.)

Lying awake at 5 am thinking of the au I planned out where Batman dies before Dick ever becomes Nightwing, so Dick becomes Batman and he ends up adopting all his siblings instead.

19/20 year old Dick Grayson staring down at a like 10-13 year old Jason Todd trying to steal his tires and understanding why Bruce took him home that day at the circus.

Dick Grayson staring at Jason who brought home a young Tim and feeling like he can never let Tim go, or maybe him finding the young boy taking photos one late night.

Dick finding out about (baby!) Damian and stealing him. That's *his* son now.

Him finding Cass and just accepting he has a daughter too. Doesn't even fight it anymore.

Duke? He just sighs and wraps the kid up in a blanket. Alfred's already got a room set up for him by the time they're back at the manor.

Eventually, Tim and Steph date and break up (she gets to finally have a good time as Robin PLEASE) but Dick gets said when she stops coming to family dinner. She starts coming again bc she can't stand the puppy dog eyes. She's his unofficial daughter.

Barbara and Alfred just watching all this go down and staring to place bets on when they think another shows up.

Dick but he just inherits his father's adoption problems.

Ft uncle Clark and aunt Lois with (baby!!!) Kon and eventually a baby Jon.

Ft an unholy amount of angst almost every damned chapter.

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 141.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

[warning: smut 🧍]

serim and jimin got into the car, the latter slamming the door and with an expression that denoted annoyance everywhere you looked. she was quiet, but grumbled with intentions of letting the other woman notice her discomfort. she grabbed the seat belt and tugged at it with annoyance as she put it on.

"jimin, can you stop trying to wreck my car?" finally spoke serim with a kind tone. "i know you're mad about yeeun-"

"i'm not mad about yeeun." she interrupted, her attitude cold. "in fact, i couldn't care less about yeeun."

"baby." the older one leaned down to put her hand on her thigh, stroking her skin with her thumb trying to soothe her.

"don't 'baby' me." she interrupted her before she could say anything else, mimicking the way she called her.

"okay." she watched her tenderly and patiently. "jimin." she called her again.

"what, namu? what?" she asked frustrated.

"i don't feel anything for yeeun." she clarified.

"i'm not interested." she pushed the girl's hand away from her leg, her eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"clearly you're interested because otherwise, you wouldn't be like this." she reasoned, moving the hand she had pushed up to the back of her neck, squeezing her fingers gently as if she were massaging her.

"i'm not like this because of you." she didn't even look at her and her sentences came out forcefully, the way you speak when every word is laced with anger.

"then what's bothering you?" she raised her tone to a sharper one speaking ironically because she didn't believe her. "tell me so we can work it out." she looked at her amused knowing that no excuse would be good enough.

"can you leave me alone and drive?" she pointed to the steering wheel and then brought her hands to her face to rub it wearily.

"fine." she put on her seat belt. "i'll take you home." she wanted to play with her until she admitted the reason for her discomfort.

"to my place?" that wasn't what they had agreed on.

"you're mad at me." she explained simply, a calmness that was beginning to eat away at karina's insides. "i don't think you want to stay with me in this state."

"the plan was to sleep together." she watched her in bewilderment.

"jimin." she started the car. "not like this." she shook her head.

"turn off the car." she ordered, but the older girl ignored her because she thought she was being dramatic. "namu, turn off the car." she reiterated in an exclamation.

"are you going to calm down?" she obeyed and turned the key to the opposite side. "or are you going to continue with that attitude?" she glared at her, her eyes already beginning to expose the exhaustion this situation was generating in her.

"how can i not be angry?" she said reluctantly. "you bring me to a place where your ex-girlfriend is and i have to watch her rub up against you all night." she brought her gaze forward, staring at the parking lot wall as she let out a deep sigh. "it was our first event as a couple." she mentioned, disappointment in her voice. "or as whatever we are."

"baby." she gave her cheek a caress. "i didn't know yeeun would be here." she justified. "but the moment i saw her i told her i was with you." she assured. "yes, she was drunk and too fond of me-"

"don't remind me." she rubbed her temple pressing a little hard against the jadedness.

"but i kept pushing her away and reminding her that i was with you." she added softly trying to show her that there was nothing to worry about. "i haven't felt anything for her for years." she made it clear again. "no approach from her made me feel anything, i love you." she took her hand gently and lifted it to leave a kiss on the back of it.

"i know." she sighed. "you don't need to tell me, i already know." she redirected the hand serim was holding to rest her palm on her leg. "but i just hate seeing you around other girls." she confessed laden with row. "and yeeun is your ex-girlfriend." she squeezed the older girl's thigh as a result of her annoyance. "she's already hugged you, kissed you, seen you naked." she bit her lip, her eyebrows still a sign of her emotions.

"but it hasn't been that way for a long time now." she let her touch fall on the hand the contrarian held over her. "and now i want you to do those things." she leaned in to leave a kiss on her cheek.

"it drove me crazy all night." she commented, now speaking as she had a pout on her lips. "but the worst moment was when she sat on your lap." she reminded overwhelmed. "i'm going to sound crazy, but i fantasized about pulling her off you by the hair." she laughed wickedly.

"you are crazy, my love." she confirmed, laughing with her, a little terrified. "and delusional." she added. "with those little hands of yours do you think you could hurt anyone?" she pointed to said parts of her body, laughing even more at the idea.

"they're the hands i touch myself with when i think of you." she let out with complete seriousness, her eyes locked on serim's as if she was expectant of her reaction. "i have no problem with them for that."

"jimin, what?" her breathing had stopped in her throat due to the unsettled she had been at what the opposite had said, she turned a little back to her seat so she could see her face well waiting in case she started to laugh and prove it's a joke, but she was serene. "do you touch yourself thinking about me?" she resumed, she didn't know what to say.

"namu." her touch on her thigh began to rise leisurely. "you are mine, you know that, don't you?" her gaze was penetrating, the kind where you feel that the other is really seeing you, that they want to tell you something with their eyes.

"of course i know." in her orbs you could see the anticipation of what was about to happen.

"only mine." she stated, causing the oldest to slowly nod her head. "let's get it straight."

karina ran down what was left of untouched leg until she reached as high up as she could, to the point where serim's leg ended, her crotch covered by her clothing. she gave her a blank stare, as if asking for permission, and while their eyes were silently connected, she lifted her fingers a little being able to brush her fingertips over the area she really wanted to get to.

"jimin." she cocked her head as if warning her of possible danger, but the younger girl didn't care.

"namu." she replied defiantly.

the blackhaired girl turned back to her seat to quickly detach her seatbelt which had had no use as the car had not moved, turned to her partner and leaning on the steering wheel of the idle car propelled herself, rising from her seat and swinging her leg over the girl so as to sit on her lap. she moved back a little until her back was pressed against the wheel and she was over the girl's knees, leaving a small space between them where her hand conveniently fit perfectly. wordlessly, under the watchful eye of a serim who was still trying to process what was happening, she darted to one of the sides looking for the lever that tilted the driver's seat back, pulling it slightly once she found it, causing the chair to recline and thus finally pouncing on jang to capture her lips.

the kiss was desperate, frantic, charged with need and anger. jimin was angry, as her lips intertwined with her girl's, the image of her ex touching her, climbing on top of her, seeking her kisses ate her, burned her. she wanted serim to get things clear, to determine what kind of person she was and how she would react if something like this happened again, that she didn't like it, that she was hers.

serim was out of place, she hadn't had that kind of contact with jimin in a while and at that moment she wasn't expecting it at all, leaning back against the backrest she clasped her hands around the younger girl's waist, holding her tightly to keep her in the position she was in. she gave in to the kiss with pleasure, she would never object to kissing the woman she loved, not even in a public parking lot.

they both ate each other's mouths fiercely, quickly, the kind of desperation that desire brings. jimin's tongue gave a small lick to serim's lower lip asking her permission to enter, to which the contrary granted her the act thus initiating a battle for dominance between the two. the younger woman's hands began to wander from her partner's jaw heading down, past her shoulders and down her arms, taking her hands as she reached them and positioning them on her thighs, because she knew she liked them. after taking her woman's touch to her legs, she brought her palms to her chest to begin to feel her torso patiently moving slowly down to her abdomen where she paused for a second to touch. she continued her way down to the edge of her pants, holding them between her fingertips, moving them tantalizingly as a smile tugged against serim's mouth.

"what are you planning, baby?" serim broke off slightly to ask in a whisper.

jimin just bit her lower lip as she smiled.

she connected her lips with the girl's again, but this time slowly, calmly, a caress between their mouths, but the kind of caresses you give to skin when you have nothing covering it, the intimate kind that no one is allowed to see. she held the edge of serim's pants securely so she could grab the button and pull it loose, causing serim to gasp for air through her nose. the blackhaired grabbed the zipper and started to slowly pull it down giving her room so she could slip in.

she pulled serim's pants down as far as she could and gradually slipped her hand into her underwear, deep down, until she reached her lower lips. she gave a gentle caress as they kissed each other slowly. as she felt the touch on her core serim couldn't resist the urge to dig her nails into the skin of jimin's bare legs who was wearing a dress.

she subtly moved up and down her fingers without putting them in yet, drawing low sighs from serim's lips, who struggled to concentrate on the kiss when in reality she wanted to fully feel the hand exploring her intimacy.

jimin cut the kiss short to stare into serim's eyes as she parted her lower lips with her fingertips to enter a finger that would then wander along the expanse of serim's pussy, doing it once, a second and a third time. serim wasn't the type to moan, so heavy sighs escaped her lips each time the girl played with her as she did.

although she couldn't hold back a soft whimper when karina started to make circles on her clit. at a slow pace, as if she wanted to torture her, she seemed not to remember that it was all happening in a public space and that if she didn't hurry they could get caught. but serim wouldn't stop her even being aware of that. she couldn't. it felt good, how could it not feel good. the girl she loved had her fingers in her pants.

jimin added one more finger and rubbed the girl's center with them, making little circles that had the oldest moving her waists against her hand slyly.

even for lovemaking she didn't like to give jimin the upper hand, but she was enjoying it.

the younger one probed the area again covering it with her fingers so she could reach the hole that begged for her, with the tip of her index finger teasing and playing with it, barely dipping it, barely leaving the surface. it was so wet and wanting that jimin couldn't help the feeling of fulfillment. she loved remembering the power she had over serim, how much she loved and needed her.

"jimin." muttered jang, as if she was nagging at her.

"don't call me jimin." she teased, a pout on her lips.

"my love." she corrected.

"what do you need, my namu?" her hand kept circling her entrance without giving in yet. she loved playing with her.

"put them in." she demanded, her gaze serious, her eyes slightly squinted.

"what do you need, my namu?" she cocked her head to the side feigning confusion.

serim sat up, her legs as wide as they could be with jimin on her knees, giving her room to do whatever she wanted, she raised her hand quickly and grabbed the girl by the hair to pull it, causing her head to throw back a bit, the act was a bit brutish, but serim knew yu wouldn't mind and confirmed it with the moan that escaped the girl's lips. "stop fucking around and finger me, my love." she reiterated in a sarcastic tone.

jimin could try all she wanted to have control over serim, but deep down she knew she was a sucker for her, that as much as she enjoyed fighting her and taking things out on her, she lived to do whatever she asked of her. because she loved her, loved her in ways she didn't understand, and wanted to give her all of herself.

but she was still angry, she still saw yeeun every time she closed her eyes and jealousy was the only feeling almost as strong as all the love she felt for serim, forcing her to remember whose woman she was and why no one else could touch her. she regained her composure and made enough strength to straighten her head again, causing serim to let go of her hair and before her palm could begin to slide down her back, karina had already pushed her back against the backrest and succumbed to her desires.

she inserted a finger into her clenching hole, everything else she had done calmly, but now she had no patience, taking advantage of the dripping fluids to insert it cleanly all the way in.

serim closed her eyes and arched her back a little at the intruder in her body, opening her mouth without a sound, but all her body language was enough to know that she had given her a wave of pleasure that crashed against her whole body. at a not so fast pace, jimin began to move it outward and inward.

"i told you my fingers work wonders." she said as she moved into the girl's pussy, gentle thrusts at a steady pace. they weren't serim's fine, veiny, long-fingered hands, which just thinking about them already felt like her own pussy was dripping, but they were giving her the pleasure she wanted.

"you're so full of yourself." replied the oldest laughing, but interrupting herself with the gasping breath she couldn't hold as she was being fucked by jimin.

karina added a second finger, feeling serim's walls contract around these, wanting to trap them so she wouldn't come out of her until she came in them. serim bit her lip as her hips pushed against the opposite hand in search of more contact in a way she could no longer disguise.

"baby." she let out with the air that escaped her at the thrusts from the youngest, her pussy throbbed at the situation, the touches that were now firm and more continuous, the way jimin was playing with her entrance with her fingers that were making her see lights while her eyes were kept closed to enjoy the world of sensations she was feeling.

still lost in the touch of the younger one, serim had the strength to detach her claws from her girl's legs and moved her caresses up them until she reached the edge of her dress, she wanted to lift it, but with her free hand jimin stopped her, pushing them away.

"let me please you." jang pleaded with her gaze locked on her thighs.

"this is about you." she threw her body forward coming within inches of her lips. "do you want to please me?" she left a chaste kiss on her mouth. "choke me." she ordered.

and serim didn't need to be told twice, she took advantage of the closeness between their bodies to raise her arm and capture karina's neck between her fingers, squeezing hard, biting with intensity as she watched her eyes roll back as she felt the contact. for a moment she even felt her thrusts stop as she succumbed to the lust she felt at being deprived of air by those hands she fantasized about when she was alone, but quickly and under her girl's oxygen restriction, she resumed the movement, now not only moving frantically inside the older woman but also rubbing her palm against her clit, exerting pressure on it with each lunge.

serim had two fingers stretching her hole as they fastly pushed in, apart from feeling the stimulation in her center, her head was on either side, blinded by passion and pleasure, as she tried to remember to keep the strength on the younger's neck. jimin's fingers slid as far in as they would go and slid out and back in as fast as they could.

serim let go of karina's neck making the girl whine, but quickly shut her up by slipping the same amount of fingers that were fucking her pussy, but inside her mouth, to which the blackhaired had no more complaints as she started licking and sucking them without thinking about it much.

but nothing could distract her from her work inside her girl's underwear, her fingers went back and forth inside her while serim no longer controlled her hips that begged for release, pushing against her hand, fucking herself against it, her breathing agitated and some low, almost inaudible whimpers were coming from her lips.

jimin could feel her fingers being squeezed inside the girl whose pussy pulsed uncontrollably and she knew she wouldn't last much longer so she increased the speed of her thrusts as much as she could helping her reach orgasm.

serim's ears suddenly heard nothing anymore and her hand that was still in jimin's mouth suddenly fell out of it. her back that had arched fully during her climax became discontracted, her eyes remained closed and her mouth went from biting tensely due to the desperation she had felt to cum to being slightly open to catch her breath.

she had to stop smoking.

jimin was also agitated and took that moment to relax and breathe, while looking tenderly at her partner. she carefully pulled her hand out, causing a startle in serim as she removed her fingers from inside her and immediately brought them to her mouth to clean them with her tongue. act that serim opened her eyes to watch attentively.

"if you keep doing that i'll be the one who will have to fuck you." spoke the oldest lost in the way both digits went in and out of karina's lips.

"then let's go home so you can fuck me." she replied simply.

(!)

— taglist [CLOSED]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @nwjnsloona @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @yizhuobberi @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo @yallatalla @chaenniefirst @minfolio @starrynini05 @hotluvlet @wmnrhot @mineige @lisaswifey @brocoliisscared @fae-the-wanderer @vivilvr

[fuctacles]

If you saw the snippets where i fucked up the timeline no u didnt.

<< 16 | 0 | 18 >>

"What's his name?" Steve asks, playing with the bunny's paw. The only time he let go of him since last night was to use the bathroom.

"Frankenbunny," Eddie answers, and smiles when Steve snorts after hearing it. "My grandma made him from fabric scraps grandpa would bring from work. I've made the vest, though." He stretches and blinks his eyes open properly, in time to see Steve's impressed expression.

"Really?"

"Well, Wayne helped," he added. "It's actually made from the same jacket I turned into my vest." 

"Oh, that's so cool!" Steve turns the bunny around to take a better look at the details. The tiny vest even has frayed edges and Dio stitched on the back. "You guys match."

Eddie snorts. 

"Yeah, we're both full of stitches," he points out dryly. 

Steve hums, pressing the toy closer to his face. It's something he's done before sleep, too, but last night Eddie wrote it off as a drunken mirage.

"And both pretty handsome fellas," he says, face half-hidden behind the bunny. He opens one eye, looking from under his eyelashes shyly, trying to gauge Eddie's reaction. 

Which, Eddie would love to know and understand as well.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, reaching out to poke at Frankenbunny's face. "He doesn't have the signature Munson dimples." When in doubt, joke, as the Denial Decalogue says. 

Steve hums. 

"Yeah, I guess he can't hold a candle to the real thing. Not as talkative, for one."

Eddie can't help but stare, still leaning over his friend as he processes what he's heard. 

"You like my constant yapping?" he asks in surprise. Even his uncle seems tired of it, at times. Only his players appreciate his word flow, but that's with benefit to them.

"Of course." Steve focuses his attention back on the toy. "When you talk, I don't have to, I can just listen. And that's good because I tend to say some stupid shit," he says, almost absentmindedly. "This way, I'm not the dumb one in the room for once."

The casual innocence of his voice makes the meaning of his words miss Eddie completely until the air waves hit his other ear. 

"Oh, you little..."

As Steve's cheeky smirk grows, he pounces. 

Frankenbunny falls away, the hands holding him now focused on guarding all the ticklish spots. 

"Eddie!" Steve laughs, trying to grasp his wrists and squirm away. "We need to be quiet." 

"Should have though of it before being a brat!" Eddie grins at him, doubling his efforts and moving to pin him in place. 

Steve makes a distressed sound and writhes under him, bending hard enough it dislodges Eddie off of him but also, off the bed. He falls down with a surprised squeak.

"Sorry!" Steve barely suppresses his laugh when he looks down at him. "You alright?"

"No," Eddie groans, splayed on the floor. "I got back-stabbed."

"The dramatics are intact, you'll be fine," he rolls his eyes and steps over him. Eddie makes an even more wounded sound, but Steve ignores him, choosing to look for something comfy to wear instead. He throws a tshirt that doesn't smell of barbecue at Eddie's face, mistakenly assuming that's it—they are going to leave his bedroom and start on breakfast for the others. 

Wrong.

As soon as he has a pick of clothes in his hand, and is trying to get to the bathroom, Eddie grabs his ankle. He makes an undignified yelp and lands on the other boy. Which, serves him well. 

They roll on his carpet in an impromptu wrestling match, grinning at each other and muffling their laughs, trying to get the upper hand. 

Until Steve snaps his teeth at Eddie.

They freeze, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the other in silence. 

Steve moves first, backing away and almost falling over Eddie's knees. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he explains quickly, scrambling to get off his friend. Eddie doesn't stop him, just stares openly at the mesmerizing specimen in front of him.

"That was so fucking hot."

"I don't know why I did—what?" Steve sits back on his haunches, eyes even wider as he stares at Eddie. At his wild hair splayed around his head, at his flushed face. The sliver of skin visible where his shirt has ridden up while they were roughhousing. 

"What?" he parrots, licking his lips nervously. 

"What did you just say?" Steve presses, voice turning desperate, pressing. But Eddie seals his mouth into a tight line. Lead by a hunch, he looks for his answer down the line of his body.

"Hey!" Eddie protests, sitting up and pulling his shirt down. But it was too late, the tent in his pants has been seen. "What the fuck, man?!" he hisses, his face red and eyes wide in panic. 

"Sorry, I—" Steve bites his lip. "But I snapped at you? That's weird, right?"

"Well, I'm apparently into weird, so..." Eddie trails off, looking away. Pointedly avoiding Steve's searching eyes. 

"You're into it?" he prods, but all Eddie can give him is a shrug. It's too fresh of a feeling to properly explain. Hell, he hasn't full came to terms with it himself yet. 

"Is it like a... a sex thing?" Steve tries again. 

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know!" Eddie snaps defensively, folding in on himself to hide his thankfully wilting erection. 

Steve's silence is terrifying, and when he looks up, he finds his eyes still studying him.

"Quit staring, man," he mumbles, squeezing his thighs together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Steve shakes his head. "It's fine, it happens. But just... don't move for a second."

"It happens," Eddie is muttering mockingly, when the rest of his friend's words register in his brain. "What?" But Steve is already too close, and he can't escape. Not that he wants to. "Steve," he says quietly, between a warning and a plea, when warm breath hits his neck.

Steve is sniffing him. At the crook of his neck, where undoubtedly his embarrassment has gathered in a pool of sweat.

He's terrified in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Worried what Steve might smell on him, when his surprisingly cold nose brushes his skin. 

Or maybe it's him running hot with whatever has just transpired. 

Eddie flinches at the touch and Steve moves away, his eyes big and warm with something he can't read. 

"You're fine," he says, and it sounds more like a relief of his own than reassurance for Eddie. "I'm into weird too."

Eddie looks at him quizzically, until he realizes it's not Steve's face holding his answers. He trails his gaze down, and immediately aims it back upward, over-correcting towards the heavens, where maybe he'll get some guidance.

"Shit," he croaks out from his closed up throat. Steve is way too close to him too, from his impromptu sniffing session. Eddie coughs to clear his airways. "Why did you smell me? Is it that bad?" he jokes, but has a feeling Steve won't take the out. Not with the curious way he's looking at him. 

"You smell like want," he answers with painful honesty. "Embarrassment."

Eddie blushes at that one. Well, yeah. Popping a boner in front of your, uh, something, will do that to a man.

"But also joy, affection," Steve continues. "And no fear."

"Why would I fear you? We were just playing around. It's not like you're gonna bite me," he focuses on the safest option. He's not unpacking his feelings for Steve first thing in the morning. Maybe after a coffee. 

It's Steve's turn to go beet red. 

"Sometimes I want to."

"What?" 

He shuffles back sheepishly. 

"Sometimes I see you and I really, really wanna bite you."

Eddie stares at him.

"In like, a werewolf way?" he asks dumbly, earning himself a flat look.

"I think we've established this is not how werewolves are made. I meant in, like, a playful way," he explains. "Like, I'm so excited and happy I can't hold it in anymore, way."

He wants to ask if it's a pack thing, but bites his tongue, not sure if anyone has even taught Steve pack rituals. The guy is going through pure instincts alone, and should be supported in it, so really, there's only one thing he can say.

"Well, why won't you?"

They stare at each other in stunned silence, until a clatter comes from downstairs.

"Steeeeve! The express is doing it again!"

Eddie deflates with a groan, falling back onto the carpet. What the fuck did he just say? He won't survive this crush. Steve will be no help, as he's now hovering over his body.

"We'll get back to this," he says quietly, in a promise or a warning, before clambering upright and out of the room, yelling at Robin.

"Do not press the fucking button!"

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[darlingdaisyfarm]

This honestly might be a downer or stupid, but I just got fired and I am having a really hard time. I just want to bury my head in Stan's chest and sob. I was wondering if you could write how the Stan and Ford might react to the reader being suddenly fired and maybe how they'd comfort them? I'm also really excited for the next chapter of your fic!

✧˚⋆ Stan & Ford supporting you when you need it most ⋆｡♡˚

oh sweetheart, im so sorry ur going through this, holy shit. just the moment i received this ask, i knew i had to write smth when ill get free time today, because i feel so sorry for you. i hope these two old men gave u even a tiny bit of comfort, please be kind to urself right now, youre gonna get through this, i promise. sending u all my love !! stay strong please 🫂🫂

STANLEY

the thing about Stan is that he gets it. he gets the feeling of being chewed up and spat out, of having doors slam in your face, of working your ass off and still being told you’re not enough. he gets the quiet humiliation, the bitterness in the back of your throat, the way your hands shake when you try to act like it doesn’t matterm

you don’t even remember how you got here. your feet must’ve carried you through the streets, past strangers whose lives weren’t just ruined, past cars honking, past buildings that still stood while the whole world inside you had collapsed.

“hey, hey. what the hell, sweetheart, breathe, alright? you’re okay, you’re right here.” his rough but worried voice reaches you when you slam mystery shack's door open, standing in the doorway with shaking hands, red-eyed.

“i got fired, Stan. j-just gone, outta nowhere. i don’t know what to do, Stan, im so lost.” your throat burns

before you can say anything else, he's opening his arms. “c'mere.” and you don't even hesitate as you crash into him like a wave, burying your face in his chest. and he holds you, one big arm wrapping around your back, the other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head

“there we go. you don’t gotta keep it all in, sweetheart.” the words hit you harder than you expect. you're so used to holding it together, to swallowing everything down, to being strong. and Stan, who’s built himself up from nothing, who’s taken every punch life threw at him and still kept standing, he’s telling you it’s okay to break.

so you do. you bury your face in his chest and cry until you’re dizzy, until your breath stutters and shakes, until all the anger and hurt and fear bleed out of you. Stanley doesn’t rush you or tell you to stop. “let it out, sweetie, s’gonna be okay.” he holds you close tightly because he’s spent his whole life holding people who needed it more than he did.

“it’s not fair,” you gasp, clutching on his clothes.

“no, it ain’t.”

“i worked so hard.”

“i know.”

“i feel like—like nothing i do is enough—”

Stan tightens his hold, pressing his chin to the top of your head. “hey. you listen to me.” his voice turns serious. “some suit in an office makin’ a crap decision got nothing to do with who you are. they're dumb. absolute morons for lettin’ you go. betcha the whole place is gonna fall apart without you because you were the best thing about that shithole. if they couldn’t see that, then screw ‘em. they lost you. not the other way around.”

you shake your head, clenching your fists. “but—“

“no buts,” he growls and then, softer: “you're not trash just ‘cause some idiots don’t know how to treat their workers. you're not worthless just ‘cause some suits decided you were expendable. you are not nothing.”

Stan pulls back to tip your chin up, making sure you’re listening. his thumb wipes a tear off your cheek. “i mean, you still got me, sweetheart. ain’t no job in the world that could change that.” he smiles genuinely at you.

you close your eyes, giving him a tiny sad smile back. you let yourself breathe, let yourself believe it, hiding your face in his chest again. Stan's grip stays strong and unshaking, shielding you from the whole world as you cry until you’re too tired, so all what you do is sob into his chest. you’re just leaning into him, exhausted, letting him hold you up.

Stan sighs, resting his cheek against your hair. “ya ever heard the story of the biggest screw-up in New Jersey?”

you sniffle. “what?”

”lemme tell ya, kid grows up in a house that don’t want him. gets kicked out. loses every job he ever had. ends up in a broken-down shack in the middle of nowhere. total loser.”

you shift against him. “Stan—“

“but he keeps goin’. and somehow, somehow, that dumbass loser ends up with people who love him. ends up holdin’ someone who needs it. ends up tellin’ the best damn person he’s ever met that they’re gonna be okay.”

he lets you lean into him again, lets you breathe him in, lets you stay as long as you need. tells you stories about all the bosses he’s scammed just to make you laugh.

at some point, when the tears have slowed and the weight in your chest isn’t crushing anymore, Stan ruffles your hair and leans back, arms crossed.

“y’know, i could use an extra set of hands around the shack.“

you blink up at him, sniffing. “what? you. . .you want me to work here?”

“yeah, id rather have someone i actually like workin’ here instead of hiring some random kid who’s just gonna rob me blind.” his usual gruff tone is back, but his gaze is what speaks louder, soft and certain, making it obvious that you belong here.

you open your mouth, but he cuts in, pointing a finger at you. “and before ya say some crap about not bein’ good enough or whatever, shut up. i’m the boss, i decide who’s good enough, and i say it’s you.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your nose. “wow, such a heartfelt offer.”

he smirks. “hey, that’s as heartfelt as it gets, sweetheart. but seriously. think about it, okay? i got a spot for ya.” Stanley is not just offering a job for you, he’s offering a place, a place where you’re wanted, where you’re needed, where you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.

you take a deep breath, feeling lighter for the first time all day. “yeah. yeah, i’ll think about it.”

“good,” Stan smiles and ruffles your hair again. “now, wanna eat somethin’? watch a dumb movie? beat me at cards? or you want me to egg their car?” about the last thing, he's joking, probably. but if you say yes, you know he’ll do it.

STANFORD

Ford finds you sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed on the surface, face buried in them. you haven’t moved and spoken in a while, just sat there, motionless, like a puppet with the strings cut.

he clears his throat, stepping closer. “i, ah. noticed you didn’t come in for dinner.”

you don’t respond. his brows knit together, concern creasing his forehead. he takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table. “would you like to talk about it?”

for a moment, nothing. then, muffled: “i got fired.” slips from your mouth. so that's what happened. Ford doesn’t say oh. doesn’t say im sorry. doesn’t say what happened? he understands you because Ford Pines knows what it is to be discarded. he knows what it is to dedicate yourself to something, only to be told you are wrong. to be shoved out, unmoored, drifting in the space between who you thought you were and who they’ve decided you are now.

he knows what it is to look down at his hands and wonder if they are still meant to build something. after being betrayed.

he frowns thoughtfully. “that was. . . rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

you nod weakly. Ford exhales through his nose, gaze sharpening, analyzing. you. your sadness. the whole situation.

“it must feel unfair.“ he doesn’t just acknowledge the loss, but the injustice of it. and it makes your throat close up.

you lift your head slightly, looking at his face. “it- it is. i tried so hard. i put so much effort into that stupid job, and now it’s just—just gone.”

Ford hums. “tell me something.” he leans forward, putting elbows on the table. “do you think your value was in the work you did?”

you blink at him, but he doesn't even let you answer. “because if that were the case, then the moment you lost that job, you would have lost all worth as a person. but that’s not true, is it?” his voice is always so calm, full of absolute certainty.

you shake your head slowly, unsurely and Ford nods, satisfied. then, after a brief pause, he stands. “wait here” you don’t have the energy to question him. you just sit, staring blankly at the tabletop, until he returns a moment later with a notebook and pen.

he places them in front of you.

you glance up, confused. “what’s this for?”

Ford takes his seat again, tapping a finger against the cover. “do me a favor, darling. write down five things about yourself that have nothing to do with your job.”

your face looks tired and skeptical. you stare at the paper. “Ford, i—“

“anything,” he says softly, smiling at you. “everything. what you love. what you’re good at. what excites you, what makes you feel something. what matters to you.”

your fingers tighten around the pen. at first, you don’t know where to start. but Ford doesn’t rush you, just patiently sits beside you.

so you write. you write about the things that make you you. and at first, it feels stupid and awkward. it starts small, your favorite books, your favorite songs, the way you love thunderstorms, the way you always make extra coffee just in case someone else wants some.

but then it gets bigger. the things you’ve created. the things you’ve learned. the times you were kind when no one was looking. the people who love you, who see you. the way you keep going, even when it’s hard

Ford watches as you write, nodding approvingly at each entry.

“now tell me: did losing your job take any of that away?”

you stare at the words. the little pieces of yourself you hadn’t even thought about in the wake of everything. softly, you shake your head

Ford’s expression gentles. “then you’re still you. and you’re still worth just as much as you were yesterday. because no job, no institution, no single event defines you.” you swallow hard. Fords voice drops lower. “you are more than what you do, more than what you produce, more than what some company decides you’re worth. you are your thoughts. your curiosity. your kindness.” he gestures to the list. “you are all of this and nothing can take that from you.”

your breath wobbles. Ford’s gaze softens further. “come here, sweetheart.“ you hesitate but only for a second, then stand and he meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you. and Ford isn’t Stanley, isn’t someone used to giving big, open, thoughtless affection. but what he lacks in ease, he makes up for in intent.

because he means this. his big hand moves up and down your back slowly. “you’re not alone in this,” he murmurs into your hair. “we’ll figure something out. and until then. . . you are still extraordinary.“ his voice is so certain, and suddenly you don’t feel quite as lost.

“th-thank you” you bury your face in his sweater, hands gripping his sleeves

“and don’t let anyone ever tell you you aren’t smart or brave or worthy enough.”

you stay there a while. until Ford gives your shoulder one last squeeze and pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “now. i assume you haven’t eaten?”

you smile at him, shaking your head. “no, wasn't in the mood.“

“come, sweetheart, let’s fix that.”

[oopsanonbinary]

so i'm lucky in that once the seizure part got put together, my care team didn't resist and now we're just trying to figure out why

the frustrating part of my story is how long it took anyone to piece together that they WERE seizures -- they were misdiagnosed as, you guessed it, anxiety attacks in 2007. to be fair, i have partial seizures, so not as easy to spot as full ones, but also it's not like great strides in awareness had been achieved in the 17 years it took to correct it. just a lot of people who got bored once they heard "anxiety attacks" even though i ALWAYS questioned that diagnosis.

and a doctor didn't even figure it out. i did. i happened to finally google the right words in the right order after my sleep apnea diagnosis and for the first time a website described my episodes back to me: the sensation of flashbacks to dreams. turns out sleep apnea and temporal lobe epilepsy are fairly comorbid, like 40-60% of people with TLE I wanna say? if someone in 2007 had asked me "would you describe these episodes as short, sudden, and strange? oh, and do you snore?" it very well could have been figured out then and there!

i have learned from being fascinated by medical fraud, like factitious disorder/mca, that epilepsy is a really common disorder to fake because, well, of cases like mine whoops. my seizures are way deep in my brain and not big so they don't show up on EEGs. do enough research on what seizures that won't show up on an EEG look like, it's not hard to fake a seizure disorder. i assume that's part of why some doctors gatekeep it so hard? though the milder ones like mine are pretty easy to treat, at least mine are; i'm not even on anti-seizure medications, just half-assing keto.

every time i meet my pcp, psychiatrist, or neurologist i thank them for taking me seriously and helping me and they're like "oh i'm literally just doing my job" and i remind them "the last pcp i had told me i was too crazy to be referred to a neurologist and it turned out i had a seizure disorder, and this was after referring me for my migraines to an acupuncturist, so y'know, i appreciate your humility but the bar is presently creating a newer, deeper ring of hell"

[kiszjuli]

BURNT HEARTS .ᐟ

✸ sweetheart!donghyuck x fem!reader | genre. fluff | w.c. 2.0k | ♡

↳ synopsis. lee donghyuck never stepped foot in a kitchen for more than a midnight snack, but for valentine's day he is determined to bake something for you-the campus's best baker and the girl who stole his heart without even trying. when things don't go as he planned, he still shows up armed with charm.

↳playlist. strawberry sundae - nct djj. because of you - minho & ningning. by my side - junny. beaches - beabadoobee. sugar - maroon5. perfect ed sheeran.

the soft hum of the oven filled the small campus bakery, along with the smell of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry mingling together. you wipe your face with your rolled up sleeve on your arm, feeling the soft tickle of flour on your face. you were currently decorating the first batch of perfectly golden vanilla cupcakes. a piping bag filled with a smooth buttercream in your hands as you lean down to the counter. with precise movements, you swirled the icing onto the cupcakes, then topped them with edible pink and red glitter.

the delicious smell drifting outside of the bakery causing people to stop and look for a few seconds in curiosity. it lured multiple people, the feeling of being watched while you worked not foreign to you.

this time however, someone stayed, leaning against the doorframe with a grin.

"wow, look at you," donghyuck spoke, ripping you from your concentration. "the bob ross of cupcakes."

not bothering to look up, knowing his voice all too well. "if you came to steal one, you're out of luck. these are for the valentine's charity event tomorrow only,"

"you read me all wrong," he said stepping further into the bakery. "i'm here to admire the art and dedication. it's a little intimidating, honestly,"

you smirked finally standing up straight. "intimidated by some cupcakes?" you tilt your head. "that's a new one,"

"no, by you." he corrected, now standing at the closest table to where you were working. he folded his arms as he watched you easily shape a cupcake into a heart. "how do you make this look so easy?"

"it's not that hard, you just have to focus hard and practice," you said rolling eyes with a laugh. "i'm sure you could do it too if you tried hard enough," you say motioning to him with the piping bag in your hand, before dipping back down and swirling the icing again.

donghyuck snorted. "please, if i even touched that piping bag, it would end up everywhere but the cupcake,"

your hands remained steady as you laughed. finally finishing the last cupcake of the batch, you put the piping bag down. "it's really just about patience and precision..two things i'm guessing you're not that great at?" you teased.

he gasps dramatically. "well, i'll have you know that i'm very patient and and precise." he turns his nose up. hearing you laugh, he pipes up again. "for example, every time i come in here, i precisely plan out how i'm gonna make you laugh, and i'm still patiently waiting for the day you let me sneak a cupcake."

you rolled your eyes again as you cleaned up your baking space a litte, however you couldn't stop the smile creeping onto your face. "well, donghyuck, if you're so patient , you should actually try baking some time rather than just claiming it's too difficult."

"challange accepted," he siad immediately. he leaned off the table and uncrossed his arms. "i'm gonna bake you something so good, you'll forget about all of these," he says motioning to the cupcakes surrounding you.

you nod teasingly "sure, just try not to start a fire,"

"hey, have some faith," he said laughing as he made his way out, but not forgetting to stop by the cookies decorated with on themed decorations, taking one that said 'love'. and before you could stop him, he was already out of the bakery.

shaking your head with a fond smile, you got back to work.

─

donghyuck burst into his dorm room, his hair slightly messy from the cold breeze outside and a determined look on his face. Mark glanced up from his laptop, where he was seated cross-legged on his bed, wearing headphones.

“you’re back early,” mark said, pulling off his headphones. “i thought you were studying at the library.”

“wasn’t studying,” donghyuck declared, tossing his bag onto the couch. “i was researching.”

mark blinked. “researching…what?”

donghyuck grinned as he held up his phone, with a recipe pulled up. “i’m going to bake something. for valentine’s day. for her.”

mark paused, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “you’re going to bake? like… you in the kitchen? with an oven?…that’s on?”

donghyuck rolled his eyes.

“why does everyone act like i’m incapable of doing basic things?” he groaned, throwing himself onto his bed. “it’s simple. melt the chocolate, mix it, cool it—and bam, you’re done. easy-peasy.”

mark laughed, amused at his words. “you literally told me you ‘don’t trust ovens’ because they make ‘loud noises.’

“that was a obviously a joke,” donghyuck said quickly, though the heat rushing to his ears said otherwise. “and besides, it’s different this time. i’m doing this for her.”

mark tilted his head, a small smile forming. “so you’re really into her, huh?”

he didn’t even hesitate. “of course. she’s amazing. Have you seen her work? not to mention, she’s smart, witty, kind, beautiful.” he listed out. “i need her to know i’m not just some loud guy who’s always stealing cookies from her bakery.”

mark snorted. “but that’s exactly what you are,”

“shut up,” donghyuck shot back, sitting up. “look, i’m serious about this. i want to make her something special. she deserves that.”

mark leaned back, studying his face. “alright, fine. if you’re that determined, i’ll help.”

donghyuck’s eyes lit up. “really?”

“yeah,” mark said with a shrug. “but if you mess anything up, you’re cleaning it by yourself.”

─

an hour later, donghyuck stood in the small dorm kitchen, nervously stirring melted chocolate in a pot over the stove. he was standing at least a foot away from the oven, with an awkward arch of his back, and elbow in the air. mark tried to hold back his laugh as he leaned against the counter, supervising like a skeptical coach.

“careful, hyuck, don’t let it burn,” mark spoke up. “and stop standing so far away it’s not gonna bite you,” he lets out a small laugh.

“it”s fine, i’ve got this,” donghyuck brushed off his warning.

the second he spoke, smoke began to curl upwards from under the pot. “wait is-“

“hyuck its burning!” mark shouted.

“but it- oh shit- wait!” donghyuck panicked and grabbed the handle of the pot. feeling the hot metal burn into his skin, he yelped probably a little louder than necessary, he dropped it causing the burning chocolate to spill out onto the stove and counter a little.

mark sighed as the smoke filled the room. he turned off the stove and grabbed a towel to wave around, hoping that the smoke detector wouldn’t go off. “i thought you said this was easy!”

donghyuck turned to mark after staring at the burnt chocolate, the smell not so pleasant anymore. “the stupid recipe told me to do the wrong thing!”

after opening a window, mark looked back to donghyuck. “well..what now?”

donghyuck sighed and his shoulders slumped. “i don’t know…i guess ill just buy her something..”

mark felt his heart twinge at the defeated look on his roommates’ face. “you’re doing this because you want it to be special right?”

after seeing donghyuck nod slowly he spoke. “then try again, even if it’s not perfect. she’ll see that you put effort in and that’s all that should matter,”

“fine. but if i burn the next one too, im never stepping foot near an oven again. i don’t like the noises they make anyway,” he says with a scowl that mark laughs at.

─

needless to say, after donghyuck tried again on valentine’s day to make the chocolate; he burnt it again. thankfully not as bad, but it still wasn’t up to his standards.

which is why as he stands outside your dorm door, he hesitates with a slightly frowned look.

when he finally knocks and you open the door, his face immediately lights up at the sight of you.

“happy valentine’s day,” he says shoving the pink box with a red silky ribbon around it to you.

“what’s this?” you ask cautiously but feel a smile creeping up to your face as you grab the box from his hands.

"homemade chocolates," he replies before rubbing the back of his neck. "kinda,"

"kinda?" you raise a brow.

donghyuck groans dramatically and walks inside your dorm uninvited, plopping down dramatically on what he assumes was your bed. “alright, i may have underestimated how hard it is to melt chocolate without burning it… or how much coco powder is too much… or the fact that you’re supposed to let it set before you start decorating.” he rambles.

opening the box, you're left biting back a laugh at the sight before you: uneven lumps of chocolate in odd shapes. some were decorated with sprinkles and others with what looked like smudged writing that you can’t quite decipher.

you were turning your head from side to side trying your best to read them.

“what does this one say?” you ask, pointing to a piece that looks like it’s meant to spell something. you hold it out for him to see.

he leans over, squinting. “i think it’s supposed to say ‘be mine,’ but the chocolate pen thing exploded halfway through.”

you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, doubling over as donghyuck pouts. “hey! stop laughing! i tried, okay? i even watched, like, 40 youtube videos, but those people are liars. they make it look easy!”

“why didn’t you just buy some?” you ask, still giggling as you pop a small piece of chocolate into your mouth. It’s… not the greatest, but it was still edible.

donghyuck shrugs with a pout, his usual confidence faltering a bit. “because… i wanted it to be special,” he admits, avoiding your gaze. “i know i mess around and joke a lot, but i wanted to do something that actually took effort. for you.”

the sincerity in his voice takes you by surprise, and you feel your laughter fade into something softer. a small tint of pink painting your cheeks.

“thank you, donghyuck,” you say, placing the box on your desk and sitting beside him. “it’s actually really sweet. even if they're.. you know…”

“terrible? completely awful? atrocious?” he supplies, grinning despite himself.

“chaotic,” you correct, smiling back.

there’s a moment of silence between you before he nudges your shoulder gently. “so… did it work? are you impressed?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your pointer finger. “hmm, i guess i’ll let you know after you take me out for ice cream to make up for the beautiful chocolate.” your emphasis making him stifle a laugh.

he lights up, his grin turning playful again. “deal. but you have to promise not to tell anyone about the chocolate disaster.”

“nope, no promises,” you tease, standing from your bed and grabbing your coat as he groans in mock defeat.

as you walk out of your dorm together, you glance at donghyuck and find yourself smiling. sure, the chocolates were a complete disaster, but somehow, he’d still managed to make your day special in his own, perfectly imperfect way. something he seemed to do every time he was around.

─

the ice cream shop was pretty quiet, leaving only the sound of spoons scraping the bottom of bowls. you sat across from donghyuck at the small table. as you both slowly finished your sundaes you spoke up.

“i never thought you’d actually try to bake for me,” you said, a teasing smile on your lips. you took another spoonful of your strawberry sundae.

donghyuck chuckled, looking down at his half-eaten sundae. “i wasn’t really sure i could, but i wanted to do something special. even if it didn’t work out.”

you paused, studying him closely. he didn’t look embarrassed or frustrated like he did before; instead, there was a quiet sincerity in his eyes, as if he was letting his guard down with you completely.

“you didn’t need to make anything,” you said softly, “just being with me is enough.”

donghyuck’s gaze softened, his fingers brushing against yours on the table subtly. he leaned forward, the air between you filled with something unspoken.

and without thinking, you closed the distance, letting your lips meet his in a soft, gentle kiss. it wasn’t rushed, but filled with everything you’d both been avoiding saying.

when you pulled back, he smiled softly, a warmth in his eyes. “i think that was worth almost burning my dorm down”

you laughed, a little breathless. “maybe so.”

─

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpuffckk @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yomaman @yukisroom97

[lsunstreakerl]

ok! here it is- the alternative to Search History, where Max's injury is worse. It changes several things, very significantly. 4.2k words, some major time skips. Max POV, Daniel POV.

When they ask him later what happened, Max won't have an answer. He doesn't know. If he ever did, it's lying in the wreckage of the RB20- right next to his career and his championship dreams. It's burned and sooty, tucked somewhere between half melted race boots and jagged carbon. It's resting between Max's life and the accident that retired Adrian from the sport for good, and it smells like burnt track and gas.

All Max remembers is the car. His car, warm under his hands and legs, tuned to finest twitches of his legs and feet, their harmony.

Him, the car, and the track.

Well done Baku.

------

"Gap from Norris behind closing."

Max isn't a huge fan of being told about who's behind him- although this season, it just means he needs to get ready to defend. Not just on the track, but also whichever of his actions he inevitably gets ripped to shreds for by the media later.

His eyes flick to his mirrors, and sure enough, there's fucking papaya behind him, because Lando has decided this is the year to really put a thorn in Max's side.

They're coming up on a tight turn, and there's a snap of orange behind him, and something is wrong-

People say that things move slower, right before an accident. Max sees everything in clarity- his steering wheel, the McLaren spinning out behind him, catching his rear wing, the blue sky, cloudless, the stone walls ahead of him.

He knows in reality that the accident happens in seconds.

It feels like hours, from the slightest hint of impact to the realization that Max is about to send the full force of his car, as well as Lando's, propelling him forward, into the barrier- and then the wall.

Things are slow. He should've called Vic before he got in the car. He should've agreed to go out with the baby bulls for dinner last week. He should've told Charles he loved him again, that he was proud of him. He should've snuggled the cats more, given them all the treats they wanted.

Max watches the wall get closer, and has a moment to make peace with himself. He should have done those things, but he didn't.

He still tried. He raced and he loved and right now, that might have to be enough.

He hopes Charles wins it. With both Max and Lando out of the race, it'll be a good points haul. Max wants him to do well.

The stonework ahead is old, weathered by time and history. The barrier in front of it is familiar, and it won't be enough. Max hasn't crashed this badly since Silverstone.

It's going to hurt.

Max doesn't let go of the steering wheel.

The wall is the last thing he sees.

------

"Max, are you okay?"

"Come in Max."

"Just hit the button, come on Max."

"Max?"

------

Charles is burning breakfast again. There's a reason they usually get takeout- Max doesn't like to go near the oven in the mornings, and Charles in the kitchen is a genuine safety hazard.

Max will get up and save their kitchen in a moment, but he's going to stay in bed right now, even if whatever Charles is burning really is horrendous- smells like burning rubber. He feels a little bit achy, like maybe he went too hard on the gym routine yesterday.

He doesn't want to open his eyes, perfectly content to keep them closed. There's a crick in his neck.

"Max!"

Charles is calling him from the kitchen. His voice sounds weird- staticky and British. Maybe Max was dreaming about racing.

"Max, c'mon, please-"

Now Lando is in their flat, even though Max would really just like to rest, and he's tugging at Max's arms.

The duvet must be tangled tight around him, based on the way Lando is yanking at things. He should be more gentle- Max is still trying to sleep.

"Max, please- there's fucking fire, and I'm not- Max you have to help me here, please wake up-"

The kitchen better not be on fire. They just got their countertops replaced.

Lando sounds genuinely distressed, and Max feels bad, he does, but he's trying to sleep here, even if the flat is getting uncomfortably warm.

Lando will have to figure something else out.

Max tries to drop his head down, only to realize it's already down, chin droping towards his chest. There's a weird pressure on the back of his neck, and it really is getting hot, but-

"MAX!"

"You need to back away so we can get him out."

"He's not dead is he? Tell me he's not dead, fucking- TELL ME!"

"Sir, please back away-"

The sprinkler alarm must be going on, because it's cooling down, cold droplets splattering onto Max's thighs. His head feels weird, like he has a helmet on, but that can't be right- he's at home.

Besides- there's something hot and wet sliding down Max's forehead, and that shouldn't be possible with a helmet on.

There's hands on Max, tugging at the duvet and at him, and he's seriously starting by to get pissed about the moving around thing- he wants to rest. He wants a day with Charles and the pets, wants that day to be the rest of his life.

Someone's crying in another room, desperate choking sobs, and he swears he can hear Lando again, but he isn't making any sense.

"Please, please tell me he's okay, I don't- don't make me have to tell his partner, I can't-"

"Sir you need to get in the medical van."

They finally get Max untangled from the bed, which is seriously rude, and then he's being dragged.

It's uncomfortable, and it doesn't make sense, because everything is hard, feels more like the car than anything, and Max's head hurts, and he still hasn't opened his eyes up.

There's a weird floating sensation, and then Max is back on something, a board, and he's being strapped in, like when he's in the car.

He's ready to wake up now, doesn't understand what's going on.

His limbs won't respond.

He can't hear Lando anymore.

------

Max wakes up slow, like he's trying to swim up from a deep dive, but he can't break the waters surface, feels caught in a half limbo. There's a warm weight on his right hand, a thumb brushing over the skin. There's people walking around, and Max thinks he hears Christian.

"We could you use for Lawson."

A moment of silence.

"I meant it, when I said I wouldn't work with anyone else. You'll have to pull up someone different- I'm done. How's Adrian?"

"He said if he never designs a car again it'll be too soon."

A heavy sigh. It sounds like GP, sitting next to Max. He wishes he could check.

"Fuck."

GP sounds broken. Max isn't sure what could have caused it, but he's going to fix that- GP should never sound like that.

"How is...?"

The sound of someone dropping heavy into a chair.

"Inconsolable. Has been since the accident- no one's been able to get through to him."

"But he hasn't visited."

"No, he hasn't."

It's quiet for a moment, long enough that Max starts to drift back off.

"Is there any chance...?"

Another heavy sigh from GP, and his thumb stutters over Max's hand.

"They said maybe. There's no way to know until he wakes up, and there's- there's a nerve decompression procedure they could try, but there's no solid proof it actually works. Even if it does, he's never- it won't be anything like before."

Christian makes a strangled kind of laughing noise, but it's sharp and jagged, nothing like his usual warmth.

"Christ, might be about time for me to retire as well."

"Join the club."

GP's voice is dry, and Max is confused- Adrian retiring? GP? Christian?

He forces himself through the haze, higher and higher, until he can wrap his fingers around GP's and squeeze.

GP chokes on a soft noise, and then Christian is shouting down the hallway for a nurse, and then everything gets really noisy.

Max lets them move him around, hook up monitors and equipment, and then things quiet for a moment, and a gloved hand rests lightly on his arm.

"Hello Max, nice to have you with us. My name is Dr. Martin, I've been helping take care of you. How are you feeling?"

Something is- it's weird. Max must have some kind of blindfold on, because he can feel himself blinking, but-

Everything is a dark, murky haze. He can faintly make out light above him, but anything further than that is indistinguishable.

He licks at his lips, chapped and dry, before clearing his throat, trying to get past the fog.

"What happened?"

Nobody speaks.

Dr. Martin clears his throat.

"You had a pretty nasty car accident- knocked your head real hard."

That explains why Max feels like he just got hit by a truck. It doesn't explain the vision thing though.

"Why can't I see?"

There's a broken noise to his right, and he thinks it might be GP again.

"Well, I was going to ask you about that. How much can you see?"

Max doesn't like how this conversation is going.

"The light."

There's a beat of silence, like everyone is waiting for him to elaborate, but that's all Max has. He has the light, and the not light. There's nothing else.

"Okay, just the light. Any distinction in the shadows?"

Max looks around again, trying to make anything out, but it's practically impossible. All the colors are muddled, barely even visible.

"Not really."

There's the sound of a keyboard clicking, and then Dr. Martin clears his throat again.

"We're hoping that's going to improve over time- but I'm also going to put you on some steroid shots, see if that helps some."

Max doesn't understand- they just need to take off whatever blinders they've put on him and it'll be fine. His eyes work great, they have to, his life would be over without them.

They can't be damaged. Max doesn't even remember crashing-

"I crashed?"

GP clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice is closer.

"In Baku. There was a collision with your rear wing- sent you straight into the wall. The car was destroyed, you didn't-"

His voice is wet, and he sounds choked up, so Max stretches his fingers out, wiggling them until GP's hand folds over his own.

"You weren't responding, they had to pull you out of the car."

The words make something uncomfortable spark in Max's gut, thinking about it. The blatant weakness it shows, that he couldn't even get out of the car after a crash- it's pathetic. He's going to be feeling shame about that for months.

"Who won?"

There's a soft snort, and then Christian's voice is closer to him when he speaks, another hand resting next to GP's.

"They didn't restart, but the points went to Leclerc."

Oh god, Charles. Max hopes he's doing okay- though he wouldn't be surprised if Charles doesn't want to talk him now, after Max has completely ruined a possible race win for him.

"No restart?"

He's surprised, because the FIA is generally pretty strict about finishing races- unless the track damage is too severe to repair, or potentially a serious driver injury.

Christian's hand squeezes.

"No, it was- the debris was everywhere, Max. The McLaren caught fire, jumped to your car- or what was left, and you didn't wake up, you had to be pulled out and airlifted. The damage to the walls and the barriers- the teams talked it over, we didn't want to continue."

GP snorts, a harsh noise in contrast to Christian's softer tone.

"You mean we all thought he was dead."

"Gianpiero."

"It's true. Norris had a meltdown, Leclerc refused to get back in the car- it freaked everyone out, and we had no idea-"

"Gianpiero."

Christian's voice is snappy, and Max squeezes GP's fingers again. He's okay. Probably.

Alive, at least.

"He doesn't need to know all that right now."

Max clears his throat again.

"Is Lando okay?"

GP squeezes back.

"He's got some burns on his hands, from when he was trying to get to you, but they'll heal."

Max doesn't remember any of it.

Dr. Martin comes back in the room, wanting to do more testing, and Max gets lost trying to keep up with the words and the terms, closes his eyes and lets GP handle it.

------

"Leclerc! If you don't open this fucking door I'm breaking it down!"

Daniel lets his first bang into the wood again, before there's hurried footsteps, and then Charles is yanking him inside by his shirt collar, slamming the door behind him.

"What."

It's practically hissed at him, and Charles looks terrible. There's deep bags under his eyes, his hair is greasy, and his skin is pale. He looks like he hasn't slept in days- probably hasn't.

"You need to pull yourself together."

It's been a minute since Daniel did this, but- Charles needs support. Needs someone to kick his ass back into place, to help get him back on his feet.

Daniel did it for Max. He can do it for Charles.

Charles is scowling at him. He needs to shave.

"C'mon- you're going to go shower, and I'm going to clean up the apartment, and then we're going to talk about Max."

Charles visibly flinches, shrinking back from him, which is- it's not good. It's also what Daniel was expecting.

"Yes, Max, your boyfriend who is currently in the hospital. If he didn't have Redbull with him I'd be more pissed at you, but..."

Daniel takes in Charles again. He really does look terrible.

"Yeah. Let's turn you back into a human person first. Can you wash your own hair or do I need to come in and do it for you?"

Charles' frown deepens as he takes a step back.

"You do not need to do anything- I don't know why you're here. You should be with Max. In the hospital."

Daniel raises an eyebrow at him.

"Max has a lot of people looking after him right now. I'm here to look after you."

Charles scrunches his face, but there's no fight in him- he just lets his shoulders slump back down before walking off down the hallway.

"I can wash my own hair."

Daniel nods to himself, and he waits until he hears the shower turn on before he starts moving through the flat, throwing away trash.

He changes the sheets on the bed, starts scrubbing dishes, straightening up the living room- all little things Charles has been neglecting.

Daniel wants to be in the hospital, because Christian and GP are both being a locked vault about how Max is doing- he's alive, and that's about all they know- but he's here instead, because it's what Max would want, to know someone is taking care of Charles.

That, and Daniel had a friend once. A boy his age, with a beautiful smile and a soft voice, a French boy he would've died for, a boy that loved Charles- a boy that made Daniel promise to look after him.

His heart still aches to think about him. Daniel straightens his photo carefully on the wall, but he still can't meet his eyes.

He's here. He's here to take care of Charles, to pick up the pieces of the wreckage Max's accident is leaving behind. It's enough.

It has to be.

------

"He's going to break up with me."

Charles is poking at his dinner. It's mostly untouched- his appetite has been a fickle thing, these last few weeks. He refuses to see Max, refuses to talk about it- he just shuts down, goes quiet until Daniel backs off.

It's a work in progress, the same way working out is in progress, and Charles is still racing, but the spark is hard to find.

Daniel has taken up a semi permanent residence on the couch, because otherwise Charles will slip backwards, shut everyone out and isolate himself.

This is the first time Charles is even hinting about talking about Max. Daniel needs to be careful here.

"Why do you think that?"

Charles shoots him an incredulous stare, like he thinks Daniel is stupid.

"Are you stupid?"

Point, Daniel.

"I have not gone to see him, I have not spoken about him, I am acting like he died when I know he did not-"

Daniel leans back in his chair, crosses his ankles together. His foot taps against Charles' under the table.

"And why have you been doing that?"

Charles stabs his fork down.

"Because I thought he was, and this makes me an awful person, and a worse boyfriend, but Daniel- he might as well be? He cannot race, he cannot see- you know as well as I do what that is going to do to him. The Max I knew, my Max, he is gone, and I-"

Charles squeezes his eyes, teardrops falling into his plate.

"I am afraid to see what is left behind."

Credit where credit is due- Charles has said what they're all quietly thinking. They have no idea what kind of person is left, when the racing is gone. When Max's entire world has changed.

He's been in the UK for about a month and half since the accident, trying treatments for his eyes and doing PT for everything else. He's legally blind, and GP has taken a surprisingly involved role in helping him adjust.

Last Daniel heard, his eyesight has improved some- he's not completely in the dark- but it's still terrible, and he has episodes of debilitating vertigo.

Daniel's not entirely sure if he'll even be able to drive a road car again. His career as an athlete is over.

He reaches out, resting his fingers on top of Charles' hand.

"If that's what you need to do, then that's what you need to do- but Charles, I think you should see him first."

Charles laughs.

"I am a terrible person either way, Daniel. Even if I do go see him, what am I supposed to do? If he is not the Max I knew..."

"Don't feel like you have to stay out of obligation, Charles. But don't be a shitty person either. You can't make these kinds of decisions until you actually go talk to him."

Charles bows his head, fringe brushing across his forehead.

"I know."

------

Daniel swings his legs out of the car, letting the door shut behind him. There's a bit of a chill, and the grass is dewy underneath his shoes. He loves visiting the Netherlands, especially when he comes to see Max.

There's a dense layer of fog, and he has to squint to see the side of the school building, following around the corners until he hears the excited screeching of the kiddos on the football pitch.

Max is crouched near the goal, ruffling the hair of one of the kids, and Daniel doesn't think he'll ever be over how cute they all are, in their little football uniforms.

Max is in a sweatshirt and shorts, but he straightens up when Daniel makes his way over, face splitting into a grin.

"Danny! I did not think you were coming!"

"Danny!"

The kids have realized he's here, and Daniel doesn't even try and fight his laugh as he's piled onto by tiny children, all trying to give him hugs and tell him about their day, blame each other for the fouls Max has been calling them on during practice.

He grins at Max, who carefully makes his way over. His glasses sit low on his nose, but he looks like he's doing well today.

"How is your tiny team of world champions doing?"

Max's eyes crinkle at the corners.

"They are of course dominating- at the snack table."

There's a few small shrieks of outrage, and then Max is being yelled at in Dutch by a child that maybe comes up to his hip.

He responds with what Daniel assumes is a soft reprimand, though he pats the kid on the head right after, so he's not entirely sure.

"How is Charles?"

Max makes a so-so motion with his hand.

"Here and then gone. You know how it is, with the race schedule."

Daniel is glad to hear they're doing okay. It's been a rough few years, punctuated with self loathing breakups from both of them, and there's been a lot of emotional interventions for everyone involved. Daniel has spent a lot of time with Charles in Monaco- the time of the year around when Max had his accident leaves him on a hair trigger.

Things have smoothed out in the past year, thankfully. Charles stays with Max at his Netherlands flat when he's on break, and otherwise he's in Monaco, where they can all keep an eye on him.

Max has cultivated a close friendship with other teachers at the school, spends his free time at the nearby animal shelter. He visits GP several times a year, and he goes to see Christian and Adrian as well. He keeps in touch with the rest of the grid, but he's not one for the glitz and glamour of their lives anymore- the flashing lights give him a headache, and he's much more susceptible to vertigo when he's on the water.

They have to come visit Max, if they want to see him.

His flat occasionally has a rotating door of rookies- the younger drivers appreciate having a sympathetic ear, even if Max is equally as likely to make fun of them as he is to give genuine advice.

Max gestures all the kids back inside, voice fond even if Daniel doesn't understand the words. He walks around the side of the pitch before wrapping Daniel in a hug, head tucked into his shoulder.

Daniel holds him steady against him. Sometimes it hits him at random, how lucky he is that they still have Max at all. How easily it could have become something else, something worse.

The helmets and neck braces have updated designs, better support for the head and neck. Daniel hates it the way he hates the halo, the way they always have to lose something, lose someone, before things get better.

He tucks his face into Max's hair, swaying them for a moment.

"What's your plans for the week?"

Max hums.

"Mick is coming over on Wednesday for dinner. Charles flies back Friday night, if you would like to stay and see him."

Daniel huffs a soft laugh.

"I see him plenty back in Monaco."

"Don't make me jealous- of either of you."

He hides his grin in Max's hair, squeezes him for a moment, before pulling back, really assessing him.

"How are your eyes?"

Max makes a face.

"I have had better days. They are not so bad right now, but this week has of course felt very long, and I have not had much luck in the mornings. And it is getting colder also, so my ankle has been hurting."

Daniel nods, tries to ignore the soft pang in his heart he gets every time Max talks about it. Fierce, loyal Max. He's had multiple surgeries for his ankle, two for his eyes. He still walks with a slight limp when the weather changes.

He is still Max.

"I'll stay until Friday. In the meantime-"

He pulls Max back into an exaggerated hug, really pushes the limit until Max makes a mock gagging noise and shoves him away.

"I'll head back to your place, make sure it's warm and all that. You still have the heating pad?"

Max rolls his eyes, but he nods.

"That is a good plan. I have some things to finish up with the kids, and then I will be back."

Daniel watches him walk back inside- the way he sometimes brushes a hand against the wall for balance, the way he steps gingerly on the steps to go into the building.

He wishes he could take the pain away- but Max is Max, wants to live and work and have something to do. Granted, teacher is not what any of them had expected, but it's somehow still fitting.

He makes his way back across the pitch, to where his car is parked. He'll get the apartment set up the way Max likes but won't admit- candles and blankets, heating pad for his ankle- and that way when Charles gets back on Friday he won't be as worried.

Charles spends most of his time worried. He worries that Max isn't taking care of himself, that something has happened. He has panic attacks when they race in Baku, shuts down when there's a bad accident. He's on his way to a third WDC, but Daniel senses a retirement on the horizon.

He gets worried about Max and goes online, orders things to Max's address while he's at the school, which is how Max has ended up with the heating pads. He'll never admit that they help, but Daniel has seen it, the way the tension eases from his leg, the way he relaxes.

Max won't use them on his own, and Charles worries too much when he's gone, so if Daniel can alleviate that some- help Max take better care of himself before Charles flies back- it's really for his own peace of mind.

The two of them will be alright, eventually.

Daniel will make sure of it.

[tuttle-did-it]

I've said this before, here's the problem. Sub Rosa and Threshold are in a different category than Move Along Home.

I would argue that Threshold is actually much better than Sub Rosa because there is progress for Tom's character development and it's really only the last 10 or so minutes where it goes off the rails.

And Sub Rosa... well, zero character development for the granny ghost sex candle. Just a terrible and silly attempt at a Gothic storyline that does not at all work. great.

Sub Rosa and Threshold-- for all their faults-- are entertaining. They're absurd-- awful. Huge mistakes. But still, entertaining and silly and fun. So they are worth celebrating for their sheer silliness factor.

Move Along home-- with all its faults-- is boring.

Threshold, I can feel Robbie Duncan McNeil's JOY at actually getting to do anything but sit there saying 'yes, ma'am.' At actually getting to show some acting ability, of getting to show some character development. He showed the fuck up to work, he's going to do the best he can. Yes, even if he's just shouting 'Pepperoni'.

Sub Rosa, as truly awful as the entire script is, Gates does give her heart to it. She goes all in. She is one of the most criminally under-used actors in the entire show, and for some reason, on the rare occasion she was given a plot, it seemed to mostly be Gothic storylines. Gothic stories, by their nature, are absurd- and very often terrible. But Gates finally gets an episode completely focussed on her, and dammit, she's gonna show the fuck up to work. She's going to give her best. Even if it's... *checks notes*... having an orgasm to her grandmother's... candle. Righty ho, then.

The performances in these terrible episodes *almost* make up for the absurd storylines. For all the stories' flaws, Robbie and Gates really TRY to make these episodes good, and they TRY to give their best. The performances and absurdity makes the episodes worth watching. I mean, granny ghost sex candle? de/evolving into salamander creatures and babies in three minutes, and then totally fine ten minutes later? Sure. Why the fuck not.

Awful, silly stories + truly invested actors who are trying to do their best? = entertaining.

Move Along Home is just... boring. I adore Armin Shimerman, but I couldn't care less about the aliens and Quark's storyline. The hopscotch and games are just... they're dumb. But what's worse is they are BORING.

I say this with true affection for the actors on DS9-- they ALL seemed miserable in this episode. I would and do happily argue that DS9 has the best actors, they have the best episodes of all of Trek history. These actors are wonderful, professional, and they work hard to make this world feel real.

Except for this episode. I can feel Armin thinking 'well, it's fine, at least I'm on the Buffy set tomorrow. It's fine. Say your lines, get paid, go home. You have a mortgage.' I can feel Terry wondering if she should go back to New York and just do modelling. I can feel Avery Brooks questioning every life choice he has ever made and telling himself to go back to teaching at a university. Nana and Sid have completely checked out and are obviously thinking about their taxes or something. They all feel like they would rather be ANYWHERE else. I love all of these actors, but they were NOT there that week. And I don't blame them.

Result? BORING story + completely un-invested actors who clearly wish they were not there and are just hoping the cameras don't catch their eye-rolls?= Snooze.

For the exception of two moments-- the dumb Alamaraine hop-scotch and Bashir's weird standing up screaming moment? the whole episode is incredibly boring. And those 45 seconds out of the entire 44 minute episode? It's NOT enough for me to forgive how absolutely BORING the whole episode is.

I can forgive bad writing, I can forgive absurd, silly stories and granny ghost sex candles and baby salamander things.

Threshold and Sub Rosa are awful-- AWFUL. But delightfully silly, with actors who are giving themselves over despite the awful sillyness. Threshold has become a holiday because the fans can feel the JOY that Robbie brought to this episode.

Move Along Home is BORING. It is not delightfully silly, it's just DULL. And the actors have all checked out because they don't fucking care. There is NO joy, there. There is nothing to celebrate because nothing happens.

Move Along Home does NOT deserve the same celebrations Threshold or Sub Rosa do.

I can forgive BAD. I can forgive absurd.

I cannot forgive boring.

Move Along Home first aired on March 14th 1993

I propose that since we have Threshold Day for Voyager we should have Allamaraine Day for DS9

This day we shall all post of Julian's noncommittal screaming, Sisko and Kira being nice to Dax, Dax sensually feeding Kira the antidote, everyone dunking on Bashir and Quark and Odo playing snakes and ladders for the lives of the senior staff.

See you on March 14th if you wish to participate

I believe you may be interested @planetlongjourney