#Hope this is still in time! (If not hope it makes for a fun surprise after ^^)

[gangstalkerbarbie]

People in general are for some reason widely encouraged to reduce other people to monoliths that they then need to have some strong feeling about, and subsequently surprised when this leads to interpersonal conflict with people who feel aggrieved. Long post, sorry, here's a cut.

There are hyperobjects in existence which are composed of the actions and views of millions of people individually but fuck us all in concert, like capitalism or the construction of race. And then there are the people grouped in them, and like, are you seriously imagining you're doing something about any ism at large by harassing any individual?

I'm a Ukrainian Jew of an obscure little mix of particular ethnicities considered indigenous to Ukraine by the UN, all of which have seen some horrors in living memory that were only sort of related to also being Jewish.

When I came to America everyone except for white people decided I was white. This has materially impacted my wellbeing from a "the establishment cares about me any amount and my daily life is faintly normal" perspective in oh, just about no way at all. A really weird amount of people here have really weird feelings about The Polack, The Russian Spy, The Ukrainian Whore and all the rest (the average American racist who does not live online is still unable to distinguish them and disdains them all equally). But it's isolating, because there's no one other than people in the former USSR diaspora to relate to about it. I survived some fuck shit just to experience this, let me tell you. I wouldn't rather go do all that again, but seriously, all that for this?

I have zero experiences in common with Anglo-Saxons or any of the people they've let into the club — in fact the club has done things like detain and interrogate me at borders on the assumption I was traveling to prostitute myself (emphasis on why that's bad for me to do and also a crime, not on how it's human trafficking, also YES in case you are not aware it has dominated my life since I was a young teen and need it confirmed, the war, though not the part the west decided to care about, was on at the time).

The club and people in club proximity abuse me in the workplace because Slavs are to them intrinsically abuseable and I have no community to protect me (leaving aside my personal thoughts about my identity, this is how I am perceived here).

People here just generally treat me in a manner that enables me to relate to the experience of WOC and alienates me from white women. The really fun kicker is that neither group as I encounter it in meatspace wants me because I'm an exotic Eastern menace to all of them, but whatever, I'm straight, I can make American friends online. I'm sure it's different in other states and I was just unlucky.

I can't imagine what people get out of directing ethnic-beef catharsis at me, but I hope it helps, because it's kind of fucking shitty to do, you know? So coming from here I can sympathise with guys and also with real white people, who actually do belong to some category comprising a hyperobject whose particular systemic manifestation violates people's human rights, but have never or think they've never personally done anything. I actually have never personally done anything and neither have any of my ancestors, and people feel oppressed by me for no reason to do with me personally too. It probably feels kind of weird knowing that your great grandpappy actually was a segregationist and no one will ever give you any benefit of any doubt about it. Something about Puritan guilt culture?

Tbf though, me, I'm constantly annoyed by receiving only one of the benefits (white police ignore me if there's other people to harass, and I'm not la migra's first priority, which is also true of for example many Arabs and at least used to be true of Chinese people, in case you need a familiar benchmark for where I'm at) and all of the flak from everyone else about everything.

Material realities aside, it takes a lot to be normal about this for me, so like yeah ok I'm willing to accept that men or white people or whoever find it confronting that some people might exist who they think go around thinking accusatory thoughts about them. I don't fault them for their guilt complex. I have an irrational, probably indelible "holy shit fuck all of you and your dumbfuck invasive imperialist caste system, project it on my ancient and anciently diverse specific regional culture which is in your framework actively being colonised right now one more time I fucking dare you" complex about literally everyone in the Anglospheric race meta, which I have to actively restrain to have a public life and be able to make friends; everybody's got their brain roaches. Mine is that nowhere near everyone is ever actually doing that, but I've Pavloved myself, and this is my bitter melon.

And does it kind of blow to be put in a position where /I/ have to check my anger at being abused and therapise the objectively more powerful person trying to hurt me, yeah, no shit. I'm going to have to commend the last person's mom because if anyone in any setting where I have any rights at all (not a citizen, very few of them) yells at me, it's over for them and I'm not negotiating that, someone else can educate that person. I'm defending myself thanks. I was born desperate and value nothing, try me.

But not everyone who's in some American way privileged over me and has some dumb ideas about me is constantly trying to hurt me — sometimes people are just angry and tired and ignorant, and bell hooks is right.

Sometimes, if you're not in danger in a situation (you make that call, idk anything about you), it's worth remembering that the systems that create abusers also abuse the entire demographic the abusers come from. And you can't dismantle the master's house with the master's tools. If you could, braver and smarter people than us would have succeeded already, and we wouldn't have to have, like, revolutions about it, like the October Revolution, or the Haitian, or the Cuban.

Racism and patriarchy both make the people they ostensibly uplift emotionally kind of stunted in relation to the people they enable them to hold power over, and incline them to scream and wave that power at the nearest convenient target when remotely threatened by anything. All my homies who've ever tried to assist a bewildered but entitled Russian or American tourist, for example, understand this intimately. We've all served a Karen.

It's a cage-fighting-dog-eat-learned-helplessness-experiment-dog world out there. You kind of learn to treat the ones you can tolerate like children, by which I don't mean dehumanise them, I mean just ... be gentle when you can, assume that you're the one with emotional maturity and experience of the world here (you are, the system requires that you be the only one in this dialectic to develop either). 90% of the time they're lashing out because they feel small and tortured, and with men in many places in general they've been taught to replace most emotions with anger. Do what you want with that information, but it helps just to know it.

Because who do your sons learn about men's world from? Grown men, regardless of what you want, that's just how it works. If there are no men that do not merely believe but actively know that compassion is something everyone deserves, the boys will grow up to reject it as girl shit or female manipulation or whatever it is now, and that's how we got where we are with the American men situation, where I saw meat chocolates being sold for Valentine's day the other day that were like, military sasquatch-themed. (The fever dream nature of American children's everything is a topic for another post.)

No one I saw bought them because they're dumb, but think about what this means: men here both reject love as false when it appears and hypothetically expect sincere love to be provided, and that in a way that isn't emasculating according to farcical rules their women don't even think to keep up with, dictated to them by the online manosphere, in the logic of an abuser. That logic is reproduced and shown to children and teenagers on the scale of however many people shop at that Walmart.

What dude blew up at his girl for getting him heart chocolates and who thought the solution was not divorce immediately but heart-shaped sasquatch jerky? When the next guy beats someone up over that, are they going to replace the hearts with little tanks? Where are any cultural representations of healthy, humanising, respectful love between men and women?

There's no help for those chuds, I don't think, they're already gone. And I would never date one, but even just to prevent someone you know from metastasizing into that, I think it's worth it to put in the emotional labour of checking in on guys in your life, if you have any. Keep it to the ones you like or can't avoid, don't worry about random dicks unless you have bandwidth that day and want to. You're one person, random dicks are their mums' responsibility in the end, it's hard out here for a bitch and that's already an impact on life for future generations of children.

When I say this I'm really mostly saying it, for your safety, about little and teenage boys, who are still malleable and less likely to be able to hurt you. Kudos if you can do this for shitty adult male strangers, but realistically I reject the focus on what we can do for them over any attempt to get them to think about what they should quit doing to us, I'm sorry if that's bad intersectional feminism, I'm human though. I have this same take regarding race relations if you needed to know I'm consistent: be constructive if you can, disengage if you can't, it's not your job to educate anyone in the sense that you have the right to leave any situation arbitrarily whenever, but at the same time it is somebody's sometime, because the government literally deliberately hoards and obscures knowledge of reality from these overclasses.

Kids, however, the future of any society? Them punks can't read, it's like, a whole national literacy crisis. Where are they going to even learn about what to read, let alone find it, if there are all these men shooting up schools and politicians screwing with the curriculum? As a general rule I go out of my way for all children and I think so should you. They're not going to learn to be responsible when they're bigger and stronger than other people unless when they're little and weak, adults are unconditionally responsible with them.

Cultural change starts with the children and their caregivers and relies on public opinion, so in whatever small ways are possible I think we should try to be good influences on the next generation.

If you can't be fucked to engage with strange men, which is honestly completely understandable, I don't cultivate them either, then model kindness to children and the old people raising them. That will help more than playing therapist to people who don't think you're people, anyway, though you'll know which men you can help because they know you also have a soul when you see them, and I think it can't hurt to be kind.

part of the reason i love how bell hooks talks about masculinity is that she shows real compassion towards men suffering from the effects of toxic masculinity. she was conscious of how we need to unlearn the ways we talk about men + masculinity just as much as we need to unlearn the same for women + femininity. so many times ill see someone talking about toxic masculinity like (hyperbolizing here but only slightly) "these FUCKING STUPID BABY BITCHES won't MAN UP and go to a therapist!!!" and like. i get the anger. but you see feminists recreating patriarchal manhood by only promoting good behaviors through patriarchal frameworks. any use of the term "real men" is bad because it reifies the idea that manhood is a special title you must earn, and it is something possible to fail and fake. & as important as it is to promote sexual equality + the pleasure of non-cis-men, lots of people are essentially still working with the idea that men need sexual prowess to have worth but just shifting it slightly so there is more emphasis on women's pleasure. but I want cis men to think about their partners' pleasure because they care about their partners, not because they need to check a box in order to keep their man card. and don't get me started on small dick jokes– and the absolutely pitiful excuse people will use that "well, I don't believe it, but misogynistic men get upset when I say it, so it's okay!"

basically bell hooks is so fucking right. in order to create loving men we need to love men, simply for being alive, whether or not they are performing. as much as we need to actively unlearn misogyny (and we do), it's equally vital we unlearn patriarchal ways of seeing manhood. we can't just assume that taking a feminist perspective automatically means there is no work to be done there.

[neeeooon]

heyyy can you do blue lock guys with reader who adjusts with any situation without complaints or making demands because reader thinks they don't deserve their love? For example, if the guys cancel dates, forget an important date or can't make enough time for them. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say lolol 😭

okay i think i got it but i struggled a bit so if not pls lmk 😭🙏 thank you for the request!

when you go with the flow ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

itoshi sae

-> “where are you going?” “out. i’ll be back later. do you need something?” “… no, i’m good. have fun!”

-> you shouldn’t be surprised that sae forgot your anniversary, but it still hurt

-> sae appears at your door an hour later with flowers and a wary smile. “… i’m sorry i forgot our anniversary. i know it’s late notice, but can i still take you to dinner?”

yukimiya kenyu

-> “i can cancel, y/n, i don’t mind—“ “no, don’t cancel! we can go out some other time.”

-> you were not about to let your boyfriend miss a doctor’s appointment, even if it meant having to cancel your date

-> you didn’t mind waiting, but kenyu suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. “do you want to come with me?” you smile was genuine as you said, “yes.”

barou shouei

-> “i’m sorry, y/n. maybe next week?” “that’s okay! really, i don’t mind :)”

-> you do mind. you just refuse to complain about it to barou because you feel unworthy of his love

-> thankfully, he’s not an idiot. “no, it’s not okay. i promised you we’d go out today, so we’re going out today.” “i really don’t mind waiting—“ “they can wait.” “… okay <3”

kiyora jin

-> “is it okay if we hang out next week instead?” “… sure! everything okay?” “yeah, just dance stuff. i’ll text you.”

-> you were used to getting blown off like this, but you didn’t mind. just getting to call kiyora your boyfriend was enough for you

-> the next time he had practice, you didn’t ask where he was going. “y/n?” “yeah?” “… do you want to come with me?” you try to keep your excitement contained. “yeah!”

nagi seishiro

-> “i’m tired. can we call instead?”

-> you sighed but responded that it was fine. nagi sent back a simple “:)” and the date ended there

-> on your call, you were listening to nagi talk about his game when he suddenly got quiet. “… does it hurt your feelings when i’m tired?” “sometimes? but there are times where i feel like i don’t deserve you, so even this is enough for me :)” “… okay.”

[clementine-thedestroyer]

What about Raccoon! reader and bear! price. I think that would be a funny play on the usual prey hybrid reader.

Like this trash panda keeps leaving berries and cool junk outside Prices cave. He doesn't think the trash is as nice as you do but when he finally catches you and you have to try and explain Raccoon courting to him, he gets to decide if he wants to accept your offering or not!

(idk anything about Raccoon courtship btw I made that up💀)

I’m obsessed. I love this so much.

Maybe you’re bringing him what, in your eyes, isn’t even trash. Anything shiny, soft, or remotely interesting will catch your interest- one man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that- and of course you want to share your greatest treasures with him.

So you start brining him your best finds as little gifts. The first thing you bring to him is an old disco ball ornament meant to dangle from a rearview mirror (it’s got a few of the reflective tiles missing, but they’re no great loss).

The second gift you bring is one of the reflective, crinkly cat toys that looks like little balls of tinsel (shiny and crinkly!!), and the third gift is a section of shiny copper pipe you found about to be thrown out.

You bring him other, smaller gifts too- those were just your favorites. You bring him some of the little minnows you snatch from the creek’s shallow banks and every pretty rock that catches your eye. If you don’t mind bugs, maybe you even bring him a butterfly with pretty wings or a shiny beetle to enjoy.

And all the while, John is convinced someone is fucking with him. Why is there a pile of 3 flopping, still alive and actively suffocating minnows in front of his den? What’s he even supposed to do with them? Eat them? They’re not even half the size of his pinky finger. Unsure of what to do, he ends up picking them up and taking them back to the water, perplexed by the situation.

But as more and more “surprises” of the like show up, he’s only getting more and more confused. Within a month, he’s found piles of junk in front of his send and he’s had to escort multiple sets of minnows and even a few frogs back to the stream. What’s he supposed to make of all this? What possible reason could someone have for leaving a broken pencil for him to find. Was there some sort of message?? Was that metal pipe supposed to be a threat???

So eventually he gets tired of being messed with and has a stakeout, hiding back in the underbrush and watching the entrance to his den as night falls, hoping to catch the perpetrator in the act.

He falls asleep on watch, only waking up at the sound of light, cautious footsteps near the entrance of his den.

He doesn’t hesitate. He knows this must be who’s been messing with him for the past few weeks.

He shoots out of the bushes, tackling you to the ground and ignoring your shrieks and squawks of protest as he wrestles you onto you back, pinning your arms down and glaring down at you.

“Alright. Jigs up. You had your fun messing around with me, but I’m tired of waking up to crap or half dead animals on my doorstep. Time to fess up.” He growls, looking at where he has your wrists pinned, noticing the mangled, bent metal fork in your hand.

Yep. It’s definitely been you.

“Christ.” He grumbles, plucking the fork from your hand, inspecting the twisted metal. “What the hell even is this? Where do you find this crap?? How much effort have you been putting into messing with me?”

“You don’t like it?” You say, your voice cracking.

John looks down at you, taking in the look of hurt in your eyes and the small, light grey and almost oval shaped ears sticking up from the top of your head.

He sighs, resigning himself. Of course you were a raccoon hybrid. He should’ve realized he was being courted… just the gifts and offerings of food didn’t quite line up with what he considered to be typical courting gifts.

He releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to take his weight off you and taking a deep breath in.

“No… it’s… it’s fine. I love it…. Why don’t you come on inside.”

(Then like a week later after the two of you talk it out and he starts courting you back he just asks why the fish always had to be alive when you left them there and you just told him to prove that they were fresh)

[authorhjk1]

If you could sign an SNSD for each of the Vixen Media Group porn sites, who would you sign?

Taeyeon

for Blacked Raw

Taeyeon has always been a fan of big cocks. She might be small, but that's what excites her even more. At first, she didn't care about who fucked her on camera as long as someone did fuck her. But overtime, her preferences has shifted over towards black cocks. That's why she's now Blacked Raw's number one star.

Jessica

for Vixen

With Jessica it's all about luxury and long build ups. Most of her videos have a proper storyline with multiple sex scenes. It's not that cheap cliche porn plot either. Most people might skip the long build ups, hoping for an amazing time, which is of course guaranteed, but the people who really know her, know it's best to just go with the flow and watch how Jessica acts her heart out every single time, before she gets fucked in an expensive hotel, at the beach, or a museum.

Sunny

for Slayed

Sunny isn't purely into women and has her fair share of videos where a man makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. But for some reason, she seemed to be the perfect fit. If you want to watch two, three, four or even more women getting each other off, a video including Sunny should be your pick. She's guaranteed to make her female costars lose their minds during their orgasms and looks just as sexy when she cums as well.

Tiffany

for Vixen

Tiffany is similar to Jessica in terms of luxury porn. Everything has to be expensive and fancy and she always seems to be a wife of a rich husband or a billionaire herself. But instead of long, sometimes even complicated storylines, it's all about cheating with Tiffany. It doesn't matter where and when or with whom. She might play a millionaire's wife and the video is set in their luxurious villa, but she is still getting plowed like a cheap whore by her husband's gardener in the middle of their living room.

Hyoyeon

for Blacked

At the beginning of her career, Hyoyeon didn't care who fucked her, or how she got fucked. She liked to do everything, but she was always dreaming of something. She always wanted to try out the set of red, or white or black underwear with the word Blacked all over it. And now, for the last couple of years, she has been wearing it with pride. She finally got what she wanted and is now the number one model for Blacked.

Yuri

for Tushy

Yuri never tried anal before getting into porn and even then it took a while, until she finally had her first anal scene. To her own surprise, she loved every second of it. And after doing it a couple of times afterwards, she slowly started to get really into it. And now, Yuri is the star if you want to watch a hot woman getting her ass fucked. She eventually got into toys as well and now almost every single video of hers includes some kind of toy. If the simple plot allows, she will wear a butt plug, even before the shoot even starts.

Sooyoung

for Deeper

Sometimes, Sooyoung seems to be two different people in one body. She has the perfect attitude and body to be the one who punishes you all night long, but can also be the one who tries to hold in her deepest moan as she gets fucked while being bent over in some library. She likes to tie her costars up just as much as she likes being tied up herself. Ropes, ties, blindfolds, collars, everything goes. Although sometimes, she needs a little push to get herself into the more submissive position. That's why it's so much fun to watch her getting spanked at the beginning of a sex scene. You can watch yourself how she gets wetter with every spank. How she begins to beg for more, everytime someone's hand hits her butt cheeks.

Yoona

for Milfy

It obviously took her a while, until Yoona finally got to where she is now. You can't just start out as a MILF pornstar at any age. And despite Yoona still looking so young, her videos have been watched thousands of times. Especially by men who are younger than her. And she has done any role there is. Stepmother, step aunt, teacher, the boss's wife, the rich sugar mommy and your best friend's mother. It's all about how caring she is and genuinely seems to be interested in roles she is playing. She always had a thing for younger guys herself, that's why she already made a name for herself as the older stepsister, until she finally got signed by Milfy.

Seohyun

for Tushy Raw

Seohyun is widely known for being impatient. She often potrays the younger stepsister or stepdaughter, but can also be the cute, bratty neighbor. Tushy Raw is her thing, because there isn't much build up and she can get straight to getting her ass fucked in some dimly lit hotel room. There isn't any focus on a lot of plot or anything, she just enjoys the raw fucking. Not just during a shoot but also afterwards. Seohyun loves to watch her own videos to get herself off at home. The feeling of watching herself getting fucked on all fours, staring back at herself through the camera makes her orgasm every time when she's alone.

[dollwhite]

Singing death

[not a chapter]

All writing made by me will be under the tag ‘dollings work’

Also I’m thinking about making a side account but I don’t really think I want to because i would like to focus more on this one.

Made by Dolling

“Tim.. this is the second time this month.” You said, you arms folded in front of your chest. Staring instantly at your now broken window. “You’ve got a key for a reason child” you added.

It’s not like you didn’t have the money to fix all of the broken windows,but having to pull excuses out of your ass when the workers ask what happened. Was getting exhausting, you bought an extra key for him and he has his own room in your condo. But he still brokes your windows??

Kids now days.

Ya didn’t mine back then, because it was always fun to get a surprise visit from Tim. But now it’s like he doesn’t know when to go home, don’t get confused you loved Tim like he was your own son. But sometimes he had to remember, you’re not his bio mother. And that you had your own needs, like dating!

Before meeting Tim, you love life was not… not the best. With you being a popular singer, trying to find someone to date. Who wasn’t with you because you were famous and rich was hard, even other rich people wanted to date you because you were the famous ‘s/n’

And when you took a break from singer, you thought.

“oh maybe I’ll have time to date now!”

oh boy how wrong you were, it’s like the first week you took a break Tim showed up. And with him being thrown in your life, you didn’t have time to date.

But today was your date night, it’s the first date you choose to go to in months. But now you have to cancel why? Because your ‘son’ decided instead of going back to the batcave or whatever it was that the farry bat had. He came to your condo, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what today was, you had told him two weeks ahead.

Just so he know that you wouldn’t be home, so he wouldn’t come with one of his surprise visits. But he came anyway, and he broke your window!

It’s not like you didn’t get him a key to your place the thread week you guys met. Maybe he liked brokering windows? You hoped not…

“Maybe I miss you?” The why Tim said these words, they felt… calculated.like this encounter was all planned out?

“Don’t give me that bullshit, look at my window!” Maybe it was the fact that, you had known Tim for about five months now. That you felt so comfortable scolding him or the fact that you done it so often.

Or the fact that he got himself into trouble a lot.

“I’ll get Bruce to buy you a new one.” Tim murmured as he walked up to you, holding his arms out in expectations for a hug.

“Tim.” You muttered. “You are grounded.”

“Hm- thought you were going to [readers] house?” Jason said, staring at Tim. “She grounded me.”

“S-she [reader] grounded, I’m sorry you? Ain’t you her self proclaimed child?” Dick added. It was after petrol, that they all decided to have a game night hell even Jason was there.

Of course with the exception of Tim as he wanted to give reader a visits and maybe stay the night at their house. It’s like 85 percent of the Tim lived with reader, and that other 15 percent? Oh he spent that time at school.

“And what did you do for her to decide to ground you?” A malicious little voice rung out. It was Damian of course, no one else liked to torture Tim more than him.

Maybe Jason on a bad day but still, it’s like that little demon liked to see to suffer.

“How does she even ground you if you don’t live with her?” Duke asked.placing down a drew four on the coffee table, for Cass.

“Yeh, how does that even work?”

“I’m grounded from her house.” Tim answered, it was a pretty obvious answer to him but maybe some people just don’t get the contacts clues.

“That sucks little guy”

Can u guys tell their playing uno? Also SCHOOL IS CLOSED TOMORROW!! So I might add on to this<333

Anddd do u guys like the name Allure being readers singer name or should I change it?

Also the little special one short I was goin to do…. I don’t think it’s going to be done in time 😭🙏🏽 if y’all have any questions about siren reader don’t be shy ask meee!!

[dulcescorderitas]

Hi! I was wondering if you would ever possibly write a part two to Juno (either with the very fun times trying to make a kid or with them having a kid) I just adore the way you write Clark and would love your take on either situation (especially Clark as a girl or boy dad!) thank you regardless and keep being incredible!

you’ve got your hands braced on either side of the headboard, breath coming fast, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you try—really try—to look sexy. but then clark’s face does this thing, this deep-in-thought furrow, and you lose it.

“why are you laughing?” he groans, already half-wrecked but now thoroughly distracted.

“because,” you gasp between snickers, “your sex face looks like you’re trying to calculate the square root of our mortgage.”

he throws his head back, barking out a laugh. “wow, okay. mood’s ruined. hope you’re happy.”

“deliriously.” you wiggle your fingers dramatically before sliding them down his stomach, teasing, trailing lower. “but let’s try again, professor deep-in-thought.”

he’s about to fire back, but then you move just right, and instead of a retort, a downright obscene moan tumbles out of him. your smugness is instant.

“ohhh, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“shut up,” he grumbles, face burning.

“make me.”

so he does. with his mouth, hot and insistent, trailing down your stomach as he spreads your thighs wide. with his hands, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he buries himself inside you, hips snapping forward in deep, punishing thrusts that knock the breath from your lungs. with his body, pressed flush against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling as he fucks you like he needs this more than air.

he groans into your neck, the sound guttural, desperate. "God, baby—so mhm—"

you claw at his back, dragging him deeper, chasing the pleasure that coils hot in your belly. "clark—faster—"

he listens. he always does. his rhythm turns frantic, each thrust leaving you gasping, your legs locking around his waist as he drives into you, relentless and perfect. he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow your moans, swallowing his own when you squeeze around him just right.

when he finally shudders, spilling deep inside you, you’re right there with him, nails digging into his shoulders as your whole body shakes.

later, sprawled in bed, catching your breath, you roll onto your stomach, eyes still hazy. "so, you think this is the one? the magic baby-making round?"

clark hums, running a hand over her back. “if not, we’ll just have to keep trying. and trying. and—”

“okay, we get it, you’re suffering.”

“deeply,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, his arms tight around your waist. “but, you know, if suffering means holding you and making love to you like this every night, I think I can live with it.”

and to answer your question:

clark is 100% a girl dad. he’s got princess bandaids in his wallet, a collection of tiny hair ties in his pockets, and can paint little nails with surprising skill. he’s memorized every disney princess song and will belt out "let it go" with zero shame if it means making his baby girl smile. he’s the kind of dad who lets her pick out his tie in the morning, even if it’s bright pink and covered in sparkles.

he absolutely lets his daughter do his hair and has gone to work with glitter in it more than once. the first time, his colleagues gave him weird looks, but now they just expect it. he’s a walking canvas for tiny, chubby hands, and he’ll sit still for hours while she "styles" him with clips, bows, and whatever else she finds in her little hair kit. once, she even convinced him to wear pigtails to the grocery store.

he cries the first time she calls him “daddy,” but pretends it’s just allergies. in reality, he gets teary-eyed at a lot of milestones—her first steps, her first day of school, the first time she tells him she loves him. he’s hopelessly wrapped around her little finger, and juno teases him mercilessly for it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[weinq]

kiss me thru the phone

idol!anton x reader synopsis: After a concert, Anton texts you late at night. Despite the distance and time difference, a sleepy FaceTime call turns into a tender moment of love, laughter, and longing. genre: fluff, angst if you squint (?) word count: 1.1k authors note: i wanted to make this very angsty and fluff but this is what i’ve got for now. also, I haven't stopped staring at the pictures / videos of Anton from this live, he looks soo good huhuhu~ not proof read! masterlist

It was well past midnight when Anton finally made it back to the hotel; the pulse of the concert was still thrumming in his veins.

He sank into the chair, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Reaching for his phone, he unlocked it and instinctively scrolled to your messages. A smile curled at his lips as he read the texts you had sent earlier. Normally, Anton was glued to his phone, constantly keeping you in the loop. But as the tour stretched on, each stop had become more demanding, leaving him with fewer moments to share with you. He wished he could do more, but tonight, at least, he had this.

y/n: Have fun out there, rockstar~! y/n: Text me when you get back tho :)

A soft laugh escaped his lips. There was a warmth in your messages that Anton couldn’t ignore. He glanced at the city clock on his lock screen—it was already dawn where you were. He knew you would probably be up soon, starting your day. Despite the time difference, a little part of him hopes that you would be awake as he types out a response. 

anton: Just got back to the hotel, baby. anton: I’ll shower and go to bed. anton: I hope you slept well.

anton: Good morning, baby.

He paused for a moment before hitting send, knowing you’d likely still be asleep. He added the last message felt like a gesture of warmth, something to hold onto until you woke up. Not expecting an immediate reply, he set his phone down on the table and headed for the shower, his mind still lingering on you.

As Anton adjusted the shower's temperature, steam began to swirl in the air, enveloping the room in warmth. He stood there, waiting for the water to reach the right heat, his mind drifting. The quiet was interrupted by the sharp ping of his phone— “A message at this hour?” He paused, momentarily distracted. Anton wondered if it was one of the older group members sneaking out for a late-night snack, or maybe a work-related message? But his gut told him it was something else entirely.

He stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, drawn to the glow of his phone. He glances at the notification on his phone, which to his surprise, it was yours. You had responded. His heart picked up a little as he stared at your message, a grin spreading across his face. Instinctively, his thumbs moved to type, eager to reply.

anton: Why are you awake at this hour? 🤨

He hit send and leaned back, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The minutes seemed to stretch as he waited, anticipation thick in the air. Moments later, your reply lit up his screen.

y/n: I couldn’t really sleep. :( I kept thinking about you, and then… I saw you in my dreams.

Anton’s heart skipped at the thought of you dreaming about him, his smile widening. He paused for a bit, before sending the next message. 

Anton’s heart swelled at the thought of you dreaming about him. He couldn’t help but smile wider, warmth spreading through him. He hated how far away you were, how much he longed to be with you at that moment. His fingers hovered over the screen, a deep pull in his chest urging him to reach out.

anton: If you’ve got time now, lovely, do you want to FaceTime for a bit?

He hit send, the words feeling almost too easy to say—too simple, but exactly what he needed. He missed you more than he’d admit, and hearing your voice was the closest thing to being with you. You responded with a call, and Anton picked up in a heartbeat.

“Hello, baby,” Anton said softly, his voice warm as he gazed at your sleepy, yet smiling face. His heart tugged at the sight of you, so close yet so far away.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep, still caught in the haze of dreams.

Anton couldn’t help but smile as he set his phone down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “How’s your morning?” he asked, his voice laced with affection.

“Hmm, not bad,” you replied, rubbing your eyes as you tried to fully wake up. “I’m just trying to shake off the sleepiness, though.” Then you yawned, your voice quieter. “How was the show?”

Anton let out a tired sigh, leaning back further in his chair. “Honestly, I’m kinda exhausted,” he confessed. “The tour’s really starting to catch up to me. But when I’m on stage... it’s like I forget everything. I love performing.” He paused, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “I wish you could’ve been there today. Wonbin hyung played this sick solo on his bass. It was incredible. Briize lost their minds—one of them almost fell over the barrier.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and soothing. “That sounds crazy. I hope she’s okay, though.”

“Mhm, yeah. Wonbin hyung went down to check on her while greeting the fans in the front row,” Anton said, his tone lightening a little.

There was a brief pause as you stretched your arms, making yourself more comfortable. “I think I’ve got a busy day ahead of me,” you said, your voice quiet. “Well, maybe not too busy. I have a work meeting first, and after that, I’m meeting Yumi and Jia for coffee.”

Anton nodded attentively, but his mind couldn’t quite shake the thought of you being so far away. He listened to you excitedly talk about your plans, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion that weighed on him.

After you finished, the conversation fell into a comfortable silence—one that didn’t need to be filled. Just hearing each other’s presence was enough, even if it wasn’t the same as being together.

“Anton?” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice softer now.

“Yeah?” His voice was gentle, full of warmth as he leaned closer to the screen, his heart tight in his chest.

“I miss you,” you whispered, almost as if you were afraid to say it out loud.

Anton’s heart skipped, a soft smile spreading across his face. The ache of longing was palpable, yet his love for you flooded in, making the distance feel even harder. “I miss you too, y/nie,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes stayed locked on yours, as though he could reach through the screen and hold you. “I wish I could kiss you right now. God, I really do.” His words were shy, vulnerable, but filled with such longing. 

You smiled, your eyes locking with his. For a moment, it felt as if you were just a breath away, close enough to close the distance. “Kiss me through the phone” you whispered teasing him with the lyrics of the song, your voice barely above a breath, the sadness of missing him wrapping around your playful words.

[daeniradraconis]

The Leafs Legacy - Auston Matthews

Okay, so @tonyspep you gave me the sweetest idea with your comment! I know you were hoping for a more gentle Auston teaching his daughter to skate, but I thought the first game could be way more exciting! Hope you still love this take though!

So, here's daddy Auston being the proudest coach at his baby girl's first game. A few Leaf players make an appearance too. It's all about the fluff and cuteness! I just needed to write something like this today to make myself smile, and I hope it does the same for you! 💕 For more fun: masterlist❤️

—-

The arena buzzed with excitement—a lively mix of proud parents, devoted fans, and an entire section filled with Toronto Maple Leafs players, all gathered to witness history: the very first game of the newly established Leafs Girls' Program. And at the heart of it all, standing tall behind the bench in his team-issued jacket, was Auston Matthews—head coach of the future generation of hockey stars.

You still remember the promise Auston made when Clara was born. At the time, you thought he was joking about starting a Maple Leafs girls’ team, but that stubborn fool never let it go. For nearly a year, he hounded the directors and senior managers, relentless in his mission. You’re pretty sure they only gave in just to stop him from spamming their inboxes with proposals and cornering them with passionate speeches. But now, seeing the pride in his eyes as he watched his team, you knew—he had won.

From the stands, you held little Auston Jr. close, his tiny Maple Leafs onesie making him look impossibly adorable. At just three months old, he had no clue what was going on, but nestled in your arms, surrounded by the bright lights and the roar of the crowd, he was completely content. And in that moment, so were you.

You and Auston had talked about having more kids after Clara turned one, but life didn’t unfold as expected. Months turned into years, and despite your best efforts, nothing happened. Eventually, you both quietly let the topic go. But then, just as you were getting ready to settle into your life as a family of three, at nearly 36 years old, you found out you were pregnant. It was a shock—a miracle.

When you told Auston, he cried like a baby, overwhelmed by emotion. And to be honest, you were a hot mess too, crying and laughing at the same time.

You may not have ended up with enough kids to fill a hockey team, but you were surrounded by love—cherished by your little ones, who meant the world to you. The small moments of chaos and laughter, the sleepy snuggles, and the endless hugs were all you needed. And as for Auston, he never let you forget, that he was right about one thing: you were an absolute smoke show MILF.

But then, your attention naturally shifted. You glanced over at the ice, where Clara stood, her little figure tiny against the rink. She wore an oversized Leafs jersey, her pink and purple helmet snug on her head, and her tiny hands gripped her stick with surprising confidence. She looked so small out there, but the look in her eyes? That was all Auston. You could see the fire, the determination—just like her dad. In that moment, you knew she was going to make her own mark, and maybe even take after her father in more ways than one.

Auston paced behind the girls on the bench, hands on his hips, barking out encouragement like he was coaching a Stanley Cup Final.

Mitch, sitting right next to you, burst into laughter, nudging William. "Oh my god, look at him," he snorted. "He’s gonna lose his mind before the game’s even over."

William grinned, shaking his head. "I’ve never seen him this hyped, and we’ve played playoff games with him."

The rest of the guys joined in, chuckling at Auston’s visible excitement. Your heart swelled with warmth. You knew how deeply Auston loved his team, so seeing them here—supporting him, even if they were absolutely going to tease him about this later—meant the world to him.

You laughed along with them, bouncing little Auston Jr. in your arms. "He’s ridiculous," you said, shaking your head. "But you all know you’re going to be just as bad in about two seconds." You shot them a teasing grin, but Mitch and William both shook their heads in disbelief, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.

And sure enough, the game finally started.

"Alright, ladies! Keep your sticks down, eyes on the puck! Clara, get ready!" Auston called out.

Clara looked back at her dad, giving him a firm nod before turning her attention to the faceoff. You couldn’t help but smile—she was only five, yet she carried herself with the same intensity Auston did before a big game.

The puck dropped, and the game was on.

Clara skated forward, her tiny legs working overtime as she chased after the puck. The other girls scrambled in every direction, but somehow, she managed to gain control. She took a few unsteady strides before taking what could only be described as the most adorable shot attempt ever. It wasn’t the hardest shot, and it wobbled a bit, but it went straight into the tiny net.

The arena erupted into cheers.

Auston lost his mind.

"YES, CLARA! THAT’S MY GIRL!" he shouted, jumping up and down. He turned to the Leafs players in the stands, waving his arms wildly. "DID YOU SEE THAT?! GOAL SCORER GENES!"

And as you predicted, Mitch and Willy shot up from their seats, cheering like maniacs.

"Future first-liner!" Mitch called out, clapping his hands.

McMann grinned and joined in. "She’s got her dad’s shot. Go, Clara baby!"

You shook your head, laughing as Auston continued his excited antics on the bench. Clara, meanwhile, looked up at her dad, her little face beaming with pride beneath her helmet.

She skated back to the bench, nearly tripping in her excitement, and Auston scooped her up the second she reached him. He lifted her high in the air, twirling her around.

"You did it, baby girl! First goal of many!"

Clara giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. "Did you see, Daddy? I scored!"

"I saw!" he beamed, pressing a kiss to her helmet. "And I think that means ice cream after the game. What do you think?"

Clara gasped, her little eyes going wide. "With sprinkles?!"

"With all the sprinkles in the world," Auston promised, setting her back down on the ice. "Now go get another one, superstar."

She grinned and skated off, ready for her next shift.

Back in the stands, you turned to the guys beside you, only to find them still on their feet, cheering as if Clara had just won the Cup.

Mitch was cupping his hands around his mouth. "SIGN HER TO AN ELC RIGHT NOW!"

William was whistling, and Bobby nodded approvingly. "She’s a natural."

You smirked. "And here I thought Auston was the only one who’d lose his mind over this."

Mitch turned to you, completely serious. "Are you kidding? That was ELITE."

William grinned. "We should be scouting her already."

You just shook your head, laughing as they continued their proud-uncle act. Meanwhile, Auston stood at the bench, hands on his knees, grinning from ear to ear as he watched his daughter—eyes filled with pride—like she had just scored the game-winning goal in the Stanley Cup Final.

Little Auston Jr. stirred in your arms, and you glanced down at him, brushing a soft kiss against his tiny forehead. "Looks like you’ve got some big skates to fill, little guy."

The game continued, filled with more adorable chaos, but in that moment—watching your husband on the bench, your daughter on the ice, and your newborn son in your arms—you knew one thing for sure.

This was happiness. This was everything you had ever dreamed of—and more.

Note: ELC = Entry-Level Contract. An ELC is the standard contract given to rookie players entering the NHL, typically when they're signing their first contract after being drafted.

[chasteandpregnantmale]

Daniel is a teacher and here we see him with his husband Matthew (on the right) who is a builder. They have been married for over ten years. At 35 they are both established in their professions and have been trying for years to start a family. It had been decided that Matthew should carry them as he had the beefier body to cope with the extra pregnancy weight. When he failed to conceive, they tried with Daniel but he never conceived either. With time ticking on for both of them they decided Matthew should try to get pregnant using a new and different fertility method. Over a month after his insemination, he took many pregnancy tests which were all negative. They decided that they should try the new technique with Daniel as Matthew was still not pregnant. So two months after Matthew had tried the new method, Daniel was impregnated.

Daniel too took many pregnancy tests over a month. However, Matthew's belly suddenly started to swell big time. He had put on a bit of a belly over the past couple of months but thought it was just middle age spread. Besides he was always hungry so it was not surprising that he had put on a few. The fertility research people were puzzled and decided to give Matthew a scan. This revealed that he was carrying triplets. Apart from the swelling belly and constant hunger, he had had no other pregnancy symptoms at all. But needless to say, Matthew and Daniel were over the moon. They were expecting at last.

Everyone was understandably shocked and even more so when Daniel's body started going through the same transformation 2 months later. Apart from hunger and the swelling belly he too had no symptoms but when scanned was found to be carrying triplets. The doctors were puzzled as to why their new fertility method didn't trigger pregnancy tests and the carriers were pretty much symptom free. This could well be a marketing point though they would also have to sort out why both the guys had ended up carrying triplets.

As for Daniel and Matthew they were hoping to have a family of 2 or 3 kids over 5 or so years. Now they would have 6 in just the space of a couple of months.

They are seen pictured here in the fertility clinic wearing the clinic's signature underwear at 7 and 5 months. Daniel's slender frame means that he will probably develop a torpedo type belly. Matthew, being broader, won't have a gut that sticks out so far.

Matthew was now getting a lot of comments from his mates at work with a lot of banter going on. The physical nature of his work, meant that it was getting harder and harder every day to do his job. Daniel's colleagues were, for the most part, understanding of his condition. The students took the piss a bit and asked him silly questions sometimes, but it was all bearable though he was beginning to find all the standing hard as his belly grew relentlessly, leading to swollen feet.

Both Matthew and Daniel were extremely horny the whole time and couldn't get enough of each other, though any sexual activity was getting more and more challenging as they got bigger. Luckily, they were both quite innovative. In fact it was such activity that probably pushed Matthew into labour 2 months later.

Shortly after they had had fun together Matthew thought he had a bit of indigestion. Then he thought they were Braxton Hicks. He had been experiencing them for sometime now. After a few hours they got more serious, though still pretty random. Daniel decided he should phone the clinic though Matthew protested. But Daniel couldn't bear to see his very pregnant partner in pain. The clinic advised to go in when he was 5cm dilated, just to make sure they arrived in time. Who knew how the end of this new type of fertility would present itself as the beginning had been so different.

To say that they would soon find out would be untrue. By the following morning Matthew was still only 3cm dilated and while he was having reasonably frequent contractions, they had not got themselves together in any regular pattern. Matthew was already exhausted from little sleep and the very powerful cramps. The clinic decided to call him in to check on him and make sure the babies were okay.

What a sight they made entering the clinic. Daniel had, by that stage, developed a real torpedo belly. It actually stuck out more than Matthew's even though he still had 9 weeks to go. They had to get a taxi as Matthew was in no fit state to drive and Daniel couldn't get behind the wheel now. He was too big. The taxi driver looked quite alarmed when he picked them up. Little did he know that he had 8 passengers!

The doctors quickly confirmed that all was well both with Matthew and the babies. Somehow the day passed and so did the next night and then Matthew's contractions began to become more regular. He could not believe how much they hurt and racked his whole body. After 72 hours since the first contraction he gave birth to their first child - a 9lb boy. It had taken some pushing out leaving Matthew absolutely spent. Daniel wasn't feeling too good either, what with lack of sleep, seeing his partner drenched head to toe in sweat and suffering profusely. Being heavily pregnant himself didn't help either: nor the knowledge that he may have the same protracted labour in a couple of months time.

It was another 2 hours before the 8lb girl was born. After that, Matthew felt he had nothing left to push out the final baby. The contractions started up again pretty soon but it was another slow birth for the last boy. But he was big at slightly over 10lb 8 hours after his older brother.

Every one was exhausted but happy it was over. Their family was half complete and in another two months it would be finished - an event Daniel was now dreading.

[legendary-69420]

Art, Arguments, and Absolute Mayhem

Chapter 14

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

A/N : This is a pretty big chapter and It took me a LOT of time to write..share your thoughts in the comments

Mark sat at the kitchen counter, idly stirring his coffee, though he hadn’t taken a single sip. The soft clinking of dishes filled the quiet Monaco apartment as Signore Lazzaro moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.

The older man glanced over briefly before setting down a plate of toast in front of Mark. “You have been staring at that cup for an unreasonable amount of time, ragazzo.”

Mark blinked, then sighed. “I’m thinking.”

Lazzaro hummed as he poured himself a coffee. “Ah, a dangerous pastime.” He took a slow sip before continuing, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. “And what, may I ask, has occupied your thoughts so thoroughly this morning?”

Mark exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Charles kissed me.”

Lazzaro did not even look surprised. Instead, he calmly set his cup down, folding his hands neatly on the counter. “At last.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? At last?”

Lazzaro arched a brow. “Would you prefer I feign shock? Because I assure you, that would be dishonest.”

Mark groaned, slumping back in his chair. “No, but—I mean, he just walked up to me, kissed me, and then stormed off like I was the one who did something insane! And I still have no idea why he did it!”

Lazzaro sighed, shaking his head as though speaking to a particularly slow student. “Mark, you are an intelligent young man, but sometimes, you lack the ability to see what is directly in front of you.”

Mark scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Lazzaro took another sip of his coffee before meeting Mark’s gaze. “It is quite simple. He was jealous.”

Mark frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”

Lazzaro set his cup down with measured patience. “Ragazzo, you are impossibly charming. You socialize with ease. People gravitate toward you. And Charles…” He tilted his head slightly. “Charles is not quite fond of you at that time in these matters.”

Mark folded his arms. “That doesn’t give him the right to just kiss me out of nowhere and act like nothing happened.”

Lazzaro exhaled slowly, as though suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “And have you spoken to him about it?”

Mark hesitated. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Mark exhaled, staring into his untouched coffee.

“Because I used to tell Charles everything. Every stupid problem, every random thought. But this—this is the one thing I can’t just talk to him about.”

Lazzaro regarded him for a moment before nodding. “I understand.” He stood up, beginning to clear the plates. “However, avoiding the matter will not make it disappear.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “I was hoping you would tell me what to do.”

Lazzaro smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Ah, so now you seek my wisdom?”

Mark scowled at him. “Yes, old man, that’s why I’m sitting here having an existential crisis over my coffee.”

Lazzaro chuckled, shaking his head. “Mark, you already know what must be done. You are simply reluctant to do it.”

Mark frowned. “And what exactly do I know?”

Lazzaro turned to face him fully, his expression patient yet firm. “You wish to speak to him.”

Mark stared at him, expression unreadable, but he did not argue.

Because he knew Lazzaro was right.

The day’s PR schedule promised to be simple: a series of fun, light-hearted activities to boost Ferrari’s image. But with Charles and Mark at the center of it, simple was never on the table. Cameras were set up, crew members were mic-ing them up, and the room was filled with the hum of quiet excitement. The first activity was a blindfolded driving challenge on a racing simulator. One of them would be blindfolded, and the other had to guide them through the track with only their voice as a tool.

Mark was the navigator first, and Charles sat in the driver’s seat with a black blindfold tied securely over his eyes. He adjusted his grip on the wheel and sighed deeply. "Don’t mess this up, Mark. I actually want to finish the track," he warned, his tone laced with suspicion.

Charles rolled his eyes but secured the blindfold around his head. "Don’t sabotage me, Spencer. I know you like to play dirty."

"Who, me?" Mark gasped, all faux innocence. "I would never do such a thing."

The second Charles’s vision was gone, Mark’s antics began.

"Alright, move forward. Slow, slow, slow—STOP!" Mark yelled, his voice full of panic for absolutely no reason.

Charles slammed the brakes. "What? What happened?!"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see if you'd listen," Mark cackled.

"You are insufferable," Charles grumbled, gripping the controller tightly. "Just tell me where to go!"

"Have a little faith in me, Leclerc," Mark grinned, standing behind him with his arms crossed. "I’ve got the vision of an eagle."

"Eagles are the ones that see, not speak," Charles shot back, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

"Details, details," Mark muttered with a wave of his hand. "Alright, let’s do this. Go straight."

Charles slowly pressed on the virtual accelerator, the simulated car rolling forward on the track. For a moment, it seemed like everything would go smoothly. But then Mark’s focus wavered.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait, left! Left, left! No, no—right!" Mark’s panicked voice echoed through the room as Charles jerked the wheel in confusion.

"WHICH IS IT, MARK?!" Charles shouted, his body leaning with the car as if that would help him turn it.

"Uh, straight! No—left! Crap, that’s a wall—NO!" Mark’s voice reached a pitch only dogs could hear as Charles’ car collided with the side of the track.

"MERDE!" Charles groaned, tossing his head back against the headrest. "Are you even looking at the screen?!"

"I’m looking! I’m looking!" Mark insisted, squinting at the screen like he’d never seen a racing game in his life. "I—oh, my hoodie string is uneven. Hang on." He began fiddling with the hoodie’s drawstrings, tugging them back and forth to make them even.

"MARK!" Charles’s voice was pure exasperation. "I CAN'T SEE THE SCREEN!"

"Right, right, sorry! Okay, gas, gas, gas—NO, BRAKE!" Mark’s hands flailed wildly as if that would somehow transfer the message faster. But it was too late. Charles’s car crashed head-on into the barrier, the in-game announcer declaring, “Race Over.”

Silence.

Charles pulled off the blindfold and slowly turned toward Mark, his eyes narrow and full of disbelief. "I’m never letting you guide me anywhere. Ever. Not on a track. Not on a sidewalk. Not even in a parking lot."

Mark cackled, slapping his knee. "Dude, that’s on you for trusting me."

The next round had them switch roles. This time, Charles had to blindfold Mark, and everything took a turn—for Charles' mind, at least.

He reached over, fingers brushing against Mark’s cheek as he adjusted the blindfold. The scent of Mark’s cologne, fresh like sea salt and citrus, hit him like a punch. His fingertips lingered just a second too long on Mark’s jawline. His throat went dry. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how close they were—his breath hitching as images flashed uninvited into his mind.

Mark leaned forward obediently. Charles reached around to tie the blindfold behind his head, fingers brushing lightly against Mark's jawline. Soft. His fingers lingered just a second too long on the curve of Mark’s neck.

Focus, Charles. It’s just a blindfold. But his mind didn’t listen. Instead, it betrayed him with flashes of Mark pulling him in by the collar and pressing him against the wall, their mouths connecting with a ferocity that left him breathless. His fingers pressed harder into Mark’s skin for a moment, his breath hitching.

What if I just pinned him down and then kissed him right here? His eyes darted to Mark's jawline and then his neck. Charles started seeing visions of him making out with Mark in the foggy room with dim lights. Mark softly groans as he is blindfolded and Charles is kissing him. Charles moves his hand over Mark's neck earning a small moan from Mark allowing him to enter Mark's mouth and passionately kiss him. Mark is now without any piece of clothing, Charles moves his hands over Mark's bare chest and abs. Mark soft moans turn on Charles even more. Then Charles' hands move down and-

“Charles?” Mark's voice broke through the fog. “You good, Lec?”

Charles snapped back to reality, pulling his hands away quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat.

Get it together, man.

"Charles?" Mark tilted his head, the fabric of the blindfold wrinkling slightly. "You good? You’re taking forever."

"I’m fine!" Charles’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Perfectly fine. Here, blindfold on. Done. Done!"

Mark raised a skeptical brow, but Charles had already turned his back, walking away like the ground was suddenly on fire.

“Alright, genius,” Charles said, gripping the mic. “I’m actually going to help you. Unlike some people.”

Mark tilted his head. “Don’t make me take this blindfold off and fight you.”

The two bickered the entire time, Charles’ instructions clear but filled with sarcastic quips. Unlike Mark, he didn’t let his attention wander—though his eyes may have wandered a bit too long on the sharp lines of Mark’s jawline as he focused.

Artistic Chaos

Their next PR stunt was an artistic endeavor — sketching portraits of each other. The challenge? The artist could request poses from their “model.”

"Okay, Charles, do a heroic pose. Fist on your hip. Chin up, eyes to the horizon," Mark instructed, holding his pencil like a sword.

Charles played along, holding the pose with exaggerated flair. "Like this?"

Mark snorted. "Yeah, if you were on the cover of Worst Superhero Ever magazine."

After a few minutes Mark tilted the sketchbook revealing a stupid ugly stickman with two spikey hair on his head and he titled it 'Charles'.

Charles was not surprised by the drawing whatsoever "Guessed so"

Mark smirked, "Oh sorry hold on lemme just flip the page" Mark flipped the page and revealed an almost photorealistic sketch of Charles with his prominent features more well defined.

Charles was dumbfounded but still not surprised as it was SO Mark to do such a thing. Of course he knows how to draw well.

"Drew you like one of my French girls- ahem guys" Mark cackled.

-

"Mark, take off your shirt," Charles said, crossing his arms.

Mark froze for half a second before shrugging. "Alright." He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it, his toned abs and chest coming into view. Charles’s eyes went wide, his brain short-circuiting as he caught sight of the sharp V-line at Mark’s hips.

OH GOD. STOP. STOP LOOKING.

"NO! KEEP IT ON! KEEP IT ON!" Charles’s voice came out in a panicked shout, his hands waving in front of him like he was warding off a ghost.

Mark burst into laughter, letting his shirt drop. "You’re so weird, Leclerc."

"No, you’re weird," Charles mumbled, face red, eyes stubbornly fixed on his sketchpad.

Later, during an interview segment, they were asked to share nicknames for each other. Charles listed simple ones—"Spencer," "idiot," and "Mr. Distraction"—while Mark’s list was pure chaos: "Charlie Boy," "Princess of Monaco," "French Fry," and "Green Flag Leclerc." Charles shook his head, muttering, "Never calling me that."

“Alright,” Charles started. “For Mark, we have: Idiot, Stupid, Pain in the A—”

“Hey! Those are not pet names,” Mark shot back. “Alright, for Charles, we have: Legend, Leclec, Little Prince, Sharles, Charlie, Mr. Always P3—”

“Take that back!” Charles shouted, slapping Mark's arm.

“I WILL NOT!” Mark cackled.

The cameras flickered on, capturing the two Ferrari drivers seated side by side, their faces lit with that familiar mischievous glow. It was another PR interview, but for some reason, the energy today was pure chaos.

Mark’s Verbal Blunders

Mark leaned forward, squinting at the question card in front of him. “If I’m correctly being wrong here…” he started, his face full of confidence.

Charles turned to him slowly, his face contorting in exaggerated disbelief. “What?” he deadpanned, his eyebrows shooting up.

Mark blinked innocently. “What?”

Charles rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a groan. “What does that even mean, mon dieu (my god)? You’re either correct or you’re wrong, Mark! Pick a side!”

"Words are hard, Charles. You wouldn’t understand," Mark deadpanned.

"I understand you’re an idiot," Charles shot back.

Mark snickered, leaning his elbow on the table. He gave Charles a cheeky grin, not knowing what he’d done. The crew behind the cameras burst into laughter, and Charles dropped his head onto the table, tapping it lightly like he was begging for mercy.

---

Later, when asked to offer each other words of motivation, Mark turned to Charles, face full of fake sincerity.

“Charles, God gives his strongest battles to his hardest soldiers,” Mark said with all the gravitas of a prophet.

Silence.

Then Mark added, "And you’re really hard."

Charles’ jaw dropped and in a concerned voice he said "MARK. NO!" He shoved him off his chair, both of them howling with laughter.

---

Mark’s "Brilliant" Ideas

Later, during a behind-the-scenes clip, Mark could be seen inspecting the area for a spot to shoot a promo. He gestured toward a concrete wall with a slick, graffiti-like design. “Hey, guys, can we get a shot so we’re behind that cool-looking wall?”

Charles glanced up, squinting at Mark like he’d just heard the dumbest idea of the century. “You mean… in front of it?” he asked slowly, each word loaded with mock confusion.

Mark froze, eyes darting to the wall, back to Charles, and then to the wall again. “…Yes.”

The entire crew erupted in laughter, and Charles put his hands on his hips, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “C’est incroyable (This is unbelievable),” he muttered, grinning despite himself.

The Wierd Dilemma

Back in another interview chair, Mark tilted his head, eyes squinting like he was unlocking the mysteries of the universe. “Mosquitoes can fly, right?”

Charles sighed, knowing something ridiculous was about to follow. “Yes, Mark. Mosquitoes can fly.”

“But a fly can’t mosquito,” Mark added with a slow, thoughtful nod. “Isn’t that… concerning?”

The pause that followed was deadly. Silence stretched as the crew collectively realized what he’d just said. Charles blinked once. Twice.

“WHAT?!” Charles finally shouted, half-screaming, half-laughing as he threw his head back. “Are you serious right now?” He shook his head, face buried in his hands, muttering to himself in French. “Je ne peux pas faire ça (I can’t do this).”

Mark shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m just saying. Something to think about.”

Cultural Reflections

During a break, Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, looking especially thoughtful. Out of nowhere, he declared, “Good thing I wasn’t born in China.”

Charles looked over at him, confused. “Pourquoi (why)?”

Mark didn’t miss a beat. “I can’t speak Chinese.”

There was silence. Charles blinked at him slowly, lips parting as he processed what had just been said. Then he burst out laughing so hard that he doubled over, clutching his stomach. The crew behind the camera was howling too, and even the cameraman’s lens shook from the vibration of laughter.

“Arrête, arrête (Stop, stop),” Charles wheezed, gasping for air. “How do you live like this?”

Multilingual Chaos

At another point in the day, the interviewer asked a simple question, but Mark’s brain was miles ahead — or perhaps miles behind. He casually started answering in French, his words flowing smoothly. Charles blinked, visibly impressed, until suddenly Mark shifted into Italian mid-sentence.

“Et c’est pourquoi je pense que la stratégie devrait être… e poi abbiamo bisogno di concentrarci sul ritmo del settore finale (And that’s why I think the strategy should be… and then we need to focus on the pace of the final sector),” Mark rambled, his hands gesturing as if this all made perfect sense.

Charles tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Wait, wait, wait. Did you just—”

Charles snorted. “Tu es un homme étrange, Mark (You’re a strange man, Mark).”

Roasting Gone Right

“Mark, do you know what would really help your driving?” Charles said casually during a Q&A session.

Mark, already on edge, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m dying to hear this.”

“Maybe if you focused on the road instead of the crowd. I’ve seen you waving at fans like you’re at a parade.”

Mark’s jaw dropped as the crew howled in laughter. But he didn’t stay stunned for long. “Okay, but at least I have fans to wave at.”

The entire room gasped. Charles clutched his chest like he’d been fatally wounded, leaning away dramatically. “Oh! Oh! Il m'a eu (He got me)!” he cried, hands over his heart like he’d just been stabbed.

Flirting Disguised as Banter

The lighthearted roasting escalated into something else entirely. As they stood next to each other for a photo shoot, Charles eyed Mark up and down, lips quirking into a smirk. “You think you’re cute, huh?” he teased.

Mark flipped his hair in an exaggerated, slow-motion gesture. “I don’t think. I know.”

Charles clicked his tongue. “Arrogant.”

“Je suis magnifique, et tu le sais (I’m magnificent, and you know it),” Mark shot back, giving Charles a wink.

Charles chuckled, looking away like he was trying not to be affected. “I hate you.”

“Love you too-” Mark replied instantly, grinning then freezing, realizing what just came out of his mouth.

Good thing Charles didn't hear it.

Fans ate up every moment, filling the internet with clips, edits, and comments:

@ferrarifangirl_23: "THE WAY CHARLES YELLED 'KEEP THEM ON' OMGGGG I’M CRYING."

@chaosmarkstan: "THE BLINDFOLD MOMENT WAS NOT PG. CHARLES. WE SAW YOUR FACE. YOU ARE NOT SLICK."

@charlesforever: "They’re basically future husbands at this point. Just get married already."

@f1_chaos: “The sexual tension is unbearable.”

@markcharlesupdates: “Charles said ‘keep it on’ but his *eyes said otherwise.”

@chaotic_scuderia: “Mark out here speaking French, Italian, and the language of dangerous seduction.”

@leclercspencer_stan: “Mark: ‘If I’m correctly being wrong’ Charles: ‘tf does that mean?’ ME: 'tf does that mean?'”

@allf1all_chaos:"The way Charles paused while blindfolding Mark. HE WAS HAVING THOUGHTS."

The internet’s collective reaction could be summed up in two words: “I’m dead.”

[joelalorian]

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Eight

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 3976 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Cursing. More fun in the hot tub. Finally, getting answers to some of your questions. The plot thickens.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Eight

The cryptic message from New Year’s Eve haunted Dave’s thoughts. He set the tech guys at the DIA on it at once, not caring about the federal holiday, trying to track down the sender to no avail. It took them all damn day, and all they figured out was that the line went to a burner phone, probably long since destroyed and tossed aside.

Knowing the kinds of people he investigated as part of his job, as well as the ones he and the boys used to accept contracts from, it could be anyone. Still, Dave had an idea who was behind it and wondered how much they knew. If it was who he thought and they knew everything… well, there was a high probability he would already be dead. That gave him hope that they only thought they had something on him.

Two more cryptic messages assaulted Dave in the first few days of January, escalating his stress level. You could tell something was wrong, but you never pushed, only offering stress relief and support. Things had been a little… off… since that New Year’s Eve party and this situation wasn’t making it any better.  He appreciated your efforts to be there for him, but he still felt awful for, well, everything. All this hiding and lying to you of all people didn’t sit right with him. He longed to tell you everything, he just… couldn’t. Not if it would put you in danger.

His frustrations only mounted when the tech team deemed themselves useless and he reached out to the boys.

“Resnik,” Dave greeted as the other man picked up his call. “I need your help. Can we meet?”

“Name the time, boss. I’ll come to you,” Resnik replied. “Should I bring the guys?”

After some consideration, Dave hummed an affirmative followed by a time he knew Lisa would still be at work and the girls at school. You’d be home, but he wasn’t worried about you seeing the boys around. He trusted you, which surprised him. Dave York trusted few people.

The house was quiet when the knock came. Dave glanced first at the clock, then through a gap in the curtains to confirm it was them. Pulling the door open, he greeted the three familiar faces, their expressions a mix of curious and mildly amused.

Ari stepped through the door first, tall and wiry. His sharp eyes scanned the entryway before meeting Dave’s. “Nice place, York,” he said, clapping Dave on the shoulder.

“Not bad for a suburban family man,” Kovac added, his stocky frame filling the doorway as he followed Ari into the house.

Resnik, the one to always give him the most shit, entered last, an easy-going grin on his face. “Didn’t peg you for the white picket fence type, boss. Always thought that was Carol’s doin’.”

Shaking his head, Dave ushered him in and closed the door, sliding the deadbolt into place with a defined click. “Enough with the commentary. This isn’t a social call, gentlemen,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, Mr. Personality,” Resnik replied, waving him off. “If you’re calling us in, it’s gotta be serious. What’s going on?”

Before Dave could answer, a soft laugh drifted in from the kitchen. The men turned as one, their gazes locking onto you as you appeared in the doorway, holding a mug of coffee in one hand and your phone in the other, looking slightly startled at the sight of three strange men in your home. Ranger stood guard beside you; his hackles raised at the sight of unknown intruders.

“Uh, hi,” you mumbled, glancing between them and Dave.

Ari arched a brow, his sharp gaze flicking back to Dave. “And who is this?”

“No one you need to worry about,” Dave barked quickly, his tone clipped as he stepped between you and the guys, patting Ranger’s head to calm him. A flash of hurt crossed your face, but he couldn’t deal with that right now, not when the boys looked at you like dessert.

Resnik let slip a low whistle, comically leaning around Dave to get a better look at you. “No one? Come on, York. Are you not gonna introduce us, your oldest friends, to the hottie in your house?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dave muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He stepped aside with a heavy sigh, allowing them a full view of you again. “Gentlemen, this is—”

You cut him off with a small smile, extending your hand as you offered them your name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ari took your hand first, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Ari,” he replied, his expression appreciative yet still assessing you for threats or weaknesses.

“Kovac,” the stockier man said in a deep, rumbling voice, shaking your hand with a grin half hidden by his thick beard.

“And I’m Resnik,” the final man greeted with a roguish wink. Ranger rumbled a low growl at the action. “The only single one here, I might add. So, are you the reason this guy dragged us here or…?”

You blinked, charmed yet clearly caught off guard. You glanced at Dave, who scowled at the other men, before stumbling through a response. “I – uh – no, I don’t think so.”

“She’s not,” Dave growled, shooting Resnik a warning look. “And she’s got better things to do than hang around here while we work.”

Hurt flashed across your face again at his clear dismissal, but you forced your expression into a polite smile to the group. “I’ll be in the basement,” you said before shouldering past Dave to disappear down the stairs with your coffee, Ranger trotting after you. Dave regretted being so curt and dismissive, but hopefully, you’d understand. He’d speak to you later to make sure of it.

Once you were out of earshot, Ari turned to Dave, crossing his arms. “Care to explain?”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Dave said flatly. “She’s… a family friend.”

Kovac snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“I knew you looked familiar,” Resnik snarked before turning to Dave, enamored grin widening. “Seriously, York. Who’s the eye candy? She sure as hell ain’t just a family friend.”

Dave’s glare did nothing to silence them, his expression darkening as they continued to badger him with questions.

“Since when do you have a dog?”

“And what’s with this huge house? What was wrong with the old one?”

“Is that a wedding ring on your finger?”

“When the hell did you get remarried?”

“And why weren’t we invited?”

“What are you hiding, boss?”

The questions came at him like quick punches, jab, jab, jabbing at him until his already frayed nerves burst at the seams. Pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, Dave finally snapped. “Enough! We’ve got a job to do. If you busybodies could focus for five fucking minutes, I will answer some of your questions when we’re done.”

The boys reigned it in, much to Dave’s relief, and the group moved to the dining room where Dave spread out the few details he had about the text, along with very few details about the operation he was working on. The tone in the room shifted as the men fell into their professional roles, their banter replaced by quiet intensity.

The four men stared at the printouts, listening to Dave give some background on the op and the circumstances under which the texts came through.

Ari frowned as he examined the data. “The message is too clean. No traceable metadata, no IP trails. Whoever sent this knows what they’re doing – or they’re working with a team who does.”

“This ‘mutual friend’ military asset of theirs? You don’t suppose…” Kovac started, sharing a glance with Resnik.

“I was thinking the same thing,” the other man added while Ari and Dave stared at them.

“I hate when you guys do this shit,” Ari muttered.

“It’s good to see that nothing changes with you three,” Dave added with a trace of fondness. “If you wouldn’t mind knocking off the shared thought shit and just filling the rest of us in.”

With a nod from Kovac, Resnik took point. “You said there’s a military asset involved in your op and this Roger and Anna keep referring to them as your ‘mutual friend’ – do we know if they are active or retired?”

Dave shook his head, starting to see where this was headed.

“You don’t suppose…” Ari wondered aloud, repeating Kovac’s earlier statement as he caught on to the other men’s thought process. “Would make sense, if the asset was retired. I mean, the guy has the connections.”

 “And he has an axe to grind,” Dave added, mind racing.

“Then we all agree. Robert McCall could be the asset and is equally likely to be behind these messages,” Resnik said, one finger tapping against the printouts on the table.

“He certainly has the skill set,” Kovac concurred.

Despite being their team leader for seven years, the men still harbored resentment for their once friend faking his death on their last sanctioned operation together. The men mourned the man and turned to extracurricular work to make up for the disbanding of their team thanks to McCall’s death. When the once respected leader returned from the dead to confront them about their supposed crimes committed during their extracurricular activities, Dave was already considering leaving that life behind as Carol was diagnosed with cancer. It was a no-brainer, to take the opportunity McCall presented and walk away from that life, and for everyone to agree to go their separate ways without further injury.

They all thought that was the end of it, but he should have known better. He heard from Susan Plummer a few times how the old man changed over the past couple of years, becoming more frustrated with the state of the country, the greed, and the corruption. She was worried about him but didn’t know what to do.

It was all starting to make sense to Dave. The loss of his wife, Vivienne, hit McCall particularly hard, and the vigilante work had given him an outlet. But was it enough? Apparently not.

“Shit,” Dave muttered, running a hand through his hair as he fell back into a seat at the table.

Resnik leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “If it is McCall, he’s playing with you. Trying to rattle your cage.”

“Yeah, well, it’s working,” Dave snapped.

Ari looked up from another scan of the data, his gaze sharp. “You sure there’s no one else who could’ve sent this? Someone closer to home?”

Dave hesitated, mind flashing to Anna, how her eyes and hands lingered on him during their last meeting, her comments about you at the party. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “Anna’s people are thorough. The team created a whole data and paper trail to fit my cover, but if they’re onto me—”

“Whoever it is, they’re not just onto you,” Resnik interrupted. “They’re watching. The question is, what do they want?”

The conversation continued as the men worked to dissect the threat and formulate plans. Despite talking in circles, Dave’s gut insisted McCall was behind it all. In the back of his mind, another worry lingered – one he couldn’t share, not even with the boys.

If McCall or Anna’s people were watching him, how long before they noticed you? Or is that what the original text implied?

No, it couldn’t be. Unless they bugged the house, there was no way for anyone to know what was going on between the two of you.

“Tell us more about this op, boss,” Kovac requested. “What’s the cover? Maybe there’s a detail that would help us figure out who is behind this.”

Dave hesitated, shoulders slumping as he thought about how much to give away or keep close to his chest. He trusted them. These guys knew him better than any other living beings on the planet – they knew him better than Carol ever did, having been in the thick with them too many times to count. He could only hide so much from them.

“I’m married.”

The three men stared at him blankly, waiting for context. When he gave them nothing else, Resnik snapped. “Thanks, Captain fucking Obvious. We figured that out for ourselves. What we want to know is the how, the why, the when.”

“Most importantly,” Kovac interjected, “the who and why weren’t we invited?”

Rubbing both hands over his face and through his hair, Dave sighed. He had unrelenting trust in these men, but it still scared him to speak the words aloud, but not for the reason he would have thought. He found that he wasn’t so afraid of blowing his cover, as much as he was of hurting you by telling them first.

“Because… it’s not real. It’s a cover for the op.”

It had been months, and he never said a word about it to you, never even hinted at it. He still wasn’t planning to tell you, unfortunately. He couldn’t risk it changing the dynamic he had to uphold for the sake of this operation. He worried that was the wrong decision, that it would bite him in the ass later, but he was steadfast. He was so close to closing this case. He had to put that first and part of him hated himself for that. Otherwise, one false move could ruin… everything.

The room fell silent for a beat before the boys erupted into laughter.

“Why the fuck are you three laughing?” Dave grumbled, unamused.

All three men raised their hands in surrender, laughter fading until the room fell silent again.

“So, what’s the angle? Why the sham?” Ari asked with a calculating gleam in his eye. Dave could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he worked the angles of what Dave shared.

“Better yet, who’s the wife?” Resnik questioned with a smirk. “Tell me it’s not that stunner with the luscious ass waiting for you downstairs.”

Dave ignored Resnik’s comments, avoiding the man’s gaze as he provided more details. “My neighbors, Roger, and his wife are the targets,” he explained. “The DIA needed me close so they paired me with an analyst – Lisa, you might have met her before, she’s been with the agency a long time – to make us look like just another domestic couple in the neighborhood. She’s my ‘wife’ on paper.”

Resnik leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he angled his head to catch Dave’s gaze. “If Lisa’s the ‘wife’, then who is the—” He stopped, his eyes widening as realization dawned.

Kovac caught on next, a slow grin spreading across his face. “The ‘family friend’, huh? She your stepdaughter or something?”

Ari’s expression remained unreadable, but his gaze flicked to the basement door. “She’s part of what you’re hiding, too, isn’t she?”

Dave’s silence was all the answer they needed, and he fucking hated it. Why the hell were they so stuck on you anyway?

“Holy shit,” Resnik said, tipping back in his chair with an admiring gaze. “York, you sly bastard. Living a fucking porn plot over here, huh? Does she even know?”

Those comments pushed Dave over the edge. “She doesn’t need to,” he snapped, his tone icy enough to cover the table in a layer of frost. “Her involvement is incidental. She’s not part of this.”

They all looked at him incredulously, but Kovac was the only one brave enough to challenge him this time. “Not part of this? I could tell with one glance, that this chick means something to you, boss. You practically look at her with hearts in your goddamned eyes. If these people are watching, she’s already in it, whether you like it or not.”

The words hit harder than Dave cared to admit. Scrubbing a hand over his face once more, the weight of the situation pressed down on him. Fuck. He planned this op meticulously, accounted for the girls' safety, and was comfortable enough with his cover marriage to Lisa to make it look good to the outside world. What he did not plan for was you and the impact you had on his life – and as a result, the impact you had on this op.

“That’s why I need you three,” he finally admitted. “If they’re onto me, I need to know how much they know – and how close they are to her.”

Ari nodded, his sharp eyes narrowing. “I’ll dig into the messages and see if there’s anything the DIA nerds missed. But you’re walking a fine line here, boss.”

“I know,” Dave admitted, his voice an octave above a whisper.

“Do you?” Ari pressed. “Because if this goes south, that pretty thing is not just collateral damage. She’s your weak spot, and whoever is behind this will exploit it however they can.”

“Is it really that obvious?” Dave questioned without realizing the words left his mouth.

“We read you like a fucking book the moment she walked into the room, man,” Resnik chimed in.

“Heart eyes,” Kovac reiterated. “To anyone who knows you, it’s fucking obvious.”

“And McCall knows you almost as well as we do,” Ari finished. “So, if he really is behind this…”

Fuck. Dave’s jaw clenched, his chest tightening with the weight of their words. “Just get confirmation on who sent these messages. Then we can plan accordingly. I need this fucking thing over with asap.” His tone brooked no argument from the men as they gathered their things.

“We’ll check back in 48 hours. Sooner if I find something,” Ari said as they made their way through the house to the front door.

As Dave watched them walk to the SUV parked in his driveway, his thoughts drifted back to you. They were right – if these people were watching him, you were already in danger. And it was up to him to ensure they never got close enough to hurt you.

After what felt like hours of pacing the basement, mind racing over Dave’s behavior and the men he clearly didn’t want you to meet, you had enough. You dug out a one-piece bathing suit from the closet and changed. You needed a soak in the hot tub to ease your tattered nerves. You had two hours to kill before you needed to pick up the girls from school and the hot water would do you good.

You heard the men leave as you pulled a thick bathrobe over the swimwear and darted up the stairs. Dave stood at the front door watching the men pile into their SUV, but you ignored him, slipping silently down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the sliding glass door. He must have gone looking for you because he stuck his head out the back door five minutes later looking relieved to see you.

“Hey,” he greeted, appearing uncertain.

“Hey yourself,” you replied. The hot, bubbling water was already relaxing you, but the hurt from his earlier dismissal still lingered.

Dave gazed at you with those sad, puppy dog eyes, willing you to smile at him. “Can I join you?”

You shrugged. “It’s your hot tub.”

His hopeful expression dropped. “Don’t be like that. Please.” You softened slightly, beckoning him in and his pouty lips curved into a grateful smile as he undid the buttons of his shirt. You watched with thirsty eyes as he undid his belt next and slipped his pants down over his slim hips revealing the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs beneath.

You couldn’t stop your tongue from darting out to lick at your lips. Even when you wanted to be mad at him, Dave York was still a snack.

No, scratch that.

He was a whole fucking meal, and you wanted to devour him.

The water sloshed as he climbed in, taut muscles flexing with his movements. You were practically salivating by the time Dave slid next to you. Soon, you were overheating between the water temperature and his body heat. Each cell within your body nearly became apoplectic when his arm curled around your shoulders, pulling your body closer and twisting you around to straddle his lap.

Those dark chocolate eyes gazed at you with a mix of wonder and worry, his lips pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’m sorry about before,” Dave murmured.

Your eyes tracked a droplet of water as it meandered down the dewy skin of his neck, head dipping to halt its movement with your tongue. Dave gasped at the touch of your mouth on him, hands flexing on your hips beneath the water’s surface.

“Firecracker…” he groaned, head dipping back to meet your gaze.

“Who were those men? The ones you clearly didn’t want me to meet?”

His expression shifted from dazed to regretful. “They are old military buddies of mine. We worked together for a long time. It’s not that I didn’t want you to meet them…”

You quirked an eyebrow doubtfully and he sighed.

“I mean it. I just didn’t want you to meet them like this when I’m in the middle of a case and things are up in the air.”

“More like when we’re hiding the fact that you’re having an affair with your stepdaughter,” you groused. You didn’t know why you were giving him a hard time about this. You went into this thing with Dave knowing full well what it was. You never questioned it before.

Dave’s head tilted to the side as he considered your pout. “Well, yeah. That too. Aside from you and me, they are the only people who know anything about us. Even then, I didn’t give them much.”

A small weight lifted from your chest at the thought of his friends knowing about you and a smile slipped into place. “Is this case you’re on dangerous?”

He nodded.

“Is that why your friends came by? To assist with your case?”

Again, he nodded. You were about to ask if the neighbor had anything to do with the case, but Dave silenced you with a kiss.

“No more questions, my little Firecracker. I don’t want to lie to you so I can’t tell you any more than this – we need to be careful. This operation is turning more dangerous than anticipated, and I don’t want the wrong people finding out about us… about what you mean to me.”

Dark eyes searched yours until you nodded, hands coming up to caress his face. “Understood. Just… don’t push me away, okay?”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Dave replied earnestly before dipping his head to capture your lips in a kiss that quickly turned heated. You felt his girth growing against you and he shifted a hand to pull himself through the hidden pocket of his boxer briefs before sliding the crotch of your swimsuit to one side.

“Come on, now, my fiery girl,” Dave purred against your lips. “Sit on this cock and make yourself feel good.”

Always good at following directions, you did just that. Impaling yourself on his length with a guttural moan, you bounced on Dave’s cock, making the frothing water slosh over the sides of the hot tub.

“That’s it, princess. Take what you want,” Dave encouraged as you ground against him. His hands roamed your body, stopping occasionally to flex his fingers against your soft skin. At one point, he slipped a hand between your bodies to press his thumb against your clit and you arched back.

“Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, my sweet vixen.” He thrust upward when you keened, hitting that secret spot inside you no one else ever touched.

“There you go,” he sang in your ear, his breathy rumble sending a shockwave through your trembling body. “Come on this cock that was made for you.”

And once again, you did what you were told.

tbc

Chapter Nine

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk

[siro-cyll]

The Uncharted Mansion

Transcript:

Once again, Gravity Falls has contradicted my ability to predict its unstable weather patterns. While cataloging several anomalies in the woods miles from my cabin, I became lost in a freak blizzard that I was gravely unprepared for. I had no choice but to seek refuge in the nearest cave and light a fire for warmth. As I tried to stave off the cold, I realized the cave was not made of stone but dense trees frozen in an arch, creating a dark tunnel that stretched beyond the firelight. With the storm raging behind me and my curiosity piqued, I ventured forth to get my mind off the storm. To my astonishment, the long tunnel yawned wide into an extravagant courtyard surrounding a massive decadent mansion that rivals the one owned by the Northwest, only more overgrown. It seems I have stumbled upon: The Uncharted Mansion My amazement at the unmarked domicile aside, I decided I had to take shelter inside until the storm passed. I'm sure whoever resides here wouldn't mind, given the circumstances. I gained entry through a cellar door at the back, and as the exterior suggested, the interior had not been touched for some time. A quick sweep of the place told me I was alone. Each room was fully furnished with furniture covered in dust-covered sheets. Given the eerie yet enchanting atmosphere, I half-expected something to come alive to talk to me as some beast-like prince resident to make himself known. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Chilled to the bone, I lit the hearth in a lavish parlor using some dried wood nearby and settled onto one of the covered fainted couches to take in my surroundings. My mind tumbled with what secrets this place could hold as my excitement grew. I had not found any records of this mansion in my research, but it looked as old as the one owned by Northwest. Surprising no one, my first thought was that this place had to be haunted. Also surprising no one, I had brought my emergency ghost-hunting kit with me. While I has unprepared for such a drastic change in the weather, I'm always prepared for an impromptu ghost hunt! A somber portrait above the hearth caught my eyes as I set up my gear. The profile of a pale young woman with long dark hair holding a barn owl with a bowtie stood out against the black background framed in gold. Engraved at the bottom were the initials "B.B.B." Her initials? Her manner of dress was reminiscent of nobility during the pioneer days. The longer I gazed at her, the more my face warmed at the possibility of making contact with her. Would that count as a girl talking to me if she responded? Ghost girls are still girls, right? Then it occured to me that I had no clue what to say to her. "How's death treating you?" would probably get me slapped. I spent an hour rehearsing and trying to be as charming as possible before starting. After hours of trying to detect any paranormal activity, I concluded that I was getting the literal cold shoulder from "BBB", which was likely given my track record with women, or this place was not haunted despite its atmosphere. Pity. I was hoping I would be able to talk to someone tonight. This place had become quite lonesome once the excitement wore off.

For years now I've wanted to make lost journal pages for Journal 1 and 2, and I've finally started! With @lord-rosenth0rne's help, we've started here, at Thorne's mansion! We had a lot of fun with this, messing with codes, and even throwing in a cameo of my oc, Riddell.

We want to keep exploring Ford's journals, along with my Tumble in Time continuity. Thorne is a fruit bat vampire who ends up being roommates with Orion, and these pages happen before Orion comes crashing into Ford's life.

If you want to take a blacklight to it, check out the read more~

No Ford blacklight commentary here, it's all Bill for some reason...

[iamnmbr3]

Hello, hope it’s okay to ask about more than one number for the headcanon ask: Draco – 12, 18, 29

Totally fine!

-12- skills and abilities

Oooh! Time for me to talk about one of my pet peeves. For this one I'm going to say Charms and Transfiguration. Could this question be interpreted more broadly to go beyond school subjects? Absolutely. But then I wouldn't get to rant about my pet peeve. See, it's really popular in fandom to treat it as a given that Potions is Draco's best subject.

And to each their own. I'm not trying to be the fun police. But also, this has no basis in the actual text. Draco is favored in Potions because Snape is friends with Lucius (or rather, pretending to be) and also because Snape hates Harry so that also sets up a dynamic where he is predisposed to favor someone who has an antagonistic relationship with Harry because he's viewing it through the lens of his own trauma at James's hands. Draco's not bad at potions by any means. He's a pretty good student overall. But Harry's not bad at potions either. When Harry has good instructions and a teacher who makes him feel comfortable in 6th year he's great at potions. Just as good as Draco was in the first 5 years. So it's not like Draco has any extraordinary ability in potions. He just has the opportunity to reach his maximum potential without someone undermining him at every turn. He also doesn't show any particular passion for it; during class he's usually messing around with his friends or trying to antagonize Harry. He just gets a pass for it.

He does however demonstrate extraordinary ability in transfiguration and potions. In book 6 he is able to perform a Protean Charm - a NEWT level spell that only Hermione has been shown being able to to do. Not only that, but in 4th year he's able to make the "Potter Stinks"badges, which is actually a pretty impressive piece of magic. Especially since, while most spells like that wear off after just a few hours, the badge Harry has saved inexplicably (well, inexplicably but for drarry) in book 7 is still working YEARS later. Not to mention, he's also able to fix the cabinet. (By the way, this makes it even funnier that he messed up his Charms OWL in book 5 because he got distracted looking at Harry and thus completely failed to perform a hover charm - despite being shown to be able to do so easily the beginning of 6th year).

As for transfiguration, he is shown to be able to conjure a snake on his first try in book TWO despite conjuring being something that isn't taught till the NEWT level. That is hugely impressive. And it's rarely mentioned. Draco is legit super talented. Just at different things than than Harry is.

He also shows great ability with nonverbal spells too (though I think that's more linked to his tremendous Occlumency ability; this is another topic but I think he's easily one of the most powerful Occlumenses in the book).

-18- beloved or important items or property

His wand. Draco grew up with a lot of possessions that he enjoyed. But his wand is something he prizes above almost everything else.

At first it used to bother him a bit. Unicorn core. Not really what he'd hoped for is it? His father never says anything about it, but he could tell that Lucius was surprised and a little disappointed when he saw what wand had chosen his son. Dragon heartstring would have been so much more fitting. Or phoenix feather. But unicorn? Soft. Weak. Not enough. And hawthorn wood - difficult and complicated some say, treacherous and unlucky say others.

But the wand feels so warm and right in his hand. Like a friend that understands a part of him he didn't even know he had. And it serves him well. And he grows to like how no one else can get it to work for them right on any of the rare times he's momentarily lent it to someone. And unicorns are powerful animals too. And aren't there whispers that the Dark Lord used unicorn blood to revive himself? If he did that then why can't unicorn hair be just as suitable for the types of magic required for his service as any other wand core?

It is isn't. And neither is Draco. They can force themselves through it. When they have to. When the alternative is suffering themselves, but both their cores rebel at it at some fundamental level. It's like having your soul twisted inside out, hurt, sullied. Worse in a way than the alternative. And the Dark Lord surely know that.

And then Draco loses the wand to Potter. Or gives it to him. He can't be sure. He wanted to fight back - to pull his hand away, to shoot a spell to defend himself - but something in him rebelled and he let Potter take his only weapon and companion from his limp and unresisting hand. And he can't quite bring himself to regret it, for all that he's doomed himself and probably his family too.

Potter does the impossible. Of course. He comes back from the dead. He uses Draco's wand to do what Draco never could have and kills the Dark Lord and releases them all from terror and tyranny. And then come the trials. Potter is there and Draco avoids prison miraculously. And then there is a year of probation with no wand at all, lost out in the muggle world which is loud and strange and frightening. Potter is there too, somehow. At first Draco thinks Potter must be there to investigate him - probably regretting his inexplicable choice to speak for Draco at his trial and trying to fix his mistake. But he's not. He's there to help.

He probably still has Draco's wand. Draco doesn't ask. It's not like he's ever going to see it again. It belongs to Potter or else it's in a museum somewhere as an important historical artifact - the wand that killed Him. They're not going to give it back to a disgraced former Death Eater. He'll be lucky to ever have any wand again. He hopes Potter still has it. He'd rather that, somehow, than it just end up gathering dust imprisoned in a lonely Ministry vault or behind glass in a display being gawked at by uncomprehending strangers. Being with Potter would be the happiest fate and just feels right somehow.

Eventually, against all odds the Ministry ends his probation and lifts the restrictions on his magic use. Harry seems suspiciously unsurprised though he claims ignorance. Maybe someone else would believe him - Harry is an impressively good liar - but Draco knows his expressions far too well. Still, he doesn't push it. Harry is presumably trying to spare his feelings when Draco already owes him so much.

The wand returns to him by floo the next day, along with its most recent owner. Harry thanks Draco for letting him "borrow" it. Draco jokes that he's surprised Harry was able to stand the wand's troublesome nature but Harry tells him it's a good wand, that it worked perfectly for him. He holds it out and Draco takes it. It feels like coming home, like seeing the core of himself and finally finding it enough, and in that moment he finds the courage somehow to admit the feeling that's been inside him longer even than he's had the wand - since that disastrous first meeting in Madam Malkin's - though he didn't realize it at the time.

.... ok that got away from me. but tldr Draco and his wand have been thru a lot and I think he feels a deep bond with it. Especially due to having been separated from it and being very glad to get it back. And after they get together he and Harry absolutely sometimes casually switch wands tho because they are super compatible. It bothers Ron because it feels like some sort of weird PDA that he can't even complain about.

-29- quirks and personal habits

I mean, so many. But one thing I headcanon is that after the war Draco develops a nervous habit of fiddling with his left sleeve and making sure it's all the way pulled down, especially if he's feeling nervous or self conscious.

Headcanon ask game here

[mkeyztrm]

“ Valentine ”

It’s Valentine’s Day with your boyfriend, Chris. You’ve spent this day together before countless amounts of times. Today feels extra special to you, though. You feel like you should make your day even better, for the both of you. Especially Chris, you wanna make sure it’s extra special for Chris so he knows just how much you love him.

It’s February 14th, your sweet boyfriend’s out shooting a car video with his brothers in some empty parking lot, he promised he’d be home before it got too late. While he’s out you’ve decided this would be the perfect time to start putting his surprise together. It’s 7:30 pm, and your hope is to be finished by 9:00 - 9:30 PM.

You start this project by running to the store to grab supplies. You refer to your shopping list;

——————————

- rose petals

- two bottles of pepsi

- glitter.

- red and pink construction paper

——————————

that should be all you need.

as you get home and get settled, you get everything out and get started on the actual project.

dragging out rose petals and laying them in specific spots, creating a walk way that starts from the front door to his bedroom. You already had fake battery powered candles from last year, so you reuse those candles by lining them up with the petals to add a little character. Along the rose petal walkway, you take yourself to his bedroom where you cut your construction paper into hearts. Each heart you cut out, you write a little “I love you so much, here’s one thing I love about you—”. You lay some hearts out on the bed, and spread the rest around the room.

Before you’re finished you toss some glitter on the rose filled areas, and you lay your pepsi’s on the bed.

“y/n, we’re home!” You hear Chris shout from downstairs. You hear his footsteps stop and hear Nick commenting on the rose trail.

Both of you smiling widely, you ran down to meet Chris, Matt and Nick at the door. You grab Chris by his hand, and take him through the trail, giggling with each footstep.

As you make it to his room, you can’t help but do a little excited strut inside.

“Ta-da!!!! Happy Valentine’s Day, Chris!” You exclaim in joy. He grabs you and gently pulls your waist at him, giving you a little smile filled kiss so show his appreciation.

After he’s finished thanking you and flexing to his brothers that he has the best girlfriend ever, you two sit down on his bed and watch movies together until you both passed out on top of each other.

now you have to figure out how you’re gonna clean up all the glitter.

——————

hi gangie I still don’t really know how to write good so sorry if this is buns 😭 i haven’t wrote in a while and thought it���d be fun to do something for valentines days.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Season 2 Part 12: ~

Do You Hate Me?:

So, this one is somewhat personal to me. Not in terms of what's being said, but the subject of having a parent working away from home for most of my childhood.

TW: Mentions of parental death. Anxiety.

July 6th 1975.

Jack gazed at his father's luggage that sat on his bed. The same grey backpack that would fit a man going on a daily hike, with worn straps and a broken zipper, was a curse to the teenager. His face fell, and a sense of dread came over him. He was leaving again.

The boy turned and stared at his parent's wedding photo that hung in the hallway. They looked so happy. Did his dad still feel that?

A knock on the front door and Gibbo answered. Irene let herself in with her suitcase and signature straw sunhat with an emerald green dragonfly broach. Jack wandered to his room and saw the cricket set he got last year. He was hoping he and his dad could play with it this summer. Now, it was going to gather dust until January. Jack felt a knot form in his throat, and lingering thoughts began to return. They made him feel sick and lose track of time. Fake scenarios ran through his mind. Soon, the boy found himself standing in the doorway of his room for a good thirty seconds, fighting a battle to put those thoughts to rest and force a smile.

'Jack, come and say hi to your nan!' Gibbo called.

'Okay!'

Smile for your dad, Jack.

It was quiet, which shouldn't be surprising, given the time of year. The A9 only had the occasional passing car or truck, and with the service station being on a slight hill, they didn't notice the obvious. For the adults, it was calm. For the children, it was boring.

The drivers were taking a small nap in their trucks after stretching their legs. Innes had used his bottle of water to wash and clean Muir's head and face, which was instantly followed by Cait asking to play before Simon pulled her away, claiming a monster was after them. That being Rennick, who was clearly enjoying being the 'fun one,' as he held up Maidie, who scream-laughed. Caz and Suze watched, holding their hands and sharing a BLT sandwich.

'Will you be alright?' Suze asked. 'Going to London.'

'I'm not going,' Caz quickly replied, not giving it a moments thought.

'What?'

'I'm done running, Suze.' There was a distant look in his eyes. His smile faded, and his eyes lingered to the ground. Caz aimlessly kicked one leg, gave a quiet sigh, and put his half-eaten sandwich back in the box. His appetite was gone. He turned to Suze, who looked upset, because deep down, she knew this was the only outcome. And, whilst she knew they could brave these waters, she didn't want it to happen. Of course, a part of her just wanted the family to run away. Vanish into the horizon and never be seen again. If only it was that simple. 'I'll drop you and the weans off at the flat, and then I'll drop myself off.' A pause. This really was it, and Caz was preparing himself. 'How long do you think I'm gonna get?'

'Don't make me answer that, Caz.' But if Suze had to guess, with the running away and lying low for months, at least five years, meaning he'll never see his girls grow up. Cait would have taken her GCSEs and hopefully gotten her first job, while Maidie would have only begun Year 7. All those Christmases and birthdays with one missing parent who would spend those days in a cold box. It was heartbreaking to think about. Suze squeezed his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. 'No luck with Kieran?'

'Not that I know of.' Maidie and Cait's distant laughs caught his attention. He felt a weight in his chest that he could only scoff at. 'Roy will look after you.'

'I don't want him looking after us.'

'He'll keep you safe. A lot better than I could.'

'Oh, Caz...'

Little did they know, Roy stood out of sight in the station building, listening to the pair from the partially open door. A wave of guilt washed over him, feeling as though he didn't do enough. True, he advised Caz that it might be best if he faced this situation, but of course, he didn't want him to go. Seeing his best mate in a place like Barlinnie? It was a good thing he didn't have a heart condition.

'Okay, let's go!' Trots called from afar. Roy waited until Caz and Suze moved away before he left, acting as if everything was fine. Rennick walked past him, and Roy quickly grabbed his arm.

'We need to talk.'

And they weren't the only ones. Jack looked up to his dad as they slowly began to regroup. They waited for everyone else to load up, lingering in the back towards the outdoor seating area. 'Can we get fish and chips when we get back, dad?'

'Sure, when I get back from London, we can.' Wrong answer. Jack's face slowly dropped, and he stood frozen in the snow. Gibbo stepped forward to climb inside, only to notice his son wasn't following. 'Jack?' He turned back with an unnerved feeling in his stomach.

'You're not coming home?'Jack had his hands in his pockets, trying to be stoic, but his shoulders were tense, and he played with some loose marbles in his coat, juggling them between his fingers. Gibbo placed a tendril on his shoulder with a sorrowful look on his face.

'I'm sorry, Jack,' he spoke softly. 'I need to see this through for Addair.'

'But you don't like Addair.'

'He needs support, but I'll come home as soon as I can. I promise.'

'Will you?' Anger slipped into Jack's tone of voice. He looked away from his dad, eyes sharpened, and his hands became fists. He sniffled from the cold. 'Are you going to disappear again for another six months?'

'No, of course not.'

'Leave me with Nan again?'

'Jack-' Jack slapped the tendril and walked away. The familiar knot formed in his throat, and the thoughts crept back into his mind. This time, however, Jack let them win and didn't even bother to form a smile. Gibbo followed, circling him to block his path. They ignored the possibility of everyone watching, who respectfully shut the doors. Roy and Rennick moved around to the side of the building. 'Jack, where's this coming from?'

'You missed Christmas again. You missed my football match again. I passed my tests and you weren't there. Did you know I got my first detention? No, you didn't. But fine, go away and continue to leave me for someone you don't even like.' Jack crossed his arms and slightly hunched over. 'Do you hate me?'

That was a punch in the face for Gibbo. His face fell, and he tried to grab his son again, who just shrugged him off. Another punch to the face.

'How could I ever hate you?'

'Because I'm the reason mum's dead.' Silence. Gibbo's eyes widened in shock, and his entire body went cold. Jack felt an instant regret in his stomach, but either out of pride or not wanting to look weak, he held his head high and didn't apologise. But, he still crossed his arms for self-comfort. 'Just admit it, dad. If it wasn't for me, she'd still be here. That's why you work away all the time, because you can't stand the sight of me. If you could trade me for mum, I know you wou-' Gibbo wrapped Jack into a tight embrace. The boy froze, but only for a moment, before he tried to break free. A losing battle, even if Gibbo wasn't infected.

'I miss her everyday,' Gibbo whispered. 'But, I'd never give you up. You were the greatest gift to me, Jack, and I know she'd be proud of you, just like I am. I'm sorry, I've not been a good dad, and I'm sorry you have to see me like this, but that's not going to stop me from seeing you grow up.'

Jack's weak attempt to escape stopped and merged into a hug. All the pentup anger was gone, replaced with tiredness and longing for his dad's comfort. He wrapped what his small frame could around his Gibbo and nestled his head into what he assumed to be his stomach. The thoughts vanished, but the knot remained. Gibbo stroked his hair and squeezed him tightly to tell him he was safe and everything was going to be okay. 'Sorry dad.'

'Don't be, but...' Gibbo pulled away and lowered his head to Jack's level. 'How did you get detention?'

'I punched Harry Martin.'

'Oh that little shit.'

'He said you hated me.'

'And you believed him?'

'No.'

'Jack.'

'Maybe a little.'

'Well, lesson learned, okay?'

'Okay.'

'But did you win?'

'I think so.'

'Think so?'

'Well, he slammed me into the coat hanger, then the teacher broke us up. But he lost his front tooth.'

'Well hopefully the tooth fairy ignored him.'

The pair laughed, before making their way back to the group. On cue, Roy and Rennick emerged from the side of the building, just as a worker was coming out for their smoke break. The young woman froze and watched Gibbo and Rennick climb into the truck, her cigarette dangling between her lips. No one bothered to explain what she was looking at. Roy just gave her a quick 'morning,' as the engines roared to life and peeled out onto the road again.

[icecoldbeauty]

Ah... makes me remember waaay back before I even finished the gym challenge. Used to think I'd never amount to anything- how could I have? I lived on the smallest of all the Sevii islands- never been more than 20 residents there!, I was frail, lonely standoffish, never really achieved anything before, and had nothing special about me. But I could battle, and I liked to battle. Still remember the day I sat up and said to myself, you know what? I'm done sitting and waiting for purpose to come to me, I'm going to go to it! - and set off for mainland Kanto... I'm still so glad I did. I myself never had any rivals myself- or well, I don't think I did! I'd certainly improved by then but I was... still rather socially inept to put it lightly when I set off... I'd not be surprised if I accidentally made some of my peers think I wanted that with them and I never even noticed! I imagine having a proper rival'd be quite fun, though! I really would have done so many things to be able to comfortably been out in my youth like that. But you know what? I'm proud and damn happy that so many more people today can be, even if I couldn't. Less people will have to feel the way I did about it, which was awful and not something I'd wish on anyone. I'm happy for Sonia and Nessa- and I don't oft use this kind of language, but the tabloids can fuck right off with this erasure shit- and I'm happy for you too, and I hope that everyone that wants people like you and me silenced and stifled in any way lives the rest of their life even more miserable than they want us to feel. Assholes need a taste of their own medicine more often. (Also, people seriously read their own wikipedia articles? I've never looked at mine once!) I'd say that's still considerable progress from how it was in my heyday, but there really is still so incredibly much left to make. Really, I'd be happy if I can see even just a little more substantial amounts get made before my times up- I want to be able to leave the world knowing it was better than when I started. I don't get to have long and thoughtful conversations too much anymore, really I'm honored you're finding some joy in talking this much with me of all people! Still a little strange to hear people like talking to me really, but makes me happy nonetheless. But I really don't know if I could do that anymore... Arc, I still feel so awful that I didn't tell her when I first had the chance- and every time I receive a letter back from her, I read it thinking about how much I wish I had... Sometimes I wonder if I still could, but then I ask myself, 'is it really worth it after all this time, especially in your age and condition?', and I just... can't do it. I mean, like I said, my time is even more limited than the average person- frail and easily prone to sickness I am, and once I get a few more years up there, well, I don't know how well I'll be able to fight off illnesses by then. She's healthier than me, she'll almost definitely have longer to live. I don't wanna drag her down in that way. I don't want to leave her alone in that way, she doesn't deserve to have that happen to her really. I don't know anymore though... I've been thinking about her more than usual lately. If there's any chance it could still be worth it... Oh my Arc- apologies, this is hitting me a tad harder than I'd expected... agh, being emotional and sentimental sucks sometimes...! Ah... Well, the idea of having endorsements for the league is pretty interesting. I presume it's difficult to get one? Wonder how I'd have faired with something like that in place back when I set off, like I've said I wasn't precisely the most pleasant at that age! Don't know if anyone'd have wanted to give me one, haha! And I'll admit, some of the crazy league stories I've both experienced in my own and heard from others are incredibly amusing. I still remember when I heard about one of the champions battle in Unova being stopped by... I think they said it was a an entire castle busting the place down of all the things, nothing will beat that in sheer hilarity.

Oh yeah wait you're too old to know what inkay games is my bad

Oh, please, I’m only twenty-three.

[ he’s not old. don’t make that mistake again. ]

—💎