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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

Text

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #fanfic #manager!reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader

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rootedinrevisions · 1 month ago

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In the Wings: Part 4

SUMMARY: When Glen casually invites you to a cast movie night, you don’t think much of it—until you arrive and end up squeezed between him and Miles on a crowded couch. As the film plays, you and Glen share light banter, a bowl of popcorn, and a few fleeting touches that seem more meaningful than expected.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3

WARNINGS: None. Just Fluff in this one!

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It's late in the day, and the sun starting to sink toward the horizon, casting a golden glow through the small window of the hair and makeup trailer. The rest of the team has already left for the day, and you’re tidying up your station, organizing brushes and makeup palettes in a quiet routine that helps wind down the day.

The door creaks open behind you, and when you glance up in the mirror, there’s Glen—fresh from the set, his hair tousled from the wind, a smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he greets you, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

You turn around, meeting his gaze with a small, tired smile. “Yeah, what’s up? Need a touch-up?” You ask as you point to his windblown hair.

Glen chuckles, shaking his head as he steps into the trailer, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Nope, not this time. Just finished for the day. But I was actually wondering if you’re free tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure where this is going but curious. “Free for what?”

“Some of the cast are having a little movie night back at the hotel. Nothing fancy, just hanging out, and watching something that’ll probably end up being a bad action flick. You should come. You know, if you’re up for it.” He grins, his eyes bright with an invitation that feels more personal than just a casual ask. His tone is casual, but there’s something in the way he says “You should come” that makes your heart skip a beat.

You hesitate for a second, caught off guard by the idea of spending time with Glen outside of work. “I don’t know…” you start, glancing at the mess still left to clean up, trying to come up with an excuse, but Glen shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about all this,” he gestures around the trailer. “You’ve been working hard all day. The trailer will survive without you for one night.”

You laugh softly, feeling a little less resistant as he steps closer, his easy charm working its magic. "You make it sound like I'm over here saving lives with these brushes."

"You kinda are," he says with a playful grin. "I mean, you make me look like a functioning human being every day, so yeah, I think that's pretty heroic."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Seriously, it’ll be fun. And besides," he adds, dropping his voice a little, "I wouldn't mind having someone to keep me company.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze, and realize he's serious. It’s not just about the movie night. It's about spending time with you, beyond the set, beyond the trailer.

Your heart flutters just a bit, and before you can think twice, you find yourself nodding. "Okay, I'll come," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Glen’s smile widens, a look of genuine excitement crossing his face. “Awesome. I’ll see you there, then.” As he heads out, he throws you one last smile over his shoulder.

The trailer feels quieter after he leaves, but your mind is buzzing with the idea of the night ahead. The small exchange feels more significant than it should, and suddenly, the thought of seeing him again later has you feeling a lot more excited than you'd expected.

Later that night, you find yourself in the hotel suite where everyone’s gathered for the movie night. The lights are low, a couple of people already sprawled out on couches or grabbing snacks from the small kitchen area. You spot Glen almost immediately. He’s standing by the counter, a beer in hand, talking to one of the other actors, but when he sees you come in, his expression brightens.

“Hey, you made it!” Glen says, his voice cutting through the casual murmur of the room. He crosses over to you in a few quick strides, and you feel that familiar warmth in his presence as he reaches you.

“Yeah, I figured I could use a break after today,” you reply, giving him a playful look.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think we’ve got everything covered—beer, wine, maybe some soda and water if you’re feeling responsible.”

“Surprise me,” you say with a grin, just as you had earlier.

Glen nods, making his way back toward the drinks, and you take a moment to glance around the room. Some of the other cast members wave, but your focus keeps drifting back to Glen. He returns with a cold bottle in hand, holding it out to you with a smile that feels a little more personal than usual.

The two of you chat casually with the others for the next half hour, but even amidst the group, you can’t help but notice how often Glen finds a way to talk just to you—asking how your day went, throwing in small jokes that only you two seem to get. There’s an ease to the conversation, a rhythm that feels natural but also charged with something just beneath the surface.

At one point, your eyes meet across the room while you’re both talking to different people. It’s brief, but there’s a spark in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that you’re both aware of the growing connection. You quickly look away, your heart racing just a little faster than before.

As the movie night starts winding down and everyone begins settling in for the film, you glance around the room, trying to decide where to sit. The couches are quickly filling up, and most of the chairs have already been claimed. It looks like your only option might be the floor, and you’re about to resign yourself to it when you hear a voice pipe up from across the room.

“Hey, there’s a spot right here,” Miles calls out, grinning as he gestures to the couch where he’s sitting beside Glen. “Between us.”

You hesitate, looking between the two of them. Glen’s eyes meet yours from where he’s seated, his lips twitching into a small, inviting smile.

The spot between them is definitely tight, but you start making your way over, feeling the playful pressure of the room’s eyes on you. When you reach the couch, you glance at the narrow space, then at Miles, giving him a look as if to say seriously, this is your idea of a seat?

Miles just shrugs, feigning innocence. “You might have to squeeze in a little. Don’t worry, Glen doesn’t bite.” Glen shoots him a mock glare but then catches your eye again, motioning for you to sit down.

He shifts closer to the arm of the couch, giving you a little more room, and moves his arm to rest casually on the back of the couch. “Come on, we’ll make it work.”

You exhale a quiet laugh and slide in beside him. It’s still a snug fit, but the atmosphere feels relaxed enough, and you settle into the space, aware of Glen’s arm resting comfortably behind you.

As the movie starts, Glen leans over slightly, offering you some popcorn from the bowl he’s holding on his lap. “Want some?” he asks, his voice low, not wanting to interrupt the film.

You glance at him, surprised. You’ve heard him talk about how seriously he takes his popcorn on set, and he’s never been one to share. According to him, he likes to have his own bowl to himself.

Before you can reach for a handful, someone else across the room chimes in with a teasing tone. “Wait, Glen’s sharing his popcorn? What is this, a special occasion?”

A round of soft chuckles follows, and you catch Glen rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “It’s no big deal,” he mutters, brushing off the tease, but you can’t help the small giggle that escapes you.

You take a small handful, your fingers brushing against his briefly as you do. It’s a quick moment, but you feel the warmth of his hand and find yourself hyper-aware of his presence beside you. A few minutes later, you both reach for the bowl at the same time, and your hands meet again, lingering just a second longer before you both pull back with a soft, shared smile.

As the movie plays on, you start to get more absorbed in the story. There’s a particularly intense scene on-screen, the tension mounting, and suddenly, without warning, there’s a jump scare. You gasp, startled, your body instinctively shifting toward Glen, leaning in closer without realizing it.

Beside you, Glen chuckles softly, his voice low in your ear. “You okay there?” he teases, his tone light.

Before you can respond, you feel his hand slide from the back of the couch down to your shoulder, resting there gently. It’s a small gesture, not overly flirty, but the warmth of his hand lingers, grounding you after the sudden scare. The touch is brief but comforting, and though it’s casual, you take note of it, feeling the subtle shift in your connection.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply with a soft laugh, brushing it off even though your heart is still racing a bit—not just from the movie, but from the growing awareness of Glen’s presence beside you.

The movie continues, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way his hand rested on your shoulder, and how easy it felt to be next to him, even in the small, unspoken moments. The chemistry between you two is undeniable, and though nothing overt has been said or done, it’s becoming harder to ignore the quiet pull drawing you closer.

#Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction

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your-nanas-house · 9 months ago

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She could be my "woman"

◇ Pairing: Robert Fisher X fem!Reader/ (future Robert Fischer X android!Reader)

◇ Warnings: angst, androids, security, fear, business, robots as "slaves"

◇ Summary: Robert fears for his safety and tries his luck with Y/n's business.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. FINALLY wrote the first part of the fic I mentioned months ago!

Robert chuckled at that.

"What is this, a movie?" he mocked, trying to lighten the mood, his light eyes staring at the old woman in front of him as if she was nuts.

He called her that day for a specific reason... his security and now she was talking about some weird futuristic stuff.

"I thought we were talking about a security system, not personal assistants!" He reminded her slightly annoyed by the situation.

When he didn't receive a response, he tried again with a softer tone this time.

"I can see why your granddaughter would need someone to try this out," he started, rubbing his chin with his long fingers, "...But I can hardly be her test case.... I can't believe androids are that advanced."

The disbelief of the young man was understandable and the older woman got perfectly Robert's point of view but was still a bit offended by the lack of trust in her... after all the years she had worked with his father.

"You're underestimating my granddaughter, dear. I tested them out as well...they do anything and if someone tries to enter your dreams they come inside as well working as your bodyguard there too" she informed him with a soft nod.

Security and assistance, Robert thought not believing at a word.

He raised his eyebrow surprised by the informations but still with the feeling of being made fun of. "This has to be a joke," he said, shaking his head.

"Your granddaughter created androids that protect you even in your dreams? I've heard some insane things in my life but that tops the cake."

And as words of mockery left his mouth he couldn't help but imagining it happen to him... Having someone watching over him even in his most vulnerable moments... it wouldn't be so bad.

After a couple of minutes in silence the older woman spoke again, her shaking and wrinkly hands put a note on his rich desk

"Think about it, if you need more information just call my granddaughter, she will be able to explain everything to you."

It wasn't a bad idea after all.

Robert looked down at the card in his hand, sighing. He had hoped to convince the older wise woman to work with him as well, but this was a nice alternative.

And as soon as she left his office he grabbed his phone, he read the number and then dialed it.

He couldn't waste any precious time and luckily for him, he didn't have to wait much.

A female voice replied after just a couple of rings, introducing herself as 'Y/n Y/l/n' exactly as he expected. She sounded calm and young.. probably in her 20s, her tone made him feel at ease and it was quite charming even though a bit awkward.

"Good morning, miss. I'm Robert Fischer... I had a meeting with your grandmother today and she gave me your number. I'll put my hands forward and tell you that I don't really believe in all this, it seems excessive and not very functional to me but... I have nothing to lose so I'm willing to try, and even if it is a scam, I'm pretty sure I could deal with it very easily. If you know what I mean..." Robert informed her with a calm tone, his hand busy playing around with his pen as his face remained tilted and rested against the back of his chair... serious as his business mask.

It was business after all, he needed some kind of security around him and the guarantee of being 100% safe every day.

"But I would like to know more about this androids" he quickly added after not receiving an answer, his heart strangely beating fast in his chest and his hand sweated anxiously

"Oh, sure thing. I can do that, are there any specific questions? Or would you like to receive the policy first?" the voice replayed softly, echoing now in his empty office.

He could actually hear her moving around, probably working or getting ready for something in a rush... not that he cared though.

At the questions Robert sat up in his seat, his grip tightened around the pen as he thought quickly before dropping it on the desk and let his light blue eyes travel towards the phone.

"I want to know everything. Starting from how they work, what they can do, where they come from and most importantly... how protected I am with them watching over me" The business man listed while staring intently at the object as if it would make Y/n reply faster at everything.

There was a soft music in the background, he could hear it, even if a bit muffled, and his mind focused on it, snapping back just when her voice interrupted the melody with her owns

"Well first of all I won't tell you how I created them. I'm not stupid, am I? They can do anything you want them to, they come from my cellar" she informed with a soft chuckle after apologizing and explaining to him the reason of the background noises.

"You are 99,9% protected, they have the ability to watch over you whenever you need or don't need. Not in a creepy way of course. They have the ability to enter your dreams if someone else does, so that they can protect you.... They are also loyal to their owners and you can set the program you prefer. There are a lot of different androids... each one more adapt for a situation" she explained with a more focused and professional tone, her knowledge and passion for her creations showing just by the seriousness of her speech.

She made it sound pretty acceptable and intriguing, leaving Robert silent for a moment, still and lost in his thoughts as he took in the informations. He honestly wasn't expecting such a comprehensive answer from her.

"They sound like the perfect companions," the man said, making an attempt at joking before asking her other questions, his hands already turning on his laptop

"What kind of androids are there, where can I purchase them and what sort of program do you suggest should be installed in them?"

It really was catching his interest, even if he didn't really believe in all the progress the science was doing lately... but he still was willing to try.

"Well... They are like puppies, Mr. Fisher. Like pets, without need to care too much for them. And it's highly depends on your situation and what I have down here." She explained while probably pouring herself a cup of something.

A moment of silence and Robert hummed lost in thoughts again, surprised and amused by Y/n's analogy.

"I'm glad that I won't have to worry about them too much," he murmured, rubbing his chin "And I'll happily take a look at what you have available. My main concern is my dreams, so what do you suggest to deal with that?" He murmured out, leaning back to stare at the ceiling and glance at the phone... she wasn't answering anymore but he could feel that she was thinking intently.

Then... her harsh words of truth came out "Your voice sounds lonely, you are probably sitting in a rich office, playing with something in your hand while you talk to me— I want to try to give you my first invention" the young woman declared cheerfully, making sure he didn't took her analysis as an insult before starting to explain again.

"I'm pretty proud of her. And I will make sure to deliver everything as soon as the payment is done also I'm sending you the contract so that you know that whatever the android sees it will remain between you and them" the young woman quickly stated, ready to say goodbye and hang up.

It was convincing... enough to bewitch Robert and his business mind, which was now fully engaged, even though a part of him was still cautious.

He wasn't really sure about allowing someone else to intrude so deep in his personal space and in such a little time. "How do I know that the androids and their recordings will remain private? What if they witness something... embarrassing or something that should remain fully private?" The man asked lowly, tapping his fingers against the rich wood of his desk.. he couldn't and didn't want to afford a scandal.

"I make you sign the contract because of that. I have no intention to look through all the memory. I just delete everything when their work it's done" Y/n reassured him sweetly with a soft chuckle, giving her availability 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in case of questions or problems.

Robert considered it all in silence, weighing his options carefully. On one hand, he was still hesitant about sharing his space with these things.

But on the other hand, they would be guarding his dreams, which was exactly what he needed. And their "mother" seemed trustworthy enough to make him take things further.

"I want to see the contract first," he stated thoughfully, adding after a small break of suspance "If I like its terms, I'm ready to sign."

And she already did, everything was in his laptop now. So Robert checked his emails, finding the contract attached.

He opened the PDF with a single click and began reading, his eyes scanning each word for any potential loopholes or hidden meanings.

After a few minutes of reading, he let out a sigh and printed it out, signing it before scanning it and sending it back to her along with a brief message:

"I agree to the terms, please start the installation as soon as possible. RF"

Since their call had ended just a couple of minutes before he could have finished to read it all.

Afyer that, the proceedings began and the young woman asked him a couple of personal questions, plus an address before reporting to him the date and the hour of the delivery.

'To: Robert Fischer, NYC'

Android n. 0.0'

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absolutely-esme · 11 months ago

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Monster!Tim Coraline au part 3

I had more thoughts on the au from here and here.

First off, It's called Hungry Monster Tim au unless and until I come up with a better name.

That's the tag that will help you find related content. I titled the post the way I did so that people who found the au before it had a name could recognize it. I'm hoping this will minimize confusion.

...

Now, I figure I'll talk a bit about how others view Tim.

The most of the earlier additions to the Batfam have mostly interacted with Tim in Emotional Support Tim mode.

Emotional Support Tim is pleasant and comforting. He is not overly exuberant and joyful in a way that would grate on fresh grief. He is also not joyless in a way that might make a hero feel obligated to worry about him. He is gentle and competent. His patience seems nearly endless. He can tolerate both being coddled and being leaned on. He can tolerate both being clung to and pushed away. He can tolerate switching back and forth at unpredictable intervals.

Tim approached Nightwing in his standard state of "tired, low on patience, and possibly about to do something stupid," once before Tim realized he was also grief-stricken and in no fit state to get Batman under control. He might have an inkling that Emotional Support Tim is an act, or he might just think Tim was having a bad day.

Bruce thinks Emotional Support Tim is what Tim is actually like. By the time Bruce was functional enough to not need so much managing, he'd gotten attached enough to the facade for Tim to have concerns about dropping it.

Alfred can tell that Tim is putting on a facade. He can tell that the role Tim has taken on is wearing on him. He doesn't like it. He feels guilty for allowing it to continue. He can't bring himself to put a stop to it when it's keeping his adoptive son alive.

Barbara initially meets Emotional Support Tim, immediately clocks the act, and pulls him aside to make sure there isn't something sinister afoot. Babs has reservations about every aspect of Tim's involvement, but agrees that something had to be done about Bruce. She lets him carry on for now, but she's ready to pull the plug if it seems like it's getting too much for him. She insists that Tim drop the act when it's just the two of them.

Babs doesn't know about the supernatural stuff specifically, but she knows there's more going on with Tim than what she knows about. She may learn that he has some hereditary health stuff that requires him to be extra careful about his food intake. She makes a point to not be weird about it because people being weird about her wheelchair annoys the crap out of her.

I like to imagine that Babs and Tim have a certain amount of solidarity over being the sensible ones who keep all these unhinged, dramatic bitches in line. They also have solidarity over ignoring the fact that they are just as dramatic and unhinged as the rest of the Bats.

Steph meets Tim in Regular Tim mode because Bruce isn't with him. Instead of trying to discourage Spoiler, he introduces her to Babs. Steph knows Tim as a tired smartass who kind of always seems like he's a bit hangry and trying not to take it out on anyone, but apparently he's just like that.

They don't date, but do become friends. Part of this is because grouchy, eternally hungry, constantly done-with-this-shit Tim isn't attractive to Steph but is kind of hilarious. Part of it is because Babs points out that there is no possible timeline where the kind of power imbalance from only one member of a couple knowing the other's secret identity doesn't turn toxic.

When Steph eventually encounters Emotional Support Tim, it creeps her out. She uses the term "pod person" when asking what the heck that was.

Steph's disastrous stint as Robin doesn't happen because she's already got her own thing going. She already has a mentor and appropriate protective gear. Babs and Steph actually get along better because they start their mentorship as Oracle and Spoiler without any of the complicated emotions of taking up a mantle.

I like Steph as Spoiler the best because it always seemed a little messed up to shove someone who already had their own original Identity into two legacy mantles. Let her do her own thing. She doesn't need to be a successor to Babs or Dick when she's already the OG Steph. Instead of giving her the Robin gear or the Batgirl gear, get her some upgraded, Bat-quality Spoiler gear.

Steph doesn't start a gang war or fake her death in this timeline, because the circumstances that caused it do not exist here.

Jason initially encounters Tim in Feral Cryptid mode, then writes that off as a fever dream after waking up to Emotional Support Tim. Once free of the Lazarus parasite, Jason makes it his mission to be a good big brother to Tim. Tim seemed a little stand-offish at first, but warmed up to him. (As soon as Tim realized that food was part of Jason's love language, he rearranged his meal plan to let Jason feed him without triggering supernatural problems with his metabolism.)

Jason eventually manages to earn Tim's trust enough to meet and get to know Regular Tim. Jason is both honored and concerned. Putting on such an extensive facade for the comfort of others has got to be exhausting, and Tim seems so worn down underneath it. Well, he doesn't have to do it for Jason anymore. Jason will happily hang out with and support any version of Tim.

When Damian shows up, he mostly sees Emotional Support Tim. Then he starts trying to kill him. Eventually, Tim's patience with the pint-sized murderer wears thin (possibly due to Damian hitting a PTSD trigger), and Tim goes Feral Cryptid mode. This freaks Damian out. There is no video evidence (which the rest of the Bats assume to be because Damian tampered with the security system in an attempt to get away with murder).

It doesn't happen again.

Tim doesn't bust out his powers or cryptid form against Damian again, but now that he's seen it, Damian sometimes sees traces of Feral Cryptid Tim lurking below the surface. Various little things he'd ignored that hadn't seemed significant on their own now seem to stem from the nature of what lurks inside the human skin.

Damian stops the murder attempts early. It's not because of ethics (which will take time to learn). It’s because he has no idea how to kill whatever sort of unearthly thing Tim is, and he recognizes how unwise it would be to continue attacking something he cannot kill. For now, Tim seems content to leave him be whenever he's not directly under assault. Damian doesn't want to risk becoming enough of a pest to be worth the effort of swatting.

...

I also had thoughts about Tim's post-Robin period.

When Tim goes on his quest to retrieve Bruce from the time stream, he doesn't take the Red Robin suit. He's going to be outside of the Bats' scrutiny, so he gears up with a suit and equipment he'd secretly made with his supernatural nature in mind. It's got Bat-standard armor and padding, but modified to accommodate a bit of form shifting without compromising protection. It's got a patchwork thing going on.

Tim sewed it himself, which allows him to manipulate it. It's also got buttons sewn in strategic locations to eliminate blindspots. (Taking down the beldam gave him the ability to control things he made and see through buttons he sewed).

His utility pouches are full of both Bat-standard equipment and things relevant to Tim's abilities. Also, he makes his pockets bigger on the inside, so he can carry a lot.

Tim isn't around the other Bats, so he's not being Emotional Support Tim. He's not using the minor illusion powers he got from the beldam to make himself look pleasant. He only makes the effort to be comforting when dealing with victims. He's just being the semi-feral scrungly dude he is.

...

Tim keeps in touch with Jason, Babs, and Steph while he's off on his quest to find Bruce. He occasionally pitches in with stuff that can be done from a distance.

Tim didn't say that Bruce was still alive before he had evidence. It's not because this version managed to predict that they wouldn't believe him, but rather because he thought he might have to do some supernatural stuff to get him back and didn't want witnesses. He just told the other Bats he needed to investigate something and would tell them more once he had figured out enough to know what to tell them.

This means that the other heroes don't think he's crazy, and Tim can use hero resources for his investigation.

I haven't decided yet if Tim will interact with the League of Assassins at all. On the one hand, I think this Tim might not need to work with them. On the other hand, Hungry Monster Tim terrorizing the League of Assassins and fighting the Lazarus Pit would be funny. Maybe Ras doesn't try to recruit him. Maybe Tim just shows up, fights the Lazarus Pit, and leaves without explaining anything to anyone.

Either way, I think that Tim is pretty much done with keeping up the Emotional Support Tim facade by the time he comes home after saving Bruce. It's been long enough to justify the change.

Babs, Jason, and Steph are happy for Tim because they can see how much better he's doing without the added strain of keeping up the act. They are also glad that he feels comfortable enough to just be himself.

Bruce and Dick are more in the horrified/concerned neighborhood because, from their perspective, Tim started off gentle-natured and glowing with health, got fired from Robin, disappeared for a while, and came back gaunt and world-weary.

...

I'm thinking about whether or not Tim should tell Babs, Jason, and Steph about the supernatural stuff he's got going on.

It would have come out at some point. If he tries to keep it secret forever, you can bet some kind of dramatic, high-stakes threat would force the reveal. That's just how the Bats' lives are.

What I am debating with myself is whether or not to have Tim choose to share a secret he's been keeping for as long as he can remember for fear of the danger discovery might bring with the people he trusts most without something forcing his hand.

If he does, I think he would tell Jason first. Jason has seen that side of him, and Tim allowed him to think it was a nightmare. Tim wouldn't want to risk Jason hearing about it from someone else. Tim would probably be scared. He doesn't know if Jason will still like him once he knows that Tim really is the Monster from his nightmare. He doesn't know if Jason will forgive him for lying about it.

I think this would happen after Tim comes back to Gotham after saving Bruce.

#Hungry Monster Tim au #dc #batman #batfamily #cryptid tim drake #feral tim drake #Eldritch au

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furiousgoldfish · 19 days ago

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On effortless recovery (personal)

I've been slowly dealing with cptsd and osdd for the last 8 years, and while I've had to actively work on some stuff, other have just happened without my interference, or at least, without me knowing I did anything about it. I have not been to therapy; or rather, there's been several attempts that were not working, and I had to end them. For instance, I've had therapy with someone who showed next to no interest in my issues and kept minimizing and ignoring whatever I've been saying, and this was the only person who didn't try to institutionalize me.

I've had to actively work on osdd, and it's something I'm learning about, and understand more as I go, but I also get that osdd is making everything else much easier on me. For instance, lots of my memories and thoughts are being blocked from me, and contained in alters who are making sure that I'm not affected by it, that is a huge help. Lots of thoughts that would upset me if I thought about them, are completely out of my reach, and if I do try to think about them, my mind goes blank and I forgot what I was thinking about. That's a great help for issues like anxiety and spiraling; I used to drown in my own fears and worries; now I just can't remember any of it. It is slightly depressing that my own peace of mind requires that big amount of amnesia, but you know, having some peace is so nice I could never be anything less than grateful for it. Being able to maintain some semblance of peace feels like resiliency, it means I have a place of quiet where I can go back to, even when distressing things happen.

I'm having my chronic pain and chronic exhaustion ease away from me very slowly. I still get exhausted easily, and am tired way more often than a regular person, but I now rarely get days when I can't get out of bed, or have to sacrifice a whole week due to a flashback or a nightmare. I no longer get anxious about planning to do something a day or two ahead because I can count on having at least a basic amount of energy. I don't think I've done anything to create this, it was just happening over the years, on its own. It's also happening so slowly that I don't even feel the progress, I have to remember to look 3 or 5 years back and remember just how much time I've been spending in bed then, to realize that it's less now, that I can do multiple activities a day now. I know I'm extremely lucky to be recovering from this, because there are people who have a chronic condition that doesn't allow for recovery, and I am very grateful for every day I can move around.

Another thing that is much better is sleeping! I used to wake up feeling like I'm dying, overheated, stressed, anxious, sometimes even paralyzed in fear, and if not fear, then grief would hold me down and I would be too sad to move. Now I'm finding myself waking up thinking 'Oh I'm so well rested! I have the energy to tackle some chores' like I'm in an actual good mood. And it's like ??? what is going on, since when is this me. I've been dreaming of having mornings like this, and now I have them, and it just happened over time (8 years) I still only think about doing chores when I have energy, because I know it's the only time of day I'll have any energy, so if I wake up restful I will rush to do dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and whatever else, because I know the energy will go away later and I will become a sad slob. But it's much better than waking up and having to take a few hours (or days) just to recover from sleeping. My sleeping schedule has been 8 hours all along, I somehow can't sleep over the 8 hour mark, and can't function if I sleep less than 7.

I will still sometimes have flashbacks and meltdowns if anything bad happens to me, but the recovery time from them has gone way down. It used to be weeks, months even, to recover from a single bad event. Now it's more like hours and days. It's still not very similar to what I think a regular person would have to deal with, but I love the progress very much! One thing that slips my mind is that I regularly forget how much worse things used to be. If I bounce back from something, I forget that in the past, this would ruin me for weeks, and I forget that this is progress and to take a minute to acknowledge that. I just take what I can and go. But it's good to look at it and see that life is a little easier.

Some anxiety has also withered away from me, because so much of my anxiety was due to inexperience. New problems that would appear in my life seemed unsolvable and catastrophic, because I never faced those problems before, didn't know how to solve it, didn't dare to ask for help, didn't have skills or knowledge to tackle any of them myself, and all of it felt like it would lead to my doom. After already having solved some of those problems multiple times, I'm at peace just because I know what to do now. I haven't done much asking for help to be honest, because I hate it, but in struggling to solve the problems myself (sometimes taking months and years to do so), I've gathered knowledge, skills and experience, and I now have a general idea of what to do in situations that reoccur, and also know what to expect, how long something will take, what type of action will resolve it. Just living and tackling things by myself, and succeeding, eases a lot of anxiety. There is a solution to everything, with sufficient knowledge, experience and skills.

A lot of stuff that's previously been bothering me to the level where I couldn't deal with it, can now be dealt with merely distracting myself from it. Which I think is very funny, because I used to consider all my time playing games or looking at funny videos 'procrastination', because I wasn't being productive right, I was just 'procrastinating' and delaying dealing with life. Now I value these activities specifically because they can save me from feeling miserable and sad. There's a warmth to looking at people being goofy, funny, interesting, entertaining, and taking joy in it, and reminding myself there's still a lot of good things in the world, there are good people, there is warmth, there is love, and I feel better after seeing it, regardless of how awful I felt before. Having my own thoughts redirected to something hopeful is making my days better, more stable. I think I'm just stopping myself from spiraling into hopelessness, by looking directly at hope and staying fixated on it for long enough. And it's something I didn't previously value as a real activity, because I didn't believe that making myself feel better while producing nothing, was a worthwhile pursuit.

Being safe from abuse for a long time managed to erode the feelings of guilt and shame I had in my own interests, thoughts and activities, and I've became unafraid of any failures. It is now very clear to me that failing is the only way towards learning and it's incredibly valuable. I'm shameless at starting new hobbies and activities and it does not bother me whatsoever when I do badly. Even failing at big stuff in my life, things that created actual damage to me, supplied me with knowledge I don't think I would otherwise gain, and I treasure it. I don't feel ashamed or like I've done anything wrong. I've been able to engage with my own curiosity about things and I'm now able to ask questions about anything, without feeling bad for 'not knowing already'.

I've also accepted that I'm bad at some stuff, and it doesn't mean anything much about me, we're all bad at something. Sometimes I'm bad at stuff, but enjoy doing them, so I still do them, fun gives it good value! And if I'm both bad at something and don't enjoy it, then I completely drop it, and feel okay knowing this just isn't for me. I remember when I used to believe I'm bad at everything, just because I was getting such horrid feedback on it, now it's almost funny. I like stuff I create even when I do them badly, because I remember how much fun I had doing it. If I want to do them better, I know I just need to keep practicing and it will happen. Nothing a human creates is shameful, especially if it's not causing any harm to anyone. We're made to create and it makes us happy.

I don't think I've done anything specific to create these changes, maybe some critical analysis of the past, and some willingness to consider my own happiness important and worthwhile. I think I spent so much time grieving that I've actually processed the most of it, so I'm no longer as overwhelmed by it as I was before. It's not like I'm no longer sad, I will start sobbing frequently and whenever I'm tired, I am automatically miserable. But it is no longer constant, suffocating feeling that follows me for every second of existence.

I haven't done anything to fix the sleeping or to ease the chronic pain, that was just time and being safe from abuse for a longer period. I wanted to write this specifically because I've been waking up feeling okay the last few days and that was a shock to experience, what a bliss to wake up and think 'I'm well rested'. Incredible life experience.

#recovery #trauma recovery #personal #healing over time #feeling better just being safe from abuse #what changed in 8 years #osdd #cptsd #trauma

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jerzwriter · 5 months ago

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Thank you to @alj4890 for this ask from this list! I've done all three of yours, and I'll be working on the others. Thanks to all who sent in requests!

Story: Crimes of Passion (Book 1 Timeline) Trope: There's only one bed... Characters: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,000 Summary: A rainy night, a brokedown car, and a cheap motel lead to amusement and some discoveries.

Participating in @choicesjunechallenge2024 - Car and MHotel Original prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting's "There's one bed" prompts is highlighted below

Trystan x Carolina Masterlist Complete Masterlist

If Murphy himself had created a day, it would have gone something like this. Everything that could go wrong did, and as Trystan stood in the pouring rain, intently looking for… something… under the hood of Carolina’s car, he didn't foresee it getting better.

Carolina was seated in the driver’s seat, her frustration mounting by the minute. The thought of honking the horn and making the Drakovian know-it-all jump into the stratosphere crossed her mind, which brought a smile to her face.

She looked at her watch – it was getting late. While her little fantasy may have brightened her mood, it wasn’t going to get them out of this jam. Still soaking wet from before, she stepped into the drenching rain with her jacket lifted over her head and settled at her partner’s side.

“Trystan,” she groaned. “It’s time to give up. You can’t fix this.”

He looked at her with vexation; his desire to save the day greater than he cared to admit.

“I just need five more minutes…”

“What will five more minutes do?” She exasperated. “I looked at it for a half hour. Now you’ve been staring at it for 20 minutes without so much as touching anything. Besides, if I couldn't get it started, you're not going to get it started."

Trystan gasped audibly, clutching his chest as if her words had delivered a mortal wound.

“Et tu, Carolina?”

“Et tu, nothing,” she said, trying - and failing - to contain a grin. “Let’s just be real. Who is more likely to know how to fix a car? A sassy but usually broke boricua from the Bronx with a string of shitty cars and hundreds of hours of her father’s mechanical tutelage….or the spoiled little prince who was chauffeured everywhere in his personal Rolls Royce?.”

“Hey!” He snapped back. “That’s not fair! Sometimes, I was driven in horse-drawn carriages.”

“I rest my case!”

In truth, Trystan was tired of being wet and cold, so Carolina quickly convinced him that the car needed an expert and probably a tow truck. After leaving a note on the dashboard, the two of them made their soggy way to a roadside motel they had passed before.

“Are you sure there is no place more… suitable?” Trystan groused.

“We're in West Bubbafuck, Your Highness. I am sorry, no Four Seasons or Ritz-Carlton’s here.”

“I don’t require a five-star property, but I would rather not stay at the Bates Motel.”

“Well, it’s that or sleeping in the car, big boy! Personally, I’d rather not have a tractor-trailer driver careening into us at 2:00 AM. But I’ll let you make your own decisions.”

“You make entirely too much sense,” he sighed as they reached the front door of the motel’s front office.

Carolina grabbed the door handle with a satisfied grin. “And don’t you forget that!”

After securing a room, they walked down the outdoor corridor toward their room.

“I can’t believe this place has only one vacancy tonight.”

“Believe it or not, this area is pretty popular this time of year, and those who prefer not to camp, stay here. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“Really?”

“Look,” she said, slipping the key into the door. “As long as it’s clean, has warm beds, and functional plumbing. We’re golden!.”

She pushed the door open, and when the room came into view, Carolina lost that edge of positivity, but Trystan laughed with delight.

It was minuscule, so small they'd have to take turns walking in some places, as side by side would be impossible. But that wasn’t the real issue. The real issue was the one bed. The one twin-sized bed.

“But look,” Trystan smirked. “The place is clean, I'll give it that.”

“Are you freaking kidding me!” She spat.

“Should I check if it’s warm,” he continued to instigate.

“I mean, one bed is one thing, but one twin-sized bed?”

“What’s the matter, Carolina?" he winked. "This is a great way for us to... bond.”

“That’s it!” She said, her hand already on the doorknob. “Being careened into by a tractor-trailer doesn’t sound that bad anymore.”

But Trystan reached over her and pushed the door shut. “Carolina, stop it. You were right; the car isn’t safe to sleep in overnight. This may be awkward, but at least we’ll be safe.”

“Awkward? I’m not concerned about awkward. Try impossible! How can the two of us fit on that thing? And this place is so small the floor isn’t even an option.”

“There’s always the bathtub,” he said, flicking the bathroom light on. “Or the shower stall?” he corrected with a sigh. “I could attempt to sleep atop that old console TV; it’s certainly big enough.”

The vision alone made Carolina laugh despite herself. “You’re not sleeping on the TV, Trystan. We’ll figure out a way to make this work.”

They took turns taking warm showers, which both had to admit felt heavenly. They also took turns using the small hair dryer to dry their underwear and shirts, their only options for sleeping that night. Trystan was sitting in the small sleeping area, holding a pair of boxers in one hand and the dryer in the other, when Carolina barged into the room, vigorously drying her hair with a towel and wearing another tied around her. They looked at each other with very distinct reactions: Carolina’s was one of amusement, but Trystan’s was... something else.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Carolina chuckled. “I bet you never thought you’d be drying your underwear by hand in a dinky little motel one day."

If she expected a reaction, she was about to be disappointed. The man sat on the edge of the bed, mouth agape, trying and failing to string a logical sentence together.

“Trystan,” she said, waving a hand in front of his face, when she finally caught on. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she laughed. “Come back to Earth. I'm sure you've seen a woman in a towel before.”

“Not this woman,” he affirmed.

Carolina looked at him with amusement. “This woman isn’t all that special.”

“I think I can draw my own conclusions on that,” he assured as a blush settled on Carolina’s cheeks.

“Fine,” she sighed. “My shirt is dry enough. I’ll put it on if it makes you feel better.”

She marched into the bathroom, shirt in hand, as Trystan contemplated how he could be so stupid.

“I don’t know if that will make me feel better... or worse... if we're being honest.”

Carolina emerged from the bathroom in her long, white, button-front shirt, damp locks falling down her shoulders.

“You know, you were wearing no more than a towel when I met you, but I was able to keep my composure.”

Now, it was Trystan's turn to blush.

“In fairness, we were too battling one another for you to give it much thought."

“Says you,” she winked, leaving him unsure of what to think.

“Are you flirting with me, Detective Rose?”

“Me,” she chortled. “No. I’m teasing you. There is a difference. Flirting is your domain.”

“Ah, but flirting and teasing are very close cousins.”

“Then you should know I don’t speak to most of my cousins,” she yawned, pointing to the bed. “So, how are we doing this? I really need to get to sleep.”

“Here’s what we'll do. I'll lay flat on my side, against the wall, and you figure out what you can do with the rest of the bed.”

"We’re obviously going to be touching," Carolina pointed out. "There’s no way to avoid that.”

“I know," he grinned lasciviously, playfully wiggling his brows.

"OK, Casanova," she smiled while tossing a pillow at him. "That touching means nothing. Do you understand?"

“Casanova was Italian, not Drakovian," he said with mock disdain. "Do you learn anything in America?”

“I know he was Italian! That’s not the point, you know... never mind.”

Trystan jumped onto the small bed, his back uncomfortably plastered against the wall as Carolina struggled to decide how she would sleep. Facing him would be just plain awkward, but facing away was bound to lead to unintentional spooning. She finally decided to face away; at least she wouldn't have to look at him if spooning occurred.

Despite the various forms of discomfort, Carolina managed to fall asleep quickly, but Trystan had no such luck. As the hours ticked away, he had given up any hope of quality sleep, so he lay awake with a million thoughts running through his mind. He chuckled as he recalled the first time he and Carolina met and marveled over how much they had been through together in such a short time. He wondered if she thought his voracious flirtation was all a joke, just a part of his persona - because, in reality, it was in his nature. But the more time he spent with this rare and astonishing Rose, the more he knew he'd love for them to become so much more.

But, as far as he could tell, she didn’t return those feelings, and setting himself up for another heartbreak was the last thing he wished to do. It would be best to push those feelings aside and take nights like this for what they were - rare and precious gifts from the universe that he would always, always treasure.

He had just begun to doze off when Carolina's voice awakened him.

“Huh, what?” he blurted, but she didn't stir.

Incomprehensible words fell from her lips, with the rare mention of ice cream sundaes thrown in for good measure.

“Dear God," Trystan lauged. "She talks in her sleep!”

Now that free entertainment was being provided, he lost all inclination to return to sleep. He wanted to hear every unintelligible word she said, finding it equal parts amusing and adorable. It was all great fun until his heart nearly stopped... did she just say?

“Trystan,” she mumbled. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

A pompous grin appeared on his face as he validated his sleeping partner's nocturnal confession. "Naturally!"

“I don’t know,” she sleepily giggled. “Maybe one day.”

Now, he had no idea of the context. Perhaps she wanted to get an ice cream sundae with him one day? Or perhaps the topic in her head changed completely and had nothing to do with him. But Trystan was going to take the "Maybe one day" the very way he wanted. Perhaps he didn't need to give up. With hope restored in his heart, he easily drifted off to sleep.

When the morning light broke through the tiny space where the drapes didn't meet, Carolina was quick to wake. She was fully dressed and scrolling through her phone when the exiled prince began to stir.

"Good morning," she smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

He wriggled around in bed, rubbing his eyes before responding with a groggy voice.

“How do you say I slept like shit in English?”

“I slept like shit," Carolina laughed.

“Well," he said, rising on an elbow. "There's your answer.”

“I’ve already called for a tow truck, and I’m arranging a rental car. I’ll drive back to the City so you can sleep." She stood up and grabbed her purse. "I saw a little coffee shop just down the road. I'll go get us some breakfast while and give you some privacy to get dressed."

“Thank you,” he muttered, then he recalled the detective talking in her sleep. She was at the door when he called out. “Oh, Carolina?”

"Yes," she replied without turning.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?”

He watched with amusement as her shoulders slumped, and he heard her breath escape her. Carolina had forgotten about that little habit. She turned to him in horror.

“All right, what. What did I say?" She ordered. "Just get it out, how much did I embarrass myself?”

But Trystan's warm smile was quite reassuring. “Not at all,” he insisted. “Though you were talking about ice cream sundaes quite a bit. How about I get you one when we’re back in the City. I know of a great place on the Lower East Side.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that," she smiled in relief. "But I'm getting the biggest sundae they have. I don't come cheap."

"I never expected you would," he smiled, and she was gone.

He fell back into the pillows with a look of wonderment.

"Maybe one day," he smiled. "Maybe one day."

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

#crimes of passion #crimes of passion choices #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x mc #m!trystan thorne x f!mc #choices fanfic #choices stories you play #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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shiny-kaibernyte · 2 months ago

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I'll take anything about Gym Leader Falkner! I really like his design and I feel like he doesn't get a lot of love

Yessss our flying king. He deserves so much love so i am happy to fulfil my duty! I went back and forth for quite some time trying to decide what to write for him: When in doubt go for the classic General/romance head cannons. I really hope you like it, i'm a tad bit rusty.

General/Romance Head-cannons Falkner

Falkner is a morning person through and through. He would be up at the crack of dawn doing some kind of workout or morning breakfast routine before yo uneven consider getting out of bed. You think you're a morning person perhaps? This man will prove you otherwise. Coffee in one hand, whatever food he has in the other whilst trying and failing miserably to open a door with his foot.

Despite being a morning person however, he will NOT wake you up when he gets up, if you're not a morning person. Falkner takes health care very seriously, and if you are a late sleeper or someone who doesn’t function too well in the morning hahahaha me. He will become a freaking ninjask getting out of bed, you will not even know he’s up until he has your brunch in hand and most of the house work done for the morning.

He can multitask; just don’t ask him to clean. He will stare at the brook for an hour trying to figure out what he’s actually supposed to do.

Cooking however, give this man a kiss the chefs apron and send him on his way! And yes he owns 5 of them in different colours. Why? He will never tell you.

One of his favourite parts of the day is when he’s cooking dinner either with you; whilst you're cleaning; or just doing something in the same room. Just being in your presence makes him smile. Something about cooking food for/with you just brings him so much joy he can’t explain.

His Pokemon are always out of their balls in the house. Yes they are very well trained, and will even help around the house! As soon as his Swellow can figure out it's a window he’s looking out.

His love language is Physical touch and acts of service. As stated before, he’ll have most of the jobs done by around lunchtime, he loves cooking for you and just taking care of you and his Pokemon in general. Something about knowing he can make you happy and provide for you in even the smallest ways gives him so much motivation to be the best.

As for touch, when you're in public he is an arm linker not a hand holder. True Gentleman at heart, so he much prefers when you hold onto his arm when you’re walking together. In private however, cuddle king. You do the rest.

Motivational King! You feeling down? No you're not, he is right there to pick you back up and keep moving forward. “I give up” Is a phrase banned in this household. Falkner has proven on multiple occasions that nothing and no one can stop him from achieving his goals! And that goes for his partner as well. Their goals are his, if you allow him to help of course. If not he will be your own personal cheerleader. I can see him now, holding imaginary pom poms in his hands cheering you on!

This man has a tendency to work himself to the bone! He doesn't know when to stop, always trying to be the best he can be, training himself and his Pokemon extremely hard. Don’t get me wrong he has and never will harm his Pokemon, even when training he knows they’re limits and will give them everything they need. Himself however, limits isn't a word in his mind; he will work himself beyond exhaustion and if you don’t slow him down or out right stop him, he will collapse. So please give him a time frame and keep him hydrated.

Falkner can be very protective. Possessive? Absolutely not! He will NEVER stop you from being you and doing what you want to do. However he cares for you deeply and will worry about you basically all the time. He lost his father and never got the chance to say goodbye to him. He is not making the same mistake twice. So expect him to call you every now and again when you two are apart. You both have things to do after all.

Continuing form the previous point, Falkner has a rule he calls “3 ring rule” If he calls you 3 times (he leaves around 20 minutes in between calls) and you don’t respond, he’s coming to find you himself; he will not send his Pokemon looking for you as he needs to see with his own two eyes or hear your voice. Once you either call him again or he finds you and knows you are safe, that's when he will relax again, whether he stays or leaves is depending on where he came from.

Jealousy is not a word in his vocabulary, or at least he pretends it's not, but he won’t deny that he does get a little clingy when he sees someone flirting with you. Falkner won’t actually step in however, he trusts you and knows you can handle yourself, but he also recognises your body language and facial expressions. If he spots you uncomfortable or you give him a subtle hint - he is swooping in to be the hero of the day.

If someone is insulting you however, that's different. It is the one and only time you will hear him raise his voice in an aggressive manner. Even if you are not with him when he hears your name being disgraced, he will stand up for you and will be a pillar of salt when he comes home.

Falkner loves your pokemon just as much as his own. You’re basically a family so he will care for yours the same way he does his. It's quite cute to watch him playing with your pokemon whilst his fly around annoying each other.

Sleeps like a log. He may be a morning person but he will nap almost everyday and once he’s down, you ain’t getting him up for another 2 hours and even then it's a shot in the dark if he actually wakes up to his alarm. At night however, he will not sleep until you're asleep, Naps he’ll conk out whenever because you aren't with him. Actually going to bed, he’s holding you in his arms, however you guys sleep, and will wait for you to fall asleep first, knowing you are resting makes him at peace.

All in all, this man loves you more than anything and will show you that every single day. If he was a green flag, he’s the whole damn forest.

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fandomwritingbit · 1 year ago

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Caught out pt.2

William afton x fem reader x henry emily

A/n: Hiii, this is a part two of this fic I did a while ago. It's really long ngl over 7,000 words. To the person that requested a part two to this that focused more on the relationship between Henry and Will, I took some inspiration from that so thank you very muchly. I hope this reads well, I'll be editing it over the next few days because writer's block is shagging me hard rn.

Warnings: smut, oral, unprotected sex, inappropriate relationships, sexual tension between henry and william, y/n is absolute filth.

The day after Henry had debased himself, started off pretty shit. The restaurant was fully booked all day and it felt like there were over a million kids tearing through the building and creating havoc, along with many other reasons for the two co-owners to stay back after hours. They were so understaffed, two waiters and an entertainer had called in sick, forcing Henry and Will to step up a bit. Well, Henry stepped up, running plates, hosting, the works; William, though he was present, just cracked the whip on the employees that were there. Both had contemplated getting you out of the security office to help out, but the plethora of legal challenges they’d seen in the previous few weeks dissuaded them.

“Who’s fault is this?” William caught Henry’s arm, his expression as fumingly stoic as it had been so far all day. It was this side of William that initially drove Henry into merging with him, the no-nonsense, no-bullshit, pragmatic approach that he was too nice to use. When they were newly joined, grabbing his arm like this would have made Henry shit scared, just the sheer height of the man alone would’ve done it; now though, Henry just looked from his hand to Will’s face, scoffing.

“Tiff was on bookings, I’m gonna have a word with her.” He pulled his arm free, “You do know, William, that we can’t have high numbers and easy service.”

William sniggered, slightly surprised by Henry’s attitude, “Functional service would be nice, though.”

All shit hit the fan about midday.

And it hit the fan big time. A party of thirty and one of seventeen at the same time had all hands on deck, waiters sweating making sure patrons had everything they needed, bar staff making so many drinks that there wasn’t a gap left on the bar, and Henry and William were trying to cope with everything in between. Namely, trying to keep kids out of staff-only areas or from running full pelt into the servers carrying food and drinks, and keeping feuding chefs calm in the kitchen. The latter Henry’s domain, for obvious reasons. So when the shifty looking fellow slipped inside the building, it went unnoticed.

“Excuse me?” a woman’s shrill voice called to William, obligating him to approach the table. He didn’t smile at her because the look on her face said this wasn’t a ‘compliments to the chef’ kind of thing.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“There’s plastic in my son’s pizza.” She pointed a thickly painted nail at the slice, showing the cling film sticking out underneath. Fuck’s sake.

He nodded, “Right. I’ll get you a new one.” As he spoke, he picked up the plate and the one with the rest of the pizza on it, cursing this whole fucking operation.

“Got anything that doesn’t come out of a freezer?” she snapped, looking at him with such disapproval he felt a kid again.

He just laughed at her. God, it was a £5 meal, she’s lucky they even heated it up for that. Neglecting to answer her, he gave a half-arsed apology and went towards the back kitchen to sort her out.

Whilst this took place, a man with black gloves waited for the boy on the till to leave before wrenching the till open, shoving his hand inside to grab a fist-full of today’s earnings. The staff were too distracted to cop on, and alarm was only raised when the thief knocked into a server.

“Hey what are you-” shoving her out the way, the figure moved towards the exit. The young lady got the attention of other staff who called out to the man but didn’t physically intervene, forcing the waitress to run to the kitchen and drag William out by his arm, babbling about what was happening.

He gave chase, following the thief out of the swinging doorway while the staff and patrons watched on in awe. It was at this point Henry burst out the kitchen as well, his face a mask of exasperation as he asked around to try and figure out what was going on. It seemed like no one really knew anything. No one knew where the day security guard was or how much money the thief had grabbed before bolting.

“Fucking useless.” He mumbled under his breath, immediately kicking himself for how much he sounded like William.

It must have only been a couple of minutes before William walked back in, though it felt much longer. Henry looked to catch Will’s eye, quickly realising that he’d failed in the pursuit both the thief and the money by the slouching of his posture and the cut above his brow. He dabbed it with the side of his hand, smearing blood on his forehead. It was a sight and a half.

“You didn’t get him?” he kept his voice cautious, not wanting to send William over the edge.

He laughed, “Course I did. Fucker hit me and jumped in a car. I will say, he were well organised.” William winced again as he touched his cut, a streak of stark red trailing down the side of his face. Henry watched the movement thoughtfully, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen William like this, though usually he wasn’t sober. There was just something about it that made him feel deeply troubled and guilty. William Afton was powerful and scary. Handsome as the devil, everyone said it and the blood on his face tickled a part of Henry that he kept close to his chest and had done for years.

Henry sighed, “You alright?” it’s asked nonchalantly but there is a tint of kindness on it.

“Yeah. It’s going to keep bleeding though, you know what cuts to the face are like.” He again wiped the gash, the blood darkly pretty on his fingers.

“No, no I don’t.” He shakes his head, he had too much sense to go about getting into fights. William just laughed, Henry's judgement always amused him. But his laughter died when Henry bluntly asked, “Don’t suppose you got a licence plate or anything?”

William’s face went stony, “Shit.” he muttered, feeling a little stupid but in fairness he was busy trying to catch the guy. The two were silent for a moment, the quiet awkward between them. Thankfully, it was broken when William again spoke, the idea hitting him out of nowhere, “The cameras. It wasn’t too far from the back doors, we might be able to get the plate on them.”

Henry nodded, “Yeah I’ll go and check with y/n.” An odd weighty feeling fills the air at the mention of your name, a bizarre and new-found knowledge on the former’s part and gross pride on the other’s. He turns but stops still, “You should uh try and see how much they took. You know, look at the tickets and-”

“Yeah, I know how to do it, mate. Jesus.” he sniggers, not moving an inch out of principle, since when the fuck did Henry give him orders.

Exhaling through his nose, the sensible owner decides not to pursue what he’d asked him to do, hoping he’d comply without an argument, though what was more likely is that Henry would have to do that himself. He heads out the main restaurant and down the staff corridor, a growing feeling of anticipation at seeing you. He’s sure neither you or William know what he did, but the fear of discovery made him tense.

Outside the security office door, he takes a breath before knocking, hating himself for being like this, if anyone should be ashamed it’s William, but as always he’s the one compensating.

You open the door and are greeted by the pensive expression of Mr Emily, you knew exactly what he was going to ask and had been reviewing the footage yourself already.

“Uh hey, y/n, can you show me the footage of the incident?” You step aside and let him into the cramped space, it’s a horrible office really, no windows and the monitor casting a grainy artificial light against the viewer. He would rather have you serving on the front but you insisted this was better because you, quote, ‘don’t want to deal with all the shit out there.’ End quote.

“Yeah, sure. I had a look…” you speak whilst getting up the recording of the robbery, “but the fella has a hood up, you can’t see anything uh identifiable.” He glances at your face and is surprised to see you smiling, as you wind it back and play the recording for him.

Your grin is pretty contagious and makes it hard to focus on the footage, “You find this funny?” His brow is narrowed, it’s not asked nastily more curiously.

“The thieving? No, sir.” You try to disguise your snigger as you skip it forward a few seconds, to show William pulling the waitress off his arm and booking it out the door. “It’s uh that I find funny.”

He snickers himself, god this was a shit show. “Yes, I can see why.”

“When I clip it for the police, I’ll leave that bit out… might be hard to explain what he was trying to do there.” You watch your boss nod his approval, an understanding between you to try and keep William out of the copper’s eye-lines.

Henry then recalls what he said about the outside footage. “What about outside? William said that we might be able to see something on the cameras round the back.”

“Ah yeah, good idea.” You go off the restaurant recordings, and on to the outside ones. They record a little differently in blocks of footage that display in a huge camera roll, you go to the section he means but scroll down too far, clicking on the wrong block. The two of you are met with yesterday’s footage of the bins and it takes you a fair few seconds to realise.

“Oh this is yesterday’s.” Henry says the moment he clocks on and you blink trying to read the time and date stamp.

“Oh sorry.” you rush to go back off that recording, hitting the wrong button and instead going to the rear interior cameras in the same block. The intake of breath from Mr Emily, makes you jump.

“Ah- no. That’s ah-” The time it takes him to speak is enough for you to gauge the reason for his reaction. Though the footage isn't brilliant you can tell it’s him standing just outside William’s office, his back to the wall. It’s too grainy to see precisely but the movement is clear and pitifully familiar to you. You look at Henry for a moment, lips pursed in confusion, then it occurs to you to look at the timestamp: yesterday around 1:30pm, you were on your ‘lunch break’ then with Will- oh sweet lord.

“Oh my God.” you say out loud, and Henry swears that this must be what a heart attack feels like. The dawning realisation on your face left him no room to lie his way out of it, sure it was muddy but shit, you can still tell he’s wanking. A disturbed and defeated noise escaped from his throat, “Mr Emily, is that-”

“God, just turn it off.” He speaks hoarsely, a little blunter than he meant, but when he pulls the courage to look at you he sees blatant amusement on your face.

“Like Hell I will. You saw me and Will- Mr Afton in his office yesterday?” you enquire, smirk not budging an inch.

“Yes.'' His voice is small as his eyes flicker between you and the footage, which is now reaching its literal and metaphorical climax. Your eyes go wide as you take it in, how he bites on his hand his back lifting off the wall, fucking his fist and letting himself spill on the floor.

“And you uh-”

“Yes.” Now he looks at you, his face red before he tries to grab the mouse, futile really, you’d already seen everything. The whole vile, carnal activity. Something so beneath him, it had been on his mind all day. He internally interrogated himself as to how he didn't think about the cameras, the stupid horny bastard he was. Couldn’t wait to get back to the privacy of his office- no he didn’t want to because the sounds of his co-worker and employee screwing was what was getting him off.

You move it out of his grasp, your eyes sharp scrutiny on his shame. “God, Mr Emily.” you giggle, a sudden giddiness surging through your veins. If you had known that he was there he could have come in and gotten a better view, the mere thought of that made arousal twitch between your legs. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you finally speak again.

Confusion again twists his features, “What?” He looks handsome like that, you muse.

“Do you… fancy me, Mr Emily?” A flash of something foreign crosses his face, he just looks at you until you prompt him again, “Well?”

He scoffs, “I- well, you’re attractive, yes. What do you want me to say?” His tone is tinged with disbelief, he can’t believe you’re still in here with him, talking to him, not running into the restaurant to tell William, disgust etched on your face.

You beam, he really did, it was written on his face. Circumstantial or not, the idea of having two fit older men interested in you, burned your blood. “Then you could’ve said something… I feel guilty if you felt, you know, left out.”

He’s so speechless he might as well be a statue, so you fill the silence again, “It’s good to know.” He’s just mesmerised by your reaction, you’re almost flirting with him, unperturbed by that god-awful footage, no, engaged by it.

“I’m sorry.” He manages finally, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from his hands.

“Don’t be.” You shake your head, still smiling. “I’ll sort the recordings. Check for a number plate and clip it for a report.” You slowly place a hand on his arm, stroking up and down, captivated by the effect you were having on him, you felt powerful almost. “So you don’t have to worry. You can go.”

And he does. He leaves the room without saying a word, shell-shocked into silence. Your reaction wasn’t what he would have thought, but it still scared him because he knew he was going to be the next topic of conversation between you and William, and if he were to confront him, that heart attack probably would materialise. God, if you only knew the half of who he fancied.

The next time you see William, is again during your contracted hours, this time leaving the door purposely open despite his protests, a secret hope that Henry might again come down the corridor, no pun intended. You’d rode William to oblivion in his office chair, taking exactly what you wanted from the man in the form of his huge cock stretching your little hole open.

Now you remain sat on his lap, watching his hand toy with the mess both of you had made between your legs, his fingers pushing his release back inside, thinking to himself how pretty you looked fuck open like that, full of him just how you wanted.

“I want to talk to you.” You say through a grin, pulling his hand away and towards your lips, where you suck the mixture of the two of you from his fingers, your tongue swirling reminding him of something else you’re more than good at. A low noise from his chest at the sight makes you smile again.

He smirks, “This is the bit where you ask me for something, huh?”

“Nothing you won’t like.” You bite the tips of his fingers, holding them for just a moment between your teeth, making him groan. “Do you know about Mr Emily?” The second you ask it he pulls his hand away, cupping under your jaw.

“What about him?”

“He saw us the other day. You know on your desk.” You don’t need to jog his memory, he recalls that in explicit detail.

“Yeah, got quite the eyeful I imagine. Looked mortified.”

“Oh my god, He didn’t tell you.” You laugh, “Not that I blame him.” adjusting yourself before sliding from his knee. You pull up your panties and then the trousers you were wearing, scanning the room for wherever the hell your shoes have gone. When you look back to him, his brow is furrowed.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart, what’s this about?” You can tell that despite the casualness of his tone he really wants to know and your cocky expression was grating on him already. Clearly you talking about Henry was of great interest to him.

So you smile, taking a moment to enjoy the look on his face before giving him the story, in as much detail as you can. You describe the footage you’d found, how even through the pixels you could tell he touched himself desperately, his pace rushed either due to fear of discovery or simple greediness. You tell him how his coworker was so thoughtless as to let his release fall on the floor, and dirty enough to leave it there.

William looked at you with a grin, he could taste the second-hand embarrassment on his partner's behalf, thinking to himself that Henry must feel like shit right now. When you finish with some clear glee on your face he chuckles, “Dirty bastard.” He paused, an expression flashing across his face that you’d never seen before. “...Did he delete the footage?”

You laugh, “Why? You want to see it?” You half expected his face to fall at that accusation but a grin just cut wide on his face. “I deleted it.” you shoot him down.

“Well then, that’s a wasted opportunity. You never know when that kind of thing can be of use.” He spoke whilst standing up, pulling the lever under his chair up to return it to the height he needed it, not the one you did to ride him. He moved to begin sorting his desk out but his hands stuttered, not sure where to even begin with how behind on work he was.

“Cold, Afton.” You grin. “You didn’t actually let me finish.” That caught his attention again and he turned to face you, leaning back on his desk before gesturing at you to continue.

“I said I deleted it. Only fair, I wouldn’t want Mr Emily to feel… slighted.” You sigh, watching him look at you expectantly. You make him wait a fair while before you dig in your back pocket and clack a USB down on the desk next to him. The blooming smile on his face motivates you to ask him for a ‘favour’.

Clearly there is something of a tension between the two co-owners. And that can be toxic to a business’ success. Though that’s probably not the real reason for you wanting to relieve it.

William moves to pick it up, but you quickly snatch it from the table, holding it between two fingers you drag it up under his chin. “You can have it… for whatever pervers reasons you really want it.”

“But?”

The saccharine look on your face as you speak is like hypnotism at its finest. “I like the idea of two men wanting me. Like I really like it.” you draw out your words for maximum effect.

He tilts his head back in laughter, “Of course you do.”

You’re not entirely happy with the implications of that. “Hey, at least I’m brave enough to ask for what I want.”

“And you want to fuck him?” The words are quick and harsh off his tongue. “And you’re what, asking for my permission?”

A short laugh escapes you. “No. But I do want to fuck him. But I don’t want to make you jealous, so maybe there’s a middle ground. If you get me?” He evidently does, judging by that delicious pinch between his brows. For a moment you think you’ve pushed things a little too far, maybe hit a nerve even, so you just blink at him prettily, hoping that that will nudge him in the direction you want.

Finally, he sniggers, “... You’re asking me… If I will tag-team you. With a bloke I've known for nearly twenty years?” He laughs incredulously before running his tongue over his teeth. The emphasis of the last part makes you resign yourself to the no, you think you’re about to hear.

“Uh yeah..?” Your tone is as cautious as you can make it, whilst your eyes rake over his face for some read of his opinion on the matter.

But he just leaves you hanging, sniggering away. Clearly he’s made a decision and you won’t get to know until he thinks you need to.

Later that evening after grabbing his old and dusty but trusty jacket off the hook in his office, Henry checks the pocket for his car keys and wallet. Sighing as the events of the day caught up to him, he finally clocks off just after 11pm, and he’s more than ready to fall into bed.

He pokes his head around the door of William’s office just to give him the polite goodnight that was expected but is greeted by pitch black emptiness. He tries not to be pissed off that the bastard has gone home already and left him working away without a word exchanged. But it's largely unsuccessful, and he finds himself huffing and puffing as he goes to the front of the building to check everythings been locked up properly.

The restaurant always hits different after hours, an unacquainted person would probably find it creepy what with the children’s play area all shrouded in darkness and the curtains drawn on the stage blowing just a little from the ventilation. Hell, he was beginning to find it unnerving himself.

The interior doors were locked and bolted and the shutters were down, making this whole thing a little pointless, but if he hadn’t checked he’d be halfway home itching with uncertainty. Especially with the robbery that just happened.

“You know you could have just checked from outside?” A voice says in the dark of the restaurant, making Henry turn like a gunshot towards it. It takes him a minute in his surprise to clap his eyes on William sitting in a corner booth with his feet on the table. In the complete fucking dark.

“Jesus, William.” He snaps, moving to the wall to flick the lights back on. When he does, the lurker winces in the bright artificial light. “What are you doing?”

In response, he slides a bottle of whiskey across the table, one that he’d drunk nearly half of already. “Drinking.” His words are a little slurred so he clears his throat. “Drink with me, Henry.”

Henry scoffs, “Drinking alone in the dark. New low, even for you.”

Cackling, William puts his hand over his heart, “Ouch. Well, I'm not alone now, am I? Sit down.” He gestures in line with his words, nodding towards the other side of the booth.

“It’s late, I should-” He begins his protest but is immediately cut off by an overexaggerated reaction from his counterpart.

“Oh for the love of god, man. Fucking sit down.” He rolls his eyes, still not moving his feet from the table, even when Henry obeys and sits down opposite him. In Henry’s experience it’s best not to argue with William when he’s half-cut, the man could be persuasive, bordering on naggy.

It’s only when he’s already sat down that he realises the drunk has only got one glass, he pours it for Henry and then takes a swig directly from the bottle.

“Thought you were saving this for a special occasion?” He asks, twisting the bottle to read the label and humming approval to himself that this was good shit. Truth be told he hasn’t drunk with William for what must be a couple of years, so this proposal mixed with his posh whiskey stank of an ulterior motive.

“I’m sick of looking at it.” He answered, slowly leaning his head backwards to rest it against the wall and close his eyes. Henry watched the movement over the brim of his glass. He spent many years working with this man, but it only dawned on him once in a while how handsome he was. Not a hallmark prince kind of handsome, but in a rugged, sleazy, scary sort of way, no wonder you’d trotted so happily to bed with him- or rather to his office on your lunch break. He almost laughed as that thought occurred to him. God, he was jealous, and he hated himself for it.

Suddenly, William shook his head and sat up straighter. “Fuck, I’m nearly mortal.” He snickered, before taking another swig from the bottle, then pouring more in Henry's glass. "Away, mate. You've got catching up to do."

Although he tried, Henry would have needed another bottle to make it to William’s level of pissed. Still though, a little over an hour later his head was swimming and even just sitting in this booth was testing his balance.

He shifts in his place, instantly regretting it “Shit. God… I need to stop. Gonna fucki-” He felt like he was going to hit the deck, yet William seemed to have gone the other way, leaning with his head in his hands giggling at nothing.

“Language, Emily!” He chastised, “Never known you to have such a dirty mouth.” Looking over at the other man, William could tell he’d drunk well too much. He never could handle it that well, it showed immediately in his eyes, that kind of glassy look that was undeniably due to intoxication; many times the two of them had gotten denied service from pubs for exactly that reason.

His words made Henry look up properly, a bit taken aback by his coworker. Obviously, he was joking, hardly a sentence from William could go by without some flavour of profanity, but that ‘dirty mouth’ comment was like ice down his spine. He said something like that to you when he eavesdropped on the two of you, in such a darkly aroused way that it stuck with him, practically haunting him. “Just shut up, man.” He mumbled, unhappy with the half a smile crossing his face.

William scoffed, leaning forward across the table to snatch the glasses off Henry’s face. He tried to grab them back, but as always, Will was too quick.

“What the hell are you-”

He laughed, putting the glasses on himself and blinking quickly in pantomime, “God, you’re really fucking blind, huh?”

Unable to stop himself from smiling, Henry leans to again try and take them back. He's met with William tilting his head to allow him to pluck them from his face, chuckling like a schoolboy.

Henry feels his face heat up more than he would have liked. “Yeah, that’s why I wear them. Fuck’s sake.”

“I forgot you’re so moody on the drink, lighten up, dickhead.”

For a moment Henry just laughed in disbelief, thinking to himself that he can’t be serious. “At least it’s only when I’m drinking, you’re a stormy bastard all the time.” Will’s eyebrows raised in response, he didn’t have a lot to say to that, largely because it’s true. His mood could sway the whole staff’s, his bad day was everyone’s problem, most of all Henry’s.

William hummed for a beat, taking the time to think if he really wanted to say what he was about to. Your words from earlier echoing in his mind. “You’re right, you know.” He smirked then, a proper conniving expression that almost bordered on sinister. “I’ll have to make it up to you then… Call in on me tomorrow. I have something for you.”

And now is the waiting game. Your shift went relatively quickly and painlessly. Bookings have been strictly limited after yesterday's fiasco that led to the thief digging around the cash register, so it was almost quiet. And now you sit on your boss’s very familiar knee, practically vibrating with excitement. You lean your head back to rest on his shoulder, slowly grinding your hips back and forth on his lap, knowing how much it wound him up.

“You really can’t wait, can you?” His voice is low and teasing like always, but you don’t miss the way his fingers tap against the top of the desk: he’s nervous.

You smile, “What? I’m excited.” You roll your hip particularly hard, pleasure jolts through your system when you feel that William is pretty excited himself. “I can’t believe he agreed to this. I’ve always wanted to have two blokes fight over me.” You punctuate your point by pressing your lips against the underside of his jaw.

He snickers from just above you, “Can I tell you something?” A large hand comes up from your ribs to grab a handful of your breast which you arch your back into. “He didn’t exactly agree.” The second the sentence leaves him, you sit upright, turning to face him.

Your eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”

“I told him I have something for him, not that-” Your scoffing cuts him off .

“You- he doesn’t know that I’m here to… You’re such a fucking arsehole!” You could almost hit him, if Henry has no idea what this is all about, it’s not going to happen is it? Disappointment courses through you. “I can’t believe you-” You go to stand and grab your shit and leave, but he catches your hips and pulls you back down on top of him.

He holds you firm, just grinning at the angry line between your brows. “Calm down, sweetheart. Alright? Just bat your eyes at him like you’re so good at and you’ll get what you want.”

Just as you open your mouth to give Will your grievances, the two of you hear polite knocking from the office door which then slowly cracks open showing a tentative looking Henry.

The second he claps eyes on not only William but you too, the man feels anxiety prickle all over him as a million thoughts cross his mind. Seriously, what the fuck is this? Some kind of gang up on Henry, make him feel like shit for what he did the other day, situation? Fuck, the shame around him was not only tangible but so thick it was practically visible.

But not wanting to draw attention to his hallway activity, he elects for a “Oh hey, y/n.” Before he focuses his gaze on William, “What is this then?”

He laughs, “I said I had something for you…” William then takes his hands off your hips, freeing you to move as you’d like. But before you do, he whispers something unintelligible to Henry in your ear. Something that makes the hard line of your mouth soften considerably.

“Well, love. You still want to play?” The words caress your skin and it dawns on you that you do. Fuck, you really want to play. And you’ve already gone to all this effort… it would be a shame to waste such an opportunity. You nod at William and slide off his lap, then walking over to Henry who still stood awkwardly a pace away from the door.

You walk right up to him, standing a little too close to him, so close he feels an automatic blush spread across his cheeks. “I uh…” you begin but falter immediately. The confusion on his face was crystal clear. “I can’t get that image of you out of my head. You know, the footage?... I think I enjoyed that more than a normal person should. I thought maybe we could have some fun- if that’s what you want, obviously.” You keep your voice down instinctively, maybe hoping internally it’d be out of William’s earshot.

He killed that thought with, “Careful, y/n. His glasses will steam up.” The cockiness coating the words made the other man scowl, which in turn just made Will laugh.

“Shut it, Will.” You interject, your eyes not moving from Henry as you read him for reaction.

“...This really isn’t a good idea.” He speaks slowly, voice cracking on the first word, making him have to clear his throat to continue. This was baffling, and he couldn’t tell if it was some sick joke between you and William, something designed to cripple him emotionally. But looking closer, from your small smile to his set jaw made him think that maybe, maybe this was a real proposal.

“Respectfully,” you take another step forward, so close to Henry that you could smell his aftershave. “I disagree.” Your hand rises up to rest on his chest, a finger prying under the lapel of his jacket.

He chuckles in complete disbelief, flicking his eyes over to William, who still sat cock-sure as hell in his office chair. “Don’t look at me, mate. This is all her.” He waves a calculatedly dismissive hand as he speaks, trying to disguise the tension he was wrapped in.

“Yeah but…” The words fail Henry when you continue touching him, stroking his chest in just the right way to get the physical reaction from him that you wanted. “If I do something, are you going to rough me up?” He attempts some level of nonchalance, but it doesn’t carry at all.

William sniggers then, “I think she’ll do a good enough job of that on her own.” You giggle, curling your fingers under the lapel and pulling Henry so close that your lips are only an inch away from his making him groan slightly.

“So what do you say, Henry?” You breathe, already knowing the answer but wanting to make sure that this is something that he wanted. He doesn’t respond verbally, only closing the gap between the two of you with a surprisingly firm kiss. You reciprocate, excitement bubbling in your core, this was insane, not only was it two handsome men here with you at once, but both your bosses, this was certainly going to bollocks up your professional relationships.

You take both Henry’s hands and place them on your hips, giving him all the cues to deepen this kiss, which he does by sliding his tongue into your mouth and twirling it alongside yours. You let out a light moan, if he kept hitting you with all these surprises this was going to be even more fun than you initially thought. When you press yourself flush against him, it strikes him out of nowhere that this is real, you, pretty little you, were kissing him, pressing against him hungrily, eager for him. It excites him enough for his hands to rake over you, one cupping your tit and the other pinching your arse in such a way that makes you briefly rise to your toes.

You mouth the word ‘fuck’ against his lips before he puls away slightly and buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing along your skin until he found your sweet spot. Your hand tangles itself in his hair, encouraging him to keep pulling these cute noises from you. One particularly pretty gasp for you makes him look up, instantly catching William’s eye, his stomach twisting when he sees him chuckling and shaking his head. You grab under his chin, forcing him to put his attention back on you.

You look over your shoulder, “Have you got a confused jealousy boner, Will?”

He laughs at your meanness, “If I have to watch, at least put on a show.” You grin before turning back to Henry, intending to follow his advice. You lightly push Henry back until his back catches a side table, there you trail your hand down his body before taking the tent in his trousers in your hand, making him groan again, the sound vibrating through his chest.

You begin to stroke him slowly over the fabric, grinning up at him, “Fuck, that security footage was so hot, Henry.” You bite your bottom lip and he swears he’s going to melt. “Will you show me in person?”

You feel his cock twitch and it spurs on the wetness now seeping between your legs and collecting in your panties. His hands replace yours, moving to slowly undo his belt, the clinking sound all too revealing, then his fly underneath. You dive in then, helping him pull his trousers down. Flicking your gaze between his eyes and his cock, you trail your finger over the bulge, stopping just at the waistband of his boxers and making him wait in anticipation before you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull them down, letting his hardness spring between your bodies.

The look on your face is so damn dirty, your pupils so huge that he just blinks at you, gasping when you grab hold of him, feeling his length. He’s thick and you just know he’s going to feel so fucking right inside you. Spitting in your hand, you start a slow pace of stroking him, all teasing, really making him feel every little thing you give him, his twisting expression motivating you to keep it nice and easy.

“This enough of a show for you?” You say to William, and Henry turns to look at him like he forgot he’s there.

“Please, sweetheart. I know you can do better than that.” He makes a point of looking the two of you up and down before glancing at Henry and flashing the most wolfish smirk going, making his stomach twist with something absolutely filthy.

William watches as you grin, his hand taking hold of himself over his trousers. You look such a pretty thing sliding down to your knees, still pumping Henry, though now it was becoming a more substantial pace. His breath audibly hitched when he looked down at the sight of you stroking his cock like that, looking so needy for it. You open your mouth, placing the head of his cock on your tongue for a moment before wrapping your lips around him. You suck him just as tantalisingly, hollowing your cheeks to take as much of him as you could, working your tongue perfectly on the underside of his length. His head was completely empty, soft grunts escaping him when you took him deep in your throat. How the fuck was this even happening? How the fuck was William okay with it?

From across the room, you both hear the shifting of him standing up, your eyes move to what you could see of him in your peripheral but you don’t stop, if anything you start bobbing your head with more gusto, your hands taking his base and softly stroking him to your rhythm. Henry just stares at William, his hands white knuckling against the table in an effort not to cry out- god, you’re too fucking good at this. No wonder he’s so fond of you.

William stands behind you, his frame casting an imposing shadow over you on the floor, you can’t help but smile- well, smile as much as you can. He looks between the two of you, watching you give Henry probably the best blowjob of his life, before looking back to Henry’s reddened face, he could tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek, which makes him snigger. He grabs hold of your hair, taking a firm grip of it and following your movement.

Henry moans and the shame that accompanies it is almost instant. What the hell was he doing? His scrutiny was fucking awful and maybe would’ve made him want to stop, if you weren’t taking him so well.

“She’s such a good girl, huh?” His voice makes your skin pucker with goosebumps, fuck he sounds so good when he’s horny.

Henry would have agreed, but all words are absent when Will uses your hair to control your movement. A sudden emerging urge to hear what kind of sounds Henry can make taking over him. You moan, hand reaching in reflex around his wrist, though you let him do as he wishes. He pushed your head further down on Henry’s cock, making tears spring at the corners of your eyes. And then moves you back and forth, forcing you to keep up with it. Something about it is so dirty you can’t help but shift your position so your pussy is rubbing against your heel, the small sensation absolute bliss.

William catches on quickly and pulls your head back so Henry’s cock pops lewdly from your mouth. You speak immediately, your voice breathy, “Feeling left out?”

Henry watches in something close to awe as William tilts your head all the way back so you’re looking up at him, his finger rubbing over your lips, the smirk on his face mean. “I agreed to share, not witness.” He leans down and pulls your shirt up, somehow managing to manoeuvre it over your head easily, despite the carnage. He waits, unsure of what to do, his cock glistening with your spit when he takes it in his hand, looking to see your bra being unhooked and the sight of your perfect tits.

William hooks under your arms and lifts you up, in quite the show of strength, onto the side table. You giggle, “You’re not very good at sharing then.” as you look between the two men, your legs spreading automatically to let William pull your trousers off, your wet panties exposed, he runs his fingers over the damp fabric eliciting a pleased sound from both you and Henry who now touched himself at the view in front of him.

“You really liked sucking his dick, didn’t you?” His tone is all mocking, though you pick up on a hint of something else. You just nod and lift your hips up against his hand, he obeys your silent ask, quickly sliding your knickers down to your knees and placing his thumb on that needy clit of yours. He gives you just what you need, drawing circles over your bundle of nerves, glancing at Henry whilst he does so, catching his gaze as it flicks from somewhere else, embarrassment written on his face.

He shakes his head at him before placing his hands on your thighs to keep you open for him as he bends down and replaces the stimulation with his tongue. You grab him instantly, and your want for him makes Henry stroke his cock again, he almost wants to laugh at this attempt to show off, but there’s no denying the look on your face as you roll your hips against him, incoherent moans fleeing your lips. Clearly, William is good at that because when he adjusts his position to press his fingers inside you, you cry out, the sound insanely pornographic. He presses his digits inside you just right, playing you like a fucking violin and you’re close, just the sight of Henry watching could have got you there, but the angle of his fingers pressed against the part of you that made coming undone inevitable.

William grunts into your pussy, when your hand in his hair lets him know you’re going to cum. You’re a bad one for that, grabbing onto him in your fretful wave, when you’re scared he’s not going to let you get there, his back is covered in scratches from you for precisely that reason. He grabs at himself, palming his erection to the rhythm of your noises and not entirely succeeding. Henry notices immediately, unable to decide what he wants to watch more, you gagging for it, begging to cum, or Will getting off on it.

“Fuck. Will, please.” You choke out, the fucking of his fingers shoving you closer and closer to your end, so quick its near unbearable. He doesn’t stop, curling his fingers more to get you there, still sucking mercilessly on your clit. It hits you hard, your back arching as you cum, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers, fluttering in such a way that it makes it impossible not to bust inside you.

William pulls away from you when your waves begin to die out, to enjoy the sight of you, grinning when he sees Henry looking ragged.

You see it too, the furrowed brow, sweat lingering on his forehead showing that he’d enjoyed that nearly as much as you had, edging himself helplessly to your pleasure. You can see the precum leaking from his tip and even though you’ve just cum you want more. You want to make him cry.

“Henry…” The second you say his name he quivers, he remembers your voice sounding like that from before, but the glazed over, fucked out look on your face is new. “Can you fuck me?” You’re sitting up on the table as you speak, your cunt flushed and shining. And you certainly don’t need to ask twice.

You stand and push him down so he’s sitting in William’s chair, not missing the pissed off look on Will’s face that screams ‘what about me?’.

You straddle Henry facing out towards William, blinking pretty at him whilst rubbing your slick pussy against the other’s cock. Hoping he gets the practicality of this position. Reading your mind, he steps forward, taking your chin in his grip as his foot reaches under the chair to push the lever up, causing you and Henry to drop down roughly to a much more useful height. Henry moans, the jolting movement making him drag against your cunt in the most desperate way.

It’s not long before you’re lost in the obliteration of two fellas at once. Henry’s thick cock deep inside you, stretching you around him. His hands cup under your behind to give him the space he needs to fuck up into you. You’re whining from it, loving the feeling of his pace, or you would be, if not for your lips being wrapped around William’s cock stifling the sound.

If anyone was outside the door in the former's previous position, they might fall victim to the same impulse he did. The lewd sounds of one using your mouth like his fucktoy and the other fucking out your dripping pussy, no doubt very obvious. As is the mixture of grunts and moans. You can't help but be so thankful for coming across that footage.

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #fnaf smut #william afton x you #henry emily #henry emily x reader #henry emily x you #afab reader

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to-the-stars8 · 9 months ago

Text

Warnings: Mention of suicidal thoughts

So, anyone who wants to hear it, here’s how I think the story of Batman and all of his Robins should have gone in terms of just writing it like it was story. Mind you, most of the basic elements of the Robin's backstory are gonna obviously be in here, just fyi if you just see things that you already know. I am would love to hear what you guys think, too!

Now, quick disclaimer, I’m just going to go with the four main robins only because I know them best— other robins such as Carrie Kelley or Stephanie Brown I’m not as familiar with. I hope to one day to also extend this to other sidekick/people Batman works with, but that’ll be a separate post. Anyway, one more warning; this will be long.

Starting off with the death of Dick Grayson’s parents. Bruce sees them die, and instantly makes the connection between himself and newly orphaned Dick Grayson. It's one of the main reasons why Bruce takes him in. After all, he was once a boy so riddled by trauma and pain that he thought (at least in the beginning of being Batman) that violence and vengeance was the only answer. So, when Bruce adopts Dick, he doesn't want him to go down the same path. This is where I want to the conflict between Bruce trying to be not only a better person for Dick, but to also attempt to hold onto the feelings that drive his vengeance. Because, the way I would write it, Bruce is still pretty new at being Batman, he hasn't yet realized his "mission" isn't just getting his revenge on Gotham's criminals—It's creating a better life for the people there so they, too, wouldn't have to go through what he did. Though, another small disclaimer, I'll admit that I am missing a few pieces there.

Back to the main topic, if I lose you at all blame the ADHD, so Dick comes to Wayne Manor where he's angry at the world for what happened to his parents. Bruce, who is probably in his mid-twenties at this point, has no clue how to be a parent. He doesn't want to overstep his boundaries with Dick, but the boy is increasingly becoming angrier and angrier. The idea of Dick becoming anything like Bruce, in terms of being Batman, doesn't cross his mind because, unlike some DC writers, I don't think Bruce was actively looking for child soldiers.

Anyway, there is already the underlying push and pull factor between the two, which I think will probably define the rest of their relationship. And, like mentioned before, this is where I would want Bruce to try to be a better Batman, relying not on violence because he can see how it's affects others.

To further explain in a round-a-bout way, young Dick and Bruce are essentially mirrors of each other. And, I don't think Bruce entirely approves of how he, meaning Bruce himself, acts. Hence, why he begins to change Batman from a vengeful, violent vigilante (say that five times fast) to a hopeful knight of Gotham. Dick is his driving force of change, as well as the other Robins. So, when Bruce finally realized that Dick won't simply stand by and be the little boy that he should be—He gives him a chance to be something better than Batman. To begin his career as a vigilante as a hero with hope rather than rage. He's reluctant to do it, because he loves Dick. (Granted, Dick Grayson's Robin is absolutely filled with rage, but, in my story, Bruce is trying to lead from example)

And, just to move through the rest of it quickly so this isn't the same word count as the fucking constitution, as Dick grows so does Bruce. Batman is hopeful, and Bruce is gaining a family. Granted, it's small, but it's there. Along the way, he makes friends. Dick is the reason for this, though some credit can be given to Bruce himself. Despite being angry, Dick will always be outgoing, it's one of the best traits his parents passed onto him—And, he passes that along to Bruce. He begins to learn how a family functions, even if it's a hint of it. he is starting to realize there is more beyond the mask.

So, when the relationship between them starts to break down I would want to see that opposite reaction in the other relationships around Bruce. Because, before Dick, it was isolation, facade, anger, and Batman. Now, when he leaves, it's just that again.

I want to see this internal struggle between Dick letting Bruce be his father and letting him be his partner. Because, despite being similar, one holds more resent than the other. Dick can't stand that Bruce is trying to parent him because he had family, and now they were gone. He doesn't want to have a replacement family nor does he want to lose it again. With Batman, there comes the difference between ideologies. As Bruce strays away from untethered violence into something a bit more calmer, Dick is still filled with that same anger, causing a clash.

Eventually, it hits a breaking point when Bruce takes away the one thing that Dick himself created, the rope in their game of tug of war breaks. Dick leaves, Bruce isolates, and it seems that Gotham once again dissolves back to how it used to be.

Then, Bruce meets Jason. And, it's not like with Dick. It's different. Jason wasn't filled with anger or lost hope, he was a happy, hopeful kid. He wanted to be a kid, and Robin just happened to be a good fit for him, too. So, this is really when Bruce becomes Bruce not Batman. Bruce had gotten the taste of that with Dick, but Batman always seemed to have some tug in their relationship. At this point, I want to see Bruce realize just how much that affected his relationship with Dick and feel the remorse over that. I would want to see Bruce reach out to his eldest son, and be rejected because Dick is still wounded. In fact, Dick himself, despite legally being an adult, is a kid. He's hurt over Bruce essentially replacing, in his eyes, and finding a "better" son. This drives in harder the idea of Bruce wanting to not stop being Batman, but put more of an effort of just being Dad/Bruce. Again, Bruce is learning.

Back to Jason. Jason, in this story, would be one of the first Robins to really experience Bruce as a father. And, that turns the relationship of Batman and Robin less into a partnership and more into a father-son duo without one trying to control the other as much. Yet, there's still the distinction of just how different Jason is compared to Dick and Bruce. Jason never had a family, not a stable one at least, nor did he grow up financially stable. Jason was essentially the average poor Gotham kid, which did kick up a lot of backlash between the two. Yet, nothing too serious. In fact, I feel like Bruce would probably start being a lot more lenient with Jason at the beginning with just how easy he was as not just a sidekick but as a son.

And this is what I believe would lead to Jason leaning more into his violent tendencies compared to Dick. Now, before the torches do light, hear me out. I do not think Jason is an outwardly or inherently a violent kid. I think with the innate sense of justice Bruce would instill all of his Robins combined with being exposed to violence socially and now personally, it would lead to Jason seeing some flaws in Batman's logic. He might sense that since one person continuously abuses the system and gets away with hurting/murdering people that it might be better to eliminate the problem all together. This idea growing on Jason would lead to the death of Felipe, causing a huge and sudden rift between the two. Ultimately leading to Jason being kidnapped, tortured and killed all in pursuit of finding someone who might accept him despite Bruce never having rejected for what he did.

Eventually, after Jason died Bruce is in this hole of regret, remorse, and overall probably a bit suicidal. Afterall, he lost his son and feels like because he let Robin be that it caused Jason's death. So, when Dick re-enters the picture with Tim Drake, a boy finding and wanting to be Robin, I can see Bruce absolutely lashing out in grieving anger. Because, again being Robin had killed his son and he would be damned if that happened again. Yet, Tim being Tim was determined to show Bruce that it wasn't him or Robin that killed Jason—It was a mad man and a woman who deceived her son. Kind of playing into the idea it's not Robin who makes the boy, it's the boy who makes Robin. Not only that, but Tim is adamant that he will be Robin to not only prove this but also to show that Robin and Batman are two sides of the same coin. Ultimately, reverting back to Batman and Robin being a partnership instead of that father-son duo. At least, at first.

Bruce is protective of Tim, but there is definitely the drift in their relationship. Because, as we all know Tim's story, he still had parents when he became Robin so there was no need to fill that son position, for the lack of a better term, Jason had left behind. So, in a sense, I can see this relationship between the two starting off more like a boss and worker. Yet, as they continue to work together, Bruce would probably learn that Tim is making Robin, not the other way around. At this point, also, I can see Dick be more involved and bridge that gap with his father after seeing just how deeply he cares for his children.

Then, Tim's parents are murdered and I think the guilt would come back to Bruce, albeit a bit less extreme. He would feel responsible for putting this child in this situation and want to take him out of that. Yet, Tim is pushing against not only as a partner but as a potential son that which would definitely affect their relationship. This is why I personally would think that Tim and Bruce's relationship would be the most strained out of all of the Robins, though the two do share a deep connection it's just not as serious, again lack of a good term, as the other's.

Because I'm slowly getting more tired, I am going to try my best to get through Damian's. Again, guys, feel free to ask questions because this is just surface level stuff. If anyone makes it to this point, anyway or even reads this lol.

Alright, so just jumping into Damian, I think Bruce would treat Damian as he would have Jason. Unlike all the other Robins there's already a establish connection between the two before they even meet. I mean, Damian is literally his bio son and Damian is told that all throughout his life, so it would be a more of a one-sided connection at first then it grow on Bruce. Damian doesn't need training unlike all of his other predecessor's, the boy's already pre-programmed with skill. The major issue would be honing in on the assassination part of Damian and essentially Bruce's trauma from his other children.

So, right from the gate, I think Bruce would try to be a father to his Damian rather just Batman. And, I think Damian, at first, would not respond well to that. For his whole life, it's just been fight or die, nothing in-between. I think it would be interesting to see Bruce fall back into being a father, which, at this point, he already would have been since Dick returned and Tim and him slowly got closer. I think Bruce would be tougher on Damian simply because of how worried he would be for his safety and well-being. Bruce knows the League of Assassins and how it is absolutely no place for a young boy. So, Bruce would try to create normalcy like he did with Jason, but also be tough like he was on Dick. Overall, I think there's the same push and pull with them like with Bruce and Dick, but not to the extent as it was. After all, I would like to think at this point, Alfred convinced Bruce to go to therapy. Though, it can be said the two would also share a close personal relationship like Jason and Bruce.

I would go on, but, right now, I have a huge headache, so might edit later.

That's pretty much it guys. I know there might be some contradictions in this, but, to be fairly honest, this is just a streamline of thought. I think I read over this once, so any inconsistencies are just left. Please ignore. Or point out. It's pretty much either or. Again, I would love to know what you guys think. Hope you enjoyed this rant. I am going to bed now. ❤️❤️❤️

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perseusannabeth · 11 months ago

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Chapter 1

A/N: Hi everyone, and happy holidays! This is my contribution to the @acotargiftexchange for the lovely @talkfantasytome! I want to thank the organisers for this absolutely brilliant event. It's looking like this fic will be 3 chapters, so fingers crossed that the rest of the parts will come soon!

This has chef Cassian and writer Nesta, aka my favourite combo. I also have to warn you, as per usual, Cassian's Illyrian cooking is in fact how I cook as a south Asian person.

AO3 is currently down, so I won't be able to post this on there until later, but it will be added. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this!

Summary: Cassian is deeply concerned about the fact that his neighbour cannot cook at all. He decides to start cooking for her to save her from an early death, and it becomes so much more.

Cassian had lived in his current apartment for a long enough time to know most of the people in the building. It wasn't a massive building, so it wasn't hard to run into people. The only person he hadn't run into was his neighbour, who had moved in 3 months ago.

Thankfully, there were signs of life, like the post being checked, and he could hear the door opening and closing. The most concerning thing he noticed was that his new neighbour seemed friendly with the fast food delivery drivers. Cassian didn't like judging food choices because he knew that people around him already felt self-conscious when they talked about food. Being a chef meant people assumed he knew best, but he could easily teach people he was willing to learn. Still, his neighbour was concerning him a lot. They must be on their way to a heart attack with the amount of fast food they consumed, and from Cassian's observation, they sometimes got food at least once a day or more. But Cassian had never assumed his neighbour's eating habits would affect him.

"So, have you seen her around? It's been a few days, that's all, and I'm a little worried about her," said his delivery driver, Toby.

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired right now that my brain barely functions. Please, can you repeat yourself?"

"Nesta, your neighbour. She orders from us daily, but I've not had any deliveries for her for 3 days. I'm just a little worried about her, that's all," Toby said, blushing now. The poor guy couldn't be more than 20 years old. At 20 years old, Cassian can't imagine he would've had the guts to do what Toby was doing, so he had to hand it to the guy.

"I'm sorry, I haven't heard from her," Cassian replied, unwilling to admit he'd never seen her before and had just learned her name from Toby. "I'll check on her though, don't worry," Cassian said, to both reassure the man and to get him to leave because, god damn it, his food was getting cold!

"Thanks, man, I really appreciate it. She seems nice, and she tips really well." Toby smiled. Cassian just nodded awkwardly and then waited for Toby to finally (finally) move from his door.

Cassian practically inhaled his food because, yes, he had promised his delivery driver that he would check on his neighbour, but if he was going to check on a potentially dead person, he would not be doing it while he was hungry. Fuck that; he had been in the restaurant since 6am, and he had planned on eating and then collapsing in bed. Now he had to check on his potentially dead neighbour because the delivery boy liked her tips!

By the time he had finished his food, he had managed to work up some energy, mostly just the rage he had to check on his neighbour and delay his sleep. Still, before leaving his flat, he checked his attitude at the door because he didn't want to be rude. He was being neighbourly, even if he was tired.

When he knocked on the door and didn't hear any movement on the other side of the door, he was suddenly wide awake. He had horrific visions of breaking the door down and finding a corpse as he knocked again, trying to delay the rescue mission playing out in his head. When the door flew open, Cassian nearly jumped out of his skin.

The lady in front of him looked pretty annoyed at him, especially as he gawped at her like an idiot. Her hair was pulled up in something that might have once been a bun but was now just a tangled mess. She was in a long t-shirt that had seen better days; it was stained and faded, and underneath, she wore leggings that were in a similar state. But somehow, despite all this and the deep bags under her eyes, she still was the most beautiful woman Cassian had ever seen.

"Can I help you?" The woman said, giving him a quick once over.

That snapped Cassian out of his trance. "Sorry, erm, I'm looking for someone called Nesta?" Cassian asked awkwardly.

The woman had gone from droll to actively suppressing a laugh. "Oh my god, did Emerie actually do it? Are you a male stripper?"

Cassian's eyes widened as he quickly stepped back to distance himself from the beautiful, crazy woman. "Woah, I have no idea who Emerie is. I'm flattered you think I could pass for a stripper, but I'm no magic Mike. I'm Cassian, and I'm your neighbour." Cassian said, pointing at the open door to his apartment.

'Oh," the woman said, now also looking awkward.

"Look, I just need to know if you're Nesta and if you're alright. I ordered some food, and the delivery driver said he was worried because he hadn't heard from you in a few days," Cassian explained, not wanting to linger in awkward silence.

The woman's face went bright red at that, so Cassian assumed that this was, in fact, the mysterious Nesta who tipped really well and ordered food every single day. "Listen, I'm assuming you're Cassian, the chef Mrs Culpepper mentioned. I can only imagine what you think of me since Toby felt chatty today. I'm gonna be honest with you, I can't cook. My friend said not to burn down the building, so I've not tried. Really, my takeaway habit is saving everyone, and as my neighbour, you should be grateful, so don't judge me,"

Cassian held his hands up in surrender. "I'm not judging. Just because I enjoy cooking doesn't mean I assume everyone will. I am, however, slightly concerned. Is that all you eat? That can't be good for your health," Cassian said, frowning as he calculated how expensive that must be and the calories. He wasn't the best with numbers, so he couldn't be sure, but he was pretty sure that was a bad time.

"My friend said the same thing, so she batch-cooked me a few meals. I've got a deadline for work, so I've been even worse than usual, but that's why I haven't ordered any food. When it runs out, which will probably be tomorrow, I'll be back to ordering from Toby," she said with a shrug.

"Okay, I said I'm not judging, but that sounds horrific. I can't let you carry on like that. I don't think my conscience can take it," Cassian said, looking at her wide-eyed. The way this woman was going, she'd be dead of a heart attack in no time.

"I'll be fine; you don't need to take pity on me," Nesta said defensively.

"Listen, it's Nesta, right?" she nodded, eyeing him suspiciously now, which made him want to laugh. She hadn't been suspicious before, but now he was questioning her food intake; she was wary of him. "I get to take leftovers from my work. It's one of the perks, but there's sometimes a lot. I tend to bring them home and make myself something with whatever random stuff there is. It's way healthier than ordering out and helps me not waste food. It's a win-win situation for both of us, really."

"So, you're basically offering to be my personal chef?" Nesta said, trying to figure out what the catch was.

"Well, within reason. If there's anything you hate or won't eat, I'll consider it, and obviously, any allergies. And if you want something specific, I don't mind making that, too, as long as I have enough time to get the ingredients. And I don't really mind cooking; if I didn't love it, I wouldn't do it as my job."

A silence lingered, and Cassian wondered if he had gone in too hard on the sales pitch. He wouldn't be shocked if she said no; it was a weird request from your neighbour, whom you'd only met. But there was something about this woman that made Cassian want to offer to cook for her outside of work. His friends knew he never shared his food, not when he was outside of work. He made traditional Illyrian dishes when he was at home. It was a way for him to stay connected with his culture and mother despite his distance. These recipes had been handed down through generations of his mother's family, but there was something private and intimate about them. But he would share them with his neighbour.

"Are you even real?" Nesta said, staring at him in a bit of a daze. Then, she reached out and poked him in the cheek. "You feel real," she said as she continued poking his cheek.

"I- I think I'm real?" Cassian stuttered, really not sure how he should react. Cassian wasn't shy, but this woman was just something else.

Clearly, his talking pulled her out of whatever daze she was in. "I'm so sorry; I've been working non-stop for my next deadline, so I'm losing my grip on reality right now," Nesta said, shaking her head to get rid of whatever weird thoughts were in her head.

Cassian pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Add your number, and I'll text you so you have mine. Then, you can text me any allergies or anything you wouldn't eat. I'll probably just tell you some dishes I can make with the leftovers, and you can let me know what sounds good. Is that okay with you?" Cassian said.

Nesta nodded, handing his phone back with her number added. Cassian shot her a quick text and then put his phone away. "Thank you," Nesta said awkwardly. "You really don't need to do that, but I'm certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth," she said with a shrug and a quick smile.

Cassian smiled back, said his goodbyes and went back to his apartment. As he shut his door, he took his neighbour in, who was watching him walk away with a contemplative look on her face. He shook his head, shutting his door. Cassian was doing a good deed for his hot neighbour, but he hoped and prayed that his friends wouldn't find out about it.

With that, he quickly got ready for bed, practically collapsing into his bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he noticed that he was smiling and had been since he had said goodbye to his neighbour.

***

Cassian had forgotten entirely about the events of the night before when he woke up in the morning. It was so surreal; it felt like a dream. It wasn't until he was getting ready for his morning run that he realised it was true.

He had a strict no phones policy in the mornings, mainly because his doom-scrolling habit was an awful way to start the day. So until he was ready to leave the house, he wouldn't look at his phone. It had helped with his mental health a lot and made waking up for his job so much easier, too.

Since he had the day off, he slept till 9, which was late for someone who left the house at 4am every day for work. When he finally looked at his phone, he froze for a second, because there was a message from his neighbour.

Once he had processed that yesterday had, in fact, not been a dream, he quickly made a note of the things she didn't like (kale being called the devil's lettuce made him laugh way more than it should've); he had a quick glance in the fridge to see what he could make. He figured he would make a quick tuna and avocado sandwich for lunch, and then for dinner, he would make pasta. Both seemed reasonably safe first options for her meals. Then, he could also give her leftover pasta for lunch the next day.

As he finally left and started his run, he realised this could be the perfect opportunity to work on some new recipes for the restaurant. He wanted to update the menu and add more traditional recipes, but he had been nervous to test them out on anyone. By the time he got to the point he turned back, he had a massive grin on his face. He whipped his phone out and sent Nesta a text.

Cassian: I've just had an idea. How would you feel being my new taster for some experimental recipes?

Her reply was instant, which surprised him.

Nesta: you're doing me a favour so if i can help then i'm good with that. Although idk if i'm the best taste tester since my own culinary skills start and end at cereal

Cassian: All I need is your honest opinion, everyone else in my life is too biased.

Nesta: i'm not afraid of cutting a man down, so dw

Cassian laughed at her message, sending her a quick laughing emoji before he put his phone back to go back home. He was in a good mood and excited about cooking for someone new. Of course, he got to cook for new people at his job every day, but cooking for someone one-on-one was so different. He could get her reactions, and she would give him feedback. This wasn't just a faceless customer; it was his neighbour.

When he had assembled the sandwich, he put it into a Tupperware box and then cleaned up the kitchen. Once he was done, he finally gave Nesta her sandwich, trying to ignore the excitement and nerves bubbling in his stomach as he knocked on her door.

Nesta flung the door open with a massive smile on her face. "Well, hello there, neighbour," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "What do you have for me?" Nesta said, looking at the box with excitement.

"I've got a tuna and avocado sandwich with red onion and some homemade sriracha mayo," Cassian said, presenting her the food with a flourish.

Nesta didn't hesitate to open the box to have a look. "Oh wow, this looks so good, like one of those fancy coffee shop sandwiches which is really over-priced. Did you make the bread, too?" she asked, tapping the sourdough.

"Oh nah, absolutely not; I'm not much of a bread maker; it's so faffy, but I love the smell of fresh bread. There's another chef in the restaurant who makes bread, but there's never any left, so this is just some supermarket bread."

"Oh, well, I thought you used leftovers," Nesta said with a frown.

"I do, but I like to jazz them up, so I use things I have at home, too. Don't worry about it, though."

"Nah, absolutely not. I need to pay you for this if you're using your money to feed me. That's not fair on you!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a charity case."

"I don't think you are!" Cassian said, alarmed. "You're going to help me, remember. Maybe I'll develop a new menu for the restaurant."

"I still want to contribute to this because you're saving me a lot of money. Let me pay half towards your groceries at least," Nesta said sternly.

"I- okay if you insist, but I feel bad taking your money," Cassian said awkwardly.

"Well, that's too bad. Text me your bank details, and I'll transfer you the money, and if you don't, I'll just have to hunt you down and hurt you," she threatened.

"You seem like a busy woman, so I'll try to avoid that happening," Cassian winced. Changing the subject, he asked, "So I never asked, but what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a writer!" Nesta said excitedly.

"Oh wow, that's amazing! What kind of stuff do you write? I've not had time to read in a while, but maybe I should start that up again."

Nesta's eyes widened at that. "Do not read my books. You're not the target audience, and frankly, I would probably have to avoid you if I knew you'd read them."

Cassian frowned at her, and then it dawned on him. "Oh my god, you write porn books!" he exclaimed.

"They're romance books! Sometimes they might have some smut, but they're not porn!" she hissed.

"Right, of course! Well, I'm gonna get going since you've probably got some sex scene left to right or something," Cassian said with a shit-eating grin.

Nesta froze but then smirked. "Actually, I finished writing that last night after you left. You know, since you weren't the male stripper I was hoping for," she said before turning around and slamming the door in his face. He stood there gaping for a while before eventually shaking himself out of it. My god, that woman was something else.

***

"Cassian bheta! It's been too long since you called me," his mother said as she answered the phone. He had decided to ring her while he cooked because it was the best way to cook. He couldn't help but smile at his mother calling him son in their native language. He loved his Illyrian culture; the fact his mother had taught him so much of it gave him such pride.

"Mama, I called you 2 days ago, and I've been texting you too!" he protested with a smile as he diced onion.

"But you're my baby, my bacha, you don't understand. One day, when you have your own children, then you'll understand," she loved saying that line. It was one of his favourites. Now, he was nearing 30 and not even close to being married.

He ignored her comment, knowing no good could come from delving into that subject. "Mama, I'm making Illyrian-style pasta for my neighbour right now."

"Ohh, is your neighbour Illyrian too? Rhys's mum told me that the lady who used to live across the road from her has a daughter in the city! Her name is-"

"Mama! Velaris is a big city; you know I won't run into every Illyrian here, so stop trying to match-make! My neighbour isn't Illyrian, but she said she's happy to try different things. I'm cooking for her because she can't cook for herself."

"She can't cook?" his mother said, sounding scandalised.

"No, and let me tell you, how I met her was crazy."

He relayed the events of yesterday evening while he sauteed the onion in some ghee, diced up some bell peppers and drained the sweetcorn. After the onions started to go soft, he added the basaar, a mix of spices that Illyrians added to almost every dish.

"Well, it's a good thing you're here to look after this girl; the poor thing has been living off those takeaways; she's in desperate need of some good, home-cooked food!" his mother said the word takeaway like it was dirty. She had always been very strict about eating out when they were younger, telling him they could make it better at home. Only as he got older did he realise they probably couldn't afford to eat out for more than the occasional treat.

"That's why I offered mama."

"That's because you're my good bacha," she said fondly. "What's this neighbour's name anyway? And what does she do?" she asked.

Cassian smiled. Illyrian mothers could never resist fishing for gossip, even if it was people they didn't know. "Oh, her name is Nesta, and she said she's a romance writer."

His mother gasped, making him almost drop the pasta as he drained it. "Are you cooking for the famous writer, Nesta Archeron?" his mother asked, her excitement tangible.

"I don't actually know her surname. Why?" he asked, suspicious.

"Oh my god, Cassian!" her mother screamed, so excited that she didn't seem to mind busting her son's eardrums. "Cassian, that woman is my favourite author!"

His eyes widened at that. "Mama! I don't want to know if you read those books!" he said, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his mind of that information.

"Pfft, why? Those books are brilliant, and you're a grown man now, stop being a baby. There are no men in my life, but those fictional men are something else," his mother sounded breathless, which was just too disturbing to think about.

"Mama! Stop, I'll be sick if you carry on, and then how can I feed your favourite author?"

His mother was outraged at that. "Listen here, you! She's writing her next book, so you better feed her well because I've been waiting for this book for a year."

"Geez, mama, I promise I will; now I have to go. I'll give it to her now while it's warm." He said, sprinkling cheese on the pasta he had put in the two Tupperware boxes for Nesta. His mother said her goodbyes because he needed to feed Nesta, not because he said he needed to go. She made it clear her loyalties lie with Nesta, which was concerning.

He knocked on Nesta's door, and she came quickly this time. She eagerly handed him an empty box from lunch, which had been washed, and took the pasta.

"I'm not sure if you know this, but I can smell when you're cooking things, so I've been able to smell this for a while, and I'm starving right now. This smells absolutely amazing, so if this is what Illyrian food is like, keep it coming," Nesta said, not taking her eyes off the pasta.

"Well, this isn't Illyrian food; this is just pasta with an Illyrian twist on it, in all fairness, but I'll keep that in mind." Nesta nodded eagerly. "By the way, my mother wanted me to check. Are you the author, Nesta Archeron?"

Nesta looked up at that. "Yes, I am," she said slowly.

"Right, well, my mother is a big fan and said I need to feed you well so you can write your book because she's very excited. She's basically gonna disown me if I don't cook well for you," he laughed.

Nesta smiled at that. "She sounds sweet. Let her know that you're doing an excellent job."

Cassian smiled back and returned to his apartment, giving her instructions about how she needed to eat the 2nd box for lunch tomorrow because he would be at work. Nesta thanked him profusely, licking her lips as she eyed the pasta.

Cassian got out of there quickly after that because seeing Nesta lick her lips did something weird that he didn't want to think about. He had only met the woman yesterday, so whatever he felt, he would ignore it.

He got a text as he dug into his own pasta while watching a modern family rerun on TV.

Nesta: this might be the best pasta i've ever had omg you're a god!!!

Nesta: i would eat this for the rest of my life if i could

Cassian: It's not too spicy for you?

Nesta: nah, this is fine, the tomatoes calm it down. Idk if i'm strong enough to handle more than this tho, my tastebuds are probs dead with everything i eat

Cassian: Lolll, noted

Cassian cleared his dishes and got into bed since he'd have an early night the next day. Before putting his phone away, he quickly googled his neighbour, and lo and behold, a list of her books came up. She was popular, and he had to admit, he was impressed. Her fans were practically rabid for her next book. It looked like a series, so he ordered the first book before he could think about it too deeply.

Please let me know if you'd like to be added/ removed from my tags list:

@sannelovesreading @bookstantrash @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @sayosdreams @letstakethedawn @and-she-burns-with-it @nahthanks @arinbelle @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @claralady @rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @tswaney17 @duskandstarlight @live-the-fangirl-life @oversizedbats @nestaisgod @vidalinav @vanserrass @moodymelanist @emily-gsh @lady-winter-sunrise @dread3r @starryblueskies7 @simpingfornestaarcheron @mis-lil-red @catplayinvioline @vinylcryes @starksravings @vasudharaghavan @a-court-of-valkyries @nestaspegasus @sv0430 @champanheandluxxury @nesquick-arccheron @a-little-disguised @nestable @illyrianshadowhunter @readiajin @lordof-bloodshed @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @rachmkerch123456 @autumnbabylon

#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #acotar #nesta x cassian

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403tarot · 1 year ago

Text

hellong

i've thought for a while before making this post. if you're not a regular follower, i don't think it makes sense to read, but if you follow me and keep up with my posts, i ask you to read just to know some information regarding the functioning of the blog from now on.

i created this blog because i wanted to combine training my reading skills with my love for k-pop. and that's still true for me; i'm not here to be a people pleaser, a famous tarot reader, or be seen as the ultimate truth. i just want to showcase my work, practice, and gossip about K-pop.

lately, i've been making a lot of NSFW posts, and i want to say that this will continue to happen, potentially increasing. i even thought about creating a separate blog just for NSFW posts based on tarot, but then i thought, "why should i do that when 403tarot is MY blog, my space, and there i can post whatever i want? who am i trying to please by doing that?"

and i don't want to please anyone. i am of legal age, the idols for whom i create NSFW content are of legal age (yes, they are not your little meow meow), and the audience for my content in general is for adults. besides, tarot is a game. nothing that any tarot reader says is necessarily true or false; it's just how a person interprets answers to questions posed to 78 cards of paper.

"i don't think xyz idol acts the way you described" okay! take what i wrote as fanfiction then, imagine that they act that way and have fun. learn how to enjoy things without taking it weirdly too deep. i know some see tarot as something sacred, but in my view, it's just 78 cards made for my entertainment. for me, it's a mere game, and i'll always treat it that way. if you don't like it, and my perspective bothers you to the point of being hateful, you can unfollow me.

i say this because some of you have become too brave in sending me rude asks while hiding behind an anonymous filter. i don't care... i don't know who made you believe that you are SO important, but i'm here to tell you that it's not true. i don't care if you don't think tarot should be used for NSFW or that my readings aren't good enough. i put disclaimers in all my posts, and in none of them do i remember mentioning that i need anyone's approval.

however, anonymous asks are now permanently prohibited. you can tell me hateful things through ask but at least have the decency to show your username while doing so. from there, you can have fun and say whatever you want! you'll probably be ignored, but i know some don't get attention from their parents and therefore feel the need to seek it from strangers on the internet.

briefly speaking, please don't flood the ask. i know it's crucial to know if your idol is dating someone or if the woman he's going to marry is a foreigner, but if you've sent the same ask three times, rest assured i saw it. sometimes i just didn't find it interesting, wasn't in the mood to accept or i don't like the guy. anyway, check the upcoming posts on my pinned to make sure, and don't forget that if you're not paying me anything i'm not a employee of yours.

in summary, i will continue to do whatever i want on my blog, and if that bothers you, the door is open for you to peacefully leave. i've developed affection for some blogs that are frequently here in reblogs and notes, and you are the majority, so know that i like you sooo much and this post is directed at a small fraction of people only.

if you've read this giant text and made it this far, i hope you have a great day/night. 🦆

#— duckie notes ⪩♡⪨#tarotblr

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deviantartdramahub · 6 months ago

Note

Hello, I'm Jasper Rolls, the subject of previous posts on this blog submitted by monstermaster13 (hereafter referred to as Nathan because I don't want to write that username 400 fucking times). I would like to make it clear that I would rather be doing literally anything other than this right now, but since Nathan has apparently made it his mission in life to try and mess with mine in any way he can, I'd like to clear things up where I can. I'll be going over the events of the story chronologically, in a sort of abridged cliff notes version, and then picking up on specific points that Nathan submitted in his telling that I feel are worth addressing. Apologies for the length, this whole stupid affair is just...like that. Believe me, I'm trying to be as concise as possible. A lot of the stuff described has since been deleted since Nathan frequently removes stuff he later realizes is potentially embarrassing or makes him looks bad, but we have evidence of a number of things in here which I can try and provide if necessary.

Doing this chronologically means addressing the grooming stuff first, which is largely irrelevant to the "current" drama, but since it's been brought up I have to mention it. Put simply friend of mine, Bernnyx (hereafter referred to as Bernie), befriended Nathan in 2012, when she was around 13 or 14, and they engaged in roleplays focusing around themselves transforming into characters from Tim Burton movies. How does this function as grooming? Well...

Nathan has in the past described transformation, and specifically transformation into Tim Burton movie characters, as a fetish he has, and one that he greatly enjoys. "Fetish" and "love this particular fetish a lot" are the exact terms he has previously used to describe this interest, which indicates that he considers content of that ilk sexually gratifying, since that's what a fetish means.

Bernie had their age listed on their profile, which indicated they were a minor. In addition, Nathan once publicly posted a screencap of his DeviantArt settings on Twitter, which indicated that his year of birth was 1973. Unlike Nathan, I'm not here to criticize what a person finds sexually appealing - if there's a trait Nathan and I share, it's an interest in transformation, so being critical of that would be throwing stones in glass houses. However, given the information that Nathan has chosen to provide himself, it seems to indicate that he was nearly 40 years old when he was engaging in roleplay involving a topic he considers sexually gratifying, with someone he was fully aware was a minor. Unless he was just specifically blind when reading the age part of a DeviantArt profile, I don't know.

There's every chance that the year of birth that he put into DeviantArt is one he made up for whatever reason. I don't know for certain. If Nathan ever wants to clarify his actual age and clear this part up, he is more than welcome to, but the fact that he hasn't after all this time is curious. Surely, it would be so easy to disprove.

For the rest of this story we have to skip forward to 2020. While Bernie and Nathan still mutually followed each other on DeviantArt, they had drifted apart and not directly spoken for some time. For various reasons, Bernie chose to deactivate their DeviantArt account, and prior to doing so, politely requested that Nathan remove them from a "DeviantArt Family" list he'd made. Nathan claimed her reasoning was "dumb", but complied. Later the same day, checking in on Nathan's account to confirm that he had done what Bernie requested, Bernie discovered that they had been blocked. Shortly after, Nathan uploaded a short story synopsis very clearly based on the prior events, with the names changed, as well as a short rant written in character as one of his OCs, in which they directly name Bernie as the wrongdoer, and transform Bernie into a Pokemon as punishment for the crime of not wanting to talk to Nathan anymore.

This is where I get involved. I had been mildly aware of Nathan for some years as he had frequently commented on and favourited my work on various art galleries, and was a fan of what I did. Prior to this point I had considered him strange but largely harmless. However, the vindictiveness of Nathan's actions in this instance struck me as highly unsettling, and I chose to block him as I did not want someone who acted in this way towards a friend of mine to interact with me any further. I did not directly speak with him during any of this. I was, in retrospect, rather naively hoping that the block would speak for itself.

Nathan reacted extremely negatively to the block, posting a rant in which he assumed that I had blocked him for being fatphobic. I have never accused him of of this, and if it was a trait he had, I wasn't aware of it and it played no part in my decision to block him. Judging by his comments in the time since, however, he has since chosen to wear this particular boot with aplomb, considering the venom with which he criticizes my After Dark Twitter account, which is his prerogative, I suppose.

From here, Nathan repeatedly tried to get into contact with me any way he could, begging for my forgiveness and asking me to unblock him. He repeatedly attempted to add me on Discord, sent unwarranted messages to any account I hadn't already blocked him on, and when he ran out of those, he started sending messages to my romantic partners, as well as any previous romantic partners he knew I'd been involved with and any friends he thought would have my ear. This resulted in no shortage of embarrassment for me as I had to repeatedly explain to the people in my life who Nathan was and why he was contacting them. The entire time this was happening, Nathan was also uploading various journals along the same line of asking forgiveness, as well as at least one original character bio (since deleted), very obviously based on his experience with me. At the same time, he obsessed about Bernie leaving him like he was a heartbroken former lover (despite the complete lack of personal interaction for years), and ranted angrily and offensively about another friend of ours who he highly disliked, and who he blamed for "stealing" Bernie away from him.

We all tried our best to ignore Nathan's actions, even as he actively attempted to get us punished through moderation channels for the crime of upsetting him by establishing boundaries against him (including once attempting to report Bernie to the Discord subreddit). Really, there's so much shit he did that this story would get even more disgustingly long than it already is in this truncated version if I tried to describe all of it. I cannot impress upon you how much he would not fucking stop trying to get into my view as much as he could to harass me, demanding that I unblock him because he considered himself completely innocent of any crimes.

Eventually, I responded to him via an ask here on Tumblr, which is I believe the sole time I have ever directly interacted with him, making clear exactly what my grievances with him were, and that I wished for him to no longer contact me. Nathan ignored this and still kept trying, although his tone shifted from apologetic to self-hating instead, where he admitted that everything I had stated was true, although at various points he attempted to pass the blame for these actions to various alter egos or characters he has invented.

After this, I and my friends elected to once again go back to the policy of ignoring him as much as humanly possible, an act which Nathan was seemingly determined to test. For a solid year afterwards, he continued to harass us in ways that are largely similar to the above and would belabor the point to describe in any detail - the only point of note is that he eventually shifted his tone from self-hating and apologetic to venomous and hateful towards me. Clearly he decided at some point that actually he'd never done anything wrong, and we were all just meaninglessly hating him in all his perfect innocence. This eventually lead to a sequence of events in which, mere hours after one of my partners suffered the loss of an extremely close family member, Nathan chose to send a hateful message to a side blog I had neglected to block him on, adding to my already considerable emotional stress at the time.

This, combined with a number of other things that I don't have the time to go into detail about (but considering you've had multiple submissions from Nathan where he describes getting into fights with literally anyone and everyone, I imagine you have some idea), led to us deciding that we needed to make a document detailing what exactly had happened, because we considered Nathan to be an active danger to the community we were in. Additionally, we were sick of him lying about what happened between us. We had said extremely little on the matter publicly prior to then, while he had been posting every day about his rewritten version of events where he was completely innocent of any wrongdoing. The document in question was posted in July 2022. While most people in my circle online are now aware of Nathan and what's happened with him, Nathan leveraged various moderation tools to get the document taken down, and it can't be read publicly anymore. We still have copies of it and all the evidence of what I've been talking about contained therein, so if you would like more direct proof of any of this fucking nonsense, then it can be provided, but I won't be posting it publicly as Nathan will probably do the same thing again given the opportunity.

Since then, we have, of course, tried to go back to the policy of ignoring him, which for the most part I've succeeded at doing, and would really, really, REALLY rather continue doing, since every time I see hide or hair of Nathan I feel sick, and I'd rather not feel that way. However, every 4-5 months or so, he's ended up floating into my vision since he is intent on stalking me across the internet, harassing me wherever he can, and talking shit about me and my friends, telling a highly biased and skewed version of the events to anyone who will listen. Most recently, I believe he is responsible for trying to sign one of my e-mail accounts up to various random forums and websites with usernames intended to embarrass me. I would very much like him to stop harassing me, and if he must spew his bile, I would rather he kept it to his own blogs and accounts, rather than trying to slander me publicly or directly try to harass me like this. Unlike Nathan, who seems to have all of time to yell incoherently at me online, I have a life, and a job, and friends I would much prefer to engage with rather than having to deal with his continued persistent harassment.

That's a rough overview of the events. As mentioned, I have pretty direct evidence of most of the stuff I've discussed here so if you need that then I can provide. Now to discuss some of the more specific points that Nathan has discussed.

"And it gets worse, Jasper very much did this too. He dedicated more than a few posts to me for the past couple of years, oh yeah sure dude…i'm the obsessed one, says the person who is still mad about something that didn't even concern him until he got involved himself."

I post about Nathan maybe once or twice a year, if that, when his repeated continued harassment gets so out of hand that I have no other outlet than to vent frustration about it publicly because I am sick to fucking death of him continuing to force himself into my life. When I do so, I tend to mention him in broad terms that do not directly name him. I can't exactly prove a negative, but the only accounts I know Nathan actively uses are his DeviantArt and FurAffinity accounts, and I have absolutely no interest in seeking out any of his other accounts because I would rather be witness to Nathan's existence as little as humanly possible. Nathan, in comparison, whenever I've had reason to check, seems to post about me and what I do daily, covertly following every account I use online and ranting on his own accounts about how much he hates everything I say and do, no matter how benign. I believe this should be somewhat self-evident from the posts he has submitted to your blog, in which he has described actively stalking any account I happen to post on with regular activity, including my Bluesky, Letterboxd, and Storygraph accounts. He posts about me plenty on his own accounts too, and with comparative venom - and when he stops doing that, he makes AI generated knockoffs of mine and others work, because he is apparently completely void of creativity.

"In the document that was made about me one of the writers behind it either Jasper, Bernnyx, Baeksangeo or Gavin said they used the Anonymousdevi account to accuse me of being transphobic…"

This is an incredibly bizarre point Nathan has repeated several times over the time since the document was posted. This incident involved another person entirely, who directly stated who they were in said document and described the events in first person. Nathan seems to have gotten incredibly confused by this and believes it was actually me, Bernie, or one of our other friends using a pseudonym. I don't know why. His belief that they deserve a callout is just plain strange considering they had this one exact interaction with him and nothing else.

"I am sorry dude but you don't have the right to speak for all gay men or the LGBT community at all."

Actually I do, sorry. Cry about it. [THIS IS A HYPERBOLIC JOKE]

"I rarely talk about what happened regarding him and me on my posts or even in my deviantart page (despite the accusations), so i very much just try to ignore the guy."

This is an absolute lie. As I have described, Nathan stalks my accounts and posts angrily about what I do in specific detail with extreme, nigh on daily frequency, from what I've seen whenever I've come across him in the wild and checked in on how he's doing. His claim that he "rarely talks about me" and "tries to ignore me" could not be more of an outright fabrication. The only way I can figure him seriously believing this is that he considers the daily rants and harassment as being not him, because he posts them in character as one of his OCs - therefore, it's not him stalking and harassing and ranting about me, it's one of his characters. I'm sure you can agree the difference is negligible.

That's everything I have to say. I have no interest in discussing this further with Nathan. I and my friends merely want to live in peace and enjoy our time online, something Nathan has seemingly dedicated his life to attempting to ruin. I ask that he please do literally anything else with his time other than spend it harassing and stalking me and my friends for years on end. Thank you.

All noted. A classic chain of two sides bringing things up the scale after one's mistake. There is no shame in two sides in a conflict where nobody is perfect to consider/acknowledge such.

Having seen everything, if Nathan is reading this, if he may ceasefire in return for the other side wrapping up their own open-fire, as well as look down on how he may have challenged TOS (unspoken norms are unspoken norms but TOS is TOS when it regards that, and maybe the other side went against TOS), I would prescribe the conflict be considered having ended. What say he?

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