#The dude's crashed several cars

[v-valor]

This is the car getting revenge on Leon after the countless vehicles he's destroyed with his shitty driving.

[heavenlydreamangelflyhigh]

fucking up this jamoca cappuccino blast from br while listening to cibo matto. im going to impale myself on yhis straw because i am Half Asleep

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

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warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on���" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

 He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.  

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

[dandylovesturtles]

Wrote this while I was waiting for my car to get its oil changed this morning

———

Donnie wakes up on his desk and pushes away without thinking, with violence, and his chair tips backwards and falls with him in it.

He barely feels it, the hard crash against the concrete floor, the way his hands scrape as he scrabbles back to his feet. He doesn’t care. All his thoughts, his feelings, physical and mental, are trapped back in that moment and that terrible, terrible snap-

Leo is gone.

No, he tells himself, it was a dream. Leo isn’t gone, they got him back. The snap was just a memory, somatic sensations that creep up on him from lack of sleep and lingering trauma. That’s the rational explanation. He tells himself this every time.

And like every time, he can’t believe it. It just felt too real.

He has to go see. Has to look in Leo’s room and see if he’s there, if he’s sleeping, but he won’t be because he’s gone-

Donnie takes a ragged breath and slams open the door of his lab.

He takes the steps down the escalator three at a time, jumping the last several feet. He sprints across the old platform to Leo’s train car, the old blue curtain hanging half open and swaying.

He throws himself through and stands in the middle of the empty room.

Leo is gone.

He’s not in his bed, not lounging in a beanbag, not going through his action figures and changing the poses. He’s not here.

He’s gone, and that terrible snap was real, the moment the portal closed and Donnie lost him forever. He crumbles to the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself, too shocked to even cry.

“…Dee?”

He jerks, looking back. A dark shape in the doorway, standing over him. It steps closer, and Donnie hikes his shoulders up and is about to let out a hiss, when he feels something soft and reassuring slot back into place.

The burning ozone feel of his brother’s ninpo wrapping around him.

“What’s wrong?” Leo, Leo, real and in front of him, crouches down and reaches out a hand. “Did you- oh, okay.”

Donnie cuts off the rest of Leo’s question, arms flung around him, clinging tight. Leo hesitates only a moment, but then he has his arms around Donnie, and even with the battleshell on, Donnie feels a deep relief.

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Leo softly. “You’re okay.”

Donnie almost laughs, because it’s not himself he’s worried about.

“You’re here,” he says, pulling Leo closer.

“Uh, yeah?” Leo chuckles. “It’s my room.”

“You left,” says Donnie.

“…Oh.” Leo sighs. “You had that dream, huh?”

“You left,” Donnie repeats. An accusation.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

That never makes him feel any better. “Don’t apologize, dum-dum,” he hisses, and Leo gives a ragged laugh. “Just… don’t leave again.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They stay in the floor until Donnie’s heart calms back to an acceptable resting rate. Then Leo shifts, finds the release of his battleshell and clicks it. The shell falls off with a thump.

“Come on, I’m tired of sitting on the floor.” Leo takes Donnie’s hand and urges him to his feet. “Let‘s get in bed.”

Donnie stiffens. “I’m fine,” he says. A token protest.

“Dude, I found you crying. Don’t try to act cool on me now.” Leo tugs more insistently on his hand. “Come on.”

Donnie huffs, even as he follows Leo to the bed. “I wasn’t crying.”

“Sure,” says Leo placatingly. He lays out against his pillows, then pulls Donnie down next to him.

Despite his protests, Donnie settles in against Leo, ear over his heart. It’s alright. Leo is here.

Donnie will make sure he never loses him again.

[i-starcreamed]

MIRAGE X READER

hii rotb has made me fall in love with...a lot more transformers now. This is just a silly idea I had, kinda lame but idc. Being cringe and free now. Anyways, planning to make this a small series maybe? Mirage lovers where are you?? Could eventually make this a mirage x reader x Noah, love them both, really. Or you know, Noah could be a third wheel, you guys decide that

[ human!gn reader summary: You have no idea how you got into this situation. First, you were trying to steal a true beauty of a car with your friend Noah to get some extra cash with Reek working behind the scenes (apparently) And now, you were in the Porche you guys were planning to steal. Mind you, it's currently driving itself.

"Holy shit!" You yelled in terror as the car careened wildly around the curve, sending both you and Noah lurching to the left side of the vehicle. You clung onto the door handle for dear life, your heart pounding in your chest as a combination of fear and adrenaline caused you to burst out into wild laughter. Noah, on the other hand, let out an ear-splitting, high-pitched scream as he death-gripped onto the steering wheel with both hands. "STOP STOP STOP!"

The radio kept picking up a certain frequency, it was static-y but still clear enough to understand it kept reaching out towards something or someone named Mirage.

After crashing several police cars, running red lights, and being tossed around the car, the silver and blue Porche entered a warehouse of some sort and literally tossed you out onto the cement. Noah groaned as he rolled on his side. You on the other hand, didn't manage to fall onto the ground and gripped onto the seat. You thought it was over but noo, all of a sudden the car decides to transform, its component parts moving and shifting into new positions. You stare in awe and fear as the walls around you warp and bend ever so slightly; the seat beneath you shifts away from you before slowly, almost hesitantly dropping you onto the ground. You stare up and after a couple seconds, the car transformed into a fucking robot. Towering several feet in front of you and Noah, you both stare up in fear. You're a bit amazed honestly, you're staring at a giant metal dude stretch and prance around the warehouse, ranting about being cooped up this entire time.

You and Noah shared a look.

"But that was cool, you guys are cool. A bit loud, ehh, but cool." The robot stood in front of you now, his gaze focused on the both of you. You froze, Noah scrambled around to pick up a metal pipe. "Woah woah woah!" The robot held his hands up. You cursed under your breath and scrambled to get behind Noah, trying to look for anything you can use as a weapon as the robot focused on Noah. You found a couple loose bolts and nuts on the ground and scooped them up in your palm.

You approached Noah's side, menacingly brandishing the tiny screws in your hand. The robot quickly put his hands in the air. "What are you gonna do, you gonna hit me?"

You both looked at eachother. Noah shifted, adjusting his stance while still holding up the pipe. "Maybe?" The robot made a noise akin to a scoff and his left arm started transforming into something else, oh god oh fuck. Before you even had time to register it, you threw a bolt at him. It hit his arm and he froze. "Hey- what?"

You were launching bolts at him, your shots greeted with a "hey, hey, hey!" each time they clanked against his frame. You kept getting closer, pushing him back further and further, surprising yourself with your own nerve. That confidence instantly disappeared when he whipped out his arm-gun, the blue light from the barrel seemed to lock onto you and Noah, like two deer in headlights. "Can you- stop throwing those things at me?!"

"woah, woah, woah-" Noah quickly put his hands up and walked up to you, standing in front of you. "Let's all calm down, alright? Alright? We good?" "Noah, what the hell is this about?" You whisper yelled.

"I dont know! Just dont get us killed" he whisper yelled back.

You huffed defiantly, you quickly took the bat from Noah's hands and tightly gripped it. You adopted a battle-ready stance, staring down the giant robot - thing? - truly unyielding. Neither of you backed down until he put the gun down, straightening up. "Okay okay, you're brave. I like that."

Your face dropped, dumbfounded. Noah reached out and firmly snatched the bat from you, his face a mask of barely-contained irritation. "what did I fucking tell you about not trying to get us killed, dude?" He hissed.

What the hell was going on.

[pharawee]

Welcome to the second part of my Pit Babe novel commentary aka "hey this isn't so ba---wait where's Babe's sudden daddy kink even coming from??"

And I try (oh my god do I try). 🤡

I'm now at chapter 10, trying to pace myself because the (auto-translated) translation I'm reading is apparently a WIP. I'm on the edge of my seat. The plot is beginning to thicken.

Previously, Charlie was being sus and Babe was catching feelings, but most importantly there was a lot of pwp and very little racing.

Now there's more racing. Babe even brings Charlie (he still has to wear a mask and a hat) but gets too distracted by his presence (he's apparently addicting enough to kiss through the mask) and promptly forgets to check his car before the race (even though Charlie warns him against it but such is the power of scent - or lack of scent in this case. I don't even know anymore - neither does Babe but at some point Charlie states that's he's now in an alpha rut which I suppose means exactly what it says on the tin).

But, oh no! Babe runs into trouble during the race. He loses the lead and his car gets increasingly difficult to control until it crashes and bursts into flames. But it's okay, Babe jumps out of the driving car just in the nick of time (have you ever seen a supercar outfitted for racing? It's difficult enough to climb into one - funny how I'm apparently okay with omegaverse shenanigans but I draw the line at wonky motorsports physics 🤣).

Anyway, the track marshals are doing a really shit job because somehow they 1. let Charlie on the track to singlehandedly try and rescue Babe and 2. they also completely miss that Babe has literally jumped ship car and is lying on the track. He ends up with a broken wrist and a sprained knee (or was it the other way around? anyway, he's wearing several casts) which means he won't be able to finish the season and lose the title of King (all because he was too horny to check his car... but yeah also apparently it was sabotage  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

So much for the racing part.

Babe needs weeks to heal so naturally he needs Charlie to pamper and feed him and dick him down several times a day but what else is new. No offence to the the dicking down part but ugh I hate this trope. Maybe it's just because I dislike the dynamics but I don't like the way Babe is taking on more and more cliché omega traits. If I have to read one more time about how much smaller he is (or about his "rounded" hips... are you ok google translate?)...

Oh, and btw. There are omegas in this! Charlie gets flirted at by one (which Babe absolutely hates) and he does have a scent and all. Later, when Charlie is busy being extremely sus again he meets up with a childhood friend, Jeff (Pon's character in the series is called Jeff - oh. oh no...), and if I'm not mistaken he's an omega as well. Jeff cautions Charlie against being with Babe and displeasing his father (which also seems to be Jeff's father? Dude sure has a lots of adoptive kids...) but Charlie argues that he knows what he's doing and he doesn't want to stop anyway.

Later on he tells the exact same thing to his (adoptive?) father, and why do I get the feeling that this might be the same father Babe mentioned earlier when he was telling a feverish Charlie a story to get him to sleep:

In his story, Babe mentions how when he was very small he used to go hungry every day because his mum was out of the picture and his father didn't even make enough money bring food to the table. One day the hunger was so bad that he passed out and woke up in the hospital where a stranger told him he'd be his new family. With little choice in the matter, Babe accepted and went on to spend the rest of his childhood well-cared for and in elite schools etc. That is, until he turned (presumably...) 18 and discovered that his father didn't adopt him out of the kindness of his heart but for ulterior motives that Babe doesn't explain any further because at that point Charlie has fallen asleep.

So yeah, what are the odds that Babe's "father" and Charlie's father are the same person (no spoilers, please)? Because if so then... that's disturbing, especially since Charlie's father seems to want Charlie to lure Babe back home. I mean, Charlie seems to have his own plans but it's not like his father throws him out after their secret meeting. Sus, very sus.

Meanwhile, Babe is slowly losing his heightened senses (the novel doesn't mention it yet but I'm pretty sure this is Charlie's doing) but he doesn't seem to mind because he's too busy falling in love. There's a lovely scene where Charlie and he spend the night stargazing, and this is when Babe realises that something's different because usually his heart only beats this fast when he thinks about racing (lmao).

Cue to them not having sex for a week because Babe feels like he's going crazy.

Meanwhile, it's been decided that Charlie will finish Babe's racing season for him because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I'm sure he'll win the title too because he's Charlie, alphaest of alphas. Or something.

So one night Babe officially introduces him to the rest of team X-Hunter (and curiously Sonic and North seem to be racers in the novel as well) but things go awry when Babe is too busy fooling around with Way (no you cannot be affectionate with a male friend in a BL novel it is forbidden!!). Charlie and Babe argue and proceed to ignore each other for the rest of the night until they make up (and out) during the official X-Hunter sleepover (with Way and another poor dude sleeping in the same room).

They're polite enough to seek out the indoor pool (this isn't even their house - have you no shame?) and talk it out. And by talk it out I mean there's an inappropriate amount of daddy-calling and Little Mermaid jokes. This is where Charlie claims Babe. Yes, there's knotting (I think? like I said, I'm not axactly an expert and auto-translate is a bit vague, bless its little AI heart). Charlie threatens (I'm sure it's all meant very lovingly 🤡) to impregnate Babe if there's no other way to show others that he's his. To which Babe replies that that's impossible anway.

It's impossible, right? Right??

[missriyochuchi]

Race to Capture the Flagbearer

Summary: On the eve of the start of the athletics events, the Torchbearer and the Flagbearer race to the Stade de France, betting that whoever enters the stadium first with the Flagbearer’s cape gets to chose the method of blessing the track.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Established relationship. Sexual tension. Kissing. Very lame sexual innuendo I’m very sorry lolol

Notes: In honor of the start of the track and field events, my favorite because I used to run track, I give you this hot mess! This one really got away from me. Full disclosure: I have never been to Paris. GoogleMaps and Google Images were absolutely indispensable!

Once again, I strongly recommend reading The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer first, but if not, only a few details carry over: the two exist only during the Olympics, so they die and are reborn every two years; interaction with humans is strictly limited; and the Flagbearer’s horse is named Zeus. I use gendered pronouns only to distinguish between the two; otherwise, their physical descriptions are not gendered.

Read on AO3

Beyond the city center, just north of the historic hilltop of Montmartre, Paris slumbers as though it were any other balmy summer night. A few stores and restaurants remain open, hosting those too restless to neglect the City of Lights. The low murmur of conversations warms the air beneath the amber glow of streetlights and the verdant canopies of deciduous trees. On the Avenue de Saint-Ouen, the soft, unmistakable clops of a horse turn the heads of those shocked to a standstill on the sidewalk.

The Flagbearer sways in her saddle as she guides Zeus down the northbound lane at a leisurely clip. The few cars caught behind them pass when able, unhurried by the late-night hour. Whispered surprise and pointing fingers follow in their wake. She turns and nods to the few aiming cameras and smartphones in their direction. Several meters behind on the northwest corner of the Boulevards des Maréchaux, two tourists watch the hooded figure continue on her journey.

“Where’s the other one?”

“Other one?”

“They’re always together at night.”

“What are you talking about?”

From behind them, a woman points up and shouts, “Là-bas!”

Heads tilt towards the rooftops. On the east side of the avenue, beyond the cover of the streetlights’ shine, onlookers catch the faint, bright material of the Torchbearer’s hood bobbing from building to building. The gauzy fabric travels quickly, seeming to fly across the uneven architecture, unbothered by safety or gravity. 

Sounds of the spectators acknowledging the Torchbearer’s trajectory build to a wave that rolls down the road and crashes on the Flagbearer’s cape. Her hood turns around, the shadow beneath facing the line of buildings to her right. She whips forward and digs her heels into the horse’s sides. In a flash, the rider and her mount take off on a gallop, and the telltale signs of the nimble nightwalker disappear from the rooftops’ edge.

“What happened?” A fourth bystander, looking as confused as the first two, joins the three on the corner.

“Elle l'a vu.” The woman smiles and, with her fore- and middle fingers, gestures from her eyes to the rooftops to the north end of the street.

“Oh, uh, pardonnez-moi,” one of the two tourists attempts haltingly, “je ne parle pas français.”

“Dude, you don’t need to know French to know what this,” his companion mimics the woman’s gestures, “means. She said—”

“‘She saw him’ is what she said,” clarifies the fourth bystander.

“He’s chasing her?”

“Ils font la course.”

“I— Where’s my dictionary? Sorry, could you, uh— répétez, s'il vous plaît?”

“‘They’re racing.’ Dude, I’m going to strangle you.”

“What? But he can’t win. She’s on a horse!”

The woman and the fourth bystander share a laugh as they continue down the road. “Depends on where the finish line is!”

No announcements had been made declaring the particulars of this after-hours contest, but the more observant tourists and Parisians who had witnessed the two hooded figures about town before could more or less divine where they were headed. The Stade de France marked the end of their race, the venue housing the track for which their relay was honoring. No one, however, not even those with firsthand experience of past Olympic Games, could guess the particulars of their side bet.

“The athletics events begin in a few hours,” the Torchbearer had said to the Flagbearer, 90 minutes earlier, as they crossed the esplanade of the Palais de Chaillot in the direction of the Seine.

She hummed and smiled, gazing at the ground and matching his stride, her hands folded behind her back. “One of your favorites,” she said fondly.

From the top of the steps leading to the Jardins du Trocadéro, the Olympic Torch was still visible in the sky. Small groups of tourists flitted about the site, aiming all kinds of photographic equipment between the Olympic Flag flying above the Place du Trocadéro to the Eiffel Tower glittering above it all.

“The stadium is about 10 kilometers away,” the Torchbearer continued, pointing in a general northeasterly direction.

“I am aware of the distance, ma chère.”

“Shall we go over the rules?”

“Zeus,” the Flagbearer lilted, turning to face her mount, “do you need to be reminded of the rules?”

Following close behind, the horse shook his head. The two Olympic guardians had spent the last few nights inventing details to include the stallion in their quirky tradition. He was forbidden from trotting faster than 12 kilometers per hour, the average speed of a human man running. Only when the Torchbearer was in sight could Zeus gallop to his top speed; once out of sight, the horse would return to an average walk. The Flagbearer had offered to send Zeus ahead to the stadium in an attempt at fairness, but even she knew her armor was a handicap in the Torchbearer’s favor. She needed her steed.

“Perhaps we should lift the ban on mechanical vehicles, just this once,” the Flagbearer offered sheepishly. She felt guilty that for all of the Torchbearer’s physical prowess and show on the rooftops during the Opening Ceremony, he was still no match for one of Earth’s fastest land animals.

“No, my love. I do not believe Zeus gives you an undue advantage. Besides, I have my own ideas for bypassing our usual rule.”

“Oh?” She stopped at the edge of the esplanade and crossed her arms. “Then perhaps I should remind you that a bicycle is a kind of vehicle and therefore forbidden.”

The Torchbearer laughed. “I know better than to repeat my own mistakes. No, I have something even less mechanical in mind.”

“Would you care to share so that I may approve your means of cheating?”

He gasped and recoiled in faux offense, bringing his fingertips to his chest in mock shock. “Darling, how dare you accuse me of such a thing! It is not in our nature to cheat!”

“I know,” she conceded carefully before resuming her command, “but just because the equipment is featured in the Games does not mean it is allowed in our little competition. However, I suppose for tonight, I can allow you to skateboard.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You still have not guessed correctly. No, I am certain these types of wheels are permissible. No human law has ever classified them as a form of transportation.”

The Flagbearer dropped her arms to her sides and squared her shoulders, straightening her posture. “Now I am intrigued.”

Light cheers and applause bubbled up around them. The two looked up in time to watch the Olympic Torch descend out of sight. Only the Eiffel Tower remained bright in the inky night.

“That is your cue, chérie.” The Torchbearer extended a hand in a show of sportsmanship. “Good luck.”

The Flagbearer accepted the gesture. “Bonne chance à toi, aussi, my dear. If you do reach me, try not to pull too hard. Falling from Zeus’s height would hurt even more in this armor.”

“I shall hold back my strength for your safety, mon amour. Now go.”

The Torchbearer watched his partner mount her steed and quickly gallop back through the esplanade, gaining more spectators with each echoing hoofbeat. When she reached the road, she brought Zeus to rear on his hind legs. Gasps of surprise followed. Once Zeus righted on all four legs, she blew a kiss to the Torchbearer who caught and tucked it into his vest against his chest. With a nod, horse and rider trotted in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. He waited for the sound of hoofbeats to fade away before running down the steps and across the garden and banking left to try to cut them off through neighboring roads.

What would normally have been a swift, straightforward race from the Place du Trocadéro to the Stade de France turned into an extended excursion into the more hidden side streets of Paris. Previous incarnations of the Olympic guardians allowed them to run unencumbered. The Flagbearer’s armored form, paired with Zeus’s presence, meant that they needed a creative twist to make up for their unique limitations. Eyeing the Flagbearer’s cape one night, the Torchbearer suggested a riff on the rules of Capture the Flag: one flag and one territory instead of the usual two each, her cape standing in for the desired marker and the stadium the sole safe place. Whoever entered the Stade de France first with the Flagbearer’s cape would win. What was once a race became a chase.

For more than 10 kilometers, the Flagbearer evades the more agile Torchbearer. She never hears him coming, his footsteps too light even in the silence of empty streets. She had been halfway through the Parc Manceau, hoping to use its lawns and trees to muffle Zeus’s steps, when she felt a rush of air graze her right leg. Her arm shot behind her and grasped her cape, its tough material caught up in the momentary gust. She sighed in relief just as the scrape of plastic wheels echoed on the pavement. She turned around and watched the Torchbearer come up from a crouched position and straighten up a few inches taller than his usual height.

“Rollerblades!” The Flagbearer was impressed. “Darling, you think of everything.”

He laughed. “They are not as quiet as I need them to be, but at least I have a chance to match Zeus’s trot.”

“It is not your speed that needs improvement.” She threw her cape behind her, taunting him as it fluttered back into place. “Your grip is lacking, my dove.”

With a swift tug of her reins, she brought Zeus to a gallop across the lawn where the Torchbearer’s wheels could not follow. He glided down a path to try to cut them off at the park’s edge, but lost sight of them behind the foliage. He stared at the five-road intersection and quickly picked up Zeus’s hoofbeats echoing down the Rue Georges Berger. Though he couldn’t see the source of the sound, he was sure of its direction. He took off down the Rue de Thann, hoping to catch them at the Boulevard Malesherbes. When he reached the corner, he found Zeus waiting riderless. The Flagbearer would repeat this strategy throughout the night.

With Zeus’s hoofbeats no longer a reliable sign of his partner’s presence, the Torchbearer takes to the rooftops for the higher vantage points. He flies freely — no cars or pedestrians to block his journey, no trees or walls to block his view. Despite the cloak of darkness hiding potentially dangerous nooks on which to trip, his step is sure. He falters only when he reaches the main thoroughfares, several lanes too wide to jump, and is forced to climb back down to the sidewalk. When he swivels around, hands on his hips and unsure of the Flagbearer’s location, a few wide-eyed tourists point him in the right direction. He nods or salutes before sprinting to the nearest building and resuming his flight across the darkened rooftops.

Meanwhile, the Flagbearer continues to use sound to her advantage. When she is not deploying Zeus as a decoy, she also relies on the few onlookers in her wake. Every time the Torchbearer nears, a low swell of claps and gasps announces his proximity, the spectators’ excitement at witnessing the phantom figure reenact his debut performance rippling through the air like a lighthouse beacon on a foggy night. The audible warning allows her enough time to pinpoint his location and break for a darker or wider street. Despite the weight of her armor and the agreed-upon limitations on Zeus’s abilities, she manages to stay ahead and out of reach of the Torchbearer.

Eventually, after breathless hours of looking over her shoulder, the Flagbearer comes into sight of the Stade de France. She is relieved but restless. It had taken longer to reach the stadium than she’d anticipated, and her daytime duties began to slip into the forefront of her mind. She senses dawn just below the horizon, hiding for another hour before warming Paris once more. She felt the urgency of concluding their game.

With no sign of the Torchbearer, the Flagbearer dismounts and walks the remaining distance to the parking lot surrounding the stadium. Zeus’s hoofbeats punctuate the whoosh of the few cars passing on the highway. They are 100 meters from a western gate when she hears the familiar roll of plastic wheels fast approaching behind her.

Without turning around, she smacks Zeus’s rump and grabs the horn of her saddle. She lifts herself high enough to put a foot in the stirrup as the stallion gallops towards the gate. She clings to her steed’s side, pushing sore muscles to their breaking point as her cape whips and drags in the wind. She pulls herself up and over to straddle the saddle and grasps for enough stability to turn her head around. She sees no hooded figure. 

Only when Zeus stops abruptly in front of a gate does she see the Torchbearer. He had rolled to a stop a few meters from her position, holding her cape aloft in his right hand and waving low with his left. The Flagbearer quickly dismounts and points for Zeus to step away from the gate.

“Looks like I won, my sweet,” the Torchbearer taunts across the distance. 

“Not yet, darling.” The Flagbearer advances slowly, cracking her neck and loosening her shoulders for what she assumes could turn into a wrestling match. “You have not entered the stadium proper. This parking lot is open space.” 

His right hand drops to his hip, her cape billowing in the breeze. “You cannot outrun me in your armor.”

“Then play fair, ma chère. You know your agility is hampered by those tiny wheels.”

He lets out an amused huff before agreeing to her concession. He kneels on her cape, alternating knees so as not to lose it to the wind, and takes off the rollerblades. From behind his jacket, he produces and quickly puts on his shoes, readjusting his leg gaiters over the treads. All the while, the Flagbearer maintains her distance.

“A lesser opponent would have rushed me by now,” the Torchbearer observes as he stands up.

“A lesser opponent would have conceded defeat,” she counters as she steps forward.

He strides to the side, and she mirrors his move. “How do you imagine this will end, my dear?” 

“With you pinning my cape back on me and blessing the track my way.”

“Darling, I would gladly pin you any day, but do tell what you had in mind if you do indeed win.”

The Flagbearer shakes her head as she takes another step closer. “As much as I enjoy your sense of humor, I would not deign to give you ideas before my victory is secured.”

“A wise move perhaps, but in truth, you read my mind.” The Torchbearer jumps several steps to the right, the entrance briefly in view, before she blocks him. “I can tell you with the utmost certainty that when I win, I shall pin you on the track.”

He is close enough to spy a smirk on her lips. She giggles and says, “And you call me insatiable.”

“My hunger burns eternal for you, my angel sweet.”

She comes up to her full height and points a finger in his direction. “You are distracting me.”

“An effective strategy, I would say. I have lured you away from the entrance.”

“By closing the distance between us.” The Flagbearer reaches out and jabs the Torchbearer’s shoulder with a firm finger. She enters into a slight crouch, palms outstretched, ready to reclaim her cape.

“Well, if we are to dance, mon amour,” he takes her cape in both hands and bunches opposing corners in his fists, “we must step closer.”

He swings the length of the cape over the Flagbearer’s head and around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She looks up, grabs the remaining free corners fluttering above their heads, and swings them behind his shoulders. They land in each other’s arms, enveloped by the Olympic Flag.

Hidden beneath the cover of the opaque cape, the Flagbearer removes her gloves, stuffs them into her belt, and brings gentle fingertips to the bottom edge of the Torchbearer’s mask.

“You win, my love. Would you like a taste of your prize?”

She lifts the mesh just enough to expose his mouth. His breath warms her hand as she presses the pad of her thumb across his soft lips. She cradles his jaw in both hands, keeping his mask in place over his nose, as they meet for a fevered kiss.

Only the Flagbearer is privy to the face beneath the Torchbearer’s mask, the covering quickly removed during private moments behind closed doors. No rule existed banning the public exposure of their countenances, but the Olympic guardians thought it best for their appearances to remain as neutral as the intentions behind the performance of their duties. They are as much a symbol of the Games as they are its players, and only with their features hidden can they best represent the best of humanity in all its forms and functions.

From the top of the steps leading to the upper parts of the stadium, the crackle of a security guard’s radio travels through the air and interrupts the lovers. They part lips with heavy sighs, reluctant to meet the world and its inhabitants.

“Change of plans,” the Torchbearer mumbles as he chases the Flagbearer’s chin with his mouth and finds the lower edge of her cuirass with his hands. “This audience will not do.”

She giggles and runs her hands down his chest, searching for the warmth beneath his many layers. “Our race took too long. If only we had reached the stadium sooner,” she sighs as he traces her jaw with the tip of his tongue and latches his lips just below her ear, “when it was less populated.” She pulls him closer, reaching for the backs of his neck and waist.

“A simple walk must suffice.” He pulls away, lowering the Flagbearer’s hands by her wrists. “I have had enough racing for tonight.”

“Have I worn you down?” She tugs on the Torchbearer’s lapels.

He laughs as he removes her gloves from her belt and glides them over her hands, the wind at his back keeping the cape in place. “I bow to your mastery of stealth and strategy.”

“Well, I learned from the best.” She readjusts his mask under his chin before he flips the cape behind her and secures it under her spaulders. “Be honest, dear, did I tire you too much?”

“I can manage a 400-meter walk.”

“And afterwards?” The Flagbearer nudges her hand into the crook of his arm, pressing her shoulder to his, and starts towards the stadium.

“I have enough strength for my duties. You need not worry.”

“I know. I had hoped for my own blessing before sunrise.”

The Torchbearer laughs to the sky before swinging his arm around her waist and opening his side to her embrace. “Darling, you truly are insatiable.”

“I merely wish for you to claim your prize.”

“The walk around the track—”

“Is still part of our duties. Your prize for catching me is far more enjoyable.”

He stops to hold her hands and run a finger along her jawline. “Then let us race properly, quickly around the track, so I may claim you.”

The Flagbearer giggles and starts down a tunnel leading into the belly of the stadium, the weight of her boots and the drag of her cape slowing her sprint. The Torchbearer captures her quickly.

Translations: Là-bas! - Over there! pardonnez-moi, je ne parle pas français - forgive me, I don't speak French répétez, s'il vous plaît - repeat, please Bonne chance à toi, aussi - Good luck to you, too

[thissortofsorcery]

@intothedysphoria has inspired me to write about autistic!harringrove, and my own experiences with autism... Max, this is for you! I hope you like it!

tw for anxiety and sensory overwhelm, but it ends fluffy, I promise.

---

It started as a normal day, but it quickly derailed from there.

An asshole at work approached Billy from behind and clapped his hand around the nape of his neck, despite Billy having told him several times he didn’t like that.

Billy didn’t like being touched at all, by most people. And some people had no concept of personal space.

A horrible, painful shiver cut through his spine, icy cold and almost slimy, and Billy held back a shudder. He broke out in goosebumps, and only years and years of practice, of putting on the charm let him pull away from the dickhead graciously, laugh at whatever he said and keep himself together until he could hide away in a bathroom stall.

Billy presses his fingers to his closed eyes hard, seeing stars, and rubs the back of his neck vigorously, trying to replace that cold shiver with something else. Tears spring to his eyes, and he feels so fucking frustrated.

Finding out you’re autistic in your twenties is an experience. A lot of things start making sense, and a lot of things you pushed down and convinced yourself weren’t a problem spring back up like a jack-in-the-box, a hundred times worse.

Like the touch thing. It’s not that Billy doesn’t like being touched. He just doesn’t like being touched by people he doesn’t know, and for no reason.

Like, his physical therapist, when she was helping him regain dexterity in his hands after Starcourt, that was fine.

Some dude in the office touching his neck, even casually, not so much.

Billy takes a deep breath, tries to remember the self-care workbook he and Steve filled out together a couple months ago. Tries to calm down.

Three ways I can distract myself when someone touches me, he’d written, glancing back up at Steve with a smile. Happy they were doing it together.

Loud music + puzzle

Hot drink

Yelling

Steve laughed and shook his head (“it’s very you”) when Billy wrote down the last one, but it really did help.

Billy gives himself a few more moments in the stall before he slinks out, heading to the sinks and splashing cold water on his face. The sensory shock helps a little, the cool, pleasant feeling helping balance the sensation of something crawling under his skin.

He checks if the break room is empty before he goes in, and it thankfully is. He doesn’t want to run into anyone. Doesn’t think he has it in him to mask right now.

Billy makes himself a mug full of scalding hot coffee and hurries back to his office, avoiding eye contact with anyone who throws out a hello. So what if they think he’s angry. Maybe he is pissed.

He manages to spend the rest of the day locked in his office, headphones on, and only comes out when it’s time to go home.

Of course, all he wants is to see Steve, wants his comforting presence, even if they’ve been dating only three months. When he walks through the door of Steve’s house, he sees Steve sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, wearing his ugly vomit green socks with raccoons on them, that he’s had since he was 15 and won’t get rid of.

A wave of relief crashes through him, nearly leaving him dizzy. He breathes deep, catches the smell of his clean house, laundry, and Steve.

“Hey baby,” Steve calls, laying his head on the back of the couch to look at him, making his glasses just a little bit crooked. “Bad day?”

“Does my face look that terrible?” Billy grumbles, taking his shoes off at the entryway before he steps into the living room.

“Your headphones are around your neck,” Steve points to them, a smile ticking up the corner of his mouth.

Oh. Billy forgot to put them away. He doesn’t need them in the car.

He sighs and throws himself down next to Steve, a careful, deliberate distance away.

“I’m just ‘whelmed,” Billy mumbles.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Not anymore. Just whelmed,” He says, sighing again. His body sags, melting against the cushions. He doesn’t feel shivery anymore, but he feels tired, like he’s on the bad end of an all-nighter.

Steve puts his hand on the cushion between them, palm up, not touching Billy.

Billy takes a deep breath, watching Steve’s hand. He knows that hand intimately, knows it to be warm and soft and kind, knows how its skin feels against Billy’s, the friction making the shivers good instead of bad.

He puts a tentative fingertip on Steve’s pointer finger, and all Steve does is press back, smiling gently.

Billy slides his fingers in between Steve’s, laces them together, holds his hand palm to palm, and feels the touch of his skin like they’re buzzing together.

Billy knows he can change his mind, and all Steve’s gonna do is smile, sit on his side of the couch, and continue the conversation.

“How’s that book you were working on going?” Steve asks. He rubs his thumb over the back of Billy’s hand once, and stops. When Billy squeezes his hand, he resumes the movement, sending pleasant tingles up Billy’s arm.

“Good. The writer was receptive to what I said. They sent me a couple reworked chapters today,” Billy says, moving closer to Steve, so their arms press together.

As the conversation goes on, Billy presses closer and closer, at his own pace, and Steve accepts it crumb by crumb.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve Steve, or how Steve is so patient with him. Steve loves physical contact. Billy does, too, but he’s so particular about it that sometimes he wonders if he’s even worth sticking around for.

Billy ends up lying on top of Steve, chest to chest, nose tucked into his throat, breathing in his warmth and his scent.

“Don’t touch my neck, okay?” He asks, hunching his shoulders a little.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says, easy as that. “Can I touch your hair?”

“Yeah.”

Steve turns his head and kisses Billy’s head, right on the hairline, pulling a deep, content sigh from him.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Billy says, squeezing his ribs just a little tighter. “For doing this for me. Being patient.”

Steve looks down at him, frowning slightly.

“‘Course. You shouldn’t— You don’t have to thank me,” He says, earnest. “It’s not a chore, Billy. You’re not…” He licks his lips, trying to think. When he looks at Billy, it's like he's telling him a secret. “You make me happy. All of you.”

Billy’s smile is wide, stretching his full lips and showing his teeth, and Billy only drops it so he can kiss Steve.

They keep it chaste, an unhurried, soft press of lips, enjoying their intimacy and their closeness and their familiarity. Simple as it is, it's one of the best kisses he's had. Steve's the best person he's ever met.

When Steve touches him, he feels safe. Billy wants to keep him.

[corpsebasil]

Love Me Harder

DONT TOUCH ME RN IM JUMPING AROUND THE ROOM

When Ethan accidentally hurts his girlfriend, his fear of hurting her again makes him push her away.

He’d cut you.

So shallowly it was practically a scratch, but you still slapped a hand over your arm as you stared, wide eyed, at Ghostface. You could’ve sworn he’d pulled back, had tried not to do it, when he jumped away from you almost as fast as you did from him. And then Tara was grabbing you, yanking you after them, even as it took Ghostface half a second to recover his senses and give chase.

You’d refused very adamantly to go across the ladder. You were the last one in line, shaking as you looked at the drop. Anika went before you, encouraged by Mindy and Sam to hurry the fuck up, and she’d just made it across to the window beyond when Ghostface burst into the room.

He took one look at you and paused; you were trembling, gripping the windowpane, your eyes glued to the long distance below. Your fear of heights was so bad you could hardly take an elevator, let alone crawl across a ladder to a window several feet away.

“I cant do it.” You wept, shaking your head as your friends screamed at you, urging you to come on. You turned, your panic rising as you saw Ghostface approaching slowly, your cries coming faster and more frantic. “I cant do it please don’t hurt me don’t—” Your scream was abruptly cut off when he passed you, moving to toss the ladder onto the ground below.

Effectively trapping you.

Tara was sobbing loudly as Mindy yelled out curses; you were sure Anika needed to go to the hospital. You were praying someone had called the police.

“Would you hurt a defenseless damsel in distress?” You asked, feeling hysterical as Ghostface turned his head, fixing that cold mask’s stare onto your shaking frame. You inched away, eyeing the bedroom door. “Wait look, what’s that!” He actually looked, turning, when you pointed behind him. Then you ran for it. “No!” You screeched as he tripped you, your body crashing down onto the carpet.

And just as you were sure you were going to die, all because you saw that scene from Nerve and didn’t feel like reenacting it, you heard shouting and cop sirens coming from downstairs and outside. You looked over your shoulder; Ghostface pointed his knife at you, as if in warning, and fled.

Now you sat on the edge of an ambulance, Tara’s hand laced with your own. Your tears had long since dried on your face but you still trembled. Anika had been rushed to the hospital, the police insisting the rest of you stay at the scene, but you’d been told it was uncertain if she’d live.

Mindy had torn into you over your resistance to cross the ladder, but, after seeing your haunted expression, had went on to thank you for letting Anika go first. If you’d have crossed and then froze, paralyzed by fear of falling, she would’ve been left to die.

“Y/N.” Tara whispered, giving your hand a squeeze. You looked up and saw Ethan, a concerned look on his face as he ducked under the crime tape and moved towards you.

Chad gave you a warning glance and moved off off of the ambulance; he was as protective of you as if you were his own sister and as you watched him grab your boyfriend and slam him against a car, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude at his protectiveness. But you still tensed up, rising a bit from your seat to help.

“Dude, I was in a study hall with a hundred other people. You can ask any of them.” Ethan was saying as you stood.

“Y/N, don’t.” Mindy warned, grabbing your hand as Tara shot you a surprised look. “He could be Ghostface. We can’t trust his ass.”

“I trust him.” You argued, pulling away from her and moving to Ethan. Chad shook his head at you, disapproving, even as you pushed past and wrapped your arms around the brunet boy.

“Oh my god.” Ethan gasped, seeing the bandage wrapped around your arm. He hugged you back, but hesitantly. You’d ignored the way he seemed to stiffen when you held him, but felt a twinge of hurt when he pulled away too quickly. “Who?” He asked, nodding towards the jumble of police officers.

“Quinn.” You said, sniffing, and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “And Anika got stabbed. She’s in the hospital—they don’t know if she’ll make it.”

“And you—” an odd look crossed his face as he took in the sight of your arm again.

“I’m fine.” You told him, eager for him to hold you again, but he didn’t. He seemed to take a step back, away from you, like he didn’t want you to touch him. “I couldn’t cross the ladder. He almost had me, E.”

“That’s—” he swallowed. “That sucks. Im sorry.”

“That sucks?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you looked at him. He was staring behind you, avoiding your eyes. You’d expected him to be upset; you’d almost died, and he didn’t even have the decency to look too unhappy about it? “Ethan what—”

“Come on, Y/N.” Tara called, but you only stared at Ethan, searching his face for any signs of grief or worry for your safety.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Your voice cracked and he finally looked at you, a frown pulling at his mouth. “Ethan?”

“I heard you.” He said simply and you felt like he’d punched you in the gut. You took a step away, your mouth trembling as he stared at you with a look of blankness.

“Y/N, come on. We’re going to check on Anika.” Tara called you again. The entire group was listening to this exchange. You felt mortified, and hurt, and slightly heartbroken. So you turned, trying not to cry as you climbed into the back of the ambulance, Tara immediately scooting in and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You’re at the top of my list.” You heard Mindy tell Ethan, but you didn’t look at him again, not until you heard Chad say something you couldn’t hear. You saw Ethan’s face grow pale, his eyes finding your own and, right before the doors of the ambulance shut behind the four of you, hurt and fear crossed his expression.

-

It had been days since he’d spoken to you.

The two of you hadn’t talked since the night at Tara’s apartment and you were growing more and more anxious by the day. You’d called him about a hundred times and, when you saw him at school, he dodged you. Your heart was breaking; you loved him, had thought he loved you, and he wouldn’t even speak to you.

So you found yourself at Chad’s dorm, knocking harshly against the door as you wiped the tears of frustration from your face. You didn’t know what to do—yell at him, break up with him, you didn’t know.

Chad opened the door, took in your expression, and shook his head.

“He uh, he can’t talk to you.”

“Why not?” You asked, pushing passed the boy and into the room. He grabbed your hand and, though you tugged, he was stronger than you.

“He’s in—I don’t know he’s been like catatonic the past few days. He says he doesn’t want to see you, I’m sorry.” When you stared, chest rising and falling at a rapid clip, he added, “maybe it’s for the best, Y/N.”

“Fuck that.” You snapped, wrenching your hand away, and moved to Ethan’s room. “You wanna explain what the fuck is going on?” You asked, opening his door and slamming it roughly behind you.

He was already standing, expression pained as you heaved for breath. Your heart was racing so fast you could barely think.

“Y/N, listen,” he started, in a calm tone that infuriated you. “it’s not your fault. I just think that maybe this isn’t working out and—”

“What? The day before we got attacked you said you loved me. You love me. And then all of a sudden, couple days later, and you just—don’t anymore?”

“Y/N—”

“No. You’re gonna tell me the real reason, E. It is because you’re afraid? Did me getting hurt freak you out so bad you’re pushing me away?” Then you paused, your breath hitching as tears began to slip down your cheeks. “Or did you lie? You—” You covered your mouth and turned away, unable to look at him.

“Y/N, please.” Ethan sighed, coming up behind you to touch your waist. He pressed his face against your shoulder as you cried, your body trembling as you fought the urge to sink back into his hold. “I didn’t lie. I love you.”

“Then why?” You breathed, turning to face him. His expression was the most agonized you’d ever seen it, and your stomach turned. “Why, Ethan?”

“I cant—” He shook his head once, twice. “I cant lose you. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Then stay with me. Be with me and we’ll stick together. Ghostface is dumb and we’re smart, remember? We can try and fight—”

“Please go.” He begged, resting his forehead onto your own. “This is hard for me. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, clasping his neck in your hands. Your fingers brushed against his hair as you looked at him, taking in the pained look on his face. “We’re a team? Aren’t we?”

He sniffed and nodded, allowing you to lean up and, as soft as you could, brush a kiss against his mouth.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, holding you close to him. “I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay.” You told him, kissing him again, and allowed him tug you impossibly close, forgiving him with every inch of your being.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 26

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

There is no normal with Lloyd. Never expectations. But you resume the former delicate balance. Distance is the only comfort you have and he makes that fleeting. His interruptions are blunt, demanding, over just as soon as they begin. As if he’s messing with you.

Well, he’s always messing with you.

Several days blend together and blow over the dramatic episode of his drunken return. No more arguments, only terse conversation between stretches of suffocating silence.

His anger persists, though you assume it’s as much at himself as you. The way you find him rubbing his upper lip with a frown is next to comical. How could a man be so attached to a hideous patch of fur?

You scroll on your phone in a rare moment of latency. Your determination to find a way out has not yet magically conjured an escape. Job postings that pay less than your last gig, apartments that cost more than your mortgage, and cars with a questionable state. All the pieces are there but unobtainable.

There is another way. One that makes you content with staying. You’ve spent enough of your pride. You’re not ready for that

You drop your phone, exhausted from searching for gold in a mountain of sand. You take the tall glass off your nightstand and go to the door. You listen through the wood. You’ve made sure to avoid Lloyd when you can, never an easy endeavour as he sneaks up on you often.

Your steps are deliberately light as you descend the stairs. You know you heard him earlier but it was all muffled by the jet of shower water buzzing from the faucet. You go into the kitchen and push the glass against the lever, filling it with filtered water from the fridge. The subtle drone adds to the static of the large house until suddenly it erupts.

A door opens above and a female voice squeals. Impatient steps, a pair stomping and unstoppable, the other stumbling and slipping.

“Get out,” Lloyd snarls, “you ever shut the fuck up?”

“What the hell, dude?”

“I told you,” he barks as she cries out and his heavy steps bluster down the stairs, “I don’t wanna hear it. How hard is it to shut your damn mouth and play with my dick?”

You take your glass of water and follow the argument as it lands at the foot of the staircase. Lloyd drops the girl on her feet and tosses a pair of heels at her as she stumbles. Oh, you had no idea about that. Her.

“You’re gross dude.”

“And you’re not the only slut in the world, go.”

“Wow, really?”

He growls and crosses his arms, his bare back racking above his dark pants, slack and hanging askew from his hips. The woman, bleach blond, a passing resemblance to someone else, rolls her eyes as she bends and shoves her feet into her heels.

“You can at least pay for my uber.”

“Pay for what? You can’t even get me hard.”

“Ha, like that’s my problem–”

He grabs her by the throat and marches her backwards across the foyer. He stops, ripping her coat from the closet with his free hand before swinging open the door. He flings her through and throws the coat out after her.

“Fuck off!”

He slams the door and you shy back, barely able to see him as he paces angrily. He snarls and a sudden crash echoes off the high ceilings, the smash of glass and scattering of smaller items. You hold your breath and wait as he huffs in fury.

The house grows silent again, only the noise of his irritated mutters rising and falling. He goes into the den and you weigh your chance to flee. No, not enough time. You hear the clink of glass and his feet slap against the floor and to the stairs.

You emerge only when you’re certain he’s gone. You enter the foyer and look around. The console table is overturned, a vase shattered in a messy mosaic, and several silver pens littered around it as the slender drawer has been dislodged from the larger frame.

You put your glass on the little round table in the corner and cross the room. If you don’t clean this up, it’ll be waiting in the morning. Besides, you don’t feel like walking into this minefield then. You lift the table up and slide it back against the wall. The leg is bent, it won’t stand. You turn it on its side and lean it perilously before tucking the drawer against the foot.

You carefully toe around the glass, focused on not catching a stray shard as you fetch the broom. You bring a box and pick out the large pieces and gather up the pens before you start sweeping. You try not to think of the woman.

Did he sneak her in? Or had you just missed his attempt to flaunt her?

You bend to gather up the mess in the pan and as you stand, a cold stream splashes down your shoulders and soaks the back of your loose nightshirt. You gasp and nearly drop the broom and pan. You turn back as Lloyd holds the glass upside down with a grin.

“You hear all that, sweet cheeks?” He taunts as you shiver, water dripping down the back of your thighs.

“What the fuck–”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” he winks.

“What are you talking about?” You look down at yourself, a puddle of water at your feet.

“I know you were listening,” he accuses.

You stare at him and shake your head. You sidle around him and march to the kitchen, pushing your foot down on the pedal to pop open the bin and dump the pan. You clip it against the broom handle before pushing it into the closet. You take out the mop as he looms in the archway.

As you near him again, he stretches his arm across the door, blocking your path. He holds up the glass and releases it. It hits the floor and smashes against the tiles. You recoil as it breaks and sends another scatter around your toes.

“Look at me, making all these messes,” he intones.

“Accidents happen,” you shrug defiantly.

“And didn’t I make a mess of that slut,” he snickers, “pretty blond thing like her, really knows how to work that neck–”

“You think I care?”

You turn and go back to the closet. You just want to lay down, get away from him. You know he’s playing with you but why? Why does he think you care if he’s fucking around? It saves you trouble.

“Ah, I mean, all your men keep chasing after blond bimbos, it’s a bit of a pattern, isn’t it?”

You ignore him as you push the glass into a pile. You understand now. She did kinda look like Ali, same round cheeks, same big eyes.

“You’re not mine, are you?” You squat down to collect the jagged pieces in the pan, “so not really.”

He scoffs and steps closer. You stop and face him. The frustration roils off of him as he glares down at you. You wince as he reaches for the pan and plucks up a sharp triangle and holds it up. He turns it between his fingers and sucks his teeth with deep consideration.

He swipes the pan out of your grasp and grabs your chin, urging you back blindly until you hit the counter. You gasp as he angles the point against your throat. You blink up at him as you cling to the lip of the marble countertop.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone in your position,” he sneers.

You gulp and don’t say anything. He drags the edge along your skin but not hard enough to break the skin. A shuddery breath escapes him and fans over you.

“Stubborn. Little. Bitch.”

He stops and pokes until a prick makes you whimper. He slices slowly up your throat, too shallow to do more than split the flesh but deep enough for the blood to trickle out. You hold you breath as you lean away from him.

“You think you’re special,” he growls as he carves down to your collarbone, “you think I wouldn’t slit your pretty throat right here. Watch you choke on your own blood like a dying fish–”

“Lloyd,” you quiver, startled by his dilated pupils.

How little you know of this man. You live in his house and know little more than his name. But you know he’s dangerous. The clues have been there. Somehow, you never expect it to turn in your direction. You tremble as you fight to keep still.

He pulls the glass away and throws it. His hand is bloody too, gashed along the inside of his knuckles. His other falls to the front of your shirt and clutches it as he jerks you away from the counter. He puts his bloody fingers against your cheek and smears his blood down your face as you grimace.

“Lloyd, please–”

“You think I can’t get fucking hard? No, you didn’t fucking break me,” he spits, “feel for yourself, peaches. I’m hard and I need that cunt on me. Now.”

You search his face, a sinister shadow defining the angles of his nose and cheekbones, a grit in his jaw that makes you weak. You tear your hands from the marble and gently touch his forearm.

“Yes, daddy, I know,” you move his hand cautiously away from your face, the metallic scent of blood curdles in your nose, “how do you want it?”

“I want you–” he brings both hands to the collar of your shirt and rents the fabric, “I want—” he gruffly pushes the cotton back on your shoulders and shoves it down your arms, “here.”

The shirt falls under its soaked weight and piles at your heels. He reaches past you and slaps the counter. You nod and glance back. He surprises you as he he reaches around you and lifts you onto the marble. Just as quickly, he has his arms hooked under your knees as your head hits the cupboard.

You can't stop him. You can't do anything as his rage consumes you. You've always been powerless but not like this.

[therottenkingsreckoning]

[TRANSCRIPT]

Walter: Sup.

Barnaby: You, apparently. What are you doing up there?

Walter: This baby's delicate! I can't actually afford to put any weight on her organs. Luckily, your boy's a genius.

As he says this, he undoes the leg harness suspending him from the ceiling, pausing for a moment to grab onto the dangling cords. He then throws himself backwards off of them, presumably intending to land on his feet but missing and crashing out of frame.

Bella: Hah, yeah. Real brainiac here.

As he sits up and takes her offering of water, Wally can be seen looking at him in disgusted confusion. Then, Walter notices him looking.

Walter: What the fuck?! Why is there another me?!? And why's he so short too?

Jax (offscreen): Walter! Dude!

Wally: I don't know, why do you look like you've been run over by a car?

Poppy (also offscreen): Wally!

Walter: Haha, I have actually! Several times in fact. Comes with the job I guess. (to the other neighbors) but anyway, who are all of you?

Wally rolls his eyes, before suddenly looking around him in shock.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

Finally, after far too long waiting, he is here! Page 9, and the official introduction of Walter! He's quite the character, and different from the OG in a lot of ways. For one, his favorite fruits are pears not apples, and also he isn't actually a demon! He's something else entirely ;)

On a different note, turns out I had a spare pen in my desk drawer, plus I've ordered a 4th along with a fresh bag of backup nibs, so hopefully we won't be having any more issues! I would've mentioned it earlier, but given the absolute rollercoaster we've been on the past several weeks I was scared I might jinx it if I spoke too soon. Luckily though, we've made it through this page unscathed, and more are underway! Stay tuned!

[zephfair]

Ronan/Adam Meet-Cute AU Rated Teen

Based on this fantastic idea

WARNING TAGS: motor vehicle crash but no blood and no serious injuries, flooding, language. Fluff, ofc.

It was a dark and stormy night, and Ronan didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t mind the dark, and he wasn’t afraid of storms, but it made the drive home to the Barns feel even longer. Normally he’d be driving at least 15 over the posted speed limit, but the heavy rain made it hard to see even with his wipers on high, and his high beams didn’t illuminate much more than shiny asphalt.

But he always bragged he could make the drive home from Declan’s in his sleep, and this was as close to having his eyes closed as was safe.

So he was surprised when a single headlight appeared in his rear-view mirror and stayed there, mile after mile. Maybe the most shocking thing was that the vehicle with one only headlight kept up with him, staying about the same distance back even through the twistiest turns of the two-lane back roads that Ronan preferred over the interstate.

Ronan kept one eye on it in boredom as he drew closer to Singers Falls, but he was forced to concentrate on his own driving when he crested a hill and realized instead of the lazy little stream and narrow bridge at the bottom, there was only a rushing flow of muddy brown water. The rain from the storm had been strong enough to make the stream overflow its banks and flood the bridge and road.

He had a split second to decide what to do, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be very deep and so disregarded all safety advice and drove right through it.

The waves of water that splashed around the BMW proved he’d been right and that the bridge still held. But as he steered out of it, he glanced back at the headlight that plunged into the water but instead of coming out the other side, suddenly veered off, shook erratically, then went dark.

“Oh shit,” Ronan said and slammed on his brakes which sent his car into a skid that took all his focus for several long seconds. He got it under control and stopped, right in the middle of the road. There was no light at all in his rear-view.

“Fuck,” he sighed and did a messy three-point turn. Surely the driver had just skidded off the road and was probably fine. Of course, they were. And if they were stuck, they would have a cell phone to call for assistance. They didn’t need his help.

Unless, they did. Ronan wasn’t sure he could go home until he knew what had happened. He approached slowly and his stomach sank when he couldn’t see the other car at all.

A sharp streak of lightning gave him a split second of bright vision, let him make sure that there was no car or truck bobbing in the stream, at least, and he didn’t see any vehicle on the bank. So where the hell was it?

Ronan stopped his BMW where he could keep his headlights on where he thought the vehicle should’ve been. There was maybe a glint of metal and a lump that looked out of place.

He struggled out of his car into the downpour, swearing and leaning back in to rummage until he found a flashlight in the door’s pocket. It didn’t illuminate much either but the scene was slowly becoming clearer.

He swore again when he realized the one headlight hadn’t been a sign of a car with one burnt out bulb; no, it had been a motorcycle that some insane fool was driving at high speeds through a dark Virginia thunderstorm.

Ronan spun around, looking frantically for where the rider could’ve been thrown off.

Then he saw him. The rider was several yards from the bike, and, thankfully, also from the swiftly running flood water. But he was lying motionless on his front in the mud, his helmet down in a mound of it. With his backpack still in place, he reminded Ronan of a sad turtle flattened on the highway.

Ronan really didn’t want to find another dead body. He didn’t want the years of nightmares. He did not want to find this dude’s battered and bleeding body. But it didn’t look like he had a choice.

He shuffled up slowly and swore then hauled back his boot and nudged the dude right in the unprotected ribs, but gently.

“Hey, man, you dead?” was probably not the best thing to say but whatever.

To Ronan’s huge and unexpected relief, the body jerked.

“Oh thank Christ, you’re alive. Do you need some help?”

The body flailed its arms and legs, looking like it was trying to make upside down snow angels in the mud. But it didn’t try to rise.

There were angry muffled noises coming from the helmet, and when Ronan squatted down alongside, another flail of the hand struck his leg then gestured toward the helmet.

“What the fuck? Is your neck broke?” Ronan didn’t know what to do. He’d always heard you shouldn’t move an injured person for fear of hurting them worse.

Then the body moved both hands to its helmet, kicked its legs like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and emitted a muffled scream.

“Oh shit, are you stuck?” Ronan finally understood. The helmet was heavy and was probably encased in the thick mud from the flooding, and the poor rider couldn’t get the angle or force to get it unstuck, and maybe water was coming in and…

Ronan grabbed the helmet and tugged it and the head inside up. As soon as the helmet was free, the rider jerked to his other side and rolled over, pulling himself to sit up. His gloves seemed too bulky to get the helmet unfastened, so Ronan reached out and helped.

Mud and water poured out of the helmet as the guy gasped for air as he maneuvered it off. There was just enough light from Ronan’s forgotten flashlight to illuminate what he immediately thought was a pretty face, the face of an angel. If an angel could be pissed off, swearing, drenched, and covered in mud.

“Do you need an ambulance?” Ronan finally asked when the guy stopped his swearing. “Anything broken? Concussion?”

He shook his wet head and took a few more deep breaths. “No, I think I’m just bruised all over. It doesn’t even feel like road rash. I think the mud and water broke my fall.”

“Nearly broke you. What were you thinking, taking a motorcycle through a flood like that?”

The guy’s chin came up and he met Ronan’s eyes in stubbornness. “I didn’t see it was flooded until it was too late. I was just following some asshole who must have driven right through that mess.”

“Yeah, I did. But I know the road and still almost lost it.”

The guy looked him over, never apologizing for calling him an asshole. “My bike,” he suddenly exclaimed and splashed around, trying to stand up.

Ronan grabbed his flashlight and reached out for the guy’s elbow as he stood, trying to steady him because he swayed and wasn’t putting all his weight on his right leg. The guy jerked away so Ronan stepped back.

“I think your bike’s over there,” Ronan swung the flashlight’s dim beam in the direction of the glint of metal he’d seen from the car headlights.

“Oh no,” the guy said and plunged forward through the mud and standing water.

Ronan followed him because why not, he was already drenched and up to his knees in mud. He tried to keep the flashlight pointed at the guy’s feet as he squelched along, fighting through the mud to pull up his sneakers.

“Oh no,” the guy said again as he bent over the bike on its side in the deep mud. The flowing current of the stream was inching closer to it.

“Is it okay?” Ronan gazed over his shoulder.

“Does it look okay?” the guy snapped. “Do you know what the mud and water will do to the engine? Shit!”

The guy grabbed the handlebars and pulled, but nothing happened.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t just stand there. Can you help me get my bike up?”

“Sure,” Ronan joined him, tugged on a handlebar, but nothing happened.

“Wait, we have to…” the guy pushed Ronan out of the way then showed him how he wanted Ronan to lift while he pushed, and they finally got the motorcycle out of the sucking mud.

A flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder illuminated the scene. The guy was holding the bike handlebars to steady it, his eyes roving over the damaged motorcycle. It wasn’t a flashy crotch rocket or a chromed-up hog like a Harley. It just was a really nice bike somewhere in between. Ronan wondered how the sweet bike and the angry rider could manage to look so sexy under the circumstances.

“It’s fucked up,” the guy said. “Shit, what do I do now?”

He jolted when Ronan spoke, as if he’d forgotten he was even there. “Do you, uh, need a ride somewhere?”

The guy squinted at him as if the question was just too dumb. Ronan fought the urge to backtrack and kept his mouth shut.

“I can’t leave my bike here,” the guy finally said.

“I’ll call for a tow.”

“No, that’s too expensive,” the guy said quickly. “Shit, maybe, if we get it back on the road, it’ll start.”

Ronan held his tongue because he was no mechanic, but even he could tell that wouldn’t happen. But he helped the guy guide the bike away from the flooded stream toward the road. There was a drainage ditch along the road that was also full of water.

The guy cursed as they came to a stop. “This isn’t going to work,” he finally admitted.

“What if we hide your bike in the brush over there?” Ronan pointed to a stand of scraggly shrubs along a fence near the road but far enough from the stream and the ditch that it shouldn’t be reached by the flood. “Then I can give you a ride into town.”

“I’m headed to Henrietta,” the guy said.

Ronan shrugged. “Then you’re probably not gonna get there right now anyway.” He pointed to the distance. “You gotta take this road and go over another creek before the turn-off to Henrietta, and it always floods, way before this one does.”

“Then where are you headed?”

“Singers Falls,” Ronan said, easily brushing off the guy’s suspicions. “I turn off at the top of the hill and it’s all up and over until I get home.”

The guy swore under his breath.

“Look, why don’t you come home with me? Then when the flooding goes down, you can call someone to come meet you or I’ll just run you home to Henrietta.”

“I don’t live in Henrietta,” the guy was quick to say, even though Ronan had been catching hints of a local accent all along. “And my friends don’t know I’m coming. I don’t want to drag them out on a night like this.”

“Well, then come back to my place. You can get cleaned up, see if you’re injured and stay the night. These storms aren’t supposed to last much longer, so the roads will be fine by morning.”

The guy stood very still, looking Ronan up and down with the most judgmental look Ronan had ever garnered, and he’d visited Gansey in D.C. during Republican fund-raiser weekends while Ronan was still in his teenage punk anarchist phase.

“You’d just invite a stranger to stay at your place?”

Ronan shrugged. “Sure. I can protect myself if things go bad.”

“Well, what are the odds that both of us are serial killers,” the guy said dryly.

“Ha, ha,” Ronan said but kept a wary eye on him anyway.

“Fine. Help me get my bike over there?”

“No, I’m just going to stand out here since I’m already drenched through and watch you do it.”

Ronan couldn’t be sure in the dark but he thought the guy rolled his eyes. Once they’d gotten the motorcycle rolled into the shrubbery and pulled branches over it, Ronan led the way back to his car.

“Hey, I can’t get in there. I’m covered in mud,” the guy said as Ronan opened the passenger’s side door to clear his empty drink bottles and wrappers off the seat.

Ronan grunted in acknowledgment and went around to the trunk where he found an old blanket to spread over the seat.

“I’m still going to get it all wet,” the guy said, still stubbornly holding onto the door.

“I don’t fucking care. I’m going to get my seat wet too,” Ronan gave up and stomped around to get in the driver’s seat. Although the guy was really hot, he was starting to get on Ronan’s nerves. If he didn’t want to accept the help, then he could just stand out there in the rain and wait for someone else.

The guy must have come to that realization too, and the fact that not one vehicle had driven past in the entire time they’d been there. He finally slung his backpack off, threw it into the foot well, and dropped into the car.

Then he sighed, long and loud. “What a damn shitty night.”

“Well, hell, it’s been all sunshine and rainbows for me,” Ronan said, starting the car.

The guy snorted. “Since it looks like we’ll be getting to know each other, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Bald Asshole in my mind.”

“Thanks,” Ronan said, “I appreciate that. I’m Ronan. And you are?”

“Adam. Sorry I’m being a dick. But why were you speeding like a damn maniac when you knew that stream was going to be flooded? The bridge could’ve been washed out completely.”

“But it wasn’t,” Ronan said, as he drove a little slower than he normally would have since it was still raining heavily and hard to see. “I, uh, actually forgot that stream floods, and when I came over the hill, I didn’t want to slam on the brakes. Figured it was safer to drive on through.”

Adam shook his head. “Wish I’d had some warning. I was going too fast to stop too, but I saw your taillights already on the other side so I thought it was okay.”

“Who rides a motorcycle through a thunderstorm anyway?” Ronan tried to deflect some blame.

“They weren’t forecast when I left this morning,” Adam said stiffly. “It was supposed to be clear all night.”

“Well, it’s summer in Virginia. We can get a thunderstorm any time.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Adam said, and turned his face to look out the window.

Ronan rolled his eyes, but let the conversation die until they got to the intersection. It seemed to rouse Adam a little.

“Isn’t the road to Henrietta down there?” he pointed.

“Yep, about a mile down the hill, over the creek and through its flood plane.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be impassable?”

“I grew up in Singers Falls. We couldn’t get to town any time the rain was heavy.”

Adam sighed again and seemed to accept his fate was with Ronan.

The drive to Singers Falls wasn’t long from there, but Ronan kept all his attention on the road as it dipped and weaved through the hills where houses were few and far between. He was coming up on the lights of the one gas station in the area when he realized he didn’t have any food in the house. Well, not anything that he would serve to a guest.

He slowed and glanced over at Adam whose head resting against the window. Ronan looked again to see that Adam’s eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open.

“Oh fuck no,” Ronan said and swerved into the parking lot, slamming to a stop.

Adam grunted as his head bounced off the window. “What the hell? Did you get us stuck in another flood?”

“Holy fuck,” Ronan clutched the steering wheel and tried to calm his racing heart. “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Adam yawned. “That implies that I was dead once already.”

Ronan growled impatiently, “You know what I mean, that I thought again you were dead, whatever.”

“I just dozed off. It’s been a long day.”

“Well, you shouldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”

“I told you, I don’t have a concussion. And before you argue, yes, I’ve had a concussion before, so I know what it feels like.”

Ronan swore again. “Well, just don’t die until you’re on your own tomorrow. You’re hell on my nerves.”

That made Adam laugh at him, and it was such a delighted laugh that Ronan melted toward him again. “Are we at your place?”

“No,” Ronan suddenly remembered why he’d wanted to stop. “But I haven’t had dinner, and I’ve been away for the week at my brother’s so I don’t have much food at home. This place has good sandwiches. And six-packs.”

“I don’t drink,” Adam said. “And I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“You want to come in?” Ronan asked as he parked right outside the door of the gas station.

“Naw, just get me whatever.” Adam started to shimmy around, probably reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.

“I got it, don’t worry,” and Ronan jumped out of the car before Adam could argue.

Dinesh greeted him as always, asked how bad the roads were, shook his head over the mud Ronan’s boots dragged in.

“Sorry,” Ronan said sheepishly. “You want me to take them off and go in my socks?”

Dinesh just laughed, “I’m teasing you. You’re the only person I’ve had in here all night. I can sweep up after you’re gone.”

“Thanks, man,” Ronan said. “Can you make me two of the curried chicken salad sandwiches, large? And if you have any turkey, two of those too? With cheese?”

“Of course,” Dinesh said, already getting to work behind the counter while Ronan went to the coolers. He picked out six different bottles of soda then went back and grabbed four different juices and a carton of milk too. Dinesh was wrapping the sandwiches as he chose family bags of chips and pretzels and added them to the pile on the counter.

“You have some romantic company tonight? You need anything else from behind the counter here?” Dinesh gave him a knowing grin.

Ronan shrugged but he felt some color rise on his cheeks. It was distinctly weird to be asked about “romantic company” by a man who’d been feeding the Lynches since his parents had moved there from Ireland. “I just have a friend stuck here because the road to Henrietta will be flooded.”

“Ah,” Dinesh looked distinctly disappointed at Ronan’s lack of love-life, but not nearly as disappointed as Ronan himself.

He’d had the one fling in high school, an unhealthy relationship with a boyfriend who’d been toxic, and despite what his friend Gansey said, he had not hidden himself away on the family farm afterward. He just didn’t love meeting new people and he knew he’d not find a boyfriend so long as he didn’t meet new people, but Ronan was just hypocritical enough that he didn’t think about it.

He apologized again for the mud, pretended not to notice Dinesh adding a pack of mints to his bags, and ran back through the rain to the car.

Seeing Adam asleep this time didn’t send him into a panic, but he did watch his chest to make sure Adam was breathing before he exhaled in relief and started the car.

Adam stayed asleep the rest of the way to the Barns right up until Ronan eased to a stop in front of the farmhouse. Ronan looked him over by the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Even with the streaks of mud covering him, Ronan thought he was just about the prettiest man he’d ever seen. He had high cheekbones, a nice nose and thin lips that expressed all his emotions too clearly. He was nearly as tall as Ronan, but leaner, more wiry even with a bulky windbreaker on.

It was his hands that Ronan focused on last, curled loosely in his lap, but really nice. And from how capably he’d handled his motorcycle, they knew what to do too.

Then Ronan realized he was staring at a sleeping stranger like a psycho creeper, so he shook himself and gently prodded Adam’s shoulder.

“Hey, wake up. We’re here,” he said, voice a little gruffer than he’d planned.

Adam did a little stretch, abbreviated by a wince of pain. His eyes fluttered open and he glanced around then shut them again and sighed. “Shit. I hoped maybe it was all a nightmare.”

“Thanks, Sleeping Beauty. That’s a real shitty thing to say to the dude who saved your sorry ass.”

Adam leveled an unimpressed glare at him. “I’m sure you’re a real Prince Charming, but I’d’ve sooner not wrecked my bike and almost drowned in mud.”

“Well, we’re home now, so you can get cleaned up and eat and then be as pissy as you want, but at least you’ll be clean and dry.”

“Good point,” Adam agreed. “Lead on.”

They ran through the rain and Ronan fumbled his keys while Adam laughed at him. Once inside, Ronan moved through the downstairs turning on lights, calling over his shoulder to give Adam a running tour. Then he stuck his head back out of the kitchen when he sensed Adam wasn’t following him.

“You just gonna stand in the hall all night?”

Adam turned from staring at the family photos dotted around the walls. “I don’t wanna track mud all through the place. Your house?”

Ronan nodded and rejoined him. “It’s where I grew up. All mine now.”

Adam nodded back.

“So, do you want to eat first or take a shower?”

“Shower, God, yes please.”

Ronan chuckled at his enthusiasm for the first time all night and led him upstairs. He bustled to set out towels and point out where everything was while Adam stood there silently.

“Dude, you’re kind of freaking me out,” Ronan finally admitted. “Are you sure you don’t have some kind of brain injury?”

Adam grimaced. “No, I don’t have a brain injury. I’m just a little … overwhelmed. This isn’t what I was expecting when you said about your place.”

“What did you expect?”

“You’re about my age so I figured some kind of trashy dorm bachelor apartment crowded with roommates, not … this.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Ronan said wryly.

“Shut up, it’s not disappointing. Just surprising. Your house is really nice.”

“Well, fuck, man, if you think this is nice, just wait until you try the shower. You’re going to want to make love to the water pressure,” Ronan said, deflecting the compliment like a champ.

“Thanks for the warning,” Adam said, finally putting down his backpack on the bathroom floor.

“Do you need clean clothes or anything?”

“No, it should be… well…” Adam knelt down and opened the backpack then grimaced. He looked up at Ronan, whose heart clenched at the position, Adam on his knees so close to Ronan’s waist.

Adam’s eyes flickered downward just for an instant then met Ronan’s again. “I hate to impose any more, but this bag failed its waterproof test.”

“No problem. I’ll leave some things in the hall. Now get in there and enjoy the water.”

Adam climbed back to his feet with a groan. “Thanks. And I’ll be sure to keep things platonic with your water pressure.”

Ronan laughed a little breathlessly and escaped the close quarters of the bathroom. Get it together, Lynch. Don’t be a fuckin’ weirdo. The super-sexy guy is depending on you, he told himself as he gathered clean clothes from his room and left them outside the bathroom door.

The shower was already running, and he really did hope Adam was enjoying it.

He went back to his room where changing into a clean pair of jeans and T-shirt removed his mud damage, his skin already dried. Then he went back downstairs to lay out the sandwiches and snacks on the kitchen table and wait.

It seemed like Adam took forever, and just when Ronan was starting to worry that he’d suffered some kind of fainting spell and slipped and hit his head and was drowning in the bottom of Ronan’s own shower, the noise of the water cut off with the squeak of the one usual pipe.

Ronan breathed a little easier then. It wasn’t long before he heard soft footsteps down the stairs and realized that he was sitting at the head of the table, fingers steepled before his face, like some kind of movie villain waiting for a sacrificial victim, so he jumped up and had just hit his hip on the island, making him swear when Adam’s quiet laugh came from behind him.

“You were right about that water pressure. I think I’d like to propose to it,” Adam said.

Ronan snorted and rubbed his hip. “Too late. It’s already happily married to me. Although, we might be open to a threesome.”

He didn’t know why he’d said that, and he felt the color rise in his cheeks, but Adam just laughed again as Ronan turned to face him.

Ronan couldn’t say a word. Adam dressed in his own clothes was simply too much for his brain, and libido, to handle at the moment. Adam’s clean sandy hair was fluffy and soft, hanging over his forehead in a way that Ronan longed to brush back. Ronan’s black V-neck T-shirt clung to his shoulders, a little big there and bigger through the chest, but Ronan knew exactly how soft it would feel if he put his hands on Adam’s pecs. The gray sweatpants were loose the way Ronan liked them, and his feet were covered by a pair of athletic socks. In short, he looked like something out of one of Ronan’s wetter dreams.

“How much do I owe you for dinner?”

“Nothing,” Ronan said quickly adding when Adam pulled a stubborn look. “I was going to stop for myself anyway. And it was either this or hot dogs from the freezer with no buns. So, just shut up and eat.”

Adam started to argue again, but Ronan ignored his protestations to retrieve all the drinks he’d bought from the fridge. “Sit your ass down and eat,” he said again, and with a longing look at the food, Adam finally obeyed, but not before he mocked Ronan for buying so many bottles of beverages.

Ronan just shrugged and sat down, pointedly not watching Adam eat for fear that he might just want to jump him right then and there.

Ronan knew he sucked at small talk, but it didn’t seem like Adam was much for friendly bullshit either. They ate their way through the sandwiches and Adam polished off half a bag of pretzels while Ronan stuck to the Cool Ranch Doritos.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” Adam volunteered when they’d both finished.

“What fucking dishes? Two plates?”

Adam gestured to the counter beside the sink, but Ronan only snorted. “Those were dirty before I left for D.C.”

“Your housekeeping skills are lacking if you’d go away while leaving dirty dishes at home,” Adam said.

“You wanted me to live in some filthy bachelor apartment and now you critique my dishwashing?”

“Just sayin’,” Adam shrugged with a little smirk.

Ronan sighed and got up to pile their plates onto the other stack. “It seems like the rain is finally letting up. Do you want me to try and get you to Henrietta tonight?”

Adam tilted his head, like he was listening to see if he could hear the rain from inside the kitchen. “I mean, it’s not that late. But…” he broke off to yawn and then smile sheepishly. “I don’t know if I want to risk getting wet and having you drive that far to just find out the road’s still flooded.”

“You’re welcome to stay here, man. Both my brothers’ bedrooms are free and the beds are clean, so you can take your pick.”

“Would it be okay if I did my laundry? I think my clothes for tomorrow will be all right if I hang them up now, but that mud will stain what I had on tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, get ‘em and I’ll throw them in the washer.”

Adam hesitated by the door. “You might as well put yours in too. See if we can get all the mud out at once.”

“Sure,” Ronan said again, stunned by how easy he wanted to fall into domesticity with Adam.

Once they got the washer running, Adam insisted on helping with the dishes, so Ronan reluctantly dried as they worked. It meant he got to stand hip-to-hip with Adam and even bumped him once when Adam made fun of the way he stored his mugs and glasses.

“My cupboards, my rules,” Ronan said, snapping the tea towel at him limply. “Why do you have such strong opinions about housekeeping anyway?”

The question made Adam freeze for a second. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, his accent a little stronger for a moment. “There’s just something about this house that feels like things should be done...right.”

“Well, my mom would’ve agreed with you,” Ronan said. “But you’re kind of a dick.”

That jolted a laugh from Adam. “Believe it or not, I’ve been called that before.”

“I do believe it, but you’re only my second favorite dick,” Ronan said without thinking.

“Oh really?” Adam said, suddenly concentrating on scrubbing a cereal bowl. Ronan watched a ruddy red creep up his neck to his cheeks.

Then Ronan realized what he’d said. “I don’t mean dick dick. I mean, like, the name Dick. My best friend’s first name is Dick but he never uses it. Because of misunderstandings like that. So he’s my Dick but Gansey would rather ignore me than answer to that.”

The bowl clattered back into the dishpan. “Gansey? Your best friend’s name is Dick Gansey?”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, ready to get defensive.

“Not Richard Campbell Gansey the third?”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, now a little freaked out.

Adam turned, mouth hanging open, hands dripping on the floor. “There is no way that you know Gansey.”

Ronan crossed his arms over his chest and unintentionally made himself bigger. “How exactly do you know Gansey?”

“Gansey is my friend, my really good friend, at Harvard.”

“Oh my fucking God, you go to Harvard too?”

“Yes! But how the hell do you know him?!”

“Didn’t he ever mention his formative years at Aglionby Academy, Henrietta’s finest purveyor of the future assholes of America?”

“Well, yes, of course. We’ve talked about how we missed each other by miles when—” Adam cut himself off.

So Adam was from Henrietta, Ronan noted, but he didn’t let it distract him. “And didn’t he tell you about his feckless yet handsome best friend who quit Aglionby his senior year in order to move back to the family farm and take it over?”

Adam’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. “You’re Lynch?!”

Ronan nodded slowly. “The one and only. Well, the only Ronan Lynch to Dick Gansey.”

“I don’t believe it,” Adam said.

Ronan wracked his brain for all the conversations Gansey had prattled on about Harvard, all the texts, the emails, and he finally came up with “Are you Parrish? The perfect, pleasing paragon who Gansey’s been trying to get to move in with him since his freshman year?”

“Holy shit, he never actually called me that, did he?”

“He probably did. But I never pay all that much attention when he’s going on about all you Harvard nerds.”

“No fucking way,” Adam breathed out, still staring at Ronan. “I don’t believe it.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Out of all the bullshit that’s happened to you tonight, that’s the one thing you don’t believe?”

“No. I just mean… What are the odds? That the one person I’m following and who stopped to help me and who offered me a place to stay is the best friend of my best friend. That’s so … bizarre.”

“And the person who saved you from seeing if you could breathe mud,” Ronan reminded.

“Unbelievable,” Adam repeated and finally seemed to realize that he was still dripping dish water on the floor so he turned back to the sink.

“It is pretty unbelievable,” Ronan agreed, taking the beleaguered cereal bowl from Adam’s lax hand to rinse and dry it. “Maybe it was fate. Karma.”

“I don’t know what I did in another life to deserve this,” Adam murmured and Ronan stepped back.

“Okay, now who’s the asshole.”

“No, no I just mean,” Adam leaned on the sink and stared out the window into the darkness. Ronan stared over his shoulder at their reflections in the dark glass until Adam met his eyes. “I just mean, you could’ve been an ax murderer, but instead you saved me from drowning in mud, and you’re … you, and now you come with impeccable bona fides that’ve reassured me you’re not going to murder me while I sleep. It’s just pretty unreal.”

There was a long moment of silence while Ronan thought that all through. “What’d you mean, I’m me?”

Adam put his eyes down and started to concentrate on washing the rest of the silverware. Ronan nudged him gently in the back. “What exactly do you mean?”

Adam cleared his throat and rinsed the silverware. “I just mean, that you’re something else, Ronan. Lynch.”

“If it helps, I never thought Gansey had any friends like you, or I might have actually made it up to grand old Harvard to visit him.”

“Friends like me,” Adam parroted and gave up the pretense of the dishes, dumping the silverware into the drain board and turning to face Ronan. “What exactly do you mean?”

Ronan squared his shoulders and decided that he wasn’t going to wimp his way out of this. “I mean, that you’re very attractive. And if we’d met in another way, somewhere else, that I’d want to ask you out.”

Adam gulped hard enough that Ronan saw his Adam’s apple bob. “And if you had, I’d say yes. But why only if we’d met in another way?”

Ronan stepped closer, not quite boxing Adam in against the sink but carefully keeping his hands to himself. “Because it seems like a really asshole thing to do, to bring you home, make you dependent on me, and then ask you out. Feels like I’m cornering you.”

Adam gave him a charming, crooked grin. “You did spirit me away pretty quickly to your magical land, and now I’ve eaten your food so I’m not even sure if I can leave.”

Ronan grinned back, slowly and sincerely. It felt like a moment, a very loaded moment, a moment of potential that Ronan wondered if he was reading right because he really wanted to lean in and kiss Adam.

While he hesitated, eyes flickering from Adam’s dark blue eyes to Adam’s pink lips, Adam took the decision away from him. He tugged Ronan closer with a hand in his T-shirt, leaned up and kissed him.

Ronan closed his eyes and felt the soft warmth of Adam’s mouth against his, Adam kissing his top lip then his bottom, and Ronan leaned closer, wrapping his hands around Adam’s back to hold him, daring a quick lick to Adam’s bottom lip as Adam pulled back slowly.

They breathed together for a long moment, Ronan’s head curled down, his forehead resting against Adam’s. Then Adam let go of his T-shirt and Ronan said, “What are you going to tell Gansey about this?”

Adam’s huff of surprised laughter finally made Ronan open his eyes. Adam was staring into his with undisguised amusement.

“Do you tell Gansey about every person you kiss?”

Ronan shrugged and told the honest truth. “Actually, yeah.”

“Oh my God,” Adam laughed again. “Well, then, maybe I should give you something really interesting to add to that conversation.”

This kiss was hungry, Ronan thought right before all rational thought flew right out of his mind. Adam’s tongue was as warm as the rest of him, and Ronan’s hands clutched at Adam’s face, his neck, clung to his lower back, pulling them even closer together. Something about that must have made Adam happy because he moaned into Ronan’s mouth and hitched himself even nearer with his arms around Ronan.

Ronan couldn’t even remember who they were talking about when Adam finally broke the kiss and panted, “That’ll give you something to talk about.”

“Heugh,” Ronan said before capturing Adam’s mouth again, feeling Adam huff a little laugh before he returned the kiss.

But after a little more grinding, Ronan must have found one of Adam’s bruises as he pushed him back against the edge of the sink because he felt Adam’s entire body wince. He reluctantly pulled his mouth away, brushing his lips across Adam’s cheek then jaw, over to his ear.

“You hurting?” he whispered.

Adam shook his head against Ronan’s neck but then shrugged. “I think the adrenaline is starting to fade,” he admitted.

Ronan sighed because he, unfortunately, knew exactly how that felt and how the injuries would be starting to stiffen and hurt even more. “I think we’d better get you to bed.”

Adam started to grin, and Ronan felt his face flush red as he hurried to explain, “I mean, get you to your own bed. C’mon I’ll take you to Declan’s room and you can crash. Er, you already did that. Just...get some rest.”

Adam laughed out loud at him, but he seemed amused by Ronan’s clumsiness rather than put off by his earnestness. Adam squeezed Ronan’s upper arms where his hands had settled and leaned back up for a brief kiss. “I hate to cut this short, but I think you might have the right idea.”

“And Tylenol,” Ronan remembered, finally prying his hands off Adam and stepping back.

“That might be a good idea, too,” Adam made a face of discomfort as he pushed himself off the sink.

Ronan hurried to find the Tylenol bottle and a bottle of water from the fridge then led Adam upstairs. Declan’s room was still furnished but stripped bare of all his personal belongings. Still, Ronan kept bedding on the bed and Matthew’s for whenever one of them decided to visit.

He put the bottles on the nightstand and turned down the bed, shaking out a pillow even. When he looked up, Adam was standing in the doorway, not even pretending to hide a wide smile. “You’re quite the homemaker,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Ronan retorted although his warm cheeks stayed hot. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Ronan. I’m sure I will be.”

Adam approached him slowly and Ronan watched as he sat down on the bed beside him.

“Do you want pajamas or—”

“I’m fine like this.” Adam reached over to cup Ronan’s face in his hand, one thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone.

“You are fine,” Ronan confided in a soft voice.

Adam shook his head then leaned over and kissed him. Ronan slid an arm around Adam’s waist and brought his other hand up to touch his face, his neck, down to his chest where the T-shirt was as soft as Ronan thought, but the muscle underneath was anything but.

This kiss was a perfect combination of hunger and need but also temperance and patience, Ronan thought muzzily. They weren’t going to end up in bed together tonight, but there was definitely something there in the future that would spark and ignite.

When Adam’s hand slipped away from his face, Ronan pulled back and watched him, eyes closed, swaying a little. Ronan dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Ha, no, that’s a little too...parental for me,” Adam said.

Ronan got up and ruffled Adam’s hair which was as soft as it had looked. “Okay, sport, hop in bed, if you want me to tell you a story.”

“That is the least sexy thing that anyone has ever said to me,” Adam batted his hand away.

Ronan just grinned. “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“You would tell me if your home was infested with bugs, right?”

Ronan continued to grin as Adam rolled his eyes. “The only thing that’ll bite around here is me.” He leaned down to Adam’s ear and said, “And only if you ask nicely,” and accompanied it with a quick nip to Adam’s earlobe.

Mood lightened, Adam pushed Ronan back and pulled his legs up into the bed with a sigh. “Thanks, Ronan. I’ll be sure and tell Gansey I give you five stars as a host.”

Ronan snorted but lingered as Adam pulled up the covers and rustled around in the bed. “Do you want a wake up call at a certain time?”

“Oh shit,” Adam sat back up. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

“What you’re doing in Henrietta?”

“Yeah, dammit. I have to be in town for 9 a.m. And my phone is downstairs with my bag. And I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer,” Adam groaned.

But Ronan stopped him before he could get out of bed. “I got it. I can finish the laundry. If you let me, I’ll get your stuff out of your bag, too, and hang it up? And I can set an alarm for, what? Eight?”

“Seven, thank you. If you can’t drive me, I can call—”

“Nah, I got you. I’m not resting until I deliver you safely to Henrietta. I don’t trust anyone else at this point.”

Adam shook his head, but his smile betrayed him as he lay back down. “I’m going to a celebration for my old mentor. She’s finally getting her doctorate. They’re doing some daylong thing for her, and my coming was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Ronan said. When Adam suddenly held out his hand, Ronan took it, twining their fingers.

“Only, Persephone called me last night, wasn’t supposed to know I was coming, but she told me that the next time I drove to Henrietta, I was to be sure and take only the back roads in Virginia. No interstate, no highways, just the scenic route. Oh, and I was to make sure my cell phone was in a sealed plastic bag inside my backpack.”

“That’s weird,” Ronan said. “What, is she psychic?”

“Yeah, actually,” Adam answered in a voice that was getting heavier as his eyelids started to droop. “And what do you know? It worked. My phone survived just fine.”

“And so did you. Barely.”

“Thanks to you,” Adam’s voice was definitely dropping into sleep.

Ronan squeezed his hand then leaned down and kissed Adam’s bony knuckles. “Sleep sweet and pleasant dreams.”

Adam smiled up at him as he took his hand back and tucked it under the pillow. “It’s all been a pretty pleasant dream so far.”

As Ronan turned off the light and quietly closed the door, he shut his eyes and breathed out a silent prayer that the pleasant dream would never end.

**************

Adam looked down at the body, its back a literal work of art with a beloved tattoo and sculptured muscles beneath. Since his hands were full, Adam nudged his bare toes into the ribs of the body.

“Hey, man, you dead?” he asked.

Ronan grunted and turned his head enough to show one ice-blue eye glowering at him. “Feels like. Shit, when I said you could pick our honeymoon, I didn’t think you’d choose the seventh level of hell.”

Adam stopped to think for a moment. “You’ve cast us in with the sodomites?”

“Isn’t it appropriate, Mr. Adam Parrish-Lynch? Why do you think I chose that level?”

“Smartass.” Ronan only grinned and rolled over on the towel, accepted the large icy drink with grabby hands. Then Adam noticed, “You actually are pink. How can you burn through sunblock and a beach umbrella?”

“I’m sensitive and fair,” Ronan said before he slurped loudly. “The only reason I agreed to honeymoon on the literal surface of the sun was because you promised the villa would be air conditioned and I figured you’d be half naked all the time. Which is nice.”

“This is nice,” Adam sipped his own drink and dug his toes into the warm sand with a smile. He was tanning quite nicely. He figured he’d just have to keep Ronan out of the sun and full of icy booze for the rest of the week.

“You know what would be even nicer?”

“We are spending at least an hour on the beach before we go back to the villa for sex,” Adam informed him. His voice must have been louder than he intended because the nearest family to them turned scathing looks on him.

Ronan laughed as Adam winced in embarrassment. “You sure you don’t want to go back and hide from their judging stares?” Ronan asked, not even trying to drop his voice.

“No.” Adam did put his sunglasses on, though, as if they offered some protection. “I was promised a tropical beach so I intend to enjoy the sun and the sand.”

“And the water?” Ronan dropped his empty cup to the sand and stretched his arms high. Adam knew it was meant to draw his attention, and it worked. Then Ronan leaned in close and said lowly, “Let’s really offend that family and go make out in the ocean.”

Adam took another leisurely sip. “Nah, I’m fine here.”

Ronan nipped at his nearest ear and stuck his tongue inside which made Adam push at him until Ronan asked, “Have you ever got a handjob in the ocean?”

Adam pretended to consider while he finished his drink a little faster than he would normally. “No, I don’t believe I have. Are you offering?”

Ronan flickered his tongue at him and jerked his head toward the blue water that Adam knew was as warm as a bath. He sighed, even though he knew Ronan knew he was only pretending at being irritated. “Fine. If you insist. You’re my husband now, so I suppose I should try and make you happy.”

“You do make me happy. Ridiculously happy,” Ronan said, dropping all the teasing. He touched Adam’s cheek so Adam turned to face him, and then Ronan kissed him.

It made Adam’s toes curl still, even after a year of long-distance dating and another year of figuring out where they would live and fit in each others’ futures. It still made him feel strange, like an impostor, to know that Ronan saw their future that very first night they met. When Adam crashed, Ronan helped save him and took care of him. Ronan had always been firm and fast in his affections, while Adam wavered from time to time.

But when Ronan proposed, Adam knew he’d be a fool to walk away from a love like this. And now they were married and things would take a while to get used to, but even when Ronan had flashes of immaturity, he’d follow them with such sincerity that Adam was wooed all over again.

“Come on then,” Adam murmured against Ronan’s lips. “I believe my husband promised me a handjob.”

“In the ocean,” Ronan confirmed. He jumped to his feet and held out his hand, and Adam realized he’d be okay so long as Ronan was the one always offering a hand.

And it turned out that the ocean was very warm, but wrapping around his husband’s body—and his husband’s hands on him—were even hotter.

[destinygoldenstar]

☀️THE SLAY PASS GETS USED☀️ - Total Drama Viewer Reacts to Disventure Camp Season 1 Episode 13 “A Heart's Desire” PART 2

<<Link To Part 1

Let's continue.

"I guess I should congratulate you two... alright moving on."

XD

Come on, I think Miriam deserves a round of applause for that performance.

"But I don't know how to drive!"

...you sure about that?

Oh you asshole.

...wait, how do you know whose kart is supposed to be who's?

You could've sabotaged Fiore!

OH MY GOD TOM YOU'VE REDEEMED YOURSELF

WAIT A MINUTE...

OH MY GOD THAT'S A BRILLIANT CALLBACK.

KARMA'S A BITCH

So Miriam's gotta win now. There's no way.

...wait Tom might've committed child murder with this.

Eh, add that to his body count in VR.

OH NO NOT THE MOOSE

I'M SORRY BUDDY

OH SHIT HERE WE GO

I hope Tom doesn't get arrested for this.

OOOOOHHHH COME ON MIRIAM

YOU GOT THIS

OH GEEZ DON'T RAM HER

...

Actually, yeah, RAM HER. What am I saying?!

COME ON MIRIAM

"NO NO NO! I WILL NOT LOSE HERE!! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING!!! MOVE YOU STUPID-"

OH GEEZ

UM....

IS SHE ALIVE?!

I don't necessarily care about Fiore's well being, I just don't want Tom to go to jail for child murder.

DON'T TELL ME THIS BLOW GETS HER TO PASS MIRIAM AND WIN

IS THIS A VILLAIN WIN?!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

OH THANK GOD.

...

I MEAN, IT'S BAD THAT SHE CRASHED IN FIRE, BUT THANK GOD SHE DIDN'T CROSS THE FINISH LINE...

God, I'm gonna have the police at my door now.

MIRIAM WON!!🎉

Deserved, honestly. That's a winner I can get behind.

At least she's alive...

I think Tom's going to jail, though.

"Uh, hello? Is someone gonna help me?"

"Help yourself."

DAMN.

THAT'S COLD.

DUDE, SHE JUST GOT IN A CAR CRASH AND YOU'RE GONNA TELL HER TO HELP HERSELF?!

I'm so conflicted right now. Do I pity Fiore? Do I not?? I don't know...

"AAAAAHHHH! I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM!! DAMN JERKS, I HOPE THEY ALL DIE!!"

Demon Child is gonna haunt everyone in their sleep.

*Gets coffee creamer ad*

OMG AGAIN?!

Fiore joins Jake at the coffee shop of depression XD

"Aren't you a little young for coffee?"

"MOVE OVER AND GIVE ME YOUR CREAM!"

"Yes Queen" XD

YES QUEEN!!!

*sirens*

Oh no XD

"TOM, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR ATTEMPTED CHILD MURDER"

"Vladimir Jensen, Trevor Mcgregor, and Derek Johnson. You are al under arrest for wildlife damage, destruction of protected property, and illegal deforestation."

OH.

OH I FORGOT ABOUT THAT.

THE COPS ARE DOING THEIR JOB.

"Well they really took their time, didn't they?"

I bet Tom is the kind of guy to say "COPS SUCK. OMG THEY'RE SO IMPOSSIBLE."

OH SHIT-

OH SHIT HE'S GOT A GUN

WELL THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY

"This is for killing the animals!"

😨

GABBY YOU CAN'T JUST DO THAT-

😂

YES QUEEN!!! SLAY!!!!!!

NOOOO COME ON!!!!

COME ON DON'T PULL A HEATHER TO MIRIAM!

OH TOM'S GOING AFTER THEM HE'S GOT A HOOK IDK WHERE HE GOT THAT FROM THINGS ARE HAPPENING SO FAST RIGHT NOW-

OH GOD HE'S FIGHTING

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING ANYMORE

TOM DON'T DIE

OH NO

WAIT DID THEY DIE?!?!?!?!

OH MY GOD...

PLEASE DON'T TELL ME TOM DIED.

*cuts to black*

OH MY GOD...

What just happened?!?!

DID TOM DIE?!?!?!

'I think they died, what do we do?'

Oh my god no... THAT WAS TOO FAST.

"Where's Tom? Is he okay?!"

OH JAKE NO

This is why Jake's horrible in Season 3.

He doesn't even get to make amends with Tom because Tom DIED.

They ended things on awful terms and then he died...

"Surely he's dead."

FUCK YOU FIORE. GO GET IN ANOTHER CAR CRASH.

OH THANK YOU. HE'S OKAY.

"What happened?"

"I got on the bus. It lost control and I managed to jump just before it went off the cliff."

What about the other dude? DID HE DIE?!

TOM DID YOU KILL A MAN?!

AGAIN?

At least Miriam got her money.

But I think she's gonna have to bail Tom out of prison for killing several people, attempting to kill a child, threatening a child at gunpoint that one time, battery for cutting off Ellie's arm, and being a spy.

"After I gave them info about these crooked TV hosts and Jensen, they decided to hire me."

...wait what?

"I hope to be a better officer than a spy."

WAIT YOU'RE A COP NOW?!?! WHAT?!?!?!

How did that happen!? I'm pretty sure that's not how that works!

Oh my god, Tom is a cop... I don't feel safe now.

I feel like Tom would be the bad cop, as we've established XD

"See, EVERYTHING is legal for me! I can get a kid in a car crash and kill a man A-Okay! BECAUSE I'M A COP!!"

And just flash his badge everywhere.

Aw, they're friends. That's sweet.

Oh Jake...

"I'm glad you're okay, Tom. Sorry, I just thought you didn't want to talk to me."

Oh he actually is talking. Okay?

"It's okay... I think everything happens for a reason."

"What do you mean?"

"We were both fools, Jake. I know I was harsh with you and the truth is... I'm not innocent in this. We both acted impulsively. We made mistakes. But I don't regret it. You helped me learn from those mistakes."

Awwwww don't do this to me 💗

"Will you still talk to me?"

Imagine if he said NO.

"Nah, fuck you. Bye. Gonna go live it up in the cop world now!"

"I think we should take some time and grow as people."

Oh he actually DID say no... oh...

So they're distancing themselves from each other?

Not saying that's a bad idea, but damn.

"We'll see where we are later on."

In Season 3 I guess, if they are keeping distance.

"I agree... no matter what, I'm glad I met you Tom."

💗

OH COME ON DON'T DO THAT TO ME 💗

You know what? GOOD. GOOD FOR YOU FOR CHOOSING THE DISTANCE ROUTE. Y'ALL GO WALLOW IN ISCOLATION. YOU DON'T DESERVE EACH OTHER. I DON'T CARE. I DON'T SHIP THIS. NOPE. NOPE. MM MM. NO I DON'T.

YOU HAVE NO PROOF I SHIP THIS. YOU DON'T.

(Edit: Uh, Golden? Your reactions say otherwise... people are gonna bully you for this)

I have entered my denial stage of grief. Good lord.

If this is followed up by me going through the five stages of grief, good lord, I don't want to be on this ship anymore...

Who are you???

"What happened to Jensen?"

"No one knows. They never found a body."

So he's not dead???

"How'd they let you run another season after this?"

Oh wait cause the old hosts got arrested, this is the new host. GOTCHA.

"What selection?"

"For the next season, duh."

Bring on the Season 2 cast.

"We need to decide the participants for All Stars."

Wait what? What about Season 2?

Does this take place AFTER Season 2??? Huh??? I am confusion.

...

And that's how it ends. Okay.

That was Season 1! We finished it!

That was... a lot. I can't even wrap my head around it.

I really enjoyed reacting to this. I'm glad I did too.

I'm definitely going to make a tier list after this. Thank you guys for supporting my reactions.

Like I said, this really does feel like a new era for my blog, and that's... insane to think about.

You know what?

I wasn't subbed before XD

Now I am.

I like supporting indie productions, what can I say?

I do hope at least some of my followers, you know, take some sort of interest in this too. I can't promise this will work for everyone. Hell, it's got problems. I can't ignore that. But um...

WHOOPS. I'M OBSESSED.

I FEEL MY TOTAL DRAMA PHASE RETURNING GUYS.

So... yeah, I'm gonna react to Season 2 & 3 as well. Yay.

I salute everyone that worked on this show. With Hollywood and major corporations dragging artistic freedom and expression through the mud, you showcase with your efforts that there IS hope for animation. You're inspirations for people to make what they want and not be held back.

Regardless on how you feel about this show, you have to hand it to these producers for pushing boundaries like this. Not a lot of people have the guts to do what they do.

Anyway... that's it from me with this season. You can probably expect some more Disventure Camp posts from me in the future. Bye!

[angelic-writer]

Fear of the Deep - Sleep with the Fishes (Not Really)

Day 6 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Car accident/Plane crash/ship wreck

CW: Drowning

Fandom: Fear of the Deep by @moonlightsmasquerade

Cain was always a meticulous planner, barely budging when things don't go his way. Miriam and Dylan had to literally drag his ass out when his oxygen tank got low. He threw a hissy fit not long after. So it shouldn't be that surprising when a pop up storm rolled over the ocean while the trio was out. Miriam tried countless times to tell him to get back to the dock, but he shrugged her off. That's when a rogue wave hit the side of the boat, causing it to smash into the a nearby rock, making the ship split in two. The force of the crash caused Cain to fall over the boat edge and into the water.

He didn't remember hitting his head. All he knew was that one second, he was on the boat, the next, he was in the water. It was cold, so cold. He tried to move his limbs, but they were like lead, refusing to work. He opened his mouth to call out to someone, but the taste of salt greeted him as he inhaled water. Is this how the people that went missing were feeling when they die? Is he going to be like one of them? Miriam and Dylan will never find him, at best finding his body hours away from their location.

What a shitty way to die.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted something glittering in the water. When he took a closer look, he saw a humanoid fish creature swimming towards him along with several more of them, all smiling at him with their sharp teeth. Cain blinked. He thought those things were a myth, but here he was, seeing them with his own two eyes. As if hypnotized by their beauty, he reached out to them. He was just out of reach.

His lungs burned. His vision was growing dark.

As he closed his eyes, he heard one of them speak to him.

"Soon, Cain. Soon, you will become one of us."

---------

As he slowly became aware, he could feel something pressing on his chest pretty hard. Cain wanted to scream out, telling that person "That hurts!" but he couldn't move. He couldn't open his eyes. The pressure stopped momentarily as someone pried his mouth open, pinched his nose shut and breathed into him.

Is someone... trying to revive me?

"C'mon, Cain! Wake up, dude!"

Dylan?

Oh... He and Miriam got me after all.

After what felt like minutes of Dylan (or Miriam? Maybe both.) trying to resuscitate him, he finally responded. Water spilled out of his mouth, the two of them rolling him onto his side so he doesn't aspirate the water.

"Hey, dude. You're okay now. You're okay." Dylan said, trying to catch his breath. Cain peeled his eyes open, seeing his and Miriam's blurry figures.

"Mmm... G'mornin'..." He mumbled.

"Seriously? That's all you have to say? Jesus Christ, Cain, you nearly died! You're lucky we even got to you in time!!" Miriam shouted.

Cain sat up. "Uuuuuuugh, Miri, quit being a drama queen. I just had a little swim, that's all."

"A little swim.- Do you ever take anything seriously?! You need to stop scaring us like that! Imagine what would've happened if you were alone!"

Dylan wrapped his jacket around Cain who was soaking wet. "Yeah, I have to agree with her. You really need to listen to us."

"Dylan, I could've swam up on my own. I didn't need your guys' help." He coughed. Although what he said was true, he could've swam up on his own, but he couldn't move his body. It was like he was paralyzed. Must've been that blow to the head. He rubbed the back of his head, wincing.

"Okay, you need to rest. C'mon." Dylan lifted him up to his feet and started walking him back to their headquarters, Miriam scolding Cain the whole way. He looked back to the ocean, the image of the fish creatures smiling at him repeating in his mind.

He was far away from the dock so how did he get back there? Did they carry him here?

It was hard to concentrate with the throbbing pain.

[devyuence]

Guess who is the writing team's favorite character in Only Friends? Easy edition

Let's lay out every single thing we know about the characters in the series:

Boston: Playboy and likes to have sex with everyone no matter who they are, hates betrayal, loves photography, has problems with his dad who is a politician, initially a free-loader in their group project but started to contribute, does not care about repercussions to his actions because he's going to NY.

Nick: Obsessed with Boston and willing to be nasty for him, works at the electronics shop even if that is not his dream, willing to be with Dan or whoever but goes back to Boston if he can

Top: Top-tier, asshole, smug, rich AF, has trauma with fire and smoke but not explored well, not used to sleeping alone that he needs pills, drugs or Mew, CHEATER (as what people say), playboy but we haven't seen him kiss another dude in this series except Mew and Boston

Mew: Virgin and cute, table-keeper aka care-taker of the gang, has two moms, likes to read, wants to have good grades, knows what he wants, got LASIK, willing to party and use drugs after getting his heart broken by a top-tier guy, self-confidence got destroyed, dated his best friend but did not work

Sand: Poor boy (not really but sort of), singer who is in a band, works every day that we even have a breakdown of his source of income, sells plum wine but is cautious because it is prohibited, has an ex and mad at Top for stealing the said ex, has a mom who works in a club and a dad he has never met, dreams of traveling and going to music festivals, mentions songs and bands he likes every chance he can that audience can make a Spotify playlist for him, addicted to Ray no matter how Ray treats him like a door mat for the most part, willing to throw Nick under the bus and steal that recording to have his revenge on Top, paid by Ray's dad, has a dedicated Birthday episode

Ray: Rich that a simple project turned to be a large-scale hostel one, uses drugs, always want to pick a fight with everyone (as established in EP1), hot-headed, chronic alcoholic, has attempted throughout the show to drunk drive, crashed the car that he had to go to community service, treats other people like shit (looking at Sand), obsessed with Mew and/or the idea of Mew, multiple offender of kissing people without their consent, had the guts to force people to have sex with them, goes to people's houses unannounced or gate-crashes campings just because he wants to, CHEATER and two-timer (Top and he are in different fonts but is more nuanced and developed than Top due to screen time, anyway move on), gaslit Mew during their talk that even if they are both at fault Mew is the one who is extremely apologetic, has daddy issues that people can relate to, have extensive mommy issues that are left to be resolved but serve as way for the viewers excuse his behavior, has been given several breaking down scenes to fully sympathize with him no matter what happens

Tell me, based on what I wrote, who is the showrunner's favorite character/s? Tell me who is the character that is fully developed in the writing room? Raise your brows but I am letting this list speak for itself.

[soop-musical-fool]

Ok I said I would make a pin full of music so here it is

First off, I mentioned KNOWER. It's a long project that started a really long time ago, but their best stuff is probably coming out like right now. As in, they are just about to release a new album, KNOWER FOREVER. The singles on it are incredible, like I'm The President just comes right out the gate with the fattest walkdown I've ever heard from a horn section. The B section makes it feel like I'm enjoying a song like I would a multiple-course meal. Then Crash The Car just transfixes you. Yes, yes, you should listen to those, but don't neglect the fire they put out in 2017 because you owe it to yourself to watch the live sesh of Overtime:

Oh god this post is gonna make viewing my blog super annoying isn't it

Anyway the next thing I gotta mention is Vulfpeck. These guys are famous for scamming Spotify, basically. They released an album full of 30-second tracks of pure silence, just absolutely nothing, titled Sleepify. They got online and said "Yo guys, help us raise money for a free concert by listening to this on loop while you sleep." What they were actually doing was exposing a loophole in the way Spotify calculated royalties, and before they could pull the album (citing "content policy violations," of course), Vulfpeck had already bagged around $20,000, so they put on the completely admission-free Sleepify Tour, which was incredibly fucking based of them.

Vulf went on to become several spin-off projects, all entirely independently released and full of some of the stankiest funk fusion that I cannot stop listening to.

My favorite of these projects, The Fearless Flyers, is headed by Cory Wong, with a guitar idol of mine for 5+ years Mark Lettieri and of course the government subsidized active bass of Joe Dart, but the keystone of the group is no doubt Nate Smith on drums. Dude makes a three-piece set onstage sound like a full kit.

Like just look at what they can do with the added power of sax:

And yeah, I could just talk about those guys, but let's get weirder.

I'm talking modal. The kind of stuff that makes my choir-trained mother cringe inward at the dissonance. Let's talk about the crunchiest, most feral fucking harmonies and keyboard solos that make you question what you thought you knew about chord progressions and key centers.

Obviously anyone super into this stuff will have already heard of Jacob Collier, so I won't show him. But THIS:

I listened to this the first time and it was just.. too much. I put it in its own specific playlist titled "very complex shit" immediately. When I went back to it, enough time had passed and I had learned enough that after way too many listens I can actually follow along with this insanity. This track blew my fucking mind, dude. I have never heard a chorus use so many of the 12 chromatic notes and still sound heavenly. The groove changes add so much texture. The flute solo goes off way too hard. The slower final section is just disgusting syncopation when the drums come back in. Everything about it is incredible, and this album came out in 2007. I am staring back at years of my life I spent not listening to this and ruminating my lack of music theory knowledge. And when I wanted to see if some kind transcribing jazz grad student like June Lee had uploaded anything of System, I found a 2020 reboot with 24 musicians playing System for over twice its original runtime, and guess who did the showstopping final solo??

JACOB FUCKING COLLIER.

Look him up if you don't know. The other musicians I obsess over inspire me. This guy makes me want to quit.