#and it was before Evo arrives

[vasiktomis]

Loophole (Zayne x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Zayne has an Evol flare-up while you’re visiting Snowcrest. You’re a good friend, so you help him out.

It doesn't mean anything if you don't move, right?

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~6800. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Reader is MC, Caretaking, Friends to Lovers, Inappropriate Doctor/Patient Relationship, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Cock Warming, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Photography, Unsafe Sex, Porn with Feelings, Switching. Post-chapter 4 spoilers. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“Let’s get you inside.”

The cold weather poses something of a threat to Zayne, you've realised.

He'd never admit such a thing, of course, but if he hadn't wanted you to make such an observation, he shouldn't have made it his responsibility to impose such an unexpectedly strong presence in your life.

A year ago, you barely knew him. To say he kept you at arms' length was an understatement, but with everything that's occurred in recent months — with such a void left in your life from the loss of Caleb and Grandma — and the ugly mysteries eclipsing once-happy memories — your doctor, of all people, is the one dedicating almost every minute of his time outside of work to trying to fill that void. It's not like he talks your ear off — he's Zayne, after all — but he makes a noticeable effort to make himself accessible to you whenever he can.

He's been a good friend to you at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

In the seven months that have passed since the explosion, you've had more exposure to Zayne than you've had any of your other friends. He rarely strays from his quiet stoicism, but it's far easier to read him. These days, you can't believe you once thought him intimidating. The softer aspects of his personality aren't offered willingly, but accidentally. A slip of the tongue here, a too-long stare at a community cat there, a smile he doesn't think you notice. He masks his requests for you to visit him in his overtime hours as nagging reminders for you to water the plants. He never asks you to bring him dinner, but there's always an extra seat pulled up at his desk when you arrive with it unannounced.

You’re sure he likes it well enough; getting to know you after all these years. You’re just not sold on how fond he is of you knowing him.

It shows stark on his typically taciturn features. Streetlamp light bounces off fluffy snow at all angles in the little village laneway, illuminating the man with an almost healthy glow as he walks stiffly beside you, right hand clutched against his side and his left doing all it can to keep from crushing the bones in yours.

“I’m fine.” He insists while you lead him up to the cabin, grimacing at a sudden chill of wind passing over the porch. There's a certain tone he uses when he's putting on the bedside manner. As a patient, you'd be soothed. As a friend, your patience wanes. He's not fine.

”I’ll get a fire going.” You mutter, ushering him inside. He tries amidst obvious pain to be gentlemanly, waiting for you to enter first, but a scowl on your part has him conceding defeat and ambling through the door. “Get in the shower. Can you turn it on by yourself?”

There’s no more warm light from the street in here. Dr. Noah likely would have fallen asleep hours ago, shortly after you’d left for dinner. Still, even in the dark, you can sense the irritation in him.

“You act like I’m frozen solid.” He retorts on his way to the bathroom, knowing better than to stick around despite the attempt to uphold his pride.

”Get your butt in the shower before I throw you in there myself.”

The warmer months gave you no initial reason to suspect anything, but as the weather worsened and temperatures dropped, Zayne began to feel more on-edge. You’d bore witness to his attacks in the past, but he was no more willing to share his condition with you beyond the odd occasion of being unable to switch it off after a battle. You knew what it looked like when his Evol was acting up. It almost caused a fight, the first time you asked about it. Then, when it became clear you weren’t simply going to leave him to his own devices whenever he was displaying the signs, Zayne steadily, reluctantly, began to let you assist. He couldn’t stand it — he still can’t, you’re sure — not playing caretaker for once, but the two of you found a rhythm; keeping an eye on his temperature, steering clear of fluctuations, little remedies that help him bounce back quicker when his Evol gets the better of him. It became second nature to you, like carrying an Epipen for a loved one at risk of anaphylaxis.

You won’t lie, though. It pisses you off. He’s a constant nag when it comes to your health regarding your heart condition, but there was no allowable mention of his  condition when he brought you to Dr. Noah. Not that your opinion counts for anything, apparently, but what idiot cashes out his annual leave for an extended stay in a tundra when he's so prone to such reactions?

It had shocked you even more when your friend declared he’d be staying back for the foreseeable future, conducting research for the old man on a solo expedition on Mt. Eternal. Your friend — the one who'd taken it upon himself to be a stand-in for your lost family — alone, in the worst possible place he could be in his condition.

It was unthinkable.

Four weeks was your breaking point after you’d returned home without him.

Sure, he responded to your texts within seconds. Reception wasn’t good enough for calls, but he made sure to give you no logical reason to worry about him. It didn’t help. Once your dreams started to take the shape of him disappearing into the mountains, you cut your losses and decided to visit for the weekend.

Just as well, considering he’d been massaging his wrist in your periphery for the entirety of your first day. Still, he'd insisted on showing you around Snowcrest, spending as much time away from Dr. Noah's cabin as possible. You knew his tells. He was bordering on a flare-up and hiding it from you. Had he mentioned it and agreed to stay in tonight, you might not of had to drag him home with frost seeping out of his clothes and a foul mood. Instead, he chose to be proud about it.

Idiot.

God knows what could have happened to him if he hadn't come down from the mountain to spend the weekend with you.

He’d never let you get away with such stupidity, and it’s hard not to hold it against him. You came here out of worry in the first place, and the visit isn’t doing a thing to set your mind at ease.

You tend to rekindling the dimming embers in the fireplace, content to mind your business once you hear the shower turn on. At least he’s doing what he’s told.

The living room heats up steadily. New flames settle into a longer-lived glow. You get yourself changed into more suitable bed wear; a commandeered hoodie from your doctor’s medical school era, large enough to reach halfway to your knees. The frayed cuffs have since lost their elasticity and there are a few choice stains, and most condemning, the drawstrings have been chewed to tassels — but god, if it isn’t comfy. Time stretches on, and while the worry gnaws at the back of your mind, you leave Zayne to his privacy. So long as you don’t hear a thump, you’re content to imagine he’s probably just in there being mad at himself over not being the sensible one for once.

Zayne keeps himself locked away for the better part of an hour, in the end. Even Pie pads out into the living room to investigate what you’re doing up alone in the middle of the night before a scritch sends the fox on its way back to bed.

You’ve slid most of the way off the couch by the time the man emerges from his room in fresh pajamas. With your back to the rug, you watch him approach stiffly, slowing to a halt upside-down. He’s still rubbing at that wrist, you note.

“You’re still up.” He mutters, brow knitted in discomfort.

There’s frost on his neck. His lips are blue. It wasn’t even this bad when you were outside. A pit forms in your stomach.

Then, his wake hits you. Cold air, chilling you to the bone, and you sit up in a flash.  

“Zayne—“

He silences you with a little hand motion, stepping around you to seat himself as close as he can to the fireplace.

“You’re half-frozen.” You continue when he offers you nothing else. Crawling onto the couch beside him, you reach up to tug at the collar of his sweater, trying to inspect the severity of the attack. “God, you should have said  something.”

“I thought you were asleep.” He replies quietly. “I’ve seen — how much it takes to wake you-“

Zayne flinches from your touch when your fingertip skims his neck. The most aggressive warning to stay back that he can risk without waking his mentor. You ignore him, of course. You always do. Sitting close, you press yourself to his side on the couch, guiding his right arm between your thighs. Your fingers lace between his from both sides, covering as much surface area as possible as you use your body to fend off the cold.

A moment is all it takes to see some of the tension in his face disappear. He breathes through the pain, eyes closed, and you shift your gaze to the fireplace to give him his privacy with it.

”You’re in so much trouble when this passes.”

A short, sharp chuckle slips through Zayne’s teeth. He nods once. “I know.”

You sit together like this for a long while, letting him sap the heat from your body to combat the flare-up. If not for the fire, you’d be shivering. It takes time, but eventually Zayne’s breathing evens out. His face relaxes, bit by bit. His half-frozen arm feels just a little cold to the touch.

Neither of you part. Not just yet. There’s too much left unsaid, and Zayne takes far too much solace in quiet to make the first move.

You let your temple drop to his shoulder. “Snow village dates are nice, but most girls would say yes to ‘Go Fish’  and hot cocoa if it means their date makes it through the night.”

After a second, Zayne rests his head against yours.

He inhales.

He pauses.

Then…

“I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t think it through.”

…God, he’s such a sweet man. It’s not wonder he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

There’s such a sense of finality to the way he says it. You suppose it’s not necessarily a wrong way to think of it, but it’s not his fault. Sure, it’s your last night together for what may amount to months, and he was stupid enough to think he could get away with poking the bear, but you’d rather have him come home alive and well. Not a victim to his own Evol.

It doesn’t sit right with you to let it end like this. The moment he’s recovered, he’s going to insist you both go to sleep. You’ll take the guest bed, and he’ll take the pull-out trundle, and he’ll remain there, soundless with his back to you. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, and that will be that. The next time you see him will probably be for a check-up, and he’ll spend the entirety of the ECG acting like you’re mere acquaintances again.

No, you’re not losing momentum.

You’re not sure if it’s warmth in general, or if it’s a reaction specific to you — through trust, or the Aether core — there’s just no telling. Zayne keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to ever be sure, but you do know for certain that you hold the quickest remedy. If it’s just warmth, he never lets anyone but you get close enough to supply it. If it’s trust, likewise. The Aether core? You’re the only one.

“What are you—“

Zayne stiffens when you climb into his lap. He winces in discontentment; at such an intimidate proximity, at the physical danger he still poses, at the feeling of your thighs astride his. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but still, his knees shift together, offering you a more comfortable perch on which to explain yourself.

You can feel the cold still radiating from him, fighting his body to keep from regulating its own temperature. It’s unpleasant, the way the chill claws at you, reaching across the expanse of your front. The joints in your hands already ache just from holding his arm to your chest. It’s imaginable, what it must be like to host such an Evol. What it must be like to have your own flesh freeze from the inside-out on a whim.

“Not done keeping you warm.” You answer simply, making a conscious effort to keep your teeth from chattering for his sake. He’s exercising enormous restraint not flinging you off of him already. You shouldn’t push your luck by sending him into any more of a panic.

“It’s not safe for you to be this close.” Zayne protests.

“Then I’m making you safe.”

This time, a growl escapes him. Pain cuts his patience with your impudence short. “You’re going to get yourself hurt—“

Zayne’s words die in his throat when you drape yourself over him, chest to chest, arms languidly curling over his shoulders. He goes completely silent.

“Aren’t you always telling me you can control it, anyway?” You muse, relaxing into him, moulding yourself to his body. The white frost that blooms beneath his skin begins to fade from his throat, unable to contend with the warmth of your breath. “If you didn’t want me doing this you shouldn’t have shown me how well it works.”

“That was after the aid of a hot shower.” Zayne argues. His logic might apply for that aborted attempt at an early-morning hike, but it falls flat tonight. “I was trying to warm up after the shower.”

Yeah, look how well that turned out. He’s as bad at lying as you are.

“So you’re saying I ought to have—“

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If it’s not helping, Zayne, tell me.”

“…It’s helping.” He mutters.

You declare your victory with a hum, tucking your face into the collar of his sweater.

Even his scent is cold, somehow.

Beneath you, Zayne shifts, conceding defeat. You feel his lips ghost the side of your head. Considering — then retreating from a kiss — opting instead to rest his chin on you. His affected arm remains wedged between you, while his free hand comes to rest on your waist.

Minutes pass. Zayne’s breathing steadies to a resting rhythm. Eventually, the ice retreats into his flesh, disappearing with only a lingering chill. It shifts, marking the man’s return to normal, but he doesn’t announce anything. Instead, he tugs his arm out, only to wrap around you, surrendering to the moment.

“Do you have plans, while I’m away?” He asks.

“Tara’s been looking at the blank spots on my calendar, so I’ve probably got things on without knowing, yet.”

“Blank spots.”

”Yeah. Some of us have those.”

”Sounds like you don’t know what to do with yourself without me.”

“Please. I won’t have to worry about you bullying me. Maybe, y’know, I’ll do just fine without you.”

A chuckle escapes him. Tentatively, he toys with the fabric of your hoodie. “You’re not going to wash this at all, are you.”

Heat climbs up your neck at the suggestion. Of all the night clothes you had to bring, why did it have to be something you’d stolen from him?

You’re no coward. You rise to challenge. “Can’t miss you when it feels like I’ve got you with me.”

“I know  you’ll miss me,” Zayne retorts, and wow, he’s really  angling for a comeback after having you subject him to being taken care of, “But that’s no excuse for poor hygiene.”

“Poor hygiene—!”

You lean back to glower at the man, only to find him smirking up at you.

“I’ve half a mind to expect to find you asleep on the platform when the train pulls in, simply because you were too excited to wait at home for me to drop by.”

Your ears are positively scalding. You feel yourself shrinking, suddenly not so confident taking up as much space in the room. How does he have you so well figured out? Are you really that much of an open book? Compared to him, sure, but you’d hoped you carried a little more mystery about you than sitting on a station platform for a quasi-boyfriend-without-benefits  like a dog.

Even if that is  the case — does he really have to rub it in your face?

He can’t get away with this.

Speaking plainly, Zayne’s warmed up plenty. There’s no real reason for either of you to remain this close, and yet — despite lauding himself as the rational half of this friendship, his arms almost keep you from moving any further away.

His expression doesn’t falter with your silence, remaining ever-undisturbed. It unnerves you. His smiles never last more than a second, and you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked you in the eye with a pleasant face on. He’s on a power trip. If you don’t cut him down right this second he’ll go nuclear. He’ll leave you hanging with a ‘goodnight’  and a kiss on the forehead and you’ll both never speak of tonight again.

This is it. This is the last straw. Tonight, you leave him  hanging. 

“You want me to miss you so fucking bad, huh?” You accuse him, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretend to wonder. His eyebrow ticks. “Is that what you’re into? Man, you medical staff are all so power hungry.”

Zayne looks thoughtful for a moment. A thumb idly traces back and forth along your skin, barely tucked beneath your hoodie. It’s such a cautious touch. You wish  he wasn’t just all talk. “Perhaps you’re easier to deal with when one considers you might actually like getting bossed around.”

There’s no hiding the erection that sits wedged between you. There’s no ignoring the heat that pools in your core every time it strains against your cunt, blocked only by his sweatpants and your underwear.

There’s no way he can’t feel your heart beat throbbing against him.

And yet — he pretends not to be taking part in any of it.

You think about it for a moment.

Then, you roll your hips forward, slowly, gently. Your nerves spark as your clit finds the pressure it needs against the underside of his cock.

It takes everything in your power to keep from doing it again.

A tiny shiver makes its way out of Zayne. Frustration, perhaps. You angle a knowing little smile at him, and his throat bobs. He knows he’s been caught.

Checkmate.

“Doctor Zayne, are you getting off on this?” You ask, and his face flushes scarlet. His eyes widen, caught off-guard by you finally crossing the threshold.

”I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answers lamely, pointedly avoiding looking down.

“You are!”

“Not so loud. It’s n-… it’s nothing.” He insists in a hushed voice, shooting a look over your shoulder before he’s satisfied that the coast is clear of anyone who might be privy to what the two of you are doing. “Just a biological reaction to stimuli.”

“Which stimuli?” You ask, feigning curiosity. “The cuddling, or this?”

To stress your point, you do it again, biting back the swell of enjoyment at the way his lips part of their own accord. A little hum spills forth, and his own hips chase the motion, just for a second, before he halts.

“Please.” Zayne murmurs, moving to hold you still. Inching you back onto his thighs, condemning himself to reveal two little damp patches. One where the grey fleece of his sweatpants pulls most taut. The other a little lower, where you’ve been rubbing your cunt along his clothed shaft.

“You need to learn when you’ve teased enough.”

What — fall back? Now? When all your nerves are alight?

Your tongue wets your lips as you take in the sight of him. Well on his way to wrecked, but not quite there. His expression remains otherwise impassive, but his pupils are far too blown to help him maintain the facade.

“You’re one to talk. Can’t hack it when it’s not you in charge?” You challenge him. “You’re not usually one to shy away from uncharted territory.”

You can’t help but reach out, itching to touch him. Fingertips smooth along his length, feather-light from the bottom up. His cock twitches when you reach the tip, begging for more.

“Ah—“ Long fingers snatch at your wrist, holding you fast. “Try no man’s land.”

“It’s nothing.” You assure him. “You said it yourself.”

Nothing. No different to how he so often strays into treating you, with all his dates and touches. Nothing, midday naps and linking your pinky-fingers as you walk together. Nothing, like the spare clothes you both reserve a drawer for.

“Just warming you up. That’s all.”

Zayne’s chest expands. His gaze fixes on your fingertips curling insistently at his waistband despite his grip keeping you at bay. “That’s all.”

Disbelief? Determination? Disappointment? You’re not familiar enough with how each of these sound in his throat to properly identify it, but Zayne’s grip on your wrist releases nonetheless. He opts to help you make more comfortable work of his track pants, pushing them down just a little to allow you easier access. There’s no presence of approval at how greedy you are about it, pawing and snatching at your prize while he tries to remain nonchalant.

You do try to give him the dignity of privacy by not looking down when he settles and you finally wrap both hands around his cock. He’s already indignant as it is, and the rumble that vibrates deep in his chest as your fingers close around him isn’t helping.

Oh — maybe just a little tease.

“Hey.” You chide, grinning. His eyes crack open, just enough to narrow at you. “Don’t make it weird. I’m a professional.”

It earns you a scoff. Zayne’s fingers, settled on your thighs, give a retaliatory squeeze, thumbs pressing just hard enough into your adductors to skirt on discomfort. He watches you tense at the feeling, and sensing an opportunity to shift the attention back off himself, decides to squeeze harder.

You finally flinch with an “Ow!”, and the man smiles to himself. Mission accomplished. He lets go.

”You’re the professional? How many surgeries have you performed?”

”How many have you  performed?”

”…A lot, genius.”

“Didn’t you tell me that some of your worst patients are doctors themselves?”

“Your point being?”

There’s no point — at least not in arguing with him. He’s only trying to distract you. You shift over him, and his attitude dissolves. He leans back, maintaining as much distance as he can — or perhaps to watch, as you tug your underwear to the side — line yourself up — and sink down onto his cock.

Zayne’s chest expands, but he makes no noise. His eyes close. His lips part. A minor crease forms between his eyebrows. It might as well be a sob. You’d use such a reaction against him if you weren’t more concerned with suppressing your own, lest he catch you out. Your cunt burns from the sudden, full intrusion, and his diverted attention gives you the moment you need to grow accustomed to it.

Once you’ve gotten over the initial shock of the feeling, you brush any intrusive thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of your oldest and closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s your doctor. You were already squarely planted in conflict-of-interest territory the moment he took you on as a patient.

You try to ignore your own desire. Your body catches up with your actions quickly, igniting touch-starved nerves that you’ve long-fantasised him satisfying. Heat builds inside you at a nervous system realising you’re finally giving it what it wants, and it only screams for more. Of course you’ve wanted Zayne. You adore him, but he’s not the kind of man who could balance a friendship with benefits; if anything, he finds a way to be the inverse of such a thing. He gives you everything in the way of a relationship except sex, and with him steering so clear of crossing that boundary with you, you have to tread carefully.

As much as you want to, this is delicate.

“My point is: zip it and let me take care of you.” You manage.

Besides, its not like you’re actually having sex with him. He’s continually pushing the boundaries of platonic with all his touches and hugs anyway. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to protest what sitting on his cock might mean for your relationship. Hell, this isn’t even the first time he’s been hard when you’ve had his hips pinned down with your own.

If anything, you’re doing the guy a favour by taking the responsibility off him to go this far.

Zayne doesn’t bounce back as quickly as you do. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his core engaged beneath your palms as you brace your weight to settle into a more comfortable position in his lap. He looks worried. Apprehensive.

“Doctor Zayne?” Concern begins to creep in, just a little. “Okay, you can say something now.”

“Please,” He grits between his teeth, and relief floods your body as some semblance of calm returns to his expression, “Don’t call me that — like this.”

“Like what? I’m just warming you up, remember?” You offer a smile when he opens one eye, mood shifting to quizzical.

“You’re so immature. And for the record, this constitutes malpractice. You’re a terrible doctor.”

”Trust the process.”

”Fine. What’s the course of treatment?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but chuckle at such quiet outrage. It’s getting easier to read him. Relaxing against his front, you ignore a little gasp on his part to loop your arms around his neck again. Dishonest pretences be damned, this really is doing the trick. “All you need to do is stay still.”

Zayne weighs up his options for only a moment before giving in. His arms slip around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder, just barely nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s breathing in your scent, and the following exhale into your skin has you stifling a shiver.

Then, there’s a flex within you.

“Hey!” You choke, “I said stay still back there!”

“Quiet down. It was only a reflex.” Zayne defends, a little too cavalier to fly under the radar. “Besides, I’m not the one squirming.”

“I’m just getting comfortable. Your hips are pointy.”

Zayne’s hips slot up into yours, and the feel of him nudging just a little deeper has your eyes stinging. You fail to stifle a little squeak, and you’re shushed for it immediately.

“Just getting comfortable.” Zayne’s words lick at your ear, and the sound of him sends shivers through you, pooling between your legs, pleading with you to satisfy the ever-nagging want to start riding him. “You’re like a vice.”

He has to know how much of an effect he has on you. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You don’t respond to his attitude — however, the condemning, responding, constricting  of your insides around his cock surely doesn’t go unnoticed, and with a hollow breath, he lifts you, just a little, enough to draw back and push back in. He’s slow about it; infuriatingly so, almost like if he inches in and out at enough of creeping pace you’ll either not bother to be strict with him, or you’ll simply abandon your own rules in favour of crossing the boundary he’s silently begging you to cross for him.

No. He’s not getting the upper hand here. Not when he gets to pretend all his little actions are forgettable. Platonic. Accidental. Misunderstood. There’s only so many times a guy can subtly grind on someone during a spooning session and claim ignorance when called out about it.

You lock your feet beneath his knees, and sink down onto him, hard. Pleasure blooms. Your cunt aches for more. A sharp breath escapes Zayne, threatening to blossom into an appreciative groan that would only serve to tempt you without your hand clapping over his mouth and a ‘shh!’.

“You can keep still, or this stops.” You announce in a whisper, and he watches you defiantly from behind your hand.

Zayne’s gaze eventually breaks away from yours. Conceding. For now, at least. You lower your hand from his mouth, and relax, reaching across the cushion to pluck your phone from the couch and check your messages.

Already, he’s bothered by your lack of undivided attention.

“You’re on your phone.”  He huffs.

“I’m not rewarding your behaviour.” You reply simply.

“You’re not implying that behaving differently would warrant a reward, are you?”

That’s for him to figure out.

You shift your weight maybe just a little more than you need to, indulging in the feeling of his cock shift with you, within you, pressing insistently against that one spot that almost has your constitution coming apart at the seams. Zayne trembles momentarily beneath you, swallowing hard. He’s keeping his cool well enough, but as you settle into the new angle, no longer moving, his frustration makes itself known with another twitch inside you.

If he keeps doing that, you’re not sure you can hold out.

“You really  think this is helping?” He asks, voice tight.

“You don’t believe me?” You pout, tapping your home screen and opening your camera app. “Fine, let the expert see for himself.”

Switching to selfie cam, you watch as the man glances at his image on the screen for half a second, before tearing his gaze away. Not a shocker, you reason. He’s probably never seen himself with a hair out of place. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils? You might as well have shown him a traffic collision.

“Aw, come on. Look how much colour’s come back to your face.”

Zayne musters the courage to look up, but not at the phone. His eyes narrow at you. Accusatory. “I’m not interested in giving you blackmail material.”

“What? Get real. There’s nothing incriminating going on. Especially not when you angle it like this.” You switch on a filter and lean down into the man. “See?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and his head tilts to get a better look at whatever scheme you’re cooking up. On the screen, both your flushed faces smooth out, blushing perfectly. Cat ears and whiskers. Cheek to cheek. Just another one of your countless selfies with completely platonic friends.

You take the shot. The shutter clicks.

“Cute.” Zayne mutters drily.

“You think so?”

“Only how much fun you seem to be having of it.”

Your brow knits. “Oh yeah? All right, stick in the mud, you take over.”

He gives too much away at that response. His long fingers immediately slip over your hips. He’s readying to flip you onto your back before he notices you’re holding the phone out to him. Then, knowing he’s shown his hand, he has no choice but to recover his pride.

Much to your chagrin, Zayne plucks the phone from your hand, aborting whatever miraculous step he’d been about to take. A corner of his mouth ticks, minutely. He angles your phone away from you, tapping and swiping. His own phone buzzes. Then, he casts the device at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. “I think it’s getting a bit late for screens.” He murmurs. Fingers smooth up and over the swell of your hips. His long arms uncoil from your waist, releasing you as he leans back. Leaving you with a lonesome chill.  “And you ought to be going to bed.”

Is that…rejection? Has he just been humouring you up until this point?

You tilt your head. “I’m sorry. Is this not okay?”

“This is fine.”

He looks at the fireplace. Stoic as ever.

“Then what?” You frown.

He doesn’t respond.

Your throat runs dry. Dread creeps up through your heart.

“Hey. Talk to me.” You urge, smoothing your fingers along his jaw, and he leans into your palm.

Seconds pass. Zayne finally regards you again. There’s an acknowledging incline of his head — almost a polite bow. A pre-emptive apology for what he’s about to say. 

“What happens after this?” He asks. “Do we part ways at the train station in the morning and the next time we see each other, it’ll be as doctor and patient?”

Oh.

“Is that what we are to you?” You ask, not entirely sure if you want to know.

He dodges the question the best way he knows how: with rationality. “I feel that if that scenario is what you want, we should say goodnight. My understanding of our relationship won’t change, I promise you, but if this goes further, at least one of us is going to feel differently. It would be better if there were no misunderstandings between us.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and lovely all the same, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a tipping point, at least before saying goodbye. Trust Zayne, of course, to turn to smoke and mirrors when it comes to a confession of feelings, but you’ve known him long enough to see how far out of his comfort zone all of this is.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You ask, aborting an attempt on his part to avert his gaze with a finger beneath his chin.

His expression remains inexplicable. Then, there’s that little tilt of his head. The quirk of an eyebrow. “Your assumption is correct.”

The apprehension that’s been building in the back of your mind disperses the moment he says it. Your resolve all but disappears.  “My understanding,” You begin, reaching up to cup your hand over the other side of his face, “is that I’ve wanted you ever since I walked into that restaurant last year.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a heartbeat. Previously unsure hands pull you against him, locking you in his embrace. He’s so awfully gentle about it all despite your combined strength. Such a gentleman. It comes as no surprise that he shudders at the intrusion of your tongue past his lips — what does surprise you is how quickly he catches up to your pace. Inviting you in. Slipping an arm lower to brace your weight, and you feel yourself being pulled up off of his cock, just until only the head remains at your entrance. 

The loss of him has you incensed. He keeps you from sinking back down, and your protesting whines are suffocated with another kiss. All he’s left you with to express yourself is your hands, and you seize the opportunity, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, just slightly at the roots.

He breaks away with a little noise. Not pained, but shocked. Another one of his spots, you reason, and he’s just as displeased that you’ve found it. 

“You don’t know when to quit.” Zayne pants. His fringe dusts your forehead. “What — what were we saying about bad behaviour going unrewarded?”

You’re too mindless right now to play any games. There’s no more thrill of the build that you can handle. Not after this long. 

You break, instantly. 

“Please —“ You whimper, almost trembling in his grip, trying in vain to take him back in again. “Zayne, I need it — please—“

Zayne relents right away. He gives you what you want, lowering you, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then he lifts you again, building into a steady rhythm.

”You’re so — you’re so frustrating.” He manages between kisses. “Should’ve told me this is all it takes for you to do as you’re told.”

More. You need more. Heavenly as it is, it’s not enough, just having him in you. You push back, and Zayne takes the hint. He’s said his piece. He lets you take the lead again without a fight, admiring the view as you roll onto the balls of your feet, gripping the back of the couch to keep yourself stable. The new angle feels deeper, each stroke rolling drifting sharply over your nerves as he brushes that spot inside you. It takes a moment for Zayne to kick into gear, brain short-circuiting as he watches you squat on his cock, taking what you need from him. Then, he leaves you to support your own weight. Fingers wrench at the front of your hoodie, yanking it up to your sternum, and his tongue sweeps a nipple. In the time it takes for you to react, his other hand has snaked between you, between your legs. His thumb rolls over your clit just as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. The keen barely escapes your lips before Zayne’s hand claps over your mouth, continuing his assault. 

It goes from too little to too much. It creeps up on you so fast, so suddenly, and there’s nothing you can do but ride through it. A muffled hum is all the warning you can give him. Your pace staggers as the burn in your thighs catches up to you, but Zayne only goes faster, rubbing merciless little circles into your nerves. His hips roll up into you, compensating as best he can for your loss of control. Finally, the band snaps, and you sob against his hand, spasming around him, tears pricking at your eyes with the intensity of it all. You go positively boneless, and Zayne breaks away just enough to let you collapse into his chest as he carries you through it, breaths quickening as the lingering spasms of your orgasm invoke his own. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ He barely stammers, releasing you only to coil his arms around your torso again, readying to pull out.

“Not going anywhere.” You promise, clinging to him. Your fingers comb through his hair, tugging again, and a whimper dies in Zayne’s throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. His hips roll up into you once, twice, thrice more, and then he goes still. Buried in you to the hilt as he tips into oblivion.

He’s so subtle about it that you barely even realise he’s coming. Maybe it’s the effort not to wake Dr. Noah. Maybe it’s like this every time. Having him hold you with such desperate reverence while he does his best not to judder in stark contrast to to the feeling of him pulsing within you, you reason you’d like to find out. He hides his face from you throughout, only pulling his forehead from your clavicle when the aftershocks have come and gone.

Zayne looks lovelier than ever like this — coming out of a blissful haze, gazing up at you with cautious adoration. His focus flickers between your eyes and your lips. His chest expands and collapses like he’s like a 5-miler, but his breaths are smooth.

Even now, he’s trying to maintain a cool composure.

“Forgive me.” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

Your head tilts. Chasing him. “Huh? Why?”

“I exercised poor judgement. That was rotten of me. I should have known better, given I’ve never prescribed birth control to you.”

“You really think I’d come to you for birth control?” You snort.

Zayne’s brow creases. An incredulous look totally undermined by how positively wrecked he looks right now. “I am  your physician. Or has your other doctor friend decided to become real after all?”

Your fingers comb through his hair again. Despite a pleasant sigh on his part at the sensation, his expression remains steeled.

“Hey.” You finally manage to capture his gaze, only for any tells to evaporate. “Could you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Are you more jealous that I might have had sex with someone who wasn’t you, or that I might have gone to another doctor?”

Zayne considers his answer for a long moment. His head tilts in that particular way it does when he has to make a decision, eyeing you expectantly. Punishment for daring to push him out of his comfort zone.

He presses a hand to your forehead. 

A thoughtful hum escapes him.

“Curious. Your temperature’s dropping. On second thought, you should stay another day so I can observe you.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Here. I’ll keep you warm. You can install those camera filters on my phone to pass the time.”

[thecoolerliauditore]

I need your thoughts on Martyn.

Jesus Christ in heaven where to start.

I was planning to write massive essay posts about each of the winners sooner or later, I guess Martyn can skip the queue. As a treat.

BAD traffic series martyn analysis post don't read. LONG POST

note: rules I'm operating by are to keep the analysis primarily traffic-based (although this one's kind of an exception because. mr watcher lore) and I'm not rewatching entire POVs so stuff might be wrong so on so forth

Why is he... Like that?

So before I even start talking about 3L I feel the need to address Martyn's background first because, not unlike alot of the other members of the cast, Martyn's previously established relationships from series like Evo have a significant impact on how he behaves.

This is kind of difficult for me to talk about because it breaks my "no material outside of the traffic series" rule for these essays specifically, but I think it's honestly just more fun incorporating Martyn's off-series lore drops and such into his character instead of leaving them out.

So here's the basis I work from -- Martyn is the most unreliable narrator in a full cast of them. His lore is his character's version of events, not an unbiased retelling.

Whether the Watchers exist and whether they're the same entities present in Evo doesn't matter all that much, since all we know is that they are very real to Martyn, at least. Taking the lore as Martyn's POV also helps iron out some of the more awkward creases it creates when viewing the series as a whole (e.g. Grian's involvement with the Watchers surely means he would reference them himself, yet he doesn't) and lays the groundwork for some really interesting things about Martyn himself when you try to put the dots together on how he arrived at these conclusions. I'll be referencing these as they come up chronologically.

So, without over complicating things, here are the rules I'm playing by when it comes to pre-3L Martyn:

Evo did really happen with the same people, however the exact details are muddy.

Martyn knew Jimmy prior to the games and the two already had some sort of personal connection going in.

We're not trusting a word out of his mouth. Especially if he says them on stream. But we are going to acknowledge what those words are.

With those parameters set, let's move on:

Third Life, and the guy who gets a little too into it

Like Grian, Martyn immediately acclimates to the game's survival-based mechanics. Martyn spends a good chunk of the first session of 3L seemingly aimless, but he makes observations and choices throughout that show he has survival at the back of his mind (e.g. him quickly establishing an alliance with Grian and Bigb while sneakily putting them in his debt through the diamonds he finds early -- even if this doesn't end up paying off to anything).

Unlike Grian however, Martyn less desperately clings onto a need for an edge to survive and seems almost comfortable in playing the game. A running theme for him throughout all the seasons will be that he seems to feel most comfortable when he has some amount of unspoken power over others, whether that be something as silly as testing the waters with his creeper soundboard or later when he starts playing 4D chess with himself in regard to his loyalties.

"Power" might be not exactly the right word for what Martyn yearns for, but it's the best word I can find to really describe it. He's always the one with a card up his sleeve or a plan B or, arguably most importantly, the one with control over the situation and responsibility over his own and others' wellbeing.

In my mind, at least, I think it might be a consequence of Martyn actually being quite sensitive in terms of relationships and having this very deep-seeded need to protect his loved ones from harm but lacking the emotional intelligence necessary to allow himself to be vulnerable about those feelings and communicate properly. So instead he finds some way to protect himself emotionally (usually overdramatic and makes him way worse) and treats everyone including himself with a level of un-seriousness that alleviates the tension for him.

If I were to dig deeper into this specific point I must say Martyn seems to have chosen to perform a very specific breed of masculinity, with his constant agonizing need to protect and lead while not having to confront his own perceived weaknesses, and alot of his insecurities and frustrations come from being denied that husband-y role to play.

His interactions with Jimmy early on in 3L portray this side of him quite plainly. After seeing Scott hit him around at Renchanting, Martyn gets Jimmy alone and asks him if he's okay but after Jimmy dodges the question, Martyn quickly becomes frustrated and starts acting very overdramatic (e.g. threatening to cut Jimmy off, "I can't look at you", so on) even as Jimmy keeps insisting they keep talking.

In my humble opinion, it's clear to me from how he speaks to Jimmy in this scene and further on, and from his referencing of their Evo relationship, that this is these two's established dynamic - the way Martyn dramatizes everything feels almost as if he were making a joke of it, teasing Jimmy, almost akin to how an older sibling or very old friend would act. It's possible that Martyn didn't expect Jimmy to take any of his threats seriously (although he definitely was laying on the pressure to try and get him to agree in the moment) and that's why he's so taken aback when Jimmy does act almost afraid of him from this point forward.

Not once does Martyn ever verbalize his own feelings regarding the matter. He never says that he's scared or worried for Jimmy, or even makes any sort of subjective judgment on Scott's character for hitting Jimmy in the first place. He makes it all about Jimmy, never communicating *why* he is doing what he's doing which ends up giving off the impression he thinks he knows what's best for him, which of course never communicates to Jimmy that Martyn cares for or loves him and ends up pushing him away as a result.

Speaking of Scott, despite Martyn clearly not approving of the way he treats Jimmy (judging from the aforementioned conversation and his later lore streams where he essentially calls Scott and Jimmy's marriage a sham), he does not ever act antagonistically towards Scott. Which I think is indicative of another key trait of Martyn's - an almost uncanny ability to push aside his own feelings at least momentarily for the sake of the game.

Martyn does not speak badly to or about Scott. He even explores the nether with him very early on and the two literally joke about trapping the Flower Valley and killing Jimmy together.

I think there's an understanding and perhaps a level of respect, on Martyn's end, towards Scott. One of the first observations he makes about Scott's base, after all, is its defensive location and Scott, like Martyn, values his own competency and likes to pretend he's more emotionally unattached to his partner than he really is (the parallels between Martyn/Ren and Scott/Jimmy are even somewhat lampshaded by Martyn himself when he refers to them as "my red" (Ren) and "your red" (Jimmy) later).

It seems that Martyn doesn't dislike anything innate to Scott's nature, and even has love for his manipulative traits. If it were anyone other than Jimmy Scott was hitting, I'd argue, Martyn wouldn't have raised a fuss about it. Not to mention, there's also a sense of "keeping your enemies closer" when it comes to these two, as both seem acutely aware the other is useful on their side and a threat anywhere else.

I'd argue despite the fact he's able to push his dislike towards Scott aside, he definitely still feels spiteful towards him, as he ends up hunting him down pretty mercilessly come the end of the series (after Jimmy dies too - so perhaps there was also a level there of feeling the need to put up with Scott beforehand as he was Jimmy's only ally, but now that Jimmy's gone there isn't any need to be friendly with Scott anymore.)

Now onto the heavy-hitter Martyn 3L relationship - his dynamic with Ren.

I'll be honest I think most treebark shippers have summed up their relationship way better than I could. You could probably go into the tag and see thirty eight analysis posts more indepth and accurate than mine. However I will say that one thing I see rarely mentioned is this very obviously being Martyn's first time meeting Ren (I'm talking about characters here but here is your acknowledgement this is definitely a result of this literally being the case for the CCs).

He's not used to Ren's mannerisms -- during their first meeting, Ren says his usual "ex-squeeze me" (instead of "excuse me") and Martyn responds "no thankyou, I'm married". Not to get too into it as this is The Martyn Post but Ren's POV would imply the same since he sees Martyn's name in chat and he immediately starts theorizing about what kind of player he is.

I think Ren essentially being a stranger to Martyn at the start of the series makes it easier for him to act manipulatively and keep him at arm's length, as well as be in denial about the whole emotional attachment thing. For so much of their alliance during 3L Martyn is acting, performing to match Ren's vibes, except he's not.

^this quote and the concept of freudian slips informs like 88% of my worldview, if anyone's wondering why I'm. like that.

"The Hand" is very much not how Martyn naturally acts or behaves, down to the change in speaking patterns. It's a persona that I think both Ren and Martyn never take too seriously or mistake for Martyn's authentic self, but it's also something Martyn uses to express his innermost feelings he disallows himself from usually. Yes it's all silly even in-universe but I think there's something special about how he constantly expresses his devotion as The Hand, even if he's doing it with a layer of irony. Plus, I think it says something that, jumping later in the timeline, his flashbacks in LimLife are much more true to the character of The Hand than Martyn himself.

This section is already long enough but I do have to mention Bigb, Grian and Scar or I'll explode.

Earlier on, I touched on Martyn giving Grian and Bigb diamond swords early and it being an attempt to leverage an alliance between them. This I admit might be a slight reach however the reason I say that is Martyn continues to pursue Bigb and Grian as allies throughout the season.

Bigb is cut and dry enough, he ends up floating around the outside of Dogwarts as a not-quite-member after the siege in which pretty much half the sever were antagonized by Grian and Scar. I'm probably not the person to thoroughly dissect Martyn/Bigb but there's something interesting there about how alot of people tend to have this general fondness towards Bigb and Martyn is no exception.

As for Grian, Martyn acknowledges that Grian is responsible for the siege, possible moreso than Scar, but keeps questioning how "gone" he is, worded as if he believes Scar is manipulating him. I've seen people compare this to how he acts towards Jimmy and Scott which I can definitely see the throughline. However, I think while both are an example of Martyn's protector/saviour complex, they are innately different due to Martyn's relationships with both the perceived victim and captor in each case.

Despite Grian also being an ex-Evo member, Martyn does not act towards him with the same familiarity he does with Jimmy. He also brings up Grian's welfare with Bigb and not Grian himself, with Bigb being the other person involved in their earlier established sword alliance. To me, it feels as if Martyn is more testing the waters for if he can still get Grian on his side than out of any genuine concern for Grian, although it is possible he's projecting some of those leftover feelings regarding Jimmy's situations onto Grian and Scar.

The other reason is, I think, Martyn might genuinely be afraid of Scar himself and villainizing him as a result. Everytime Scar shows up in Martyn's POV he's paired with tense music and sporadic editing that makes him appear more unhinged. Martyn has also said on tumblr he found Scar intimidating at the time, which is of course a dubiously canon source but I find it applicable enough.

It makes sense, too. When you compare Martyn's treatment of Scar vs his treatment of Scott. These are both people he has recognized as real threats and he assumes both are manipulating their respective partners, but while he remains friendly (at least outwardly) towards Scott he's constantly wary of Scar, drawing weapons on him pretty much on sight even before the siege.

I think Martyn fears Scar because he doesn't understand Scar. Scott is someone like him who he knows the inner workings of, or at least that's what he believes, so while he doesn't care for him he doesn't feel a need to keep him away. Martyn always assumes a level of coordinated malice from Scar that is more than often either completely unfounded or a result of something originating from Grian (my favourite example of this is, right before the siege, Scar wanders over with his bee on a lead and Martyn starts yelling "he's got a bee! what does that mean?!" as if expecting the bee has some pvp reason behind it. when scar just wanted to have a bee).

That isn't to say that Scar isn't malicious - Martyn is right like 90% of the time that Scar's not-so-subtle friendly hellos have some sinister plan behind them, but he doesn't ever truly get that Scar isn't the evil mastermind he thinks he is.

I'd argue this fear is what also makes Martyn not pick up on the fact that Grian is the more manipulative one out of the two - something that even Scott seems aware of - because he never spends enough time with them on friendly terms to be aware of that dynamic.

Last Life AKA big brother syndrome in full blast

Okay that was a long ass section sorry lmao have to establish everything there. Everything from here on is gonna be a lot cleaner I swear.

The Southlanders could honestly have their own ultra-long post about how they're the perfect disaster team-up lord of the flies esque situation the series has to offer.

Impulse, Grian and Martyn are all similar in that they understand they have to play the game a certain way through keeping their loyalties dubious while Mumbo, as a newcomer, is extremely naive and goes along with whatever the more assertive members of the group say. And Jimmy is Jimmy.

Martyn takes on a leadership role within the group, being the one to constantly spearhead their humour and come up with new often disruptive plans (usually targetting Scott because he totally isn't spiteful still, albeit in a very playful way). After Joel traps their base with tnt minecarts, Martyn is the one to keep everyone else back and disarm them, a huge contrast to 3L's siege.

Their group embraces the rules of the game - if you turn red, as Grian does early on, you are kicked out from the group as a threat. There's this sinking feeling throughout all their spyglass shenanigans and life-trade trust exercises that this is still an alliance in a death game and if you prove yourself to be a detriment, you will be kicked out.

It's no wonder than why Jimmy, who gets his usual bottom of the barrel treatment, tries to run away with Martyn's life during one of their trust exercises. He's been shown at this point he can't fully trust the Southlanders to protect him forever -- how could he, when Martyn, again, never slips in any sign of affection between the teasing?

To Martyn, however, this is a betrayal of his trust. His plea to Jimmy to return sounds a lot like their conversation back in 3L on the snowy mountain regarding Jimmy and Scott, except this time Jimmy accepts Martyn's offer and Martyn tells him he was lying, calling him an idiot for believing him in the first place. This is probably the harshest Martyn acts towards Jimmy in the series, but it's worth mentioning that to Martyn the timeline of events goes he offers Jimmy his protection and alliance--> Jimmy refuses--> Jimmy dies (which Martyn probably sees at least partially due to said refusal) --> he gets Jimmy back and does everything in his power to keep him safe --> Jimmy does the equivalent of *killing him* and tries to get away with it.

Martyn still obviously cares about Jimmy despite being upset at him, as after his usual dramatics and declaring a trial for Jimmy in which each of the Southlanders vote on his fate, Martyn still votes to keep Jimmy in the group (again, something Jimmy is never made aware of).

Possibly partially because of the Jimmy incident and the overall dog-eat-dog culture of the Southlanders, Martyn does to them what he never managed with Dogwarts - betrayal. At least, on some level.

Ironically, it's Ren he betrays them for, forming the Shadow Alliance and even giving the life Jimmy had attempted to steal from him to Ren instead. My read of this has always been that it supported Martyn truly being happy enough for Jimmy or someone else to have his extra life, but Jimmy's act of betraying him itself being what hurt him.

I think now's a good time to start mentioning the Watcher Lore, as here is where it starts kicking into gear. Martyn's claims of emotional bonds not carrying over from previous seasons is not only a very natural progression from his emotional distancing in a coping mechanism sense, but also enables him to betray Ren too later on and not have to confront the guilt that comes with that when he tries to lead him into a tnt trap in the final 1v1v1v1. However, he still cheers for Ren as a ghost and even says that he would be happy to see Ren win, indicating he really does not hold any malice towards him.

I've seen people make jokes about the watcher lore being Martyn schizoposting and I'm sure I've made similar jokes in the past but. Speaking very genuinely here Martyn's questionable sanity is a big part of his character to me.

His Episode 8 of LL literally begins with him acting out the usual running joke of him stealing Mumbo's intro, except Mumbo and Jimmy are dead at this point and he is doing their voices and talking to himself. When the illusion is broken, he panics and the video immediately cuts to him running around obviously distressed with a disembodied voice demanding things from him.

I'm obviously not authorized to diagnose every single one of Martyn's many mental illnesses, but I think mentally breaking down in a timeloop death game is a fairly average thing to happen to someone, and Martyn might be especially susceptible due to his aforementioned need for power and responsibility in every relationship (i.e. I'd like to think he feels some helplessness/guilt over Jimmy and Mumbo's deaths, leading to this sequence).

Not to mention, someone who is emotionally vulnerable coming up with a nebulous Group of Evil People who are the source of all the bad things in a helpless situation of violence is. Something that happens historically quite alot. To try and find reason in the madness is just a human instinct, I think.

One thing I feel like I should mention is his "marriage" with Mumbo which. I honestly don't see as anything more than a gag. Not that Martyn isn't a massive hypocrite but "marrying" Mumbo would be very much contradict what he has to say about Scott/Jimmy's situation. I do think he cares for Mumbo and potentially Mumbo's naivete served as incentive for Martyn to put on the usual assertive/provider role but I don't think there's much more than that (no hate to the shippers, tho, if they knew eachother for like a week longer they would've kissed)

Double Life. Oh no

Double Life Martyn is one of my favourite POVs in the series because it is. Hilarious. Unfortunately.

To start off, he is one of the players who almost immediately accepts the soulbound system as romantic and his views on Cleo/Scott's relationship are heavily based on that (I love that one clip where he mocks them in front of Jimmy).

Him acting flabbergasted at Cleo rejecting him despite pretty much having no relationship with her prior to this season is a really funny contrast to Scott and Pearl, especially when he continues pursuing her like they're recently divorced and Cleo's just like. rolling her eyes. It's all very performative on Martyn's end and why I mentioned his sense of masculinity at the start, because in theme with DL being The Feminism Season TM this is when it comes full throttle in display with the way he treats Cleo.

Martyn keeps referring to himself as a "provider" and refers to Cleo's relationship with Scott as "childish" -- Martyn trying to win over Scott's partner to his side, assuming he knows best for the partner and calling their relationship a sham? Does any of this sound familiar?

Cleo is not like Jimmy, however, and is very clear to Martyn in terms of what she wants from him - which is an apology, no diamond swords or heart-shaped houses, but Martyn in all his emotional denseness can't understand this and keeps assuming there must be some hidden strings attached.

I couldn't find the original meme I had in mind but these are within the same genre. The one I remember had captioned something like "dads don't say "i love you" but they will buy ten boxes worth of the fruit they overheard you say you liked once", which pretty much sums up Martyn's emotional intelligence to me. He would much rather give you way too much of something he thinks you need (e.g. with Jimmy the playful teasing, with Cleo the acts of service) than just say "I love you".

Cleo's blunt honesty serves as a stark contrast to Jimmy and brings something out of Martyn that we rarely ever see -- a genuine, vulnerable interaction in which he has to admit he's hurt. Cleo immediately denies him the role of rescuer he wants to play by telling him directly that she, not Scott, was the one who came up with the idea of teaming up and even gets Martyn to verbalize he's hurt by their actions and cares for her.

Once that illusion is shattered for Martyn and Cleo even admits she's acting manipulatively towards Scott, Martyn realises he and Cleo are more alike than he initially assumed and that he doesn't need to take care of her like he always tries to with his relationships. Ironically, the one relationship he has that is born almost entirely out of government mandated performative romance, is the one that gets him to examine how he views people especially his romantic interests the most.

This is, of course, all said with the fact that following this very heartfelt moment, the next time he speaks to Cleo he pushes her off a fucking cliff and kills her in mind. And the fact that he was very much beating the shit out of her and even called their relationship "toxic" himself early on in the season.

It's kind of hard to gauge Cleo and Martyn's relationship from this point forward but Martyn definitely chills on the namecalling and cooperates with Scott and Cleo for the main part going forward.

I think it's also worth mentioning that, despite Scott once again being the object of his spite, Martyn is once again friendly with Scott all season. When he catches Cleo and Scott mid-axe crit, it's Cleo he starts hitting and not Scott, despite them both being responsible. Behind his back, Martyn will claim Scott is "ruining" Cleo but to his face Martyn is always respectful. He actually even calls Scott "pretty"/"hot" in the last episode, which has some implications I'll talk about more in the Limlife section.

Martyn, like everyone else, is weird about Pearl. Uniquely in his case, Pearl isn't a witch nor demoness, but rather a non-factor he seems to have had written off and her triumph in the end comes as a shock to his system.

He dismisses her concerns over and over in the first episode as they are exploring together and, instead of seeing her as a natural source of allyship, doesn't value her enough to keep her around as an alliance even after Scott and Cleo dump them. In his heart to heart with Cleo, he even very randomly speaks badly of her, although he immediately seems to feel a bit of guilt over it.

He never seems to view Pearl through a sympathetic lens despite the two being in the same circumstance and, again in the same conversation with Cleo, they both agree that she could act as essentially a pawn (an "extra healthbar") for them like Cleo uses Scott.

I feel the need to clarify that while, yes I do believe Martyn is Weird About Women, I also do think he's honestly above average and sees them more as people than some other men in the series (note: my standards are not very high)

He sees most people as nothings that can be manipulated or competition that also can be manipulated, it just so happens that all the women in the series so far land squarely in the former and it took Cleo saying to his face "I'm taking advantage of Scott" for him to realise she wasn't a victim. However, even afterwards, he never treats her with the same competitiveness he has for people like Scott and Scar (albeit it makes enough sense in this season since she's attached to his healthbar, but this remains the same for future seasons). And as a reminder, he holds respect for those he deems as threats, which might have something to do with why he feels comfortable hitting Cleo but not Scott.

As for Ren and the Broken Hearts Club, they didn't get a lot of time together this season since both were preoccupied with their own soulmate dramas and being awful to Pearl but what we do see of them ranges from heartwarmingly nostalgic to a little bit hollow. Martyn saying to Pearl that they're the same at this point doesn't really read to me as him being truly sympathetic since this is post the "you should go use pearl as your second hp bar" conversation and Ren is way too busy to deal with the emotional turmoil of what's going on between himself and Bigb to really pay attention to Martyn.

Ren is still very kind to Martyn, especially considering the last time he saw him in LL Martyn was trying to kill him, but there's an emotional gap between the two that's very noticeable at least to me when compared to 3L and LL.

I think Martyn, at this point, convinced of his own "emotional bonds don't carry over seasons" logic, might be a bit too comfortable on relying on Ren. In both DL and LL he runs to Ren when his current alliance gets shaky and Ren is a source of definite comfort for him (as he said so himself on stream). Ren, as a source of comfort, is not a threat to Martyn aka not someone he needs to keep tabs so when said source of comfort falls through the gaps, you get:

Limited Life. The one where he compares himself to Joffrey from GOT

I don't think I have much to say about LimLife Martyn that hasn't already been said.

I will say I don't necessarily think Majorwood is purely his rebound relationship from Ren, the Mean Gills forming is very much not OOC for either Scott or Martyn (this is pretty much how they acted with eachother at the start of 3L) and their resulting give and take coworker-esque dynamic is a very natural place for them to end up from their previous interactions. Scott, like Martyn, tries to shed his emotional attachments with each new season so they are, in a very literal sense, making eachother worse by reinforcing that habit by normalizing it to eachother.

However, the parallels to their respective 3L partnerships I can't blame people for pointing out, right down to Martyn killing both Ren and Scott in the seaons he was teamed with them and the latter being happy about it.

I think it's time to say what I've been implying with Scott and Martyn throughout this whole thing and that is that they are eachother's ideal ally. They are both aware of the game, play the game, emotionally distant, manipulative and make themselves suffer more for that mindset. I don't think there was ever a moment in their allyship where either assumed the other wasn't going to stab them in the back later, despite the mutual respect they have being very real.

Martyn spends a lot of time this season just wandering around talking to various people, alot like how he acted in 3L before he and Ren became an official thing. It's almost as if, without Ren there, he loses his default go-to guy and is once again sizing up the competition around him.

The one exception I would say would be his interactions with Cleo, who he seems genuinely friendly with, even offering himself up as a "godfather" for the Clockers before the whole server became some form of extended family. You'd think this alliance would also have some basis in the ever present Scott/Cleo alliance but Scott's constant sacrifices for the Clockers are never discussed between him and Martyn, in fact the two of them rarely talk about anything ever past base-building and dolphin-wrangling, and the Clockers seem to treat them as two seperate entities rather than an alliance (e.g. Bdubs seems almost entitled to Scott's life after a certain point, but none of them ever even consider asking Martyn for time).

That, and of course the fact that Martyn kills Scott very unsympathetically towards the end, really point me in the "Martyn is still spiteful towards Scott" direction -- after all, alliance or no alliance, I don't think Martyn would want to be in the conversation with Scott where he tells him about his "love you back" exchange with Jimmy. Martyn certainly respects Scott, loves Scott I'd even say, but I don't know if he actually likes Scott.

I think it's also interesting that it's this season where Martyn's Watcher Lore interludes make a return, just in time for his source of comfort (Ren) to be missing.

Re: the watcher lore the comment Martyn makes about swapping out souls of players who are too "damaged" is very in line with his DL seeing women (and "weaker" men like Jimmy, Mumbo and, of course, Ren) as default victims as, knowingly or not, he implies through this that all the women in the series have souls too weak to withstand the horrors. This also in turn implies that he himself is not broken, which I think he'd like to believe.

Secret Life. It's happy again :D oh wait no

Secret Life starts with Martyn kissing Jimmy. I feel like we moved on from this way too fast in general I mean on the cheek or not he did kiss him he did literally kiss him.

I'll be honest I think the Big Dogs POV is the one I'm least familiar with out of all of these but from what I do remember it's very nice to see Martyn and Jimmy settling back into what seems like their Evo dynamic or even their pre-horrors LL dynamic.

Unfortunately Jimmy is not Cleo and thus cannot get Martyn to be the slightest bit vulnerable, so their dynamic remains stagnant and neither acknowledge the awkwardness that still resides between them.

Jimmy is at least very clearly holding onto some discomforts, judging by his behaviour late in the series when he acts aggressively towards Pearl and celebrates Lizzie dying. He even chases Scott down with a sword on horseback earlier on and, very early in one of Pearl's episodes, he quickly switches between sounding sad and angry.

It's clear to me at least SL Jimmy has reached some sort of breaking point, and this never gets acknowledged by Martyn (I like to think he just lacks the EQ to deal with it). This all cascades into Jimmy attempting to kill Martyn and running away before dying.

SL Martyn feels almost like, to me, the 3L Martyn who successfully convinced Jimmy to team with him and the disaster that comes with that. Martyn certainly has continued to be his survivalist self, not trusting outsiders to the point where when the Wither/Warden combo is unleashed, he immediately assumes they're picking off reds and goes to hide.

Weirdly enough, his protective tendencies towards Jimmy are pretty much gone. It's almost as if when he doesn't see an active threat (e.g. Scott) he assumes things must be good enough and leaves it at that, which also implies he can't comprehend that He might be detrimental to Jimmy himself.

Obligatory. Yes he still misses Ren. Him literally basing his alliance concept off of dogs is. hilarious. I'm so sorry babygirl.

Real Life is, again, non-canon to me but turns up the "dad who buys you 45 mandarins" energy to 11 with him being Ren and Skizz's pseudo-dad. I love Ren having a crisis about his own RP btw it's the funniest thing and he does it like. Everytime.

Uh yeah I hope that's long enough

[mochiwrites]

secret husbands- personally i rlly like to interpret cub and scars relationship as a brotherly one, so i imagine that during grians time in evo, cub rlly sees firsthand how worried and upset scar is, and idk how much he shares, if cub hears that basically scars partner is gone, or if scar kind of shuts down, and doesn't say whats happening. so when grian comes to season 6, and scar is looking more like himself than ever, even a little better than before almost, cub is just so happy to have his brother happy again, and even if he thinks they're taking forever walking in circles around each other, he just watches amused (and somewhat baffled) (and then when he finds out they've been married for years scar gets so much shit, what do u mean he was the one u were mourning?? a little warning would be nice)

THIS. THIS!!!

cub sees firsthand just,,, how not good scar is doing with grian’s disappearance. I forgot exactly what I said about what the others know about what’s going on, but I know they don’t know all that much?¿? but I think for a while scar shuts down, kinda just… goes through the motions but dissociates most of the time. cub is witness to all of it

and then he sees how out of the blue one day, toward the end of season 5, scar perks up. he brightens. and he’s slowly coming back to being himself and cub sees a full return in season 6, with grian’s arrival. he’s so relieved. and absolutely baffled by his brother’s mutual pining ?????

[alienssstufff]

LAST LIFE APOCALYPSE AU MASTERLIST

A very intensely written Life Series au by ME!

All general updates questions and lore can be found in the #last life apocalypse au tag! This post in particular will act as a masterlist regarding the timeline, worldbuilding and lore of the au. I wish to (hopefully) keep updating this post as more characters and arcs are revealed. 

IMPORTANT YOU VISIT THIS LINK FIRST BEFORE ENTERING (It’s pretty): > Last Life Apocalypse AU Intro (Talks about the mechanics)

Now without further ado - lets begin:

TIMELINE (Summarised)

The timeline of the AU is defined by two major arcs:

The past PROLOGUE 3RD LIFE that is the childhood of majority of the cast (location: their childhood town)

LAST LIFE PRESENT day that takes place in the woods (the main event - when the Apocalypse starts)

These are arcs that involve most if not all of the cast members from their respective seasons.

[BETWEEN ARCS] Between these arcs occur smaller events - big to some but not on a scale to affect everyone. This is the transition period after the cast graduate from Middle School and go their separate ways before reuniting (by fate) in the Last Life Woods. Events that happen in the between arcs take inspiration from the CC’s other respective series beyond the Life Series.

Some current inspirations: Evo SMP, Hermitcraft (various seasons), Scar’s TCD series, Bdubs’ SOTF. More about their involvement as updates progress.

[SCU SPIN-OFF] Consider this as an epilogue describing the state of the planet decades after the main cast has died. Not considered a ‘major arc’ as it is not focused on the main cast but exists solely for worldbuilding purposes (because I like it :] ).

WORLDBUILDING

Setting of Last Life takes place in the woods, think of American national parks or camping grounds on a road trip, or the Walking Dead (the telltale game not the show)

CLIMATE: Generic American woodlands climate but with a less generic winter weather. As the situations for the player’s get more dire, so does the environment around with forecasts for an oncoming snow blizzard from Magic Mountain as the world fades to white.

It is also during this time of year and climate where a creature known as the Wither is rumoured to roam the lands. It is a cryptid that unlike most woodland creatures, the Wither wakes from hibernation only during the Winter when it is cold enough and feasts on a very specific carnivorous diet. In reality this is known as the Patient 0 of the Bogeydisease, born and mutated within the labs of the Research Facility, leading to the downfall desolation of what is now known as the Abandoned Observatory.

MAIN LOCATIONS:

SOUTHLANDS (Camp Southlands) - Were once a popular camping hotspot before the apocalypse. The people who survived there were once camp counselors (Grian, Impulse, Mambo, Martyn, Jimmy). The grounds acted as both a family resort and a summer camp for kids  where they are divided into one of the five factions supervised by each counselor: -MARTYN Counsellor of Athletics and house of the GREEN CATS -IMPULSE Counsellor of Cooking and house of the YELLOW SUN BEARS -JIMMY Counsellor of Safety and house of the BLUE DOGS (formerly blue canaries) -MUMBO Counsellor of Crafts (shop) and house of the BLACK MOTHS -GRIAN Counsellor of (shenanigans) Arts and house of the RED BIRDS

FAIRY FORT (Fairy Fort Reserve FFR) - A geographically enclosed area dedicated to protecting the land and the endangered animals that are shelter there. Ownership of the Fairy Fort was passed along the generations of Lizzie’s family tree. The people who survived there are park rangers with Lizzie as their lead. They have current beef with the Southlanders as there are many things they disagree with and compete against.

ICE FORT (Shade-E-E’s Gas) - As it’s located near the center of the map, the ethubs ‘Ice Fort’ is one of the only ounces of urban infrastructure out in the woods. Upon arrival of the Apocalypse, it is a fortified Shade-E-E’s gas station barricaded by the only employees Bdubs and Etho (the manager). It once acted as a pitstop to drivers and travelers alike and is the only place in the woods that has a working cellphone tower and final connection to the outside world dubbed as “Etho’s Tree”.

TEAM BEST HIDEOUT / ROCKTAPUS (Abandoned Observatory/Research Centre) - An abandoned observatory squatted on by Skizz that doubled as a bunker that was originally built in preparation for a nuclear fallout. Upstairs the observatory contains secret government documents regarding information about the Bogeydisease and the Wither cryptid - Indecipherable to all except for Tango who understands them. Downstairs the bunker’s monitors are linked to several surveillance cameras in the woods.

GASLIGHT GIRLBOSS GATEKEEP (Scottage Club) - A retreat saved for the rich and elite. While the Scottage Club has its HQ here, holiday properties of its patrons are scattered all across the map (the secret green lives hideouts).

MAGIC MOUNTAIN - Kept off limits just for how dangerous the place is, no one ever goes there. Rumor has it the mountain has magic capabilities that can drive a man insane. The last human sightings near Magic Mountain were two lone hikers who by arrogance wished to conquer and come back surviving the woodland’s most treacherous point. And while they were never seen again, they say if you look very closely with a spyglass, you can catch glimpses of a small, broken up hut at the top.

THE NETHER (NETHERLANDS not-the-country): The NETHER is the closest town over from the Last Life woodlands and is home to facilities such as a Fortress Dept Store and a camping & fishing shop known as The Bastion. While hypothetically the cast could escape the woodlands to live in the Nether, it is because of the high value resources that can be found in these stores that attract both surviving scavengers and zombies alike - making the town very dangerous to defend.

The ‘nether portals’ in this au are the vehicles each team has on them to travel between locations. The Nether may be the closest town there is, but even walking there on foot is extremely dangerous - especially considering the apocalypse and the harsh elements.

BOGEYDISEASE

For legal reasons, I dropped biology in highschool as soon as I could - I do not know shit about diseases and how people develop medicine. This is a fictional disease. TLDR; I am talking out of my ass.

[Origins of the Bogeydisease and the L.I.F.E antidotes pending (secret!)]

Transfer of the disease in its early stages of evolution could only be transferred if bacteria had direct contact with the host’s bloodstream. At best (?) in small amounts the host would experience a fever and shivering. At worst the host would feel extreme fatigue, most likely dying of starvation/dehydration due to it being unaware of their hunger (and fatigue - the disease manipulates the brain into thinking the host is not fatigued). 

Nature of the disease (well.. virus) as it continues is designed to adapt with the changing environment. While most samples were not able to survive its effects, some victims of the Wither’s bite would survive and exhibit a second stage of the disease’s effects. If the host were to survive the initial stages of the disease, once the disease has fully adapted to the body of its host it would evolve in order to prolong its survival. This is evident by physical alterations of the host’s appearance.

Not just physical changes but behavioural as well. The host would act more akin to serving its natural instincts, more inclined to the hunt and the tendency to keep itself alive. 

People who are in the second stages and beyond of contracting the Bogeydisease are considered Red Lives. It is possible to cure Red Lives out of the Bogeydisease as long as the disease has not evolved to its later stages. WHEN a person is cured using a L.I.F.E antidote they may experience side-effects [explained in the INTRO]. In some instances, ex-hosts may retain some of the traits afflicted when they were Bogey.

Later stages of disease evolution. The disease and its hosts show strong similarities to how rabies can be passed between hosts. And based on how a host reacts to the disease, hosts of the disease are classified into two types:

Host is overwhelmed by the effects of the disease and dies early. If the body and surrounding scene are left untreated, the disease will continue to live on in the decomposing body and grow a special fungus that feeds off the remains. The fungus and its disease reproduces by its spores which allow the disease to not only infect the environment around but also proves the possibility in contracting an airborne variant of the disease.

Host grows accustomed to the effects of the disease exhibiting the aforementioned loss of higher brain functions above (incapable of reason and rational thought). Movements grow erratic, constantly moving as a means of maintaining fixed body temperature. For colder climates the diet of hosts relies on feasting on warm bodies. Failure to do so will induce drowsiness in the host, placing them in a slumber in order to regain energy and try again. Hosts also show signs of excessive salivation and occasional bleeding. Direct exposure to any of the host’s bodily fluids is another method in contracting the disease.

[ REMINDER THIS IS AN ONGOING AU , MORE TO BE UPDATED ]

[sleepy0s]

grrrr

EVO!Pearl, staring at Doc in a cage: ...Why are they in a cage?

EVO!Grian: Because they growled at me.

Hermits went to Evo!

Short! (Like grian.)

Skyblings

Grian is his birth name, Xelqua is witness protection name

~~~

Pearl had gotten a message from her brother that some strange people had arrived on the server, and that he wanted her there. Unfortunately, Grian was dumb enough to build his base over 1000 blocks away, so it was going to take a while.

~~

When she arrived, Taurtis was standing guard outside. Well, not really. He was playing games on his comm. He smiled as he saw Pearl, “Ah! Pearl, come on! G is stressed.” Taurtis stood up, leading her into the base and ducking under a sign which read ‘Xelqua’s Base’.

The blonde boy was inside, eyes darting around at all 5 of the people in front of him. “Xelqua! Pearl is here!” Taurtis was careful to use his fake name around the strangers. Grian spun to look at them, making sure the strangers were still in his peripheral vision. “Pearlie, I am so glad you are here.”

Pearl rushed over to him, hugging the boy. 

“..Pearl.?” One of the strangers spoke, a red haired deer hybrid.

“Yes?” Pearl responded immediately out of habit, pausing once she realised she didn’t know this person.

 “Pearl, don't talk to them. They could be with the watchers.” Grian spoke, pulling his sister away from the strangers. 

“We’re not with those idiots!?” An angry voice yelled out, they looked over to see a creeper? Cyborg.? Whatever. Anyway, some green guy in a makeshift cage. 

A masked man immediately shushed him, and then tried to get closer to Grian, before retreating seeing as the boy nearly pulled a weapon on him. “Look- Xelqua, I’m sorry for my friend, but I promise we’re not with the watchers.. If you could just return our communicators then we can prove it.” Grian looked sceptical, looking to pearl for advice. 

Pearl who was still staring at the caged guy. “Xelqua.. Why is he in a cage but the others aren't..?” She asked, pointing at him with a confused look on her face. Grian looked at the caged man, a disgusted look on his face. “He growled at me.”

Pearl just laughed, upsetting the caged person.

[hmshermitcraft]

When Mumbo joined Hermitcraft, he brought with him a large collection of flavoured teas. Peppermint, ginger, baked apple, you name it, he probably had it. Most were tea bags but some were loose leaf, the kind that could only be brewed with the utmost care and consideration.

“Well, you must like your tea then, Mumbo.” Someone says, and he responds with,

“I only take chamomile or breakfast tea.” He answers with a simple smile, proceeding to close the cupboard to his collection and not offer anyone any.

Eventually, as he and the other hermits get closer and as more join, he slowly begins to share his teas with others. Never the loose leaf, mind you, but the flavoured tea bags were often offered to hermits who visited or on the coldest nights of winter to any member who needed it.

Then the news of Evo reached Hermitcraft, and it stopped. His tea cupboard was locked and sealed with redstone. Anyone who requested tea was refused as Mumbo began hiding himself away entirely. Until he hears that Xisuma is going to leave with other admins to fight the watchers.

When he finds him, this is the first time they’d seen each other in a while. “Xisuma! X! Wait!” He grips onto the armoured man, “If you find Grian, bring him here! Please!” He isn’t crying, but his eyes look bloodshot from stress and his heart is beating so hard Xisuma is sure he can hear it in his own ears.

“Well- um- Alright.” Xisuma had no clue how else to respond, but Mumbo quickly calmed down and wished him goodluck, before rushing off home again.

While the hermits waited for their admin to return, many camped out at spawn awaiting his arrival. The more days passed, the less hope they had of seeing him again.

Slowly, the other hermits began packing up their bases. Hermitcraft 6 would be starting soon, Xisuma had set it up before leaving. Everyone stopped camping at spawn except for Mumbo.

One day, a bright beam of purple appears in spawn, drawing the hermits toward it. They all watch with bated breath as two bodies step out.

The rest of the server crowds around their admin, wanting to make sure he was ok. Over their chatter, Mumbo hears Xisuma begin to introduce someone, but shouts over top.

“Everyone, this is,”

“Grian!” Mumbo shouted, darting between hermits to see his best friend.

The man, who had remained somewhere between vacant and stoic since arriving, beamed at sight of Mumbo, shouting his name in response despite his hoarse voice.

Their pair shared a tight embrace and a kiss, the redstoner picking his friend and spinning him off the ground. When they finally let go, Mumbo began to pet Grian’s hair and hold his face before rambling on asking if he was injred, what had happened, did he need anything.

“I’ll tell you later.” Grian said with a mischievous tone, but there was a something sad behind his eyes that Mumbo recognised.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, I’d love some… do you still have that baked apple?”

“Ofcourse I do! It’s your favourite.”

“You spoon.” Grian teased, pressing a kiss to Mumbo’s cheek before gripping his hand.

And now the tea made sense to the hermits. It wasn’t that Mumbo liked collecting it, or that he hid them from the hermits because they’d upset him. He had been keeping them for his boyfriend (fiancé they later learnt) if he ever came to visit. And he had locked them away after news of Evo (Grian’s server) falling reached Hermitcraft.

Now that Grian has joined them for Hermitcraft 6, the hermits get to see just how cute (and mischievous) the pair can be. They often have breakfast together, and the smell of fruity teas fills Mumbo’s base for the rest of the day.

-🌻

It took so long for the pair to finally come back together, they deserve all the peace and happiness they're experiencing. Or, at least, happiness. Peace doesn't seem to be in Grian's vocabulary, a funny contrast to the somewhat secluded Mumbo.

Grian is a lot more open about the tea than Mumbo is. He'll force his mug into people's hands, making them try it. Sometimes it'll be awful on purpose. Grian's like that.

At least the pair are a very easy couple to buy gifts for.

[majickth]

hey! here to ask about the hermits hollow au because it's Consumed My Brain <3

Do you have thoughts as to what everyone is in this au? Any thoughts on adding the Watchers at all, or is Evo not really your thing? Just some thoughts!

Watchers would be a fun little inclusion, though where they fit in, I haven't decided yet. I haven’t thought of what everyone is just yet, but so far I have:

Grian, a former journalist who’s trying to find some peace and quiet only to get wrapped up in the happenings of Hermit’s Hollow.

Pearl, who’s Grian’s sister and the reason he goes to Hermit’s Hollow. She’s a janitor at a local school who has a strong fixation with the night sky. Occasional sleepwalker, sometimes goes missing in the middle of the night only to wake up in the middle of the forest.

Scar, owner of Scarland and an infamous conman. He’s charming, if a bit accident prone, and constantly looking for the next big attraction. Surprisingly mysterious past. Occasionally invites people on a private tour, but if asked about it will deny outright or change the subject.

Jellie, co-owner of Scarland.

Cub, a strange man that often visits Scarland. His supposed relation to Scar changes each time, but the two seem like old friends. His appearance changes too. Sometimes he seems older, younger, or weirdly both. Strange ichor-like fungus seems to appear whenever he visits.

Doc, a backyard mad scientist who may or may not be responsible for some of the strange creatures seen wandering the woods at night. A recluse, lives at the edge of town, entertains few visitors. If all the lights in town suddenly flicker all at once, its probably because of his inventions. Grows the best tomatoes in town.

Ren, one of Doc's few friends and constant visitors. Pretty chill, friendly, outdoorsy kinda guy, the typical lumberjack. Tends to disappear once a month, coincidentally around the full moon. Towns folk tend to stay inside during this time.

Impulse, Pearl and Gem's roommate. Nice guy, even if he did just show up outta nowhere. If asked about where he's from, the trio get noticeably nervous and change the subject. Has a collection of occult-ish books. Always warm.

Gem, Impulse and Pearl's roommate. A forest ranger. Part-time actor in the local community theater troupe. Knows the wilderness like the back of her hand, even if the trees do tend to move around.

Mumbo, an engineer at the local electric plant who disappeared without a trace months before Grian's arrival. No one's seen him since, but Grian swears that he's seen him show up in the background of photos when no one was there before.

[manofbeskar]

expanding on spacer (real name zeph calder)'s history by adding my favourite jedi <3

after zeph and his master (a kaminoan named evo dai) got captured by separatists, they were tortured and evo dai was killed. plo and the wolfpack arrived in time to save zeph (who they already worked with once or twice before this). zeph grew attached to them and viewed plo like his new master and father figure, and wolffe like a brother. after order 66, zeph tried to look for plo only to learn that he'd died on cato neimoidia </3

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 04

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess?  Word Count: ~12K

As soon as we arrived in Verona, regret and shame hit me right in the gut. Seeing my grandpa's unsteady gait as he rushed to meet Rio, the tears in his eyes, and the quivering voice with which he whispered "my grandson works at Ferrari" made me realise the magnitude of his achievement.

"My grandson works at Ferrari." My brother works at Ferrari .

The words rang like a church bell in my head the whole week. Mixed feelings fighting inside— the fear of being alone, the disappointment to have it all hidden from me and the regret of having said such harsh things to the person I love and admire most in the world.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d tried to apologize, Rio would refuse to talk with me outside any mandatory meeting.

I’d messed up. There was no doubt about it. And I needed to do something about it.

But there were two races left to win and a championship to grab and if I wanted my name on that trophy, I needed to completely focus on racing. So, no matter how much shame and guilt weighed on my lungs, I needed to ignore everything going on outside the track.

That included my brother. That included Carlos, who had tried to call me twice during the week. That also included my dad and his constant talks about contracts and the promises for next season.

I forced myself to put a tampon over these feelings, stopping myself from even talking about them. And the worse thing about the roof of an empty hotel room is the fact that late at night it can become a mirror; Each night I was faced with myself, and the effects of all that had happened in the last weeks.

Regret and anxiety. Pressure and fear;

The weight of all these emotions and the expectations people around me held for that weekend weighed heavily on me. When I stepped onto the track on that Saturday for the first race of the weekend, the air was heavy and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Passion fighting head to head with the anxiety. The emotions inside burst with the same intensity as the ones on the grandstands.

Imola’s grid was full, but my eyes couldn’t focus on the dozens of cars aligned on the track, not even on the black and red Ferrari parked in front of me, at the first mark of the grid.

The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced before.

The noise was constant, a low rumble that rose and fell with the action on the track. And now, they were silent, observing us. I had watched them the day before, I’d felt their passion at the end of the qualifying session in the morning, from where I’d gotten my sixth pole position of the season. Each time a car drove by, the crowd erupted in joy, a sea of red and yellow taking over the grandstands. It was an incredible sight and sound, either standing on the track or inside the car.

I had never felt that kind of energy; such an electric atmosphere, the crowd burning with anticipation.

The passion .

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.

“10 minutes.” Rocco’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing next to me, headphones over his head. “They need you back in the car.”

Right . I just nodded. My mind was focused on just one goal: to be the first car to reach the finish line, whatever the cost. And, by starting in pole position, it didn’t seem like a hard challenge.

It was a hot day in northern Italy. The tarmac was hot under my feet and the air was hard to breathe in. I could feel the sweat forming in my temples and my chest, even before having my suit on. I had it hanging down my waist, a cold vest around my torso, trying to stay cool amid the heat wave happening throughout Europe.

As I approached the car, I felt the adrenaline taking over.

Rio was standing next to the door, already opened to welcome me. My helmet, mainly black with red and yellow stripes framing the vizor, was resting on top of the Ferrari 488 EVO. I got my balaclava and suit on, feeling his gaze burning on my skin. Before entering the car, I dared to look at him.

My eyes travelled up and looked into his.

A dreamer's gaze. Hopeful smile and deep green eyes, always looking beyond the horizon that lay ahead of him. The gleam. A deep, calming voice that inspires confidence. He had always been like this. Strong-willed, driven by ambition, by the paths he waves for himself, by the paths he chooses for himself; never turning back, never giving into somebody else’s dreams, no matter what obstacle he encountered along the way.

A dreamer, not a planner.

And there I was, blaming him and someone else for making it real.

Carlos’ meddling was more about not postponing the step Rio was meant to take, rather than coming up with one for him.

We were doing well in the Challenge, but as I looked around where I was standing, I knew we had done everything we had and could do here. We both knew it was time for a new future, time to take the step. And even if I was not ready for it, he was. I knew he was. He knew it too. And his apologetic look, as I got ready for what would be, possibly, the first of our last races together, told me everything I was trying to ignore.

There was a lot at stake. Even more than just a championship.

This was for Rio, too. For his future.

“You’ve done it loads of times,” he straightened my suit, tucking my braided hair snugly between the black and red suit and the dark fireproofs. “You’ve got this.”

Rio left me after a short hug. I looked around at the dozens of people walking around the grid, their hurried footsteps and the voices that overlapped each other creating a murmur that screamed louder than my thoughts. I remained silent, straightening the balaclava lines around my eyes and nose as I watched the other pilots.

“Ready?” Pietro’s voice made me turn to the car. The old mechanic stood with my helmet in his hand. “You seem tired, Evita.”

“Tough weekend,” I said, taking the helmet he extended in my direction.

He scrunched his nose. “Not ideal,” he said before patting my shoulder. “But I know you’ll get around when you get inside.”

I nodded, sliding the helmet over my head. “We won’t disappoint you today, don’t worry,” I reassured the old man, before completely lowering the helmet around my head.

The second I slid into the cockpit, I felt my heart rate picking up and the heat becoming almost unbearable, as the height of the expectations slowly took over my mind and manifested themselves on my body. While the mechanic made sure I was secure and all the seat belts were adjusted, I focused on the track ahead. No car in sight.

Yet.

They would come.

I waited for the sign, my hands resting on the wheel. My door was still open.

Silence fell on the track.

The calm before the storm.

Pietro leaned inside and my hand left the wheel to hold his. The old man squished it, looking into my eyes. He was a bit older than my father; he carried his age on his grey hair and moustache, and around the lines near his eyes, where the skin wrinkled when he smiled. I closed my vizor with one hand and squished his with the other.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina ,” he said, still holding my hand in his. It was a promise he always made and one he always fulfilled. I’ll wait for you at the finish line.

And then the door was closed.

Looking at my rearview mirror, I could see the last of the personnel leaving the track with urgency as the engines started to roar. Pietro was among them, now joining Rocco, waiting on the other side of the pit wall.

The storm was arriving.

Gradually, the grunt of the engines took over the circuit. My car awakened around me, vibrating, singing in my ears. A perfect melody. My lips were taken over by a smile as my hands settled on the steering wheel.

The race began on the formation lap, with Pulcini’s not-so-subtle taunts. I could see the black and yellow car appear in the peripheral field at every turn, remembering he was there. He would be there at the start, posing a threat to my much-envied position.

Besides my car and the nineteen turns ahead, Andreas Pulcini was my only worry. My direct competitor for the championship. We had a comfortable margin between us but I knew a bad race could switch things around. If he knew how to push my nerves on and off track, I knew how to retribute.

Each time he tried to poke at me and threaten my position, I returned the favour by playing my part in that mental game that began even before the lights went off. I was the one who held the power. The one in control. And that fed my ego.

As always in the Ferrari Challenge, it was a rolling start. I had the power to control the rhythm. I stepped on the brake as I entered the last turn. The Safety Car was no longer in sight. My eyes were focused on the lights. The cars were slowing down around me. Slow, slow, slow.

At any moment those lights would go off. The red would cease.

And then, the whole grid would step on the accelerator.

And at that moment, it was only me and the car, the embodiment of power and speed. The second the lights went off, I pressed the accelerator. My car lurched forward easily, cutting through the main straight, side to side with the blue car.

First turn, Pulcini was closing in dangerously, Fox just tenths behind him.

The car was handling them beautifully. I was flying. As I got to Tamburello, I had them behind, fighting each other. I could see them in my rearview mirror, but my focus was on the road ahead.

Each turn, each straight, a dance.

Grande macchina! Adrenaline was taking over. My blood was rushing through me quickly, energy building up in my body. My eyes followed the curves, the car drawing the correct lines. A comfortable margin grew between me and Pulcini. I was in the right headspace, my car was behaving beautifully. Everything seemed to be working as planned.

“Car stopped at turn 12.” I heard it on the radio. “Be careful.”

“Safety Car?”

“Yes,” the answer came quickly. “You know what to do.”

As I went through Aqua Minarelli, I saw a purple and yellow car over the grass; no signs of impact.

“Is she okay?” I asked after not seeing the driver next to the Ferrari.

“Driver’s okay.”

A Safety Car could be both salvation and doom and at that moment, it was a threat to my lead. I had to stay calm. The distance that had grown between me and Pulcinni was beginning to shrink. The three laps we spent behind the Safety Car were enough to turn the seconds I had managed to win over both Pulcini and Fox into tenths.

“Safety car in this lap.” I heard and looking in my mirror I could see them at my heels, so close.

As the green flags were waved and the race restarted, the engines roared louder. As I got to the main straight, while trying to keep away from my two competitors, I felt the car struggling.

“Something’s off. Losing power.”

“We’ll take a look after the race,” the answer came quickly.

Pulcini was right behind me, taking advantage of my power loss. If you can’t be fast, be smart. I remembered my Sainz Sr’s old advice. I took a deep breath. Turn by turn, that’s the plan. Despite the power loss, the car was behaving beautifully. As we got to Tamburello, I could feel Pulcini’s car close to mine but I held my line and came out ahead.

“Brava, Eva!” I heard on the radio. “Keep going.”

I couldn’t pull away from him.

He was smart and fast. I kept defending as best as I could, but it became harder every time he tried to get past me. The second time we went through the main straight we were side to side. My heart was in my throat as I saw the other car right behind him.

Fuck no .

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

As we entered Turn 1, he was still there. I refused to give up the fight. There was no way I would let him go away and take the lead from me. I knew him, I knew exactly how he would try to overtake and all I could do it take it difficult for him. Block his moves and think ahead. I braked as late as I possibly could and, as expected, he did the same. What I didn’t expect was to be pushed off track.

“Stronzo! Imbelice!” I yelled to the silence, feeling the car spin on the grass, after a strong impact on my rear.

There was no friction as the car turned on the grass. I prayed to not make contact with the barrier or another car. My head was bobbing in my seat, preventing me from having a clear view of the circuit. The cars passing by me just looked like blurs.

My chances would be gone if I didn't finish that race.

“Are you okay?”

As soon as I regained control, I accelerated. The car was back on track. Pulcini was not behind me, I couldn’t see him in the mirrors.

“Fine. Position?”

“P4. Fox is P1. Pulcini next.” No. Fuck, no. These men won’t take the win away from me. “Just bring it home, Eva. We have tomorrow.”

Andreas was ahead? Fuck no.

“That fuc— Ah!” I stopped myself from cursing in my engineer's ears. I repeatedly slammed my clenched fist into the steering wheel, immediately grunting in pain. What a fucking disaster.

“Pulcini is 0.7 ahead,” I heard Dante’s voice on the radio, a few laps later. “Fox, 3.5.”

“Copy that,” I just said, my focus on the car ahead. He was faster, I knew it, but he was losing time just like me. Although my car wasn’t okay, neither was his. We were in the same position. It was a fair fight.

“Krogen behind,” a pause, “she’s faster than you.”

No, no, no.

I was shaking my head, even though he couldn’t see me. I could see the pink car in my rearview window. I was ahead, the margin was not too short but it was enough to make me worry.

I knew what I had to do, I was trying to do it but the car was not responding.

Besides, I had Pulcini less than a second away. I needed to focus on him, attack him and move forward and not let him escape while I was busy defending from Krogen. The main straight was the longest part of the track and the perfect place to regain my position but when I got there Pulcini was too far ahead to reach. I needed another lap.

“Time left?” I asked on the radio.

“Five minutes, plus one lap.”

Okay. That could be three laps, four maybe. I could do it.

I had absolutely no chance to overtake him that lap. My car didn't cooperate and I felt like I was fighting the tide. I felt my blood boiling with frustration, especially seeing Pulcini so easily evade my attempts to overtake him.

“Krogen is half a second behind,” I heard again. “Pulcini, 1.3”

Fucking hell.

I was trying, really fucking trying, but the car was unresponsive. I was pushing to the limit, but it just wouldn’t go any faster. I was shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, fears and doubts. I was trying to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast.

I had been so focused on Pulcini and Fox that I had neglected Krogen. And she was taking full advantage of it. She was right there. She was coming too fast.

“What is happening with the car? Do I have damage?”

“We believe so,” Fuck . What a shitshow. “Bring it home. The fight’s tomorrow.”

Fuck that.

My eyes were on the mirrors. Krogen was close, way too close for comfort. And Gostner, in the blue and white car, was right behind. I needed to defend like hell if I wanted a chance at winning the championship that day, in front of that amazing crowd.

But as we got to the last turn and faced the straight ahead, I came to the realization: there was nothing else to do.

Even though I exited the corner better, my car just couldn’t keep up with her speed. She overtook me in the straight. Gostner was very close to doing the same.

“Last lap.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I screamed in the silence of the car, my screams being muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine.

Gostner became my challenge. He was young, with little experience. That was my salvation. The lack of experience and confidence made it easier for me to hold him behind in the last lap remaining.

I crossed the finish line in P4, 0.4 seconds behind Krogen. 0.4 seconds away from my championship. It was not lost, but, at that moment, the disappointment rushed over me, taking me whole.

There was a dark haze floating around my mind when I parked the car on the pit lane, vision blurred by tick tears, weighted by anger. Pietro was there to unleash me from the seatbelts, as he promised. I didn’t take off my helmet or even raised my vizor.

“I’m sorry, donnina ,” he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Behind the tick layer of tears, I could see Fox celebrating his win. I would congratulate him on it, but right now I felt as like being crushed by the weight of the world. I raised my vizor to clean the tears and the sweat forming around my eyes. And then, feeling like I would explode if I continued sitting there, I got out of the car.

My helmet shielded me from the chaotic atmosphere that had settled in the pit lane. People would move out of the way as I crossed through the crowd, walking towards the garage. I left my helmet on one of the counters and desperately tried to get rid of the balaclava. Lungs aching for a breath of fresh hair. Pressure grew on my chest. A cloud blinded me.

I grabbed a bottle of water and left.

Some strands of hair were sticking to my face as I walked aimlessly around the paddock, the sweat pooling on my temples and cheeks, as I tried to find a safe place to be left alone with the ticking bomb my mind had become.

I ended up sitting on the floor, my back against the wall of a truck, hiding from the curious looks that shamelessly followed me. I was still shaking when I sat down, feeling like I was going to vomit. So much was happening inside. I willed myself to take deep breaths.

Each second of the desired silence and quietness was making me overthink every lap of the race and each decision that led me to my result. The voice of the inner impostor was taking control of my own mind. I felt powerless. The pressure in my chest increased as my rib cage seemed to shrink around my heart and lungs, working faster and faster.

My arms were shaking.

I felt my muscles tense and darkness took over my vision.

Without feeling it, I was rocking my body back and forth, with the palms of my hands resting on my chest. Trembling, I brought my fingers to the zipper of the suit, opening it up, and then to the collar of the fireproof, pulling the fabric down. I wasn’t breathing. I was slipping into some sort of deep panic.

I was crumbling under the pressure and frustration, the fear and insecurity. I had been reckless and immature. I didn’t read the race well. I underestimated a driver and suffered the consequences. I ignored my team, which was waiting for me at the pit lane.

I opened the water bottle. My dry lips, relentlessly wrapped along the bottle, drinking the cool water with desperation, trying to escape that living nightmare. I poured water into my hands and splashed the cold liquid over my face. I leaned my head against the wall, my hands at the side of my body, touching the hot tar where I was sitting.

I can smell burnt rubber. I can see the flag that the wind waves. I can hear the crowd. I can feel the heat of the tar on my fingertips. I can feel the cold drops of water running down my neck. I can see the pigeon crossing the sky. I can smell the fuel. I can feel the texture of my suit. I can hear the giggle of a child. I can hear the engines. I can smell the sweat. I can taste it on my lips.

                                                        *  

I don't know how much time it took until I felt grounded enough to get back to the garage. Head down, suit secured around my waist, and my hair up in a ponytail, I made my way back under the curious eyes of a couple of people in the paddock. A couple of feet ahead, Pulcini stood next to Krogen. His lips turned into a small smile, and his hand went up in the air, waving in my direction. His long dark hair was still wet from the champagne. I waved back at him and before he could catch me to exchange some words (and probably apologize for whatever had happened in the race), I rushed to the garage.

Rio was in the middle of the mechanics, all of them hunched over the hood of the car. Their heads turned to me when I entered, and slowly each one of them went back to work, except for my brother, whose eyes lingered on mine for one more second.

“Is it too bad?” I asked, and like my voice was a trigger to his action, his head went back down.

The air in the garage grew tense. Immature. I just turned my head to Pietro, standing next to him, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us.

“We can fix it, don’t worry,” Pietro said, patting my brother’s back as he stood up straight. I walked over to them, stopping on the other side of the car. In between us, the car, Rio had his hands dirty with dust and oil.

“Sure we can. What can I do?”

“Nothing, Eva. Go back to the hotel and get some rest,” replied my brother.

Pietro brought his heavy hand to my shoulder. “You can help me once we start working in the rear, donninna .” I nodded. “Now, go eat something. Rest.”

Once again, I nodded before walking to the back of the garage where a small workbench and a couple of tools were. I sat down, my attention on my brother and the group of mechanics. Their hands moved with the precision of a machine. A couple of movements, a couple of voices and sounds echoed throughout the garage as if it would be the one thing that would guide me out of the miasma.

“She’s okay,” I heard my father’s voice. My head turned to the door, watching him walk through, with the phone glued to his cheek. “I’ll go check on her.” He was talking to my mother, perhaps.

Pietro was back with the group, my dad was still on the phone. My head dropped down, tired and disappointed. I was tired. So tired. My body and mind. My hands were still shaking, and I felt like they were feeding on the last bit of energy my body still retained. I had been doing just fine up until this week. In a week, my mind had collapsed. I’d failed.

“Good job out there,” my dad’s voice pulled my attention, as he sat down next to me. “You did your best. It was not enough today, but it’s your best. I’m proud.”

I simply nodded. My rib cage tightened around my chest again, with all the restlessness coming back around to hit me as my eyes met my father’s. The dark haze floating around us prevented me from seeing the pride in his eyes. There was none. He handed me a protein bar and went back to his phone.

“I am sorry, papa, ” I muttered, as I took a bite. He looked back at me. “The way I acted at the end of the race, on the radio, and…” I sighed. “The dinner, the other night. The way things have been these last days too.”

“Eva,” my dad said as he shook his head. “It’s passion. You’re passionate. I would be worried if you didn’t get frustrated.” A faint smile. “We have tomorrow.”

He was avoiding it, as he always did with all the sensitive aspects within our family. It was what frustrated me the most about him: his neutral and always perfect facade. I had never watched him cry, or be actually angry. At that moment, I wanted him to correspond to my feelings, to feel the same emotions in their enormity as I did. I wanted to see a bit of me in him, to feel understood.

That could possibly make it easier to understand his vision for me.

“I just…” I just can’t trust myself to take another step and this just proved it. I can’t do it alone. I just know I’ll fail. I know I’m not capable. I need you. I need Rio. I can’t do it alone. I can't be alone . My mind was still racing, leading me down agonizing paths. “I’m just so frustrated,” I said.

That wasn’t half of what I was thinking.

“I know,” he said. That wasn’t half of what he was thinking too. His hand caressed my hair; my mind eased at his touch.  “Nothing is lost.”

                                                        *  

I spent the final hours of the afternoon in the garage.

The race ended around 4 pm, and from there until sunset we stayed working, completely oblivious to the reality outside our garage, only the roar of the engines reminding us of the other races happening just a few meters away.

With the garage doors down, with only the too-bright white lights coming from the ceiling and some lanterns scattered around us, we joined forces to understand what was wrong with the car and get it ready for qualifying, happening at 9 am of the next day.

There was a problem with the engine, alongside the damage in the rear, caused by the impact with Andreas. The team divided itself into two groups; I stayed with Pietro and Eddie, his son. The boy, three years younger than me, was sitting on the floor next to his dad, lying under the car. At Pietro’s command, he would pass him the tools.

The scenery took me back to my early years as a driver.

Everything I had learned, I had learned like this - kneeling on the floor of the garage, or leaning over the hood of a car, with Pietro’s voice narrating whatever he was doing. We had met years ago when Rio joined the team. At that time, he was meant to be the driver. He gave up the wheel when he decided to go to college, after a year of competing in the Challenge as an amateur.

I was still wearing the racing suit. My red knee pads had oil stains on them and my suit probably had them too, but I couldn’t perceive the stains on the dark fabric. The fireproof was sticking to my skin, leaving me uncomfortable. I needed a shower and a good night of sleep.

The old man’s head slid from under the car.

“You can go now,” he said, cleaning his thin and agile fingers from the black substance, with a yellow cloth that was beginning to take on the same hue as his fingers. “It’s done. I just need the guys to check a few values and we’ll be done for the day.”

“I won’t leave until you do,” I insisted. If they were working to fix my car, especially because of damage coming from an impact, it was my duty to be there with them.

"You're not going to sleep here, are you?" the old man raised one of his thick grey eyebrows.

"I said what I said,” I shrugged as I stood up, my legs and back struggling to fight gravity.

"Eva, go. We won't be here for much longer and you need to rest." Rest, a shower, a meal , I thought. "You've had a tough day. Rest. You need it for tomorrow."

Tomorrow . I wanted to postpone tomorrow. Delay as much as possible the night, and consequently the morning.

I went around the car, wiping my hands on my tights. The car was looking good. No visible damage in the back, at least. Over my shoulder, the old man watched me, with an arched eyebrow.

“Eva…”

"Okay, I'll go," I gave in. "But please, call me as soon as you're done."

Pietro called me not even an hour later. I heard the muffled ringing coming from the bedroom as I was leaving the shower. The phone was still inside my backpack. I hadn’t paid attention to it the whole day.

Our brief talk didn’t take more than three minutes. Everything was okay.

I sat on the bed in front of the window. A tiny breeze entered the room to kiss my skin, not yet totally dry. A dusty orange lustre was breaching in through the curtain. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost 9.30 pm. Dinner would be served in half an hour.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, a wall of notifications stared back at me. They were mainly messages from friends and family, especially from Marjorie, who had to stay in Spain with the twins. I read them without much care, just taking the time to hear the audio message she had sent last: the delicious confusing mumble of my nieces, wishing me good luck for the next day.

And then, messages from Carlos. Plural.

“I’m so sorry.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Call me if you need.”

And a couple of hours later:

“I know you are winning this tomorrow. Can’t wait for it.”

And half an hour later:

“I was serious. Call me if you need.”

"Anytime you need.”

I couldn't help but crack a smile. This was what I had been missing for so long, what I had silently asked for and never received. These seconds that he never managed to dedicate to me. But at the same time, so many questions, and so little trust.

“disappointed. stupid mistakes."

"i could have avoided all of this.”

“It happens. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”

“You are still leading the championship. You still have tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Looking at the mirror at the side of the bed, I barely recognized the reflection. The image in the mirror looked back at me with a tiredness that matched my own. My eyes, usually so full of life and light, were now dull and sunken in, the skin around them darker than usual. The long blonde hair on my back was still wet. My face was free of makeup, revealing the cracks of my so imperfect facade.

I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders drop as the tension left my body. So, so many mistakes that could have been avoided.

Looking at the messages one more time, I felt a warmth in my chest.

“not that easy. you know that.”

“I do. I’ve been there. What’s done is done. You can’t change it.”

“Amaze us tomorrow. Read the race. See the lines. You have it in yourself.”

At least he understood.

I put on a black tank top and some washed boyfriend jeans and left the room with my hair still wet since I was feeling so tired I couldn't bother to style it. I felt like I was in a daze — tired, emotionally and physically. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the race.

The phone vibrated in my hand when I stepped outside the elevator.

“Maybe I can call you later?”

“please do.”

I felt the void in my chest deflating. I looked at the phone for a second longer, taking in a small victory, before taking the last steps to reach the dining hall. Tables and chairs were scattered around the dimly lit room. Groups of people, some of them familiar faces, were chatting and enjoying their meals. It wasn't until I saw the food that I understood how famished I was.

My mom and dad chose a table in one of the corners of the room beside a large painting of a 248 F1 crossing the finish line at Imola. On the corner of the painting it was written “Michael Schumacher, 2006”. I greeted them with a small nod of my head and a tired smile as I took my seat. Rio was not at the table.

“Where’s Rio?” I asked as I reached for the napkin.

“He’s already eaten,” my mom answered with a tone that I knew meant she disapproved of his decision.

“Did you watch the race?” my dad asked. Eyes on his plate.

“I didn’t have the chance yet,” neither I wanted to , I desired to add. My mom filled my cup with water and raised a hand to call the waitress. “I just got back from the track. I was helping with the car.”

“I see,” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses. I knew that look. “Make sure to watch it before bed.”

He was not asking anything wrong of me, but there was nothing to learn from the race. I knew exactly where my mistakes were made and why I had made them. Figuring out the reasons behind my bad judgements was something I had to reflect on, but I wouldn’t solve this by watching the race.

I resorted to nodding in silence and playing with the cutlery. For my dinner, I picked the first option from the menu and ate in complete silence. My parents seemed to be lost in their thoughts, just sharing casual words about the food trying to make the dinner less uncomfortable. It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and the awful things I had felt right after that were making me doubt my capacity to battle the next day.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced as I got up from the table. I kissed the top of my mom’s head and lightly stroked her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at the track.”

“Get some rest, my love,” she said. My dad didn’t speak a word.

Walking away from the dining hall and looking outside to the big golf course extending past the back of the hotel, I felt tempted to go for a walk. Just the thought of it made me feel even more tired than before.

Bed it is , I thought.

The light from the laptop screen was too bright for my eyes. The roar of the engines and the fast voice of the commentator were too much for my head. I felt it implode as I tried to focus on the race. I turned off the volume. There was nothing but the hum of my breath and the laptop fan whirling.

I kept reviewing the same moment. The impact at Turn 1. The car spinning in the grass. I watched the slow-motion replays and the onboard cam and I went back to the restart to watch it over again. And again.

Anger swelled up inside of me. I was frozen in front of my screen, sitting in bed, watching my own race over and over again, looking for answers that weren’t there. I was torturing myself with the thoughts of what could have happened if I didn’t regain control of the car.

Where would I be if the car had ended up in the barrier? Or at the middle of the track? How many drivers would I take with me?

And I felt it again. That pressure on my chest, the void in my lungs, as if those thoughts were taking the life out of me. My mind was racing as fast as my heart, weaving horrible scenarios, and poisoning me with a reality that was just another mistake away.

Before completely losing control of my own body and emotions, I got up from bed and walked to the window. The feeling of the carpet under my feet was enough to ground me in my current reality and as I parted the curtain to look outside, I felt peace taking over.

The empty golf course stretched across my vision until it was taken over by darkness. I looked through the darkness at the tiny dots in the clear sky, way more numerous than the ones I could see in Madrid.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”

As I inhaled deeply, I felt the pressure on my chest release its grip. The darkness in front of me started to take shape. The golf course, the trees and an artificial lake in the distance. The moon was bright enough to cast a pale light over everything.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me. Carlos. Our photo.

“Hi,” I walked back to the window.

“I’m glad you picked up,” a tired voice emerged on the other side. “I tried calling you a couple of times.”

“Sorry, I was…,” I looked for the right words; anything else than almost having a panic attack for the second time today would work. “Watching the race.”

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was clear. I pictured him in his room, about to go to bed, with the same worries as me, not knowing what to expect from the race he would have to battle in.

“To be honest,” a sigh. I sat on the floor, my bare tights touching the comfortable creme carpet. “I’m tired of being asked the same thing over and over again.”

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” a lie. I could still feel my restless fingers shaking from the anxiety. “I’m just— you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

“Three, I guess?”

“Don’t you already know what you did wrong?” a pause, my eyebrows frowning as confusion took over me. “I’ve watched you race before; You’re methodical. I know you are fully aware of the reasons behind the incident today,” another pause, not big enough to make me feel the need to fill the silence. “Don’t make yourself go through it again. Sometimes it’s not worth it to watch a race.”

“That surprises me,” actually, a lot of what he said surprised me.

I didn’t want to mention Rio’s new job or the fact that my heart had skipped a beat when he said that he had watched me race. Hearing it from his mouth was way different from hearing it from his mother’s.

“I would think an F1 driver would encourage me to watch and rewatch it,” I continued.

“I want you to win and to be better, but not at the price of your mental health. You need to be in a good headspace tomorrow.”

Tomorrow . I closed my eyes for a second. Focused on the deep tone of his voice in my ear, the warmth of his words, loaded with genuine care and understanding. He understood. He had his fair share of bad races and disappointments.

“How did quali go?” I asked, remembering that I didn’t have the chance to look at his results. For a second, I felt bad.

“George snatched pole within a very tiny margin, at the very last second,” Oh . His tone had said more than his words. He was pissed .

“Ouch,” he chuckled on the other side. “Did you get frustrated?”

“Of course,” a chuckle again, this one way more sarcastic than the previous. “I still am.”

“And how do you overcome that?”

“By remembering that there is always tomorrow,” a brief moment of silence. “Just focus on the next one. That's what life taught me. That’s how I do it.”

His words resonated with me. There’s always tomorrow. I repeated them in my mind.

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“For what?”

“Texting me. Calling me,” I looked over at my reflection in the dark window, the shadow of a lonely girl. “Even before everything the other day. For being here,” sometimes it feels lonely, I wanted to add.

“That’s what friends are for.” Friends . A brief moment of silence. I couldn’t find the right words, I couldn’t feel the right feelings either. “Will you watch it again or are you ready to get some sleep?”

“Just once more, I think.”

“I can do it with you. I know Imola and it wasn’t very kind to me this year as well.”

“I think that could help.”

“Alright,” I heard some noise, “Give me five minutes. I need to grab my laptop. Should we do this over the phone or… video?”

I looked at the window again. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the oversized t-shirt. Then I thought of him and the way his gaze grows more powerful when he’s focused on something or the very unique way the corners of his mouth twitch when he speaks. I didn’t want to have him as a distraction.

“Phone, if you don’t mind.”

And he hung up, just to call me again a few minutes later when I was sitting in bed with my laptop open in front of me. The recording was paused on the frame of my back as I walked away from the car at the end of the race. We analysed the race lap by lap and we also talked about the track, examining the curves I wasn’t taking so perfectly. Carlos explained to me his methods, tricks and tips to defend and attack in particular corners. Time flew by.

“Any questions before going to bed?”

I laughed at his tone, leaning against the headboard. “You’re taking this way too seriously, professor .”

“Well, I want you to win.”

“I know, I know.” I closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, softly. “I’ll need to get ready tomorrow. There’s no such thing as just being ready.”

"I know," I replied. “Do you… fear it, sometimes? Racing?”

The flames from Austria came to my mind. I would fear it. I would hate the thought of having to be back in the car a few days after and race like nothing had happened. Perhaps he thought about that too, because he stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Racing itself, or the results? Or the danger?”

"Everything," I replied after a few seconds. "The unpredictability of it all. There’s this thing my mind does,” I admitted. “I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.”

“I think we all do it sometimes.”

“And how do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

“I don’t,” he said, with a small laugh. “I go in with the same headspace I have every time, I put my helmet on and I try to concentrate on the race. In the car, it’s just me and the machine. My mind is blank. If my car is not my safe space, I know something is wrong and I need to do something about it.” A pause. “You can think about the race in your mind, imagine the most important corners and how you’d attack them. Beforehand, you can think about it all the time, but at the moment, while you’re racing, you can’t think too much. It’s a matter of removing unnecessary things from your mind and trying to focus on what you need to do. If you’re second doubting yourself, things won’t go well.”

“How are you so confident in the car? In life.”

“I guess it’s just experience,” he replied. “Seeing the amount of times that things went wrong and being able to learn from them. We are constantly learning, every time we drive. I know you learned something new today.”

“I did.”

“What was on your mind?”

“So many things I can’t tell you what they were,” I dragged my hand over my face. “Rio moving, this incredible pressure, the talks about next year… you .”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You,” I replied, a little absent. “The issue is not with racing. I’m happy when I’m in the car. It’s just… everything happening around me right now. I need a break.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve…” he paused, probably unsure of his words.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt you. At all.” He paused again. “And here I am, calling on the night before a race, once again.”

“Well, I won the race last time, let’s see if the same happens again tomorrow.”

“That’s all I can wish for,” a laugh against the phone. “Go sleep, now. Goodnight, Eva.”

“Goodnight,” I said almost in a murmur. “Good luck out there too, Sainz.”

“We talk tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.

                                                        *  

Rio joined me and Rocco for a workout the next morning. Just like in the previous days, we didn’t exchange more words than the ones the activity obliged. The cold air of the morning invigorated me and by the time we had finished, I felt ready to take on the world.

Qualifying went smoothly. Another pole position. Andreas would start the race in fourth place, which gave me an advantage that I gladly welcomed.

By the time the race start procedure began, the sun was high in the sky and the air was still and dry. The asphalt was sizzling under my boots. There was no breeze entering the car when Pietro leaned in to say his goodbyes.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina. ” This time I squished his hand with more strength. It was all or nothing.

I had a chance to redeem myself and make history for this sport. That could be a greedy way of thinking, but I wanted that trophy as much as I wanted to have my name connected to the Challenge and Ferrari for years to come. That could be the last chance if I was to part with the category and chase other aims.

The start of the race was uneventful. Lap after lap, I kept my position. I was in control, completely dominating the race. I had them at my back during the whole race. In front of me were just the support of the crown, the red and yellow flags, and the prancing horse; all weaving in the grandstands.

A hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The noise of the machines and the ecstasy of the crown echoed around the circuit as I left the car. I climbed to the top, my arms raised in the air, my clenched fist pointing to the sky, as my team celebrated around me. What a beautiful feeling.

No mistakes, no fears. No doubts. No more uncertainties.

I had done it.

My chest got lighter and lighter as the ecstasy took over my body and mind and the chants of my team set the rhythm of the celebrations. I jumped down and immediately was taken in a hug. I could feel the patting on the helmet. I could hear and feel them singing and jumping around me. I lifted my vizor to look clearly at their faces.

My dad took me into his arms the second I got rid of my helmet and balaclava. He kissed my warm cheeks, over the tears running down my face, which I didn’t even notice I had shed.

“I’m so proud of you, Evita,” he whispered in my ear, lifting me from the ground. His heart was beating as strong as my own. “So, so proud,” he cupped my face in his hands. I never saw him smile that hard. “Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”

Rio pulled me in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around me with a strength I had never felt before from him. It was a goodbye. He stepped back. His teary eyes, the big smile, the messy hair, the undone shirt from all the jumping.

I felt my lips tremble and I made an effort not to cry. He was an extension of me. I had never spent more than two weeks without seeing him. He embraced me again. Even tighter. Even more meaningfully.

“You’ll be great,” I muttered while he sniffled next to my neck. I stroked his back gently as I spoke. I could feel his hands clinging to my suit. “You’ll be one of the best.”

                                                        *  

His words mingled with the cacophony, making it hard to understand what he was saying. I sat down on one of the benches, of the outside garden. Dinner and the prize-giving ceremony were happening inside.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In a bathroom,” he replied. “I had to hide from the team. I wanted to talk to you before this dinner. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know…” I said, almost in a mumble. Hours had passed since the moment I crossed the finish line and I couldn’t seem to put some sense into what I was feeling. Utter happiness and disbelief and, at the same time, fear and uncertainty of what the future was saving for me. "Hard to put it into words," I said, a short giggle coming out with my words.

"I can imagine." The smile in his voice was easy to perceive. Instantly, my mind pictured him leaning against the wall, with his phone pressed to his ear. "You were great out there."

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”

“This race didn’t win you the championship,” he paused for a second. “You were amazing all season.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need to thank you for what you did yesterday,” I insisted. My fingers were restless in the fabric of my dress, gripped by my inability to discern what last night had awakened in me. “And I need to say sorry. For the other day.”

For the first time, I could feel that we were going through the same thing. After years of parallel lives and not being able to understand his world, or even trying to, I finally felt like I could relate to him. That we weren't that far apart. I felt him close. Closer .

“You’re welcome,” he said after a short silence. I could hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “And don’t worry about it.”

I didn’t really know what to say. The words were building up in my throat as quickly as they were disappearing. I didn't know how to deal with him. To be fair, I don’t think I ever knew. It was impossible to resist the sensations he ignited in me, which so easily took me back to the times when just the sight of his face made me blush.

"I should probably go," I said, seeing Nicola and Lina calling me inside.

"Save some champagne for me.”

“Of course,” I said. “Enjoy that dinner.”

“Enjoy that win. You deserve this.”

I mumbled a thank you and a fast goodbye and the line went dead shortly after.

                                                        *  

As I walked down the red carpet flanked by several Ferraris from various eras and categories, my attention was locked on the trophy weighing heavily in my arms. Striding through the aisle with confidence, teary-eyed but donning the biggest smile my lips had ever formed, my gaze dropped to the silver plate, with a thick gold rim and a yellow medal in the centre, on which the prancing horse was drawn in black. Around the rim, the title I had just conquered was imprinted on the golden metal.

I couldn’t help but smile as the flashes of the cameras lit up in my face. I had done it. Against all odds, I had become the first woman to win the Ferrari Challenge. At the end of the aisle, around the long rectangular table, my team was applauding me. Around the huge room, hundreds of people clapped.

I raised the trophy over my head, my arms reaching for the higher aims I always wanted for myself. I had finally conquered them. I did it under the weight of the stares and the pressure of expectations. And if there was a day where it weighed me down, this day it inflated my glory.

I had been living under a magnifying glass that whole year, but this time it was different. I had won it, despite all the scepticism. I looked around, still with my arms outstretched. In between intervals of blindness caused by the intermittent flashes, I watched the faces of the crowd clustered at the tables on either side of the aisle. Among them, I saw the sceptical faces that once told me that it was too late to turn pro, that I could continue as an amateur in lower categories and not waste my father’s money in racing. Those who, years before, had tried to convince my father to invest in other teams when Rio decided to stop racing and I proposed to take his place, were now applauding me as I walked back to my table, carrying the most important trophy of the room in my hands.

I reached the table in a few steps. The familiar faces smiling back at me, their eyes as teary as mine. Every single one of them was happy for me. Proud of me.

Rio looked at me with pain in his eyes, an uncertain smile, a duality that took over his expression. My chest ached to feel such an antithesis in his features, aching to feel him so restless, overwhelmed by scattered feelings. I set the trophy down on the table.

"Go hug your sister, Fabrizio," I heard my father say, pushing him towards me. The second I opened my arms to hold him in a hug, he was already there. Holding me in return.

"I'm so sorry. I’m so so sorry." I murmured as I caressed his back, hands open.

I pulled away and looked at him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie. The top buttons were left unbuttoned and his face was perfectly shaved. His hair was slicked back, leaving his green eyes uncovered. The deep green stared at me, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. I had changed, Carlos had changed, but I had forgotten Rio had changed too.

He had always been my older brother, that unshakable figure who resisted everything and gave up nothing. The ambitious Rio, objective and analytical, with dreams and ambitions. The guy who taught me how to drive, how to make donuts and how to rollerskate. He was all that, but he had also grown to be a father and a husband, he had cultivated in him a huge sense of responsibility to care for and think of others, sometimes putting others ahead of himself.

“I want to make sure you understand my choices,” he took me by the arm and walked with me to the other side of the table, where we were previously sitting. “Don’t want to leave anything left unsaid.”

“I do. It may have taken me a while, but I do,” I sat down and Rio occupied the seat by my side.

I looked over at my parents, still standing near the rest of the team. They were beaming with pride. My father had his arm around my mother's waist and she was resting her head on his shoulder. I felt a lump in my throat and turned my gaze back to Rio.

“I won this for us ,” I whispered. “It has our name on it, not just mine.”

My body leaned over the table to pick up the trophy, which I then placed on my lap, over the silky red fabric of my dress. Around the trim, “DiMaggio” was imprinted in the space just before the title. I showed him the detail.

"I asked them to do it this way," I explained. "I wanted to share it with you."

"Eva," he looked deep into my eyes. His voice cracked and he had to pause to compose himself. "This is yours. You won it. You did an amazing job this season."

" We did an amazing job," I insisted. “I don’t care where you’re going next. Why you’re going, even. We deserve this.”

"Yes," he conceded. His finger traced the outline of the brim. "We do."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, in silence.

"I'm going to miss you," I said finally.

"I'm going to miss you too." He took my hand and squeezed it. "Maybe for just one day or two.”

I turned my head down and laughed again. When I turned to him again, his eyes were now locked on the golden band on his finger, “Marjorie told me I should talk to you first. I didn’t listen. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m ungrateful?”

“Rio…” I laid my hand on top of his and did a gesture with my head as I got up. I felt the weight of the stranger’s eyes on us. He got up after me and walked by my side until we reached the outside.

The icy night air seeped through the slits in my dress, touching my skin everywhere and making me shiver with cold. There were a few people scattered around the terrace - some were alone, drinking or smoking, and some were accompanied. I walked to one of the corners of the terrace. The cigarette butt in the ashtray, still scattering a line of smoke, told me that until a few minutes ago someone had been there. I sat on the wooden bench, positioned under a still small and fragile tree and looking out over the golf court, from which the terrace offered a beautiful view.

"I said it out of fear," I began to speak as soon as the background noise of the ceremony died down. "I never believed you were really ungrateful. I saw the things you’ve done for me and the team. There’s nothing ungrateful in this. But you made the decision by yourself, spent weeks keeping this away from me and I admit that hurt me.” That was no lie. Looking at him, his painful expression and the look on his face throughout the whole weekend, I could see he was going through a lot. “Perhaps you were being a bit unfair, but not ungrateful.” I paused.

Rio leaned against the glass railing that surrounded the terrace, facing me. His body blocked the view, making the darkness disappear and filling my field of vision with the image of his tired and remarkably upset face. Now, maybe, even a little confused.

“Unfair?”

“Yes… To yourself and to me too. It was a tough decision to make alone,” I explained my point. “And it saddens me that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with me. I’m not a teenager anymore. I could have helped.”

He nodded. Just that. No words, no dry smiles or sarcastic remarks. Silence took over, which was not common between us. We would fall into disagreements and arguments every time we had a tough matter to handle. That’s how it had been the last week. The gut-wrenching silence that fell whenever we weren’t obligated to talk over any work-related subject.

He had his lip caught between his teeth and his gaze focused on the perfectly polished sailing shoes he was wearing. And if I knew him, I knew that hard-to-decipher gaze was a sign that his mind was full. I wondered what words he was saving and what was the reason to do so.

“I didn't want to approach you and simply say I was bored at the Challenge,” he raised his eyes to find mine. “At one point, I felt like I was doing nothing, that I had barely any service to the team. You were doing all the job.” He paused quickly. “And you did it amazingly! But there was nothing more for me to do than gather data and pass it on to you. I was not being challenged .”

A dry chortle from his part, noticing the play on words.

“So you decided to send out resumes?”

"Not only that," he shrugged and leaned away from the fence. He took a few steps, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. The night was unusually cold for July. I warmed my arms with my hands. "But yeah, essentially that was it. I started to send them out until the day I was talking about the season with Carlos and he decided to act on it.”

Carlos. His name didn’t take long to surface in the conversation.

“How involved was he in this?”

“Not much.” He sounded honest. “I didn’t want it to be any other way. I just needed him to tell me if there was a chance for me or not.” He paused. I raised an eyebrow and gestured with my hand, encouraging him to continue. "Two, three, weeks later I got a call. They asked me for some reports. And a few days later, when I travelled to Silverstone, they surprised me with an interview."

“What did Carlos do, exactly?”

I wasn't sure where I was going, there wasn't much thought behind my questions. I knew Rio had gotten the job on his own merits. All the work my brother had done with the team, the way his insights managed to unify a set of strangers and turn them into a winning team was remarkable. It was more than enough to promote him to any category above the Challenge.

So my question wasn't what Carlos had done to get him a job. And I think he knew it.

“He mentioned my name? I think. I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t talk to him about the job until after I got an offer. Why so many questions?”

I shook my head. There was no reason for so many questions, other than the lack of trust I had in myself and Carlos. With each barrier he broke down, another one rose.

I hadn't been naive enough to think that it was really the longing that made him take a step towards me, but I had let myself bathe in the happiness that thought brought me. However, it was one thing to allow me to think about it and use such excuses as a justification for not trusting him, and it was another thing for Rio to confirm to me that he had indeed encouraged Carlos' action.

“This might sound dumb, but,” a dense exhale left my lips, taking with it the restlessness of my ideas. The answer Rio would give me wouldn't be black and white, but maybe it would be the ideal shade of grey. “Did you ask him to talk to me?”

He didn’t take long to answer, nor did he hesitate with his words.

Rio had no reason to be careful with his words and spare me the answer. It was a yes. Simple as that.

"Asking you would be a dead end," he completed.

That was a certainty. I was too stubborn to deign to talk to him, even if my brother asked me to. Rio had leaned back against the fence again, his hands now in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other. The night accentuated the expressions on his face, especially the frown lines on his brows and his clenched jaw as he tried to read my face.

I didn't realize that I was silent.

That was one hard shade of grey to decipher. Only then I realised I was grabbing onto the hope of a different answer. That maybe, even if Carlos’ motivation had been Rio’s well-being, at least he acted by himself, without any interference from my brother. Once again, my hopeless romantic streak jumping ahead of me.

"I'm guessing you two have talked by now.” I nodded without saying a word. I needed a few seconds to think. "Things didn't go right, did they?"

My torso heaved with the dry laugh that had escaped. I couldn't say things were worse, but they weren't right. They would be if desperation and longing hadn't clouded our minds and had put us in that position . Literal and figurative. If only he had never gotten so close like that, or if I had retreated at once instead of allowing us to levitate so close to each other, harvesting feelings I thought had long since withered and disappeared.

"Didn't he say something about it?"

"Not really," he said. "Until now, I had no idea if he decided to try to talk with you after his failed attempt in Mugello."

I looked into his eyes, my mind trying to think of some way to put my feelings into words. I was confused, upset, angry… Everything I felt was too tangled up to be able to answer in one go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Eva,” he sat down by my side and clapped his hands on his tights, “I just need you two to get along well. I don’t need you to become best friends, I just want you to be able to share a room, or a table, without any of you feeling uncomfortable with each other’s presence.”

He had a good point. Avoiding us sitting close together at the same table will be the least of his worries the moment they start to work together. Until now, it was Rio who occasionally visited Carlos wherever he was racing. In a couple of months, it would be me who would have to go to Rio. And Carlos would be there.

Imagining a future where everything stayed as it was, Rio would be destined to live a nightmare, running through a complicated labyrinth whenever he needed me.

“You two were really good before,” he continued. “I don’t see why things won’t get better.”

I sought comfort in him. I laid my head on his shoulder and stared into the darkness, imagining lines between the points of light that marked the paths through the grass a few feet away from us.

“I don’t think things will go as well as you deserve them to go.”

"No worries," he answered with a tender smile, looking at me. "I just need them to go a little bit better."

We stayed silent for a bit, my mind finding the rest it needed on the good memories of the three of us, especially the weeks in winter we would spend in the snow with our parents, or the long summer days we used to spend by the pool.

“Don’t be mad at him for only speaking to you now,” he continued and I moved my head to be able to capture his face. “I'm sure I'm not the only reason he decided to finally do something about it. If what I asked him to do had any impact, it was just so he could blame me if things didn't go well,” his lips turned into a funny smile and I chuckled. “You two,” he paused, “have a problem with empathy. Not the lack of it. The total opposite. And both of you are so stubborn… It was difficult to see you drifting apart and not being able to stop it.”

His words brought the restlessness back. I got up, pacing around between the bench and the fence, trying to settle my unquiet mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That each step he takes to reach you is way heavier than you could ever imagine,” he explained. “He has a way to deal with his feelings, a way to show them… he talks, he acts, he…”, Rio stopped for a second, thinking, “he doesn’t let himself be vulnerable. He uses his tough guy attitude to hide it, but you know he’s not all that.”

My mind pictured the beautiful sight of his face so close to mine - the perfectly shaped brown eyes, the thick lips parted, ready to take mine. I could hear his laughter in my mind and the murmur of his breath. He had been vulnerable with me.

“I would pay to know what you’re thinking about, Eva,” he disrupted my thoughts. “Don’t use this to create a glass box around you, thinking it will protect you from him while giving him the illusion he’s getting close.”

“I’m not like that,” I interrupted him.

“He protects your feelings more than his own, Eva. That’s why he let you go,” my brother's countenance changed as his patience wore thin. “I was there to witness the way he looked at you, the way he used to get jealous when you talked to someone else. He was crazy about you. But he…” Rio hesitated, “ respected you so much he was not capable to stop you from living your life to live by his.”

From this moment on, my mind was blank to anything but his words.

"You were way too careful with each other," he continued. "You take a step forward, or a step back, but never to each other’s pages. Because you are too afraid to let yourselves do it. You’ll find every excuse to not do it. Just like you’re doing now.

“You’re waiting for me to say something that will either make you trust him or verify every excuse your mind has been weaving since the last time you talked. And he’s probably doing the same. He doesn't have faith in his feelings. And he definitely does not have faith in himself, to the point where he thinks it’s acceptable to jeopardize his relationship with me or our family if he takes the step."

"I want it to go well," I said.

"I'm sure you do," Rio took my hand and smiled. “But if you're waiting for me to make you feel comfortable, you'll have to wait a little more." I nodded at his words, a fragile smile taking my lips as I saw the corner of his curling. “I can’t tell you to follow your heart, or whatever saying you or anyone else would say,” I chortled and he continued, “especially because I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but I can just tell you to admit to yourself that you miss him and that you want him around.”

His words reached me and if it hadn't been for his usual sunny disposition that was being brought back by the smile emerging on his face, I would have probably started crying at that moment.

Next chapter: 05.

Next chapter we'll have Carlos in a suit roaming around Eva's backyard. Keep that in your mind, eheh. Hope the race narration wasn't too boring. Thank you so much, see you all around! <3

[disgruntledexplainer]

another thing that comes to my mind a lot is Van Kleiss. I've already mentioned before that he represents trans-humanism, or perhaps more accurately post-humanism. but the way that the writers and animators get the idea across is so interesting.

his very existence seems to cause the world to go mad.

I made this AMV a couple years ago about good ol' VK, and a lot of it's scenes demonstrate what I'm talking about:

but especially the scene where he's fighting White Knight and turns a nearby tree into an EVO.

Van Kleiss represents a new age, one in which the human race as we know it has no place or role. the changes he brings about reflect this alien new world.

my comparison is not without basis. the comic series Generator Rex was based off of was called Machinima Rex (or M Rex for short), which was about the world evolving around mankind to the point where it no longer dominant.

honestly the best comparison I can give for his coming is the arrival of an Outer God, specifically Nyarlethotep. I know this sounds like a stretch, but hear me out:

There was a daemoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasons—the autumn heat lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of gods or forces which were unknown. [...] Into the lands of civilisation came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and sinister, always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger. He spoke much of the sciences—of electricity and psychology—and gave exhibitions of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, and shuddered. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare.

-HP Lovecraft's poem, Nyarlethotep

Yet Van Kleiss is a man. A man who, through technology, cruelty, and force of will, made himself immortal, unkillable, master of nature, space, and time, even if only for a brief moment were all those aspects united.

this is post-humanism. this is the promise of a world without man; a world populating by things that used to be human but are more, or perhaps less, than human.

"Are you a man, or a god?"

"I find both labels rather... limiting. [...] You may call me Van Kleiss."

[etherfall]

A little 1 shot about how N reacts to Mega Evo/D-GMax/Terastalyze for this AU.

I think Terastal is the quickest one because, let's just say he Attends to BB Academy as a special guest.

Here's a fic with N & Alder reacting to a mega evolution! It's the only one I'm familiar with and I don't plan on leaving the Unova region haha! (N is around 15-16 ish in this story)

[Guys I'm not familiar with how mega stones or Pokemon Centers work, try to bear with me :'D]

Alder and N stood in front of the Trade System in the Pokémon Center, patiently awaiting the arrival of a package from professor Juniper. Alder’s Accelgor joined them at their feet. Juniper had called them to the Pokémon Center ahead of time to retrieve an object. She wanted to show it to them but she would be running a bit late, so they were there to pick it up ahead of her. Alder had poked at the Trade System machine for around 10 minutes trying to get it to work before N eventually took over for him. As the machine beeped in approval, Alder shook his head. 

“I’m never going to get how all these new machines work.” He said with a helpless chuckle.

After waiting for a few moments there was a clicking sound, and a small brown package slid down the chute. N picked it up carefully and stepped back from the machine. Both father and son peered in curiously as N reached his hand into the package and pulled out a small circular gem. He held the stone between his fingers, twisting it back and forth as the rainbow color glistened in the light. A translucent DNA shaped spiral twirled back and forth.

“Fascinating.” Alder breathed, peering in closer. “Juniper told me it’s from a region called Kalos. I haven’t been there but apparently they have these.” N handed the stone to Alder and he held it up to take a closer look. “She says they are called mega stones.”

“What do they do?” N asked, leaning in closer. 

“I actually don’t know, I’ve never seen one before.” Alder admitted, taking the stone and turned it around in his hand. “It’s supposed to do something to Pokémon that helps them battle, or at least that’s what she told me.” He leaned down and tapped it against his Accelgor’s head experimentally. Accelgor let out a grunt in protest, but nothing happened.

“I hypothesize that it has to do with some sort of genetic change,” N said thoughtfully. “Hence the DNA shaped strand in the middle.”

“You’re not that far off.”

The two of them jumped in surprise as a new voice joined the conversation. They turned around as Professor Juniper came up behind them with an Audino trailing behind her. Her white lab coat fluttered down to her ankles as she came to a stop.

“Well hello Juniper.” Alder said cordially. N repeated his acknowledgement with a small salute.

“Champion Alder and N.” She replied, giving them each a smile and a polite nod in greeting. “Thank you for your patience! Sorry that I took longer than I anticipated.” Her eyes trailed down to the stone in Alder’s hand. “Ah, you got the mega stone! You were actually pretty close with the transformation hypothesis, N.” Juniper said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Really huh?” Alder inquired curiously, holding out the stone. “What does it actually do then?”

Juniper took it gently from his hand, giving them a wry smile. “Would you allow me to demonstrate?”

Both father and son nodded their heads enthusiastically. Juniper laughed, before turning to the Audino behind her.

“Watch this.”

She pulled out a bracelet from her pocket and slipped the mega stone into the middle of the chain with a tight click. She then slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and held it out in front of her. 

Audino tilted its head up and closed its eyes. For a few moments nothing seemed to happen. Then all of a sudden Audino’s skin began to pulse with light, glowing brighter beneath its fur. Alder and N let out an audible gasp as Audino was engulfed in light, transforming into a bright supernova structure. They watched as its ears lengthened and long skirts of fur erupted from its body. A few people in the pokemon center turned to look in surprise as Audino continued its transformation. After a while its skin stopped glowing and the light dimmed down. N gasped in shock as Audino opened its eyes. 

What were once blue irises was now a pair of bright crimson eyes that stared back at him. Audino’s pink and cream colored fur had transformed nearly completely into snow white. Long strands of fur floated gracefully in the air. The transformed Audino seemed to carry a brand new aura of grace as it slowly walked back over to Juniper.

Alder’s jaw had dropped completely open, his eyes wide in surprise. “Wh…what just happened?”

N’s eyes were as wide as saucer plates. Juniper chuckled, reaching over to rub Audino’s head. “It transformed.” She stated simply. “The stone causes Pokémon to evolve more than they can already. Mega evolution, if you will.”

Alder turned back to his Accelgor. “Why can’t you do that!?”

“It can only happen to a few specific Pokémon.” Juniper explained. “I’m not completely sure why. But professors all over the region are researching the cause.”

“Can any of my other pokemon use the mega stone?” Alder asked hopefully, his hand reaching up to touch the chain of pokeballs around his neck.

“Unless you have an Audino, no other Pokémon in Unova can mega evolve.” She said, chuckling at the disappointed look on Alders face.

“Does it…hurt them?” N said softly, walking up to Juniper and Audino. “Forcing them to evolve past what should already be their limit?” He held out his palm gently. Audino came over and purred softly, rubbing its cheek against his hand. 

“I don’t believe so, most Pokémon don’t seem too bothered by it.” Juniper replied, tapping her chin in thought.

N nodded in acknowledgement, then directed his question to Audino. “Does mega evolving hurt you?”

Audino shook its head, the white wisps from its ears trailing in the air as it moved. Oh no, not at all.

N smiled slightly. “What does it feel like, changing like this?”

I feel different. Audino replied, chirping and shaking out its ears. Like I’ve changed beyond my limits. But it’s a very natural feeling, no pain at all!

“Evolving past what is possible…” N murmured to himself. “That’s quite a formula to think about.”

He turned back to Juniper “Does anything else change other than well…” He gestured his hand at Audino “Their appearance?”

“Well, the main reason why people mega evolve their Pokémon is to make them stronger.” She replied. “So their battling stats also increase.”

Alder scratched his chin. “That’s incredible, no wonder you wanted us to see this. The potential for new battling surprises is endless!”

“The ability for people to control how strong their Pokémon get, wouldn’t that cause some people to abuse their power?” N said with concern.

“Well from what I know, mega stones are quite rare. And they are tracked to make sure they don’t end up in the wrong hands,” Juniper replied. “I know that they’re usually given only to specific trainers or people with certifications.”

Audino could see the worry in N’s face. It tilted its head towards N reassuringly.

Don’t worry. Mega stones only end up with people who put them to good use. Audino chirped, turning to look at Professor Juniper. I’m sure the professors know what is good for us!

N smiled with relief, scratching Audino behind the ear. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Your son gets along so well with Pokémon.” Juniper noted to Alder with a laugh. “It’s very sweet to see him caring so much.”

“Ah it’s just in his nature.” Alder replied, straightening up with a hint of pride. He then frowned. “Wait, is this transformation permanent?”

“Oh no it’s not, I can remove the mega stone from my bracelet and Audino will return to normal.” She turned back to Audino, holding up her arm with the mega stone bracelet. “Audino! Do you want to go back to your normal evolution?”

Audino nodded. Yes please.

“Audino says it would like to transform back.” N translated, giving Audino one last rub on the head before heading back to stand next to Alder.

Juniper smiled. “Are you ready?”

Audino nodded once again, then closed its eyes as she popped the mega stone out of the bracelet. As soon as the stone was out, Audino erupted into another shower of light. Its long trailing wisps shrunk back down as it reverted back into its original form. N found himself peering into its light blue eyes once again as it opened its eyes. It’s long, snow white fur was nowhere to be seen.

Juniper handed the mega stone back to Alder. “Thanks for the demonstration, that was incredible.” He said in bewilderment, taking the stone from her hand.

“I figured you two would be interested, mega evolution isn’t so common here in Unova.” Juniper replied, slipping the bracelet back into her pocket.

N peered at the stone. “What do we do with it now?”

“Well I don’t really have a use for it, I suppose the two of you can keep it.” She winked. “Let’s just say it’s a distant relic of the Kalos region, a gift for you from me.”

“Thank you!” The two of them chorused together, accepted the gift gratefully. 

“No problem, it’s always a pleasure talking to the Champion family of Unova.” Juniper said, smiling. “I have some work back at the lab, but if you have any questions about the stone just call me on the Xtransceiver!”

“Will do! Always a pleasure to see you Juniper.” Alder replied, waving to her as she turned away. The three of them bid their farewells as Juniper disappeared out the doors of the Pokémon center. Alder nudged N with his arm, a playful smile on his face.

“We’re using your Xtransceiver N, I haven’t even figured out how to set mine up.”

N just rolled his eyes and laughed.

[neopuff]

title: demand me nothing chapter 1: the green-eyed monster word count: ~5043 ships/characters: holiday/bishop, holiday/six summary: Rebecca Holiday meets a strange, charming man named John Bishop. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58777651

x

Another symposium, another speech, another few hundred thousand dollars raised for Providence to continue working towards their as-of-yet unexplained cure. The questions were piling up faster than she or White Knight could answer them and Holiday was under strict orders to be as vague as possible until Rex was ready to be seen by the world.

It was exhausting, honestly. And she hated that it was exhausting, since the work Six was doing (monitoring and training Rex and Bobo) was certainly much more exhausting. Nevertheless, she wished she was back at HQ with them.

"Is it true?"

The sudden question surprised her, and Holiday turned her head to find a tall, dark-haired man pulling out the chair next to her. He looked vaguely familiar - she'd noticed him in the crowd during her speech, she was pretty sure. She almost didn’t notice him, his features and outfit weren’t exactly unique at an event like this. But he was very good-looking.

Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, clean hands, and a deep, gravelly voice that sent shivers down her spine. He reminded her a little bit of Six, though Holiday was going to ignore that thought and just focus on the handsome man paying attention to her instead.

"I'm sorry?" she responded, having forgotten what he asked in the first place.

"What you said in your speech. About Providence's new cure." The man sat down and smiled at her. "Is it true?"

Holiday smiled back, though she didn't really want to. "Of course it is. The future of Providence is containing and curing. No more killing."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear," he answered, sounding genuinely interested. "Killing EVOs always seemed like such a waste to me." He held out a hand. "Special Agent John Bishop, EPF."

"EPF…?" Holiday wracked her brain for a moment. "Earth Protection Force? What are you doing at an event like this?"

"Although we've acknowledged that the nanite threat doesn't appear to be alien in origin, we're still allocating resources to help contain EVO-related threats wherever we have active agents," Bishop answered quickly, like he'd practiced his lines before he arrived. "Protecting the Earth is a shared goal for everyone here, after all."

She smiled at that, meaning it this time. Providence didn't have any sort of formal relationship with the EPF, so Holiday briefly wondered if he was going to attempt to initiate some sort of business deal with her. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time it'd happened, but she'd give him the same line she gave everyone else: that's White Knight's department.

Instead, he smiled back at her, then turned around to motion towards a nearby waiter. After getting two glasses of champagne from the young man, Bishop placed one in front of her and one in front of himself. “How long have you been Chief Research Officer, Dr. Holiday?”

“Not long.” Holiday stared at the champagne, thinking about how Six would tell her not to drink it if he was with her. Too bad he wasn’t, then. “Just a few months.”

“I remember meeting Dr. Fell a few times,” Bishop added, taking a sip from his drink. “He wasn’t quite as nice to talk to.”

She let out a shaky laugh, turning away from him, unsure of how to take the compliment. It sounded a bit like flirting, but she was still figuring out the differences between genuine flirting and let’s-do-business-together flirting. She was pretty sure that was regular flirting. “Yes, well…he was never very good with other people.”

He chuckled. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. So you worked with Dr. Fell, I take it?”

“For over three years,” she answered sourly, knowing she had no reason to hide her disdain. “I worked as his assistant, despite my PhD in biomechanical engineering which he sorely lacked.”

That specific piece of knowledge seemed to catch Bishop’s attention, and he leaned forward onto the table. “Biomechanical engineering is very specific. What made you choose that field?”

Holiday paused for a moment, soaking in the idea that a man might actually have some interest in her as a scientist rather than just another potential sexual conquest. She didn’t know Agent Bishop, nor did she have any reason to think he wasn’t trying to get in her pants, but at the very least…he was taking his time to get there. So she decided she’d go along with his questions for as long as it took to get to something else. “That was my second PhD, actually. Between mechanical engineering and nanotechnology.”

He took another sip of his drink. “It’s almost like you knew what was coming.”

She shook her head, though he wasn’t the first person to comment on the coincidence. “If I could see the future, I’d have done more to stop this from ever happening in the first place,” she responded dryly, though her voice wavered as if she had found some way to blame herself for the world’s (and Beverly’s) situation.

“We all would’ve,” Bishop suggested, staring down into his flute. “I’ve watched more of my men die in the past few months than in the last five years. It’s a bloodbath out there.”

Holiday sighed miserably.

“Good thing we’ve got scientists like you to work on fixing things,” he added, holding his drink out towards her.

She glanced at his glass, then down at her own, and finally grabbed it and clinked it against his. Holiday took a long sip and decided that she was going to be optimistic and choose to enjoy their conversation. “We’re doing what we can. I’m sure the scientists at EPF are working on their own ideas.”

Bishop smirked almost deviously. “There’s always projects in the works. Nothing I could talk about, I’m sorry to say.” He took another sip, then put down his finished glass. “Though I’m jealous Providence got you first, we could use someone like you at the EPF.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the scientists,” she answered half-jokingly, surprised to see another two champagne flutes placed in front of them. Still on her first, she put it down for a moment and studied the look on Agent Bishop’s face. “Really, though, Providence is the best place for me right now. I’m not sure I have the right experience for the EPF.”

There was a small part of her that wanted to comment on the EPF’s reputation - their obsession with saving the world from alien threats was seen as a huge waste of money by many people in the scientific community. Holiday would count herself among those people, if she was being honest. Though alien life wasn’t unthinkable, there were much more present and active threats that those resources could be used for.

Knowing that he was helping with EVOs was nice to hear. There was at least one sensible man working at the EPF.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Bishop answered, leaning onto the table a bit more into Holiday’s space. “Your paper on the potential applications of human cloning was surprisingly open-minded, considering the obvious ethical ramifications.”

She chuckled. “That’s such an old pa…wait. Sorry, um…” Holiday paused to think about his words, then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “you’ve actually read my work?” She stared at him and wished she didn’t feel as embarrassed as she did. It was just strange. This man was definitely not a scientist.

Bishop raised an eyebrow at her reaction. “Of course. I’d heard you were speaking here tonight and wanted to learn a bit about you first.” He took another long sip of his champagne. “There was one paper about the composition of the human body, but taking into account our nanites and how we’ve changed internally…that one was very interesting.”

“A-and newer, too,” Holiday added, still feeling a little shocked. World-famous scientist or not, the idea that someone would put that much effort into learning about her was throwing her for a loop. “I apologize for being so shocked, it’s just that, um…the men who want to talk about my work usually aren’t…” The words fell flat on her tongue when she realized that she didn’t really know what Special Agent meant at the EPF. Maybe he was a scientist.

“…so muscular? Handsome? Charming?” he finished for her, smirking cockily.

Her cheeks turned red and she reached for her champagne, finishing off the first one and going straight for the second. “I, uh-”

“I may not be a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay up-to-date on the latest trends,” Bishop added, freeing her from her embarrassment. “It’s not every day that a man gets to read about his body’s current elemental composition from a beautiful scientist like yourself.”

The blush on her cheeks darkened at that. There was no room for doubt about his flirting anymore, and she felt more nervous than she should’ve. Years of celibacy followed by months of whatever the hell was going on between her and Six had left her feeling…dry. Holiday couldn’t remember the last time she was hit on by a man she was actually interested in. It was a very, very nice change of pace. “Um…thank you.”

Their conversation continued for a while, long enough for Holiday to completely lose track of time. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really care. Why couldn’t she have a flirty conversation with a good-looking man? She had no friends anymore. All her socializing was with a stoic, impersonal coworker and their grabby pubescent ward. And her sister, of course, was completely incapacitated. She could take a moment to enjoy herself, even if it was just one evening.

He had a lot of interest in her work, especially in her work with cloning technology. Holiday had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the reasons behind his interest in cloning, considering all she knew about the EPF, but at that particular moment, she was just happy to have someone to talk to that didn’t make her uncomfortable.

After a significant amount of time and about five interruptions from other scientists looking to ask her a quick question, their conversation died down enough for Bishop to check his watch and adjust his sunglasses.

"Look, Doctor…" Bishop said, putting his champagne flute down. "I don't want to presume anything, but this-" he continued, writing something on the back of a napkin, "…is my room number. I think we could enjoy one another's company tonight, if you're interested."

Holiday's cheeks flared even redder than they already were from the alcohol. She glanced down at the room number - 2903 - and cursed her brain for immediately memorizing it. She couldn't even pretend to forget.

Bishop slid the paper closer to her and smiled. "I'm closing out for the evening, so if you decide to join me…I'll be waiting."

Without another word, he stood up and walked away, leaving Holiday with quite the conundrum.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been propositioned by someone she was actually attracted to. And not only was he attractive, he was intelligent and worldly and genuinely interested in her work. He didn't dismiss her even once during their hours-long conversation, and if it was all just a plot to get her to sleep with him? Then it was a damn good one.

Holiday stared at that room number for another few minutes and sipped at her champagne. She took a long, long sip.

"Holiday."

Her eyes widened as Six's voice crackled on the comm in her ear. They'd agreed to only use it in case of an emergency, so her heart immediately started to race. She pressed on the center of the comm. "What's going on? Is Rex alright?"

"He's fine," Six answered quickly. "Just a cut on his arm."

She frowned. "Should I come back?"

Her so-called partner let out an agitated sigh that made Holiday want to strangle him. "It's nothing. I'm telling you now so you don't overreact when you see it tomorrow."

Six was a difficult man. As much as she really liked him sometimes, he also frequently pissed her off in ways that came across as very purposeful. Treating her concerns about their ward as overreactions was annoying her and reminding her of how often he dismissed her feelings like that. "Alright, fine. I'll try not to overreact, then."

He didn't respond and Holiday frowned deeper, squeezing the champagne glass between her fingers. She was out of the office, technically off-duty, with a tempting offer from a very handsome and charming man. There didn't seem to be any reason not to do it. Certainly Six wasn’t a reason not to do it, especially not at that moment.

Still, the thought of going to Agent Bishop's hotel room made her very nervous. So she continued drinking her champagne. And then drank some water to balance it out.

But shamefully, those two glasses of champagne turned into three, then those three drinks turned into four, and then before she knew what was happening, Dr. Rebecca Holiday found herself standing in front of Room 2903.

She'd never done something like this. Even in college, she just stuck to one or two boyfriends when she’d had time for them. The idea of a one-night stand with a handsome stranger was making her heart race and her face heat up. It was a bad decision. It was a terrible idea. It was going to have consequences. It was-

She knocked on the door gently, almost hoping he wouldn't hear it.

Less than a second later, the door opened wide, and Holiday was greeted by the sight of Agent John Bishop standing there in only a thin pair of black boxers.

She gulped and quickly moved her eyesight to his face, though that was hardly any less enticing. He was staring at her half-lidded, with an expectant smirk like she was the room service he'd been patiently waiting for.

"Hello, Dr. Holiday."

She tugged some hair behind her ear. "Um…you can, um, call me Rebecca. If you want."

His smirk grew. "Alright then, Rebecca." Bishop moved to the side and bowed slightly, inviting her inside. "Feel free to call me John."

x

Six didn't used to be such a busy man. He used to be able to come and go as he pleased, without the judgemental, watchful eye of White Knight keeping track of his every move. So with his busy schedule and his rush to get Rex trained and ready for action, he decided not to accompany Dr. Holiday to her latest event in Houston.

He assigned a capable soldier to drop her off and scan the area for any threats, which Callan did without a single complaint. Six also decided, however, that he'd relieve Callan of duty for their trip home, allowing the man to visit some family nearby before coming back to headquarters.

It was 7:16 a.m. when Six entered the hotel, satisfied that nothing bad had happened in the ten seconds between Callan leaving and his arrival. Holiday didn't answer her comm when he pinged her, but it wasn't unusual for her to sleep in after these types of events, so he decided not to fault her and just headed up the elevator towards her room.

On Six's request, she'd been placed in Room 222. It was far enough from the elevators for a threat heading towards her door to be noticed and had a large tree outside the window in case she needed to escape. And, of course, they had eyes on the tree all day and night just in case someone tried to get to her room by climbing it.

Six arrived at her door and instinctively straightened his tie before knocking once.

No response.

He knocked again. "Holiday?"

There was once again no response, so Six decided to enter the room and hope she wasn't changing and somehow didn't hear him. He used the key card that Callan gave him and opened the door slowly.

"Holiday? Are you awake?"

Light was pouring into the room through the windows and Six could very clearly see that she was not only not awake, she was not in the room at all. Judging from her perfectly-made bed, she'd not been in her room anytime during the night.

Six quickly pinged her comm again. "Dr. Holiday, respond. Where are you? Dr. Holiday?"

He waited a second before reaching out to Captain Callan, who was about to get his ass handed to him. "Callan, where the hell is Holiday?"

"She went into the elevator around 9:45 last night, sir!"

Six frowned. "And did you follow to make sure she got to her room?"

There was an awkward pause. "Ah…no, sir. She specifically asked me to stay in the lobby."

Six scowled at that. What the hell was Holiday thinking? If Callan made her uncomfortable, she'd had plenty of opportunities to let him know so he could assign someone else to the job. "She's not in her room. Stay on guard in case I need you to come back."

"Yes, sir!"

Deciding that pinging her communicator was a lost cause, Six pulled out his cell phone and attempted to contact her the old fashioned way. It rang five times before he got an answer.

"Mm…hello?"

"Dr. Holiday." He felt immensely relieved, but also immensely pissed off. "I'm here to pick you up. Where are you?"

"Huh? Uh…oh! Oh, God, it's after 7 already?"

"Who’s that?"

"I'm so sorry, Six, it was a long night. I'm in my room, just give me twenty minutes to get ready and I'll be right downstairs."

"…half-hour, instead…"

"Thirty minutes, at the most."

She hung up after that, and Six frowned deeply. He heard a man speaking in the background, albeit very softly, and he was unhappy about what he heard. Curious and angry that she'd lied to him so poorly, Six opened an app on his phone that allowed him to track Providence-issue communicators and clicked on Holiday's badge number. He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t enjoy invading her privacy so blatantly. But he was annoyed with her.

And it seemed she was somewhere above him.

Unable to fight the desire to make sure she knew that he knew that she'd lied to him, Six followed the signal up to the twenty-ninth floor, and suddenly found himself in front of Room 2903. He knocked on the door impatiently.

The door opened wide a moment later, and Six was suddenly face-to-face with a mostly naked man. He had a small towel around his waist and what looked almost like a lipstick stain on his neck.

"Can I help you?" the man asked unhappily.

Six matched his energy with a frown of his own. "Is Dr. Holiday here?"

The man smirked and glanced between Six and the bathroom next to him. "She's in the shower."

Of course she was. Six's frown deepened at the realization that he was going to have to stand by and wait for her while she had shower sex with this unknown man. "Can you let her know I'm waiting?"

"Sure," the man answered, shutting the door in Six's face.

Six was fairly confident that man wasn't going to tell Holiday anything and he leaned against the wall across the hallway. He was very, very unhappy.

x

Holiday felt a little bad.

She felt bad that she'd slept with a man she barely knew. She also felt bad that she was completely lying to herself and didn't feel bad at all about sleeping with him. But it was unprofessional of her, she couldn't deny that. She didn't come to scientific symposiums to meet guys, she was supposed to spread the new Providence gospel and leave.

Drinking too much with a handsome man was not part of that agenda. Sleeping with him was not part of that agenda. And then having another go in the shower when she was in a rush was definitely not part of that agenda.

It was difficult to make herself leave, though. They were very compatible. And she hadn't been compatible with anyone in a long time.

Holiday finally stepped out of the shower - hair unwashed but otherwise clean - and quickly grabbed a towel before John could start with her again. He was insatiable in a way that she found enticing instead of annoying and she didn't exactly know what to do about that.

"It's still early," he said, stepping out of the shower and locking eyes with her in the mirror.

"Not for me." Holiday turned away from his gaze and exited the bathroom, making a quick beeline for her clothes from the previous night. "My day usually starts between 6:30 and 7:00."

He leaned against the bathroom door frame, shamelessly nude. "Sounds like you work too hard."

Holiday scoffed and shook her head as she pulled her dress on. "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one.”

Bishop stepped closer and took one of her hands in his. "Why not take a day off? I can take you back to Providence later."

She stared down at their hands, then pulled hers out of his grasp. "I appreciate the sentiment, but my work is important. I need to be there." She didn't need to explain all the details of her sisterly hostage situation, hoping John would get her point and give up.

Fortunately, he relented, giving her a weak shrug. "If you insist," he said, then walked to the other side of the bed and handed her the communicator she'd left on the bedside table.

Holiday took it from him, embarrassed. It was another reminder that she'd mixed her professional life with something very unprofessional, and though she didn't anticipate getting in trouble (or dealing with any professional consequences, really), she didn't like the reminder that she'd done something she shouldn't have.

They chatted idly as she finished getting ready, then kissed one last time as she headed out the door. It was an extended kiss, longer than she'd expected - and Holiday's body was halfway into the hallway when he finally let her go.

"Bye," she mumbled half-heartedly as he shut the door.

Holiday turned to the left so she could walk to the elevator when she was suddenly struck by a sight so humiliating and awful and terrible and anxiety-inducing that it could only have been conjured up by her own nightmares. Certainly what she was seeing couldn't have been real, because it was so comically timed and embarrassing that no deity would allow her to suffer such a tremendously agonizing fate.

Agent Six was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and staring directly at her.

She pinched herself subtly before speaking, needing to make sure she was awake before subjecting herself to the horror she'd encountered. "I-I, um…Six. How did you…?" She paused, realizing the question was stupid. He was Six. That was all the how she'd ever need. "What are you doing here?"

He stood up straight and moved his hands to his pockets. "Your friend was supposed to tell you I was waiting."

Her cheeks turned bright red at the realization that he'd been there long enough to have spoken to John, which meant Six was standing out in the hallway since before they got in the shower. She could feel sweat forming on the back of her neck. "Ah…um. He didn't. Sorry."

She started walking towards the elevator. Maybe Six wouldn't say anything and they could pretend nothing happened and move past the situation without any acknowledgement whatsoever.

"I'm sure he was plenty distracted," Six responded coolly as he caught up to her.

Holiday frowned, still blushing, unable to find an appropriate retort to that comment. Six didn't exactly sound jealous, which would've been nice but not very Six-ish behavior. He did sound judgemental, which was more expected but much less welcome.

"I guess he was," she answered, pressing the down button.

They stood next to each other very awkwardly as the elevator moved from 13 to 14 to 15, then sat there for a few moments. It was going to be a bit of a wait, that was for sure. Holiday didn't really want to stand around waiting with Agent Six, especially not when he knew what she was up to for the past fifteen minutes.

Since getting to know him a little better, she'd tried to flirt with him a bit. Tried to make it clear that she had an interest. But Six never returned the favor or reacted. So it wasn't like he had any room to tell her who she could or couldn't sleep with. She was an adult and she could do what she wanted.

Her mind repeated that sentence over and over again in preparation of Six making another comment, but he stayed completely silent as the elevator came and took them to her floor. He stayed silent as they walked to her room. And he stayed silent as she grabbed some clothes, went to the bathroom to change, then reemerged and packed up her stuff as quickly as possible.

Somehow his silence was just as agitating as any comment. She almost wanted to yell at him for it, despite knowing that she had no reason to be mad.

He was the one who waited outside John's hotel room, knowing full-well what was happening inside.

Holiday's face was in a permanent state of blush. She couldn't fight the embarrassment of her situation. She knew that the only way to move past it was to ignore it but goddamn was it hard not to think about it.

They got to the jet and started back towards headquarters. Still nothing from him. Until someone (presumably Callan) said something to him over his comm, and Six responded that he'd found her in a different room.

Humiliating.

Was it normal for an adult woman to be so embarrassed by sex? Holiday started to wonder if she was overthinking things. Maybe Six wasn't saying anything else because he truly did not care about that, he was just mad that she'd lied and kept him waiting. That wouldn't be unreasonable.

Needing something to focus her mind on that wasn't the terribly awkward situation with Agent Six, Holiday started going through her purse. Maybe she'd find a pack of mints she could read the ingredients label off of. Or maybe she could look at her cell phone and see if her mom had tried to reach out anytime recently.

Immediately when she opened up her purse, she was greeted by a small, meticulously-placed business card sitting on top of her other stuff. It was very simple, just black text on a white background, and said: AGENT JOHN BISHOP, EARTH PROTECTION FORCE.

It also included his email, work phone number, and job title. Holiday was both surprised and embarrassed to discover that he didn't just work for the EPF, he was in charge of it. 

She flipped the card over to the back and found that he'd scribbled another phone number there, likely his personal number. Holiday felt her face get hot again and quickly put the card back in her purse.

She wasn't going to call him. But maybe she'd send a text.

Maybe.

x

Six didn't understand Holiday.

Maybe he just didn't understand women at all.

She'd been Chief Research Officer of Providence Labs for a few months and he'd learned a lot about her in that time. He'd learned about her sister's situation, and her relationship with other members of her family, and he learned that she wasn't great with kids so they had to slowly figure out the best way to take care of Rex. She worked constantly, drank too much coffee, barely slept, and wore her hair up all the time because she "didn't have enough time to wash it."

But overall…she was professional. Even with White Knight, a man that she clearly, truly hated - she was professional. And Six expected that level of professionalism to extend to all Providence-related activities.

Never in a million years had he expected her to fool around with a strange man while at an important symposium. She was supposed to be promoting Providence and gathering more support, and instead she was…well.

He didn't really want to think too much about what she was doing. She was an adult and could make her own decisions. But she was also in the public eye, represented their organization, and was an easy target for a lot of bad people that didn't like Providence.

So obviously, when Six had stopped at the front desk to check Holiday out of her room, he also threatened the employee there until she revealed the name of the man staying in Room 2903.

John Bishop. Earth Protection Force.

Six wasn't familiar with the man, but he knew the EPF and was not a fan. They stirred the public into even more of a frenzy when the Nanite Event first happened - telling everyone that the mutations were caused by alien technology having made its way into our atmosphere. Providence was still fighting those rumors, even four years later, and Six wasn't happy about it.

Neither was Holiday, last time he checked. But he supposed she was more forgiving than he would've thought.

Six didn't plan on telling Knight what happened - didn't plan on telling anyone, if he could help it - but he'd need to keep an eye on the EPF to make sure Holiday hadn't willingly put herself in a dangerous situation.

She seemed fine, but in his line of work, Six knew perfectly well that looks could be deceiving. And the EPF wasn't an innocent, simple organization. They had influence and they had weapons and Six didn't want to see Holiday get hurt.

He stared at her from across the plane, frowning deeply. She was looking at a business card she'd gotten out of her purse, and Six could clearly see it was from Bishop.

There was a light blush on her cheeks. Normally he would've found that charming on her, but at the moment, he was too annoyed to feel anything else.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to interact with Agent Bishop again.

[stiffyck]

i cant stop thinking about tumble times so i have an AU to share (mostly a rundown of said au, but i sprinkled in some headcanons and stuff) basically tcd but scar and jimmy were a duo for a really long time?? i dont know how it would really collide with Jimmys evo smp lore and all of that, but for now im just gonna say during a portal jump jimmy got transported elsewhere. aka TCD when jimmy arrives hes unprepared, unaware of whats happened and only knowing that hes the only person alive, similar to how scar mustve felt when the apocalypse first happened. so, with how dangerously clumsy he may be at times, he manages to get himself geared up and find some good supplies to start building his own shelter. thats when he meets Scar, and unknowingly Jimmy has been taking his stuff, and Scar only started to realise when he was taking his food. somehow they never crossed paths, but once Scar actually realised it was another kid like him he was overjoyed. someone alive!! someone breathing and talking!! sure he may be a clutz and kinda new to this stuff, but surely scar can teach him!!! of courseee they bond, every night they stay huddled in the same room to stay warm and they share everything they can, they learn more about each other over time, and jimmy learns that scars name isnt actually scar. from jimmys pov it seems a bit odd to be named after a weapon, but from scars pov he thinks it makes him look super cool, jimmy totally thinks hes badass and strong when scars health starts taking a noticeable downgrade jimmy is the first (and only) person to help him, offering him support while walking and even trying to find wheelchair or some sort of mobility aid for him to help him out when they travel far for supplies. in short, they were there for each other since they were the only people around. scar still remembers giving Jimmy his favourite coat when it got chilly outside, he still remembers how jimmy never got used to the sound of zombies, he still remembers how he raved about his life back at home. it gave him hope in some way. maybe they could get out alive by some otherworldly miracle. of course, thats not how it works in this world. on a very risky supply run at night, jimmy and scar found themselves surrounded by zombies near their own base, and the first thing jimmy thinks to do is boost up scar so he can get inside the base. not noting that he wouldnt be able to make it in time before the zombies overwhelmed him. maybe he did know that. maybe not. its not like scar would ever know. scar didnt even get his coat back after that. it stayed on jimmys rotted corpse, and scar refused to shoot him, letting him wander around the base for much longer then he should have. and maybe that zombie was the first one to get to scar when he let the zombies kill him in the last episode. maybbbeeeee... BUT THEN THE LIFE SERIES HAPPENED!!! (i dont have many ideas for that part, still working on ittt.. but this was such a long post so ill cut it off here!! I HOPE U ENJOY!)

OUGHHHH THATS SO GOOD.... I NEED AN EMOTIONAL REUNION WHERE THEYY CRY AND HUG EACH OTHER REALLY TIGHTLY BECAUSE THEY CANT BELIEVE THE OTHER IS ALIVE AND HERE....

MAN.

[xxshadowcasterxx]

The Life Games

A series of games run by the Watchers. A cycle of endless betrayal and bloodshed. A twisted game the players can’t escape.

The players of this game were once members of a server known as Evo. The Watchers remember that server foundly.

The cycle of the Life Games repeats, always resetting, leaving the players trapped within clueless of their past lives. They don’t remember their lives, allies, lovers, deaths. Each time someone wins, everything resets and all forget the past games. All accept for 3.

Jimmy, The Canary. He was cursed by the Watchers during the first game. He was always doomed to die first, to be a symbol to the others that they would follow. He would always be a reminder that every game ended the same, every cycle remained unchanged, always having one winner. Jimmy remembers every cycle, every death, every loved one he left behind. He sees them all, feels the grief his friends feel every time he dies first. That was the worst part of the curse. Knowing that no matter what, your friends would mourn you. You would always leave them behind, in pain and grief. No matter how hard Jimmy tried, how well he played, he was always doomed to fall first. And the rest of the players were doomed to follow the Canary.

Martyn, the Listener. He was one of the original server members, and is now trapped in the cycle like many of the other residents. He resents the Watchers, hates them, for everything they’ve done. It’s their fault that he became this, that he is a Listener. Back in Evo, he was one of the few that remained as it was destroyed. He watched it burn, watched it crumble. He lost his friend and his home when the Watchers came. Then, the Listeners arrived. They offered Martyn a deal. In exchange for his loyalty and transformation into a Listener, they would save one of the members of Evo from it’s destruction. Martyn agreed, and chose Nelly, his friend. Now, Martyn is trapped in the Life Games with the others, but he doesn’t play. He doesn’t fight. He knows there’s no point to it, anyway. Win or lose, you still remain trapped in the cycle. His only goal is to listen, to watch, to search for a way out of this cycle. He hopes to free himself and his friends from the loop, to save them, as he saved Nelly so long ago. As he had failed to do for another friend.

Grian, The Watcher. He was never meant to play the Watcher’s games. No, he was meant to run them. After Grian was taken from Evo and turned into one of them, he was tasked to run these death games for the other Watcher’s amusement. He had done things for them before, fulfilled orders and obeying commands. This time, however, things were different. These players were different. Grian knew them, had loved them at one point. Part of him was angry at the Watchers for trapping these players, these old friends of his, but another part of him… enjoyed it. A part he didn’t like. Grian decided that he wasn’t going to obey the Watchers. Instead, he wanted to play. Angered by his disobedience, the Watchers allowed him to play, but with a catch. Grian was cursed, doomed to always kill those he’s close to. He insists that he doesn’t have any attachment to these players, but the Watchers know better. Grian is a Watcher, a monster in the eyes of himself and those in the cycle. He may be disguised, but there will always be a barrier between his friends and himself. He hopes that secrecy will save them, but every cycle is the same. The rift between Watcher and Player isn’t great enough to save Grian’s friends.

The Cycle is breaking. The Life Games are slowly crumbling, doomed to fall. Players are remembering past cycles, those who remembered them before are close to learning it’s secrets. The Canary is closer to leading the people to freedom instead of death. The Listener has heard many secrets and learned of many cracks in the loop. The Watcher is tired of running these games of pain.

The Cycle will soon break, but will the players be taken with it?

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Run These Streets {6} || Street Racer!Bucky

Summary: The group has made it to Miami! Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW WC: 1.8k

Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven ||

Miami, Florida

Music spilled out onto the streets from the bars and restaurants that lined Ocean Drive and neon lights of all colours glowed along the street to cast a rainbow into the night. It was energetic and chaotic and you loved it. You would certainly miss it when you left in a few days.

“Cars don’t win races, drivers do.” Bucky slapped his hand on the table top enthusiastically and you tuned back into the conversation that was quickly turning into an argument.

“You can’t tell me that that car,” Sam argued as he pointed to an older Toyota Corolla, “could beat my Evo.”

Sam was a racer Bucky had befriended when you arrived in Miami last week and he had offered to show off his city. Like most of the street racers in the city, he drove a suped up import and invested more into making the car look good than run perfect. 

“Come on, babe, back me up,” Bucky said as he draped his arm over the back of your seat. 

You stopped spinning the little umbrella that had come with your cocktail and your eyebrows pinched together as you looked at the car in question. “1985- maybe -86, 1.6 litre engine. It wouldn’t be pretty afterwards and you would have to add a poor man's turbo but, yeah, it could take on an Evo.” 

“Poor man’s turbo?” Sam asked Bucky as if you hadn’t been speaking English. 

“Adding a funnel to the air intake so it ups the pressure and boosts combustion,” Bucky explained. 

“You Brooklyn folk are built differently,” Sam said with a shake of his head before roaring with laughter and slapping the table top. “If you hadn’t been whooping our asses all week I would say you are talking shit.”

The next round was on Bucky and he found Steve on the way to the bar after he had disappeared with Hannah a while ago. From the smile on his face it was easy to guess what the pair had gone to do and Steve tossed his arm over Bucky’s shoulders. “I fucking love it here!” 

You waved to Hannah as she swaggered over on unsteady legs and dropped into her seat with a slight wince that made you chuckle. 

“I haven’t seen you two race yet, or is it just your men who do the racing?” Sam asked between drinking his beer. 

“Oh no, I can’t even drive a stick,” Hannah admitted with a laugh before jutting her thumb over to you, “but she does. She’s about the only person who could possibly beat Bucky, if they ever raced each other.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in disbelief and he almost choked on his beer. “Now that is something I have to see!”

Bucky chose that moment to reappear with a handful of drinks and cocky grin revealing the small dimple in his chin. “How ‘bout it, doll? Up for a little friendly competition?”

You took your drink as you rose to the challenge, “No such thing as a friendly competition, and I only race for a real prize.”

A chorus of oohs and aahs broke out around the table but you only had eyes for Bucky as he leaned in closer with a smirk. “Yeah? What prize should we race for then?”

You bit your lip and looked up from under your lashes as you battered them his way. “I’m sure you can think of something you must want.”

His eyes trailed down the line of your cleavage, his pupils dilating with the thought of what lay underneath. “I already have everything I want.”

“Are they always like this?” Sam interrupted as he whispered loudly to Steve.

“Yup,” Steve said with an exasperated sigh. “Believe it or not it was worse before they got together.”

You hid your laugh in Bucky’s shoulder as the moment passed and a normal conversation resumed. You should have known Bucky wouldn’t let it go.

“Rise and shine, doll,” Bucky woke you with a sing-song trill. “One large coffee, just for you.”

It hurt to open your eyes with the curtains letting in the harsh sunlight that reflected off the Atlantic Ocean and an ungodly groan escaped your dry lips as you rolled away and pulled the covers back over you. “Go away.”

“That’s not what you were begging me last night,” he teased from the loveseat he was lounging upon, watching you with growing amusement. “Quite the opposite.”

“James,” you whined as you dragged yourself up against the headboard and tried to keep your eyes open long enough to pick up the coffee cup on the side table. “I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s four in the afternoon.” He jumped up from the couch with far too much energy and sauntered over to the bed. The sunlight hit his hair and illuminated the hint of red that almost always was hidden by the dark brown strands before he ran his fingers through the tresses. It was then that you noticed he was shirtless as his biceps bulged with the movement and the wariness of sleep evaporated. 

“Do you remember last night?” he asked as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, freeing it from the teeth you had caught it between. 

You could feel the evidence of last night and the memory that came with it as heat began to spread across your skin. “We got a little wild.”

His dark chuckle had your toes curling beneath the sheets. “Yeah we did, but I’m not talking about when we got back here. Do you remember the challenge?”

You blinked once, then twice. The memory slowly rose to the surface and you realised he wasn’t talking about the new positions you had experimented with while intoxicated. With a groan, you placed the coffee cup back on the side and slapped your forehead. “Shit.”

“Drink up, babygirl.” He stole a kiss before laughing as he made his way to his duffle bag. “I have a race to win.”

The sun had already begun setting by the time you had showered, dressed and met up with Steve and Hannah for dinner. There was a tension in the air as they ate sedately and you looked to Bucky for an answer but he shrugged, just as confused as you were. 

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked Steve after putting his knife and fork down.

Steve looked to Hannah and took her hand, the silence heavy. With a deep breath, Steve finally spoke, “We have decided to stay down here. Permanently.”

Bucky blinked at his best friend for almost a full minute before he could even attempt a response. Even then, all that came out was a choked sound from the back of his throat.

“Wow, that’s a big move!” you said when you recovered and elbowed Bucky who was still stunned. “We’re gonna miss you guys so much.”

Bucky tore his napkin into tiny pieces and avoided eye contact with everyone. “You’re really gonna leave Brooklyn?”

Steve gave his best friend a small smile and leant over the table to punch him in the shoulder. “It will always be my home, and we’ll visit so often you won’t even know I was gone.”

The waitress appeared to remove the empty dishes and you could see her eyes darting around the group, taking in the change in the atmosphere since she had last come around. No one said a thing as she stacked the plates onto her tray and made a quick exit out the back of the restaurant.

“There’s one thing I need before you head back home,” Steve murmured, Bucky’s head snapping to attention, “to see you two finally go head to head.”

The prospect of the race brought Bucky back from the morose mood he was slipping into and he draped his arm over the back of your chair. “Way ahead of you there, Sam’s already got a race organised.”

Steve’s face split with a wide grin and he rushed to grab his wallet and toss a handful of cash on top of the bill. “There’s no way a stranger is going to coordinate the race I have waited 10 years for. Let’s go.”

Your group had only been in Miami for eight days but it was enough to be recognised the moment Bucky pulled up in the blacked out Mustang he had won in Virginia Beach. Steve pulled into the underground car park a moment later an orange Firebird he won the night they sold the Ferrari. 

Every race in Miami since had only been for cash and the boys were flush.

“How’s your girl meant to race with no car?” Sam said by way of greeting as he saw you standing with Bucky at the hood of his car.

“She can use mine,” Steve answered as he tossed the keys to you.

You caught the keys but they were swiped in an instant and Sam shook his head. “Do me the honour,” he said as he held out his keys instead. “It’s not the car that wins races right?”

“Right,” you agreed with a grin, taking the keys and scanning the busy car park for the dark blue Evo VIII. “It will only make his loss more humiliating when I spank him with an import.”

Bucky nipped your earlobe and made you jump before he whispered, “I’ll spank you.”

You turned in his arms and twirled your fingers in the longer strands of his hair at his nape. His blue eyes were practically glowing in the fluorescent lights along the ceiling and you could see the desire reflected on your face and you tiptoed to reach his lips. 

“I might just enjoy it,” you purred. Unable to resist any longer, you caught his plump bottom lip between your teeth and he groaned as his hips pressed against yours. 

A throat cleared loudly behind you and Sam shifted awkwardly as he scratched his neck. “I’m just gonna go, uh, check everything’s all set.”

You lightly slapped Bucky’s chest as you pulled away. “Stop being such a distraction.”

His laugh followed you as you went in search of the Evo and found it surrounded by admirers. They watched with a mixture of surprise and apprehension as you popped the hood and inspected the belts and hoses for any splits before plugging your laptop into the ECU and checking the readings. The car was running in optimum condition and gave you more insight into Sam than talking to him over the last week had. The man knew how to take care of his car.

“She good?” Sam asked as he stuck his head through the car window to see the graph of the running engine on your screen.

“Better than good,” you replied with a grin. “She’ll do just nicely.”

“Good,” he nodded as he reached through and clapped a hand on your shoulder with a squeeze of encouragement, “'cause it’s time.”

Click here for part seven.

Click here for part seven.

[art-g0blin-draws]

A story about progression, if you have the patience for it.

This is a concept I had over ten years ago, that reached its most current form after the arrival of pokemon scarlet and violet.

In 2013, I made a drawing of an alternate evo for Venusaur that at the time I called ESPasaur. It was designed to evolve from a high-leveled ivysaur that had recovered from pokerus. This was done on a cracked version of paint tool sai, the first art program I’d ever learned how to use.

Its name was ESPasaur because through the use of its mind, it was able to conquer the virus, becoming a grass/psychic type. The thought was there, but i wasn’t very experienced with fakemon stuff, so at the time, i thought it was great, but looking back, i know it had potential, but wasn’t really quite right.

I revisited the concept again in 2017 (not long after gen 7 came out.) This time I referred to it as an alolan venusaur, because of course. Regional variants were the popular thing at the time. This was done on Clip Studio Paint, before they turned against pretty much everyone who offered them patronage.

This time it was a grass/dragon variant. There wasn’t really any reason for it, outside of my love of dragon type. I think i got closer with this one, but i still wasn’t quite there, though at the time i was very proud of this one as well.

I recently revisited the concept again, and as i was with the last two, i am pretty proud of this one. This time, I’m approaching it from the perspective of having it as a paradox pokemon. The Grass/Dark type, Grasping Vine!

This one was a lot of fun. I got an iPad for Christmas. (despite being a 33-year-old adult who earns my own money and lives with my own wife, my mother enjoys encouraging my hobbies. Love you mom.) Since having it, i delved into procreate. Initially the minimalist design was jarring, compared to Sai and Clip studio before, and the stabilization tool was a hot bag of ass until i adjusted it. But i find myself drawn to procreate more and more as i continue to use it.

With this one, i took in some fun facts about ancient plants, as well as utilized some of my own theories about scarlet’s paradox pokemon.

For one, i have a theory that paradox pokemon from scarlet evolved through generations into branching trees of pokemon. For instance, roaring moon is obviously an ancestor to salamence and its more basic forms, bagon and Shelgon. but i theorize that because of its dragon/dark typing and general body structure, it could also be related to hydreigon and its own more basic forms, deino and zweilous!

With that in mind, i gave Grasping vine a “trap” that more closely resembles a carnivine! I also gave it viness that are more actively used to grasp and subdue prey.

So far as fun facts are concerned, there’s a theory among scientists that ancient, prehistoric plants used a molecule called Retinal to create metabolic energy from the sun. Retinal had a purple pigment, and so scientists believe that most of the organisms on early earth would have been purple, supposedly. Scientists believe it predates chlorophyll and photosynthesis!

Also, the flower in its core has a small pool of nectar. It uses that flower to lure pokemon in before the trap leaves snap shut around them. :D

TLDR, if you stick with doing the things you like, you’re going to get better at them. You have no choice but to do so. I don’t get a lot of commissions, but i do this mostly for me anyways. It’s something i love doing. I’m sure years from now I’ll revisit this concept again, and it’ll look even better than grasping vines. But for now, I’m really proud of this one. :D