#anyhow you definitely do have potential!

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 8

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

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જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

The funny thing about catching feelings is that you never know when the walk becomes a stroll, then a jog, and eventually turns into what seems like a never-ending chase.

It’s a flurry of emotions, each step more fervent than the last. At first, you might think it’s just a casual stroll—something light and easy, just taking in the sights and sounds. But then, it evolves into a leisurely walk, where you find yourself more invested, more attentive to the nuances of the path you’re on.

As you get more involved, the pace quickens, and suddenly, what was once a gentle amble has turned into a brisk jog. Your heart starts to race, and every moment feels charged with potential and possibility. The thrill of the chase sets in; you’re no longer just moving along the path but running towards something that feels both exhilarating and daunting.

And just when you think you’ve reached the peak of intensity, the chase turns into a marathon. The emotions swirl around you like a storm, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes overwhelming. It’s as if you’re in a never-ending pursuit, where every stride is driven by hope, fear, and anticipation. It’s a whirlwind of highs and lows, where the finish line seems perpetually just out of reach.

The moment I truly felt my peak of intensity was the moment that I landed in Nice, France, ready to embark towards my ultimate destiny: Being the ultimate Monacan WAG. If you truly believed that last statement, dear reader, I must call you gullible.

Anyhow, the Nice Côte d'Azur Airport had welcomed me with open arms, giving me the twenty kilometer leeway of relief before I was due in the beautiful Principality of Monaco.

And don't get me wrong, but I was scared.

The facade that I put up everyday on stream, on social media, was only a fraction of who I really was. I was left wondering to myself in the hours leading up to meeting Max, "Would he really like me for who I was? What if this was one humongous joke I was apart of, and I was doomed to be the laughingstock?"

Arriving in Monaco, surrounded by its opulence and charm, only heightened my feelings of vulnerability. The grandeur of the setting made my personal fears feel even more pronounced. Would the real me, with all my imperfections and uncertainties, measure up to the expectations set by the facade I had carefully crafted online?

To be put simply, I was only a girl. And I really, really, really hoped that multimillionaire Dutch Formula One racer Max Emilian Verstappen would take pleasure in meeting me.

I had texted Max how I should meet with him, nonchalantly, of course. But on the inside, my palms were sweaty. I was nervous. In person, I wouldn't say I was the best flirt. I was more like that one twelve year old boy at the pool trying to impress a friend group of sixteen year old girls.

I fumbled on my words. I tripped. I missed. I blushed. I ran. I wept about my mistakes, and kept thinking what the absolute fuck did I just say? Why did that just come out of my mouth? I am stupid. I am so stupid.

Simply put, I didn't have much rizz.

Honestly, if I could headbutt myself, I definitely would. I had set myself up for utmost failure for acting like a confident prick, over text, over stream, and over Twitter. I acted like I had it all together, but in reality, if a tall, handsome guy were to actually approach me, you’d see me stumbling over my words and turning into a nervous wreck.

It was pathetic, really.

And oh my gosh, dear reader, if you had seen the look on my face when I had Googled Max Verstappen for the first time...

It was shameful, I will admit.

Learning that he stood six inches above me at his 5'11" stature... I was blushing in the comforting shadows of my bedroom, fearfully gripping my phone, as if Max himself was going to suddenly appear in my room and catch me red-handed, shamelessly watching edits of him.

Hiding under the covers at two am before a long day at work, and pondering if his big, big, bicep muscles from holding a steering wheel all day could eventually hold me in his comforting grasp. Daydreaming, in the middle of meetings with high-end game-development executives, if I could sudden run into his chest and have him hug me until I couldn't breath. Wondering, if I could sit on his thighs one day, and using his veiny hands, he could hold me by my waist and his steamy breath talk into my ear.

Yeah, I get no bitches and I'm horny.

It's pretty obvious to y'all at this point. Don't be a mean girl and judge, though.

And with all of these thoughts, I am not afraid to think them. In the shower, making dinner, watching him race...But it was all put in perspective when I stood outside of his apartment door, waiting for him to let me into his home.

It felt private. Intimate. Different, than all the displays of affection and joyous laughter we shared with the public.

But now I was in the comfort of his home. No prying cameras (at least I hoped that there were no hidden cameras), away from the never-ending watchful eye of the public.

The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes. They were a piercing, greenish, blueish, grayish color—a mix of the sea and comets, a blend of colors I couldn't quite put my finger on.

It was like they held the depth of the ocean, the intensity of a storm, and the mystery of the cosmos all at once. In the soft light of the doorway, they seemed almost otherworldly, drawing me in with their enigmatic allure.

Many people online had said that these eyes were constantly hardened, a result of years spent racing under intense pressure, dealing with tough words from his father, and the unwavering support and strength he garnered from his sister and mother.

They were eyes that had seen the highs of victory and the lows of defeat, that had faced criticism and expectation head-on, and had come out stronger on the other side.

These eyes told a story of resilience and determination, of someone who had been through the wringer and had emerged with a steely resolve. The internet was filled with tales of his focused, almost intimidating gaze on the racetrack, where every glance was calculated and every blink was a strategy.

They spoke of a man who had to grow up fast, who had to build walls to protect himself from the harsh realities of his world.

But when he looked at me, I could swear that I saw them soften.

They drew me in, and for a moment, I knew I could write poetry about them. There was a story in every shade, every flicker of light within those eyes. I could imagine penning verses about their depth, their history, and the way they seemed to hold entire worlds within them.

Suddenly, all my nerves and the fear of being a fumbling, awkward mess seemed to dissipate, at least a little. There was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel seen, like he was looking past the persona and seeing the real me. It was a mix of relief and disbelief, like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be the disaster I had built up in my head.

I had never believed in the saying, "love at first sight", but I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat, if not multiple, when I locked eyes with him. Like I predicted, he was a tall, tall, man. And I, like a lot of people in this world, was not immune to the charm of a tall man.

"Oh, you are very tall," I blurted out.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. The words had slipped past my tongue and out of my mouth, bypassing the more sensible part of me, aka my brain. Damn you, stupid weak heart.

I could feel my face heating up, a wave of embarrassment washing over me. Out of anything I literally could have said, my intrusive thoughts had gotten the best of me. My inner voice was screaming at me to pull it together, but it was too late. The words were out there, hanging awkwardly in the air between us. My poster slumped slightly, there was literally no way to recover this. I desperately needed to find a galvanized stainless steel block to bash my head against repeatedly.

Max chuckled softly, a sound that somehow made me feel a bit more at ease despite my flub. "And you must be Y/N," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Welcome."

Taking a deep breath, I tried to regain my composure. "Yeah, that's me," I said with a small, nervous laugh. "Sometimes when someone makes me hella nervous, it just happens, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" I started, but he cut me off gently.

"I make you nervous?" He smirked at me. "Well I didn't know that."

Okay. Cut the cameras, deadass. I quite literally felt like I was a main character in that weird-ass phone game Episode (yes, my guilty pleasure at three am but nonetheless a fun hobby to have) It was like one of those cliché moments where the charming love interest says something flirty, and the protagonist’s heart skips a beat. Except this was real life, and my heart was doing somersaults.

I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, there was a small part of me that felt… excited? Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all. Trying to play it cool, I flashed a shy smile. "Yeah, well, you're pretty intimidating in person," I said, hoping to keep the conversation light.

"I cannot believe you said that, I'm just a really big cuddly bear," Max laughed at me, opening his arms out for a hug.

For a split second, I hesitated, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. But then, the warmth in his eyes and the genuine smile on his face melted away any remaining nervousness.

Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his strong yet gentle embrace envelop me. It was like being pulled into a cocoon of safety and comfort, his presence immediately soothing the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

As we hugged, I felt the tension in my body start to ease. His arms were warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been gnawing at me since I landed. In that moment, it felt like all the awkwardness and worries faded into the background. It was just the two of us, sharing a simple, sincere connection.

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make me feel grounded and welcomed, a silent promise that maybe this really was the beginning of something special.

And I did believe him, that he was just a really big cuddly bear. His laugh was warm like honey, and I could definitely get used to hugging those biceps and burrowing my head in his chest, like a teddy bear. All I could think of was the moment I whipped out my phone to get on Twitter I would tweet, #needthat.

What???

I'm just a girl.

"You're really fucking cute," Max suddenly stated, his soft voice interrupting my daydream.

Wait wait wait what?? Backtrack please?? Did Max Verstappen just call me cute, as he leans on the fucking doorway and I can see his biceps bulge as he-

Noticing my shocked expression, and my jaw must have been hanging out for a considerably long time without responding, he started to laugh at me.

"I hope I was the first person to tell you that today," He continued.

"Y-you certainly were the first person to say that, oh my," I sputtered, a creeping blushing arising from my neck and blossoming onto my cheeks.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "Well, it's about time someone did," he said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I've been looking forward to this moment for a while, you know."

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. "You have?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The bold, flirtatious Max standing in front of me was a stark contrast to the more reserved person I knew online. It was disorienting, but also incredibly intriguing.

This side of him was magnetic, drawing me in with a mix of confidence and playfulness that I hadn't anticipated. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the realization hitting me that the dynamic between us had shifted entirely.

Online, I had always been the one with the witty comebacks and cheeky comments, but now, standing here in his presence, I felt like I was discovering a whole new dimension of our connection. His boldness was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, making me wonder just how many other surprises he had in store.

"Absolutely," he replied with a grin. "Seeing you now, in person, you're even more stunning than I imagined." He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, and I felt my heart race faster with every passing second.

"Oh, wow, um, thank you," I stammered, feeling my shyness take over. It was surreal—here I was, the one who had always been confident and playful online, now reduced to a blushing mess in front of him.

Max chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "You know, I always found your confidence online really attractive," he said. "But seeing you like this, all shy and flustered... it's pretty adorable too."

I bit my lip, trying to steady my nerves. "Well, you were always the cool, mysterious racer," I said, attempting to regain a bit of my former bravado. "It's kind of unfair that you're also charming in real life."

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter. (And I could swear I could hear hundred dollar bills when he laughed) "Guess we both have our secrets," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I have to say, I kind of like seeing this side of you."

"Yeah?" I replied, feeling a small surge of confidence. "Maybe you'll see more of it, if you keep being this sweet."

Max took a step closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket. "Oh, I plan to," he said, his voice low and intimate. "Getting to know the real you is something I've been looking forward to. Online was fun, but this...this is so much better."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks again, but this time it was mixed with excitement. "Well, you better keep up the charm then," I teased, trying to match his playful energy. "I'm not that easy to impress, you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, leaning in slightly, his proximity making my heart race even faster.

"Maybe it is," I said, my voice daring but my insides turning to jelly. "Think you can handle it?"

Max grinned, his confidence unwavering. "Oh, I know I can," he said smoothly. "And by the end of this trip, you'll see just how serious I am."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of anticipation and thrill coursing through me. The flirty banter, the unexpected boldness, and the undeniable chemistry between us—it was all so intoxicating. As I looked into his eyes, I realized that this was just the beginning of an adventure that was sure to be full of surprises and unforgettable moments. Spending time with Max felt completely different from any of my past relationships.

There was a new air about him, a different kind of electricity that sparked between us. Unlike the fleeting attention I had received from past lovers, who barely gave me a minute of their day, Max's presence was all-encompassing. He made me feel seen and valued in a way I hadn't experienced before. Each moment with him was charged with genuine interest and warmth, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

The thought of what lay ahead made my heart race with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. I knew that being with Max would be an experience unlike any other, a journey where we would both reveal our true selves and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Don't call me naive, dear reader, because in the moment, it truly felt that way to me...And I really hoped that he felt the same too.

"Alright then," I said, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Game on."

Max's smile widened, and he extended his hand. "Game on," he echoed, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me as our fingers intertwined.

"Come on in," he said, leading me into his apartment.

As soon as we stepped inside, I realized that 'apartment' was an understatement. The place felt more like a huge penthouse rather than the modest apartment he had made it out to be. It was luxurious yet still quite plain and humble, a reflection of Max himself. The high ceilings, expansive windows, and elegant but understated furniture gave it a sense of grandeur without being ostentatious.

The living area was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, a sprawling panorama of twinkling lights and distant landmarks that seemed to stretch endlessly. Despite the grandeur, there was an inviting warmth to the space. The furniture, though minimal, was meticulously chosen—sleek modern lines with plush, comfortable seating that suggested a home where one could truly relax.

As we moved through the apartment, I noticed the subtle details: a few well-placed art pieces, not too many, just enough to add character without overwhelming the space. The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with shiny countertops and high-end appliances, but it was evident that Max wasn’t a chef—there were no intricate gadgets or utensils, just the basics. The sparse decorations spoke volumes about his personality: practical and unpretentious.

"Wow," I said, looking around in awe. "You really weren’t kidding when you said you had a big place. This is incredible."

Max shrugged, a hint of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah, I guess it’s a bit bigger than most apartments," he said with a sheepish grin. "But, as you can see, I didn’t exactly go all out on decorating. I’m not really into interior design and don’t have a clue how to make it look... well, more 'homey.'"

I laughed, finding his modesty endearing. "Well, if you ever want to change that, I’m your go-to person," I offered playfully. "I could definitely give this place a bit more personality."

"Oh, really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "And what if I said I might be more inclined to actually spend more time here if you did?"

I grinned, feeling a spark of excitement at the prospect. "Challenge accepted," I said. "I’ll have to draw up some design ideas for you. Just don’t be surprised if you come home one day and find your place looking like a completely different world."

Max chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you’re going to turn my penthouse into something out of a magazine?"

"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep a straight face. "But with a touch of ‘Y/N’ flair. I promise it won’t be all pink and sparkles—unless you really want it to be."

"I think I'd rather die," He rolled his eyes, making me a victim of the sassy man apocalypse. Letting out a sudden bark of laughter, my eyes widened, surprised at the ugly ass noise I just let out.

"Wait no I take it back, it would be way better if I just paint it neon green and tweeted #BratSummerTakeover," I laughed.

"This is way worse than the pink what the hell..." Max laughed at my antics. Finally, he was matching my freak!

"Honestly, CharliXCX and Brat Twitter would probably save you if you got canceled, just because you made your apartment Brat themed," I countered, eye brows raising and daring him to challenge me.

"What would I even get cancelled for? Being too devilishly handsome, maybe," He asked, smirking at me.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing a lot. "Well, maybe," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "Or for making girls like me turn bright red with just a few words."

Max's smirk widened, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. "I think I could live with that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But seriously, I like seeing this side of you. It's cute."

I blushed even more, trying to deflect the compliment with humor. "Well, you might get canceled for making me turn this red," I quipped, feeling a bit bolder. "And for having terrible taste in decor. Honestly, who wouldn’t want a neon green penthouse? It’s the height of fashion."

Max shook his head, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Maybe we should stick to something a bit more... timeless. How about a black and white theme? Classic, elegant, and less likely to blind anyone who walks in."

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, that could work. But only if we add some gold accents. You know, to bring out the sparkle in your eyes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Gold accents, huh? You really think my eyes sparkle?"

"Like diamonds, just like that one Rihanna song," I said, batting my eyelashes and throwing my hands up in a dramatic fashion. "But seriously, I think we can make this place look amazing. Just trust me."

Max smiled, his gaze softening. "I do trust you. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything," I said, leaning in closer, our hands brushing against each other again. I was literally going bonkers from the sexual tension between us two, and I wasn't sure how long I could take it for the next week, before the dam overflowed. And trust me, I don't mind if this dam overflows. Wink wink.

"Promise me you won’t turn it into a jungle. I don’t think I could handle that much greenery," he said with a playful wink.

I laughed, nodding. "Deal. No jungle theme. But I can’t promise there won’t be a few plants. They add life, you know?"

Max grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, a few plants I can handle. Just no turning my place into a botanical garden."

I gave him a teasing look. "You never know, a few well-placed ferns could really spruce the place up. Besides, they say talking to plants helps them grow. Maybe it’ll work wonders for you too."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Are you implying I need help growing? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my growth spurt."

I laughed, feeling more at ease with each playful exchange. "No, just that a little greenery might make this place feel more like home. Plus, it could give you someone to talk to when you’re not racing around the world."

"Well, if you’re around, I’ll have plenty of company," he said with a wink. "And maybe you can teach me how to take care of them without killing them."

"I’d be happy to," I replied, smiling. "But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to choose some low-maintenance plants. Wouldn’t want you to feel overwhelmed."

"Thanks," he said, his tone sincere. "I appreciate that. But seriously, it’ll be nice to have you help me make this place feel more like home."

"Anytime," I said, feeling a warm glow from his words. "Just promise you won’t get any bright ideas about adding a racecar in the living room."

Max chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself."

He glanced at my luggage and then back at me. "Let me help you with those," he offered, moving towards the pink suitcases. "I’ll take them to the guest room."

As he picked up the bags, I couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he handled them. The way his muscles flexed under his shirt made my heart race. It was impossible to ignore how strong and capable he looked, making even the heavy suitcases seem weightless. Every movement seemed to highlight his athletic build, and I found myself momentarily distracted by the sheer physicality of him.

He had insisted on me staying at his apartment for the seven days I was in town, refusing to let me book a hotel. "You’ll be more comfortable here," he had said on our phone call earlier, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was sweet, really, and incredibly sexy watching him take charge like this. The thoughtfulness behind his actions made me feel special and cared for in a way that I hadn’t experienced before.

As he carried my luggage, I couldn't help but admire the ease with which he moved, the definition in his arms and shoulders evident with each step.

I followed him down the hallway, my eyes shamelessly glued to his back, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his shirt. Each step he took seemed to exude confidence and strength, a silent testament to his physical prowess. I couldn't help but admire how the fabric of his shirt clung to his form, accentuating every line and curve of his well-toned physique.

God, I could talk about his slutty little waist for days. The little fancams they showed on F1TV or YouTube did not do it justice. Seeing him in person, the way his waist tapered into those perfectly fitted jeans, was a whole different experience. It was mesmerizing, almost unfair how well his physique was sculpted.

As he walked ahead of me, the fabric of his shirt stretched taut across his back and narrowed at his waist, highlighting the lean, athletic build that had become a defining part of who he was. It was the kind of detail that fans like me only dreamed about, and here I was, witnessing it up close.

I was such a lucky little bitch.

My mind wandered to the countless hours he must have spent training, not just in the gym but on the track as well. It was a different kind of dedication, one that went beyond what most people understood. There was something undeniably attractive about a person who was so committed to their craft, and it only added to the allure that Max already possessed.

As he led me into the guest room, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was Max Verstappen's personal space, a glimpse into the life of someone I had admired from afar. The room was spacious and inviting, with large windows that allowed natural light to flood in, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Max set my bags down gently and turned to face me, his expression softening. "There you go," he said with a warm smile. "If you need anything, just let me know. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Max," I replied, giving him a grateful smile. "I really appreciate this."

Just as I was about to say more, Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, holding up the phone. "It’s important."

"Of course, no problem," I said, waving him off. "Take your time."

Max nodded and stepped out of the room, his voice already lowered as he answered the call. Left alone, I took a moment to absorb my surroundings. The bed looked incredibly inviting with its crisp, clean sheets and plush pillows. The journey had been long, and I could feel the fatigue weighing heavily on me.

Without much thought, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the bed, the mattress soft and supportive beneath me. The room had a calming aura, and despite my excitement, my eyelids grew heavy. I lay back, letting out a contented sigh as I nestled into the pillows.

The last thing I remembered was the distant murmur of Max's voice from the hallway. The day's exhaustion finally caught up with me, and within moments, I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely at ease in the unfamiliar yet comforting space.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Max's POV❞

I couldn’t wait to see her cute face after my phone call.

Ever since she showed up at my door an hour ago, luggage in hand and blushing like mad, I knew I wanted to hold her in my arms and never let go. The way she looked so overwhelmed and charmingly nervous had struck a chord with me. But now, here I was, stuck listening to Lando Norris ramble about his trivial girl troubles when all I wanted was to see her again.

Lando’s voice was like a buzzing fly in my ear, and I found myself tapping my foot impatiently, wishing he'd get the hint and stop talking. His high-pitched voice grated on my nerves as he continued his endless rant about the latest drama in his life. I loved the guy, but seriously, this was not the moment for his soap opera.

“—and you would not believe what she said to me next,” Lando’s voice droned on, each word feeling like a needle in my brain. I barely registered his complaints, lost in my own thoughts about her.

“Max! Are you listening to me??” Lando’s voice suddenly pierced through the fog of my thoughts, making me flinch slightly.

“Mhm...” I trailed off, barely processing the words. My mind was focused entirely on her, on how she looked when she first arrived and how peaceful she appeared when I last saw her.

“Oh, what the bloody fuck mate, you’re not listening. Whatever, I'll talk to you later,” Lando said abruptly. Before I could respond, I heard the familiar click of the call ending.

“Hallelujah,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes in relief. The endless chitter-chatter had finally stopped, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Oh, what the fuck,” I suddenly exclaimed, realizing that I had wasted enough time. I should be up and finding my houseguest—my possible future wifey—and spending more time with her. I shot up from my seat, a surge of excitement propelling me forward.

The house had been unusually quiet since I’d gotten off the call, and I was eager to see what she was up to. Maybe she was scrolling through her phone, or perhaps she was just getting comfortable. I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere of the house.

As I approached the guest room, I could hear nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning. My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened the door, peeking inside to see what awaited me. The sight that met my eyes was unexpectedly delightful. There she was, nestled in the bed, having kicked off the fluffy house shoes I’d given her. Her luggage was neatly set aside, and the room was serene, illuminated by the gentle late afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Her position on the bed was both endearing and surprisingly casual. She had managed to kick the blankets off completely, leaving them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. The sight of her sprawled out, so relaxed and at ease, made me pause. She looked incredibly peaceful, her hair spread out like a halo around her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.

My beautiful girl was tired.

A soft smile crept onto my face as I approached her. It was clear that she was deeply asleep, her breathing even and steady. I carefully grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, making sure not to disturb her. The blanket was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

In her sleep, she shifted slightly, letting out little breaths.

As I gently draped it over her, I couldn’t help but notice how cute she looked in this vulnerable state.

The way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were closed made her seem even more endearing. She had a certain tranquility about her that was utterly captivating. It was a rare and precious sight, and I felt a surge of affection just watching her. Her presence in my apartment, in my space, felt strangely comforting and intimate.

I adjusted the blanket carefully, ensuring it covered her snugly. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, which made me breathe a sigh of relief I didn't realize that I had been holding. I took a moment to appreciate how serene and beautiful she looked. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept was calming to observe, and it made me feel even more connected to her.

I lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, letting the peaceful scene sink in.

In that moment, I really wanted to be her boyfriend. Even though I had just met her in real life a mere forty minutes ago, I wanted to give her everything that she wanted and deserved.

I imagined us spending more time together, exploring new places, and sharing our dreams and fears. I wanted to be the person who made her feel special and loved, who supported her in all her endeavors and celebrated her successes. The thought of being that person for her was more appealing than I’d ever expected.

It wasn’t just about the romantic gestures or grand declarations; it was about the everyday moments of care and attention. I wanted to be there for her in the small, meaningful ways—like making sure she was comfortable, listening to her stories, and sharing in her joys and struggles.

Don't call me naive, but I really, really, really like her.

જ⁀➴✎ ❛❛Y/N's POV❞

In my dreamless state, I could still remember a few things. Like the warm breath of someone hovering over me. I could feel watchful eyes on my back, curious, worried, then relieved. I remember feeling gentle hands pulling my blanket from the foot of the bed to my shoulders, gently covering me.

And when I woke up, I really questioned whether what I felt was a dream. In my room it was silent, almost no trace of whether someone was there or not.

The only anomaly was the fact that before, I had completely shut the door. Now, the door was left ajar, a tiny sliver of the hallway could be seen from where I was propped up in my bed.

Yawning, I could hear the soft hum of the ongoing AC in my room. But if I listened a bit more, I could hear the whirring of the range hood in Max's kitchen further down the hall.

He was cooking?

Wow. Call me surprised.

A few days ago when we called on Discord, he had narrated a few cooking horror stories that had happened to him.

I remembered one particularly gruesome story he shared, one that sounded like it came straight out of a sitcom. It was supposed to be a simple pasta dinner. Max had invited a few friends over, and in his eagerness to impress them with his culinary skills, he decided to make everything from scratch.

(I know, I know, he told me he wanted to have his little Nara Smith moment...I'll give it to him, I guess)

It started with the sauce. He had carefully selected ripe tomatoes and fresh herbs, determined to make the best marinara his friends had ever tasted. But things quickly went downhill. First, he accidentally doubled the amount of garlic. Not a huge issue, right? Just a little more flavor. But then, in his attempt to balance it out, he added way too much salt. Desperate to fix it, he threw in some sugar, which somehow made it even worse.

Next came the pasta. Max had repeatedly watched one Nara Smith video of her making fresh pasta and he figured it couldn’t be that hard.

News flash, incorrect answer buzzer.

He miscalculated the flour-to-egg ratio, resulting in a sticky, unmanageable dough. By the time he managed to roll it out, the dough was uneven and tearing. When he finally got it into the pot, it clumped together into a gooey mess.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was descending into chaos. The range hood was whirring at full blast, struggling to keep up with the smoke billowing from the pan. In his panic, Max forgot to turn the stove down, and the sauce began to boil over, spilling onto the burner and creating a scorched, acrid smell that filled the entire apartment.

Then came the final straw. Max decided to make garlic bread as a last-minute addition. He put it in the oven and got so distracted by the pasta disaster that he forgot about it entirely. By the time he remembered, the bread was more akin to charcoal, emitting a foul, burnt odor that overpowered even the smell of the burnt sauce.

His friends (He told me it was Lando, Daniel, and Carlos) arrived just in time to witness the aftermath. The kitchen was a war zone, with sauce splattered everywhere, clumps of dough sticking to various surfaces, and smoke lingering in the air. The range hood was doing its best, but it was no match for the chaos Max had created.

His friends tried to be polite (Well maybe Daniel and Carlos did but Lando certainly was not), but the horrified expressions on their faces said it all.

Max ended up ordering pizza, and the story became an infamous legend among his friends. They still teased him about it, making jokes about his "gourmet" cooking skills whenever they had the chance.

It was quite a funny story, as Max had vlogged the whole thing, originally wanting to use the video footage as evidence that he could actually cook.

That's fucking hilarious, if you ask me.

When he showed the video footage, I was quite literally cracking up. I swear I had never laughed as hard as I did in my life when he showed me it.

Remembering that story now, I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he was back in the kitchen, despite that disastrous experience, said a lot about his determination.

And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. I decided to get up and see for myself what he was up to, hoping that I wouldn't walk into another kitchen catastrophe.

On that account, I found myself to be, again, very much wrong.

It smelled funny in the kitchen.

There was a peculiar mix of something burnt and something…well, unidentifiable. As I approached, the smell intensified, and I began to worry. I rounded the corner to find Max standing over the stove, looking flustered. Smoke billowed up from the pan, and the range hood was struggling to keep up.

"Max, what on God's green earth are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. I was also, clearly failing at that too, as a hitch in my voice gave away what I was truly feeling.

Dear reader, I was about to burst into a torrential fit of laughter.

He glanced up, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. "I was trying to make fried rice with beef and onions, but...uh, things aren't going as planned."

I raised an eyebrow. "Clearly. What happened?"

He sighed, waving a hand at the pan. "Well, first, I realized there wasn't much food in the fridge to begin with. I found some rice, a bit of beef, and an onion. Seemed like enough for a simple dish, right? But then the beef started to stick to the pan, so I added more oil, which made the onions cook too fast and burn. And now the rice is clumping together and sticking to everything."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Max, you are a disaster in the kitchen. This is even worse than the pasta incident."

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know. But I wanted to impress you. Clearly, I'm failing miserably."

I walked over and peered into the pan. The beef was charred in some spots and raw in others, the onions were practically disintegrated, and the rice looked like a sticky, burnt mess. "Impressive isn't exactly the word I'd use," I teased.

He grinned, despite the chaos. "Hey, at least I'm trying, right? That's got to count for something."

I shook my head, laughing. "It counts for effort, sure. But maybe you should stick to ordering takeout."

He gave me a mock serious look. "Or, you could teach me. You're the one with the design ideas. Maybe you have some cooking tips too?"

I pretended to think about it. "Hmm, I suppose I could. But only if you promise to listen and not improvise."

Max chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "I promise. No more kitchen disasters."

I smiled, feeling a warm rush of affection. "Alright, let's see what we can salvage here. First things first, let's get rid of this burnt mess."

As we started cleaning up, Max kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, I didn't just burn the food on purpose to get you to come out here and help me, but it's a nice bonus."

I rolled my eyes, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "Nice try, Verstappen. But if you keep burning things, I might have to take over all the cooking."

"Deal," he said, his grin widening. "As long as you stay."

My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I couldn't help but smile. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for a cute guy who tries to cook."

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "And you're lucky I'm persistent. Now, let's make something edible before we both starve."

I glanced at the pitiful remains of our attempted fried rice. "Or," I suggested, "we could go to the grocery store and get some proper ingredients. Maybe start from scratch with something we can't mess up."

Max's eyes lit up with excitement. "A late-night grocery run? That sounds like a great idea. It's only 8 PM; we've got plenty of time."

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of a spontaneous adventure. "Alright then, let's go. But first, let me change out of these pajamas."

Max grinned, leaning a little closer. "Deal. I'll clean up here while you get ready. But you know, you look pretty cute in those pajamas. Maybe we should make it a pajama party instead?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, feeling my cheeks warm. "Nice try, but I think I'll stick with something a bit more appropriate for public."

Max chuckled. "Alright, but don't keep me waiting too long. The sooner we get to the store, the sooner we can start our culinary masterpiece."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, now it's a culinary masterpiece? You have high hopes, Mr. Verstappen."

He shrugged, flashing a charming smile. "What can I say? I'm an optimist. Plus, with you by my side, how could it be anything but perfect?"

I laughed, shaking my head as I headed to the guest room to change. "We'll see about that. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Max's voice followed me down the hall. "I'll be counting the seconds, chef."

After changing into something more appropriate—a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater—I met Max in the living room. He had cleaned up the kitchen mess and was now waiting by the door, car keys in hand.

At the door, I slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks, leaning on Max to stabilize myself. Feeling myself slipping all of a sudden, Max grabbed onto my waist and steadied me up. His grip was firm, and I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, sending a little shiver down my spine.

"Careful there," he teased, his voice low and close to my ear. "Wouldn't want you to fall for me… again."

I glanced up at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Max. It seems like you're getting pretty good at catching me."

He smirked, his hand still resting on my waist, holding me just a little closer than necessary. "Well, practice makes perfect, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the playful tension between us impossible to ignore. "You might need a few more tries, though. I’m a bit of a klutz."

He chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly against my side. "Lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world." My heart was quite literally beating out of my chest and the sexual tension was getting to me. Noticing my beet red face, Max continued.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Ready," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. (And still giggly from the whole previous ordeal)

Max held the door open for me with a dramatic flourish. "After you, my lady," he said with a mock bow.

I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Such a gentleman. You really know how to impress a girl."

As we headed down to the underground garage, Max couldn't resist a bit more teasing. "So, do you have a grocery list, or are we winging it?"

"I think we should wing it," I said, grinning. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover some hidden culinary talents."

"Or set off the smoke alarm again," Max added, smirking.

I nudged him with my elbow. "Hey, I'm a decent cook. I promise I won't let you burn anything."

"Good to know," he replied, his smile widening as we reached his Aston Martin Vantage.

The sleek car gleamed under the garage lights, and I couldn't help but admire it. "Nice ride," I said, running a hand over the smooth surface.

"Thanks," Max said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I figured it would make a good impression."

"You figured right," I said with a wink.

As we pulled out onto the street, the city lights cast a warm glow over everything. The drive through the city was peaceful, the streets mostly empty at this hour. We chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily as we navigated through the urban maze. Max seemed to know the city well, effortlessly weaving through the streets as we made our way to the nearest grocery store.

As we drove through the city, the conversation continued to flow easily. "So, what kind of snacks are we getting?" Max asked, glancing over at me.

"Definitely some chocolate," I replied. "Maybe some chips too. What about you?"

"I was thinking ice cream," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, for dessert after our gourmet fried rice."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You and your sweet tooth. Fine, we'll get ice cream. But only if you promise not to eat it all in one sitting."

"Deal," Max said, grinning. "I promise to save some for you."

"Max I've seen you devour so much food in one sitting, are you sure you are keeping that promise?" I roll my eyes in mock frustration.

He smirked, glancing over at me. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

"Growing boy, huh?" I teased. "Last time I checked, you were already fully grown."

"Just because I'm tall and handsome doesn't mean I can't still grow," he shot back, winking.

I snorted. "Tall and humble, too. Such a rare combination."

"Only for you," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "I reserve my best qualities for special occasions."

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I said with a laugh. "I guess I'll have to make sure to keep you around for more grocery runs."

"Hey, I'll take any excuse to spend time with you," he replied smoothly. "Even if it means resisting the urge to eat all the ice cream."

I pretended to ponder his words. "Hmm, maybe I should test your willpower. Get a couple of pints and see how long they last."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you challenging me?"

"Maybe I am," I said, grinning. "Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, I can handle it," Max said confidently. "But can you handle me winning?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "We'll see about that. Just don't cry when I catch you sneaking spoonful's in the middle of the night."

"You're on," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But be warned, I play to win."

The hum of the Aston Martin's engine was a soothing backdrop to our conversation. The car's interior was luxurious, with plush leather seats and a state-of-the-art dashboard. I couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as we sped through the city, the lights blurring past us in a kaleidoscope of colors.

"So, do you do this often?" I asked, glancing over at Max.

"Late-night grocery runs?" he replied with a grin. "Not really, but I'm always up for an adventure."

I laughed, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between us. "Well, I think this might be the most exciting grocery run I've ever been on."

Max chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just wait until we get there. I might even let you pick out some snacks."

"Now you're talking," I said, grinning. "I will never not indulge in big back activities," The prospect of picking out snacks together felt oddly intimate, a small but meaningful step in getting to know each other better.

"Hey! You can definitely tell a lot about a person based on their favorite snacks. People who simply like spicy shrimp crackers are superior!"

Max raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "Spicy shrimp crackers? That’s a bold choice. I guess we'll see if our snack preferences align."

"They better," I said, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance. With that, we stepped outside, the crisp air greeting us as we made our way to the grocery store. The city buzzed around us, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his presence beside me and the anticipation of what was quickly becoming an unexpectedly perfect day.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 278,121 others

yourusername: what in the #domesticlife...#breadbedandbred

view comments:

maxverstappen1: This is a VERY misleading caption, Y/N

maxverstappen1: Nice post, though (please change the caption)

maxverstappen1: Christian also said that the caption is "sussy as hell"... whatever that means

user1: BYEEEE christian "horny" horner strikes again 🤕

user2: ain't nothing SOFT about this LAUNCH y/n 😖😖🤯🫣

yourusername: 🫣🫣🫣

user3: not her casually serving in a groccery store at night, i aspire to be second-slide-y/n

user4: DAMNNNNN IM SLEEPING ON THE HIGHWAY TNNNN GUYS 😐🤧

user5: AYO MAX

user5: hand placement.... you better WATCH yourself

user6: guys i need this so bad, accepting bf applications RIGHT NOW

user7: dude.... Dude.... DUDEEEEE

user8: his gorilla ass grip on the hook of her jean hook im ILL guys I'M SO ILL 🤕🤕

user9: u r so right queen, it's giving #domestic #hubbyandbubby #narasmithlife #walkhimlikeadog

yourusername: i like #walkhimlikeadog 🤯

maxverstappen1: I like #hughimlikeacat better 😌

yourusername: 🐶🐶🐶 ARF MAX

maxverstappen1: You are very VERY weird, Y/N 🤣🤣🤣😂😅

yourusername: ARF ARF ARFFFFF 🐕🐕🐩

user10: we got #walkhimlikeadog daughter versus #hughimlikeacat son before gta 6 😈😈😈🥲

landonorris: Damn, Max, get a grip, you are getting SOFT my boy 😹😹😹

maxverstappen1: Not funny, Lando

yourusername: 😹😹😹

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fav-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles @percypie @formula1blog @lanadelray1989 @rylieverstappen-sargent @luvsforme @eiaaasamantha @kaysmiles42 @mvaldez7821 @stinkyjax @sweate-r-weathe-r @laneyspaulding19 @mingyusbigrighttoe @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @stinkyjax @fandomz-queenie @theblueblub @mayusaatma @lanadelrey @formula1-motogpfan

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[msmk11]

a hunger games fic where there’s tension between reader and haymitch but he feels conflicted because of the age gap i don’t know lots of pining and angst so i can go insane

Drunk on You

Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader

WC: 4k

CW: Drinking/being drunk; mentions of death and blood; age gap (legal and consensual- reader is 21)

A/n: Thank you for the request!! I'm so sorry this took so long. I have been in a writing rut and also very busy, but I hope you enjoy this! I know I sure did.

You’d been lucky enough to avoid mentoring the first two years after your games- your first year by claiming insanity and the second merely because of the abundance of victors in your district. But the Capitol, and Snow, were ravenous for the return of their Angel- the sweet, innocent girl they painted you to be despite the blood they knew was on your hands.

And while the nightmares of your games were as fresh in your mind as the day they started, you persisted nonetheless. You couldn’t afford to let anyone else die at your hands, even if the cost to you was great. 

So the day of the reaping you stood by Mags’ side- four’s other mentor this year- as you watched kids be chosen to be sent off to their deaths like pigs for slaughter. 

The girl, someone you barely recognized but knew you’d gone to school with, looked strong. Like a potential competitor. She was tall enough, fairly lean, and the definition in her arms was obvious. Her age- eighteen- was a benefit too.

Whatever her name was (you’d been too anxious to pay attention), would be your mentee this year while Mags took the boy. 

The boy.

Finnick Odair. 

And while the age difference between you two was large- almost 7 years exactly- you guys were close. Like sibling-level close. It took everything in your power to not let the tears brimming at your waterline spill. 

The aftermath was a flurry of rushed goodbyes, heated whispers, and your begging Mags to just help you make it through the games. 

Though every instinct screamed at you to put all your efforts into Finnick’s survival, your mind knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. The girl, your mentee, may not have meant something to you, but she certainly meant something to someone. And she deserved life just as much as Finnick. 

It didn’t make it any easier though. 

And in the nights, when the nightmares and fears came creeping in, you turned to drink. 

That’s how you met Haymitch.

Haymitch Abernathy. Blonde, 31, borderline alcoholic, victor of the second quarter quell. And your new drinking buddy. 

Apparently. 

When you get to the bar in the Tribute Center the first night it’s totally empty except for a few Capitol stragglers giggling in a corner booth. 

You take a seat at the actual bar and order from the bartender- a brunette avox who couldn’t be much older than you. You’re sure to be extra polite as you accept your drink and take a sip of the strong concoction. It burns and you know it’ll fuck you up just enough to take the sting off the emotions squeezing your heart. 

“Drinking alone? Seem a bit young to be doing that, sweetheart,” a voice interrupts from beside you.

You turn to find Haymitch Abernathy standing next to you, his appearance a little disheveled, but still obviously very handsome. 

“Not sure you’re the one to be making judgements, Abernathy. You even sober right now?”

He smirks at you a little, “only buzzed for now. Care for some company?”

You scan the blonde suspiciously and decide he’s basically harmless, “fine, but you buy the next round.”

The District 12 victor lets out a chuckle and slides onto a stool beside you, “thought you had more money than you knew what to do with, four.”

“So do you,” you remind him with a shake of your head, “anyhow, it’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

Haymitch doesn’t reward you with an answer, instead turning to the bartender and ordering two glasses of whiskey. 

“What brings you to the bar so early in the games?”

“Wanted to fully reacquaint myself with the tribute center,” you huff dryly, “I’ve missed it sooooo dearly.”

“You’ll get used to it pretty damn fast. Especially now that the Capitol’s got its claws back on you, you won’t be able to escape it.”

He takes a sip of his drink thoughtfully, “I mean, their angel has made her return.”

A scoff escapes you in spite of yourself and Haymitch smirks. 

“What would they think if they knew you were getting wasted with the Capitol’s most disappointing victor? Your reputation would be ruined.”

“Then maybe I should stick around you a little longer, Twelve. Let some of your bad energy rub off on me. Maybe even have them catch me leaving your room.”

Haymitch chokes on his drink and you smirk. 

“What?! Catch you leaving my room like, like we?”

“Had sex,” you tease, “goodness Abernathy, I didn’t pin you for a prude.”

He rolls his eyes at you and huffs cockily, “me, a prude? Babydoll back where I come from I have a reputation. I’m just shocked that the Capitol’s perfect little angel could be so naughty.”

It’s your turn to choke when he sends you a wink, and you try to cover it with a cough. 

“Looks can be deceiving, Abernathy.”

***** 

You’re not sure if it’s the booze or the blaring music that’s giving you a headache. Or maybe it’s the relentless stares and unwanted approaches by dimwitted Capitol folks. Regardless, you want to be anywhere but here right about now. 

A party. Celebrating. The arrival of tributes. The arrival of doomed children.

It makes you sick. 

You forget someone is yapping away in your ear until they’re suddenly interrupted by your savior. 

Haymitch. 

“I’m sure the story you’re telling is lovely, really, but unfortunately we’re being pulled away for important mentor business,” he shares calmly, barely suppressing a smirk. 

“Oh, oh. Yes, of course,” the blue-haired person before you chatters, “I’ll have to catch you another time.”

Haymitch, thankfully, is already pulling you away before they can make you answer.

The blonde pulls you through the crowd, hands intertwined, and you can’t help but shiver. You figure it must be the evening chill in the air. 

You seem to be walking forever, further and further away from the party until the voices and music are a faint hum. He’s hidden the two of you away in one of the President’s many flourishing gardens. One that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a rose in sight. 

When Haymitch finally comes to a halt you look at him and smile, eyes darting between his face and your joined hands, “what was all that for?”

He looks at you disbelievingly, “I was saving you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “who said I needed saving?”

“The poor glass in your hand that you nearly squeezed to death.”

You once over the glass full of some colorful drink in your hand and shrug noncommittally, throwing it back and then setting the empty glass on the wall. 

“I think you just wanted time alone with me, Abernathy. Seems like an awfully convoluted plan….showing up to the Capitol party, stealing me away so dramatically….”

He releases your hand and leans back against the wall, “don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for the free booze. I only brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

A scoff escapes you and you roll your eyes. 

“Anyhow, you owe me now- for saving you. And for missing out on free drinks because of it.”

“Let me guess, with more booze?”

“How else?”

“I don’t know… a meal, a simple favor…. My friendship?”

Haymitch winces and taked a large gulp of his drink, “don’t think the last would be much of a reward.”

You go to slap his arm but he stops you, his hand grabbing yours.

“You’ve got wicked fast reflexes,” you choke out, trying to suppress the gasp that escapes your lips.

“I’m a victor, remember?”

When you look up at him, his smile seems to briefly vanish, replaced with something much darker. 

You take his drink and finish it while squeezing his other hand. 

*****

“You clean up nice.”

Haymitch looks more than disgruntled to be stuffed into a fancy suit and you can barely suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles under his breath. 

It reeks of booze. 

“What? I’m just saying it’s nice that you’ve changed up the homeless look.”

The blonde eyes you with a glare, “And I see they’ve stuffed you into another ridiculous costume.”

Haymitch is right. You do look ridiculous, and you’re not even the one on stage tonight. The white, feathery dress made for you was certainly intended to represent your angel persona. You think you look more like a white duck. 

“I suppose it’s better than usual,” you scoff, flattening out a few ruffled feathers, “though it itches like crazy.”

You begin to fidget with your dress again as the group of mentors slowly gather in their assigned seats near the front of the auditorium. The shrill voices of an excited audience echo loudly throughout the room as you step inside. You prepare for the stares and whispers, donning your mask and armor bravely.

Still, your hands shake. Your body’s thrown back in time to your games. You can remember clear as day standing up on that stage as Cesar talked and prodded, guiding you right into the role that had already been decided. 

Sweet. Innocent. Lovely. An angel. 

You’d fallen for the trap, mistaking the net for a lifeboat.

And had you ever really escaped it? 

The knots in your stomach are answer enough, and the seat soon before you is a welcome reassurance for your wobbly legs. 

Somehow, you’ve ended up between Mags and Haymitch. The former smiles at you warmly, nodding in a way that is inexplicably reassuring. Deep down, you know that she’s telling you that Finnick will be okay. That you’ll be okay. 

And when a hand lands on your knee, you’re doubly reassured. 

“Stop tapping your foot, it’s even making me anxious,” Haymitch grumbles. 

You still, turning to look at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… weird being back.  I feel like I’m back in my own games, being in this room again. I hate it.”

Haymitch shifts a little and you see him reveal a small golden flask in his hand. 

“Want a drink?”

As tempting as it sounds, you shake your head, “I think I’d puke if I drank. And I want to be present anyway. Ready for anything.”

Your eyes flit to his hand still on your knee and you recall the pleasing warmth as he held yours those few weeks ago. Carefully, you reach out and intertwine your fingers, resting your clasped hands between you. At first he stiffens, and you think he’s going to pull away. But then, he doesn’t. 

And the flask disappears into his pocket, unused. 

*****

The blare of the horn through the speakers nearly sends you into a meltdown on the spot. It feels so deeply real to you, even though you’re miles away from the games. Your eyes are trained on your tribute as she sprints forward towards the cornucopia, and towards her potential death. Still, she’s technically a career, so you have hope that she’ll survive the bloodbath. 

Your eyes stray to Finnick too and your stomach rumbles in worry. But you know that he’s strong and determined, so you try to relax. 

Like usual, the bloodbath is ruthless and you can barely stomach it. It’s worse too because you have a stake in the outcome. Not just your own life or strangers’ lives, but someone you’ve trained, someone you care about. 

It doesn’t register with you that the death of strangers might actually affect you more than you realize. In particular, the two tributes from twelve. They’re struck down quickly, as they often are, and your heart twists. While the death of children is certainly part of the cause, it’s the image of Haymitch that really pains you. Another year, another loss, and you wonder how he bears it. You suppose he doesn’t. 

Hence, the booze. 

Once the initial craziness of the bloodbath calms down and you’re sure that both your tribute and Finnick are safe, you go on a hunt for Haymitch. 

It doesn’t take you long if you follow the trail of beer.

Not literally, of course, but the bar is certainly the right place to start. Haymitch is slumped over on a stool and your heart breaks a little. 

“Drinking alone?” you say quietly. 

The blonde looks at you unimpressed and you’re immediately taken aback by the pain swimming behind his eyes. 

“Care if I join you?”

He hums noncommittally and you don’t take that as an outward no. After you take a seat you order a drink and sip silently for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry about your tributes.”

Haymitch shrugs, “I knew they were never gonna make it.”

“But it can still hurt,” you remind him. 

Haymitch scoffs a little, “I don’t care. I barely knew the kids.”

You study his face and can tell that he actually does. Of course, you don’t say that. Instead, you reach out and grab his hand. This time, he doesn’t even flinch as he grips yours back. 

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You drag him along to the fourth floor suite and bring him inside. 

“I’ve entered enemy territory,” the blonde says gruffly.

You smirk at him and hold up a bottle of whiskey, “what about now?”

He smiles a little and you pour a drink for each of you before settling on the couch next to him so that your knee is touching his thigh- so you’re fully facing him. 

“You know, you don’t have to pretend to be strong,” you tell him softly. 

“I’m not pretending, I’m fine.”

Haymitch turns his head away and you hear a small sniffle. 

“Sweetheart,” you coo.

You grab his chin and gently turn his face towards you. He looks embarrassed and teary eyed and you stroke your thumb over his cheek. Haymitch’s eyes flutter shut and you think it’s a rather pretty sight. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper very softly. 

When Haymitch opens his eyes you’re inches apart, and your heart stutters in your chest. 

You both lean slightly closer, your breaths mingling. 

“Haymitch…”

He abruptly pulls back. 

“I think I need another drink.”

*****

You suppose you’re glad it was quick. Hopefully pretty painless. No chance to be afraid or to bleed out slowly. 

But it also happened so fast. One second your tribute was breathing, and now she’s gone. You’d had such high hopes for her, and now she was dead. Was it your fault? 

Was there something you could’ve done to warn her? To prepare her better? 

You feel even more guilty because you’re sort of relieved that she’s dead. Not because you wanted her to die, but because it means Finnick is one step closer to getting out of the arena. Back home to District Four where he is relatively safe- or at least in your dome of protection. 

When the guilt subsides, it’s replaced by numbness. That’s all you feel. 

You understand now why Haymitch drinks. It provides some semblance of warmth when all you feel inside is coldness and emptiness. 

Knocking. You hear knocking. 

You stumble to the door, bottle in hand, and there he stands.

“Haymitch!”

You lunge towards him and he catches you, gripping your waist firmly. If you were sober, you would’ve been able to suppress the shudder that runs through your body from his touch. 

“Want a drink?” you slur, your boozy breath blowing in his face. 

He shakes his head at you and you shrug, “more for me then.” 

You lift the bottle neck to your mouth but he stops you, gripping your wrist gently.

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart.”

A loud laugh escapes your lips and Haymitch shushes you, shuffling the both of you inside and closing the door, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just funny- you telling me I’ve had too much to drink. Hilaaaaarrious!”

“Well I have a better tolerance.”

You shuffle back and topple over the couch arm, sending Haymitch down on top of you.

“Oooooops… sorrrrryyyyy” you giggle. 

The blonde pushes himself up off of you and sets the bottle down on the side table.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks softly, more kind than you’ve ever heard him before. 

You sober up a little at the question and scoff, “Of course I’m not fine. My tribute just bled out on

television in front of millions of people.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters gruffly.

“Why? What was it you said? You barely even knew your tributes…It’s not like I did either. Why should I care? Or be torn up?”

“Because you’re a better person than me,” Haymitch adds gently, “Because you wear your heart on your sleeve and care so deeply about people.”

He grips your knee and smiles at you sadly. 

“Well I’m done with caring,” you slur, “It only hurts more. I like your way- drink yourself to death.”

You lunge towards the bottle behind him and he reaches out, stopping you again by grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go when he pulls you away from the bottle. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you. 

“What’re you doing?” you mumble into his chest.

“Giving you a hug, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

He scoffs exasperatedly, “I can stop.”

“NONONO don’t! Don’t.”

You shift back a little to look him in the eyes, “It’s… nice. You’re…nice.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever called me nice before.”

You look at the blonde softly, infatuated by his face- the stubble across his chin, his piercing eyes, his lips…

By some unknown force, you’re pulled to his lips. You reach out and close your eyes, pressing your lips to his. For a moment, he reciprocates, his mouth melting against yours. But then he pulls away, “Stop, stop. You’re drunk.”

“So? You’re always drunk and I don’t stop you from doing things you want,” you remind him.

“I don’t- you’re. Even then, it doesn’t matter. You’re too young and I-”

Haymitch stands abruptly and leaves, abandoning you on the couch, alone. 

*****

Finnick’s return to the Capitol should be more joyous than you currently feel. You’re beyond relieved that he’s back and safe, within arms reach. In fact, you haven’t let him out of your sight in days and you think he’s starting to get annoyed by you. 

Still, something continues to burden your mind or, rather, someone. 

You haven’t seen Haymitch since you drunkenly tried to kiss him a few days ago. Though you were incredibly wasted, his words still ring in your mind clear as day- “you’re too young.”

It’s more painful than flat out rejection, really. Him not having feelings is one thing, but the knowledge that he potentially does and still won’t let you in hurts much more. What-ifs haunt you constantly, and the memory of the look on his face when he pulled away slowly rips your heart to shreds. 

Now there’s only an evening left until you’re set to return home to District Four, only one night until you won’t see Haymitch again until…well you’re not sure how long it will be. 

“You know, I’m the one that should be moping about,” a voice says.

You look up to see Finnick staring at you from the doorway, a knowing look on his face.

“I’m not moping…I’m just tired,” you say.

It is true, but so is Finnick’s statement. Not that you’ll tell him that. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you and walks into the room, plopping down on your bed, “Such a bullshit response. Come up with a better excuse if you’re going to lie.”

“I’m not lying I-”

You shut up as he looks at you unimpressed. 

“Come on, I can read you like a book. What’s wrong?”

You sigh and look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Nothing I- I kissed Haymitch,” you murmur.

“What’d you say? I can barely hear you.”

“I kissed Haymitch,” you say more boldly. 

Finnick’s eyes widen, and it would be comical if it were any other situation, “Abernathy? You kissed Haymitch Abernathy?”

“Yes, Abernathy. Is there any other Haymitch?”

Finnick shakes his head in disbelief, “I owe Mags five dollars.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mags told me she thought you two liked each other. But I didn’t believe her, so we bet on it. Guess I can’t be that mad though.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, we’re not together or anything.”

Finnick looks at you intently, “why not?”

You sigh and pause for a moment, “Because he said I was too young.”

“That’s such bullshit,” the blonde scoffs, “you’re only like, what, ten years younger? Anyhow, you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”

You shrug your shoulders and sigh, “I just wish I never would’ve done anything. I was drunk and stupid and now he won’t talk to me.”

A pillow gets thrown at your face and you wince, scowling at Finnick, “what was that for?”

“Drunk you was smarter than sober you. She acted on her feelings. Now you’re just sitting around moping.”

“I-”

Finnick looks at you seriously, “Don’t waste your chance. We both know life is too short to have regrets.”

You stand up quickly and kiss Finnick on the cheek, “when did you get so smart little bro?”

He only rolls his eyes at your endearment and shoves you out the door.

Your hand shakes as you hold it up to the twelfth floor door. It’s ridiculous, really, how you’re more nervous to confess your feelings than you were to fight in the games. 

You take a deep breath and finally knock stiffly. 

There’s momentary silence and you think maybe Haymitch is asleep or not there. But then you hear shuffling from the other side and the door is yanked open- “Wha-?”

Haymitch freezes at the sight of you, his likely nasty reply hanging off of his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks more calmly.

“I-I came to apologize.”

Then, you shake your head, “that’s a lie. I’m not here to apologize because I’m not sorry for what I did… for kissing you. I’m only sorry you left too soon and I was too drunk for us to talk about it.”

Haymitch stands in the doorway still and only stares at you dumbfounded.

“Can-can I come in?”

Finally the blonde nods and steps aside, welcoming you into his space. It’s slightly messy and you suppose he hasn’t left the suite in days, not that you blame him or mind. 

You find a seat on the couch, comfortably separate from Haymitch on the other end. 

“Haymitch-”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. For walking out on you. It wasn’t the right thing to do. I-I panicked and you were drunk and…and I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”

You stare at him softly and your heart beats in your chest, “So you did feel something.”

Haymitch runs his hand through his hair exasperatedly, “Fuck, of course I did. I mean, you’re smart, funny, and beautiful, how could I not?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look down at your hands awkwardly… “but you think I’m too young. You said that.”

He sighs, “I-I did. And I meant it. I still do. You’re young, you still have a life to live. You deserve to be with someone young and put together and better…”

You scoff gently, “Did you ever think to ask me what I think I deserve? Why do you get to decide for me?” 

Haymitch’s mouth opens and closes silently like a fish.

“Maybe what I want- maybe what I deserve- is a kind, handsome guy who might be a little rough around the edges, but who is gooey and sweet on the inside. What then?”

“But I’m a drunk and fucked up and…”

You reach out and grip his hand tightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drink in days. And also, look who you’re talking to. I don’t exactly handle my trauma well either. I’m a victor too, remember?”

You shuffle closer to him, “Please don’t push me away, please-”

Before you can finish your response you’re cut off as Haymitch moves forward and pulls you into him, kissing you passionately.

You melt into his touch and sigh, finally being rewarded with what you’ve been craving for weeks. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, panting softly, “you know, you’re right. I haven’t drank in days because I found something better. I got drunk on you instead.”

[magneticallyyours]

...wesker hcs for a reader who's very into microbiology and bacteriology? :D maybe while Wesker is more virology and bioweaponry practical production, they're more extremophile production and exploring the siberian permafrost for viable specimens? (it'd be fun if they weren't aware of what their research was truly being used on)

Sorry it took so long, I've been in a horrible writer's block. I tried to get this as accurate to the ask as possible, enjoy!

Albert Wesker x Scientist!Reader headcanons (GN)

SUMMARY: Headcanons for Wesker working with/dating a reader who's a scientist; researching microbiology, bacteriology and the like.

TAGS: Headcanons, mildly dark

CW: Possessive Wesker, Unhealthy relationships (To nobody's surprise.)

WORD COUNT: 448

★★★★★★★★★

Okay, now this is a tricky one. With a reader that’s into microbiology, bacteriology, or any other similar field, Wesker would probably find you worth keeping around.

He’s definitely attracted to intelligence more than anything. Man's a sapiosexual--

100% intends to experiment on you to see if you can withstand Uroboros.

Most likely keeps you in the dark of what he’s using all this research for. Would cook up a believable story to keep you blindfolded.

If you find out and are unwilling to help him in his research, too bad, because he’s keeping you anyway.

Of course, if you’re all for it, even better for him and you. Less of a hassle.

Anyhow, he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d keep everything under wraps. Platonic or otherwise. Borderline possessive in the sense that he’d pay you so well and allow you to access such a broad range of landscapes/resources that you wouldn’t otherwise, just to keep you working with him and only him.

On the contrary, if you are great in your respective field, expect clashes with his ego. 

Whatever specimens you found would help him with his bioweaponry, which he likes.

 

He could use them to further strengthen his own projects.

Though, he’d be to the point, and wouldn’t beat around the bush. He would make you wonder if he even had hobbies outside of his work.

He wouldn’t make small talk except for when he needs to string you along. Just to keep you curious and wanting more.

If you two were dating, he’d talk more. Otherwise, it’d be like he is with Birkin. Not an overly friendly situation. Just associates.

He would also find your research on extremophiles intriguing, because that’s more specimens for his bioweaponry and viral research to interact with.

Your research, focused on microorganisms that thrive in environments such as the Siberian permafrost, fascinates him because it touches on the limits of biological survival; Something he finds relevant to his own work with his plan of global saturation with the Uroboros.

He never acknowledges the darker side of Umbrella’s projects directly to you, keeping everything focused on "pure" science, but there’s always a slight sense that he’s hiding something. He enjoys watching you work with the specimens, often making the occasional calculated comment about their potential, though it’s always vague enough to avoid giving anything away.

Relationship-wise, definitely HEAVY on the slow-burn. He wouldn’t rush anything. You’d slowly start noticing the tension in his eyes, even behind those black lenses of his. He’d start being around more. 

Rest assured that it’d be far from healthy– But that’s the fun with Wesker, I suppose. 

If Uroboros worked on you, more reason for him to find you worth keeping. Do expect him to keep you under wraps. He can’t have anyone find out about his prized scientist.

★★★★★★★★★

[youn9racha]

ASMR

genre: smut—headcanon

words: 740

warning: auralism, mentions of voice kink, roleplay, s/d dynamics, potential hard kinks, masturbation, switch!felix, handjobs, mentions of daddy/sir/master kink, pornography plays a big role in this headcanon.

a/n: finally,,, i've been meaning to make one of felix a long time ago (i'm talking since before my undisclosed hiatus has taken over) but i just kept on procrastinating, but here i am now, pushing myself, but i do hope this doesn't seem forced. if it did, well then... i'm sorry? ig, but thats neither here or there. i hope you all enjoy it, and feedback is greatly appreciated.

Click here for recommended asmrs:

chan — felix — hyunjin — han — i.n — changbin — lee know — seungmin

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

When he is single:

Felix was definitely born to become an asmr artist, or however you want to call it. if it were up to him, he'd definitely consider it as an art form, acting even.

He definitely uses his deep voice and accent to his advantage in many scenarios.

He doesn't just strictly do nsfw work though, he also does the occasional sfw content. (but he definitely knows that his audience is fed by lust).

He uses multiple media, but he's mostly on youtube for the sfw content, and for the nsfw stuff he's mainly on the hub and reddit.

He also has patreon for tips and requests and uses twitter to release a teaser or maybe releases some hot audios just on the whim to drive his audience crazy.

He also does occasional live streams on twitch for gaming and also maybe "unintentionally" seduce other streamers and his fans with his velvety voice.

Initially he wants to remain anonymous, but, unlike bang chan, seeing how much of an income he gets, and considering how unique his voice is, he really doesn't feel ashamed of himself to show himself off. (he could argue that it garnered more attention)

however, he doesn't post himself very often, so as to not take away his audience's fantasies.

now onto the content he creates:

Felix, like bang chan, is a man of generosity and often does what he asks of his audience

however, he is mostly known for his "boyfriend" series both in the sfw and nsfw realms.

In his youtube channel, you would see his content being very wholesome, seeing titles like "baking cookies with your australian boyfriend", "cuddling with your boyfriend after a stressful day", "positive affirmation from me to you", and many more. just overall, wholesome and comforting content.

however, his reddit and pornhub account juxtapose with his youtube channel.

He is mostly known for his deep-voiced moans and groans that come along with these scenarios

You'll also see him roleplay as deep voice character, pretending to be them for the sake of his audience, even down to altering his accent for the sake of it

just picture him cosplaying as ghost from call of duty... yeah, i'm going mental

Anyhow, he is also known for his words on these asmrs, regardless if he's aiming to be the dom, the sub, or the switch in these scenarios.

"oh, yes, who's a good girl for me?"

"oh, fuck, that pussy is tight for me~"

"yes, stroke that cock for daddy... just... like... that...mmh~"

"may i come for you? please, i-i've been such a good boy-ah!~"

Felix is known to have the most beautiful voice while getting pleasured, regardless of his position.

Despite having a deep voice, he is known to have many range, can create the most adorable sounds anyone could hear.

"please, baby... please let me come in you? i want to feel all of you...hmm~"

he truly could make anyone swoon with those adorable whimper.

He uses his hands and a fleshlight mostly, but does utilize lube and edits his audios to accentuate the wet sounds and to create ambience.

When he's in a relationship:

When you met Felix, you instantly knew what he does, but you never really ventured off into the nsfw content.

He had an amazing voice, just like those content he makes on youtube, he truly can match up with real life, almost making it seem like you were getting the full package.

however, when you found his nsfw account, you couldn't help but let your curiosity get the best of you and listen to them.

To say you were turned on would be an understatement.

Felix never really tried to hide that side of him, but it was just a matter of "i'll address it when it is mentioned" type of thing, and, although he was taken aback at first when you confronted him about it, he really didn't feel ashamed when you confronted him once he realizes that you enjoyed them.

You never really encouraged him to stop, and Felix never intended on stopping anytime soon, unlike chan.

You cheered him on, and often gave him ideas for certain scenarios.

He would from time to time uses you in his audios for the sake of "ambience" and lets your quiet moans melt through the audio, which surprisingly garnered positive reception.

So he proceeded with this endeavor and is in no way slowing down.

©︎ youn9racha— do not translate or repost in other medias.

[smolstarthief]

"I hope y'know what you got yourself into... Because there's no going back now..." "I know P̶̖̘̺̲̼̀̅̎̚L̸͇̣̯̩̑̽E̷̩͕͉̐̃͛̓N̷̹͇̎͋͑̾T̸̨͕͍̖̟̆̂̽Y̵͙̭͚̬͍̽̄͌..."

A quick Aesthetic board for my own take on an Overlord!Husk AU but Alastor loses his own soul along with the ones in his possession to Husk during that fateful card game!

The working name is "Ace of Spades" AU. The name coming from the apparent fact that this particular card in Cartomancy (a form of divination/fortune telling that utilizes playing cards as opposed to tarot cards) generally means a new beginning or new ideas.

I feel like it would fit the general idea and direction I want to take these two! That and Al's card in the flashback in episode 4 was a King of Spades so it's good irony for him and his fall from grace!

Now I guess the basic idea for their characterizations is...

Husk

Now my idea for Husk when he was an Overlord has changed from time to time admittedly. So far it's mostly cold and occasionally ruthless to those that cross him but he does show respect to those that earn it. He can show a smug side while gambling though complete with snark and dry humor. Kinda going off of his, "I lost the ability to love years ago" quote from the Pilot. Once you get underneath all of the potential armor he puts up, he can be sweet and is respectful of consent among other things. He considers beating Alastor in the game to be quite an achievement and more or less initially just treated him like such. He doesn't do anything heinous, just acts indifferent and tries to ignore Alastor's taunts and insults. He does find the demon's fighting nature to be intriguing and even refreshing. He develops an attachment later on which he doesn't realize until he was barely able to beat Vox in a match for Alastor's soul one night.

Alastor

Alastor is largely the same as canon more or less. He does not take the loss well at all and would frequently act defiant towards Husk, not understanding why he keeps him around anyhow besides a potential trophy for him to parade around. He's given all the necessities and some form of luxury (a fancy room of his own, his radio tower being implemented into the casino, the whole nine yards) and yet he hardly yields. He does know that laying low is the better option however, as much as he hates it. So he plays along with whatever gets asked of him. Advertising with his radio show, dealing, muscle, scouting out for fresh souls, you name it. He's practically a Wild Card for Husk. Despite his initial misgivings and plans of voiding the contract somehow, he notices that Husk isn't exactly bad company. Especially when they're alone with a drink or two. His soul is obviously not bound to anyone by the time he meets Husk in this AU.

Phew! Yeah that was a lot more than I thought... Huh. I'll definitely consider this for a future project! This IS a RadioHusk/HuskRadio AU so... There be something that develops between them and I maaaay have this AU transition into the events of the show too. How? I'll try to figure it out along the way. ^_^

I'm not super sure how the deal would be sealed since people have commonly had Husk seal it with a gold ring with the HuskerDust AUs but I'll think about it there too. We'll get there when we get there.

[rin-and-jade]

Job Roulette.. or Not: A Post about Alter Roles

Roles like Hosts? Protectors?.. maybe a Cleaner? an Academic?.. why is there an alter who comes out only for driving?! What about these other alters who don't really do much--they got to have one right??

--Are probably what you might be thinking when this topic comes up. But, there's something more into it,, it's not all about what job or how the role is assigned to an alter only.

Well, for this post, lets talk EVERYTHING about how roles work, what kinds exist, why it's there?? And especially, why are some more task specific, multi-role, or even... none? Bowl straight to the point, let's roll out. Haha punny

Ok J, spill. What are they?

Hold on. Im pulling out this dictionary definition of it--ah!

"defined positions that are associated with given responsibilities and are usually allocated according to the position or ability of each person."

To put it in system terms, it's how different parts can do something that others couldn't, or, feel a sense of responsibility in one particular aspect. That's making sense right? But oh.. you still want to know why they're there at the first place. Fine, follow me!

Yeah, show me why!

As aforementioned, this disorder boxes up our different parts of selves with amnesia and weaker bonds of connection which really sets us back on easing our 'modes' for different situations.. not only that, a part's moods and state/personality can greatly affect what kinds of jobs they get, it's not so random as you'd thought.

So, thing is, because some alters have a distinguished ability capable in doing something, depending what fragment or pre-existing knowledge/experience it holds, that can become it's very own job task.

They can be hereditary (upon split or formed), gained (fuse or passed traits), or even learnt (by its own commitment, without any prior skills). Roles come from many origins, and none of them are so different.

But, some are more complex..

I get it, some can have more than one, have ultra specific ones, or literally just don't have any. Now it makes you think--if it was from predisposed strengths each alters naturally have, then why are some more niche? or like, anything else? I know why:

Our brains are complex alright. We both can think maybe we can do (even if we don't like it) and not do something, and these are all compartmentalized in each alters, so basically its part feelings, part acceptance of such trait, and part commitment as the formula. Even confidence or the call to action affects this outcome!

This can apply to who can handle more than one jobs, or for those who are more specific or lesser known roles. In fact, roles do not have any limits, they are specifically tailored for your functionality so don't fret if you have an alter who's job is only to sleep, or anything else 'silly' !

What about the ones without.. roles?

Do you think it feels wrong to not have roles? While it is true that roles are needed, they're not actually a required standard for everyone to have a job task. Mainly, ANP's are the one who usually have roles, but EP's can too.

If they do not have a role, they might be disinterested or think they don't have any potential, or sometimes they're only there to hold memories / don't have the qualified skill sets, and thats okay! You can take proactive action in anyhow you'd like, just remember, every parts aren't forced to contribute, you know? It doesn't make them useless, maybe more on passive support/back ups.

I've also seen some systems who don't really have roles because the alters are all well-rounded, as in pick up other's tasks and that they're not assigned/compelled to do a particular job at all times, like being flexible. everyone's different!

Make sense, anything else?

Well, that we are not bound to roles, they do not define us, and that we can lose, or change roles according to our growth. Have anyone ever mentioned that?

Im aware that we tend to put too much emphasis on having jobs and being contributive, but the most important thing to keep in mind is that we all in this together, and to help each other, in a way or another.

Never forget that you're more than your job! Maybe try to enjoy other parts of life, yeah?

--

Thats the end of the post. What will you do if you find a new alter with no impressions of having a role? How do you see roles in your own pov? What's the first thing you'd do if you were to be free from your job task, if any? Feel free to let me know, i hope this has been informative, im willing to add anything if something's missing!

- j

[presidenthades]

⚠️Spoilers for S.2 ep.2, kinda❓

DAERON EXISTS, LIFE MAKES SENSE AGAIN!

Anyhow, your thoughts on the new episode🎤???

Oh, and in celebration of show!Daeron's confirmed existence: mini tiny Joffron doodle ig? Made with love, not with skill☝️💚🖤❤️

Wait omigod I love this. Why does it perfectly encapsulate the two of them. 😭😍🥰 They really do have a reverse Hades/Persephone dynamic! Honestly I love this art style, it’s giving a chibi vibe that I adore. I’m going to link this to my HOTD artwork list.

Anyway yes, Daeron truthers rise up. ✊

(Obviously, S2E2 spoilers below the cut.)

First I’ll start with new thoughts on B&C. After my rewatch, most of my feelings about E1 remained the same, but I want to update my reaction to B&C. Helaena’s muted reaction made more sense to me the second time around. It is consistent with her character, and the BTS info about her visions makes it understandable why she seemed to treat Jaehaerys’s death as inevitable.

HOWEVER. Viewers should not be required to watch BTS commentaries etc. to have full context for the scene. The background info about Helaena’s visions should’ve been in the actual episode. If knowing about Helaena’s visions about her children’s potential demise is that important, they could and should have incorporated it I nto an actual scene. For example, instead of her opening scene being her embroidering, she could’ve been scribbling about that vision in her notebook.

If for some reason this was too difficult to film, there’s one small change they could’ve made to B&C which would’ve made a huge difference, visions or no visions. When Blood says both children “look the same,” Cheese could have responded with “just kill them both.” This instantly heightens the stakes and makes Helaena’s actions more understandable to even the most casual viewer: if she doesn’t point out Jaehaerys, then both her children die.

End of E1 rant. Onto E2 rant!

I’ve seen a lot of different reactions to this episode. Some say it was great, some say it was awful. IMO, your takeaway of how good the episode was probably depends on who your favorite characters are.

I think Rhaenyra and Aegon had the best scenes this episode. Otto also had some banger lines, and Helaena made me feel a lot of emotions. Daemon did not come away particularly well, Aemond was a little weird, Alicent continues to be frustrating, and I’m convinced that Criston is the writing room’s whipping boy.

TGC really got to show off his acting chops this episode. Personally I wish they could’ve spent more time on Aegon smashing the LEGOs and bludgeoning Blood, but that is a me preference. I think Aegon really did love Jaehaerys, AND he is angry about the blow that has been struck again him as king. Both these things can be true at the same time. The end scene where he’s crying alone in his room proves that his grief isn’t just a show.

And I don’t mind that Aegon’s decision to hang all the rat-catchers makes him seem violent and impetuous, because he is violent and impetuous. The scene is also framed so that you understand why Aegon did it; we see Cheese hanging with the others. And let’s be honest, if Rhaenyra did something similar to avenge Luke (eg burn down Storm’s End because Borros contributed to his demise, which would kill a lot of other people too), a lot of viewers would cheer her on.

(I was definitely thinking during the “Aegon fires Otto” scene that Aegon could really use a Jacaera to kindly knock some sense into him. 🥲)

Speaking of the end scene…omigod Alicent why. 💀 Conceptually, I understand there’s generational trauma going on. Otto was cold with Alicent, who is in turn cold with Aegon especially. But like. Holy shit. Give your son a 5-second hug. It would’ve been nice if they could at least show Alicent feeling conflicted, like she wants to comfort her son but feels incapable, so she walks away.

Backtracking a bit: I feel like Alicent is consistently made the focus of the story in places where she arguably should not be the focus, and I wonder if this is because the showrunners want to take advantage of the fact they’ve paid good money for Olivia Cooke. But I truly do not understand why it was Helaena and Alicent at the funeral rather than Helaena and Aegon. Otto said something about “our gentlest souls” but this could’ve been a great opportunity to showcase more of Aegon and Helaena’s complicated relationship and shared grief.

Whatever my other feelings on the scene, I do think Phia and Olivia’s acting was phenomenal. Helaena’s panic attack during the funeral 😱. I really just wanted to emergency evacuate her from that mess.

I’m going out of chronological order, but I’m going to backtrack again to Otto making the decision to have the funeral as a PR campaign. It’s very Machiavellian, and TBH I understand why he chose to do it. It is a huge blow against Rhaenyra’s reputation. But I feel like the show wants Otto and Daemon to be the only actual schemers on their respective sides. Everyone else kinda just whoopsies or white-knights their way through the narrative. I just want to shake the writers and tell them it’s okay for other characters to be villainous. There’s a reason Daemon is way more popular than Criston. At least Daemon fully commits to his bad decisions.

I kinda feel bad for Fabien Frankel because the writers seem to really have it out for Criston. They really want to make him the most hatable character. 💀 Imagine if instead we got a more Machiavellian Criston who intentionally decides to claw his way up from nothing to become one of the most powerful people in Westeros. Even if he does reprehensible things along the way, at least he does them purposefully, not because he’s incompetent.

I almost forgot to talk about Aemond, because he really has not been getting a lot of screen time these two episodes. The brothel scene was odd but not as odd as it could have been. I wish the writers would stop having his personality revolve around Daemon, but it’s probably their way of building up to God’s Eye. Honestly, I would’ve preferred a scene of Aemond with his family dealing with B&C aftermath rather than fucking off to the brothel.

Now, changing topics to the Rhaenyra and Daemon divorce scene. I think viewers’ reactions to this scene depend a lot on whether or not you’re a Daemon fan. He really comes off not great in the entire sequence from when Rhaenyra learns about B&C to when Daemon leaves. Also, it’s very obvious Sara Hess wrote the scene; she’s been vocal about how she dislikes Daemon, and a lot of what Rhaenyra says seems to be opinions that Sara has shared. I think Rhaenyra was right to call out Daemon for B&C and for lying to her face about it.

It may have been better if they had more buildup showing cracks between Daemon and Rhaenyra, because she’s also calling him out for a lot of stuff besides B&C. There was the S1E10 argument and choking scene, but some more interaction in S2E1 or E2 where they’re at odds would have made it fresher in viewers’ memories. But it’s not necessary, and I think the scene works as is.

Despite viewers’ feelings on this scenes, it was VERY well acted by both Emma and Matt. And it leads to Rhaenyra’s interesting interaction with Baela. Rhaenyra refuses to risk Jace and send him out on patrol near KL, but she tells Baela to do the exact same thing. It’s very subtle, and the scene is framed as a positive thing between the two characters, but this is probably the most morally gray decision Rhaenyra makes in this episode. She won’t risk her child, but she will risk Daemon’s child immediately after they fought.

The Mysaria scenes were interesting. I really don’t mind the show’s efforts to whitewash her. She’s horrible in the book, but show!Mysaria is actually sympathetic for the most part. She worked her way up from nothing but the people in charge of the system keep stomping her back down. I think her dialogue about Daemon/Otto/powerful men was heavy-handed foreshadowing that she’s going to end up serving Rhaenyra, who is notably not a man.

I don’t have a lot of groundbreaking comments about Erryk & Arryk. It was very emotionally impactful…and I wish the episode had ended either with them dying, or with the scene where Aegon is crying by himself, rather than ANOTHER Alicole sex scene. 💀

Overall, this episode had its highlights, and acting is phenomenal as always. But the writers really need to figure out what to do with Alicent and Criston, other than have the fuck all the time.

[kissingarthurclaus]

First Impressions

The galaxy was in pure chaos. She wasn't one to shy away from a bit of chaos now and then. In fact, some would say she was something of an expert back in her padawan days! This was different, however. Ever since The Battle of Geonosis, everyone from the outer rim to the heart of Coruscant was in a tizzy to say the least. Drawing lines, choosing sides, making plans, and in the middle of it were the Jedi. Once they were the galaxy's humble peacekeepers, now they were expected to fight this war for the citizens they had sworn to protect.

A/N: I suddenly got in the mood to write a little something about the day Kepler was assigned as Brea's padawan because I don't think I've talked very much about how everything started! No warnings for this one, just a short drabble and some dialogue to sort of establish their relationship dynamic at the beginning to set the stage. Maybe I'll add onto it and include their first mission, maybe not, but for now here it is! (Divider cred. @/cafekitsune)

Brea’s foot tapped anxiously against the spotless floor of the temple as she wrote out the report on her last mission, her boots leaving slight scuffs on the pristine marble in the process. She'd developed the nervous habit over time after suddenly finding herself in the position of Commander, less than a week after becoming a Jedi Knight to begin with.

She had no battalion to command. When she was deployed on missions, it was usually either as backup for a Jedi General who'd gotten in a bit over their heads as they attempted to push back Separatist droids with their clones, or she went out solo. Using her skills to scout out potential threats, in which case she was solely responsible for the outcome of such missions…and for all the paperwork. Her least favorite part of the job.

Getting shot at by droves of nasally-voiced droids was somehow preferable to this. Her eyes strained against the walls of text on the datapad before her, a headache beginning to form from blue light exposure. Her focus started to wane as she wondered how a droid could have a nasally voice anyhow? What kind of person would program them with that particular kind of voice box? Was their intention to annoy the Grand Army of the Republic to death?

“Speak with you, may I, Young Callisto?” An unmistakable voice and speech pattern shook her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, Master Yoda! How can I help you?” She said, lowering her datapad to reveal the short, green Jedi before her.

He was not alone, however. A young boy stood awkwardly just a few inches behind him. His small frame was emphasized by his posture, shoulders slightly hunched as he looked nervously between her and the back of Yoda's head. Though his robes were disheveled and seemed to be just a bit too big for him and his signature braid was done rather sloppily, he was obviously a padawan. Seemed the right age, probably between 12 and 13 years old. He wore thick goggles that obscured most of his face, but behind them his brow was furrowed, and he had slight wrinkles under his eyes that he was definitely too young for.

She didn't have to use the Force to know that this was a kid who didn't want to be here. That begged the question, why was he? She looked back towards Yoda for answers.

His large ears twitched as he leaned against his cane, always taking such a long time to say what he was going to say. She tried to remind herself that she was in the presence of someone much older and wiser than her and to not get impatient.

“Young Callisto, a very important task for you, I have. As you know, spread thin across the galaxy are the Jedi. Yes. Very thin.” He started pacing slowly, his cane tapping against the floor as he did so. “As many hands as possible, we will need to win this war.”

Finally, he gestured to the boy. “Introduce yourself, young one.”

He seemed unprepared, as he suddenly snapped upright and his hands fumbled to clumsily grip at his robes. “O-oh, me do it? Ok, uhm…my name is Kepler Quinn, Master Jedi!” He punctuated this with a quick and shallow bow, more akin to a nod than anything else. His small voice had an extremely distinct squeak to it, as though it couldn't decide whether the pitch wanted to settle up or down.

“Well, it's uh, nice to meet you, Kepler!” She smiled invitingly to try and set him more at ease, “Heh, so polite. Thank you, but I'm not a Master.” wait…

Brea began to piece together just what Yoda was suggesting and was stunned into silence for the briefest of moments. Not long ago, Anakin had told her about how a padawan was suddenly sprung onto him without so much as a warning, and in the middle of a battle no less. Sure, she had thought about perhaps someday in the future taking on a padawan learner herself, but she always thought it would be a long time from now and that it would be her own choice. And with the war going on, she just didn't have the time.

“Master Yoda, I- I- don't know…how good of an idea this is. I mean, I've only been a Knight for how long?” She stammered, not wanting to sound like she was just outright rejecting the kid when he was standing within earshot. “Do you really want me to be a master?”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin “a strange and unusual time this is for us all, Young Callisto. Do things the way we have in the past, we cannot. Learn to adapt, we must. And learn from you this youngling will!” He pointed at her with his cane for emphasis.

“In need of help, General Skywalker and his men are. You and Young Quinn will go to the front lines and assist them. Yes, that is your task.”

Brea perked up just a bit upon hearing this. Ever since seeing Anakin on Geonosis what seemed like only yesterday, the two were as thick as they had been as younglings, but with how the war was going they hardly had any time to spend together. They usually ended up posted in totally separate star systems and always seemed to be running off to a new mission. This would be a good opportunity to catch up with him, once she was done saving his butt, of course.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth, resting her free hand on her hip. This was classic Yoda. He wasn't allowing her a lot of time to consider it, if Anakin needed her help, then she would never be the one to keep him waiting. “Well, Kep. What do you say?”

“I guess I don't really have a choice, so…” He replied with a hint of bitterness, his eyes not meeting her gaze. This gave her a bit of pause.

“Hmm, decided then, it is.” Yoda glanced up at her knowingly. She hated when he did that, like he had some sort of trick up his sleeve in order to teach her a lesson. “If unsure you still are when you return, another master we will find for the youngling. There is no time to waste. Leave immediately, you must!”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Brea said in unison with the boy, as they watched the ancient one shuffle down the temple hall and out of sight. There really was no arguing with him in the end, and at least for now, it seemed Brea had a padawan of her own.

—--------------------------

That was how she found herself where she was now. Her ship was roomy enough to comfortably house two people, but she had been so used to riding alone that she couldn't help but feel a sort of…weight in the Force around them. She sat arms crossed in the pilot's seat and watched the lines of blue and white light streak past through the cockpit window. There were few places as good to strike up conversation in than hyperspace.

She looked over at Kepler, who sat stiffly and silently in the co-pilot's seat, as though he was afraid to move even a muscle for some reason.

“So, this is your first time off-world, isn't it? it's exciting, huh?”

“I dunno. I feel more nauseous than anything.”

“Eh, that's normal! It'll go away after a while.” She said with a wave of her hand, a deceptively blasé gesture to hide the fact that she was actually floundering just a bit. She'd been trying to break the ice between them for a little while now, but had only managed to get similarly dry responses from him thus far. She was normally so good with younglings. When she visited the initiates when they had a break from their studies to play in the courtyards, they had lots of fun. But this one was so different. Most children raised in the Jedi Temple never see anything else until they reach padawanship, the little guy should be ecstatic right now!

But she wasn't sensing any sort of joy from him right now. Not a hint of excitement. He sat disgruntled and the slightest bit on edge like he was waiting for something terrible to happen at any moment.

“I hope you're not worried about it being your first mission, too. I promise, it won't be that ba-”

“You don't have to keep trying to talk to me, you know.” He said suddenly, cutting off her train of thought.

She quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him from the side as she idly flipped a switch here and there on the control panel to keep the hyperspace jump running smoothly. “I want to talk to you. It seems like we're gonna be spending quite some time with each other from now on, right?”

“Sure. If you say so…” He said under his breath, but just loud enough that Brea heard it over the hum of the ship's engines.

If she says so? That was more than a little concerning to say the least.

“Well, did anyone say otherwise? Come on, we're in this together now.”

He stayed quiet, retreating into himself both physically and emotionally. That wasn't good, she needed to get him to elaborate more so she could finally figure this kid out. What would her Master have done if she needed her to open up to her…?

“Well, this reminds me of my first mission as a Padawan. My Master Yora Tos was a very powerful Jedi, and she had such a kind soul. But she was also such a chatterbox. There we were, it's my first time entering hyperspace, I'm trying to focus be amazed by it and she just would not stop yammering on and on and on and on and on-”

She heard him heave a rather large sigh. Bingo.

“Alright, I'm sorry, it's just…I don't have. A very good track record with this sort of thing.”

“What, with hyperspace?”

“No, with my Masters.”

Masters…plural? It wasn't necessarily unheard of for a padawan to be reassigned once in a while. Sometimes the matchup just didn't work out for one reason or another. It seemed like what was bothering him ran a little deeper than that, though.

“How many…Masters have you had?” She pried carefully, not wanting him to clam up again. She was worried she'd made a mistake by asking when he didn't reply right away, but after a few moments and another large sigh, he did.

“Three.”

She blinked. Three previous Masters? Ok, now that actually was a little bit unheard of. Now she was starting to understand him a little bit. She only ever had one, so maybe this wasn't a matter she could relate to personally, but she felt that she could at least try to sympathize with him.

“Jeez, that's rough, buddy. Why did you drop them? You didn't like em?”

He turned away from her, leaning against the arm of the seat and resting his chin on his hand. “I didn't. They dropped me. Because I'm, well… I'm not really cut out to be a Jedi.”

Her head swiveled towards him, “Hey, don't say that! I'm sure it's not true.”

“Well, I mean? I kinda tend to fall behind, someone is always having to wait for me to catch up. My saber technique needs work. I can barely move a pebble with the Force. And on top of that I'm always getting sick.” He emphasized this with a wet-sounding sniffle and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. “I'm not exactly a star pupil.”

Brea exhaled through her nose as she pondered this. All of that stuff had always come so easily to her, she couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be to struggle so much with it.

“Well, everybody has stuff they're not so good with. It just takes time. And the right guidance! Who were your previous Masters anyway?”

“Well, there was Master Tiin, and Master Koth, and I guess most recently Master Windu.”

“Whew! Well I can hardly blame you, kid.” She said raucously, “That one definitely wasn't your fault.”

He tilted his head to the side as he turned towards her, suddenly seemingly interested for the first time since they met. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, Master Windu has always been bit of a hardass.” She began, leaning back in her chair. Surprisingly enough, this got what she thought was actually a snort out of him. It was almost laughter. Not quite, but close enough. “Ha, that's probably why he's on the Council now, so I doubt much has changed since I was a youngling. His standards are so high you couldn't reach them if you were at the highest point of Cloud City.”

“Yeah…” He turned away, his expression starting to fall again.

Shoot. She dared to reach over and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch ever so slightly. She retreated a bit, but suddenly it seemed like a new resolve had settled in her mind. Somehow she wasn't convinced that this kid was the problem here.

“Listen…if becoming a Jedi was easy, then everyone would do it, right? If you're here then it means you have every right to be.”

He said nothing, merely humming a noncommittal reply in return before looking ahead through the cockpit window. Her eyes turned in the same direction. The star streaks that had been shooting past them at impossible speeds suddenly slowing until they stopped entirely and returned to their natural shape as points of light in the far distance. The whole ship shook slightly as they were finally dropped out of hyperspace.

Brea sighed and rolled her neck to pop her upper vertebrae before turning her attention to the control panel, switching the ship from autopilot to manual controls again.

“Alright. Let's get down there and save Skywalker's skin!” they began their descent and soon they would be breaking the atmosphere. “In my experience, hands-on learning is way more useful than anything you can learn from silly old books anyway!”

She glanced over at him and saw how his eyes widened as he watched the planet's surface slowly approach them. His lips pulled tightly in a sort of grimace as he was no doubt imagining what sort of scene awaited the both of them there. So, he was a bit nervous about his first mission. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have been under these circumstances, but at least one thing was clear to her. She wasn't gonna let anything happen to him.

“Remember, I got your back out there, kiddo.”

He swallowed harshly and turned, throwing her a thumbs up and some semblance of an awkward smile, revealing that he had a gap between his two front teeth. Something she hadn't noticed before now.

Fear response or not, this was the first smile she'd seen from him this entire time, and as she returned her focus to the ship's steering apparatus and prepared for landing, she smiled back.

[vampirevatican]

Slasher with an anxious, on the verge of a mental break down MC . Think pomni or kobeni if you know who those are

i do know them! pomni more, need to watch chainsaw man... anyhow ima do my best on this

Imagine giving up running and mc is bawling on the floor and then laughing. they'd be so confused. sure they can cry, but the anxiety or mental breaks that show the opposite of what's really going on deep inside?? yeah they're a bit off, and that's enough to make them pause in coming after mc.

Jay is confused. He hasn't even touched them or threatened them yet. Are they good? Are they okay? Can he make it better?? He wants to make it better. Though again if we're going with the opposite of bawling or pure fear anxiety then i think something settles in the pit of his stomach and he feels uncomfortable. Something about it almost hits close to home in a way that unnerves him and he hasn't been unnerved since his mom and the rituals.

Ghost believes they're insane. If we're talking the other "normal" reaction then he promises to end it by gutting them alive which triggers the anxiety and makes it worse. No yeah, mc is wild, unhinged even and it intrigues him. "They're like a cornered animal... it's cute." definitely gains points with him, and he wants to see what made you like this.

Leather is definitely concerned. deeply so if we're thinking on where y'all's relationship is close. At the start tho he not only thinking you're brave he thinks you're running on pure fight and flight. Clever piglet. Til he sees the mini breakdowns and struggling to keep it together. "Oh it's adorable. oh it's traumatized. oh it has an. xi. ety."

Mike feels like he's looking at a life that he could've been. In the sense that he can see they are one really bad psyche break away from killing some and perhaps he's interested in pushing you to that. You have potential, it's just a matter of harnessing that untamed fear into anger or numbness. First time seeing you have a break down in the woods he watches on curiously.

[egotank]

Hullo hullo! I have just started watching MHA, and I'm enjoying it so far! I heard you wanted some more MHA requests sooooo

Is it possible for you to write Regressor!Izuku, who is non-verbal and shy/scared of everyone at the school except Katsuki? Katsuki still sees him as a rival and torments him. However, an argument breaks out in the middle of class, and Izuku puts himself between Katsuki and someone else, thinking they're going to hurt Katsuki. Izuku is defensive and refuses to leave Katsuki's side the rest of class, and then we end up with fluff?

I guess you could almost say Izuku doesn't trust anyone at the school, believing them to be villains for fighting with Katsuki. This is probably some angst to fluff if you're okay with writing that. If not, that's completely okay! If you want to change the story anyhow, go for it!

🥞🐬

My Little Hero

CG!Katsuki x Little!Izuku

So this is such a good request that I might turn it into a mini series considering all the potential this holds. Also I suggest keeping tissues nearby when you hit seasons six and seven you will be crying a lot. -Kiri

Izuku Midoriya is an age regressor no one knows this not even his childhood friend Katsuki Bakugou knows or well thats what he thinks. Truth is everyone knows to various degrees they know to give him space when he goes non-verbal or well most do Katsuki still throws a few jabs at him but he’s at least a bit nicer about it.

Today was one of those days where Midoriya felt very small not talking much. A fight breaks out between Bakugou and Iida over what Midoriya didn’t know. All he really knows is he doesn’t like it so he stood up and pushed the two apart. He tries to look like he’s not scared but he is utterly terrified. He doesn’t want Tenya yelling at him for pushing and he doesn’t want Katsuki yelling at him that he doesn’t need him protecting him.

The expected yelling doesn’t come from either sure he gets a quirked eyebrow raise from Iida but the only reaction he gets out of Bakugou is a half snarked ‘Tch’ from the moment Aizawa get into the classroom everyone sits in there seats Izuku sitting close to Katsuki.

Bakugou has no idea why Midoriya is practically following him like a puppy all the time but he also can’t bring himself to yell at him like he normally would. He finds himself constantly checking in on Izuku more often.

When the explosive blonde asks his friend Denki Kaminari about it considering the electric blonde’s boyfriend Hitoshi Shinsou is also a regressor. Kaminari explains that Bakugou is going into caregiver mode and that it’s normal given the fact Midoriya is a little without one. It’s after that explanation that Katsuki vows to be the best damn caregiver for Izuku.

Okay gunna leave it here because I definitely want to make this a series I’m so hyped for this so anon if you have any other suggestions this series is yours to help build with us. -Kiri

[koorinokujira]

Transformers thoughts that wouldn't leave me alone - Forgotten melodies of eld

I have a bit of a tendency to overthink my favorite media and make strange associations with other things, and Transformers is no different right now. Those robots are spinning in my head like leftover pasta in a microwave. Anyhow, last night I was thinking about Cybertronian music.

(Ramble incoming! Also I might get stuff wrong, I am still fairly new in the fandom, after all. So please, forgive my potential ignorance.)

Now, there usually isn't that much lore on it from what I've seen, which absolutely sucks and I need more. What I've also noticed is that there often seems to be more of a focus on the musical instruments (which I also definitely need more lore on), rather than vocals. And hoo boy do I have thoughts about that specificallly.

Cybertronians have voice boxes, right? And considering their mechanical anatomy, it's pretty safe to say that they can hold on for way longer than our vocal cords. After all, it's not like a computer or its speakers start breaking down after a few hours of music being played continuously. Of course, such a voice box would be more complex, and there are definitely some more unique ways for it to break or damage, but... I generally like to think they are pretty durable when they are used for speech or song. Which brings me to the concept which I decided to call "mechanical elves", or something to that effect.

Now, what does that even mean? It's simple; I was inspired by the portrayal of elven music in various fantasy media, like J. R. R. Tolkien's works. Songs that reach the deepest parts of your soul in an ancient, ellegant language, voices that sing heartwrenching ballads for hours on end about tragedies that happened millennia ago. And I thought... wouldn't that work for Cybertron? Or at least, Cybertron in its beginnings?

You have a race of giant, mechanical beings, many of which have lived for millions of years. And they do love their music, even if we often have no idea what it's like and get only snippets from their culture. You have people like Blaster, who is literally nicknamed "The Voice" in the IDW1 comics and uses his voice to inspire his fellow Autobots, among other things. Just their voice boxes alone have so much potential, and that just makes me feel stuff, honestly.

Why wouldn't they sing for incredible amounts of time without stopping, at least when the times weren't so complicated just yet?

Did the first Cybertronian who ever hummed a melody feel so much joy that he simply kept going and couldn't stop, before excitedly teaching others? When a friendship started to feel more than it already was, did the night start with a passionate serenade sung by a singular voice, which, as the hours went by, turned into a duet full of affectionate words to one another? When a Cybertronian died for the first time, did his brothers sing for his memory, and to survive the sorrow as they had no tears to weep?

Mechanical voices crying out in raw emotion to let the world know they're there, only for others to answer. Languages and dialects no longer spoken, beautifully haunting melodies long forgotten. And as the time went on, the world started to get more and more quiet, before the old compositions finally gave way to the new ones. Perhaps the Titans who yet live still remember a few notes or words once sung.

All that's left of the beginnings now is a requiem doubling as an ode to hope.

Its words?

"'Til all are one."

[clangen-dadm]

I got permission to post asks about potential treatments for Warriors disabilities & disorders for those who want to write about them, this one's about autism (referred to as starwalker in-game, but I'll be using the name autism)

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMERS:

- Do not use the herb-related FICTIONAL treatments IRL AT ALL!! I am not a medical professional or vet. If you believe someone needs help, get them real help!

- I obviously cannot speak for everyone with any disorder, so take everything with a healthy pinch of salt because not everyone will agree with me. If you're one of those people, I am absolutely open to civil conversation and constructive criticism ^^

What is autism?:

Autism, aka Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a neurodevelopmental disorder that is characterized by many symptoms including (but not limited to): difficulties with communication and socialization, repetitive behaviors, sensory sensitivities, and difficulties with executive functioning.

Important things to note from this description:

- Autism being referred to as a spectrum means no one person experiences anything the same, so symptoms vary a LOT. Imagine a circle--every autistic person falls somewhere on that circle. Just as symptoms vary, some may not need very much support in their day-to-day life, while others might need lots of regular accommodations. This does not mean anyone is "more" or "less" autistic than anyone else.

- Neurodevelopmental means all autistic people are BORN autistic and will ALWAYS be autistic. Nobody's entirely certain where autism originates from, as it's actually a relatively new diagnosis, but we do know that it is not something that can be prevented or cured.

- Executive functioning is tied to a lot of things--emotional control, flexible thinking, impulse control, self-monitoring, working memory, organization, task initiation, and planning and prioritizing.

I'll admit, I'm writing this late at night and a majority of what I've been planning on saying is already covered here: https://allwritealright.com/how-to-write-an-autistic-character/#Make_Your_Autistic_Character_an_Individual (Excellent post, definitely check it out!), so I don't feel a need to say too much more, but there are s few more things I wanted to discuss.

How would Warriors treat autism?:

Honestly, I don't have any herbal remedies for this (and frankly I don't think they'd be very useful or appropriate anyways), but there are plenty of ways to accommodate for autistic kitties in your Clans!

When a cat is having a meltdown:

1) Stay calm! They don't need more stress right now.

2) Remove any potential triggers.

3) Distract them (encourage them to use calming strategies and offer something else for them to focus on)

4) Give them time and space to recover.

To treat sensory sensitivities in a cat, first identify triggers. If they're triggered by loud noises, try to keep them in a quiet area. They could wear little mossy/feathery earmuffs to help when things are noisy! If they're triggered by touch, make sure everyone knows to ask before touching them (which should be pretty basic manners anyhow). If they're triggered by smell or taste, keep those specific smell/taste triggers away from them. You get the point :)

To help a cat who is resistant to change through a change, try reinforcing everything else being similar except for one thing so that they can ease into a new routine instead of being shoved into it.

For nonverbal characters, communication cards, while limited, are one option left unmentioned in the blog I linked that can be quite helpful, as well! Simple things like common emotions and phrases are a good idea for these cards :)

Ough I really wanted to write more but I can't think of anything else that wasn't covered in that blog post unfortunately :( but if anyone has any questions I'll be lurking around the blog now and then, and I'm sure the actual mods of this blog can help too!!

this is really cool!! thank you :)

To piggyback off this, personally one thing I’d like to see more of in autism rep is characters with negative stims or tics! When overwhelmed, I have really bad negative stims (hitting myself, biting myself, etc), which can make things even worse, but a good therapist and support group can help your character through! In real life this may translate to hitting a plushie or biting an orange peel, but I’d love to see creative ways warriors could come up with instead- maybe they could bite into a preserved pelt or extra prey! In the game we have some stim toys they can get from two legs, but I’m sure warriors could also come up with some creative ideas!

I also appreciate it when other characters help autistic characters work through their sentences without teasing them. I have a moderately annoying stutter and struggle to find my words, especially when my emotions are running high. The best people in my life will patiently wait for me to get it out instead of pressuring me or making fun of it. I’d love to see a community of cats around the autistic character!

I’m sure Song has more ideas as well, unfortunately I’m the only West Coast mod XD ! I’ll ask them in the morning

[midnightsun-if]

Oh, if we are talking about our other siblings (love them all, and our moms), my favourite is Christian. I can easily imagine my MC, when she was still a baby, fallowing him around like a little tail (that's what my dad used to call me, when I was smoll and followed him around - 'my little tail'). Especially since Christian was a little bit uncomfortable (scared even) with the little MC in the beginning and maybe tried to avoid her, I just imagine that made her even more persistent. And if someone asked why she couldn't leave her poor stressed out brother alone, she honestly said something like 'he's funny'.

Ok, sorry, I got a little bit carried away with my imaginary scenarios. Anyhow, love our disastrous big bro.

I think I might have to implement a choice either later on or somewhere in the first chapter where you can choose the sibling you were either the closest with (or tried to be), because I think that’ll make some of the angst later on so much sweeter. Especially if your MC has a relationship like this with Christian and you finally uncover what happened between him and Cienna… Will your view of him change? Will you stop loving him? Or if you’re close with Cienna… Will you think she’s been too harsh? Do you think she’s weaker because of it?

Percy will be the unproblematic bean that we all know and love… although she definitely has her moments later on that I think will be enticing to angst lovers too.

Thank you so much for sharing this with me! I absolutely loved reading it! Truly gave me an insight, and potential ideas, into your MCs mind and how she interacted with the siblings — especially Christian! 💜

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 6: The Devil Takes Care of His Own

Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

Warnings: language, I think this chapter is pretty tame?

Word count: 2,255ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being a sounding board for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being a cheerleader, and allowing me to screech at her about things that have happened during the writing process. Seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y’all! 💛

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! 💛🤓

Stella pulled up to the ranch. When she had gotten a text from Rip last night to come in today by noon, she had wanted to die. Breathing out loudly, she shut the car off and prepared herself for the potential heartbreak that was about to happen. She looked to her left and realized she had parked next to Kayce’s truck. ‘Shit. What’s he doing here?’

She immediately felt her chest tighten. What if John had lied to get him here to back him into a corner and to help make sure she would stay in line when he fired her and kicked her out?

“Fuuuuck,” she drug the syllable out quietly. She shook her head. ‘No. There’s no way Kayce would let that happen.’ Sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, she hopped out of the SUV.

Glancing around, Stella could see a lot of activity for the day in full swing. It looked like they were separating steer prospects they didn’t want to keep. She didn’t see Kayce, but she did spot her brother. She smiled affectionately seeing him doing the work he loved to do. When her eyes landed farther to the right, she saw Tate leaning on the fence watching with childlike wonder.

She wandered over to the little boy. “Hey bud!”

“Oh hey Aunt Stell! Isn’t this cool?”

“Yeah it sure is. I love watching them.” She smiled. She whispered conspiratorially to him. “It’s even more fun to do it though.”

Tate looked at her with wide eyes. “You’ve done this before??”

She smiled. “Yessir I have. Plenty of times. With my brother and your dad, and your grandpa.”

“Woaahhh! That’s awesome! I wanna do it too!” Her best friend’s son practically started to levitate with excitement.

“Well you’ve gotta be just a little bit bigger for that, bud.” She chuckled. “Speaking of your dad, do you know where he went?”

“I think he went to talk to grandpa.”

Stella sighed. “Okay I’m gonna go find them. Stay on this fence and not the inside one, alright?” She ruffled his hair gingerly and he giggled. Stella knew Tate knew better, but she couldn’t help herself to give the warning anyhow.

Stella circled around and gave everything a passing glance. It was almost like an out of body stream of consciousness. Her eyes stopped as they landed on the two men in question looking in her direction. She was sure she turned seven different shades of pale. Stretching her neck from side to side, she walked toward them. Little did Stella know, they watched her from the moment she pulled in.

“Is this my judge and jury pair?” It was spiteful of her to say that. She cringed and started again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like that.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Kayce asked, surprised at her rough greeting. Stella’s eyes darted to John, whose face was stoic, but his eyebrows raised slightly. He hadn’t told Kayce.

She tried to smooth past her slip. “Nothin’. Y’all just seemed like you were ready to make big decisions for everyone’s day. So the judge,” she motioned at John, “and the jury.” She finished pointing to Kayce. “I’m also just in rare form today apparently.”

Kayce decided to ignore that and looked at his dad. “How’s that stallion treatin’ ya?”

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving.” John snorted and looked around.

Stella laughed quietly. “He’s definitely giving everyone a run for their money. And I’m almost outta money.”

“Kayce, let me borrow Stella for a second.”

The younger Dutton stopped shifting on his feet. He passed a look between his dad and his best friend, confused. “Sure. Don’t need my permission.”

John waved his hand for Stella to follow him. Kayce caught the sight of her wiping her hands on her legs. Why was she nervous to talk to his dad, of all people? This is the girl that told his dad to ‘go fuck himself and get off his high horse, it’s not just about you’ when she defended him back when she was 18. He reached out to grab her arm, but his fingertips barely brushed it. She fixed him with a look that made him stop any form of question.

When the eldest Dutton and Stella walked around the corner, she let out a heavy sigh. She leaned her shoulder on the wall while she placed her hands in her back pockets.

“Well, let’s have it, sir.” She tried to brace herself for the hit.

John pinned her to her spot with a look of warning. “I heard your conversation with Rip last night.”

“And I meant every word.” She answered confidently. “If you think I’d have loose lips, you really don’t know me like I thought you might have.”

Kayce had snuck up behind them. “What the hell are you accusing her of?”

Stella threw her hands up and let them slap back on her thighs. She hadn’t planned on telling Kayce, but he inserted himself into the problem.“Well, now is as good a time as any. I overheard a conversation, and decided to sneak out instead of making my presence known. Your dad saw me leave, and then I lied to him about it because I didn’t know he saw me.”

“So you’re questioning her integrity?”

“No, son, that already happened. I’m telling her she’s allowed to stay. My men trust her. My son,” he paused to look directly at Kayce, “trusts her. I’ve never had any issues. So I’m letting it slide. Once. I think she’s learned her lesson. But Stella?”

She looked at him wide eyed. “Yessir?”

“Lie to my face again?” She understood the hidden meaning of the slippery slope. “Now, I’m going to go see my grandson.”

“Stella, c’mon.” Kayce left her no room for argument. The way he turned and walked off told her he was definitely pissed. She rolled her eyes and fixed her glasses. “Come on.” She heard Kayce press.

Stella picked up her pace to catch him. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Jeez.”

Kayce whipped around at her when they got to the tack room. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

She placed a hand on the middle of his chest to keep him out of her face, “woah woah woah there, cowboy. I didn’t keep anything from you,” then removed it just as fast. “You were dealing with a lot. It’s not your responsibility to mend my busted fences.”

“But he’s my dad, and he should fuckin’ know better. Especially when it comes to you.”

“Those kinds of things get forgotten. Especially when it wasn’t happening to his family, Kayce. Of course he remembers yours.” Both sets of eyes glazed over for a minute, recollecting the memory.

“I could have reminded him. I could’ve made your life so much easier.”

“Yeah, but how will I learn anything if you’re fixing things for me all the time?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You won’t always be there to save me. Also, just because I’m your best friend, doesn’t mean I should get preferential treatment either. I’m still an employee here, ya know.”

Stella went to lean against the work table against the back wall. She leaned back on her hands and gazed at Kayce. “You know, this is the same exact conversation you helped me have with my brother when I turned 18. I’m not doing it twice.” She scoffed out a humorless chuckle. “Everything is fine, Kace. Next time I’ll announce myself to the conversation with bells and confetti.”

“That’s not funny, and you know it. This could have been bad.” He scoffed back at her, but still came to lean next to her. Touching shoulders like always.

“Rip wouldn’t have let it get there.” Stella defended.

Kayce had a sudden realization. “Wait, is that why you thought I was here? To help kick you out? Do you really think I would have let that happen?!”

She sighed harshly. “No Kayce. I don’t. I do, however, think your dad would have lied to get you here and back you into a corner. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“Also wait a minute, Rip?! I could stop the problem at the starting gate.” Kayce ignored the accusation about his father. He knew she was right.

She joked. “So now we’re derby runners? I thought we were cowboys.”

“Stella…” He let her name fall off in a warning.

She put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s not funny. If I saw things start to really go sideways, I would have come to you. I promise.” Stella fixed her glasses while she played with the bottom of her T-shirt. It was time to change the subject. “So how are you? How’s Monica?”

“I’m alright. Day by day, you know. Monica…? She’s holding on, but I can’t talk to her.”

Her face scrunched up. “Since when can’t you talk to her? I would expect that to happen between us before it happened with you two.”

“There’s something I did that can’t be forgiven.”

“Kayce… I highly doubt there is anything you could do, that she wouldn’t forgive you for.”

“Not this.”

“So what is it?”

“I can’t tell you either.” He looked down. Defeated. Stella observed him for a minute. He looked lost. Scared almost. The look reminded her of that day they snuck out and got trapped by a brown bear and she threw herself in front of Kayce right as Rip came galloping up to save them.

“Well, I know when you’re ready, you’ll tell me. But you’ve gotta talk to your wife, Kayce. You can’t leave her in the dark. It probably hurts her that you’re avoiding her.”

“You think I don’t know that? I just, can’t break her heart like this.” Stella reached over and patted his back between his shoulders.

“Whatever it is, cowboy, we’ll get through it. I’ll be here to help as long as you want me to be.”

Kayce pulled out his phone to check the time. His dad and son had been gone for quite some time.

“I gotta go get a horse. I need to find Tate.”

Stella practically jogged to keep up with Kayce. He was headed Rip’s way. Ryan and Colby walked in the opposite direction towards the friend pair. They were headed to dinner. Ryan could be heard calling Fred a dipshit. She let out a hearty laugh because it was the god's honest truth. As they got closer, they could hear Rip talking to Lloyd. He told him to give Fred his wages and send him on his way. ‘Oo shit.’ Her eyebrows raised. Jimmy limped by them.

She shouted at Jimmy. “What the hell happened to you?!” She stopped following Kayce to talk to Jimmy. In her peripheral vision, she saw Kayce stop and glance back at her and Jimmy to watch the interaction. Stella reached out to examine the bloody lip Jimmy acquired and the nice goose egg on his forehead. Kayce exhaled loudly, and Stella was all but sure there was an eyeroll and clenched jaw attached to it, but he continued moving.

Jimmy side eyed the youngest Dutton. “Uh, it’s nothing. You go catch up with Kayce.”

Rip yelled at Stella as he and Kayce went into the barn. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ clean ‘im up! Let everybody see!”

“I’m at least gonna give you some Tylenol. Rip can suck my ass if he gets pissy about me going to the bunkhouse for that. C’mon.” She pulled Jimmy along to the bunkhouse.

As Stella searched for the Tylenol, the air was tense between them. She could feel he wanted to ask her something.

“Go ahead and ask Jimmy. I’m mostly an open book.” She nosed around in the top cabinet.

“Oh it’s nothing.”

She looked at him disapprovingly above her lenses. “Yeah and I’m Miss America.”

“Okay so I’m probably wrong, but is there something going on between you and Kayce?”

If she would have had water in her mouth, it would have been spat across the room. “What?!”

Jimmy fidgeted around. “Well you guys are really close and I’ve seen how you look at him.”

Stella found the bottle in the back of the cabinet. She turned to face Jimmy with as much seriousness as she could muster and a deadpan face. “For the love of god, don’t repeat that thought to anyone else. I’ll be dead in 24 hours. Whether from embarrassment, or Monica murdering me herself, I don’t know.” She snapped the cabinet shut. “No, there's nothing going on between me and a married man. He’s just my best friend. Always has been, always will be.”

“Oh yeah definitely. I just maybe thought —,”

“— Well you thought wrong.” Stella interrupted, and roughly shoved the bottle at Jimmy. “Here’s your Tylenol. Keep those thoughts to yourself. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Jimmy watched as Stella stomped off. He heard the telltale jingle of her keys and the front door slam.

Stella stormed past the picnic tables where everyone had gathered. Ryan and Colby called out to her as she stalked by, only to be ignored and left perplexed. Even Rip and Lloyd shared a look.

By the time she made it to her SUV, she reached a boiling point. She huffed and puffed while blindly searching for the unlock button. Hopping in, she jammed the key into the ignition. Stella was ready to go home and get away from this cursed place for the night.

She felt like a child with how she reacted. If anything, her reaction made her seem guiltier than she was.

[smolstarthief]

I was reading a post on here and I can't help but wonder (and it's something I think about often): What do you all think of Sumi's career choice?

Like people go on and on about Makoto's (to the point of, excuse my french, almost concerning hate boner levels) and even Ann's to a lesser extent (rare but I've seen on occasion). Sumi's was brought up too but not as much. But anyhow, I do have alternative ideas as the more I think about it, the more mixed I feel. Continuing gymnastics to honor her sister ain't a bad idea by any means and it's even sweet and inspiring but at the same time it can definitely come off as the opposite effect once I look back at how she got into it in the first place which can warrant an eyebrow raise at best, huge concern at worst (basically following and copying everything Kasumi does when she was little as she stated in her rank 6). So yeah I can see the issues. Her SL was still solid, just rough around the edges (especially with the potential implications about her dependency and identity issues).

Ramble done! Poll time b/c I am curious! The ideas I have right now are the following:

+Fencer- I brought up this idea at least once and I'm still obsessed with it (especially since her melee weapons are rapiers)! Like maybe she was crazy good at it when she and Kasumi tried it. Like almost scary good at it, but she never continued with it in favor of following Kasumi to gymnastics since she didn't want to outshine her (ironic b/c Kasumi would've been her biggest cheerleader regardless of what she chose). Plus Fencing is an Olympic sport so she can still go national in Kasumi's honor.

+Doctor- I've seen a fic or two where she takes up medicine which is interesting but not a bad idea. Idk if she would be a little triggered initially due to Kasumi's death but I can somewhat see it?

+Therapist/Mental Health Professional- Idk, I just think it'd be sweet if she followed in Dr. Maruki's footsteps... Just without the eldritch horror bs! XD She would probably specialize in traumatic experiences as well as be just as gentle with patients. Who knows?

[rohirric-hunter]

I'm not reblogging the ten mile long post about the impossibility of ethical vampirism but I want to talk about how they tried to handle it in Earth: Final Conflict, which I feel like I've probably ranted about on here before. After they became tired of the initial mood and feel and plot and aesthetic and style and themes and show and half did away with it half completely chucked it out the window resolving never to speak of it again, the writers put their original alien race on the bus into a weird space pod and stole the ending of The Dark Crystal to merge them with some other random aliens to create a third, different race of aliens that was definitely the next step of their evolution and not just, like, some random bullshit that they less pulled out of their asses so much as picked out of the toilet when they were done. The third race of aliens were vampires but with a sci-fi twist and I'm gonna be completely honest this is the part where the show stopped being memorable in any way whatsoever except for the fact that I learned what the word "consummate" means from it and also they dredged up yet more major characters that they hadn't managed to kill offscreen yet and proceeded to kill them offscreen. Whatever. The point is that obviously the vampire aliens were antagonists but there was one story arc where one of them was played off as a potential good guy (except based on vibes I think he turned out to be a bad guy after all but genuinely I do not remember I cannot emphasize enough how uninteresting the show was at this point) but anyhow at one point the main character of the hour (protagonists were like gas station headphones to this show) asked him how he could possibly be a friend when he killed people for sustenance. And he said, "I only feed off of mammals. Don't you only feed off of mammals?" And I feel like I was like? Ten? when I watched this? And ten year old me was like, "Ah-ha, a clue! Because humans are mammals he's actually misleading her! He does feed off of humans after all!" because I was endlessly optimistic then, but no, this line was never referenced again. I don't know if the writers don't know what a mammal is but it haunts me. Possible I suppose that English was simply not their first language, as there were parts of the show that were recorded and presumably written in French and then dubbed into English, but in my experience Canadians usually have a strong enough grasp of English to not make that sort of mistake. Genuinely baffled. Anyway, never trust a guy who's trying to hit on you when he says he only eats mammals. It might be technically true but it's also a fucking weird thing to say.