#does anyone even still remember this game

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | five

index

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationships, past trauma

A/N: this is coming to an end!! i planed this story to be short (two more parts), since it's the first time i've ever written anything f1 related. i hope you are liking it :))

Livia sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gently swirling the wine in her glass. Her friends, gathered around the room, watched her with curious smiles, waiting for her to speak. The night had been magical, and now it was her turn to share.

"So... what happened?" Chiara asked, leaning forward with excitement. "Tell us everything!"

Livia smiled, her heart still fluttering from the events of the evening. She took a deep breath, her gaze distant for a moment as she remembered Carlos's touch, his tenderness. It was as if everything felt... different now.

"It was... perfect," Livia began softly, her voice betraying the happiness she hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel in a long time. "We walked along the harbor, talked about everything and nothing... It just felt... easy, you know? Like we were on the same page. And when he kissed me..." She paused, a smile tugging at her lips. "It was like everything else faded away. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could just... breathe."

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, their smiles widening. Chiara raised an eyebrow. "So, what does that mean for you and him?"

Livia took a sip of wine, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the man who had made her feel like this. "I don’t know. But for the first time in... forever, I feel like something can actually go right. That maybe, just maybe, I can have something real, something that makes sense. It’s... refreshing."

"Real?" Serena asked, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you didn’t do real anymore."

Livia smiled, but there was a quiet sadness in her eyes. "I didn’t think I could, either. After everything..." She trailed off, the weight of her past suddenly clouding her moment of happiness.

Chiara looked at her closely. "What do you mean?"

Livia’s gaze lowered, as though searching for the right words. "My ex... He destroyed so much of my trust. I didn’t even realize how much until recently. It wasn’t just the relationship; it was everything that came with it. The way he controlled everything, manipulated me. It was like I was suffocating, and I didn’t even know how to breathe on my own anymore." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s why I’ve always been so guarded, why I kept people at arm's length. I didn’t know how to let anyone in after that. I was too scared."

Her friends sat quietly, taking in her words. Chiara finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "I get it, Liv. But Carlos... he’s not him. You know that, right?"

Livia nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and hesitation. "I know. That’s the part that scares me. But with Carlos, it’s different. He doesn’t want to change me. He just... gets me. For once, someone isn’t judging me or pushing me to be something I’m not. He understands what it’s like to always have eyes on you. It’s like... like we don’t have to explain ourselves to each other."

Martina smiled knowingly, her voice teasing. "Well, it sounds like someone’s already falling."

Livia laughed, a playful lightness returning to her tone. "Maybe I am. But I’m taking it slow. I don’t want to rush into anything."

"Of course," Chiara said with a knowing wink. "But don’t forget to enjoy it. You deserve to feel good, Liv. After everything, you deserve something real."

Livia smiled at her friends, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. For the first time in years, she felt like she could truly embrace the possibility of something better. And maybe, just maybe, Carlos was the person who would make that possible.

The Amalfi sun bathed the coastline in its warm glow, and Livia began to notice something she hadn’t felt in a long time—her laughter came naturally, free of any weight. Every day with Carlos felt like a little adventure, and as they explored together, she felt the walls she had built around herself slowly crumble.

They filled their days with all kinds of plans. One morning, Carlos rented a small sailboat, and not far from the harbor, they found a hidden cove where they spent the afternoon swimming and laughing. Another day, they drove to a nearby town, wandering through its narrow streets and poking around in charming souvenir shops.

Each day brought a new excuse to steal kisses, share subtle touches, and enjoy the thrill of discovering each other in ways they hadn’t before.

The idea of horseback riding came up casually over breakfast on a terrace overlooking the sea. Livia had mentioned, with visible excitement, how riding had always been one of her favorite activities growing up—a source of peace.

Carlos, not one to back down from an adventure, agreed to the plan but confessed he’d never been on a horse before.

“Never?” Livia asked, both surprised and amused.

“Never,” Carlos admitted, laughing. “But I’m willing to give it a shot. Just don’t laugh if I fall.”

At the stable, nestled among green hills with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, Livia took the lead. Dressed in light riding pants and boots, she greeted the owner, an old family friend, with a natural confidence. She quickly picked out a calm horse for Carlos.

“This is Nero,” she said, stroking the neck of a dark brown horse. “He’s gentle and perfect for beginners. Don’t worry—he won’t bite.”

“And what if I outrun you?” Carlos teased, eyeing Nero as if sizing up an opponent.

“Then I’ll have to show you what years of practice can do,” Livia quipped, mounting her white horse with ease.

The ride started slowly, with Livia explaining the basics. “Sit straight, but stay relaxed. Keep the reins firm, but don’t pull too hard. And please, don’t try to go faster unless you’re sure of yourself.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Any more advice, or are you just trying to prove I’m a rookie?”

“Don’t get defensive!” she shot back with a playful smile. “Come on, Nero’s your teammate now.”

Carlos moved stiffly at first, every step of the horse making him wobble awkwardly. Meanwhile, Livia glided gracefully, her years of experience evident.

“Having fun?” she called back, pausing to let him catch up.

“Absolutely,” Carlos replied, feigning confidence. “Though I think my legs are going to hate me tomorrow.”

After some practice, Livia suggested a gentle trot. “Come on, try to keep up,” she challenged.

“If I fall, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“No promises,” she said with a mischievous grin before urging her horse forward.

To his credit, Carlos managed to keep up, his determination earning Livia’s admiration. By the end of the ride, with the sun setting over the hills, he dismounted clumsily but with a genuine smile.

“Well, I survived. That counts as an achievement, right?”

Livia approached him, still laughing softly. “You did well for your first time. Though I think Nero deserves most of the credit.”

“So the horse is the favorite, huh?” Carlos teased, brushing dust off his pants.

Livia smiled warmly. “You might have to visit Amalfi more often. I never thought I’d see you on a horse.”

Carlos shrugged. “What can I say? For you, I’ll try anything.”

As they walked back together, the horses trailing behind, the fading sunlight painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. Livia felt a rare sense of contentment, knowing these moments with Carlos were what truly mattered.

They didn’t spend all their time alone. Some nights, Livia joined Carlos at gatherings with his childhood friends. One evening, at a beachside bar, a group of musicians began improvising a song, and Livia, encouraged by the wine and the festive atmosphere, joined in singing. From his spot at the bar, Carlos watched her, captivated by the ease and joy she radiated.

“Is she always like this?” one of his friends asked.

“Not at all,” Carlos replied with a smile, his eyes never leaving Livia. “But I love seeing her this way.”

On another occasion, Livia introduced Carlos to her friends. They spent an afternoon at the beach, playing volleyball and sharing stories. The day was perfect—the sun glittering on the water and laughter filling the air. As they sat on the sand with cold drinks and a relaxed vibe, Chiara decided it was the perfect moment to "interrogate" Carlos.

“Well, Carlos, since you’re the most interesting person at the table and, clearly, the only man here, I have some important questions for you,” Chiara said, her grin wide enough to make Livia immediately suspicious.

Carlos leaned forward, amused and intrigued. “Go ahead, Chiara. I’m ready.”

Chiara shifted in her seat, as if preparing to moderate a press conference. “First: how many drivers on the grid are single? And if there are any, who would you say is the most handsome? Purely professional curiosity.”

Carlos burst into laughter as Livia covered her face with her hand, caught between embarrassment and amusement.

“Well,” Carlos began, trying not to laugh too hard, “there are a few single ones, but I’m not sure who’s looking for someone... Or should I just tell you who’s the most handsome?”

“Please!” Chiara exclaimed, raising her hands. “Let me make it easier for you. If you had to play matchmaker, who would you pair me with? I want options—and phone numbers.”

“Chiara, for the love of God…” Livia interjected, attempting to sound serious but failing to hide her smile.

Carlos took it in stride. “Alright, let’s see. I think Pierre would be thrilled. He’s fun, loves fashion, and always has a joke ready. Or maybe Lando, if you’re into younger guys with charisma.”

Chiara pretended to jot down notes in the air. “Hmm, interesting. Though I’m not sure about the ‘younger’ part.”

One afternoon, while Livia and Carlos were relaxing on a terrace overlooking the harbor, Livia glanced at her phone and noticed a message from an unknown number. A wave of unease washed over her instantly. Opening the message, its contents struck her like a blow from the past:

"So, you're in Amalfi with a driver now. Looking for another story for the public? You know how these things end."

The message was brief, but its intention was clear. It was her ex. The carefully chosen, stinging words disrupted the peace she had been building.

Carlos, sitting across from her, noticed the change in her expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

"I don’t know," Livia admitted, vulnerability creeping into her tone. "He stopped bothering me a while ago, but he always knows when to reappear to..."

Livia looked up, attempting a smile, but it didn’t convince him. She hesitated for a moment before showing him the message. Carlos read it, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the words.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked calmly, though his voice carried an edge.

"To try to control your life," Carlos finished, his gaze sharp and protective.

Carlos set the phone down on the table and leaned closer, taking her hand firmly. "Livia, you don’t have to deal with this alone. If he bothers you again, we’ll handle it together. I’m not going to let him drag you down again."

Carlos gave her a small smile, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I don’t know if I always do, but I know this: I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not while I’m here."

Livia looked at him, surprised by his determination. She had expected discomfort, maybe even a suggestion to ignore the problem, but his response disarmed her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say."

The Amalfi vacation came to an end faster than either of them would have liked. On their last afternoon together, sitting by the sea, Livia and Carlos discussed what they had started to build.

"What do we do now?" Livia asked, gazing at the horizon. The breeze gently played with her hair, and while her voice was calm, there was a note of uncertainty in it.

Carlos looked at her, his fingers idly playing with a small shell he had picked up on the beach. "I think the best thing is to keep this between us, at least for now. The press always finds a way to ruin something good."

Livia nodded, relieved that they were on the same page. "I don’t want what we have to become a spectacle. I want us to decide when, how, and if we share it with the world."

Carlos took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Then that’s what we’ll do. Just us. At least until we’re ready."

Back in their respective lives, Livia and Carlos found ways to stay connected. Long nightly calls filled with laughter and spontaneous messages throughout the day became part of their routine. Carlos sent photos from the circuits, often with sarcastic comments about paddock gossips, while Livia shared images of her latest designs or small everyday moments she thought might make him smile.

It didn’t take long for eagle-eyed fans to start noticing coincidences in their Instagram posts. A photo of Livia enjoying gelato in Amalfi suspiciously matched another of Carlos at the same spot, posted just hours apart. A sunset on the beach, an Italian restaurant... the clues were enough for theories to start swirling.

Despite this, neither Livia nor Carlos commented publicly. When journalists tried to broach the subject during interviews, both deflected with calculated responses.

Months later, the Italian Grand Prix at Monza was a whirlwind of emotions. Ferrari secured an incredible home victory with Charles Leclerc crossing the finish line first, while Carlos finished a respectable fourth after an intense battle on track. Although he didn’t make the podium, his performance was solid, and the paddock buzzed with pride and celebration.

Livia had followed the race from a private hospitality suite, staying discreet but feeling every moment of excitement. When Carlos crossed the finish line, she couldn’t help but applaud, admiring his determination on such a demanding circuit.

That evening, Ferrari hosted a gala dinner in Milan to commemorate the triumph. Livia received an invitation through her professional circle, and while she knew attending could fuel rumors, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be there.

The event took place in a luxurious palace in the heart of the city. Golden lights illuminated the façade as elegantly dressed guests arrived in sleek cars.

Carlos was already there, surrounded by teammates and industry figures. He wore a flawlessly tailored Visconti dark blue suit, though his attention was clearly divided. He couldn’t stop glancing around, wondering when Livia might appear.

The sound of animated conversation filled the hall as Carlos chatted with Lando, George, and Charles. Then, the grand doors opened, and Livia entered, arm-in-arm with her father.

She wore an elegant black dress that enhanced her natural poise, her smile lighting up the room. Carlos couldn’t help but watch as she moved with that unmistakable grace he had always associated with her. But now, there was no trace of the skepticism or irritation she had once inspired in him. Instead, he found himself captivated, unable to look away.

"You’re missing something, Sainz," Lando said with a sly grin, following Carlos’s gaze. "But don’t worry, just keep staring. That’ll fix it."

Carlos rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the comments, though his focus remained on Livia as she greeted familiar faces and exchanged pleasantries with her father.

Moments later, Livia approached their group with a warm smile, her tone bright yet composed, as though she had always belonged in their circle.

"Good evening," she said graciously, greeting the group. "First of all, congratulations, Lando. McLaren has been making quite the impression lately."

"Thank you," Lando replied, beaming with pride. "We’re working hard to stay competitive."

"And Charles," she continued, turning to Leclerc. "An amazing victory today. Ferrari needed that in front of its home crowd. It was thrilling to see you on the podium."

Charles nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Livia. Monza is always special, but winning here... it’s something else entirely."

The conversation flowed naturally as Livia spoke with a mix of knowledge and charisma that captured everyone’s attention. Carlos, though silent, couldn’t stop admiring her. There was something about the way she navigated the discussion, making everyone feel valued, that left him utterly entranced.

The evening seemed perfect until an unexpected voice shattered the harmony.

“You always knew how to be the center of attention, didn’t you, Livia?”

The sharp tone made Livia tense instantly. Slowly, she turned to find Matteo, her ex-partner, walking toward the group. With his impeccable suit and false smile, he radiated the arrogance that Livia had long learned to despise.

“Matteo,” Livia said with her characteristic poised air, straightening up immediately. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

“I’m surprised you were,” Matteo replied, his smile turning even more bitter. “Then again, you’ve always known how to sneak into places you don’t belong.”

“If I’m here, it’s because I earned it,” Livia shot back, not losing her composure. “Unlike others, I don’t need money to open doors for me.”

The pilots exchanged surprised glances. The tension was palpable, but Livia continued to project that unwavering confidence she was known for—or at least seemed to.

“Always so quick with words,” Matteo continued, stepping closer. “But behind all that charm and facade, you’re still the same insecure little girl who needs everyone’s attention to feel validated.”

Livia narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t miss a beat. “I’d rather be an ‘insecure little girl’ than someone incapable of entering a relationship without destroying the other person’s life.”

The group fell silent, processing the blow Livia had delivered. But Matteo wasn’t finished.

“Relationship? Call it what it was, Livia: a performance, and you were the star. Always so good at pretending everything was fine. And look at you now, with your new ‘friends.’ What are you doing here? Looking for another name to add to your collection? The richer, the better, right?”

Matteo’s words hit like a sledgehammer. For a moment, Livia seemed to lose her breath. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The scars from her past with him, which she thought had healed, suddenly tore open again.

“That’s enough,” Carlos intervened, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but there was a sharpness in his voice that made Matteo sneer.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Matteo sneered, turning to face Carlos. “Another idiot who buys into her act?”

Lando joined Carlos, crossing his arms. “I think we all know who the real idiot is here.”

Charles added coldly, “What I don’t understand is why you’re still here. It’s clear you’re not welcome.”

“Welcome?” Matteo laughed mockingly. “How amusing. None of you know the real Livia. Always so good at pretending to be strong, but let me tell you something: no matter who she surrounds herself with, she’ll always be the same broken person.”

Matteo’s cruel words made Livia take a small step back, as though they had physically struck her.

Carlos stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Matteo. “That’s enough. If you have a problem with Livia, this is neither the time nor the place. And believe me, it’s not in your best interest to continue.”

“Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it, guard dog?” Matteo provoked, stepping toward Carlos.

Before the situation could escalate, Charles placed a hand on Carlos’s arm, holding him back. “Leave it, Carlos,” he said in a low but firm voice. “He’s not worth it.”

Matteo looked around, noticing the defiant expressions of the pilots surrounding him. Despite his arrogance, even he knew when to back down.

“This isn’t over, Livia,” he said finally, throwing her one last look before turning and walking away.

When Matteo disappeared into the crowd, Livia stood still, her eyes glassy but fixed on the ground. Carlos turned to her, his face filled with concern.

"Livia," he said softly, placing a hand on her arm.

She looked up, but the words seemed trapped in her throat. Finally, she murmured, "I need to get out of here."

Carlos nodded immediately. "Let's go."

Without letting go of her, he guided her toward the exit under the curious gaze of those present, leaving the noise of the hall behind. Once outside, the cool night air wrapped around them. Livia took a few steps forward, pulling away a little, trying to control the tears that threatened to overflow.

"Livia," Carlos said, approaching her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't want this to happen... I didn’t want..."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Carlos interrupted firmly. "He was the problem, not you."

The tears finally fell, and Livia tried to cover her face, embarrassed. But Carlos wrapped her in a hug, allowing her to lean on him as her emotions overwhelmed her.

"My God, how embarrassing. Why do I always end up crying when I'm with you? You should know that this isn't usually me."

Carlos chuckled softly as he looked at Livia, wiping her tears with the handkerchief from his suit. With his hand still on her back, he leaned slightly to meet her gaze. "Are you feeling better?" he asked gently, as though fearing to push too much.

Livia weakly nodded, carefully wiping her tears. "I'm sorry for ruining the night. I didn't want to..."

"Hey," Carlos interrupted, placing a hand under her chin to make her look at him. "None of this is your fault, okay? And the night isn’t ruined. I'm here with you, and that's all that matters."

She looked at him, her eyes still shining with emotion, but now there was something else: a warmth that came from Carlos's words, from his presence. He kissed her forehead as he hugged her again, enjoying the way their bodies fit together perfectly.

"You always know what to say, don't you? Is it a natural talent, or have you practiced a lot?" Livia said with a small smile, though still a little shaky.

Carlos laughed softly, gently brushing Livia's hair. "Let’s say it’s something I save for special occasions."

Livia let out a small, more genuine laugh this time, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. "Thanks for not leaving me alone in there. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I should go back and thank the guys too, it was really sweet of them to stand up for me."

Carlos tilted his head, seeking her gaze. "You don’t need to thank anyone. I'm here because I want to be. And I’m not going anywhere."

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

"Wow, now this is a dramatic scene. Should I be worried?"

Livia quickly turned to find her father, watching them with a mix of humor and curiosity. He was swinging his cane in his right hand as he slowly approached them.

"Dad," Livia said, her voice still weak but with a hint of concern. "What are you doing here? You should be inside."

"And miss this?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I've been bored all night listening to men in suits talk about engines. At least out here, it seems like something interesting is going on."

Carlos, feeling uncomfortable but maintaining his composure, took a small step back. "Sir, I apologize if we’ve caused any worry."

Livia's father studied him closely before flashing a smile. "Worry? Not at all. Though I must say, you’ve handled this situation better than I would have. If the scene had lasted any longer, I’d have kicked that rude Matteo’s ass with my cane myself."

"Dad," Livia interrupted, clearly embarrassed.

"Relax, my love," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just saying I’m impressed. This guy has style. And patience. Something, if I’m honest, that’s not easy to find."

Carlos let out a small chuckle. "I do what I can."

Livia’s father turned to her and, with a tremendous physical effort, kissed the top of her head, his tone now softer. "Are you okay?"

Livia nodded, although her eyes were still shining. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"Good," he said, looking back at Carlos. "Then I trust you’ll take good care of her. Because if not, you’ll have to face me. And believe me, I can be a lot worse than Matteo."

Livia let out a laugh, though still moved by the moment. "Dad, don’t scare Carlos."

"Scare him? No way," her father replied, smiling knowingly at the driver. "This guy has more guts than I thought. I think he can handle anything."

Carlos smiled, nodding in a gesture of respect. "I’ll do my best not to disappoint."

Livia’s father watched them for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I guess this is the moment where I say something wise and profound, right?"

Livia raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean, Dad?"

He looked at her, then at Carlos, and gave a mischievous smile. "I mean that this gala is terribly boring, and after everything that just happened, I think we need something… more authentic."

Carlos looked at him curiously. "Something more authentic?"

"Exactly," the man said, crossing his arms. "There’s a place not far from here, a little joint I used to frequent when I was young. They make the best burgers you’ll ever taste. No foie gras or carpaccio. Just meat, cheese, and fries. What do you say? Shall we get out of here?"

Livia blinked, clearly surprised. "Are you suggesting we leave the Ferrari gala to eat burgers?"

"Exactly that," her father replied with a wide grin. "Come on, Liv. You said yourself the night’s already been pretty eventful. Why not finish it off in an even more memorable way?"

Carlos let out a laugh, impressed by the man’s spontaneity. "Sounds like a good plan, sir."

"That’s the spirit!" her father exclaimed, giving Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "See, Livia? He gets it. Plus, after everything you’ve been through tonight, I think you deserve a good burger. I’ll call the driver. Or are you driving, pretty boy?" he said, pointing at Carlos.

Livia couldn’t help but laugh at her father’s comment, and Carlos laughed along with her.

"I’ll go get the car," said the Spanish driver.

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[grayskies2525]

Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion) | Part 4/4

Here's the conclusion to Evan's story! I'm glad to see so many people enjoying my gross fantasies!

Part one Part two Part three

Word count: 2,700

CW: mess, contagion

* * *

Evan walks to and from work every day. He doesn’t live far and everyone in this city walks most places. It’s that or take a bus, or the subway — neither of which are options for him in his current state even if he wants nothing more than to just sit down. He simply can’t endure any more potential opportunities for nose-related disasters.

No, what Evan needs is to walk home as quickly as he can while trying to mitigate — to the best of his ability —  the effects from the disaster that is his nose.

He’s doing a great job, if he does say so himself. Yes, he’s sneezing. Yes, he’s a snotty mess. But, he’s also equipped with an entire box of tissues that he stole from the store’s break room — considering his paychecks versus the amount of money the corporation takes in, Evan feels they owe him a box of tissues at the very least — and has captured each drip and sneeze deftly into the little white squares.

The sneezes are hard, fast, and relentless. As he walks, to distract himself, he begins a kind of game. If he were to title the game, Evan imagines it being something akin to “How many seconds can Evan go without a sneeze before he makes it home?”

So far, his record is twenty-eight seconds. He recognizes the absurdity of this. He doubts anyone else in any universe has ever sneezed this much in just half a day. He almost feels a sense of pride at the knowledge that he must be setting some kind of record, but then he also recognizes how absurd that is, so he brushes it away. 

“HEH eh’TshUUHHH!”

Another sneeze perfectly captured into a tissue. 

He smiles — literally smiles — at the accomplishment. This is what his life has become. He can not wait to finally get his degree so he can feel proud of something that holds a little more weight than “managed not to sneeze on everyone in sight.”

He mentally resets the timer in his head. As odd as the game is, it certainly does help pass the time. He only has a few more minutes until he reaches the sanctuary of his nice, warm bed.

Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three….

Evan wonders if he can make it a whole minute. He doubts it. He already feels another budding tickle. But he’s going to try. 

“HEH!”

No, no, no! He WILL make it a minute without a sneeze. He doesn’t care how arbitrary of a goal it is. It’s still a goal — something he has alarmingly few of these days — and he’s going to meet it.

“HEH HHH HEHhhhHHHH!”

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five….

“Heehh Ehhh Eh HHhhH!”

Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two….

“Excuse me sir, I hate to bother you, but could you tell me where —”

“EDT’SHHuuuuHHHH!”

And just like that, the pretty stranger’s pale skin is covered in a plethora of droplets, glistening in the sunlight. 

“Uhb, I’b sor— heh— sorry,” Evan says, rubbing his nose with a tissue.

The stranger gives a tight smile before brushing off her face in a futile attempt to clear away the droplets. He’s sure all she does is smear them around. They’re undoubtedly laden with viruses, anyway, so he knows she’s doomed. Just like all the other people who have been unfortunate to come into contact with him today. Just like he, himself, was three days ago in that elevator.

“It’s um… It’s fine,” the stranger says.

“Uhb, you were aski’g about directiods? I bay be able to hehhh —”

The woman is walking so briskly, she’s practically running from Evan. “That’s okay! I remember where it is now. Thanks!” she calls out before somehow walking away even more quickly.

It’s a good thing she does because Evan snaps forward, hands on his thighs, and lets out what must be the most violent sneeze he’s had in his entire life.

“HEH-RRrrreeeEHHHSHuuuHHHHHH!”

It sounds more like a scream than a sneeze, though the resulting heavy spray, thick smell, and the strand of snot dangling precariously from his left nostril are all clear indicators that it was, indeed, a sneeze — a massive one. 

It’s like his body is desperately fighting with all it has in it to get this cold out of him. He’d be more than happy to let it, if it weren’t such a violent — and contagious — action. His head is throbbing and his throat is wrecked.  

He goes to wipe off the strand from his nose with a tissue, but he’s too late and he watches in resignation as the drop hits the concrete. 

At this point, people are giving him a wide berth. He tries not to pay attention to anyone’s expression, but he still can’t miss the scowls and noses scrunched up in disgust. It’s not like he can even blame them.

He hangs his head, clutches his tissue box tightly against himself, and tries to make himself take up the least amount of space possible. He needs to get home without causing any more scenes.

* * *

How could he forget his keys?

Evan’s been an adult for over a decade now, and he’s never done something as senseless as locking himself outside his apartment. He supposes having a cold from the deepest depths of Hell could be to blame for his forgetfulness.

He’s currently slumped against his apartment door, tissue box in his lap. There’s probably a better choice he can make besides this one, but he’s already here and moving his body any more sounds like the worst idea in the entire world. He feebly zips up jacket to ward off the chill, and even that small action wipes out the remaining energy he had.

His phone buzzes and he quickly unlocks it to read the message.

Marcus: 😂 Usually it's me forgetting the keys. i’m on a date w mia but we’re almost finished eating. she’s gotta go to work soon anyway. hang tight. be there in abt 20

Evan breathes out a sigh of relief, then begins typing.

Evan: THANK you. Could you also possibly pick up some cold meds on your way? If you have the money? I’ll pay you back Friday.

A minute or two goes by while Evan waits for the response. He closes his eyes and leans more heavily against the door. He opens his eyes halfway when he hears footsteps. The person is someone he doesn’t recognize — so probably just someone visiting someone on the floor. The stranger gives Evan a quick look before quickening their pace as they walk down the hall.

The phone’s buzz jerks Evan out of the doze he’d slipped into. He groggily takes his phone and glances down at it.

Marcus: stuff’s like ten dollars, man. i mean, if you really need it tho, i can charge it to my credit card.

Evan sighs. He gets it. Money’s incredibly tight for both of them. Between the two of them, they can just barely manage to make rent each month. 

Evan: Nvm. I’ll just tough it out.

After hitting “send” on the message, Evan allows his eyes to close, resting his head against the door frame.

* * *

“Evan?”

The way the man says his name, Evan suspects it’s not the first time he’s said it.

Evan groans before beginning the exhausting process of opening his eyes. 

“Ahh, so you are alive. I was beginning to wonder,” Marcus says with a smirk. 

Evan groans again.

“Are you drunk or something?” Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

Evan tries to glare. “Ndo,” he says indignantly, though he likely diminishes the effect with his subsequent thick snort. “Imb just sigck. A’d cold a’d tired. Just wadda lie dowd,” he says, weakly, before he starts coughing — the sounds heavy and wet. 

Marcus scans Evan up and down, likely taking in Evan’s slumped posture, his lap covered in an innumerable amount of used tissues, and however his face looks — something Evan doesn’t even want to think about.

Marcus sighs. “Leave it to you to nearly die from the common cold. Let’s get you inside, then.”

* * *

As much as Evan had wanted to crawl into bed, upon entering the apartment it was as if he’d lost all control of his legs. They’d immediately taken him to the couch where he’d instantly curled up on his side.

He lies on his back, now, clasping a tissue to his nose as he blows and blows. He’s read that you’re not actually supposed to blow your nose — that the pressure causes the germs to blow back into the sinus cavity, which can lead to sinus infections. But he has no doubt that without blowing, he’d literally choke to death on his own snot.

“EDT’shhUUH! ECK’SHUUH!” 

The sneezes are hard, sharp, and wet. He feels the moisture sliding down his chin despite the fact he’d had a tissue over his nose. He sighs, then wipes off the mess.

“Okay, Nurse Marcus is here with your first dose of medicine,” Marcus says as he comes toward Evan. He takes a seat on the coffee table across from Evan. Evan notices the small cup of liquid in his hand.

Evan’s brows knit. “But I thought you wered’t goi’ig to buy the medicide.” Evan has given up on being able to pronounce m’s and n’s any time soon. 

“In the three years we’ve been roommates, you’ve never asked me to buy you anything, so I figured it must be bad. So yeah, I went ahead and bought it. But, damn, I still wasn’t expecting this,” Marcus says, gesturing to Evan with his free hand. “I didn’t know it was possible for someone’s nose to be that red. I thought that was, like, a cartoon thing. But, no, here you are totally Rodolphing it. It’s almost impressive.”

“Yeah, I kdow, I mbust loogk like shit. Cad I please have the bedicide dow? I bead, thagck you for buyi’g it of course, a’d all that, but really, I thidk I deed it, like dow,” Evan says before  proceeding to cough horrendously.

Marcus grimaces, but hands the liquid over to Evan. Evan manages to swallow the substance before he sneezes into the air three times in a row.

“You kdow, it’s probably a good thi’g you bought this because dow we’ll have sombe for when you combe dowd with this,” Evan says.

Marcus snorts in amusement. “Don’t worry about that. I haven’t been sick in years. Just one of the many benefits of a healthy diet and regular exercise,” he says, looking so smug Evan wishes he could throw something at his face. 

Instead, Evan glares. “You are so addoyigck for that.”

Marcus leans in closer from his spot on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m so what? It’s hard to understand you because you’re so full of snot.”

Evan glares again, then snorts thickly. “Addoyi’g. You are HH EDTChUUUuuuhhh!”

If Evan hadn’t turned on his side to face Marcus, Marcus may have had a chance. But Evan did turn on his side, so Marcus’s face receives quite the generous amount of spray. 

“Sorry,” Evan mumbles. At this rate, he’s apologizing almost as much as he’s sneezing.

Marcus blinks, then wipes off his face with his arm. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. My immune system can handle it.”

Evan doesn’t think anyone’s immune system is equipped for this thing, but he sure hopes Marcus’s is. This feeling only increases as the evening goes on. 

Sometimes Evan forgets how nice Marcus can be. They’ve lived together for a few years now, and Evan definitely considers him a friend, but they’re both busy and despite being roommates, their paths don’t always often cross. But Marcus does nice little things for him throughout the rest of the day  — covering up his poor pathetic body with blankets, bringing him more medicine, and even cooking ramen for him (since it turns out they didn’t actually have any Campbells). He also makes sure Evan has a hefty supply of toilet paper roll — after he ran out of tissues —  and a wastebasket conveniently placed next to him.

Most importantly, he doesn’t complain when Evan launches sneeze after sneeze into the air. Marcus assured him any damage has already been done, and when Evan thinks back to the droplets coating his face from that full on sneeze he’d directed at him — well, Evan figures he’s probably right.

Evan spends the rest of the day nestled in blankets on the couch, dozing in and out of sleep, while Marcus plays movies on the TV and keeps him company. 

After the morning he had, he considers the evening to be perfect. Or, relatively perfect, at least. He’s sicker than he’s ever been, but he’s warm and comfortable. Or, mostly comfortable — his congestion, sneezing, and the painfully raw skin around the edges of his nostrils beg for his almost constant attention. But most importantly, he’s no longer drenching people in his germs. 

And Evan couldn’t really ask for more.

* * *

Marcus does come down with the cold, of course. Trevor, too. And seemingly everyone Evan knows. 

When Evan returns to work five days later — still sniffling and coughing, but mostly functioning — he gives a feeble attempt at defending himself. He mentions it could have been Courtney who got almost their entire team sick. She did, after all, go home sick the same day as Evan. But that argument quickly unravels when someone points out Courtney had a stomach bug. And everyone who’s called off has been hacking up their lungs and sneezing non-stop. 

So, Evan reluctantly admits that perhaps there’s a slight possibility he may be responsible for starting a minor cold outbreak in the store. 

To make an already embarrassing situation worse, his boss shows him an online survey that makes him blush. In the survey, a customer mentions how the store lets “unhygienic” employees interact with customers and relays how she “came down with the worst cold of her life” after a rude manager “purposefully sneezed all over her just because he didn’t want to do his job.”

After he leaves the store feeling stressed — having only three people to work the registers and the sales floor does not make for a good shift — he heads to school for his evening class.

* * *

As he stands in the elevator, his eyes widen when he sees who steps inside. 

It’s him.

The instructor who’s single-handedly responsible for the most humiliating day of Evan’s life.

The man gives Evan a quick, friendly smile before clear recognition settles over his face. Evan tries not to glare as he uses a tissue to quickly wipe at his nose. 

It’s awkward for a few seconds until the man speaks. “Listen, um…. Gosh, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just…. Did I get you sick? Be honest.”

Evan blows his nose — perhaps more dramatically than necessary — and this time does glare at the man. “Yeah. You got me sick,” he states, simply. “I’m just now getting over it.”

The man winces. “I am so sorry.”

There is so much genuine sympathy and regret etched into the man’s expression that Evan finds himself softening. “It’s fine. You couldn’t help it,” he finally says. 

The elevator dings and the two get off on the same floor, but they both stay stopped outside the doors. “Listen,” the instructor begins. “Was it, like, the most sick you’ve ever been? I’ve never had anything like that in my life.”

Evan gives a wry laugh. “Hands-down the sneeziest and snottiest I’ve ever been.”

“Right?” the man says, emphatically.  “Again, I am so sorry. I can’t apologize enough.”

Evan offers a small smile. “It’s okay, really. I don’t think anyone stands a chance at not getting that cold. It really wants to spread. I was doomed the moment I got on that elevator,” he says giving an exaggerated, forlorn look. 

The instructor smiles. “For sure. Thank you for being so understanding.”

The two exchange more pleasantries before they walk off to their respective classes.

The guy’s nice and Evan doesn’t have it in him to resent him any longer. 

After all, Evan knows now from personal experience that with a cold like that — sneezing all over everyone you come across is simply inevitable. 

[awyeahitssam]

Travelling back in time is an accident. Harry isn't going to waste it.

Harry glances at the calendar and grimaces. He can't go to Knockturn today. Hogwarts just let out for Summer holidays, and he's already decided to avoid the alleys until school term starts. Just in case... well. Just in case.

He never thought there would come a day that he missed Voldemort's soul pressing alongside his own, but it would make things simpler. If he could peer into Voldemort's mind, he wouldn't have to go about things the old fashioned way. As it is, one of his spies is twenty minutes late, and he can't snatch him from work on the off chance that children are wondering around places they shouldn't be.

Burke's still alive, at least. Harry would feel his death.

It does nothing for his current situation. There will be an attack today. 3 July, 1973 was significant. The day Voldemort's attacks went from targeting the Knights of Walpurgis' political opponents to involving the public.

He just can't remember where.

He knows this. He knows he does. But the time magic takes knowledge, seemingly at random, until he's left with bits of the puzzle. Harry knows Voldemort's broken his soul into pieces, but he no longer remembers what those pieces are called. He doesn't know what they're contained in, either, except one: Slytherin's locket.

Harry really needs to get a move on with this whole defeating Voldemort early thing before he forgets who he is. Forgets why he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. There's nothing for it. Diagon and Hogsmeade are the most obvious places to stage a first attack. Diagon is the more dramatic option, though Hogsmeade would strike fear, especially just a day after the children have left the station. Which one...

Fuck. He's got no time for guessing games, for hoping he knows Voldemort well enough to predict him. The Voldemort of this time is more politically minded than the one Harry defeated, and he's losing information by the day. Who knows how much he's forgotten about his Voldemort.

He needs Burke. He needs the bloody information.

Snape would be home, wouldn't he? His mother's still alive. There was no chance Lily Evans would be sulking about Knockturn. And the Marauders? No...

It should be safe enough.

It's a risk. If he sees one of them, he's going to screw up spectacularly. He has to steer clear.

Too bad he's still got a saving people thing.

He twists through the wards and lands at the apparition point. A moment later, the screaming starts.

Turns out he doesn't need his spy for this after all.

He runs towards the shouts, wand at the ready.

He puts it to good use.

"Evans?" Charlus calls out. "Is that you?"

Harry grimaces and keeps walking. Ever since he saved Charlus's baby brother in the Dark sects first Diagon Alley attack, Charlus Potter has been dogging his steps. The very last thing he wants is the be associated with this family. He already only manages to avoid being labeled a Potter by virtue of using the Sleekeazy's hair potions to settle the characteristic chaos of his hair.

If anyone can recognise its use, it is the inventor. Charlus dared to call him "cousin," before Harry sharply corrected him. He hasn't tried since, but he still has that gleam in his eyes. That set to his jaw.

The famous Potter stubbornness. Harry would be warmed by the fact that it exists outside of himself (and he is, truly, because even if he will never claim them as such, he has family here), but it's causing issues.

"Is that him, darling?" Another voice rings out, clear and lovely. Harry keeps moving along, heedless.

"Yes love, that's our errant Potter-"

Harry spins with a snarl. "I told you," he says, stepping forward to stab his wand into Charlus' chest, the threat bald, "my name is Evans. I want nothing to do with you or your family. I'm a muggleborn, for Merlin's sake."

The woman beside Charlus looks at Harry with wide grey eyes. Aside from their shade, she looks a great deal like Bellatrix LeStrange one day will. Her hair is carefully controlled, brown rather than black, and she's dressed conservatively, as is appropriate for the time period, but. She's certainly a Black.

"Are you quite sure he's yours, darling?" she near-purrs, meeting Harry's burning gaze with a fire of her own. Like recognises like. Black madness sparks in them both.

It has to be Dorea Black. Her arm is linked with Charlus', and she calls him darling. His grandmother.

He turns on his heel and flees.

Pretends the lump in his throat is from fear instead of longing.

Voldemort's yew wand twirls through his fingers as he considers the man on his knees.

Octavian Nott has always been reliable, yet...

"Are you the only one alive?"

Nott's shoulders draw tight.

"No, Vo-" Voldemort presses his magic around the proud little pureblood who dares think to say his name after he's failed. As if he's earned the privilege. "My Lord."

"And where are the others, Octavian?"

"I don't know, My Lord," Nott tells the ground. It's clear from his inflection that his teeth are gritted.

"Oh?"

"The... the vigilante put something around each of their necks. Portkeys. He said the activation phrase when I was the only one left. They... vanished."

Voldemort's methodical movements pause. The mysterious new player on the board has kidnapped his soldiers?

Well. It was an effective tactic, to be sure, but why not simply kill them? Was it weakness, or strategy?

He couldn't help but assume it was the latter. The man - and he was that from the many memory's Voldemort's stolen, though he remains cloaked - was always a move ahead. He met Voldemort's attacks each time.

It was exhilarating. Infuriating, too. The only way his every move could be so neatly countered was a spy. Yet even after he began limiting plans to his Inner Circle, the Knights, this man still knew what he would do...

"What else?" he presses, impatience growing.

"He knocked out five men with a single stunner. It... it seemed to split, my Lord, midcast. And..."

Nott truly is testing his leniency tonight. "You will not like what happens if I have need to prompt you again, Octavian."

A shudder. How positively plebian. "I apologise, My Lord. I simply do not wish to give you incorrect information."

"It just... sounded as though the portkey passphrase was in parseltongue."

Voldemort stares down at his head. Nott's been with him for a very long time. He knows what parseltongue sounds like.

Still, Voldemort must be sure.

"Look at me."

The man does speak parseltongue.

The words "fuck you" spill prettily past concealed lips.

Voldemort obsesses.

The more he learns, the more his fascination grows.

The man performs feats of magic that surprise and delight. Simple things, weaponised. Magical control the likes of which Voldemort has rarely sought to achieve. From fiendfyre, yes, but basic spellwork...

He tries to split a stunning spell. He can still only manage three branches, and they're difficult to aim.

Voldemort keeps trying.

Keeps hunting, too.

The first time he meets him on a battlefield, Voldemort shreds the spell that normally hides his vigilante. The haze cloaking features fractures.

His eyes are unforgivably green. Voldemort almost wishes he would cast the killing curse, just to see how the shade compares side by side.

Victory. He hadn't even had to fight for the other's identity. He tells himself it isn't a disappointment. He can feel the magic this man radiates. Lord Voldemort does not need to be convinced he isn't weak.

He dips his head politely, never letting his eyes stray from that brilliant shade. "Lord Voldemort," he introduces.

One beat.

Two.

Manners, he thinks mildly.

"Harry Evans," his opponent rasps out. It sounds like he hasn't talked to anybody in some time. Voldemort notes the name. Muggleborn, perhaps? Or a half-blood, like him?

Voldemort is hungry to know more. He licks his lips. Bright eyes dart to the motion, then rise back to meet his. A silly mistake. Voldemort tears into his mind.

Or, he tries to.

Blankness meets him. Not fog. Not a wall. Nothingness.

After some heavy-handed prodding, Voldemort pulls back before he is lost in the abyss.

An occlumens as well, then.

He ducks a blasting curse shot at his head.

Time to play.

Thing is, as much as Voldemort likes to play with his food, he's always been a thief at heart.

He wants to steal this man - this Harry Evans - more than he wants to break him.

He leaves with wounds his healer must tend to. They require dittany not to scar. He accepts it for the two large, arched marks. The small one, though - a knife wound, of all things - he keeps. He can rid himself of it later.

For now, though, he has something to press when he thinks of Harry.

Besides, he's not the only one to have left with marks. If Harry is smart, he will bear his well. If not... well, Lord Voldemort is generous. He can always give him more.

His men have standing orders to flee when they see him. He's still down seventeen fighters, stolen by Harry. The next time they dare to linger, he gets three more.

It's annoying to have his pawns taken. Especially because he does not know why.

Harry could ransom them to their rich families. Could try and use them as leverage over Voldemort. Could even just kill them: but he doesn't. Voldemort can tell that much from the Dark Mark. The fact he can't communicate with them or plot their locations is interesting. Unsettling, too. The magic of his mark, circumvented.

It's been a long time since he has gotten stuck on a puzzle.

He thrills at the challenge.

He next sees Harry in his human skin. The other is in Knockturn, just coming out of a shop.

How rare. He's not often spotted in public unless he's dismantling Voldemort's plans.

"Hello," he greets politely. Those green eyes slant over to him, then catch. Like he recognises Lord Voldemort even in this pitiful mask. A part of him delights at the notion, even as he double checks his magic. It remains tucked tight to his body.

"Hello," Harry breathes back.

Voldemort barely suppresses a frown. Is the other attracted to him like this? A pity. He wouldn't think Harry one to fall for a pretty face.

Still, it could prove useful... imagine what information he could pull on a date...

Green eyes trace his features intently. Voldemort is no longer used to being examined in such a way. And then-

Then Harry's magic lashes out at him without the aid of a wand, and the glamour is ripped from Voldemort's skin. He hisses in discomfort at the sensation, taking a step forward and pressing long nails to Harry's throat.

Fingers catch around his wrist before he can make contact. Somehow, Harry is strong enough to hold him in place. Strengthening rituals rendered void. Just what was this man?

The hold does nothing to stop Voldemort from stepping into him. From leaning close to his ear once they're chest to chest and hissing, low in threat, "That was rude, Harry."

The chest pressed to his moves. A laugh trembles out of Harry's throat. He sounds a touch mad. Just look what Voldemort's reduced him to...

"Sorry," he lies. "Were you doing some shopping?"

"No."

Harry hums, disbelieving. Voldemort licks his lips and stares at the neck his fingers have been denied. He wonders how much blood he can draw with a bite before Harry manages to escape.

Harry has a habit of vanishing all the marks he gives him. Such an ungrateful creature.

If given half a chance, Voldemort will bite a collar around his throat.

Harry can't breathe.

He doesn't know how it's come to this. He doesn't understand.

Voldemort's mouth is hot and urgent against his. Nails dig into his hip and back. One of Harry's hands is angling Voldemort's chin.

Voldemort lets him. Tips into his touch. Darts a tongue out to taste him.

He shivers.

Isn't he meant to be destroying Voldemort?

A wicked thought catches in his mind.

Can I destroy Voldemort like this?

Long, powerful fingers trace a burning path up his thigh.

Undo him with my touch?

He takes Voldemort in hand.

Unmake him with my mouth?

Slots teeth against his neck when Voldemort jerks. Scrapes them down when the Dark Lord shudders.

Well. It's not a plan he's thought up, before, but-

It's worth a try, isn't it?

au where auror harry potter ends up in the marauders time period, right by the beginning of voldemort’s rise.

harry potter who avoids hogwarts by all means (the memories are too painful) and instead tries to take down voldemort and his death eaters by himself.

harry who drops his last name in favor of the common muggle last name “evans” to completely separate any ties to the potters (for their sakes.)

harry evans who keeps his distance from his mom, the marauders, and snape because he knows if he sees them he’s going to ruin something.

instead, harry evans catches the attention of the potter family (who is convinced he is a long lost heir), the blacks (who start to suspect he is a new up and coming darm lord), dumbledore (who believes the same), and the dark lord himself (who is intrigued by this mysteriously strong man thwarting his every move.)

i timetravelled to when my parents were still kids to destroy the dark lord but i became his lover instead!?

[daemon-in-my-head]

Huh, let's do one of these again cuz I'm feeling some kinda way

Dark Urge Ask game - redeemed post epilogue funsies

If your Durge could change one, single thing, event, feature, just anything about their life, their body or their relationships, what would it be?

Do they ever miss the cult or Bhaal or wish they chose differently? How are we coping is what I'm asking.

How's shit with their LI going? Did they have one? Is it going well even after the post-epilogue party? What's the vibe here? Did they maybe even find a new partner?

What's it like being known as a hero? Do they enjoy it? Are they getting shy whenever they hear a bard recount their tales? Is it too overwhelming, and they decided to try and escape it?

How's our mental health? Did we get out unscathed, are we still tormented by nightmares? How do we cope with this little absolutely life changing journey we just went thru? Any lifestyle changes to deal with it?

Have we learned from the mistakes of our predecessors, or are we fully embracing the Abdel Adrian route? Are they trying to establish themselves as an influential figure or trying just to live a lovely little peaceful life?

How do they feel about never getting the majority of their memories back? Is it relief, that they won't remember what atrocities or mistakes they make or perhaps dread, because a Bhaalspawn undoubtedly made enemies and they'll never know who they are?

How's it going in terms of faith? Serving Jergal, another god altogether, are we faithless nowadays? What's the situation here?

How's the canon situation on a scale of 1 to 10? 1 being this could be part of a sourcebook, 10 being this is basically original fiction now.

Do any of the traits they learned in their old profession ever come in handy later down the line? Have they opened a clinic, do they get by as a mercenary, are they staying far away from everything even slightly connected to their past life?

Are they gonna reach the later half of their life expectancy or are we gonna have some sweet early demise going on here? Will they ever get to enjoy the fruits of their labour?

How exactly does loosing Bhaals essence impact a being created by him? We holding up well or barely scraping by?

Generally speaking, without saying much, what's the vibe here after it all ends? Tragedy, coffeeshop AU kinda vibe, rom-com, drama baby, slice of life or hero's quest?

Do they ever feel like they miss any of the other chosen? How much do they manage to recall? Are they beating themselves up over it?

What's their biggest struggle now that everything is over?

Also what's the greatest joy now that they're "free" (depends on interpretation ig)?

Was it worth it?

Do they ever meet any of the other tadfools again? Are they questing together once more? Do they purposefully stay away from some?

How are the others doing actually? What's Durges opinion on it? Do they think their old companions are doing well, are they glad about it or maybe even resentful? Do they ever even find out?

Any physical changes going on here compared to how they were before the whole 'defeat the brain' business? What are they? Is Durge handling them well or do they need a bit more time?

Now as for the fun part.... Do they ever remember what exactly they did with some of the other chosen? How awkward is it or are they proud of it? Does anyone else find out? Give me the tea dammit.

Does the skrunkly little tyrant ever make his way back into the picture in some way? What way exactly?

What happened to the physical prayer for forgiveness? Is it stored in a lil chest somewhere in their new home? Did it get burned? Did it get buried? What's going on here?

What happened to the stones? Where are they? Do they still exist? Remember most of the idiots only wanted the crown, nobody ever said something about those pretty gems that spend god knows how long with the others. Basically how freaky is Durge about them?

What happened to a bunch of very peculiar weapons such as; the Fabricated Arbalest, the Stillmaker, Bloodthirst, Crimson Mischief, Ketherics Warhammer, all that fun stuff.

What happened to the coat. Tell me. How's it doing. Where is it. What's going on?

Finally, last but not least. What is Durges biggest wish now? What do they strife to attain? Peace, happiness, the food they've been craving for a solid week now?

Wild card / Dealers choice.

Obligatory reminder how these work: ask prev when u reblog, be nice, this isn't strictly romantic, bla bla bla yk what I usually put here. Basically, have fun, go wild, be nice to your fellow brain rotters, make someone's day. We're all sane here. Promise.

[vanilladollette]

Can you please write jealousy headcanons for Yeo jeong, Do yeong, Jae Joon? And can you please write how differently they will react when reader is their wife vs when they are in love with her but haven't confessed yet?

Jealousy Headcanons ft. Jeon Jae-Joon, Joo Yeo-Jeong, Ha Do-yeong

Jeon Jae-Joon:

In love with you

He is jealous of anyone you interact with.

It doesn't matter who is was.

Jea-joon is a extremely jealous person.

He tries to one-up whoever is getting your attention—if someone gives you a gift, he’ll get something twice as expensive.

He gets unreasonably moody when you praise another man, brushing it off with an eye roll but later overthinking it.

If he sees you with someone else, he’ll interrupt the conversation with some flimsy excuse—“Hey, didn’t you say you needed my help with something?”

If the jealousy gets too much, he might start flirting with other women in front of you to gauge your reaction.

Married to you

Jea-joon is still an extremely jealous person.

It doesn't matter if you have been married for five years, he is still an extremely jealous person.

Jae-Joon has zero tolerance for anyone getting too close to his wife. He’s openly territorial, making it clear that she belongs to him.

He’ll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you close whenever another man even looks at you for too long.

If a man dares to flirt, Jae-Joon’s sharp tongue comes out—cutting insults laced with arrogance and threats masked as jokes.

He’ll intentionally kiss or touch you in front of the person making him jealous, making sure they understand their place.

If you scold him for being dramatic, he’ll just smirk and say, “What? Just making sure people remember you’re mine.”

He is the type of person who is not afraid to fight someone if they don't get the hint.

Joo Yeo-Jeong:

In love with you

Yeo-Jeong is not a very jealous person but he does get jealous.

He hides his jealousy well, always smiling, but his hands ball into fists behind his back.

If you talks about another man, he’ll listen carefully, taking mental notes.

He’s the type to subtly sabotage competition—giving advice that makes the other guy look bad, or steering conversations away from them.

He volunteers to help you with anything to keep you around more—offering rides, tutoring, even making her favorite meals.

If you seems interested in someone else, he quietly suffers, convincing himself that as long as you're happy, that’s enough.

Married to you

He is not a jealous person once you two are married.

His jealousy goes down.

He trusts you.

Though he does get jealous from time to time.

He’s the type to casually but firmly place a kiss on her temple in the middle of a conversation—just to remind everyone who she belongs to.

He reassures you gently, never blaming you but always making sure you knows how much he cherishes her.

Ha Do-yeong:

In love with you

Do-yeong is the master of controlling his emotions, rarely letting jealousy show.

He watches and listens, carefully assessing his competition before making his move.

If you seem interested in another man, he quietly retreats—but never gives up. He simply waits for the right moment to step in.

Instead of acting out, he proves his worth—making sure you notices how reliable, capable, and successful he is.

If another man disrespects you, his tone shifts—it’s not a warning, it’s a statement: “That’s enough.”

He subtly steers conversations away from other men, always shifting the focus back to you and what you wants.

If you're close to someone else, he doesn’t sulk—he raises his game, making sure you start to compare everyone else to him.

The only time his jealousy slips is if he sees you with someone unworthy—then, his usual patience wears thin, and he finally says, “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Married to you

Do-yeong handles jealousy with calm authority—he doesn’t need to raise his voice to make his presence known.

He stands behind you with perfect posture, placing a hand on your shoulder—a subtle yet powerful sign of possession.

If another man flirts, he interrupts smoothly, making the guy feel out of place. “I see you’ve met my wife. Isn’t she wonderful?”

He never lashes out in public, but later, in private, he might say, “I don’t like the way he looked at you.”

If you reassures him, he’ll smile softly and kiss your forehead, saying, “I trust you. It’s them I don’t trust.”

When truly provoked, he wields his business connections like a weapon—blacklisting people without them even realizing why they suddenly lost opportunities.

He has an understated yet powerful possessiveness—he doesn’t need to say much for people to fear crossing boundaries.

Taglist: @petersasteria

[lollipopsnowy]

wehhhh 😭😭

[fei-scribbles]

tried working with a muted colour palette that reminded me of vivia

i wanna turn up the saturation so badly omfg how do people make muted colours look good-

[moeblob]

Demyx (my beloved)

[whathasangramainyudonewrong]

What’s the sitch with Caren and Angra Mainyu? Is it as simple as Caren having a crush on him or do I not have all the information?

The short answer is “It’s complicated”

The long answer is “It’s None Of Your Business”

- Aŋra Mainiiu

[voidimp]

i hate that the sims has stupid limited time in game events with exclusive reward items whyyyy cant i just play when i want. why cant you just release the items for free without having to meet certain requirements in the game!! or even as a pack to buy honestly!!! but this limited time shit fucking sucks!!!!!

[arsenicflame]

the way i play with Izzyverse is with every Izzy forming from a branching timeline- that they were all the same at some point, only one thing sent them off on the path to be "someones". some are obvious; Sam, Ed, Jack & Hornigold branch from the mutiny- a split second decision on who to go with, a miss timed hit leaving him in Hornigolds grasp- but the others are less so. how would he become Jackie's, or Ned's, or Anne and Mary's? what happens to make an Izzy Stede's? how do they even meet?

[arolesbianism]

Sits in shambles I didn't read maybe Jorge's id correctly in the mysterious hermit logs the first god knows how many times I read them and only just now realized that it's the same id as the scientist that speaks in the agricultural notes log why must I be so bad at reading

[kobochajunkbox]

Copypasta'd a charming quote I saw from the Mad Max game (2015) to search the source and-

[bearsgrove]

i need to play dao again so bad

[meownotgood]

WHO'S YOUR FAVORITE GENSHIN IMPACT CHARACTER? 🤭🤭🤭 if you still like genshin of course

my favorite is hu tao... but I also like yelan and yae miko

[teaboot]

One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)

And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".

And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try

I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else

And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T

But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me

And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"

And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And like

It just sorta

Kept going?

And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands

And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting

And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting

So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie

and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"

So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."

So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me

The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment

But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her