#i just have a lot of pain and it makes it hard to think

[yandere-sins]

Hey! I loved your yandere!konig and ghost when their darling runs away. But how would they react if they're darling broke out. But couldn't bring themselves to go farther than 10 - 20 feet away. Cause if their anxiety of leaving the cabin?

Ah, the sweet, sweet betrayal of the own mind, I like that :D Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Come on... Come on! Yes!"

With a sharp click, the front door unlocked. The wooden cabin creaked as if warning you to stay, but you were up and outside before you could even think to listen. For weeks, you had worked towards this moment, and as the taste of freedom—earthy like the forest that surrounded the lonesome cabin—caressed your senses, a big smile curled the corners of your mouth upwards.

Day after day, you had swallowed your pride, nodded, and agreed. Laid still next to your captor in bed at night and listened to his footsteps whenever he returned, hoping they'd pass by your bedroom. The first few weeks had been the worst, with you still shackled and panicked, the masked man telling you to behave at every outburst of yours. But how could you?

It took a lot of time until he trusted you enough to let you freely walk around the secluded cabin. It wasn't without punishments as you tried to escape so many times before, until your feet were bloody from his knife and your wrists sore from the restraints he put you back in, but you learned your lessons. Listened to him. Obeyed him. Waited like a good little spouse a few steps away from the entrance whenever he returned. Enough so that he started trusting you.

Enough so that he grew careless.

Ghost, he called himself. It wasn't the most accurate description as he was tall and burly, not exactly haggard. His skeleton mask could be frightening; that much was true. As was his strength and the ruthless use of force to cause you pain and torture you. It was hard to get to this point of him letting his guard down, and you figured pretty quickly that he wasn't just some random man; all his senses were sharp, and his actions were skilled as if he was trained for this. Ghost was lines of muscles and scars all over his body. He was a human predator as far as you could see, but it made his weakness glaringly obvious;

You.

Because the moment you cuddled up to him, his tense posture grew slack, his arms gentle around you, his hands massaging you as if you were a fragile being. When you asked for something, he'd simply say, "We'll see," but would return with it after his next grocery run without needing a reminder. Meals were always cooked the way you wanted, and the heater was always set to the temperature you decided on. Even if he insisted on sleeping next to you, he let you have his blanket if you stole it at night. You'd constantly wake up to him gently rubbing your back whenever you accidentally laid on top of him at night.

It was a gamble to try and make him careless. You couldn't be sure it would work. However, you still worked towards your goal every day, pretending to get along with him, slowly falling into a routine he could get used to without letting him find out you were merely playing him. And now, finally, it had paid off.

Mud and grass had never felt better beneath the soles of your shoes as you stepped down the porch and onto the forest ground. Freeing and inviting—alive. Compared to the outside, the air inside the cabin had been terribly stale, and the building made of wood weighed down on your mood. Here, you finally felt in control of your life and closer than ever to escaping the nightmare!

There was barely anything around besides the dense treeline in front of you. A stump with an axe rested on the right corner of the cabin, but there was no path, no signs of a car or any way out, meaning what Ghost had told you about the cabin being far away from any other living soul must have been true.

Your heart sunk a little at the realization. You had seen the forest through the windows, but the ones showing the front had always been boarded shut. It gave you hope that there was something you weren't supposed to see or know, but you realized now that it was to keep uninvited eyes out should anyone stumble across the cabin instead.

So where were you supposed to go? There were trees on the left and trees on the right. Undoubtedly, more forest awaited you behind the cabin, so your only chance was to go forward. Looking at the ground, you tried to find Ghost's footsteps, any indication that this was the right way, but despite his hefty stature, you found none that could lead you.

You were on your own.

"Nothing wrong with that," you muttered to yourself, curling your hands into fists before saying a quick pep-talk. Surely, you'd find back to civilization once you fought your way through the forest. You were well-fed and clothed, had slept a full ten hours last night, and were young enough to take one or two days trekking through the thicket easily. The thought made you nervous regardless, but everything would be fine. You just had to get going so as to not get caught by the man who was trying to ruin your life with his fantasies.

Frankly, any fate awaiting you outside was better than staying at the cabin with him.

Taking your first steps, you felt your pulse quicken, your nostrils expanding to let more air into your lungs. You knew you couldn't afford to overthink things. There simply wasn't enough time. Ghost stayed away for two hours whenever he went out, and you had struggled to open the high-security lock on the front door that stood out like a sore spot against the wood. It took you months to find out what you needed to do and prepare everything for this moment—you couldn't afford to waste your efforts now.

Months, huh? It had been so long since you'd been under people. This forest wasn't familiar to you in the slightest, but you've been to forests before. This was just another one that would surely end in a town or at least a street. Hopefully, someone would believe you when you were found and help you. You didn't even have anything to verify yourself with.

But it didn't matter, surely your family had reported you as missing! It had been too long since you last spoke, even if you weren't in contact regularly. They would have noticed you being gone!

Right?

You felt your throat constrict as you swallowed down the doubt. "It's all his fault," you cursed through shallow breaths, wrapping your arm around yourself in an effort to calm down. Ghost had been putting all these thoughts inside your head, and you were merely reaping the fruits of his manipulation now. It was unfair, but you were stronger than this! You'd not allow him to continue to hold you hostage, his ill-willed comments meaningless since he clearly wasn't sane.

"There are dangerous animals out there. Big ones."

You remembered thinking, 'Where the fuck did he take me?' when you first heard him tell you about the outside of the cabin. You obviously weren't in your hometown anymore, where the biggest animal was a freaking squirrel.

"He's just messing with you," you bit out, banishing your own thoughts. Even now, that psycho held way too much power over you, his words and warnings repeating over and over as your doubts and anxiety grew. If only you made it to the tree line, you'd probably be able to convince yourself that there was nothing more dangerous than Ghost out there. Moving forward, your knees wobbled when you were barely two steps away from the edge of the clearing.

But what if it was him coming for you again?

"I'll always find you," you remembered him continuing as he told you about the animals while he softly played with your hair, the distant sound of rain thrumming on the roof enveloping the otherwise reigning silence in the cabin. "Won't let any of these wankers 'urt you. I'll make them piss right off, you're mine."

He'd be gone for a while. If he could track out of the forest, go shopping, and come back in about two hours, you could do the same and find help on the way. He'd first had to come back and notice you were gone before even starting to look for you. By then, you'd be long gone.

It wasn't like you were going to run straight into his arms by going this way, right? Shivering, you remembered the pain of when he cut your soles with his knife for daring to make a run for the door the first time Ghost let you "off the leash". The way it hurt every time he forced you to walk to the bathroom on your own, and how you barely made it while he stood above you, clicking his tongue at the bloody footsteps you left on the floor. You remembered the harsh cold and huddling in the corner of the basement, naked in the darkness, until Ghost showed you mercy, allowing you back into his arms after leaving you there for who-knows-how-long, just because you refused to sleep in the same bed with him.

If these natural reactions—the "petty crimes"—landed you a punishment this bad, then what would happen if he found you outside, trying to run from him? What more could he do to you before you'd break beyond repair?

Looking back over your shoulder, you stared at the open door. Maybe you should go back to close it? Buy yourself some time by pretending to hide from him? You could take some food and water with you. Honestly, your preparation was still pretty bad. Perhaps it would be better to try this another time when you had better chances of running from him, the time was so short, and after all—

Your cheek immediately started to burn as you suddenly struck yourself with the palm of your hand. "Focus!" you chided yourself. Why would you let this moment go to waste?! Taking a few more steps, you managed to break through the invisible line that Ghost had kept you behind, the forest enveloping you—swallowing you, like a hungry animal.

You were going to get out of here! You were going to make it!

The branches and leaves snatching at your clothes and skin felt like Ghost's hands reaching for you, trying to pull you back. But with an iron will, you moved on, determined to get through this. All his tricks became meaningless as you powered through the thicket. The hold on you melted away as you used all your strength to escape it. It felt like hours as you rushed through the green, never looking left and right, your determination the goal.

It needed your body to give out beneath you to finally make you stop. You could barely breathe at this point, your vision blurry with tears you didn't know had collected. Your head was spinning like you hit it on something hard, and hundreds of small areas on your body hurt for no reason, but you must have cut or poked yourself on the thicket without realizing it. Your legs felt weak, but your mind was still determined to get through this! You had come so far, just a little more, and you could rest for the night that had surely already fallen, considering how dark it was all around you.

Despite your loud breathing, the silence around you was deafening. It felt exactly like the dark basement you'd been locked in a few times. Air didn't seem to be able to fill your lungs quickly enough, and the sound of your own blood rushing through your body was an uncanny reminder of the fact that you were alive and well. And you'd make it; you had already come so far!

The sound of branches cracking near you made you still instantly.

The animals, you thought. But it could just be a deer.

More shuffling, leaves against fur, hoves breaking through branches and thicket. You'd simply spring up and yell at it to go away! It would be that easy to send it off in another direction. There was nothing to fear; it was all one of Ghost's tactics to scare you of leaving, and it would not work for you anymore!

You knew what you had to do, knew how to behave, and yet, for some reason, your body didn't obey you. Not even as a white face came into few, looking over a bush and staring straight at you. You opened your mouth, ready to yell and scream so the creature would quickly take off, but only a pitiful croak escaped from your throat, everything so tight and clamped up. Your helplessness barely registered, your brain ordering your arms to lift up menacingly, but your fingers merely trembled, hands slack in your lap.

Nothing was working, and your vision grew even darker as you rapidly tried to blink the tears away that filled your eyes. "What's going on?" you asked, but you heard your own voice, incomprehensible, a mix of strangled grunts and breathless squeaks.

"[Name]?"

For some reason, the sound of another voice appeared much clearer than your own. You heard it even through your desperate groans. It sounded firm. Concerned. Safe. It wasn't the sound of an animal, no roar or yap or growl or hiss. You knew that voice, it was... it was...

Something dropped to the ground, and you squeaked in surprise, jerking so hard you felt the branches of the bush poke into your body again. Your senses slowly returned as you were enveloped in warmth, the familiar scent you had breathed day in and day out wrapping around you. Strong barriers held you tightly, lifting you from the ground and adjusting their grip on you, and you managed to worm your own arms around a firm neck, your legs slipping into position in the familiar feeling of being held.

"Calm down, darlin', I'm 'ere. You're okay. It's okay."

Sobs overwhelmed you as you buried your face into the firm shoulder, the flesh molding around your features, giving you a place to hide. Immense warmth attacked you but hugged you just as tightly as the two arms wrapped around your body. "You're safe. Calm down, love."

The darkness clouding your mind dispersed as you felt the soft rocking of footsteps swaying your whole body. Finally, clear thoughts returned to you as you realized you were being carried. You felt the synthetic feel of a rain jacket beneath your fingers, which you had clawed into the fabric, while your breathing grew steadier, your lungs finally satisfied with the amount of air you were getting.

"What happened?" you slurred, still holding on to the person who had found you. Were you finally saved? Did someone rescue you, and did you make it out alive?

"Found you on the edge of the forest, all panicked and shit. For fuck's sake you doin' out here anyway, darlin'?"

The arms squeezed you a little tighter, almost uncomfortably so. But you squeezed back, holding on to your savior with all the strength you had left. "Running... outside... need to find..."

"Were you lookin' for me? Fuckin' hell... can't even punish you for that, sweet'eart."

"I... What?" you mumbled, clarity slowly climbing back into your brain. You heard the sounds of the steps changing from grass to wood, making you finally look up again. Blinking away the rest of your tears, your eyes adjusted, and you clearly watched the line of trees you had become oddly familiar with move away from you. The sight was enough to make you realize you were moving backward instead of through and out of the forest.

You weren't escaping anymore.

Straightening your back, you looked down at the black mask to your right, Ghost being preoccupied with something at your back, releasing one arm from you while he fumbled around with it. "Gave that lock a good kick, eh?" he commented as dread began running down your spine. He sighed, apparently bothered by having to replace the lock before he returned your gaze. He appeared to be relaxed, his eyes a bit lidded and his arms sturdy, giving no indication of his emotions.

But you noticed the blown-apart pupils, the way his gaze fixated on you like a crosshair. He had you all figured out—or at least, you managed to give him a fright.

"How did you find me?" you croaked warily, but the exhaustion made your voice sound sweet and gentle, not wavering and allowing him to hear the rush of nervosity in it. "I ran so far..."

"Told you, I'll always find you. Besides, you were collapsed in a ditch, lookin' absolutely horrified just in front of the cabin. First time 'avin' a panic attack, love?"

"Oh," you muttered, sacking back into his arms and forcing yourself to take deep breaths. You were fucked. Absolutely screwed. Messed up big time. Being carried inside the cabin, the dream of freedom vanished as Ghost squatted down in front of the couch. He slowly tipped you backward, making sure you'd not hurt yourself by falling off him, but instead of getting up, he stayed in the same position, finding your gaze no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.

"You were tryin' to find me, right?" he asked all of a sudden, questioning your motive after all.

"Y-Yeah..." you falsely admitted, your voice finally faltering. He was going to hurt you. Maybe you'd not survive this... would anyone notice if you were dead? Would anyone find you and bring justice to this unfairness you were experiencing? Why did you have to have a panic attack just from running away when all of this was a nightmare you wished to wake up from?!

When his hands landed on your thighs, you flinched, clenching your teeth together and bracing for the pain he was going to inflict on you any second now. You failed bitterly. So much so that you were already crying, tears dripping on his hands while you resigned yourself to your miserable faith.

Ghost rose from before you, pushing some weight onto your legs as he leaned forward, masked lips brushing against your forehead. "Don't do that again," he warned quietly, and you were sure he meant escaping rather than looking for him. "Don't want to have to break your legs just to keep you here, darlin'."

And with that, a firm but merciful warning, he let go, trudging off back outside, leaving the door wide open. Before the stairs leading off the porch, Ghost stopped, looking back over his shoulder, and you flinched—hard—noticing the cold glare he was giving you. "I'll go fetch the groceries. You stay."

With that, he left back towards the forest, making you watch as he brushed through the thicket and disappeared into darkness. Freedom seemed even closer with the unlocked door and Ghost's back turned. Just a few steps, and you'd be outside again. You could hide from him and then make a break for it.

Your body sacked, sliding deeper into the soft cushions of the couch.

"Next time," you mumbled. "I'll escape for sure."

Exhaustion took over as your eyes closed slowly. The last thing you saw was Ghost's silhouette marching back towards the cabin before your body collapsed onto the couch, the soulless eyes behind the skeleton mask drilling into your soul. Like a dog, trained to obey, you stayed.

And Ghost watched over you for a while, trying to push the thoughts of breaking your ankles out of his mind as he went to make you dinner instead. You've been through enough that day. This experience would teach you that you couldn't escape him. Even if your brain still fought, your body knew better than to disobey him. It even knew to cling to him for safety, so it was just a matter of time. He had chipped away at your psyche long enough for you to not even recognize what he had done. Slicing a carrot into two parts, Ghost knew he'd soon get to reap the fruits of his labor.

And once you were as broken as he was, you two would finally be happy together.

[mocchii-writes]

Hiiii! Could you do a Thanos x reader where the reader has a really shitty ex who’s in the games and is being cruel to her and Thanos just straight up wipes the floor with him?

Bonus points if he also gets him eliminated in the next game haha

In the Storm, I Stay Clear

Paring: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x fem!reader

Summary: After your ex is unfortunately in the games, but Thanos doesn't hesitate to do you a favor.

Words: uhh a few

Warnings: Swearing, bullying :<

A/n: Grr, I know this is short, but I have a lot of req rn. I'm sorry ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You really thought your day couldn't get any worse. You were practically kidnapped, stripped of your belongings, and thrown into a concrete cage with hundreds of other people. But luck had decided to leave you in the dust, apparently. You had survived the Six-Legged Pentathalon with little to no struggle, though it was totally jarring. You're trying to relax when you hear a chilling sound.

"I didn't know there was a rat problem here. Though I wouldn't put it past this place." It calls. You freeze. Why was your ex here? Your mind flows a tsunami of thoughts through you before you organize them and respond.

"Get lost, I don't want to talk to you." You think it seems direct enough that he'll scoff and leave, but that's really your mistake.

"Why so aggressive? The past is the past! C'mon, ease up!" By now, he's walked around to look at you. You simply continue eating your food, easily ignoring what he says and sniffling a laugh. "Hey!" He snaps, dropping his cocky demeanor. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

You can't catch yourself when you let your guard down for a second. He swipes his hand across your tray, knocking the food down and onto the floor. It rattles with a loud clank that turns eyes to you two. He smirks and looks back at you.

"This isn't over, bitch. Do you think you can just run away from your problems?" He steps closer, lowering his voice as you keep your face stone. "I'll make sure you know what it feels to be hurt." He says. It's a stupid threat. It's much too vague to be taken seriously, and he looks really dumb at this angle. You snicker at him, which is a mistake, apparently.

You hear the gasps before the stinging on your face, but you're not surprised. He winds up to slap you again, but he's jerked by something. You finally lift your head back up to see him, but it's not him you see.

It was Thanos, though that's probably not his name. He had made himself quite popular, and you wouldn't deny the fact he had the face for fame. He's holding your ex by the collar, pulling him to look at his face. He mutters something you can't hear, and swiftly lands a punch straight to his jaw.

Unsurprisingly, your ex stumbles to the ground, rubbing his jaw as he starts to get up. He's stopped, though, by a hard kick to his gut. He groans in pain as Thanos stomps onto his hand. Thanos pulls him back up.

"You clearly never learned how to treat women, no?" He says lowly, the boy shaking his head quickly, muttering apologies. "Don't apologize to me, bitch." Thanos twists your ex's shoulders around and you're face to face with him again, only this time he's pathetic.

"I'm... sorry..." He whispers, looking down at his hands, bruising quickly. This was a sight you would surely never forget. You smile, tilting your head.

"I can't hear you." You coo, laughing at his state as he mutters another louder apology. Thanos throws him back to the ground before fixing his hair and approaching you.

"Senorita, you know I'd never treat you like that if you were mine, yeah?" He says, looking at you with a new tint in his eyes.

"I admire your effort, but you gotta give it a moment." You smile, bringing your hands to his forearms. "Thank you." You say, quieter. You can tell his attitude softens, though you're unsure what shows it. His eyes remain confident, and he nods at you, smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mingle? It sounded simple enough to you, but that's not in practice. You haven't made a lot of friends here, so you'll have to hope for a pity party or a desperate group. You're jerked out of your thoughts by the circular platform you're standing on suddenly begining to spin. Eerily cheerful children's music begins to echo through the area, and a number is called out.

"Five."

Well, that's four too many, as your luck would bring it. Seemingly for your ex, too, as he comes running to you immediately. He's got a busted lip, and he's pleading with you about something, but you're not listening, tracking your eyes to search for people.

You feel a hand on your arm pull you backwards, but your ex has a string hand on your arm. You outstretched your arms, turning to look at the person on your other side. To no surprise, it's Thanos. He has 4 people behind him, and they're all looking at you. You try to run, but your ex is really not letting up his grip. Okay, now you're panicking. You glance to the large red clock.

00:08

You're not going to make it unless something is done about your situation you're frozen in. Lucky for you, a kick is heaved to the chest of your ex, sending him backward as you're dragged away before you can process it. The door is quickly sut behind you, and you turn to Thanos, his hand still holding your wrist.

"Thank you." You whisper. He smirks cockily, but you let it slide. He pulls his hand from your wrist to your hand as you hear gunshots echo. One less problem for you, I guess.

Idk if I like this, but it was pretty fun to write ♡

~🍡🍡

[itsnesss]

hii maybe a yandere!junho ?? I cant stop thinking about him 😩 i love your writing btw💕

𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you wake up restrained in a small room, facing jun-ho, who reveals his obsessive love for you. his yandere tendencies surface as he believes he's protecting you from the world. you must navigate his dangerous devotion and find a way to escape

warnings | junho!yandere, kidnapping/restraint, psychological manipulation

word count | 2.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You wake up with a start, the cold floor chilling your bones. It’s hard to remember how you got here. The faint flicker of a hanging light bulb illuminates the room. It’s a small, almost claustrophobic space, with gray concrete walls. In front of you, sitting on an old metal chair, is him: Jun-ho. His dark eyes watch you with an intensity that makes you shiver.

"Finally awake," he says in a serene voice, but it’s loaded with something else, something unsettling. "Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?"

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. Your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"What… what’s going on?"

He smiles, and the gesture should comfort you, but there’s something strange in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before.

"I saved you," he replies, leaning forward. "They were going to hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen."

"They? What are you talking about?" you ask, your heart pounding rapidly.

You try to move, but your wrists are tied with a thick scarf. You look at Jun-ho in disbelief.

"This… this isn’t real."

He slowly gets to his feet, brushing his hands off like he’s just finished an important task.

"Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever look at you that way again."

His voice, though soft, has a sharp edge. Memories begin to return in fragmented flashes. The last time you saw him was at the café near your workplace. He was always there, sitting at the same table with his black coffee, watching you. There was something about him that unsettled you but also intrigued you, like a mystery impossible to ignore.

"Jun-ho… why am I here?" you manage to ask, though the answer seems clear in your mind.

He leans closer, dangerously close. His warm breath brushes against your face, and you can smell the faint aroma of coffee he always carried.

"Because I love you."

The confession hits you like a punch. You instinctively recoil, but you can’t go far because of the restraints.

"Love me? This isn’t love…" you say, trying to stay calm.

His expression hardens.

"Not love?" he repeats, as if tasting the words for the first time. He paces around you, each step echoing in the small room. "Didn’t you see me? I was always there, watching over you, protecting you from all those men who didn’t deserve you."

"Jun-ho… this isn’t right. Let me go, please."

He stops behind you and places his hands on your shoulders. His touch is firm but not rough.

"Not right?" he murmurs near your ear. "Isn’t it right to want the best for the person you love?"

Your body tenses. The danger in his voice is palpable.

"If you really love me, you wouldn’t do this," you try to reason with him.

He chuckles softly, a sound that makes you tremble.

"You don’t understand. This is for you. For us. You can’t keep living in that world full of people who don’t value you. I’m the only one who can."

"It’s not your decision…" you protest, but he moves quickly in front of you, leaning down until his eyes are level with yours.

"Of course, it’s my decision. Because no one else cares as much as I do."

His gaze is so intense it feels like it could pierce your soul. His obsession is undeniable, but behind it, you see something else: pain, loneliness, desperation.

"Jun-ho, listen… you don’t have to do this. We can talk, find a solution," you say, trying to keep your voice gentle, though inside, you’re terrified.

He smiles again, but this time there’s sadness in his eyes.

"You’ve always been so kind… so understanding. But you don’t get it. If I let you go, they’ll hurt you. I can’t let that happen."

"Who are they?" you ask, hoping to buy time to think of a way out.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps back a few paces, as if lost in thought. Finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Everyone. Everyone who tried to get close to you. Everyone who didn’t deserve you."

The air feels heavier. The idea of what he might have done to "protect" you starts to sink in.

"What did you do, Jun-ho?"

He looks at you, and for the first time, he seems vulnerable.

"What I had to."

His words are simple, but the weight behind them leaves you breathless. Your mind fills with horrible images, but you force yourself to stay composed.

"Jun-ho… let me help you. This doesn’t have to go on like this."

He shakes his head.

"I don’t need help. I’ve already done everything necessary."

You start to notice a slight tremor in his hands, as if guilt is beginning to catch up with him.

"If you really love me… trust me. Let me go, and we can figure this out together."

For a moment, it seems like your words are reaching him. He lowers his gaze, and you can see the internal struggle on his face. But then, he straightens up, and his expression hardens again.

"I can’t risk it. If I let you go, you’ll go back to that world… and I can’t allow that."

Desperation grips you. You need to find a way to make him see reason before it’s too late.

"What do you want, Jun-ho? What do you really want?" you ask, trying to keep his attention.

He steps closer again, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I just want you to be mine."

His answer feels like a sentence, and you know words won’t be enough to change his mind. But you can’t give up. Not now.

"Jun-ho, if you keep going down this path, we’ll never truly be together. This isn’t love. It’s fear."

The word seems to affect him. He takes a step back, his gaze faltering.

"Fear?" he repeats, as if trying to process it.

You nod, even though the fear in your own heart threatens to overwhelm you.

"You’re afraid of losing me. But keeping me here isn’t the solution. If you love me, trust me."

The silence that follows is unbearable. Finally, Jun-ho sighs and lowers his head.

"I don’t want to lose you…" he admits, almost in a whisper.

"You won’t," you reply, summoning all the conviction you can. "But you have to trust me."

For a moment, you think you’ve reached him. But then he lifts his gaze, and his expression is a storm of emotions.

"Fine," he finally says, with an eerie calm. "But if I let you go, promise me you’ll never abandon me."

Your heart stops. You know any wrong response could trigger something worse.

"I promise we’ll talk about this. But first, I need you to give me a chance."

Jun-ho stares at you, assessing you. Finally, he pulls a knife from his pocket and cuts the ties around your wrists.

"Don’t make me regret this," he warns.

You rub your aching wrists and look at him carefully. Every move has to be calculated.

"I won’t," you respond, though your mind is already planning how to escape this place.

[doodledrawsthings]

you. Oh my god, you. (Positive)

listen. Before I had internet access, all I had was 1 hour of allotted browser time, bing image search, and a single dantdm play through of a hat in time that never got finished. I googled fanart and got pretty much nothing, I googled fancomics and got pretty much nothing, but you know what I did end up finding?

your art.

from ages 11-14, my goal in life, in art, was your art. I can’t tell you how much I loved finding random screenshots of your posts, because I was always just so impressed by how clean and consistent your sketches are, how the characters always stay on model, the shape language, how you could somehow sketch a character in like 20 lines when it took me 50 to draw sans in my little spiral notebook— like! Holy shit! For years I have looked up to your art! There’s still a photos folder on my dads old huge-ass 12 inch work iPad labeled “holy crap” and filled with your art. Because it inspired me so much. It’s become an undeniable part of my artstyle, now — I still have fanart I drew way back in the day of Hattie and the rest, I didn’t even know anyone’s names because I couldn’t play the game, but you’re the reason I eventually did play the game. Your coffee shop au and different versions of the prince— one of those ieterations inspired the main character of my novel! Well, novel that I tried to write, I was 13 so it was eh, but I tried!!

I’m submitting this on-anon because I don’t want to out my age on the wide internet (I like my privacy) but. Your art has really meant a lot to me. It’s the reason I played hollow knight, and it’s the reason I kept trying to develop an art style I was happy with. You’re the reason I started scribbling comics in my notebooks. Being 13-14 was pretty much the worst two years of my life, but I had Bing image search and the occasional glimpse of your signature, and I’d be so happy every time I found a new (if crusty) three-times screenshotted jpg. You literally introduced me to the concept of polyamory and nonbinary-ness with the coffee shop au. I had no other access to that in my household, and. Yeah. It meant a lot to me.

Anyway. I’m so glad I’ve finally tracked you down (in the most non-ominous way possible) and I’m so glad you’re still active— Please never stop making art. Your art is incredible, and amazing, and also you never know who’s out there on Bing image search. Thank you for creating for as long as you have. You’re pretty much the reason I’m shooting for an art degree (Wish me luck!) so just…Thank you.

(Also I had no idea you were a professional storyboarder, which is insane because that’s what I want to be when I’m through college. Hey, maybe I’ll end up storyboarding a remake of something you’ve storyboarded! hehehe)

Hi anon!

So right off the bat, I gotta tell you that this message made me start bawling when I woke up and saw it. Like I had a full-on cry session while reading your message and lying in bed for almost an hour. I am crying as I am typing this response, on my phone, still in bed. It’s 11am and i woke up at 9. So I hope it turns out coherent.

The last two years have been. weird. I say that a lot because I wanna say “rough” but that still doesn’t feel quite right. I’m almost hyper-aware that there are so many people that have it worse than me rn, so it feels hard to even acknowledge when I’m going through anything, myself, sometimes- REGARDLESS, it’s been kind of an all-time low for my mental health. There was a point within in the last year where I just HATED drawing. I struggled to bring myself to work, I struggled to bring myself to even draw for fun. It felt like I was posting just to post, trying to keep people aware of my existence and it almost felt physically painful to force myself to sit down and do it, sometimes.

I’m getting better now, I think, but. Yknow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the “oh I can make money off this,” “oh I can get attention off this,” “oh I can prove myself a functional person in society with this,” of it all. I forget why I actually do this, sometimes, or if I even enjoy it. And then I get messages like yours, about the kid with limited internet access looking for A Hat in Time fan art on Bing image search, and I get taken back to when I was a kid scrolling Google images and deviantart for the same thing.

I don’t mean to like. Foster some kind of parasocial thing with you or any one of my followers. There’s a reason I’m saying all this, I hope it ties up in the end.

We don’t know each other. I’m not some mysterious legendary artist, or whatever. I’m a person who gets burnt out, and jealous, and insecure. I need inspiration to function, just like you, and when I don’t have it, I get art block. But I also really like to draw fictional characters kissing and hanging out. I like coming up with comics and stories and playing out dramatic and funny scenarios in my head like I’m mashing Barbies together. And when other people tell me they enjoy the stuff I put out when I do this, it makes me really, really, really happy.

I think I needed to read your message, probably. With the state of… Everything… Right now, especially recently, I feel like a lot of artists are also struggling with a sense of purpose, pride, and reason as the world makes it harder and harder to even BE an artist, these days. And when I read this message it was like Anton Ego at the end of Ratatouille, I got taken back to when I was a kid looking at my favorite artists and studying their style and striving to be better and better at it over years of my life. Not just because I wanted a job for it or cuz I wanted to be a famous Disney animator or whatever, but because it was fun and I just liked doing it.

Thank you, SO much. I say this in the most genuine and earnest way I possibly can possibly express. I wish you luck on your own path in art and art school. And if you decide that animation industry is your thing, then I wish you the best in that endeavor, as well. I think I will keep making art for a long time.

Peace and love on the planet earth ✌️✌️✌️

[4doras]

DOCTOR! DOCTOR! ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

how could a star player who never makes a mistake keep getting hurt? ⊹♡

basketballer!gunwook x studentnurse!reader

genre. fluff, mentions of getting hurt

wc. 1.4k

a/n. doctor doctor is stuck in my head and i’ve been wanting to make a gunwook fic, so it’s perfect timing ^_^

everyone knew park gunwook — gunwook, the star player of the school’s basketball team, gunwook, the guy who never missed a shot, gunwook, who wouldn’t miss a game for the world. he loved basketball, and everyone loved him, everyone except you.

you didn’t hate him per se, but you wouldn’t seem to find the hype around him. of course, you could agree if people spoke about his looks, but his personality? he wasn’t anything special.

more under the cut!

gunwook was flawless on the court with his precision and skill. no one could ever remember a time when he made a mistake, but lately, something odd had started. ever since you became the nurse at the clinic, gunwook had been getting injured more than usual. it was as if every time he played, he’d somehow end up with a bruise or a twisted ankle, always finding his way to you to get treated.

you couldn’t understand why he; who was so perfect, kept making these mistakes on the court. due to your slight dislike of him, you tried to keep your distance, but with each injury, you ended up seeing him more. and though you didn’t want to admit it, a small part of you wondered if it was more than just bad luck.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

“y/n?” a voice echoed through your silent office, “could you bring your kit and come to the court? gunwook got hit in the head.” you recognised the boy as one of gunwook’s friends, another basketball player. “alright, i’ll be right there.” you kept your composure light and smiley, but you couldn’t think of a way how gunwook, someone who was also known to have good agility, could’ve been hit in the head hard enough to need someone to care for him.

you weren’t in any rush to go over, not like the other players were, but when you noticed him rubbing his head, you figured that you might as well check, turning your slow walk into a paced jog.

as you made your way over, you noticed his friends were acting a bit… strange. they weren’t laughing or making jokes, but there was a weird energy between them — glances exchanged, suppressed smiles, like they were all in on something. gunwook wasn’t in much pain, just a bit shaken, but his friends were acting like everything was perfectly normal, almost too normal, considering the situation. you couldn’t put your finger on it, but the way they behaved around gunwook left you feeling a little suspicious. they weren't concerned, not in the way you'd expect after an impact like that, making you wonder if they were up to something.

you crouched by him, holding him up so he’d sit up properly, had he been laying down flat before. “does it hurt here?” you gently put pressure on his forehead, unsure of where he got hit. “a little,” his voice carried a hint of discomfort, “it’s kinda like… here.” he took your hand off of his forehead, bringing it to the side of his head. “tell me when it hurts.” you gradually applied more and more pressure on the area, promptly hearing a wince. “i think you’ll be okay, just be careful. follow me, i’ll get you some ice.” you got back up, extending your hand toward him, offering him help to get back on his feet.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

he sat in front of you, waiting for whatever help you could give. once you looked at gunwook closer, you noticed a few scratches on his hands and a small cut on his forehead. it wasn’t serious, but you still reached for some ointment and a plaster to tend to the wounds. carefully applying it to his forehead, you found herself realizing gunwook looked a lot cuter up close than you ever really paid attention to before. his features were soft, and even with the small scrapes, there was something about him that made him seem a bit more attractive than she’d expected. you quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on helping him rather than letting her mind wander.

you couldn’t be thinking like this — about gunwook, or anything else that made your heart flutter a little, but it was hard. it didn’t make sense. you knew he wouldn’t like you back, and that was fine. you didn't think less of yourself, but the truth was clear: there were so many other girls that were prettier and ‘more his type’ who thought of him the same way too. you had no reason to dwell on these feelings, especially when it wouldn’t lead anywhere. you couldn’t let herself get caught up in something pointless.

“focus, y/n. don’t daydream, your patient is hurt!” he whined, playing a small pout on his lips. “i’m not… i’m just a bit tired.” you hoped your lie was strategic enough, but acting wasn’t your major. he could see straight through you. “hm,” he cooed, “tired of what?” gunwook tilted his head to the side in mild confusion, the corner of his lips curled up into a playful smile as he looked at you. it was almost as if he knew that you weren’t telling the truth and was waiting for you to explain. “tired of you always coming here. i thought you were the best player, how come you keep ending up hurt?”

gunwook couldn’t help but giggle, seeing how clueless you were. you had no idea how obvious his feelings were. it was like a secret game to him, watching you so unaware of how much he liked you, despite him constantly creating a reason to find you.

gunwook knew exactly what he was doing when he’d fake an injury during basketball practice. it wasn’t that he actually got hurt, but he’d always manage to ‘slip’ or ‘twist’ something just enough to need attention. but the real reason? he loved having your attention on him. he’d sit there, trying to hide his grin, pretending to be in pain just to have you close. it wasn’t that he wanted to get hurt, but the way you cared for him made his heart race, and the excuse to see you — even for just a moment — was worth it every time.

“you’re seriously blind, huh?” he folded his arms, an irritating smirk on his lips. “i like you, silly. i’ve only been getting hurt because i wanna see you, and it wasn’t even that big of an issue… to me, at least.” gunwook couldn’t help but smile, his eyes lit up with a quiet confidence, as if the words he just said were exactly what he’d been waiting to say for a long time.

“what?” you couldn’t find the right words. you wanted to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn’t come out. every time you opened your mouth, it felt like they got stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled. the more he came to your office, it became more obvious to you that you liked him. you knew that much — maybe more than you even realized; but trying to put it into words felt impossible. it wasn’t that you were unsure of your feelings, it was just that every time you looked at him, all you could think about was how much you wanted him to know, but not knowing how to say it.

“i’m not joking, y/n. why do you think i’d keep coming here for something so small, like a cut? i could take care of that at home. i come here because i like you, because i want to see you.” gunwook looked at you, his eyes held an honesty that was impossible to miss, as if everything he was feeling was laid bare in that quiet, unwavering gaze.

“please, give me a chance, y/n.” you couldn’t say no to him, his eyes were basically kneeling in front of you, pleading for you to say yes. “you’re so desperate, it really doesn’t fit your look.” you giggled. you couldn’t believe the park gunwook was on his knees for you. “is that a no?” he said, in a much, much sadder voice. “i didn’t say it was.” you couldn’t help but laugh at his face. “i like you too, gunwook. but you better stop getting hurt for me.” you crossed your arms, pretending to look annoyed, but the playful smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“i promise i’ll stop,” he put his pinky out, “and i’ll win every game for you.” his smile grew bigger. you locked your pinky with his, and pressed your thumbs together. “you better.”

[bitdemonic]

⋆.˚𝕭𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝕱𝐈𝐋𝐄:˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊𝕻𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀 𝕬𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄. 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐔𝐏, 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐒. 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 ��𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘.

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𓆩ψ𓆪 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 [𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐒]

↓

𝐁𝐈𝐎

Born July 1st, 1967, Pamela Anderson is a Cancer Sun, Aries Moon, Gemini Rising native (57 years of age). Her planet dominants include being Venusian, Mercurial, and Uranian ruled, a sum of how wild and untamed her celebrity became under the spotlight. Coined the blonde bombshell of the 90s, Pamela's impact is prominent in areas related to fashion and makeup, as her signature looks are referenced heavily today.

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ⟶ 10 OF CUPS RX

Definition: Unhappiness, feelings of loneliness and disharmony in emotional aspects of life (relationships, home, personal). In terms of appearance, this is someone who's pain is evident; suffering is a part of their day to day living, ultimately their legacy or public image. Pamela's beauty had been bullied and misjudged, something she's felt since childhood [as told her memoir]—10oC can be the details of her distinct features, but it's very heavily connected to her past wounds.

Interpretations

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 This card makes sense to me, because Pamela's upbringing was both tumultuous and traumatic, eventually leading her to modeling as an escape. Spotted on the jumbotron of her hometown's stadium led to being scouted by Playboy, otherwise her first taste of freedom (liberation). During this era, she'd made the decision to dye her once brunette hair to platinum blonde [which is told by the number 10, her whole identity changed with the color].

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 "Bad girl", heartbreaker kind of beauty; barbed wire tattoo, fuller breasts/lips, and the classic Pam Anderson updo. I'll even connect the Cups to how voluminous and soft her hair looked; it reminds me of having golden ringlets lol. These features emulate the energy of what this card indicates as far as romance and relationships—despite being in "love", she looked the part of being hard to tie down. Goes hand in hand with her overall appearance being in tune to match her partner's, she'd emulate their vibe as far as being a couple [even when unhappy].

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Less is more would be the underlying definition of this card, which can be applied to Pamela's thin brows, petite frame, and tighter fit clothing—she found this to be who she was, internally and externally, but could've been judged for "breaking the mold" (i.e. norm). Considering that she just recently started exploring more with her appearance, it's safe to say that she probably never thought to step outside this comfort zone.

I'll even go so far as to say that 10oC ↺ is the ridicule and hate she was prone to receive going on live television or radio shows, it's adding onto the fact that she felt like she couldn't do/be anything right under the spotlight. Holding up appearances and feeling distress are a part of its themes, she felt humiliation all the time and felt she couldn't stop it. Defending herself was frequent back then, which inevitably led to public outbursts and meltdowns out of exhaustion (I feel for her so much man).

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Want to connect the card's imagery to the oceanlike solemness of her eyes, they've cried many tears and evidently hold lots of secrets (essentially, she's been through a lot and more often than not you can tell how much). In certain pictures her eyes are widened, almost surprised to be hurt, or sad. Could be her eye color in general, just because they're almost* the same shade. Thinking that her eyes are her best/favorite feature because of the depth they hold; definitely a profound stare that touches everyone with their stories.

Bonus: Big pointer to her current decision to abstain from wearing heavier makeup in public. In reverse, it's basically the catalyst to Pam outgrowing how she used to present herself, now opting for a more comfortable essence opposed to what we're used to. Public opinion could wane, but the whole point of 10oC is having emotional fulfillment made from emotional decisions; she did this for her, nobody else.

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐔𝐏 ⟶ THE HANGED MAN RX

Definition: Indecisiveness, remaining stagnant, nothing different about a challenging obstacle, circumstance, or situation. With this card, we're able to understand the lasting impact and influence of Pamela's signature look; thinly arched brows, heavily smoked out shadow, glossy finished pigmented lips were a key component to her sultry glam appeal. Each step was perceived as unlocking our inner femme fatale, so much that even today her 90s era is practiced for wear.

Interpretations

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Feelings of being trapped [or "held at her will"], may've felt that she couldn't break free of an image, or like she was always going to be seen one specific way (e.g. being trashy). The Hanged Man ↺ is responsible for staying in the same place because you're actively choosing to ignore discernment (intuition); she was likely to accept the hatred and belittlement, before realizing her voice mattered most.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 It wouldn't be surprising if Pamela was quite stubborn about the way her makeup was supposed to be done, considering resistance and blockages are prevalent—either she had the formula down pact, or she's kept the same makeup artists(s) for majority of her career. The Hanged Man ↺ is also an indicator for deep colors and winged liner around her eyes but done in a precise manner (none of her makeup is out of place, smudged, or over excessive), lots of focus around her head/face area in general.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Neptune is the ruler of this card (illusions, fantasies, things that aren't "there") which speaks to Pamela's beauty having influence over the masses, both makeup and sex appeal. I wouldn't say this is a good thing, because we've been eyewitness to the harassment (misogyny) she's been subject to, it's a telltale sign that she wasn't seen as a person let alone worthy of respect (Hanged Man hanging upside down by the foot). On the other end however, this speaks for her makeup technique still being on trend despite when it first originated—timeless energy, even after our generation grows old.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Indication for the use of contour/bronzer to emphasize the structure of her cheekbone area, using enough that her face gave off the impression of being snatched. Intimidatingly daunting sometimes, she likely challenged her haters or men for the power she evoked. Her step by step could actually be quite simple, otherwise not needing many products or directions to execute it; Hanged Man ↺ showing that she's the original that others use for inspiration.

More often than not, her beauty and makeup were perceived well before her actual outfit (albeit cute). Her glam could've been a standalone in the 90s (i.e. no one else was wearing it) and it gained lots of attention or publicity. "Traction" is being channeled, which is alluding to Pam's makeup in/for "Barb Wire" earning lots of popularity for its allure (she definitely started a new wave lol).

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⟶ THE STAR

Definition: Inspiration, happiness, spotlight or limelight, renewal (transformation/rebirth). The Star is our indication of Pamela's inner happiness spilling out into her appearance, something that she's prone to do and go all out in when she's at her best. Her clothing pieces and outfit choices set the stage to her personality [which makes sense seeing that she's Leo Venus; the Sun is its ruler and is our outlook on the world].

Interpretations

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 One thing I noticed about Pam's choice of fashion is that she typically stays comfortable no matter what she has on. She doesn't necessarily have a specific aesthetic, more so clothes that mesh well with the vibrant aura she withholds; the Star is ruled by Aquarius, the sign of originality and innovation, and she's been prone to stand out for clothes that accentuate her "vibe" [and current era]. Indicator of being capable of pulling off anything or wearing something without letting it 'wear' her.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 The Star can represent self or the essence of who you are at the core (like stars, constellations that burn off their presence in the sky), which translates into Pamela's femininity being a key to how she brought an outfit to life. In many of her pieces worn onstage or on the carpet, Pamela had a way of bringing attention to how daring she was as a celebrity [early 90s - 2000s]. More than anything this is shown in her profile of photoshoots and model campaigns; she's quite literally a star on any cover, she's effortlessly photogenic [which is another indication of this card]. Makes sense she's still dominating the camera in her mid-fifties—she'll never lose the potential to turn heads.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Not the biggest staple in terms of what makes her stand out, but I wanted to mention that I noticed Pam has an affinity with wearing pitch black (or dark) shades depending on her choice of dress. I feel like they add to the mystique she carries and if anything, the sunglasses emulate the side of herself that she's taken back from the public [after having her boundaries constantly overstepped]. The Star is something/someone that can't go without some kind of notoriety or attention, to me Pam's fashion has transcended past negativity and bullying, I feel as if you can see her today and know that things are much different than earlier in her fame. Glasses remind me of being a girlboss, and this card confirms that she's respected for it.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 This was a download as well as an observation, but Pamela would often match her style to the aesthetic of her partners; most famous would obviously be her flame with Tommy Lee (no free promo for a weirdo). Considering the Star speaks about the renewal after a difficult time and most of Pam's iconic moments are shared with him, it's safe to suggest that her fashion is connected (remembered) alongside their relationship. It may've been a larger influence on the masses more specifically during that era, not nostalgia, but a capsule to that transformative time period. Not to mention that Tommy was ultimately her breaking point—her first awakening was likely after their invasion of privacy.

Bonus: Couldn't resist inserting a few example pics of what I meant when I said she's working the camera and extremely well for her age. Mini prediction, but I wouldn't be surprised to see her on different types of magazines and runways after more recognition for "The Last Showgirl", she's going to be a goldmine in terms of bringing back certain pieces ("last minute touches") to modern day magazines ("prints"). She's entering a new season for sure, I believe she'll make every second or step count. Channeling the word untouchable.

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ⟶ 6 OF PENTACLES RX

Definition: Lack of generosity or charity, pettiness, abuse of authority over those with none, strings attached, undervalued. Ironically, Pamela's hand in pop culture wasn't properly recognized up until recently (past decade) and it's due to society devaluing her worth in light of scandals and modeling. This card would be representative of her quote unquote disappearance from the spotlight albeit her valid reasons why.

Interpretations

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Downplaying Pamela's popularization of the TV show "Baywatch" is something that's argued a lot for being so "controversial" (or unlikely), when the truth is that introducing her character CJ Parker quite literally boosted the ratings; classic red bathing suit, emerging from the water in that* scene, and overall being a beautiful girl with a personality to match, CJ cemented the show as an American television staple. This role alone surged Pamela into sex symbol status [albeit not a good thing], her credibility and name were on the verge of being taken seriously.

6oP in ↺ drives home the point I brought up earlier, how Pamela's acting career didn't take off due to how the public sexualized her own freewill. The number six in tarot correlates to adjustment, sympathy, and comfort which are interpreted in a negative [or challenging] sense due to the card's position—a reversal in this context indicates Pamela's presence shifting the world's view onto the wrong things. Instead of viewing CJ from the storyline's perspective, society chose to sculpt her into another sexual caricature from Pam's past (Playboy), in turn pivoting her starlight into an unwanted direction.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 "Barb Wire" was another form of media in which Pamela's most iconic moments (looks) can be found, but with the 6oP in ↺ it wasn't seen as such during the time of filming; might be a stretch but I feel like this card can indicate going back in time, considering the number six is connected to themes of recovery and pentacles are physical/time related, Pam's significance wasn't properly recognized up until the latter half of her acting career (i.e. ignoring her relevance during filming, 1996). I suggest all this because back then Pamela had already faced backlash and disrespect over the leak of private property, hence connected to why the movie tanked.

I'm snowballing this observation, but I did read that onset she had basically been non-prioritized and treated like a prop. Directors were watching her home tape before she arrived, her boundaries were borderline overstepped, and all in all she'd won "Worst New Star" at the Razzie Awards (nominated six times). This card is apparently the definition for why Pamela was constantly dragged for participating (exchange, 6oP) in a project versus applauded for what she did right. The film wasn't Oscar worthy, but other factors that deserved recognition didn't happen due to harsh criticism; costume design and makeup department deserved praise, as well as Pam's dedication to the premiere [and job overall], but alas.

ཐིཋྀ It's kinda difficult to get an actual grasp on this card and Pamela's influence in a positive sense, but I feel as if that's the reality of her situation—public attention wasn't a friend, so for the longest she had the short end of the stick, even apart from how she shifted her chosen industry/career projects. Ultimately time was a reward (fast forward to the way she's currently flourishing), but much of her time as a celebrity was shroud in disdain. To be honest I'm even channeling that she's behind a few trends [from today or back then] and we just don't know anything about it; not that she's erased, but Pam's significance is a lot more profound than we've been told.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Not going into great detail, but 6oP in ↺ is definitely connected to the loss of millions from Pam and Tommy's privacy; a lot of struggle and hardship went into lawsuits at their expense, they practically went to war for their personal life (which was bullshit). Pamela doesn't revisit that point in time rarely at all, but whenever the topic arises, her first response is that she didn't receive/earn "a single red cent" from the invasion. I tried to dodge discussing that considering it's trauma and old wounds (news), but this card drives home the fact that she was barely considered and acknowledged with respect, nonhuman and only an object of desire at the worst times.

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐑𝐀 ⟶ KNIGHT OF CUPS

Definition: Offering of peace, restoring faith and happiness, taking action (following your heart), vulnerability (empathy). Pamela's "comeback" has been one that is apparently made with love and appreciation for self, for her fulfillment with life as her own person [and not who she was painted out to be]. Knight of Cups is the beauty behind each step and thought she makes; we're witnessing a rebirth and its testimony.

Interpretations

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Knight of Cups coming out for this era of her life honestly made me smile, it's because this confirms her contentment with all opportunities that present themselves. Her mindset [and perspective] on the world around her is renewed; her outlook, perspective, and ideal view have been aligned to match her beliefs (i.e. happiness is key). I also feel like this is being presented as her wardrobe or color palette—creams, light pinks, baby blues, florals, etc. Cups are emotional, lightweight (with context), and essentially carefree, this card is Pamela's outer expression in a brighter light and on a higher frequency.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 I keep being brought to the fact that her new movie is out and in theatres ("The Last Showgirl"), so I can only assume that this project is monumental, or really profound, to Pamela's growth in all things she invests in emotionally. Work, relationships, interests and hobbies, etc. Focus may be locked into those areas for quite some time and it's simply because she's appreciative of the bond she's made with them—connections are of the utmost importance, hence the movie earning a spot in her heart. She's going to be singing praises about the things she's learned onset, how they've helped her understand womanhood ("femininity"), and what it means for her future as an actress, mother, or individual. This energy is really promising and sweet, she's meant to find herself in new experiences and people.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Could indicate a new partner? Or someone from the past that she'll let back into her life, might be open to giving out second chances (feeling old co-worker director vibes, work is related). She's definitely in an era where forgiveness is allowed, I'm honestly picking up on an old connection being resuscitated and for the better; it doesn't have to be romantic, but more so a close friend (before or after reconciliation). This can also be consideration for herself hence the bullet points before; incorporating more affirmations or enlightening ways of thinking to further propel the spiritual journey she's embarked on [or "will embark on"].

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 Not channeling much as far as her current era goes and part of it is making me think it's because she's still exploring. Knights in tarot represent an individual [typically between 20s - 30s] that're using resources and their own knowledge to elevate into a King/Queen. Essentially, the energy these cards bring are understudy willing to take more classes or learn under a mentor (depending on the suit ofc); in this case, Pamela is extending herself into an area of career that makes her feel worthy of accepting love as herself. As I said, she's doing so much on her own and for her own happiness, she's proving to herself [and herself only] that she doesn't need to rely on anyone that doesn't understand her most intimate parts (self). Spiritually and emotionally inclined time that we're seeing, it'll propel her into another side of life that she had to discover through healing. Love that so much for her lol.

© 2025 BITDEMONIC

[sprinklesoncake]

While I sip on my apple tea and eat my apple pie, let me tell you another my opinion of Calebs storyline.

Warning: Spoilers!

First of all, I was always a Caleb stan the moment I saw him and chapter 4 broke me back then. My worry was, how the devs will handle him in the story. It is hard writing a character who is suppose to be dead in MCs eyes.

His introduction was🥵 him in uniform and then using his evol against an assassin had me feel things and then the scene where the fleet landed and him in his sunglasses AHHHHHH!

The interrogation was also hot af! But that’s not my point, I could go on for days talking about how sexy Caleb is lol When they hugged you could actually feel the relief on both sides. Let me say this but MC in this story was better than before in my opinion.

And I know a lot are creep out by his possessiveness but knowing that he also lost his parents as a young child he probably was already traumatised and then MC came into his life, someone who gave him warmth, that little boy wanted to start protecting his sun so bad. In his anecdotes there is a hint that Caleb was already possessive like he is now. He almost lost his life too during his training as an aerospace pilot but the only thing that kept him fighting was the thought of MC. And now after the explosion he took the sacrifice to be an experiment so that MC won’t have to go through that. In his mind it’s better to be alive than letting MC fight on her own.

And that chip??? Every soldier seems to have in the fleet where they basically become cold and emotionless soldiers? Or when that kid was crying for his sister’s death and the chip realised an error? MC in his myth was implementing one into herself (Might be wrong but I think it is heavily implied) and the chip made her go crazy. She thought there is no tomorrow! Maybe that chip also makes Calebs fear even bigger and that’s why he’s like that now. And possessiveness might not be count as a “weak feeling” by the system.

His possessiveness throughout the main story makes more sense now if you keep that in mind. Am I still mad that he drugged us? Edit: A friend of mine told me that the english translation once again sucks ass. In Chinese it was just cold medicine and he just took the chance since MC was already sick to his advantage. Absolutely! But it shows me how easy it is for love turning into possession, the fear he feels makes him do things he normally wouldn’t act out. He wants to protect his sun so bad.

MC however wants to go back in time where everything was still alright. She sees that Caleb is in pain, that someone who had no secrets with her suddenly is not telling her everything. Unlike Zayne, who MC met again as basically “a stranger”, Caleb was constantly in her life and both of them didn’t want to be separated ever. It is understandable that she can’t grasp the “new Caleb” yet.

Both of them yearn for each other so badly and want whats best for the other one but they need to understand that none of them is the same as before. MC is not a child, she knows things about herself which she can’t ignore anymore and Caleb needs to accept that. MC on the other hand needs to accept that after the explosion, Caleb due to circumstances is not the Caleb she knew before.

I was so happy when the start of his myth told us that they found a way to coexist but you could feel that they don’t fully accept it 100%. Yet both of them are ready to die for each other.

And let’s not forget that MC is possessive herself. In his 4* where MC kisses his cheek, the story was about how MC thought he got a love letter and knowing how Caleb never accepted one before, she got curious. She vaguely asked Caleb in 3rd person and he thought she had a crush on someone. Both of them were restless and who tf gets restless not knowing your best friend crush?? UNLESS you yourself are possessive for that person. And the promise they both made at the end? “You promise to not ever get a girlfriend!” That is one cruel promise to make UNLESS again, you are possessive if each other and deep down you know you’ll end up together😂Crazy finds crazy😂

I really like how the devs wrote this story. It is exactly how I thought the vibe would be between those two and I can’t wait for the next story cards and main story.

What is your thought, dear reader?

[hacash]

No, actually I'm not done with talking about Outie Mark and how well they've portrayed his grief on Severance, because the writers have done such a good job of showing that grief can be ugly and aggravating and painful and difficult to watch. Because Outie Mark isn't actually that fun to watch, a lot of the time! He's not soulful and romantic and dealing with his grief in a palatable manner: he's all hard edges and very dark humour! He cries loud and ugly! He picks fights! He's rude to his (admittedly aggravating) brother-in-law; he's a bit of a shit date to Alexa! He's very apathetic about what's going on at work, when quite frankly if he picked up the pace a little, we as the audience could find out more about what's going on! He has genuine substance abuse issues going on and spends a lot of his screentime just lying in a stupor in front of the TV! He's a compelling character but he's not fun to watch!

And I love how they've done this deliberately - I think the fact that at times the writers have been deliberately making Outie Mark deliberately hard to watch, at times because of his awkward humour and at times because he just is trying to avoid doing anything, and that's a deliberate choice because of his grief! The reason he takes so long to get shit done is because this man is literally paralysed by the grief he feels for his dead wife! He is so emotionally disconnected from the world that he spliced his brain clean in two to get away from the pain! He's choking on her ghost! Of course he's not eager to give himself the hope of believing she's alive only to go through that pain all over again!

(Also why the fuck did he of all people have to tell Gemma's students about her dying? Where the hell is that college's HR department.)

And it's not that Outie Mark is an unlikeable character, I'm really enjoying his arc at the moment, but I think they've made some really deliberate tweaks to show just what grief can do to someone and I am loving that they've deliberately made it ugly and painful to see.

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve reached your breaking point with Oscar, but an unfortunate grand prix changes everything you thought you wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 10.3k

WARNINGS: Conversations about sex and but no actual smut, degradation, angst. Mentions of cheating. Oscar is literally horrible. Mention of unhealthy family dynamics. Lots of cursing. Pain, so much pain. Mention of injury. I’m so sorry for all the emotional suffering this chapter will cause. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Accept message request from Lando_Norris?

Your fingers hovered over the “accept” button, nervous but curious. What would Lando ever want to talk to you about?

He had avoided you like the plague since that night in Italy, and you hardly blamed him. But as far as you knew, no one except you and Nicole knew that Lily was no longer in the picture; still, what would have changed to cause Lando Norris, of all people, to be messaging you at night?

“Who are you texting?” 

You jumped, not having noticed that Oscar had turned over to face you, seemingly unable to sleep.

“No one,” you said. “Just scrolling.”

Oscar confirmed your suspicions. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” you said, short and annoyed. 

Oscar didn’t respond, instead just moving on top of you, holding your chin in his hands to force you to look at him.

“You can’t even sleep until I fuck you like the little whore you are, huh?” He leaned down to kiss your neck, lips grazing over where only hours before he had left dark marks in the supple skin.

“Get off me, Oscar,” you said, and he immediately pulled back.

“You okay?” he asked.

You weren’t okay. In fact, you were furious. “You realize that you never even asked me if I was okay with you talking to me like that?”

The look in his eyes said only two words: Oh shit.

“YN, I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of it like that. Shit, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you to treat me with respect.”

“I thought you liked it?” he said, running his fingers through his hair out of nervousness.

You sat up, the anger burning within you. You hadn’t planned to confront Oscar so soon after what you had overheard, but now that you’d gotten started, there was no stopping you. 

“That’s not the point. Maybe I’m tired of feeling like your personal sex toy, Oscar. Oh, but I forgot. My feelings aren’t your problem.”

Oscar exhaled angrily. “Is that really what this is about?”

You just looked at him, bewildered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

He began, “Look, I don’t know what you think you heard—”

“I heard you talking shit about me on the phone to your own mother.”

“It wasn’t like that, YN.”

“Then what was it like? What’s your excuse now?”

Oscar tried to begin, his mouth opening with no words coming out. He truly didn’t know what to say. “It’s been a hard time.”

“I know. I’m well aware, Oscar. Because I made your feelings my problem for years.”

“I know, and I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to explain it to you.”

“Of course, you want to talk now that I won’t give you sex anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Oscar huffed, and it took every ounce of your strength not to curse him out then and there. “You act like I’m some fucking villian. You can’t get mad at me for fucking you when you wanted this too.”

“But how do you know that, Oscar? How do you know what I want? Have you ever asked me what I want?” Tears began prickling at the edge of your eyes. “You haven’t, because you don’t care.”

Oscar looked at the wall, his jaw tense. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Am I not even deserving of an honest conversation?” you said, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. It had been years since he’d seen you cry, but Oscar wouldn’t even look at you. 

You got up from the bed and started changing from your pajamas to your regular clothes. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. I can’t make you. But I’m going home.”

“YN—”

“Leave me alone,” you said, grabbing your purse and exiting the bedroom. You heard him call for you again, but you ignored his pleas, walking ahead out of the apartment and to your car.

When you slid into the driver’s seat, you finally broke down, resting your head against the steering wheel. No thoughts went through your head. You weren’t much of a crier, so when you finally gave in, it was more of an act of your body giving up.

So you took a few minutes to compose yourself before driving the short distance home through the streets of Monaco, a place you’d grown to love. But his presence was everywhere. The car. The streets. Your apartment. Oscar was inescapable.

And when you felt your phone buzz as you sat with a cup of tea on the balcony an hour or so later, this reality was confirmed. He was calling. 

You didn’t answer the first call, or the second. But by the third you knew that your only options were to turn your phone off, block him, or answer.

Well, what did you have to lose?

“What do you want?” you asked upon picking up the call. 

“I’m sorry, YN. Can we talk?”

“Say whatever you’re going to say.”

He paused. “In person? I’m in the hallway.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” he asked. You sighed. Why could you never say no to this man?

“Fine. Give me a sec.” You hung up the call, took another deep breath, and opened the front door before immediately turning around to go back to your balcony. You couldn’t bear to look at him, and you welcomed the sound of the soft waves lapping at the harbor as a buffer.

He sat down beside you, and even before any words were said, you felt the tears returning. Something about this felt…final. And your intuition had hardly ever been wrong before. 

“YN, I’m so sorry. When I get frustrated I say things I don’t mean. I was really out of line earlier.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, unable to truly accept his apology.

He continued, “And you’re right. I shouldn’t have just assumed that all the rough stuff was okay. And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You waited a moment for him to continue speaking, but he didn’t. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I just…don’t know what else you want me to say.” You looked over to him. His head was hung low, like a child in trouble at school. Not like a man who was taking accountability for his actions.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?” he asked. 

You just stared at him for a moment, gathering the courage to ask your question.

“Did you talk to Lily like that?”

“Huh?” he echoed.

“Did you call her all those names? Degrade her?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s…personal. I don’t think Lily would appreciate me talking about it.”

“She didn’t appreciate me being in your life, either. But look how that turned out,” you said, the malice lingering on every word. 

Your statement cut a little too deep for comfort. But Oscar finally relented, answering, “...I would, sometimes. She didn’t care for it. But I just…get frustrated a lot. It helps me get all that pent up energy out. Half the time I don’t even think about what I’m saying.”

You hummed. The implication of his words hung in the air; you were a relief for his frustration, a thoughtless passtime. 

When you didn’t respond, he got nervous. “Did I…hurt you?”

“Not physically, no,” you answered, your eyes never moving from the sight of the harbor in the distance. “But I don’t think you really care.”

“Of course I care.”

“No, you don’t.” Your lip quivered. You tried to swallow the tears that came up, but you couldn’t.

“No, don’t cry,” Oscar said, reaching out to embrace you, but you avoided him, getting up to lean on the railing. He followed you, this time not offering any comforting touch. 

“What the fuck are we doing, Oscar?” you said, barely able to get the words out. He grasped for words but wasn’t able to find them before the flood of emotions spilled from you. 

You began, “I used to think that the fabric of our lives was…like, sewn together. Like we were destined to always be in each other's lives. But ever since the breakup I’m so afraid that everyone who ever warned me about you was right. I feel like all these years you’ve just been using me, stringing me along so you could have someone there when things don’t work out. Like I’m just your backup plan. Like I’m not even good enough for you to treat me like a human being.”

“You really feel like I’m using you?” Oscar asked, his surprise horrifically genuine. “Was I just using you when I went out of my way to call you every week for 4 years when I was away in school, even during exams and races? When I got you this place because I wanted to live close to my best friend?” His tone went from gentle to frenzied—not angry, but desperate, like he couldn’t even fathom it. “I mean, YN, what, did you want me to cheat on my girlfriend with you?”

You looked up at him, and he realized again that he had messed up again.

“No, that’s not what I wanted. I’d never do that to Lily because you know it’s been done to me.”

“I know, and was I not there for you when you needed me?” In a way, Oscar was right. When you had broken things off with your unfaithful ex, Oscar was the first to your rescue, staying with you for days while you could barely even function. “YN, what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to be honest about what’s going on between us.”

“We’re…. hooking up, I don’t know.”

“Is that all I am to you, a hookup? A friend with benefits?” Your soft tears became full on sobs now. “Oscar, I am in love with you! You are the love of my life. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t known exactly how I felt, for years now.”

“Of course I knew,” he whispered. 

“Then why would you do this to me? Why would you take advantage of me like this?”

Oscar had started crying now, too. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“This isn’t fair, Oscar.”

“I’m sorry.”

A thick silence fell over the balcony. You knew that the conversation should be over now. There was nothing else you needed to say. But you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing the pointless hurt. 

“Do you even love me?”

“Don’t—”

“Can you even look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that you don’t love me?”

“YN—” 

You didn’t even let him complete his sentence, instead walking back into your apartment and slamming our now cold mug into the sink. “Just go,” you said, your voice stern.

“YN, please—” Oscar said, following you inside the apartment. 

“Go!”

“You want the truth?” Oscar said, raising his voice to you for the first time since you’d ever known him. His eyes now flooded with tears, staining his cheeks. His hair was tousled, his under eye bags puffy and pronounced. He looked like a mess. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is the truth.”

“The truth,” he began, swallowing, his voice cracking as he spoke. “The truth is that I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“No—”

“Yes, YN,” he said, his voice raising again.

“No, fuck you, Oscar, that’s not true!” You were both sobbing messes now. 

“Yes it is,” he begged, his voice ragged.

“Then why would you do this?”

“Because…” he paused, taking a deep breath and sniffling, trying to regain his composure. “Because we were best friends, and you lived with us, and I was so scared of fucking things up.”

“So you went and just found a girlfriend instead?”

“No, it…” he looked away from you and took a sharp exhale. “It wasn’t as simple as that. You…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “It was just…complicated. You were the girl who lived with us, like another sister, I mean, I couldn’t have feelings for you of all people. So I was so scared.”

He looked at the wall, scarating his neck, and continued. “And when I met Lily, it was all just…simple. Everyone liked her, she was nice, she’s smart. When I brought her home she fit right in, the fans loved her. She was everything I needed her to be, y’know?” He exhaled. 

His gaze fell to the floor and lingered as he continued. “I didn’t love her at first. I mean, I liked her, she was great, but it was more about just…filling a need, I guess. But I did fall in love with her later. I tried to love her with my whole heart, I really did. I thought that what I felt for you would just go away but obviously it didn’t. And then she fucking left me. As she should, honestly.”

Oscar nervously looked around the room until he could no longer avoid your piercing gaze, face frozen in disbelief.

“You’re horrible, Oscar.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You used me. You used Lily. And all of this from the very beginning was about… my family? I’m sorry you all had to take me in because no one else would. I’m sorry I didn’t go to a fancy boarding school in London. I’m sorry that my parents are two pieces of shit that didn't want to take care of me when I was a literal child.”

“It’s not that—”

“But it is. That’s what you said.”

“It’s not you, YN. I mean, it was, but we’re not kids anymore. I love you. It was just… awful circumstances.”

“And now? What’s your excuse? I cut off my parents. And Lily fucking left you. So why are you just using me now?”

“It’s just too much right now. The breakup, the championship…I know if I try, I’ll just fuck it up. I lost Lily, I can’t lose you too.”

“Why? Because then you’ll have no one to warm your bed when you’re sad?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone that you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with!”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because the person I want to spend the rest of my life with is you, Oscar. But you don’t want me. You never have. I’m your backup plan until something better comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been. I’m not good enough for you, you don’t love me. I don’t even know who you are any more.”

“You said I was the love of your life,” Oscar said, his voice lowered now. 

“You are. But I’m not yours. I don’t care what you say you feel. If you really love someone, you don’t treat them like that.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s all I can say.”

You let out a shaky breath, exhausted of all energy from the fighting. You didn’t even have it in you to be angry anymore. 

“We shouldn’t do this. We should just go our separate ways and be done with it.”

“No, YN—”

“You have a championship to focus on, don’t you?” you said. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said through his tears. “I need you.”

“I’ll finish out my employment contract through the end of the season. You can sell the apartment. I’ll pay back Mum for anything she had to spend on me when we were younger.”

“YN, please,” he begged. 

“Don’t, Oscar,” you said, your voice soft now. “Just let me go.”

“Can I kiss you?”

The correct answer should be no. You should have told him to get the fuck out of your apartment and never come back. But it was Oscar. 

You didn’t answer him, instead just walking up to him and embracing him, letting him hold you in his strong arms as his lips met yours one last time. His lips were salty with tears, but for once his touch was soft and gentle.

When you pulled away, he stayed close to you, pressing his forehead down to yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Go home. You’ve got a flight to catch in the morning.”

You could call in sick to the United States Grand Prix in Miami; Oscar could not. 

Well, theoretically, he could. God knows the reserve drivers would be happy to take his place and show off in front of the teams that were always scouring for new blood. But he couldn’t back down now. Not with a trophy looming so ominously over his head.

And especially not in Miami. Everyone hated Miami. Everyone except Lando, that is. 

And as Oscar mindlessly paced the paddock back and forth, praying to God that no journalists would pester him for an interview, he couldn’t escape the reminder of his teammate’s victory. 

“Well, things seem to be heating up here in Miami! The race continues between McLaren teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris in this early battle for the World Driver’s Championship. Piastri is putting in a valiant effort, but who can forget Lando Norris’ first victory here last year? It’s incredible to see how far he has come in such a short amount of time—”

He really needed to stop walking past the commentator’s box. 

This is usually when Oscar would try to find you in the paddock, or send you a text from halfway across the world. But he couldn’t do that anymore; you hadn’t quite barred him from communication, but what could he say?

He just needed to focus. Perform. Drown himself in the work. That’s what he told himself as he made his way back to the McLaren garage, away from the prying eyes of the media and the haunting words of the commentators. That’s what he told himself as he slipped on a set of headphones and nodded along as his race engineer spoke, acting as if he was paying attention. 

That’s what he told himself as he climbed into the car, took a deep breath, and pressed his foot to the gas. 

Thousands of miles away, in Monaco, you were supposed to be having dinner. Actually, you were supposed to be in Miami, taking photos of Oscar in all his glory.

But you couldn’t face him. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t even sleep.

In the corner of your living room sat a box with Oscar’s old stuff in it. You stared at it as if it had the eyes to stare back. Your hand mindlessly swirled your fork around your remaining food, now cold and mostly uneaten.

Why did this feel like a breakup?

You wanted to scream, but you’d already gotten noise complaints from the fight days prior. So instead, your apartment was deadly quiet. 

You sighed, moving to your bedroom and collapsing in the soft covers, having decided to give up and indulge yourself with a night of bed rotting. But even your bed felt empty. The sheets held a faint trace of Oscar’s scent. It would come out with a simple wash, but laundry was the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

You needed a distraction. You grabbed your phone and immediately went to social media to mindlessly scroll. 

But in your notifications was one you had nearly forgotten about: that message request from Lando. 

You opened it without even thinking, unfortunately sending the read receipt even though you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. 

Hey, not to be weird but do you know if anything’s going on with Oscar? He’s been acting odd recently.

You groaned in frustration. You couldn’t escape your best friend. 

The message was sent a while ago—when the pair were in Bahrain, actually. You should have just deleted it and acted as if you never saw it. But you felt horribly awkward leaving Lando on read. 

Yeah, he and Lily broke up :(

Was the frown really necessary? Should you say more? You didn’t have the energy to think, sending the message without much fanfare. You locked your phone and put it back on your nightstand. 

But only a few moments later, it buzzed. Another message from Lando.

But…Lando was in Miami? At the circuit? He should be driving, not texting you. You opened your phone and clicked on the notification. 

Damn, that’s rough. I thought they were endgame. You in the paddock?

You raised an eyebrow. Why would Lando Norris, of all people, want to know where you are?

No, I’m back in Monaco. 

Another nearly instant reply. Ah, I was hoping to make a cameo on Oscar’s Instagram haha. You’ll be at Imola though?

This whole interaction felt…weird.

I will! I’ll be sure to get some good team shots lol

You tried to match his energy with your reply, but you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that this wasn’t right. But as you finally did put your phone down and retire for the night, your mind kept racing, coming to wildly different conclusions.

Maybe Lando did want to be friends. Maybe, now that Lily was out of the picture, he felt more comfortable around you. Maybe he was just trying to smooth things over with Oscar in the championship battle. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Or maybe you were so used to Oscar’s lying and manipulation that you couldn’t imagine someone talking to you just for the sake of friendship. 

You huffed to yourself as the thought crossed your mind. You pulled your blanket up and buried yourself in it, as if the thoughts were something physical you could hide from. You fell into a tense sleep.

Oscar couldn’t sleep, though. He could barely sleep back when he had you at his beck and call, let alone when you all weren’t speaking to each other.

How had he fucked up so badly? He brought his hands to his face and roughly exhaled. Like you, he had resigned himself to spend his night scrolling, until he too noticed an unanswered message. 

Except it wasn’t from Lando. It was from Lily. As if things couldn’t get any worse. 

She was brief and to the point.

I just wanted to let you know I’ll be at Imola for a company event. I doubt we’ll run into each other. Hope you and YN are well. 

Her words stung. The professionalism where there once was warmth and love. The perfectly petty dig at him and you, assuming that he had already moved on (though, she wasn’t exactly wrong). 

He wanted to throw his phone off his hotel room balcony. From the slight crack in the blinds, he could see palm trees, and the ocean far off in the distance. And he knew that back in Monaco, you’d be staring at the same moon, hearing the water in the distance as it lulled you to sleep. The miles between you during race weekends had always been numerous, but the distance wasn't—not until now, at least. 

He slammed his phone on the nightstand and took yet another sleeping pill. 

It was going to be a horrible week. 

And, unfortunately, the morning wasn’t much better. Another oh so friendly interaction with his teammate. 

“Hey, Oscar, wait up,” the Brit called, jogging to catch Oscar as they both entered the paddock. Oscar slowed his pace but didn’t stop, hopeful that this would be a clear sign that he wasn’t here for conversation.

When he did catch up, Oscar just gave Lando a small nod as a greeting. 

“Hey, I, uh, heard about you and Lily. I’m so sorry, mate.”

Oscar turned, making a confused and irritated face. “Who told you?”

“YN. Well, I asked her if you were okay.”

The Aussie made a small grumbling noise. 

“I was just worried, you know. You just seemed like you were going through some stuff. You know I’m always here if you need me, right?”

“I need to beat you,” Oscar said, but his words had no bite to them. There was no snappy anger anymore, just exhaustion. 

“Of course,” Lando said, smiling, as if he thought his teammate’s championship ambitions were nothing more than comic relief. “But for real, man, I’m sorry and I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said, though he didn’t really mean it. He just wanted to be alone.

In Monaco, you were breaking your first cardinal rule of a breakup (even a friendship breakup) and turning on your TV to watch Oscar drive. 

You had managed to go without watching the free practices and even quali, but you couldn’t bring yourself to not watch the Grand Prix. 

And it was good that you tuned in, because he won. 

You nearly threw your phone across the room when he finally passed the checkered flag. You had been practically holding your breath since he secured the lead in a masterfully timed pit stop mid race, beating out Max Verstappen to bring home his second win of the season. 

So, maybe he wouldn’t hate Miami as much anymore. 

Your phone—secured now on your nightstand to prevent any race-related breakage—loomed in the distance as you debated sending him a congrats text. It wasn’t like you all had gone through a true breakup; you weren’t even together. But you knew you couldn’t let yourself end up in his bed again. You knew that he was a broken man, and you couldn’t fix him. 

So your friendship had come to occupy this odd liminal space in which neither of you knew exactly where you stood. At some point, this would have to be discussed, but clearly neither of you had learned your lesson on healthy communication. 

You wanted to tell your best friend that you were proud of him. Was that such a bad thing?

It wouldn’t be, if you could ignore that voice now echoing in your mind.

Since when are her feelings my problem?

You nearly gagged at the thought. Yeah, you weren’t texting him.

And back in Miami, Oscar anxiously awaited a text that would never come. 

“Oscar, mate, quit staring at your phone and let’s celebrate!” Lando teased, patting his teammate on the back. 

Oscar just sighed, opening his phone again to find no messages from you. 

“She’s not coming back,” Lando said. “So either you get drunk enough to call her, or you get drunk enough to find someone to replace her. Either way, you’re getting drunk tonight.”

“Really, Lando?” 

“She destroyed a five year relationship over some stupid shit, and you just won another grand prix. So yes, I think you should get fucked up with me tonight!”

“Don’t talk about Lily like that, mate. And besides, I’m not even waiting on her.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Then who are you waiting on?”

Oscar’s defenses were wearing down, even while sober. “You know who.”

“And you still want me to believe that you two aren’t hooking up?”

“It’s…complicated.” 

“Spill.”

Under normal circumstances, Oscar was never the type to discuss his personal life at work, much less with his rival for the championship. But as the plan of going out was abandoned in favor of a nice bottle of Cuban rum ordered to the room, Oscar found himself spilling his secrets like a teenage girl at a sleepover.

“And then I just…” he hiccuped, “I told her everything. And she didn’t believe me, and I don’t blame her, but it fucking hurt, you know? And we were just screaming at each other, she said we should go our separate ways. What am I supposed to say to that? And I still haven’t heard from her, but her and Lily are gonna be at Imola. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Mate,” Lando said, slurring his words, “You fucked this up worse than I fucked up the championship last year.”

The two drivers laughed—otherwise, they’d have to cry at the peril poor Oscar had put himself in. 

But the time flew by, and soon enough Oscar found himself on a flight to Italy, which he secretly prayed would crash so that he could avoid this entire charade. 

Of course, on all your respective flights, the feeling was mutual; neither you, Oscar, nor Lily really wanted to be there. But duty called, and you were nothing if not professional. 

It was an odd place to be; on one hand, you loved this job. It was fun getting to explore the world with your best friend and get paid to take pictures and make silly videos. The electric atmosphere of the paddock was one that had always felt like home, like you belonged there.

On the other hand, every time you thought about seeing Oscar again, you wanted to puke. 

Thankfully, when you did inevitably see him again, your lunch did not resurface. You operated like a robot; no banter, no friendliness, just stark professionalism. 

And Oscar didn’t know what was worse; not having you there, or seeing you act like a stranger. 

The one silver lining, at least, was that Lily was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t handle those emotions too. 

So, again and again throughout the weekend, he repeated that manta to himself: Just focus on work. Just focus on work. 

He said it to himself one last time before he hopped in the car for qualifying. Just focus. 

But he just couldn't. From the seat of his car, the chaos of the pit lane and the gaggles of photographers were just blurs, unidentifiable blobs. I had always comforted him to think that one of those was you, watching him. Now it was haunting. 

And somewhere, buried away in the paddock, Lily was there. Oscar could imagine it; her polished and professional demeanor, almost perfect, as she schmoozed up to that one executive from the company that he swore always had a thing for her. 

He wanted to scream. Instead, he had to pull the car into the garage as the session was stopped due to an accident. It was raining heavily. Extra caution was advised, his engineer explained, but Oscar couldn’t focus. Not because of his thoughts—although, those certainly didn’t help—but rather because of what he saw across the garage.

You were chatting with Lando. 

“Hey, YN!” Lando greeted as he hopped out of his car, seeing you in the back of the garage taking photos. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too,” you said, though it wasn’t particularly true. 

“Looks like we’re going to be a while,” he said looking over his shoulder at the storm brewing in the distance, “want to walk the paddock with me and get some candids?” 

“Sure,” you agreed, though the request confused you. 

The two of you left the garage and Oscar felt like punching the wall. 

At first you walked in silence, your only emitted sound being the soft click of your camera. It was kind of pointless, though, since you were supposed to be getting shots of Oscar. You knew this. Lando knew this too.

“Can I ask you something, Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there any reason that you’ve been pretty…friendly lately?” you asked, controlling your tone so it came off as genuinely curious rather than suspicious.

“Honestly,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck with nervousness, “I felt really bad about everything that happened on the trip. I was afraid I might’ve scared you off.”

Well, that didn’t make much sense. Lando was the one who had been avoiding you since the trip. But, after dealing with Oscar, you had simply accepted that men in general made no sense. 

“You didn’t,” you said. “And, I mean, the only reason we ended up like that is because Lily was trying to get rid of me. But, you see how that worked out.” 

“Really? She didn’t have the balls to tell you to leave her man alone?”

“Not until after you left,” you said, exhaling in exhaustion.

“Damn,” he said, looking away from you. You snapped a few photos of his candid side profile, admiring how the light hit his curls just right. “You know, the only reason I ran off in the club that night like that was because I didn’t want to get involved in all that? I mean, I wasn’t about to steal Oscar’s side chick.” He laughed.  “But from what I hear, things have changed?”

You laughed. “Oscar’s side chick?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t sleeping together?”

“Why do you want to know?” you laughed. Was Lando…flirting with you? No. He couldn’t be. He was Lando Norris, the most notorious playboy of the 2025 grid. 

“Aw, c’mon. I want to know the drama!” he teased, flashing his boyish smile. 

“Well, what if I want to know your drama?” you teased back, taking the opportunity to snap a few photos of him as you continued walking. 

“Psh, I’ve got no drama. Just keeping to myself, trying to win.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re avoiding the question, YN,” he said, smirking. Holy shit, he was flirting with you. But did you really mind? It felt nice to have that playful banter, to see a man who wanted that back and forth more than he just wanted your body. What was wrong with having a little fun?

You sighed and told him the most technical version of the truth. “Oscar never cheated. But you really thought I was sleeping with Oscar and you didn’t say anything to Lily?”

“Wasn’t my business. Besides, I thought it was pretty obvious.” His comment left a bit of a sour taste in your mouth, especially knowing the fears that Lily had confessed to you so long ago.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to Lily,” you said, and it was true. After all, you were both women. 

“And what about Oscar?”

You rolled your eyes. Having a nice conversation with Lando helped you remember how not nice your time with Oscar had been recently. “Oh, fuck him,” you said weakly. 

“Well, did you?”

You paused, unsure of whether or not to confess. “I already told you that he didn’t cheat. Is what, or who, I do in my spare time really any of your business?” you playfully teased.

His lips curled upwards. “I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

The double entendre wasn't missed on you. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the crowds to ensure that no one was paying too close attention. “You don’t have to worry about me and Oscar. But you know I run his social media, right? So I see all the gossip pages, all the shit you get yourself into. It’s a bold claim to say you’ve got no drama.”

“Oh, darling, they don’t even know the half of it,” he smirked. You all had turned around by now, walking back in the direction of the paddock. The crows were thinner now. 

He continued, “But what about you, huh? You’re all bored with Oscar and now you want some real fun?” He let out a small laugh. “No, you’re not like that. Too much of a good girl.”

“You think I’m too good? I’m here flirting with my best friend’s rival for the championship.”

“Are we flirting, is that was this is?” he asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “I thought we were just having a pleasant conversation, catching up on the gossip.” Unbeknownst to you, Lando had gotten all the gossip from Oscar after their drunken celebration in Miami. But he wanted to see exactly how much you’d reveal to him. 

“Well, sure then. I’m sure you get tired of race talk all day, anyway.”

“You say that like you think race talk is boring. But I’ve seen you at enough races to know better. Don’t play coy, you love it, don’t you? You know more about racing than most of the drivers’ girlfriends.” 

It kind of unnerved you, the way Lando knew exactly how to push your buttons. The subtle you’re not like the other girls implication; both you knew it wasn’t a compliment, but rather a statement meant to rile you up and see how you’d react. And it worked.

Your voice lowered, steady yet quieter. “It’s a bit sexist to assume that women don’t know anything about racing. And knowing more about racing doesn’t make me any better than anyone else.”

“I never said that, love.”

“Hmm, but you thought it.” 

“Are you in my head now?” You playfully rolled your eyes. “So tell me about all the race talk between you and Oscar.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” you chuckled.

“D’you want it to be?” he smirked. “No, no, really. Tell me what groundbreaking F1 opinions are inside that pretty little head of yours.” Yeah, he was definitely flirting with you. 

“I’ve got nothing groundbreaking,” you said as your smile loosened, contemplating how you wanted to arrange your words. “I think Oscar has a good shot at winning the WDC this year, if he can get out of his own head.”

“And what about me?”

“I think you’ll give him a run for his money. But you care too much about what random people on the internet think,” you said, ending the statement with that on the nose jest.

“You’re probably right,” he smiled. “God, you sounded like my PR manager for a sec there.”

“Not exactly dirty talk, is it?” you joked.

You arrived back at the McLaren garage. Lando walked in first, seeing that Oscar’s back was to you, and positioned himself so that when Oscar looked around, he’d see him instead of you. You were none the wiser. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You still haven’t answered my question. How was he?” Lando’s face was plastered with a mischievous grin. 

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Don’t ask me that!” you cooed, though you didn’t mind his closeness, the warmth of his breath on your ear. 

Oscar didn’t like it, though. And when he turned around and saw your back to him, Lando leaned down next to you, and smirking, he wanted to run him over with his car. 

Lando looked up for only a split second, but his eyes met Oscar’s, as if to acknowledge what he was doing. Or, as if to say, yes, I’m doing this, and you can’t stop me. 

Oscar couldn’t handle the audacity of watching Lando flirt with you in front of his own eyes. Thankfully, you were tapped on the shoulder by none other than the new guy, who had broken his extremely expensive camera, and you were called away to help him figure it out. 

Oscar crossed the garage to face Lando, never breaking his line of sight. 

“Oh hey, mate, what’s up?” Lando asked, innocently.

“Why are you talking to YN?”

“Oh, she wanted to take some photos—”

“Don’t talk to YN,” Oscar said, his voice plain but stern. 

“Mate, we were just having a chat. It wasn’t like that. Don’t be so paranoid.”

“I’m serious,” Oscar reiterated. “Don’t cross that line, Lando.”

“Okay, my bad,” Lando said, nervously laughing and carelessly throwing his hands in the air. Oscar still wouldn’t shift his gaze, even as both drivers were called to get back in their cars to resume the qualifying session. 

There was something up about Lando, he could tell. But it’d have to wait. Now, he had a pole to get. 

Well, he tried, but only managed to come in fourth. Lando got pole. Of fucking course. 

Another sleepless night passed with no messages from you. 

And the next morning, there you were as usual, staring at him only through the eye of your camera lens. 

But then, across the garage, you had no problem chatting it up with Lando. He threw you a glimpse of his award winning smirk and Oscar felt violent. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. 

You were doing it to spite him, that was obvious. You’d never be interested in a guy like Lando; too much of a playboy. And honestly, Oscar knew deep down that he deserved this. But it still made him sick to his stomach. 

The feeling only dissipated when it was replaced by that primitive need within him to win. The lights before him went out and reason gave way to instinct. 

Lando bottled the pole, losing the lead to Max after the first corner. Oscar fell back one place, narrowly avoiding a collision between Charles and Lewis, before overtaking them as they struggled to reorient their cars. 

So it was just him, Max, and Lando. He could do this. 

His body moved automatically. He could hear the roar of the engines, the chattering of the radio, and the screaming of the fans in the distance, but in his mind all was quiet. Laps blurred as he sped along the track, pushing inch by inch closer to overtaking Max. 

Eventually he did, getting DRS and flying past the Redbull driver, pushing hard to get a good lead over him. 

All that was left now was his own teammate. 

“Okay Oscar, you’ve got enough space between you and Verstappen,” his race engineer said.

“I want to overtake.”

“A 1-2 is our goal right now—”

“Then he can be 2nd. I want to win.”

Silence befell the radio channel for a moment. 

His engineer returned. “Okay. Papaya rules.”

Papaya rules. The phrase that haunted his dreams. 

There was really no need to use the coded language anymore. The world knew what it meant—race, but keep it clean. Put the team above yourself. Don’t do anything reckless. 

But Oscar was sick of being the good teammate, the one who always let Lando win for the sake of the team. He was tired of being gifted wins. Team orders were bullshit. This wasn’t about McLaren anymore. This was about his pride. This was everything. 

So he pushed harder than he should have. He was wearing his tires out, he knew, but Lando just coasted along, as if nothing was amiss. As if his teammate wasn’t out for blood and gaining on him with every lap. 

Lando glanced in his mirrors and saw Oscar behind him. 

“Oscar’s getting close,” he said to his engineer. 

“We told him papaya rules. Remember, our goal here is a 1-2.”

“He’s gonna wear out his tires.”

“Let’s just focus on keeping P1.”

But Lando knew it wasn’t that simple. This was no longer impersonal racing, just the best of the best competing against each other because it was in their nature to do so. 

No, this was personal now. 

Lando rounded the corner, feeling Oscar hot on his heels, but managed to defend his position. He knew that with DRS enabled at the next stretch, he wouldn’t be able to hold him off. 

But in front of him, he was already close to lapping the backmarkers of the grid.

Oscar could see them in the distance; the familiar teal of Lance Stroll’s Aston Martin, and an even more familiar fumble as he drove erratically due to some mechanical issue with the car. 

Lando slowed down, but Oscar couldn’t react. He swerved, hitting the barrier. 

Back in the garage, the breath left your lungs. 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of watching. You’d slid the headset on after Oscar had driven off, and you’d planned to leave before he got back to the garage and discovered that you’d ever been there. No harm, no foul. The allure of the purring engines and adrenaline-fueled racing was just too much to resist.

But now, hearing the violent scrape of carbon fiber against metal as Oscar’s car screeched along the barriers, your heart sunk into your chest. 

“Are you alright, Oscar?” you heard his race engineer ask, his voice filling your ears. 

But the silence afterwards was deafening. 

“Oscar, can you hear us? Are you alright?” 

All that came through was a metallic gargle of noise, a sign that the radio had been damaged in the impact. There was no way to know if Oscar was hurt or not.

A hush fell on the track as the safety car was brought out. Lando had effectively secured his win, with so few laps remaining. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen, praying to whatever God would listen that Oscar would be okay. You watched as the marshalls rushed to the site of the car, huddling around the lump of broken parts that stood still on the sidelines. 

Because of the force of the crash, the medical car had been deployed as well. You were frozen in place.

You had never been much of a believer in God, but all you could do now was beg.

Please, God. Please let him be okay. If he’s okay I can forgive everything he’s ever done. If he’s okay I will never let him out of my life ever again. Please, God, please let him be safe. 

You chanted the prayer over and over again to yourself as the seconds ticked by like hours. 

Finally, after an agonizingly long wait, you saw the marshalls carrying along an orange-clad form into the medical car. 

You didn’t even think. You just reacted, taking off your headset and booking it towards the medical tent. 

You weren’t the only one there, though. The tent was already swarmed with media, all craning their necks to see Oscar. You pushed your way through to the front, only to be stopped by security, since you had your media pass instead of your usual VIP pass as one of Oscar’s friends. 

You panicked—to the eyes of security, you were just another reporter who was rudely trying to cut through the crowd to get to the injured driver.

“Please let me by,” you pleaded. “I know Oscar—”

“You can wait at the media tent.”

“C’mon—”

“Ma’am, we need you to leave.” You groaned, and you were about to leave before you heard the voice of your savior from out of nowhere. 

“Hey!” he called. You turned your head to see who it was—the familiar, friendly face of Zak Brown. 

He was on the other side of the barrier, but Oscar was still nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, YN, am I glad to see you!” He turned to the security officer. “Let her in.”

“Sir, media personnel are not authorized—”

“She’s VIP, not media.”

“Sir—”

“Do you know who I am?” he said, an unusual sternness in his tone. The security officer glanced down at his pass and silently let you through. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Zak said, his boyish grin returning as he patted you on the back and led you along to the private area where they’d be bringing Oscar any second now. 

You sighed as he pulled the medical curtain closed. 

“Boy, was that a nasty crash,” he said.

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he’s alive. That’s as far as I know.”

Your heart sank again. But as if on cue, you heard the rumble of camera shutters and reporters chattering outside the tent as the marshals escorted Oscar into the tent. When he came up, the room was flooded with medical personnel, pushing you and Zak back to the edge of the curtained-off room. 

A nurse rushed in. “Who’s his emergency contact?” she asked Zak.

“Her,” he said, gesturing to you. You were confused. Since when had Oscar made you his emergency contact? 

“Stay here,” the nurse instructed, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t move an inch. You resumed your prayers as Zak blabbered on and on, mainly to himself. One thing that you’d learned very quickly about Zak Brown once Oscar had gotten to McLaren is that he really liked to yap. 

As the doctors and nurses filtered in and out of the room, you caught a brief glimpse of Oscar in the hospital bed, his eyes rolled back into his head, slumped over into his shoulder. 

You wanted to wail. 

But it was only a few minutes before everyone began to filter out of the room, creating enough space for you to finally see your friend. And when you did lay eyes on him, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you feared. 

His eyes were closed; an attempt to rest, rather than a state of unconsciousness. 

A nurse at his bedside turned to you. “Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine. We’re going to sedate him and transport him to a hospital, but he’s not gravely injured. He just needs some tests done that we can’t do here.”

You nodded along, not once taking your eyes off Oscar. 

“And, yes, you are his emergency contact, so we’ll need you to come with us. He’s authorized you to make decisions in the event that he's unable to. But that is unlikely, of course.”

“Is he…?” you asked, gesturing towards him. 

“He’s still a little shaken up. The best thing right now is to get him into a calmer environment.”

You nodded. “I’ll make sure that new guy doesn’t lose all your stuff,” Zak quipped, and you threw a smile out towards him. “I’ll meet you all there when we’ve wrapped up here.”

Ah yes, the grand prix was likely still going on outside, and Lando would have to climb the podium and take his P1 trophy home. 

But as you sat in a hospital room in Italy next to your best friend, the podium was the last thing on your mind. 

Oscar was still completely out of it. The doctors had come and gone, confirming that all of his tests had come back normal. No broken bones, no concussion, nothing major. Just a shit ton of bruises and a shock to the system that left him too exhausted to stay awake for more than 15 minutes at a time.

Outside, the sun was setting, but you couldn’t sit still. You held Oscar’s limp hand in your own, tracing patterns into the cold skin. You hadn’t held his hand since you were kids—no, Oscar had held your hands above your head as he pinned you to the wall only weeks ago. 

You flung the memory away. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, you promise you’d forgive all that. 

Either way, you couldn’t focus on that now. Oscar’s eyelashes were fluttering open, his eyes squinting at the fluorescent light above him. 

“Osc!” you said, truthfully too energetic for the occasion. You dropped his hand, got up, and turned off the overhead light, leaving only the swiftly fading daylight from outside the window to illuminate the room. 

He groaned as you sat back down, but still mumbled a small thanks. 

“Where am I?” he asked, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes.

“A hospital in Imola.” 

“Shit,” he sighed. 

“Yeah. You had a pretty bad crash.”

“I remember that,” he said, his throat dry and cracked. He took a sip of water. “Lando brake checked me.”

“Is that what happened? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah. Fucker,” he cursed, his voice dripping with contempt. You didn’t know what to say. 

“How are you feeling?” you finally said, tired of the lingering tension. 

“Awful. Everything hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, reaching for his call button to request painkillers. “I’ve missed you.”

It was bold, doing this when he knew you couldn’t exactly be cruel to him. So, instead, you were honest. 

“I’ve missed you too. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you said, reaching forward to smooth his hair away from his sweat-stained forehead. Your touch felt better than any painkiller. “We were really scared.”

“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” he joked as the nurse arrived and wordlessly administered his meds. He let out a sigh as he felt the painkillers enter his system. “I run on pure spite. A little wall isn’t gonna take me out.”

You gave him a small smile. “You didn’t say anything after the crash,” you said, your voice just a quivering whisper, giving away the true depths of your fear.

“I had the wind knocked out of me. And then, everything just went black, I was fading in and out.”

“I was praying you’d be okay. It was so scary.”

“Hey, I’m okay. A little busted up, but I wasn't exactly a looker anyway, huh?” he joked, a feeble attempt to make you laugh. You sniffled and smiled.

He continued, “Can I use my near-death experience as an excuse for us to make up?”

Your smile dropped and you bit your lip.  “Osc…”

“I just want my friend back,” he said, cutting you off. “Look, I can’t be the boyfriend you deserve. Not right now, at least. And I think, after all the shit I did, you wouldn’t want me to anyway. But I miss my friend.”

“I miss my friend, too.” 

Your heart to heart was interrupted by a knock at the door. The same nurse from before poked her head in. “Excuse me?” she asked in an Italian accent, and you looked up. “There is a visitor asking to be let in. She said her name is Lily?”

You couldn’t help the face you made. What on God’s green Earth was Lily doing in Imola?

“Um, yeah, let her in,” Oscar said. He didn’t react, though you scooted away and sat at the edge of your seat, ready to leave at any second. “Stay,” he whispered to you, and you did. 

A few moments later, you saw her walk in, and the atmosphere was thick. 

“Hi Oscar,” she exhaled, grateful to see him okay. He greeted her back, but she didn’t even look at you. You got up to give them a moment, but Oscar reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Don’t go,” he said, and the look in his eyes was impossible to refuse. You tentatively sat back down. 

“How are you feeling?” Lily asked, and the two exchanged pleasant conversation back and forth. You wanted nothing more than to jump out of the window that now showed the sunset over the trees. Normal visiting hours would be ending soon. 

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” she said, getting up to leave. “I’m glad you’re doing well. You too, YN,” she added on the end, but you didn’t believe it. You gave her a flat but polite smile. 

“Actually, YN, could we have a word?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of the hallway. 

The look on Oscar’s face told you that this was a horrible idea. But one of you was confined to a hospital bed, and the other wasn’t. You ignored him and followed Lily into the deserted hallway.

She turned to you, voice full of venom. “How long have you been sleeping with Oscar?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, plain as day. 

“I’ve told you before, Oscar never cheated on you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You turned your head in confusion. “What are you getting at?”

Lily angrily sighed. “You think that you can just waltz around the paddock talking shit about me with Lando, and that I’m not going to hear about it?”

Had Lily been at the paddock? Or even worse: had she somehow heard you?

“Well, if you actually heard my conversation with Lando, you’ll know that I stood up for you.”

“I thought you were a girl’s girl,” she said, deflecting from your defense.

“I am.”

“Then why were you in bed with my boyfriend 4 days after we broke up?”

“Your ex boyfriend,” you said, meeting her level of venom. “You left him.”

“I just thought, after all that talk, you’d have the decency not to prove me right.”

“Lily, I was honest with you. If you’re mad at Oscar, don’t take it out on me. He’s the one who suggested it. I told him it was a bad idea.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“And I felt horrible about it. So I stopped.” Your voice was sharp. “Who told you any of this?”

“It doesn't matter. I hope you’re happy.”

“I hope you are, too. Genuinely.” You lacked the words to say what you really wanted to. He treats both of us like shit. He used us. I am not your enemy. She wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. She wordlessly walked away, scoffing and mumbling to herself. 

You didn’t say anything either as you walked back into the hospital room and slumped in the chair.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well?” Oscar said.

“Nope.”

“Well, we were in the middle of something…”

Oh, right. The conversation where Oscar was trying to get back in your pants. 

“I’m not going to fuck you, Oscar.” 

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We can let anything lead to that. Not again.”

“I understand,” he said. “I just want my friend back in my life. Like all of that never happened.”

“Could we even do that?” you asked. It felt like a line had been crossed, moving your friendship in a way that couldn’t be undone. 

“I promise. And I know my word doesn’t mean much, but really, I promise. Never again.”

Haven't you promised that you’d forgive him?

“Okay,” you said, “Okay.”

Oscar smiled at you, showing off his bunny teeth. You still loved him. You couldn’t help it. But true to form, you could never stay away.

“Oh, and by the way, congrats on Miami.”

You fell asleep in the chair, having refused to leave Oscar’s side. He’d be discharged in the morning to make his flight back to Monaco, though it was questionable whether or not he’d be able to race in the iconic Grand Prix. 

True to his word, though, Oscar got one final set of visitors in the dead of night.

The first was Zak Brown. 

“Oscar!” Zak yelled, before Oscar shushed and pointed to your sleeping form. You stirred but didn’t fully wake, and Zak placed his hand over his mouth and raised his eyebrows as Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

“Hey Zak,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Glad to see you’re doing better.”

“Yeah, I made it,” he mused. “Hey, what did the FIA say?” Oscar’s phone had died since you had fallen asleep, and his charger had been left at the track.

Thankfully, Zak had brought his (and your) belongings, and he placed the bag at the foot of the hospital bed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the penalty, from the crash?”

“No one got a penalty.”

“But, Lando brake checked me.”

“Lando barely avoided a crash with Stroll.”

“I know, but he didn’t swerve, he slowed down. He had room to swerve, I didn’t. How did no one get a penalty?”

“That's just racing.”

“He intentionally slowed down to stop me!”

“Oscar, I highly doubt that that’s what happened. It was a crowded track, and you all had to react in a split second. These things happen, you know this.” 

Oscar wasn’t at all pleased with this answer, and it was worsened by the appearance of his second visitor: Lando himself.

“Ah, there’s our grand prix winner!” Zak said, giving him a hearty pat on the back. 

Lando smiled, and Oscar wanted to throw up. 

“Had to bring it home for the team,” he said, smiling at Zak. “You doing alright, mate?” he asked. 

Oscar was already tired of people asking him how he was feeling. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Lando gave Stroll an earful after the race.”

“Oh yeah, probably getting fined for that one…”

“Why? I didn’t crash because of Stroll. You brake checked me.” The pain was making Oscar more irritable. He’d need another dose of meds soon. 

“No, Stroll was driving like an idiot out there, I had to slow down.”

“No, you had to move. You’re not stupid. You just didn’t want me to overtake, didn’t you?”

“Okay, boys, let’s save this for the track,” Zak interjected. Oscar just grumbled. “I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” he said to Lando, who nodded but stayed behind. 

The Brit glanced at you, still fast asleep in the chair by Oscar’s bedside. “D’you tire out your babysitter?” he smiled. 

But Oscar was relentless. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I thought you all weren’t on speaking terms?” 

“Lando, mind your business.”

“I don’t know what your problem is, mate.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. Jesus, Osc, they should check that you didn’t hit your head too hard, you’re so paranoid.”

Truthfully, Oscar was bluffing. He had a horrible feeling about his teammate, but no evidence to back it up. But his intuition was hardly ever wrong. 

“I ran into Lily after you left,” Lando said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told her you were here.” His tone of voice was so gentle that Oscar began to wonder if maybe he was being too paranoid.

“Yeah, she came by earlier.” 

Lando’s eyes glanced back to your sleeping form, and Oscar felt his anger rise again. He didn’t even want Lando to look in your direction, let alone be speaking to you. 

“Your heart rate is up,” Lando said, gesturing to the monitor that now showed the physical effects of Oscar’s anger.

“Look, Lando,” Oscar said, shifting to sit up in bed. “Stop acting like we’re friends. Stop talking to YN, stop trying to play this buddy-buddy game. We’re here to beat each other.”

“I was just trying to be kind, but I guess if you really don’t want to be friends, I can’t make you.”

“I’m serious. Leave YN alone. Don’t even go there.”

“She’s an adult.”

“And she’s mine.”

Lando laughed. “Seriously? That’s not exactly what she told me.”

The monitor beeped again as Oscar’s heart rate continued to rise. “I don’t care what she told you.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Try it. See what happens.”

A nurse gently knocked on the door, and Oscar was grateful for the distraction and relief of pain meds. 

“Well,” Lando said, leaning on the door, “I guess I’ll see you all in Monaco.”

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part six

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

—

Rafe’s soft hand tracing the freckles on your cheek is what woke you and as you stirred, wincing, as the first of the morning’s pain hit your senses, you looked up and into his blue eyes. At that moment, you were convinced there was no better way to wake up. You could imagine looking into his eyes in a tiny apartment close to the hospital; coffee filling your nostrils as the beans were rung of their juices and into the cup he’d be sure to bring to your bedside, because he’s just that kind of a guy. Those daydreams had been keeping you going lately, imagining a life outside of what you were living now – outside of hospital filled days and pain and the unattainable doctor at your bedside. You had been starting your mornings with blue eyes a lot lately, which was the main constant between your daydreams and your reality – those days – the blue-eyed days, always let you put your best foot forward and you were thankful that today was one of those days. 

“Good morning, pretty girl.” 

He spoke softly, careful not to startle you as you were still gaining your bearings from the slumber you were woken from. 

“Hi.” 

You spoke suggestively, your morning voice poking through, unsure of how sexy he found you as you sat upright in the hospital bed. You winced again. 

“Easy, tiger.” 

He chastised you softly, pushing your shoulders back against the soft pillows. 

“Here, let me.” 

He spoke, reassuring you with a smile. You gingerly nodded as he grabbed the bed’s remote control and brought the top half to an upright position. 

“What would I do without you?” 

You questioned playfully again. Jenni snickered from behind Rafe, watching as you shamelessly flirted with him, you had made that your full time job and you hoped he didn’t mind. You weren’t stupid enough to think he meant the nicknames and sweet words, even though it all felt real, you were sure it wasn’t. The truth was, you didn’t believe in love, even if it came in the form of Rafe Cameron, who you were sure had much better prospects than some girl he met for the first time in the emergency room. You thought about the night of your accident often – so much so that it was consuming your being; some days it was all you thought about and this morning, while you woke up to those pretty blue eyes, was no different. The thoughts were consuming you in the same way that Molly consumed him. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, drowning out the sound of Jenni and Rafe chatting amongst you about the day's plans. You loved them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when all you could see as your rows of eyelashes collided was the pale blue dress that clung to your body as you looked in the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Another blind date. You had spent your last thirty bucks on the dress, hopeful it would make a good impression. All that you knew about him was that he was a doctor – you didn’t know where or even what his name was, you just hoped he wasn’t an asshole like the last three had been. You were lonely and ready to find your person; your fertility clock ticking away by the day. You were supposed to fall in love in college and get married and do all the things that you’re supposed to do when that happens. But, instead, some dumb boy named Storm had broken your heart freshman year and you hadn’t let anyone in since. What kind of a person names their son Storm, anyways? Though you thought maybe they knew the Storm he’d turn into – maybe they knew who he’d become. You should’ve taken it as an omen; for him, for your life, for the way the 18 wheeler collided with your car, for the way the blood soaked the pale blue satin of your dress, and for the way the first time you locked eyes with Rafe you knew you loved him. 

“Earth to y/n!”

You heard Rafe chuckle as he waved his hand in front of your face. Your eyes were closed, but you felt the wind against your face as he moved it back and forth. Your eyes flew open and you forced a smile; he could tell. 

“Sorry, I was thinking.” 

You replied softly. 

“What were you thinking about, sweetheart? Is everything okay? Are you in pain?” 

His brows furrowed in concern. One thing you admired about Rafe is that he always wanted to make sure you were okay. He was selfless and kind; a golden retriever in human form and you loved that about him. You knew those qualities made him a good doctor and moreso, a good person, a good man. 

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got lost in my thoughts. I feel a little weird today, lots of emotions, y’know?” 

You replied, giving him a genuine smile this time. He always brought them out of you – by simply just being. 

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you I brought you breakfast and that you and I are going to go on a little field trip?” 

He looked at you with bright eyes, eagerly anticipating your response and as the joy laced your features, he knew he’d do anything to watch that in slow motion over and over again. 

“Is it my favorite?!” 

You squealed in question and excitement, already knowing the answer. ‘He remembers things about me’, you thought.

“Of course it is, you know I gotta take care of my girl.” 

He said, placing the chicken and mayo biscuit on the tray table in front of you. You looked down at the orange and brown Biscuit Co. wrapping paper it was covered in. Ever since Rafe had found out that you loved it as much as him, he made it his mission to bring you one at least once a week. He deemed it a treat for your progress in treatment. The words that had just come out of his mouth hit you in the same way your body flying through the windshield of your car had. The assault on all your senses made you freeze and your only response was the blush that filled your cheeks and a soft smile. 

His girl? Is that what you were to him – were you his girl? Or, would he be just like everyone else if you were too close to him. 

“Now, eat up – Big day today, sweet girl.” 

He said, smiling at you – the Rafe Cameron one – the one you couldn’t get enough of.

“What’s so special about today?”  

You questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Today is your first day out of the hospital with me.” 

He said sweetly, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You frowned, anxiety filled you. He knew you well enough now to know it would trigger your fight or flight response – hence the biscuit. 

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll be there the whole time – we got this. It’ll be fun. You deserve some fun, don’t you think?” 

“I-I don’t know, Rafe.” 

You muttered. 

“You do. Now, eat up and I’ll go get everything ready for us to go. Jenny is gonna help you get dressed okay? I had her get some clothes for you.” 

He promised in return, a wink meeting your gaze before he kissed your cheek and disappeared from the room as quickly as he had entered. 

“He’s a sneaky little fucker, isn’t he?” 

Jenny blurted out, erupting in a belly laugh and suddenly there were crinkles beside your lashes as your smile met your eyes. 

“That, he is – but, you know what he’s up to, don’t you?” 

You questioned her, squinting your eyes in her direction. 

“I don’t know a thing!” 

She gasped, feigning shock as she placed her hand against her chest like you had shattered her heart. You could only laugh at her antics. 

“Okay, but, seriously – is this okay? Can I trust him?”

You asked. 

“Sweet girl, if there’s anyone you can trust – it’s him.”  

Jenny replied, a sweet smile on her face. Your heart clenched at her words and you nodded shyly in response. 

She moved around you to the chair adjacent to your bed where a pile of clothes lay waiting for you, quickly gathering them up in her hands before walking around the bed again and helping you lean forward. You aided her as best as you could with your left leg locked straight by the brace it was confined to. She started by reaching behind your neck as she helped you lean forward and gently untying the hospital gown that was draped over your top half. Her hands worked quickly and before you knew it, she was helping you into a bra and placing a UNC sweatshirt over your head. It was oversized and large, accommodating the injuries to your abdomen well. They were healing, but you wouldn’t be back to normal for a while. Jenni continued her work, tenderly removing the straps of the brace and lifting your leg out of it, taking the shorts that Rafe had provided for you and placing each of your ankles before she slid them up your legs as you sat there. 

“Okay, sweet girl. I’m gonna put the brace back on and then I'll help you upright so we can pull your pants up.” 

She spoke sweetly, encouraging you along the way. She knew how humiliating this was for people, she was no stranger to the reality of that. She worked as fast as she could, buckling you back into your prison before turning your body and letting your legs lower to the floor. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders and don’t touch your injured leg to the ground, okay? Rafe will kill me otherwise.” 

She joked, but you did as she said and watched in adoration as she manhandled you and helped you stand only on your healthy leg while she pulled your pants up around your hips. 

“All done!” 

She beamed emphatically at her hard work coming to fruition and just as the words left her lips Rafe entered the room. 

“You ready, sweet girl?” 

 He questioned and you smiled kindly in response, giving him a slight nod.

— 

Rafe had packed you safely in the backseat of his truck and he’d gone above and beyond, really. Though, you were sure maybe it was just the doctor in him that had you currently seated in luxury; your back leaned up against the back driver’s side door, a very fluffy pillow well above the regular hospital grade ones you were used to created a barrier between you, the window, and the plastic door handle. Your legs were laying straight out in front of you, the left one elevated by the same brand of fluffy pillow that your back leaned against. Rafe had thought of everything it seemed, you made a mental note of that as you watched your ice machine pump cool water onto the top of your knee. 

“How are you feeling back there, pretty girl?” 

He asked, turning down the radio and locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. You gave him a soft smile, though the gravity of this being your first time in a vehicle since your accident weighed heavy on you. 

“A little overwhelmed.” 

You responded meekly and his eyes softened even more than their usual pouty, puppy-dog-like state, though you didn't even think that was possible prior to this moment. 

“I know, sweetheart. Can you make it three more minutes? We’re about to pull in.” 

He questioned you and you nodded in return, giving him a kind smile. Though he noticed it didn’t meet your eyes. Exactly three minutes and thirty-seven seconds later Rafe opened the door on the passenger side of the backseat. Your legs are met with the crisp autumn air and for the first time you realize that though it’s only been a few weeks since your accident, the world outside of your hospital room seems to be going on without you, without a second thought about you. Rafe can see how nervous you are in the murky waters of your eyes, so he does what he does best — he provides a distraction. That’s what he hopes this day will be. He hopes this day will give you a tiny fraction of the joy you deserve to feel. He’s only seen glimpses up close, but he knows how special you are. He knows you’re too good for him and far too good for this world. 

“Hello beautiful!” 

He greets you emphatically and you smile wide at him. 

“Hi, again.” 

You giggle in response. 

“Sit tight, I'll get you out in just a sec.” 

He says and you nod, watching him through the small window at the rear of the truck as he lifts the wheelchair from the bed of it and returns to your line of sight again. 

“You ready, pretty girl?” 

He asks and you nod, scooting toward him with the small amount of muscle on your right side that’s still able to help you in your movements. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” 

He coos, coaching you until you’ve slid your bottom to the middle of the bench of the back seat. Your breathing is labored when you’ve reached this point and his eyes soften at the sight. You’re trying so hard and you’re stronger than he could ever be, mentally and emotionally. So, again, he does what he does best – this time, swooping in to aid you. 

“That’s good, you did so good. Let me do the rest, yeah?” 

You nod in response to his question, though you know that it’s not really a question and that when it boils down to it, he would’ve done it anyways. His torso leans in to the inside of the truck and he places one hand under your knees and one around your shoulders. 

“Put your hands around my neck, okay?” 

He commands softly and you give him the reassurance he’s looking for with a nod. Before you know it, you’re airborne, leaning your head onto his shoulder for the brief moment before he places you down into the wheelchair. He kneeled down, adjusting the leg rest so your injured leg could sit comfortably, grabbing the pillow from the car and placing it underneath your injured limb. He stood and you smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Rafe. You’re kinder than I deserve.” 

You muttered, eyes casting down to where your hands rested on your legs. You were surprised as his thumb and forefinger met your chin, pulling your eyes toward his. 

“One of these days, I'll prove to you that you deserve far more than I can give.” 

He says, your chin still between his fingers, his thumb moving up to stroke your plump bottom limp. You look at him doe-eyed, struck with wonder at the fact that he’s saying it to you and not to some other beautiful girl, one more deserving of the kind of love that he has to offer. He’s so pretty, you think. Pretty eyes, pretty smile – pretty boy – your mind spouts out at your gazing. 

“Let’s have a good day, yeah?” 

He asks, bringing you back to earth. Your breath is caught in your throat, so you only manage a nod in response to him. 

“Almost forgot.” 

He said smiling, leaning into the passenger seat of his truck and grabbing a blanket before placing it over your legs and closing the doors of his vehicle. You were thankful. 

— 

The surprise couldn’t have been better, in fact, you’re glad you hadn’t known prior to this moment that Rafe had scored two tickets for a tour at a museum you’d only dreamt of seeing in person; the metropolitan museum of art. You’d meant to go so many times since you moved to New York, but sadly between your busy schedule as a teacher and your inability to time manage, you’d never made it. But, this – now, you’d managed it with a hunky boy at your side. You felt like you were dreaming as Rafe pushed you up the handicapped ramp. You admired the columns at the front of the entrance, its architecture something you’d seen photographs of for so many years, yet now, you realized they were truly larger than life, larger than you’d ever imagined. It made you feel uniquely human to gawk at the stone as it stood and as you smiled to yourself in reverence and awe at this day just as it began, Rafe knew he had done the right thing by bringing you here. You needed this — you needed joy. 

You’d made it through admission quickly, the foyer of the building as beautiful as you had dreamed of. There were people bustling all around you as Rafe pushed you even further and further into the room. Your senses were almost lost underneath the bucket of chaos, but you looked up and for the first time saw the beautiful architecture of the foyer ceiling. It was something that again, you’d seen hundreds of photos of, but the beauty of seeing it in person was truly overwhelming. You were jolted from the thought as Rafe parked your wheelchair near the center of the room where a giant plant played the role of a centerpiece and benches sat just below it. He locked the wheels before kneeling in front of you. 

“How’s your leg feeling, sweetheart? Do you need any medicine before we get started?” 

He questioned, removing the blanket from your left leg to take a look at the swelling himself. 

“The pain isn’t bad, I think the ice helped on the way over.” 

You spoke, giving him a hopeful smile. 

“How about some ibuprofen, then? Just to keep the swelling down.” 

He questioned, his doctor mind working in overdrive even outside of the hospital to ensure your safety. 

“Okay.” 

You agreed, accepting the pills from his hand as he reached into the bag Jenny packed that lay draped across the bars of your chair and pulled out a water bottle for you to swallow it down with. You swallowed them smoothly, watching as Rafe gave your leg one more once over and fluffed the pillow it sat on before covering you with the blanket once again. 

“Good girl. You ready?” 

He asked, his smile meeting his eyes in excitement and you nodded, hoping you’d never forget what he looked like when he did that. When all this was over and you were no longer under his care, you hoped you’d never forget that smile. 

—

Rafe pushed your chair forward into the first exhibit in your path, Van Gogh’s Cypresses, with a map of the museum in his hand. It was quiet between the two of you, uncertainty looming in the air of what the day would bring, if you’d let the other in. You didn’t make much of it, observing your surroundings as you were rolled forward. You’d heard about this exhibit coming to the museum in the form of an email newsletter from the met and you’d thought about coming so many times, but again, time got away from you. You were sure never to let that happen again once you were healed and the initial fear of living dissipated just as you knew it would. Your eyes traced over the painting; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine. 

“Do you know what Van Gogh found so remarkable about the cypress trees?” 

You finally questioned him, breaking the silence as he parked your chair in front of a giant painting. Your eyes traced over it; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” 

He smirked, locking your wheels and kneeling down beside you, seeing it through your lens. He wanted to see everything through your lens. He looked to you with a pure smile, one you were sure that only he was capable of and you aren’t sure but you felt immense peace. 

“Well, he found the trees beautiful and eternal and ethereal and much like most artists do, he looked to other art. But, noticed that no one had captured them quite the way he saw them. So, he set out on a mission to do it himself.” 

He smiled at your analysis, knowing that your years of reading and teaching must’ve led you to this conclusion. 

“I didn’t know that, thank you for teaching me something new.” 

He replied and as sweet as his words were, you couldn’t help the shrill of embarrassment crawl up your spine, its force so strong, your body seemed to curl into itself where you sat. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He asked, afraid you were in more pain than you were letting on. For a brief moment, he wondered if this outing was a mistake, if he was hurting you, rather than helping you for his own selfish motives. 

“Nothing, I'm sorry if I sounded like a know-it-all. I have a bad habit of doing that. I’m sure you know lots about Van Gogh, you have a fucking medical degree for crying out loud.” 

You stuttered out quickly and he couldn’t help but smile at how flustered you’d become. 

“Hey — look at me.” 

His voice is soft as he commands your attention and you follow his instructions. 

“I might have a medical degree, but I don't know everything. In fact, there’s a lot I don’t fucking know – like an absurd amount. If it doesn’t have to do with bones or a joint, it’s actually quite foreign to me.” 

He uttered, watching as your eyes moved back and forth over his face, like you were committing it to memory. Little did he know, you were. 

“Listen to me. You and I, we’re both separate people with faults and quirks. We met by the brutality of the universe, right? I want you to forget about all of that. Today, I want you to forget about the accident, forget about our relationship, forget about the hospital. Today, we’re a girl and a guy at a museum. I know the contents of your medical chart, but I want to know what makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts, y/n. I want to know you. So, I’m gonna walk away for five minutes and when I come back, we’re going to start over, yeah?” 

His words made a lump form in your throat, its width as big as a beach ball. 

“Yeah.”

You whispered in response. You didn’t hear Rafe walk away but you knew that he had by the quiet amidst you in a room full of chatting people. The next thing that gave him away was the fact that his presence gave you a warmth that you couldn’t describe and in the short stent that he was away from you, you longed for it. You wondered if he’d come back at all. 

“So, do you come here often?” 

Your favorite voice boomed over your shoulder. 

“U-Uh no, it’s actually my first time. You?” 

You replied, a smile hiding behind your plump lips. 

“I come about once a year. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the likes of your beauty here, though.” 

He spoke and you giggled at the cheesy one-liner that he pulled out of his docket. For the first time since he’d returned you met his blue eyes. 

“Are your pick-up lines that bad with everyone or am I getting special treatment?”

You asked him, chuckling. He wore a sly grin at your giggle. It was the first time he’d really seen you laugh and he was sure that he wanted it to keep happening – for forever. 

“You’re getting celebrity treatment. I pulled that one from the deluxe package.” 

You laugh boisterously in unison. 

“So – very cheesy stranger, can I ask who you are?” 

You questioned him. 

“That’s a loaded question, pretty girl. But, here goes nothing. I’m the guy who smiles when it rains, thunderstorms help me sleep. Libraries are my safe haven. I went to college at UNC and moved here with my college sweetheart. My favorite author is John Steinbeck. I’m a doctor, I came from a broken home, my sister is my best friend, I hate anchovies, and I broke my hip in a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen.” 

He replied. 

“You had me at the anchovies. Nice to meet you, very-cute stranger boy. I’m y/n and I feel like I've known you my whole life.” 

The words you uttered were like music to his ears. 

“Tell me, y/n, who are you?” 

He asks and your mouth tips up in a smirk. 

“I'll tell you what, show me around your favorite places here and I'll tell you everything you want to know.” 

You said with a smirk. 

“Negotiator and briber. I love it. You got yourself a deal, beautiful girl.”

He replied, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, pushing your chair away from the Van Gogh exhibit and into the direction of art that was unknown to you. You were sure that no matter what, you never wanted to forget this moment, this purity, this bliss — no hospital rooms or surgeries or medicine, just you and the man you were falling in love with. Together. 

— 

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7 @wtfdudesblog @urdreamgirl12 @hockeybabe87 @sereneera @annaconscience @pogueprincesa @bibissparkles @obxbigsis @jjmaybankmylovee

[znivlho]

Out of jealousy.

pairing : storm shadow x male reader

genre: smut to fluff

cw: NSFW 18+, rough sex, anal, oral, rimming, riding, blowjob, creampie

anon's request :

i wish to request please! I've been good crazy for Storm Shadow since the first G.I Joe movie and i quiet have this thought in my mind(i think it'll be quiet long, I'm sorry) so the Reader is one of student in Arashikage clan (most likely like Snake Eyes) him and Storm Shadow had a great relationship, they trained together, studied together, hang out together. The reader was a place for him to come back whenever he get upset or his jealousy toward Snake Eyes flaring.

Storm shadow developed liking for the reader while reader remain think of it as friendship(well, they were a children back then). So when the Hard Master died and Storm Shadow left, he felt betrayed, angry, in pain both from the grief for Hard Master and abandonment by Storm Shadow. But different from other, the reader don't believe the accusation that was thrown to his 'friend'.

Back to current time, the reunion of this two happened, and of course it's full of fight with Reader end up getting kidnapped by Storm Shadow. Other hostages was put in cells while reader was put in his private quarters by request of Storm Shadow himself because the liking he developed in his childhood seem turn to something more (cough obsession cough). So yeah, the confrontation happened and something snapped in him and Storm Shadow end up fucking him hard and rough. I thinking Storm Shadow the type that will leave mark in every spot and places on reader, outside and inside.

This is my request, I'm sorry if it's so long but i appreciate it a lot if you write it 🙏🏻🥲

~

i love this request so much that i had so many ideas on how to write it, thank you so so much anon, please accept this emoji ⭐️ as a gift and please use it if youll request again🙏

NSFW 18+, read at your own risk.

you suddenly woke up, blinking your eyes open as you stare at the ceiling with a dim light open. where are the others? why are you even laying down on a bed while the others fight? is it over?

many thoughts lingered to your mind as you looked around the room, but then you saw a familiar figure beside you, staring at you with those fierce eyes of his. those eyes who you missed to look at every single day since you were kids.

"storm..?"

you called out, seeing your childhood friend who wore an white shirt along with a short sitting on the floor beside you, but you can feel his eyes stare at your soul. you were frozen on the spot, he was now infront of you, the man who you waited in your whole entire life since he left.

"w-where have you been?? youre all grown up.."

you sat up as you asked worriedly about him, seeing him after many decades that you though he was dead. the last words turned into a whisper as you slowly reached your hand to his cheek.

"why did you left..?"

you spoke up, you have many questions in mind about him. but he kept quiet, suspiciously quiet while staring at you with those eyes of his that you cant explain what is it express.

"why are you with snake eyes?"

he finally spoke up, but not the question you expect. you cant explain to him, how you were with the man he hated so much since he show up just for him to be replaced and the hard master left him out like he never existed.

you were also caught by snake eyes. the more the latter has been hanging out with you the more you and storm became distant.

"i.."

you slowly pulled your hand away from his cheek, but he suddenly and swiftly pulled you closer to him that your faces almost touched.

"why?"

his grip around your wrist tighten, his eyes were fiercely staring straight into your soul. he wasnt like this before, he changed a lot.

you looked away, trying to look away from that stare that you thought it would gouge your eyes out if you kept looking at him.

well, thats a wrong move for you to make.

his hand went up to your chin as he agressively pulled you closer, his lips connected to yours hungrily that he craved it for a very long time. his hand pushed you down to the bed on your back agressively, pouring out all of his anger that he take up back then.

his tongue went straight into your mouth, exploring each corner and crevice he can feel inside. biting your bottom lips hardly until it bleeds, making you whine in pain. his teeth captured your tongue, biting it hard enough that it left a mark that was gushing out blood.

you were in pain but it felt too good. you cant understand why you cant stop what he was doing to you even though it hurts that you gave in. the more he kissed you hungrily and agressively, the more you got used to it and the more you became more desperate.

his hands roam around your body, ripping the fabric that was on his way to your skin. the both of his hands felt your body for the first time in many decades he wished he would touch, roaming around like it was looking for something.

your body was fit to his own hands, muscular yet so tiny beneath him. holding your waist with both of his massive hands make him feel so satisfied, he cant choose which part of your body was his favorite but instead he would pick all of it.

he leaned away but then he started attacking your neck like his life was depending on it, so desperate he had to mark every inch he touches with bite marks and hickeys. most bites were hard and deep that he made it slightly bleed on purpose, sucking it after till it was swollen then move to a next skin he would find. he wouldnt leave an inch without his mark and he didnt care if people sees it, he wants everyone to know.

meanwhile, you were a mess below him. whimpering and moaning at every action he made that made you feel pleasure, sweat dripping down along with strands of hair curled around your forehead. you never thought that you needed this, that it was that thing that made you feel pleasure for the first time.

he leaned away as he looked at you full with swollen marks and hickeys around your neck down to your collarbone and ended to your chest, your hair all messed up to the pillow as you look at him with those desperate eyes of yours made him turn on so much.

but he still not satisfied with the marks he made, and he would love to put more around your skin.

he leaned down to your chest, playing with your nipples that are desperate for touch, he sucked on it like a newborn who seeks for their mother's milk.

it was the sensitive part of your body, your voice betrays you as you let out questionable moans. even though he cant see your full face, he was satisfied with those sounds that went through his ear like music.

he bit down both of your nipples, making it both have the same mark as it pops up swollen up from his sucking. he went down to your lower torso, your fine toned body was perfect to him he cant stop marking at it.

he then suddenly leaned into your head again as he lifted you up, making you lie down on your stomach while his hard breathing was loud next to your ear.

"mh.. ive been waited for so long.. look what you did to me.."

he huskily whispered to your ear as he leaned his hips to your ass, making you feel how he was hard beneath the cloth he was wearing.

just by feeling it make you jolt by how long it was, how you felt it twitching in the fabric as it touches you.

"seeing you with snake eyes makes me dissapointed, and angry.."

he continued whispering while his hands do the job to pull away the pants youre wearing, his lips biting your ear till it was swollen.

"do you like that bastard?"

he asked as he gripped down tightly on your hair, making you throw back your head just for him to see.

you didnt answer, you cant even for a single word. you can sense he was mad angry inside unlike the emotions he was showing.

he scoffed after not hearing any response from you as you felt a tip aligned to your aching hole.

without any warning, he shoved inside his throbbing cock to you without any lube, any preperation, just straight filling your insides up.

you screamed at the sudden movement, the pain aching around you especially inside. he didnt even move yet but his tip was hitting your prostate.

he whispered to your ear once more as he started thrusting into you hardly and aggressively, hitting your spot every thrust as you felt your insides will tear apart when this continues.

"ill ask that later."

you cant hide your moans, it was getting loud from time to time and he really liked it. seeing you a mess down below him makes him satisfied.

he picked up his pace as you were reaching your climax, his hand held your throbbing cock, teasing its tip as he suddenly matched the pace betwwen his thrusts and his hand going up and down to your throbbing cock.

you cried out a moan as you came, him following not a long after. you catched your breath for a while, but he suddenly flipped ypu together so that hes below you.

he pushes you up to sit while his cock still inside you, making you whimper by the movement as his cum drips down from your aching hole.

"that was just a warmup, (name)."

he whispered to your ear as his hands gripped down to your hips as he raised you up from his cock, then suddenly slammed you down.

earning a loud moan from you, he then continues the agressive and hard pace for a long time..

not only did he cum twice, for 6 rounds he took you in.

{bonus}

after taking care of you, let you wore his fresh clothes, changed the sheets, let you drank water, he crawled in the bed to you as his head rested on your lap.

your hands quickly move to his cheek as you caressed it, moving away his hair that was blocking his face as you leaned on the headboard.

"you know, i-" "we'll talk about that tomorrow."

you cut him out as your eyes were closed as you continued to caress his cheek, only for him to fall asleep quickly.

[bedupolker]

PLAYLIST. @viv13drainbow I think if you like that song in particular you'd also really enjoy Summer Salt, Little Joy, and Babe Rainbow for chill beach-y rock (not included). Commentary below:

The Blue Album - The album to start all albums, the album that launched weezer to success. Many hail this as their best album (I love this album but respectfully disagree) but nonetheless it's an essential for weezer fans and alt rock fans as a whole. Plenty of people who know way more about music than I do have praised blue album at length, and it's a funny meme nowadays too. Of course say it ain't so is an all-time classic, a heart-wrenching look into Rivers's relationship with alcoholism and his parental figures. I dunno if anything on the blue album can be called a proper deep cut, but only in dreams is an overlooked gem, and probably my favorite outro in their whole discography. Hopeful but somber, that slow buildup a the end to the guitar solo. Suzanne is a nice B-side.

Pinkerton - the infamous Pinkerton. Their sophomore album. Their breakdown album. Although weezer's not exactly an emo band, this album is often credited to being influential to the genre as a whole. No two people have the same experience with love or breakups, and one of the beautiful things about art is that we can see an experience through anothers' eyes, but I don't think I can think of a more painfully relatable album than this one. The balancing act of portraying its sympathetically-unsympathetic protagonist as equal parts pathetic and lonely while also entitled and aggressive. Some of the vocals are so raw for a second you see the monster in the five foot six, nerdy, physically disabled, lead singer that he sees himself as. Hard for me to pick a favorite standalone song off this one; the good life is a funky jam that wouldn't be out of place next to wheatus or RCHP's tracks, but that's where all the funk ends. Why bother? is a driving, catchy song that starts to show the cracks of his depression, falling for you is full of emotion, and if you get your hands on the deluxe edition, tragic girl.

Green album - At its time of release, Pinkerton was not received well. Creating such a raw, personal piece of art is hard. It's like the artistic version of getting crazy drunk, pouring your heart out, feeling catharsis for a moment, then realizing you'll have to deal with it all the next day. A lot of people interpret island in the sun as a happy song, but to me it's the tylenol after that night of drinking, a lie to tell yourself just to get through the day. It has a peaceful rhythm and brings to mind a tropical paradise, but there's something undeniably melancholy beneath the sunshine and smiles. You've tried to face your pain and you barely escaped alive, maybe you're better off just ignoring it. (That being said, although the damage has been done, Pinkerton has later been reevaluated and is now as widely praised as the Blue Album amongst music critics, and Rivers himself has made peace with that phase in his life.)

Maladroit - Overall this album is rather overlooked. It leans a bit more heavily into the rock aspect compared to green album, yet the lyrics remain impersonal and goofy. It's still not a bad album, though doesn't reach the heights of the first two. The singles, Dope Nose & Keep Fishing are both solid, but Burndt Jamb is my personal favorite. A little beach-y, probably their Stroke-y est song, (the band, not the medical emergency), it's been a mainstay on several of my chill out playlists for years now.

Make Believe - Probably one of their most hated albums by fans. It has the infamously shallow and poppy beverly hills, but you know what? I'm a Make Believe Defender. I truly think it could've been a great album, maybe even on par with Pinkerton. Not because of the album itself, but the demos. Haunt you Everyday is solid on the final product but rips at my heartstrings in this demo, ditto for tell me what you did (different name on the final product), everybody wants a chance to be alone (I said burndt jamb was their strokiest song but I think it might actually be this one) purple flowers (lyrics are a little rough but the melody, the meloncholy... so good) Actually on that note, weezer has, like, multiple album's worth of unreleased content that's miles better than anything on a published album (Link for one of my favorite fan compilations). Yes, the lyrics sound like something I wrote in my diary after a breakup, but that makes them all the more real. A deep dive into weezer will reveal the terrifying truth we've all been blind to: weezer never got bad.

Red Album - Mixed feelings on this one. It was produced by Rick Rubin, industry titan and famous for bringing bands "back from the dead," he's produced more than one of my all time favorite albums. Red is not one of them unfortunately. It has its fans though. Pork and Beans is fun.

Raditude, Hurley, Death to False Metal - Skipping these bc I don't care abt them

Everything will be alright in the end - To fans, this was their first "good" album since Maladroit, maybe since Pinkerton (12 years prior!) depending on who you ask. Although it wasn't as commercially successful as some others, it's a very strong album. Really, what is it about rock bands forgetting they're rock bands then suddenly returning to releasing rock music and magically being good again?? I'm looking @ you too, fall out boy. I have a hard time picking a really standout song- it's one of those albums that's evenly good throughout, no skips, but no obvious standouts either. Da Vinci is fun.

White Album - A fantastic album. You can hear some pretty heavy beach boys influence in this one. Unlike EWBAITE it has a few skips for me, but the highs are very high. Speaking of high. Do you wanna get high has to be my favorite off this one, Endless Bummer could be a sequel to island in the sun, Summer Elaine and Drunk Dori is just good clean weezy fun.

Pacific Daydream - I'm a Pacific Daydream defender. Check out QB blitz. Weekend Woman is flawed, but fun too, the bridge really makes it for me. Very evocative of Good Vibrations by the beach boys.

Teal Album - Oh god a cover album. No Scrubs is probably the only one really worth checking out if nothing else to hear a geeky white guy say "A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly" like he's reading it out of a dictionary. (TLC, who wrote and performed the original song, allegedly got a kick out of it)

Black Album & Van Weezer - I don't care about these either. Damnit I thought we were gonna be good again!

Ok Human - A good album!! What a relief. Could you imagine how embarrassing it would be to name yourself as a homage such a groundbreaking radiohead album and have it be.... bad??? I particularly love this one because in some ways it feels like it's his most personal album since Pinkerton- only instead of being an honest dialogue from a horribly lonely and isolated 20 year old student, it's a much more well adjusted, happily married, 50 year old father who is subject to both optimism and ennui. And it rocks! In a soft, subdued way. The songs flow into each other so nicely, the first three in the album debatably are my favorite 3-song-run in their discog. Aloo Gobi and Grapes of Wrath especially. The transition from dark and somber Dead Roses to light and upbeat Here Comes the Rain never gets old to me. This album (alongside MGMT's little dark age and The Stroke's The New Abnormal) was also like my essential Coronavirus holy trinity.

Spring/Summer/Fall/Winter - This is a compilation of 4 EP's, one of each released during their respective seasons in 2022. I think it's solid all around, with Summer being the strongest. Records and Blue Like Jazz are both very catchy, Thank you and Goodnight... just wait for the outro, trust me.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Stay Close

Slight yandere Dan Heng x reader

warnings: a bit of awkwardness? Slight fluff

Yandere Dan Heng using his Lunae form to keep a "dragon lover" reader close to him. You being from a world they're nonexistent to now seeing one that shouldn't be possible when you joined the express.

Like a moth drawn to a flame the first time you saw it you were beyond fascinated to the point everyone could tell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to question him about it feeling it would be disrespectful since he seems so avoidant of talking about it after just a few questions you tried to ask him.

That also lead you to feel unbelievably awkward around him for a while since you've already talked about your love of dragons to the express... If you knew then you would have never said a word. How were you supposed to know there was a draconic type of human??

That lead you to research in the archives a lot to make sure there isn't anything else you should know about before it was too late.

With time things got back to normal and you started to drift away from Dan Heng. He's a guy who likes his space. Why bother him when you have Trailblazer and March to bother? Plus you're pretty sure you learned everything you wanted to know by then and your visits became less and less often.

Little did you know at that point Dan Heng didn't really like that. He grew rather used to your previous frequent presence in the archives.

What he really didn't like is when you got separated on visiting another planet. That alone wouldn't have been so bad if the person you were with trying to help the world didn't try to stab you in the back. Literally. He saw it happen and nearly lost his cool. He threw his spear just in the nick of time and punctured the person's leg, causing them to stop and scream in pain.

Obviously that startled you to turn around and see them running up and what happened.

After that there was a shift in his actions with you. Almost always in the same room especially if no one else was. Another thing you noticed was him more often in his other form. Man you want to touch his tai- no. Bad. That's weird.

It's like a train wreck no matter how hard you try to stop looking, you can't.

He knows you want to touch it. It's not hard to tell. Quite frankly, it's the opposite. It's to the point you don't even have to say it. But that's what he wants. He's willing to show this part to you alone just to keep you near if he has to. He knows you don't think he sees you looking while he's reading.

"You can try touching it, if you want."

You're shocked for a good minute, then apprehensive. You wonder if he only is saying that because your looking is pressuring him so you can stop, or maybe another bad reason you don't want to try to think about. "...Are you sure?"

Aeons, please just do already! This is more of a delicate situation though. If he wasn't as level-headed he'd have already impulsively pulled you to him with his tail and made you stay close as much as possible. "if I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered."

You cave and carefully do. It wasn't what you were expecting. it was more smooth, airy to the touch, and rather cool. Not cold, but definitely not warm either. Maybe airy wasn't the right word? Felt more like water itself but a bit more solid. So like soft ice and not nearly as cold.

You didn't want to stop touching it but didn't want to push your luck. That alone was enough for you to be happy with.

But it didn't stop there. More frequently you'd go to the archives again and he kept offering. Eventually one day he pulled you to his lap and rested his head on you while you held it. He wrapped his arms around you as well and let a mental sigh of relief. He's glad it's this way now.

This is where you belong with him. Whatever happens or comes for him, he cannot leave the express anymore. Not with you. Not with something as great as this.

He's never been more glad to have his other form than now. If it helps make you stay close, well then he might just have to start staying in this form more often. Even if around other people too.

[earlycuntsets]

those on tumblr that fwm in anyway!

I have not checked my notifications in a week. so sorry to anyone I haven't gotten back to.

EDIT: i'm not gonna be as active. I'm not leaving altogether just putting some space between me and tumblr. happy 1000 followers to me!!! lol but I might come back in some capacity but not rn. just until personal stuff has been handled. maybe once a week. i've got a lot of post ideas so i'll come on here if I find anything really good. but I have a bad history with social media consuming my brain.

this tumblr has been fully added to earlycuntsets.org and posts will continue from there, but I am not gonna be on here very much.

i've gone through some mental stuff interacting on here. I have a substance issue rn that i've been trying to get ahold on since september. I complain more on earlycuntsets.org

I felt so broken up really. this thing mcr that we all love so intensely.

I don't want to see that get ruined for me. the negative connotations with my account because I flipped out on mcr archive people. talking about that will get me nowhere because no one understands my side. about 4 people on here understand my side.

and for the first time yesterday, I considered apologizing. just to ease my own pain around this. you want to know the truth?

I wanted to work with them obviously. I wanted to do what they do is that clear enough?

it was hard for me not to be aggressive when people I don't know think they can scold me. from the start they just wouldn't respond to me. I would find cool stuff and send it to them. I just thought they'd be more accessible to fans.

and then the only time I have heard from them was for them to judge my website when I spend every extra moment i'm not at work on this one thing. this one thing that is my only expression of love to mcr.

having to go against them took a lot out of me but it was bound to happen. AND SO I gotta get out of the social aspect. it's making me overthink my every move.

I am going to be spending less time on here and more time on my website.

I have moved this whole blog to my website and just updated 840 posts to have links/tags/titles that function. I need to figure out a few things but I won't rest until it's easy to navigate. and perfect. lol there are dead pics and video on the blog section. there are pages of posts that don't have preview images. the site overall is undercuntstruction.

I was actually looking at hulus set up with the "carousel" things for each category. I am having fun and i'll probably make an mcr netflix idk. big grandiose bipolar dreams. that I hope to see through.

my website will be like this (2002 is the only one done rn) so the layout now is:

the google drive part

the 2002 blog part (everything from here)

the sources and links

[fourwingedwriter]

I think we need to acknowledge back pain in whump

Tied up Whumpee with an extremely tight back, muscles strained in a way that they should not be. Even when untied, too sore to function

Winged whumpee unable to rest their wings and is suffering from the weight.

Having no access to a proper bed resulting in difficulty sleeping and further difficulty moving without pain

Whumpee so weak they aren't able to stand up, stuck on their back/side for so long it starts to hurt

Caretaker massaging Whumpee's back and finding it's as hard as a rock (bonus points if they are forced to feel the texture of the scars)

Whumper making Whumpee do physical labor resulting in Whumpee having improper form and suffering because of it

Whumpee with their arms hanging above their head, trying not to pull muscles when they relax for a moment

Disabled Whumpee having pain from their prosthetic not being perfectly even

Disabled Whumpee when they use a cane/wheelchair/mobility aid for too long

Just like... back pain. I think we forget it a lot

[nadianova]

hey nadia! i was wondering if you had any advice for someone whos learning to draw. i just really love your art, specially the way you do color and anatomy and i thought you might have some useful tips or suggestions. sorry if im bothering you with this. but in any case, i hope you have/had a nice day!

if you like how someone else draws a thing copy it. learning to draw takes a while and its all about managing your motivation and its normal to go back and forth between your eye to spot mistakes and your hand/mind being able to correct it, being aware of that helps to not blame yourself. being antagonistic towards your own art is the biggest hindurance for learning. i dont think im capaxble of giving more specific advice outside of that so i can just list random things i do but i have no idea if this is beneficial or not unless you are me

idont particularly care about anatomy or detail and am happy with cartoony shapes that are close enough and tht makes my life a lot easier. i feel like i only started shading my flat colors very recently too cause i dont care about rendering. i thiki doing lineart is boring as hell so i just clean up my sketches a little bit. nobody really gets stuck on details and what matters more is the general idea. to me art is about taking the easy route and every shortcut i have available even more so given my daily chronic pains

also like im always looking up references from gelbooru since looking at real people is boring to me. if i get stuck i do a lot of tracing of the hard parts like hands or head shape proportions. (i have aphantasia so i have no mental images so i will literally forget what my own characters look like unless im looking at the directly)

idk keep drawing and internalize that mimicking artists you like is the way to get towards your goals cause reinventing the wheel is entirely optional and be nice to your past self who drew the thing youre currently looking at on your canvas