#i just wanted to get some of my thoughts out there as i suffer from a cold..

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! Reader : How Batman took them in and their medbay stay

Author's note: First thing first, thank you! Many of you said good things about my work, and you made me really happy! This is not exactly a continuing, but I promise I'm working on it. It's more detailed writing about how batman took Joker's kid! reader in, and how rest of batfamily reacted

Warnings: Grammar mistakes (English is not my first language), maybe some not detailed triggers

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Cold. Dark. Filthy. That's how the corner where Joker's kid! reader was staying. Crime alley was one of if not the most awful place in the Gotham. It was certainly not a place for a child. No parent in their right mind would want their child to stay in place like this. But what is your father never was in the right place of mind? In fact, what if your father was the most crazy psychopath in the Gotham? Only you would know.

Joker was put in Arkham asylum once again, and once again his kid was taken away and left somewhere in dark corner of crime alley by some of Joker's goons. They knew that Joker will find them once again then he get out, but for now, they had only themselves.

Did you know exactly where you were? Of course no! All you knew that you didn't like the place. It was too dark, it smelled like something rotten.

You were too tired to be afraid of your surroundings and your circle, and you were really hungry. Yet, you knew that food on crime alley was hard to find, maybe you could stumble on it if you weren't to tired to get up and go wandering.

The "show" that your dad just pulled was damaging not only for the Gotham itself and it's citizens, but for you. Your task seemrd simple : just drag wepons, gun magazines, lots of different glass vials. In the process, uou were tossed around by your father and his goons, who didn't show you any mecry.

You felt really uncomfortable. Not only all your bruises and scrapes were hurting, your skin felt sicky, dirty, you could feel stickiness of messed up make up on your face, your hair, which was damaged because they were dyed green, felt greasy, the costume your father made you wear was uncomfortable, it's stitches scratched your sided, collar of shirt and colorful tie were suffocating. Not to mention your broken shoes, which hurted from all the running.

Only light in this godforsaken place was coming form stars up above on the sky, but even they were clouded. You tried to make out them in the clouded sky, when suddenly you saw movement. The figure. Familiar figure. Without any further thought, you got up. You hastily walked, feeling wall in front of you, hoping to find stairs of fire escape and luckily for you, you found them.

Step by step, you hurried, knowing he moved fast, but you knew you must keep up with him. You recognized him easily, you saw him so many times, the one and only Batman, your father's archnemesis. Why you followed him? It's simple really. He may end your sufferings, or at least few of them. What he does to your father? Talks, then beats him, and puts him to Arkham asylum! First will be easy, for second you are used to thanks for your father, and last one... for last one you hope for. Now, you have no idea what it's really is or what's going on here, BUT you saw building, and it's better to be there than outside, it at least can protect you form the rain, and goodness you don't like rain, you always get cold in it and always feel bad after it. Plus, your father never seemed to look thiner while he was there, and may be there is some food? So, it would be better than a crime alley right? That was your logic.

Your small footsteps alerted the bat. He stopped in his tracks waiting for you to come up here. In his point of view, you were harmless. Yes you were Joker's child. He NEVER saw you fight, you were only running around, trembling when near Joker or goons, and hiding when fight was ending. You looked sick, scarely sick: not only clown make up and messy green hair looked so disturbing, but your injuries - they clearly were infected, your body - you looked like skin and bones, you were trembling - and he was sure it wasn't just because it was cold. What scared him the most was not your omnious similarity to Joker - which he new mostly was forced on you, and certainly reminded him of Tim as Joker Junior - but your eyes. They were just empty. He saw broken people, but kid as broken as that, he haven't.

He turned to you, looking at you with the signature spine-chilling gaze, as you were panting from running on rooftop.

-Batman, - you began, while he was silent. You didn't think through what you were going to say, but you continued - take me to the place you take all friends of pa's too, please? - your mom once told you that it was a good word, even magical, and it could help.

To say that Bruce was stunned is to say nothing. Your voice, quiet and weak, a bit slurred, lacking of any emotion but fear was not something he expected you to sound. But have he heard you even talk? No. And if he remembers correctly, he never heard you even laugh, which was strange considering your father. But, ithwrn than that, why in the world the kid would want to go there? Did they want to free their father? Were they just like him, out of their mind?

But his thoughts were interrupted by your sudden fall on the spot. It looked like you just stumbled while still standing. He walked closer, cautious, but he just saw you trying to get up, so he helped, and checked you for wepons in process, and found none. How ever he noticed how pale you were and how you were cold to touch, adding your stumbling and slurred speech he came to a conclusion, which was made him worry - you had hypothermia, and you needed warmth.

- Why do you want to go there - he asked, his voice stern, but lacking anger and distane.

- it's cold and I'm hungry. And that place looks better than streets - you mumbled.

- That's all? - he asked.

- yes - you answered adding the nod that made you dizzy.

Batman warped his cloack around you, it felt better than air, warmer. Safer.

- and what about your father? Do you want to see him - he asked, looking right in your eyes

- no, he will hit me again, and everything alredy hurts enough - your words were stumbling one on the other, but Batman listed them intently. He felt like you were honest, for some reason he felt like you don't want to be in contact with your father at all

- I have a better idea - he said, suddenly lifting you up. You were too light for his liking. He helped you to put more of his cape onto you. While carrying you to, you weren't sure to what. You just didn't moved, you hoped that he wasn't going to threw you down in building or thew you into anything, last time your father did that you didn't liked it

Few minutes after. You saw shiny and pretty car - batmobile. Inside it looked luxurious, you've never seen something so nice before, you never sited on something that soft. Was it a dream? Probably no, how can you dream of something that nice.

When Batman was to buckle the belt for you and reached his hand you flinched. Bruce didn't like that. He saw Joker hit you, but still it was too horrible to witness.You flinched again, when he put a fluffy blanket, which he took form back of car, which was there in case one of his sons needed it, over you. And the look on your face when you felt the blanket just hurted his heart even more. In your defense, you've never felt something as nice on your skin.

You finally felt warm. It's been so long since you lats felt warm and it felt so good. It didn't took much for you to fall asleep. You didn't care about anything but warmth in the moment.

A peaceful look on your face while you were asleep just broke Bruces heart. You were child of Joker, but all he could see - mistreated child. A child to add to his collection, a child for whom he can provide home.

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You woke up in place that you couldn't recognize. You even in darkness of the room, you could see it was clean and neat. It smell unfamiliar too, like some sort of chemicals your father worked with, but much softer. You could feel soothing attached to you, looking up on the side you saw the monitor from which soft light was coming. On the other side you saw IV. You could really feel pain and hunger in the moment, and it was really strange. You didn't feel like your skin was sticky anymore and you certainly was no longer dressed in the suit that your father made you wear.

Not long after you woke up, Batman came in. Your mind was to fuzzy, you were really confused, but you wanted to ask him so much things.

- am I... - you began saying, not knowing what to ask. Are you alive? Are you alright? Are you experimented on? Are you going to experience something that you won't like?

- You are safe. You need to rest so your body could recover.

You didn't felt like getting up anyway, you didn't had strength to do so anyways. You looked around again.

- sorry - you mumbled. You felt like you didn't belong to this safe and neat place, you felt like you were being a bother. Your father never let you to rest even if you felt like you were feeling not so long ago and now, you needed to do everything he asked, and if you wouldn't do it, you would be punished.

- For what? - he asked, his stern tone changed for softer one

- I probably made your car, a blanket and all in here dirty. And well, you made so much for me.

The way you said that, just broke his heart even more. You sounded like you meant those words, like you believe you are dirty in some way, and that you didn't deserve simple care.

- just focus on resting. - he answered rather strained - we will talk about everything once you will recover fully.

- but... - you suddenly felt brave enough to ask him at least something- you are helping me? Why? I mean, you know who is my father.

- you are not him, and your path may be different from him. Now, rest - he said gently putting your hand on your shoulder.

- oh. Okay, thank you. For everything so far- you answered, feeling sleepy and ready to doze of again, as Batman continued to look at you.

As Bruce looked at you, he saw that eerie similarity between you and your father seemed to subside once your skin was clean from that creepy clown makeup and you were in the hospital pj. You were just a kid and kid who needed serious medical attention that he was going to provide. No child should suffer like that. No child should have a dull look in their eyes. No child should feel like they were a bother. No child should be abused by their own parents. While looking through results of all the tests he had to run to find out what was wrong with you, he saw residual traces of various chemicals that Joker used in his venom. Seemed like you were a test subject for him. Many of your scrapes and bruises, and even a few cuts, were caused by your father, which your words just confirmed earlier. Yes, you were a child of Joker, the child of one of the most dangerous people in Gotham, the threat he needs to deal with. But you were also a victim of your own father. He knows that there is a possibility that you can become like your father, but he may find a way to help you avoid this from happening. He needs it for the sake of Gotham so that the city will never see the second Joker.

Alfred was the second person you've seen when you've seen. Old butler looked at you with cation, but you could make out some warmth that was similar to Batman's.

- How are you feeling? - Alfred asked, his British accent is intact

- I'm... I'm okay? - you said. You've never seen him before, but surely he was connected the Batman if he was here. You were uncertain how to feel about old man, he seemed intimidating, not in Batman's kind of way, but still intimidating.

- not feeling pain and not feeling cold i suppose? - he asked, adjusting the IV that was connected to you

- no, I feel good? - you answered, still feeling uncertain. He walked closer to you, and helped to adjust the pillow you were laying on, fluffing it up, and of course he didn't missed the how you flinched when he reached for it. Seeing hint of sadness in the expression of the butler you decided to add - I've never been in bed as comfy

- with time, perhaps, you would get a proper comfortable bed.

Dick wasn't shocked when he heard from Bruce that he took in Joker's kid. He was dumbfounded. Why in the world! Did all the all the hits in the head finally make the old man go insane? He couldn't make out how je felt. Surely he was taking aback, angry, but he knew he couldn't judge on the spot. Peace and stability just returned to the family, and knowing Bruce, Dick knew that old man should have had a really serious reason to do something like that. And, as a peace maker of the family and a good old brother to the rest of Batman sons he is, he decided to investigate that. So he went to the manor, walked into the madbay when you were sleeping. And he understood why. You looked so tired, so pale, so small, so thin. Even your greensh hair didn't look as omnious as Joker's. They just make you look more miserable. He stayed in this medbay room until it was time to patrol. Maybe he didn't know you, but he thought you still deserved a chance to get a better life

Jason was seething with anger. Firstly, Bruce didn't kill Joker when he didn't let Jason kill Joker, then they made amends, and how after all of that Bruce was taking in Joker's bastard? The kid of his killer! What the hell? How could he?! After screaming match with Bruce and talk wholehearted talk with Dick, Jason came to the conclusion that even if Jason himself was not okay with old man's decision, and if he can't prove that he is right now, he will prove it none the less, just latter. He knows powers of redemption, but some people don't deserve it. Some people do not change. And since your father was a monster, you are probably the apple that falls not far from the tree. He sure you belong to Arkham, and he will make sure you will be there if you make any wrong step. He won't let his fate repeat.

Tim hasn't slept around.... well, he hasn't slept a few days, so at first he thought it was a joke. It has to be. But B doesn't joke like that. It felt awful, but he was sure Jason felt worse. After he heard the news, he just spaced out... by the time his coffee went cold, only then he decided to dig up some information about you so that he could rationalize what he felt. Time when he was forced to become Joker Junior was still plauging him in his nightmares. And now he was faced with real Joker Junior - you. One quick look at you through the window of medbay, one blur of your greenish hair was enough for him. He felt anxianity creeping in. Watching videos with you on them was taught for him. You reminded him of him as Joker Junior so much. You reminded him of Joker. But yet, His search showed that you were dragged to every Joker's act of crimes, but in no videos, he saw you fighting. It seemed like a good sign, but his paranoia always said danger is hiding in placed you don't expect to see it.

Not one time, not twice, Damian became a witness to his father's rather idiotic decisions, or so he thinks. And this might be one of the dumbest his father did. Why can't he understand that taking you in meant putting all family in danger. You were a danger. You are Joker's child, who knows what's going on in your mind. He may not have found evidence yet, but he certainly will do it, and he will open his father's eyes. For now, Damian decided to make sure you won't hurt his family. He will make sure you won't influence his father into anything anymore. He glares at you through the windows of medbay, taking in every little move. So what of you look no bigger than him, you still are a threat. You still are the Joker's kid.

While all of this happened, time went by, and soon, you'll be out of the madbay. Are you ready for what sure has in stocks for you?

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Thank you for reading so much! Feel free to share your opinion!

And I'm working on the next part ^-^

[sad-wet-cat-hannibal]

(Essay incoming so I'm adding a read more)

I think you've said some good stuff here, and I too get annoyed or even angered by people using the term in a way that I interpret as flippant; but I'd like to add that as someone who frequently described distressing books and films as "traumatising", it turned out that that word was rather apt - because my intense response was caused by my trauma being triggered by those very same things, too often in ways that felt like reliving it.

Here's the kicker. I didn't know I *had* any trauma. All I knew was that engaging with these works made me feel distressed and disturbed as if I were personally traumatised by these things. Like they were real. Like they damaged me. Just from reading them or seeing them. They'd haunt me for weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years. Sometimes they gave me weird symptoms I couldn't explain. So, naturally, I was hyper-avoidant as fuck.

That intense sensitivity and hyper-avoidance, combined with my ignorance to the fact that my psyche was not experiencing these things from an untraumatised position, meant I thought that "intensely distressing/traumatising" was just the normal effect these things had - except lots of other people seemed oblivious, and even delighted in the exact same works. Sometimes none more so than the kind of motherfuckers who actually like traumatising people.

So I figured, as incomprehensible as it seemed, everyone else had to be either too numbed out/oblivious/naïve to realise how awful this shit was, or were actually big fans of bad things happening in real life.

Because if to me it felt too real, capable of destroying my peace of mind for weeks, then surely to some extent that must be the same for everyone else, right? (Obviously not, but I was younger and working with what limited knowledge I had.) From that logic it's really easy to buy into censorship, into propaganda that claims that the symptoms of a society with a dysfunctional approach to life are often born of the media that echoes them, rather than the other way round. It's real to you. It's your only explanation. (You don't want to feel like this. You don't want anyone to feel like this. It's inhumane.)

What I'm trying to say is that not everyone knows they're traumatised. I think as many as those who do, do not. Perhaps far more. And for those people, the only time they are able to touch on the truth of their half-veiled iceberg is when they tell you that The Bridge to Terabithia "traumatised" them.

(I know it "did" me.)

Telling them they're exaggerating, and misusing language that doesn't apply to them runs the very real risk of making it harder for them to treat their feelings with the consideration and weight they deserve, and enabling them to begin the process of unraveling their denial and tending their wounds. It runs the risk of reinforcing the (potentially forgotten or minimised) messaging they may have already received, during and after the trauma, that it doesn't matter. They're exaggerating. They're making things up. Other people have trauma, other people have it so much worse, other people suffer - but not you. Your account of your experience is unbelievable. Silly. You will not be seen or heard or understood, not by anyone else, and not by yourself...

Yet. Hopefully one day. But I think it often takes other people being willing to shine a light on the pain, and say, "Yeah, it's real. It's caused by things. You aren't alone and you aren't exaggerating."

I think the flippant watering down of the word is potentially very unhelpful too, but there's a section of society who want to push the narrative that the vast majority of people speaking seriously and from a place of relevant psycho-education about their trauma are just special snowflakes jumping on a trend. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel wary of adding fuel to their fire by trying to gatekeep trauma. I don't know what the solution to these two conflicting uses of the word is, or if it's even possible to create a solution that doesn't simultaneously police the traumatised out of expressing their pain the only way they currently know how. Which would set back the whole thing of trying to help people... We get enough trauma olympics ingrained into everyone as it is.

Oh yeah!! Just remembered, Gabor Mate said in either his book from 2024 or an interview about it that he considers everyone to be traumatised, the question is simply one of degree (if I'm remembering correctly). So from that it may in fact be possible to argue that books and films can traumatise people, although perhaps not necessarily to the extent we might associate with PTSD or CPTSD.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[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.”

[desire4ella]

𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 𝐔𝐏.𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Sugar Daddies! In-ho/Gi hun x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your sugar daddies want to show you a little surprise…

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.4k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Breath Play!, Daddy kink, Spit play,Blowjob, They run a secret undercover business together, Reader wears a pink dress—so if u don’t like pink ignore the dress part

You were truly living the life that others craved and died for,while others had to work 9/5 jobs to get a few change; you however just had to show your puppy eyes to ether one of your sugar daddies and get thousands.What a life.

Gi hun was the most protective of you, always making sure you had enough money to sustain your lavish lifestyle, you were his princess if not a queen in his eyes; he would do anything just to see your eyes light up like fireworks and your crazed smile adorn your face because you received a diamond necklace.It truly made his day.

In-ho on the other hand was a bit more stern when giving you your allowance. He always had a few insisting questions ready to lash out when your pretty self begged him for a couple grands, “ what do you need the money for ?” was always his first question, as much as you love him, you couldn’t hide the fact that he slightly annoyed you when it came down to situations like this, because quite frankly as harsh as it sounds he was just your sugar daddy and not your actual father so he should start acting like it.

Anyways, tonight, something was definitely going to go down…you could feel it in air, especially when the normal stoic and calm In-ho responded with using “Xx” at the end of his sentence when messaging you, this was quite outlandish for his standards seeing as though his responses are always short and snappy; so this behaviour was really strange from him. Coming down 2 solutions as to why In-ho was so ‘happy’ you thought, it was ether he just made a huge deal with another incorporation and is feeling a lil babygirl today orrr someone drugged your man with laughing gas and now he’s suffering the consequences. Ether way it goes, you’re still gonna get that money regardless sooo….

Following orders from your sugar daddy’s ( which was to meet them 8pm sharp at their shared establishment), you got dolled up in your most luxurious outfit, which consisted of a sparkly pink dress,with each diamond etched into the fabric; some cute heals that gracefully adorned your feet and last but not least, a mini purse that shimmered like stars in the night sky. Hearing the sound of your designated chauffeur that your men ordered you, you got up from your vanity and headed out your bedroom.

𝟒𝟎 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑…

As I stepped into the lavish penthouse suite, my heart raced with anticipation. Tonight was going to be unforgettable, thanks to the two powerful men who had taken me under their wing - In-ho, the ruthless entrepreneur, and Gi-hun, his cunning right-hand man. It’s quite funny because you knew the other side to their jobs ( In-ho the leader of squid game and Gi-hun who surrendered and became In-ho’s right hand man) but still tried everything in their power to distract you from it.

They had promised me a night to remember, and I intended to hold them to that vow. In-ho, resplendent in a tailored black suit, greeted me with a firm kiss on the cheek. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to devour me whole. “My dear, you look exquisite tonight”, he purred, his voice low and seductive. “Shall we begin our little game?”

As I nodded eagerly, Gi-hun emerged from the shadows, his chiseled features illuminated by the soft glow of candles. He wore a crisp white shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chest. A sly smile graced his plump lips as he approached, his eyes roving over my body with undisguised hunger. “We've prepared something special for you”, Gi-hun said, leading me to a plush velvet sofa. “Something to satisfy all your deepest desires, seeing as though you’ve been really good for us.”

Gi hun knelt before me, his hands deftly removing my shoes and stockings. His fingers traced the sensitive skin of my ankles, sending shivers up my spine. As he worked his way up, his touch grew bolder, teasing the hem of my skirt.Suddenly, In-ho appeared at my side, his large hand cupping my chin. “Open wide, baby girl”, he commanded, his thumb pressing against my lower lip. I parted my mouth obediently, and he slipped in a finger, probing deep. The sensation made me gasp, and In Gi hun seized the opportunity to slide his own colossal hand beneath my skirt, his palm grazing the damp heat of my core through my panties.

In-ho withdrew his finger, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. “Such a good little slut, aren't you?” he praised, his breath hot against my ear. “Now, let's see how well you can serve us both”.He guided me onto my knees, positioning me between Gi huns spread legs. The other man looked down at me with lust-glazed eyes, his cock straining against the zipper of his pants. “Show Daddy what a good girl you are”.

Gi hun instructed, his voice husky with desire. I reached for the button of his trousers, popping it open with trembling fingers. As I pulled down the zipper, his thick erection sprang free, slapping against his stomach. Creamy pre-cum glistened and oozed down from the tip, slowly trickling down his shaft like a stream, I couldn't resist leaning in to lap it up with my tongue. “Mmm, so sweet”, I moaned around his shaft, swirling my tongue around the head. Gi hun letted out a guttural groan as his cock hitted the back of my throat. His hands tangled in my hair as he guided me further down. I took him deeper, relishing the musky flavor and the way his cock throbbed in my mouth.

Just as I found a rhythm, In-ho loomed over us, his brown eyes blazing with possessiveness. “Enough playing nice”, he growled, roughly yanking me off Gi hun’s dick.Before I could even let out a whine of protest, In-ho spun me around and shoved me face-first onto the plush sofa cushions. My already short dress rode up, exposing my ass to his hungry gaze. With a swift motion, he ripped away my panties, leaving me bare and vulnerable.

“You're finally ours now, no more going back and forth , you’re gonna stay with us sweetheart”, he declared, his voice dripping with dominance. “And we're going to use you however we please”In-ho shuffled out the way, allowing Gi hun to take his spot behind me, his hands gripped my hips as he positioned himself at my entrance. Without warning, he thrusted inside, filling me to the brim with his thick length. I cried out at the sudden intrusion, my walls clenching around him as he set a brutal pace. In-ho watched intently, his own arousal evident in the bulge straining against his pants. “Look at her take it like a pro” he bellowed in the shadows as his eyes greedily took in the sight of me being used like a fuck toy.

Gi hun grunted in agreement, his hips slamming against mine with increasing force. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, mingling with my moans and whimpers. In-ho stepped closer, his hand wrapping around my throat from behind. He squeezed gently, just enough to make my pulse race. “Breathe for us, pet”, he commanded, his fingers tightening slightly. I gasped, the pressure on my windpipe sending a thrill straight to my core. The feeling of my life all in the clutches of the man I so desperately craved, drived me crazy to no end.

In response, Gi hun picked up speed, his cock pistoning in and out of me with reckless abandon. The combined sensations pushed me to the brink, my climax building with each stroke. Being the cunning man In-ho is, sensed my impending release and tightened his grip, cutting off my air supply entirely.Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision as I teetered on the edge, my body tensing in preparation for the inevitable. Just when I thought I might pass out, In-ho released his hold on my throat, allowing me to inhale raggedly.

The sudden rush of oxygen entering my lungs sent me careening over the edge like crashing waves. My orgasm hit with the force of a tsunami, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I spasmed around Gi hun’s still-thrusting cock. He groaned, his own release imminent, and buried himself to the hilt one final time before finding his peak.Thick ropes of cum painted my insides as he filled me to overflowing, his hot seed triggering another aftershock of ecstasy. In-ho watched with a satisfied smirk, his own erection straining painfully against his pants.

“ Ready for part two, sweetheart?”

𝐀/𝐍: Since this was the most requested, I delivered.

Reblogs and likes are highly appreciated <3

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© - Ang3l 🎀🧁 my work is not to be published on any other platforms without my consent.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think that the Great Seven are actually just better people in the TWST universe, or a big case of historical revisionism?

Been wondering since in the dream sequences "Yuu" gets, I'm pretty sure the story plays out as they were in their original stories? I originally thought this might just serve as a gameplay purpose rather than a narrative one, in case the player doesn’t know the original story or needs a refresher. But doesn't "Yuu" acknowledge their dreams in the story?

From their dialogue I'm pretty sure they don't recognize any of the Disney characters, or their stories, so from a narrative perspective I wonder if these are dreams they’re getting of the past.

Both concepts are fun to explore, but I gotta wonder which one is closer to twst canon.

Based on what I have seen so far, I think Twst is trying to hint at its history being revised. The latest two books (6 and 7) have strong themes of lingering on the past/a strong desire to maintain a happy lie rather than accept a harsh truth or change from that status quo. Additionally, Lilia drops this suspicious line in book 6: “[…] different cultures and species pass down lore in different ways—not every truth is written down. There is no shortage of historical narratives that have been twisted to suit someone's agenda.”

Yuu then has two dialogue options. The latter of these seems to imply the disconnect between the reality of their Disney dreams and the reality of Twisted Wonderland:

“Twisting historical narratives, huh...”

(For some reason, I've got butterflies in my stomach.)

Yuu doesn’t seem to indicate familiarity with the true Disney versions, but this could be for a variety of reasons such as serving more as a narrative device for the players, Disney not existing in Yuu’s Earth (since they don’t recognize the icon that is Mickey Mouse either), or maybe convenient amnesia. They do have small moments of confusion when faced with Twisted Wonderland parallels of elements from their dreams but only start making the direct connection between their dreams and irl events starting late in book 5. This is why they anticipated “something bad happening” and feel compelled to follow Vil (who, at the time, was intending to poison Neige). Yuu also suffers from several headaches and visions of their Disney dreams while conscious in books 6 and 7, They appear to consistently treat the dreams as premonitions and not as material they are familiar with or see as the truth.

There are cases where the non-villains appear as important historical figures. This includes the original heroes of the Disney films, who are still largely portrayed positively—it’s just that the roles of the villains have changed into positive ones as well. There are also cases of the same story diverging to create multiple variations, which implies that stories do warp and change over time. For example, we are told that the Sorcerer of the Sands exposed a fake prince for lying about his status to win the princess’s hand. At the same time, there’s another story about how a street rat happily married a princess.

I do want to point out that altering history isn’t always done intentionally or with malice. Some stories just naturally change over time or get forgotten if they aren’t recorded properly. Oral retellings tend to get altered as they spread or get painted with bias due to who is sharing it, and variations of the same story can emerge from different cultures. Sometimes it is the case where people want to hide information or are acting out of ill intent, it just isn’t true of all cases.

Maybe this will be something they address in the main story ^^ Personally, I really do hope it’s the revisionist history explanation, as it would be really interesting to see explored. If the truth is that the Disney villains are just good people in Twisted Wonderland 💦 it’s convenient for sticking to the status quo, but ultimately far less nuanced.

[channieshaven]

Sensitive

genre: smut

pairing: sub!han jisung x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: roommates to lovers, tickling, nipple play, nothing extreme honestly just reader messing with jisung

~~~

You were in your room working at your desk, focused on finishing up some papers for work when you heard the padding of feet walking into the room. You heard the sound of none other than Jisung plopping down, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I’m so bored.” He dragged out the end of the word for dramatic effect.

“You poor thing. I’ll be done here in just a little bit so you won’t have to suffer much longer.” You said playfully with a small smile on your face, continuing to type at your keyboard.

Jisung sighs again, “But I want you to hang out with me now.” You can tell a pout is clearly on his face just by the way he sounds.

You swivel around in your chair, looking over to him on the bed, feeling mischievous, “Yeah? You want my attention that bad, huh?”

The chair rolls back slightly as you practically jump from it, pouncing onto the bed and straddling his lap. “Any and all attention, right?” You smile, beginning to run your fingers over his sides, tickling him playfully. He immediately begins laughing and squirming at the sensation, trying to bat your hands away.

“S-stop it!” He pleads, giggling as he says it. You can’t help but grin at him, finding enjoyment in seeing him so flustered and out of control. He just looks too cute with that smile and those flushed cheeks. He squirms uncontrollably, trying to escape your ministrations. Attempting again to push your hands away, but this time you catch them, pinning them above his head as the fingers on your other hand continue to dance along his stomach and sides.

“Please, it’s t-too much!” He begs yet again, and it’s then that you notice little tears forming in his eyes from how hard he’s laughing.

“But you love it so much. Why else would you be laughing?” Voice dripping with saccharine. You know he can’t help the way he’s reacting but it doesn’t make you want to tease him any less.

“I’m serious! You have to- have to stop now!” His protests don’t slow your roll though as you continue messing with him. At least until you hear it. The whiniest, most pathetic moan, and the feeling of shuddering beneath you.

At first you’re sure you’re just imagining things, but that thought is dead and gone when you see his lips parted, face scrunched and no longer laughing. Your movements halt completely at the discovery. “Jisung… are you- did you just?” Hardly able to form the right question, fearing embarrassing him or maybe even yourself.

He lets out a whine, trying to turn his blushing face away from you, not even bothering to struggle with getting his wrists free from the grip you still (forgetfully) have on them. As much as everything in your mind is telling you to move from him, to give him space after this little accident, it only serves to stir up some feelings you may or may not have already been harboring.

A smile creeps onto your face, leaning closer to him, “You came in your pants just from me tickling you? I have to say, I feel honored.”

He slowly turns his face to meet your gaze. “W-what?”

You chuckle darkly in response, “That’s so cute. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” If somehow possible, his cheeks blush an even darker color and you can feel him stiffen against your thigh.

Looking down between both of your bodies you take note of him hardening, something that must’ve gone unnoticed by you earlier. “Do you like that, Jisung?” You tease and his cock twitches in response. A breathy laugh passes through your lips, “You do.”

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I- I’m so sorry. I-“ He babbles on nervously before being cut off by you softly pressing a finger to his pretty lips.

“Hey, I told you I’m honored, yeah?” Your hands trail down his shirt, reaching the bottom and playing with the hem. “I think you should let me see how sensitive you really are. How’s that sound?” You propose.

He can hardly process everything going on and god, he’s just so desperate for your attention and touch he’d probably say yes to anything right about now. His head nods faster than he can think, gaze never leaving you as you smirk and lift his shirt up.

Pulling his shirt up, you bring the hem of it in front of his mouth. “Hold onto this for me?” You ask, receiving no less than an excited, much too quick nod from Jisung. Once he has the cloth between his teeth you begin feeling his body. Fingers tracing over his abs. “You’re so beautiful, Jisung. I can’t believe this is the first I’m seeing of it.”

He whimpers in response, his preoccupied mouth not allowing him to get much out. Not that he’d likely be able to anyways when his head is as hazy as it currently is.

You lean forward, head lowering over his chest as you look up at him before licking a stripe over his nipple. To say he’s sensitive is an understatement, his back arching at the small motion. Your tongue continues to lick over it, dropping the hold on his wrists and bringing your hand up to the other nipple to graze over it lightly, nails barely running over it.

He’s breathing so hard, practically panting as the sweetest whimpers fall from him. His fists are balled up tightly as he keeps them placed above his head. “You’re being so good for me, Sungie.” You purr before switching sides, mirroring your actions so your tongue gives equal attention to him. His cock twitches as you keep up your work. “Are you close, Jisung?” You ask, looking up to find him lost in the pleasure of it all with his head having fallen back against the bed, writhing beneath you. He manages to let out a weak “Mhm.”

It takes everything in you to not rock against his cock, desperate to feel the way it glides against your now soaked folds. You remind yourself this is a little test to see how sensitive it is, to see if he can come without friction, and it doesn’t take long to get your answers to that test as with just a few more licks and touches you feel him spasming, hips bucking up to reach nothing in return.

“I knew you could do it. That’s it, baby. Keep going, I’ve got you.” You speak against the shell of his ear now, soothing him through his second orgasm. By this point he’s absolutely wrecked his sweatpants and you can feel it even through your additional layer of clothing. You move off of his body, giving him some space to breathe after everything, but it doesn’t stop you from leaning down to lick over the wet spot of cum at the front of his sweats.

He looks down breathlessly, letting out a low, “Fuuuck.” You crawl up next to him, placing a hand softly on his arm.

“You feel okay?” You ask softly, a contrast to your previous demeanor just minutes prior.

“That was… that was unreal. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. Like, seriously.” He responds. “I definitely didn’t expect any of that when I walked in here.” He laughs.

“Yeah, me neither. I don’t know what came over me. Im sorry if that was too much.” You tell him.

“No, no, no. Not at all I just… I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” He admits.

There’s a sparkle in your eyes when he says this, his response somehow being better than you could’ve ever expected. “Really? I mean, yes. Of course. I would love that.” You ramble, clearly excited at the prospect. “I’m not done playing with you anyways.” You playfully state, and Jisung knows he’s in for a fun night.

[genderqueerdykes]

ik there's a lot of examples of why transandrophobia is "valid/real" and whatever. but I think one that stands out to me is when people make comments like "men shouldn't rest or feel safe until menstruation products are free/men have 0 say in any laws surrounding uteruses/men can't ever know what it's like to be a *insert traumatic experience commonly happening to young girls*" and stuff of the like. just conversations that ignore a large portion of the tmen/masc communities existence (and probably some intersex folk too yh?? and enbies who are like man-aligned or js like. yeah transandrophobia effects a lot of ppl) and experiences and I'm like. so what word do I use to describe this? "just use transphobia" what if I want a word to describe my unique experiences for once that isn't an incredibly broad one for the whole community?? Maybe I want one that quickly describes this unique forgeting tmen exist completely js so you can angrily yell at men without repercussions.

what if I'm sick of yelling "transphobia!" just to be told "oh... no I'm talking about CIS men" as if I'm not actually a man, that cis men are more man than I will ever be and like this is a good thing. or being told I'm being hostile and are proof testosterone makes you evil. what do I call it then. you can't separate the man from trans, I'm a TRANS. MAN. and I deserve a word to describe the things I've experienced just like transfems and transwomen and nonbinary people without being told I'm "speaking over anyone"

idk, food for thought maybe infighting and attacking your own community isn't the way forward. maybe hating men, trans or not, will never be the liberating progressive feminist movement you think it is. maybe just maybe hate is not something you're immune to just because you're hated. maybe we all need to calm the fuck down and revaluate some shit and process our own bigotry /nay

this is a great ask, thanks for taking the time to send this, i appreciate you for telling your story and giving feedback. this is the exact reason i made a post a few days ago about how we have to stop holding back on having genuine conversations about queer experiences and the diversity and struggles transness bring. no trans person has it easy. none. we all suffer because cisheteronormative patriarchy hates the concept of transness. it hates trans men and mascs too

just conversations that ignore a large portion of the tmen/masc communities existence (and probably some intersex folk too yh?? and enbies who are like man-aligned or js like. yeah transandrophobia effects a lot of ppl) and experiences and I'm like. so what word do I use to describe this? "just use transphobia" what if I want a word to describe my unique experiences for once that isn't an incredibly broad one for the whole community?? Maybe I want one that quickly describes this unique forgeting tmen exist completely js so you can angrily yell at men without repercussions.

This entire line of thinking has been so pointlessly rude for no reason this entire time. This is legitimately one of the dumbest, pettiest things I have ever seen in my life and I'm saying it like it is: trans women and transfems do not own the concept of having a specific kind of oppression when it comes to transness. Whether or not you want to accept that trans men are also oppressed under patriarchy isn't our business. But it's the truth. And getting upset because transmascs and men wanted to coin "transandrophobia," what exactly is that solving? Genuinely how is that talking over trans women.

what if I'm sick of yelling "transphobia!" just to be told "oh... no I'm talking about CIS men" as if I'm not actually a man, that cis men are more man than I will ever be and like this is a good thing. or being told I'm being hostile and are proof testosterone makes you evil. what do I call it then. you can't separate the man from trans, I'm a TRANS. MAN. and I deserve a word to describe the things I've experienced just like transfems and transwomen and nonbinary people without being told I'm "speaking over anyone"

Absolutely, you and every other transmasc and trans man and related person deserve to be able to discuss your struggles and experiences. Let's have an honest conversation about it for once. Creating a term, and thus a space and forum where people can go to to have a conversation, share experiences and identify with one another means that there is now a dedicated space to having that conversation. That space is not built directly on top of transfem and trans woman spaces. It is built beside it, laterally. This means that if people want to talk about the specific forms of transphobia trans men, transmascs, and some intersex, nonbinary, genderqueer, genderfluid, bigender, agender and other queer people, there is a specific space to do it, reducing the amount of people who are in specifically transfeminine spaces talking about struggles that are not the same.

Having different terms is a very good thing because it means that people who share the same experiences can come together. This means that trans men and mascs now have a place to talk that lowers the chances of them accidentally or even intentally talking over trans women and transfems. This has never been a bad thing. It's a good thing. If transfems and women get to make specific spaces for ourselves, so are transmascs and trans men. They don't have to "just use transphobia". What they're experiencing is unique to them and you don't have the right to tell them what they are and are not experiencing.

If you as a trans woman or transfem do not want to hear about how transmascs and trans men have it, please feel free to go to spaces that are focused around transfems and trans women where you can talk about the similar experiences you have. Don't take our space away from us just because you don't want to listen, though. Trans men still deserve to be able to talk. You don't have to shut up trans men in order for trans women to be heard.

[altocat]

I’m back for more how about Lucrecia and/or Hojo for the hc game

I'll do both.

LUCRECIA

Headcanon A: Lucrecia is, realistically, not perfect mother material, at least in the way Sephiroth envisions. She would need a LOT of therapy in order to help her become a better parent to him if she were involved in his life. She would have loved her son. But she would have needed a lot of help and support.

Headcanon B: Lucrecia has a tendency to get tongue tied whenever infodumping all in one sitting, resulting in a bunch of cutely jumbled nonsense and mixing her words around. Grimoire thought it was adorable and it never failed to make him laugh on a bad day.

Headcanon C: Lucrecia suffers from heavy depression-anxiety disorders. Due to her stubborn nature, she refused a proper diagnosis or treatment, convinced she could pick herself up on her own. She threw herself into her work and refused to allow herself to breathe and recuperate, further escalating her negative feelings. Unfortunately, Sephiroth comes to inherit a lot of her illnesses as an adult. And neglects his needs as well.

Headcanon D: No one ever refers to her as "Lucy" in canon but lots of fic writers including myself have collectively decided that this was her nickname lol

HOJO

Headcanon A: I actually do think that Hojo holds SOME level of affection for his son, albeit in an extremely fucked up narc sort of way. Idk I love the idea of him being pure evil, but also having some realistic complex emotions about Sephiroth as well. He's Sephiroth's greatest abuser. But he's also his father. He is an irredeemably evil person, but there are some grayer aspects in there as well.

Headcanon B: Hojo actually bathes. Fairly regularly. He just looks greasy and nasty because that's just his rotten core leaking out to reveal what he REALLY is under the surface lmao

Headcanon C: Hojo acts completely normal on the surface after Sephiroth's supposed "death" in Nibelheim. Business as usual. But the truth is that he actually suffers some level of depression, unsure if his Reunion Theory will hold firm, unsure if Sephiroth will ever truly return. He copes by projecting onto Cloud and Zack. And builds Chadley out of some twisted sense of guilt and possession, wanting to reclaim a bit of the boy he raised just to fill that presence in his life again.

Headcanon D: Still riding high on my Vincent-dad-theory-truthing lmao You can't stop meeee Hojo doesn't deserve a son

[seokmn]

chapter 13.

wc: 1k words

“oh my god, if you say anything else ill throw you in front of a moving car! we’re almost there, stop complaining!” frustration was very clear in doyeon’s voice, which made chan even more annoyed. “youve been saying this for an eternity now! im going back home.”

“wait! we’re here!”

chan looked at the old house in complete confusion. doyeon took a key out of her pocket and opened the door before looking at chan. “what are you waiting for? come in.”

the house not only smelled but looked old. “careful where you walk,” doyeon referred to the good amount of pieces of broken dishes on the floor. she placed her backpack on the table and carefully took some plates out of it.

“what are those for?”

“look at the floor and youll know what are those for,” she laughed as you looked around. “you wanted to break some plates with me?”

“exactly. now here, take these,” she handed him a few plates and a marker pen. “why the marker pen?”

“youll write something that you want to break, that you want to get rid of it,” doyeon took a plate and a marker pen, wrote school’s pressure down on the plate and looked at it before throwing it hard against the wall and yelling at the same time the plate hit the wall and broke it in pieces.

chan looked surprised, not knowing doyeon had this side of her. “so, wanna try now?”

“why should i? breaking a plate wont make the problem go away.”

“trust me, chan. do it.”

he sighed, took a plate and wrote losing her. chan looked at the plate, his fingers gripping at it before throwing it against the wall. the sight of the plate turning into small ceramic pieces was relieving and he couldnt explain why. it felt like the some of the weight on his shoulders were gone. he smiled and chuckled a little, finding the situation amusing.

chan didnt waste any time and started to write things down the plates and threw them, laughing like he was losing his mind. every thing he wrote on the plates were about you, about losing you.

he took a deep breath while looking at the ceramic pieces on the floor and tears started to fill his eyes, making his vision blurry. laughs that were coming out of his mouth soon started to turn into sobs as he crouched down, hiding his face in his hands and doyeon went closer to him without saying a word and started to rub his back in order to soothe him.

“i- i dont know what to do!” his voice came out between his sobs, his whole body shaking as he cried hard. “the thought of losing yn was already way too painful and now that i really lost her… its like i have nothing to smile about life.”

“hey,” doyeon crouched down as well and gently took his hands out of his face, taking sight at his red eyes and runny nose. “its for the best.”

“who cares if its for the best?! doesnt mean it doesnt hurt as hell!”

“i know, i know.”

“do you? i hate when people act like they know what im going through. you clearly dont! when you lose the love of your love because of your dream life, then you can say that.”

“im sorry.”

“dont apologize,” he sniffed. “its just- it shouldnt have to be like this, i shouldn’t have to suffer like this and make yn suffer as well. i shouldve never gotten closer to her, she doesnt deserve this. i want to run back to her, but i also want to become an idol… why cant i have both?”

“in life, we have to make sacrifices, chan. you can become an idol and love her from afar, or maybe your busy schedule will make you get over her, think that it wasnt right to stay together. you dont know what can happens.”

“i dont know and i dont wanna know… now i gonna choose to let her go because she made up her mind, but not because i chose this,” he sighed and wiped his tears away. “its funny how i cant go back, how i only have one path to go to now and im still torn. its not like i can go back in time or something.”

doyeon stood up and waited for him to stand up as well, “come on, you cant stay like this forever. are you really gonna just sit in your pain or are you gonna grow out of it as well?”

chan stood up and looked at her with pitiful eyes, “i feel like im grieving.”

“well, think about the bright side, youll have a lot of great songs to compose.”

“thats not funny.”

“who told you its a joke? turn your pain into art, chan. why do you think i paint that much? youre not the only person whos hurt in this world, so will you turn this pain into something productive or will you let it drown you? turn this into songs or into choreographies. dont let this pain take over you.”

chan only nodded, that was the only thing he could do at the moment. he knew she was right, but he also knew he wouldnt be able to do that, at least not at that moment.

“im sorry i was rude to you in the groupchat. to be honest, i dont even know why i said those things, i guess i got frustrated at the situation because i hate seeing you like this and blming yourself for it. i know i never told you, but i see myself in you.”

doyeon was expecting anything from chan as his response to his words but the hug he gave her right away, which she responded by wrapping her arms around his body while whispering motivational words in his ear.

once the hug was broken by doyeon, she looked in his eyes and smiled. “im hungry, we should eat something. lets go,” chan smiled as well and nodded. “yea, lets go eat something.”

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS

yn and chan date since their freshman year and are truly high school sweethearts, but will chan’s dream of becoming an idol get between their relationship?

masterlist — prev — next

taglist: @ivehypnosis @wonkierideul @ateez-atiny380 @noircheols @222brainrot @odxrilove @vixensss @starshuas

[propenseverbosity]

Honestly thank you for doing these, it's great to see people participating in the act of creation 🥺

Today I'm working on a prequel fic for my Rook! I love the Shadow Dragon backstory and wanted to add in my own twist to it.

-----------------------------------------------

Minrathous was no Kirkwall, but the violence, anarchy, and blood magic that plagued Dock Town certainly reminded Varric of home. Petrichor from the near-permanent rainfall only barely managed to cover the scent of stale liquor and low tide.

He arrived at the Cobbled Swan around mid-day, as instructed by the letter he received from Maevaris. Her invitation mentioned nothing more than a casual lunch, but the concern on her face as Varric sat down across from her suggested otherwise.

“Well, this feels ominous…” Varric chuckled, attempting to mask his own worry. “What’s the matter?”

Mae glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in close to whisper, “Dorian is missing.”

Varric tried his best not to panic, but the fear in her eyes really wasn’t helping the situation. “What exactly do you mean by ‘missing’?”

“He was over in Nessus to investigate a potential slavery ring-”

“You let him do that alone?”

Mae rolled her eyes. “You know what he’s like. He refused to wait for backup. Said the longer he waited for the Magisterium to do their jobs, the longer those people would continue to suffer.” 

“Damn…” Varric breathed, knowing he was right. “Alright, when did you last hear from him?”

“A few days ago. He was supposed to contact me on the crystal once he was on his way back, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.” Mae reached for the thin silver chain that housed her own sending crystal, a teardrop-shaped aquamarine. “Last night, the crystal activated on its own, and I overheard some Venatori talking about leveraging a Magister for information on the Inquisitor.” she added, turning the gemstone over in her hands, as if waiting for Dorian’s voice to suddenly call out to her.

“I suppose that’s good news? In a way? It means they won’t just kill him.” Varric pointed out. “They’ll probably have him under heavy guard, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to smuggle him out of there. I’m on it.”

Mae shot him a stern look. “Varric, you already have your hands full with Solas.”

“Neve and Harding can handle things for a few days.” He argued, casually. "Besides, I could use a break."

“I have people we can send to get him back. I just thought you’d want to hear it from me first. We should let the Inquisitor know as well.”

“No way. If the Inquisitor finds out his husband is missing, all hell will break loose in the south. Whoever you're sending, I need to be there to make sure Sparkler comes home in one piece.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Mae asked.

“Hey, I love the kid, but he’s got too much of a soft spot for Tevinter mages.” Varric added, hoping to lighten the mood. “Seriously. If Aramil finds out what’s going on, he’ll drop everything to be here, and the Inquisition needs him a lot more than it needs me right now.”

“Fine.” she sighed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Varric said, with a polite nod. “So, what’s our first move?”

“Come with me.” Mae said, as she stood up from the table. “I’ll introduce you to the Shadow Dragons.”

Good mystical morning, everyone!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Just:

Reblog this post with a snippet of (one of) your current project(s) and I’ll reblog it again with commentary/encouragement !

It doesn’t need to be DA related, you can share whatever you want!

Very chill, no pressure at all! Hope you all are having fun writing/drawing/creating!

[kosmicdream]

"make weird art!"

Look, I am genuinely glad the current rallying cry right now seems to be “make weird art!” but I can’t lie.. There’s a part of me that also finds it so annoying. FRUSTRATING. In my experience, people have a low tolerance for nonlinear storytelling. I got death threats for period sex ten years ago. It used to upset me a lot when I was starting out. I just wanted to make something exciting and interesting, no one knew that my comic was basically my lifeline. Now, I kind of miss the alarm over every small thing that happened. I don’t know. Things are getting weird regardless, good & bad ways. there’s weirdness (whatever that means to people) everywhere already, in the past and in the present. Maybe its good people are reflecting on what they’re holding back from themselves or judging others for doing. Or maybe they can’t find what it is they need there and are looking to discover it out there in the world. Personally though, I can’t relate. Not to be too rude or blunt, but i cant take two steps without it being “weird.” The weird i make isn’t weird to me, its normal. I don’t need to make my art anything, it is just what it is. I just need to make the art, that’s my only job I need to do here.

Make weird art, sure. Do it, please. But I also would hope in that journey, when you look at other art that you find repulsive, shameful, complicated, yes even offensive.. If you find yourself with the instinct to sink your fingers into it, rip it apart until its unrecognizable.. Until its utterly destroyed in your heart in a way that feeds the satisfaction of that desire. The art you experienced that affected you that way, its not gone. You can’t destroy the art, just the person. And I hope that whatever you ripped apart there inside of yourself, was not something that was or could have been actually important to you in your personal journey with art. Sure.. Still feel those things! its important to get in an uproar over nothing. I sure do! Oh, theres some art out there i hate so much that its entertainment for me, I’m not going to let anyone change my mind about it. Fire and intensity is part of the passion of art and pursuing your vision of it for yourself.. But what really disturbs me is how common artists hate their own art and hate making art. I don’t like seeing so many artists my age, younger, older.. In pain because they can’t love art anymore. What happened? I don’t get to do art all the time anymore as i’d like. I get frustrated, I cry and feel lost but I never have hated making my art. I don’t know what I’m doing that helps with this but I’m glad I’m doing it. Part of that I think is that i don’t feel an ownership towards what other people are making because that doesn’t belong to me, just my own feelings. And I personally like using every part I can find, that often gets discovered because I ran into something i didn’t know was out there. Most of the time, I wouldn’t have found it if i wasn’t genuinely upset in some way.   

What are you ripping apart?

[skitskatdacat63]

For everyone who wanted bullfighter Nando when I mentioned it the other day, here you go :D

+ this one I don't feel like coloring yet(imagine he's in Ferrari colors!!!)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

today just will not let me rest huh. reasons are in the tags but i get very emotional just be warned

[swallowtail-ageha]

*video by a self proclaimed historian archeology with mary on a cross dramatic beat in the background fake crying hand on mouth in instagram reels* here is a funeral epigraphy of this young roman lady who got murdered by her husband! People especially men were such beasts right then and haven't changed much! *shows epigraphy where parents of murdered girl both father and mother denounce their daughter's murder as something abominable and either way Very Much Not Uncaring of the girls fate*

[musical-chick-13]

I hate when something looks like it would be RIGHT up your alley and the cast is pretty stacked, but there's one person in said cast who is just. Genuinely a horrible human being.

[the-lark-ascending69]

Had this moment of extreme anger and aggression out of nowhere and ended up hurting myself and then i wrote about it, went out to get some coffee, chatted w the coffee lady for 5 minutes, watched an episode of amphibia and now i feel weirdly refreshed and hopeful about life and the future??