#i spent a lot of skill points on authority

[orangepajamas]

YOU - "Tell me a secret about yourself."

KIM KITSURAGI - "No."

YOU - Ask again.

Your brain sends the signal to your lips but they refuse the order. Something is paralyzing them. You're pretty sure it has something to do with the lieutenant's eyebrow.

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard x vault born reader. She's from one of the more messed up experiment vaults, when she uncovered the truth of the vault she runs away from it. The first interaction they have is when he tells her he fucking hates vault dwellers and she tells him "I don't really give a shit what YOU think of me". She's been in the wastes a good long while, has a lot of skills and they end up traveling together and getting close. The area she is naive in is sex her interpretation is it's boring, and hurts. He of course tries to explain that it's not suposed to feel like that. They become really close he asks if he can show her which she agrees, she cums harder than she ever has before he has to remind her to breath through it, maybe she squirts and is embarrassed he realizes it's new for her, tells her it normal and that he loves it. Bonus points for: squirting, choking, hair pulling.

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A discussion with The Ghoul reveals things that you never wished to tell him, including your views on intimacy, and lack of experience. When he offers to show you what you were missing out on, how could you say no? Tags: Not Beta Read, Prompt Request, Backstory for Reader, Virgin Reader, Inexperienced Reader, Banter, This one might be even more OOC for The Ghoul, Soft Ghoul, Smut, Squirting, Doggystyle, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Confessions (kind of) Author's Note: i know that vault 75 is actually like on the other side of the us from where the show takes place but this vault always stuck out to me so i needed to use it for the prompt lmao.  also thank you anon for the amazing prompt (and my first ever request :D) ! i hope this fulfilled it sufficiently!

If you’d told yourself a year ago that you’d be traveling the surface with an irradiated man dressed as a cowboy who only kept you around because you could make him his drugs, you’d call yourself insane, and rightfully so.

But here you were, following after him like an obedient soldier, just like you were raised to be. For the past few months, you had wandered alongside The Ghoul, searching for your purpose on the surface. There was a deal between you two; he’ll travel with you, and you’d make him the chems that stopped him from turning into a feral. 

It was a reluctant acquaintanceship at best, The Ghoul keeping you at an arm's length, and you didn’t blame him. The reason he had difficulty trusting you fully was because you were vault born, which he made abundantly clear when the two of you first started traveling. You spent the first eighteen years of your life in Vault 75,  where you were trained, both mentally and physically, to become the perfect soldier and scientist that would bring justice to the surface world. That had been your life’s goal, up until you turned eighteen. 

Along with the rest of the top peers, you were selected to make your way to the surface. But before you could leave they provided a vaccine, claiming that it would build immunity against the radiation that still plagued the earth. 

In actuality, it had been a sedative, and you remember awaking some time later, suspended in a glass chamber. For days, months, years, you weren’t quite sure, you were prodded, stabbed, cut open. It was pure agony, moments that you only remember in your darkest dreams, leaving you panting and shaking. To this day, you still weren’t fully sure what they had done to you, but you knew they had quite literally taken things from you that you’d never get back. 

Somehow, you managed to break free of the sedative that they continuously pumped into your body, keeping you alive yet without control of your body. You weren’t certain how you managed to escape, but you remembered that your hands and knuckles were bloody pulps, glass embedded into the flesh, fingers broken and mangled. Even now, you could still see the scars that still lingered, and the way your fingers looked off, bones not set right. It caused you issues and aches, but luckily today was a low-pain day. 

A gruff drawl snapped you out of your reminiscing, and you looked up from your hand into the eerily human eyes of The Ghoul, who had stopped in front of you. “What?” You had missed what he said. 

“The fuck you doin’?” 

“I… my hand hurts,” you lied. “Sorry.” 

He angrily grumbled something under his breath, yet you watched him dig into one of the pockets of his trench coat. He pulled out a small pill bottle, and after double-checking the contents he tossed it to you, and you caught it with your non-injured one. “Keep yer head on,” he added before turning to keep walking. 

You didn’t have to look at the bottle to know what he’d given you: painkillers. He’d always give them to you whenever your pain would flare, and each time you reevaluate your relationship with him. You couldn’t figure out if he detest you or cared about you, whether he saw you as a friend or foe. He was a confusing person, and his hard exterior and guarded responses to your questions made him hard to understand. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and if he heard you he didn’t respond, just continuing to walk away. Tucking the pills away, you jogged to catch up with him, keeping a few feet distance between the two of you. 

Looking around, you tried to make some sense of the dilapidated buildings and cracked roads, creating an image in your head of what you imagined the town to once be. Full of energy, full of life, able to roam without fear of being killed by man or creature, or fear of being slowly poisoned to death by radiation. 

There was a row of buildings on either side of the road, most caved in, but there were still a few that remained, windows shattered or boarded up. Rusted mental skeletons of cars littered the road, you and The Ghoul having to weave around them. Glass crunched underneath your boots, and you swore you stepped on a few bones. 

Glancing at the road, you noted how elongated the shadows were, and you didn’t have to glance behind you to know that the sun was setting, night right on the precipice of falling. Not wanting to become a late night snack for a deathclaw or some ferals, you cleared your throat, getting the attention of The Ghoul. He stilled, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “We should find a place to stop soon.”

You watched him debate it for a second, eyes flicking from the setting sun to the walk in front of him, then to the buildings on either side of you two. Eventually he came to a decision, sighing. “There’s a standin’ building’ down a little ways. We’ll stop there.”

You were eager to finally rest, the rifle in your hands was becoming heavy and the straps of your backpack were digging into your shoulders, so you had a bit more energy in your step as you continued down the street. As you reached the end of the street, you were able to see the building he had mentioned. It was an old shop of sorts, any signs long since gone, but it looked still relatively intact.

The Ghoul got there first, like he normally did. Opening the door with one hand, he held his gun in the other, raised and ready to shoot. He swept the room as he entered, and you follow hot on his heels, gun at the ready. 

In the dim light, you were able to see rows of shelves in the main area, a small desk with a register tucked into the left corner. There was a closed door behind the desk, and another on the rightmost wall of the building, also closed. 

Stepping further in, you were able to start making out the contents on the shelves: boxes and packages of food, no doubt beyond edible, labels faded away. But you also saw a few cans of food littering about, but you’d have to look through them once you’d cleared the building. 

Focusing back on the task at hand, you watched him peer into the far right room, before turning and speaking to you. “Check the desk,” he kept his voice low, as to not alert any possible dwellers. Nodding, you carefully made your way over to the desk, eyes rapidly scanning your environment. 

You tried to open the door, but it merely rattled against the frame, locked shut. If you had the tools, or the patience, you would’ve tried to pick the lock, but you didn’t care that much. Besides, if there was anything in there that was alive, it wouldn’t be able to get you. 

The desk didn’t have much to offer, either. Partial destroyed papers dotted the desk, and the register sat broken and open, robbed of the pre-war cash that once resided in it. You were a tad bit disappointed; it always made for great kindling. 

Searching through the rest of the drawers, you only found garbage, and after a few moments you gave up trying to find anything of value. You slowly made your way back over to The Ghoul, who had better luck than you with his door. You could hear him digging through drawers as you entered, and you were sure to make some audible noise so as to not startle him. 

It was a small living area, a twin bed tucked into the corner, as well as a kitchenette and small desk. A TV and couch sat in the center, and you saw another door, opened by The Ghoul, which you presumed was the bathroom. “Not bad,” you commented. This was truly one of the better places the two of you had stopped at; this at least had four walls and a roof. 

He grunted in response, still rifling through drawers. “Find anythin’?”

You shook your head. “I’ll go look again,” you responded, and before you backed out of the room you dumped your bag on the floor. You sighed happily at the relief, rubbing your shoulders as you began to look through the shelves again.

You didn’t bother to look at the boxed goods, heading straight to the few canned items you saw. The cans were still whole, thankfully, but the labels were long since gone. Shrugging, you grabbed the cans, about four in total, and brought them back to the other room, dumping them on the counter of the kitchenette. 

“What’s that?” You heard him ask, spurs clicking on the linoleum floor as he came over to you. The room was now illuminated by a small oil lantern placed on the desk. 

“No idea. But they’re still good. Probably.” You spoke as you moved to sit on the counter, legs dangling. Man, did it feel good to sit after walking all day. You reached for your knife, cursing when you felt empty space instead, your knife in the bag instead of on you. 

Before you could even get down, The Ghoul handed you his knife, the blade glinting in the low light. He pointed the handle towards you, and you took it from him, and you murmured a small thanks. You got to work opening the first can, hunger making your stomach rumble. The knife plunged in and out of the tin top, peeling back the rest once you got most of it cut. 

It was an almost gelatinous red substance inside, with darker red, round something suspended in it. It smelled sweet, sugary even, and you tried to tilt it into your mouth, but it didn’t budge. Maybe it had gone bad, then. 

Confused, you reached down to the drawer that was in between your legs, managing to get it open enough to reach your hand in. You grabbed the first utensil feeling thing you could find, and to your delight it was a fork. You didn’t waste any time, taking a decent-sized forkful and bringing it to your mouth. 

It was overwhelmingly sweet, and you’re sure you made some face, because The Ghoul was chuckling lightly. It wasn’t bad, but it almost hurt to eat, and the gelatinous nature of it made it stick to your teeth. “That’s whatcha get for eatin’ unlabeled food.”

You shook your head. “It’s not bad. It’s just… sweet.”

He hummed curiously, and you offered the can to him. You laughed when he eyed it suspiciously. “I promise you, it doesn’t taste bad. And I haven’t poisoned it,” you teased.

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” he grumbled, but he took the can from you. 

“I wouldn’t,” you grabbed and handed a utensil to him. “I rather like your company.”

See, as fun as it was to be out on the road, nothing but the endless horizon in front of you, it was the nights that you truly cherished. He didn’t talk much while you walked, keeping a literal and metaphorical distance between the two of you. It was like when he was on the road, he was The Ghoul, a cunning and vicious bounty hunter. But when it was just the two of you, secluded away in some abandoned house, around a fire, wherever, it was like the human side of him resurfaced, leading way to conversation and… friendship? 

You had no idea if he considered you a friend, but you knew you considered him to be one. It wasn’t like you had any other person in this wretched world, your “friends” from the vault turned enemy. As a wanderer, it was hard to build and maintain relationships with other people, so you chose to just stick with The Ghoul. 

And you wouldn’t lie, there was something beyond “friendship” that you felt for The Ghoul. It had taken too long for you to even admit that to yourself, so it was unlikely that you were going to admit to him. Besides, it went against everything that you were raised to believe, and even though you’d long since left the vault, their ideas were still ingrained into your brain.

“Not sure why,” he muttered before eating a spoonful of the mysterious substance. You were barely able to see it, but his upper lip twitched into an almost smile. You always liked when he smiled. It was rare for him, a genuine smile. He’d sneer and smirk, sure, but it was those true smiles that got your heart beating faster and your knees getting weak. You refused to name the reason why your body reacted the way it did, not wanting to face the reality that you felt something for The Ghoul just yet.

“It’s pie filling. Cherry pie filling, to be exact,” he lifted up another spoonful, one of the dark red balls on it, covered in the sheer red substance. 

“Cherry pie filling?” You said each of the words as their own question. You’d never heard of any of what he was talking about. 

He rolled his eyes, handing the can back to you, and you took another bite. You still weren’t used to the sweetness of it. “Fuckin’ vault dwellers,” he sighed. “Cherry’s a fruit. Pie is a pastry. Filling is what you put into pie.”

It didn’t clear up anything, but you nodded anyway, not wanting to annoy him further. “Interesting.” Taking one final bite, you set it next to you, moving on to the next can. You were in the middle of opening the second one when he spoke

“You mean to tell me they didn’t have pie in your vault?”

You weren’t expecting his question, and you halted mid-cut. He never asked you about the vault you grew up in, and you never told him anything besides the name and that you left. He made his opinion on vaults and vault dwellers abundantly clear when you first met all those months ago, back when your relationship was a tenuous allyship. You hadn't cared what he thought about you and your old life then, telling him straight to his face, and you certainly didn’t care now. But it was curious that he was willingly asking you about it now. 

“No,” you drew out the word, mildly suspicious. “If it didn’t have good nutritional value, then it wasn’t allowed. So no candy, no sugary drinks, no pastries. Nothing like that.” You answered while opening up the second can, and you recognized it immediately: sweet corn.

He didn’t ask any further questions, so you didn’t elaborate. Not needed to do a taste test of the sweet corn, you set it aside, then opened the other two cans, which were baked beans and tomato soup. Wordlessly, The Ghoul grabbed two of the cans, making his way over to the couch, and you followed behind him, the other two cans in your own hands. 

Sitting side-by-side, the two of you ate in silence, and you propped your legs up on the coffee table in front of you. The two of you would eat half the can before passing it off to the other. It was how you shared your dinners for at least the past month. 

It didn’t take long for there to only be the pie filling left, and you held it in your better hand. Even though you’d been free from the vault for some time, a part of you still felt wrong for indulging in a treat like this. Pushing those memories aside, you took another bite before passing it to the man next to you. You jumped when you felt his gloved fingers brush yours, and you missed the way he knowingly chuckled. 

Sighing, you sat back against the couch, ignoring the armor that dug into your shoulders, and you found your eyes flicking back down to your hand. You traced over the scars littering it, a familiar pattern to you at this point, and you flexed your fingers. They popped and cracked, bending unnaturally, and it caused a small jolt of pain to shoot through the nerves. You hadn't realized your eyes weren’t the only one on it until you heard the man beside you speak. “How’d that happen?” 

Now you were suspicious; he sounded like he actually cared. “Did you get replaced with a synth?” You asked, bewildered. 

He rolled his eyes in response, taking another bite before setting the can on the coffee table in front of you two. “I realize I don’t know a lot ‘bout you.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” you admitted. “But,” you added when he glared at you, “if you really want to know, I got it by punching something. Repeatedly.”

“If that’s your fist, I’d hate to see the other person,” he muttered. 

“Something, not someone. It was, well, glass.”

“Why the fuck were you punchin’ glass?”

“It was the only way I could escape.” You laughed humorlessly when he glanced at you, confused. “What, you think I left the vault freely?” You shook your head. “After my eighteenth birthday, they trapped me in a chamber so they could harvest stuff from my body, pumping me full of sedative and rapid-healing agents. Something about creating the ‘perfect human’. Eventually, the drug they used to keep me docile stopped working, and I was able to smash my way out. I’m pretty sure there’s some glass still left in my hand,” you chuckled, stopping when you realized he wasn’t joining in. “It’s fine. I’ve repressed most of the memories anyway.”

“Not well enough,” he muttered more to himself, and you couldn’t help the small bit of dread that washed over you at the realization that he knew about your nightmares. They made you feel weak, and you didn’t want him to think you were. 

“Well, I….” You trailed off with a sigh, finding it not worth it to try and disagree, sitting back on the couch. “Rude.”

“So you do have nightmares.” He chuckled at the glare you gave him once you realized you fell into his trap. “Are they ‘bout that?”

“Is this an interrogation?” You asked, getting defensive. “Why the fuck do you care? You haven’t before.”

“If ya paid attention, I said I barely know anythin’ ‘bout you. Figured if we’re gonna continue to travel I should know more besides your name.” He sighed before adding, “This ain’t an interrogation. You… you can ask me whatcha like.”

His reluctant openness made you feel more comfortable, and you relaxed a bit. “Really?”

“Sure, why the hell not. But answer my question first.”

There was silence for a few beats. “Fine. Yes, they’re about when they had me trapped. It’s… it’s mostly the pain I remember. And their faces, the people who raised me, who I trusted.  watching me through the glass. I forget most of the details when I wake, but that’s what sticks out.”

The Ghoul didn’t offer any verbal response, merely nodding his head slowly. You prayed that he couldn’t see the way your hands shook as you willingly brought up those memories in your brain. You shoved them away, forcing a light smile on your face. “My turn.” Adjusting so that your back rested against the arm of the sofa so you were facing him now, your knees tucked up to your chest. “What’s your name?”

He scoffed. “Out of all the questions, that’s the one ya go with?” 

“You don’t have to-”

“Cooper. Cooper Howard.” His response cut you off, and a small smile lifted the corners of your mouth. 

“A pleasure, Cooper Howard,” you smiled gently. It was hardly noticeable, but something shifted in him when he heard you say his name, but you weren’t quite sure what exactly. 

He cleared his throat while adjusting in his seat, his eyes flicking away from your own. “Better not make me regret tellin’ ya that.” 

Your slight smile fell at his semi-threat. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to call you that, then.” His responding silence was answer enough, and you didn’t press it further. “Do you got any more questions for me?”

“Plenty,” he seemed more comfortable now that the attention was off his past life. “Why the hell are ya still travelin’ with me?”

You thought of your answer for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed your company. And it’s not like I’ve got any place to go.”

“We’ve traveled to plenty of towns. Why don’t ya just stay there?”

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” It almost hurt to ask. You thought things were amicable between the two of you, and the thought of leaving your one “friend” was something you truly did not want to think about.  

He regarded you for a few moments, eyes dancing over your face. “I suppose not,” he finally sighed out, crossing his arms and resting against the back of the couch.

“Good,” you tried to not sound too relieved. “You’re stuck with me.” You swore you saw a smile tug at his lips.

“Unfortunately.” He didn’t sound too upset about it. “Anythin’ else?”

“Why didn’t you kill me when we met? I tried to rob you, and I’ve seen you kill people for less. You had the gun right to my head; why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

“That’s two questions.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “They’re the same damn thing. Just… why didn’t you kill me?”

“I dunno why I didn’t kill ya right away. Somethin’ made me hesitate. And then once I realized you was a vault born, I figured I could get a good amount of caps for you, so I kept you alive.” The Ghoul sighed. “I expected to only keep ya ‘round for a week. But then you saved my life, even though I had ya captive, and I couldn’t bring myself to sell you. That’s when I set you free.” He chuckled as he reminisced. “But for some fuckin’ reason, you decided to stick around, and I thought I was gonna regret not killin’ or sellin’ ya.”

“Do you regret it?”

“That’s three questions now, sweetheart.” Your cheeks grew warm at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you it, but it always elicited the same reaction from you. “But no. It’s nice, havin’ someone you trust enough to watch your back. After years of solitude, wanderin’ this godforsaken Wasteland with you has been a pleasant change.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone regard you so kindly, which was insane because of who it was coming from. “Thank you,” you responded, sincerely.

“Before I inflate your ego any more, it’s my turn. Do you miss life in the vault, back before all… that?” He gestured to your hand. 

“Honestly, you’d think I would,” you chuckled. “No danger around every corner, no radiation, no worry about dehydration or starvation. It was secure, but so constricting. Every part of my life was monitored, from the foods I ate, to the things I did, to the people I spoke to. If the higher ups didn’t like it, they’d make me change. If anything threatened the ability to become the most optimized person, then it was removed. I’ve had more freedom during the time I’ve spent up here than I did for the first eighteen years of my life.” You took a breath. “So, no, I don’t miss it.”

It went like that for a good while, you weren't quite sure how long, and eventually the two of you finished off the pie filling. Questions were shot back and forth, and you learned some things about the man beside you that you never thought you’d know. He learned more of the experiments led by Vault 75, and your role in it. You refrained from asking him about his life before becoming The Ghoul, and although he didn’t say it, you could tell that he was grateful. He had long since shed his coat, draping it across the back of the couch, down to only a once luscious blue button down. His hat was also off, sitting on the table alongside the now empty cans. 

You had asked him about the strangest person he’d met, and he was recounting this one “doctor” he’d met in Filly, with greased hair and a rotted cap, selling ailments for quite literally every predicament. “Pretty sure he was fuckin’ the livestock,” he added, and you gapped at him, horrified. “Strange fellow indeed. But, after that it probably has to be this vault born I met, who no matter what I do, refuses to leave.”

“I’m second after that? I… fuck you!” You’d never sworn at him before, but now felt like a good time to change that. 

His brow raised, shocked, and he grinned at you. “Looks like I’m rubbin’ off on ya, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your own smile behind your knees, which were still tucked up close to you. “It’s your turn. Although, I don’t know if I wanna respond after you insulted me like that.”

“My apologies,” he responded, not sounding sorry at all, especially with the way he continued to chuckle as he thought of a question. “Did ya have friends? Lovers, perhaps?”

If you weren’t blushing because of the nickname, then you certainly were now. It was a taboo subject in your vault, having lovers. Romantic companionship was seen as a hindrance, a liability. “I had some friends, sure, but they all turned out to be back-stabbers or were taken like me. I don’t know if they survived; I couldn’t stop to rescue them if I wanted to live.” You shook off the bit of guilt you felt when thinking of the others. “But I wasn’t close friends with anyone. As weird as it is, you’re the closest thing to a true friend I’ve ever had.”

“You only answered half my question.” Damn him. “Any lovers?”

“No.” Your hand was looking quite interesting now, and you traced over the familiar pattern of the scars again. 

“‘No’? That’s it?” If looks could kill, The Ghoul would be six feet under right now. “Touchy subject?” 

You realized that no matter what you said, he was still going to continue to ask. Groaning, you let your head sag back off the couch, not wanting to make eye contact with him when you responded. “We weren’t allowed to take… lovers. There were no romantic relationships allowed in the vault; they were seen as a liability. And I know that they’re not, but it’s been drilled into my brain that they’re wrong, that they’re… improper, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

When he didn’t respond, you thought he lost interest in the subject, and you slowly began to lift your head back up. “How the fuck did you guys repopulate?” And there your head went back down, face burning. 

“IVF. They took the eggs and sperm from the captives, as they were the best genetically, physically and mentally, and then put them in the body of one of the scientists.” You chose to not add the fact that there was an entirely real possibility that you had a kid or two.

“So no sex then?”

Something like a groan and a curse left your lips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment and something else washing over you. How you wished for a raider or synth or anything to break down the door and kill you. “No,” you responded, and you missed the way his gaze locked on to you, intrigued by your answer.

“So you’ve never-”

“No!” You didn’t let him finish his question, not caring about what you just admitted to him.

“Not even after you left?”

“No.” You were getting really tired of your same responses. 

“Why not? It ain’t like you got your vault monitoring everythin’ ya do anymore.”

“Well…” you sighed, running a hand over your hot face. “It seems boring, from what I heard. I’m just supposed to, I dunno, sit there in pain while they use me for their own pleasure. It’s never appealed to me.” That last part was a lie, and you both knew it. You just wanted to hold on to some semblance of your pride that was lying in tatters around you.

He had the audacity to laugh, and you wished the couch would just swallow you whole. “I dunno who told ya that, but it ain’t like that. Not even fuckin’ close.”

Shakily, you exhaled, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest. You couldn’t believe you were having this discussion, with The Ghoul of all people. His next words had you going deathly still, staring wide-eyed at the mildewed ceiling. “Can I show ya?” 

In just one sentence, he managed to change the entire atmosphere of the conversation, of your relationship. You wouldn’t deny, the idea of being intimate with him was appealing, and definitely not the first time you’d thought of it. What made this time different, though, was that you didn’t push those thoughts away, disgust and shame not overwhelming you. And it was also different because this wasn’t just a scenario that you’d played out in your head, alone while you slept. No, this was actually happening. 

“What?” You managed to stammer out, sitting up slowly. Your mouth went dry at the way he stared at you, almost hungrily. You squirmed under his intense gaze, which seemed to please the man. 

“Can I show ya what it’s supposed to feel like?” He repeated again, and one of his gloves hands crept across the couch, resting an inch away from where your legs were. “If ya don’t want this, just say the word, and we can pretend like this ain’t ever happened. But I can promise ya won’t regret it.” For once, you were grateful for his self-assurance and cockiness, as it bolstered your own confidence in your decision. 

It felt like five hours had passed before you nodded, and you felt his hand brush up your clothed calf, gripping the muscle lightly. “Lemme hear ya say it, sweetheart.”

Even though it was far from the first time he’d called you sweetheart, the implications now made your face burn even more. He made it sound dirty, and you had to take a breath before speaking. “Show me.” Your voice barely came out as a whisper; any louder and you feared it would crack.

You let out a startled noise when he pulled you close to him using the hand on your calf, the action effortless; you’d forgotten how unnaturally strong he was. You were now laying down fully on the couch, hair splayed out around you. He moved between your legs, hands now braced on either side of your head as he leaned above you. His face hovered a few inches from yours, and you could feel his breath as he spoke. “You gotta let me know if ya don’t like somethin’, deal?”

“Deal.” 

You shivered when you felt him caress your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture from the rough man you knew. He smiled at your body’s response to him. “Finally,” he muttered out, but you didn’t get a chance to ask for further elaboration before his lips were on yours. 

Unlike his touch, they weren’t gentle, almost bruisingly strong against yours. You groaned, and you could feel him smirk. The hand that had been touching your face settled, grasping the side of your face in a warm, gloved palm. The other hand remained braced by your head, keeping him upright. You found yourself latching your own around his wrist, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt, trying to find some way to keep you grounded. 

Kissing felt even better than you’d imagined it would. You didn’t think it would be so enjoyable, feel so good, so right. It was like his lips were made to slot perfectly against yours. If you concentrated hard enough, you could taste cherry pie filling the both of you had eaten. You jolted when you felt teeth tug at your bottom lip, a droplet of pain in the sea of pleasure, and your grip tightened even more, threatening to tear the clothing. You didn’t think he would mind. 

Energy pulsed through your body, and you found yourself unconsciously beginning to move, your hips moving in small circles. A familiar tension began to form in your lower body, something you felt during your late night thoughts of The Ghoul. Even though it was only just forming, you’d never felt it this intensely before, and you were desperate for some kind of relief. 

An amused chuckle left him, pulling away slightly to do so. You almost whined at the loss of contact, and you attempted to pull him back down with the hand that currently had a fistfull of his clothing, but he didn’t budge. “Eager?” It was a rhetorical question, but you found yourself nodding anyway. 

“Please.” What you were asking for, you weren’t quite sure. Your words trailed off into a sigh when you felt his lips return, this time along your jaw by your ear. He left your cheek, running down the front of your body tantalizingly slow. 

“Where’s these manners comin’ from?” It sounded like his voice had turned raspier, and it elicited a shiver from your body, his lips still pressed close to your ear. “If this was all it took for ya to start actin’ all proper, then I would’ve done this weeks ago,” he teased, and his fingers ran underneath your breasts. 

Maybe it was his lips on your skin, or the way he pressed his body into yours, or the way he touched you, but you lost control of the words tumbling from your mouth. “I would’ve let you,” you admitted, and even though it was quiet you heard his breath hitch. 

“Yeah?” His voice had somehow gotten even raspier, and he groaned when you nodded. “Fuck, sweetheart,” his teeth nipped at your earlobe before moving further down your neck. You no longer felt his lips; instead you felt tongue and teeth leaving marks, growing more fervent as he descended. 

You let go of his shirt, your fingers popping uncomfortably, yet you paid it no mind. You rested your hand on the back of his head instead, almost immediately pulling it away, unsure if he wanted to be touched or not. But you felt him gently grab your wrist, bringing your hand back to where it had once been, making an approving noise when your fingers made contact. 

When he reached the strap of your shoulder armor, you felt him immediately get to work at losing the strap, and you sighed in relief when fresh air hit the newly exposed skin. He tossed it to the side somewhere, and it didn’t take long for your chestpiece to join it. The only thing left on the top half of your body was your bra and tank top, yet you felt completely naked, both because of the lack of armor and the way his eyes bore into your body.

His eyes trailed over the top of your chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, greedily taking in the swell of your breasts. You gasped when he took them in his hands, kneading and toying with the tender flesh. Even through the thick material of his gloves and your clothing, you could still feel his heat. But you wanted to feel him closer. You wanted to feel his bare hands on your body. 

Before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you were tearing off your tank top, throwing it somewhere in the room. You arched your back, your chest pressing further into his touch, and he groaned. Reaching behind, you had enough confidence to unlatch your bra and remove it, but not enough to look him in the eye. Your cheeks were burning, a flush creeping down your neck. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” you heard him mutter, and his praise gave you enough confidence to finally return your gaze to his, expecting them to be locked on your chest. And they were, at least until he felt your eyes on him. His pupils were blown out, irises gone, and the almost predatory smirk on his face made you look away again, the tension in your body growing. 

“Take them off,” you whispered when his touch returned. His movement stilled, much to your dismay. “Your gloves,” you pleaded. “Take them off.”

When he didn’t respond, you forced your attention away from the ceiling, breath catching when you looked into his eyes. “And here I was praisin’ your manners,” he rebuked, and even through the lust in his eyes you could see a playful glint. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“Please take your gloves off,” you responded immediately, not caring if you sounded desperate. “I wanna feel your hands on me, please.”

“Much better,” he practically purred, and you watched him bring a hand up to his own mouth, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth and letting it fall, landing on your body. It almost felt wrong to see his hands without gloves on them; it felt like he was more undressed than you.

He wasted no time in returning his now bare touch to your breasts, and it felt better than you thought it would. Fingers dexterously toyed with your now perked nipples, pulling little noises from you. You never thought it would be enjoyable to have someone playing with your breasts like this, but you were happily proven wrong.

It was when his mouth joined the fray that your noises turned louder, his lips wrapping around your other nipple. When his teeth grazed the sensitive bud, your hips bucked right against his, and you felt him groan against your chest. Wanting to hear that noise again, you repeated the action, and your ears were blessed once again. 

But your victory was short lived, and the hand that had been by your head the entire time finally moved, pressing your hips down into the couch. “Behave,” you heard him growl, not halting his attention towards your chest. But you did see his eyes flick up, making it look like he was glaring at you, and you found your mouth going dry. You nodded, not finding it in yourself to go against him just yet, to see how far you could push him. You hoped there would be a next time.

He continued to lavish your chest for a few more moments, swapping his hand and mouth, continuously building up that tension in your core. You fought against the desire to move your hips, his “threat” still ringing in your ears. Your hand was still resting on the back of his head, trying and failing to keep your nails from digging into his scalp. A particularly hard suck had them biting in deep, but any apology you had died on your lips at the sinful moan he let out, followed by a string of expletives. You took a mental note to do that again later.

With a pop, he removed his mouth from your chest, and he let you pull him up into a searing kiss. His hand sneaked down between your bodies, which you only realized when you felt his fingers run beneath the waistband of your jeans and underwear.

He pulled away, sitting back on his heels, and you weren’t quite sure who was panting heavier. You immediately missed the feel of his body over yours, the comforting weight of him, and you couldn’t help the small pout that formed on your lips as you tried and failed to pull him back down again. “Please,” you whispered, hoping that your words would convince him. And you could tell they almost worked, his jaw clenching as he grit his teeth. 

But he didn’t relent. Instead, you watched as he began to slowly unclip your gunbult, your armor, your kneepads. Every bit of protection against the Wasteland stripped from you, joining the pile on the floor, leaving you only in your clothes. It was freeing, yet a bit nerve wracking, your chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly. 

You tried to lean down to help with your boots, but he swatted your hands away, silencing any rebuttal with a look. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to remove your boots and socks, but you barely heard the sound of them hitting the floor over the loud heartbeat in your ears. He practically ripped off your pants, his patience becoming thin because of the boots, but you were just grateful he didn’t actually ripped them. Good clothing was hard to come by.

His gaze was locked onto your lower body as he eased off your underwear, the final article of clothing on your body joining the rest. You were almost glad to be rid of them; they were cold and uncomfortable, and damp, for some reason. But it didn’t seem to put off The Ghoul. In fact, it seemed to please him immensely, an almost proud grin on his lips.  

You quickly grew embarrassed under his ravenous gaze, his eyes trailing over every inch of your body. You tried to close your legs, or at least tuck them to your chest to try and cover you, but he was having none of it. Two hands, one gloved and one not, wrapped around your ankles, pulling them back down and out. “None of that. Lemme see ya.”

Swallowing, you relaxed, at least as well as you could. It became easier when you saw how much he was loving your body. His eyes jumped around, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you. “Like I said. Fuckin’. Perfect.” You weren’t expecting the sheer honesty in his voice. 

The hands on your ankles began to slowly trail up, making goosebumps appear on your skin. It was like your skin was a million times more sensitive when someone else was touching you. You got lost in his touch, your eyes fluttering close, simply enjoying the feel of another person. 

They shot open when his touch suddenly left, and you gaped at him, confused. You watched him adjust so that he was now sitting normally on the couch, resting against the back of it. 

You understood, though, when he patted his legs, wanting you on his lap. With shaky movements, you complied, but were once again confused when he stopped you, hand resting on your shoulder. Wordlessly, he turned you so that your back was to him, and you let out a startled noise when he roughly pulled you onto his lap, his still clothed chest pressing into your bare shoulders. 

Moving the hair from your neck, you felt his lips return their ministration on your neck, and your head rolled back, giving him more access. Both hands were on your body, ungloved one returning to your breasts, the other skating down the side of your body. You gasped when it began to inch towards your center, and you felt him chuckle. “So sensitive,” he commented almost absentmindedly.

You felt him grip your thigh, spreading your legs even farther so that they went around his own, now using his knees to keep your legs open. It left you completely exposed and at his mercy, but you felt comfortable, safe even. Relaxing fully against his chest, your head now rests on his shoulder, and if you strained enough you were able to look at him. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more.

He reached his hands around your body, and began to pull the glove off his other hand. You stopped him with a gentle grasp of his wrist, tugging his hand to your mouth. Just like he did, you took the material between your teeth, and he was able to free his hand with a tug. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Think ya can do one for thing for me?”

“Anything,” you responded, and you felt two of his fingers, the middle and ring, trace your bottom lip. 

“Anythin’?” You nodded, not caring what that might imply. “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind. But first,” those fingers tugged at your lip, “get those nice and wet for me.”

Even though you weren’t quite sure what you were doing, you parted your lips anyway, taking the digits into your wet mouth. Slowly, you began to bob your head up and down, running your tongue along the textured skin, barely tasting the saltiness of it. Whatever you were doing seemed to please him, because you felt his chest rumble with a groan. 

Before you could build a rhythm, he pulled them out with a pop, and they glistened in the low light. He didn’t give you much time to observe them, though, because before you could process he was running them through your folds. The sudden touch in your most sensitive area made you try and shut your legs, but his knees made it impossible.

His chest rumbled with a light laugh, and you were confused as to what could possibly be amusing him. “Guess that wasn’t necessary; you’re already so damn wet for me.” You detected another hint of pride, this time in his voice. 

Another swipe had you moaning, but then you felt his fingers locate something between your legs that made you cry out, your legs jerking involuntarily. “There we go,” he rumbled, and he focused his attention on that area, fingers pressing firm and slow circles into it. You weren’t quite sure what he was doing, but it felt incredible, the tension that had slowly begun to rescind returning. 

You tried to tell him, but it came out as a garbled moan instead. “Feel good?” It was another rhetorical question, and you yet again nodded, and you watched his lips quirk up. 

“Ghoul…” you moaned out, one of your hands reaching behind to hold the back of his head, needing something to hold onto as he continued to pleasure you. 

For the first time since you’d met him, something like self-consciousness flicked across his face, gone as soon as it came. “That ain’t my name, sweetheart. C’mon, lemme hear ya say it,” he almost sounded desperate as he talked. 

It took a moment for your lust-addled brain to remember what he had told you earlier in the night. “Cooper…” you sighed out, and he bit back his own moan, and you felt his hips jump the tiniest bit. 

“And I thought I liked hearing ya say my name, but fuck, I like hearin’ ya moan it a hundred times more.” You realized that when you had seen something shift in his eyes when you first said his name was disdain, it was actually the opposite. That realization had you smiling, and you managed to pull him down into a messy kiss, the angle too weird to allow a proper meeting of your lips. 

But it wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, another few moments of his fingers making you cry out again, that tension beginning to become unbearable, like it was just on the precipice of snapping. “Cooper.” It came out as a moan, but with a hint of confusion and worry behind it, unsure of what was happening with your body.

“You close?” 

“Close?” You had enough focus left to be confused, and even though his fingers didn’t yield, you felt the rest of him go still. 

“You’ve never… oh, fuck,” his voice turned husky, almost like a growl, “am I gonna make you come for the first time?” He sounded elated. It just created more questions, but another swirl of his fingers made all thoughts go out the window.

You fidgeted and squirmed, trying to escape the onslaught of things you were feeling. “Relax. I promise ya, this’ll feel good.” And because you trusted him, foolishly or not, you did relax, no longer fighting against him. It felt like you were a dam that was about to burst, and you barely registered that your nails were digging back into his scalp until you heard one of those delicious moans escape his lips.

That sound triggered something in you, and all at once that tension snapped, exploding like something that was pulled too tight. Pleasure ignited your body, making it feel as light as a feather. Every nerve in your body was humming, and you swore you blacked out for a moment. 

His voice, gruff yet a bit concerned, brought you back to your body. “Breathe,” you heard him say, and you realized the dizziness you were feeling wasn’t just because of the mind-shattering pleasure you’d just felt, but you indeed had stopped breathing. Inhaling shakily, you felt some of that dizziness leaving now that oxygen had returned to your lungs. 

An uncomfortable jolt had you glancing down between your legs, where he continued to pull every last bit of pleasure from your body. “S’too much,” you managed to slur out, your voice quite hoarse. He halted, thankfully, resting his hand on your thigh, still close enough to your center that you could feel the heat from his hands. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” He sounded mildly amused, and if your muscles weren’t currently jelly you would’ve hit him. 

“I… what did…” you said between gasping breaths, trying to get your heart rate back down. 

“You just came. Rather loudly, at that,” he teased, and your incredibly hoarse voice made sense now. You were suddenly very glad that you were in the middle of nowhere. 

Turning so that you were able to face him better, you felt the material of his pants rub against your bare legs, which wouldn’t have been too weird if it weren’t for the fact they were wet, borderline soaked. The hand that had just been resting on your thigh was brought into view, just as soaked as his pants, and you watched as he examined his hand, almost transfixed. “And messily,” he added, and you felt your cheeks burn even more than they already were. 

You opened your mouth, ready to apologize, but nothing but an airy noise left you as you watched his tongue run from up from his wrist to his fingers. A pleased hum left him, his eyes never once leaving your own as he continued to clean his hand, like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, even better than the desert you had shared. There was a stir in your gut at the action, what you now assumed to be arousal coming to life as you continued to watch him. 

When he caught you staring, his lips twisted into one of those smirks that made your stomach flip. Turning fully in his lap so you were now straddling him, you tugged his wrist far enough away so that you could kiss him. You groaned when his tongue swept between your parted lips, his slightly damp hand holding the side of your face gently. 

With shaky fingers, you began to try and unbutton his shirt. You didn’t get far before he was suddenly standing, and even though he had an arm tucked beneath your thighs, you still clung on to him, legs and arms wrapping around him tightly. Not once did he remove his lips, even when he bumped into a few things on the way to the bed. It was like all that mattered was you and the way you felt. 

The bed, which was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, squeaked obnoxiously when he lowered you onto it, but neither of you paid attention to it. And it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone else hearing. Like on the couch, he hovered over your body, arms braced on either side of you. His lips were back on your neck, giving you a few moments to take heaving breaths of air. 

For once during the entire night, you knew what was about to happen next, but even though you could feel anxiety threaten to grip your mind, you managed to shove it off. It was easier when you focused your attention on the man in your arms. His continued attention was nice, but you wanted, needed more. “Cooper, please…” you trailed off, hoping he got what you were asking for.

And you know he did, because you felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of your neck, and he lifted his head up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so care-free, and the sight had your heart swelling, a small gasp leaving you as well. He looked good like this, and a part of you craved to see it for days to come. 

“What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear what ya said.” For a moment, you retracted your previous stance, embarrassment making your ears burn. You either wanted to kiss or slap that shit-eating smirk off his face when he noticed how bashful you’d grown. “I’ll give ya whatever you want. All ya gotta do is ask.”

Your pride and embarrassment were at war with your desire, but a winner was quickly decided. “Please, I need you, Cooper.”

Apparently that wasn’t good enough, because he didn’t move. “You need me to…?” You groaned in frustration, and you tried to get him to just forget it with a roll of your hips, trying to make him break. It seemed to almost work, but you felt him press down firmly on your hips, pinning you to the bed. “That ain’t gonna help ya. Use your words.”

You sighed, finally relenting. “Fuck me, please,” you whispered out, and it finally seemed to do the trick.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Go ‘head and roll over for me.”

As much as you wanted to be able to see him clearly, excitement had you turning over anyway, now on your hands and knees. The position was revealing and it almost felt degrading, but yet again you felt at ease, anticipation making your heart beat fast. Turning your head, you were able to see him a bit, and a moan slipped from your lips when you heard the sound of his belt being undone, the sound of a zipper following suit. This was really happening. 

One of his hands gripped your hips, and you felt his still clothed legs pressed up against the back of your own. His cock, warm and solid, pressed into your entrance, a low groan pulled from your lips when he breached it. It was only the tiniest bit painful, not as bad as you initially believed it would be, like a muscle being stretched, which was earlier overshadowed by the pleasure it brought. He let out a groan of his own, the fingers on your hips digging in harshly. 

Inch by inch, you felt him press himself fully into you, both of you letting out similar sighs when he was fully sheathed. Cold metal bit into your skin when his hips were flush with yours, the buckle of his belt no doubt going to leave imprints on your skin. He stilled once he was fully in you, giving you a chance to get adjusted to him, which you were grateful for. You could tell that it was taking every ounce of restraint in his body to just sit there, though, and it only took a few moments until you felt like you were ready for him to move. 

All it took was you wiggling your hips for him to get the message, something like a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Slowly, he pulled out of you, fingers never once letting go of their grip. The sensation made you moan, and you could feel him everywhere, hitting all the right spots as he pulled out.

You grasped at the barely-together bedsheets, probably creating new holes in the fabric. It was less uncomfortable when he pushed back a second time, and you felt your head go limp between your arms, his name falling from your lips. He started creating a rhythm, hips beginning to pick up the pace. His hips snapped into yours, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed.

You could do nothing but take it, pleasure making you lose control of your body. Your cries were becoming increasingly louder, that familiar tension returning, and you tried to bury your face in the mattress. 

That was until you felt him grab a fistfull of your hair, yanking your head back up. It hurt, but it felt wonderful, and you felt yourself tense, a wanton moan louder than anything previous escaping you. “Fuck, ya like it rough?” His pace quickened, his cock spearing you relentlessly. It filled something in you that you didn’t quite know you needed, a craving satiated that you didn’t know you had. But now that you had it, you needed more of it. 

You nodded, at least as best you could, the grip in your hair keeping your head still. It took you too long to realize that he was using the leverage from his grip in your hair to pound into you. “D’ya know how fuckin’ incredible ya feel?” He panted. “This cunt was made for me. For me to ruin.” 

“Cooper,” you cried out, and he groaned in appreciation. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Who’s fuckin’ ya this good? Who’s ruinin’ ya for any other?”

You certainly weren’t expecting him to be this vocal, but you were far from complaining. His voice, which normally electrified you, was driving you insane, the tension building up tenfold. You tried to say his name again, but it came out incoherent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed before laughing lightly. 

You were so close to your release again, and you could feel moisture run down your thighs, but you had little mind to be embarrassed now. “Cooper,” you were able to sigh out. “I’m… I’m close.”

His grip turned vice like, and you’re sure your neck would be hurting later because of the angle, but you didn’t care. “Let go. C’mon, lemme feel ya cum on my cock.” His words left no room for debate, so who were you to go against his orders? After a few more thrusts, you felt that tension snap again, pleasure once again washing over your body, making your arms turn to jelly. Panting, you collapsed on your arms, face squished against the mattress, the sound of slick skin on skin the only thing you could make out.

You didn’t stay down for long. Both hands wrapped around your front, pulling you flush against his body. He continued to thrust into you, and you felt another release begin to build, but it was too much. You made a sound of protest, something like you couldn’t come again, but he shushed you with kisses on your cheeks, which were damp with tears and sweat. “Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it.”

Nodding shakily, you felt his continue to fuck you, one arm wrapping around your stomach, the other holding right above your breasts. A startled noise left you when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, survival instinct kicking in immediately. With wide eyes, you twisted out of his grasp on your throat, panic evident on your face. 

He had let go as soon as he heard any sound of protest, but he still lingered close by. “You trust me?” He asked, somehow still able to form a coherent sentence. 

Your answer came immediately; you trusted him with your life. Why else would you travel the Wasteland with him? You nodded, a soft yes leaving you as you did. He pressed another grateful kiss to your cheek, a wordless thank you, and you felt his hand return to where it was. You still tensed when you felt his grip return, unable to turn off the instinct to be free of someone choking you, but you provided no further protest. 

Fingers squeezed against the sides of your neck, and like with your hair he used the leverage to snap his hips up into you. Even though it was harder, you were still able to breathe, your gasps and noises labored. Yet you still found yourself growing dizzy, the restricted blood flow making you so, which just heightened the pleasure you felt. 

Your third and final release of the night barreled into you, completely catching you both off guard. Your mind was so fuzzy; you couldn’t even get his name out. You were quickly snapped out of that haze when you heard him moan your name. Not sweetheart, not Vaultie, not any other nickname. Your name. 

He eased you to the bed, hand leaving your neck, and you let out a small whine when you felt him pull out of you. You felt empty, lacking, and even though you knew it would upset your overstimulated body you wanted him back in you. 

You had just rolled onto your back when you felt something hot splatter against your skin. You watched slack-jawed as he stroked himself to completion, his release painting your skin. The sight caused the flames of arousal to reignite, but you tried your best to snuff them out; you needed a moment. 

He sagged forward when he was done, arms once again bracing him from completely falling on top of you. Silence now filled the air, which was significantly warmer than it was a bit ago. It was you who moved first, grasping the side of his scarred face and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. It was short, but probably the most passionate of the night. 

When it broke, he sat up, getting up and off the bed and towards his belongings. You let out a noise of protest, and he just shot you a teasing look. “I’ll be back in a sec. We gotta get ya cleaned up,” he gestured to the remnants of him on your skin, and you watched as he fished out a canteen, before searching the area for something else. 

You decided to glance over your body as you waited for him to return. Your skin glistened with sweat, and you could see various marks littering your body; you didn’t want to know what your neck looked like, where he focused a lot of his attention.

The feeling of the bed shifting snapped you out of your examination, and you regarded the man who sat beside you with a soft look, and you were surprised when he returned it. It quickly turned into a scowl when you felt a damp cloth brush against your stomach and breasts, the cool water making you hiss. 

When he was done cleaning your skin, he handed you the canteen, and you took a few sips. You’d long since gotten used to the acrid taste of the Wasteland’s water, so it didn’t bother you, and you watched him finally kick off his boot. He was still fully dressed besides that, shirt sticking to his body.He set it beside the bed once you finished, before eying the bed that you were currently laying on.

“What?” You cringed at how raspy your voice sounded.

“Just dunno how I’m gonna fit.” In the back of your mind, you worried that he was going to push you away after all was said and done, so you were quite relieved to find the opposite happening. 

With a grin, you scooted back until your head rested against the thin pillow, before opening your arms to him. Shock crossed his features for a split second, before a grin of his own grew on his lips. He was still hesitant when he entered your embrace, but he relaxed almost immediately, especially when your hands ran soothingly up and down his back. When you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, he practically shuddered, his face nuzzling into your skin. You wondered how long it had been since someone showed him affection like this. 

You held him for a good while, your body calming down, and you thought over the events that had just transpired. Weirdly enough, you thought less about the things he had done and more of the words he said, especially right at the beginning. “Cooper?” You called out hesitantly, almost immediately regretting it. “Do… Can I call you that?”

He had raised his head when he heard his name being called, and you watched him debate it for a second. “Only in private. I’ve gotta reputation to uphold.” His response was gruff, but there was something warm in his eyes. 

It made you giddy, that he trusted you enough to call him by his true name, and you hoped you weren’t smiling like a fool. “Alright, Cooper. What did you mean when you said ‘finally’?”

He chuckled lightly, propping up a big so he could respond properly. “What, ya thought this was a spur of the moment decision?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

You gaped at him, stunned. “You… you have?”

“How could I not? I mean, look at’cha,” his eyes trailed appreciatively over your still naked body. “But you’ve got a fire ‘bout ya. You ain’t afraid of this world, even though you damn well should be. You ain’t afraid of me, even though I’ve given ya plenty of reason to be. You’re a fighter, and I… I admire that ‘bout you. I-” He caught himself, like he said something he wasn't supposed to. “I’m too sober to be discussin’ my thoughts with ya. All ya gotta know is yes, I have.”

You were once again left stunned, so you let your action speak for you, pressing another kiss to his head, trying to ignore the way your heart soared. You felt him shift upwards, and he kissed your proper. It was another short yet passionate kiss, and when he broke away he rested his head against yours. 

“You wanna know somethin’, sweetheart?” His voice had dropped lower, and that familiar dark look was back in his eyes. So much for snuffing out the arousal you felt. He smirked when you nodded vehemently. “You wanna know the real reason why I always take first watch when we go to bed?” You felt his grasp one of your hands, loosely enough that you could pull it away if you wanted to, and he brought it between your bodies. You gasped when you felt the hard tent in his pants, having tucked himself away when he got up, but you knew it wasn’t going to stay like that for long. 

“It’s ‘cause you do this to me. You should hear me out there, moanin’ your name like I do, imaginin’ your hand wrapped ‘round my cock instead of mine.”

Your tiredness was completely forgotten, the pleasant ache in your muscles nothing more than a gentle distraction. “Can you show me?”

“Fuckin’ gladly, sweeheart.”

[isalisewrites]

A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part One

Welcome to my new series, where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say 'poor writer,' I'm talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the plots of the books.

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Disclaimer for all readers: I'm going to sound very confident in my posts. I'm going to be working under the assumption that I'm a better writer than JKR. Because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You're just witnessing two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn't just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.

After years of being beaten down by others, I will no longer tolerate that.

I will be using my writing to compare with hers to make some of my points. Some of what I say in these posts could be considered stylistic choices. However, in my humble opinion, most of this is a difference of skill, which can be learned. Yes, everything I'm going to teach and cover in this series can be learned. There's no 'talent' here. You can learn how to become a better writer right here and now. You only have to understand the craft of writing and sentence structure to better improve your prose and scenes.

I don't have fame and money.

I don't need them to teach you how to write better than JKR.

You're free to disagree with my stances about this and about everything I cover, of course. But if you're a writer, you might gain some insight from this post and I sincerely hope you are enriched by my efforts in this. I spent quite a few hours on this post. Helping others become a better writer than JKR is one of the greatest contributions I can give to society.

Thus, take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

I have stated before: JKR's writing is bloated in the wrong places, underwritten in others, and the prose is poor. These problems show up in all of her HP books.

Buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Let's begin.

Class is in session.

In this post, we're going to dissect a page from HP4.

There's so much wrong with this page and the three pages of this scene overall. So much to go over. Bullet points I'll cover from this page:

Disconnected Dialogue Lines

The Great Sin of Adverbs

Too much fucking dialogue!

Wrong focus altogether in this scene

Out of POV writing

First point. This is a huge ongoing issue I see in all of the HP books. There are a lot of disconnected dialogue lines, which become confusing over time. This could be an issue of the publisher, but it's still a problem. In the middle of this page, we have:

Sirius hesitated. "I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly.

Wait, wait, wait. Who said this? Listen, I know. I know it's Sirius. However, this is an improper placement on the page and can become confusing because Harry also goes by he/him pronouns and he's also in this scene. While the dialogue here suggests Sirius is talking, it could easily be misinterpreted if there were other characters or if he said something that Harry could've just as easily said.

To make this dialogue more clear for the reader, it should go as follows:

Sirius hesitated. "I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly.

Second point. JKR is an adverb sinner, a criminal. Jail. "Do not pass go; do not collect $200." Arrest her for these blatant crimes, please, for the love of god.

Look, I love adverbs. They're great. Don't fucking listen to anyone who outright demonizes them (including your huffy, uppity literature professors). Adverbs are the seasonings of writing. You season your food; you also need to season your writing when the case asks for it.

However...

Adverbs should always be used sparingly when connected to dialogue tags. The setting in this scene is: Harry is in the Gryffindor Common Room at night crouched in front of the fireplace where Sirius is in the fire in a floo call. I read through the whole scene, though I've only shown one page here.

Harry says a line of dialogue 'slowly' three times and Sirius says a line of dialogue 'slowly' two times.

The same adverb 'slowly' is used FIVE FUCKING TIMES IN THREE PAGES.

I want to scream, not gonna lie here. Set this adverb on fire!

What does this adverb do for us in this conversation? What is so important that we have to be told that five lines of dialogue were said slowly? What do they contribute? Spoiler alert: nothing. What are their facial expressions? Harry is 14. He's exhausted since it's well after 1am or so and he's burdened with the new knowledge of dragons for the first task. He's kneeling in front of a very hot fireplace. There's fire fumes and smoke, potentially. Is he fidgeting? Is he yawning? Rubbing his eyes? Bouncing a leg? Is he picking at the carpet or rug?

Harry is a tired, burdened child.

Show me this!

Now I'm not saying that you can't use adverbs in your dialogue tags. There's a huge difference between "he said softly" and "he whispered." It's about balancing the moment when an adverb says just enough versus an adverb replacing well needed scene enrichment. Let's compare this with a section from my HP time travel fanfiction, Terrible, But Great, Chapter Thirty.

Dumbledore nodded at Monty, pocketing his wand. “Mr. Potter.” “Lo, Professor,” said Monty, pout gone, but still a watchful light in his gaze. “Is there a problem?” asked Dumbledore in a mild tone. Ice slipped in between Tom’s ribs, piercing his flesh. Monty tilted his head. “No, sir.” Oh, but Tom knew better. He could see through that innocent facade. The man could’ve been a Slytherin for how much he was cataloguing every little detail, from Tom’s appearance, to the content of the selected books, and to the supplies of ink, quill, and parchment scattered on the surface of the table. Tom masked the raw, whirling feelings in his chest with a well practiced blank, emotionless expression. He willed himself to hide.  “Nothing at all, sir,” said Tom lightly. “Young Mr. Potter was regaling me about his friendship with Miss Malfoy.” Monty glanced at Tom, brows furrowing. Those blue eyes were piercing, filled with suspicion. “Was he now?” Dumbledore said; though his tone was still without direct accusation, Tom could hear the hint of it. “Then, may I ask, why a silencing charm was necessary for such a benign conversation?” Tom wet his lips. His throat was dry. “I thought it wise to avoid disturbing others in the library.” “I am awfully loud,” said Monty with a sage nod. “Ah. A noble intent. However, it is not an appropriate use of magic in the library,” said Dumbledore, his gaze firm as it bore down on Tom. “Ten points from Slytherin. I think it’d be wise to take your studies to your common room, Mr. Riddle.” “Yes, sir,” whispered Tom.

I only used "said Tom lightly" once in this section to show Tom attempting to be unaffected by Dumbledore's interference. I did not dialogue dump information in giant chunks. I did utilized actions tags versus adverbs, like Monty tilting his head or Tom licking his lips. I suspect that if JKR had written this scene, she'd have used lines like:

"No, sir," said Monty curiously.

or

"I thought it wise to avoid disturbing others in the library," said Tom nervously.

The adverbs that JKR's uses add nothing to her scenes. They're just thrown into them without a thought. Did she even reread this scene after she wrote it? I cringe in agony if I use an uncommon word more than three or four times in an entire 4,000 to 7,000 word chapter, let alone the same adverb five times in three pages. Good grief.

There are two other adverbs used in this page, hastily and bitterly. Hastily does nothing for the scene and is connected to another issue, but I'll go over that in the end. However, bitterly is one of the adverbs I'd keep. It gives us a glimpse into Harry's feelings here. We need more of this, but we got nothing.

Thus, the overuse of adverbs in JKR's dialogue detracts and steals so much from the scene.

Third point: there's too much dialogue and no description whatsoever. Again, the adverbs are a pathetic attempt to give us something, but they're thrown in there without a damn forethought. We're missing the crackle of the fire and the smell of it. We're missing Sirius' facial expressions. We're missing Harry moving around on the floor, fidgeting, yawning, rubbing his eyes, feeling the heat of the fire, bouncing his legs, picking at the rug, something, anything, etc.

The dialogue is bloated with a terribly boring conversation. It's just endless dialogue with nothing else. No, it's awful. Welcome to the fourth bullet point. This scene focuses on the entirely wrong point. This scene is 100% a plot device and it's terribly done as well. It's three pages about Karkaroff being a Death Eater--oh no he might be trying to kill you, Harry, aaaaaa--and something about Bertha Jorkins being near Voldemort's last location. Meh. Who cares. Somebody has been trying to kill Harry in every book thus far. This isn't a new development, sweetie.

We been done know this, okay? Come on.

This is a stilted, unnatural conversation between Harry and Sirius. It's not realistic. It's not normal. Telling Harry about the Karkaroff's past is boring and does nothing for him. One line, maybe two, for Sirius to say, "Hey, keep an eye out for Karkaroff. He's an old Death Eater." Done. End of Karkaroff information. And cut Bertha Jorkins out altogether. I'm sorry, but why the hell are we talking about a dead woman to a 14 year old kid whose biggest problem at the moment is dealing with a jealous friend, school ostracization, and a giant fire breathing lizard???

These points are important to the plot, but they're not important to Harry.

The plot isn't important. No, it's not.

Harry is the POV character.

Harry is the single most important aspect in every scene and should be treated as such.

The plot should weave around Harry, slowly revealing itself to both Harry and the reader. Harry should not be the weaver of the plot. He should not be used in plot devices.

Do you know what part of the conversation was summarized in the prose between Harry and Sirius in a single paragraph versus the three pages about Karkaroff?

Harry talking about how no one believes him about not putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. About the school hating him. About Ron, about his betrayal and his jealousy. About Rita Skeeter. About seeing the dragons as the first task. These are all important to Harry. These all are causing pain to Harry's heart right now. Somebody give this child a hug, please.

We missed out on exploring Harry's feelings here. The author skips the MOST important part of the conversation, what could've been a deeply emotional, either positive or negative, conversation between Harry and Sirius.

Oh, this scene could've been so good. It could've been amazing. There are so many paths that could've been explored here, too.

We could've had a callous Sirius, who doesn't notice Harry's state of being, and just goes on and on about nothing of importance where Harry clams up. Or we've could've had a comforting Sirius, who attempts to give Harry some actual advice about his friendship with Ron. We could've seen Harry opening up in his body language, connecting with this parental figure in his life. We could've heard a story of Sirius' time as a kid at school with Harry's father and the marauders.

We were robbed of an important moment between Harry and Sirius.

Instead, the author puts the focus on the red herring 'foreshadowing' of Karkaroff. What a waste. She's trying to put suspicion on him, rather than Moody/Barty Crouch Jr., the real Death Eater in disguise. Again, who cares. It's not about them. It's about Harry and how his experiences are affecting him. It's about how he reacts to them.

This scene is a waste of time and paper. It's empty of emotion and movement/flow. It's just there for a set up and it's glaringly obvious during a second read of the book.

When I say, "The writing is bloated and underwritten at the same time." this is what I mean. We're focusing on the wrong things here.

Fifth point. JKR breaks the POV character with the following line:

"--and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but...

Harry is the POV character. Sirius 'seeing Harry about to speak' should NOT be occurring in the prose whatsoever. To fix this with the bare minimum of effort for this poorly written dialogue line:

"--and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts--" Harry opened his mouth to interject, but Sirius said hastily, "Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm, but..."

I wouldn't write these lines like this, by the way. I just don't want to rewrite this. It's a poor paragraph overall, but this is an example of returning the POV back to Harry. Sirius isn't 'seeing' anything anymore. Harry is doing an action and Sirius reacts to his action.

Breaking POV is a rule that can be occasionally broken, but should be done so with intent and purpose. I'm pretty confident when I say that JKR probably had no idea that this was a mistake on her part in the prose.

All right then.

We have come to an end of Part One in this series. We have dissected a single page and a single scene in JKR's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The page in question is 333 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.

More to follow because I have lots of pages to go over. This will definitely be series, ah dear.

And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.

Until next time.

Isa

[headspace-hotel]

Just spent a couple hours digging into this book. I'm not even sure what has worse environmental impacts, the paper the book is made of or the opinions printed within.

Is "post-colonial" literary theory a joke? It's distressing that a book printed in 2021 by a reputable academic press can be so painfully Eurocentric, and I mean PAINFULLY. The philosophical and literary frameworks drawn upon in most chapters are like what some British guy in 1802 would come up with. In most of the chapters, every framework, terminology, and example is inseparably fused to Latin, Greek, and/or Christian philosophers, myths and texts, even down to the specific turns of phrase. You would think only Europeans had history or ideas until the 20th century.

Don't get me wrong, non-european and even specifically anti-colonial sources are used, and I don't think all the writers are white people, but...that's what's so weird and off-putting about it, most of the book as a whole utterly fails to absorb anything from non-European and in particular anti-colonial points of view. The chapters will quote those points of view but not incorporate them or really give their ideas the time of day, just go right back to acting like Plato and Aristotle and Romantic poets are the gold standard for defining what it means to be human.

In brief, the book is trying to examine how literature can shed light on the climate crisis, which is funny because it completely fails to demonstrate that literature is good or helpful for the climate crisis. Like that is for sure one major issue with it, it shows that people *have* written stuff about climate change, but it sure doesn't convince you that this stuff is good.

Most of the works quoted are rather doomerist, and a lot of the narrative works specifically are apocalypse tales where most of Earth's population dies. The most coherent function the authors can propose that literature fulfills is to essentially help people understand how bad things are. One of the essays even argues that poetry and other creative work that simply appreciates nature is basically outdated, because:

“One could no longer imagine wandering lonely as a cloud, because clouds now jostle in our imaginations with an awareness of atmospheric concentrations of carbon dioxide and other atmospheric pollutants” (Mandy Bloomfield, pg. 72)

Skill issue, Mandy.

The menace of doomerism in fiction and poetry is addressed, by Byron Caminero-Santangelo, on page 127 when he references,

the literary non-fiction of a growing number of authors who explicitly assert, some might even say embrace, the equation between fatalistic apocalyptic narrative and enlightenment…they are authoritative in their rejection of any hope and in their representation of mitigatory action as the cliched moving of deckchairs on a sinking ship

He quotes an essay “Elegy for a country’s seasons” by Zadie Smith, who says: “The fatalists have the luxury of focusing on an eschatological apocalyptic narrative and on the nostalgia of elegy, as well as of escape from uncertainty and responsibility to act." Which is spot-on and accurate, but these observations aren't recognized as a menace to positive action, nor is the parallel to Christian thought that eagerly looks forward to Earth's destruction as a cathartic release from its pain made fully explicit and analyzed. Most of the creative works referenced and quoted in the book ARE this exact type of fatalistic, elegiac performance of mourning.

I basically quit reading after Chapter 11, "Animals," by Eileen Crist, which begins:

The humanization of the world began unfolding when agricultural humans separated themselves from wild nature, and started to tame landscapes, subjugate and domesticate animals and plants, treat wild animals as enemies of flocks and fields, engineer freshwater ecologies, and open their psyches to the meme of the ‘the human’ as world conquerer, ruler and owner.

This is what I'm talking about when I say it's dripping Eurocentrism; these ideas are NOT universal, and it's adding nothing to the world to write them because they fall perfectly in line with what the European colonizing culture already believes, complete with the lingering ghost of a reference to the Fall of Man and banishment from the Garden of Eden. It keeps going:

“Over time, the new human elaborated a view of the animal that ruptured from the totemic, shamanic and relational past.”

Okay so now she's introducing the idea of progression from shamanic nature-worshipping religions of our primitive past...hmm I'm sure this isn't going anywhere bad

“While humanity has largely rejected the colonizing project with respect to fellow humans, the occupation of non-human nature constitutes civilization’s last bastion of ‘normal’ colonialism. A new humanity is bound sooner or later to recognize and overthrow a colonialism of ‘nature,’ embracing a universal norm of interspecies justice.” (pg. 206) 

OKAY????

Not only denying that colonialism still exists, but also saying that humans' relationship with nature constitutes colonialism??

Embracing limitations means scaling down the human presence on demographic and economic fronts…(pg.207)

ope, there's the "we have to reduce the human population"

Embracing limitations further mandates pulling back from vast expanses of the natural world, thus letting the lavishness of wild (free) nature rule Earth again” (pg. 207) 

aaaaaaand there's the "we have to remove humans from wild nature so it can be freeeeeee"

don't get me wrong like I am a random white person with no particular expertise in anti-colonialist thought but I think this is an easy one. I'm pretty sure if your view of nature is that colonialism involving subjugating humans doesn't exist any more and actually humans existing in and altering nature is the real colonialism so we should remove humans from vast tracts of earth, your opinion is just bad.

Anyways y'all know I have an axe to grind against doomerism so it was probably obvious where this was going but good grief.

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Could you do Jenson Button with wife reader? He was interviewing for Sky Sports with Danica Patrick. He was fed up with her and he always made that face whenever he was around her which was amusing to his wife. She was having a field day when one day she was at his interview. Just something fluff and cute. You decide how it goes. Tag me later!! Thanks!! :)) ( @pear-1206 )

Word Count: 645 words

(author's note: i hope you enjoy love !! i enjoyed writing this quite alot 🫶 )

If there was one thing Jenson hated about working with Sky Sports, it was Danica Patrick. He couldn't stand to listen to her outlandish and disrespectful takes on races and drivers, especially her opinions about Logan Sargeant.

During his time in the Williams garage, Jenson became very close to Logan, and the pair developed a father-and-son relationship over the years. This only furthered when Jenson’s wife, Y/N, met Logan. She absolutely adored him and quickly became his biggest supporter alongside her husband.

So, when Y/N was invited to participate in a post-race discussion with Jenson, Danica and some other regular Sky Sports figures, she jumped at the opportunity. Jenson however, was not as keen as his dear wife.

The group stood in the paddock, each one of them holding a microphone. Y/N was smiling from ear to ear, so excited for the opportunity. Her husband watched her intently, realising that he took his job for granted far too often. However, once the interview began it wasn’t long before Jenson remembered why he disliked Danica so much.

“I just don’t think that Sargeant has the skill required to drive at this level. He can’t keep up with the car or the fast pace of the races which is reflected in his poor results. In my opinion, Williams should start looking for a new driver.” Danica said critically.

Some of the other interviewers nodded, but before she could begin talking again, Jenson cut in, “I disagree fully. Logan is a talented driver and we’ve seen just how well he can perform under pressure. I simply believe that this is just a slight rough patch in his career and that it won’t be long until he’s back on track and in the points.”

“I agree with Jenson,” Y/N stated while smiling at her husband, “I’ve spent a lot of time speaking with Logan and he puts far too much pressure on himself. He isn’t happy with how he’s driving at the moment but I don’t think the amount of criticism he receives isn't fair at all.”

Admiration and pride shone in Jenson’s eyes as he listened to his wife talk. He knew Logan would feel the same way too, but more appreciative that she had defended him.

Danica pretty much accepted their statements and moved on to discussing the race and giving even more unwarranted criticisms. Towards the end of the interview, Jenson was finding it harder and harder to suppress his eye rolls and sighs at Danica’s words.

Y/N on the other hand, was finding her husband’s behaviour hysterical. She knew very well that Jenson did not like Danica but watching his reactions made her struggle not to laugh.

Eventually, the interview ended and Jenson and Y/N walked off towards the Williams garage.

“You’re hilarious you know that right?” Y/N said to Jenson as they strolled along hand in hand.

“What do you mean my darling?”

“The way you react to Danica is unbelievable. I could barely stop myself from laughing when you rolled your eyes at her.”

Jenson snorted with laughter, “Sometimes what she comes out with is so ridiculous that I can’t help myself. Especially when it’s about Logan. I nearly kissed you on the spot when you started defending him.”

“Jenson!” Y/N said slapping his arm “You would’ve gotten us into so much trouble! But I’ll always defend Logan, he’s so talented! I don’t see why anyone would question his ability to drive.”

“God I love you,” Jenson said looking down at his wife.

“I’d hope so Jense,” Y/N replied.

The pair continued their walk to the Williams garage, still laughing every so often at Jenson’s previous antics. Other people might see him as rude, but Y/N wouldn’t have her husband any other way.

[badwritinghabit]

Hello and Goodbye (part 1) | Chef Luca x fem!Reader

Next Chapter

Authors Note: I got a notification today telling me it is the one year anniversary since I started this blog (!!!) so I decided to celebrate by writing something I've had on my mind since I watched season 3 of The Bear. It was a fun writing exercise! It was done in one day so there has been even less editing than usual but I hope y'all still enjoy it. I'm tempted to make a part 2 that is the smut (and/or fluff) that would follow so let me know if you are interested in that!

Warnings: Some making out and references to past sexual encounters. Still not appropriate for minors. References to injuries from working in a restaurant.

Word count: 2,439

Summary: You attend the funeral for Ever and run into Luca. You shared a night together years ago, before he moved away and now that you are back in the same city you find yourselves drawn to each other again. (Coworkers to friends to more?)

You take a breath, calming yourself as you stand outside Ever the day of the funeral. Chef Andrea Terry is a dear friend and mentor. You are happy for her and this new chapter of her life. And you’re excited to see her again, to celebrate with her. It is the rest of the guests that make you nervous. One guest in particular. 

Luca.

You had worked with Luca only briefly, he was already on his way out when you started at Ever. You’d been eager and ready for the challenge when you started. And he’d been kind. It was only the second professional kitchen you’d worked in since culinary school. The first had been harder, the head chef an angry, bitter sort that took out his frustration on the kitchen staff, and as the prep cook you took a lot of the heat. 

At Ever, you started as a line chef under Luca as the sous chef. You learned a lot from Luca. More than that, he had become your friend.

You remember the nights he’d come sit with the rest of the cooks on their smoke breaks. Leg pressed against your own as you shared a makeshift seat– pallets from ingredients dropped off earlier in the day, overturned buckets, whatever you could find. Luca would seek you out during service too. He would offer advice but more than that, he’d walk by and tease you, say something to lighten the mood, pull you back to earth when you were getting overwhelmed. You were so focused on improving your skills, keeping your head down and getting your work done. Somehow Luca seemed to know when you were stuck in your head. His companionship helped you grow without completely burning out. The month you spent working together brought you close, fast. He learned all about your life, your interests, your family. And you learned all about him. 

You walk into the restaurant, wrapping the shawl around your shoulders a little tighter. As you walk through the front hall of Ever, your eyes land on the board of photos from the restaurant’s history. The one that draws your eyes first is one of you, Luca, and Andrea standing around the first dish you had created for the menu. Luca’s face was turned towards you while you beamed at the camera, proud of your accomplishment. A soft smile lights your face at the memory. 

“You came,” you hear Chef Andrea’s voice a second before you feel her arms around you. You lean into her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she does the same in response. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you respond with a smile. “I was just looking at the old pictures.”

“I remember this one,” she points to the same one you were looking at. “I loved that dish. The preparation of the cherries. I knew you’d go on to do big things.” Her kind smile makes you flush in embarrassment. And pride. You bump your shoulder into hers as you both look over the board. “Luca and you always did stick close together,” she says thoughtfully. She points to a few of the photos in particular. After a moment, “He arrived just a few minutes ago.” 

You hum in response, hoping to sound uninterested. Her knowing grin lets you know you failed. 

“Come on, join the party.” She pulls you into the dining room, squeezing your shoulders before she steps away. 

You look around the room, searching through the guests. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Luca, standing to the side and eagerly talking to another Chicago chef that you think you recognize. The other chef seems to be getting a little irritated at Luca’s questioning and you can’t help but smile. Luca had always been a bit of a nerd about cooking, always asking questions, wanting to learn more. You always found it charming but could see that this other chef didn’t agree.

Luca looks almost exactly the same as you remember him. Unbearably handsome. He’s dressed up today for the funeral and something about his all black outfit, his slicked back hair brings back memories of his last day at Ever. His going away party had led to a few too many drinks. You stayed the latest, helping clean up his living room, dancing to the music still pumping from his speakers. One second you were giggling at him about something he said and the next his lips were warm against yours, his hands gripping your hips. The next morning you woke tangled in his sheets and his arms. He was leaving the country, you knew it couldn’t last. And yet you’d buried your face in his chest and held him tighter anyways. 

You blink away the memory, embarrassed as you realize Luca is now meeting your gaze. You smile at him and look away before you can see his reaction, trying to find another friendly face in the crowd. 

You spot Sydney, a chef you’d gotten to know recently. You step towards her only to notice that she is sitting with Carmen, another chef you worked with at Ever. You smile at them both as you join them at the table. “Is this seat open?” you ask. Syd grins and stands to give you a hug. Carmen watches with an awkward shift of his feet as you pull away from Syd, clearly considering whether he should do the same. You put him out of his misery by pulling him into a quick hug as well. 

“It’s good seeing you both!” you say as you sit down. “I went to your restaurant the other day. It’s really extraordinary.”

Sydney waves off your compliments, and your conversation flows easily. The whole table of chefs sharing stories and joking.

You feel him before you see him. His hand grips the back of your chair as he slides into the seat next to you. He says your name and you turn to look at him. His hand slides from the back of the chair to your shoulder. You tense underneath him, his hand warm against the skin only partially covered by the strap of your dress. 

“Luca. Hey,” his name comes out too soft, your face already heating under his gaze. You smile at him before looking back at Sydney who is giving you a questioning look, raising her eyebrows. 

You scrunch your nose in reply as you grab the glass in front of you and take a big drink, steadying yourself. Luca greets the others at the table but quickly turns back to you as the conversation goes on. 

“I was hoping to see you here,” he says. Your eyes are on his hand, holding his champagne flute as he sets it back on the table. Now you’re thinking about his hands on you, the slow unzipping of your dress, fingers dexterously unclasping your bra. You clear your throat.

“I’m living in Chicago again, it wasn’t much of a trip for me. I’m a little surprised you made the trek,” you respond.

“I had heard that. That you were back here.” He pauses. “I had to say goodbye to Ever. There’s a lot of good memories here.” You feel a tingle down your back. It feels directed at you, his comment. But he has always had that power; to make it feel like you are the only other person in the room. 

“You’re right. A lot of good memories,” you reply with a smile.

He leans towards you a little closer. "You're beautiful," he says, voice low in your ear. Your cheeks warm. He pulls away a little and says, voice lighter as if to soften his statement, "I like your dress."

Before you can think of a response, Andrea stands up and gives a toast to the guests, her friends, and the restaurant. By the end, you feel tears in your eyes and blink them away, embarrassed. It is the end of an era, after all. It feels big. And final. You take in a breath as you feel Luca squeeze your hand gently in his own. You twine your fingers together and squeeze back. The moment has distracted you and the tears dry up. 

As the meal concludes, you follow Luca into the kitchen and hop up on your old station. Sitting on the stainless steel table feels nostalgic. He leans against the table by your side and pours more champagne in your glass. Going on three glasses of champagne has settled your nerves and you and Luca are laughing as you talk about the last few years. You ask about Copenhagen, about his time training with Marcus, the pastry chef at The Bear. He asks about your time in Chicago. 

You take a drink and set your glass down next to you. “Do you remember when I sliced my hand open at this station?” you ask, legs swinging slowly. You hold your palm out in front of you. “I think that was the worst cut I’ve ever given myself. I can still see the scar.”

“Of course I remember. It wouldn’t stop bleeding and you just kept wrapping it up in gauze and plasters instead of going to the emergency room.” He shakes his head and reaches over to hold your hand between his, thumb softly tracing the line of scarred tissue on your hand. He steps away from the bench so he can stand directly in front of you. You watch as he lifts your hand and presses a soft kiss in the middle of your palm. Your heart skips a beat as he looks up from your palm and into your eyes. 

“I missed you,” you admit, softly, his hands tightening around your own. 

“I missed you too.” His voice is heavy as he leans closer to you. He reaches out with one of his hands and brushes your hair away from your face, palm warm against your cheek. So gentle. Your eyes close as he leans closer. 

You hear Syd’s voice echo from the hall, “After party at my place! Just down the block.”

You open your eyes to see that Luca has pulled away a little. After a moment he asks, “Should we go to the afterparty?” You nod but don’t move to get up.

Syd walks in and you are still a little too close to not raise suspicion. “After party,” she says, pointing her thumb behind her. 

“We’ll follow you!” you respond, sliding down from the table, Luca holding your hand until you have time to steady yourself on your feet. 

Syd shoots you a smile before walking back the way she came. 

“We should get back to this later though,” you say, biting your lip as he grins back at you. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and leads you out, following your group of friends to Syd’s apartment. 

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

It’s a fun– if not strange, little party. Some friends of Syd’s bring a keg, you eat cheap frozen pizzas prepared by one of your favorite chefs in the whole world. You dance with Syd and Luca and Andrea, and at one point Richie, the boisterous front of house from The Bear. The night is a blur of laughter and music. 

After a song ends, you head to the kitchen to get some water, sliding past Andrea who is slathering jam over Eggo waffles fresh out of the toaster. Luca follows a second later and you both sneak out the side door onto the back stairwell behind the house. As you step into the chilled air, you shiver. You turn back to face Luca and find him only a step away. His hand grips hot against your hip, urging you to move closer. Without thinking, you reach up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, your cheek against his chest. The music follows you outside, and Luca sways gently with you in his arms. You press yourself closer. 

He’s humming along, the sound reverberating through his chest. You remind yourself that he lives in Copenhagen. That he is just here for Ever. But even if it is just for one night, you want to make the most of it.

You pull away slightly and he loosens his hold. Before he can get too far, you press yourself up on your toes and he responds immediately. His lips press against yours soft at first, and then firm. You open your mouth for him and everything changes. 

His hands grip you tight, pulling you against his chest. He swallows your quiet whine of surprise as the kiss turns passionate. Every part of you is on fire. It’s better even then you remember. His rich, smoky scent makes you a little dizzy. You’re caught up in him. You gasp for breath as he pulls away. But it only lasts a second and then he is lifting you onto the railing, pressing himself against you fully. You feel the hard muscles of his arms as they hold you to him. You’re at a similar height now but he is standing between your legs, your skirt hiked up to your thighs. Your hand lowers from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the soft fabric. You grip the cloth and pull him even closer, goosebumps raise on your arms as you feel him groan into your mouth. Then his hands are everywhere, sliding from your hip to your thigh. His hand is hot against the bare skin cool in the night air. His other hand is tangling in your hair, tilting your face so he can kiss you exactly as he wants. 

He pulls back again after there is a loud clanging inside. Someone shouts something but it is followed by laughter. You catch your breath as you look at him. Some of your lip gloss is still on his lips. You can’t help but smile, reaching up to rub the shimmer off for him. He smiles against your thumb. 

“I’m going to be in Chicago for a few months,” he says, watching for your reaction. 

“Months?” 

He nods and suddenly it all feels different. You thought this couldn’t be more than one night. But he was staying for months. You realize you should say something but words escape you. “That’s good,” you blurt out. 

He smirks but you can see his cheeks turning pink. “Good, huh?”

You nod and pull his shirt to get him to stand closer to you again. “Really good.” 

He leans down and presses another kiss to your lips. “Really good,” he agrees.

[jewish-vents]

i finally got up the energy to watch the john oliver segment on the west bank (i normally like his stuff/opinions but anything about i/p is such a fucking landmine for me these days) and by the end of it my fiancé who was sitting next to me was like “we can stop. we can turn it off if it’s making you this mad” but i was so rage-invested that i watched until the end.

i HATE that the entire segment is ostensibly about the current status quo in the west bank (judea and samaria for anybody with any historical fucking knowledge of the area) and never mentions the palestinian authority ONCE. he accuses israel of apartheid as if they are the only people with any control over what happens in the west bank and as if the pa is like. a fairytale that doesn’t actually exist and have real sovereign powers over their areas in the west bank. it’s so gross!! it made me feel so gross!! because without discussing the pas role in the current status quo (or even WHY the current status quo is the way that it is) you CANT have a real conversation about the west bank. it’s just so disingenuous. you can criticize what is happening there without presenting a one-sided narrative that only addresses israel’s role and places all the blame on them. he DID mention the 6 day war but FAILED to mention WHY it was fought/who it was actually fought with, making it seem like israel just attacked the poor palestinians and annexed their land for no reason!! not because they were attacked by multiple surrounding countries on the holiest day of our fucking year!! mentioning that or even acknowledging israelis as having any humanity apparently makes you one of (((them)))

there were a lot of moments that were good, and then so many that were thinly veiled condescension towards any jewish audience members—like he DID mention christian zionists and how gross they can be, and then essentially chastised jews for taking support from them?? which. ok buddy that’s not really an issue you’ve demonstrated yourself qualified to speak on. i know my synagogue works with a local christian zionist organization and it’s probably because who the fuck else is willing to help us!!! really!!! you point out that our only allies don’t actually want to help us (like we don’t fucking know that) without an OUNCE of reflection as to WHY jews might be working with people who openly state that they want us to be converted by j. chrizzy during the rapture. you don’t have to tell us why that’s bad we fucking know!! please call me up when you have any other organizations with money and political power in the us who are willing to do even the slightest fucking thing to assist jewish communities!! i’ll die waiting!!

it’s just. the lack of concern for presenting a nuanced depiction of what is happening in the west bank all while pretending to be presenting a nuanced and well-researched (lmao) depiction of the west back. yes they did some things right (citing israeli sources, finding israeli and palestinian people talking about it instead of secondary sources, no al j. in sight) and that actually makes me ANGRIER because it shows that they could have spent the proper time breaking this down! they clearly have the research skill for this over there! there is NO WAY, in all their time spent on b’tselem (source they actually cited which i was impressed by considering i didn’t know non jewish americans knew abt them) that they didn’t run across a single article about the pas role in the current status quo in the west bank. you can’t break down what areas a b and c are without also understanding the pas role in that. there’s just so much that’s not there that should be and it’s so infuriating because you know that it was a choice. they know about the pa. they know why the wall was built and why the checkpoints are in place. they just don’t fucking care. he cites the number of israelis killed in a period of years and then points out that ten times that number of palestinians were killed in the same timeframe. which is so gross!! let’s not compare piles of corpses to determine moral superiority thanks!! and presenting those numbers devoid of any context other than “many of them [palestinians] were killed by israeli security forces” only serves to minimize israeli suffering and concern for their safety while ALSO minimizing legitimate palestinian suffering by lumping in victims of anti-arab hate crimes with terrorists killed by the military. it’s gross and patronizing and for all the jokes he makes about shit he can’t talk about as a british american he is sure running his fucking mouth

i just wish people would stop trying to condense this conflict down into something that’s easily digestible and consumable in less than 30 minutes. there are horrible people on both sides and refusing to acknowledge that stops the conversation before it can start. all this did was further villainize israel in the minds of armchair expert leftists (since john is like a king to them) and contribute absolutely nothing meaningful or interesting to the conversation. it’s just regurgitated uncontextualized pseudo intellectual bullshit. i’m an english teacher i can sniff a pile when i see one. i rlly wish leftists would just. leave us alone already. new year is coming up and i’m trying to find it in my heart to forgive you know? but fuck that. i’m so sick of goyim talking down to us about this issue while simultaneously being the most misinformed fucks (whether by choice or sheer stupidity) to walk g-ds green earth. i guess i’m just tired.

.

[httpiastri]

PERFECTLY FINE – CHAPTER THREE (MELBOURNE & IMOLA)

genre: angst, fluff, comfort, etc.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: more heartbreak but that's probs it

author's note: hello again !!! i've been meaning to post this for several days now but never found the strength to proofread it all. decided to fit melbourne and imola both into one chapter because they were kinda short on their own, and they are about a lot of similar stuff so i think it made sense. hope you enjoy, thank you for all love on this <33 monaco chapter is like maybe halfway done so it shouldn't take too long !! (& i like that one more hehe)

series masterlist

MELBOURNE

"ollie, put on your sunglasses," dino tells his friend, doing the same with his own reflective sunglasses before flipping his cap around. "let's look tough and cool."

you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the boys in front of you. ollie does as he's told, both of them crossing their arms over their chests as they lean their shoulders against each others. "is that really the pose you're going for?" you ask, and you're instantly met with a string of protests from the impatient swedish man, making you raise your hands in defense. "as you wish..."

you lean back slightly to fit the whole wall behind them into the frame, all works of graffiti apparently important to include, according to your friend. you're glad that you were quick to press the button to take the picture since, of course, they can't keep the pose for more than a few seconds before breaking into a fit of laughter.

you may be complaining a lot about having been dragged around melbourne the entire day, taking photos of your friends, and being forced to socialize. but really, you're thankful for this opportunity to take your mind off everything that's been going on. during your entire break since jeddah, you've been mourning your feature race and dwelling on everything about paul. it's easy to get stuck in your head, to only remember the bad things. and in those times, you're glad to have people around you to pull you out of the darkness.

melbourne will be different. that's what you've been telling yourself ever since you got out of the car in jeddah. you got your first f3 win here last season, and despite how it's still a fairly new track to you, you have a lot of confidence driving around it. you have faith in your car, and you know you have the skills to perform well. you just need to actually score some points again to keep up in the championship.

"can you two losers stop laughing already?" you huff, slipping your phone into your pocket. "i'm starving, and i refuse to have dinner in the f2 hospitality before the race weekend has even started."

"blah blah blah, you're just picky," dino says as he strolls up to you, one of his hands coming up to mess up your hair. you shoot him a glare. "whatever, let's get going. i'm really hungry myself, actually."

you rake a hand through your hair to fix the chaos he caused, before hurrying to keep up with the long-legged boys who've already started walking away. as you squeeze in between them, ollie reaches for your hand, fingers slipping between yours. you let out a content sigh; not only because you're finally getting some food, nor because of the way ollie squeezes your hand.

like this, it's like you don't seem to have a single care about anything in the world. like you've just flown across the world to hang out with your best friend and your boyfriend, to just have fun and relax in the sun.

dino and ollie pick up on the change in your mood, too; it's hard not to. though you haven't spent any time with them during the break, with the trio split up between england and italy, your slump has been so palpable that they could tell even from so far away. so seeing you this lighthearted and happy makes them satisfied, too.

the calm before the storm, as they say.

"and you said i was the picky one?" you ask as dino sits down at your table in the hospitality, nothing but some plain pasta and some kind of meat pie on his plate.

"you're not much better now, are you?" he asks back, glancing down at your empty plate and then up at your face again. the little baguette you've already eaten was not nearly enough to fuel you for the upcoming qualifying session.

you sigh. "i miss the fish and chips we had yesterday..."

"that was definitely not a part of our diet plan."

a scoff passes your lips and you shake your head. "maybe it wasn't the best possible food for my performance," you start, looking over your shoulder at the long buffet table. "but at least it was edible. my muscles may not have grown, but my heart sure did. isn't that important, too?"

dino chuckles as he chews down some pasta, shrugging his shoulders. "speaking of your heart," he says before taking a long sip from his water bottle. "i was surprised to see how lovey-dovey you and ollie were yesterday."

you raise an eyebrow at him. "aren't we always like that?"

"yeah you are, that's the thing."

you pause for a long moment. "and what's that supposed to mean?"

a sliver of regret makes its way onto his face, so slight you almost don't pick up on it. "well..." he tries his best to play it cool, even pulling his phone out of his pocket to check his notifications, but you see right through him. "i may have heard something, but it doesn't mat-"

you can't stop yourself from cutting him off. "tell me. now."

now it's dino's time to let out a sigh, pulling a hand through his hair. "i heard that you and ollie were having problems. but clearly, that's not the case."

"and who told you that?"

"well, here's the thing, i-" dino's voice cracks just like it always does when he's nervous or when he's lying. he takes a second to clear his throat, and you intervene.

"it was paul, wasn't it?" you ask, and he doesn't answer. the fact that he doesn't immediately deny it, along with his blank expression, gives it away. "that idiot! oh my god..." dino is just about to speak up again, to explain himself or make up an excuse, but you give him no space. "why are you listening to him and not me? why would you not ask me if it's true before assuming something? is he really more reliable when it comes to my relationship?"

"y/n, you know i'm stuck between you three. you're all my best friends, and..." he drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. "how should i know who to trust and who to talk to? i can't even mention him around you."

when his words kick in, your expression softens from the infuriated frown you were earlier displaying. you understand what he means; it must be hard for him to be in the middle of this ongoing cold war. "i get it, i get it," you finally say with a dismissive hand gesture. "just... tell me the details. tell me exactly what he said."

to be fair, the things paul had said to dino weren't as bad as you had expected. it had just been a tiny comment, something along the lines of how paul wasn't sure if you and ollie were still as comfortable around each other since you weren't spotted with him in the paddock in bahrain.

a full-on lie, but not the worst thing to ever happen.

though, what dino then tells you about, is the fact that paul wasn't the only one he heard about it from. kimi had confided in him, too; just like gabriel and dennis.

kimi's story had been pretty much the same as what paul told dino, but dennis said that he had heard that you and ollie had broken up already. and according to gabriel, paul has been telling people that you and ollie are only dating for publicity.

what a joke.

the weight of the rumors sits heavy on your shoulders, but you refuse to let them break you. and despite how much you loathe the thought of even looking at him, your body is bubbling with the need to confront him. this can't go on.

how are you supposed to not think about paul and ollie all day, every day after that?

when you know your ex-boyfriend has been spreading fake rumors about you, how are you supposed to look at his stupid smile when he's walking through the paddock and not punch him in the face?

you manage to restrain yourself, with some help from pepe subtly grabbing your arm to hold you back whenever he notices that paul is near. the negative thing is that it means you don't get an outlet for your emotions.

you have yet to find any positives to it.

you were always told to not mix your driving with romance. now, you understand why. you're so distracted that pretty much everything gets messed up your entire weekend. you aren't able to prepare well for your sessions, so you end up with a weak 15:th position in the qualifying, along with one dnf in the sprint, in what's probably one of the fastest cars on the grid this weekend.

not even the feature works out for you. after a lucky start with five positions gained, you were finally fighting for points again. though, stalling in the pit is apparently not the most optimal thing to do when looking to climb the ranks, which was something you learned the hard way.

the worst of it all is the fact that of course paul ended up with yet another podium. where's the karma in that?

just when you've gotten out of your car and made your way back to the paddock, you spot him. he's on his way to the podium from the cooldown room, climbing a staircase and loudly chatting with zane maloney about the race.

this time, you can't hold back. he ruined your race; he deserves your anger.

"you're a complete idiot, you know that, right?"

your voice startles zane, who looks at you with a guilty expression for a moment until he takes in paul's reaction, realizing that he's not the one you're mat at. "yeah?" the estonian chuckles.

"yeah, you are!" the volume and intensity of your voice rise by the second as you make your way to the foot of the staircase. "where did you find the audacity to run around spreading false rumors about me and my boyfriend?!"

zane slowly steps away, not wanting to get caught in this crossfire, and ascends the steps towards the podium. paul's amused expression doesn't change at all. "what false rumors?"

you gawk at him, completely dumbfounded by his entire way of acting. "that we're having issues."

"well, you are."

"we are not!"

"come on," he starts shaking his head as you take a quick couple of steps up the staircase. "it's easy to see that you're not happy with him."

it doesn't take long for you to reach the landing he's standing on, and for the first time ever, you find yourself hating how tall he is. the way he looks down at you only furthers your aggravation – it's like you're smaller, like you matter less, like you aren't as strong. "and how would you know that i'm not happy?"

he sighs, as if he's completely uninterested in this entire conversation. like your anger doesn't affect him the slightest. "because i know you." he shrugs. "you don't smile like you used to. ollie isn't right for you."

"oh, but you were?!" you scoff, not believing your ears. "you're so conceited, holy shit! you just ruined my weekend, you ruined both of my races, just- leave me and ollie alone!"

when you turn around to descend the stairs again, you notice the crowd that's started to form below you. great. you haven't exactly been subtle, and you wouldn't be surprised if your yells could be heard all the way back to the campos garage. the sight should scare you – any other day, you would've been so embarrassed you'd want to melt through the floor. but right now, you're too full on anger to care.

"maybe you would be driving better if you were still with me."

paul's voice stops you just as you're about to walk down the first step. you slowly turn back to him, mouth gaping wide and eyes blown up.

"something about being with him is clearly bothering you. you weren't like this when you were with me." you're at a loss for words, which he notices and takes advantage of. "you're prioritizing him over your own racing. you did it in bahrain, you did it again in jeddah. it's not good for you."

"maybe what's not good for me is you, have you ever thought about that?" you walk up to him, a finger pressed up to his chest as you stare up at him. "maybe the reason i'm distracted because you won't leave me alone! you keep on spreading these stupid rumors about me and-" you have to pause for a moment to force down the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. "i can't take it! just back the fuck off!"

you feel like you could explode any second – if that isn't what you just did – and the fact that paul still looks like he doesn't give one single fuck about this makes you want to give him that beating he so deserves. but you hear pepe's voice in the back of your head, reminding you of how the fia wouldn't appreciate having a driver on the grid who gets into fistfights, and so you back off. with one last shake of your head, you turn again, storming down the stairs.

the sea of people at the end of the staircase splits open for you and you hurry away, not taking any time to see if you notice anyone you know in the crowd. you hear a familiar voice call out for you, one you can't quite identify, but you continue running towards your truck.

paul is an idiot – there's no denying in that fact.

but why was there more passion in these two minutes of fighting him than you've had in your entire relationship with ollie?

he can't be right, you decide. you really are in love with ollie, but not in a way that makes you compromise your racing. it's a great relationship, no matter how different it is from the one you had with paul. he may not believe it, but you will make it work.

he can't be right. you won't let him.

ollie heard about the fight between you and paul just minutes later. of course, there are people around the paddock who loves to run around and gossip – and how could they not tell the story of this huge fight to the man who was the topic of it?

in hindsight, he should've come to you instantly. he thought that the wise thing would be to give you space, to give you a few moments to breathe before he came in with all kinds of questions.

but then, when you finally come out of the campos truck over an hour later and make your way over to where he is waiting for you, he can't say anything. he sees the redness of your eyes and hears your heavy sighs loud and clear, and he knows you won't want to talk. he's too late; the wound may still be far from healed, but he still doesn't want to rip off the bandaid you've so carefully applied on yourself.

all he can do is wrap his arms around you, let you rest against his chest and kiss the top of your head, hoping to bring you at least a little bit of comfort.

next time, he will be quicker. he will be there for you right when you need it.

ollie sleeps soundlessly next to you when you pull out your journal from the bedside table. he hasn't had the most flawless weekend either, but at least he scored his first points of the season, which is a great start.

you usually can write paragraphs upon paragraphs about paul. any other day, you're jane austen and nicholas sparks both in one body. but today, there's only one thing that comes out of you.

paul aron is an asshole.

after a few seconds of just staring at your blank journal, another sentence comes to you; one you just can't bring yourself to write down.

but what if he's right?

maybe what you have with ollie isn't true love.

but maybe it's enough.

yourusername just posted!

yourusername not the best weekend race-wise, but alright off the track. we will come back stronger, thank you to the team for all of the hard work :)

show all 54 comments

user keep pushing y/n!! don't let this weekend affect you ❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user .....what is pepe doing in the last slide?

→ yourusername wish i knew 🤷‍♀️ he sure looked silly doing it, that's all i know

→ user ollie and dino then?

→ yourusername 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user pretty embarrassing weekend tbh

→ user send your hate somewhere else

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user did anyone else hear those rumors... about her and paul....

→ user omg what rumors

→ user check your dms 😘

IMOLA

melbourne was not a good weekend in any possible way, and having it be the last weekend before a long break? not exactly what you had hoped for.

in times like these, you do the one thing you're better at than anyone; distracting yourself.

hours upon hours in the red bull simulator, mornings and evenings at the gym, rewatching old f1 and f2 races all night. anything to get your mind off your love life. pepe is a lifesaver too, since he's good at picking up on the little hints about your current mood and he understands which of your buttons not to push when you're like this.

though ollie understands why you're behaving the way you are after melbourne, he still doesn't enjoy the fact that you're much less open and harder to get hold of. there's a long period of time where you don't answer his texts as often as you usually do, where you cut your face time calls short for random reasons, and where he just can't get through to you. and it hurts him so much more since he's several hours away in italy, not able to properly talk to you about it.

that's why he was overjoyed when you arrived in imola a few days earlier than you needed, just so the two of you could spend some time alone before the weekend started.

it's currently wednesday night, and you just need to swing by your hotel room before heading out for dinner. "i'm to be really quick," you say as the light on the door blinks green and you enter, shuffling over to your suitcase. "i just need to find my purse..."

ollie strolls around for a few moments, almost as if inspecting the room, before just standing to watch the sun set over the city through your balcony door. eventually, you hear his voice from behind you. "what's this?"

when you turn around, you find him staring down into your open duffle bag on the floor – and on top of all your clothes lies your journal.

shit.

"it's... nothing."

he chuckles. "it's clearly not nothing. it looks like it's been used quite a lot," he says, eyes moving over to you. "is it a novel? a calendar?"

you turn back to your suitcase, pretending like it's no big deal, that you're just much more interested in finding your purse. "well, something like that."

"something like what?" ollie frowns, bending down a little to take a closer look at the outside.

"found it!" you reach for your handbag, pulling it out and holding it up in the air as you step away from the suitcase. "we can go now."

"why aren't you telling me? is it secret?"

ollie is stubborn; it's one of the things you like about him, one of the things that makes him the person he is. without his determination, he would've never made it to f2 nor the ferrari driver academy – and he wouldn't be your boyfriend. so, you aren't surprised that he's not letting go of your journal.

he can clearly tell it's a big deal for you, despite the fact that you try to hide it, and he can't help but feel a bit of worry creep into him when you don't answer him instantly. he regrets pushing you for an answer, but he's also immensely curious – and he's a bit tired of you still keeping secrets from him, despite the fact that he would never tell you that.

after a few more moments of silence, he takes your hand, leading you to sit down on the edge of the bed with him. and with the way he's looking at you, there's no way you can hold back from telling him.

you tell him about when you first bought it, that rainy day back home in cambridge and that little bookshop near your elementary school. you tell him about how it just called for you, begged for you to buy it, how the dark blue color felt like it was chosen just to attract attention from your eyes and your eyes only.

and you tell him about your therapist and the amount of time you've spent trying to work out all of your issues. you tell him about how when she suggested that you find an outlet for your emotions that's more easily accessible during race weekends, your mind instantly wandered to the little journal you'd bought but found no use for yet.

but you make sure to leave out all of the details, only filling him in on the major issues. you don't tell him about just how bad your performance anxiety gets, or about how close you've been to just quitting racing when your imposter syndrome thoughts cloud your mind. you can't let him know too much, get too close.

you try to brush it off as something casual, like it's no big deal; but you also make sure to tell him how extremely secret it is and about the many ways you would kill him by if you found out he'd read in it. your tone is one of levity, of course – but in reality, you weren't really kidding.

paul knew about the journal, too, and you knew how much he longed to know more than the color of the wrapping. you'd often find him with pleading eyes as he watched you write, tiny pout on his lips and a joking comment along the lines of "you're not cursing me out in that, are you?".

but despite how curious he was, paul never overstepped his boundaries. he would never – and you trust that ollie won't, either. he's far too good for that, too kindhearted and empathetic to go against your wishes. especially with how fragile and vulnerable you look to him in this moment.

he makes sure to listen to every word that leaves your mouth, nodding understandingly and letting you finish pouring your heart out before he speaks up.

"you know, you could also use me if you want to,” he starts, a gentle hand coming up to caress your cheek. "to talk to, i mean. or rant, or anything. if you think being vocal about it instead of writing could work."

of course he would try to find a way to help you out. to him, it's a win-win situation – if venting to him works for you, then that's great, but it would also mean that he could maybe finally work himself past that wall you've built up around yourself. if you start telling him about your feelings for your own sake, maybe he can finally get to know you better and get closer to you.

but that's the thing. opening up means being vulnerable, letting your guard down. you do trust him, you really do; so why can't you just do it?

ollie smiles at the little nod you give him – it's not a promise, but it's a good start. you've started talking to him, and he thinks that maybe the momentum will keep you going.

you realize that he's still holding your hand when he gives it a soft squeeze, standing up from the bed. "enough of that now," he says, trying to ignore the slightly somber expression taking over your features. "let's go to that restaurant, hm?"

you intertwine your fingers with his and rise next to him, slinging your purse over your shoulder with another nod. "let's go."

seven missed calls.

that's the sight you're met by when you scan over your phone notifications after your post-qualifying debrief with the team. you don't even need to check who they're from; you knew your dad would be dissatisfied with your results from the second you stepped out of your car halfway through the session.

before today, you hadn't spun out in a qualifying session since your karting days – but apparently, there's a first time for everything. another qualifying outside of the top ten means that yet again, you will be starting in the lower ranks in both races. missing out on the reverse grid always sucks, but it sucks a little extra when you know you could've, and should've, performed better. with pepe's third-place finish, you know your campos car was good enough to end up in the top of the timings. if only you'd kept the car on the track, maybe you could've proved something.

proven that you're capable, proven that you belong here. proven that you actually can handle the pressure.

if you know your dad right, he's definitely not calling to give you his condolences or cheer you up. it's not exactly his style. chances are, he's not just going to criticize your performance, but also compare it to a certain someone else's.

ollie managed to snatch that second place for the starting grid on sunday, which is something you should only be happy about. but as much as you adore your boyfriend and wish him all of the joy in the world, it's upsetting that he needed to perform so well this weekend. it's like the fuel to your dad's "you should've gone to ferrari"-fire he wanted so badly.

pepe knows that look on your face by now; he's been a first-hand witness to your fights with your father too many times to count by now. his hand on your shoulder gives you a quick squeeze after he's watched you flip your phone upside down on the table with a sigh before slumping further into your seat.

"did someone die in here or what?" sebastian's voice spreads through the room when he walks into it and catches a glimpse of you. the air is so thick with tension that he fears he will choke on it if he doesn't try to lighten the mood a bit.

"nothing except my weekend, i guess," you mumble back, not giving into his attempt that easily. what's he so happy for, anyway? his result of qualifying 25th isn't exactly something to celebrate, either.

"hey, cheer up," sebastian says. "we'll have an overtaking party this weekend!"

when you stay quiet, pepe says something quick in spanish to sebastian who just nods, eyes flickering between you two. you let out a groan – it's ironic, really, since you're a driver for a spanish team, but you hate it when people speak spanish around you since you can't understand it. especially when you know they're talking about you but not with you.

pepe apologizes instantly, but the smile on his lips never falters. not even your behavior is enough to stop him from beaming over his own qualifying results. for the first time in a while, he is actually happy after a session – and he won't let you ruin it.

"okay, come on. i have the perfect plan to save this night," pepe starts. your phone buzzes on the table with what you assume is another angry message, and you're just about to open it when he interjects. "and that starts with giving me your phone."

"that seems pretty suspicious…" you say, though you understand immediately why he does it. pepe knows you far too well already.

you reluctantly place your phone into the hand he holds out for you. "i promise to let you know if ollie or anyone on the team texts you. but i think you need to stay away from this for a while." he nods toward sebastian, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "could you run out to get some kind of candy? anything that could work as poker chips is good enough."

"and i suppose that means my deck of cards is needed, too?" you ask, not able to hold back from smiling anymore at your friend's silly attempt to cheer you up.

"you bet."

call it childish, but your poker session really did serve its purpose. it ended up being the first time you've been able to properly relax and just have fun in months. it didn’t matter that none of you three got a lot of sleep – just getting to enjoy the moment was good enough.

however, the next day, it was all back to square one again.

the sprint race was indeed an overtaking party, as sebastian had suggested – but six overtakes from p20 is still not enough for any points, not even when about five drivers crash in the first lap. despite all that, you still had some hope for the feature; even more laps to work your way up the ranks and the possibility of having a good strategy were the only two thoughts on your mind.

but yet again, you left the race having scored exactly no points. and to your biggest annoyance, the winner was the one person you prayed would not get the win. one pretty much no one had expected.

just like spa last year in f3, paul was insanely lucky with his choice of strategy. with a perfectly timed late pit stop when the safety car came out, he came out in the front of the field on his new option tires. pretty much the entire field behind him had opted for the opposite strategy, which meant he soared away at the safety car restart and took the win quite easily.

at least, now the championship can't possibly get any worse, can it?

celebrations are always due when paul wins, and this weekend is no exception. you honestly wanted nothing more than to stay back in your hotel room and forget about the weekend even happening. but after some combined begging from ollie, pepe and jak, all saying something about how "you're no fun anymore" and "it's been so long since you partied with us", you finally gave in.

"and i promise, you won't be left alone for even a second," ollie whispers into your ear as he wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you through the door to the club of the night. "i'll be right here, and all of your other friends. okay?"

your answer comes in the form of a hum and a quick nod as the loud music floods all of your senses the second you step into the club. your boyfriend gives you a squeeze, just about to speak up again, when he spots pepe waving at you both from a table a few meters ahead.

"you actually made it!" he exclaims when you join him, reaching over to give your shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting his hand drop to his side again. "and you look great. i was scared you'd show up wearing your race suit or pyjamas just as a form of protest."

"trust me, i wanted to," you tell him with a shrug. "but someone stopped me. said it wasn’t appropriate."

"what, i was just supposed to let you make a fool of yourself?" ollie scoffs from next to you. "isn't that why i'm your boyfriend? making sure you don't embarrass yourself in public?"

"of course, what else?" you say back without missing a beat, giving him a pat on the top of his head. you then turn to greet dennis, zak and gabriel, who are also standing by the table. the discussion around the table easily falls into a race debrief, before morphing into a debate about the f1 race of the night. but it doesn't take long until the group is split up, with pepe and gabriel deciding to go for a round of dancing on the dance floor, and dennis and zak both running off toward the bathrooms.

you have to confirm to ollie about five times that you indeed will be alright standing alone for a few moments as he walks the twenty meters away to the bar to get you both a drink before he actually goes away. the way he's treating you feels somewhat strange; like you're some kind of fragile glass sculpture, like even the slightest hint of turbulence will make you break.

but then again, maybe you've earned it. your recent months definitely haven't been making you any stronger, that's for sure.

you don't really mind it at first; the slight tipsiness you already feel from the shots dennis had ordered for the table and the throbbing bass from the random house song playing on the dance floor doing a good job at drowning out your thoughts. except, that's only until something out on the dance floor catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

paul has been gone all evening, busy celebrating his win probably, and your heart flutters momentarily at the sight of him out there. but when you turn your head towards him to take him in fully, your heart drops instead.

he's with someone. and not just anyone – a girl.

a girl who's got her arms draped around his neck, while his hands hold her hips close to him.

the smiles on their lips can be spotted from miles away, and you can hear the sweet sound of paul's laughter ringing in your ears when you see her lean in to whisper something in his ear.

who is she? what's she doing with her arms around him? why is she-

your thoughts all go silent when paul places a hand underneath her jaw, leans down, and gently presses his lips to hers. it's like the entire world goes silent; like everything else is just a blur of blinking lights, but the spotlight is on the couple on the dance floor. your eyes can't help but follow their lips, their hands caressing each other's bodies...

goosebumps spread across your skin in an instant and an eerie feeling passes through your body. you finally manage to pull your gaze off paul and the girl – who is she, anyway? – and you turn away, making a beeline to the restroom. thankfully, a woman exits through the door just as you arrive, and you're quick to lock yourself in.

once you're inside and pressing your back up against the wall, it's like everything that's been building up in you is let loose. the walls are broken down, and every thought and emotion you have comes crashing down onto you. rivers of tears are flowing down your cheeks before you can react, and you slide down the wall, knees coming up to your chest as your hands come up to cover your face.

there's this strong, heartbreaking feeling spreading through your chest. is it jealousy? is it disappointment? regret?

what you do know is that this aching feeling in your heart is stronger than ever.

is this how paul feels when he sees me with ollie?

it can't be, you think – it just can't. paul can't be in this much pain...

does this mean that you still love him? does this mean you still aren't over him?

you know you should be over him already. you've tried so hard, put so much energy into your relationship with ollie. and yet, you still feel like this.

it's not fair. not to you, and especially not to ollie. he cares about you, respects you, supports you – hell, he's probably out there right now looking for you and wanting to make sure you're okay. he really likes you, and he thinks you like him too. but here you are, crying about another man.

when you're all out of tears, you use your last piece of strength to push yourself up from the floor, standing up and leaning over the sink. wearing non-waterproof is both a blessing and a curse; the trails down your cheeks are straight out of a nightmare, but they're also easy to wash off with a little water and some paper towels. the redness in your eyes isn't as easy to erase, unfortunately, but it'll have to do. you hope to be able to blame it on being tired, or having too much to drink.

you take a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom and making your way towards the crowd on the dance floor again. the music is just as loud as it was before, and the crowd is just as sweaty and chaotic as a packed summer festival. thankfully, you don't see paul anywhere, but you find ollie quite easily. he's standing by a high table with gabriel and dennis when you approach, eyes lighting up when he spots you.

"there you are!" he exclaims, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "i've been looking for you–" ollie cuts himself off, his eyebrows furrowing a little. his voice lowers a few notches. "what's wrong?"

he noticed. in hindsight, how could he not? he's always been extremely attentive. "it's nothing, i..." you start, looking down at your feet. "i'm just exhausted from the day."

but he isn't stupid. he knows, he understands. even if he doesn't know who or what caused it, it's easy for him to tell that you've been crying. he nods, arm dropping from your shoulders to hold you around your back. "okay," he says, hand giving your waist a soft squeeze. "let's leave."

you look up at him again. the last thing you want is for him to have to cut his night short just for you. "no, i can go alone-"

"i don't mind. we came together, so we're leaving together." and before you can interject again, he's already said his goodbyes to the boys and pulled you along through the crowd.

the cab ride back to the hotel is mostly silent. you play the "exhausted" card, while ollie plays the "naive boyfriend" card. but just because you're both quiet doesn't mean your heads aren't absolutely buzzing. your mind is racing with the memory of paul's lips on that girl, kissing her and holding her like he used to kiss and hold you. but your thoughts are also clouded by the guilt you feel for being this much of a mess, and making yourself so unavailable to ollie.

ollie, on the other hand, isn't exactly rolling his thumbs, either. it takes his everything not to push you into telling him what's wrong; he wishes you would tell him because you want to, not because he's pressuring you. he's so worried about you, but at the same time, he hates the fact that you won't confide in him.

what's he doing wrong? why don't you trust him?

ollie is fast asleep next to you in your hotel bed when you pull out your dark blue journal from the bedside table.

the journal is not a secret from him anymore per se, but you still waited until this moment. the guilt of writing about another man when ollie is the one in bed with you is too big to face with his brown eyes looking up at you, so you'd rather do it like this.

yet another round of the championship, yet another bad weekend. no points, bad results as always – and that's not even the worst part.

paul was with another girl. someone i've never seen before. but he was acting like they were attached by the hip. like they've known each other forever. like i wasn't even there.

he must've known i would see. and yet, he had no issues kissing her like his life depended on it.

is it only this painful to see paul because we haven't spoken in weeks?

or is it going to be like this forever?

and just like in melbourne, there's one more thought that springs to your mind that you just can't find in yourself to write down.

i wish it were me.

yourusername just posted!

yourusername a weekend to forget, focusing on monaco instead. thanks for your support. ❤️ #foreversenna

show all 47 comments

user you did the best you could 💙

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user honestly what is she doing?

→ user bad results over and over even though the car is on fire, what even

→ user awkward

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

user are she and ollie even a couple anymore?

→ user just because she doesn't post him, they've broken up? 🤨

→ user no no it's just because i've heard things... 😶

→ user omg pls tell me

→ user she'll delete the comment probably 🤪 but lemme dm you

[theplottdump]

ＳＩＤＥ ＰＬＯＴＴ - Ｇ Ａ Ｍ ＥＰＬＡＹ ＳＰＡ Ｍ - 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝟼: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝? -

Yeah I didn't see that one coming either.

Kale needs to grind for satisfaction points to buy a potion of youth (cause I just spent them all on savant right before this like a genius) and they keep rolling the want to make gourmet pet food. Miss Honey is not complaining.

Me: What an iconic quee- GET OUT OF HERE CLEMENT

SHE KNOWS

Kale asked Svetlana to woohoo in the crypt. 🥴 Consider this a test Dave, keep it chill - full autonomy is a bitch. Windy is already sad that Svetlana is flirting with anything with a pulse, this place is a mess.

KEEP IT CHILL DAVE THIS ONE DOESNT END WELL FOR YOU

oh god we might have to kill Dave

Kale: You seem mad. Dave: Really? How could you tell?

Kale: It's a lot to take in- Dave: And all those people? Kale: Cowplant Milk.

Dave: Right. So how does this end?

Kale: Well the house is already maxed with 8 sims, the watcher has the limit at 15 so we could fit you and the baby. We'd just have to be careful going into CAS, but it also might be fun to play you as a ghos-

Dave: Wait- woah, hold on- baby?

Kale: It's not a big deal. Dave: It's a bit of a big deal. This is all a bit of a big deal. Kale: Dave, you're the blandest most unseasoned tray townie I've ever met- I don't even think Milkshake would be interested in eatin- Dave: Yes. Kale: What do you mean?

Dave: 𝙔𝙚𝙨, I'll marry you.

Author's Note: He agreed to adjust his romantic jealousy boundaries, his enamored moodlet overpowered his angry one and also autonomously asked about marriage during this conversation so we're rollin with it baby

After 3 botched attempts cause the gemology skill is ruthless, Cleo made Toni a bracelet to help with her writing skill!

Toni: For me? Really? Cleo: The watcher shoved you into university classes for gameplay, it's the least we can do to help. Toni: That's so nice…

Toni: Wow I really don't know how you lived through that one. Dave: Love? Toni: Nah. Either the watcher's gone soft or she's got different plans for you. Dave: Is that good? Toni: I dunno- you tell me when you find out!

Toni: SO DO YOU THINK ITS GONNA BE TWINS OR OCTUPLETS!? Like evil Cabbagepatch babies or something! Dave: Kale's not evil..? Toni: No they're worse, they're boring. Like you!

Townie Dave, which is just what i think I'll call him now, is happy he gets to live for another day! The Reaper Career had a position open up after the recent death of a clingy vampire obsessed grimtern- so he'll be starting as a Grimbro tomorrow!

Townie Dave had his first day of Active Work as a Grimbro! He did a fantastic job ticking boxes and swinging a scythe and even ordering office supplies!

And it only makes sense that when you've committed to getting married to a serial killer- that you're name is gonna be at the top of Grim's list. Pinned. 📌

But that only makes Townie Dave appreciate the little moments more! What a chill dude.

first | prev | next

[revalition]

OCT 5 - CONCEPTUALIZATION

Understand creativity. See Art in the world.

sorry so few drawings in today's (and the really lazy colouring job) I'm very tired and wanted to still get it out. I love love conceptualization!! I'll draw and colour you properly some day.

I drew him with legs in my banner (still a WIP, I need to colour it...) and I'm not sure what I like more... definitely don't ever expect tons of consistency from me haha

Alsoooo... I think I'm going to do mondays off instead of sundays so I don't split up the 4 groups across the break. and volition's realllly gonna need that extra day, I love that guy way too much

anyway! as usual tons of quotes and comments under the cut! conceptualization has sooo many amazing ones, it's too hard to limit it to 29 :(((

PALE PALE PALE

actually me the second I heard about the pale. I've spent a likely unhealthy amount of time contemplating it. I did a science project on the possible ways the Universe will eventually end when I was like 15 and only gotten worse since then, I live for this stuff. It fascinates me endlessly

ily conceptualization and volition. I had to suffer through the unbelievably embarrassing ordeal of the failed poetry the first time, when conceppy stopped it the second time I immediately fell in love.

NO why is turning him down an option??

:(

this was so vivid and sad

the whole revacholian nationhood quest is so delusional... but conceptualization is going to embrace it anyway

art cop my beloved

of course he'd find it artistic... it's definitely a statement I suppose

much love for this, conceptualization comforted me into accepting the sorry cop, like... 30 minutes into my first run

don't be sorry honey I always want to hear your artsy thoughts

Yes this is the poetry fail again... this was actually incredibly painful. Also first day of my first run, walked out of the Whirling over to the lorries. So many moments of 'what did I doooo' over picking 1 INT...

Almost every fail ends up with the failing skill giving you really really bad advice, I love how this time conceptualization is just. desperately trying to stop you from continuing. and he can't!! it just gets *worse*!! I'm not including the rest of the poem, I don't want to even look at it. conceptualization ily for trying to stop the horrors...

hehe conceptualization hates improv

ough I love this one. referring to Le Retour.

un jour je serai de retour pres de toi...

actually me as soon as the hyperfixation stops

silver stars melted down...

ough I love the melancholy of a lot of conceptualization's comments.

this one especially. it's so simple, but deeply, deeply sad. the authors of this game were definitely no strangers to grief.

I love when the skills are silly

I love these, they just make my heart happy

mm... true

hehe

I gain a year of life every time anyone mentions harry's blue soul. ily conceptualization

that's it thanks to the evil screenshot limit :((( I hit it so fast too. I'm going to actually die on Volition day. Maybe I can just type the quotes instead of screenshotting them... there's no character limit hehe

running through conceptualization's other language names through google translate: unconventional, concept formation, abstraction

I like these. Most translate directly to conceptualization, but the ones that don't are always cool.

ough I love conceptualization a lot. I barely heard from him my first run, but maxed him out the second. Him and inland empire and shivers are my lovely poetic boys.

Volition trusting Conceptualization is also extremely!!! important to me. as far as I remember, conceptualization isn't identified as compromised either. He just wants art. Even tells you to "lay off that love stuff, if you can" at one point. I'm very fond of him.

[lyss-sketchbox]

My thoughts on Inazuma vs Natlan so far. Is that Inazuma dropped the ball. There's no questioning that. It was rushed and the resolution lacked weight, and it almost definitely needed a lot more space to breathe and probably would've benefited from the 5 act structure instead of speedrunning with 3 acts (such as needing actual time spent with the Watatsumi Resistance rather than spending like 30 minutes tops).

HOWEVER. I feel like the initial Act I-II of Inazuma did a great job established the STAKES. It showed us the very real damage being caused by the various unjust decrees and why people are fighting. Natlan I kinda felt like did a lot of telling instead of showing, and any potential stakes feel kinda... Unserious? Because no one's really seriously hurt and even if they're saying Natlan will explode soon, I'm not really feeling like it's as dire as they're trying to sell it.

BUT IVE BEEN INFORMED YOU CAN DO NATLAN OUT OF ORDER??? Like you could in theory do Natlan BEFORE Inazuma thru Fontaine (with the quick-start function) which is why Natlan is more 'self-contained' which is absolutely insane to me?? Like HELLO???

Overall, I feel like the concepts and plot presented in Natlan is fine. But they didn't do a good enough job of selling to me these things. Like the whole child soldiers stuff kjadf like we actually dwelled on it for longer than a millisecond, we'd probably realize that's super fucked up!! But instead we gloss over it, making the whole quest seem fairly light-hearted despite everything.

Rubs my hands together ok anon lets talk cuz yeah i have thoughts

About inazuma

I definitely agree with you that Act 1-2 (especially 1) of inazuma did well setting up and showing how much negative impact the shogun's rule has impacted the people:

Vision holders literally losing a chunk of themselves (or worst, their lives) from their vision being confiscated.

Non-vision holders risking their lives for helping said vision holders (the resistance)

International traders being stuck in the nation, repressed by local government, and scammed by local traders just to keep business alive.

Local government bloating the price of everything!!! (And being able to get discounts only if you have connections)

Corruption even in the highest positions (gestures at the Kujou clan)

Fatui meddling that lead to the deaths of many for profit

The shogun literally programmed her robot to be that heartless because she herself dont give a shit about any of these issues. As long as her eternity stays.

Fr after venti and zhongli, getting an archon that acts as a proper ruler of a nation AND an antagonist sounds COOL AS FUCK. The booba sword scene while yeah, boobs wooo, also was a wonderful show of her authority over her nation.

After that they tripped and fell in Watatsumi. While i appreciate the environmental story telling of Watatsumi's and Shogunate's bases during the war, we barely get enough time to do... ANYTHING of substance. If i remember correctly, we became team captain, then do a bunch of training and defeating vagrants (on our own because friendly npc fighters didnt exist yet) and thats it. Where is the plotting? Wheres the planning? It was all just an anime training montage we barely get to see or feel. I genuinely feel like we couldve just replaced the entire Watatsumi arc with 'the fatui is selling delusions to people with confiscated visions to help them cope with the lost so traveller go to the delusion factory' and NOTHING wouldve changed. Hell it wouldve made ALOT more sense why yae came to save us at the end if the whole thing happened in Narukami.

Also after all that SHOWING they did alot more TELLING about wooo how smart kokomi is she is so smart and cool and the savior of the resistance. Like girl the fatui had their grip on your soldiers to the point they almost didnt want to surrender their delusions what are you on about. While you can argue she was only a priestess before the war and had no war intellegence skills, the people prop her up as such, kujou sara took her seriously. So she has to have some merit. Well im not seeing any (fight me on this i dont fully remember what happens in watatsumi)

Also at the end we fight the literal dictator of the nation with the power of friendship then everyone and i mean EVERYONE forgave said dictator...... cool. They would definitely benefit from an extra act so that watatsumi adds to the idea that this civil war and the shoguns current decree is causing damage.

About AR

The thing is that the requirements for you to start Natlan AQ is to be AR 28 and finish Liyue AQ (which requires AR 29 for the entire thing). While starting Inazuma requires AR 30, Sumeru needs AR 35, and Fontaine needs AR 40 (highest AR requirement by far).

Id argue that each nation is supposed to be a self-contained story. Even so, based on AR requirements theyve been chronologically in order because you NEED to complete the previous AQ to start the next. EXCEPT for Natlan.

While this is obviously to be more open to new and returning players, it really.... decreases the stakes, like you would assume the more we progress the tougher challenges we will have to face. But Natlan? Nawww you can go to Natlan without fighting the dictator 👍

About Natlan

I AM ADDRESSING THE CHILD SOLDIER THING FIRST BECAUSE YES. THEY DEFINITELY DID ALOT MORE TELLING THAN SHOWING HOW THIS CHILD APPARENTLY CAN BE SENT TO WAR WITH A REAL CHANCE OF DYING!!!!! I talked about this before because they ironically did alot more showing how child like Kachina is which adds more to the FUCKING CHILD SOLDIER THING.

HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY WITH THIS??? Oh its our nations culture, its just the culture shock, OKAY YEAH BUT THE TRAVELLER AND PAIMON ARENT NATLAN NATIVES AND THEY DONT FEEL ANYTHING ABOUT THIS????? Wow yey cheer for the child to go to war! BRO SHE DIED AND WE WENT JACOOZIING WHILE WE WAIT FOR HER TO RETURN FROM WAR...............

ITS VERY OBVIOUS INFANTILIZATION BECAUSE IANSAN DIDNT FUCKING GET THE SAME TREATMENT. You know, the other small girl character there, nah she went to war just like Kachina, lived, and stood by the Archon and WAS READY TO THROW HANDS WITH A HARBINGER IF THE ARCHON DIDNT FUCKING FIGHT HIM HERSELF.

Everything just feels so.... chill? So relaxed with no stakes at all. I mean yeah the Abyss is creeping into the nation's roots but instead of sending armies we make it a tournament. Yeah people die in these excursions but we can revive them so we can ignore the horrors of experiencing death. Yeah the flames are dying so the archon has to give up some of her power to keep it lit but its okay! The harbinger is a gentleman that wont take this opportunity to do some scheming. We need the power of the chosen one of each tribes to save natlan but hey cant rush it! We got a year after all teehee.

Man. Head in hands. What the fuck.

Not even gonna go into the whole the archon is human but mavuika is the one that got reincarnated to retake the role just in time to solve a national crisis thing. Because i dont even know if THAT is accurate.

If they somehow trip and fall worse than inazuma id actually be amazed because the bar is very very low.

[pagesfromthevoid]

A Real Nightmare | a.a. | 1

Astarion x fem!Tav

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Cussing. Astarion being…Astarion

Author’s Note: I’m not even sorry.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

Astarion, visibly frustrated, threw his jacket to the ground with irritation, aggressively stomping out the flames that had crawled up its arm. A string of colorful curses escaped his lips as he forcefully dug his heel into the dirt, determined to extinguish every ember. Witnessing the dramatic display, Tav instinctively covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and panic. The crackling sounds of the dying flames, accompanied by Astarion's expressive language, created a chaotic scene that lingered in the air, leaving an awkward tension between the two.

The majority of the party had headed into the nearest town to snag supplies or dig deeper into their quest details, leaving Tav and Astarion to handle the camp setup—just the two of them. Despite their limited interactions in the few days they'd known each other, usually confined to brief and somewhat meaningless small talk, today marked a shift. It was the day they finally got down to setting up a proper camp, making it the longest stretch of time she'd spent alone with him.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world; it’s not as if she hated him or anything…she just didn’t like his snide comments on everything. Or the way he looked at her like she was something to eat and not a person. Or the burning feeling in her belly when he flirted. But when he didn’t have an audience, he wasn’t nearly as bad. Truthfully, he was almost tolerable. 

Astarion had thrown a fit, complaining about having "worked so hard" to gather what he considered "so much firewood" (although three logs hardly qualified, she didn't bother arguing), only to come back and discover they had no means to light it. In a moment of misguided goodwill, Tav offered to take care of it. In hindsight, she should have known better than to make such an offer; her command over magic, especially when it came to fire, was far from stellar.

Which was how Astarion's jacket caught fire. And how her tent also caught fire. Though luckily, she hadn’t put all of her belongings inside yet.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, hastily reaching out to retrieve his coat as he stormed away from the smoldering fabric. Examining it, she assessed the damage, hoping against hope for a chance at recovery. The arm was unmistakably burned through, but with the right supplies, she believed she could mend it. Her voice carried a mix of guilt and fear as she spoke, "I really didn't mean to do that – truly, Astarion. I would never actually try to hurt you, not on –,"

“You can’t even cast a spell correctly!” He interrupted, turning around quickly to point at her. His eyes flashed –a mix of darkness, anger, and a touch of dangerous allure.

“Excuse me, I can cast a spell just fine,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. His jacket hung at her side as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I just don’t have a lot of control after I cast it.”

“How is that any better?”

“Because at least I can do something!”

“You lit me on fire!”

“It was an accident!”

“What kind of sorceress can’t control her own fucking magic?” He demanded.

“One that has never been taught!” She spat back at him, her guilt receding only to be replaced with anger. He was allowed to be mad at her for lighting him on fire –he wasn’t allowed to insult her in the process, however.

“What the bloody hell do you mean, ‘one that’s never been taught’?”

Tav hesitated, realizing that maybe she had divulged too much. Her reluctance to expose her...deficiencies in magic was almost nonexistent.

When she had become the de facto leader of the party, and they had gathered up Gale into their midst, he had pressed her about her skills and spells that came from her home in Otherus. She tried to play it off at first, explaining that magic in Faerun wasn’t all that different from magic in Otherus, but Gale had been persistent –even when she explained she’d rather not have an audience. He just asked for her to join him in private.

It was there that Gale learned that their leader was not nearly as capable as she had made herself out to be. While she was able to cast spells and use magic, she couldn’t exactly…control the outcome. 

Magic had long been outlawed in certain parts of Otherus –in the main cities and around the edge of the kingdom, specifically –and Tav was born to a sorceress mother and a soldier of the king, who loathed those with magic at their dispense. Her mother, Fera, had kept her abilities secret for years until after Tav had been born. However, fearing that her babe would start showing signs, Fera thought it time to reveal to her husband what they were.

Fera had thought he would understand. That he loved them enough to protect them.

Fera had been wrong.

The King’s Guard had been called to the home, and by the time they arrived –Fera was slain, and Tav’s father was attempting to remove her hands from her body.

“A sorceress without hands is no sorceress at all,” he had seethed, pressing the blade into her wrist, breaking the skin and almost hitting the bone. 

The Guard stopped him before he did further damage; demanded if she had shown any signs of magic prior. When they determined she hadn’t, the Guard charged him with the abuse of a child; but his sentence was lenient for ridding the world of one more magic user.

Tav was ten. 

For a short while, Tav lived with her grandmother in a small village outside the kingdom but she was old and frail, and had no desire to raise a child at her age. Isowen, her mother’s sister, took her instead to the edge of the kingdom, as far from the king’s guard of Otherus as possible. Isowen ran an apothecary and taught Tav in the healing arts but forbade her from talking of magic or the arcane. Too many soldiers came in and out of their little shop; it was never safe. 

This was how it went for years –until Tav was old enough to go out on her own, and make a life for herself.

Initially, she had every intention of departing from Otherus. The kingdom as a whole, in all honesty, didn't hold any allure for her, especially if she aspired to master the control of her magic. However, the lack of viable means to leave or reach any other destination left her with no choice. Consequently, she found herself navigating a transient existence, engaging in various odd jobs across villages she encountered along the way. To safeguard herself, she discreetly concealed her magical abilities, aware of the potential risks that came with revealing her unique skills in unfamiliar territories. 

It wasn’t until the damned tadpole in her eye that she was finally taken away from Otherus. And now she was the leader of a band of heroes, trying to save everyone…and she had no idea how to control herself.

Gale had been sweet enough to offer to teach her, and keep her secret. Even though he did sound a bit snobbish about the ordeal, his lessons were important to her and she enjoyed the time she spent with him. 

Astarion continued to stare her down, his gaze unwavering, expecting an explanation. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, her left hand instinctively curling around her right, fingers tracing the scar that served as a perpetual reminder of the painful history of her life in Otherus.

"Have you ever kept so much bottled up for so damn long that when it finally spills out, it's like a wildfire you can't control? But, you know, strangely satisfying? Like this unseen weight you didn't even realize you were hauling around just lifts off your shoulders?" she asked, settling onto the ground before the dormant fire pit. She absentmindedly wrung her wrist, caught in the residual tension of her confession.

Astarion remained standing, though when she looked up at him to ask him to join her, his eyes had left her face and were fixed on where she held her wrist.

“I can’t say I have.” 

His voice was soft –sincere, even –and Tav smiled wryly.

“I’m from Otherus,” she explained, and Astarion let out a little ah in response –a knowing sound. She let out a humorless laugh, holding her hand to him now. “I had just gotten enough coin to finally leave when the damn worm got me. And now…I’m here.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his end, but eventually Astarion kneeled beside her and took her hand, examining the scar that rested between where her hand and wrist met. “You’re saying, darling, that up until you became the leader of a bunch of weirdos –you had never used your magic?”

Tav nodded once, shivering involuntarily as Astarion ran his thumb over the scar. “Here and there; but never enough to be meaningful.”

“Sweet hells, we’re doomed.”

“Must you be so dramatic?” She asked, though instead of the annoyed tone she usually held, it was laced with a fear that she wished she didn’t have. “I…I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know what happened; one moment, I was following Shadowheart’s lead then the next I was doling out orders.”

Astarion dropped from his kneeling position to sit beside her, one knee pulled up as the other was outstretched in front of him. He shifted and rested his weight on his hands. 

“You are rather bossy,” he pointed out, grinning at her teasingly, as if trying to ease the tension. “I suppose it only makes sense, minus the whole lack of skill bit.”

“You and Gale are the only two who know.”

Astarion practically giggled in delight. “Ah, so I have blackmail. I love it.”

She gave him a funny look, unable to help herself. “Astarion, you cannot blackmail me when I also know something about you.”

He scoffed. “Please. I’m an open book, darling.”

“You’re right; you are an open book. And the very first page says you’re a vampire.”

For a moment, she could tell he was debating if he would play off her accusations. She knew the look well; it was one she used herself when she wanted to avoid confrontation. But then he narrowed his eyes. 

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at her throat. “You have bite marks on your neck, Astarion,” then she motioned towards her mouth. “You also have fangs. You never eat with us, or when I offer you food. When you drink wine, you look nearly offended by it —,”

“To be fair, it is shit wine.”

“Regardless —I know you think me an idiot, but what I may lack in spell casting, I make up for in intelligence. I’m rather observant when I want to be.”

At this, Astarion leaned in close to her, voice turning sultry. “Oh, so you observe me, my love?”

Tav swallowed hard, involuntarily leaning in as well without even realizing it. “Occasionally, yes. Probably as much as you observe me.”

Astarion's lips curled into a mischievous smirk, and as he subtly withdrew, Tav felt the heat rise in her cheeks. A mix of excitement and self-chastisement coursed through her, acknowledging the magnetic effect he seemed to have on her. As she opened her mouth to respond, the distant sound of Karlach's animated yell reached them, accompanied by the laughter of their returning companions. Both their attentions shifted towards the camp's edge, momentarily distracted from the tension that she was certain they both felt.

Astarion rose from his spot, extending his hand toward her. Tav met his gaze briefly before accepting his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Their hands remained connected for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a subtle tension hanging in the air, before Astarion finally withdrew and strolled away from her towards the group. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was about to go embellish how badly she fucked up the fire. 

But instead of feeling annoyed, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips.

“I hope you feel that weight lift one day, Astarion,” she said, soft enough that only he could hear. 

He paused mid step, glancing over his shoulder at her. “One day, perhaps.”

[bengiyo]

Last Twilight Ep 10 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Day talked to his dad and got some closure about how his dad left his mom and them. Then, Mhok and Day decided to take a side trip to climb the mountain featured on the Last Twilight book. They ended up using the same homestay as the author, and learned that he went on an international journey so that his daughter, who was losing her visions, could see lots of beautiful things. They managed to reach the top of the mountain and had an emotional moment as Day’s remaining eyesight failed.

This is how you start an episode! Immediately into the mom conflict.

Ouch, they made Mhok stay outside for this appointment.

Currently feeling a little sorry for the mom because I understand her being jealous that she wasn’t present for Day’s final moments of vision, feels complex responsibility about making sure they continue to be wealthy enough to care for Day, and also probably is just scared because she feels so powerless. I get the instinct to exert control in some way, even if it’s over Mhok for overstepping in his role.

I’m also glad Mhok made the choice to quit on his own. He’s too close to Day now to serve as his caregiver in a professional capacity.

“Keep it secret. Keep it safe.”

Not keen on the mom being okay with Day regressing.

“Mom, I love him,” is not a winning play here, Day.

Oh no mom hired that patronizing guy from earlier.

At least Mhok got the car back.

I kinda wish Mhok had been holding a boom box in this phone call scene.

She said, “I’m not homophobic. Mhok is just too broke to be with you.” If we’re going down this route, I hope this ties back into the earlier stuff about Day choosing to quit school.

Mm, I do not approve of her taking Day’s phone.

I am glad Porjai called Mhok out on prioritizing Day over himself. I was wondering if we’d do anything else with Mhok’s ex-con status. Not sure how I feel about him picking up culinary skills since he started taking care of Day and changing careers. I was hoping his technician skills would stick around.

She changed the wifi password too? WTF

Mark Pakin is still so, so good. He continues to absolutely crush huge emotional moments that involve a face journey. I like this reconciliation with the brothers. There’s really nothing else for Night to say.

Hold on, what have Porjai and Night been up to? Fill me in!

Okay! That’s his child?? I’m here for this. Good job, Mark and Namtam. So much with so little.

This painting class looks like a lot of fun.

I like the Day has adapted to his system and can find the shirts he wants now.

Oh, Mark, you are selling Night feeling like he doesn’t get noticed by the mom so well.

I’m sure Julia Child would be happy to see these people crying into a beef stew.

This family scene is very charming, but I ain’t forget that she took that man’s phone and changed the Wi-Fi password.

Curious about ending on the eye donation.

I don’t like how we just seemed to forgive the mom, because I did not like the way she handled literally anything this episode. We had Porjai point out that Mhok had spent too much time thinking about Day, and only mentioned his job struggles as a quick aside. Yeah, we saw his issues earlier, but I feel like we should have spent more time with Mhok this episode seeing him step back into the reality of his world. In a less egregious way, this is a lot like the Dangerous Romance issue, where we switched perspectives after one or two episodes and never really went back.

[mychlapci]

I think at some point, the rescue would have to recognize that this is as good as it gets for k9 Prowl and just… have to place him with a long-term caretaker. They’re not about to execute a mech for being abused, no matter how difficult his circumstances make him to care for. They have to transition him out of the rescue setting when they stop making good progress; they need that kennel for new rescues. Personally, I bet leaving a rescue setting to a ‘home’ setting would actually have more results for Prowl’s healing but idk. He’d officially be a retired k9 unit, still much closer to a pet mech than a person. But consistent 1-on-1 attention is what he needs.

And a dedicated caretaker could probably adjust to the fact that yeah, making Prowl sit at a table to eat freaks him out a lot more than letting him sip his cube on the floor next to them. As long as you let him sit on the floor, he’ll drink his cube like a person instead of mashing his face into it. Added bonus: it doesn’t put him in high alert and leave him anxious and high strung all day.

Teaching him to use the toilet is easy, but the shower is harder. Prowl hates being dirty but fears the small box with the loud rain!! He doesn’t like the hose!! He will, however, consent to being wiped down with a rag. And he loves a warm bath, no matter how impractical. His caretaker will let him sit in it until the solvent/water gets cold because 1) he loves it and 2) he will /sulk/ if you take him out before he’s ready. Prowl will even paw at himself with the rag a little if you leave him one! Self grooming is progress, no matter how clumsy.

Getting him to speak freely is infinitely harder, but he’d have no problem learning the “check in” command! It only makes sense that his handler wants to know Prowl’s condition, after all. They’d have to trick him into having opinions, but taking him for walkies is a great way of getting him to use his mind and his words. All it takes is a little hmm-ing or a “I wonder what happened here?” and Prowl almost cannot contain himself. Full body wiggles trying to keep his mouth shut, but /this/ owner wants him to speak so? Maybe? It’s okay? And he’d veeeery carefully answer— just a quick, quiet one!! Nothing too bad, he’s still a good boy! But they only smile at him and pet him a little on the shoulder. Not the helm, not on their walkie. Prowl’s performing the “undercover” command, so he’s walking like a real mech. Perfect for keeping criminals from realizing there’s a k9 unit sniffing around, you know. His new handler knows so many tricks.

The cage thing I don’t think they’d ever truly manage to get around, not even in a far future of this au where Prowl has been tricked and coaxed into being a real person. But they /would/ manage to transition him from a true kennel to a box bed situation. At least he’s on a mattress with a blanket and pillows, even if his situation is still odd.

I also don’t think they’d ever manage to get him living fully independently. He’s spent too many years being treated like a beast and blindly obedient to any sufficiently stern authority figure. Prowl’s missed out on key formative experiences and life skills that just… don’t take for him. There’s some things he will just never get, no matter how long he lives. Grocery shopping is a special struggle, with all the choices and the sensory overload. He and his caretaker will share a long fucking laugh when they realize that the caretaker is effectively /Prowl’s/ working animal now. His emotional support mechanism, if you will.

But I think the most critical healing experience would be encountering one of Prowl’s “puppies” in public and him just realizing that that is a /person/. Recognizing his own face or wings or chevron in some cute little sparkling and just. Staring. A carrier never forgets the scent of their kid. He knows that’s his baby. Maybe the kid recognizes him instinctively despite not ever really having known him and runs right up. All Prowl can do is cup their tiny face in his hands and press his chevron to their tiny one. And this tiny, little, /free/ person is someone that /Prowl/ made. And if he carried a person and not a puppy… what does that make him?

Yesss... Prowl never truly recovers. It's not unheard of, but it's rare. Most of the k9 units and other mechs-turned-pets usually yearn for freedom and the right to command themselves, but Prowl just. Doesn't. He takes orders from the enforces, captures and mauls criminals as per their demand, and that's it.

He never really relaxes. He's notably safer with his new handler, but in his mind, he never really stopped being a prized k9 unit. They learn what makes Prowl tick and how to loophole around his inability to act like a person... But oh, oh, the sparkling changes things. Prowl knows it's his. It came out of him after one too many visits from enforcers in the dead of the night. It walks on two legs and for how young it is, it talks without regulation. It's allowed to do that. The little one is growing up to be just like the mechs around them. It's not an animal.

Perhaps Prowl musters up the courage to question his own position in this world one day... but until then, he's perfectly content sitting at his handler's feet. Obediently.

[critter-genfic-events]

Campaign Crossover Recs

This week, we have seven fics that mix Bells Hells, Vox Machina, and the Mighty Nein together (usually through Keyleth). Check them out beneath the cut, and as always - comment and kudos if you like them!

Voice to the Rain by J (jaywright) (12808,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Keyleth & Orym, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Keyleth/Vex'ahlia

Before the events of EXU, Keyleth takes a grieving Orym with her to Whitestone

Reccer says: warm and beautiful and heartbreaking

Amethyst and Flowers on the Table by Operafloozy (2291,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Caduceus Clay & Keyleth, Keyleth & Vilya

Vilya introduces her daughter to the man who restored her memories, one Caduceus Clay.

Reccer says: I love that Keyleth is still angry in this and she and Caduceus have their disagreements, but there's still the potential of a friendship

whitestone is for eulogies by Lifelights (13290,Teen) Warnings: canon typical violence, temporary character death Pairings: Laudna & Vox Machina, Laudna/Imogen

When they first meet, she's dead and hanging from a tree. The second time...she's still dead, but more able to remember. (Aka: a barely divergent AU where Laudna meets Vox Machina in Whitestone)

Reccer says: Everyone is extremely in character and it's a great premise

a spark of potential by mousecookie (1189,Teen) Warnings: Pairings: Ashton Greymoore & Caleb Widogast

After Ludinus's defeat, Ashton approaches one of their new allies with questions about dunamancy.

Reccer says: Great voices and it has a lot of fun details

Fearful Symmetry by seraphium (3151,Teen) Warnings: No archive warnings apply Pairings: Keyleth & Vilya

In the aftermath of the Apogee Solstice, Keyleth's mother waits at her bedside.

Reccer says: It's an amazing look at what the relationship might look like from Vilya's point of view

From My Rotting Body, Flowers Shall Grow by keyleth_clay (10972,Teen) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings: Caduceus Clay & Keyleth, Keyleth & Essek Thelyss, Caduceus Clay & Essek Thelyss

Keyleth has spent many, many years visiting the Blooming Grove. This visit is so different from the rest. Primarily because her first and best friend from the Clay family is no longer there to share it with her.

Reccer says: Beautifully rendered lifespan angst, with flashbacks to their friendship over the years

Girls Gone Feywild by royalgreen (allyoop) (821,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Bells Hells & The Mighty Nein, Fearne Calloway & Jester Lavorre

Chaos faun meets chaos tiefling. Exandria will never be the same.

Reccer says: I liked it

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we're focusing it'll be Skill/Class Swap fics. Maybe Keyleth as a Barbarian? Orym as a druid? Laura Bailey's characters as the class that she originally wanted?

After that, it'll be Mourning and Grief, Fjord focused, and then backstory swaps!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

Oh! Also! Critter Gen Week is happening! We've been using the themes for our reclist - so if you're inspired by what you're reading, consider writing (or making art) for that week!

[one-idea]

I honestly find it kind of funny that when you read the novels for Ace we find out that Deuce left home because of having bad grades in medical school and instead was wanting to be a writer by adventuring out to sea. Yet in some twist of fate he ends up being a doctor anyway

Honestly I have mixed feelings about this.

Because it is both funny but also sad and sweet at the same time.

He was a medical school drop out. He left his family, his past, his name, even his face behind because of the disappointment his family had in him and his dream. I’m sure he has a lot of hurt feelings tied to the field of medicine. Especially if his family were doctors, they don’t seem to be the kindest people to him.

I’m sure he left because he felt he could never measure up. He could never match them in skill. Never live up to the expectations and never be excepted for dreaming something different.

So he leaves it all behind to chase his dream.

And almost immediately dies.

If Ace hadn’t arrived of Sixis could Duece have found a way off?

But that doesn’t matter because Ace comes. And sure it’s a rough start but in the end Deuce leaves with the person who will change his life (whether you see them as romantic or not Ace changed his life forever) even giving Masked Deuce his new name. And he gives him the opportunity to chase his dream. To seek adventure and write his novel. And Deuce has to be so excited

But being a pirate is dangerous. People get hurt. And suddenly Deuce is in a position where instead of knowing the least about Medicine he knows the most. And that has to be terrifying for him. He’s a medical school DROP OUT he shouldn’t be trusted the patients! And yet here Ace is trusting him with his life and the life of their crew.

It has to be equal parts touching and terrifying to have that trust. Trust he feels like he can’t live up to. His family never would have believed in him like this, and yet they were also right not to do so. (In his point of veiw) a drop out should have patients.

Yet when they join the Whitebeards he is put under Marco in the medical division. If he was truly a failure as a medic they would have moved him. So either his skills improved with the Spades to the point where he only needed some guidance from the Whitebeards or he was never truly a failure he felt he was in the first place. And maybe he just needed a different environment to learn in. Maybe the Whitebeards were better at teaching then his previous school. But either way there has to be so much resentment and self doubt in that field.

But also he left being a doctor behind to be an author. It’s his dream. Yet he puts it on the back burner for Ace. For their crew(s). I’m sure he still writes but that’s not his title on the boat. Imagine if Zoro’s goal was to be the world’s greatest swords man but he was known as the watchman because of how much time he spent in the crows nest. If that’s the only way the crew referred to him. How enemy’s saw him. Not the swordsman of his dreams but the job he did for the crew. It’s hard to sacrifice for the people around you. Especially with something that Deuce must have trauma with.

It’s so fascinating and I wish more people would dig into him. He’s a great doctor. But his history with it and his conflicting dream make him fascinating to me.