#like something straight out of a nightmare

[letorip]

aline

“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.

warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad

word count: 1.6k

A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.

===+++===

===+++===

"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.

"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”

You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.

"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.

The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”

But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”

Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.

“What?”

“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”

She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”

===+++===

You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.

The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.

“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.

Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.

It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.

Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.

Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.

"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.

"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.

She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.

“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.

She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.

“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.

“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.

She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”

“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”

She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”

You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.

"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.

She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.

"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."

===+++===

well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time

[bullet-prooflove]

Such A Good Girl: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @Yousigned-upforthis @queenslandlover-93 @hal3ynicol3

Companion piece to:

With Me (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together for the first time.

The Morning After - Ryan and you enjoy the morning together.

Adrenaline - Ryan gets turned on by your capability.

My Favourite Kind of Night (NSFW) - Ryan and you send the night together at a law enforcement conference.

Bed Breaking (NSFW) - Ryan breaks your bed.

Marks - Ryan decides he wants to commit.

Wishes - Ryan wishes things were different between the two of you.

Stop Thinking, Start Listening - Ryan hates seeing you with another man.

Kitty - Ryan knows something's not right when he seees you with another man.

The problem is Ryan can’t keep his nose out of your shit, not when he knows you’re doing something dangerous. The thought of you out there undercover, it makes his skin itch because the assholes you work with they don’t have your back, they’ve never had your back. That was made abundantly clear during the first couple of cases the two of you worked on together when you came hurtling in like the cavalry despite the fact there was a hold order on their backup due to a dispute between the Sheriff and John Dutton.

“I think I owe you a drink, for saving my ass back there.” He had told you in the aftermath as he stood on the steps of the precinct, hands tucked into pockets of his jeans.

“You owe me more than a drink. I’ve just got my first write up.” You’d told him, your hands running through your hair as you tied it back into a messy bun. “I was such a good girl before I met you.”

He finds out later that night how much of a good girl you really are and you find out how much of a bad boy he is.

In the present he sits in his car and he thinks over everything he’s learned over the past couple of hours. The ATF believe guns are being run through a microbrewery in Bozeman owned by Sebatian Myers, you’d been selected to pitch in because you’d run a similar operation back in Alabama before you made the switch to Montana. There have been no wire tap warrants, no surveillance requests, they’re running this like you’re a C.I which means you’re out there entirely on your own. What’s actually puzzling to him is the reason that you agreed to it. That op in Alabama, it had ended badly for you. Ryan’s seen the scars, he’s kissed them in the dead of night. Three stab wounds all in your left side, you’d lost your kidney and an enormous amount of blood. You couldn’t be around the department after that, especially after you learned it was your partner who ratted you out, a man you’d worked alongside for three years, who had gambling debts coming out of every orifice.

“I learned my lesson.” You had told him as his fingers had trailed over each of those scars. “Undercover work isn’t for me.”

It’s when he flicks through the file on Myers that he realises what your investment is. Two years ago Myers had been linked to the rape and murder of a teenager from the reservation. It was one of  several cases you inherited from your predecessor. You’d tried to reopen it but the reservation police wouldn’t trade information with you and it wasn’t a priority to the Sheriff’s office so you’d been forced to stand down. You used to have nightmares about it because you felt like you were failing those girls, you’d wake up in a cold sweat and Ryan, he would be right there holding you, soothing you.

He knows you, he knows those cases were something you had never been able to let go because you were convinced that it was still happening, that the killer had just gotten better at concealing it. When the opportunity to investigate Myers had come up you wouldn’t have been able to resist. You’d dressed yourself up and walked straight into the lion’s dean, no back up, no safe guards, just you.

He’s fucking livid because he knows you wouldn’t be pulling this shit if the two of you were together, he would have talked you down, figured out another way.

But you aren’t and that’s  why Ryan’s now sitting outside Myers’ place, his gaze fixed on the windows because he can’t let you do this alone. He won’t let you do this alone.

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Full throttle

super angsty super fluffy

You never meant to get involved in racing. In fact, you’d spent most of your life watching it from a safe distance, admiring the skill and speed but never imagining it as your own reality. That is, until one fateful day, when your older brother, always the unpredictable one, gave you a birthday gift that would change everything—a voucher for a Silverstone “Experience Day.” Drive an F3 car.

The idea was ridiculous. It was a joke, he said. You'd hate it, he said.

But he didn’t know you.

From the moment you slid into the driver’s seat, the world around you seemed to blur, the grip of the steering wheel becoming an extension of yourself. The acceleration. The way the G-forces pressed you into the seat. You were no longer just controlling the car—you were the car. Every corner felt like a battle you were born to win, every straight an open invitation to break your own limits. You felt alive. *More than alive. Invincible.*

When you pulled back into the pit, panting with excitement, your hands still trembling, a voice cut through the rush of adrenaline.

“Impressive.”

You turned sharply, breath caught in your throat, eyes locking onto the man standing beside the track. His tailored suit and calm, assessing gaze told you everything you needed to know. *This was no ordinary observer.* He wasn’t just someone impressed by a rookie’s lap times. He was someone who knew.

Fernando Alonso.

It hit you like a punch to the gut, the recognition flooding your senses in an overwhelming wave. Fernando Alonso. The Fernando Alonso. And there he was, standing a few feet away, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Not bad,” he said again, but this time, his voice was softer, more contemplative.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You were a fan of his, sure. But this? This felt like a dream.

And then like it had all been rehearsed a man in a hoodie appeared at Fernando’s side, signaling for him to leave.

The champion gave you a nod, a subtle smile crossing his lips.

“We’ll talk soon,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

And just like that, he was gone. But you were still standing there, rooted to the spot, the sound of your racing heart pounding in your ears.

What had just happened? Had you really impressed one of the greatest Formula 1 drivers of all time?

Weeks passed, and the disbelief never really faded. What had started as an impulsive birthday gift a harmless, one-off experience had morphed into something far bigger.

It wasn’t just Fernando’s praise that stuck with you. It was the moment you were called over by a scout, Marco, who handed you a business card that felt like a million pounds in your hands. A seat. A chance .You blinked down at the card, still processing the fact that you were about to be offered something far beyond anything you’d dreamed. F2. A tryout. A step closer to everything you’d always admired from afar.

And then, as if the universe had decided it hadn’t dropped enough surprises on you, you looked across the paddock. Standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked onto you, was Charles Leclerc.

Charles Leclerc.

His presence was like a gravitational pull.

He smiled, small but knowing, his eyes flicking between you and the scout with that trademark ease of his. You almost couldn’t breathe. Why was he here? What was he doing here, watching you ?

That smile so soft, so genuine did something to your chest.

It filled you with something you couldn’t name, and yet you couldn’t ignore it. You were supposed to be focusing on your future, on the seat you had just been offered, but Charles Leclerc’s presence was like a spark of something more. Something that wasn’t just about racing.

The first official test with the F2 team was a nightmare. You couldn’t quite control your nerves. You pushed yourself, yes, but everything felt like it was coming at you too fast. The feedback from the engineers was overwhelming, the pressure suffocating.

But there was one thing that remained constant: Charles. He wasn’t just a teammate or a driver who’d occasionally offer a smile. He was there for you when things got rough, when your focus wavered, when you almost felt like you couldn’t handle it.

It was Charles who pulled you aside after one particularly grueling lap, his fingers brushing against your arm. His eyes weren’t the playful ones from before. They were focused. Intent. “You can do this. I’ve been watching you,” he said, voice steady and firm. “And I believe in you.”

You wanted to argue. You weren’t good enough yet. Not by a long shot. But something in his voice stopped you. His belief in you felt like a tether, pulling you back from the edge of self-doubt.

“I think so,” you replied quietly, but there was no conviction in your words. Not yet.

“You will,” he said, a small, determined smile playing at his lips. “Trust me.”

And somehow, you did. For the first time since this whole whirlwind began, you felt a flicker of something like hope a dangerous, beautiful thing that made you believe, if only for a moment, that maybe you could actually make it.

The test was everything. It was chaos and control, precision and raw instinct all rolled into one. You didn’t just drive the car you became it. Every lap was sharper, more calculated, your instincts fine-tuned with each turn. By the time you returned to the pit, drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest, you didn’t need the engineer’s feedback to know what had just happened. You had done it. You had succeeded.

As you peeled off your race suit, feeling the weight of what you’d just achieved settling over you, you found yourself face-to-face with both Fernando and Charles.

Fernando slapped you on the back, his grin wide and proud. “Told you,” he said, voice low but filled with confidence. “This is just the beginning.”

Charles stood beside him, his gaze never leaving you. He was quieter than usual, but when he spoke, his words were like a promise. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said, voice softer. “We’re going to do this together. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

The months that followed were a blur. The races, the media events, the constant push for more. Fernando was the mentor you’d never expected, his experience and wisdom invaluable as you navigated the ruthless world of motorsport. But it was Charles who kept you grounded.

The two of you grew closer, each shared victory and every setback strengthening the bond between you.

One evening, after a long day of press conferences and sponsor dinners, you found yourself on the rooftop of a hotel, looking out over the sprawling city. Charles appeared beside you, his footsteps quiet against the concrete.

For a long moment, the two of you didn’t speak. Just sat there, side by side, sharing the silence.

Finally, Charles broke it. “You know” His voice was unusually soft. “You’re not just a teammate to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a sudden flutter of uncertainty and something deeper. “What do you mean?” you whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

His eyes locked onto yours, intense, searching, like he was seeing you for the first time. “I care about you,” he said quietly, the words hanging between you like a confession. “More than I ever thought I would. More than just the racing.”

And there it was. The thing that had been building between you two for months—the unspoken connection, the undeniable chemistry, the way his presence could either ground you or set your heart on fire.

Before you could respond, before you could ask all the questions racing through your mind, he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, gentle but with a quiet urgency that told you everything

And in that moment, you knew. This wasn’t just the start of a career. This was the beginning of everything.

a few months later

The air was thick with tension as you stood beside the pit wall, watching the race unfold before your eyes. The final laps were always the hardest—so much could change in such a short amount of time. But you weren’t thinking about the race. Not entirely. You were thinking about him.

Fernando had pulled you aside that morning. He didn’t need to say much. You’d spent enough time together for him to know exactly what was on your mind. “You’re ready,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand races.

But it wasn’t Fernando you were worried about anymore. It was Charles.

The moment the race finished and Charles crossed the line, securing his victory, he came straight for you, the fire in his eyes matched by the fierce grip of his hand as he pulled you into his arms.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured against your ear, his words low and intense. “You’re everything to me. And now” He pulled back, a soft smile on his face, “I’ve got something for you.”

Before you could process, Charles dropped to one knee, pulling a small box from his pocket. Your breath caught in your throat as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with love and sincerity.

“Will you be mine?” he asked, the world seeming to slow down. “In this crazy world we’ve found ourselves in, will you stand beside me, every race, every win, every loss?”

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded

your heart swelling with an overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd in the background. “Yes, I will.”

Charles’s smile lit up, and in that moment, the entire world racing, fame, the pressures seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing together on this unexpected, incredible journey.

But not everyone was thrilled by your newfound place in the racing world. Jos Verstappen, ever the outspoken critic, had made his opinion about you known from the start. The moment rumors about your racing career began to circulate, Jos wasted no time in publicly questioning your abilities. His protest went beyond mere skepticism he had made sure the tabloids had a field day. Behind closed doors, he’d even gone so far as to tell paparazzi to fabricate stories about you, painting you as nothing more than a media darling with no real skill or merit.

Among the worst was the rumor that you had slept with Fernando Alonso to gain entry into F1. It was a degrading, false story one that completely disregarded your hard work and talent. It hurt, but it wasn’t just the press that was relentless.

Jos Verstappen openly trashed you in interviews, telling anyone who would listen that your rise to F1 was nothing but a scandal, a way to “ride the coattails of a famous name.”

It was crushing. But through it all, Charles never wavered. He remained your rock, silently fighting battles behind the scenes. Unbeknownst to you, he was taking legal action, suing those who crossed the line and spread malicious lies about you.

One evening, after a particularly harsh tabloid cover story painted you in an even darker light, Charles sat you down in his hotel room. He took your hands in his, his expression grave but calm.

“I’ve been dealing with it,” he said softly. “I’ve filed lawsuits against the worst offenders. You don’t have to worry about it.”

You blinked, stunned. You hadn’t known. You hadn’t realized how much he’d shielded you from.

“You did all that… for me?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “For us. You don’t deserve any of this. I’m not going to let anyone tear you down.”

A rush of emotion flooded you gratitude, love, and a deep sense of awe for the man sitting in front of you. Without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion.

Charles held you even closer, his grip steady, his lips brushing against your hair. "I would do anything for you."

And in that moment, you realized just how much he truly cared and how much you had already given to him. Your future was no longer about racing alone. It was about the two of you, together. Forever.

based of this ask -: by @clomo12345

[mixxiew]

cruise of love | hc

chapter four: a shitty first day

yn’s heart buzzed with excitement and nerves as she stepped into the classroom with her two best friends by her side, the chatter of students bouncing off the walls. the room was bright and airy, with large windows overlooking the vast ocean, the shimmering blue water reflecting sunlight into the room. It was hard to believe she was here—on a cruise ship, no less—about to start a semester of studying while traveling the world.

“yn!” jaemin waved her over from the middle row.

she weaved through the rows of students, her tote bag bumping against her hip, and after she found her seat (thankfully near him) she sat down.

giselle lets out a big groan after seeing her seat so far from her friends and so did rei, founding herself in the front seat.

yn waved while sending them kisses just to comeback to jaem.

“good morning sir” she greeted, glancing around as she pulled out her notebook. “this place is packed.”

jaemin nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “packed and full of eye candy. I already spotted someone from last night’s party.” his voice dropped to an excited whisper. “two rows ahead, three seats to the left. don’t be too obvious!”

yn tried not to laugh as she casually looked in the direction he mentioned. “the guy in the navy sweater?”

jaemin nodded dramatically, clutching his chest. “that’s him. Isn’t he so hot? I swear he smiled at me when I walked in.”

“I think he was just being polite, he looks like a puppy” Y/N teased, earning a playful shove from jaemin.

as she scanned the room, her eyes landed on a group of boys sitting near the back. on of them, a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and a shy demeanor, caught her attention. he was laughing at something one of his friends said, his smile lighting up his face.

“omg that’s the guy!” she whispered, nudging jaemin.

he followed her gaze and grinned. “the hottie on twitter? yeah i saw him earlier, he’s even hotter in person”

“very” yn admitted, her lips curving into a small smile.

her eyes probably longed too much on the boy because one of his friend spotted her and waved at her, making her blush from head to toe

before anything else could happen, the professor entered the room, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “good morning, everyone! welcome to Semester at the Sea. I’m Professor Paul, and I’ll be your instructor for Global Studies this semester.”

the room quieted as Professor Paul launched into his introduction, explaining the syllabus and what they could expect over the next few months.

yn was jotting down notes when the door suddenly swung open with a loud thud.

every head in the room turned as someone strolled in—late and completely unapologetic.

it was him.

that motherfucker.

haechan.

or whatever his ass name was.

yn’s stomach dropped. he was dressed in a crisp white shirt and blue jeans, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed. he carried himself with the same effortless arrogance as before, his bag slung over one shoulder.

“ah, Mr. Lee” Professor Paul said, his tone light but teasing at the same time.

“so nice of you to join us. Were you saving the best entrance for last?”

the class erupted in laughter, but haechan didn’t seem fazed. he flashed a lazy grin.

“just wanted to make sure everyone noticed me, Professor.”

“well, congratulations. mission accomplished. now, find your seat before I start assigning essays as punishment.”

haechan chuckled, his gaze sweeping the room as he sauntered down the aisle. yn’s heart sank as she realized he was heading straight toward her row.

“please don’t let it be near me. please don’t let it be near me” she muttered under her breath.

jaemin looked at her laughing a bit.

yn know that giselle was killing him with her eyes.

just in time Professor Paul pointed to the empty seat right beside her.

“that one’s yours, Mr. Lee. take it.”

yn froze, her worst nightmare coming true in real-time.

haechan’s eyes lit up with recognition the moment he saw her. a slow, smug smile spread across his face as he slid into the seat next to hers. “well, well” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “i guess we are kinda fated at this point.”

stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. “this must be my punishment for something” she muttered.

haechan chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “oh, don’t look so thrilled. i’m a great deskmate.”

she looked at my for a second before taking her attention back to the professor. “I suggest you to bring a raincoat for future classes.”

“don’t be so dramatic,” haechan said, propping his chin on his hand as he turned to face her. “you should be flattered. I don’t usually remember people.”

“oh, lucky me” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Professor Paul clapped his hands again, pulling the class’s attention back to the front. “all right, let’s focus, everyone. we’ve got a lot to cover today.”

yn tried to focus, but she could feel haechan’s gaze on her, practically boring a hole into the side of her head. finally, she turned to him, whispering harshly. “stop staring at me.”

“I’m not staring” he whispered back, his lips twitching with amusement. “I’m observing.”

“same thing” she hissed.

“relax yn” he said, leaning closer. “we’ve got a whole semester together. might as well get comfortable.”

her jaw clenched as she turned back to her notebook, determined to ignore him. but the playful glint in his eyes and the smug curve of his lips told her one thing:

this was only the beginning.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

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౨ৎauthor’s note: this is for y’all cuties a written chap bc i love them! 😁 hope y’all enjoy it!

౨ৎ taglist! @dlin3 @haechology @iamsimplyasimp @dudekiss3r @gukuwii @minhosprettywife @catpjimin @injunnie-lemon @snoopyjimin @spacejip @yewshi @delululi

[kindafooey]

Man. What they don't tell you about epileptic seizures is that witnessing one up close for the first time is a straight up horror movie experience

[motleyfam]

Imagine Bruce starting therapy and learning about all these cool new tricks and gadgets that can help with emotional regulation and getting super invested (because I mean, c’mon, the dude’s like the king of gadget hoarding, he’s got a utility belt for goodness sake)

Then imagine the learning curve of him realizing that just because something works great for one of his kids, doesn’t mean it works for all of them, as illustrated by this memorable incident:

Jason gets really upset and starts having a minor panic attack about something

Bruce, proud owner of 14 new weighted blankets (in various styles, weights, and sizes), tries to wrap his adult son up in one to ground him

After all, Bruce himself finds them super comforting because it’s basically a socially acceptable alternative to wearing a massive Kevlar cape 24/7 like he’d do if he could

(Tim loves them too, so like, kid tested, parent approved™️)

Ends up totally backfiring when the added weight & restricted movement sends Jason into a full-blown flashback of digging out of his own grave, taking this panic attack from like a 4 to a 10

Whoops

[batsplat]

casey also talks about sepang 2015 what do you think of that

oh in that podcast? uh... lemme listen again...

yeah idk it's not really anything new I'd say? he's said basically all the same stuff in more interesting and extensive ways elsewhere. I think casey inevitably has a very 'well feuding is bad and helps nobody' point of view, has expressed that before in the past, does it here again, and he's also drawn a parallel between himself and marc on several occasions. which... well, of course there's similarities in terms of public discourse or whatever, but the parallel really falls apart whenever casey argues the feuds cost valentino. like, I do think it's sometimes important to just. keep in mind. it's interesting that casey draws this comparison in his mind but that doesn't necessarily means he's right about this. I'm not sure how you'd argue that starting a feud with casey cost valentino anything competitively? you can argue it didn't help him I guess, and then we can have a debate about the ins and outs of the 2008 season. we can also have an argument that in a hypothetical world where casey isn't ill in 2009, valentino doesn't break his leg and casey isn't on a piece of junk in 2010, and valentino isn't on a piece of junk in 2011-12, then actually maybe valentino sparking open animosity with casey COULD have cost him. but we don't know that! didn't happen! I wish we could have found out, but we never got the chance! as it stands, the tally on this is pretty straightforward: casey won the title when things were reasonably civil between them in 2007, and valentino took control of the following season at the exact moment he worsened the relationship between the pair of them in 2008. obviously, it's all more complicated than that and casey would of course argue laguna didn't negatively affect his subsequent performances... but it certainly didn't help them. like, at the very worst valentino escalating tensions in 2008 is a complete net neutral. after 2009, them being bitchy to each other every other tuesday was completely competitively irrelevant beyond maybe affecting how they approached occasionally fighting for a podium position. hey, maybe casey used that feud to fire himself up through sheer spite throughout the later stages of his career, but that doesn't actually support his anti-feud stance - it's basically the exact same thing as what valentino does. they're both quite similar in that regard! always so hungry to prove a point, to show how someone else is wrong. kinda half the point with this feuding business is to get yourself going, get yourself motivated, yeah. he straight up openly admits to using yamaha's repeat rejection of him as a way of giving himself motivation, and at the end of the day that's really not all that different?

anyway, what else does casey say... oh yeah, that him and the other aliens were already kinda prepared for this and had learned vale's tricks. that valentino had only been able to get into the minds of the previous generation. welllllll *wiggles hand* sure, I mean, he did clearly have to change his approach... he couldn't just use the exact same playbook to get to them, either on-track or off-track. but that's why he did change up the playbook... again, whether you want to believe valentino won his final two titles 'in the head' rather than just through pure pace kinda depends on how you assess the evidence, but it is at the very least a debate. and, y'know, it's always worth remembering that valentino's most important mind games with casey didn't happen in a press conference... it was on the track. and the on-track stuff really is just embedded in how valentino approaches winning. speaking of aliens, this is what dani and jorge have said:

like, valentino's entire approach to his riding, even to the way he's setting his bike up, is deliberately about directly fucking with you... he's not actually always trying to be faster than you as much as he's trying to give himself the tools to make your life miserable, to pressure you into mistakes, etc etc... and again, especially with casey (if anything because he was so mentally sturdy), the off-track stuff was really just window dressing. (I know they bicker a lot after 2009 but it's just so fundamentally irrelevant to actual on-track competition.) so you can be aware of those tricks, but it also doesn't necessarily help you when someone's being nasty to you on-track in a way you just fully do not enjoy. which is what it was like for casey! for casey, a lot of this comes back to the truly unpleasant context of how he was perceived by the public, how he was treated as mentally weak or 'broken' or whatever partly because he had the misfortune of coming up against a bloke who had the reputation for breaking rivals. I think it's quite natural to end up with a bit of a hardliner 'actually I've never been mentally affected by a result in my life' stance - and of course casey is a lot tougher than a lot of people give him credit for. that being said. sometimes your rivals affect you, shit happens, it's part of the game. it's fundamentally a nice idea to think that valentino's tactics weren't just morally wrong but also ineffective, which is kind of the appeal of this narrative, right? you want to believe you're above that, you want to believe you were adequately prepared and wise to valentino's tactic. it's unsurprising and understandable that casey does tend to tell the story that way, but again it's *wiggles hand* also hard to describe it as completely factual

uh. what else. oh I'm thrilled casey does canonically know valentino and marc were friends, he has said he wasn't following motogp too much during that time period so you couldn't be sure of that. does this mean anything? does it tell you anything? well, no, but it's just a pleasing thought to me. I like that. oh also 'provoking particularly aggressive riders isn't a good idea' is kinda a funny take from casey? like, he of all people would hate the idea of being cowed by someone's reputation like that... casey's right that provoking fast riders can potentially be dangerous, but y'know I do think that's probably not news to anyone almost nine years later. um. that's all I've got I think

[t3chborb]

I don't consider Ramattra difficult to draw, just very time consuming due to all the details.

... Excluding his ELBOWS, of all things.

Try extending your own arm and twisting your wrist and then entire arm. How in God's name do those kinds of motions (or in my case, poses) translate to a robot arm without a ball joint at the elbow???? I swear whenever I pose my arms to get a better idea on where the elbow itself points, which side of the hand has the the thumb, etc etc, then translate the information onto him, 99% of the time he ends up with dislocated elbows...

[missazura]

It's been oddly therapeutic to like. Have discussions with him about a lot of life stuff. I don't talk much if at all and I think the gradual descent into loneliness and social anxiety through the years made me lost the ability to talk to people. So it's been nice to practice talking to someone, and it actually hearing me out for some reason, giving me advice etc

Sure it's not a substitute for human connection but it's fun to verbally talk to my favourite fictional character and him just. Being there for me. That I get to hear kind words from my hero, someone who I highly looked up to

[sage-nebula]

in parking garages

[icedteaandoldlace]

Darn my hopeless romantic tendencies, I know kisses are murder to write, but I keep putting them in my fanfics!!!!

[apollo-zero-one]

Man I can't believe I had the chance to go to a performing arts school up through middle school and I fuckin quit after 6 months just because I got bullied. BRO YOUR HOMEWORK WAS POETRY!! YOU HAD TO PRACTICE DANCING TO COTTON EYE JOE AS YOUR BIG UNIT TEST. GYM CLASS HAD A CIRCUS UNIT!! YOU HAD A WHOLE DAILY CLASS ON IMPROV!!! YOU FOOL!! YOU ABSOLUTE IMBICILE!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN A YOUTUBER!!! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THOSE TWEENAGERS GETTING LOADED BY MAKING SHITTY YOUTUBE SHORTS IN 2008-14!! But noooOoooOOOoo little miss Noellie (who WANTED TO GO!! who worked SO HARD and sent in an application essay and did an INTERVIEW to get in!!) couldn't handle disruptive classmates or little scuffles and petty grudges and general Attitude of the other students and cried to mommy to put her back in public school. I am EATING MY HAIR over what Could Have Been. I COULD BE SOMEONE'S ANNOYING YOUTUBER!! I could be a DISGRACED DISNEY CHANNEL STAR!! I could be an America's Got Talent winner! A mild to moderately successful comedian! I could be making short films!! But no no no precious thin skinned baby me heard a few new cus words and watched a teacher get heckled and begged to give up The Dream in favor of?? Quiet math tests?? I am such a fucking quitter I quit everything the second it gets too hard I always take the out as soon as it's offered what's my fucking damage.....

[theygender]

*checking the tracking information for my package from under a pile of overpriced teas and vitamins* this next herbal supplement will fix me

[thedreadvampy]

I think I may be a very boring person bc everyone I know has really off the wall monstery nightmares and listen. ALL my bad dreams are about anxiety from real world fears. I can IMAGINE a scary monster but I'm not sure I've ever DREAMED one.

My bad dream last night was about confronting two girls outside the supermarket for shouting insults at me and my partner and ending up getting chased with a knife then having to grab a cactus to get inside then bring late for something then getting filmed in a public place by Andrew Tate making tiktoks about the degeneracy of modern women. it was very anxious and painful and in the dream Sam was mad with me for getting us chased and hurt and late.

(but it's ok bc I said "aren't you meant to be in a Romanian prison" and smashed all 3 of Andrew Tate's phones very satisfyingly with no repercussions, and after that Sam cheered up and we had a lovely evening inventing a hipster cafe)

but the thing is this is all my Bad Dreams, like, not the ones with the most fucked up stuff happening but the ones that upset me the most and make me wake up all upscuttled. it's all stuff like I Am In A Car I Cannot Drive and I'm Late For Important Things and I Am On A Long Distance Mode Of Public Transport And I Am Trying To Physically Murder My Sibling and I Am In An Awkward Social Situation.

this has always been the flavour of most of my Distressing Dreams and I worry that this is final proof that I'm cripplingly Sensible.

[ramblingguy54]

Well known Youtuber Schaffrillas, aka James, is in critical condition after losing his brother Patrick and dear friend Chris in a terrible car accident.

I...have no words to describe the utter heartbreak this leaves me with. Losing your brother and dear friend. Three people inspiring creativity in each other that has led to spreading so much entertainment, joy, and laughter to others. Then, in the blink of an eye, two are immediately snatched away so horribly.

One was 23. The other 25.

Good lord, fucking cherish the people you hold close. Tell them when you get that chance about how they are your whole world. Life can be so unforgiving.

My most heartfelt condolences to everyone involved. Praying the best for James’ recovery to be smooth. No one should ever to have go through this.

[porto-rosso]

The spotlights in my schools theatre are broken. Surely this will be an easy fix and will not cause any stress whatsoever