#the first half of 2023 felt like a long few years to me but still lmao

[vanishintoyou]

damn. i havent listened to loona since the boycott started basically... i mean i pirated a few songs that one time but like it doesnt even count when u consider i was listening to them on the daily for years... i will just pirate all songs and download them to my laptop and listen atp 😭

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 7: September 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was bright and quiet, the kind of designer-calm that was more aesthetic than practical. Polished concrete floors, oversized pendant lights, art books stacked just so. Everything looked effortless.

Except for Isabelle.

She sat at her desk, scrolling through final renderings for a residential project in Nice—light oak built-ins, linen upholstery, exposed stone. Her headphones were in, her tea long cold, her focus sharp.

And still, she could feel them.

The looks. The half-paused conversations. The way the room always seemed to hush just a little when she walked by.

It had started a few months back—right after she had started working on Max’s penthouse. 

After “The Verstappen commission,”

Which, yes, was massive. Private penthouse in Monaco. Full control of design. The budget so generous it felt like cheating.

But it wasn’t why her colleagues looked at her like that.

No, that was because of the last name.

Leclerc.

At first, it was subtle.

“Oh, Max Verstappen, huh? Funny coincidence.”

Then came the lingering glances. The comments that weren’t really jokes.

“Must be nice to have connections.”

 “Clients like that don’t just walk in the door.”

 “I mean, your brother is in F1, right?”

They never said it outright.

But she heard it. Felt it.

The implication that she hadn’t earned it. That she hadn’t spent years working late, poring over lighting plans, chasing perfection in the grain of walnut veneer. That she hadn’t clawed her way into an industry where quiet women were often passed over for louder, flashier names.

She was good at her job. Isabelle knew that. She was good. 

Good enough that her clients rarely asked for changes. 

Max’s design brief had been short and to the point: 

“Make it feel like home.”

And she had.

Still, the office couldn’t let it go.

Even now—months later—she could hear it in the voice of her coworker, Camille, who leaned against the edge of Isabelle���s desk with faux friendliness.

“Is that the Nice project?” Camille asked, eyeing her screen.

Isabelle slid off her headphones. “Yes. Final layout before the client walk-through.”

Camille hummed. “You’re getting all the high-end clients lately. It’s impressive. I guess once you do one Formula 1 driver’s penthouse…”

Isabelle smiled politely. “I still have to earn every brief.”

“Of course,” Camille said, all syrup and knives. “It just helps when people know your last name.”

Isabelle looked back at her screen. “Or your work.”

Camille blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said the client liked my work. He saw it before he saw my name.” She didn’t look up. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Camille stood there for a beat too long, clearly debating whether to keep the fight going.

Then she smiled, brittle and bright. “Anyway. Let me know if you need a second set of eyes.”

Isabelle nodded. “I will.”

She wouldn’t.

Camille walked away. Isabelle exhaled.

Never mind that she’d been designing clean, grounded spaces with layered textures and a focus on subtle light since she was twenty-one.

Never mind that she had graduated top of her class at Sorbonne. Never mind that she had won awards for her work. 

Never mind that just last week, she’d redesigned the entire layout of an apartment, hand-sourced reclaimed timber from an antique dealer in Northern Italy, managed three contractors across two countries, and did it all on time and under budget.

None of it mattered.

Not to them.

They saw the name. They made their assumptions. They smiled, thin-lipped and cold, when she walked into a room.

No one said it outright, of course. That wasn’t how this studio worked.

It was in the “accidental” exclusion from meetings. The last-minute presentation changes that stripped her name from the credits. The way Léa always called her Charles Leclerc’s sister when speaking to clients, like that was more relevant than her entire résumé.

And Isabelle… she swallowed it. Like she always did.

Because fighting it felt worse. Like it would just confirm what they already believed: that she was here because of someone else. That she had something to prove.

So she nodded. She worked. She smiled.

There was such a gap between the life she had at home and the one she had at work. 

One full of careful love and quiet safety. One where someone saw her, really saw her, and chose her without hesitation.

And one where people looked at her and saw an advantage. A connection. A shortcut they assumed she’d taken.

No one here knew she’d just moved in with Max Verstappen.

No one knew that the penthouse she designed now held her books. Her blankets. Her favorite brand of tea, tucked next to his energy drinks in the cupboard.

No one knew that she woke up on mornings that he was there to him pressing a kiss to her temple and mumbling, don’t forget your scarf, it’s windy today, like she was something precious he’d wrapped his life around.

Her private life was a dream.

It was slow breakfasts in a sunlit kitchen. Laughter tangled in late-night Netflix documentaries. Max standing behind her at the sink, arms around her waist, whispering that he loved the life they were building.

But her professional life?

It felt like it was crumbling beneath the weight of other people’s expectations.

Not good enough to be here on her own.

 Too quiet to demand credit.

Too privileged to complain.

She clenched her teeth. 

She wasn’t going to let them shrink her. Not again.

Not after all the ways she’d already been made small.

Because the truth was: her name had opened zero doors.

But her work?

That spoke for itself.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey Isabelle—random question. You have a minute?

Isabelle: Of course. What’s up?

Victoria: I’m redoing the kids’ room, and I’m going to lose my mind.

Victoria: So, Luka wants a car-themed room.

Victoria: Lio wants a dinosaur room.

Victoria: And I love them, but if I let them pick everything, my house will look like a Hot Wheels museum and a Jurassic Park gift shop had a child.  

Victoria: No one else I’ve talked to gets why I don’t want neon walls and tire-shaped beds.

Isabelle:  Because you have taste. And also because you care about designing something they can grow into.

Victoria: Yes, exactly!! I don’t want to be a sad beige mom, but I don’t want three hundred Lightning McQueen stickers either. 

Victoria: HOW do I make it nice? Like, actually nice. Not themed-party nice.

Victoria: Aesthetic. Calm. Maybe even cohesive??

Victoria: Is that possible??

Isabelle: It definitely is. The trick is color palette + subtle accents.

Isabelle: For Lio: a neutral base. Soft greens and sandy taupes for the walls. Dino Silhouettes, a custom mural, or maybe wallpaper. More storybook style than cartoon. Texture it up with wood shelves, natural materials, and some cute storage baskets that don’t scream plastic chaos.

Isabelle: For Luka: Think more along the lines of vintage race cars. Maybe white with some slate grey? More graphic than literal? Maybe we could find a tire print bedding…  also vintage racing posters, or maybe wallpaper. 

Victoria: You’re kidding. That sounds… beautiful. Isabelle. This is amazing.

Isabelle: It can be cute and timeless. Trust me.

Victoria:  Can I actually hire you for this? Like, for real?

Isabelle: You don’t have to hire me. I’ll help because I want to. But thank you for asking.

Victoria: No, thank you.  You’re brilliant.  I’ve looked at a million Pinterest boards, and none of them had this.

Victoria: Max is a nightmare to impress, and even he won't stop bragging about how you designed the penthouse.

Isabelle:  I’ll put together two mood boards for you—one for each theme: subtle, elevated, and adaptable. You can mix and match, and I’ll help make it look amazing.

Victoria: You’re amazing. Truly. 

***

Isabelle was in the studio early—like always—finalizing fabric pulls for a coastal villa project when she opened the project file and found everything… gone.

Her digital mood boards? Wiped.

The CAD revisions she stayed up late fixing? Replaced with an earlier, incomplete draft.

At first, she thought it was a mistake. Maybe she’d forgotten to save her edits. Maybe the cloud hadn’t synced. Maybe—

“Hey, Isabelle,” said Léa, voice syrupy-sweet from her desk across the room. “Your name’s all over the drive this morning. Everything okay?”

Isabelle turned, trying to keep her voice steady. “Someone deleted my work.”

“Oh?” Léa blinked. “Maybe you just didn’t save it?”

“I did.”

“Well, these things happen. Tech is finicky. Or maybe it was a permissions issue?” She smiled, sharp and condescending. “You’re still getting used to the system, right?”

Isabelle said nothing.

It wasn’t the first time. Last week, someone had “accidentally” removed her name from a client presentation. The week before that, she'd been left out of a team brainstorming session for a luxury development she’d pitched.

Now this.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

But she did.

So, so much.

***

Max heard the door open and shut softly. He glanced at the clock—past midnight. Again.

Isabelle walked in, kicking off her heels and sighing as she dropped her bag on the floor. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped with fatigue.

Max crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You know,” he said, “there’s an easy solution to this.”

She raised an eyebrow, already knowing where this was going. “Oh?”

“You quit your job,” he said simply. “Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.”

Isabelle snorted, shaking her head as she walked toward him. “Max.”

“I’m serious,” he said, watching her. “I don’t like seeing you like this. You work too much.”

She sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know. But I don’t like depending on anybody.”

Max frowned. “It’s not depending on me, it’s—”

“It is,” she cut in gently. “I’ve spent my whole life making sure I can take care of myself. I never want to be in a position where I have to rely on someone else to be okay.”

His expression softened, and he reached for her hand, pulling her closer. “You wouldn’t have to. But you could if you wanted to.”

She exhaled, leaning into him slightly. “I know. And that’s why I love you. But I need this, Max. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet.”

Max sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Fine. But at least let me buy you dinner when you come home too late to eat.”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. “That, I can agree to.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen 

Victoria: Do you still want to help with the final installation for the boys’ rooms?

Isabelle: Of course!  Just say when.

Victoria: Next weekend?

Victoria: Luka’s been asking when “Tante Belle” is coming back to make his race cars zoomier.

Victoria: And I promised him wallpaper would happen soon, or I’d never hear the end of it.

Isabelle: I can fly in Friday night. Max has a race weekend, so I’ll be solo anyway.

Isabelle: Want me to bring anything?

Victoria: Your magic brain.

Victoria:  And maybe the strength of ten men for this wallpaper. Think we can manage?

Isabelle: If you hold it straight, I’ll climb the ladder. We’ve got this.

Victoria: That’s the spirit.

Victoria: Also—want to do a decor run Saturday morning?

Victoria: I thought I had taste, but apparently, everything I pick is “too boring” or “not sparkly enough.”

Isabelle: Consider it a mission.

Isabelle: But honestly… I might just order half the internet to your house before I get there.

Victoria: Dangerous. I like it.

Isabelle: Just let me know what color Lio’s “not jungle but jungle” theme has become this week.

Victoria: I think we’ve settled on “treehouse with optional dinosaurs.”

Isabelle: That’s a mood.

Isabelle: Thank you for asking me to come. Really.

Victoria: Belle.  You’re family.

Victoria: And you’re good at this. That combo is rare and very needed.

Isabelle: Now you’re going to make me cry over wallpaper.

Victoria: You’re allowed.

Victoria:  Just not on the ladder.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen 

Isabelle: Victoria invited me to come for the weekend. 

Isabelle: To help with the boys’ rooms. Final install.

Max: That’s great! She loves your designs. I knew she’d want you there for it. You said yes, right?

Isabelle: Of course.

Isabelle: I mean… I think I did?

Isabelle: I panicked a little and offered to book a Friday evening flight and overnight half of Zara Home to her house.

Max: Sounds like a yes.

Isabelle: It’s the first time someone in your family’s invited me like that. Just… as me.

Max: That’s because they love you.  I knew they would.  You’re impossible not to love.

Isabelle: You’re biased.

Max: I’m correct.

Max: You’re going, right?

Isabelle: Yeah. I want to.  You’ll be gone anyway. Race weekend.

Max: Good. I like it when you’re with them.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: For what?

Isabelle: For never making me feel like I’m just passing through.

Max: You’re not. You’re home.

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen 

Max: Thanks again for inviting her this weekend.

Victoria: Don’t be ridiculous. She’s brilliant.  And the boys adore her.

Victoria: Luka yelled, “ISABELLE’S HERE!” like she was Santa.

Max: I think she was really nervous.  She hasn’t been… included like this much. Not by family.

Victoria: I picked up on that. She was so polite it almost broke my heart.

Max: Yeah.  That’s kind of her default.  Be small, be quiet, and don’t get in the way.

Victoria: Not in this house.

Max: Thank you.

Victoria: You don’t have to thank me for loving someone who clearly loves you.

Victoria: I see the way she looks at you, Max.

Victoria: Like she’s finally allowed to breathe.

Max: That’s how I feel when she walks in the room.

Victoria: Then we’re all exactly where we should be.

Victoria: I’ve got her. Go win your race.

Max: Trying. For both of you.

Victoria: We’ll be watching. Luka’s already decided that if you win, it’s because Isabelle helped pick the right snacks.

Max: He might be right.

Max: Thank you, Vic. Really. 

Victoria:  She’s family.  I just hope one day her brothers realize what they’ve been blind to.

Max: I hope so, too. But until then—she’s got us.

Victoria: She always will.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwives: I’m gonna need someone to explain why Isabelle Leclerc is calmly shopping with Victoria Verstappen like it’s not news?!

↳@/softpitstop: I think Isabelle is helping Victoria with her sons’ rooms. ↳@/sleuthsinmonaco: Do you think Max gave Victoria an interior designer tip?!

@/lightsoutgirlies: This is my Roman empire: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle leclerc

@/wagsandwhiplash:  Wait, wait wait—are Luka and Lio getting room makeovers??? And Isabelle Leclerc is doing them?? Like designing them???

@/thepaddockprince:  Okay, but I’m sorry, WHERE is Charles in all this? Isabelle’s out here designing Verstappen bedrooms, and he’s just... letting that happen?

@/f1fanficfuel: i need 4k behind-the-scenes content. I need the mood boards. I need the receipts. I NEED TO KNOW WHY ISABELLE LECLERC IS DECORATING THE VERSTAPPEN FAMILY HOME.

@/danielricchaos The funniest thing about all this is that none of them are explaining anything.Victoria just tagged her.  Isabel didn’t repost. Max hasn’t said a word, and now I’m insane.

@/leclercstanaccount: me trying to figure out how Charles’s invisible sister ended up doing a home makeover with victoria verstappen: ?!?!

@softlaunchcentral:  Ok, but why does Victoria’s entire weekend story arc feel like a soft launch of a new family member?  Isabelle Leclerc walked in with a tape measure and iced coffee and took OVER

@/babyverstappens: No, but genuinely: How do Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc know each other?! Who organized this crossover episode? Was it Fred Vasseur? Is this ferrari pr? Are we being gaslit?

@/plsnotanothersecretwedding: Isabelle Leclerc shopping for race car wallpaper and stuffed dinosaurs was not on my 2025 Paddock Bingo card. But I’m invested now. 

@/wagsfc: are we… soft-launching Isabelle Leclerc as victoria’s best friend?? is this happening?? 

@/formulaclarles: Why is Charles Leclerc’s sister shopping for Victoria Verstappen’s kids’ rooms???

@/dinosanddrs: The Verstappen toddler has a Leclerc choosing his wallpaper. F1 lore has never been deeper.

@/paddockpoetry: Watching Victoria and Isabelle together today just made me realize that… they both have brothers who risk their lives every weekend. Not a lot of people understand what that does to you.

@/f1bloom: Victoria and Isabelle are from two different worlds but somehow the same one:  like who else really understands that fear? Of watching the person you love fly at 300km/h and having to smile through it?

@/slowpitstoppoet: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc are watching the race together while wrangling toddlers like it’s a normal Sunday afternoon… There’s something really tender about that.

↳@/paddockthoughts It’s easy to forget sometimes that these guys are brothers and sons and uncles—not just drivers.

@/theracedaypoet: Two sisters. Two very different men behind the wheel. One Red Bull. One Ferrari. And somehow, they meet in the middle of a living room, with juice boxes, toy dinosaurs, and silent prayers. That’s what hit me about Victoria’s stories today.

@tracksideemotions: Charles Leclerc. Max Verstappen. Two of the most elite drivers in f1. Their sisters? Sat on a couch this afternoon, raising small kids and holding juice pouches and watching people they love do something terrifying. I don’t know. That’s kind of beautiful.

@/gridgirlsundays Not to get sentimental, but Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc watching the race together? That’s actually so beautiful??? Two women who know exactly what it’s like to love someone who goes 300 kph for a living

@/gridgirlsunite: Seeing Victoria and Isabelle watching the race together, surrounded by kids and calm chaos… and realizing both of them have brothers in those cars. That hit.

@/chaoticenergyf1:  We always talk about the WAGs.  But the sisters? The ones who grew up with karting fumes in their hair and have to smile through every post-race debrief because no one really asks if they’re okay? Victoria and Isabelle deserve more credit.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: My car won’t start.

Isabelle: Can I borrow one of yours for a few days?

Charles: No.

Arthur: HAHAHAHAHAHA. No. 

Lorenzo: Absolutely not.

Isabelle: …Are you kidding me? I have no way to get to work.

Arthur: Take the train?

Isabelle: It’s too far, and there’s no direct route.

Charles: The bus?

Isabelle: I’d have to leave in five minutes to even make it work.

Lorenzo: Taxi?

Isabelle: I can’t afford a taxi every day, Lorenzo.

Arthur: Maybe this is a sign you should finally buy a new car.

Isabelle: Oh yes, let me just manifest thousands of euros out of thin air.

Charles: You should have planned for this.

Isabelle: My car was fine yesterday, Charles! I didn’t exactly expect it to die overnight!

Arthur: Sounds like a you problem.

Isabelle: You problem?? My car just DIED. I didn’t plan for this!

Lorenzo: Maybe you should’ve.

Isabelle: HOW DOES ONE PLAN FOR THEIR CAR DYING OVERNIGHT?

Charles: By not driving something from 2010.

Arthur: Isabelle, your car was basically a tin can on wheels. It was only a matter of time.

Lorenzo: Yeah, at this point, it was a mercy killing.

Isabelle: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we all had Ferrari sponsorships. Let me just drop six figures on a new car real quick.

Arthur: You don’t need six figures. You just need something that isn’t held together by hope and desperation.

Isabelle: I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

Isabelle: One of you just lend me a car. For TWO DAYS. I promise I won’t even breathe near the paint.

Charles: Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.

Isabelle: I wasn’t asking for your Ferrari specifically, Charles! Any of you must have something I can use.

Lorenzo: You’ll survive.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: Hey, you okay? Haven’t heard from you today.

Isabelle: Oh. Yeah. Just dealing with a disaster.

Max: …What kind of disaster?

Isabelle: My car is dead. Like fully dead. It made a noise that I’m pretty sure meant it was dying, started smoking, and then it wouldn’t start.

Max: That’s… not great. Did you have it towed? 

Isabelle: It’s at the garage now. The mechanic basically said it’s on life support and not worth fixing.

Max: So take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. 

Isabelle: Excuse me?

Max: So just take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. what’s the problem, schatje?

Isabelle: …You say that like it’s normal.

Max: It is normal? We live together? You need a car? I have cars? Just grab a key and take one?

Isabelle: …I asked my brothers if I could borrow one of their cars while I figure things out. Lorenzo ignored me. Arthur laughed. Charles said that I should have planned for this. 

Max: Your brothers are useless.

Max: Take any one of the cars.

Isabelle: Max. Be serious.

Max: I am serious.

Isabelle: What if I crash it?!

Max: Then I worry more about you than the car.

Isabelle: What if I scratch something??

Max: Then it gets fixed.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Max: Just take one. I don’t want you dealing with this.

Isabelle: I cannot believe this. My own brothers wouldn’t even consider letting me borrow a car, and you—

Max: I’m your boyfriend. This is normal.

Isabelle: Is it???

Max: Yes. Now go pick a car before I get somebody to drive you everywhere.

Isabelle: You wouldn’t.

Max Verstappen: Schatje, they are just cars. You are making a big deal out of nothing. Pick whichever one you want.

Isabelle: I just… I can’t believe you’re okay with this.

Isabelle: You are actually insane.

Max: No, I’m practical. You need a car, I have cars. Problem solved.

Isabelle: Fine. Which one do you care about the least?

Max: None of them are as important as you.

Isabelle: That’s not what I—Max. Which one??

Max: …The Porsche?

Isabelle: I cannot take your Porsche.

Max: Okay, then take the Aston.

Isabelle: That is worse.sss

Max: Take the Audi, then. Or one of the Ferraris.

Isabelle: You are not helping.

Max: I’m literally giving you a solution, schatje. Just pick any of the cars. I don’t care which one you use. I have to get ready for qualifying. Take a car. Be safe. And text me when you’re home. Love you. 

Isabelle: Love you too, you ridiculous man.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe the absolute nonsense I just went through.

Emilie: Oh, this is already promising. Go on.

Isabelle: My car? Dead. Like full-on smoking and now won’t start. So I asked my dear, wonderful brothers if I could borrow one of their cars.

Emilie: Oh, I know this isn’t going to end well.

Isabelle: Lorenzo said ABSOLUTELY NOT. Arthur laughed. Charles told me, and I QUOTE: “Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.”

Emilie: I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet.

Isabelle: I was fuming.

Emilie: So what’s the solution? Are you getting a rental?

Isabelle: I WAS. And then Max texted me because I hadn’t answered him all day. I explained the whole thing, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: …I am both excited and terrified to find out.

Isabelle: “Just take one of mine.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: I told him that was INSANE. Like, shouldn’t racing drivers be obsessed with their cars? Worried I’ll scratch them? Do you know what Charles would do if I so much as LOOKED at his Ferrari keys too long??

Emilie: Have a full-on cardiac episode.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: And Max?

Isabelle: Told me to just grab a key and drive whichever car I wanted.

Emilie: …He really just handed you the keys to the kingdom, huh?

Isabelle: I told him I could CRASH it, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: Oh, I cannot wait.

Isabelle: “Then I worry more about you than the car.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: This man is going to MARRY you.

Isabelle: SHUT UP.

Emilie: I WILL NOT. That was the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever read.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: So… what are we thinking for a new car?

Isabelle: Something used. I don’t need anything fancy.

Max: Used?

Isabelle: Yes?? I’ll be throwing horse stuff in there anyway. No point in getting something new just to cover it in mud and hay.

Max: No.

Isabelle: …No?

Max: No. You’re getting something safe.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: You are being ridiculous.

Max: For wanting you to be in a car that won’t fall apart if someone breathes on it? Yeah, I am so ridiculous, you wouldn’t believe it.

Isabelle: It’s not going to fall apart, Max. I’ve had my car for years.

Max: And look what happened to it.

Isabelle: …Okay, fair.

Max: So. Something safe. Think about the children.

Isabelle: …What.

Max: When we have kids, you’re going to be driving them around.

Isabelle: Excuse me???

Max: What?

Isabelle: WHEN we have kids???

Max: Yes??

Isabelle: You’re already thinking about that??

Max: Of course.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: I thought you’d already thought about it.

Isabelle: I have, but you thinking about it is a whole different thing!!

Max: Why wouldn’t I? I want a family. With you.

Isabelle: …

Max: Schatje?

Isabelle: I need a minute.

Max: Okay. Take your minute. But after that, we’re getting back to the car discussion because you are not getting some half-broken used car.

Isabelle: You just casually dropped “when we have kids” into a conversation about cars like it was nothing.

Max: It’s just… something I’ve thought about. A lot.

Isabelle: A lot??

Max: Yes? I want to spend my life with you. So obviously, I think about that.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: And you’ve thought about it too.

Isabelle: I— okay, maybe, but that’s different!

Max: How?

Isabelle: Because I didn’t expect you to think about it!!

Max: …Schatje.

Isabelle: What.

Max: I love you.

Isabelle: …I love you too.

Max: I want to build a future with you. A family. I don’t know when that will happen, but I know that when it does, I want you to be the mother of my children.

Isabelle: …

Max: You’re being very quiet.

Isabelle: …Just processing.

Max: Take your time. 

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. Emergency.

Emilie: What did Max do?

Isabelle: We were talking about CARS. Just cars. Like normal people.

Emilie: Uh-huh…

Isabelle: And then out of nowhere, he’s like, “Well, think about the children.”

Emilie: …WHAT.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: And what did you say???

Isabelle: Nothing! My brain short-circuited! He just kept talking like it was totally normal!!!

Emilie: Belle. Be honest. Are you freaking out because it was unexpected or because you really liked hearing him say that?

Isabelle: …I met his nephews.

Isabelle: Emilie. They’re tiny Maxes. Like. Exact replicas. The genes in that family are scary.

Emilie: YOU’RE GONE.

Isabelle: I’M IN DANGER.

Emilie: No, you’re in love.

Emilie: Belle. I love you, but you’ve always been that girl. The type who had a secret wedding Pinterest board at sixteen and a list of baby names hidden in your notes app.

Isabelle: …Shut up.

Emilie: Am I wrong?

Isabelle: …No.

Emilie: EXACTLY. And now you have a boyfriend who also thinks about those things. I’m so happy for you.

Isabelle: But like. He said it so casually. Like he just knows it’s going to happen. No hesitation, no panic. Just “Think about the children.”

Emilie: He’s in love with you, Belle. Obviously, he’s thinking about the future.

Isabelle: Yeah, but. That far ahead?

Emilie: Let’s be real. You love that he’s thinking about it.

Isabelle: I do. I really do.

Emilie: So. What are we naming my future godchild?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: Just saying, you should prepare. Because if you do have a kid with Max Verstappen, it’s definitely going to be a mini Max.

Isabelle: I KNOW. That’s the problem. His genes are terrifyingly strong.

Emilie: You’re already picturing it, aren’t you?

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: You’re so gone for this man.

Isabelle: I KNOW.

Isabelle: I mean, logically, I knew Max was serious about us. But hearing him say something like that so casually? Like it’s just… a fact?

Emilie: Because to him, it is a fact. Belle, you are it for him. You really think Max Verstappen does things halfway?

Isabelle: No…

Emilie: Exactly. This is a guy who commits fully to everything. You think he wouldn’t be the same about you? About your future together?

Isabelle: I guess I just never thought someone would… want that with me, you know?

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: Like, I love my brothers, but I’ve spent my whole life feeling like an afterthought. Charles, Lorenzo and Arthur had their thing, their path, their goals. I was just… there.

Emilie: You were never just there.

Isabelle: It felt like it. Like I was always waiting for someone to see me. And now here’s Max, just—knowing. No hesitation, no doubts. He just knows.

Emilie: And that scares you?

Isabelle: No. That’s the thing—it doesn’t. It should, right? I should be panicking because it’s too much, too soon. But I’m not.

Emilie: Because deep down, you’ve already thought about it too.

Isabelle: …Yeah.

Emilie: So what now?

Isabelle: I don’t know. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Text him like, “Hey, I’d love to ruin my body for you, let’s make a Verstappen baby”?

Emilie: STOP! I just choked on my drink.

Isabelle: You asked!

Emilie: Okay, but honestly—do you want that? Not just in theory. Not just someday. With him.

Isabelle: …Yeah. I do.

Emilie: Belle. That’s huge.

Isabelle: I know. But it’s also terrifying.

Emilie: Why?

Isabelle: Because what if I let myself want it too much? What if I start dreaming about it and then something happens? What if it doesn’t work out?

Emilie: Okay, but what if it does? What if you and Max get everything you’ve ever wanted?

Isabelle: …Then I think I’d be really, really happy.

Emilie: Then maybe it’s time to start letting yourself believe in it.

Isabelle: Yeah. Maybe it is.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hypothetically, what would you name our baby?

Max: Really, hypothetically? Or are you testing me?

Isabelle: Just answer the question, Verstappen.

Max: Fine. I like names that sound strong. Nothing too complicated.

Isabelle: …That’s not an answer.

Max: You answer first.

Isabelle: No, because then you’ll just pick one of mine to agree with.

Max: That is not true.

Isabelle: Prove it.

Max: Okay. If it’s a boy… maybe Noah.

Isabelle: Huh.

Max: You don’t like it?

Isabelle: No, I do! I just didn’t expect that.

Max: What did you expect?

Isabelle: I don’t know… something more Dutch?

Max: Like what?

Isabelle: I don’t know, Willem.

Max: …That’s literally the king’s name.

Isabelle: And your name is literally Max Emilian, you’re acting like you don’t sound like a prince in a European history textbook.

Max: Says the girl with four names. I refuse to name our kid Willem, by the way. 

Isabelle: Okay, fine. What about a girl?

Max: I always liked Zoe.

Isabelle: …

Max: Why are you silent?

Isabelle: I just. Didn’t expect that either.

Max: You’re testing me, aren’t you?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Okay, fine, I was curious.

Max: And?

Isabelle: And now I know that you’ve actually thought about this.

Max: Of course I have. I told you—I don’t do things halfway.

Isabelle: …

Max: What?

Isabelle: Nothing.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: It’s just… I like Zoe.

Max: Yeah?

Isabelle: Yeah.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hey, I need car advice.

GP: For yourself?

Max: No, for Isabelle.

GP: What happened to her current car?

Max: It died. Fixing it would cost more than it's worth.

GP: That sounds about right. So, what are you thinking?

Max: Something safe for the kids.

GP:

GP:

GP: WHAT KIDS?

Max: ???

GP: MAX.

GP: ISABELLE IS PREGNANT???

Max: No??

GP: THEN WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT "SOMETHING SAFE FOR THE KIDS"?

Max: Oh. I meant, like, future kids.

GP: Max.

GP: You nearly gave me a heart attack.

Max: Why would you immediately assume she's pregnant?

GP: BECAUSE YOU SAID "FOR THE KIDS."

Max: Yeah, but future ones. Obviously.

GP: Nothing about that was obvious, Max.

Max: …So do you have a car suggestion or not?

GP: Max. MAX. You’ve been dating for—what—five months?

Max: Almost six.

GP: AND YOU’RE ALREADY THINKING ABOUT KIDS??

Max: I mean, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?

GP: Because most people don’t plan future car safety for hypothetical children six months into a relationship??

Max: Well, when you know, you know.

Max: Anyway. I’m thinking of an SUV. Maybe a Mercedes. Isabelle wants something practical, but I don’t trust her to pick something actually safe.

GP: What does she want?

Max: “Something cheap that won’t make her cry if a horse destroys it.”

GP: And you?

Max: Something that won’t crumple in a crash. Something safe. Something that—

GP: Can carry future Verstappen babies, I got it.

Max: You’re catching on.

GP: You are so lucky I’ve known you this long because if anyone else told me this six months into dating, I’d assume they were insane.

Max: I am insane.

GP: … Fair.

GP: So, does Isabelle know you’re out here planning a future family car?

Max: Not exactly.

GP: Oh my god.

Max: We were just talking about what kind of car she should get, and I may have casually mentioned thinking about safety for future kids.

GP: And?

Max: She kind of short-circuited.

GP: No kidding.

GP: So, what’s the plan?

Max: I’m going to “help” her pick something.

GP: Meaning?

Max: Meaning she thinks we’re going car shopping, but really, I’m going to steer her toward something I already picked out.

GP: You are so manipulative.

Max: Smart. I’m smart.

GP: Does she know that you’re just going to buy it for her?

Max: No, and she’ll fight me on it, but I’ll win.

GP: How?

Max: I’ll just tell her it’s a gift, and if she doesn’t accept it, I’ll be very sad.

GP: Max, that only works because you have the face of a golden retriever.

Max: And I use it.

Max: So, what car should I buy her?

GP: You want me to help you pick a car for your girlfriend, who has no idea you’re about to buy her a car?

Max: Exactly.

GP: Do I look like a car salesman?

Max: You look like my race engineer, which means you’re good at analyzing data and helping me make smart decisions.

GP: That is such a stretch.

Max: Come on. What would you get if you were picking a car for your girlfriend?

GP: Something reliable. Safe. Not too flashy—

Max: Boring.

GP: Practical.

Max: I don’t want Isabelle driving something boring.

GP: Because you’re planning on borrowing it?

Max: No! Because she deserves something nice.

GP: But she doesn’t want nice, she wants practical.

Max: I can do both.

GP: Max—

Max: What?

GP: Just buy her a Volvo.

Max: A Volvo?

GP: Safe. Reliable. Built to last.

Max: But—

GP: Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

Max: I hate that you know me this well.

GP: That’s my job.

Max: …Fine. I’ll look at Volvos.

GP: Good. Just… next time you text me something like that, lead with the fact that she’s not pregnant.

Max: I think it was funnier this way.

GP: I hate you.

***

"You’re being weird."

Max glanced at Isabelle as they walked into the dealership, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "I’m not being weird."

"You are," she insisted, narrowing her eyes. "You hate car dealerships. You said, and I quote, ‘Why would I subject myself to this when I can just order a car online and have it delivered like a normal person?’”

"Well," Max said smoothly, "this is different. This is your car."

Isabelle was still suspicious but let it go. For now. She’s just grateful he came with her. She might love shopping, but car shopping? Absolutely not.

A salesman approached, all too eager when he recognised who had just walked in. "Mr. Verstappen, it’s a pleasure! How can I help you today?"

Max didn’t even hesitate. "We’re looking at SUVs."

Isabelle stopped in her tracks. "We are?"

"Yes," Max said, completely unfazed. "Something safe. Reliable. Good for long drives and carrying things."

"Like hay and tack and muddy boots?" she deadpanned.

The salesman, sensing an easy sale, grinned. "I’ve got some great options! Any particular brands in mind?"

Max gave him a look. The look. The one that meant he already had one car in mind and would not be swayed.

"Show us the Volvo XC90, please."

Isabelle blinked. "A Volvo?"

Max nodded. "Volvos are the safest cars on the market."

"You sound like a commercial."

"It’s true."

"I thought you were going to make me test drive something ridiculous, like a Ferrari SUV."

"No," Max scoffed, as if the mere suggestion was offensive.

The salesman led them over to a sleek, black Volvo XC90. Isabelle, despite herself, was intrigued. It was nice. Comfortable. It had all the modern safety features Max has probably memorized.

She ran her hand over the hood. "This is… actually not bad."

Max gave her a satisfied look. "GP thought you would like it."

Isabelle frowned. "Wait. GP was involved in this?"

"Of course. He and I had a whole discussion."

"About my car?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Max shrugged, playing innocent. "I wanted his opinion. He agreed it was a good choice for you."

Isabelle crossed her arms. "So you two picked this out before we even got here?"

"Not exactly—"

"Max."

"Okay, yes."

Isabelle gaped at him. "So this whole ‘shopping’ trip was just a performance? A setup?"

Max looked far too pleased with himself. "Well, I couldn’t just tell you to get this one. You’d have fought me on it."

"Of course I would have! You can’t just decide for me!"

"But you like it, don’t you?"

She hesitated. Damn him. She did like it. But that wasn’t the point.

"You’re insufferable."

Max grinned, leaning against the car. "Yet, here we are."

The salesman, wisely staying out of this, cleared his throat. "Would you like to test drive it?"

Isabelle sighed. "I guess."

Max nudged her. "You’re welcome."

"I didn’t thank you."

"You will," Max said smugly.

And annoyingly, she knew he was right.

***

Max had never been one for extravagant birthday celebrations. He much preferred a quiet evening, good food, and the company of someone he actually wanted to be around. Which was why, when Isabelle asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, his answer was simple:

"Just dinner. At home. With you."

So that was exactly what they did.

Isabelle had insisted on cooking, despite his half-hearted protests that they could just order something. But she had shot him a look—one he knew well by now, the kind that dared him to argue—and so he had wisely backed off. Instead, he stood at the kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine as he watched her move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency.

"You know," he mused, "this is a pretty good birthday already."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the small smile she tried to hide. "I haven't even finished cooking yet."

"Doesn't matter. You’re here. That’s enough."

Her hands stilled on the cutting board, her grip tightening slightly before she exhaled and resumed slicing the vegetables. She had never been great at accepting compliments, but Max had learned to give them anyway.

Dinner turned out perfect—simple, comforting, and exactly what he wanted. After they had eaten, they lingered at the table, talking about everything and nothing at all, her fingers occasionally brushing against his. When they finally moved to the couch, he pulled her close, letting out a content sigh.

"Happy birthday, Max," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He hummed in response, his arms tightening around her. "It is."

Max hadn’t wanted a big celebration. No parties, no cameras, no over-the-top surprises—just a quiet evening at home with Isabelle. And honestly, that was all he needed.

He smiled, tightening his hold on her. “It is.”

The quiet hum of the city outside their apartment barely registered as Max sat there, content with the warmth of Isabelle tucked against him. He had spent birthdays in Monaco, in fancy restaurants, surrounded by people who barely knew him beyond his racing. But this—just the two of them, no distractions—was his favorite.

She shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. "You’re really that easy to please?"

Max smirked. "When it comes to you? Yeah."

A faint flush rose on her cheeks, and he resisted the urge to tease her for it. Instead, he traced a slow line along her arm, feeling the way she relaxed under his touch.

After a while, Isabelle sat up, reaching for something on the coffee table. It was a small, neatly wrapped box—he hadn’t even noticed it before. She hesitated before handing it to him.

"I know you said you didn’t want anything," she said, suddenly looking a little nervous. "But—well, I wanted to get you something anyway."

Max took the box, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he unwrapped it. Inside was a simple metal bracelet. But what caught his attention was the engraving on the inside—subtle, almost hidden.

"Vitesse et cœur."

Speed and heart.

His chest tightened.

"It’s nothing big," Isabelle said quickly. "I just—I know racing is everything to you, but I also know you drive with more than just skill. You drive with everything you have." She exhaled, fingers twisting together. "I just thought it fit."

Max stared at her for a long moment before carefully sliding the bracelet onto his wrist. It fit perfectly.

He didn’t say anything right away—just pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"You know me too well," he murmured against her skin.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "I’d hope so, considering I’ve been secretly dating you for months."

Max chuckled, his grip on her tightening. "Best secret I’ve ever kept."

***

[angelkiyo]

haikyuu characters as romance tropes + songs in my playlist ❀

a/n - this was a thought i needed to get out..! i love music n i love haikyuu soooo. i also did a series similar to this but w actual one shots but tbh compiling them is smarter ngl. totally fw the spotify linked in my nav btw :0 — unedited drabble/thought piece

——“ they just can't reach her, princesita inalcanzable / le rompieron el cora, pero nunca se la perdió" (igual que un angel, 2023) - after years being your friend, getting friend-zoned for so long and finally getting a chance to date you, they're whipped and put you on a pedestal. they know all that you've gone through regarding relationships and would want nothing but your happiness. they're the immense green flag you need and would treat you with nothing but respect, sending you notes in class, and making you little bento boxes filled with their cooking, sending small poems that remind them of you but then again, you deserve it. you're as sweet as sugar and in their eyes, you're an angel on earth. they don't know when their feelings for you started, but when they finally confessed to you, it was the happiest they've felt. you've been their “other half” for so long that all your mutual friends have been telling you to get together, so imagine your friends' reaction when they see you and them on a date one random day, hand in hand and with your head on their shoulder as the two of you sat waiting for the bus back to your place.

best friends to lovers : kageyama tobio, BOKUTO KOTARO, ojiro aran, IWAIZUMI HAJIME, SHIMIZU KIYOKO

——"only like myself when im with you / nobody gets me like you” (nobody gets me, 2022) - both of you strive for excellence, only really wanting to achieve the best academically and on the court during gym class. it's obvious how strong your rivalry with him is, that even your friends jokingly tell you "just kiss already" when you already do. the two of you would be taking little secret rendezvous when you're supposed to be studying to be at the top of your class and staying up after his volleyball practice when everyone leaves. it felt thrilling as no one knew about your relationship (after constantly bragging that you didn't need a significant other). but once your grades began to slip, you couldn't risk losing the source of validation you've gotten to know for so long. you still had your ego and your pride to maintain, and he understood. he understood more than anyone which is why you felt yourself so emotionally attached to him. leading the both of you to enter an almost endless cycle of attempting a secret relationship while also trying to achieve validation from academic success.

rivals to lovers (and rivals again) : shirabu kenjiro, KITA SHINSUKE, tsukishima kei, sakusa kiyoomi, KUROO TETSURO

——"i burn for you / and you don't even know my name" (close to you, 2024) - after accidentally adding them on social media from quick add (due to mutuals from school), you find yourself in a predicament. you're from the same school and know of them, but know that you have never talked to them. you've never even interacted with them at all in real life. though, for the past few weeks, they're earned themselves the title of a talking stage, staying up until 3 in the morning sometimes, just to talk to you. you two would play valorant or whatever video game you’ve been wanting to play and last hours on video call, sharing playlists and being mutuals on everything. although, talking for so long caused him to be a little bold, flirting with you a bit. you're in different classes yet every time you have a break in class, you talk to them, sending snaps of what you do and so does he. so when you finally have your first date in person, you panic and in all honesty, he does too. what if you two don't get along? what if you thought he was weird? your first thought was that he's very handsome, that's for sure. though, it felt that all you really needed was to just talk as you've gotten past the digital barrier and had natural chemistry in real life.

online love : kozume kenma, SUNA RINTARO, miya atsumu, TENDO SATORI, terushima yuji

——"no one's ever good enough / i want a love like i've seen in the movies" (like the movies, 2021) - you met them at a barnes and noble during a regular day after school. you’ve always been a hopeless romantic, longing for love between the pages of a romantic comedy book or film. so when you bumped into them, books in hand, it felt like a spark between you two. the two of you ended up exchanging numbers to talk more, then meeting up and talking / hanging out in person (a date in your opinion). being in a relationship with someone else who also understood the want to fall in love “romantically” felt amazing. every time your school would have a game, you’d go and cheer them on from the sidelines, wearing his spare jersey. good morning texts, gift baskets for monthaversaries, huge love letters, and frequent dates felt too good to be true, and it was. you can always expect them to have heart eyes and only for you, as well as listening to your rants and theories surrounding different romance novels and films. especially your thoughts on the concept of the meet cute.

meet cute : AKAASHI KEIJI, yamaguchi tadashi, sugawara koshi, OIKAWA TORŪ, miya osamu, SEMI EITA

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 1

Alec Lightwood + Praise Kink

Happy first day of kinktober everyone. I’ve got a lot more schoolwork this year (curse you psychology) but ill be doing my best to try and keep up with my posting.

I’m gonna be honest I haven’t watched Shadowhunters in a long time, but Alec and Magnus still mean a lot to me. So, this is super vague about background stuff, cuz I can’t remember any of the plot from the show or books.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

Alec found himself sighing as he leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his hand reaching up to rub at his aching temples. He took his duty very seriously, but at times it could do nothing but cause pains and aches throughout his body and psyche. Not only that, but his work kept him apart from you, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. Alec had known at the time when he gained his rank that this work would fill much of his life, but now that he had finally found his way to you, it almost didn’t feel worth it.

Alec sighed softly as he got out of his seat, there was no reason to keep working any more tonight. At this point he had stared at those reports enough that he was seeing double, and the thought of your shared bed was like an angel’s call. With that in mind, the shadowhunter found himself almost floating to your shared room, a new edition to your relationship. Neither of you even had much time to spend in this room, as you were both important people in your circles and both took your duties seriously.

It was because of this that Alec didn’t even think about you being present when he entered the dimly lit room, his eyelids heavy and half shut as he pulled off his clothes robotically, folding it up neatly and placing it off to the side to go in the laundry in the morning. It was only when he fell onto the bed, now only clad his boxers, that he noticed the second presence in the room. He almost jolted up with shock, but your arm wrapped warmly and securely around his waist, pulling your lover close as you nuzzled into the back of his stiff neck.

“there’s my pretty boy” you rumble, your voice thick with sleep but also the love and admiration you have for Alec. Alec only allows himself to huff a little, feeling embarrassed at your sweet words. He had never gotten used to being complimented or praised, so when you peppered sleepy kisses on his neck and mumbled about his beautiful, he was and how strong he was, the shadowhunter felt himself grow hotter in the face.

“Look at you, all tense” you huff, your warm hands running up and down the planes of Alecs torso as you hook your chin over his shoulder, your thumbs rubbing just below his pecs, the action causing him to twitch and exhale sharply. “Always working so hard for everyone, but you never take care of yourself” you mumble, your lips pressed to the side of his neck. You can’t help but nibble on the skin there, letting your tongue flatten against the rune on his neck.

“Guess that’s why you have me, isn’t it” you almost tease, your hands finally grabbing his tight pecs in your palms, giving him a loving squeeze, making your sensitive lover whine. “Always such a diligent, good boy, aren’t you?” you croon, giving both of his nipples a quick pinch and twist, enjoying the punched-out noise that leaves Alec at the action. You had always loved how sensitive he was, and how easily you could work him up with just a few touches and sweet words.

“My good boy” you purr, hands traveling down his torso at a snail’s pace, almost in a worshipping manner as you feel out every shape that makes up his body, basking in the shaky way he breaths and how he can’t seem to keep his legs still. “My pretty boy” you hum, your thumbs teasing at the elastic of his underwear, an almost catlike smirk on your lips as you let your lover stew in the need and want running through his tired body.

“Just lay back Alec, ill take care of you” you mutter, using your grip to pull him further against your chest, your hips grinding into his own from behind. Alec shakily exhales but seems to melt in your arms, his muscles untensing as you fold his boxers down under his sack, releasing his hardness to the darkness of your shared room.

“Ill always take care of you. Because you are so good, and so beautiful. So smart, and so considerate of everyone around you” you keep mumbling, one of your hands wrapping around where Alec craves you the most. The noise that leaves him sounds drawn out and almost painful, like he had wanted you to touch him for so long. There isn’t a need for lube, as you don’t have to do much to work Alec how he needs it, at the moment he doesn’t need anything wild, he just needs your touch and presence.

The loose grip you have around him and the lazy way you stroke him is enough to have Alec twitching and jolting, his mouth open as he gasps and whimpers, words long gone from his person as he arches his hips into your hand. How you feel about him is impossible to express in words, so you keep laying every compliment you can think of on him as you kiss and suck at his neck and shoulder.

His keens rise in volume, his voice wobbly and almost hoarse as he begs in broken words. “Go on baby. Good boy, come on, be good and give it to me” you rumble, reaching up with your free hand to give one of his nipples a rough pinch and twist. Its all Alec needs to finish, his hips jolting almost painfully into your hand as his essence spills across the sheets in thick white stripes, painting your black sheets in a different shade.

You barely are able to withdraw from his back before Alec is asleep, the exhaustion of the multiple days of nonstop work and the euphoria of his orgasm knocking him out cold. With a soft chuckle, you kiss his temple and start cleaning up, moving him around to change him out of his underwear into a new pair, and getting new sheets on the bed. As you cuddle against his back again, this time under the sheets, you smile softly to yourself as you kiss the back of his neck. “I love you so much, my sweet boy” you whisper before shutting your eyes, burying your face into his hair, and inhaling his scent, letting the familiar scent carry you off into the land of sleep.

[thatlittleviolin]

//A little ramblig about eddie dear bc i cant stop thinking about him

Im not joking when i say this whole post was inspired after seen @//purple-raspberries “the mailman” drawing because O MY STARS WHAT IS THAT DRAWINgGGGGGG /pos

Okay so anyway, whats up with Eddie Dear? As, like, an active character of Welcome Home?

Something rubs me in the wrong way when it comes to him as a whole, not that I dislike him, pretty… much the opposite (thats why I'm making this post) actually, but I feel he is more relevant to the lore than what ppl give him credit for.

Even way before the past-year (2023) Halloween and Homewarming updates, I felt that he must simply be more than what is presented to us about him:

- He is the only character who sees all the rest of the neighbours every day due to his work

- He is one of the few if not the only one who is confirmed to be from outside of Home

- He brings one of the TWO functional clocks in all of Home (which could well be due to the nature of his work, but it doesn't take away from the fact that it's curious)

And I know, ik, this is not a lot. In fact, I believe this is not crucial info, but I want to mention it because it gives, in some way, a certain statement: Eddie Dear is not like everyone else. It differentiates him from the others.

There's simply something intriguing about him; and I constantly think about how, again, he's the resident who interacts most with his neighbors, the most helpful and willing to do anything, and despite that, he's the one who gets the most hits?

Hes always in a rush because he likes helping others, he's clumsy and yet he does his job in a stellar way and yet he goes the more underappreciated by his neighbors and its the first one to get to have his own personal breakdown during the Homewarming

Keep in mind, I don't mean that the other characters are bad or smth, we all know that inside they care for each other and are a pretty nice neighborhood-

But yea, starting with the most obvious, Howdy and Sally are downright condescending, bordering on rude to him. Howdy ignores him or pays half attention when he goes to deliver merchandise to the Bugdega and tries to start a conversation, and despite this, we can see that Howdy asks him for help to deliver things to someone else.

More specifically, during a hidden audio, we can hear that he uses Eddie to deliver an order of bowling balls to Julie DESPITE Howdy having a home delivery system and probably being able to better handle the weight of the merchandise, being at least two heads taller than Eddie, right when Eddie had just told him he had a very tiring day (of course he didn't hear that)

Sally, on her side, is condescending to him to the degree that when we hear them interacting, at least until now, it's mostly her giving him orders. Heck, Sally has a "long name" for every resident EXCEPT Eddie, whom she usually just calls "Mailman" for everything.

Julie and Frank tend to be more passive about it, but it doesn't take away from the fact that they also end up... taking advantage a bit? Or leaving him a bit aside. I know, I know, we all ship FranklyDear here, but it still bothers me how during "Eddie's big lift" (+ another hidden audio) we're shown how Julie tends to involve him in her games without much consideration as to whether Eddie even understands them to begin with, and Frank, despite acknowledging that he works hard and often overworks for everyone, leaves him lying on the ground. They don't even wait for him to get up to say goodbye properly, they just leave him there and go home. It's a bit sad to hear how Eddie talks to himself while getting up and dusting himself off.

And finally, one that I understand is a joke but serves as a transition to my next point: Barnaby and his constant gag of chasing Eddie around the neighborhood as soon as he sees him making his deliveries, or insisting that Eddie lifts him up because “he's just a puppy”. I won't delve into this (not now) because I know that overall that's Barnaby's way of joking; Eddie is not his only victim, but when you mix it with everything said above, it gives off some weird vibes.

It's as if Eddie was the typical "punching bag" character of the show's creators; you know, the one created so that the fun we get from him is at his expense, and sadly, somehow that fact makes sense to me as to why he's the first to have a "breakdown" during Homewarming and said breakdown has to do with, what else? his isolation and probable sadness.

During Sally's history and Poppy's confinement in her own house, there were two predominant themes: what happens when we're in the dark, what lurks in the shadows and whatnot, and isolation: Sally talks about this but Poppy experiences it first hand; shes alone and in the dark, house bricked to the top. However, Eddie gets overwhelmed despite being surrounded by everyone and, clearly, in a lit environment.

My opinion? Said loneliness and darkness don't necessarily need to be tangible, and in Eddie's case, they come from a mental place. My dear doesn't seem to have too much appreciation for himself, constantly letting people get the help they want (need, of course) from him at the cost of his own well-being. Eddie Dear is not happy, in fact, I feel he puts himself down a bit, which equates to darkness, and when he can distract himself from this fact again, Home reminds him; and his loneliness comes in a literal-but-not way. Eddie is never alone, that's evident, but again, in the Homewarming video we're not only emphasized that he's upset and confused because no one has asked him for help, but because he DOESN'T KNOW how to handle his own activities outside of work. Anything that doesn't have to do with the post office but is more personal overwhelms him because he's not used to thinking outside of how he should help others because that's his "only" way of interacting with them. Eddie needs to be needed in order to be closer to others, and when that's not the case, it frustrates him so much that it even seems like anger.

Heck, it's even sad how Sally mentions that nobody bothered him with the usual tasks they would require him for to give him a day off, and then downright nobody interacted with him. Not even Julie called him to play. When Sally finds him under Home's tree, she asks him to escort her to Home for the Homewarming and it's narrated that they're the last to arrive, but if Eddie hadn't left his house then... what? Would he have stayed there? (Lowkey I theorize that he wouldn't have, because of the fact that Sally and Frank seem to have more awareness than the others, I feel like she was actually waiting for him)

Personally, I consider that when it comes to a case like Eddie's, it's even worse, because you don't need to be actively in a closed and dark place, isolated (in what voluntary situation would someone have to be like that?) for your head to go completely to shit. Think about it, you make Home angry and he doesn't need the rest of the neighbors to build a wall around you. It does what you already do well: it locks you up with your thoughts and leaves you there.

So,,, uh, yeah, I don't know how to end this.

I just wanted to talk about my fav man.

somebody help him PLAEASSE

[venusmage]

Commission/Life update for 2024

EDIT 9/16/24

As of now I've resolved around 15 commissions since this post was made at the start of June! This is much faster than I was going the past year. They're going well and I thank everyone again who has been so patient and kind. I've gotten nothing but kindness as a response to the wait, even from those who have been waiting for over a year by now. Thank you.

I recently started two new jobs and school again, so I'm a little busy. BUT everyone is (albeit not at a super fast speed) moving up in queue! Once the owed "Full" commissions are done, I expect to get through Sketch Coms even faster and currently I'm at a good pace to be done by the end of the year.

The best days to reach me are Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays at the moment. Otherwise it might take me a day or so to get back to you. I work on my own projects on the weekends to preserve my sanity, lol! Just know if I'm drawing something else, I haven't forgotten my queue!

------

Original post:

Just want everyone to know I AM okay now and life has gotten better recently. However the past year and a half have been extremely difficult and I'm only now getting back on my feet. I generally don't like sharing life details publicly, but as a freelancer with clients that have been waiting for a while I feel like transparency is key.

If you don't want an explanation for the delays and just want to know my completion timeline, that's totally okay. Here is all the info up front. I'm going to continue updating my commission queue as usual and will not be accepting any more orders until ALL of the queue is completed. I'm working on finishing the half and full bodies first since they've been the longest waiting in queue. Then the rest. I don't have a set date in mind for when they'll be all done for good but the goal is by the end of the year. I think that's more than doable for me now. If you're a client of mine and have questions/concerns, please message me either here or on Discord and I'll do my best to help you. My username on discord is the same as my Tumblr username. Twitter and Ko-Fi are also options but I don't check them as frequently. I usually work Monday-Thursday so that will be the best time to shoot me a message or expect an update to the queue.

Information on what's been going on is below.

CW for mentions of death, financial hardship and homophobia.

As a few of you might remember, in 2019 I was disowned by my mother for being a lesbian. I made the choice to go no-contact. Since then, up until LAST YEAR, she's routinely harassed me or had other family harass me, stalked me on social media, tried to get to me through the website I take commission orders, and threatened me multiple times. I was forced to move across the country both because I felt unsafe and because my partner had family elsewhere that were more accepting. I've had to change my phone number twice.

It's been extremely difficult both financially and mentally to keep my head above water. In 2021 my grandfather died and I still haven't felt like I've been able to properly grieve. I wasn't able to see him due to her and I wasn't invited to his funeral. We were very close and he meant the world to me. In 2023 my grandmother passed away very suddenly as well, and my mother used it as an excuse to harass me over ko-fi/my professional email. It was such a horrific experience that I fell into a months long spiral that I only just now feel like I'm climbing out of. This is when commissions first stalled. I was also starting to get overwhelmed, as I had to take on more work than I could realistically handle in order to pay bills and rent. That's really it - I just had to take more orders so we weren't kicked out of our apartment, and as my mental state deteriorated I couldn't keep up.

The good news is that my wife and moved earlier this year we're living with supportive(!) family now and our financial burden is much lighter. This gives me time to work on my backlog without re-opening. I'm also going to school again, back in college starting this summer for a second degree. For my own health after commissions are finished I'm likely going to take a break on opening them for a good while, even though I really enjoy doing them.

In the past two months amazing and not-amazing things have happened. The amazing thing is I got an ADHD diagnosis, something I didn't even know had been ruining my life for years. I'm still getting used to the proper medications but I'm already seeing a big improvement. It's as much of a relief as it is frustrating. My mother also reared her head again (like she usually does at least once a year) - this time, though, I learned she'd had a stroke. While I'm not involved with her anymore, I think most people could understand how it would still be a very weird and upsetting situation. As of right now I'm free of her once again, she seems to be making a good recovery and will hopefully continue to live a happy life far away from me. Still, those two things back to back have been a LOT to deal with on top of just trying to get better in general. I stepped away from the internet for a while for my own sanity.

The downside to being a freelancer is that there's not always a safety net. That's what happened to me. Thank you all very much for being kind and patient, I genuinely have had nothing but polite interactions with all of you and I really appreciate it. I'm sorry my personal bullshit got in the way of getting my work done for you. This is the longest I've ever taken to complete commissions and it's something that I'm deeply ashamed of. I promise they will get done. Being medicated and starting to recover from the family drama has revitalized me a bit. If you have any questions or concerns please reach out.

[unsolicited-opinions]

Read this again today for the first time in a year and it's still one of the best pieces I've read on this topic.

It is long, but I urge you to read it.

(Pasted here unedited so nobody needs to visit Musk's platform, formerly known as Twitter.)

Isaac Saul

11:26 AM · Oct 10, 2023

People ask me all the time if I am "pro-Israel" because I am a Jew who has lived in Israel, and my answer is that being "pro-Israel" or being "pro-Palestine" or being a "Zionist" does not properly capture the nuance of thought most people do or should have about this issue. It certainly doesn't capture mine.

I have a lot to say. I’ve spent the last 72 hours writing, texting, and talking to Israelis, Jews, Muslims, and Palestinians. Much of my reaction is going to piss off people on "both sides," but I am exhausted and hurting and I do not think there is any way to discuss this situation without being radically honest about my views. So I'm going to try to say what I believe to be true the best I can.

Let me start with this: It could have been me.

That's a hard thought to shake when watching the videos out of Israel — the concert goers fleeing across an empty expanse, the hostages being paraded through the streets, the people shot in the head at bus stops or in their cars. I went to those parties in the desert, I rubbed shoulders with Israelis and Arabs and Jews and Muslims, I could have easily accepted an invitation to some concert near Sderot and gone without a care, only to be indiscriminately slaughtered. Or, perhaps worse, taken hostage and tortured.

I don’t believe Hamas is killing Israelis to liberate themselves, nor do I believe they are doing it to make peace. They're doing this because they represent the devil on the shoulder of every oppressed Palestinian who has lost someone in this conflict. They're doing it because they want vengeance. They are evening the score, and acting on the worst of our human impulses, to respond to blood with blood — an inclination that is easy to give in to after what their people have endured. It should not be hard to understand their logic — it is only hard to accept that humans are capable of being driven to this. Not defending Hamas is a very low bar to clear. Please clear it.

It’s not possible to recap the entire 5,000 year history of people fighting over this strip of land in one newsletter. There are plenty of easily accessible places you can learn about it if you want to (and, by the way, many of you should — far too many people speak on this issue with an obscene amount of ignorance, loads of arrogance, and a narrow historical lens focused on the last few decades). But I'll briefly highlight a few things that are important to me.

In my opinion, the Jewish people have a legitimate historical claim to the land of Israel. Jews had already been expelled and returned and expelled again a half dozen times before the rise of the Muslim and Arab rule of the Ottoman Empire. Of course it’s messy because we Jews and Arabs and Muslims are all cousins and descendents of the same Canaanites. But Arabs won the land centuries ago the same way Israel and Jews won it in the 20th century: Through conflict and war. The British defeated the Ottoman Empire and then came the Balfour Declaration, which amounted to the British granting the area to the Jewish people, a promise they’d later try to renege on — all before the wars that have defined the region since 1948.

That historical moment in the late 1940s was unique. After World War II, with many Arab and Muslim states already in existence, and after six million Jews were slaughtered, the global community felt it was important to grant the Jewish people a homeland. In a more logical or just world that homeland would have been in Europe as a kind of reparation for what the Nazis and others before them had done to the Jews, or perhaps in the Americas — like Alaska — or somewhere else. But the Jews wanted Israel, the British had taken to the Zionist movement, the British had conquered the Ottoman Empire which handed them control of the land, and America and Europe didn’t want the Jews. As a result, we got Israel.

The Arab states had already rejected a partitioned Israel repeatedly before World War II and rejected it again after the Holocaust and the end of the war. They did not want to give up even a little bit of their land to a bunch of Jewish interlopers who were granted it all of a sudden by British interlopers who had arrived a hundred years prior. Who could blame them? It had been centuries since Jews lived there in large numbers, and now they wanted to return in waves as secularized Europeans. Many of us would probably react the same way. So, just as humans have done forever, they fought. The many existing Arab states turned against the burgeoning new Jewish state. One side won and one side lost. This is the brutal and broken and violent world we live in, but it is what created the global world order we have now.

Are Israelis and British people "colonizers" because of this 20th century history? Sure. But that view flattens thousands of years of history and conflict, and the context of World War I and World War II. I don’t view Israelis and Brits as colonizers any more than the Assyrians or the Babylonians or the Romans or the Mongols or the Egyptians or the Ottomans who all battled over the same strip of land from as early as 800 years before Jesus’s time until now. The Jews who founded Israel just happened to have won the last big battle for it.

You can’t speak about this issue in a vacuum. You can't pretend that it wasn't just 60 years ago when Israel was surrounded on all sides by Arab states who wanted to wipe them off the face of the planet. Despite the balance of power shifting this century, that threat is still a reality. And you can't talk about that without remembering the only reason the Jews were in Israel in the first place was that they'd spent the previous centuries fleeing a bunch of Europeans who also wanted to wipe them off the face of the planet. And then Hitler showed up.

American partisans have a narrow view of this history, and an Americentric lens that is infuriating to witness. As Lee Fang perfectly put it, "Hamas would absolutely execute the ACAB lefties cheering on horrific violence against Israelis if they lived in Gaza & U.S. right-wingers blindly cheering on Israeli subjugation of Palestinians would rebel twice as violently if Americans were subjected to similar occupation."

And yet, many Americans only view modern Israel as the "powerful" one in this dynamic. Which is true — they obviously are. It isn't a fair fight and it hasn't been for decades because Israel's government is rich and resourceful, has the backing of the United States and most of Europe, and has an incredibly powerful military. At the same time, Israeli leadership has made technological and military advancements that have further tipped those scales — all while the Israeli government has helped create a resource-thin open air prison of two million Arabs in Gaza.

Conversely, Palestinians are devoid of any real unified leadership, and the Arab world is now divided on the issue of Palestine. Israel is unwilling to give the people in Gaza and the West Bank more than an inch of freedom to live. These are largely the refugees and descendents of the refugees of the 1948 and 1967 wars that Israel won. And you can't keep two million people in the condition that those in the Gaza strip live in and not expect events like this.

I'm sorry to say that while the blood on the ground is fresh. The Israelis who were killed in this attack largely have nothing to do with those conditions other than being born at a time when Israel and Jews have the upper hand in this conflict. Some of the victims weren’t even Israeli — they were just tourists. This is why we describe them as “innocent” and why Hamas has only reaffirmed that they are a brutal terror organization with this attack — an organization that I hope is quickly toppled, for the sake of both the Palestinian people and the Israelis. But as someone with a deep love for Israel, with friends in danger and people I know still missing, it breaks my heart to say it but I'm saying it again because it remains perhaps the most salient point of context in a tangled mess full of centuries of context:

You cannot keep two million people living in the conditions people in Gaza are living in and expect peace.

You can't. And you shouldn’t. Their environment is antithetical to the human condition. Violent rebellion is guaranteed. Guaranteed. As sure as the sun rising.

And the cycle of violence seems locked in to self-perpetuate, because both sides see a score to settle:

1) Israel has already responded with a vengeance, and they will continue to. Their desire for violence is not unlike Hamas’s — it’s just as much about blood for blood as any legitimate security measure. Israel will “have every right to respond with force." Toppling Hamas — a group, by the way, Israel erred in supporting — will now be the objective, and civilian death will be seen as necessary collateral damage. But Israel will also do a bunch of things they don't have a right to. They will flatten apartment buildings and kill civilians and children and many in the global community will probably cheer them on while they do it. They have already stopped the flow of water, electricity, and food to two million people, and killed dozens of civilians in their retaliatory bombings. We should never accept this, never lose sight that this horror is being inflicted on human beings. As the group B’Tselem said, “There is no justification for such crimes, whether they are committed as part of a struggle for freedom from oppression or cited as part of a war against terror.” I mourn for the innocents of Palestine just as I do for the innocents in Israel. As of late, many, many more have died on their side than Israel's. And many more Palestinians are likely to die in this spate of violence, too.

Unfortunately, most people in the West only pay attention to this story when Hamas or a Palestinian in Gaza or the West Bank commits an act of violence. Palestinian citizens die regularly at the hands of the Israeli military and their plight goes largely unnoticed until they respond with violence of their own. Israel had already killed an estimated 250 Palestinians, including 47 children, this year alone. And that is just in the West Bank.

2) Every single time Israel kills someone in the name of self-defense they create a handful of new radicalized extremists who will feel justified in wanting to take an Israeli life in retribution sometime in the future. Half of Gaza’s two million people are under the age of 19 — they know little besides Hamas rule (since 2006), Israeli occupation, blockades, and rockets falling from the sky. The suffering of these innocent children born into this reality is incomprehensible to me. They will suffer more now because of Hamas’s actions and Israel’s response, all through no fault of their own.

There is no way out of this pattern until one side exercises restraint or leaders on both sides find a new solution. Israelis will tell you that if Palestinians put their guns down then the war would end, but if Israel put their guns down they'd be wiped off the planet. I don't have a crystal ball and can’t tell you what is true. But what I am certain of is that every time Israel kills more innocents they engender more rage and hatred and recruit more Palestinians and Arabs to the cause against them. There is no disputing this.

So, why did this happen now?

I'm not sure how to answer that question except to say it was bound to happen eventually. It was a massive policy and intelligence failure and Netanyahu should pay the price politically — he is a failed leader. Iran probably helped organize the attack and the money freed up by the Biden administration's prisoner swap probably didn't help the situation, either. Israel's increasingly extremist government and settlers provoking Palestinians certainly didn't help. Nor has going to the Al-Aqsa mosque and desecrating it. Nor do blockades and bombings and indiscriminate subjugation of a whole people. Nor does refusing to talk to non-terrorist leaders in Palestine. Nor does illegally continuing to expand and steal what is left of Palestinian land, as many Jews and Israelis have been doing in the 21st century despite cries from the global community to stop. A violent response was predictable — in fact, plenty of people did predict it.

Israel is forever stuffing these people into tinier and tinier boxes with fewer and fewer resources. But if you want to blame Israeli leaders for continuing to expand and settle land that does not belong to them (as I do), then you should also spare some blame for Palestinian leaders for repeatedly not accepting a partitioned Israel during the 20th century that could have led to peace (as I do).

Please also remember this: Hamas is still an extremist group. The Palestinian people do not have a government or leaders who legitimately represent their interests, and it sure as hell isn't Hamas. Will some Palestinians cheer and clap at the dead, or spit on them as they are paraded through Gaza? Yes they will. And they have. Many will also mourn because they loathe Hamas and know this will only make things worse. This is no different than how some Americans cheer at the dead in every single war we've ever fought. It's no different than the Israelis who set up lawn chairs to watch their government bomb Palestine and cheer them on, too. This doesn't mean Palestinians or Israelis or Americans are evil — it means some of them are giving in to their violent impulses, and their zealous feelings of righteous vengeance.

Solutions, you ask? I can’t say I have any. If you came here for that, I’m sorry. The two-state solution looks dead to me. A three-state solution makes some sense but feels out of the view of all the people who matter and could make it happen. I wish a one-state solution felt realistic — a world of Israelis and Arabs and Muslims and Jews living side by side with equal rights, fully integrated and defused of their hate, is a version of Israel that I would adore. But it seems less and less realistic with every new act of violence.

Am I pro-Israel or pro-Palestine? I have no idea.

I'm pro-not-killing-civilians.

I'm pro-not-trapping-millions-of-people-in-open-air-prisons.

I'm pro-not-shooting-grandmas-in-the-back-of-the-head.

I'm pro-not-flattening-apartment-complexes.

I'm pro-not-raping-women-and-taking-hostages.

I'm pro-not-unjustly-imprisoning-people-without-due-process.

I'm pro-freedom and pro-peace and pro- all the things we never see in this conflict anymore.

Whatever this is, I want none of it.

Oct 10, 2023

[fereldanwench]

I didn't want to completely sit out a year-in-review, but for reasons I'll explain at the end of this post and under a cut, doing the traditional pick-one-pic-from-each-month approach just wasn't going to work for me. So instead, here are 20 of my favorite shots (in no particular order) of Valerie from 2023!

(I'll share solo Goro shots and shippy/story shots in two other posts before the year ends.)

Some thoughts about this year (cw for anxiety and depression mentions):

So yeah. I actually hadn't planned on joining in on the virtual photography year-in-review fun in part because... Well, frankly, I wasn't sure if it would actually be fun for me.

Although I do have pictures for every month, the first third, maybe even half, of the year was a struggle on almost every conceivable level. A lot of it was shit that carried over from the end of 2022, which was also an incredibly difficult year for me. I don't really want to delve too deeply into why--Some of it was personal, some of it was professional, some of it was fandom, and if you know, you know.

The main obstacle I had here is that looking at a lot of the shots I took from about January to May (give or take a few weeks on either end) honestly reminded me of Bad Times™️. I've worked really hard to pull myself out of that depression/anxiety cycle and return to a healthier approach to fandom and online socialization in general, but I just didn't want to spend a lot of time in that mental space. There are a few shots from those months that made it to my favorites, and I hope one day I can look back on that stuff and just feel the good from it again. Alas, that day is still not here.

But I am happy to report that the other reason I wanted to approach the review differently is a lot more positive! It's also two-fold: 1) I spent the earlier part of this year exploring more of a technical side of virtual photography and 2) I was really prolific the last third or so of this year so trying to narrow faves from about August until now was just not possible.

One of the few good things about the end of 2022 was being able to upgrade my graphics card, which meant I then had a rig that could support ray-tracing and hot sampling. As a result, I started putting a lot more focus on lighting and getting acquainted with new tools. I also was trying to work with the new AMM posing system, which is very convenient in some ways (100s of poses without reloading the game!) and a complete pain in the ass in others (can't move characters without their poses breaking!). Custom photomode poses + Nibbles Replacer has been the game changer I've been waiting for.

Or to put it more succinctly, December 2022 through about April 2023 felt like a relearning/return to basics kind of creative period, which is essential, but also means I just don't really like a lot of what I did, lmao.

Then, shockingly (I'm not shocked at all), starting treatment for my anxiety and depression in the second half of this year suddenly made creating a lot easier and fun again! Crazy how that works.

Even bumping this little review up to 20 shots instead of 12, there are still pictures from the past few months that I had to cut as favorites. There was just no way I could condense the amount of fave shots I took from August to now in just 5 options.

I also owe quite a bit of this revival to modders for asking me if I wanted to take shots for them--Exploring more of a fashion photography approach to my shots I think did a lot to build on what I had learned earlier in the year and encouraged me to try something new. I don't want to tag anyone in this long-ass glorified diary entry, but if you invited me to take mod shots for you, just know that it really meant a lot. ♡

And that's where my head has been with a yearly review! Is filling out a little template with 12 pictures this serious? No, it definitely is not, lmao. But hey, overthinking shit is still something I'm working on. ✌️

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 5/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others…) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn’t know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Finally, we're here! I had this chapter partialy written since ages (I think it was the first one I wrote) and it's now out for you to read \o/ It's time for some revelations :D (Sorry in advance for the bucket of lore coming your way XD ) I'm so excited, I really hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it :D It's time to feed the hunger again :D

Need some music? I've got you I wrote the second scene with this particular song in repeat

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 5/8

Word Count: 8.7K / 60K+ for now

The hum of the Danger Room felt more intense from the command center, each vibration resonating in Logan's bones as he leaned against the console, eyes locked on the floor below. It had been two days since the sparring session, and in the day that followed, the team had decided E would face this trial. Logan had offered them a few words of advice about the Danger Room's unpredictability—the way it tested not only skills but instinct and resilience. Now, as night had fallen, the room thrummed with anticipation.

On the other side of the glass, E stood in the center of the vast metallic space, their posture deceptively relaxed. But Logan’s keen eyes could see the tension in their muscles, coiled like a spring, ready to be unleashed. Their hair was down, swept back into a half ponytail to keep it out of their eyes, but still falling like a thick curtain down their back, where the glint of metal—perhaps just a trick of the light—flickered beneath. The simple sport attire they wore clung to their frame, unadorned except for the three bracelets catching the cold light on their left wrist, while their bare feet flexed against the smooth floor. Their gloved fingers twitched, as if itching for movement, a restless energy building in the charged silence, waiting for the simulation to come up around them.

“They look confident,” Jean remarked, eyes narrowed with mild curiosity, but there was an edge to her voice. Logan didn’t respond, jaw tightening. There was no point sharing how skilled E was; they were about to witness it with their own eyes.

“They better be more than just confident,” Scott muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he cast a skeptical glance at Charles. The professor remained composed, hands folded on his lap, as if waiting for something only he could anticipate. With a few practiced keystrokes, Hank finally configured the simulation.

Below them, the virtual reality sprang to life, the soft whisper of machinery and the flicker of artificial lights surrounding E's silhouette. The walls shifted, blocks emerging from all around the room as pixels spread over their surfaces, multiplying and transforming into the textured sprawl of an urban maze—alleys and crumbling rooftops taking shape around them. The objective was simple: evade, outmaneuver, survive. A test of adaptability.

E moved, graceful and quick, weaving through the fake streets, their movements precise and calculating. Logan's eyes followed every twist, every sudden dart, watching as their focus turned sharp. He knew that they were dancing on the edge of instinct and training, the latter being a completely new experience.

“Fast,” Kitty admitted, a touch of surprise lacing her words.

Scott's arms tightened across his chest, eyes fixed on E as they moved fluidly through the simulation. “Speed doesn’t always win fights,” he countered, his gaze unwavering as he frowned at the holographic city. The hint of critique in his tone made the others nod in agreement, their silence suffocating.

But Logan couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, a brief flash of irritation twisting his features. He masked it quickly by clearing his throat, but the sharp sound had already drawn their attention. Eyes shifted to him, brows lifting in question, but he remained silent, jaw set tightly as he turned his gaze back to the floor below.

“I don’t see why you insisted on this, Charles,” Hank said, the low rumble of his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room. His analytical eyes narrowed slightly as E’s pace faltered. What was happening? Logan's hands twitched at his sides—something was wrong. Tension rippled through the command center as each person silently judged every move they witnessed. E was keeping up, for now, but not without effort.

“Yeah, what’s so special? Just another pretty face with tricks,” Bobby added with a short, dismissive laugh. Logan’s jaw clenched tighter, muscles shifting under his skin.

Charles steepled his fingers, leaning forward in his wheelchair with an unreadable expression. “Patience, my friends. There’s potential there. Untapped, but it’s there,” he said calmly, though the confidence in his voice was met with a few skeptical glances.

Logan’s teeth ground together as he watched them scrutinize, his muscles coiled with something raw, protective. This wasn’t just a trial for E; it felt like a trial for him, too, as if every dismissive comment was a thinly veiled accusation that he was thinking with something other than his brain.

Suddenly, a part of the simulated cityscape fractured with a metallic groan and came crashing down toward E. They twisted sharply, eyes wide, narrowly rolling out of the way as debris shattered where they had just stood. Dust plumed around them, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow. Logan's hands clenched around air, claws itching, muscles flexing as if ready to leap down there himself.

The murmurs intensified, no longer masked by civility. Each comment jabbed at Logan, who could see the slight stutter in E’s movement below—a shadow of hesitation—as the room adjusted, shifting to create new streets ahead while the terrain behind dissolved seamlessly into nothing.

“That was close. They’re fast, sure, but is it enough?” The criticism in Scott’s voice was borderline caustic, hitting Logan like a sudden blow to the stomach.

“Enough!” he said, voice cutting through the low chatter. Heads turned, surprised. He rarely broke his silence, rarely defended anyone outside his trusted circle. “You all stepped into that room as first-timers once, too.” The statement wasn’t loud, but it was like a shot ringing out, silencing any further mutters.

Silence hung for a breath. They exchanged glances, eyes sharp with wariness, doubt simmering just beneath. The shift was palpable, the tension stretching taut as realization sunk in: they thought he was under their influence, as if E’s enigmatic pull was some kind of intoxicating drug.

Below, E stumbled, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through their poise. The sight struck Logan, a sudden twist in his gut. “That’s it,” he muttered, blood boiling, as he pushed off from the console, ignoring the startled looks as he strode toward the door.

“Logan, where are you—” Jean started, but he was already gone, the metallic door sliding shut behind him.

Their back pressed against the rough façade of an artificial, crumbling building, muscles taut as they scanned the street past the corner they were hiding behind, E’s heart raced. The air hummed with the ambient sound of clanking metal and distant combat. The Danger Room was more relentless than they had expected, its projections more immersive and intricate than they could have imagined. Every inch of their being screamed for focus, but exhaustion—and most of all, hunger—gnawed at their resolve. The weight of the command center's watchful eyes, laced with thinly veiled animosity, chipped away at their energy reserves, a constant, draining reminder of how unwelcome they truly were. They had known this would be difficult, but not this punishing.

As they prepared to move forward, a flicker of movement caught their attention—a shimmering distortion in the air, just a few feet from them, cracking the illusion for a heartbeat. What now? Frustration and irritation surged within them as the projection rippled, revealing a familiar form stepping through the pixels. E’s eyes widened in surprise. Logan. His expression was stormy, unreadable as always, with a raw determination etched on his face. The glint of his left claws, half-drawn, made their breath catch for a split second before they realized he wasn’t there to attack. He moved swiftly to hide beside them, his back pressed against the artificial building. The air between them buzzed with the charge of their connection. Concern.

“What the hell are you doing here?” E whispered, their voice harsher than intended. The slight breathlessness in their tone betrayed them, and Logan’s keen senses didn’t miss it, catching the faint tremor at the edge of their stance.

His brows furrowed, deepening the lines carved by years of battle and unyielding reliability. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly, eyes searching theirs for the truth they stubbornly tried to hide. Up close, E could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his instincts coiled tight. The primal protectiveness that had driven him past Jean’s concerned call was written in every line of his posture.

Above them, in the observation deck, the palpable, hostile energy grew, stoked by Logan’s intervention. E gritted their teeth, feeling its force like a storm pressing down on them, threatening to break through their resolve. They held their breath, adapting to the oppressive weight with each rapid heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” E countered sharply once they regained control of their voice, though the claim rang hollow. They turned away, ready to press on, but Logan’s voice caught them like a tether.

“You’re not,” he growled, inching closer, casting a shadow that darkened the line of their vision. The cold, glaring artificial sun above was a poor mimic of real warmth, but Logan’s presence radiated heat, grounding them amidst the surreal chaos.

A silence stretched between them and E hesitated, a moment’s pause in which the weight of their exhaustion threatened to spill over. The edge of their allure had dulled, they knew it—no subtle shimmer beneath their skin, no echo of energy. Where vitality had thrummed, there was now a draining emptiness, a void that was craving his touch, his admiration.

Logan’s gaze sharpened as he took in the rapid rise and fall of their chest, the glazed weariness in their guarded eyes, the dullness to their horns, the fine sheen of sweat glistening on their neck, and the way their fingers twitched inside their gloves as if struggling to suppress a tremor. He couldn’t ignore how different they seemed from the fierce, fluid form they’d shown two days ago. His instincts screamed at him to act, to pull them out of this self-inflicted trial.

“E,” he said, his tone softer now, the rough edge replaced with something raw, familiar. His right hand lifted, hesitating before landing on their shoulder, a steady weight that offered comfort.

They met his eyes, the defiance in their stare wavering briefly. For a breath, the noise of the Danger Room dulled, replaced by the heat between them. The test, the hunger, the harsh judgments—everything faded as Logan’s gaze anchored them. They nodded once, forcing a small smirk that Logan didn’t buy for a second.

“I’m good enough,” they murmured, the sharp edge of confidence slipping.

Logan didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, and the concern etched into his rugged features went far deeper than simple vigilance. It was something fiercer, more personal. “Don’t push it. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I do, actually,” E said, glancing at the command center before meeting his eyes again.

The animosity above seemed to swell, the silent disapproval pricking at them like thorns, likely fed by Logan’s gesture. They rolled their shoulders, shrugging off his hand in an effort to appease the unspoken hostility growing from the observation deck. They couldn’t keep up with this for much longer. They had to end this soon, or the consequences—ones they wouldn’t dare imagine—would catch up to them.

With a deep breath, they set their jaw, the mask of sharp confidence snapping back into place. Pushing off from the wall, they squared their shoulders.

“Let’s finish this,” they said, their voice steady despite the strain.

Logan didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes as he fell into step beside them spoke volumes. This was no ordinary training exercise. The stakes had shifted, and he would be damned if he let anything happen to them.

With a shared glance, they pushed forward, moving through the chaos. The mechanical whisper of the Danger Room came back to life around them, roaring in E’s ears as they navigated the labyrinthine maze of twisted metal and simulated war-torn streets. Every turn, every shadow, tested their resolve. Every step was weighted by exhaustion, their body teetering on the edge of collapse, finding strength only in Logan’s unwavering presence at their side. The extraction point glimmered in the distance, a brief beacon of hope.

But that hope was short-lived.

A metallic groan rumbled through the air as a shadow stretched across the ground. E’s eyes snapped upward, and their breath caught in their chest. Towering above them, metal plating glinting under the harsh artificial light, stood a sentinel—its towering form ominous and all too real. The red glow of its eyes sent a shiver down their spine as it powered up, joints whirring with deadly intent.

“What the actual fuck?” they whispered, eyes wide as a brilliant laser beam split the air, barely missing them. They dove to the side, rolling onto the cracked pavement and pushing themselves up against a wall for protection, breathless.

Logan’s gaze darkened as he pressed his back next to them, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits as he processed the sight. “Really, guys?” he muttered, low and venomous, clearly directed at Scott and Hank, who undoubtedly had a hand in programming this nightmare. Fury coiled tight in his muscles, but he didn’t let it show. There was no time for anger—only action.

“What’s that thing?” E’s voice, despite its edge, wavered.

“Listen,” Logan said, gripping their arm and forcing their wide eyes to lock with his. “That’s a sentinel. A robot designed to kill every mutant it sees. We need to take it down.” His voice was as unyielding as steel, but beneath it lay something softer—belief. He trusted them.

E’s pulse hammered against their temples, but Logan’s resolve wrapped around them like a shield, momentarily blunting the razor-sharp hostility pricking at them from the command center. They nodded, swallowing hard as they reached behind their back, fingers parting the curtain of their black hair as they curled around the cool texture of two big metal rings. With a swift motion, they pulled the circular weapons free, their sharp edges catching the artificial light. Chakrams.

Logan’s brow arched, the barest hint of amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you—”

He didn’t get to finish. The sentinel’s red eyes flared, and another beam cut through the air. E’s eyes widened as they registered the attack a heartbeat before it struck. With a surge of adrenaline, they shoved Logan hard, propelling him out of harm’s way as they dove in the opposite direction. The ground shook beneath them as the beam exploded against the wall, scorching the surface where they'd stood mere seconds ago, debris scattering like shrapnel.

They hit the ground with a grunt, pain sparking up their shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. Pushing themselves up, E glanced over at Logan, who was already rising, eyes narrowed with a mix of frustration and admiration.

“No time to chat, pretty boy,” E muttered, gripping their chakrams between their indexes and thumbs as they locked eyes with him. Logan gave a sharp nod, the sound of his claws unsheathing a cold metallic promise.

Together, they moved with the seamless coordination of two souls bound by an unspoken connection—like a red thread pulling them through the chaos, guiding their every move. E darted forward, using their agility to keep the sentinel’s attention, chakrams slicing through the air with deadly precision. Each throw found a weak point—joints, sensors, anywhere that could be chipped away to disrupt its functioning—before returning to their fingers, drawn back by the essence they had infused into the circular weapons long ago. The sentinel’s massive hand swung in retaliation, narrowly missing them as they twisted out of its reach.

Logan took the opening, charging up the sentinel’s back with the ferocity of a man who knew how to make every second count. His claws gleamed as he latched onto the metal plating, scaling the behemoth with a speed that defied logic. Sparks flew as he plunged his claws into the nape of its neck, tearing through wires and circuits with a snarl.

The sentinel stuttered, its movements jerking as it faltered. With a final, violent lurch, it began to collapse, metal shrieking as it toppled forward like a giant felled by time itself. Logan leapt down, landing in a crouch just as the robot crashed to the ground with a sound that echoed through the chamber.

E turned, breath heaving, as the dust settled around them. Relief surged in their chest, but the victory was fleeting. A sudden noise—an ominous creak—rippled through the air. E’s eyes snapped up just in time to see a chunk of debris, dislodged from a nearby structure, plummeting toward them.

Before they could react, Logan was there, moving faster than seemed possible. He grabbed them by the waist, yanking them to the side as the debris smashed into the ground where they had just stood. The impact threw up a pixeled cloud of dust, metal dressed in a stone-like sheen skittering across the cracked surface.

Logan’s arm stayed wrapped around them, the weight of his protective embrace more solid than the chaos surrounding them. For a moment, everything was silent except the pounding of their hearts. E looked up at him, eyes wide and stunned, and caught the raw, unguarded look on his face—one that spoke of fear and relief mingled with something deeper.

“You good?” he rasped, voice low and tight.

E nodded slowly, catching their breath as he released them from his hold. The warmth lingered on their skin and their throat became dry, forcing them to clear it. “Yeah,” they whispered, the reality of their near miss finally sinking in. The sentinel was down, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. Though, with Logan’s eyes locked on theirs, the weight of the hostile energy above felt a little less suffocating.

Around them, the holographic shield shimmered and fizzled out, leaving an eerie silence in its wake as the walls of the Danger Room shifted and retracted, returning the space to its usual stark, featureless expanse. The air was thick with tension, the adrenaline still pumping in their veins.

E couldn’t help but smirk, the exhaustion still gnawing at them but not enough to mask the small victory. “I think we make a pretty good team,” they said, their voice betraying the tremor of weariness that ran deep.

Logan shot them a sideways glance, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the concern still written on his face. “Yeah, just don’t get used to me saving your ass,” he muttered, though his words lacked the usual bite. Beneath the gruff tone, there was something softer—almost affectionate.

E raised an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in their tired gaze. “Oh, don’t worry,” they teased back, reaching behind and slipping their chakrams into the small crochets sewn into the back of their tunic, where they rested securely, hidden beneath their long, disheveled hair. They opened their mouth to say more, wiping sweat from their neck, but before the words could form, the door to the Danger Room slid open with a hiss.

Logan’s instincts flared to life, sharper than ever. He moved in front of E without hesitation, his broad form a solid wall between them and the approaching team. His eyes darkened with barely suppressed rage, chest heaving as he fought to control it.

“What the hell, guys?” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, rough and seething. “This was supposed to be training. You used a fucking sentinel? On someone who’s never used the Danger Room before?” His glare was as raw as his voice, daring anyone to challenge him.

Scott’s jaw tightened, meeting Logan’s gaze with a stoic defiance. “We needed to see what they could do in a non-controlled environment,” he countered, his cool tone only fueling Logan’s fury further. The tension between them thickened, crackling with unspoken animosity.

Logan took a step forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing with unrestrained aggression. His face flushed red, a clear warning that he was dangerously close to losing it.

“Logan.” The calm, steady voice of Charles Xavier sliced through the tension, his wheelchair gliding smoothly between them. His eyes held a mix of reproach and understanding. “It was indeed a bit too much,” he acknowledged, addressing the group. “But we’ve learned something valuable. E showed they can work with the team. They fought well with Logan.”

A small scoff escaped Scott’s lips, the sound turning Logan’s rage into a furnace. “Of course, they did,” Scott muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking between them. “It’s easy for lovers to fight in sync.”

The words struck like a match to gasoline, igniting the fire in Logan’s chest. His jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack. He moved forward, but a cold hand—trembling, far lighter than it should have been—landed on his forearm. The movement froze him, and he glanced down, meeting E’s gaze. Their face was pale, drawn, the defiance in their eyes replaced with an exhaustion so profound it was almost tangible. Their knees buckled slightly, and in an instant, Logan’s anger was gone, replaced by a wave of deep, gut-wrenching concern.

He reached out, catching them in his arms, steadying them as their body swayed. “Easy,” he growled, his voice softening, becoming more protective. His focus shifted entirely to them, every instinct urging him to shield them from the glare of the team.

With a quick glance at the others, Logan’s eyes hardened again, colder than ice. “This isn’t over,” he spat, teeth bared in a silent promise, his words dripping with warning. He didn’t care to explain further, focusing instead on E. Without another word, he gently guided them out of the Danger Room, his movements deliberate as he shielded them from the questions, the stares, and the storm he would unleash later.

For now, only one thing mattered—getting them out of there and making sure they were okay.

The walk to E’s bedroom felt longer than it should have. Logan's arm stayed firmly wrapped around their waist, guiding them as their steps faltered. They leaned on him heavily, their usually sharp gaze clouded with exhaustion.

When they finally reached the door, Logan pushed it open, leading them inside and helping them sit down on the edge of the bed. E reached over their shoulder, carefully pulling the chakrams from their tunic and placing them on the bed beside them, the metallic weight a comfort against the soft fabric. With a sigh, they removed their gloves, setting them beside the weapons.

Logan stayed close, his eyes scanning their face, searching for any sign of what was wrong. Their breathing was ragged, an unusual warmth radiating from them as sweat slid down their skin. Their fingers clutched the blanket beneath them, as though it was the only thing holding them steady.

He sat beside them, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn’t want to leave, not when they looked like they were hanging by a thread.

“Logan…” Their voice broke, weaker than he’d ever heard it, and a tremor ran through them. There was more than just exhaustion—there was fear in their tone that made something in his chest tighten.

He shifted closer, brows furrowing as he studied them. “You okay? You look like hell.”

A faint, breathless laugh escaped them, but there was no humor in it. “Thanks… exactly what I needed to hear.” The words came out flat, without their usual teasing edge. They tried to stand, legs trembling beneath them. “I just need an hour… outside, and I’ll be fine. It’s… nothing.”

Logan’s reflexes were quicker than their unsteady movements. Rising too, his hand shot out, grabbing their arm before they could collapse. “No way in hell you’re goin’ anywhere like that. You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’ll be fine…” E muttered, trying to pull away, but there was no strength behind it.

He tightened his hold, eyes narrowing. “Are you on somethin’? Drugs?” His free hand shot to their forehead before settling on their cheek, searching their eyes for any sign of intoxication.

They laughed again, hollow and cracked, leaning into his touch instinctively. “I wish it were that simple.”

Logan’s frustration flared, his patience thinning as he gripped both their shoulders between his hands. “What do you mean by that?”

Their eyes met his—dark and shadowed with exhaustion, and something else. Something resigned. “I can’t live on food alone, Logan. I need… more.”

“The hell does that mean?” He wasn’t sure if he was angry, worried, or both. No, definitely both.

They swallowed hard, gaze falling as their voice dropped to a whisper. “Emotions. Desire, joy, lust… worship.” The last word left their lips like a breath, carrying a desperate weight that made his gut twist.

He went rigid, realization dawning on him. It was starting to make sense—the way they came at him at first, their playful behavior, the way their energy surged when they sparred, how they seemed to pull at him without even trying. It wasn’t just empowerment, it was sustenance.

“Negative energy drains me,” they continued, each word sounding like it took effort. “Criticism, doubt, disdain… it’s why I’m like this. Because of the team’s… distrust. But you… you’re like a damn buffet to me.” Their gaze locked onto his, more serious than he’d ever seen it, a deep, ravenous hunger veiling their vision. “Your healing ability… it’s dangerous for me. It makes me want to eat you alive. It’s hard to resist.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, processing their words. Finally, he asked, “So, what the hell do you need to feel better?”

E’s hand trembled as it reached up to cup his cheek. Their touch was light, hesitant, but it felt like fire against his skin. “There’s a solution… but I won’t force you. I’d rather die than hurt anyone again.”

Logan’s eyes searched theirs, taking in the raw pain and sadness—a vulnerability he’d only glimpsed until now. Something deep inside him shifted.

“If I can help… just tell me.”

Their eyes flashed with desperation, a glimmer of something dark and intense. “Kneel.”

He stiffened, caught off guard. The command hung between them like a challenge. Their tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight he couldn’t ignore. He could push back, deflect, but then they whispered, “Please.” The word, almost a cry, trembled out of their lips.

The softness of it cut through his defenses. With a grunt, he exhaled sharply and sank to one knee, his eyes never leaving theirs, still unsure but unable to pull away.

E moved closer, the fabric of their sweatpants brushing against his nose, their unique scent—spice wrapped in smoke—filling his senses and clouding his thoughts. Their tail slipped free, caressing his cheek like a soft, warm breeze. As the energy between them shifted, Logan caught sight of their horns subtly lengthening, the tips darkening to a crimson hue that shimmered with a subtle pulse.

“Is there anything about me you find attractive?” Their voice was softer now, teasing but tinged with need.

Logan's gaze flickered to their hips for the briefest moment before he forced himself to look back up. “Maybe,” he muttered, heat pooling in his lower belly.

E sighed, their tail trailing down his neck. “I can feel that. Your pulse… it’s quickening. It’s not enough to make me better… but it’s a start.”

Their fingers slid into his hair, gentle but firm, tilting his head back slightly. “Tell me, Logan. What would you do to me if I let you touch me?”

He swallowed hard, his breath shallow, unable to fight the images their words conjured. The pull in his chest tightened as if they tugged on it, firm and relentless. His voice dropped, low and feral. “I’d… I’d hold you by the hips. Smell you.”

E shuddered at his confession, eyes closing as they soaked in his desire, a deep sigh escaping their lips. The strength they had lost was starting to return, slow but sure, coursing through their veins like a lifeline.

“You’re not allowed to touch me,” they whispered, their voice more commanding now as they felt his muscles tense under their tail. “But I grant you the right to imagine it.”

The impact of their words hit him harder than he expected, his reason struggling to keep control. His jaw clenched, and he felt E’s hand lightly combing through his hair, each stroke sending a sharp pulse of heat down his spine. The weight of their touch made his blood rush faster, thrumming beneath his skin, coaxing everything he’d tried to keep buried to the surface without apology.

“Keep going,” they ordered in a breath. “What else do you want to do to me?”

Logan groaned low as E's hand tightened in his hair, forcing his gaze to meet theirs. Their eyes burned with something primal, hunger so raw that there was no room for hesitation. He knew that look, but this time, it wasn’t controlled or smooth—there was desperation hidden beneath it, like a storm tearing through their soul, destroying everything in its wake. And that desperation was pulling at him, unraveling every shred of restraint he had left.

E's lips curled into a smile as they felt his struggle. “Tell me, pretty boy,” they cooed softly, their voice laced with an intoxicating sweetness.

He clenched his teeth, eyes shutting tight, fighting to push back the images flickering through his mind. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it. But their power, the praise, their sultry words, were messing with him in ways he couldn’t resist, coaxing out the desires he kept buried deep inside. The energy swirling around them was intoxicating.

E's fingers curled tighter, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at them again. “Use your words. Be a good boy,” they continued, their tail caressing his neck. “You know you want to.”

Logan growled, fighting the urge to let it all out. The shame mixed with desire was like a drug to them. He could feel it—E's energy was returning, and with it, the confidence they had lost just moments ago. Their posture shifted, becoming more commanding, more certain, towering over him.

“Words! Now!” Their voice crackled like thunder in his mind, no longer a request but an order, sharp and insistent.

His pulse pounded in his neck, and he knew they felt it too—the barely controlled beast inside him, clawing to break free. “You sure you can handle that?” he muttered, voice rough and strained, as though dragging each word up from the depths of his soul. The restraint cost him dearly, but their nearness made it impossible to hold back.

E’s eyes, dark with a hunger that now matched his own, met his. “I need it, Logan. I need you.”

The simple admission shattered the last of his resolve. Their gaze pulled him in, command and vulnerability twisting him tighter. His breath came harsh, uneven, his lips parted as the words slipped out before he could stop them. “You want to know what I’d do?” His voice dropped to a low growl, fingers curling at his sides, desperate to act on the vivid images in his mind. “I’d pull you so close there wouldn’t be an inch left between us. Make you feel every bit of what you’ve done to me.”

A shiver ran through them, their chest rising as they drew in a shaky breath. The tension between them thickened, electric. Confidence surged in them, and they leaned into him, letting his energy flow through them like a wildfire finding dry kindling, a soft laughter bubbling in their chest.

“Don’t stop.” Their voice, now more than a whisper, carried an edge of authority. “Tell me everything that runs through that gorgeous head of yours.”

Logan’s breath hitched, muscles tensed with the war waged inside him. His gaze turned predatory, and he felt the last barrier of control splinter. He drew closer, his forehead almost touching their leg, so their scent—spice wrapped in smoke—was the only thing filling his thoughts. “I’d take my time… pulling your pants down. Start with your thighs, kiss every inch—”

Something snapped inside them. E gasped, the intense rush faltering as their grip on the bond loosened. A sudden softness overtook their movements, the intoxicating power that radiated from them wavering.

They stepped back abruptly as they came back to their senses, eyes wide with a mix of concern and regret. The haze in Logan’s mind lifted, confusion colliding with clarity, his pulse still thrumming with the heat of the moment. He blinked, shaking his head as he caught his breath, eyes searching theirs. “What… what was that?” he asked, his voice soft with confusion.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful,” they whispered, kneeling in front of him, their hands trembling slightly as they reached for his cheek and shoulder, their composure slipping. E’s fingers brushed back a strand of his hair, gentle. “I got carried away. It… can happen sometimes, when the hunger is too strong. I lost control. I pushed too far. I’m so sorry.” They studied him, their eyes scanning his face for any sign of damage. “Are you okay?” E asked softly, their voice more tentative now.

“I guess so,” Logan muttered, still unsure of what had just happened.

E slowly rose to their feet, one hand extended toward him. He exhaled, the last embers of their moment cooling, and took their offered hand. The tension between them now mixed with lingering desire and mutual understanding.

Logan felt the force of E’s strength as they effortlessly pulled him up, the realization hitting him that they were back to their full power. Despite the energy that coursed through them, embarrassment was written all over their face. “Thank you, Logan.” Their voice still carried the worry they’d shown a few seconds ago. He caught the shift in their demeanor, but his response came naturally. “It’s okay.”

E, however, wasn’t so easily soothed. Sitting on the edge of their bed, they shook their head, avoiding his gaze. "No. It’s not okay," they muttered. "A normal person could have been seriously hurt from that.” Their words trailed off, and Logan could see the craving still burning behind their eyes—a flicker of something deeper, darker, barely restrained. “Good thing you heal fast…"

Their horns had returned to their smaller size now, but he knew that look. The hunger wasn’t gone.

Logan’s eyes couldn’t leave them, and he sat beside them, the bed protesting under his weight. "You're not done, are you?" His tone was blunt but laced with understanding. "You need more."

E sighed, and for a moment, their confident, commanding presence crumbled, leaving them looking small, vulnerable, and uncertain. "Yeah, I do," they admitted quietly. "I've been hungry… for most of my life. Pretty much since the day I awakened… which cost me someone’s life."

Logan didn’t push for details, though the weight of their words hinted at a story full of pain and regret. If they wanted to share it, they would. He wasn’t the type to force anyone into reliving their worst memories.

Instead, he asked a more practical question. "How do you usually deal with it? The hunger, I mean."

E's gaze shifted, as if deciding how much to tell him. "I find people who agree to let me… feed on them." The word clearly didn’t sit right with them, the frown on their face making it obvious. "I go to clubs, feed on the emotions in the crowd, or find a lover who’s up for a night of pleasure."

Logan's brow furrowed, caught off guard by the ease with which they said it. He wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but the detachment in their voice was something else. It sparked his curiosity.

"What do you mean? You can feed on… sex?" His voice was rough, but the question hung between them, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their reaction.

A sad smile tugged at their lips. "Yeah, I can. I only did it once… and someone died." They hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I make them feel good instead. I feed on their emotions, not their life force. I'm a giver, only."

Logan blinked as the realization hit him. "So if you have sex with someone, they die?" The weight of it settled in his mind. "So that means… you haven’t… since?"

E shrugged, their expression resigned. "I haven’t had sex in the way you conceive it in roughly… 250 years, give or take… maybe it’s 260. Time gets blurry after a while."

"Wow…" was all Logan could manage, his mind reeling from the thought. A pretty thing like them, not having been with anyone in… centuries? His thoughts drifted, imagining it, and he felt his face warm slightly before he caught himself. But before he could hide it, E chuckled.

"I can sense you’re thinking about me again," they warned, a hint of humor glinting in their eyes despite the sadness. "Did I get too much into your head?"

Logan grunted, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "You wish." Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here, something raw and uncharted. An opportunity that could satisfy the primal part of him always searching for more—a connection that might, even for a moment, quiet his restless spirit.

“How do you keep the hunger in control around the kids here?” His voice softened as he spoke, more carefully this time, a rare edge of concern threading through his words.

A long, strained silence filled the space between them. E’s expression darkened, the raw vulnerability that slipped through making Logan’s chest tighten. Their shoulders slumped, and for a moment, they looked impossibly small, their strength faltering under the weight of their admission. “I don’t.” The words were soft, but the heaviness in them rang louder than any shout. “I haven’t properly fed since I got here… which is also why… I had that meltdown.” E’s gaze faltered, a rare crack in their usually unshakable facade. "I don’t want to hurt them, Logan. They're just kids. Too innocent. I… I don’t want to corrupt them with this."

Logan’s throat tightened as he processed the weight of their words. Their restraint was admirable, but the flicker of concern in his chest grew into something heavier, a gnawing worry that lodged deep. What if he hadn’t been there to help? Who would they have turned to? The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“Maybe…” He hesitated, unsure whether his next words would cross a line. But they were already on the tip of his tongue, and his protective instincts pushed him to speak. “Maybe we could work out an agreement.”

E looked at him, brow furrowing in confusion, the weight of his offer hanging in the air. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving theirs. “Well, if I’m a walking buffet, might as well grab a bite now and then, right?” He tried to keep his tone gruff, but the underlying implication was clear—he wasn’t just talking about feeding.

They stared at him, disbelief written all over their face. Logan added quickly, “To keep the kids safe, you know…” His voice dropped, edged with something deeper—a personal stake he couldn’t quite define.

E’s chuckle filled the room again, their eyes gleaming with amusement. “Convenient,” they said, seeing through his cover but not arguing. If Logan was offering, who were they to say no?

“I mean,” he carried on, voice low and rough, as he tried to push past the weight of their amusement. “No strings attached, you know? Just a quick fix once in a while. Maybe you could try bein’ a little selfish. Not just givin’, but takin’ too, to blow off some steam.” He leaned in a little closer, his words edging toward a challenge, a hint of something dangerous in the way he spoke.

A slow, teasing smirk spread across E’s lips, their eyes gleaming with something dark and playful and Logan couldn’t help but remember how he first thought they would be trouble. And, oh boy, had he been right. It was written all over their face again, but hell, maybe that’s what made life worth livin’. Though, instead of jumping into his offer, E shrugged, playing it cool. “Yeah, sure,” they said nonchalantly, “if you’re up for it… And if you think you can handle my games." Their eyes glinted with amusement, but they left the offer hang in the air for a few heartbeats. "Maybe we can work something out.” There was another pause. “Just to keep the kids safe.”

Logan chuckled, the sound rough but laced with genuine amusement. “Of course. Just to keep the kids safe.” Though, the words were more loaded than either of them were willing to admit.

Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding flickering between them before silence settled, thick and charged. Then, E stood, a shift in their demeanor as they moved with purpose. “So, if we’re going to do this, might as well make it good for the both of us, right? What do you like most?” They flashed a playful smile. “Guy? Girl?”

As they spoke, their form shimmered, shifting into a strikingly handsome man. Logan’s brow lifted, eyes narrowing as he assessed the change with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The ease with which they wore this unfamiliar face made him feel both intrigued and guarded, muscles unconsciously tensing in response. Before he could fully process the thought, E shifted back into their original form, and he felt his heartbeat slow to its usual rhythm.

“Want me to look like someone you know?” they teased, voice laced with something darker, a playful glint sharp in their eyes. Logan’s gut clenched as E’s features rippled, reshaping into Ororo’s elegant visage. The sight tugged at a memory of storms and shared battles, sparking a flicker of warmth that was swiftly overtaken by wariness. Then Scott’s face emerged, stern and self-assured, making Logan’s teeth clench involuntarily—old rivalries resurfacing for a brief, silent heartbeat. But it was the final shift that gutted him: Jean. The phantom ache hit him hard, a rush of regret and want tangled in an old wound he thought long scarred over. He forced himself to stay stoic, the turmoil in his chest hidden beneath a practiced frown. E’s eyes glimmered with mischief as they returned to their usual form, gaze locking with his in an unspoken challenge.

But they weren’t done.

“What about plain old me?" The question carried a whisper of vulnerability, softening the edges of their usual bravado. Before Logan could catch his breath, they morphed again, this time into something unexpected: tanned skin glowing warmly, innocent blue eyes staring back at him, long, wavy brown hair that spilled down to their knees. The transformation stunned him, a contrast so striking it made the breath catch in his throat. The unfamiliar curve of their smile, the way their presence seemed more tender yet powerful—it tugged at something primal, something he hadn’t expected.

Logan’s gaze lingered, caught off guard as curiosity tangled with an unexpected coil of desire. He felt his senses sharpen, instinct flaring as the tension between caution and temptation thrummed just beneath his skin, daring him to stay composed, even as the line between control and surrender blurred at the edges.

Hell, they knew exactly what they were doin'.

He let out a low breath, eyes steady on them. "Take the one you like most," he said finally, his voice thick with the weight of it all. "I’m good with whatever. Might as well be comfortable, you know." There was a small pause before a few more words slipped out. "But I gotta admit…" He smirked, unable to hold back. "Leaves some interestin' ideas."

There was a spark of amusement in his eyes now, the prospect of what could come. So many versions of them, so many ways this could go.

Logan kept his cool on the outside, but his thoughts were racing. He wasn’t exactly shy about what he liked, and the way E changed forms so effortlessly was unlike anything he'd seen. The possibilities? Endless. And for a guy who'd lived as long as he had, it took something special to surprise him.

But as much as his mind wandered over the many options in front of him, there was still that feeling — something deeper than just lust. Maybe it was the way E seemed so guarded under the teasing and power. The way they tried to make everything sound casual, even though Logan could see the weight of their long, lonely existence hanging on their shoulders. It made him pause.

He leaned back again, his hands on the mattress behind him, taking in their latest form — tanned skin, long brown hair, blue eyes. It was tempting to let them become someone else, someone new every time. But then, something clicked. “You don’t have to change for me, you know,” he said, voice a little softer, but still with that signature gruffness. “I kinda like you the way you are.”

The smirk on E’s face flickered, like they weren’t expecting that. It wasn’t just the words — it was the way he said it. Like he actually meant it. They stood there for a second longer, holding his gaze, before they shifted back into the form they always wore until now. Still powerful, still beautiful, but now with a hint of vulnerability they didn’t usually show.

Logan’s lips twitched, just a hint of a smile. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “I’m not exactly picky. Just as long as you can handle me.”

E chuckled, walking closer. “I think I can manage,” they said, though there was a glimmer of something else in their eyes now. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, Logan wasn’t sure yet. But he’d figure it out eventually. After all, it wasn't just about keeping the kids safe anymore. There was something more brewing here, and Logan could feel it.

But for now, he played along, letting the tension between them hang in the air. He knew this settlement was going to get messy, but hey, hadn’t that been always the case for him? At least this time, he’ll get some fun out of it.

Logan smirked, still taking in everything E had just shown him. He’d seen a lot in his time, but nothing like this. It was a display of pure power, confidence, and—hell, he couldn’t deny it—beauty. His curiosity got the better of him as he spoke, voice low. "What’s your real form, anyway?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "And… is E even your real name?"

E smirked, clearly enjoying the effect they were having on him. Slowly, they shifted back into the form of the young woman with the long, wavy brown hair that cascaded down to nearly touch their knees, tanned skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Their piercing blue eyes locked with his, intense and unyielding. The two horns above their hairline, now fully extended, had the sheen of polished obsidian, gradually darkening to a deep red at the tips, adding an almost regal fierceness to their look. Their thin tail moved with a life of its own, curling toward his cheek as it had earlier, the only constant in their shifting forms.

A pair of feathered wings unfurled from their back, the inky black plumage fading to a crimson red at the edges, casting subtle shadows across the room. It was an image of raw power and allure, both ominous and breathtaking in equal measure. But what really got him was the way their hips swayed as they moved closer, drawing his attention like gravity itself.

"This is my real form," they said, their voice soft but laced with power. "Once, I was Amrit, Amrit Kaur Singh. But that was centuries ago. When they revealed themselves…” Their wings twitched at their back, a subtle shift betraying old memories. “I became Ezekiel. Ezekiel Nepharael.” E let the name float in the air between them for a couple of heartbeats. “I sometimes go by Eki or Zeek, depending on whether I’m feeling more… feminine or masculine. But for most people, I’m just E."

Logan felt like his mouth had gone dry, his eyes glued to them as the energy in the room practically buzzed around them. The wings, the tail, the horns—it was like nothing he’d ever seen, but damn if it wasn’t mesmerizing. His throat felt tight as he tried to form words.

"You like what you see, pretty boy?" E teased, their smirk widening as they stepped closer once again, a playful gleam in their eye. It wasn’t even a question, more like a statement of an universal fact. They could feel his reaction, sense the heat of his desire.

Logan, despite himself, nodded, a muscle in his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep composed. "Yeah…" he managed, the word caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, his voice rough and breathless under the weight of it all.

E’s smile softened, though, almost tender, like they were savoring every drop of the power they felt from him. It wasn’t just lust—they could feel the admiration, the curiosity. They took a slow breath, as if inhaling his energy, their smile growing even more gentle before they pulled back, releasing the hold they had on him.

Logan blinked, shaking his head as if snapping out of a spell. “I mean…” he cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his composure. “Yeah, that’s… that’s okay, I guess.” A smug smile curled on his lips.

E chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement. They shifted back to their favorite form, casually sitting on the bed, still exuding the same undeniable confidence as if they were wearing something far more formal than their simple sportswear. "So," they said with a playful smile, "how do you propose we handle this agreement, Mr. Howlett?"

Logan cleared his throat again, his gaze meeting theirs with an edge of concern. "I’m not gonna sell my soul to the devil, right?" he asked, half-joking, but there was a quiet unease gnawing at him, like something deep inside was warning him.

E chuckled again, shaking their head. "No, don’t worry. I’m only in the business of pleasure, not deals. And I’m a giver, remember?"

"Right," Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he mulled over the details. "Well… whenever you’re feeling… peckish, just knock on my door. I’ll do the same. If one of us doesn’t feel like it, then nothing happens. No strings. I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me anything."

E nodded, clearly pleased with the terms. "Fair enough," they said, but their smile turned sly again as they leaned forward, adding, "Anything you’d rather avoid? Things you don’t like doing?"

Logan's mind flashed to the moment they'd almost shared a kiss under the stars a couple of nights ago. He felt a shudder at the memory of the pull he'd felt, like he was going to be drained dry. "No kissing," he said firmly. "Also… maybe we should keep this between us. No one can know. And… well, if something makes either of us uncomfortable, we stop. No explanations.” He paused, briefly considering, but nothing else seemed necessary. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s all I ask."

E’s smile softened, genuine this time. They nodded. "Agreed. I’ll have the paperwork for you tomorrow." Their eyes sparkled with amusement, and despite himself, Logan chuckled.

"What?" E asked, amused. "I’m still a lawyer, pretty boy," they teased.

This time, the nickname sent a new warmth through Logan’s chest, one he wasn’t quite prepared for. Clearing his throat again, he stood up. "Well, if you don’t need me tonight, I’ll see you around, counselor."

E smirked, watching him intently, their eyes sweeping over his broad shoulders and the way he moved. "Of course you will," they purred, their voice low and full of promise.

He was halfway to the door when they called out. "Logan?" They waited until he turned to look back at them, their eyes softer now. "Thanks again. And… goodnight."

He gave them a small nod, his voice low as he responded, "You too." Without another word, he left the room, the weight of their offer—and whatever this was between them—still lingering heavy in his mind.

To be continued…

Notes: Curious about what does E looks like? Check out their moodboard. If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

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🔖 @quillycrow

[mir4inotes]

soon i’m gonna wake up, someone’s gonna bring me ‘round // kndz hurt/comfort

(kunikida-centric!!!!!!!)

originally posted 19 aug 2023

tw: self-harm, references to a suicide attempt, vomiting

read on ao3! / 3.4k words

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Kunikida hadn’t slept well in weeks. He still made a decent effort to go to bed at the same time every night, hoping something would change. But each time he turned the light off, said good night to Dazai and succumbed to the darkness, he was kept awake.

At first, when he was hopeful and convinced he only needed time to recover from recent events, he tried breathing. He’d lay there, eyes lidded, breathing in for four and out for eight in endless rounds until the fact he still wasn’t asleep raised his heart rate far too much. That initial night, he had simply laid on his back, restraining himself from flopping over onto either side so as not to disturb his partner. And if he had gotten sleep that night, it was certainly more than he’d be getting in the nights to come.

Once Kunikida realized he wouldn’t be able to get any shuteye from simply breathing and meditating, he’d asked Yosano for any ideas. She’d risen an eyebrow at the fact that Kunikida, the man who everyone assumed got a perfect eight hours every night without fail, needed medicine to sleep, then promptly wrote up a prescription for a bit of melatonin for him to take before bed. Wonderful.

After a lighthearted joke from Dazai about how Kunikida now needed drugs to sleep and was therefore getting old, Kunikida took the recommended amount and went to bed, skeptical yet hopeful.

And then he woke up to sunlight on his face, birdsong, and Dazai’s drool-smothered cheek on his chest, and he couldn’t have felt more relieved. His sleeping problem had finally been fixed, and now he could focus on getting his life back together piece by piece.

Except, not even a week later, Kunikida began having nightmares.

What had started as a physical inability to sleep had now morphed into a general dislike of it. He’d dread getting ready for bed, unable to know if he’d be blessed with a deep, uninterrupted sleep or tormented with an unsettling dream. And when he finally settled beneath the covers and waited for Dazai’s soft, pug-like snores to begin, he always fought off sleep for as long as he could until the melatonin knocked him out.

Kunikida wouldn’t have a nightmare nightly, but he almost wished he did. The feeble guessing game he had to play at got old quickly after he’d woken up shaking from his only bad dream in seven days.

The dreams themselves were nothing remarkable. For the most part, they were an amalgamation of the ones he’d suffered from a few months earlier, before the whole Decay of the Angel plot took place: blurry, muffled versions of the people he’d failed to save over the years, hostages locked in a cage while he was forced to stare and do nothing until they were long gone, among countless other scenarios that would already be muddied by the time Kunikida got up and brushed his teeth. They left a sour, unpleasant twist in his gut, but besides that, they were able to be swept aside and forgotten about with a bit of breathing.

Until, one seemingly inconspicuous night, Kunikida experienced a vivid, full-on nightmare that seemed to last for hours. And instead of showing him scenes he was bitterly familiar with, it was something new entirely.

He was sitting in the ward where Jouno had taunted him about joining the hunting dogs, but it was as if he was seeing through a thick, choking veil of smoke. He could hardly see the other end of the tiny room. His notebook laid torn in half on the cot, just as it had all those weeks ago. His thoughts swam; he wasn’t expecting to see this place ever again.

Of course, his arms weren’t working. He had hands and fingers, but he was unable to move them, met with a blank wall of resistance whenever he tried. They were mangled, sticking out at odd angles that shouldn’t be possible, and they hurt.

Outside of the window, Kunikida could hear nothing but chaos. Bloodcurdling screams, rapid gunfire, helicopters. He tried to move his neck, but it remained in place as if held there by an iron vice. His gaze was locked on his destroyed notebook in his lap. He even thought he could smell Jouno’s pear, sickeningly sweet to the point it was nauseating. His lungs were filled with smoke at that point, not that he was breathing in the first place.

Kunikida felt sweat dripping from his forehead as the noise from outside only grew in volume. Even his own heartbeat had moved to his skull, a constant, thumping bass drum that just. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

The room was gray, then white, then black, then back to gray. Kunikida saw someone clawing at the door with their hand over their mouth out of the corner of his eye. He hunched over, trying to block them out, but winced as the metal handcuffs scraped against his disfigured fingers.

Handcuffs? Those weren’t there before.

At that point, Kunikida thought his eardrums would burst from just how loud everything was. He brought his hands to his ears, pressing them against the side of his head so hard he thought he’d end up squeezing his own brains out. The cold handcuff chain dangled against his neck, and he swallowed against it. His throat was terribly dry.

Without needing to think about it, Kunikida brought his hands past his ears and behind his head, steadying the chain against the vulnerable skin of his neck. One last desperate, strangled wail reverberated through his entire being like a gong, and he yanked on the chain, tugging it against his neck until the room went black again.

//

Kunikida jolted upright in his shared bed, sputtering and gasping for breath. His hands instantly flew to his neck, almost expecting the resistance of the handcuff chain as he did. After confirming that no, he hadn’t actually choked himself to death, the grip on his neck relaxed, but only slightly.

His hands had returned. He lowered them from his head, holding them out in front of him. He couldn’t keep them still.

The sight of his own two hands, functioning and whole, made Kunikida feel sick. A horrendous wave of nausea swept through him, and he almost gagged right there in his bed.

He could hardly remember what had happened between heaving himself up out of bed (nearly tripping over discarded clothing as he did) and sinking to his knees in front of the toilet, already coughing up bile as soon as his legs hit the ground. His head was pounding too hard for him to care.

He stayed there, miserably slumped on the bathroom floor, resting his forehead on his arms on top of the toilet seat. He wondered briefly if Dazai would come find him, almost wanted him to, then decided he really didn’t want his partner to find him in such a state.

Not that this hadn’t happened before, Kunikida being sick in front of Dazai. On rare nights when he attempted to keep up with the rate at which Dazai tossed drinks back, he’d usually find himself retching in the bathroom (or worse, the kitchen sink) with Dazai drunkenly comforting him, slurring his words while combing his fingers through Kunikida’s hair.

The memory of those nights alone made Kunikida gag again. He’d been trying his best up until now to be as quiet as one can in such a situation, yet he unwittingly let out a low groan as his stomach began cramping up again.

His wrists brushed against each other as he shifted his arms around. He heaved again. He shouldn’t have those hands back. Those damned hands that were meaningless if they couldn’t save every person they attempted to help. Kunikida’s nails dug into his pale wrists.

They shouldn’t be there.

He’s screaming, Dazai’s arms wrapped tightly around him, tugging him away from the glass wall

The skin on his wrists began to sting.

Rokuzo’s in front of him, stumbling, neat entry wounds patterned on his chest

He staggered to his feet, ran the tap water over his dirty, quivering fingers and watched the blood swirl down the drain. He left his wrists alone.

He’s being forced to the ground, vision blurry and ears ringing. There’s blood in his eyes, but he doesn’t feel a thing. He only gazes at the ceiling through lidded eyes as he hears the muffled voices above him.

Kunikida leaned forward on his forearms, resting against the sink now. Nothing was being improved by the breathing techniques he swore by; each gasp for air felt like a fishhook being drawn up through his throat. His wrists burned.

And then, of course, there was a timid knock at the door. Not that Dazai needed to, considering the door had never been shut in the first place. Kunikida cringed as Dazai’s light footsteps reached his side.

Kunikida didn’t speak, or move. He stayed still with his head hung, letting his hands dangle above the sink. Dazai slowly reached for Kunikida’s bloody wrists, turning them over with icy fingers. Kunikida let him.

He also let Dazai rinse them clean, until there were only small, red crescent moons dotting his skin, and he let Dazai wrap his favorite brand of bandages around his wrists, just as Kunikida had so often done for him.

Then Dazai plopped himself onto the bathroom floor while tossing a dirty hand towel up into the sink. “Sit” was all he said as he patted the space in front of him.

Meanwhile, all Kunikida wanted was to drag himself back to bed. His breathing had managed to steady itself as Dazai worked earlier, but the rest of his body ached from exhaustion. He felt horrible enough having woken up Dazai, he wasn’t about to subject him to a pity party on top of it all.

Dazai tapped the floor again, looking up at him. Kunikida opened his mouth to reply, to say he was going to try going back to sleep, but a sudden surge of nausea crept up on him instead.

And so he was back on the floor. He was vomiting for the second time, though most of it ended up being dry heaving. Kunikida heard Dazai shuffling over to him, his hands sliding to their usual comfort spots: one hand brushing his hair away from his face, the other slowly rubbing circles into his upper back.

Kunikida would lean against Dazai in between gagging and coughing fits, his throat too sore to say anything. Dazai would murmur gentle comfort against his ear, quietly reassuring him that he was doing well, it’d be over soon.

Dazai particularly took note of the fact that Kunikida made no attempts to push him away. Every other time he’d taken care of Kunikida in times like this, he’d try making some blabbering excuse (as he was typically blackout drunk) that he could take care of himself, or that Dazai was suffocating him.

Now, however, Kunikida slumped against Dazai once his coughing and heaving had ceased. He shut his eyes and let his head settle against Dazai’s chest, curling into him sideways. He didn’t say a word.

Dazai instinctively wrapped his arms around Kunikida’s frail, shivering frame. This sort of thing had began happening nearly every evening since the Decay of the Angel situation; Dazai would let Kunikida rest against him just before they went to bed, neither of them saying anything. Occasionally, that would be how they fell asleep, too. Dazai would wake up some mornings to Kunikida coiled around Dazai’s lanky figure, an arm flung over his torso like some sort of rope.

It was endearing, sure, but the action was bittersweet, too.

Dazai combed his fingers through Kunikida’s hair as they sat there. The hair between his fingers was Kunikida’s usual dirty blond, except when Dazai peered a little too closely he could make out tiny rivulets of gray as they caught the light. It seemed like the jokes Dazai had made only months earlier about Kunikida going gray young were coming to fruition after all. Dazai looped a few strands around his finger and pretended the flashes of gray were due to his lack of sleep and nothing more, and that they would be gone by the time morning came.

Kunikida shifting his neck a bit brought Dazai’s attention back. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding Kunikida for; the only thing that clued him in to how much time might have passed was how the bathroom light had started flickering. That only happened after at least 45 minutes-or-so of it being turned on.

“Kunikida,” Dazai started, lips brushing past Kunikida’s hair. “Do you want to talk about anything?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

Kunikida took in a deep breath before shaking his head. “It’s late,” he mumbled before tucking his head in even tighter against Dazai’s chest. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” He hoped Dazai hadn’t noticed the unavoidable crack in his voice that so often punctured his words now.

Dazai only hummed in response, continuing to idly play with Kunikida’s hair. A few moments went by before he spoke up again, sitting up a bit more as he did.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kunikida didn’t look up. “…What?”

It wasn’t until after an eerily long pause when Dazai opened his mouth once more, and asked in an impossibly languid voice:

“You’ve thought about suicide, haven’t you?”

He’s being forced to the ground, vision blurry and ears ringing.

Kunikida didn’t move. Faint, blurry snippets of those moments when he was recovering from the explosion trickled through his memory like ice water.

There’s blood in his eyes, but he doesn’t feel a thing.

His mouth went dry. He could still feel Dazai’s heartbeat thumping against his side, yet he still felt himself falling away from him all the same. Kunikida wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to steady his grip or let himself be lost.

Yes, he had thought about it. He had turned it over in his mind repeatedly while sitting in that bed as if it were as natural as breathing. For at the time, his world as he knew it was gone. The agency. His coworkers. His partner. His ideals. There was nothing left except for the searing reminders of everyone he had failed to save.

“Easy, Kunikida. Breathe.” Dazai gently tapped Kunikida on the back.

Each time Kunikida inhaled it felt like the air was being chased out of him again. He knew he was shaking, knew he was gripping Dazai’s leg with too much force, but with one sentence, all the memories he had been trying to suppress out of shame were being unearthed one by one.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Kunikida muttered finally. His fingers began to knot themselves in his tangled hair. “I had nothing. There was nothing…” He cut himself off with a muffled sob.

Dazai’s heart stuttered as he felt that slow drip of realization dawning. The question had been assuming Kunikida had only thought about it. A person required a very specific mindset in order to turn those intrusive thoughts into a reality. Quite honestly, Dazai didn’t believe Kunikida had it in him to attempt anything.

Why didn’t he believe that?

As Kunikida’s body began melting even further against Dazai, his voice nothing but unintelligible sobbing and whimpering, Dazai could feel the slow drip becoming a waterfall.

Sure, the Kunikida of a mere few months ago wouldn’t have let himself go so far. Even if the thought had crossed his mind, he wouldn’t have succumbed so easily, especially not with the ideals he held himself to so strictly.

But now, the Kunikida who left his clothes scattered on the floor, who showed up to work a few minutes later than usual, who isolated himself from his coworkers and who hardly even ate three meals a day anymore; thinking about this Kunikida in such a situation suddenly became a lot more believable.

“I didn’t think you were alive.”

Dazai twitched as he was brought out of his own thoughts by Kunikida’s thick, hoarse voice. His fingers were digging into Dazai’s thigh so much it almost hurt. He considered saying something, except he didn’t want to tip Kunikida over the edge again on accident; he didn’t know what he could or couldn’t say anymore.

Kunikida took in a shaky, unsteady breath, and when he spoke again he sounded like he was seconds away from collapsing into another fit of tears.

“I thought they might have killed you…” he paused and took a breath at that, “when the terrorist accusations came out.” His breathing picked up again, but he didn’t stop speaking.

Dazai only kept holding him, since it was the only thing he knew wouldn’t set his partner off again.

Kunikida always complained about how cold Dazai’s skin was, but now he clung onto him as if that iciness was the one thing that could cool his very core.

“Eventually, the only thing i could think of doing was—“ Kunikida hiccuped, his breathing now just as erratic as it had been when Dazai first entered the bathroom. “…was slamming my head against that wall until it was over.”

And then all Dazai could hear was a desperate string of apologies, suppressed by Kunikida’s own arms as he hid his face from view.

At that point, all Dazai thought to do was wait until Kunikida managed to calm himself down. Even if he did speak, what would he say? It wasn’t as if suicide was some foreign topic to him, it was very much the opposite. But somehow, when it came to discussing it with the one person he never would have thought to consider it, the person he planned to spend the foreseeable future with, it put a knot in his throat.

So, for now, Dazai only gently swayed from side to side, returning to his routine of pressing circles against Kunikida’s back. Kunikida had let his arms fall in front of him, where Dazai decided to lace his fingers between one of Kunikida’s hands, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of his partner’s palm as he fought to get his breathing under control.

Even through everything else going through Dazai’s mind, there was a tiny voice at the back of his head criticizing Kunikida’s method for being too painful, too messy.

And that is why he kept his mouth shut.

//

The bedsheets had been sucked of all warmth by the time the pair returned. Kunikida noted through puffy eyes how his side of the bed has clearly been tossed around with panicked hands, whereas Dazai’s side looked more like he’d slid out much more gracefully. He bit back the rising swell of guilt for the nth time that night, and clambered back into bed.

As soon as Dazai wriggled back under the sheets, he pressed his chest against Kunikida’s back and tossed an arm over his waist. His breath felt warm and soothing against the back of Kunikida’s neck.

“i know you’re beating yourself up over waking me, so stop,” Dazai whispered in the gentlest tone he could muster. He wasn’t a very gentle person after all; unless he was with Kunikida, that is. Even then, he could struggle to get his voice to sound calm enough.

Kunikida sighed heavily, all energy drained. Dazai was right, as he often was. He could read Kunikida so easily.

“You aren’t upset?” Kunikida mumbled, shifting his legs slightly.

“No.” Dazai’s fingers slid up to Kunikida’s chest, pressing against his skin so he could feel his heart beating. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, burrowing his face into the crook of Kunikida’s neck.

Kunikida briefly thought about getting up to fetch some water, both to soothe his sore throat and to rid the lingering bitterness from his tongue, but he decided against it so as not to disturb Dazai for the second time that night. Dazai’s leg had slithered its way between Kunikida’s own two, anyway.

Gradually, with Dazai’s gentle snoring as background noise, Kunikida found his eyes growing heavy. Relief at Dazai’s words had spread throughout his body, although he wasn’t sure how long it would last.

Dazai shuffled a little closer to him, then, and Kunikida sullenly decided he’d deal with any remaining thoughts in the morning.

No, it wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly some of the best sleep Kunikida had gotten in weeks.

[alexbkrieger13]

I haven't read it yet so maybe it's just a summary from another interview or something, but I just saw this (it's in German)

https://twitter.com/queer_de/status/1739592775115366576

looks like a new interview!!!

Lesbian professional couple: "Women's football has always been a safe space"

Pernille Harder and Magdalena Eriksson from FC Bayern are not only top footballers. For the gay couple, their commitment to the LGBTI community is also important. An interview about kissing and fighting.

By Martin Moravec, dpa Today, 11:22 a.m.  9 Min.

The world-class footballers Pernille Harder (31) and Magdalena Eriksson (30) have been playing for FC Bayern Munich since this summer. Together. This was also very important for the Danish-Swedish couple in their private lives (queer.de reported). In an interview with the German Press Agency, Harder, a striker who has just recovered, and Eriksson, a defender who is currently injured, talk about communication in a long-distance relationship, Tetris while disposing of waste and two kisses that made history.

Ms. Eriksson, Ms. Harder, you met ten years ago at Linköpings FC in Sweden. What was your first impression of each other? Eriksson: I thought Pernille was great as a football player. She really impressed me, she was next level for me. I had never played with a player as good as her before. I was also surprised at how modest she was, even though she had so much talent. And she's a nice person too (laughs). We became good friends and then had a mutual group of friends who did a lot together. Harder: We are both very interested in mathematics and then we took a math course together. We got to know each other even better. After a few months we became a couple.

You were in a long-distance relationship for several years. How difficult was that for you as a couple?

Harder: It was difficult. You really have to work hard to make it work. But the time we were apart was also good for our relationship. Luckily, we developed in the same direction. The fact that we lived apart for three and a half years and are still together shows that our relationship is really deep and resilient. We both felt that this relationship was worth fighting for, even if we often only saw each other once a month. Magda often flew from London to Wolfsburg for a day and a half. Eriksson: You learn a lot about communication when you have a long-distance relationship, because that's the key. If you don't communicate, you actually have nothing because you don't see each other, you're not physically close. We've learned over the years that we had to get better at talking to each other and expressing our feelings with words. That helped us grow into our relationship. We communicate much better now than before our long-distance relationship. We have also become much stronger in this respect. The distance has disappeared at Chelsea FC, where they played together from 2020 to 2023, and now also at FC Bayern Munich. Did you have to get used to being so close to each other again? Eriksson: It really went from zero to 100 (laughs). Harder: The fact that we lived together for two years before I went to Wolfsburg in 2017 meant that we knew what our routines were. Eriksson: We had to sort out more practical things: who does the dishes, who does the laundry? Harder: And who takes out the garbage... (laughs) Eriksson: In a relationship, one partner always thinks that they have more to do with the housework than the other. How do you divide it up? Eriksson: In England I did the dishes and Pernille took out the garbage. Now it's more balanced. But there was a point where I thought she was playing Tetris with the garbage, she was trying so hard to balance garbage in the garbage can just so she didn't have to take it out straight away (laughs). Harder: It's funny how people can have different opinions about washing up, whether something is already clean or still not (laughs). But we're of the same opinion now. Apart from that, it was completely natural to get back into a common rhythm. Can you imagine leaving your job again to change clubs? Harder: I really like it here. FC Bayern is a great club, Munich is a great city. I'm enjoying it, even though I've been injured for two months now. We have a contract for the next three years and I can imagine staying here longer. Eriksson: It's the first time we've moved to a new club together. It's really nice to have the security of having Pernille with me. Football can be quite lonely when you're away from your family and maybe your partner. Having started a new adventure here with her is inspiring and cool. Like Pernille, I couldn't wish for a better environment. In 2019 during the World Cup, you kissed in the stadium after Eriksson's Sweden team won against Canada. It was just a kiss, but the photo of this public kiss caused a stir around the world. Harder: I didn't realize at first that the photo had such a wow effect because I was simply at the World Cup to support Magda. It wasn't our first public kiss after a game either, we had kissed a few times before (laughs). The photo quickly attracted a lot of attention on social media, became popular and attracted a lot of positive comments. It was interesting for me to see how much society apparently needed this image. Eriksson: We were surprised at how necessary such a photo was for football. We had also lived in our own bubble before and had been open about our relationship for a long time. But after that special moment, we realized how important it is to be visible, to do things that come naturally to us and to be proud of it. I think the best way to be an example to others is to express yourself and be yourself. That's exactly what we did. I'm happy and proud that the photo of our kiss became such a big topic because it was obviously something that football really needed.

As a teenager, did you have role models that you could look up to, that made you feel like your sexuality was perfectly fine the way it is? Eriksson: My older sister Amanda has always been very important to me. She encouraged me to be comfortable with who I am and not to think about what others might think of me. Growing up, she was always this calming voice that said, 'You are good the way you are. Be yourself.' I came out when I was 16, my sister was very important to me in the early years so that I didn't feel like an outsider. Harder: My parents, Annie and Mogens, always let me know that it doesn't matter who I love or who I bring home. They are happy as long as I am happy. I don't know if they expected me to bring a girl home one day (laughs), but they always made me feel like I could be who I am. I was really lucky in that respect. How far do you think football has come in terms of diversity and inclusion for women and men today? Eriksson: Women's football has always been a safe space for me and a place where I can be myself. I never felt like I had to hide any part of my sexuality or myself. I have never been discriminated against by fans because of my sexuality either. Harder: That applies to me too. I never felt like I had to hide, I can always be myself in football. Eriksson: There are more and more players who use their platforms and speak out on social issues. But we still have a lot of work ahead of us. We have to continue to create this safe space so that men's football becomes even more diverse, including in terms of sexual orientation. Harder: The next generation is growing up in an environment of increasing acceptance, which makes them more open. I therefore hope that men's football can continue to develop as a traditional sport. Unfortunately, there will probably still be people in the next ten or 20 years who are not happy about a gay man playing football. Is it easier to discuss such topics with younger people? Harder: I think that when you are younger, your own values ​​are not yet completely set, so you have the opportunity to provide input on what can and cannot be valuable for an open society. Older generations, on the other hand, often have their values ​​and opinions on certain things already set. Then it is more difficult to change your attitude. Do you find it strange that sexual openness is normal in women's football, but not in men's football? Eriksson: Women's football is a much younger sport. A lot has become entrenched in traditional men's football over the course of more than 100 years. Women's football is therefore more influenced by modern views. I hope that the more women's football grows, the more men's football can learn from it in certain aspects.

Your famous photo was taken at the 2019 World Cup. In 2023 at the World Cup there was a contrary photo when the now resigned Spanish association boss Luis Rubiales kissed national player Jennifer Hermoso on the mouth at the award ceremony. Hermoso saw the kiss as an act of violence, Rubiales, who also has to answer to the court, speaks of mutual consent. What do you think about that? Eriksson: They are the two ends of a spectrum. I always try to see things positively, even in a situation like this. Something has actually changed for the better for the Spanish national team since then. They started a fight against their association almost a year ago in which they wanted to bring about a change in the culture towards more safety and respect. They have now achieved that. I don't know if it would have been possible without this attack. Harder: The fact that the change has taken place shows how far we have come in society, how we are moving in the right direction. We do something when something unacceptable happens. The Spanish players fought for their cause, which was noticed worldwide, and brought about change. Eriksson: A kiss like the one at the World Cup this year might not have been a big deal ten years ago because times were different then and the team might not have felt they were in a position to openly address and criticize such a disgusting act. That kiss may have felt like a big step backwards for women's football at the time, but everything that has happened since then shows that we are becoming more and more confident and can really make our voices heard if we want to.

[myseungsunglove]

44,640 Minutes | Ksm

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Warnings: fluff, mild cursing

Word Count: 720

Synopsis: the reader is missing her boyfriend while he is away on tour.

This is my first Drabble in years and years. I used to write regularly many years ago, so if this really sucks ass, I’m sorry. I’m so rusty!

Feedback Appreciated!

「© June 28, 2023 by myseungsunglove」

It had been a month since you last saw Kim Seungmin’s face live and in person. 31 days of absolute torture. 44,640 minutes without feeling his hand in yours. 2,678,400 seconds since his lips last brushed against yours.

You were losing your ever loving mind. The fact that you were keeping track of how long it had been since you had last been with Seungmin, down to the second, was proof enough that you were without a doubt head over heels in love with that little menace.

You stepped out of the Uber, buzzing with excitement. The LA sun was bright, the chill of the air reminded you that summer was still a long way off. You pulled your jacket closer around you as you walked toward the concert venue, still shocked you just got on a plane and flew half way across the world for a boy. Missing him made you do crazy things, but this one was an all time record.

The boys’ manager met you at the door with a warm smile. In your haste to leave Seoul two days ago, you had at least had the forethought to let someone know about your plans. Telling Seungmin a convincing lie about why you couldn’t FaceTime two nights in a row was much harder, but you managed.

It wasn’t long before you were surrounded by the usual crews. Occasionally people waved greetings and smiled warmly as you passed by. You could feel the butterflies flitting in your stomach the more steps you took. A month had been far too long without your boyfriend, and you couldn’t wait to have his arms around you.

The manager stepped through the door into a room where the boys were holding a pre-rehearsal rehearsal. A time that was much more relaxed than the actual rehearsal before the show. You followed, taking a deep breath as you did so.

“Look what I found roaming around outside,” he joked, stepping aside to reveal you to the group.

“Y/N!” a few of the boys rang out, but not your boyfriend. His back had been turned in deep discussion over a specific dance move with Minho.

“Shut up, guys. Not funny. You know I’m missing her like crazy. Don’t gotta rub it in on concert day,” he whined turning around to face the group. As he did so, he came face to face with you, a stupid grin plastered on your face, the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes from the overwhelming happiness you felt.

“I really missed you too, Seungie,” you chuckled, looking up into his beautiful deep brown eyes.

His face scrunched up, confused for half a second before his brain caught up with what was going on.

“Shit,” he breathed out, as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to him, his face quickly nestled against your neck. “A month is too damn long,” he mumbled, his breath warm against your cold skin.

Your hand held the back of his head, fingers gently running through his soft brown hair, as you reluctantly pulled away from the hug to look into his eyes. You were barely able to do so before Seungmin’s pink, plush lips met yours in a slow, meaningful kiss. You pressed him closer to you and deepened the kiss, desperate to be closer to him.

“I agree,” you breathed out against his lips. “Let’s not do that again,” you added as your fingers combed through his hair once more. “I don’t have to be in my studio to get work done. I’m on hiatus anyway. I can record just about anywhere. You aren’t there. So, neither am I.”

His smile brightened, stretching all the way to his eyes. “So you’ll join us?” he asked, and you could hear the desperate hope in his voice.

“Can’t get rid of me now,” you joked, pressing your lips to his again.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiled against your lips. What you didn’t know was that the 31 days away from Kim Seungmin had drove him to buy a ring just last night while missing you because he wanted to make sure you didn’t have to spend 31 days apart again. That ring was currently in his hotel room, hidden away in a safe.

44,640 minutes made people to some desperate things when they missed someone, but you’d both soon realize that these two decisions were the best decision either of you had ever made.

Tags from interest in original announcement I won’t continue to tag you unless you want: @starlostseungmin @backintomykpopphaseagain @jho-1

[jackabbot]

2023 Writing Round-Up 💫

• 15 fics / 138.6k words posted; out of which 8 fics / 67.8k were buddie

Phew, it's been such a productive year, especially the second half, thank you for everyone who tagged along for the ride!! 🤗

(also I'm doing it in reverse order because... well if you know, you know 😪)

•December•

we’ve got something permanent (i mean in the way we care) [buddie, 7.1k, Explicit]

Buck has baby fever and it’s Eddie’s job to give him what he wants. Kind of.

Keep My Heart Warm In Yours [buddie, 18.5k, Mature]

Christopher decides that he wants to go skiing, Buck makes it happen and the cabin at the foot of the mountains turns out to be quite the romantic backdrop for their little getaway.

Of Love, Hospital Jitters And Christmas Lights [buddie, 6.3k, Teen + Up]

Eddie and Buck end up in the hospital waiting room a few days before Christmas.

You Ring, I Drool [buddie, 8.6k, Explicit]

5+1 times Buck reminds Eddie of a dog // alternatively; the one in which Eddie accidentally conditions Buck to beg for treats

If This Is What The Season Is Bringing [buddie, 2k, Teen + Up]

Buck and Eddie made a promise after Eddie decided to leave the 118 and they finally make good on it this Christmas.

•November•

Out Of Order, Still In Line [buddie, 6.2k, Explicit]

When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

'Cause I'm still seeing colours that are red (If I close my chest and let it take me) [steddie, 11.4k, Explicit]

Ever since they came back from the Upside Down, Steve has been struggling on rainy days, but Eddie’s there to provide support and a maybe even a little more than that. - Project #182 of Steddie Bigbang 2023

How It Was Meant To Be [steddie, <1k, Gen]

Steve's casually calling Eddie 'baby' all the time, without even registering what he’s doing.

•October•

I Was Betting On Forever (But Forever Comes And Goes) [buddie, 4k, Teen + Up]

Eddie gets a call from Buck in the middle of the night and it’s about as bad as one would expect.

It gets better, it gets worse [steddie, 52.7k, Explicit]

Steve tried to tell Eddie how he felt, only to get shut down immediately. Now meeting for the first time in a year, they have to figure out how to be around each other.

Coming On Ever So Strong / Coming Off Ever So Soft [buddie, 14.7k, Explicit]

They get drunk, Eddie makes a move and then there is the next morning.

•July•

But where they lay, they cannot stay [radskier, 4.3k, Explicit]

Jaskier comes to Tretogor and meets Radovid for the first time in months, but their reunion is bittersweet given how much everything has changed since they’ve last seen each other.

•May•

Helping hands (are better than praying lips) [steddie, 5.5k, Explicit]

Eddie breaks his arms and Steve is on nurse duty. [cw for watersports]

•February•

Who we are in the dark [steddie, 3.4k, Explicit]

It's their first anniversary and they go to the cinema.

•January•

It might walk like a duck [steddie, 10k, Explicit]

Eddie Munson is a busy man, busy enough to have a planner. Steve misses his friend so he hijacks said planner, learning something unexpected in the process.

Aaand that's all, folks! 💛 Now, here are some tags:

I was tagged by the lovely @wikiangela and @jamespearce9-1-1 thank you~ 💛

(these guys went in so early and I left it for the last minute lmao but just in case you missed their round-ups, you can read them: here and here)

✨tagging (if you've already done it, no worries and still no pressure otherwise either): @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @disasterbuckdiaz @nmcggg @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @ladydorian05 @rainbow-nerdss

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Another lovely year in this wonderful fandom. Here’s a little recap of how my year went:

My Writing:

Depth of Reason - Mature - 70k

How to Avoid a Scandal - Teen - 43k

Episode 3: The Diplomat, A Star Trek Redemption story - Teen - 13.5k

This list is much shorter than my list of fics written in 2022, but my fics last year were much shorter. Also, this word count is deceptive, because I wrote about 22k of Depth of Reason last year and about 20k of How to Avoid a Scandal last year as well. But! My writing goals this year were to finish these two WIPs and not take on any other projects until they were finished and I very nearly did that! Took on two projects (and more below), but I still finished these before the year finished, so pretty good!

Total words:

About 83k. Last year was more like 120k.

Other works:

Podfic of Petrichor - Teen - 34 minutes

Themes:

Finishing long works apparently! One was for my 2022 COBB and the other for my 2022 CORB. Even though these were started last year, they are the longest things I wrote since my first fic (49k) back in the second half of 2021.

Also, trying new things! Writing sci-if and recording a podfic felt very outside my wheelhouse at the time, but ultimately, I’m glad I went for it.

Top 10 fics I read in 2023:

Someone Wicked - Explicit - 60k by @artsyunderstudy

Three Months or 3,000 Miles - Gen - 3k by @larkral and art by @theimpossibledemon

Blood, Salt and Hummingbirds - Teen - 32k by @hushed-chorus

Restoration Ecology - The REmix (Baz’s version) - Explicit - 62k by @royalasstronaut

Good at Something - Explicit - 19k by @larkral

A Gift From the Propheseals - Mature - 6.5k by @skeedelvee with art by @letraspal

What Remains After the Storm - Mature - 86k by @hushed-chorus art by @erzbethluna

To Do, to Know, to Want - Mature - 8.5k by @facewithoutheart

Mishaps on Zoom - Explicit - 10k by @eelwinks

Swords Into Plowshares - Teen - 6.5k by @ileadacharmedlife

WIPs I’m excited to keep reading in 2024:

I Knew A Boy, I Knew A Man - Teen, by @shrekgogurt

Hiding Out In The Open - Mature, by @cutestkilla

A Little Bit Deadly- Explicit, by @emeryhall

Basil Pitch’s Diary - Teen, by @bookish-bogwitch

Other notable fandom things:

I helped to run @carryon-reverse-bang again with @angelsfalling16 as well as helped to put on a new event this year, @caught-on-tape-fest with @cutestkilla and @sillyunicorn

I met up with fandom friends while on a trip this past summer. Making personalized friendship bracelets as gifts, doing fic readings and crafts, and putting on our own Lady Ruth style tea party were some of my fave moments <3

I did a book club style reread of some of my fave fics with friends. I hope we do a few more in 2024!

It’s safe to say I engaged with this fandom everyday of 2023. I might get quiet on the main Discord server or Tumblr, but I’m certain I read, reblogged, wrote, DMd or otherwise participated in some way, shape or form throughout the entirety of the year.

Goals for 2024:

Read more fic! This fandom has such a wealth of works, my TBR list is a mile long and isn’t organized. I’d like to formally rework my AO3 bookmarks to exclusively show recs and either utilize the Marked for Later function or make a spreadsheet or something to better organize a proper TBR list so i don’t lose track of what I want to read next. Currently, having a dozen tabs open on my phone and another dozen on my iPad doesn’t really work well. If anyone has a brilliant system you’d suggest, please enlighten me!

I also want to read all of my physical canon books this year. I’ve only ever listened to the audiobooks! I’m currently reading my anniversary edition of Fangirl. (I think this is the prettiest book I’ve ever owned.) Up next, the Fangirl Manga, followed by the trilogy and Snow for Christmas.

More fandom meet ups! Already planning for June…

I don’t have any writing plans currently, so we shall see if/what I decide to create. I have a few ideas rolling around in my head, but nothing I’ve felt urged to put down in words. I’m sure I’ll write something, I just don’t know what it’ll be yet.

[forthelorewick]

Blessed with Beauty and Rage

Chapter 1: “My sorrow— I could not awaken”

“Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

Series summary:

The very core of who you are is hypocritical. Every day is a reminder of what you've lost, of who you've allowed yourself to become. Your walls are built around your heart like the fortress of Jackson, until… a certain man tries to pry his way through. How long can you withstand such intrusion? Will your heart ever open, will your soul ever heal, the way you have helped so many others do? Will you ever learn that you're worth saving too?

| Master list | next chapter >

Chapter content: angst, some cursing, reader is a bisexual and an unavailable mess.

WC: 3.5k

Mainly character introductions and some background information, the first few chapters will be a bit slower.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

December 2023:

It had been a while since you'd had new people in Jackson, the winter months approaching usually preventing people from venturing out and even keeping infected at bay.

But alas, the commotion was stirring around the town as the big gates opened to reveal two newcomers. An older man, around fifty to fifty five, and a girl who couldn't be any older than sixteen. They didn't have much similarity in their appearances so they must not be related, not uncommon that odd duos had become reliant on each other. Still, the mystery shrouded these two. An odd gruffness to the man, his eyes frantically searching the crowds, keeping her as close to him as possible.

Until— you see his eyes flash with disbelief, they widen and you swear you see a glimmer in them— a glimmer of hope and relief. The town turns to see who had caught his eye in such a way, and you see Tommy pick up speed and the two men meeting in a tight embrace.

You know who this man is, never thought you'd ever see him and maybe in your mind he had been long gone since that's how this world works. Families don't usually get reunited.

Tears threaten to fall from the older man’s eyes, but they don't. It seems as if a weight has been lifted off of the younger man (but not by much)’s shoulders. Yet, the older still seemed so heavily weighed down. As if the weight had been shifted onto him from his brother’s shoulders.

You didn't need to know them personally to know they were brothers, their features were similar, their hair a similar color and texture. Although, the older brother was greying and the younger was not. You know there's a five year age difference, and although it is not as if the years have been bad to the older man, you could tell it's just heavy on him. The same way it felt heavy to you.

His broad, firm stature quickly resumed its stiffness as Tommy led him and the girl towards the mess hall.

Tommy turns to find you in the crowd and shoots you a smile and brief wave, his eyes lit up and his steps light as they enter the mess hall.

You nod in acknowledgement, returning a half smile, promptly finding your way out of the crowd that had gathered.

The whole town resumed its prior activities, murmuring gossip of the man and girl, regarding what it takes to have lived outside of those walls and the odd timing of their arrival.

Anyone who knew Tommy knew of his brother whom he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. Since he's known you, since around when Jackson was founded.

A familiar voice calls your name and you turn to greet her.

“Hey,” you greet, seeing the way her eyes are lit up and she seems giddy on her feet. “The hell’s gotten into you?”

“Just put aside your grumpiness for like two seconds okay?” She reaches for your arm and squeezes it tightly, unable to control her excitement.

You allow her this physical touch but she quickly releases your arm and shrugs her shoulders offering an unconvincing apology. You grumble, encouraging her to get it out already.

“Robert finally asked me to the dance!”

“About damn time,” which has a dual meaning to you, but is met with an ecstatic response.

“I know, right!” She stills for a moment, finally to look at you. “Are you still not going?”

“Setyr, you know I don't-”

“Yeah, yeah I know, not even Maria can convince you?”

You take a deep breath in and hold it for a moment, glancing up at the clear, blue sky.

“It's on the 26th,” you don't feel the need to further explain, you hope your friend already knows as much as she needs to.

Her eyes cloud in realization. “Right, well, maybe after I can come by and we can listen to some music and we can finally try the wine we just harvested from the vineyard.”

You slowly nod and force a smile. “That would be nice, but you know-”

“Yes I know you don't drink either, remind me again what you do for fun?” She chuckles and gently pats you on the shoulder causing you to tense up once again.

“I do plenty- I- plus, I-” you can't seem to find the words to say, you don't do much besides work. But you enjoy work.

Before you can even think further on how to finish your thought, you are interrupted by yet another woman calling your name and Setyr’s as she approaches.

“Hey, Kris,” her eyes meet yours and you are just mesmerized for a moment, it's a common occurrence when it comes to her. Her natural beauty and grace paired with her dirty knees from where she knelt in the greenhouse and tended to the plants, crops, and flowers— she was as close to a goddess as it came these days.

Her smile is so sweet as her features are highlighted by the sun which was starting its descent in the sky. Her skin is golden and sun-kissed, her hands calloused, yet soft everywhere but her palms.

“Hey, you.” Her lips are soft, always so soft.

You swallow thickly and glance around as people hurry to and from wherever they're going.

“Hellooooo,” you hear fingers snap and you're forced back to focus on whatever Setyr is saying.

You clear your throat to let her know you're present and actively listening.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

You sigh deeply, “You want to host another game night, is that right?”

She smirks at you and nods. “Are you at least coming to that?”

“How could I ever pass up poker or Texas Hold ‘em, any chance at kicking your asses, really” the toothy grin you offer is cocky and sarcastic all at once.

“More like kissing asses,” Setyr teases, you know it’s directed towards you and Kris. You groan quietly and turn to see Kris’s cheeks slowly reddening, your thin-lipped smile widens. Until you see her eyes down-cast, your smile fades into your permanent furrowed brows.

Setyr looks between you two and rolls her eyes, “C’mon now, y'all have got to be the most frustrating people in the world.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Can we not-”

“Never do,” Kris murmurs beside you and you curse yourself under your breath.

“I'm gonna leave you two…”

“Wait, no please— Set!” You call after her as she leaves you two alone.

You slowly turn to Kris and she seems so much smaller than she had when she had approached. “Hi,” she smiles weakly, her arms held tight around her.

“Hi. Listen, I'm sorry—”

“Save it, I know. I'm sorry, I'm the one who kissed you and- and I know how you are. I was stupid to think I'd be the one to change that.”

You just look at her, that's all you can do. This angel, this goddess who you just can't figure out why the hell your heart is so hardened, so unavailable. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt her, but as much as you wish you could feel, you just don't. For anyone. And you hate it.

You hate yourself for being so far away all the time, so lost in the clouds, so enshrined by the grief and the horrors that surround your mind. Your work as a shrink is the only time people see you as any semblance of open and welcoming because it's professional, it's you getting into their minds, not your own. Making them feel comfortable and understood. It's easy– to listen and observe.

To have true friendships and relationships, however, it requires a two way street which you can't quite offer- it still befuddles you that somehow you had people who you could tolerate and were considered friends. Friendships by proxy mostly, but friendships nonetheless. Friendships you had made through your other disconcertingly close friendships with people who at this point were considered family. Blood or not, it didn’t matter, they cared for you regardless of your harshness when they tried to get too close. They knew things about you regardless of you wanting them to or not.

You shouldn't have even let Kris close enough to kiss you, and you knew you were fucking up when you kissed her back.

“It's not-” it's not you, it's never you, Kris. You're wonderful and sweet and charming— all I wish is that I could find a way to let someone in, to be seen, to be known, to share. But I don't know how and I don't know if I ever could. Everyone that has ever known that side of me— has known me- is dead. And I fear those pieces of me died with them.

You can never voice these things, you would just end up staring open-mouthed, expecting anything to come out, but it can't. You are incapable of human connection past anything platonic and even then you fucking struggled.

“I don't deserve you,” you hear your own voice say, and it nearly shocks you.

She looks at you and a solemn smile adorns those soft lips.

“I think you deserve more than you know.” And with that she’s gone, walking back down towards the mess hall for dinner.

You walk the opposite way back to your house, slamming the door and slinking to the floor against it. What the fuck is wrong with you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Next day

As with all things, you have filed such an encounter under further reasons to avoid any and all potentially complicated circumstances affiliated with others’ feelings in regards to you personally.

You understood perfectly fine. You can never blame others for the way you make them feel, but you were unable to put your own preaching into practice. Always know, yet unable to do. It was as if you had been cursed with knowledge and understanding only to ever experience what you knew and understood from an observational perspective.

You weren’t surprised when Kris scheduled an appointment with you the day before game night. Your friends were beginning to figure you out bit by bit. It’s surprisingly effective, you’ve found, to communicate when they let you do it as a shrink, not just as you. In the professional space, there’s room for the words to come—unfiltered, clear, and detached from the weight of personal expectations. It’s easier when you're wearing the mantle of authority, of expertise. You don’t have to wrestle with the discomfort of being vulnerable; you can hide behind the training, the methods, the framework. In the office, it’s all just technique—but to them, it feels like you’re being real. And maybe you are. Just in a way that’s easier to digest.

They were merely words to you. Words which serve a purpose, a means to an end. They were people pleasing words.

“Hey, Kris, what can I do for you today?” You motion for her to sit in the designated chair for these sessions.

“Just wanted to talk,” she sits down and crosses her legs, her jeans covered in dirt at the knees, as always.

“That’s typically what coming to a shrink is about. What is it you’d like to talk about?”

She rolls her eyes at you, knowing you knew what she was there for.

“I know you don’t like when your friends take advantage of your work time to talk about personal things regarding well, you…” she clears her throat before continuing, “but I didn’t want to go to the game night with things awkward between us.”

You nod your head slowly as you acknowledge her purpose for being here. “No, I typically don’t-“

She interrupts you, knowing you’ll just shoot off some shrink jargon. “Just let me—”

You clear your throat and gesture your hand for her to continue.

“I know you’re not into me the same way I’m into you and I can live with that fact. But I don’t want our friendship to end because I fucked it up-”

“Kris, please it’s oka-”

“No just please, you don’t need to say anything yet. I want you to know how important your friendship is to me and how I understand you more than you think I do,” she’s leaning forward in the chair as she talks to you.

Your jaw is tense and your leg is bouncing as you anxiously sit and listen. You don’t like the idea of anyone knowing you, but you realize it’s inevitable when you have friends and those you spend time with even if minimally. Still doesn’t mean you’re comfortable with that idea.

“I’m going to move on from this little crush I have on you since I know it will never be returned, unless there is any chance-”

You don’t need to say anything, the gentle shake of your head was returned with a deep sigh. “Then friends?”

“Friends.”

“Don’t get awkward around me now, okay?”

You grin and chuckle gently, “No more than I already am.”

She seems content with that answer and curtly nods her head as she stands up from the chair.

“Thank you for your time, I’ll see you tomorrow at Setyr’s,” she turns to walk out the door.

“See you,” is all you say as she exits your office.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Game night

“She’s here!” You hear footsteps approaching from the other side of the door before it’s opened to reveal a small group of women. You had been the last to arrive, but you brought treats. Cookies and a pie for the occasion, it was soon to be Christmas, after all. You had even baked some fresh potato chips, fresh and crispy from the oven. A favorite amongst your circle, shrink’s homemade snacks.

“Shrink!” Maria was the first to nickname you as such.

“Am I the last one here?” You step into the warm home and shake off the chill of the evening.

“Pretty much, but then again no one else took the time to actually bring baked goods since Set made dinner, you are always so thoughtful!”

You blush at this. The way you show your appreciation and love for those around you is through acts of service. For what you couldn’t say or express verbally or emotionally- you did. Showing up, baking, listening, crafting, fixing, building— whatever your people needed, you were there. You were useful and you had skills that could help… so you did.

“Well, can’t have game night without snacks, can we?”

She grins widely at your nonchalance to your thoughtfulness. Thing is, you couldn’t stop thinking so this was a great way to focus it for a little while in anticipation of this social gathering even if it was a small group of people you knew.

It truly was friendship by proxy. They became close to Maria, who dragged you around everywhere, so they soon became attached to you too. You didn’t necessarily mind, you just weren’t privy to enjoying any form of social gathering. Although, you sucked it up since you really do enjoy game nights. Can’t play board games or card games on your own, at least not most of them anyway. Strategy, wit, and sarcasm were the key components to any good game night.

As everyone gets settled around the card table, Setyr brings around drinks for everyone and for you— freshly pressed grape juice. You can’t help but feel warmth bloom inside you due to her thoughtfulness.

The card table was a beautiful piece of artwork. Handmade by Setyr’s boyfriend, Robert, before they had even begun dating.

After she gives everyone their drink, she sits down in her designated seat at the head of the table.

Around you, the chatter was light and easy, as it always was when the group gathered. It was the same crew—Maria, Kris, Setyr, Olivia, Jenna, Maya, and a couple of others—familiar faces that made these nights feel like a comfortable tradition despite your initial hesitancy to be around people at all . No need for introductions or explanations; everyone knew the rules, the stakes, and most importantly, the game itself. You had done multiple game nights prior, and it was relatively the same group of people each time.

As you get settled into the game, as unsuspecting as ever, your competitive spirit takes over. As per usual, your silent yet deadly strategies begin to take effect. So quiet and unassuming until you’ve quietly won enough hands that Maria quirks her eyebrows at you and Setyr rolls her eyes once again.

You can’t help but grin, you love these nights. Everyone drinking and chatting allows you to sink into your comfortable headspace, focusing only on the game and the tells of those around you.

The air is light and the stakes are high- to the extent of your friends threatening to make you take a day off of work if they win.

Maria tosses her chips in the air, challenging you. "If I win, you’re taking a day off. No repairs, no running errands—just rest. And I mean it. No exceptions." She glances at you, her eyes narrowed, a devilish grin on her lips as she dares you to challenge her hand which she’s gone all in on.

Setyr takes a sip of her drink, her fingers tapping the table in her usual rhythm, pretending to be deep in thought. She’s not fooling anyone, though.

You know all of your friends’ tells. You see the way their eyes shift to the others as they try to assess whether they should be confident in their hand, or the way they blink in thought as they decide their next move. The way Setyr avoids eye contact when she plans to bluff, raising the betting pool. You’re playing a different game—reading them, their moves, their intentions. It’s a language you speak fluently.

Blackjack, poker, Texas hold ‘em… you play them all. A deck of cards is so versatile.

You flick a glance at the cards in your hand, feeling the familiar satisfaction of being in control. You are in your element and your initial hand is going to prove useful. You just lean back, arms crossed, your gaze moving between the others.

Setyr raises an eyebrow. Kris scoffs, clearly trying to figure you out. She throws a few more chips towards the middle of the table, raising the bet. A typical move for her, hoping to get under your skin.

She thinks she’s got you for a moment, but after a few more plays from the others, it’s your turn again. You don’t even flinch. Your hand moves, swift and silent, matching the bet.

“Cute,” you say dryly. “But predictable.”

Maria, frustrated by her earlier setback from when you had bluffed and she had fallen into it, eyes you warily but doesn’t know whether to make a move against you or hold her ground. Setyr’s fingers tap the edge of her glass, her usual sign that she's formulating something, while Kris grins, clearly trying to throw off someone—likely you, if you had to guess.

Setyr finally speaks up, breaking the tension. “Is it just me, or does Shrink always have something up her sleeve?”

You glance at her, offering a brief, sardonic smile.

You place your hand down to display the full house hand you had. The others groan in unison, as if they all knew it was coming but didn’t want to admit it.

Kris laughs, shaking her head. “You’re an absolute menace, Shrink.

You shrug, an almost imperceptible smirk on your face. God you were glad things were mostly back to normal between the two of you.

The group of you play a few games while everyone is gradually getting more and more tipsy as the night goes on. You watch and observe contentedly. No one pressures you to talk more than your sardonic remarks while gaming. You don’t win every game, you can’t always get a good hand, but you are a hell of a people reader. This is the only type of social gathering in which it truly comes in handy without feeling like such a burden or imposition.

The night winds down, the chatter softening as people gather their things and prepare to leave. You stand quietly by the door, watching the others.

The others are busy gathering their bags and coats, the mood light but winding down.

Setyr catches your eye, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "You turning in for the night?" she asks, her voice casual, though she’s more than aware that you’ve already slipped away from the conversation.

You nod, a simple gesture. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that. You don’t need to explain.

With a final glance around the room, you slip out, the door clicking softly behind you. The sound of their laughter lingers for a moment, and then the night is still again—just the way you like it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Welcome to the fucking ride!

[nurgletwh]

Hey all! You’re about to see why this got so delayed when Tumblr ate my post. >.<

Remember how I’ve previously stated “I disappeared because I had issues, but no worries!”?

Yeah.

Not so much this time. Which has only sunk in with retrospect and time. (@grumpyoldsnake is gonna be “I told you so!!!)

It still doesn’t really feel that way, because the human mind is stupendous at deemphasizing how much danger you might really be in/were in.

Some of this might be covering ground I’ve already covered here or elsewhere. However, I think having it all in one place and all sequenced together will not only help me keep things straight but give it all perspective.

With that out of the way, let’s see if I can not only keep this all the fuck straight but remember what ground I need to cover. I’m putting the rest under a cut for a couple of reasons. It’s long, and it may be triggering for some people. Please let me know if I’ve missed a tag I should have added.

October 2023

I went back to the Dr. to get my medications adjusted, as my blood sugar had gone back up. (Side note: I hadn’t been properly and regularly testing my blood sugar. I was exhausted and sleeping what felt like all the time with no energy to do much of anything at all.) For whatever reason, my blood pressure comes back rather shockingly high (164/108!!), not in line with what it’s been at all. I comment that I’ve never seen it that high, and the nurse says to have the doctor check it after I’ve been there a while.

It doesn’t happen because I’m forgetful.

My cholesterol also comes back high, but that’s been creeping up for years, so no shocker there.

Diabetes medications are adjusted, one is added for the cholesterol. By the time I get home, there’s another one for my blood pressure. I shrug and add it to my pile, since my blood pressure had never come down as far as I thought it should in the first place.

November 2023

Back for a follow-up appointment. My sugar levels haven’t changed all that much, and my blood pressure still comes back as pretty damn high, and I make a mental note to test it at home more regularly, because it doesn’t seem right.

Warning: diet talk.

———

We talk about stuff and whatnot, and decide to try Ozempic (as its original purpose was for diabetes) as the next step to get my blood sugar down.

I was aggravated as he goes on about things like how I’ll feel better for losing some weight, and I half-assed express a few concerns because I have disorganized eating habits. I already don’t eat consistently, and I firmly believe my current weight “problems” are due to my disorganized eating patterns (as well as picky eating and just not really wanting to eat in general) in my youth leaving me borderline malnourished. Most of my teen years were spent trying to get me to gain weight. FYI: being significantly underweight for a long time is a great way to have issues with being overweight later.

I go home with a prescription for Ozempic. Fine and dandy, although I’ve been getting the impression he doesn’t really listen all the time.

———

December 2023

Christmas happens, travel happens, fun happens.

January 2024

Cute cat pic, just because. :-)

Next appointment. My blood pressure still reads significantly higher than normal (156/92), and higher than it has been at home, but what with travel and all, I haven’t really been testing it to back up that assertion. The doctor tests it and gets approximately the same result.

I get another prescription for an additional blood pressure medication.

(Can you guess where this one is going?)

I woke up a few days later with a massive headache that wouldn’t go away. I didn’t connect this at the time, but based on what happened next, I think it was.

The day after that I felt a bit dizzy. When I wasn’t feeling much better by lunch, I took my blood pressure and got 94/68. I took it again and got about the same thing, so I had my coworker (who is also a volunteer EMT) test it. He got 100/54. I continued to check it throughout the day, but it wouldn’t stay consistent. I bugged out of work early, finally sending a… well, grouchy message to the doctor (after hours, unfortunately) firmly expressing my frustration that I wasn’t believed when I stated my at-home readings, pointing out I am also an EMT.

My reading was 96/74 when I went to bed.

I felt even shittier the next day. BP was 94/62 that morning; I stayed home from work. The doctor responded to my message when the office opened, discontinuing the most recently added BP med, sanctioning the choice I’d already made. :-P

Unfortunately, my BP continued to plummet throughout the afternoon and evening. I sent a message that evening and asked what to do, continuing my pattern of sending messages after the office closed. 🙄

I took my blood pressure using my automated cuff before going to bed. It errored out twice before I got this:

Lovely, eh?

(The systolic generally reads 8-10 low, but the diastolic is generally bang on.)

I took it manually; 80/54. I send a follow-up message with those readings.

I felt awful the next morning. The act of sitting up made me dizzy. I stumbled out to the living room and called in to work again; I was in no condition to drive. My heart rate was elevated to around 100-110 (it normally runs fast, about 80-90 in the morning).

By late morning, the automatic cuff wouldn’t do anything but error out. I sent another message asking at what point I should go to the ER. I didn’t get a response from the doctor, but did from one of the nurses, who told me that anything under 90 systolic with symptoms qualified.

What. The. FUCK.

I basically decided that if it got worse, I’d go in. I told a friend to check in with me regularly and stayed in my recliner, drinking water and Gatorade to at least get fluid in.

The lowest reading I got on my manual cuff was 78/52. FYI: I should have been in the hospital the day before. This is “almost died” moment number 1. I was a fucking idiot. Denial is deadly.

——

I think this needs split up; I’m gonna post this now and keep writing, because I’m going to hit some sort of character limit sooner or later. O.o