#<- tagging for organization. it's relevant i think

[instantpansies]

so i have a tiny laptop and my brightness and volume controls are toggled with fn lock, which also toggles my arrow keys. i have to swap between fn locked and unlocked really regularly. so i decided to just... add tactile buttons to the fn lock key and brightness/volume controls. i'd been putting it off bc i didn't really "need" tactile guides and i don't have significant visual impairment, but i mean... it's just so convenient. it was super easy, i just pulled off pieces of some puffy stickers i'll never use (like the inside of an O, or the dot of an i) and stuck em on there. now i don't have to look down at my keyboard to adjust my volume or brightness, or switch between scrolling modes for arrow keys.

idk i guess just. don't be afraid to give yourself accessibility shortcuts or devices because you don't think you "need them". if it makes your life easier in some small way just go for it. yeah. it's nice

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[duskstarskies]

i don’t even know why im so drawn to mugm. like yeah it’s probably bc he went so far in the pursuit of power that when hes finally experienced what it does and how it all turns back on him, he tries to amend himself. but it doesn’t work. because hes so deeply fixed into that role for other people so he will always be seen AS that kind of player to everyone else no matter what he does. and so he goes idc anymore i will do what I want and i will not care about being good or bad anymore. (this has been a long conversation already…)

… so it can’t be just that bc it’s so simple and straightforward and smps now fall into a much more muddled category with strictly rp and strictly for fun/content. Because they want to mix the rp and content in a way that is less focused on story (like a typical rp smp) and more focused on Big Moments that are aided by a story instead of the other way around. it’s a weird formula that youtube loves so you’ll have a player killing others in a really cool way, and you’re supposed to feel vindicated for them because youve watched that player go through a lot to be able to do that.

and it’s frustrating to me because all of this is done for content, to show off the bliss gimmick/skill etc (for VIDEO RETENTION) so there’s the layer of what mugm is to the other players in bliss as well as another layer to what mugm is to US. and bliss streams genuinely are like static to my ears and i also get freaked out because they are twitch exclusive and i do not like thwat website. and they disappear after a week and unfortunately i do not have that kind of free time to sit down and watch those vods within a reasonable timeframe… so mugm will forever be a mystery to me which is kind of ironic considering his skin. (if they made a vods channel this problem would not exist #tbh)

every single time mugm is introduced in someone’s video it’s “hes the strongest player on the server” or on the strongest/scariest team etc etc. and he is always at the other side of conflict and since he is the antagonist he will always lose (in that video). Even in times where he’s winning, like objectively. (ex. wyll’s “killing players who have plot armor” <- which is crazy because the inciting incident that allows for wyll’s team to do anything is based on kae’s “might as well get some content out of this [going to vidcon]” and is not just out of server but also for CONTENT) this isn’t really a new concept bc you Want to have the protagonist win. youtube doesnt want to watch somebody lose and have no comeback or revenge because it doesnt make you hype or want more. Which is why soooooo many smp videos are always about “getting revenge on xyz” “how *I* xyz” and so forth. Like i don’t think this is subtle either it’s very obvious when you have repeated titles and events blur together.

when mugm challenges Tai for the mace, it’s so out of the blue (because it’s staged) and of course mugm loses (because it’s staged). when mane and mugm go head to head for the scythe, mugm willingly gives up the netherite sword and loses (because it’s staged). the only incident that’s stand out to me is when napa and mugm are fighting for the dragon egg, it’s NOT staged this time and tbh it says soooooo much more about them both. as people. But he still loses. because it’s a naparizel video and big time karma (ik for a fact he sweat his ass off during that fight. if not bc of the brotherhood raging so bad but bc he cheated so much LMAO)

that’s like only 3 incidents but it’s exactly the same formula (none of these are from the same smp btw), super rare one of a kind item and a big fight over it. and somehow it’s always mugm there. I feel like im supposed to get sick of him? im for sure sick of this formula but for some reason never the guy literally apart of it?

this got so much more meta than I intended to be and im kind of speaking into the void. It’s just really hard to find a conclusive and articulate answer for a question where everything that could support it can be explained away by stuff out of the scope of the topic at hand. maybe i like mugm because i like his voice and not actually him. and maybe his whole gamebreakers/brotherhood is just him orchestrating what would be the most interesting to watch instead of him actually. <- which is not out of scope but i feel like im running around in circles talking about this.

also i feel smps like these aren’t meant to have these kinds of posts about them but idec anymore this has been plaguing me SO BADLY

[voiceofthe]

(slay the princess ask game)

16. (Explore) If you were a Voice in The Long Quiet's head, what would you be? Basically just Voice of the Skeptic, except more willing to accept the unreal qualities of the construct. And perhaps a bit more overtly in love with the princess.

17. (Explore) You're a princess locked in the basement of a cabin, what kind of princess would you be? I'd like to be a horrible monstery one. I think it'd be really fun to just go full creature mode and bite someone, especially someone who kept coming to my prison to stare at me weirdly and prod me with stupid questions. More realistically, though, a very weepy, morose one that just bursts into tears when prodded with stupid questions. Don't think I'd hold up very well under the circumstances.

18. (Explore) You are an Echo of a man long gone, how would you deal with the events of the game? That's easy, I become a complete alcoholic for the hour or so I get to exist before my wretched creation finally manages to kill themselves in a new and exciting way.

22. (Explore) Do you have any headcanons for [Character]? Treating the blank as a free choice, so I'll just choose one I've got a few headcanons for. The Long Quiet, even when doing a convincing imitation of a normal living being, is incredibly cold to the touch, and also their feathers are a mess. Crumpled and out of place. Debris stuck in them. Disgraceful.

23. (Explore) Any first impressions regarding [Character]? How about now? Another free choice and I'll be going with the character my feelings have changed the most on! Like pretty much everyone, I was not really a fan of the Broken when he first turned up, 'cause I got him in The Tower where he is absolutely horrible. Actively working against you to outright kill you did not really endear me much. However. HOWEVER. I love him now because he is so infinitely better in literally every other route. I think my opinion of the Broken really started to turn around when I went through Wounded Wild with him, because of this line specifically:

Which, like. Is kind of devastating. It has lodged in my brain and stayed there. Being around her is almost the same. Almost. ...Also, he's really funny whenever he isn't busy being kind of heartwrenching. The abject misery in response to literally any situation. <3

[ssreeder]

yooooo. queer-ie: i love your work and would die for it (this is the queer part) and i just know there’s gotta be scenes that have been deleted. could you possibly tell us about some of those (this is the -ie part)? no pressure tho!! i’ll be hopelessly devoted to you either way.

eyyyyyy-o.

sorry Ive sat on this ask for a while but it tuurns I doooooo have like 4k of of outtakes from RIA & ITF lol.

so here are a few, i’m not sure if this is what you wanted from this ask lol im doing my best. (also none of these are edited or proof read and im sorry about mistakes and grammar and tense and all that other jaz because these were seriously like - ‘i don’t know if im going to trash this orrrrr…..’ then it never made it in & might not even be applicable to the current story.)

im such a good author I know so many details ummmm here is an insert from some point in RIA (I think this was going to be a POV from Hakoda and his men talking and I decided it was a waste of word count. sorry hakoda)

- - -

“I say we kill him.”

“Don’t you think that is a little… <i>extreme</i> Gilak?”

“Not as extreme as the <i>son</i> of the Fire Lord living and breathing in our camp!”

Hakoda felt the specific vein in his forehead thumping against his wrinkled skin that was trying its best to keep it contained. He could feel a headache coming forward the longer they discussed what to do about the situation that Sokka brought to his attention… and so far, they had not one tangible idea.

“Gilak, I have already told you, we can not kill him.”

“I know sir, your son is buddies with him, and we can’t upset Sokka.”

Hakoda shot the larger man a stern look, and he quickly retracted his words.

“I know why we can’t kill him. I just think it would be the simplest solution in this situation.”

Bato jumped to Hakoda’s defense, like he always did.

“This is not a simple situation, so it will not have a simple solution. I think we should speak to Morrak and see what he learned about the boy before we make any decisions. If we kill the Prince of the Fire Nation while he is severely injured and being non threatening we will look like the savages the rest of the world calls us. We have to handle this delicately, like Hakoda said, Sokka trusted us enough to tell us who he is when he could have easily lied. Which means we need to respect that trust and handle it delicately.”

Hakoda cleared his throat, earning the attention from both his men.

“So it is decided. I will talk to Morrak and once I get more information, I will meet back with you both and we can discuss our options at that point.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes Chief.”

Hakoda was happy when they left his tent, freeing up the stifled air that seemed to stop moving the moment the conversation began. Hakoda felt an intense guilt building from betraying his son’s trust and sharing his friend's identity with the other men… Haoda knew it was the wisest decision for him to make as the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, but it wasn’t helping him be the best dad to his son… Something he was still struggling with every passing moment.

Even now… Hakoda left his son alone in the healer’s tent with the boy he just recently discovered was the Prince of the Fire Nation… A boy bred into fire and violence. Sokka seemed to trust him, which gave Hakoda a tiny bit of hope that maybe there was something good in this boy… But that tiny feeling was smothered by the rest of the overwhelming amount of mistrust and worry he had when he looked at the golden eyed boy who glared at him from the moment he opened his eyes.

Hakoda rubbed his forehead, digging his thumb into his temple in an attempt to push back the stress vein. He needed to speak to Morrak, and after that… He would make a decision on what was the best next step he could make. He needed to protect his tribe and his son, that was his main concern right now… and right now… Sokka was tied to this fire bender in a way that made Hakoda nervous.

Turning towards the entrance of his tent, Hakoda decided not to overthink this situation a minute longer and go find Morrak so they could talk…

Each time Hakoda thought about all the things he didn’t know, or wasn’t understanding, he felt the weight of his decision growing heavier and heavier. If Hakoda didn’t figure out what to do soon, he was going to be crushed and then Sokka would be on his own…

Hakoda couldn’t fail his son again, he had to make the right decision

- -

Ok so this one is right before Zuko gave himself up in RIA. I don’t remember how the final scene went down but we all know how it ended :) <3

Psst… Dad.”

Hakoda frowned in his sleep, caught in the middle of a dream and the reality that awaited him on the other side.

“Dad… Wake up.”

Hakoda opened his eyes and saw Sokka staring down at him.

“Son? What are you doing in my tent in the middle of the night? Are you ok?”

Hakoda sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to see through the darkness he was startled when a tiny flame broke through the void and gave clarity to the room.

Zuko was standing behind Sokka who was kneeling next to Hakoda’s bed, and the Water Tribe man felt a mixture of conflicted feelings. He was instantly happy that Zuko had come back for Sokka, but the dred that followed swallowed any joy he had…. Zuko couldn’t be here. If Quon found him… They would all be in trouble.

“I’m fine… Zuko came back. He… We… Ummm… We are leaving.”

Hakoda thought he would be devastated the day his son told him he was leaving again, so sure that his world would bottom out and Hakoda would feel like he was falling into despair. But when he looked at Sokka, and he thought back to the talk they had about his feelings for the fire bender, Hakoda knew that there was nothing he could say to change his son’s decision.

Just like Hakoda had allowed Katara to leave, he had to do the same with Sokka. His children didn’t belong to him anymore, they were grown and they were bonded to people who they were loyal to… And Hakoda was proud of them. It was a monumental thing to find someone you loved, and staying loyal to them was what kept that relationship strong…. Even if Hakoda didn’t love the idea of Sokka choosing a fire bending boy, he wouldn’t stop him from being loyal to his love.

“I understand, son. Allow me to put on my pants and I will help you two escape.”

Zuko spoke up, “I don’t think that will be necessary. The uhh… The helping us… Not the uhh… The pants.”

Hakoda smirked and Sokka smacked his own forehead. No wonder the boy refrained from using words.

“I would like to make sure you two make it out ok. Is that a problem?”

Zuko seemed to dislike the idea, but Sokka gave him a pleading look that had a splash of assertiveness, which seemed to be their typical dynamic. Now that Hakoda was aware of the romantic nature between the boys it was easier to disfer their interactions.

Hakoda slipped on his pants and slid on his boots, making sure he secured his hunting knife inside. He couldn’t grab any other weapons just in case they were caught, Hakoda couldn’t risk looking like he was prepared for a fight. If they were caught, they would need to make sure that whatever words made up their excuse were good enough to fool whoever found them.

As long as it wasn’t Quon, they might have a chance

- -

RIP Shen, I never realized how fucking funny you and Zuko were until you died. I think this was when they were all sharing intel idk… but Zukos an asshole and I love it. (he and Sokka were sooooo hostile during the SWT arc)

“Nothing… Just…. Fucking drop it. How about Zuko and I switch seats and I will come over and help you with the Fire Nation cruiser information. Bato and Zuko can, I don’t know… Play their tile game or whatever.”

“Fine with me. I fucking love games.” Zuko mumbled as he stood up.

Shen watched with wide eyes, not saying a word, and Hakoda could honestly say he had no words to add to the tension either.

“Good!” Sokka stood up as well and made sure to bump his friend’s shoulder as they switched seats. The fire bender glanced back and Hakoda wondered if he was going to shove Sokka in the back but he didn’t reciprocate the hostile gesture and instead he flopped down next to Bato and crossed his arms with his brow narrowed deep into the center of his face.

Shen leaned back when Sokka came to sit down next to him, and Sokka glanced over at him and scoffed.

“Don’t be dramatic. Let’s just get this thing fucking over with so we can be done here.”

“Whatever you say.” Shen replied as Sokka aggressively organized the parchment and prepared to draw out Shen’s cruiser.

Hakoda watched as Sokka’s anger melted when Shen began to explain what it was like being a soldier stationed on Fire Nation cruiser. He told them about -

- -

TA DAAAAAA idk if this is what you wanted…. but here it is. I don’t have anything from the first book, and only a bit from ITF but I do have more RIA. I rambled a lot in the second book ha but yeah idk what else to say! Thanks for the ask.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

before legends ZA comes out and totally destroys my going hcs i guess i should say my piece, anyway i think X is the "canonical" game bc fairies, BUT, i also think that, while xerneas has historically been kalos' patron deity, yveltal was actually galar's. and much like how deities irl can get telephoned around over time, while yveltal's power over death was always... present, to galar, it wasn't the ruler of death. it represented conquest and victory, to them. it was only after yveltal fell into its cocoon and was slowly forgotten that the kalosian interpretation of it as death became commonplace.

relatedly, the kalos war that happened 3000ya was a war between it and galar, which ultimately culminated in the firing of the ultimate weapon and the darkest day, which were actually a singular event. and the war was centered on the great crater, and the region around it, which wouldn't become paldea for another thousand years. they were both interested in it bc yveltal and xerneas are both believed to have originated from the crater (see: xerneas' crystal horns) & therefore it's both religiously significant and a source of great physical power—the ultimate weapon was actually built using a scant few fragments of crystal recovered from the crater directly. (though the great crater has always been super impenetrable so they were gathered at great cost from the very upper regions & this is not a feat kalos could probably repeat)

also, it was only after the war ended that zygarde appeared. zygarde's always an enigmatic figure, but in essence it's the crater's cleanup crew. it scavenges divine energy to bring back. this is also why it shows up in alola.

[sentientobjects]

i have object bio hcs u couldnt even Fathom

[burr-ell]

#“it's realistic and portrays a real-life behavior” is a terrible analysis of a narrative to BEGIN WITH #and especially terrible as a rebuttal to “the pacing was plodding and it constantly felt like momentum was lost”

You know, something that never sat quite right with me is the defense of Bells Hells constantly having the same argument as "realistic" not just because "realistic" doesn't mean "compelling to watch"...but also because this isn't actually realistic in like, functional groups.

I was involved in a number of clubs in college and was on the board of several; I am on an alumni board for a university club I was in as an undergrad. I've been in a leadership role in an independent congregation and a member of several political interest groups in adulthood. I've also been an indirect manager (think team lead for a specific project but not the person people report to regularly) in a professional setting - and those are just formalized settings and not just hanging out with friends or smaller group projects.

The idea that it's normal and relatable to have a group of people who just endlessly and repeatedly provide their perspective and argument without any sort of resolution is one of those "wait, you live like this?" moments. During debates, such as for board elections or in one case, a very emotionally heightened decision to eject a member who had been credibly accused of wrongdoing against another, the phrase that got used once everyone had had a chance to talk and address any questions was, essentially, "will further discussion change anyone's mind." Because that is ultimately the purpose of discussion - to make sure everyone has all the information, and to allow everyone an opportunity to speak their piece in the service of ultimately coming to a decision. Discussion about a course of action is not an end point in itself, and there comes a time where you have to say "your feelings are valid but your talking isn't going to change anyone's mind at this point and we need to move forward in some manner."

Romanticizing endless tiresome indecision feels no different to me than romanticizing some other utterly unnecessary behavior like, I don't know, hustle culture. If your friends can't decide on a restaurant for 2 hours (or 2 months) then either do a rotating schedule, decide to meet for coffee/drinks/a bring-your-own-stuff picnic, or if this is food as part of a longer outing, don't be afraid to split up for a small part of it. If you can't decide what to do in a group project, assign a leader or take it to a vote and provide a clear tie-break condition. Flip a coin, if nothing else can be done. But you do not have to live like this; really, it just takes one person to speak up and say "we've been talking in circles for two hours and I'm exhausted; does anyone have new information or a concern that wasn't brought up or is it time to call it?" And your life will be immeasurably better the day you decide to be that person whenever relevant.

[lover-of-mine]

It took me way tol long to realize 'i really need a tag for asks' is your tag for asks

aoksoaksoaksokass yeah, i have a few tags that are some variation of me saying i need a tag, like 'at this point i should have a cemetery tag lol', with the lol in the end, in most of my posts about the buddie cemetery scene, 'i need a maisie tag' for my posts with Maisie Peters lyrics, because I usually decide i need a tag after typing something like this out and then i just keep that tag because i don't have the creativity to come up with tags but i want a tag lol

[slepptstudios]

Jump into it, I guess (Forsaken Reader Fanfic)

Days go by you all the time, you wake up, you work for a few hours, you go home. Rinse and repeat over and over, but you were never really too upset about that in fact you thrived in routine. You knew what was gonna happen and you had full control of the outcomes, day after day they go exactly the way they do because you set them in motion. Sure sometimes there are bumps in the way and they can mess up your flow but you’ve tried not letting these things get to you too badly. You wouldn’t consider yourself anywhere near as resilient as your beloved fictional characters from your favorite fandoms, but you knew some part of you no matter how small you believe that part of you to be... Deep, deep down there was a small flame that kept you going even if you were aimless, you kept moving either way.

That being said, today was just.. Off. It was just straight-up bad really, you were clumsier today making mistakes you normally wouldn’t have, and ended up annoying others in the process. It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t made a mistake that ended with you going home humiliated, even when you tried to desperately think of anything else you just couldn’t get it out of your head all the things you could’ve done differently, all the ways you could’ve stopped all of today from ever happening, spiraling even as your feet drag against the floor of your home.

Days like these always leave you so very tired. Exhaustion practically seeps through your entire body, chills running down your spine from the cold air of the night greeting you as you creak open the door to your room. The sight almost makes you feel much more at ease, the familiarity of your organized mess, your oh so comfy bed waiting to embrace you and sweep you away into rest, and the desk that held your computer proudly among the various trinkets piled onto it as well. ‘I need a break’ echoed in your head almost hypnotically with the way you mindlessly slipped out of your uniform and sat down to open your computer. ‘One game can’t hurt right?’ you asked to no one in particular, filling the silence of your room, god you were lonely.

You logged onto Roblox and play whatever games looked fun, anything to destress from the events of today. None of your friends had been online at this hour so you mostly stuck to solo games up until a certain game caught your attention. ‘Forsaken’ you’ve played the game before, but you never had time to invest yourself into it much as it could get a bit too competitive at times. Although the game was rather endless, looping the same mechanics with no real end, you could admit the fun was more so in the adrenaline. A sort of tag game you could kind of call it as despite its graphics leaning into a more violent setting.

That's all to say you yourself aren't familiar with the base stories, survivors trapped by an entity, past survivors and their strange ARG’s you never really looked into, mysteries and personal character connections. You were knowledgeable enough on it to say the least but the more you thought about it the more you realized that knowledge is barely anything relevant enough to understand the whole picture of the story behind this game. Nonetheless you found yourself clicking into the game, being met with a loading screen as music began to hum in the background. Starting a few rounds with some random players you find faces of characters come and go as you played on longer, exhaustion of the day weighing down on you like a building pressure waiting to burst despite how hard you tried to keep awake with the adrenaline of the game.

Playing as 007n7 a new round begins, the intro of 1x1x1x1 playing in the background as you feel your lidded eyes begin to drift as black spots begin to swirl in your vision but you persisted. Running around the map you pick up a medkit along the way hoping to give it off to the Elliot in your round, you find a few machines along your trek but then something strange happens. Your screen begins to glitch the longer the round went on, and while you could've turned on your mic and asked the other players for help, but you really didn't feel like talking to strangers online since it seemed to be just an issue on your end so you tried to fix it on your own. The map began to twist and contort around 007n7 but every time you began moving to these glitches the map would fix itself a new almost like it never happened in the first place, you take notice of the way your head droops during this too, you're ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton and your body just feels so.. so… heavy. Just as you fell face down onto your keyboard accidentally activating and moving things that shouldn't have happened, you saw a glimpse of a message appear on your screen in wobbly text as the killer stuns you with their long ranged attack.

“Wₑₗcₒₘₑ ₕₒₘₑ, ₚₗayₑᵣ.”

Eyes finally shut, and peace finally finds you in the wake of the night, you give in to your exhaustion almost effortlessly with little to no resistance. You feel happy almost to find your mind drifting into a dream-like state. You feel very welcome. Your body feels so light now, drifting in the dark embrace. When was the last time you felt so relieved to dream?

Wₑₗcₒₘₑ ₕₒₘₑ, it's nice to be home. Rᵢgₕₜ wₕₑᵣₑ yₒᵤ bₑₗₒₙg, it's so quiet, Pₑacₑfᵤₗ, gᵢᵥₑ ᵢₙ.

Just as quickly as you fell asleep you were awoken. I'ₘ ₛₒ ₕaₚₚy yₒᵤ'ᵣₑ ₕₑᵣₑ. Back hitting the ground, you must've slipped off your chair…

Your eyes slowly open as they stare up into a starry sky, blocky figures drifting about as you feel the soft blades of grass between your fingers…

Wait, hang on.

‘No that can't be right’ You sat up, yanking yourself off the grass, your eyes darting around. ‘Wasn’t I just in my room? Where am I?’ Your hands are the first thing you notice, where there was once you're skin in flesh was now replaced with a grey hue as though someone had put a filter over you, you were in strange clothes that you swore you’ve never once owned before nor remember ever wearing, you were adorned with a belt of gear with the weight of a sword resting against your hips. Why did you look so strange?

You open your mouth, but you can't. Your grey colored fingertips reach over to where your mouth should be.

There was nothing to be found. No trace of your lips, nothing but a smooth surface as if you never had a mouth. The sensation did not feel as though you were sewn shut like some doll nor did it feel like someone had ripped such a vital part of you with their bare hands. It simply did not exist. It was mind-numbingly nothing. As if you were meant to exist without a mouth, without a way to yell, without a way to cry, simply without a voice.

You yell as hard as you can, there is nothing to be heard in the forest.

Tears stream down your face as you grasp at something, anything, to feel whether this was real or not, feeling your breath become labored and the way your heart beats so fast it might as well jump out of your chest. This must all just be some bad dream, a nightmare you’ll wake up from in the morning and forget what it was even about. You spiral in your own thoughts as you try and rationalize the uncanny way your body has been morphed into something you can’t even begin to comprehend. The world around you seems so blurry from all the tears and fear gripping at you, and you swear you could've just crumbled right then and there…

A scream of pain could be heard in the distance from you, sinister and garbled laughter, growling, and stomping ring loudly through the air as you find yourself finally able to breathe and think properly. Fear replaced with curiosity now leads you towards the noise, it's stupid really but what else are you gonna do in a random forest you don't know? Walking turned into running and soon you were sprinting across the grassy fields and the thick of the forest when you finally spot it.

‘Is that..?-’ the familiar figure of certain avatars from the game you were just playing not even a few moments ago become clearer than ever, the scene plays out right in front of you. 007n7 paralyzed by 1x1x1x1’s long ranged attack leaving him vulnerable as the myth begins taunting him almost not bothering to run but simply relishing in 007n7’s hopeless attempts to escape death as they walk leisurely towards him. The scene flashes back to you so vividly, this was exactly what you last saw happen before you fell asleep wasn't it?

‘Oh thank God it is a dream.’ You can feel yourself sighing in relief despite the ever present horror that you physically can't. Still you can't help but feel yourself lean forward up against the tree you’ve been hiding behind watching it all unfold, this is just a dream.. a really strange dream but you can't help the fact you felt pity for 007n7, if he was the last left alive and stayed out of view until now god knows how frustrating it is to be killed the last second when victory of the game was right there.

‘It’s just a dream right? It can't hurt.’

You feel yourself run before you realize it and the next thing you knew you were grabbing hold of 007n7 and blocking what was meant to be the final kill, taking everyone by surprise Including yourself, who knew you had that in you?. Despite the pain and the lingering emotions that run high in you, you feel a new sensation enter you alongside your new found determination to help.

Sheer Adrenaline.

You immediately pick 007n7 in your arms, accidentally cancelling the man’s ability to teleport away in the process and immediately book it. 1x1x1x1 was still recovering from the shock of a random survivor getting in their way that you almost get away with running across the now recognizable map of voss’ planet. Key word, almost. The chase begins and you run in instinctive euphoria and if you weren't so focused on running and avoiding the killer's attacks you wouldn't have missed the way 007n7 begins screaming at you to put him down already. You could only run for so long until you ended up tripping and dragging the haggard man down with you, but it didn't matter as the ticking from earlier stops and the round ends.

You black out from exhaustion once more now laying in a small pool of your blood from your earlier injuries, the last thing you see had been the face of the man you managed to save, satisfaction feeling very fulfilling as you think to yourself before going to bed.

‘Man, what a weird dream.’

Oh boy, hi there! So this is my first ever fanfic lmao- and since there's a big lack of reader fics on the forsaken fandom I thought i'd give my own content just for the other ppl out there also starving for food on reader fics of our favorite forsaken characters. Anyways this is just the prologue so I still have a lot planned but please don't expect fast updates as I can get really busy at times too. Hope you enjoyed!

-Sleppy

[meanbossart]

Ok, so, I love your work (clearly as I am also a Patreon member). I have A Novel Experience open in one of my many ADHD tabs (so many tabs *sob*) and I very much want to read it. The problem that I seem to be having is that my OCD brain knows there is so much previous content (the game) that I NEED to know before I read it and I don’t know where to find that content? Or if you’ve even written it down? Is your in game journey somewhere that I haven’t noticed? Or is there just not a fully written account? If it is somewhere, I’d love to read it, please point me in the right direction!

Hey! Well, playing the game (or at least watching a walkthrough of it) and understanding the Dark Urge storyline is kind of required for ANE. You will be very lost otherwise.

Knowing every detail about DU drow's campaign, on the other hand, is absolutely not required to enjoy it - or at least I don't think it is, and I have definitely had people read through it without having prior exposure to this blog. Events are referenced with proper context, there's instances of backstory exposition, and information is fed to you (in a hopefully organic manner) throughout the course of the first few chapters. Indeed, you won't learn about every little minute occurrence or DU drow's opinions about every single person he met throughout the game - but that's what the #du drow lore tag is for and hardly ever relevant to the plot. You learn about his character THROUGH reading ANE as well as you would through browsing the asks in this blog!

BUT, If it eases yours or anyone else's conscience, here's a quick list of some significant events from the game - once again, many of these are either revealed throughout the course of the fic or entirely irrelevant (most are, I'd argue), but I guess it might be fun flavor-text all the same.

ACT 1: -He kills Lae'zel very early in the game. -he saves Mayrina. -He kills Barcus. -He kills Minthara, saves Halsin and helps the tieflings in act 1. He did not help Kagha or unravel her shadowdruid scheme. -He didn't spend the night with anyone at the tiefling party. -He did not visit the creche or go through mountain pass at all. -Astarion's romance triggered late in act 1. He first tells him about being vampire through dialogue after they had sex, and only after that did he try to bite him during a long rest. (Apparently a bug and no longer possible to pull off since patches, but this is the "canonical" order of events for DU drow's story.) -He sides with the duergar mercenaries at grymforge, kills Neere, and lets the gnomes die/remain enslaved.

Act 2: -He was supportive of Shadowheart and her DJ aspirations, though not ecstatic about it. -I got a bug where Gale kept coming onto me despite not being in a romance with him. This is also canon. -He didn't kill Isobel nor let her be kidnapped by Marcus. -He didn't save the imprisoned tieflings or gnomes. -He killed Yurgur after Astarion struck up a deal with Raphael. -He never met Araj. -He let Shadowheart make her own choice during the Nightsong's face-off and she spares her. -He didn't help Halsin cure the land and left him behind. -He recruited Jaheira. -He stomps the Astral Tadpole dead.

Act 3: -He's always antagonistic towards The Emperor. -He helps Shadowheart kill Viconia and she chooses to sacrifice her parents. -He is opposed to Gale pursuing the crown of Karsus. -He strikes up a deal with Gortash. -He convinces Wyll to break his contract AND saves his father from the Iron Throne. -He convinces Astarion to not Ascend and the Spawn are all freed and sent into the Underdark. -He saves Minsc and goes through the whole Nine-Fingers thing (clueless all throughout but hey, he likes Jaheira.) -He steals the Orphic hammer from Raphael's house. -He kills Gortash. -Yenna is the one that gets kidnapped, she dies at Orin's altar. -DU drow refuses Bhaal's gift after killing Orin, dies, and is resurrected by Withers. -He frees Orpheus and makes him turn into a Mindflayer. -Him, Shadowheart, Astarion and Gale kill the Netherbrain. -DU drow kills Orpheus. -Karlach dies at the docks. -Gale restores the crown and Ascends to Godhood (In ANE, this is a process that takes time - so he is not the God of Ambition yet in that timeline.)

Also, I completed the game prior to the Epilogue Party Patch and do not consider anything said or done in it to be canonical in ANE's timeline.

[gynnnicsworld]

REC LIST STEREK PART II

So I was going to make a well-structured rec list, but the more I try to organize it, the less I can find a proper order. So I decided to do it from the most recently read fic to the oldest one in my AO3 history.

__________________________________________

Get You The Moon

BY: AClosedFicIsNeverRead

words: 180.785

Derek looked up in surprise to note that they were taking a private jet. Dread settled into his gut like a stone. “It has a cage, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly, and noted the subtle changes in his family members’ posture. “Is it for me?” Cora gave him a pleading look and nodded. “Is it because of what you’re going to tell me?” he asked, voice like gravel. Another nod confirmed it. Stiles. Oh, GOD. It had to be Stiles. Derek would not lose control over anyone else in Beacon Hills and they damned well knew it.

- OR - The one where Derek has been gone for 6 months building a new life, finds out that Stiles is being assaulted by Theo, so he comes back to Beacon Hills to kick some serious ass and rescue the loudmouthed human who stole his heart. (You will need ALL the tissues, but it will have a happy ending by the time all is said and done!) Title inspired by song: ‘Get You The Moon’ by Kina ft. Snow

(This fic is and always will be one of my favorites, it has a really special place in my heart. It has sensitive topics, so I recommend you read the tags, but it's worth going through all the angst to get to the happy ending, because it DOES have a happy ending.)

True Love's Kiss, Attempted Murder

by: cowboilikeme

Words: 120.040

Beacon Hills has never been the most normal of towns, but recently things have been happening that are getting harder and harder to explain. And it's becoming more difficult to keep the supernatural a secret when something newer, darker and scarier comes to town in the shape of a teenage girl. But she is only the beginning to their problems. And what she brings with her is the worst this town has seen in a while. “What’s so bad about getting a ride in this?” Derek sounded like he was smiling, but as beautiful and unbelievable as that sounded, Stiles still refused to look at the man, “It’s a good car.” “Overcompensating?” Stiles ridiculed, knowing perfectly well that there was no way Derek wasn’t packing something impressive. “I think we both know that’s not true,” Derek was smirking when Stiles finally turned to him, if only in shock by the werewolf’s statement. “I think we both know there is no way I could know that,” Stiles winced at how bitter he sounded, but once it was out, there was no point in trying to suck it back up.

(So this is the most recent fic I read, and I loved it, I really loved it too much, and it makes me really sad that it's not very well known or spread, because the characterization that the author puts to the characters is really realistic, it's literally like reading and imagining a different season of teen wolf, it really impressed me too much. I highly recommend this fic, it's very good, and it may have some other unrelated things but they are not very relevant things, it doesn't affect the fic at all. For real, run to read it! and comment what you think! Give the author a lot of love so that he/she continues writing more works of art in this fandom.)

Lead You Home Again

by;GotTheSilver

Words:49,962

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body. An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

(I don't know about you, but I have a soft spot for fanfics where Derek and Stiles are childhood friends and grow up together, it's like really exciting to read, because this has a certain degree of canon, because it is known that Derek and Stiles knew each other as children but for some reason they have forgotten it? or decided to avoid it? I don't know, but I do know that you will love this fic, it is tooth rotting fluff, Okay, yes there is anguish, but afterwards everything is so fluff)

Fixing What Has Been Broken

by: JustJim & Useless_girl

Words: 102,205

Derek Hale is dead. That’s something Stiles Stilinski refuses to believe even for a second once he gets the call from his dad. He heads back pissed, because he’s convinced that he can fix that mess with or without the help of his old pack, because it is Beacon Hills we’re talking about. A town where no one stays dead for long. But maybe there’s more to fix along the way…

Or our reply to the Teen Wolf Movie's mess.

(we all know how awful THAT movie was, so our beautiful authors use their talents to fix that terrible movie and give us this wonderful fanfic that is everything it should be, we have mpreg (yes beautiful, and beautiful mpreg that explains Eli's precious existence) we have a little bit of feral derek (I know, we all love when derek gets a little bit feral) and we have a damn happy ending which is the best of all.)

Lock All The Doors Behind You

by:entanglednow

Words: 25,960

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

(Yes, sorry, I really do have a guilty pleasure for feral derek, it's just that it's the moment where Derek allows himself to be honest with himself and his feelings, without so many complex thoughts that prevent him from acting on his instincts. And yes, his instincts always tell him that Stiles is his safe place, his anchor, he likes his smell and basically follows him everywhere because he likes him.)

don't know what i'm supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you)

by: crazyassmurdererwall

Words: 30,926

Stiles sees dead people. Yep. Seriously. (He’s got this. He’s totally got this. So what if one of them is Derek’s mom?)

(This one may seem funny (which it is) but it also has some sad backstories, it's actually a light and very entertaining read, you guys are going to love it, you'll probably get frustrated (like me) that Stiles doesn't tell Derek what's wrong. I really recommend it, those scenes with Talia are painful and beautiful.)

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real 

by: waterella

words: 32,741

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

(This is very funny, and just read it it's good, My favorite parts are where Derek keeps making excuses and Stiles only accepts them because they both want to keep kissing.)

The Price

by: theroguesgambit

Words: 18,452

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

(you guys have no idea how good this fanfic is, please please do yourself a favor and go read it right now, it's painful to read but i promise it has a happy ending for derek and stiles.)

Getting Better

by: The BadassIsIn

Words: 205,156

The season 4 rewrite absolutely no one asked for where Stiles actually deals with his trauma from the nogitsune instead of being a-ok with it all and added Sterek.

(So this is quite therapeutic to read, seeing how both boys deal with their traumas and get better together, it's really nice to read, but of course there is angst, but it has a happy ending, so don't worry, I would never recommend a fic that didn't have a happy ending for Der and Stiles. So feel free to go read it and cry a little, get emotional and feel like a band-aid is put on your hearts as you see how our boys finally deal with their traumas.)

i fell into the moon 

by: Iscar123

Words: 234,122

Laura Hale is arrested hours after returning to Beacon Hills. Derek Hale returns to town to bring his sister back home and together they are drawn into the mystery of a rogue wolf on their family land. They also can't seem to stop bumping into the Sheriff's son, Stiles. Laura is determined to make Stiles her new best friend and Derek just wants everyone to survive so he can get the hell out of the town that took everything from him. Stiles just wants everyone to be happy.

(If you like fics where Laura appears, I really recommend this one, because Laura and Stiles become an amazing duo against Derek, it's very funny, but I recommend you read the one shot from where this fic is inspired first, it's very good too. Derek using his charm with Stiles is my favorite thing ever.)

can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? 

by: whiry

Words: 120,369

here's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

(If you like alternative universe- High School fics like I do, then you have to read this one, plus the entire Hale family is alive, and the werewolves are revealed, and Derek and Stiles have this awkward crush on each other that slowly develops. You HAVE to read this, it's spectacular. And cora is cora haha)

Molten

by: sugareey & wolfspurr

Words: 27,896 

"Stiles, is that you?" He recognizes that voice. He doesn’t know why he’s hearing it here though, in whatever cold, dark cave he’s found himself in. The owner of that voice is supposed to be miles away, back home in Beacon Hills. Unless Stiles is the one that’s ended up further from home than he could possibly have predicted. "Derek?!"

(I like fics where Derek and Stiles are put in a cave or cage, and they only have each other to get out of that scary situation, but Derek's wolf always ends up very attached to Stiles. This is kind of like that.)

Spellbinding Mishap 

by: Wasterella

Words: 45,855

Stiles winced, rubbing the back of his neck, and looked over at Derek again. “So... you know how you told me not to touch anything?” Derek stared at him for a second, not seeming to understand, and then Stiles knew the moment it clicked because his entire face set so concretely it might as well have been carved out of stone. “What?” Scott asked, looking between them, confused. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. What happened?” “Yeah,” Stiles said slowly. “So the thing is, I uh, touched something. In the Witch’s house. And Derek came in and grabbed it from me. So he also touched it. And now it uh, it seems like whenever the two of us are a certain distance apart, we start getting sick. Or like, double over in pain. Or, you know, start dying.”

(Derek and Stiles are cursed and consequently can't be away from each other, so if you want to have a laugh, you can read this fic.)

Not So Boring

by: wasterella

Words: 69,062

“It was an accident!” Stiles continued, trying desperately to explain that this was all a huge misunderstanding and that the Demon clearly had to cut him some slack here.

It didn’t seem like he would be getting his wish, because the Demon’s annoyance melted into frustrated incredulity and he said dryly, “You summoned me by accident.”

“Yes!” Stiles insisted.

“How is that even possible? How do you accidentally summon a Demon?”

“You know, by accident!” Stiles argued.

“So you accidentally drew the summoning sigil into the floor, and you accidentally had an offering available, and you accidentally stood in the circle while accidentally reading the summoning spell?” the Demon asked dryly.

Okay, well when it was said like that, Stiles could understand the skepticism.

(And I close this rec list with another fic of our beloved westerella, and this is one where derek is a demon and stiles accidentally summons him. And it's really funny honestly, you have to read it, it's great!)

After months and months I finally bring you these recommendations, and I promise to bring you more, but I won't commit to saying that it will be soon.

Please tell me if you've already read any of the fics I put on the list, and tell me what you think of these recommendations, is there anything in particular that you would like me to recommend? Please let me know.

And if you have any to recommend to me, I would really appreciate it, tell me which is your favorite fic and I will read it.

[devildom-moss]

October poll story

Barbatos - Monster kink

(Barbatos x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (top!Barbatos / bottom!MC) (NSFW tags: monster!Barbatos - non-canon/enhanced demonic features including increased greed and lust, claws, sharp teeth, forked tongue that matches his tail, bigger tail, and bigger "tail"; sex involving magic; no specified sex organs for MC; oral - receiving; penetration - receiving; tail penetration; double stuffed by one man - tail and penis penetration simultaneously; technically masturbation; mild bloodplay, mild primal play; begging; multiple orgasms; seriously judging myself at this point CNC - Somno; mild temperature play; implied being used as a human sex toy; no lube - but tail is naturally wet, so mostly no lube; no condom; overstim - receiving; creampie; mentions of very trusting sex)

(other tags: Plot heavy - in the first half, then it basically all erotica, everyone is annoyed with Solomon poor guy kinda?)

Word Count: +4,600 new longest fic for me?

When you heard that Diavolo was going on an overnight trip without Barbatos, you knew you had to go to the castle and get as much alone time as you could with your favorite butler. Considering that Diavolo was also being left in Lucifer’s very capable hands during the trip, you figured Barbatos wouldn’t be in the anxious state that typically overcame him when Lord Diavolo wasn’t under his close watch. So, when you turned up unannounced at the castle that morning only for Little D. no. 2 to answer the door, something seemed off. You tried not to worry, though. Barbatos was probably preoccupied with one of his many tasks.

“Well, if it isn’t Number 2, how are you doing today?” You smiled and patted his head.

“MC! I’m so happy to see you! Are you here to visit Mr. Barbatos? Ooh, I wonder if he’ll come out of his room for you. No one has seen him at all this morning, and when I knocked on his door to check for him, I heard this weird noise before he asked me to leave him alone. Can you believe that? Well, I thought maybe he wasn’t feeling good, so I brought him some tea – now, it wasn’t anywhere near as good as the tea he makes, but when I brought it, he told me that it wasn’t necessary. I left it at the door, but guess what? When I checked back, the tea was cold and untouched. I don’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to call anyone yet because that seems like something Mr. Barbatos would get mad at me for, but since you’re already here, maybe you could check on him and make sure he’s okay.” The monologue recounting this morning’s events spilled from Number 2’s mouth quickly and with no room for interruption.

Without much thought, you had followed Number 2 in the direction of Barbatos’s room – some attempt to physically follow along with his story as your brain processed the information. You let the words absorb into your mind, fishing for a relevant question. It was already past 10AM. Barbatos was always up and about by now. “Did he sound sick?”

“Can’t say. If not sick, he definitely sounded strange – like he was talking with his mouth half-full or something.” Number 2 hummed and tilted his head to the side. “Or, you know how when you bite your tongue or burn it on your soup because it smells too good not to eat it right away – even though Mr. Barbatos warned you to be careful and let it cool?”

“Sure.” You shook your head and stared down the hall. Barbatos’s room was just a few doors down.

“Anyway, I think something is wrong, so I’d really appreciate it if you could look out for Mr. Barbatos. If he really is sick, you’ll take care of him, right?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Great.” Little D. no. 2 stopped in front of Barbatos’s door and turned around to face you. “I’ll leave it to you. I’m sure the rest of us can find a way to keep the castle running while you tend to Mr. Barbatos, so don’t worry about anything else!”

“Thank you, Number 2. You’re so reliable.” You could tell how worried and eager to help he was. Number 2 nodded and left you outside of Barbatos’s door. You stood there silently for a second, listening for any strange noises or coughs, before gently knocking. “Barbatos, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“MC?” Your name was quiet and muffled.

“Barbatos? I’m going to enter, alright?”

“Wait. I –” he started to protest in an unusually slurred speech, but it was too late. You had already opened the door.

Barbatos’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of his bedroom. He had backed himself against the nearest wall. His typically gloved hands were bare, revealing sharp, claw-like nails. One of those hands shot up over his mouth. You heard his tail thump against the wall a few times before he grabbed it with his free hand, stilling its aggravated motions.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him cautiously. He looked different – more demonic than usual.

“Solomon,” Barbatos responded with his hand still over his mouth, only exacerbating his strange enunciation. He was frozen in place.

Of course. You sighed and shut your eyes. What did he do this time? You closed the door behind you and took a few steps into the room. Barbatos eyed you with every move – even as you reached into your pocket to pull out your D.D.D.

“I’ll call him, okay?”

You waited for the phone to ring once before you put it on speaker. Solomon picked up in seconds. “MC, my adorable apprentice, what can I do for you?”

“What the fuck did you do to Barbatos?” you asked him aggressively.

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong with him, and he said it’s your fault.” Technically, that was a bit of a jump considering the facts you had at hand, but it was a logical conclusion.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Let’s see, slightly glowing eyes and the sudden appearance of claws to start. And – if you don’t mind me adding, Barbatos – his tail looks bigger than before.”

“His tail . . .is bigger?”

“Longer. Thicker. Girthier. Do you need more adjectives?”

“Just his tail?”

“For fucks sake. I didn’t strip him down and give him a full body exam.”

Solomon hummed. “Anything else?”

“He sounds weird – like he has a lisp.” You glanced over at Barbatos, whose cheeks had grown pinker since the beginning of the call. He dropped his hand slowly and opened his mouth, revealing sharp teeth and a long, forked tongue that looked like his tail. A shiver shot down your spine, and you let out a shaky breath before adding, “that’s new.”

“What’s new?” Solomon asked, unable to disguise his intrigue.

“Sharp teeth and a forked tongue.”

You heard a breezy laugh on the other end of the line. “So, good news: I figured out what happened. I accidentally swapped the magical tea blend I made for Barbatos with the one I made for Asmodeus. Oops.”

“Oops?” You sighed while Barbatos let out a low, guttural growl.

“Asmo asked me for a tea to enhance some of his more demonic features for a photoshoot. It seems Barbatos got Asmo’s tea, so Asmo – oh, speak of the devil. He’s calling.”

“Add him to our call.” You looked over at Barbatos, wishing you could apologize for Solomon’s behavior silently.

“What gives, Solomon? Your tea was a total flop. I tested it as soon as I got up this morning. I wanted to check out my enhanced demon features before the shoot tomorrow – maybe indulge in them a bit on my own. Nothing has happened. You promised quick results. I’m still my same, gorgeous self, and all your stupid potion did was give me the urge to organize all of my make-up and tidy half of my closet. I was really depending on you to come through for me here.” Asmo complained, clearly annoyed by Solomon’s failure.

“You basically made Adderall tea for Barbatos?” you asked, staring between Barbatos and your phone.

“Barbatos?” Asmo questioned. “Also, hey, MC~! Are you calling to yell at Solomon, too?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You nodded.

“Can I speak?” Solomon added quickly, coming to his own defense since no one else was going to. “First, Barbatos asked for something to soothe him and enhance productivity so he could make good use of his day without Diavolo. Second, we had a little mix up, Asmo –”

“ – we?” you interrupted.

“Okay, I had a mix up. You have the blend I made for Barbatos. Barbatos took some of yours. MC is with him now.”

“Ooh. Enhanced demon form Barbatos sounds sexy. Does he look sexy, MC?” Asmo cooed.

“Focus, Asmo,” you responded, too embarrassed to admit the truth. Well, the truth other than that Solomon clearly sucked at making magical Adderall.

“Asmo. I have plenty of the magical blend I made for you left over. I’ll bring it by in a bit, alright? Will that resolve everything on your end?” Solomon’s voice sounded sweet, but there was a grave calmness to it.

“Yes.”

“Then hang up and wait for me, please.” Asmo did as Solomon asked, leaving the sorcerer to clean up the rest of his mess. “As for you and Barbatos, MC, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to reverse the effects. Depending on how much he drank, it should wear off anywhere within a few minutes to a full day. Until then, I suggest you leave Barbatos alone. All of his demonic senses are heightened – that includes his urges. He may be dangerous to be around until the effects clear up.”

You looked at Barbatos. His glowing eyes were wide and damp, and his gaze hadn’t left you once during the entire call; even when you looked away, you could feel him staring. His knuckles were white from gripping his tail so tightly. He was even trembling slightly. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t do that. He looks miserable like this. I’m not leaving him. It’ll be fine, just trust me.”

“MC.” Solomon wanted to warn you against it again, but there was no use in arguing with you. “Be careful and call me if you need me.”

“Alright, and Solomon? Learn how to label your shit.” You said it sweetly, but he knew you were livid.

“Sorry! Don’t be mad.”

You hung up the phone and returned your attention to Barbatos. He backed away, pressing his shoulders flush against the wall, as you approached him. It was hard to believe that this was a more demonic version of Barbatos. He seemed so timid and scared. Slowly, you reached your hand out to smooth his hair down. His low growl echoed off the walls like there was thunder muffled inside his chest.

Barbatos gulped and opened his mouth to speak, showing you a glimpse of those magic-sharpened teeth and that tongue – now forked and dyed black and aqua. Overcome by a sudden shyness about his new state, Barbatos covered his mouth again to speak. His breath was unsteady, and his words were quiet. “You should go.”

“But you look miserable. Isn’t there something I can do to help?”

Barbatos dropped his hand, and his gaze followed, landing on the floor. “Help? Please don’t tempt me when I’m like this. I’ve been holding back since you walked into that door – since I first caught your scent from down the hall, if I’m honest.”

You inched closer, testing the waters – testing his control before you cupped his cheeks in your hands and searched his face. When you finally caught his gaze, you realized up-close how unusually terrified he was. You’d never seen him like this, and it only made you want to protect him more – to soothe the fear this spell had pulled from him. Barbatos bit his lip, and for a second you worried he might draw blood, but he didn’t.

“Please,” Barbatos begged with a shaky exhale. You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, hoping to ease his mind. “Don’t touch me any further. I’ll only want more. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Greed. That was his innate sin. You knew that, and it had never been a concern – even when he lost control. There was always a spark of fear – worry on the lighter days – in his eyes when you caused his composure to faulter. It flashed like lightning. Sometimes, you had to wonder if you had seen anything at all or if your eyes – if his eyes – were playing tricks on you.

The love Barbatos offered was a love that said, “I would like to cherish you always. I will treat you sweetly, and if I must be rough, it will be thoughtful and restrained.” He had never pushed your limits – never even toed the line – unless you asked him to. Now, he was warning you that he did not know his own limits. A dark, selfish, possessive need in him threatened to take everything you would offer him and then some. Barbatos was pleading with you to turn him down, to not indulge him. This was your last chance, and you knew it. All his willpower, reduced into one last-ditch effort to dissuade your trust in him – a final, feeble, “please.”

When you brought your lips to his, it was over. Until that potion wore off, he could indulge his greed until he was sick and bursting with sin; until every ounce of it had spilled over into you, you had committed to take it.

Barbatos wasted no time deepening the kiss. His forked tongue slithered into your mouth, wet and oddly cool compared to the heat of his breath. It wasn’t unpleasant; in fact, you felt a slight shame in how erotic you found this strange new sensation. His tongue entwined with yours like it had never done before. Barbatos also found himself aroused by his new abilities – even more so when you moaned for him. Eager to explore further, Barbatos plunged his tongue deeper down your throat until you could barely breathe. You felt seconds – millimeters – away from gagging on him and pressed against his chest, trying to break the kiss.

Barbatos pulled away, allowing your lungs to recover, but the desperation on his face was worse than ever. Panting and ravenous, he spoke in half-growls: “More. I need more.”

His impatience displayed itself in the way he stripped you of your clothes – reckless with buttons and balling the fabric up tightly in his hands. All the restraint he had went towards refraining from tearing your clothes to shreds. He needed access to more of your body, and with every bit of skin he revealed, Barbatos licked, sucked, and bit part of your exposed flesh.

The feeling of his cool tongue gliding up your forearm made you shiver. Barbatos sank his sharp teeth into your shoulder, breaking the skin and sending a tingling pain through your body. He soothed it by running his soft tongue over the bite mark in slow circles before he licked a trail up your neck, paving a path for him to place hickeys along. Time was lost to you between Barbatos sucking your neck and pawing at your naked body. The sensation of his claws gently scraping along your lower back left you arching into him.

When Barbatos was satisfied with his assault on your neck, he dropped to your chest, marking you and teasing your nipples between the prongs of his tongue. For someone who claimed to be unable to control himself, he sure was taking his sweet time building up your pleasure. If he hadn’t dipped between your legs when he did, you might have found yourself reduced to begging for him.

Barbatos took in the sight of how aroused he had gotten you. His breathing was labored, causing his chest and shoulders to heave. He had waited long enough. You felt his tail wrap around your thigh and pull you closer until you were right in front of his face. His warm breath primed your body for that first, slow, tender lick. Followed by another. Then, one more before his tongue was swirling circles around you. He sucked and licked you ravenously, moaning repeatedly into your body. Barbatos’s moaning was peppered with the occasional growl – reminding you, lest the lust caused you to forget, that Barbatos was an untethered beast.

He clawed up your thighs in the same ravenous manner. Claws sank into the flesh of your ass and thighs, scratching you and pulling you back against him whenever you had squirmed too far away for his liking. You couldn’t escape the constant barrage of stimulation and pleasure. Barbatos refused to stop until he pulled an orgasm out of you. Even then, he overstimulated your sensitive skin with a few teasing licks, cleaning up some of the mess he had made of you. Your knees buckled, but Barbatos got to his feet and pulled you close to support you.

You had not even caught your breath nor come down from your high before Barbatos was kissing you again. He slipped his cum-stained tongue back down your throat, ensuring that you tasted yourself. A low growl rumbled deep in Barbatos’s chest that shook you to your core. The storm had not passed. You weren’t even in the eye of it yet.

As Barbatos continued to kiss you, the familiar sensation of his tail wrapping around your thigh caught your attention. This time, instead of pulling you close, he pulled your legs apart. Had he not been holding you tight, you would have stumbled with the sudden jolt. The silky tips of his forked-tendril-like tail teased between your legs in gentle alternating strokes, occasionally lingering to cup you for a few seconds before the pressure slipped away. Barbatos was building you up all over again. You gripped his shoulders, simultaneously trying to ground and support yourself.

Despite the cloud of lust disorienting him, Barbatos recognized the signs of your weakness and dragged you towards his bed. Even as he pulled you across the room, his tail refused to stop teasing you and preparing you for what was to come. Barbatos had no sooner finally stopped kissing you when your back hit his mattress with a soft thud. Staring up at him, you saw a distorted image of the demon you adored. Maybe it was the enhanced demonic features and those glowing green eyes, or maybe it was the look on his face that told you he was not quite the same Barbatos. His hunger for you had never been this strong – perhaps it would never be this primal and ferocious again. Repressing any fear or hesitation, you wanted to revel in his uninhibited lust.

Fortunately, Barbatos’s tail had a natural wetness to it that aided in the insertion. He lacked the clarity and patience to apply lube before the tips of his tail squirmed into your body. Barbatos delighted in the way your face contorted in pleasure – how you bit your lip to hold back a moan. The prongs of his tail felt cool and soft as they stretched you out, applying pressure to the most sensitive places inside of you. You writhed under him, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to touch you more.

Barbatos scratched his claws gently down your ribs and towards your navel. He fucked deeper into you with his tail and applied slight pressure to your pelvis with his palm, stretching his fingers out above your stomach. Those claws loomed threateningly above your skin while his tail pumped in and out of you. You thought his tail had looked bigger than before, but now you could feel just how much thicker he was. However, you only had a few seconds to dwell on the size before the threat of claws came to fruition and dug into your stomach. The outermost layer of skin split for him, and five distinct pink marks appeared on your stomach; he nearly drew blood. You whined at the pain, but the way your back arched and your muscles tightened told Barbatos that you were in more pleasure than pain.

A brief flash of normalcy came when you heard Barbatos chuckle and saw his lips tug into a wicked smile. “Are you cumming again?”

The noises you were making as another wave of intense pleasure overtook you were the only response Barbatos needed. He was kind enough to slow the movements of his tail as you tried to bring yourself down. It wasn’t fair. Barbatos was making you feel incredible. You were supposed to be the one taking care of him, but there you were, stripped and writhing on your back. All the while, Barbatos was still fully clothed – barring the lack of his standard gloves which had already been removed prior to your arrival. You wanted to make him feel good too.

You reached out for his pants, trying to undo them so you could at least touch him, but Barbatos took hold of your hands and stopped you. “Please, let me focus on you for a bit longer. Please?”

There was no sweetness in his begging – only desperation. It was less of a plea and more of a demand. Refusal seemed off the table, even if you chose it, but you couldn’t. You could hardly refuse Barbatos when he said “please” under normal circumstances – and even less so when he stared at you with such wanton desire.

Barbatos entwined his fingers with yours and held your hands while he watched you come apart on his tail. The way you rolled your hips to get him to press the spot that left your mouth agape was so cute. If he had been gifted with more patience and less greed, Barbatos would have relished in the sight of you fucking yourself on his tail and using him – especially in the exhausted, fucked-out state you were in. Did you realize how flushed you were? Could you feel how hot your skin had become? Were you aware that you had scarcely stopped whimpering and moaning for him in the last few minutes?

“You’re taking it so well,” Barbatos cooed. His affectionate gaze held your attention, even as he pulled another intense wave of pleasure from you. Something about the dim glow of his eyes captivated you. “You’re doing such a good job for me, but can you keep it up?”

Barbatos slid his tail half-way out of you as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. He was trying to go back down on you, but with no opportunity to recover, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. You tugged his hair and stopped his lips and tongue from overstimulating you, earning a whine from him.

“Barbatos, I need you to fuck me now,” you demanded. You couldn’t take another round without at least making him cum once.

Barbatos savored that desperation in you – even if it was just a fraction of his own. He nuzzled your inner thigh playfully. “Just one more taste?”

“No.” You pulled his hair again and made him look at you. “I need it now.”

“Very well.” Barbatos pulled his tail out of you completely and got to his feet. For a second, the way he spoke was so calm that you believed the tea must have been wearing off. Those shining green eyes stayed fixed on your body as he removed his clothes, tossing them into a dark corner of the room. Perhaps the storm was showing signs of passing.

When Barbatos dropped his pants, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the bulge in his underwear and the damp stain, but he didn’t stay contained for long. He stripped fully, finally releasing his cock. He was so hard, and he dripped precum onto the floor. Your mouth watered. Well, if Solomon asked again, it wasn’t just Barbatos’s tail that was bigger than usual. However, you had already taken his tail; you could take this, too. You wanted it.

Your eyes glanced back up at Barbatos’s face as he aligned himself, rubbing his dick against your entrance. Those glowing eyes caught yours, stalling your breath. Even in the dim lighting, those eyes now seemed to be the darkest thing in the room. A low, satisfied growl escaped Barbatos – the last warning from a predator closing in on his prey. The storm was not over, you had merely found yourself in the eye of it for one brief, relenting moment.

He rocked his hips into you, relying on precum and the combined fluids from you and his tail to lubricate himself as he slowly pushed every inch he could get into you. You gasped. The sensation was so different from his tail – so much warmer, pulsating and throbbing inside of you. That initial slow thrust was for your benefit, but it was not intended to set his pace. Barbatos quickly picked up speed, transitioning into rapid, shallow thrusts that repeatedly rubbed against your walls. Still, he seemed to be focusing on maximizing your pleasure.

“I need more,” Barbatos warned you, but you were drowning in too much pleasure, moaning and panting beneath him, to register his warning.

Instead, you whimpered at the shock of Barbatos slipping his tail inside of you. The forked ends swirled around Barbatos’s cock as he continued fucking you, stimulating you both at the same time. It felt like thick, cool, squirming ridges around a hot, throbbing core. Not even an advanced toy could do this to you. But it wasn’t enough for him. Barbatos reached down between your legs to stimulate you further – somehow lucid enough to take care not to scratch you. His touch was light and gentle, contrasting his other insatiable actions, and making your head spin. It was all too much for you. You came again, tightening around Barbatos as you did. He kept fucking you through it.

A pleased moan escaped Barbatos, signaling that he was close. His hands slid up your body slowly, and then, without warning, he clawed down your sides and grabbed your hips. A stinging sensation immediately followed. He gripped your hips so firmly that his claws broke the skin as he forced himself so deep into you that it almost ached. Barbatos gave you a few more deep thrusts before he bottomed out and held you in place. He pumped his cum into the deepest parts of you, filling you up.

Barbatos lolled his head back with a sigh and a smirk. His chest heaved. It took you squirming against his pelvis for Barbatos to realize that he was still holding your hips up against him. He slid his cock out of you, released his tail’s grip around himself, and gently laid you back down.

You looked so blissful and exhausted, but Barbatos had just gotten started. Simply looking at your flushed face and heaving chest was making him hard again. He caressed your cheek; some of the blood he had drawn from clawing at your hips smeared onto your skin. Barbatos leaned down and licked up the mess. When your cheek was clean once more, Barbatos whispered into your ear, “I’m so sorry, lovely. I’m not done. Do I have your permission to keep going?”

His words floated around your hazy mind. You smiled at him affectionately with your eyes half-lidded and reached up to stroke his cheek. Exhaustion was overcoming you. “Yes. Take whatever you need until you feel better.”

“Even if you fall asleep?” Barbatos asked with some of the timidness from earlier.

“Even if I pass out. Even if it hurts. Even if I cry. Be as greedy as you have to be with me.” Maybe you were cum-drunk. Or maybe you just wanted to make Barbatos feel better. Either way, you resigned yourself to being used for the next few minutes or hours or days.

“Thank you, my love.” Barbatos kissed your cheek sweetly.

You watched the dim glow of his eyes dreamily, focusing on them until the rest of the room began to disappear. With your body spent, all you could do was whimper as you felt Barbatos enter you again. Even the pleasure began to dull as you let yourself slip further into the haze. His deep growls and panting were the last thing you heard as your mind fell silent.

Your last thought before a sweet dream swept over you was that, without a doubt, Barbatos would be a mix of grateful and apologetic when you woke up again.

In the morning, Barbatos would ensure you were hydrated, well-fed, and tended to. He would be an affectionate, doting butler for you. And then, someone would have a hefty price to pay.

A/N: I did not think this was going to end up so long, but please enjoy. I am worried I got a little too carried away here. . . but this was still the less deranged Barbatos monster kink idea. Anyway, requests are open and will be until the end of Nov. 5th. And I hope this one does something for some of you.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

oh this is so cool! i had considered how, if maedhros did know about celegorm and curufin's behavior, he might be operating under some notion of racial superiority and "us" vs. "them" entitlement that c&c also seem to subscribe to, therefore making him not really opposed to or even particularly concerned about their actions with luthien. but i didn't consider how the oath partly as a representation of the noldor's political project (reclaiming the silmarils -> defeating morgoth -> being the primary race on arda; going back to feanor's "no other race shall oust us" line), and how beren and luthien's story as a rejection and insult against that political project, would also factor into his attitude. the double whammy of those two things (maedhros believing in the noldor's superiority and seeing the sindar as lesser + maedhros perceiving beren and luthien's actions as a spit in the face of the noldorin political project that his father brought up and that he and his brothers, and to a lesser extent the other exilic noldor, are working towards) also would go a long way in explaining why maedhros would be thoughtless enough to demand anything from doriath after what his brothers did despite him showing at other points that he's willing to work with humans and dwarves and sindar. which was my main confusion that i was trying to rationalize when i wondered if maedhros didn't know about what his brothers did

i'm starting to wonder if maedhros either a). didn't know about celegorm and curufin's assault of luthien, or b). never actually sent communication to doriath demanding the silmaril, with celegorm and curufin being the main ones behind it instead. yes fandom has soured me toward the character, but i don't think he's meant to be taken as enough of a sheer moron to expect cooperation from a kingdom after his brothers tried to rape their princess. nor do i think he's written unsympathetically enough for tolkien's intent to have been to make him a rape enabler/apologist who genuinely doesn't care about celegorm and curufin assaulting a woman -- so either c&c lied about what they did and he took whatever version they told him at face value, or he never actually gave his approval for whatever letter was sent to doriath. and the silm does say "maedhros and his brothers had before sent to thingol" and that "maedhros made no answer" after thingol refused the feanorians' demands, which to me is as good as confirmation that maedhros was involved in the exchange. so maybe celegorm and curufin really did keep the true story from him. ...or maybe fandom's fixation on maedhros being some long suffering goodie two shoes is still skewing my perception of him without my realizing and he actually is the kind of person to brush off celegorm and curufin's rape attempt

[darlingdaisyfarm]

takin’ what’s not yours (ford x reader x stan)

chapter 2 | chapter 1

someone please whack me with a rolled-up newspaper like a misbehaving dog so i actually finish my fics on time. also i think this chapter is mega boring but i have no more brain cells to fix it because im very tired

tags for this chapter: death mention (i mean a dog’s death, and this is a little self-indulgent, but i just wanted to write it exactly like that), gore (not so much), panic attacks, child abuse, alcohol, flashbacks, unreliable narrator

Stanley, who has never met a terrible situation he couldn’t defuse with a joke, lets out a breath. “hey, bro, you planning on hunting something tonight or just ready to, i dunno, take out some deer in the backyard ”

Ford blinks once, but doesn’t lower the crossbow. “Already did,” he answers calm as you please. “for an experiment.”

You and Stanley go silent at the same time. The crackling of the old lightbulb above you fills the space where words should be. Somewhere outside, a tree branch scrapes against the roof, snapping you out of trance.

“. . . What,” you say finally, because someone has to.

“I needed to analyze the cellular structure post-mortem, it’s relevant to my research.”

Stan lets out a laugh, which sounds a little too loud in that awkward silence. “Oh, sure. Yeah. Right. Because that makes total sense, totally normal thing to do. Real brother-of-the-year shit.”

“Science isn’t about sentimentality, Stanley. Besides, it was already injured when i found it. I only expedited the process.”

Expedited the process. Jesus Christ.

You glance at Stanley, who is staring at Ford with such confused face, seeing something he doesn’t recognize , doesn’t have name for, which is funny, because you’re pretty sure he’s seen a lot of versions of Ford by now. Except this this one, who’s holding conversations with himself in his own head, this one with the dark circles and the too-quick explanations.

However, you were Ford’s assistant, his best friend too, so you know how his brain works, although even right now you can’t find explanation for. . . whatever this is.

You take a careful step forward. “Ford, why do you need dead animals for your research?”

“That’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He exhales through his nose, apparently annoyed. “ Certain anomalies leave biological imprints even after death and I hypothesise that these imprints could be harnessed. Imagine, for example, an organism imbued with interdimensional properties—“

“Okay, okay, no. Stop.” Stan holds up both hands. “literally no idea what you just said, but it sounded fucked up. Also, you're still pointing that thing at us, genius, mind putting it down before i start thinking you’re planning on adding people to your little science fair project?”

Ford blinks again, then looks at his own hands as if he just now realized what he was holding. Carefully, he sets the crossbow aside.

“It’s not like that,” he mutters, pushing his glasses up, looking away.

“Great,” his twin says. “good talk. Totally reassuring.”

There’s another silence, because Ford doesn't answer that. You dont know what to say too. And the shack gets colder with every minute. Ford’s back is turned now, and you don’t know if he’s done talking or if he just doesn’t care if you’re still standing here.

You glance at Stanley again, silently telling him to say something, to do something, that's his own brother after all, damn it! But he ignores your request and folds his arms over his chest. What a moron. . . And because you hate this kind of silence, you try again. “Ford,” but much softer this time. “seriously, are you okay?”

Ford doesn't answer right away and that's the part that worries you the most. “It’s not as morbid as you’re making it sound. I needed to study the decomposition process in controlled conditions. It’s for science.”

Which is possibly the worst possible answer he could have given.

Stan scoffs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, nervous, but trying to hide it. “Yeah, that clears it right up. Real normal hobby you got there, Poindexter.”

Stanford just ignores that.

Then, out of nowhere, as if to shake the whole tension, Stan shivers, “Oh man. Do we have any tea or something? I’m freezing.” he says it offhand obviously, but it’s the perfect excuse for you.

So you seize it immediately. “Yeah , i’ll— i’ll go make some,” you say, already turning toward the kitchen.

Ford barely acknowledges you leaving, but Stan does. You notice the way his brown eyes flick toward you, the silent thanks he tells you. You both need a second to breathe.

The kitchen is cold when you light the stove, set the kettle on, press your hands to the counter and think. Ford is weird, you knew that, but this is different. The last time you saw him, he wasn’t like this, his skin wasn’t so pale, his eyes weren’t so dark.

He was paranoid. . . Maybe, okay, he sure was, but there used to be some kind of. . . purpose, excitement behind that paranoia. Now, it just looks like wild fear.

A deep, sinking feeling twists in your gut.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Stan’s stomach growls and the sound is too loud, making Ford glance at him. “You should eat something.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “thanks for the life advice, doctor sixer.”

“It’s just an observation.”

“Yeah? Well, what are you, taking a role of an older brother now?” Stan mutters, leaning back in his chair.

Ford doesn't answer, just stares, not knowing what to say to that. In the kitchen, the kettle starts to whistle as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. Pulling out some old mugs andgrabbing the first container of tea you can find, you turn your head to the cookies are on the counter and without even thinking about it, just grab a handful and pile them onto a plate.

When you walk back in, Stan’s sitting stiffly, arms crossed, visibly uncomfortable, while Ford is in exactly the same position as before, hasn’t moved an inch.

You set the tray down with a little too much force. “Ford, i hope you don’t mind i stole your cookies to feed your brother.”

But he barely reacts. Stan, though, eyes the plate, two seconds away from breaking down in gratitude.

“You are actually a lifesaver,” he says, grabbing one immediately.

You pass Ford his tea, but he doesn’t drink right away. Stan, on the other hand, takes a sip, exhales long and slow. “ God , finally, something warm.”

The moment almost feels normal until Ford lifts his mug, opens his mouth and spills the entire thing down his front . You freeze , feeling the cookie stuck in your throat . Just. All of it. No attempt to sip or at least to adjust , looks like a full-body failure of basic motor skills.

The room goes dead silent as Stanley and you stare again.

Ford doesn’t react, just sits there, drenched in tea, holding the empty mug like nothing happened.

“. . . Bro,” Stan says finally. “what the fuck was that.”

You’re gripping your own mug tightly, nervous. “Ford?”

Ford blinks, looking down at his soaked clothes, he slowly touches the fabric, not understanding what went wrong. “I guess I miscalculated.”

Stan throws his hands in the air. “Miscalculated? Miscalculated what, basic human function?”

Ignoring his twin again, Stanford doesn’t answer, still staring at the tea, clenching his fingers. You bite your lip. yeah. Something is wrong. Something’s really, really wrong.

Stan makes a strangled, baffled noise, shoving a hand through his hair, trying to process what he just saw. “Sweet Moses, Sixer, you just malfunctioned. You just— what the hell was that? You need a reboot? A software update?”

Ford, to his credit, keeps his fa c e expression calm as possible. Only brushes a hand over his soaked clothes with a blank face. “It’s nothing, Stanley, a minor lapse in coordination.”

“A minor lapse?” Stan repeats, looking to you for backup. “ Are you one year old?”

You want to laugh, because this is fucking ridiculous because Stan is damn right, but the feeling that’s been pooling in your stomach since you stepped foot back in the shack only deepens.

Ford isn’t acting normal. Not weird normal. Not his usual ‘I’m smarter than everyone and i know it’ normal.

“Ford,” you say quietly. “are you sure you’re okay? This is getting weird.”

Stanford turns to you like he just now remembered you were here and the second your eyes meet, you immediately want to look away as if your body is trying to tell you something your brain hasn’t caught up with yet. Get out.

“Of course i am, why wouldn’t i be?” you're not sure if you imagined it, but the intonation sounds rather sarcastic.

You don’t get to answer as you hear something crashing outside. Stan nearly chokes on his tea while you jolt so hard your own mug sloshes in your hands.

Ford is the only one who doesn’t react.

“Shit,” Stan hisses, immediately craning his head toward the window. “what the fuck was that?”

Your heart beats faster. You don’t know why, but suddenly the only thought in your head is—

“What if it’s a yeti,” you whisper, deadly serious.

Stan whips his head toward you. “Why the hell would it be a yeti?”

You glare at him. “Ford literally just admitted to performing illegal backwoods taxidermy. Why wouldn’t it be a yeti?”

Stan thinks about your words and his expression changes. “ Yeah , okay, fair point.”

Suddenly you hear another noise, but this time it’s a sharp rattle against the window.

Stan nearly jumps out of his skin. “oh fuck, it’s the cops.”

Ford finally sighs, tilting his head to glance toward the front door. “It’s not the police, it’s the wind.”

You and Stan exchange a look. Ford is right, the storm outside has picked up hard as the wind is howling through the trees, snow slamming against the shack in heavy sheets.

Stan exhales, realizing that he probably doesn't have a chance to get out of here in his car, the roads are so damn clogged. He runs a hand over his tired face. “Great, just fucking great.”

You glance toward the door, slumping your shoulders. “Yeah. Looks like i’m staying the night.”

Ford doesn’t even hesitate, happy with your words. “You can take the spare room.”

Stan raises an eyebrow, surprised at how fast his brother offered. You are too, honestly. Does that mean . . . you don’t get to finish your thought when Ford turns to Stan. “You can stay too, Stanley.”

At first, Stan doesn't react at all, thinking that he misheard, but then his brother's words gradually sink in. He's wary when he clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neckawkwardly, obviously not used to that. “Uh. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”

Ford steps past him, when he passes his twin, though, he stops and leans in. “don’t worry , im not dad, i won’t throw you out.” just like that, he keeps walking, leaving Stan standing here wide eyed and frozen.

You stare after Ford, then back at Stan .

“Oh, um,” you say. “what the hell.”

Stan looks down. “yeah, no shit.”

***

The shack at night is a different thing, you knew this already, but knowing it and feeling it are two different things. You’ve stayed the night here before, back when things were normal, back when Ford was normal and the silence always calmed you, unlike right now. When you hear your own heart beating and the whole house is listening.

Stanley is asleep, dead asleep. Sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs and blankets, snoring faintly through the storm’s howl. Good for him, it's the first time in years he hasn’t had to sleep in the backseat of a car, curled up around himself like a stray dog in a storm drain. It doesn’t matter that the couch is stiff, that the room is freezing, this is the best sleep he’s had in years.

***

Summer, 1960-something. Kids. Kids with scabby-kneed, sunburned noses and wild hair.

The harbour always smelled like salt and fish.

Ford’s hands shake when he sees the bruise. So deep, ugly, purpling against Stan’s cheekbone, swelling beneath his eye.

“What happened?”

His brother was sitting on the curb, resting his arms over his knees, staring at a crack in the pavement.

“Dunno, pa just gets mad.”

The words felt like someone had dropped a rock right into Ford's chest, as it just sank to the bottom of his stomach, too heavy to breathe around.

Stan must’ve noticed, because he grinned. He actually hated that look, hated seeing his own twin with that kind of expression, because that made Stan know exactly how he looked when their old man had really lost it.

“But hey, hey, least now i look tough, huh? Bet all those bullies are gonna be real scared now,” he grinned, nudging Ford with his elbow.

Ford’s hands curled into fists. “thats not,” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “that's not gonna help, Stanley!”

“Eh, maybe,” he shrugged. “but it sure looks cool, huh?”

It didn’t. It looked awful.

Ford's chest was too tight. He looked at his brothers bruised eye, at the careless shrug in his posture, and suddenly the words burst out before he can stop them.

“We should run away.”

Stan opened his mouth, surprised, Ford, sixer, being this bold? And a second, he almost looked serious, considering it.

Then he laughed loudly. “and go where, genius?”

“Anywhere! Somewhere better. We could, we go up north, where it’s colder, where nobody knows us.”

Stan squinted at him. “but what about ma?” Ford hesitated, looking down. Stanley's smile faded as he rubbed his bruise. “look, Sixer, i appreciate the whole dramatic rescue thing, but we’re kids. Where’re we even gonna sleep? In a box?”

“We’d figure it out, you'll never be homeless, we'll never he homeless,” Ford insisted. “we’re smart—“

“You’re smart,” Stan corrected, no bitterness, just a fact. “im just a guy who can throw a good punch.”

Ford hated that he said that, so he didn’t give up.

“We could take a boat,” he tried again. “work at a dock, make some money—“

“You’d get seasick in five minutes.”

Ford scowled. “i would not.”

“Yeah, you would,” Stan teased, nudging him again.

Ford didn’t answer, because he hated the way Stanley took it all as some kind of joke. He was serious. He meant it.

But Stan just sighed again, stretching his arms over his head. “nah. don’t worry about it, Poindexter. Ain’t no big deal.”

It was a big deal. But Ford didn’t say anything else. Just sat down next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees, staring at the same crack in the pavement.

They were kids, they thought like kids. Ford just wished they’d stayed kids. Stanley wished the same.

***

Ford is in his bed, but he's not sleeping. Or maybe he does, technically.

He shifts, twists, rolls to his side, then to his back, then to his stomach, then repeats the cycle, stuck in a loop. His body doesn’t want to be still, doesn’t know how to be still.

He can't really control it, can’t open his eyes no matter how much he wants to.

It’s the same dream every time. Ford and him, sitting across from each other, playing chess, if Ford could call it that because every move Ford makes is a lie, and every move Bill makes is a trap.

Ford can’t win no matter what he does, no matter how many times he tries. Bill moves a piece. Ford counters. Bill moves another. Ford moves in response.

And when Stanford blinks, they’re already back at the start, the pieces damn reset and the game begins again.

“What do you say, Sixer? another round?”

Ford clenches his jaw, it’s not like he has any other choice. He just moves the first piece.

Every time their game ends with same, when Ford sees the door to his childhood home. It's already happening, every night.

He sees his brother standing there, staring in at their father with hope in his eyes, waiting for him to change his mind.

Ford sees his father’s mouth moving and even though can't clearly hear the words, he doesn't even need to hear them. He knows what happens next.

It’s already happened.

It’s always happening.

You aren’t asleep, either. Your head is too full, your body is too restless . Your thoughts won’t quiet. Ford, you cant get him out of your head. What you saw hours ago is sitting heavy on your chest, making it hard to breathe properly. Something is wrong with him and the whole shack, it doesn’t feel like it should.

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does. Ford has always been intense, sure, his brain works faster than everyone else's, you've always known that.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. No use going in circles. You have to talk to him tomorrow, ask him. And let him deny your questions as much as he likes and look at you like you're crazy, you'll get your way.

As soon as you close your eyes, finally sinking into sleep, the lights go out, and the whole room plunges into an all-consuming darkness. Fuck.

You immediately sit up, gripping the blanket. It can't be that bad.

It's fine, this is fine. You know where you are, you're in the shack, the storm outside is brutal, but that's normal. The generator will probably kick in any second now.

. . . Any second now.

. . . Any damn second.

The darkness does not change. You swallow. No use waiting, there should be candles somewhere in here, just to keep you sane and. . . would word safe fit here? Honestly, you just want to make this place feel like somewhere, instead of nothing at all.

Pushing the blanket off, you slip out of bed, feeling the cold floor beneath your feet.

Ford keeps candles somewhere, you know he does because it was a Christmas gift from you, years ago. So it should be easy to find them.

You put your hands out to feel for the walls as you move slow, trying not to bang your shin into anything, listening to the creaks of the house around you and footsteps. Wait.

Footsteps, exactly. Your whole body goes rigid.

Someone else is awake. Your heart pounds as you pause, listening hard.

Okay, they're not rushed, you take a note of that. Not stumbling or uncertain. Not. . . What was his name? Stanley? Yeah, probably not Stanley's, he would be louder, sloppier.

Meanwhile these sounds too slow, intentional.

Your fingers shake as you reach out, feeling along the shelves. Goddamn, you need a candle. Just one. Just enough light to fucking see.

Seems like luck is not on your side because just when you take another step, you damn trip, your hands shoot out, grabbing wildly for balance, but before you can fall and hit the ground hands catch you.

And they're not yours. Your breath stops. Someone else’s. You barely have time to react before you feel them close around your waist, digging into your stomach, your hips, moving fast, searching, checking. So strong. Coming from behind.

They trace higher, gripping as they move up to your chest. The air rushing from your lungs, your body tenses as a jolt of shock slams through you. The hands don't let go, not letting you pull away as they hold you in place. You try to yell, but before you can, you hear someone's voice right in your ear.

“Shouldn't you be asleep?”

Your blood runs ice fucking cold, but hands don’t let go.

If anything, they tighten. Painfully gripping you, grasping keeping you there, locked in place. A rush of panic clouding your senses before you even have time to think.

And it doesn't help th at the darkness is so thick, so you can't see who's behind you, can't even get a glimpse

Long fingers trailing slow over the curve of your sides, the dip of your waist, the softness of you beneath them. They follow the shape of your hips, press into the plush of your thighs.

You gasp when you feel your back pressing against someone’s broad chest. But your thoughts don’t fully settle on who or what it can be because your body is screaming louder than your mind. Sharp panic coils in your gut.

Your mind is too scattered, clouded with adrenaline. You thrash. Or at least you try to. Your muscles tense to push, to shove, but the hands don’t budge.

Panic overrides everything, making it impossible to think and breathe. Your body tells you one thing: get away .

But the fear floods your veins like ice, so much so that you can’t even count the fingers on the hands holding you.

Five. Six. Which is it? You should know. But sadly, your mind is too frantic, your skin burning too hot where those fingers press, where they curl. You don’t even realize you’re shaking.

And when they let go, all at once, the air rushes back into your lungs as your body stumbles forward, and you don’t wait or look back, letting your feet carry you .

You don’t remember running back to bed.

You don’t remember pulling the blankets over yourself, heart hammering, breath coming too fast, too shallow.

All you remember is pressing yourself into the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut and whispering the first prayer you've ever said in years. Not that it helps

So instead, you think. You force yourself to think.

Because fear is useless to a scientist, it is irrational, fear clouds judgment, fear lies.

And if you let it win, it will consume you.

You feel. . . violated. That’s the word, isn’t it? Or was it something that could be explained away as a trick of the mind?

Was it someone? Yes. Someone grabbed you. Someone touched you.

Your stomach lurches and you swallow it down, gripping at the blankets while your brain tries to work through it. To think. To rationalize.

This can’t be. Logic has to win, but the feeling is still there.

The ghost of hands on your body.

And you don’t sleep.

***

There's dirt under your fingernails, packed tight in the creases, clinging to the skin of your palms. Your hands hurt a little. Dug too deep. Pressed too hard. The grave was small, no headstone, although you wish you could, just a little wooden marker Ford helped you to carve.

Somewhere in the trees, hidden in the thick summer-green leaves, cicadas chirped. It was so warm, the grass beneath you was soft, a little overgrown, tickling against your arms.

Your throat still felt tight, and your hands, fisted in your lap, felt hollow.

Your voice came out rough. “it’s stupid to cry over a dog, right?”

Ford turned his head toward you, furrowing his brows, not sure if you were joking.

“What?”

“I mean,“ sniff. “its just a dog.” you rubbed at your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until all you saw was red behind your lids.

He stared at you, and you could feel it. His gaze rested on you, assessing, he was trying to figure out if you meant it or if you were just saying it to make yourself stop feeling.

Ford was not good with emotions too. You knew this. Logic, facts and equations neatly filed thoughts.

“You loved him, why wouldn’t you cry?”

You let out something between a laugh and a breath. It shook a little. “yeah,” you wrapped your arms around your knees. “yeah, i did.”

A scientist, you were a scientist, scientists weren't supposed to get that emotional over things that had clear, defined ends. Things that had lifespans. It was biology. Living things died. It was just how it worked.

But god, he was your dog. He'd slept at your feet when you stayed up too late, followed you through the woods, knew exactly when to curl up against you when you were sad.

“He was a really good dog.” Ford said eventually.

“He was so stupid,” you stared at the dirt. “always running into things. Remember that time he stole your sandwich?”

“He didn’t steal it,” Ford corrected. “you gave it to him.”

“After he tried to rip it out of my hands.”

“He was very persistent,” he admitted.

“You were so mad, i think that’s the first time i ever heard you swear.”

“I did not swear,” Ford said, scandalized.

“You did. I remember. And remember that time when he came back covered in mud?”

Ford smiled. “mud and skunk pray. You had to him, what, three baths?”

“Four,” you smiled back. “and he still smelled. I had to sleep with all the windows open.”

“You let him on your bed anyway,” Ford pointed out.

You huffed. “of course i did.”

Silence again. You leaned to the side, lettingyour head rest against his shoulder.

He didn't pull away. Only stiffened for half a second, like he always did, because he still wasn't sure what to do with touch. And then his hand came up and rested lightly against the back of your head.

The sun dipped lower, turning the sky honey-thick, melting into the trees.

“I’m gonna miss him,” you whispered.

Ford’s fingers curled slightly against your hair. “i know. Me too.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes, feeling the tears again.

Ford's hand stayed in your hair.

***

Morning comes slow, at least the storm has settled. The sky outside the window is still covered with a gray haze, the snow is still falling, but the howling of the wind has subsided.

You don’t feel rested, but you’re awake and you need answers. You hate to admit it, but you're scared. And your thoughts don't paint the best picture for you.

You move careful, quiet, slipping out of the spare room into the main part of the shack.

And the first thing you hear is loud, unrestrained ridiculous snoring, coming right from the couch.

You blink, glancing towards it.

Stanley. Sprawled across it in the most undignified position possible. On his side, curled slightly inward, arms tucked close against his chest. Just a little, but poor guy is shivering. Like some pathetic, scrappy little street dog curled up against the cold. The blanket barely stays wrapped around him, but he clutches at it, seeking warmth in a place where he’s used to none.

For a brief moment, he looks. . . well, he looks cute. But you shake the thought away. You have bigger things to deal with. You need to find Ford.

The lab is quiet, but inside his head, it isn’t.

Ford is slumped in the corner, collapsed into himself with his knees drawn up, his hands tangled deep in his own hair, like he's trying to keep something from leaking out, all six fingers curled so tight against his scalp that his knuckles are bloodless. Moving his heavy head in small, restless jerks, shaking side to side, wanting to shake it out, but it’s not working, it never works, IQ, you fucking idiot.

Sixer's body tense with horrible, restless energy as if he’s still trying to wake up even though he never truly slept.

Dark, bruising exhaustion hollows out his eyes, pulling his features tight with sleepless strain. His glasses have slipped low on his nose, the bridge smeared with fingerprints, hes been pushing at them, rubbing at his own skin, trying to wake himself up.

Bill was always there.

The same dream. The same game. The same endless, maddening chess match. And the same loss.

Over. And over. And over.

No matter what move Ford made. no matter how many times he tried to outthink the demon, Bill always won.

And at the end it was always the same. Stanley, who's looking at his brother standing in the window, framed by the curtains

Stanley's eyes

Ford never forgot his eyes. The way they looked at him.

The way his brother had searched his face for some answer, at least some kind of explanation, begging. Stan's eyes so big, so damn wide, the pupils blown dark with confusion, desperation, with a hurt that had no words.

And his voice so small, so weak.

“Sixer?”

Ford shudders. Vomit rises in his throat. His hands tighten in his hair.

Gosh, he feels sick.

His stomach twists, coils, knots so tight it feels like it might rupture.

The sticky notes around him are everywhere, scattered across the floor, plastered against the walls, some even stuck to the sleeves of his shirt.

MISS ME, NERD? 
FEELIN’ RESTED? 
DOESN’T MATTER! I’LL SEE YA TONIGHT ;)

DON’T WORRY, POINDEXTER!

I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU! HAHAHA!

HOW’S STAN, BY THE WAY?

HE’S STILL MAD ABOUT, Y’KNOW. THE WHOLE… THING

REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE? YIKES.

He wants to rip them down, burn them, but they've dug their way into his skin.

But his body won’t move because his mind is somewhere else now.

Ford remembers the deer. Or what was left of it.

Half dead in the snow. Legs moving, jerking in agony. The crack of stiff joints.

Something that shouldn’t be alive rose from the ground, black tar pooling from its mouth. The ground beneath Ford's boots was damp, the scent of rot curling sharp in his nostrils.

Patches of fur are missing, peeled away, exposing the raw, rotting flesh beneath. Its ribs jut out in jagged angles, parts of it look eaten.

But the worst part is the eyes. Empty sockets, gaping holes where its eyes should be.

Ford ran, but forest was too big. Too many trees, too many shadows and sounds.

His feet slipped on something wet and Ford knew he shouldn't have looked down

Bones scattered across the ground, half-buried in the damp earth. And awfully glistening organs strewn across the ground. Dark red. Raw. Rotting.

A smell so thick, so rancid it shoves itself down his throat, makes him gag. His shaking hands flew to his mouth to stop the ill-fated piece of vomit that threatened to burst out.

You did this.

You did this.

You did this.

Ford screamed, falling to his knees, dirt and blood staining his clothes.

The sound that ripped from his throat didn’t sound human.

His throat closed, air wouldn’t go in, wouldn’t stay.

Ford opens his eyes. His body jerks , thrashing against the floor, his hands shaking, fingers clawing at his own skin, trying to tear something out of himself.

He can’t breathe. His throat is tight, closing, closing, his lungs burning, his vision swimming.

His stomach twists, nausea rising fast, his head spinning so violently he doesn’t know which way is up.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Ford is dying

His hands claw at his own chest, digging his fingers into fabric, into skin.

He barely registers the sound of someone entering the room, running to him, moving, hands grabbing his arms, gripping, holding.

“Ford, Ford. Hey—”

The deer.

The deer, the deer, the deer—

“ Ford!”

A voice he barely hears, hands on his shoulders, hands on his face, hands gripping him.

Not his.

Not Bill’s.

Yours

But Ford can't move, his body feels tight, contorted as if something is twisting him from the inside out. The color of his face is wrong. He’s so pale, every shadow and hollow stark under the overhead lab lights. His lips are parted, his mouth trembling, and his eyes, so wide, bulging, glassy with tears, but not focused.

Not seeing you.

He makes a noise between a choke and a gasp, his fingers digging harder into his own arms, his whole body starting to shudder .

You're on your knees in front of him.

“Ford,” you grab at his arms. “it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s me, i’m right here—”

Ford jerks, his hands flying out, shoving at you with a sudden burst of fear and he screams. “Go away!”

You stumble back, watching him wrapping his arms around himself, his whole body curling inward

“Go away,” he gasps again , “go away, you— you monster —”

“Ford, it’s me, i swear it’s me, look at me.”

But he won’t. His lips are moving, forming broken, faltering words, but nothing comes out.

He’s not here.

His mind is somewhere deep, somewhere dark, somewhere you can’t reach him.

“Ford,” you say again, softer this time, but firmer, shifting closer on your knees, “you’re having a panic attack, okay? you need to breathe, you’re safe.”

His scared eyes snap up to you, still wide and glassy and it doesn't take long for him to cry. Ford gasps so hard he thinks his lungs might collapse.

Your arms are around him, pulling him against you, pressing his face into your chest, holding him, feeling the way he trembles while he clutches at your arms in return, his hands fisting in your shirt, clinging to you.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, “I promise, i’ve got you.”

“thirty-two point eight megahertz— quadrants , electron spin—”

What?

At first, it’s so soft you can barely hear it.

Your brow furrows . “Ford?”

“Event horizon c-collapse, field equations— metric tensor—”

You tilt your head to see him, but he just hunches further into you

“Warp theory— symmetry breakdown — proton decay—“

You squeeze him. “Ford, hey—“

He shudders and his muttering falters. Closing his puffy eyes, he buries his face deeper into your chest.

His mind registered it last, but his body recognized you first.

And you hold him, stroking slow, careful circles between his shoulder blades, your fingers weaving up into his hair, carding through the brown strands.

You try to breathe together with him. Slowly, letting him hear it. Letting him match it.

“I’m here, Ford, im right here, i swear you are okay.” you feel how his hands clench, then loosen, then tighten again.

His body still shakes, but the sharp edges of it start to dull, the tremors turning softer, his breathing slowing.

But his face stays hidden.

“Ford , i—” you swallow. “i’m worried about you.”

His shoulders stiffen. You keep going.

“This isn’ t. . . isn’t normal. You’re not okay, Ford. I think maybe,” your fingers twitch in his hair. “i think maybe you should talk to someone, to professional?”

The moment Stanley bursts through the door, his eyes widen at the scene before him. His brother, still trembling, lost in the fog of his panic attack, and you, crouched on the floor with your arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close

Stan’s face immediately changes into that familiar, protective mask, although it's even more concerned now

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You turn your head to meet his worried gaze, your own heart still racing in the aftermath of what you just witnessed. “He just had a panic attack, Stan.”

“A panic attack?” Stan repeats, raising an eyebrow, clearly not sure how to process it, “jesus christ.”

You don’t say anything.

Your hand is still on Ford’s arm as you still feel the tremors running through him.

Stan huffs a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Then, with a deep breath, he squats down next to his twin, trying to make himself appear less intimidating. “Hey, sixer,” he says, making his voice a little gentler, “what’s goin’ on? you . . . you talkin’ to anyone about this? is there somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me? why the panic attack?”

Ford is still silent, his breath still ragged, as if he can’t find a way back to normalcy. He lifts his head, peering up at his brother, but it’s clear that whatever’s plaguing his mind, he’s not ready to share it.

“C’mon, Sixer, you can tell me. what’s really goin’ on, huh?”

Ford doesn’t answer. Stan looks at you, his gaze is questioning, but you don’t know what to say either. How do you explain something you don’t even understand?

Ford is not going to talk too, whatever it is that has him this scared, he wont say it aloud. He better keep it to himself, this deep-rooted and unspoken truth has to stay buried, even if it tears him apart to keep it locked in.

“Ford, it’s okay,” you murmur, squeezing your fingers lightly at his sleeve, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Stan lets out a long, deep sigh, rubbing at his jaw, his eyes still on Ford. And, of course, because he can’t help himself, because he’s Stanley, because it’s how he deals with things, he tries to joke. Tries to break the tension the only way he knows how

“Shit, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

Ford stiffens.

Stan notices. And he . . . does that thing he always does, when things get too serious, when he doesn’t know what to say

He deflects.

Leans back, shakes his head, lets out a short chuckle.

“Or damn, maybe even worse. Like. . . i dunno. Like you just realized the government’s been spying on you through your radio or somethin’.”

Ford’s whole face twitches.

“Stanley,” you glare, warning him, and he immediately holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“What? What’d i say?” but his face betrays him. He knows what he said. He knows it was a bad joke. But he also doesn’t take it back, because that’s how he deals with things, isn’t it? Laughing when he’s scared. Pretending he isn’t worried when it’s clear as day that he is. And you don’t have time to unpack that, not when Ford is still sitting there, unresponsive.

“Just not now, okay?”

Stan grumbles, but doesn’t argue.

Ford hasn’t moved, at least his breathing sounds a little better, less sharp, a little more even, but he still looks. . . tired, so damn tired.

You soften your voice again.

“Ford, hey. . . i know you’re exhausted. I know you’re not feeling good, but maybe a shower would help? Get you cleaned up, get some of that tension out of your muscles.”

His eyes blink at you slowly, dazed you'd day, trying to process the words, but he just doesn’t have the energy.

“C’mon,” you coax, “you’ve got those bags under your eyes. You need some rest.”

There’s a long pause before Ford gives the faintest nod. And so you help him up, carefully, and he lets you, barely meeting your eyes, ashamed that you saw him like that but following your lead, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom.

You exhale when you hear the water running.

Your body slumps just slightly, hands still tingling fro m holding onto him for so long. But you push through it, stretching out your stiff legs, then step toward the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder as you go, noticing Stan following you. Not that you're not used to it, after all, back home, you've got a little shadow on your own.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you open the fridge, moving through the motions of finding something quick to make that Ford will actually eat without you having to argue with him over it.

Stan watches you like a cat staring at a fish tank. Or maybe more like a dog staring at a steak.

“I can hear you drooling,” you say without looking.

“I am not drooling.” you turn and yeah, no, he’s definitely eyeing the food with his whole damn soul.

“Uh-huh.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I see food, I want food. You gotta get used to it if you’re cookin’ around me, sweetheart.”

“Noted.”

You keep working, stirring something in a pan, and Stan shifts against the counter, watching you for a second before glancing toward the hallway.

“Well, i gotta say,” he grumbles, back at eyeing the kitchen counter like a starving animal, “you really know how to make a guy’s day.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, rolling your eyes as you pull out the ingredients for a quick meal. “yeah, yeah, i don’t cook much, but i figured he needs something. Gotta take care of him.”

Actually you’re not much of a cook, but right now, it feels like the only thing you can do. You’re not a doctor. You’re not a therapist. You can’t fix Ford. But you can make him something to eat.

“So, what’s the deal with you two, huh?”

You pause mid-stir, glancing at Stan. “what?”

“You and Sixer. What are you? Couple? Friends? Lab partners? Secret government spies?”

You clear your throat. “we studied together.”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “just studied, huh?”

“Yes, Stanley,” you say, exasperated, turning back to the pan. “just studied.”

He watches you for a beat longer before humming, noncommittal. “Huh. That’s funny.”

You glance at him again. “what is?”

“That Sixer never mentioned me. I mean, you two were clearly close. Close enough that you’re still here, takin’ care of him. So why the hell didn’t he ever tell you about his own damn brother?”

You shake your head. “he doesn’t talk much about his past or his family. Especially after one situation where i saw a photo of his dad and said he looked just like him. Ford didn’t take it well.”

Stan chuckles. “Yeah, that’d do it, he doesn’t like the family thing much. None of us do.”

You glance up at him, raising your eyebrow, but before you can ask, Stan shrugs, not going to explain any further. “Sixer’s got his own baggage. We all do. Just gotta leave it at that.”

“He really doesn’t like talking about it. About his family or his past, i mean, i get it, but—“

“Hell yeah, sweetheart, family’s a hell of a thing.”

At end, Ford did eat what you cooked. Barely spoke, though. Sat at the table, moving food around with his fork, his own goddamn thoughts were so heavy he couldn't lift his hand right. You weren’t sure how much he actually tasted of what he was eating, but at least he got it down. You had to remind him to drink some water, push the glass a little closer when he forgot it was there.

Stan, on the other hand, jesus, the way he looked at the food, you almost felt guilty. Like some starving dog watching through a window. And yeah, he made a joke about it, about you running a charity kitchen or something, but you told him to just eat already. No need to act like a starving orphan from a dickens novel. He didn’t argue, eating fast, as if he might lose it if he didn’t.

It was easy to forget about what happened this night, the power cutting out and that moment of frozen, breathless fear in the dark. All of that got buried under your worry for Ford, who looked like he was about to pass out.

Ford was still pale, what made you want to press a hand to his forehead, check if he had a fever. You tried to ask, tried to get him to talk about it, but. . .

“You sure you’re alright?”

And of course, he just waved you off, mumbled something vague.

“It’s nothing.“

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

Stan chuckled, muttered something under his breath what made you shoot him a look before he could say something worse.

Ford didn’t want to talk, that was obvious. But that was the thing about him, right? Always acting like he was fine, even when he was so clearly not.

Stan had been quiet, chewing and incredulously looking around the house like it might spit him back out. He didn’t belong here, wasn’t supposed to be here, and was just waiting for the moment Ford would make it clear.

So, he cracked a joke instead. About how he should probably leave before Sixer turned into an even bigger grump, about how he “wouldn’t wanna overstay his welcome.”

“Soo yeah, guess I better be hittin’ the road.”

You frowned at him. “why?”

Stan gestured loosely. “i dunno, i just figure, y’know. Not exactly mr. Welcome here. ‘sides, your guy here looks like he needs his beauty sleep.”

“He’s not my guy.” you answered, but that didn’t stop the way your stomach twisted. Damn, you didn’t wanna leave Ford alone. Not after everything you’d seen. But . . . your dog. You had to get back. Had to feed her, take her out, make sure she wasn’t tearing up your furniture.

Ford didn’t respond. Just kept looking at his plate, barely eating anymore.

You hesitated. The thing was, you didn’t wanna leave. Not when Ford still looked like this and you knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t saying.

But you had a dog waiting for you.

Ford told you it was fine. That you could go. That he “preferred being alone right now. ”

And you hated that. Hated the way he always did this, how he always thought he had to go through everything alone, even when it was clear he needed help.

You promised him you’d be back tomorrow.

“I'll come back tomorrow. i’ll come back, and we’ll talk, okay?”

Ford didn’t answer right away, j ust stared at his plate. “okay.”

You didn’t like how he said it, like it was better if he was alone. Like he wanted to be alone even when he clearly shouldn’t be. And it made you sick, the way you left. Like abandoning a ship you knew was sinking, stepping away from a person you knew needed help. You hated it. Hated the way Ford always pushed everyone away, even when he was fucking drowning.

You and Stan stepped out into the cold, your breath coming out in little clouds into the biting winter air. It was getting dark already, sky looked gray and heavy, as always. Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. You pulled your jacket tighter as you shivered, rubbing your arms.

“Cold?” he glanced over at you.

“Genius observation.”

The streets of Gravity Falls were quiet. Before long, you were near your place, the porch light shone warmly in the early twilight. You turned to Stan, about to say goodbye, but then you got a good look at him.

The dirt on his jacket, he probably hadn’t had a chance to properly wash it. The exhaustion on his face. And you remembered th e way he’d been staring at food all day, watching Ford eat, practically salivating.

“So uh, you have a place to stay?”

Stan blinked at you. Then scoffed. “‘Course i do.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I do!”

“ Oh, okay. Where ?”

“Uh, y ’know. The— uh. The, uh . . . ‘lakeview inn.’”

You stared at him. “Well. . . okay.” and Stan seemed relieved that you weren’t pushing.

He coughed into his fist. “yep, great place, real fancy.”

You sighed. You didn’t have it in you to argue. Not right now. You just exhaled, gave him one last look as you told him to take care and stepped inside.

Your dog was waiting for you, so excited, wagging her tail. You knelt down, ran your fingers through her fur, whispered, “missed you too, girl.” Fed her, sat with her on the floor, talked to her, absentmindedly, about Ford. About his brother. About the way Stan was kinda . . . cute.

Meanwhile, across town, Stan climbed into the front seat of his car. He was cold. He curled his jacket around himself, stuffed his hands under his arms, tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d last had a real bed.

Or a real meal.

He should’ve expected this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. Sleeping in cars, parking lots, the occasional cheap motel when he could swing it. But somehow, after that meal, after you, this felt worse.

He stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about Ford. About how he looked tonight, half a breath away from collapsing. What kind of shit his brother had gotten himself into?

And then Stanley thought about you. You, who offered him food, just like that, like it wasn't some big deal. You, who told him to eat and watched him at the dinner table.

He exhaled, breath fogging up the air.

Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

***

The dorm is a disaster zone, but it always is when the three of you get together for all-nighters. Coffee cups, half-empty energy drinks, a plate of toast that no one’s touched in hours, and papers. . . so many fucking papers covered in chicken scratch equations and half-finished blueprints.

It was past three a.m. now. The window was cracked open a little, letting in the fresh night air, but none of you noticed the cold, too deep into the work.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Fiddleford said, running a hand through his hair, “if we don’t take quantum decoherence into account, this whole thing’s gonna be about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”

“Decoherence isn’t the issue,” Ford shot back sharply and impatiently . “if anything, it’s the entanglement equation that needs work. if we—“

“Oh my god, would you two shut up and let me think?” you groaned, gripping your hair. “you're both wrong. so wrong. like. fundamentally flawed.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ford pushed up his glasses, squinting at you. “care to elaborate?”

“Not really,” you muttered, blinking slow, yawning.

Fiddleford chuckled. “looks like we’re losin’ you.”

“Honestly, i think i’m about to collapse on myself. I need something stronger than coffee. Anyone got any adderall?”

“University rules strictly forbid unauthorized stimulants—“

“Fidds has moonshine in his bag,” you cut Ford off, grinning. “saw it an hour ago. Was wondering when he was gonna crack it open.”

Fiddleford looked deeply offended for all of two seconds before sighing. “Knew i shouldn’t have let you rifle through my things. . .”

You flashed him a grin before reaching for your tea, now stone cold and bitter as hell.

Fiddleford nudged his glasses up his nose and look ed over at Ford’s notebook, squinting at the formula again. “Alright , maybe you got a point there, buddy.”

Ford let out a smug little noise, proud of himself, but before he could open his mouth and gloat, you yawned again, barely muffling the sound with your sleeve. “Shit, i’m crashing.”

You tried to keep up, you really did, but god, your eyes were so heavy. That's why you took the right decision, somewhere between staring at Ford’s notes and trying to comprehend whatever the hell he was writing, you leaned, without even thinking.

Your head found his warm shoulder and that made him stiffen as if he’d been electrocuted.

Fiddleford went completely silent, stopping drumming his fingers against the table.

It was funny, really. You’d spent the whole night laughing with him, throwing paper balls, joking and teasing Stanford. Now, the moment your breathing evened out, everything got real quiet.

Ford. . . didn't move. Didn’t push you away, even though his shoulders were tense, his pencil hesitated, but then he just kept writing, like nothing happened. Just let you stay there, pressed against him, breathing softly in sleep.

Fiddleford didn’t stop staring, observing Ford's reaction, not in the way he expected.

He looked at you first, your face half-buried in Ford’s sweater as you sighed in your sleep, how easy it was for you to just fall into him like that.

And then he looked at Stanford. At his handsome face, which somehow seemed even better in the lamplight. The furrow in his brow, the six fingers wrapped around his pencil, so concentrated.

Fiddleford looked at all of it. Ford was a genius. A goddamn once-a-generation mind, sharper than a blade, but completely fucking useless at anything to do with feelings. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see things the way other people do, the way Fiddleford does.

Ford must’ve felt the stare, because after a while, he sighed and glanced up. “what?”

Fiddleford shook his head, smiling slightly. “nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“About?”

Fiddle ford took a sip from his flask and it definitely wasnt coffee. Something stronger. He swirled it, watching the liquid catch the light. “love, i guess.”

Ford scoffed, going back to his notes.“love? shouldn’t you be thinking about our project?”

“Oh, c’mon, ain’t you ever thought about it? bein’ in love? how it feels? ”

Ford didn’t answer at first, just kept writing. “love is. . .” he started, trying to find the right words. “it’s complicated. Distracting, even.”

Fidds hummed. “but good, no?” he grinned, taking another sip. “s’pose you think it’s all just chemical reactions, huh?”

“Well, technically, it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, dopamine, oxytocin, blah blah blah,” Fiddleford waved a hand. ”but it’s more than that.”

They were talking quietly so as not to wake you up. Ford didn’t answer as he shook his head, returning to his work.

So Fiddleford kept going. “i guess it feels nice, y’know? havin’ someone who understands ya, c ares ‘bout ya. Even when you’re difficult.”

Ford stopped writing again, listening intently to his friend's words.

“It’s when you’d do anythin’ for someone, even if it doesn’t make sense. When seein’ ‘em happy makes you happy. When you’d give up everythin’ just to keep ‘em safe. ”

Ford gave him a tiny smile. “you’re being sentimental,”

“Eh, maybe. Or maybe i just get it.”

Stanford finally turned to him, frowning. “get what? ”

“Doesn’t matter.” Fiddleford leaned back, stretching. “s’pose it don’t make much sense for a guy like me to be talkin’ ‘bout love anyway.”

Ford frowned deeper. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Fiddleford shrugged, suddenly looking a little too interested in his flask.

“Are you saying you don’t think anyone will love you?”

“Oh, i know i ain't exactly a prize catch, Stanford.”

Ford settled his pen down. “that’s not true.”

and that made Fiddleford's eyes fill with hope “yeah?” he quirked a brow.

Ford hesitated, surprised at his own words and initiative, but then, because he was a good friend, because he meant it, he nodded, “You’re smart. Funny. Resourceful. You’re one of the most brilliant people i know and you're—“

“Handsome?”

That made Ford smile. “sure, yes! handsome, even.” Fidds thought he had imagined it. Did Ford really find him so? “so, im sure you'llfind someone. You’ll probably settle down, have a family. A kid, even.”

Oh. . . oh, okay.

And that’s when Fiddleford knew .

His smile did not drop, but he took another s ip of alcohol, letting the warmth burn his throat .

Ford kept writing, pleased he managed to lift his friend's spirit, while you doze quietly against his shoulder. He doesn't even notice Fiddleford getting up, leaning in close enough that Ford finally glances up from his notes.

“Yer my best friend, Ford, guess i’ll just love ya forever.”

Ford stopped writing. The pencil slipped from his fingers

But before he could ask, Fiddleford pushed himself up from the chair, stretched and yawned deeply.

He patted Ford on the shoulder, then grabbed his jacket.

“Whew! man, i need a walk. i’ll be back.” and just like that, he was gone, leaving Ford alone with the papers, the cold coffee and with the equations that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

Alone with you, asleep on his shoulder.

Ford didn’t move for a long time.

***

The morning air was cold enough to wake you up, even though you were still in the fog of sleep. Gravity Falls wasn’t exactly bustling this early, just a few cars passing, an old man walking his dog, the slow shuffle of someone dragging a garbage bin to the curb.

You pulled your coat tighter, holding your grocery bag. You'd only meant to grab something quick for yourself, but somehow, without even thinking, you'd ended up picking up something for Ford, too. Something that wasn’t just instant noodles and coffee.

He wouldn’t eat properly if left alone. You knew that, you knew him too well. You sighed, adjusting your grip on the bag.

Stanley Pines woke up in hell. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

His entire body ached, joints were too stiff from sleeping in one uncomfortable pose whole night, cold burrowed so deep in his bones that even curling tighter into his jacket wasn’t helping anymore.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, just a few more minutes, ma, please, but the cold gnawed at him, dug under his skin, made every breath feel like ice in his lungs.

He was so fucking tired.

But sleep wouldn’t come back so he lazily cracked one eye open. Fucking hell.

Still the car. Still parked in the same damn spot he’d been in since last night. The windshield was fogged up from his own breath, the windows covered in a thin layer of frost.

“Mmmgh,” he groaned, trying to stretch, but back screamed in protest. God, sleeping in the driver’s seat was not good for his spine.

Cold. Everything was so fucking cold. His toes were numb in his boots, fingers barely flexible enough to work as he rubbed warmth into them.

“Good morning, Stanley,” he muttered to himself. ”what wonderful luxury awaits you today?”

He yawned, running a hand through his brown hair. His mullet was a mess, so tangle d, flattened weird on one side.

First things first, he fumbled for the glove compartment, rummaging through loose receipts and absolute trash until he found the old bottle of cologne. He sniffed it once, it was not fresh. But hey, better than nothing. He rolled it over his wrists, rubbed it against his neck.

Second, he grabbed an old comb, barely dragging it through his tangled mullet before giving up and stuffing it back into the glovebox.

Third, he adjusted the rearview mirror, squinting at his reflection, and groaned again.

“Oof.“

Looked like absolute shit. Dark circles, unshaven, face puffy from sleep. But whatever. Not like he had anyone to impress.

He reached down, adjusting his coat, when—

THUMP.

A hand. A fucking hand slapping against the driver’s side window.

“GAH!” Stan jolted so hard he smacked his knee on the dashboard. He panicked instantly, his hands flew to the wheel. “no, no, no, por el amor de dios, madre santa, no me lleves!” he spat out in rapid-fire spanish, already prepared to beg for his miserable life. “lo juro, no tengo nada, no me arresten, por favor, dios, maria, nadie, por favor!” his mind was a blur of oh shit oh shit oh shit, picturing cops and maybesome pissed-off local ready to drag him out, picturing—

Someone was writing on the window, through the fogged-up glass, a finger traced out two slow words:

It’s me.

That made him froze as he squinted suspiciously, still gripping the wheel tight. Hesitated. then, slowly, he rolled the window down.

You stared at him.

“So,” you said flatly, flicking your gaze between him and the car. “this is the lakeview inn?”

Stanley looked around, hoping a better answer would suddenly appear.

You crossed your arms.

“Technically,” he started, “i do live here. You ever heard of a little thing called, uh, mobile homes? Very trendy and, um, modern.”

”Uh-huh.” your eyes narrowed.

“Alright, alright, fine, ya caught me. I’m actually a millionaire, this is just my vacation home. My actual mansion’s up in the hills, but y’know, i like to stay humble”

“Stan.”

“Yeah?”

“You lied to me.”

“No, listen,” he started, already preparing some dumbass joke to get him out of this.

“You fucking lied to me.”

Stan threw up his hands. “hey, now, let’s not throw around ugly words like—”

“You told me you had a place , Stan.”

He stopped talking, and there was silence between you.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “jesus, you look horrible.”

Stan bristled. “hey!”

“And you smell horrible.” not like you were lying though.

“Hey now, hold on!”

“Do you wanna take a shower at my place?”

Stan’s brain short-circuited. “what?”

“Then we’ll get you something to eat,” you continued, ignoring his slack-jawed expression.

He stared at you like you’d just spoken an entirely different language.

You. . . you were offering? Just like that?

“What?”

“You heard me.”

His brows drawing together, mouth pulling into a frown, jaw working as he was trying to find the right words. But it it didn't take long as he smoothed it all over in a blink, replacing it with serious face. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“What, you pity me now?”

“No,” you said simply.

“Pfft, i dont need you takin care of me, alright? Go waste your charity on someone else.”

“Yeah?” you tilted your head. “so if Stanford was sitting in this car right now looking like this, you'd just walk away?”

Stan stared at you, surprised. You restrained yourself from laughing at how fast the smug confidence drained from his face.

“Thats different.” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh wait, wait, wait, i see how it is,” he grumbled. “you got tired of dealin’ with sixer, huh? figured you’d switch to fixin’ me instead?”

“What does this have to do here? Take the offer, dumbass.”

“Nah, i the natural scent.”

“You literally smell like a dumpster.”

“Okay, rude.” Stan putted a hand to his chest, feigning resentment.

But you only waited, waited and waited and that silence made him clench his teeth, grumbling under his breath. So when he finally let out a sharp sigh, dragging a hand down his face, you knew he’d given in. “you got hot water?”

That made you raise an eyebrow and smile. “Of course i have hot water.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “but only ‘cause i got nothin’ better to do and you begged.”

“Right,” you said, unimpressed. He shot you a glare, but you were already walking away, expecting him to follow. And, grumbling all the way, he did.

***

Early autumn. The bus stop bench is cold beneath you and you wish you’d worn something thicker. Clouds rolling lazily in the bright sky, October sun spilling through trees, gold colour caught in Ford's brown hair. He sits beside you, one knee bouncing, a habit of his, nervous tick, always. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets, and his breath fogs in the air when he exhales.

You bring the cigarette to your lips and inhale, one leg over the other, foot bouncing absently, meanwhile the tip glows warm for a moment, ember-orange in the afternoon light.

“It’s just a cigarette,” you say, watching the smoke curling from your mouth, but Ford, who's stiff like he's resisting the urge to snatch the cigarette out of your fingers, doesn't seem satisfied with that.

“Yeah and it hurts your pretty lungs.”

Oh. That tone. That damn tone, which means he’s about to start. Again.

He pulls his coat tighter. “Do you know how many carcinogens are in that? the tar alone is—“

You groan, tipping your head back. “oh my god Ford.”

“No, i’m serious. You don’t even understand what that’s doing to your body.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, cutting him off, waving him away. “you’re acting like i’m chugging cyanide.”

“You might as well be,” his glasses slip down his nose, and he shoves them back up in agitation.

You've heard it all before, the lecturers, the statistics so you roll your eyes, amused, flicking the ash into the pavement. “When i wanna stop, i can.”

Ford scoffs. “that’s what they all say. . . I don't know if you know this, but cigarettes contain over seven thousand chemicals, many of which are—“

You blow smoke into his worried, but serious face and he immediately recoils coughing, waving his hand to dispel the haze. You laugh, reaching over to run a hand through his beautiful golden colored hair to smooth away his frustration.

“Honey,” you barely get time to say before Ford scoffs of. Oh here we go, petnames are back in circulation. You're using the secret weapon, you know exactly what they do to him. “Cant you trust me? when i want to stop, i can.”

Suddenly Ford is twelve years old again and Stanley smells like smoke.

He swears he can hear their dad in the other room, muttering at the evening news.

His brother leans against the windowsill, awkwardly rolling a cigarette between his fingers which he bummed off the older kids at school. There’s a hole in his sleeve. A bruise on his jaw.

“You know dad will smell it! He's gonna know. He's gonna—“

“Yeah, yeah, he'll tan my hide, blah blah.” Stan rolls his eyes, sliding the cigarette between his lips , lighting it with exaggerated flick of the lighter. The first puff is taken in a deep, inexperienced breath before he exhales through his nose. “seriously, Poindexter , would you stop being paranoid? when i wanna stop, i can.”

But he doesn’t, he lies, because Ford hears him cough at night sometimes. Watches him light another in the schoolyard.

He knows it’s bad. But Stan doesn’t listen.

Why does his brother do these things? Why does he always push the limits, cross the lines? Why does he always seem so desperate to do the things he knows he shouldn't?

That day, when they returned from school with large backpacks at the ready, Stanford glanced towards their house. “seriously, Stan, put it out. If da smells it—“

“What, you're scared he'll ground me?” Stanley smirked. “big whoop.”

“Stanley!”

Stan rolled his eyes at his twin's dramatic behavior, but stubbed it out on the pavement, flicking the butt into the bushes what made Ford exhale, relieved.

But the relief didnt last long.

Because week later, their dad does find out.

And Ford watches as his own twin, for all his bravado, gets actually scared. Ford hates that look. He hates it almost as much as he hates the sharp crack that follows.

Ford doesn’t like thinking about what happened next, doesn't like remembering the way Stan screamed. Doesn't like remembering how loud their father’s voice got, making the walls sh ake, how the belt cracked sharp as thunder, how Stan tried to act like it didnt carve its place into his skin.

But Ford remembers. He remembers the way Stan didn’t fight back, how he flinched at sudden movements for weeks. How he hissed through his teeth when he sat down too fast, and how he lit another cigarette anyway.

Ford opens his eyes. He's back in present now, back at the bus stop with you watching him with frustration in your eyes.

“Ford?”

He swallows, shakes his head, forces his thoughts back into place. He doesn't tell you any of that. “just. . . promise me you'll think about it.”

You groan again. “jesus, you sound like my dad.”

Ford flinches and wonders, distantly, if you notice. If you know what that comparison does to him.

“I told you, darling, when i want to stop i can,” you add, caressing his cheek.

He doesn't argue anymore, because he already knows that line. Heard it before. Millions of times. And he knows it's a lie.

***

Stanley Pines doesn't know what to do with kindness. Not the real kind, anyway, where someone takes him out, sits him down and actually pays for his meal as if some random knucklehead like him is worth the damn trouble.

He can't help it; he feels awkward because he is not used to people being nice to him. He's not used to much of anything, except scraping by, finding the next scam and eating cheap food out of plastic wrappers. So when you dragged him to the Gravity Falls diner, promising him a real warm meal, he was suspicious.

The waitress barely had time to finish setting down the menus before Stan barked out an order. “Burger, double. Extra fries. Chocolate milkshake. And gimme some bacon on the side.”

You're an idiot, he thought, the hell are you getting the money for all this?

Your brows shot up, but you didn’t say anything, just smiled and told the waitress to put it on one tab. That’s when Stan’s gaze snap s to you. “One tab? wait, you’re payin’?”

“Yeah, why not?” you answer casually, because it's not a big deal for you, but Stanley frowns.

“You sure about that? ‘cause, uh, i don’t exactly have, you know. . .” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. Just eat, Stan.” and that’s what fucks him up. Because nobody’s ever wanted to spend their money on him before, not unless they were expecting something in return. But you just look at him with those soft, genuine eyes and tell him to shut up when he starts talking about returning money.

When the food arrives, Stanley attacks it like a man starved, which, honestly, he definitely is. The burger disappears in minutes, followed by the fries, then the bacon. Grease smears his chin and he doesn't even bother wiping it off, too busy slurping down his milkshake like his life depends on it. Not a single goddamn cru mb left. You swear he licked it. “Well, shit, if i knew you were gonna feed me like this, id have showed up beggin' at your door ages ago.”

You watch in both amusement and horror at the starved man in front of you, who barely stops to chew, talking with his mouth full .

“Yeah, yeah. You eat like a starving stray dog.”

That makes him choke on his milkshake, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at you while you laugh. “jesus, toots, the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” you wave a vague hand, smirking. “you're scruffy, hungry all the time, you look at people like they might kick you if you get too close.”

“Hey, don't insult dogs like that.” He cuts in, effectively ending the conversation as he goes back to his food, shoveling another bite into his mouth.

“Damn, Stan, you wanna slow down before you choke?” you tease, propping your chin on your hand, watching him shoveling food into his mouth with the single-minded desperation of a man just let out if a cage.

Stan grunts, barely acknowledging you. “’s good.” you notice the ketchup on his cheek and chuckle.

“Yeah, i can tell.”

After couple of minutes, he finally pauses, chewing slower, he swallows hard and taps his finger on the table, avoiding eye contact with you. Leaning back with a groan and patting his stomach with one hand, Stan smears a little grease with other. He exhales, heavy. Then, as if realising how fucking feral he just looked, tries to play it off.

“Whew. Almost forgot what real food tastes like. Jail slop, y'know? Not that I've been to jail. Ha, kiddin.” he pauses and grins. “unless?”

Silence.

You stare at him, blinking. He watches your face, waiting for laugh or well, some kind of reaction that doesn't make him feel like a goddamn idiot , but you just look at him like. What. The fuck.

Stanley throws his hands up. “Okay, tough crowd. Coño. . .” he mutters the last word under his breath, shaking his head

“Was it Spanish?” your eyes perk. Stanley tenses , but you squint at him. “how do you know Spanish?”

“Uh, picked it up.”

“Picked it up where?”

“Places.”

“ Uh-huh, ” you lean forward. “cmon, teach me some.”

“Nah, i aint exactly fluent, sweetheart.” Stan laughs forced.

“But you sounded pretty fluent just now.”

“Yeah, well,” he rubs his neck. “i picked up the good words.”

You let it go, for now, because you notice the way his eyes dart and how how tries to make himself look just casual, enough for it to be convincing.

***

The dorm hallway was too bright and loud, full of students shuffling papers, setting up models and diagrams, nervously practicing their presentations to each other.

Ford stood off to the side, as always stiff and uneasy, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoulders tight. His fingers fidgeted uselessly, six of them curling and uncurling.

The project was ready. The calculations were perfect. He should’ve felt confident.

Then why did he feel so out of place?

He scanned the room, seeing students, professors, familiar classmates. Goddamn. Ford hated how nervous he was, hated that his mind was half on the project, half on—

“G'mornin’” your lazy voice broke through the noise. “or, well, g’afternoon? god, what time is it?”

Ford turned. Oh, you were a mess with your hair wild, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy with sleep. A coffee cup dangled from your fingers, mostly empty. You yawned, covering your mouth halfheartedly.

Ford gave you a quick once-over, barely holding back a sigh. “you look— “

“Beautiful?” you grinned.

“like you rolled out of bed five minutes ago.”

“Aww, you noticed,” you laughed , stretching. Then, with absolutely no preamble, “so i fell down the stairs today.”

“What?” Ford raised his eyebrows.

“Yup, just,” you made a vague flailing motion with your hands. “ Wham, right down ‘em. It was very tragic. A true fall from grace. ”

You expected him to at least huff a laugh, maybe shake his head or give you that exasperated, fond sigh. But Ford didn’t. Instead, his brows drew together, and his eyes quickly swept over you, scanning for damage.

“Are you alright? do you need to see the nurse? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“ . . . you’re not laughing, ” you pointed out. “normally you at least try to pretend i’m funny.”

“You fell down the stairs, and you expect me to laugh?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“

“Are you hurt?”

That care, honestly, took you by surprise. “uh,” you looked down at yourself, then shrugged. “probably? i dunno, i was too tired to check. ”

Ford exhaled slowly, clearly trying not to engage, but you just kept going.

“Man, i am not ready for this presentation,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “seriously, i have no idea what i’m gonna say. But hey, i’d do anything for my two lovely nerds. even stand in front of a bunch of judgmental geniuses and pretend i know what i’m talking about. Right, Ford?”

Nothing.

“ . . . Ford?” you waved a hand in front of his blank face. Obviously, he wasn't listening, judging by how distant his gaze was, he was somewhere else entirely.

“Hellooo? Earth to Sixer?”

Ford blinked, snapping back. “What? Oh, sorry.”

You gave him a look. “man, you’re the one who’s supposed to be all focused and sharp. i m the one running on three hours of sleep and caffeine fumes.”

He barely heard you. “have you seen Fiddleford today?” Ford asked abruptly.

“What?” you paused.

“Fiddleford. Have you seen him?”

You frowned, thinking. “um. no? now that you mention it, i don’t think i have. But i just woke up like an hour ago, so last time i saw him was when we were working on the project. Why?”

Ford looked away and pursed his lips guiltily. “he said he was going for a walk. I remember he had a drink, said he’d be back. But he never—“

“You don’t think . . .?”

Ford shook his head quickly, Interrupting your thought. “ No. No, he’s fine. He’s probably just, well, late.”

But you both knew that wasn’t like him. Fiddleford was always there on time, cracking jokes and filling the space with his presence.

And now he wasn’t.

The noise of the hall seemed to fade. Ford exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He said your name, nervously slipping a textbook into your hands. “We should focus, he’ll show up.”

***

The ride to the shack is cool, winter sun setting earlier than youd like, same as always. Your dog is curled at your feet, eyes flicking back to Stan at the wheel. He grumbled about the fur at first but you can see it, he likes your dog, likes her a lot. He's just being difficult, pretending, putting up a front.

Stanley drives slowly, you don’t know if he always does, but right now, you wish he’d go faster. You want to see Ford as soon as possible.

But Stan doesn’t seem nearly as excited as you. There’s a knot of unease sitting somewhere inside him, but mostly, he just isn’t sure what to say when he finally sees his brother again.

“Hey, I’m bothering you again because I’ve got nowhere else to go?”

After a beat of silence, you glance at him. “you ever think about calling Ford before he called you?”

Stan's eyes are fixed on the road as he speaks, “thought about it. But i figured he’d just tell me to drop dead.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” he glances at you now , twisting his mouth. “pretty sure he told me worse when i got here.”

When you reach the shack, you knock. Wait.

No answer.

You knock again. Still nothing

Stan squints. “maybe he’s sleepin’.”

You huff, shifting your grip on the grocery bags. “actually, i lived here sometimes, so i’ll count it as my home too. And if Ford doesn’t wanna open the door for me, i’ll open it myself.”

Stan smirks. “yeah, that tracks.” but then his smirk fades as he narrows his eyes slightly. Lived here before.

You unlock the door, steeping inside and the first thing you notice is quiet the shack is

“Ford?” you call, but you don't get an answer.You exchange a worried glance with Stan. Ford seems nowhere to be seen.

“Should we be worried?”

“Nah,” Stan says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “he's probably just. . .”

You step into his room and you see Ford sprawled out, dead asleep, hair a mess, glasses off. He's curled slightly inward, breathing deep and even, absolutely gone to the world.

Stan smiles. “Told ya he’s fine. Nerd just passed out.”

“I'm still worried, should we wake him? ”

Stan eyes his brother. “Nah, let him sleep. Dude probably hasn't in days.” he tells you, already leaving the room.

You nod slowly, still focused, studying Stanford's face. Okay, yeah, Stanley is right. You should let your poor n erd sleep. You turn, stepping back into the hall.

“You shouldn't have come back.”

And that makes you freeze as you quickly turn your head to the sound to see Ford sitting up. Staring at you, his eyes are open now, fixed on you.

You blink, thrown off, eyes flicking to the person sitting in front of you. Then, before you can think about it, you step forward, reach for his hand and—

Picture passes. Ford is still in bed, asleep.

You swallow. A slow, creeping dread curls in your chest. Who or what did you just see?

….

“Nerd looked bad. Needed sleep.”

That was the verdict. So you let Ford be.

“He always was a bad sleeper,” Stan grumbled, stepping past you, glancing around the shack, still having hard time getting used to it. “musta gotten worse over the years.”

Just let the man sleep. He'd wake up eventually.

You had to do something to keep yourself busy. Giving your dog a quick scratch behind the ears as you walked past, you figured she deserved a proper meal after all the traveling.

Stan, though, stayed behind and damn, it wasn't like he was snooping. Not really.

It was just this place felt weird.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around, taking in the clutter, the books, the walls covered in notes and sketches, and hell, even that weird curtain draped over the entire back wall like Ford is hiding some secret government operation. It's just. . . odd.

“Guess some things never change, huh, Sixer?” Stanley sighs. And that’s when his eyes accidentally land on the lighter what makes him tilt his head.

Since when did his goody-two-shoes, anti-smoking,'your-lungs-are-a-delicate-system-Stanford' brother have a lighter?

Stan picks it up, turning the little thing over in his hand. Metal. Decent weight.

Not some cheap thing, either.

He wants to call out to you, “hey, did you know Ford's got a lighter in here?” but he remembers, at the last second, that Ford is still dead asleep in the other room and screaming that loud would disturb him.

So instead, he just holds it, closing his fingers around it, turning it in his palm, flipping the lid open with a soft metallic click.

Weird.

Stanley's curiosity itches. So he looks around again, just in glance, just to make sure you aren't watching.

Then, his gaze drifts lower to the small pile of books near the armrest.

He chuckles. “Nerd books,” he tells himself, but his hand reaches down anyway.

One of them catches his eye. Heavy thing with a lot of pages.

Gravity's rainbow.

Oh yeah. He’d heard of that one.

Didn't seem like the kinda book Ford would normally read, though.

Stanley carelessly flips it open, barely glancing at the pages. Blah, blah, blah. Too many damn words for someone as impatient as him.

Suddenly, something slips out of page 69.

A bookmark?

Stan makes sure to catch it before it can land, brushing his fingers over the glossy surface before he turns it over.

Huh.

A photo.

It was you and his brother. From college, clearly, you both looked so much younger, holding some kinda trophy.

Some nerd award, Stan assumes.

Ford had that same awkward, stiff stance he always had in photos, but you looked too happy, excited, eyes shining. Laughing, hair a little windblown, standing too close to Ford, who had lipstick mark on his cheek.

What?

Stanley squints, fuck. . . he really needs to buy glasses.

You never really expect to see your nerdy brother like that. Looking. . . well, normal. Young. Happy.

Stan continues to stare. At Ford’s unsure smile. At your beaming one.

He turns the photo in his fingers again and glances toward the hallway where Ford is sleeping.

And then, a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Mierda!” Stanley jumps, nearly throwing the book across the room. He barely had time to shove the polaroid away before he turns, swearing under his breath, “por el amor de dios, you tryna give me a heart attack?”

You, startled, take a step back and raise your hands. “shit, sorry!” then your head tilts, “wait. Was that, was that Spanish again?”

Stan is still catching his breath, clutching at his chest like he just lost ten years off his life. “Si. Yeah.”

“What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Smooth, effortless. Completely unconvincing, but before you could say anything, his face twitches as he makes a sharp inhale through his teeth. “fucking hell.”

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, where your hand had landed.

A burn.

“Stan.” he swears he hears the shift in your tone before he even sees your expression. You reach forward, touching his arm again, but softer this time, brushing your fingers against the fabric of his jacket, near the burn. “You never treated it.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “it’s fine.”

“Bullshit. ”

“ It’s. . . oh, damn, it ain't like it's infected. ”

“That's not the point.” you pull, planting your hands on your hips. “you let it heal like that? No treatment at all?”

“Ain’t like I had a whole damn first-aid kit on me, sweetheart.”

You frown. “you could’ve at least—“

“It’s fine.”

And so it goes, the familiar dance of grumbling and resistance, before he finally gives in with a gruff and let you do your thing.

“Okay, fine. Fine. Do whatever.” he sighs, groaning, rubbing his face.

You mutter something about stupid stubborn men under your breath before reaching for the first aid kit on the nearby shelf.

But before you could even open it you hear your dog growling low what made your head snap toward her. She’s staring at the hallway that leads toward the front of the shack.

“Aww, shit.” you hear Stan say.

“What?”

He gestures toward the hallway. “you got ghosts in here, too?”

You give him a look, but your dog won't stop growling and that's when your eyes widen because you just hear the front door creaking slowly. Next thing you feel is a gust of cold air sweeping through the room.

Stan turns, the door is open what made fresh snow carry inside, dusting the floor in uneven patches.

You and him stare at it, realising that neither of you had opened that door.

After a long pause, Stan walks over and slams it shut, clicking the lock in place.

Then turning back to you with annoyed face, “so, anyway, how the hell is everyone in this town so damn weird?”

“What?” Stan plops back down next to you.

“i mean, you know,” he gestures, winces a little when the motion tugs his injured shoulder. “this place. Gravity falls. It’s weird. Fuckin’ weird. Like,” he tilts his head, looking at you, squinting. “theres so much paranormal weird shit here, and i aint even talking about my brother.”

“Now you sound paranoid.”

“See? That’s what i mean!” he points at you, triumphant. “exactly what i’m talking about! Everyone’s just, like, casually fine with all the weird shit, but if you point it out, suddenly you’re the crazy one. ”

As you work, carefully dabbing at the burn, he hisses through his teeth, every touch of yours is met with some kind of protest or mumbled curse or half-hearted complaint.

“You’re a goddamn baby.”

“And you’re a goddamn sadi—“ he doesn't have time to finish as he gasps dramatically again, throwing his head back like you just putted him through the worst pain imaginable.

“Oh, quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Acting like you’re getting tortured.”

“Hey, you don’t know, you could be really bad at this.”

You press the gauze down harder, and Stanley hisses, jerking away.

“Fuck, watch it, would ya?”

“Oh, sorry, am i hurting you?” you deadpan. “maybe if you’d taken care of this in the first place, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem—“

“Oh, no, of course not,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “burns are fine. Totally normal to just leave them alone and hope they magically heal on their own.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy being dumb?”

“Oh, fuck that, really,” he says flatly before he looks away.

You sigh through your nose, gentler this time as you go back to work, cleaning his burn around the edges. Stan's eyes flick to the coffee table and he remembers the lighter he’d found earlier.

“So, since when does Sixer smoke?”

You stop, freezing.

Stanley raises an eyebrow, watching the way your whole body goes rigid. “what?” he drawls. “hit a nerve?”

“Ford doesn’t smoke.”

“Yeah? that his lighter, then?” he gives you a look, nodding toward the thing. Wait. . . The realization hitting you. Fuck. You’d left it here? At Ford’s? “found that lying around. And i know that stick-in-the-mud was always on my ass about it, so unless he suddenly decided to turn into the marlboro man—“

You swallow. “no.”

“Huh.” his smirk widens. “so you’re tellin’ me— “

You scowl. “it’s mine, okay? I used to, but i’m trying to quit.”

After a beat of silence Stanley bursts into shameless laughter.

You glare at him. “what the fuck is so funny?”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, slapping his knee. “holy shit, lemme guess, did Poindexter give you the whole ‘your lungs will rot’ speech? Went full psa mode?”

Your scowl deepens. “so what if he did?”

“No , no—” he’s still laughing, wiping at his eyes. “it’s just, you sound exactly like me when i was like twelve. Swear to god. He gave me the same fuckin’ speech. Like, word for word. Bet he even did the disappointed sigh.”

“He just cared,” you admit, looking away. “cared about my well-being. I used to think the same as yo u, that he was just being a nerd. But, y’know. Some things never change.”

That shuts Stanley up. So you use that moment when he seems to think or remember something, and clear your throat. “anyway, since you’re his brother, i wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Was he always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know. Paranoid. Weird. Off.”

He gives you a look. “uh, i met the guy for the first time in ten years, like, yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.”

Stanley scratches his chin. “but, i mean, i dunno. When we were kids, he was always kinda anxious. Worried about grades, the future, that kinda shit.”

“Yeah. He was the same in college.” you nod, something clicking into place.

You fall silent, rubbing your chin, thinking. If even Stanley, his own twin brother, has no idea what’s going on with Ford, then who does? Who the hell would know what happened to make him like this?

There had to be someone. Someone who saw him a lot during those years, who knew what changed, who was here when that happened. Who knew what had made him—

Your eyes widen.

“Fiddleford.”

“Who?”

“Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGucket. Our good friend and Ford’s old lab assistant, he quit before everything went to hell, but if anyone knows what’s up with him now, it’s him.”

Stan stares at you. Then his entire body shook with laughter.

Ignoring that, you snap your fingers as smile appears on your face. “right! he should know!” you look at Stan, pausing. “what?”

“Fiddleford,” he repeats, grinning widely. “holy shit, that’s his real name?”

You cross your arms. “Yeah?”

“That’s fucking hilarious.” he shakes his head. “Ford and fiddle. Jesus.”

You shoot him a glare. “are you done?”

“Nah, nah, i need a second,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Fiddleford. God.”

You ignore that dumbass, grabbing the phone, its rotary dial familiar under your fingers. You dial the number, tapping your fingers against the table, pressing it to your ear as the static hum of the line comes to life.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is unmistakable and it makes you smile, hearing your friend again.

“Fidds , it’s me,” you name yourself.

There’s a pause. Then, carefully, he repeats your name.

“Yeah! listen, i know you said you wanted to forget whatever happened when you were working with Ford, but—”

You don’t get to finish, because across from you, Stanley starts laughing again, shaking his head like he just can’t believe what he’s hearing.

You glare at him.

“Fiddleford,” he says under his breath, wheezing. “holy shit!”

You roll your eyes, bringing the phone back to your ear. “so, anyway— “

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Fiddleford cuts in, confused. “who’s that?”

Stanley, still grinning, leans in toward the receiver and says, loud as hell: “your parents named you what?!”

“Who in the sam hill is laughin’ at my name?!”

You turn away from Stan, pushing him. “ignore him.”

“Who’s laughin’?”

“Nobody.”

“I'm gonna die. Man, your name is awesome. And here i thought my parents had zero imagination.”

“Uh,” Fiddleford sounds even more confused.

“Don’t listen to him.”

But Stan just keeps laughing. “Nah, seriously, what kinda— “

You hear Fiddleford's voice going defensive. “now listen here, i’ll have you know Fiddleford’s a perfectly respectable name—”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. Jesus christ. This was gonna be a long conversation.

Ford sleeps like the dead, the weight of exhaustion so complete that he might as well be a corpse until his chest lurches followed by painful gasp, his whole body jerking upright, pulling him back into the waking world.

His breath is coming too fast and shallow and Ford can't quite catch it. His heart is beating as if it wants to burst out, no longer belonging in his body. Cold sweat clings to his skin, dampening the sheets beneath him.

Another fucking nightmare.

Ford drags a hand down his face, through his hair. Inhales slow, exhales slower and forces himself to move.

The floor is cold when his bare feet touch it, but even that doesn't ground him, reminding him that he’s here, in the Shack, with him watching his every move.

He needs water, so he stumbles towards the door until he steps on something that makes too loud a sound.

Squeak.

Ford looks down.

A dog toy, a bright, rubbery, ridiculous thing, right there beneath his heel.

Oh he knows what it means. Happened quite a lot. You're here. And you brought your dog.

Ford sighs. Deeply. He sets the toy down on his desk and finally steps out into the hallway.

He hears your voice, unmistakable, and Stanley’s.

And then he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

[jennarations]

The Ultimate Lestappen Fic Masterlist ™

Hello all. This list has about 70+ fics within it. That’s just under 1,000,000 words solely dedicated to the Carbonara Leclerc-Verstappens. (yes i counted) I’ve tried to maintain my organization throughout, but if something looks a little janky or feels out of place, let me know. (Lord knows I never made this list thinking I would make it public but alas, here we are) The key is simple:

> (Title) +/= (Multichaptered/One-Shot)

(Summary)

!!! (Link)

• (Tags - please note these are just the tags I saw relevant to myself, double check the fics themselves for any other tags you might deem relevant!) *(Word count)

Now I’ve put a ♥️ next to all of my personal favorites. Remember, this is a masterlist and a fic rec if that’s what you’re looking for. I will never read (or record) any fic that is not up to my personal golden standard; so everything you see below has been read and vetted by yours truly 💋 I will also tag my favorite authors at the bottom of this post so you can go view their pages and send them some love :^) Note: All of these works are on Ao3. There is only one WIP in this list and it is stated with the fic. Now go crazy you animals ;))

(p.s. some of the fic descriptions are quite long, but with respect to the authors wishes I feel that it would be a dishonesty to chop them off though so you’ll have to deal with it) Here we go!!!!!!!! (under the Read More)

> Home (Is Wherever I’m With You) + ♥️

Or: Charles leaves Ferrari, tries to win a championship, and learns some things about belonging. All the while, Max is there.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40801053/chapters/102234501

• Angst, Fluff, Red Bull!Charles *17.9k

> On The Limit = (Series - Objects in the Mirror) ♥️

Two Formula 1 drivers walk into a bar and accidentally have a heart-to-heart.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43252263

• Angst, Heart to Heart *6.8k

> Leave No Space = (Series - Objects in the Mirror)

Max Verstappen fucks men sometimes. Charles struggles to cope.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43505271

• Falling in Love, Charles is depressed, Charles is moving to Red Bull *31.7k

> All To Play For = (End of Series - Objects in the Mirror)

Charles Leclerc is not at Red Bull to win races. He is here to win championships.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46910503

• Nasty Breakup w/ Happy Ending, Charles is so depressed, Pain, Angst, Red Bull!Charles *49.3k

> I Think There’s Been a Glitch = (Series)

or: Max sits on Hüllkenberg’s lap during a press conference. Charles is decidedly Not Normal about it.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46107499

• Teasing, Crush, First Time, Charles POV, Bottom!Max *5.5k

> Room 309 = (End of Series)

or: what happens in room 309

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46397647

• Max’s POV, Smut *8.2k

> Undress Me to the Naked Truth =

or: Charles and Max celebrate post-Austria 2022

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46761448

• Smut, Established Relationship, Bottom!Max *6.8k

> The Rest is Unwritten =

Max ran, like his husbands life depended on it.

Weaving his way around the paddock, murmurs of a black flag and unresponsive boring through the crowds. All he could do was get to Charles.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46203964#main

• Angst, Husbands, Crash *1.5k

> Monaco Malaise = (Series)

Max and Charles have been hooking up for a few months, casually, no string attached — definitely no feelings involved…

The disaster that was Monaco 2021 sees them in Charles’ apartment, with Max having to deal with the fact that Charles can’t get out of his head.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43192021#main

• Smut, Slight Angst, Slight Fluff *8k

> Azerbaijan Abnegation = (End of Series)

After Monaco, Max thought he’d made up his mind about Charles, and their little arrangement.

They’re in Azerbaijan and Charles is everywhere: in his head, in his messages, in his hotel room…

Will Max be able to hold onto his resolve, or will his attempts at self-denial only prolong the inevitable?

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46781737/chapters/117829006#workskin

• Angst, Smut *16.9k

> Ribs =

He wakes up all weird on Monday. Charles can feel it the moment he opens his eyes. It’s like an odd weight on his chest that evolves into something a lot more achy and sharp emanating down his torso as he starts crawling out of bed.

Or: Charles injures himself before the last race of the season. The only option is to power through it.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44784424#main

• Fluff, Established Relationship, WDC!Charles *2.6k

> You Could Call Me Babe For the Weekend + ♥️

Or: There are lots of ways to love Charles Leclerc, Max maybe learns all of them through the years.

Featuring: puddles, stargazing, unsolicited driving lessons, and the overwhelming fear of growing up.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42042690/chapters/105559215#workskin

• Angst, Teenagers, Falling in Love *12.3k

> Got Your Tongue =

It’s the middle of the night, there’s a stray cat in Charles’ bedroom, and only one person he can think of to help him. The rest is just a misunderstanding.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46854709?view_adult=true#main

• Fluff *2.9k

> Do You Want Me (Dead)? =

When Charles accidentally comes out to Max it shouldn’t really change anything. It doesn’t change anything.

Until it does. In fact, it changes everything.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44626003#main

• Angst, Pining, Fluff, Happy Ending, FIFA in Suzuka *12.5k

> How to Babygirl-ify Your Boyfriend: A Comprehensive Guide by Charles Leclerc =

Charles sees someone on the internet call Max babygirl. He’s instantly obsessed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45295756?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, Fluff, Bottom!Max *4.5k

> Silly Me (For Falling in Love With You) = ♥️

“We’re not asking you to ‘woo’ him,” Christian says, looking pained at having to say the word ‘woo’, “We just need others to think you’ve wooed him.”

“I’m not following,” Max says, frowning.

“A PR relationship,” Poppy explains. “You pretend to date, making the public think you’re all happy and in love. Then you reap the benefits of being in a relationship without actually having to put in the effort or work.”

“Absolutely not,” Max says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s depressing, I’m not doing that.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/44464324#main

• Fluff, Angst, Fake Relationship, Non-F1!Charles *18.3k

> Glitch + ♥️

Max hums. “Well, at least that means I won’t bump into Charles Leclerc again.”

“Bummer, really,” Daniel says, moving back to his own seat and drinking the little bit of coffee that was still in the cup. “Could’ve been the start of a great love story.”

Lando snorts. “Kids, it all started when I told your father, who had won two World Driver Championships at that point, that he sucked at driving.”

Max sticks his middle finger up at them, and pulls his noise canceling headphones back over his ears. Only two hours left to go, he thinks, wistfully, and goes back to work.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46316224/chapters/116609527

• Angst, Fluff, Funny, Programmer!Max *26.6k

> Heart On Your Sleeve =

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing.

Almost.

But then he goes and falls in love.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45717973#main

• Pining, Magical Realism *4.8k

> You Can Hear It In the Silence =

Or, the five times Max and Charles accidentally fall asleep together, and the one time they do it on purpose.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43882683#main

• Pining, Sleep trope, Fluff *7.4k

> You’ll be Alright = ♥️

Charles is not an idiot. He knows there’s a part of him that has been at least a little bit in love with Max for as long as they’ve known each other. But he’s always been able to shove it down. Burying it under rivalries and competitiveness until it was getting hard to differentiate between love and hate. And that had worked, for a really long time.

And then Max had to go and barge into his life and be really fucking cute with his baby.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45348790#main

• Kidfic, Fluff, Slight Angst, Max is great with kids, Falling in Love *19.2k

> Maximum Formula =

“Welcome back to another episode of Maximum Formula, I’m your host, Emilian, and this is the first episode for the F1 2022 season. There will be plenty to talk about, but first I’d like to introduce our first guest of the season: Charles Leclerc. Welcome to the show, Charles.”

Or, Charles tries to become a world champion with Ferrari.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45691483#main

• Angst, Falling in Love, Podcast!Max, Identity Hiding *20.4k

> Violent Delights +

Max can’t smell any of his usual aggression beneath the unusual spatter of Omega, sweet yet violent, and it makes his head spin.

“Max,” is all Charles says, voice breathless. He looks over his shoulder, quick, hasty, looks back. His eyes are wider, if possible. “We have— we have fucked up, I think.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41445333#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Alpha!Charles turns into Omega!Charles *15.5k

> Petrol =

Max scoffs. He steps closer, smile a little real. It lets Charles see the tiny freckle on his lip, dark and undying, always zoomed in on when his face is in HD. Chuckling, Max scratches at his stubble. “I didn’t know you liked Red Bull.”

Automatically, Charles corrects, “I hate it.” It says too much.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41359482#main

• Smut, Angst, Denial, Bottom!Max *4.2k

> It All Reminds Me of You =

Pierre turns, and with him, the object of his distasteful frown. “Why do you have a Red Bull cap in your apartment?”

Charles tenses. He looks between Pierre and the cap, still held tepid between two fingers, dark blue and flat-brimmed and garishly branded with a sick sense of obvious. It feels wrong, just looking at it. There’s a big red 1 emblazoned on the front.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40279869#main

• Angst, Smut, Secret Relationship, Switch!Max, Switch!Charles *3k

> Proximity =

These kinds of smiles on Max are reserved for other people. Like Daniel, like Lando, like those Dutch guys that come around sometimes and he likes to yell with.

Not Charles.

It’s probably the fourth time Max is acting noticeably strange around him that he notices the freckle on his lip.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40737591#main

• Angst, Smut *6.7k

> Want It Good Want It All =

When Max puts the disc into the cartridge of his PS4 he isn't sure what to expect.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43761192#main

• Sex tape, Masturbation *2.1k

> Algorithm + ♥️

Tired of all the internal team conflicts, the F1 powers-that-be have developed a simulation-based compatibility test for drivers and their teammates.

or

Five times Max doesn’t find the right partner and one time he does.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561109/chapters/72650025#workskin

• Magical Realism, Compatibility Simulations, Fluff, Slight Angst, Some Maxiel in the beginning *16.9k

> In the Dark You Can’t See Shiny Cars +

In the summer of 2022, the quiet neighbourhood of Les Amants in Monaco becomes the epicentre of a strange weather phenomenon.

or

A dark cloud hangs over Charles’ head—unfortunately not just a metaphorical one. Max sets out to investigate.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/41147001/chapters/103144245

• Magical Realism, Charles accidentally controls the weather, Fluff, Slight Angst *14.5k

> Panem et Circenses =

Panem et circenses, the Romans called it. Bread and circus to appease the people.

The bread is always in short supply these days, ever since the wheat fields burned down. So that just leaves-

“The brave new world of Formula One,” Crofty’s voice comes out distorted from the circuit speakers. “Ten teams. Twenty cars. An auspicious new technical programme that combines the top edge AI technology with the most skilled drivers to deliver the best spectacle ever seen.”

-

In a dystopian near-future, Charles and Max drive for survival.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40704441#main

• Dystopian future, Sentient F1 cars, oppressive Regime, Hope, Angst, Falling in Love *13.2k

> Every Other Sunday + ♥️

The grainy pictures are pieced together like a crude comic strip, sketching a poorly thought-out narrative arc that somehow made it onto the front page of every sleazy newspaper.

EXPOSED!: The secret gay double-life of F1 driver Max Verstappen

-

Max navigates the aftermath of being outed in the press, and Charles is always there.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/34827223/chapters/86722561

• Slight Angst, Fluff, Smut, Max has been outed, Charles does some soul searching, Motorhome club, F1 family antics *34.5k

> Soak Up the Sun =

“What do you think?” Charles asks, leaning back into the seat as he turns the laptop so Max can see the options.

“I think—” Max starts, “—that this can wait until after FP1.”

Charles’s lips curl downwards, and Max wants to kiss the look off his face. “There’s still like an hour until it starts. There’s no one even looking for me yet.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Lestappen_Summer_Exchange_2022/works/40998603#main

• Fluff, Non-Linear timeline, Getting together *6.8k

> Like a Prayer =

It was sinful to have such thoughts but then Charles had never been one to shy away from sinful desires. Stood at the alter the priest looked glowing, his strong cheekbones and jawline illuminated by a wash of colour. Charles’ gaze followed the beams of light back to the stained glass, he tried not to think too long about the image of Christ etched on to the window. This was a sacred place, but there could be nothing more deserving of veneration than the God who had so kindly sculpted the body of Father Verstappen.

Or

Charles is an F1 driver and Max is a sexy priest.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44838136#main

• Smut, Religion, Priest!Max *3.2k

> We Go Way Back =

They were the same in the end. Yes, Max was an alpha, and Charles was an omega, but that didn’t matter. If you took racing from either of them, there wouldn’t be anything left.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43936200?view_adult=true#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, Smut, Fluff *13.8k

> Close Proximity =

A hotel mix-up forces Max and Charles to share a room. There is only one bed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44503150?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, One bed trope *3.5k

> Pens, fingers and most definitely cock ... a random list of things Max likes to put in his mouth =

Max has an oral fixation, Charles is happy to oblige. This is a story of their developing relationship as told through the things Max likes to put in his mouth!

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44205019#main

• Oral fixation kink, Smut, Fluff *2.7k

> FIA Approved Stress Relief =

It’s the strangest briefing Charles has ever been a part of. Ever. Which is saying something because this time last year he was sat wide eyed as the Fia tried to bring in mandatory checks for Fia approved underwear and intimate piercings. A few team principles had helpfully offered their services and it had ended in a rather heated debate over whether that fell under their job description.

It didn’t compare to this though.

As director of the GPDA it’s been left to George to run through the basics of the brand new Fia approved sex doll. Charles was sure he had misheard but no, as it turns out, the Fia really have lost their minds.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Formula_One_Kinkmeme_Round_One/works/44059752?view_adult=true#main

• Sex Doll, Smut, Pining, Voyeurism *2.3k

> Long Live (The Walls We Crashed Through) + ♥️

“What are you doing?” Charles asked, his voice cracking.

Max blinked at him once before he smirked and said, “Well... I was going to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?” Charles repeated, feeling like his legs were going to give out.

“Is that not a good enough reason?” Max asked.

OR: The childhood best friends to lovers fairy-tale-soulmates fic that nobody asked for. Charles has been in love with Max since he was seven years old.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46190509/chapters/116284681

• Fluff, Smut, Best friends to lovers, Slight Angst *76.8k

> Viva la Miami =

Max raced all over the world and was used to different climates. But there was something about Miami’s sticky, muggy, make-your-phone-screen-fog-up kind of scorching heat that made him feel fucking crazy.

It made him want to strip naked and jump in the bright blue water surrounding his hotel.

It made him want to fuck.

OR: Max and Charles hook up for the first time, and it's very different than what Max had pictured.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46963513#main

• Smut, PWP, Top!Charles *8.2k

> I’ll Be Right Beside You = ♥️

Max stared at Charles’ closed eyes and how they twitched in his sleep. Objectively, Max knew that Charles was probably the most beautiful man he had ever seen. But... this was Charles.

Charles Leclerc.

Big, cry-baby Charles.

Sauber #2 driver Charles.

When did he decide that Charles The Driver would become Charles The Boyfriend?

He wishes he could remember.

OR: The self-indulgent Amnesia AU that nobody asked for. This is my love story to Charles Leclerc, thank you for coming along. Warning: this fic may break you.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42990660#main

• Amnesia, Graphic Accident, Angst, Pain, Fluff, Smut *50.7k

> Breathe You In (Like a Vapor) =

OR: the self-indulgent story of how Charles and Max fell in love over winter break 2022, in a classic Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers fic that nobody asked for.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/45079192?view_adult=true#main

• Smut, Fluff, Falling in Love *53k

> And That’s How I Foksmashed Dad’s Championship Trophy =

All of that would have been forgivable if not for the Green-Eyed Monster’s complete disregard for the pre-contracted occupation rights of Max’s lap. Such rights had long been pre-determined and belonged to Sassy (and occasionally to Jimmy, she admitted begrudgingly). However, no amount of quiet hisses and vicious glares seemed to penetrate the creature’s thick skull, and he would greedily occupy Max’s thigh for more than 95% of any given afternoon. Sometimes with his head, sometimes with his feet, and a few times he even straddled his entire body over Max; the latter could not have been comfortable for Max, as the Green-Eyed Monster was enormously overweight compared to Sassy.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43833321#main

• Fluff, POV!Sassy and Jimmy, Funny *6.5k

> Set My Midnight Sorrow Free =

He doesn’t blame Max, not really.

If he could have Charles for one night, he would never let him go either.

Maybe he isn’t the one who is losing; Max is also playing a losing game.

You can’t open yourself to Charles and try to exist in his charmed life without becoming irrevocably enamoured.

When Max let Charles walk into his motorhome, when he let Charles slip into his existence, Max didn’t know it then but the battle was already lost.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/31552340#main

• Angst, POV!Pierre, Falling in Love, Jealousy/Pining *13.4k

> All of You, All of Me (Intertwined) =

Or, two future teammates get high, get on Mattia Binotto's wrong side through an inadvisable escapade involving fairy lights, get on a plane, and get a stuffed armadillo named Chax. In that order.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42627222#main

• Fluff, Slight Angst, FWB to Lovers, Future Red Bull!Charles *12.8k

> The Grid: A Comprehensive Guide for Handling your Gay Racer Friends =

Or, Charles and Max, and the handbook birthed from their idiocy. Featuring a large number of baked goods.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33291136#main

• Fluff, Humor, Friends *6.3k

> we're fallin' like the stars, we're fallin' in love = ♥️

"So, do we need a signal for when things are going downhill and you need me to save you?" He asks, a glimmer in his eyes that seems so unfamiliar yet familiar that Max feels it like a sucker punch to the stomach.

"Just have the vodka waiting." Max laughs, flicking his gaze down to the gentle grip that Charles has his wrist in before he releases and Max turns around with pink cheeks and crosses the restaurant to join up with his date once again.

(Lando sets Max up on disastrous blind dates that end up with Max falling for the bartender who was the real set up all along.)

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047056/chapters/66033652?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_668986186

• Fluff, Non-Driver AU, Blind dates, Bartender!Charles *8.7k

> Pick Apart the Pieces of Your Heart =

"I reckon-" George says in-between scenes, "- that Charles is Gatsby."

Lando tilts his head back to clock Max's reaction but it's nothing except confusion etched on his face as he scrunches his nose up trying to figure out what George means,

George holds his hand up and continues to explain, "Gatsby threw all these big parties in the hope that Daisy would go to one of them, right? Charles throws a party every other day and I think it's because he wants you to go." He says to Max

alternatively, Charles is Max's nightmare neighbour until he's something much more than that.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489348/chapters/61832617?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main

• Fluff, Angst, Non-Driver AU, Apartment neighbor AU *6.3k

> We’re Making Gold Dust = (Series)

They’re carefully walking, skipping and hauling themselves across any gaps. The morning air feels crisp and fills Charles’ lungs until it hurts, but god, it hurts in the best way that it’s ever hurt him before. He takes pictures, videos but tries to remember the feeling most of all.

It feels like home.

The best people, the best places, the height, the element of danger, it’s everything that Charles hadn’t imagined his life to be five years ago but maybe it’s right after all.

alternatively, a fascination discovered at fifteen leads to love, trust and healing whilst breaking the rules and climbing things that aren't supposed to be climbed.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374812#main

• Angst, Non-Driver AU, Parkour AU, Falling in Love *13k

> Two Burning Hearts (It Would Last Forever) =

In the end, it does turn out that your soulmate can be the person you least expect and neither of them don’t think it could have been anybody else.

alternatively, Charles and Max are soulmates and for the most part, they hate it but should have seen it coming.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363920#main

• Soulmate AU, Angst *2.5k

> All the Lights (Couldn’t Put Out the Dark) = (Series - The Warming Verse)

“Charles,” Max said, his tone soft again and breaking Charles of his thoughts. “Please just ask me for whatever you want to ask me. You don’t have to keep explaining yourself.”

Charles laughed again, his cheeks bright red.

“Could I... sit on your cock for a little bit?”

OR: Charles is overwhelmed and wants Max to make it better.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46165159#main

• PWP, Cock Warming, Feelings *7.5k

> The Right Place (The Right Time) = (Series - The Warming Verse)

“Charles,” Max said, his tone gentle.

Charles didn’t move his hands away from his face.

“Hey... look at me,” Max said softly.

Charles took a deep breath and finally let his hands fall.

Max looked at him for a long moment, their eyes locked together before he asked, “Would my cock help?”

OR: In the aftermath of the shit show that was Melbourne, Charles turns to Max for comfort.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46332700#main

• PWP, Cock Warming *9.7k

> Something New (Let’s Not Get Complicated) + (Series - The Warming Verse)

Max smiled at him, his expression soft despite how hard he was against Charles’ hip.

“Pretty boy,” Max mused, brushing Charles’ hair out of his eyes.

“Shut up,” Charles huffed, flushing bright red. It only made Max smile harder.

“You’re even prettier when you tell me to shut up.”

“Shut the hell up, Max,” Charles squeaked.

OR: Charles and Max finally talk about their Feelings™

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46896289/chapters/118129207#workskin

• PWP, Cock Warming, Size Kink, Dom/subspace, Daddy kink *31.7k

—Please note there may be more works in The Warming Verse, I may not be caught up***

> Fair Winds and Following Seas = ♥️

Max lets out an impatient sigh and looks at Lando as he washes the shot glass before putting it back. “Well who is it?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m delightful, now come on,” Max presses, trying not to show he’s getting curious. “Who is this mystery person?”

“Charles Leclerc!” Lando says with a bright smile, he’s almost jumping up and down with excitement. “He’s chartering the yacht for the week!”

“Charles Leclerc?” Max repeats, raising an eyebrow. “The Charles Leclerc, F1 driver for Ferrari, is here?”

Or

Max works on a super yacht during the summer to make some money to invest in his sim racing career and Charles happens to charter it for the week.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48088906/chapters/121258555?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_671144260

• Non Driver!Max, Yacht shenanigans, Fluff, Slight Angst, Mentions of Smut *24.8k

> Carry Me in Your Heart (You Know You’re Never Gonna Leave Mine) =

“You are the reason he started learning German?!” Lorenzo practically gasps, honest-to-god glee on his features. Charles hates him.

“But Max is Dutch,” Arthur says.

Charles groans, his hands trailing in front of his face in an effort to disappear from the situation.

-

AU where you can sometimes see through your soulmate's eyes.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/42022176?view_adult=true#main

• Soulmate!AU, Growing up together, Angst, Harsh breakup, Angst with a happy ending *30.2k

> No Brakes On = ♥️

Max is a race car driver. Charles is a movie star. They really shouldn't work, but they do.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/48170218#main

• Actor!Charles, Slight Angst, Character study, Fluff, Strangers to lovers *32.5k

> Lost In Your Current Like a Priceless Wine =

"What did you just say?" Max asks in a flat voice and Charles gives him a strained smile.

"I might have accidentally told my mom that I have a boyfriend and now she's demanding that I bring you home with me for the New Year. Actually, she said Christmas and New Year, but I told her that you were spending Christmas with your own family..."

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535271

• Fake dating, Non-Driver AU, College AU, Fluff, Slight Angst *10.2k

> You Got Me =

When Max looks up he stares into pretty green eyes behind black rimmed glasses. His hand is still blindly feeling around to find the books—his brain lagging—as he stares at the guy from last night. He straightens up and Max follows, staring dumbly as he holds out the books for Max to take.

“Thanks,” Max says, feeling like an idiot as he takes the books, their fingers brushing for a split second. This was not how he wanted to meet again. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

The guy smiles and Max thinks he might just die a little when he notices he has dimples. Of course he has dimples.

Or

Max falls head over heels for the cute guy at a college party and he can't stop thinking about him (aka the lestappen college au nobody needs).

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182076#main

• College AU, Fluff *16.6k

> This Feels Like Falling in Love =

Five kisses throughout their lives, and the one that started it all.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49162735/chapters/124043815?

• Podfic, 4+1 fic, Kid fic *3k

> Closest I Get = (Series)

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal or anything, right? It can be just about sex, nothing else.” Charles steps forward, into Max’s space. Reaches out a hand, lets it run over Max’s cheek, leans a little closer. “Just sex,” he whispers, in the ever diminishing space between them as Max leans into his touch.

“Fuck,” Max whispers, screwing his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his mouth. “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t-“

Charles cuts him off by lurching forward and pressing a kiss to Max’s mouth, quick and fleeting, but then Max groans, grabs Charles’s waist, pulls him closer, kisses him hard. Charles melts into it immediately, overwhelmed by Max’s scent, by his hands on Charles’s waist, his mouth on Charles’s.

It’s like something clicks into place, when they kiss.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49230871#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, PWP, Angst *4.8k

> Heart Held Close = (End of Series)

“Just sex,” Charles whispers in his ear, and he’s coming closer closer closer and Max is getting swallowed by the sun, Charles’s smell bright and enticing and all around him.

Max let’s out a heartfelt, “Fuck,” as he feels himself tipping forward ever so slightly, his rut dumb brain taking over, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that is still screaming at him that this is a terrible idea. “I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t-“ He tries, but it’s weak at best.

And then Charles kisses him, and it’s all over.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49276354#main

• A/B/O, Smut, Angst, Happy Ending *7.8k

> A Force More Powerful Than Gravity =

Charles studies goop in his lab. Goop is actually a very attractive alien.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49302043#main

• Non-Driver AU, Alien!Max, Scientist!Charles, Fluff, Slight Angst *4.5k

> Give Yourself Up To Me =

For the safety of his people, Crown Prince Charles is willing to do anything.

Anything.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49300402/chapters/124403428?

• Non-Driver AU, Royalty AU, Angst *1.5k

> Amazing Grace =

“I win!” Charles announces when he has Max pinned to the ground by his wrists, a wild grin on his lips. His chest is heaving, there’s some dirt on his cheek and in his hair, and Max can’t help but grin up at him.

“No you don’t,” He argues, mirth in his eyes. “You only win when you capture my sword!”

-

They're teenagers. And then they're not.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49325872/chapters/124469185?

• Non-Driver AU, Swordsmen AU, Angst *1.5k

> Red Bull’s Golden Puppy =

In a memory box tucked away deep in their minds, Charles, Max and Chloe Leclerc-Verstappen, share their biggest memories and photographs. Adopting a pet named after the original Red Bull golden boy Sebastian Vettel would soon join that club.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49313617#main

• Kid!fic, Future family, Established Relationship, Fluff *1.4k

> This Love Asylum =

“Are we still having dinner with your mother?,” Max asked, his arm still on Charles’s waist, Sebastian’s low whistle now hard to miss. “I didn’t know you went to dinner with the Leclercs.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I do! My mum told Pascale I was only having takeout when I’m here. It worries her, you know? So when we’re here, I’m supposed to have dinner with Charlie and his mum at least once a wee—ow! Hey!” Charles had elbowed Max, causing the latter the pout while another pout was already on Charles’s face.

“I didn’t know Sophie and Pascale were friends either,” Sebastian was having the time of his life and Max being oblivious about Charles’s whole situation was the icing on the proverbial cake.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49312864#main

• Fluff, Sebastian!POV *1.5k

> Dangerous Games =

Too late, Charles realises he’s been standing rooted in his spot, and Max looks over his shoulder, a questioning look on his face, “Is everything al—,”

“Suck my dick.” Charles blurts out.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. Charles’ cheeks are bright red. “What?”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LestappenWeekSummer2023/works/49276297#main

• Non-Driver AUCollege AU, Blowjob, Slight Smut *1.9k

> Eighteenth Summer =

Max wanted to burn it into his memory, engrave bits and pieces of it into each of his senses. The way the blue sky reflected off of Charles’s massive sunglasses, the smell of the hot asphalt mixing with Charles’s cologne, the nearly hysterical sound of their laughter as their playlist finally shuffled to Mr. Brightside; everything felt so precious. So fleeting. Moments memorialized on the 101 northbound, flying out of their open windows and away from his greedy fingers.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49253491/chapters/124280527?

• Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending, Summer in California, High School AU *5k

> Middle Child Syndrome +

After all, Charles being a middle child always made a lot of sense to Max.

Max’s unwillingness to deny Charles anything always made a little less sense to Max.

Standing on the third place podium beneath the Monegasque flag made a lot less sense to Max.

The fact that he wasn’t mad about it, a warm sense of acquiescence spurred by Charles’s smile, made it all click.

He was in love with Charles Leclerc, and he always had been.

Or: A small collection of memories leading up to a realization on the podium of Baku 2023

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46979311/chapters/118348648#workskin

• Fluff, Realization of Feelings *3.6k

> Rules of Engagement =

“Take me with you then!” Max felt his eyes go wide, his jaw literally dropping at the suggestion. “Tell them I’m like. Say I’m your fiancé, mate.”

The heat had melted Charles’s brain, Max decided, staring at him blankly.

“No.” He deadpanned.

“Mate it’s genius! You won’t have to do anything, just stand there. Let me handle it. Them. The women.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49006156#main

• Fake Relationship, Roommates, Non-Driver AU, Socially inept!Max *7.2k

> All the Stars We Cannot See = ♥️

Sitting on his roof, bathed in wintery silence, Max prayed to be rescued. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the force that branded his wrist, the universal power that decided who to tie him with forever. Perfectly. Something like fate.

Max prayed to fate, then.

“Am I interrupting something?” The man’s accent was French, his tone unusually assertive for a question of intrusion.

“It’s not my roof,” Max shrugged, hopping back onto the ledge.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182697/chapters/124096612?

• Soulmate AU, Non-Driver!Charles, Mentions of Child Abuse, Mentions of Sickness, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Happy Ending *9.8k

> Lie to Me =

5 times they told the truth + 1 time they tried to lie

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49206214?view_adult=true#main

• Soulmates AU, Angst, Smut *5.3k

> Shut Up and Drive +

Max pointed at Charles’ bags. ‘Is this all you're bringing or will there be more?’

Oh so he was making fun of him now, well Charles could do the same. ‘You mean more than the four white t-shirts you brought?’

Max blinked at him for a couple of seconds before his entire face lit up and he giggled. He giggled.

‘Good one, and I actually brought five t-shirts,’ Max replied, still smiling.

Was he serious? Charles hoped not.

OR: Charles and Max are 'forced' to go on a road trip together, whatever could go wrong?

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49181029/chapters/124092070#workskin

• Road-trip, One bed trope, Enemies to Lovers, WIP *

> Partiality =

“Okay, this is—,” Max stops himself. His eyebrows knit together and he’s obviously frustrated with something. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” He says slowly, when he gathers his thoughts. “But I’m not going to force you to treat me like your—,” Max makes a face. “Your alpha.”

Charles coughs. “But… You are.” He points out.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49230259?view_adult=true#main

• A/B/O, Alpha!Max, Omega!Charles, Fluff *2.4k

> You Went, and It Was Night =

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Max says suddenly. His voice sounds husky, used, wrecked. It sends a shiver down Charles’ spine. He did that. “You’re being very loud.”

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49182070/chapters/124095055?

• Slight Angst, Fluff, Charles is thinking *900 words

> Sort You Out (Heart Out Series) =

Charles can't tell which is worse — that he can't remember the sex he had with his childhood rival, or how according to her, it wasn't even good.

!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49340395/chapters/124508077?

• Girl!Max, Pining Charles, Slight smut *6.3k

Here are some of the best authors in the Lestappen field. Please go follow and send them some love!! They are doing the Lord’s work!!!!!!

@nyoomfruits (nyoomfruits on Ao3)

@drivestraight (Linearity on Ao3)

@fabbyf1 (Fabby on Ao3)

@charlescoded (lazarusgreeneyes on Ao3)

@fueledbyremembering (NovaCloud on Ao3)

@wanderingblindly (Wanderingblindly on Ao3)

@hoewedeshummels (Monzas on Ao3)

-Only Ao3 username is known-

Actparci

Anney

*Authors, if you want to be untagged, or you want your fics pulled from the list, shoot me a dm :)