#Spinning Machine Spare Parts

[jesuistrestriste]

sage. my flight got delayed AGAIN. i’m not getting back to school til late, i have an assignment due tomorrow i haven’t finished…may i please request some Mickey 17 stuff? smut or fluff or angst idc i miss that little guy:(

⭑.ᐟ cw (18+) : dry humping, tiny bit of fluff —

mickey’s body is a mess.

he’s just been reprinted for the twelfth time, his limbs slimy and his blood whooshing erratically through his veins as he’s sat up on the cold table. the familiar scientists poke and prod at his skin while they scribble hurried little notes in their pads of paper. his head spins badly whenever he gets propped up fresh out of the machine, but he still manages to immediately think of you.

where you’re at right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

he can’t do anything until the people in the lab are ready to let him go though, releasing him until the next agonizing experiment needs his lungs or his heart or his brain. sometimes it’s funny because they’re ready to kick him out the door before his legs are ready to be used, like a mother bird kicking her baby out of the nest before its ready to fledge. regardless, they’re usually pretty quick about finishing their post-printing examinations. and he can use the spare minutes while they’re working on him to think about what he’s gonna do when he finally gets to see you again.

the sting of his new cells adjusting to the atmosphere is drowned out by thoughts of pressing his lips to yours, trying out one of the stupid sex positions you and him made up on one of the tablets, running his hands over your warm flesh. he sighs.

one time—a few bodies ago—you had sucked him off when it had only been about 30 minutes since the reprinting, and you’d told him that his come tasted like plastic and sterilized metal. (which was weird because his body was supposed to be biologically the same as the last, so shouldn’t he have tasted normal? whatever. didn’t matter. you had swallowed. you had licked the rest of it into his mouth afterwards. it did taste artificial.)

the people surrounding him eventually scampered off and he assumed his freedom, got dressed, and slinked off and out. he walked through the hallways and listened to the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the flooring. climbed the stairs to the rooms, then slid open your door to find you laid on your bed. his chest sags with relief.

you smile at him. god, that smile. he can’t help but shut the door in a hasty effort and crawl up on top of you. your guys’ dark colored jumpsuits slide together. its only a tiny spark of friction, but its enough.

his body is always extra sensitive after coming out of the machine; he always feels like a virgin again, not that he’s had much sex in general. he feels your hand over his hip, and he shudders.

“mmgh,” he breathes into your neck, stiff and shaky, “i missed you.”

“missed you too. it’s only been a day and a half, but i really, really missed you,” you whisper against his jaw.

he loves how you can be just as clingy as him sometimes. you even beat him at his own game on occasion, sticking to his side like a glob of glue, but he blames the fact that you only get to see him during select parts of the day. with your duties and his expendable work.. it’s tough. you both take what you can get, and as much of it as you’re allowed. and that usually also means getting handsy as soon as you’re together.

you feel him rock down against your thigh involuntarily, reflexively, chasing a brewing feeling in his stomach. your fingers run through his brown hair, and you bite your lip when it elicits a whimper from him.

“already, mick?” you hum teasingly, the tips of your digits scratching the back of his scalp, just the way he likes it, “don’t you wanna go down and eat first?”

he chokes around a moan when he starts to hump the most perfect spot on your leg, just enough muscle there to give him something to work against. his hands find fabric of your suit, slipping under your back next as he keens. he feels a rush of warmth coat his cock, and then he feels a dribble of something start to leak from his tip.

“don’t wanna eat.. not really hungry..” he gasps, his brow pinched up now in the shadows of the crook of your body, “this.. you.. this feels so good, i don’t wanna stop..”

you tilt your head slightly and then lift your leg under him to press it further against his bulging crotch. a sharp cry spills from his lips. you pet his hair again. he’s like a puppy sometimes—a needy, possessive dog that looks up to you like you’re something to be worshipped. you can’t get enough.

“okay, well, i snuck you some food anyways, its in my—“

mickey cuts you off, crashing his lips to yours with a hunger that’s almost unlike him. he usually wants you to lead (much preferring following your directions). his tongue seeks yours desperately, flattening over your own once he gets access. you have to swallow down all the little noises he’s making as he starts to thrust his clothed appendage against your body quicker. the movement of his snapping hips is building a warmth between all of the layers.. you wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he burned a hole right through with all the rubbing he’s doing. you lovingly slide a hand over his lower back in an attempt to soothe his frantic movements, but it doesn’t quite work. he breaks from the kiss, body jolting, to look down to your face and hiccup. expression all crumpled and contorted and flushed with an orgasm that he’s almost got clutched in the palm of his hand. eyes glazed over and jaw slacked like he’s high on pure oxy from timo. just a disaster of a man. and to think—a hunk of machinery and a brick of his memories brought him back to life less than an hour ago. birthed him, really. everything about him in this moment is so primal. you can’t shake the need to mark your territory, just in case he’s forgotten somehow.

“easy, easy.. you’re all mine for the rest of the night anyways.. i don’t care what they want, they’re not taking you from me tonight..”

and that’s all it takes.

just those sweet, possessive words pouring like thick honey into his ears, and then he’s gone. easy as that.

his eyes roll back, his head drops to your shoulder, his length spasms in his new underwear, then he’s coming. it happens as quick as you can blink.

“aah! im.. im—!”

he heaves through the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that bloom and spread throughout his nervous system, rendering him a trembling heap on top of you. if it weren’t for the remaining strength in his biceps, he’d collapse and probably fall like dead weight over your chest. he gives a few more shaky rolls of his hips as he rides out the prickling aftershocks of overstimulation. “f-fuck, ohh, ngh..”

then he really does slump over you. lowering himself slowly over your frame so as to not crush you. there’s something tender about the way he moves to ensure your comfort, even when he’s so wrecked, and it makes you instinctively wrap your arms around him. he sniffles while he catches his breath.

“s-sssorry,” the word broken up lazily as he struggles to bring himself back to the reality of your touch, “mmn.. jus’ felt so good, and you smell so nice, and i just couldn’t..” he trails off, shaking his head as he feels his body begin to overheat.

a little laugh bubbles up and out at his incoherency. then your hand over his upper back snakes down to playfully squeeze his rear. he sucks in a gasp and then chuckles into your skin as he squirms.

“s’fine, i like watching you finish like that.”

he chews the inside of his cheek like gum. you can almost feel his lashes flutter against your pulse point.

“felt like i wasn’t myself for a second..”

it’s a joke, one twinged with a bit of shame and guilt, you know that, but it doesn’t feel like one. each time he gets reprinted, a part of him changes—gets stripped away and plastered over with something new. you don’t always mind, but it does make you question which mickey you’ll get next time. will he be soft and kind? blunt and impulsive?

at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t matter much.

“you’ll always be my mickey.”

he lets out a weighted sigh of relief for the second time in the past thirty minutes since he’s been back in your presence, and it’s almost like you can feel the very last of the tension drain from his pores. he only whispers two more words against your ear before he finds his own hands wandering your body, eager to reciprocate and prove that he’s still useful. he owes it to you for loving him through it all.

“yeah.. yours.”

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Your ringtone interrupts the thoughts you were just trying not to think about how it might be to fuck someone (something?) that your nervous system can't seem to distinguish from a charging grizzly.

"How the hell should I know, Toji?" You mumble into the phone wedged between cheek and shoulder as you tamp grounds for your espresso. Although you're annoyed that you're suddenly expected to answer for your big brother's friend sukuna when he fails to check in. "You want me to wake him up?" You scoff. "Not. Happening." The line goes silent as the espresso machine hums to life.

"Sooner I talk to him the sooner he's out." Toji says. Magic words.

Of course that freak would choose a room adjacent to yours to spend the night in. "Can't believe I'm doing this," you whisper into the phone as the door creaks obnoxiously on its hinges. That's fine, you'd like to be as far away from him as possible when he wakes up. "Hey!" You shout. As your eyes adjust to the dark you can make out the steady rise and fall of his massive chest. "Sukuna!" You shout. It is impossible to tell whether or not any of his eyes are open.

Against your better judgement, you step into the dark. "Hey, Toji needs to talk to you," you're saying, reaching out with trembling fingers to tap his shoulder. Before your fingertips make contact with his skin, the world spins and you find yourself crushed underneath the feverish weight of him.

The ease with which he pins you down, clamps a hand over your mouth, and holds the phone to his ear with hands to spare has you fuming and shouting muffled protests into his palm. He hardly seems to notice your struggling as he growls into the phone. When he flicks away an errant bead of water from his brow you notice that his skin and hair are damp. From the shower, judging by the smell of him. You realize he never was asleep, as your eyes trace the tattooed lines of his bare chest to land on the alarmingly small towel knotted around his waist.

The sudden realization that he's practically naked has your heart thundering in your ears loud enough to drown out any coherent thoughts. By the time you drag your eyes back to meet his, you find him looking at you like you're something to eat. Having finished what seemed to be a mostly one sided conversation, he releases your face and arms, but plants his hands on either side of you. "Couldn't stay away?" He says, leaning in. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Evidently, Sukuna interprets your speechlessness as an invitation and fastens his mouth to yours for the second time in less than twenty four hours. You find yourself thinking strange thoughts behind your closed eyes. Thoughts about how you're glad you brushed your teeth and how it's odd such a creature seems to enjoy kissing so much. Odd that he's so good at it, you're thinking as his tongue glides over yours.

You didn't mean to moan into his mouth, but it's beyond your control, really, when his teeth tug at your lip like that, when two of his massive hands grasp your waist, another tugs at your hair, and yet another wraps gently around your throat. When your hands trace the dips of his abdomen only to touch something warm and wet, you think, dazedly: oh, that's right, there's another tongue down there. Your thoughts only get stranger from there. Down there. Right where you are beginning to urgently need some part of him or another. You are rapidly becoming less picky.

There is so much to feel that your brain is incapable of sound judgement. You would never consciously choose this. That's what you tell yourself, after. After he peels away from you, laughing as you gasp at the loss of him. "Thought you didn't like me," he says, standing with his back to you, and drops that little towel before you truly have the chance to look away. At least his ass is... normal, you note.

"I don't," you spit back as you search for your discarded phone in his bedding. "Can't fucking stand you," you mutter, but he doesn't hear you. He is already dressed and gone, presumably to wherever Toji needed him to be. Maybe he won't come back, you think, even as you look around the spare room for evidence to the contrary and try to ignore the ache between your legs.

a/n: Thank you guys for showing an interest in this fic. Appreciate you all! It's super nice reading all your comments although I am not the best at responding lol. I will keep the taglist open for now, so some will be tagged in a separate post, just fyi. ♡

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler ; @maybe-a-bi-witch ; @cairo-morningstar ; @rawwrrgal ; @sukubusss ; @raedollsstuff ; @expiredbred ; @ieathairs ; @frieddelusionparadise ; @hishearttohave ; @vellichor01 ; @mimiluvzu2 ; @lem-hhn ; @msrr-ws ; @paradisestarfishh ; @yuj111tadori ; @iminlovewqr0w ; @linaaeatsfamilies ; @samisfunky ; @noyaskneepad ; @shxyxyxxxx ; @00frenchfries00 ; @chubbyblckgirl ; @mysticranger575 ; @waterfal-ling ; @chiizuyu ; @contaminatedcupcake ; @littlesnoopy ; @dizzydotjpeg ; @sugufushi ; @missbunnybunny ; @go-go-gadget-autism ; @grapelover2000 ; @mmeerraa ; @tsukikoxo ; @slqttttt ; @akumazwrld ; @christiannugget ; @zlimeyzenin ; @gradmacoco ; @beantokki ; @indispensablephantompower ; @phoenixflames498 ; @princesssukunalover ; @jinxiewritings ; @skyler-luvs-slimshady ; @airandyeah ;

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller Au pt 5

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. AU masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 6 is here!

This is kinda long so bring your snacks along.

Baldwin and a woman- kissing.

You were in your room right now, fiddling with your time machine now that you had one tool to pry it open. Just 20 minutes ago, you had witnessed Baldwin and some girl kissing, and very swiftly you, turned and left the scene before either of them could notice you. You dont need to meddle in their business- why should you?

Its not like I actually want to stay here and confront him if he really did betray his future wife.

Someone knocked quickly on your door before entering in.

"Y/n!" Baldwin beamed as he ran towards you and picked you up, spinning you around. "Princess! I missed you!" He exclaimed, putting you down and kissing your forehead. Though he still kissed you with the same intensity as ever, you didnt feel the warmth as you usually did.

"Hello." You said monotonously, it was the best you could do to keep your voice stable. Baldwin, still in a daze, cupped your face in his hands and gazed lovingly at you.

"You are a sight for sore eyes." Shut up.

You looked away as Baldwin continued to stare into your soul. "So... how was your trip? Tell me all about it!" He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you further to him.

"It was fine." You replied, looking at the collar of his shirt. You refuse to look up into his eyes, lest you lose control of your temper. "Just fine? What about your family? Did you find them?" His voice held genuine concern.

You hummed, still not looking up. "I have found some clues, but I will need to go there again to find more."

Baldwin pouted. "Again? No. Being away from you for just 1 week already felt like a lifetime!" Oh I bet. Thats why you couldnt stop yourself from kissing some whor-

"I need to go, Baldwin. Its important for me to find them." You said with the same serious tone, and it didnt go unnoticed by him this time.

He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" You tried to pull away, but his arms held you firmly. His eyes studied you again, and he wasn't convinced.

"Princess, tell me whats bothering you." You. You are bothering me.

As much as you wanted to say that, you didnt. Cheater or not, he still is the king.

Finally, you gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just- tired from the travelling." He sighed in relief, using the back of his hand to caress the side of your face. "Oh, I bet you are darling. Why dont you take a nap now and I'll come fetch you for dinner?"

-

Baldwin threw you a feast on your return. Even though you had no appetite, you still joined him because you cant completely ignore him without raising suspicion. So, for now, you'll bide your time. You'll play the fool.

It just didnt make any sense. Why- why was he trying so hard to be affectionate with you? Why he wanted to marry you when he was interested in someone else? And before anyone says that maybe he's not that into her- um, back in this era, when everyone was conservative, even Baldwin was religious, he wouldn't just kiss any girl out of wedlock unless he was absolutely sure he was going to marry her.

"Y/n?" You looked up from your plate at Sibylla. Baldwin had invited his sister and Guy to celebrate your return. "Tell us, how was Egypt?"

You could feel Baldwin's eyes on you, but you didnt look his way. "It was good. Salauddin was a very good host, he had arranged for me to see the pyramids."

"Ah, how kind of Salauddin. I'll be sure to write him a letter and send him some gifts. What do you think, princess?" Baldwin offered, but you only gave a small hum and barely spared a glance his way before continuing to talk with Sibylla.

"My king, I do not think it would be wise to do that. The Muslims are our enemies-" Guy interjected but Baldwin shot him down with a look. Baldwin didnt even have to glare at Guy to intimidate him.

"I have brought some souvenirs for you. They're in my room- I'll show them to you later." You smiled at Sibylla who beamed back.

Dinner was mostly uneventful, or until dessert was served and Guy began choking on blueberry. "Guy!" Sibylla cried out as her husband began thrashing about from the lack of air. The servants tried to help him, slapping his back and all, but really what could they do.

Serves him right for trying to eat and start a propaganda against Muslims again. But alas, you needed Guy alive if you wanted to bring the downfall of Baldwin and Jerusalem, just as history had it.

So you walked over and pushed everyone away before performing Heimlich manoeuvre. It took a few minutes but the blueberry finally dislodged itself from his wind pipe and out.

"Oh! Guy-!" Sibylla rubbed his back as he coughed while a servant passed him some water. She smiled at you gratefully. "You saved him, Y/n! Thank you! You really are an angel!" Guy finally recovering from his coughing fit, pushed Sibylla's hands away and glared at you.

"She did not save me- I was not dying-!" He argued, but before Baldwin could defend you, you replied nonchalantly.

"I agree. You werent dying. This was just God's way of telling you to shut up sometimes. Hallelujah!" Baldwin had to cover up his laugh as everyone in the room automatically said "Hallelujah", not giving Guy a chance to retaliate.

Baldwin's eyes sparkled with amusement as he found you smirking.

You're a clever one.

-

Baldwin came to fetch you for breakfast the next day. He came to your room last night, just minutes after Sibylla had left, but one of your maids informed him that you had already went to sleep. Slightly odd, as the king would always wish you good night before you slept, but he suppose you were tuckered out from your long journey.

However, he was dumbfounded when he saw all your maids standing outside your room, whispering amongst each other.

"What is going on? Why are you not with the princess?" Baldwin asked, quickly waving them off as they bowed.

"Your majesty, the princess- um she has started her bloody flux."

"Her WHAT?!"

"Her monthly cycle." Oh. Periods. Baldwin sighed. He thought some terrible accident had occurred.

Then again, periods in medieval times were not a good news either. Sure, they did indicate fertility and all, but woman were still shamed about it, especially religiously. Some people believed that cramps and bleeding were a punishment for Eve's original sin. Others even believed that since one is bleeding for such a long time, then that person is "sick" and could transfer this "disease" to those in contact or even near mensturating women. A small minority even thought that this monthly flow was some sort of sorcery or curse that could ruin entire crop fields. Add on to that the lack of sanitary pads/tampons and no ibuprofen, and you get what would be a terrible time for women.

"Please inform the princess that I'm here-"

The maids shared a look. "Your majesty, it is not advisable to be near the princess when she is sick-"

"Inform the princess. Now." The maid's heart almost dropped at his tone, before following his order. Moments later, she returned looking even more nervous than before.

"Y-your majesty, the princess insists that she will see you herself when she is feeling better, for now she would like to rest." Baldwin frowned. Just how unwell were you? Are you- are you really that unwell or do you just not want to see him?

No. You wouldnt avoid him like this. He hasnt done anything wrong.

Baldwin looked at the maids again, who were waiting with bated breath. "Bring herbal medicines for the princess. Ensure the best care for her. Every need must be met." The consequences of not following his order didnt need to be voiced.

-

You returned back to tinkering with your time machine when you heard his retreating steps. Were you on your period? Yes. Were you so sick that you did not want to even look at Baldwin? No, but then again, your cramps hit worse on day 2 and your ibuprofen was burned away with your clothes.

Then again, PMS-ing or "working on your time machine" wasnt the real reason you refused to meet Baldwin. It did contribute to it, but deep down you knew you were still bothered by the fact that he kissed that woman.

You dropped your time machine on the bed exasperatedly. Clearly, you werent going to be able to focus on this as long as you didnt confront your feelings about the kissing. So, you became your own unpaid therapist.

First of all, was it really cheating? It was just a kiss- nope. You shook your head, deciding. It so was cheating! Especially considering the time period and how conservative everyone was.

Alright. Next question- was it intentional? You closed your eyes, trying to come up with excuses. Maybe he was drunk? No. Baldwin never gets that drunk, and even drunk, you highly doubt he's one to go for day time drinking. Perhaps that lady initiated the kiss? Yeah, thats possible. She kissed him, but- your lips pulled into a scowl as you recalled the sight. He didnt push her back for a good few seconds. Of course, you didnt stick around for long to see if he did, but still, Baldwin should've pushed her back. Maybe he had his back turned and she caught him by surprise- you sighed. No way. Baldwin's reflexes were too fast, to the point you think he probably has a sixth sense. He wouldn't have been caught off guard, or even let anyone get this close to him.

You rolled your eyes. Intentional or not, at the end of the day, the fact is that Baldwin didnt immediately push her away and smack her down on the ground.

On to the next query- who the hell was that lady? Because nobody would just go up to the king and kiss him, especially when said king made sure to announce his engagement to the entire world. So, she planned it. Yes, no one would dare to do that unless they knew they could get away with it. So maybe she's someone Baldwin knows. Personally. Maybe a childhood friend? An old bethrothed? Or his favourite whore because Baldwin isnt as innocent as he seems and decided to have a bachelor party while you were away?

And finally, the burning question- why did it bother me who he was locking lips with? You crossed your arms against your chest defensively. Why did it bother me so deeply? Was I jealou- You scoffed. No. Definitely not. Okay, maybe I am a little jealous. And who wouldn't be? Anyone in my shoes would understand. Perhaps I enjoyed his attention, its human nature. Normal psychology... yeah. Even if I wasn't going to return his affections ever, even if I never intended to marry Baldwin, of course I would still expect him to be loyal, He didn't know I was going to leave him! He shouldn't be kissing other women! He should've stayed loyal, stayed true to me, his fiancee!

You exhaled sharply, brows furrowing the more you thought about his betrayal. It was understandable for me to be pissed. Why? Because of Baldwin and his stupid lovey dovey words and his disgusting forehead kisses and his dumb big blue eyes that made me believe him.

And even if he didnt actually love you, you thought that at the very least- he liked you, especially when you had literally saved his fucking life.

Your nostrils flared. "Jerk." You whispered to yourself.

A knock came on your door.

It was one of the maids, bringing in something on a tray.

"His Majesty has sent some herbal medicines for you." You were a little surprised at the gesture, not because Baldwin did it. Ugh. No, you were surprised because in medieval times, people often withheld herbal medicines or anything that would relieve period pain purely because many believed that this pain was the punishment of Eve's original sin for all womankind. So- considering Jerusalem's religous history, you were surprised at the gesture.

"I have also brought in more cloth rags for you. Would you like me to help you change-" "No!" You said abruptly, heat rising to your cheek. Yes, you were using linen rags because you didnt have any pads with you. Of course, earlier you had futuristic gadgets and medicines to deal with this situation, but with all of them burned to ashes, you had no choice.

"Oh. My apologies princess. I thought you'd like some privacy so I excused protocol, but I can have your ladies in waiting come and assist you-" "Please stop talking." You begged. "Its... fine. I can do it myself. Please leave the rags in my cupboard. And um-" You fiddled with your hands, trying to gather the words to voice your next request.

The sweet old lady smiled kindly at you. "Yes, princess?"

You looked down, cheeks flushing. "Can you... get me some more soap? And um, thicker rags?"

"Soap? Oh, I'll have the bath prepared right away-"

"No, not body soap. Soap for... washing my clothes." The maid nodded understandingly. "You can give me your stained clothes, princess. I'll wash them myself."

"Im sorry-" She waved you off. "No worries. I should've asked. Its just- woman here usually dont have heavy flows. I'll arrange more rags. If you dont mind me asking, how long does your flow last?"

"Sev-" You were going to say seven days but then realised the more days you added, the less you'll have to see Baldwin, or anyone else really and that will buy you more time to work on your machine. "Ten, sometimes twelve days."

The kind lady's eyes bulged a little. "I-! My apologies, princess! I- I was just caught off guard. Its um- well, its just girls here get shorter flows. The longest I heard was 5 days." Of course, in medieval times, menstrual cycles were shorter due to poor diet and more frequent child bearing.

"10 to 12 days... princess, I apologise for asking this, but have you considered that you might be bleeding excessively because of a disease? Shall I fetch a physician?" She asked with concern.

You shook your head. "No. I have always gotten them this long and I had myself checked by a physician. She said its normal, especially where I'm from." The maid nodded, satisfied that you're not bleeding to death.

-

Baldwin was in his study, working on some official documents when your maid knocked on his door.

"Your Majesty." She bowed gracefully as Baldwin smiled at her, standing from his seat to walk up to her, embracing her in a warm hug.

"Lady Margaret, how are you?" Lady Margaret used to be his royal nanny for a long while and took care of him even when he had contracted leprosy. She was practically a mother figure to him, especially when his own mother died. When Baldwin became engaged to you, he had asked her to be your senior lady in waiting, which will be her official title once you are wed to him. For now, she is your head maid. Baldwin trusted her the most with you. She had a comforting presence, and he was sure that while she took care of you, you would also find comfort in her the same way he used to.

"I'm good, your majesty." She smiled softly. "I just served the princess lunch."

"Hm, and how is the princess now?" The concern in his voice warmed her heart.

"The princess is well now. She's resting at the moment, though I feel a little concerned."

His heart skipped a beat. "Why?"

"Princess Y/n told me about her cycle time." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "It seems that she will suffer through this- diseased period longer than most others."

"How long?"

"Ten or twelve days." His eyes went saucer wide. From what he's heard, the normal duration is often 2 or 3 days, maybe 5 for some. But this?

"Summon the physici-" "I offered, your majesty. But she insists that she already had herself checked and that this is her normal cycle." Lady Margaret informed him, before continuing on to ease his worries. "She seems very knowledgeable about her body, and she is handling it pretty well for now."

"For now?" She nodded. "Of course, only time can tell if the pain increases in its intensity. All we can do is offer our help and pray that this bloody flux passes smoothly and swiftly."

Baldwin pondered over her words for a moment, his brows still furrowed slightly before he finally spoke again. "Please summon the royal physician. I would like to talk to him." He ordered before leaving his study to go to the royal library.

-

The next day, as expected your cramps hit. You had no plans to move an inch today, tossing and turning as you clutched your abdomen, eyes screwed shut in pain.

Somebody knocked on your door. Its likely one of the maids, probably to bring you food or something.

"What?" You called out, pulling the covers over your head. You're in no mood to interact with anyone. You heard the door open and footsteps entering. You exhaled, barely suppressing the painful groan. "Please can you go right now and get me some of the herbal medicines you had given me yesterday- and no, no food. I'm too nauseous."

You heard the person clear their throat, making you frown. Why haven't they left? Oh, please this better be not some "royal protocol" shit where they withhold the drugs from you.

You whipped the blanket off you, eyes still closed as you raged off. "Unless you want me to continue to feel like I have a iron poker stuck up in my spine while my soul leaves me from my feet, you will get me those herb-" you stopped as you opened your eyes to see-

"Baldwin?" He stood there with worry spread across his face.

"Is it... really that bad?" He asks in a low volume, as if afraid that noise would hurt you. In his hands, he held a tray that had a bowl. Walking up to your side, he set the tray on your side table, and thats when you saw the bowl of soup on it.

"Why are you- you're not supposed to be in here." You informed him. "I'm sick-"

"I know." Baldwin began sitting down on your bed, making you scoot back to give him space. He scanned your face briefly, making note of the tired eyes. He raised his hand to touch your forhead, but you turned your face away, making him halt. Why... were you avoiding his touch?

"Princess?" He called you, but you didnt turn to look at him opting to answer by keeping your eyes fixed on your fingers fiddling with the covers. "I'm not well- you shouldnt be near me, or you'll risk getting sick-"

"I'll take the risk." He announced as his hand found its way to your forehead first, and then caressed your cheek. "You took the risk for me too, remember?"

I did. You stared at him. And for what, you prick?

Taking your silence as a sign, Baldwin picked up the bowl of soup and brought the spoon up to your lips.

"I'm not hungry."

"I know, but this will help with the pain and nausea. I promise." He gently nudged the spoon against your lips again, and you parted your lips as the aroma of rosemary and oregano hit your nose.

The soup tasted good and you wouldn't admit it out loud, but it did warm your soul as it slid down your throat. It was earthy and creamy, and just what your cramping body needed.

"Its nice, hm?" He asked, smiling as you gave him a single nod. "I had the kitchen make it with my own recipe."

"Your recipe?"

"Well, I told them about what ingredients to add, ones that would be beneficial for your body and soothe some of your ache. They had to tweak it a bit to make it palatable." Baldwin explained. "And how did you know what ingredients to add?" You interrogated. Did he make it for his lover? Or stole the recipe from her?

"Oh, I just researched it." "Researched?" He nodded, feeding you another spoon. "I read some books."

You couldn't help but scoff. "So what? You're an expert on periods now?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scooped up some more soup to feed you. "Of course not! I cant be an expert by spending after only researching for a day. Sure, I summoned the royal physicians to educate me more on the topic but I dont think he knows much."

He spent a whole day... reading about periods? You turned your gaze away from him, choosing to focus on the wall behind him instead. "That's obvious. Just how much could a man know about the female body?"

Baldwin's eyes twinkled. "Exactly my thoughts, princess." He fed you another spoon. "That's why I'm having a royal body of physicians solely focused on studying the female body and affect of medicine built. It will consist of the best physicians, both men and women, from around the world study and work on the diseases concerning the female body. I'll fund it personally."

"What? Why?"

He looked at you dumbfounded. "Obviously for the same reason you said. Currently not much is known about a woman's body, so why not? I don't want you to be suffering again because of my lack of knowledge. I truly do feel helpless when I see you in pain." He confessed sadly.

Liar.

He set the empty bowl to the side before taking your right hand in both of his. "Please, let me know how can I help you? My love, my beautiful princess, it hurts me to see you in this torment." Baldwin said as he kissed the back of your hand gently.

You stared at his face, at those blue eyes of his. How can he- how can he lie with such conviction?

You pulled your hand away from him, looking away (which now that you think about- why am I avoiding his eyes? I didnt do anything wrong!).

"I wish to be alone, Baldwin."

In your peripheral vision, you could see the way his face dropped, and though you should've felt delighted, you felt rather awful- as if you had hurt a child.

It only made things worse when he whispered. "But... why?"

Still avoiding his eyes, you replied. "I- I adjust better to this- this state when I'm alone. I just need to rest, that's all. Some peace and quiet." You convinced yourself that you only explained to him just to get him to leave.

Had you looked at him, you would've seen the sorrow on his face.

"O-of course, princess. As you wish."

He left.

-

The next 3 days were uneventful for you, mostly because you didnt leave your room and- Baldwin didnt return to disturb you.

Which is good. You though to yourself, because it finally gave you enough time to not only work on your time machine but also work on your plan to right the timeline as it should be.

Which is why, today you had decided to leave your room. Of course it helped that Lady Margaret had brought in cotton for you to make a DIY sanitary napkin.

"Where did you get this?" You don't recall cotton being grown easily in cooler climates.

Lady Margaret smiled as she made your bed. "His Majesty had it imported from Sicily."

Your eyes went wide. "How? Sicily is- thats far away!" She chuckled at you shock. "Yes, but I think this sicilian cotton had made its way to Egypt, and perhaps His Majesty acquired it from Sultan Salauddin."

You looked at the large amount of cotton packed into bags in your room. "He bought this much?" Lady Margaret followed your gaze to the pile sitting in the corner, and mistook your surprise for disappointment.

"No, dont worry princess. King Baldwin had bought bales of cotton! They're stored away for future use." Your jaw dropped.

Bales? Baldwin ordered BALES OF COTTON?! You gasped internally. If he had THAT much cotton imported from Egypt, Salauddin surely would've asked for the reason because he would suspect that Baldwin is planning to use it for military strategy or attack. But you know Baldwin, his dumbass would've spilled to Salauddin, his off field bestie who he confides in about everything, about your periods.

You want to crawl into a hole in ground and die. Right now.

But... you fucked up history, so dying of embarrassment will have to wait.

"Lady Margaret, I need some fresh air so I'll be either taking a walk in the garden or you'll find me in the royal library ." You said, adjusting your clothes in front of the mirror. "Please make sure that neither my maids nor my knights are to follow me. I- I need some time to breathe or I will lose my mind if I feel anyone breathe down my neck about some royal protocol. I'll be back before lunch." You left before she could protest, though you doubt she will when she saw how agitated you were.

You had walked towards the west hall where you were hoping to find that big headed buffoon-

You heard his obnoxious laughter before you saw him.

Guy was standing in the middle of the hall, looking ugly as hell as he smirked at some poor maid struggling to break free from his grasp.

"Oh come on, you wench, give me a kiss-"

"Guy, let her go." Startling him, the maid took the chance and ran off. Guy turned around, glaring when he saw you. "What do you want?" He grumbled, running a hand through his hair frustratedly, looking back to see if the maid was still there or not.

"Quit it." You scolded him, before walking towards an empty room, nodding at him to get in. He grinned as you strode in. "Ah, so you're jealous? Well dont you worry darling, I can give you a kiss to-"

"I would rather burn myself alive and be crucifed than even be rumoured that you dared to touch me with your disgusting paws." You remarked, walking away from him to create distance between you two. "I have a proposal for you that would interest you."

Guy grumbling, sat down on a chair and looked at you expectantly.

"I have a plan to make you king." His eyes went wide.

"I- I- what?!" He stood up. "I dont want- this is treason!" He yelled, pulling out his sword and aiming at you. You stood steadfast, unaffected. "And this isnt? If you kill me, who do you think will end up in the dungeons?" You sighed. "Put it away, Guy, before you embarrass yourself any further."

You began explaining your plan. "You and I both know you were just waiting for Baldwin to roll over and die when he had leprosy. I know you want to be king, and... I can help you with that."

He stared at you, trying to figure out if this is a trap. "I... I deserve to be king. I was promised the throne. Thats why I married Sibylla!" He complained. Honestly, what the fuck does Sibylla see in this piece of cow dung?

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you continued. "I agree, thats why we should make an alliance-"

He scoffed. "An alliance? With you?" He said with such disgust, you didnt know whether it was because it was you were a woman, or because you were- well, you. "Why would I need you?"

"Because Guy... you're too dumb to pull this off on your own. No offense." He was offended, so you continued before he could start talking shit again. "Guy, if you become a little open minded for just a few minutes and hear me out, you'll find my proposal very useful." And by some miracle, he stayed quiet and let you present your plan.

When you were finally done explaining, he looked pretty convinced. But of course, he would rather stab himself than admit that outloud.

"Your plan... can work, but it'll take an awful lot of time." He said.

You leaned against the wall, and crossed your arms. "Good things comes to those who wait."

"I still think we should do it my way." You rolled your eyes at his insistence. "Guy, do you know how stupid it sounds when you suggest that we lock Baldwin in a room full of lepers? He cant get leprosy again."

"Well, why not?!"

"Because I cured him." He scowled at your answer. "What about measles? Or yellow fever-"

"Baldwin cant get sick. Ever." Well, technically he could get sick but its highly unlikely because the medicinal vial he drank when you gave him your water had all the vaccines in it, so Baldwin's immunity is pretty invincible right now. You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Look, if we follow my plan, then Baldwin will die a hero, no one will suspect you of anything, and you still get to be king!"

He seemed to contemplate for a moment before narrowing his eyes at you. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Freedom." Guy scoffed. "You want freedom over being Queen of Jerusalem, the Holy Land? Do you think I'm stupid?!"

"Those are two different questions. But yes, to both." You smirked as he got mad. "Okay fine. I'm doing this for... revenge."

"Revenge?" You nodded. "I love someone else, and Baldwin doesnt love me either. He only wants me because of my "healing abilities." You lied, but this is the only way to convince Guy. "So what do you say? Are we in an understanding?" You asked him.

Guy smirked, nodding.

-

You were on your way towards your chambers when you saw her again.

Her. The woman who kissed Baldwin.

The raven haired lady was leaving her room and hadnt noticed you standing at the end of the corridor. She pulled her hood up, looking around hastily before leaving towards the East wing of the castle.

Where Baldwin resided.

You had no reason to, but before you could stop yourself, you were entering her room.

Might as well check the place where Baldwin's been hiding his lover all this time.

It was an average sized room, nowhere near as lavish as your or Baldwin's was, but still better than what some of his royal guests would get. You walked towards her bed, sitting down as a sharp cramp hit you.

You groaned, holding your stomach as you buckled over and thats when you caught sight of a small box under the bed. You pulled it out and took of the lid. It contained letters. Many letters from different people, but mostly from Baldwin.

You looked at the dates- they've been in contact for years.

Your finger traced over her name.

"Charlotte." Huh. Sounds a lot like harlot-

You shook your head. You cant stay here for too long, dont want "Charlotte" walking in on you snooping. Since these letters were arranged according to dates, you picked a couple on the bottom, to read later and see what Baldwin has been upto after announcing his engagement.

Pocketing them in your dress, you turned to leave, opening the door only to come face-to-face with her.

She was startled, before looking confused as to who you were.

Of course, she doesnt know you. While you were trying to come up with an excuse, Charlotte's eyes fell on the huge diamond ring on your finger, and she let out a small gasp of realisation and immediately dropped into a graceful courtesy.

"Your Majesty! I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" Alright, maybe the ball can be in your court.

You flicked your wrist to signal her to rise. "That's quite alright..."

"Charlotte." She replied. You hummed. "Right. I apologise, I didnt know this was your room. I was just trying to find the library."

"Oh thats on the other side of the castle, in the North wing!" She said cheerfully, your eyes falling on that dimpled smile of hers.

"Hm, you seem to know a lot about the castle." You remarked, a little bitterly.

But perhaps Charlotte didnt catch on. "Oh yes! I spent a lot of time here as a child. My father used to work for the late king." She explained. You continued to study her face, that fair complexion, blemish free skin, rosy cheeks, and hazel eyes adorned with luscious lashes.

"Ah, so you must be close with King Baldwin." You finally said, and you didnt fail to catch the momentary shock in her eyes before she composed herself.

Busted.

"I- hahaha, um, no. We used to play sometimes when we were young, but then the late king passed away, and King Baldwin had to take up new duties." She chuckled nervously.

You sighed dramatically. "Pity. You seem like a lovely gal." Charlotte's eyes widened slightly. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown, I guess." You mumbled as you moved past her.

"Y-your Majesty!" She called out from behind you. You looked at her nervous face as she bit her lip, trying to come up with the words.

"Yes?"

"I- I need your help." She gulped. "King Baldwin-"

"Y/N!" You whipped your head around to find Baldwin at the other end of the hall, marching over towards you two. His pace was fast and... somewhat angry.

He came to a halt, taking your face in his hands before kissing your forehead hard. "I've been looking for you everywhere, princess!" He hugged you, pulling your head into his chest. "You had me so worried!"

While your head was shoved against his chest, you managed to catch a glimpse of Charlotte looking at Baldwin with desperation, and tears welling up in her eyes. After a little struggle, you finally managed to push yourself away from Baldwin, but he immediately took ahold of your arms, not letting you get away from him. Or-

pulling you away from Charlotte.

The lady continued to look at Baldwin with those barely suppressed anguish, but he refused to spare her a glance. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and began pushing you in the opposite direction.

"Come on, princess. You need to be in bed resting." He said to you, still not acknowledging her.

"Your Majesty, I need to talk-" Charlotte called out.

"We'll talk later, Lady Charlotte."Baldwin continued to pull you along with him. "Your Majesty-"

"I said- later." He finally looked over his shoulder, and you were astonished to see the mean glare he cast her.

Charlotte finally bowed her head in submission.

As you both reached your room, Baldwin seemed to finally return to his usual self. "Oh princess, I just felt like my heart dropped when I was informed you werent in your room! You know the physicians have been emphasising bed rest-"

"What just happened back there, Baldwin?" You cut off his rambling.

"What was what, dear?"

"Baldwin." Your tone turned dead serious. "Why did you pull me away from her? What was Charlotte going to tell me?"

He looked into your eyes, and you could see the gears turning in his head. "Do not lie to me, Baldwin." You warned.

His gaze turned sharp. "I just didnt want you to listen to anything she had to say." He sat on your bed, leaning forward as he clasped his hands. "She's... not in the right state of mind."

Ah. So she's "crazy".

"Why is she not in the right mind? And why is she here then?" You demanded answers.

Baldwin sighed, rubbing his temples. "You should not be burdened with that. I am... handling it." He got up, taking your hands in his. "Just trust me, princess. I am doing this to protect you."

Fuck. That.

You wanted to backhand him so bad, but you also did not want your head chopped off. Seriously though... the nerve men have. To not only frame Charlotte as being "off her meds" but also basically admit to cheating because he's doing this to "protect you", what kind of bullshit is that?

But alas, your time machine was still not fixed and if the most

"pious" man could be cheating on you with a smile plastered on his face, you didnt think any other man of this era would fair any better.

So you played the fool.

"Of course I trust you, Baldwin." You let him kiss your hairline sweetly, though you felt anything but.

-

It didn't surprise you the next day when you tried to look for Lady Charlotte, only to be told that she left the day before, in the dead of the night.

Baldwin couldnt be looking anymore guilty than he is at the moments. Seriously, kicking out your lover the day your fiancee finds out about her existence?

You scoffed. He can do whatever the hell he wants, you're going to be leaving for Egypt soon anyways.

Returning to your room, you decided to read the letters that you had stole from Charlotte's room yesterday.

The 4 letters you had managed to take, all were from Baldwin detailing that he would "help her" and "cares for her still", etc. However, the last letter, the latest one, dated to almost 10 days ago, the same time you were away in Egypt, told Charlotte that he had been cured of leprosy, and would be soon able to get her the "cure" too. But this letter, it was signed off as "King Baldwin IV" and not "Baldwin" as in other letters.

All the previous letters, all of them were months old, or at the very least, they were all written before he announced his engagement. Which meant that for more than a month now, Baldwin hadnt written to her, kind of surprising, since he wrote to her- according to the dates, at least every two weeks. So why hadnt he wrote to her after deciding to marry you? He never mentioned you to her before-

You looked up in realisation. Did... did Baldwin plan to use you as a universal "cure"? You exhaled sharply in disbelief. No, no way. Baldwin doesnt actually believe in all that religious mumbo jumbo about you being an "angel sent by God who has magic healing powers". But-

Your heart sank. Of course, he does. Thats why he's making that "royal body of physicians", the best from around the world, to study you. He never wanted to study the female body to help your period cramps! He's gonna use you as a fucking lab rat to make himself and his people invincible! He wants you to cure them all!

What happens- what happens when he realises that I cant cure anyone? What's he going to do to me?

Your throat ran dry at the silent answer. You've read about medieval torture. They're brutal.

You heard footsteps coming towards your room, so you quickly his your letters and tried to look normal again.

"Princess?" Baldwin knocked before entering, not waiting for your permission. He beamed as he looked at you, walking upto you to kiss your cheek, but frowned immediately. "Princess, you're sweating. Are you okay?"

You wiped the cold sweat quickly. Nodding at him, you changed the subject. "Where are you going?" You asked, looking at his clothes.

"Oh! I'm going hunting! Its been a while, and I read somewhere that bone marrow is very nutritious for the body, so I'm going to hunt some animals for you." He explained ecstatically before grinning at you as he leaned down to your level. "But since its been so long since I last went hunting, I decided I needed some good luck. So... princess, will you bless me with some luck?"

"W-what?" You stammered out at the proximity. He turned his cheek, glancing at you expectantly. Oh, he cant be serious.

"Do you want your king, your soon-to-be husband to die?" He teased, but at the same time, you knew he wouldnt leave until you did what he wanted.

Swallowing thickly, you leaned in slowly and gave him a quick peck on his cheek, right where his dimple appeared when you did. Immediately, he turned face back to you and grabbed your head to steady and planted a wet kiss on your forehead.

"My luckiest charm!" He chuckled, pinching your nose as your flushed. "I'll be back before dinner!" He said on his way out.

-

3 hours later, you had finally decided to leave. You cant wait until another week and who knows if Baldwin will even let you leave then? What if he figures out that there is no family in Egypt for you and decides to lock you away in the dungeons to be experimented on?

Ironic how you as a scientist will now be a guinea pig for medieval era "scientists".

You had sneaked out of your room without anyone noticing, a feat in itself since the place is crawling with knights and servants.

But of course, Baldwin would've made sure there was at least one person tailing your every move.

"Princess Y/n?" The knight commander of your security detail called out. What were the odds of him leaving his post at the front of the castle, to walk in on you mounting a horse in the stables at the back of this castle? "Where are you going? His Majesty told me that you would be resting in your room today."

You blinked at him, trying to come up with an excuse. "I- I-"

He looked at you with even more concern, however that would start turning into suspicion soon if you don't answer him soon.

"Chapel!" You blurted out. "I- I am going to the royal chapel... to uh- isolate myself."

"Isolate?"

"Y-yes, because of my- um flow. I do not want to risk his majesty or- anyone getting sick because of me." The knight commander seemed satisfied with your explanation. He nodded, signalling a couple of other knights his way. "Very well, princess. Let these knights accompany you to the chapel, and they will keep guard while you isolate yourself inside."

You know he wouldnt let you go without knights, so you dont argue. Besides, the royal chapel is huge. You're sure you can sneak out of there unnoticed by these knights.

-

At the chapel, you waited until it was dark and the last of the church staff had taken their leave. You had found a small window to squeeze through, but just then, one of the knights knocked on the door of your chapel.

You didnt answer at first, hoping that they'd think you were asleep and dont disturb you again. However, they knocked again, this time with more persistence.

Grumbling, you returned to your bed and messed up your hair, pretending like you just woke up.

"Yes?"

The knight barged in, looking spooked. "A-apologies for waking you up, princess but-! But his majesty-!" You got up from your bed, brows furrowing.

"His Majesty has been injured during the hunt!" He stammered out.

Your eyes widened. Baldwin got injured? The knight began ushering you out of the chapel. "We must return to palace now! Its not safe!"

"What? Why?" You stopped him from helping you mount your horse. He looked at the other knights who were all on high alert as they kept looking around.

"The king was shot by an arrow!"

-

You were now back at the castle, against your will, so running away will have to wait. You were going to go to your room, but the knight commander ushered you towards Baldwin's.

"Why am I going there?" You asked as he escorted you.

"The king is injured." He replied. "So? Fetch the physicians."

"I did." He stopped to look at you. "But His Majesty has refused them from helping. He asked for you specially."

Oh no. Is he- is he going to make you "heal" him again? But you dont have any of your medicinal potions anymore. So when he realises you cant heal him-

You stood in front of his door.

Will he kill me?

You entered the room, spotting him lying on the bed bare chested, with an arrow stuck in his left shoulder blade.

Baldwin's eyes were closed, but his brows were furrowed in pain, sweat glistening from his entire body.

As you walked near, you spotted the bandages and ointments left by the physicians.

"B-Baldwin?" Your voice was so small, heart thumping against your chest as his eyes fluttered open weakly.

"P-princess?" He sounded so frail. Somehow, despite the state he was in, he managed to smile. "You came?"

You nodded. "You asked for me."

"I did. Only you can heal me from this. Only you can save me from death."

Save him?

You had him sit up to inspect the wound. "I-" Your eyes narrowed at the wound, and then at his face.

"Baldwin." He hummed weakly in response. Gritting your teeth, you ripped out the arrow from his shoulder, making him gasp in pain. "What did you do that for?!"

You waved the arrow in his face. "This hadnt penetrated through your shoulder! It wasnt even in that deep!" You threw the arrow to your side. "You werent dying! You're not even close to dying!"

He pouted, rubbing his shoulder where a small hole was. "So? It still hurt. Just bandage me-"

"Why didnt you have the physicians do it for you?!"

"Why would I when I have you? Come on, nurse me back to health, princess." He sighed when you glared at him. "Okay fine. I only called for you because well- you've been very distant with me."

Your nostril flared. "And whose fault is that?" You gritted out before turning to leave.

"Wait, princess-" He called out from behind. You werent going to listen to another word- another lie! Twisting the handle, you opened the door, only for it to be slammed shut by hand coming over you.

"Princess~" Baldwin turned you around, pushing you against the door as he locked it. "You arent going anywhere until we clear this out."

You pushed him away. "I dont want to clear it out." Baldwin's brows rose at your harsh tone. You turned around to leave again but Baldwin grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest.

"Y/n." His eyes pierced through you. "Why are you acting like this?"

You didnt answer. "Let me go, Baldwin." "No. Answer me-" "Let me go, Baldwin." "Princess, youre being unfair to me. What did I do to deserve such harshness from the one person I love the most-"

"You kissed Charlotte."

The color drained from his face, and the shock of being caught made him release your wrist. "Did Charlotte tell you this?"

Before either of you could react, you slapped him. Baldwin stared at you in shock, holding his cheek. You just slapped a king- the king of the HOLY LAND, but you honestly couldnt bring yourself to care about the conseuquences of your actions.

You backed away from him as tears pooled into your eyes. "You arent even denying it. You kissed her."

"Charlotte kissed me-"

"But you didnt push her back!" You screamed, tears finally flowing free. "I saw it- I fucking saw it, Baldwin!"

"Y/n listen to me-"

"If you loved Charlotte, if you planned on getting back with her, why did you propose to me?! I never wanted to marry you, Baldwin, so why did you lead me on?!"

"Thats not true! Just listen-"

"As if fooling around my back wasnt enough, you let her stay inside the castle even after I had returned! I mean I get you didnt think you would ever get to do it due to leprosy, but how desperate did you have to be to bed her while I was still in the castle?!"

"ENOUGH!" He roared, face red from rage. "You will calm down right now, or I will make you calm down!"

You looked at him betrayed and hurt, as Baldwin closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his his nose, taking deep breaths to collect himself.

"You've accused me of something. I deserve to explain myself." He stated.

"Charlotte and I were engaged when we were just children. Her father used to work for my father, as a knight. When he was on his deathbed due to getting wounded gravely when he saved my father, he made me promise that I would always take care of Charlotte." He paused before continuing. "When I found out I had leprosy, I broke off our engagement and when she came of age, I found her a suitable noble to marry. Eventually, they had a son. Her husband... he eventually lost all of his land and money in a gamble. So I tried to help Charlotte financially over the years, because I was the one who found her this man. She didnt deserve to be married to such man."

He recalled the events. "One day, Charlotte wrote to me that her husband had fallen sick. Terribly so. He kept on coughing and coughing until he began hacking up blood. My physicians told me that he had pthisis as the Greeks call it, or "consumption."

You remember studying about medival diseases- one of which was "consumption". Or in modern day- "Tuberculosis."

"I tried to help out, but there was no cure. The man died a slow and painful death. Charlotte loved her husband, despite all his faults, so his death did take a toll on her mentally. I continued to support her, but there was only so much I could do as a leper king. Things seemed to be going well until last year, when her son fell sick. The physicians said he was suffering with consumption as well, but it was still in the early stages so they had hope they could treat it. They took his son with them to the infirmary in Byzantine, where the best possible care would be provided for him. I made sure of it." He sighed. "But the odds were not in his favour. I got a letter from the head physician that Charlotte's son would not survive the winter. Charlotte was there with her son, day and night, she'd never leave his side. The physicians told her about her son's life expectancy. As expected, she was devastated, but at least now she could prepare herself and spend the rest of his days together."

"Then I announced our engagement, and I didnt write to Charlotte because I didnt think it would be appropriate to share this news with her at such a pivotal time. However, news must've reached her about my leprosy being cured and before I knew it, she was here. You were still in Egypt when Charlotte came, and she wanted to meet you. At first I thought it was because she wanted to congratulate you, but I found out that it was because she-" Baldwin shook his head, before looking right at you. "She thought you could cure her son."

"What? Why would she-" Of course, everyone thinks youre made of magic because of Baldwin.

"That's not the worst part. Charlotte's son was already dead before she had even reached Jerusalem. The physician informed me of his death, and that he had warned Charlotte of it too, but she still came here instead of being with her son."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "She came here because you asked her to-"

"I didnt! Why would I do that? Especially when you werent even here to help her?" Baldwin took a deep breath before continuing on. "When I informed her of her son's death- She lost it. She lost herself. I just- I promised to take care of her, Y/n."

"So you kissed her? To make her fall in love with you? Was that the plan?"

"I didnt kiss her, she kissed me!" Baldwin gritted out. "Even after her son's death, she wanted to meet you so that you could bring her son back to life. No matter how much I explained that it isnt possible to bring him back, she wouldnt listen. I told her that you're not some sort of witch that cast a spell to cure me-"

"So why did she kiss you?" You cut him off.

Baldwin licked his lips. "Charlotte knew the story of how you cured me. She figured that if she cant get you, then she can have me help her. In her head, she thought that since I drank your water that had your saliva, I had your essence- your healing abilities in me. So, she kissed me."

He could see the realisation dawning on you. Charlotte kissed him to get your "healing power"?

"I didnt push her back- because I was surprised. And then I pitied her. I didnt know how to break it to her again that nothing can bring her son back. That she was all alone now. Because of me. I had her marry that man, who got consumption, and then his son contracted it as well. I am the reason for her losing everything!" His eyes twinkled with tears, but he didnt let one tear slip.

Wait a minute. If Baldwin knew her son was dying and didnt call her here, then-

You closed your eyes. Fucking Guy.

Of course, only he'd be the one to address the letter as "King Baldwin IV". And you already figured out why he called Charlotte.

"We can kill Baldwin by making him sick again" Guy thought that Charlotte would bring her son, or at the very least bring a series of diseases from the Byzantine infirmary to infect Baldwin with.

Fucking idiot.

Baldwin took your hands in his. "Princess, I never cheated on you. I know I should've told you about Charlotte but... I didnt want to burden you. You already are busy trying to find your family and when you returned, you were tired and then you had your flow. I just- I didnt want to pile up more stuff on you." His hand cupped your cheek tenderly. "You know that I love you. You know that my affection for you is real. Thats why it hurt you so much when saw you her kissing me, because deep down, you knew I wouldn't betray you like this."

His blue were firm as he spoke the next words with conviction.

"You are the beginning of my soul. And you are the end of it."

Tears slipped down your face as you felt him kiss your forehead before wrapping you in his arms, continuing to kiss your forehead again and again.

Finally, you wrapped your arms around him, nodding. Accepting.

Sniffling, you pulled away before tugging him to sit on the bed as you began bandaging his shoulder. Fortunately, the wound wasnt too deep, so you didnt need to introduce "sutures" to medieval era.

Baldwin smiled softly as you tied his bandage, taking your hand and pressing a kiss on top of it. "I'm all better now." You smiled sadly.

"What?" He asked you. You sniffled again. "Princess, what is it?" He pulled you to sit on his lap, tapping your chin.

"I slapped you." You reminded him.

He nodded. "I remember."

"I'm sorry." "I know." He smiled assuringly. Honestly, you were so overcome with emotion that you hadnt realised the risk you took. Baldwin could've easily had your head chopped off at the offence.

"You're not mad?" You whispered, peeking at him from your lashes. He hummed thoughtfully. "No, not mad. I am hurt by your lack of trust me in though, but I take half the blame in this as you did see someone kissing me." He grinned at you. "I do know how you can make it up to me though."

You raised a brow.

"How about... you and I..." he tipped your chin to meet his eyes as he leaned close. "... cuddle tonight?"

"You want cuddles?" You asked, lips quirking at his childishness. He nodded excitedly. "Yes. As you know, I am gravely injured, I need all the love and attention from my beloved angel~" You squealed as he pulled you down with him on the mattress, bursting into giggles as he kissed your cheeks again and again.

After 10 minutes or so of you playing with his hair as he dreamily sighed, you suddenly had a question.

"Baldwin?" He hummed. "How did you get an arrow in your shoulder? You went hunting animals with knights."

Baldwin, with his eyes still closed, replied. "If I tell you, you'll get mad."

You tugged at his hair, making him open one eye. "Baldwin~" You warned.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you." He rested his head on his palm. "Well, since you were being distant to me and the knight commander told me you had housed yourself in the royal chapel under the excuse of "not wanting to make me sick", I figured I need to find a way to make you be close to me..."

Your face dropped at realisation.

"YOU SHOT YOURSELF WITH AN ARROW?!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "No, dont be silly. How would that be even possible?" You sighed in relief.

"I threatened my expert archer to shoot me with an arrow."

-

Sibylla burst through the door as soon as she had heard of her brother's grave injury, only to witness an odd sight:

Baldwin, with his shoulder bandaged, was doing sit-ups in front of Y/n, who was sitting on his bed, glaring at him with angry tears streaming down her face.

"Princess~ I said I'm sorryyyyy" Sibylla giggled, watching her younger sibling whine to you, but he shut up as another tear slipped down your cheek.

So, thoughts?

None of you guessed that reason for the kiss,did you? I better fucking get all the comments and asks or else I'm wreaking havoc

Part 6 is here!

[megalomaniacz]

hey bae! if you’re still taking requests could i please have something fluffy with mean! ellie and sensitive/soft! reader. it can be whatever u want, loving the pink theme btw 🎀⭐️!

CRYBABY! - (E.W)

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: you’ve had a seriously bad day, and now you’re stuck with the shittiest person you’ve ever met while you wait for your friends to get home.

a/n: thank u for acknowledging the theme! it took so long to put together 😭. also i really hope this fulfills your request. would you guys want a part 2 w/ smut this time?

“crybaby, crybaby. we need to cry. and if we do, i know that would be alright.” — edit

masterlist.

ellie fucking williams was an exceptional singer, guitarist, and had incredible stage presence. but more importantly: she was an asshole. a complete fucking dick, and not just the usual “too good for everyone” cocky. she was crude. she was vulgar and she knew exactly how to push people, you specifically. sometimes you thought that she walked around asking for a fight to prove herself to people. now, you think it’s so she can finally feel something. even if it’s a mind spinning jab at her face.

you did your best to stay away from her, despite you sharing friends; jesse and dina. you knew exactly how she was and you knew you couldn’t handle it. no matter how many times you tried to let her little remarks brush past you, you always found yourself wanting to go lower. and each time you were around her it got harder to bite your tongue.

today was a bad day. a shit day. one of your worst. you found fraudulent activity on your bank card, got hit with a frustratingly large and urgent bill, and your washing machine broke. all in the span of an hour. the customers at your job had been extra rude and to make matters worse, your manager yelled at you for a mistake you didn’t even make.

all you wanted to do was go over to dina & jesse’s and eat brownies while they treated you like the child they’d yet to have. dina rubbing your back and reassuring you that everything will be okay while jesse threatens to beat all your enemies bloody. you use the spare key you have to their apartment to messily trudge in, kicking your shoes off at the door and smiling as you open the fridge to find dina’s special 1,000 hour brownies.

“i keep telling her she should put weed in those.” echoes behind you, causing you to pause mid bite. there she is, leaning against the counter. eyes smudged with her signature stage eyeliner, sweat glistening on her skin, a tank top and her stage cargos sagging on her waist. gargling down a plastic water bottle that had definitely seen better days.

“where are dina and jesse?” you furrow your brows closing the fridge. you grab a napkin to place the brownie on, and move further back near the door away from her. just in case.

“they went to go grab some groceries, but they told me to stay here and wait for you.” she answers, finishing the bottle off.

fuck. how long were they going to be gone? you couldn’t imagine spending more than 2 minutes alone with this loose lipped devil. her eyes narrow as she looks you up and down before smiling. here she goes.

“bad day? cause it looks like it.”

“well it definitely isn’t going to get better with you around me.” you snap back.

“ouch. i’m hurt.” she laughs. deviously. a hand over her chest as she pushes off the counter to chuck the empty bottle into the trash can.

you move over to the living room, sitting yourself on the couch. maybe if you ignore her she’ll get bored and leave you alone? maybe she’ll get so bored she’ll actually leave. god, please get the fuck out of here.

she follows you though, sitting way too close for comfort and turning on the tv. you pull your phone out, immediately opening tumblr and mindlessly scrolling. hoping that dina and jesse will be home soon.

“d tells me you stopped showing up to gigs because of me. is that true?” she breaks the silence between you two. you shrug her off. “you’re not the easiest person to be around, williams.” you state.

“so what’s wrong with me? i’d love to hear it straight from the horses mouth.” she scoffs, scooting closer. when you attempt to ignore her she pulls your phone out of your hand. staring into your eyes with her very own. piercing through your soul for a response. “is it because i called you an idiot?”

“among other things, but it doesn’t surprise me that that’s all you remember.” you reach for your phone but she pulls it back. this causes you to pinch her, and she smacks your hand away still holding your phone back. “remind me then.”

you feel her taunting tone. her want— need to push at you. to push your buttons and boundaries until you break. it’s like a game to her, and you certainly weren’t in the mood for it today.

“can you give me my phone so i can find out when dina and jesse are coming home?” you sigh. her behavior reminded you of a customer you’d had earlier who’d treated you like garbage because you weren’t smiling. you felt tears welling up but pushed them down. you never cried in front of ellie. because of her, maybe, but never to her face. you’d never live it down.

“can you answer my question? so i can apologize or whatever. d is really on my ass about it.”

you scoff. “ofcourse you aren’t genuinely sorry. you probably don’t even remember all the fucked up shit you say and do to people. half of the time you ignore me and the other half you treat me like i’m a burden. do you remember when you guys had your first real show? i told the security i knew you and you pretended like i was a stranger.”

“jesse was sooo pissed you didn’t show up.” she laughs. “did he yell at you?”

“yeah. thought i was lying because you told him i was. called me a shit friend and a liar until i showed him proof. why am i the only one you treat like this?”

“you’re definitely not the—“ you reach for your phone again, but she’s quicker than you. pushing you away and laughing at your lockscreen, which was a picture you’d taken of yourself. one you felt incredibly confident in. all of that confidence was withering away slowly and you could guess it’d only been 10 minutes. “only one.”

“that’s so much worse. seriously, i don’t have time for this today. i’ll just go home.” you sniffle and fail to hide it. the tears were in the back of your throat and you felt like her personal rag doll all over again. what you’d finally gotten away from the last week was haunting you all over again. her taunting, her rudeness. she knew what she was doing and she didn’t even care.

“are you gonna cry? am i making you cry?”

you gulp, biting your lip to fight the shakiness in your voice. “just give it back.” is all you can muster up. her arm stretches up and as you reach for it she tucks it in her back pocket and sits on it.

you feel the tears begin to spill out of your eyes and you quickly turn around and lean into the couches arm. hands over your face as you pathetically attempt to calm yourself. you feel a hand on your shoulder and you push it away before realizing it’s ellie handing you back your phone.

it takes you a couple blinks, convinced the tears have obstructed your vision. the very same ellie who’d tripped you in front of a crowd of people last month, was being nice? her face has softened, genuine concern replacing the taunting gaze she previously had. she places a hand on your back and shushes you.

“i’m sorry. i’ve never made you cry before, i’m sorry.” she speaks softly. she almost seems…confused? is this what it takes to get her to realize that what she does actually fucking hurts you? for you to break down in front of her? for her to get a peek at the silent nights you’d spent sobbing over another one of her “jokes”? all this time?

you wipe your eyes and begin to laugh, which startles her and causes her to lean back. “you’re such an ass, ellie. god, you’re such a fucking dick.” you shake your head and breathe. she doesn’t respond, just stares at you with concern. brows furrowed as she concentrates on your body language. the way you’re leaning closer towards her.

“today was such a bad day.” you cry out in frustration, dipping your head into her lap. you just lay there, sobbing. she doesn’t move you, but instead rubs your back. shushing you. whispering that it’ll be okay, and you’d never admit it because it was coming from her, but you really needed it in that moment.

she pulled you in closer to her, turning you onto your side so she can rub her thumb across your cheek. wiping some of your tears away. you begin to cry even harder, but she doesn’t push you away. even when her pants are soaked and snotty. she lets you lay there, and cry into her.

[seoups]

close as strangers - y. itadori

yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.

"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."

Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.

In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.

He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.

He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.

And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.

“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”

It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.

For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.

He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.

So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.

“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.

“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”

There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.

They couldn’t.

Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.

He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.

He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.

It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.

But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.

He didn’t bring it up.

Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.

And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.

But it was different.

And deep down, he knew that too.

He just couldn’t admit it.

Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.

The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.

You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.

Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”

He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.

“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”

Another long pause.

Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”

His breath hitched.

Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.

And this time, Yuji let you.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

EPISODE EIGHT. fasten your seat belts, get ready for some turbulence, nobody panic. things are going to become fucking sad, but you're going to be okay. yay?

for a fleeting moment at the beginning of the episode you get the mad hope that alice survived - that rio is going to spare her, somehow

but the camera keeps spinning, keeps spinning, and we're upside down. this show is so good at evoking uncanny vibes with simple practical effects. not to mention the great callback to lilia flipping the room at the end of last episode. we are on the other side now, we're not in kansas anymore.

and this is of course rio collecting alice's soul, and it's where she disappeared to at the end of episode 5. I find rio's choices here so brilliant, because we know that she chooses the way she appears to souls. she is not being mean per se, she's woken alice up so gently and she's talking in a soft voice. but she looks fucking scary too, there is no questioning who she is or what she's doing here. indeed alice doesn't question her former companion being the grim reaper. it's like, rio is willing to go slow, but alice still needs to know right away that there is no escape.

alice's quiet devastation as she sees her own dead body. as much as I would have liked to see lilia walk away with her Death, I'm so glad we got alice instead. lilia died on her own terms and on such a high note. alice's story needed to take one last breath. literally.

this whole scene to me perfectly encapsulates the message of the show. beautiful, strong alice, alive one moment and gone the next, just like that. how can one come to terms with that?

words that sound mocking, but aren't. it's like accusing the ocean or the stars of being cruel. nature doesn't carry any ill intent, it simply exists.

but look what happens next. rio's smile fades at alice's despair. because rio is a willing agent of nature and balance, but also - and that's the brilliancy and tragedy of this character - rio is capable of love. she has an impossible job and she's damn good at it, but it takes a toll. she bent the rules of nature once, for the one person she loves more than the universe itself. she won't go that far for anybody else, but she has gotten to know alice, she felt true companionship with her - alice's loss is hurting on a personal level.

I've seen so many 'alice's death doesn't sit right with me' takes. YEAH, YOU THINK?!! alice's death is AWFUL. she lived all her life under this horrible curse and died one moment after liberating herself. all her hopes, all her goodness, all her potential, gone. it's MONSTROUS. it's UNFAIR.

it is monstrous that people (and children, dear god, children!) die all the time of disease, or wars, accidents, calamities. go scream at the sky about it. see if it answers back.

you died protecting someone. it's so matter-of-factly.

have you ever watched blade runner 2049? (if you haven't major spoilers ahead). ryan gosling's character, a replicant, believes he might be special, a chosen one, but turns out he was just a cog in the machine. he dies protecting harrison ford who is of course the real hero of the story. the bittersweet implication being that he didn't die in vain, that no matter how small his role in the overarching story, his life mattered and is worth remembering. but he still died alone and bleeding under the snow. it's a much bleaker message than the sweeping hero tales of old, but is not completely devoid of hope.

rio wishes to give alice's brief existence some closure, some meaning. alice died selflessly, doing something she truly believed in: isn't that worth something?

and yet. alice is still dead, all of rio's good intentions won't spare her. we do need to be kind to each other and uphold our humanity in the face of tragedy, even if it hurts like a bitch, even if it won't change a thing. be kind, if you find the strength for it. create meaning where there isn't. it's all we have in common. it's all we can do.

alice visibly recoils at rio's words. they're not enough, nothing is ever going to be enough.

and that's why I think rio had to look so damn scary in this scene, even if she's being patient and so gentle under the circumstances. her role as Death has to come before her personal feelings, that is her job and her choice.

oh, alice. my sweet alice.

lilia saw Death coming and went willingly. alice said no and cried as she stepped through the threshold. again, I am SO glad we were shown this. she wasn't as brave as lilia, but I dare you to call her a coward or to love her any less.

GOD jen's ear-piercing SCREAM. what did I just say about lilia's death being better? screw that. death is an equalizer. nobody is spared.

jen has held it together so far. eyes on the prize, no pity for anyone else involved. look at her crumble.

billy is speechless. this is the third time he has known grief in however many hours, and each time worse than the previous one. he has lost all of his innocence. and the light, the light. everything is green, it's rio, rio, rio.

remember when agatha was so afraid of Death in episode 3 that she tried to break a glass window, and everybody laughed? so funny, wasn't it?

and here she is, fucking terrified, running through green light.

and then she sees her.

your coven is shrinkiiiiiiing. oh it's so nice to finally see her with her crown. I pray and hope to see agatha wearing a crown some day.

first alice, now lilia. I love that it's so heavy, I love all the implications. it was never only about agatha trying to avoid an ex. it's what rio represents, it's what rio did to alice and lilia.

it's what she did to nicky.

except it wasn't her! she's just the ferryman! and if anyone, agatha killed alice and lilia! we just saw rio's heart ache for alice as she collected her soul! they're both lashing out at each other because they can't handle this impossible heaviness between them. agatha is being cruel because she's in pain. rio is being cruel because she's in pain. it's such a mess.

this is all I have in me tonight, fuck this show is too much. and we've just started the episode! there is a lot to unpack, the closer I look at things the sadder it gets.

go to episode 8 part 2

[keozrb]

Grok story: Laundromat Swap (part 1)

At 2 a.m., 42-year-old Frank, a warehouse worker with a massive gut, visits a 24-hour laundromat to wash his clothes. Alone, he strips to his briefs and tries on a forgotten KSU wrestling T-shirt, which is comically small. As he waits, the shirt triggers a magical transformation: his body grows muscular, his gut shrinks, and he becomes a youthful college wrestler in his 20s. Unaware of the change, Frank swaps his old clothes for a jockstrap and spandex shorts, leaving the laundromat as a new man, his former life left behind with the discarded laundry.

At 42, Frank was a creature of the night, hauling his bulk to the 24-hour laundromat at 2 a.m. after long shifts at the warehouse. His massive ball gut strained against his faded T-shirt, a testament to years of late-night burgers and little sleep. The laundromat was always deserted this late, a flickering fluorescent haven where he could wash his clothes in peace. Tonight, as usual, he stripped down to his navy blue briefs, tossing his sweat-stained shirt and pants into the washer. He was about to start the cycle when he noticed a pile of clothes left in the machine—someone’s forgotten load.

Frank pulled out the damp bundle and set it on a nearby bench. Among the items was a light gray T-shirt, bold black letters spelling out “KSU Wrestling” across the chest. It looked small, probably some college kid’s, but curiosity got the better of him. Shirtless, his gut sagging over the waistband of his briefs, he grabbed the shirt and tugged it on. The fabric stretched tight, barely reaching past his ribs, his huge belly spilling out beneath it like dough. He chuckled, glancing down at the lettering. “Wrestling, huh? Kid’s got dreams.”

He started the washer and leaned against it, the hum of the machine filling the quiet. Unnoticed, his body began to change. His arms, once soft and heavy, started to swell with muscle, veins popping under taut skin. His chest broadened, shoulders squaring as definition carved itself into his frame. His face tightened, jowls smoothing, graying stubble giving way to a sharper jawline. He looked closer to 35 now, then 30, but Frank didn’t notice, lost in the rhythm of the washer’s spin.

His gut began to shrink, the massive ball of fat pulling inward, tightening into a firm, sculpted core. The KSU shirt, still snug, now looked more like a crop top, hugging his pecs but exposing a chiseled midriff. He stood straighter, unaware, as his height dipped slightly, dropping from 6’2” to 5’11”. His age slid further, settling into his early 20s, his skin glowing with youthful vigor. The shirt finally fit—tight, but perfect, clinging to his massive biceps and broad chest like it was made for him.

When the washer buzzed, Frank opened it and pulled out the clothes. He frowned. These weren’t his—too big, baggy, smelling of warehouse sweat. He glanced around and spotted another pile on the bench: tight blue spandex shorts, a jockstrap, and a gym bag. His pile. He looked down, realizing he wasn’t wearing his briefs anymore. Without a second thought, he stripped off the unfamiliar underwear, slid into the jockstrap, and pulled on the spandex shorts, the fabric hugging his powerful thighs. He grabbed the gym bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left the laundromat, not sparing a glance at the oversized clothes he’d left behind.

Outside, the cool night air hit his skin as he strode toward campus, a KSU wrestler’s swagger in his step. Behind him, the laundromat sat empty, waiting for the next soul to claim a forgotten load—and a new life.

[kissesandcigarettes]

0:1 | air ball

LOVE ON COURT ╱ MINISERIES

↳ MASTERLIST

— pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au

— word count: 5.9k+

— warnings: language, drinking, broken family dynamics, grief, mentions of past abusive relationships, terminal illness, character death, mentions of sports-related injuries, uni students doing nsfw things, character death, implied and explicit smut

summary: vincent hacker has the hearts and love of everyone in the 32,423 student body population of UCLA, on and off the court. everyone except for you, that is. you would chug down an entire bottle of ethylene glycol before you would think about placing your name in the same sentence as “love” and “vincent hacker.” it really is too bad that you didn’t think of this before you agreed upon tutoring him for an entire year.

a/n: longer author's note is at the end, i hope you enjoy the first part of this story🤍

the main floor of the tutoring center in the science and engineering library is uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the constant, never-ending disorder that gives life to the machine-like organized chaos otherwise running this space. 

your eyes flit back and forth between the clock on the wall and the blue piece of paper – a student pre-evaluation sheet – laid down in front of you on the table. your fingers are busy with spinning and flipping a stray pen you found lying on the table earlier, a poor attempt at trying to stop yourself from leaving if you keep track of time with each passing minute. you’re itching to go, sitting close enough on the edge of your seat to fall, one leg bouncing up and down as the heel of your foot keeps rhythm. your body is taut with unreleased tension, wound up so tight you’re scared that if you let it unravel its hold around your muscles, there will be nothing to stop you from bolting out the door. 

you tell yourself that you will for sure leave this time if the student you are supposed to be meeting doesn’t come exactly in the next five minutes – but then again, you had said the same thing more than an hour and half an ago, so you doubt you’re going to stick to your word now. 

you laugh a quiet laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue as your mind spins up some out of place joke about how you got stood up over a tutoring meeting before you have ever gone on a first date. 

leaning your pounding forehead against your open palm as you shake your head in the tragically comical nature of your current reality, your eyes focus on a marker scratch on the table as you freefall into your thoughts. the dimly-lit room consoles your headache, your eyes falling shut against your will as exhaustion wraps around your resolve.  

you have been a tutor for almost two years now, having started working as one when you were a first-year student. you had applied for the job on whim after seeing a flyer about it among the many others on the main bulletin board in the student union’s plaza and stuck with it ever since. at the time you were desperate for a job, having moved away from your home without the luxury of having someone to rely on for supporting your finances if you fell on hard times. after numerous applications and unanswered emails, the green and blue flyer appeared before you like a beacon of light. over the course of the following quarters you spent as a student at UCLA, you grew immensely attached to your position, the main reason being your deep passion for teaching and providing equal learning opportunities for all. 

more than that, you liked the structured and steady routine the job had allowed you to get into amidst the chaos of your first year trying to figure out the workings of university. as your schedule was determined for that quarter, everything fell into place naturally – going to class during the day and tutoring at night, with your spare time mostly devoted to studying and/or getting involved in some student organizations, and of course looking for research opportunities, which you had done by floating through various labs in the chemistry department, with the help of professors who welcomed your eagerness and strong work ethic with open arms.

now that you think about it, your routine back then hadn’t changed all that much as a third-year student. your days still consisted of those dreadful 8am lectures and long study sessions in quiet reading rooms and devoting your spare hours to tutoring in the science center – only now, whatever little spare time you had were spent locked up in dr. ratanawa’s lab, whose cohort you had decided to join at the beginning of your second year, poring over samples and running batches of experiments and writing scrupulously detailed notes for the ever-growing-almost-final draft of your thesis stored in the depths of your laptop. you had claimed a lonely lab bench in the corner of the lab as your own, the top of which now was covered in colorful test tube racks, various pencil holders filled with bright neon highlighters, notebooks that contained all of your recordings and taped scraps of paper and post-it excerpts for your thesis that came about in your mind spontaneously, and other miscellaneous equipment you needed the most, such as pipette tips and clean test tubes. 

sprinkled throughout all of this were brief coffee breaks in the trustee garden - a coveted square piece of lush, shaded greenery, dotted with wood-and-metal benches and cut through with large cobblestone pathways, hidden amidst the towering giant concrete buildings of the sciences - for cherished moments of sunlight, almost falling asleep in the shower when you were the last one to come home and your flatmates were asleep, the campus cafes’ baristas knowing your order by name too much for your liking, and if you needed to put the pent up stress in your body to good use, going to the campus gym. the last one didn’t happen as often as you wanted, but it was better than nothing. 

long story short, you had managed to somehow elongate your 24-hour days into 25, sometimes 27 hours. if he could, einstein would rise up from his grave to give you a kiss on the forehead.

well, that was before the school’s athletics department decided to throw a fucking bulldozer of a wrench into all of it.

you don’t know who you should be more angry with: the head of athletics, who put pressure on the head of the science center to find a tutor in your group of already overworked and overstressed tutors, or yourself for being the one who readily accepted to take on the extra, un-paid hours in a brief moment of sheer, pure fucking stupidity that would make michael from the office break the fourth wall and reach through the screen to throttle you if he witnessed it.

bless your heart for your endless supply of senseless altruism. 

as the clock ticks the minutes away, it being almost 7pm and the student already being two hours late to the meeting, your anger is shifting dangerously more in the latter direction. 

after the initial wave of pure red you felt towards the balding and wire-glasses wearing man, steven or steve something, for not even bothering to learn if what he was asking was allowed or not - or not being considerate enough to wonder if you had a life of your own - dissipated, you felt much of that misplaced anger had been towards yourself from the start. anger for not being able to say no to authority figures when you needed to, anger for not being able to form firm boundaries between yourself and overcommitting, anger for your boss’ attempts to advocate for you going unheard. anger that an entitled and spoiled ball chaser’s needs are being prioritized over students who don’t have guarantees for a cushy future and have no choice but to succeed in the ruthless, cut-throat environment that is academia and beyond.

your thoughts come down crashing and burning, shattering throughout the scattered corners of your mind as your fingers stop mid spin to firmly slam the pen down on the table. 

“fuck it.” you mutter behind gritted teeth. you have waited more than long enough for this entitled brat who can’t read a clock to take the courtesy to show up and you refuse to wait any longer. you move to gather your stuff, shove your laptop in your bag with more force than necessary and grab your water bottle—

—just as the door swings open so hard it creaks at its hinges, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang that makes you bite your tongue in alarm as it rams through the absolute silence of the building. the water bottle in your hand drops first onto the table’s edge, then onto the floor, rolling away soundlessly. 

a guy stumbles through the door, looking as if he ran all the way from the other end of the campus, quite literally breathless as his chest heaves, loud enough that you can hear the shudder of his breaths that struggle to fill his abused lungs. he looks like a racehorse trained to the brink of exhaustion, with his hair falling down to conceal his face as he bends over, hands clasped on his knees, back moving like a rising and falling mountain.

thank fucking god that you have grown to develop nerves of steel since childhood, because if you had been someone with less wits, you would’ve let out the most inappropriate shriek.   

“h-hey, are you okay?” your first instinct is to say, your hand instinctively reaching out to hover in the air as you hesitate whether you should reach for the guy or let him recover on his own. you swallow with difficulty as you watch his back spasm in a way it definitely shouldn’t. your other hand reaches for your phone in the pocket of your coat, your mind working on figuring out what you would say to the operator in the likelihood of dialing 911. 

“are-are you looking for someone–?” you try next, unsure of what to say when you don’t know if he can even hear you. you haven’t taken a single anatomy course outside of high school but have been around pre-meds too often to know that his ears must be ringing with the deafening beat of his pulse, loud enough to make your words go unheard, the thick rush of blood throbbing in his forehead.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night,” you say, your voice louder this time and steady despite the blood rushing past your own ears and your heart thundering a bruising beat against your ribs. you place a tentative palm over the left side of your chest, gently stroking over the spot as if you can calm it down.

you think that he may not have heard you once again when he doesn’t acknowledge you, but his breathing seems to be in better condition, so you repeat yourself after clearing your throat. you taste blood on your tongue when you speak. nerves of steel, indeed.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night. can i help you?”

the guy moves to stand upright, breathing more under control than when he first barged in, the only indication of his earlier exertion being the redness staining his cheeks and neck on his otherwise pale skin.

“i was–” he still sounds a bit winded, drawing in a deep breath that scrunches up his face before continuing, “–i was supposed to meet with a tutor named (y/n)? are–” another deep breath, a pant, “are you her?” 

as your startle reflex diminishes, your heartbeat reverting back to its natural rhythm and your hands left feeling clammy, you realize this must be the student you were paired with. the ringing in your ears subsides as your initial shock quietly but swiftly gives way into your earlier anger. keeping your face neutral despite your mind trying to go against you, you decide to go along with where he is taking this conversation to.

“yes,” you speak more coolly now, no trace of your earlier worry for the guy’s wellbeing left in your tone. pulling up the zipper of your coat, you shove your hands into its pockets as your lips move around the metallic taste in your mouth. “do i know you?”

“i’m vinn–i mean, vincent hacker–” he stops abruptly when you don’t make any indications of showing that you know or at least are familiar with his name. you continue to stare at him blankly, cocking an eyebrow as if what he said explains everything. you hope that you are at least masking the anger you felt earlier as it kindles back to life, not wanting him to realize he’s gotten under your skin already. 

the look on his face is that of confusion, his eyebrows pulling into a light frown. “uh, i’m…vincent hacker? i’m on the basketball team? i was told that you are the tutor assigned to me? for chem 30A? dr. orlov’s class..?” 

you get the feeling that this situation is not common for him, and neither is the lack of confidence in his words. when you don’t make any attempts to reply to this either, he stops talking all together, an expression of unease and uncertainty beginning to rise rapidly over his face. his frown deepens into one that strains his forehead. 

“am–am i in the right place? this is the science and engineering library, right?”

“right,” you say tightly, slinging the straps of your bag over your shoulders as you walk around the table to stand in front of him, yet maintain a good distance. “let me ask you this, then. do you realize what time it is, vincent?”

he blinks a few times as if it takes a moment too long for him to register your words. his eyes look around then for a clock in the room, even though you can see the lit-up screen of an apple watch peeking underneath the sleeve of his student athlete-issued hoodie. 

“um–” he stammers while his eyes continue to dart around, and you can almost taste the panic on his face seeping into his voice. 

“it’s quarter past seven, vincent.” your voice snaps his attention back to you, eyes still moving about everywhere except for your face like he is searching in his mind what the time means, and finally remembering it as his panic shifts into a sinking sense of realization across his features in one single sweep. 

“we were supposed to have a meeting - this meeting to be specific - exactly two hours and fifteen minutes ago.” you say dryly, tilting your head slightly towards the side. “you know, to discuss how i can help you do better because you are struggling in the class? so that you can stay in the team for the rest of the season? or did your coach not tell you about this?”

you see the flush of red that had settled down crawl steadily up his neck and reach his face once again, no doubt his ears that are hidden underneath his hair, too. he shifts in place awkwardly, crossing then uncrossing his arms, then finally tucking his hands in his pockets and looking away from your accusing eyes when he meets your scalding gaze for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything, but the response is as clear as day on his face that you don’t need to waste your time with giving him the benefit of the doubt thinking it could be something else. the ticking of the clock on the wall accompanies your breathing, the slight shudder you feel as you draw air in through your nose. it’s so quiet that you would hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor.  

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to be so late.” his voice is apologetic, colored with what you think is shame, which catches you off-guard. you had expected him to be defensive, not standing here with his head bowed and cheeks burning with embarrassment. you don’t know what to make of it and if you should believe him. is he being truthful? you want to believe he is. you think the downward curl of his lip and the way his eyebrows have scrunched up and his voice is so quiet and the flush on his skin has become deeper with each word isn’t an act. you notice the puffiness surrounding his eyes, most visible underneath where you also notice are prominent bags and darkness as if he hasn’t been sleeping. you almost feel sympathetic towards him, ready to ask – 

is everything okay?

– but the small, cruel voice that hides in the back of your mind and rears its ugly head out only at times when you want to give in to your emotions pipes up. whispering cold, sharp words mockingly into your consciousness, it pulls you back from the edge you’re standing on of softening your gaze and dulling the bite of your words. you don’t even realize the shift within yourself until you start thinking again. you highly doubt his words. it’s just another way for people like him to charm others to gain undeserving sympathy and make the situation when they’re at fault work in their favor. the shame you saw in his face and heard in his voice suddenly makes red flash across your vision and burn your tongue as if you held it over an open fire. there is a bitter, all-consuming ache blooming in the middle of your chest that winds up your throat and settles in the back like an unmoving lump. you swallow with difficulty around that weight, your fingers catching on the material lining inside the pockets of your coat as your hands curl into fists. 

he cracks his fingers one by one as his hands hang by his side, voice timid almost as if he wants to disappear the way the syllables disappear at the back of his throat. “the coach made us all stay back longer because we started late and there weren’t any shuttles running at night because it’s friday so i–”

something in you snaps. the small voice chuckles like nails scraping on ice. your throat aches in tandem with the ache inside your chest. 

you stupid fuck. stupid, stupid girl. 

“no. no–vincent–just stop.” you cut him off with a startle, shaking your head as his words die out underneath the force of yours. “are you really going to do this? i mean, isn’t this getting old for your crowd – blaming your coach every time? like, what are you trying to accomplish by giving me all these excuses to cover up the fact that you’re lying?

he almost does a double take at the way your tone shifts - not a slow build, but a snap that echoes like a crack in the air between you. the pressure of the weight behind your ribs finally bursts, the ache filling the space inside like steam rising from a fissure. you watch as his eyebrows rise - not too much but enough so that you see the movement on his forehead - his lips parting open. the flush of warmth on his face dissipates away like water going down the drain as your words hit him across the face like a bucket of cool water. this, you can tell, was not what he expected to hear from you. 

you continue when he doesn’t speak, letting out a dry scoff that sticks behind your tiredly aching teeth, pushing loose tendrils of hair out of your face. the words seem to tumble out before you can reel them back in or find the reason in yourself to stop and address your logic. “i don’t have to do this, you know. i really don’t. i don’t know if you even thought about this, but do you realize i’m taking time that i don’t have out of my night to come here, only waste all these hours i could have used otherwise to instead wait on you?”

he looks at you with an expression you can’t pinpoint as to what exactly it is when it’s a combination of many things at once – shock, surprise, embarrassment, confusion. except for that moment just before a rising swell of anger, which you know all too well. you don’t like the way he’s suddenly scrutinizing you, as if he is looking at you underneath a microscope, as if he could see right through you if he wanted to with just a few turns of the focus knobs and tuning the sharpness, holding light to whatever you are keeping hidden inside you in dark corners. 

“are you done so that i can get a word in too? or do you think everyone likes listening to you speak as much as yourself?” he says in a steady voice that betrays the ticking in his jaw, yet the words bite deeper than just at the surface level like you pretend they do. 

“i’m just wondering, do you automatically accuse everyone you’ve known for less than five minutes of being a liar if you don’t like what they say? or am i the only exception?” he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to scrutinize you with that searching gaze you think you don’t like at all. 

you hold back a scoff that had been climbing its way out of your throat. “i would say the head of the athletic department coming to request private tutoring for you, plus the fact that your spot on the team hinges on your grades and gpa, should’ve been enough to ring some bells, don’t you think? or do you still think i’m automatically accusing you, just wondering?”

his frown deepens at your words, and you take that as a sign of his growing frustration as you confront him with the truths that brought you here into this moment. 

“i know the logistics of what i need to do to stay on the team.” he deadpans, his movements stiff as he straightens his stance now that the initial surprise has worn off and he can match you head on. a simple straightening of his back fixes his posture, which makes you look him up and down when you realize how imposing his frame is when you see him this close in the flesh. “what i don’t get is how you made me out to be a liar when you don’t know anything about me besides the fact that i’m an athlete and doing poorly in a class.”

so, he’s not entirely as dense as you thought. 

crossing your arms to meet his stance, “it’s simple, really, and it’s quite easy to understand. you just don’t want to.” you quip back. “this meeting was arranged almost a week ago, which means you should’ve been well aware of meeting me here today last friday. which means that there should be no excuse for you to be more than two hours late. you’re just arguing-”

“–i’m arguing? you’re the one who started going off on me the moment i walked in here-”

“–because you’re trying to cover up your own ass for being neglectful and not taking responsibility over your academics and you’re trying to make me look like the bad person here-”

“–trying to make you look like the bad person?” he tilts his head in confusion, eyes widening and face scrunching like he ate something sour. “what are you talking about? i was trying to apologize to you and you would’ve rightfully gotten it if you didn’t cut me off like that when you did. seriously, do they hand out attitude like it’s candy when you get hired? because i’m starting to think it’s part of the job.”

“on the contrary, vincent, does every single athlete i have the misfortune of working with have to read a manual on how to make entitlement and arrogance a part of your personality? because i’m starting to wonder if humility exists for you only when you’re speaking to the cameras for espn courtside.” your palms grip around your forearms so tight that the material of your coat wrinkles to stop your voice from wavering as your anger threatens to boil over. “why don’t you think about bringing your sense of responsibility off the court too, rather than blame the ones who are actually doing well and trying to help incompetents like you?”

yikes yikes yikes. that was a blow so low that it would have made your mom slap you across the face in retribution if she were in your life.

he barks out an incredulous laugh, like a hot knife poking at your nerves, but you don’t miss the expression of deep hurt flash across his face as quick as lightning or the way he flinches at the insult like you physically struck him. a deep, chasm-like silence stretches between your bodies before he breaks it.

“incompetent? no - now you’re just taking this way out of proportion and making it into something else entirely. who gave you the right to be this disrespectful, my god-”

you should stop. you really should. 

but you don’t. 

“-you’re the last person to be giving me a lecture on disrespect when you-” you point your finger towards him, “-don’t even have the decency to come up to me and ask me to give you tutoring yourself-” then point at yourself with the same threatening gesture “-or the courtesy to let me know that you will be late and make me waste my night by sitting here doing nothing.”

“i didn’t have any way to contact you.” he says as if that’s supposed to be the explanation for everything. “you didn’t leave any of your personal info with anyone from the team, so i couldn’t reach out you even if i wanted to.”

what? you’re absolutely sure you had your phone number and university email written on the form you gave to the athletics office – if anything it’s mandatory for you to provide that for the benefit of the student. how did they not give it to him all this time? 

but still. you don’t think that’s valid enough to justify his negligence when you’re keeping up with the responsibilities on your end more than someone else in your position would have. 

“that’s no excuse.” you almost seeth, the words coming out of your mouth rapidly as if they can hurt him with their speed. every new piece of information that leaves his mouth adds onto the notches that you’re collecting in giving rise to your fury. “you could’ve come here during our regular hours. there’s a secretary here that you can leave a message with, she could have saved it for me and let me know when i was here the next time.”

vincent lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a closed fist over his eyes which you notice look very red and irritated even from the distance. “i don’t have time during the day, do you not get why-”

“then you make the time for it!” you slap the back of your hand against your palm in frustration. you realize distinctly that you’re yelling, but you can’t seem to stop once you let it out. “just like i am trying to make the time for you when i don’t have to. you’re all so inconsiderate–you just–you just look out into the world from a tunnel and can’t see anything around you besides yourselves and that fucking court. do you think i want to be here at this time of the night? that i just have free time lying around to use up because i’m bored? no, i’m stretching myself thin to help you out, but you obviously don’t even care about any of this!”

a muscle tics in vincent’s jaw as he grits his teeth, staring at you behind narrowed, wet looking eyes and a sharp, dissecting gaze. you think it would indeed be intimidating to be on the receiving end of that stare if you weren’t the person you were. 

when he talks, his voice is cold as ice and distant as the look in his eyes. there’s no sharpness, no emotion behind his words, which scares you more than if there was underlying anger in them. with the latter, you would know that he is matching you head on, that he feels the same as you do so that you are right in some way to be so harsh with him. but when he is completely numb like this, as if this brief argument just carved his insides and left him hallow, you feel as if you are yelling at a child who doesn’t know any better. 

“where are you getting all of this from, huh?” his voice is rough, but there’s something else beneath it too - not just anger, but something close to exhaustion. “who made you believe you’re so special that you think anyone who’s not like you is stupid or not busy enough? do you know what i have to do to–” 

he cuts himself off as if he realized he was about to give himself away, jaw clenching hard as he bites down on the words that almost escaped out, as he looks at you with an expression you can’t understand. his face slackens at his near mistake, but shutters back up just as quickly. a sharp inhale makes his chest shudder. shaking his head, he wipes a hand tiredly down his face. you shove down the urge to rub your eyes, moving past the stinging ache that’s consistently been there the entire day. you are once again thankful that the room is dimly lit and you don’t have to squint to see him like a newborn mole rat.

“nah,” he huffs out an empty sound that breaks into shards in the air. “nevermind. it doesn’t matter what i tell you. nothing i say would change your mind, would it?”

you scowl at his words, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “i don’t have a reason to when all you’re going tell me is how hard it is for you to practice every other day and just do the bare minimum to pass your classes-”

his eyes flash. “-here you go again with this crap, who gave you the right-”

“regardless of whatever else you have going on outside of your academics, the fact that i was asked to accommodate you, by someone that i wasn’t given much of a choice to say no to, for you to act like this, says a lot about how this will go.” 

vincent looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend how the conversation spiraled so out of control so quickly. you feel like you are stranded on a floating raft in the middle of the ocean, struggling to stand on it. you are trying to stay afloat, keeping the raft from tilting too far in one direction by constantly shuffling in place. but one movement too much, just one sudden disturbance, and you will both get swallowed in the salty depths of the waves. eventually, though, one of you will move too much, and you will both fall over into vast, unknown darkness. you just don’t know who it will be yet. 

vincent looks at you in what you can only call puzzled, hurt disbelief. “i seriously don’t understand you. i told you i was sorry, i was trying to apologize until you decided to go off with that tirade.” he shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “forget it. i can’t– i can’t do this if you’re just gonna give me this-this attitude, whatever this is-” he gestures at you with his hands, “-every time you see me. i would rather fail that class and retake it than have to see your face every day.”

you laugh bitterly; you knew in your gut your argument would end in this way. the raft is slippery and unsteady underneath your feet as vincent inches away to the other edge, jaw tight and shoulders squared as if he’s bracing for the incoming fall, and you think you will need to push only a little more before you are both drowning. you’re not surprised, but disappointed in yourself for believing maybe this would have been different. you really should reduce your expectations if nothing else but for your own sanity.

“it pains me to say this, but i think we finally agree on something here.” your left eye pulses in a slow twitch from the exhaustion of the past couple days catching up with you. it’s crowding inside your brain, your thoughts and words going fuzzy as you grip onto your adrenaline to keep you awake until you can get home. “i don’t think that we’re a pair fit to be working together. i can’t tutor someone who won’t take responsibility for his own actions and don’t know what his priorities are when they’re so obvious.”

you walk up to him, closing the distance between you by reaching out to hand him the piece of paper you had been holding onto just in case. “here’s the form that you need to fill out to have someone else replace me. it might take a while since there’s only a few of us, and everyone is booked already for the year. thanks to you and your team for that architectural monstrosity you call an arena, we lost our previous budget and had to settle for a new one that cut down half of the staff here.”

his eyes are seething and red as he rips the form out of your hands - too fast, too rough - the sharp edge of the paper slicing clean through the underside of your finger as you move your hand back. the cut is clean and burning, but you don’t register the pain right away - you feel the breaking sensation through your skin before you feel the pain. it sends a small shock through your hand and you bite down on your stinging tongue to trap the small gasp that forms at the back of your throat. instead, you match his gaze with an equally furious one of your own - and you’re horrified to find that he’s not looking at your face, but at the hand you’re cradling in your palm. you don’t look down to see what damage lies there; instead, you close your fingers over it tightly and completely to hide it away, putting your arms down, which makes him look back up at you. underneath the redness and swelling in his eyes, you see something else flicker in his pupils - something like regret, but it’s gone before you can catalog it for processing later when your mind isn’t so consumed by anger. 

you stare at him for one more second, then shoulder past him as roughly as you can and head out the door with big steps, shutting it behind you hard enough it slams close with a bang that echoes in the empty hallway. you don’t bother with calling the elevator, knowing it will take ages to get to the fourth floor, and make your way down the emergency stairs, taking them as fast as your feet will move. 

you notice the sensation of something sticky and warm pooling inside your closed palm when you push open the door to step outside, the crisp, chilly night air hitting your coat-warmed body all at once. you open your trembling, tightly closed fist to see that the cut is bleeding, more than you thought it would. there is a thick rivulet of it running down that you look at with a dull gaze. you blink away the angry tears forming in your eyes as a shiver settles into your body, wiping them away harshly with the back of your hand as you let out a shaky breath. the pain of the cut is acute, but it’s real, grounding you when everything else feels like it’s spiraling. you walk to the bus stop with your free hand pressed around your bleeding finger, prying it away only when you can’t tolerate the cold wind chilling the warmth of the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

you just want to get to your apartment and sleep this night off to forget about it, hoping that tomorrow morning you won’t remember any of it.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've been active on here, let alone write anything, but this was a little something i had been working on while i was away. the university i went to was HUGE on their men's basketball team and i started to think about if vin was in an engineering major student athlete on the basketball basketball team with a fireball of a STEM tutor thrown into the mix and here we are.

i love my reader character already, she means so much to me you guys don't understand. right now it looks impossible for her and vin to be in a romantic relationship, let alone a friendly one, but doesn't the transformation make it all the more satisfying?

i want to hug vin in this chapter. i just know it that he was holding it together when the reader was there but the moment she left and he went home he had a good angry/hurt crying session lying down on his bed. he may or may not have listened to music, i'll leave that up to you to decide and pick the song.

i was debating whether to make it one-post long or divide it up into a multi-part series and considering this part is almost 6k words alone...i think it's the healthiest option to do a multi-part miniseries. i still feel rusty about writing and edited this so many times (and will undoubtedly come back to edit again after its posted) so i hope it's not boring or dull or a drag to get through. thank you thank you thank you if you finished this rambling all the way here. if you enjoyed, please leave down your thoughts about any part of it - your words mean the absolute world. until next time, sending much love to all of you🤍

[witchpassing]

interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

[margaretoakgrove]

🛠 Karl Heisenberg in TEPPEN: Super Spooky Village 🛠

⚙️ Engineer Lord Heisenberg

↳ "You're persistent, but I've got a rebellion to lead...so stay out of my way."

Manipulated by magnetism, countless pieces of metal flew around the factory-a deadly storm swirl of scrap and machine components.

⚙️ Magnetic Mishap

↳ What a sight! You've made my day, and I didn't even ask. Still isn't it a pity to have your beloved suit of armor turned against you? Now, how about a show everyone can enjoy.

⚙️ Abyssal Factory

↳ A colossal factory lay below the site buried in waste-the domain of the engineer-lord of the Four Houses. Life has no dignity here; the dead are treated merely as spare parts.

⚙️ Hauler

↳ The figure swaying in the darkness seemed like a lifeless rag, but the deformed axe it holds can smash its prey in a single blow. Below its goggles, its maw curls with pain.

⚙️ Soldat Eins

↳ Capable of closing the distance in a flash, it charges in without hesitation, brandishing its drill. As the drill spins, blood flies through the air, and the red haze takes over its vision.

⚙️ Soldat Jet

↳ The shrill sound of turbines echoed in the machine workshop. The jet on the creature's back roared as it thrust out its drill. There isn't so much as a hint of sane thought. No...Everything in this factory is mad.

[foone]

There's a lot of different ways time machines work, you know? (I got slightly long talking about this)

There's always a lot of descriptions of how time travel works in different fiction, like if you have ripple-proof-memory or not, if you can change the past or not, if changing the past changes it for you or if you effectively create a parallel universe where it changed, but you're not there, you're still in your home timeline.

So many different little distinctions. Like, if time tries to main itself or not. Sometimes you pop a cap in some Austrian painter and immediately some other guy ends up playing the same role. Sometimes you do that and come back to a 2036 full of aliens who invaded in 1954 in this timeline and are currently fighting off a resurgent druid commonwealth of spellcasters.

Sometimes the way time works lets you effectively dupe-glitch reality: you put a gold bar in a box for an hour, then go back 1 minute and steal it from the past. now you have two: the one you had in the box, and the one you got from the past. And then you go back another minute, and there's three! Sometimes timetravel allows this, and sometimes this'll get you eaten by TimeMonkeys because you tried to twist spacetime into recursive four-dimensional knots.

I know at least one story* where time travel into the past was fine, so long as it didn't change the actions of humans. You could go back and build a house in the midwest US in the late cretaceous and it would be fine, because eventually an asteroid and a bunch of glaciers are going to flatten all that shit anyway, and it'll be a bunch of debris miles down that no one will ever encounter. But you send something back 1 minute and it makes you turn left instead of right, and you have split the timeline: there are now two of you fucking with time travel, and if the timeline gets split enough you will BREAK TIME ITSELF.

So yeah! Time travel is very fascinating to me, and a big part is because of all the different rules for how it works. Figuring out which ones are in play, and how they'll affect (or even effect) the story is a huge part of what I like out of time travel stories.

But I don't want to do that. I want a time machine with a dial and some switches**. Let me pick.

Do I want "I can go to the past and grab a spare Apple Lisa from a store in San Jose in 1984" and it doesn't affect the timeline at all, except now I'm one Suspiciously Mint Condition Apple Lisa richer***?

Or do I want "I go back and stop someone from getting on that plane" and I come back home and they're alive and they've always been alive and I can remember them at my university graduation?

There's a dial. I can pick it, and then I can fine tune it. This is a much more useful time machine than a bunch of the other ones people use in fiction, where they're all "no we can't, because of the Laws of Time." or "Time travel always has a price" or "if we do that it makes time worse when we get back so we go back and have to fix it" or such.

So much whining. Skill issue, frankly. Mine's got a dial. I just don't do that. Maybe you should upgrade? Trade in your Tardis, Time Egg, DeLorean, Hyperspacing powered-by-spinning-compasses-and-bad-geometry flying cars, Magic books, Flying Houses****, flying around the earth, running around the earth faster than light (or time?), falling into black holes, worm holes, going faster than warp 10, Magic Space Rocks Of Time That Are From Alien/Gods, Time Portals, That Magic VCR From That One YA Novel I Read Back In The 90s Where If You Hit Rewind It Rewound You Back In Time, and your assorted magic spells in for my clearly superiour time machine, because I thought to put a dial on mine and you just thought you needed the date and time. Pfft. I bet you don't even bother picking which timeline you end up on!

Oh, what's that? You didn't know you had access to different timelines? Wow. Mine's just got a little map, and I use the trackball to select which one. Actually... *I reach over and swivel the CRT away from you* Let's not have you looking at that, if you don't know about timelines yet that's basically spoilers.

Anyway... Yeah. What's your favorite set of weird time travel rules? One of the obvious silly ones is the Terminator universe's "you can only time travel in flesh, so no bringing guns, nudity is required, and robots have to get tricksy" rule. But I'm sure it's normal compared to some of the weirder stuff that's out there.

As for HOW you time travel, while there are many silly methods in use (a surprising number of which involve Going Fast in some manner), one of my favorite ways is in one of the later 80s Heinlein novels, where a Genius AI points out that the hyperdrive can do time travel, but just no one had realized or bothered to ask an AI until now. Out of universe, this is a hyperdrive from a common setting the author had been writing about since the 40s. In universe? nearly TWO MILLENNIA. No one had noticed it can JUST TIME TRAVEL in all that time, until an AI bothered to mention it because someone was like "boy, it's annoying we don't have time travel" within earshot (the first mission was to find christ (couldn't), and the second was to bang his mom. (he failed (for now) and died in ww1 (for now))).

I may be in a slightly rantly ADHD mood today. But that's the thing, with ADHD you have an impaired sense of time. That's maybe why I like time travel stories so much? Time is already a murky mess for me, let's get weirder with it.

* funfact: from the same author of the previous story I was referencing! "Time travel splits the timeline" is Strange Attractors (1990) by William Sleator, and "You can just infinitely dupe items by stealing them from yourself" is from The Green Futures of Tycho (1984) by my favorite YA author of the 80s-00s, William Sleator. ** It's my fantasy time machine, and my fantasy time machine has nice tactile switches and knobs. like most of my Fantasy Whatever Machines, now that I think about it. *** you don't want to know by how much. you will be happier to not know how much this 1 shit-ass computer would be worth today. **** Now with the mention of Flying Houses you can recontextualize the previous vague "magic book" entry as a clear reference to Superbook and The Flying House, two 1980s Christian Animes, because I am exactly that nerd.

[the-slow]

WOE, TERROR PLAYLISTS BE UPON YE

9 playlists, (Tozer, Hickey, Little, Jopson, Irving, Hartnell, Blanky, Bridgens/Peglar, Crozier) 8 songs each. Made in both a davechella "this is what I think they would listen to in the modern day" sort of way, as well as a "the songs are about the character" way. Playlists under the cut. Enjoy!

🦞 Best Shot Here | Tozer* Something To That Tune, Queer Melody For A Marine, etc

Built By Nations - Greta Van Fleet

Houses Of The Holy - Led Zeppelin

From The Ritz To The Rubble - Arctic Monkeys

Iron - Woodkid

Heartbroken, in Disrepair - Dan Auerbach

I Promise - Radiohead

The Curse of the Blackened Eye - Orville Peck

Rounder - Watchhouse

Removed: The Switch and the Spur - The Raconteurs

🔪 Morals/Practicals | Hickey Everyone get unemployed. I will provide for us.

Shove It (feat. Spank Rock) - Santigold

Sinister Kid - The Black Keys

Easy Way Out - Gotye

Judas - Cage The Elephant

Circuit Breaker - Röyksopp

The Future - Mystery Skulls

Big City Life - Kidkanevil

Krazy World - King Geedorah

🥇 Every Gold Thing | Little What if your unread emails turned into a spirit bear and the bear gave you blue balls

Human Sadness - The Voidz

At The Door - The Strokes

You Can Let Go - Half Moon Run

There, There - Radiohead

Cowgirl - Ora Cogan

I Am The Dog - Sir Chloe

Don't Run Into The Dark So Quick - Jon Bap

The Place Where He Inserted The Blade - Black Country

Removed: Romance - Fontaines D.C.

🦅 Smaller Hawks | Jopson Miss Battle Butler Takes Care of Business!!!!!!

Don't Call It Love - Zero 7

Tiny Garden - Jamila woods

Private Road - Bent

You Have My Heart - Ursina

If You Let Me - Alina Baraz

Compromised - Tim Atlas

The King - Sarah Kinsley

Leash - Sir Chloe

✝️ Reborn Clean | Irving John Irving's giant shame playlist

Punish - Ethel Cain

De Selby (Part 1) - Hozier

The Lament of Eustace Scrubb - The Oh Hellos

All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands - Sufjan Stevens

St Jude - Florence + The Machine

Picture You - Chappell Roan

Roses Are Falling - Orville Peck

Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk - Rufus Wainwright

🧊 Spared To Meet | Hartnell The Cunty Stander Strikes Again

When You Were Young - The Killers

Yellow - Coldplay

Float On - Modest Mouse

Island In The Sun - Weezer

Lavender - Ray LaMontagne

Plum - Widowspeak

Satellite - Guster

Ends of the Earth - Lord Huron

🐻‍❄️ Unnatural With Thoughts | Blanky The undisputed champion of Rock In Bucket ten years running

Sacred Love - Sting

Life In The Fast Lane - Eagles

Love Me Two Times - The Doors

Theresa Maria - Fine Crowd

Moondance - Van Morrison

Deacon Blues - Steely Dan

Free - Seal

Strangers In The Night - Frank Sinatra

Removed: Reelin' In The Years - Steely Dan

📚 No More Herodotus | Bridgens/Peglar Relapsed. Relapsed. Relapsed. Relapsed.

I Melt with You - Modern English

Holland, 1945 - Neutral Milk Hotel

Love My Way - The Psychedelic Furs

I Will Follow You into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

Dreams - The Cranberries

My Love Mine all Mine - Mitski

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

⚓Travel Well | Crozier

Untitled 2 - The Green Kingdom ⚓

Fortress Around Your Heart - Sting 🐻‍❄️

You Can Bring Me Flowers - Ray LaMontagne 🧊

Would That I - Hozier ✝️

Sunday - The Cranberries 📚

Spinning - Zero 7 🦅

End of Nowhere - Ora Cogan 🥇

Goin' Home - Dan Auerbach 🦞

Removed: There, There - Radiohead

*PLUS - 8 songs was simply not enough for Solomon "my beautiful husband" Tozer, so here's an extended playlist:

[its-avalon-08]

Amoreeee!

i love ur works and i have a very specific reuqest in mind. this is too detailed so please feel free to ditch a few details because im aware its too much. this is a mv1 x senna!daughter one.

max is hard racing some driver and he gets angry and flustered and he crashes because he act irresponsibly. y/n's heart stops because the way the car rotated and hit the barrier refletced her late father's passing.

her breath stops, max is ok but gp IS ANGRY at him because that could have been easily avoided. max is not hurt at all.

he is still angry when he comes back into the motor home. and then y/n gives him a cold shoulder and doesnt speak to him.

this makes max angrier leading to a passive aggressive arguement. max says something which leads y/n to say "fine then, fuck off and die see if i care" max is shcoked and so is everyonbe else in the motorhome

when she rushes out in tears she bumps into carlos/charles/lando and he comforts her and she says "i never shouldve said that"

they make up, hapoy ending make it extra emotional.

LOVE UR WORKS!

i have to confess, i love this one the most out of everything i've ever written. its extra extra long, and the anon messaged me and asked me to add a few more things, so i have done the same! anon ily ! (edit - i messed up the translation! its been fixed now!!) enjoy reading <3

coração valente (mv1) (brave heart)

find the headcannon here!

The roar of the engine was a dull thrum in Y/N's ears as she watched the battle unfold on the screen. Max was locked in a fierce fight for position with Esteban Ocon. Every aggressive lunge, every desperate attempt to overtake sent a tremor of unease through her. It was too reminiscent, too close to the edge.

Then, disaster struck. Ocon made a late move, and Max, fueled by frustration and a competitive fire, reacted impulsively. He swerved to block him, the car losing traction as it took the corner too tightly. The world slowed down as Y/N watched in horror. The Red Bull spun, a sickening ballet of red and blue against the asphalt, before slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch.

Her breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips. The way the car crumpled, the dust cloud mirroring the crash that stole her father… the memory flooded back, vivid and terrifying. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo threatening to burst through her chest.

Thankfully, the medical team rushed to the scene, and the relief was almost a physical blow. Max emerged from the wreckage, shaken but unharmed. But the reprimand from Horner was swift and brutal. "Unnecessary risk, Verstappen! You could have avoided that entirely!"

By the time Max stormed back into the motorhome, his anger was a palpable presence. He tossed his helmet onto the couch, the thud echoing in the tense silence. Y/N sat by the window, her back to him, a cold, hard wall where warmth and concern usually resided.

"Great job out there," Max spat, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Another brilliant strategy by Horner, putting all the pressure on me."

Y/N remained silent. Her silence was a punishment, far worse than any raised voice. Max, already on edge, bristled.

"You gonna say something, genius?" he snapped. "Or are you just gonna sit there like a statue?" Y/N turned a deaf ear to that.

The air in the motorhome felt thick enough to chew on. Y/N sat at the table, meticulously organizing spare race parts, a pointed silence radiating from her. Max hovered by the coffee machine, his usual swagger dampened by a heavy frown.

Christian Horner, ever the mediator, attempted to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he boomed, "what are we learning from this little spin?"

Max, bristling at the reminder, mumbled a vague response about tire strategy. Y/N, without looking up, chimed in, "Perhaps a lesson in spatial awareness wouldn't go amiss."

The air crackled. Max whipped his head towards her, his jaw clenched. "Oh, and who's the expert on spatial awareness, Miss Never-Been-On-The-Track?"

Y/N slammed a wrench down a little too hard, the metallic clang echoing in the tense silence. "There's a difference between calculated risk and reckless driving," she retorted, her voice laced with ice.

Max scoffed. "Spoken like someone who's never felt the pressure of a championship on their shoulders."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "Pressure doesn't excuse stupidity, Max," she said, her voice clipped.

Horner cleared his throat, his booming voice a desperate attempt to break the ice. "Look, let's all take a moment to cool down. We can dissect the crash later. Right now, Max needs a clear head for the next race."

With that, Horner steered Max towards a debriefing session, leaving Y/N alone in the charged atmosphere. She picked up a stray bolt, turning it over in her hand, her knuckles white with repressed anger. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the workshop around her.

Just then, Charles walked in, his perceptive eyes catching the glint of tears on her cheeks. "Rough day?" he asked softly.

Y/N choked back a sob. "It's just… I don't know if I can watch him race anymore," she confessed, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles pulled up a chair beside her, his presence a silent comfort. "You know Max," he said gently. "He makes mistakes, but he learns from them."

Y/N shook her head. "This wasn't just a mistake, Charles. It was reckless. And it brought back…" she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Charles squeezed her shoulder in understanding. "The fear," he finished for her. "It's always there, isn't it?"

Y/N nodded, a tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "I can't lose him too," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Charles offered a sad smile. "You won't," he assured her. "Max is stubborn, but he cares about you. He'll learn from this."

His words offered a glimmer of hope. Y/N knew Charles was right. But the fear, the raw terror that had gripped her during the crash, still lingered.

Max, a whirlwind of frustration earlier, had retreated into a sullen silence. Y/N, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, refused to acknowledge him directly. The tension crackled between them, a storm waiting to erupt.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood. "So, Max," he said, a touch too cheerfully, "what are we having for dinner? Surely Y/N has whipped up some magic in the kitchen?"

Y/N's lips twitched, but she remained focused on her phone, pretending not to hear. Max, still fuming, mumbled a curt, "I don't care."

The forced joviality died a quick death. Charles, sensing the undercurrents, offered, "Actually, I wouldn't mind ordering some takeout. How about some Indian?"

Y/N finally looked up, her voice clipped. "No, thank you, Charles. I'm not particularly hungry."

Max scoffed. "Suit yourself. More for the rest of us, then."

The passive-aggressive jabs continued throughout the evening, each veiled comment a fresh barb. Y/N praised Charles's recent qualifying performance, a clear dig at Max's reckless driving. Max, in turn, bragged about a new training program he was starting, a not-so-subtle jab at Y/N's perceived lack of understanding.

"Honestly that race was mine, Ocon fucked it up for everyone," Max proclaimed.

"Maybe," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "if you hadn't been so busy playing daredevil, you wouldn't have thrown away the race."

The words hung heavy in the air. Max felt a flicker of something cold and sharp twist in his gut. "Playing daredevil?" he scoffed. "I was out there fighting for the win!"

"At what cost?" Y/N's voice cracked, the dam of her emotions threatening to burst. "Do you even understand the fear you put me through?"

Max, for the first time, saw a glimpse of the terror that mirrored his own reckless driving. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn't come.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, in a moment of horrifying clarity, Max blurted out, "Look, if you can't handle the pressure, maybe you should just—"

The sentence died on his lips as he saw the blood drain from Y/N's face. She stared at him, her eyes filled with a hurt so profound it took his breath away.

"Fine then," she said, her voice a choked whisper. "fuck off and die. see if i care."

The words echoed in the stunned silence. Everyone in the motorhome froze, their eyes wide with shock. Even Max, fueled by anger, felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.

Y/N didn't wait for a response. Tears streaming down her face, she bolted out of the motorhome, the slam of the door a punctuation mark to the shattered silence.

Max stared after her, a tapestry of emotions swirling within him – anger, regret, a terror that mirrored her own. He lunged after her, but Charles, who had witnessed the exchange, caught him by the arm.

"Let her go," Charles said gently, his voice laced with concern. "She needs some space."

Max sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. "What did I do?" he rasped, the anger replaced by a crushing weight of remorse.

The atmosphere was suffocating. Everyone, even the usually jovial mechanics, seemed to walk on eggshells around the warring couple. Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she walked, the weight of the fight, the fear, and the unspoken hurt threatening to overwhelm her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The cool night air did little to soothe the burning in Y/N's eyes. She wandered away from the motorhome complex, her legs numb and directionless. The roar of the track faded behind her, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. Tears streamed down her face, carving clean tracks through the grime of the day.

Then, she saw it. Half-hidden behind a cluster of trees, a towering mural emerged from the darkness. It was a familiar image – her father, mid-corner, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of yellow and green. A wave of emotions washed over her – grief, pride, and now, a searing anger.

Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Y/N found herself talking to the painted image. "Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me how terrifying it would be to watch someone you love race?"

"Doesn't he understand, Dad? Doesn't he see the risk he takes? It's like he doesn't care! Doesn't care about the fear he puts me through, the terror that I relive every single time I see a car spin out of control!"

She slammed her fist against the concrete wall, a raw scream escaping her lips. The sound echoed in the quiet night, a testament to the storm raging within her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and angry.

"And then," she continued, her voice trembling, "he has the audacity to get mad at me? To act like I'm the one overreacting? Doesn't he see what his actions do? Doesn't he see what he almost took away from me today?"

Silence, except for the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. But in her mind, she could almost hear his voice, warm and reassuring. "coração valente (brave heart)," it seemed to say, the nickname he always used for her. "Fear is a part of it, but it doesn't have to control you."

Y/N wiped her eyes, a flicker of understanding replacing the anger. Her father hadn't raced because it was easy. He raced because of the passion, the thrill, the dance with danger. He wouldn't have wanted her to live in fear, but to find her own strength, her own way to navigate the world he left behind.

The sting in his eyes wasn't just from the acrid smoke billowing from a nearby barbecue. Max's chest ached with a dull ache that had nothing to do with the crash. Y/N's words, "fine then, fuck off and die. See if I care," echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his monumental screw-up.

He couldn't just sit there, stewing in his self-pity. He needed to find her, needed to apologize and explain the terrifying realization that had dawned on him during their tense silence.

Following a hunch, he made his way to the secluded corner where the mural of Ayrton Senna stood. In the dim glow of a single overhead light, he saw Y/N curled up with her back against the wall, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. A red mark marred her hand where it had connected with the concrete.

His heart lurched. He knelt down beside her, his voice barely a whisper. "Y/N?"

She flinched at the sound, whipping her tear-streaked face towards him. Her eyes, red and puffy, held a storm of emotions – hurt, anger, and something akin to pleading.

Max swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I shouldn't have said what I said," he began, his voice thick with remorse. "My anger… it clouded everything. I didn't…" He broke off, his own voice cracking.

Tears spilled down Y/N's cheeks. "And I..." she started, her voice trembling. "I never should have said what I did. It was awful, unforgivable of me." Her voice choked on a sob. "I don't… I don't want to lose you, Max. Not like that."

With a choked cry, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Max held her tight, the dam breaking inside him. He pressed kisses to her hair, each one a silent apology, a promise.

"I get it now, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand the fear. I see it reflected in your eyes every time I step onto the track. And I promise, I'll never do anything like that again. Not if it means putting you through that kind of pain."

They clung to each other, a tangle of limbs and broken sobs. The night air vibrated with the raw emotions they were finally releasing. Slowly, the sobs subsided into sniffles, leaving behind a fragile calm.

Max pulled back, wiping away a stray tear from Y/N's cheek with his thumb. "Let's go back," he said gently, his voice hoarse. "We can talk properly, sort things out."

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "Together," she added, a shaky smile playing on her lips.

Max grinned back, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "Always," he promised. "Together, no matter what the track throws at us."

As they walked back hand-in-hand, the mural of Ayrton Senna seemed to watch over them, a silent guardian of their love, a love forged in fire, tested by fear, and ultimately strengthened by understanding and forgiveness. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with each other, they knew they could face anything.

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

After handing our shoes over to the teenager at the counter and replacing them with the generic and ill-fitting bowling shoes, trying not to think too hard about how many random strangers have worn them before us, we make our way over to where Ash and Lex have already reserved a lane, bickering about how to enter our names into the machine.

Just as we’re sitting down, Lex leans over and bites Ash on the arm. “Ow!” He pulls away from her and rubs at the spot where she sank her teeth in, “Competition makes you so mean.”

“You being a dick makes me mean. Now delete it and walk away.”

I look up just in time to see the U and S disappear from the end of her name and chuckle under my breath. Even I know better than to use her full name under any circumstances lest I lose a limb.

Laughing, Ash hops out of the seat and walks over to us, lifting his sleeve to reveal teeth marks. “Can you believe this?”

“Yeah,” I say, “what did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn’t think she’d bite me,” he pulls his sleeve back down and turns to Dawn with a cheerful smile and says, “Hello,” giving her the opportunity she’s been itching for since I first told her about him.

“Hi! I’m Dawn.”

“Ahh, the twin! I’m Asher. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” She looks over to give me the “he’s cute” look which I do my best to ignore.

Ash plops onto the seat next to her and leans in to speak quietly, “So, this is probably an annoying question, but do you guys have any secret twin powers?”

“Of course,” she replies and then looks around to ensure no one is eavesdropping, “Telepathy. We can read each other’s minds.”

“Fascinating. What’s he thinking now?”

She looks over at me and squints her eyes. I’m suddenly worried about what she might say to him. As far as she knows, Ash is just a friend from work that I have a crush on and maybe had some weird dreams about. I give her a slight shake of my head and mouth the word, “Don’t.”

She turns back to Ash and says, “He wants me to keep my mouth shut. He’s afraid I’m going to say something to embarrass him.”

“Are you?”

“Probably.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun. I like you. Do you want to team up?”

“Absolutely.”

Fantastic.

I deflate a little at being teamed up with Lex. Don’t get me wrong, I love Lex, but I think a part of me just assumed I’d be with Ash. Seems like a silly assumption now that I think about it, but I’m disappointed, nonetheless.

As Lex takes her turn, Ash and Dawn continue to chat about me as if I’m not sitting right next to them, making me feel more anxious and awkward by the second.

“So, Atlas tells me you’re an artist.”

He glances at me, then back at Dawn with a sly smile, “He can’t stop talking about me, can he?”

“Not for a second. He’s obsessed.” She’s all too happy to play along, probably assuming Ash is fishing for confirmation that I like him or something. She has a tendency to meddle, always thinking I need help when it comes to dating when in reality, I just move at a different pace than she does.

“It’s sad really,” he tells her, “He needs to move on.” He gets up to take his turn as Lex cheers and skips over to me. I look up to see that she got a spare and am about to congratulate her when Ash looks at me and mutters, “We’re just friends, after all,” before he turns to walk away.

My smile falters as the sting of his words rushes through me. I clamp my jaw down, grinding my teeth and feeling foolish. How did I think for one second that changing our environment would somehow ease the tension between us?

I watch as he steps up to the lane, holding the ball in front of him with intense focus before stepping forward and tossing it toward the pins with perfect form, because of course he does. It spins down the lane with such force and precision that every one of the pins crashes down on impact, earning him a strike. He turns to us with bow as Dawn cheers and Lex yells out, “Fuck!”

I had no doubt I’d be the worst bowler out of all of us, but I didn’t expect everyone else to actually be good. I start to feel self-conscious about going up and taking my turn.

I suddenly see the whole night play out in front of me: the tension and passive-aggressive comments from Ash reminding me what an asshole I am, Lex getting frustrated at my lack of skill and being the reason we lose the game, and Dawn being so charmed by Ash that she’s completely oblivious to my misery while she tells him how he gives me butterflies and invades my dreams, only making the tension between us worse, and I wish we’d never come here at all.

“Don’t worry,” Lex pats my knee, “he got lucky. You got this.”

No, I don’t. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. But I don’t want to be dramatic about it by storming off. I have no choice but to suck it up and get through the night, so I might as well attempt to have fun.

I take a breath and stand to take my turn, picking up the ball and trying my best to focus on the weight of it in my hand to keep my increasingly dark thoughts at bay.

I step forward and toss the ball down the lane sloppily, surprised that it doesn’t slide immediately into the gutter. Instead, it skims the edge and takes out a single pin on the far corner before disappearing.

Normally, I’d make a joke about it, getting overly excited about my one pin, but I can’t bring myself to do that now. It would feel stupid and awkward and forced. I just want to slump back down in my seat and disappear into the background, but I can’t. I have to stand here in front of all of them, waiting for my ball to return so I can throw it one more time, hoping it goes slightly better than the last.

Lex calls me over and I apologize immediately, “I told you I was a terrible bowler.”

She shakes her head, “Nonsense. We will not lose this game, understand?”

“I don’t—”

“Just listen. The problem is, you’re too stiff. You just need to loosen up a little, relax your grip, and make sure not to swing your arm in front of you. You’ve gotta keep it straight.”

“Lex, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything straight in my whole life.”

She snickers and swats at me playfully, “Alright then, at least angle your body a little to compensate.”

“I’ll give it a try.” Her cheeriness and optimism make me feel a little better. I still don’t know why she’s being nice to me after what I did, but I’m grateful for it. I’m realizing that she’s become one of my closest friends over the last few years, and it would be devastating to lose her.

I toss the ball with more intention this time, keeping Lex’s advice in mind. At first, it looks like a nice roll, but in the end, it lands in the gutter, taking the last shred of my self-confidence with it, and leaving my remaining nine pins standing. At least now I can go sit down.

Dawn gives me a smile as she walks by me to take her turn, “You just need to warm up a bit, that’s all.” Right. That’s what I need.

I sink into my seat, staring at my hands when I see Ash out of the corner of my eye scooting closer to me. “I hate when that happens,” he says, “Heading right down the lane, you think you know exactly where it’s going and then, boom, takes a turn and lands in the gutter. Hurts, doesn’t it?’

I look over at him, at his eyes, uninviting and devoid of their usual brightness, and I wonder if this is how things are going to be between us now; I wonder if keeping our friendship intact was as foolish an idea as coming out here tonight. All I can muster is a quiet, “Yeah.” Then, I stand and turn to Lex, telling her, “I’m going to get some air,” and I escape to the nearest exit.

Prev // Next

[ultrakill-confessions]

i had a hc rant for the deal w/ soul orbs and blood orbs planned but i got carried away, so instead i just want to say that i would let V2 bash my skull in, i always love fighting her more than i should. i never let myself coinpunch him to death, i need to see the machine finish the bow/knuckle crack and then skitter across the area. shooting my coins. it makes me so happy. she's so cool. i'd gladly be spare parts for V2 if he needed it.

i like going into the sandbox, turning on the ignoring player and enemies attack each other option, then putting V2 against other enemies and throwing up coins to help her fight them. i like summoning hordes of V2 to beat up one (1) lucky guy.

i also like opening the terminal to V2's entries and then just spam tapping her spinning image. i don't know what it is about doing that but it fills me with joy and whimsy

sometimes i'll just equip the knuckleblaster and the marksman to see her arm flip the coin, or to see it punch. i love all of the arms though so me just equipping them to stare like an idiot is pretty common. can't wait for Yellow Arm so i can get even worse

-

[jjkamochoso]

Hello could I request a jjba headcanons it's about Reader teaching Rohan how to sew clothes and make his own clothes, this is just an idea for fun :3

Uh YES I loved this idea omg??? It’s so creative, thank you for sending it!!! Rohan is such a fashion icon and having him tap into his crafty side to make even more lil crop tops is truly a beautiful thing✨

Teaching Rohan to Sew Clothes Headcanons

Fluff

Rohan Kishibe x gn!reader

Warnings: none; can be read platonic or romantic!

• It all started one fateful day when Rohan slammed his closet door closed, no piece of clothing sparking his interest; he truly had nothing to wear

• You liked working on your various sewing projects at his house, finding peace in the silence of the large rooms, the only sound hitting your ears being the scratch of his pens on paper

• You had knocked on his door that morning and earned no acknowledgment in the numerous minutes you stood there, using your spare key (yeah, he really tolerated you!) to let yourself in

• As you stepped inside, you saw him angrily stomp down the stairs, obviously frustrated by something

• Considering he was still in his pajamas past 10am, you knew it was something serious

• When he begrudgingly told you of his predicament, you couldn’t contain your giddiness as you suggested he made his own clothes for once

• Of course, Rohan being Rohan, he scoffed and turned his nose up at the idea, stating he didn’t want to “waste his creativity” on making clothes instead of working on his manga

• “You’re right,” you had said, “because everyone wants to hire a 20 year old manga artist who only wears pajamas.”

• Next thing you knew he was sat next to you at your sewing machine in one of his many extra bedrooms, eager to learn

• You first explained all of the working parts of the machine, showing him where the needle goes, how to create different stitching patterns, the whole nine yards

• You then had him choose fabric he wanted his first shirt to be made from. It worked out well since you had mostly scraps from your personal projects and he mostly wore crop tops

• Trying to take his measurements was harder than getting a dog to take their medicine—he does NOT like people in his personal space (but again, he tolerates you very much so at least he didn’t bite lmao)

• He caught on quickly with how to use the machine, the wheels in his head spinning with ideas about a new manga with a mechanical main character

• When he accidentally poked himself with the needle, you learned a whole dictionary’s worth of new cuss words

• To your surprise, he loved hand sewing even more

• Adding the small details, like buttons and embellishments, made Rohan feel like the project had a more personal touch. He is a very detail oriented and hands on kind of guy when it comes to creative projects

• Speaking of hands on…

• You showed him the motion he should use when hand sewing by guiding his hand up and down before he pierced the fabric with the needle he was gripping in his fingertips

• Your closeness was causing his heart to beat rapidly in his chest

• He convinced himself it was from you manhandling him, thinking you were about to poke his eye out with the way you were flailing his hand around, needle glinting under the light

• His slight blush said otherwise👀

• When the shirt was done, you had him put it on and model it for you

• Of course he looked amazing !!

• He thanked you and showed a genuine interest in sewing, asking to see what other things you had been working on while he was hunched over at his desk all those months you had spent there

• Rohan looked forward to making more clothes with you since you were so knowledgeable and understood his vision!

• He never yelled at you about your sewing machine being too loud while he was working again <3