#The colors are different from what i normally do

[cloudyrainyspring]

So, first of all, I feel weirdly guilt-tripped for disliking a show right now. And like... why? Why did you need morals here?

First, I honestly do not know where you're from, but I certainly am not from the Corporation Rim culturally. One: I am not American — I am, in fact, from post-socialist hell. Two: we as readers were not meant to feel like we're from the Rim. In fact, I could argue that we as readers are definitely culturally “from” Preservation (very strange way to put it, though). There are several clues — starting from the fact that it's called “Preservation” (preservation of WHAT then, mate??????), and ending with the fact that for us, slavery is terrifying. For us, the existence of Murderbot is terrifying. The PresAux group are the first people with normal reactions to Murderbot. Their disbelief that it has a human face is supposed to signal to us that, yes, this existence is not normal.

Secondly, ordinary people from the Corporation Rim are not, in fact, like you're implying they are. They have polyamorous families, they have colored hair, they are silly, and they are risking their lives for what seems to be... code. Tapan is not that different from PresAux. In fact, the only difference between Tapan, Rami, and Maro’s group from Artificial Condition and the PresAux group is that Dr. Mensah's crew is incredibly privileged and rich. They have a lawyer on board at all times, on what is basically their archaeology/resource-gathering gig. Tapan didn’t. Tapan couldn’t even afford a SecUnit. The three of them stumbled upon Murderbot, who needed them to get from point A to point B. Dr. Mensah was FORCED to sign for a SecUnit, and then she easily bought it out.

So no, I didn't think of them as cool communists — I thought of them as Scandinavians. Rich and priveledged. They were not “cool” in the books either — they were nice. That’s different. They could have sung the songs, danced the dance, but they were NICE. They didn’t make MB’s life difficult before they realized what it was, and then they actively helped it, accommodated it, and cared for it. That's why it trusted them and cared for them! It revealed itself to them, despite hacking its governor module several years before! They do none of this in the TV show, because the series is concerned with MB being super cool and competent because it's from the Rim, while PresAux are left to be incompetent, annoying hippies.

Lastly, Pin-Lee in the book is a woman who is incredibly competent and smart, probably in her 40s, and very hot. Arada and Overse have a beautiful relationship, where MB has a soft spot for Arada. Arada is idealistic and kind, but Overse is more of a realist — but never mocks Arada. These three are important female characters. Overse was cut. Arada and Pin-Lee were turned into a mockery of polyamory. Come on.

You can like the show — it is truly a well-made show — but this is just unserious.

Murderbot as a ‘Cringe’ Litmus Test for the Audience (a.k.a., we are culturally the Corporation Rim)

One of the more interesting things I’ve seen in discussions of ‘Murderbot’ are how many people are not happy that the show made the Preservation team more explicitly hippies.  After all, per our current cultural zeitgeist, hippies are silly, over-earnest, over-feeling, over-EVERYTHING. Why is this team of scientists holding hands and humming?  Why are they taking breaks in the middle of a tense situation to reassure a colleague that they love him? Why do they stand around playing music and dancing during their downtime?  Why did the show make them “Cringe”?

And that got me thinking again about the current cultural antipathy toward sincerity and openness.  People who are seen as open and sincere beyond a fairly narrow scope of emotional expression are treated as deeply weird, off-putting, and most importantly for this conversation, as INCOMPETENT.  You can’t be goofy and competent.  You can’t believe in the power of love and friendship and holding hands and taking a dance break, and still be a good scientist.  You can’t have one of the unsexy sorts of mental health problems (panic disorder) and be a good leader.  In our current cultural moment, you have to be Cool.  You have to be unaffected by both the horrors of the world and the day-to-day joys. 

I think that a lot of people see themselves in ‘The Murderbot Diaries’, and a lot of them understandably love the very anticapitalist tone of the books.  And they wanted Preservation to be Cool Space Communists.  Hypercompetent at all times, serious, without flaw.  Because any personal flaws might be taken as flaws in their cultural and political leanings, right?  And we can’t have silliness or goofiness or fun in our Communist Utopia, or people won’t take us seriously.

But to me, the tension is so much better, so much more real and human and FUN. And it makes the audience question their own implicit biases as much as SecUnit is going to have to contemplate its implicit biases.  This team is comprised of highly talented scientists from a culture that values emotions and, yes, activities that we the audience have been culturally trained to think are Cringe.  They do have a humming consensus circle—so that anyone in the team can have veto power over a decision that has major ramifications not only for a research project, but for their own ethics.  They do like to play music and dance when they’ve got some free time, even if that music would be considered embarrassing or offputting to outsiders.  They do openly love one another and support one another, even in—no, especially in—challenging times.  It’s good to have that tension, both to tell the story and to give the characters and the AUDIENCE an emotional and thematic arc.

Let’s use Dr. Mensah as a the best example so far of this tension. Mensah is a good leader.  In every scene where she’s with the group, she’s the heart of it.  She’s always weighing the fears, the thoughts, the feelings, and the arguments of her friends to come to a decision.  She doesn’t feel like Gurathin’s right about not trusting SecUnit, but she’s also very aware that he knows more about the Corporation Rim than she does, and that his arguments, while rooted in his fears, are rational.  So she ends up deciding that they’ll leave the SecUnit behind for their mission. 

And it’s the wrong call. Going out to the dark site in the map without the SecUnit almost gets her killed. But her decision to climb the scree pile alone makes sense, because she doesn’t want to further endanger Bharadwaj, and if she doesn’t climb up there with her equipment, they won’t get important information about what’s going on with their survey data. And yes, while she’s climbing she has another panic attack. But she keeps climbing through it. Hell, she even takes a moment to encourage the teamwork between SecUnit and Gurathin, because that’s an important part of being their leader.  And, yes, they both roll their eyes because they still don’t like one another. But the important thing is that she’s created this sense of openness, of acceptance, of love.

Being a good leader doesn’t mean making the right call all the time.  It means learning from both right calls and wrong calls.  It means creating an environment where people can be wrong, and learn from their mistakes, and try again to get it right.  And it works!  Gurathin may roll his eyes, but he also has the space to apologize for getting it wrong. He has the space to fuck up and try again. And that is created by her encouragement, by her openness, by her caring even when it becomes embarrassing to a man raised in our culture the Corporation Rim, where open emotion is something to smirk at.

And when she’s alone, Mensah falls apart.  When no one can see her, she has panic attacks, because things are starting to go pear-shaped for these people she loves.  Because one of her dear friends nearly died, and she wasn’t there, and apparently that could happen at any time because their maps are faulty, and the only real rescue is an untrustworthy bond company that is a week away at best.  That’s a perfect recipe for a panic attack, but she hides them because she knows what she needs to be for her friends and colleagues.  She is the leader, and damned if she’s going to let something like her panic disorder stop her from doing that.

That’s not incompetent, that’s incredibly courageous.  Her bravery lies in being afraid and pushing through, not being flawless from the off.  The bravery and the competence and the things that eventually are going to win Murderbot over to loving these humans ARE their flaws and the fact that they don’t let those flaws stop them from trying to be the best people they can be, while also being true to a culture of being open and loving to the point that they can come across, to the jaded construct or audience member, as Cringe.

I think we’re going to see more and more of that as the show unfolds.  We’ve only just laid the groundwork, and established the initial impressions of all the characters.  They are being set up for arcs, and by electing to let the Preservation team be more out-there, more earnest, more Cringe, they’re setting the audience up for an arc too.

Anyway, loving the show, can’t wait for the DeltFall storyline to kick off tonight.  And I love this crew being highly-competent space hippies with realistic human flaws, who love and support one another.  In an unrelentingly Cool, Bleak, and Edgy television landscape, it really is nice to have kind characters be free to be their kooky selves without the show judging them for it.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Winter's Grip

❄️Pairing(s)❄️🡲 Yandere Bucky Barnes x male reader ⚠️CW⚠️🡲 gay, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, top Bucky Barnes, throatfucking, oral sex, blowjob, facial, face fucking, Bucky has big dick (of course), bottom male reader, sexual assault, blood, mention of gore, you get trauma from the event, Bucky uses your trauma to manipulate you, and you fall in love with Bucky. Bucky is kinda creepy and soft in this.  🔞Rating🔞🡲 Explicit  ❄️Request❄️🡲 Yes

🖊️Word Count🖊️🡲 3.1k

❄️Summary❄️🡲 Bucky mistakes you as a target he used to love and vows to never let you go. When you show resistance to his actions, Bucky decides to go to extremes. Whatever it takes for you, stay in his grip.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

Your body shifted in the sheets as you slowly woke up. Your vision was blurry and disoriented until you adjusted—that’s when you realized the room you were in wasn’t yours. This bed and its adornments weren’t yours. The windows were barred like they were from a prison, and the door was made of metal and locked. 

Fear began rushing through your body as you quickly got up, your feet hitting the floor, and blankets hitting the wooden floor. You were surprised that you weren’t chained to the bed, but your pulse hammered as panic started setting in. Why would your kidnapper give you freedom of movement? That was the least of your worries as you tried thinking of ways to leave– there was no way. To calm yourself down, you further analyzed the room, finding it simple and cozy. 

It was like any normal room found anywhere else– a dresser, a closet, and some entertainment. The walls and accessories were painted your favorite color, making it better than your actual room. 

Then, you heard the door sliding open and closing behind the man you can confidently say kidnapped you. “Morning, doll,” the mysterious man said in a soft and husky voice as if he’d done this before. He actually did some years ago, but that was different from now. He sounded soft and polite, but there was something else there– a sinister tone that was masked. 

You flinch at the voice, turn around to see a large, imposing man with broad shoulders, his left arm completely made of metal, and a cleanly shaved stubble. He looked familiar, like someone you have seen before, and his voice sounded familiar, too. 

Flashback

It was a busier day than usual, but it was always like that working at a coffee cafe near the Avengers Tower. The plus side was getting to meet the various members of the Avengers and getting to know some of them personally, mainly their orders and snacks. You would find yourself chatting with Captain America, Hawkeye, etc. They said the cafe was better than Starbucks– good, fuck Starbucks. 

You were covering your co-worker's shift for the time being due to her responding to a family emergency. You were moving back and forth, taking orders and making them before handing them off. The next person came forward, you could tell he was new, a face you had never seen until now. 

“Good morning! What can I get you?” you said cheerfully and smiling at the man. As you waited for the man to respond, you began looking him over. He had a metal arm, handsome features, and was built like Steve Rogers. Interesting, he must be a new addition! 

“Cold brew, please,” the man said as he looked down at you. His eyes were looking into yours. There was something in them, something you couldn’t place your finger on. You then realized you were staring at him! “Coming up… what’s your name?” you said, cheeks flustered from the embarrassment after being caught staring. 

“James Barnes.” 

Present Time

“James?” you said with a shocked tone. Why would he do this to you? Sure, he became a regular… coming in every day, then came in every couple of hours and just sat in the corner. You thought he was doing something important and decided to come to the cafe! Then again, your co-worker told you how the man, James Barnes, would stare at you.

“I’m so glad you remembered me, doll,” Bucky replied with a satisfied smile as he walked towards you. His footsteps send quakes through your body as you begin backing away from him. Your pulse and breathing quicken as your body starts trembling. “W-why? Why… where am I?” You felt your back pressing against the wall. Bucky stood in front of you, his metal hand tilting your head up.

“Obvious question with an obvious answer: home,” Bucky said as his face contorted with a sick and wicked grin. Now you could see the look in his eyes, the hidden look: psychosis and craziness. His grip on your chin tightened.

xxx

You looked familiar to Bucky. Someone he remembered from his past as an assassin. You looked like one of his targets whom he loved dearly and couldn’t bring himself to kill. Even after the brainwashing HYDRA did, it couldn’t make him do it. Yet, the target was killed anyway, and Bucky had to endure the punishment for disobeying. 

He still remembers even after being fixed. 

When he saw you working at the cafe his best friend recommended, all his memories of you began flashing through his head. Bucky made himself believe you were his deceased lover from thirty-four years ago. His infatuation became darker and dangerous than before as he was determined to never let you slip from his grip.

After Bucky ordered his drink, he sat at one of the tables and gave subtle stares and glances. God, you were hot, just like how he remembered. “James Barnes, your order is ready!” When he heard you call his name, he felt a butterfly fluttering in his stomach and arousal surging through his body. He wanted to hear your voice screaming and crying for him, causing his cock to throb in his pants at the thought. 

Bucky walked to the counter. “Here you go,” you said politely. “Thank you,” Bucky replied as his hand touched yours. He felt the electricity coursing through his body. He was certain now, you were gonna be with him. He started coming to the cafe every day, then every hour, just to see you. He would always sit in the corner, pretending to do something when he was just staring at you. 

He started stalking you. He waited across the street for you to be done with your shift. He followed you home just to make sure you were home safe! He went as far as to break into your apartment, stealing some items and looking through your personal belongings. After weeks of following and gathering information about you, he determined it was ready for you to come home. 

Your real home is with him. 

xxx

Life in captivity wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good. Bucky gave you free rein of the room, but that’s it. You weren’t allowed to leave the room. The super-soldier would cook and bring all your meals and snacks to your room and spoil you with money. Yet, if you ever showed any signs of wanting to escape or spoke about leaving, it would result in being punished. Spanking, slashes with a knife, and whipping are common. Your body is littered with bruises, cuts, and some dried blood. 

“Why must you disobey me? I’m only protecting you! The world is filled with savages that will tear you apart, you’re safer with me!” Bucky said with a fake pout as he tried to sound soft-spoken. You were naked on Bucky’s lap as he spanked you, grinning from the fat of your flesh, jiggling from the impact. You were being disobedient again. It pains Bucky to hurt you, but it's necessary to squash any resistance. 

He may have to go to the extreme. 

Bucky purposely left your door open, and you took advantage of it, dashing out of the building and into the world you left behind. Freedom was short-lived as a group of men cornered you. All of them were armed and started heckling you, using obscene language and inappropriate touching. 

You felt disgusted as the men were touching your body. “No! Stop it! Let me go you fucking assholes!” you screamed as you tried hitting one of the men but resulted in you getting sucker-punched. The air was punched out of your chest as the men took advantage of your disorientation.

“Such a pretty boy. Wonder if you’re a virgin.” “I wanna make him bleed.” “Wonder if he’s a screamer.” You tuned out the conversations as you were in a daze. Your breathing quickens as tears prickle from your eyes, and you flail your arms. You would rather get mauled by a bear than deal with these men. At least bears are predictable. 

Your clothing was being ripped as the men started unbuckling their pants. This was really happening. You tried gaslighting yourself into thinking this was a nightmare, but it's reality. Being with Bucky was safer… You should’ve stayed! 

Boom

A loud gunshot rings through the air as the men crowding you are shot dead. Your body was covered in their blood. The metallic smell flooded your nose as you looked down to see some brain matter on your shirt with other pieces of the human body. “This is what I meant. The world is full of savages.” Bucky said calmly as he crouched to your level. Your screams pierced through the air as some of the blood and brain matter entered your mouth. 

You felt Bucky bringing you into his embrace as you cried and screamed from everything that happened. Your breathing hitched and paused, hiccuping as tears rolled down your face. “It's okay, doll. I’m here,” Bucky soothingly said as he rubbed circles on your back. This was the only way for you to learn, to squash any resistance against him and replace the thoughts of escape with fear of the outside world. 

After the incident, Bucky took you back home and promptly washed your body clean, washing away the blood and gore, his rough hands soothing your skin as he cleaned you. You physically flinched away from the man’s touch, still shaken from the touches of the other men. The super-soldier rubs the body wash into your skin, wanting you to smell delicious.  

“Shh… you’re safe with me. Stay here with me. That’s all I ask of you.” Bucky says, as if he were one of those parents who didn’t want their children to leave. He used the shower head to rinse off the water. You could feel something snapping inside yourself.

Bucky consolidated and gave you the space you needed. Whenever you woke up from night terrors, he would soothe you and help you fall asleep again. You would find yourself wanting more touches from Bucky, yearning for him. The fights cease as you start letting Bucky control your routine. 

Whenever he bought clothing, it would usually end up torn in the corner, but now you wore them. You would inhale any scent Bucky left behind, his smell calming you down. The food you used to be repulsed by became adored as you thanked Bucky for feeding you. You would find yourself begging for Bucky to be beside you. 

The super-soldier was highly satisfied with everything. It pained him to send those savages to do those things to you… But it was worth it in the end! Plus, he satisfied his urge to kill someone. Bucky now has you completely dependent on him. He couldn’t be happier in his life. 

xxx

Bucky was cooling down on the couch after working out. His broad, muscular body glistened with sweat, moving up and down as Bucky panted from exhaustion. The super-soldier serum gave him a muscular body instantly, but he still wanted to keep it in shape, and he knows you like him being naked. His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat sliding down his abs, and his vibranium metal arm gleamed under the light. 

“Fucking hell.” Bucky groans as he feels his cock throbbing in his pants. His cock always comes to life after an intense workout. His rough hand rubs the prominent bulge, and then he leans his hand back, letting out a deep groan from the contact. Then, he hears quiet footsteps approaching.

“Love?” you meekly said, turning the corner to see your husband shirtless on the couch. Your gaze immediately shifted to admire the man and the notably large bulge in the super-soldier’s pants. Bucky huffed his chest with masculine pride as he basked in your attention. You were only wearing Bucky’s large sweater– oversized, but you liked it. 

Bucky’s eyes glinted with lust as he took in your body. Vulnerable and soft… something that turns Bucky on. His large, fat cock throbbed painfully at the thought, ready to burst out of his pants. “Come here, doll.” The super-soldier gestured as he rubbed his bulge while making eye contact with you. 

Your plan to seduce Bucky was working; wearing the oversized sweater worked like a charm. Your body still felt disgusting after those savages touched you, but you know Bucky is gonna rid their touches and replace them with his. 

You eagerly approached Bucky before getting on your knees in between the man’s legs, Bucky spreading his legs to give you more room. You nuzzled into his bulge, your breathing becoming heavier as you rubbed your face into Bucky’s bulge. “You desperate for my cock, doll?” Bucky groans as patted your head lovingly. 

You nodded your head in confirmation, your hand getting ready to pull the super-soldier large cock out, but he stopped you. “Good boys use words when they want somethin' from me.” Bucky asserted as he rubbed your head with his metal arm. You swallowed; your throat felt dry from his words. 

“I’m waiting,” Bucky said as he leaned back, expecting your answer. “C-can… can I… suck your cock?” you stuttered, looking at Bucky with puppy dog eyes. The sight of your pleading face made Bucky’s cock ache and stir in his pants. “Go ahead, doll,” the super-soldier said, biting his lips. 

You hastily unbuckled Bucky’s pants and pulled down his underwear enough to let the man’s monster cock to breathe. This is the first time you’re seeing Bucky’s cock. It was large, measuring 8.5 inches, and as thick as a soda can. The sight made you gasp as this was the largest thing you had seen. How were you supposed to take this?

 “Big, ain't it?” Bucky laughed as his ego grew from your shocked and worried expression. He was lengthy even before the serum heightened it. He was proud of his size. “So… big…” you mumbled as you wrapped your hand around the thick piece of meat, amazed at the size while Bucky groaned from the feeling of your cold hand giving experimental pumps, your eyes focusing on the throbbing cock. 

“Come on, doll… put your mouth on it.” Bucky urges as he thrusts softly into your hands. His hand tugged on your hend, the angry cockhead brushing against your cheek. You didn’t need to be told twice as your lips sealed over his cock, your tongue darting out and teasing the cockhead. “Fuck yes…” Bucky moans as he slowly pushes your head deeper onto his cock. 

“Breathe through your nose, doll,” Bucky grunted as his cock was slowly swallowed by the sticky warmth of your mouth. His cock pulsed in the tight heat as you tighten your throat muscles around the large piece of meat. You began choking, whimpering as your mouth was filled to the brim. Bucky stopped pushing your head down, your nose touching his pubic hair. He could hear you gurgling and gagging on his dick. 

Your face was turning red from the lack of oxygen, tears rolling down your face as it was too much. Your jaw began hurting. “Relax, doll… relax.” Bucky soothingly said. Following his advice, you relax your throat and start breathing through your nose. After some time, you begin to deepthroat him. 

“Fucking hell… such a cock hungry slut.” Bucky growled as he grabbed your head and began thrusting his hips into your mouth. You were caught off guard but adapted to the rapid pace. The room was filled with loud groans and gagging, with Bucky’s heavy balls slapping against your chin. 

“Just like that, doll~ fuck. That’s a good boy,” the super-soldier groans as you grip the man’s muscular thighs for support. Your tongue swirls around the cockhead, the salty precum flooding your taste buds. Your free hand moves to cup Bucky’s heavy balls. They felt hefty in your hand as you fondled and squeezed the heavy sack. “Shit… look so pretty… choking on my fucking cock like a dirty slut.” Bucky rambled as he rolled his hips, ramming his large, fat cock into your mouth. 

“Fuck�� gonna cum soon, doll,” Bucky said as he yanked his cock out of your mouth. His length was covered with saliva and a web of saliva connected your mouth with his cock. The super-soldier stroked his cock aggressively to the sight of your fucked out face. Your cheeks are bright red and covered in spit, precum, and saliva, and tears rolled down your puffy eyes and dripped onto your swollen lips. 

“Fuck yes, doll… oh fuck…” Bucky groaned as he stood up. The distinct fapping sound of his heavy balls slapping his hand echoed in the room, his breathing became heavy as he was near his climax. 

“Please… Bucky… let me have your cum! I want to be a good boy!” you cried and begged as you wanted the man you desired heavily to paint your face with his thick load. “Yeah? Desperate slut, give me that mouth again.” Bucky said before slamming his cock back into your mouth, both of his hands of your head as he face fucks you. 

This new motivation made you more urgent, eagerly sucking Bucky’s cock faster, your hand grabbing onto Bucky’s toned ass for support. If the super-soldier had a side-by-side view, there was a bulge every time he rams his cock into your mouth. “F-fuck… oh fuck.” Bucky moans as he pulled his cock out and jacked himself off. 

“Come on, doll… oh yes, yes, yes…” Bucky mumbled as he gave a final thrust, blowing his thick load. His cock spurted its thick creamy load, painting your face with white substance. Bucky’s large body trembled from the sheer intensity of his orgasm. It's the best one he’s ever experienced, and the super-soldier’s chest heaved as he recovered.

“Look so pretty covered in my cum.” Bucky purrs as he looks down at you. Your face and hair were covered with his thick load. You were panting with your neglected cock throbbing underneath the oversized sweater. Bucky notices your discomfort and whines for him to touch you.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

THE END

A/n: Hello, my strawberries! I hope y’all enjoy this! I was extremely horny while writing this. Very special thanks to my proofreader🠞 @sagethegaywitch Taglist 🠞 @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr Join my taglist! Masterlist here! I have K*-f* if you wish to support!

[lsunstreakerl]

2.3k of tiny gax verse! alex, george, and charles POV. sickfic.

They're big fans of denial in the flat. It's easy enough, because if you don't address something, it's not real.

So when Max has a coughing fit one morning, shoulders shaking from the force of it, sounding worryingly thick— well. He blames it on choking on a piece of food. George and Alex let him.

It's getting colder outside, pavement wet from the rain, and they've shoved all of the blankets together. Max is starting to be scouted by teams junior teams, and...

In hindsight, it's stupid. Thinking that just because they'd never seen him get sick meant that it wasn't possible. He gets pale, paler than normal, and Alex curls his fingers into his palms. Max is curled in the middle of the futons, face hidden in George's chest. He's not snoring anymore, just a soft wheeze.

George looks up at him nervously.

"Alex, he's really hot."

Alex knows.

The season has been brutal, and Max and George have spent countless hours on sponsor offers and contracts, and they're all thin, struggling to keep muscle on. Max has been working extra at the garage, because George and Alex just keep growing, and they need nicer clothes for nicer sponsor agreements, and—

It's a vicious cycle. Alex chews at the inside of his cheek, mentally doing the math. If he and George do extra gig work, they might be able to afford medicine, but he's not sure what kind Max needs. A fever reducer for sure, and something to handle the wheeze in his lungs.

Naively, he's hoping maybe cough drops will fix it.

------

George is working at the bookstore. Alex is glad, because each cough from Max gives him a full body flinch, cringing quietly.

He hasn't gotten any better.

Alex pets a hand through Max's hair, damp with sweat. He's hot, even with the fever reducer Alex had convinced someone to buy for him in exchange for crumpled cash outside the store.

Max struggles up onto his forearms suddenly, coughing violently. It sounds wet, wheezing and thick, and he makes a wounded noise when he finally catches his breath, dropping back into Alex's lap.

"Max."

He reaches for the bottle of medicine, prepared to measure out another dose. It's probably not time for it yet, but it's the only thing that helps bring his fever down.

Max's fingers curl weakly into his pant leg, wheezing out another breath.

"I am fine, Ale—"

He breaks off in another coughing fit, doubling over, and Alex feels his blood run cold at the small droplets of crimson Max tries to hide in his elbow.

He tugs Max closer to his chest, panic steadily welling inside of him. They're in over their heads here, and there's only so much denial they can do.

Max wheezes harshly against him, forehead boiling hot against his shoulder.

"Meds."

His voice is weak, but he's fighting through it, defiant shine in his eyes even through the fever haze. Alex measures out another dose, fingers shaking. Max's cough is only getting worse, and they can't afford to get another bottle.

There's a race this weekend, and he knows, as sure as he knows the color of the sky, that Max is still going to try and attend. If they allow him to race is an entirely different story, but he'll try.

Insanely, Alex thinks he wouldn't be all that surprised if Max managed to still win. It feels otherworldly sometimes, living with him, watching him race. He's got a feel for the car that Alex and George can't quite reach, a fiery determination that seems to fuel him further than the rest of them.

Max takes the medicine like a shot. He's not even complaining about the taste anymore, like he did on the first day.

Alex tries to pretend the sinking in his heart is anything but cold, nauseous fear.

------

George is on the beanbag in the back. The bookstore knows he's stressed, and they'd mentioned having a potluck soon, to celebrate some arbitrary holiday George has never heard of. He's hoping there will be enough leftovers for him to sneak some home.

Right now, his priorities are elsewhere, anxiety skating up his fingers and arms, trembling as he types at the keyboard. He doesn't know what else to do.

They'll be out of medicine soon, and Max isn't getting any better, and there's a race coming up.

He hugs his knees tight to his chest, nervously shaking. He can't make it go away— the twitchy, nervous moments that have snuck into his everyday life. Every movement has to be worth it, every action justifiable.

He's going to throw up.

He sends the email.

------

Alex drives them to the race. Mostly because Max can barely make it to his feet, eyes glassy and perpetually sweaty, hair damp at the edges. They keep waiting for him to call it off, for him to admit that he can't do it, but somehow...

He's standing, moving like every breath hurts. Alex has to repeat himself two or three times before Max can hear him, and they can both hear each individual breath.

It sounds more like a rattle than a wheeze, and Alex and George have quietly, without ever speaking about it, taken up watching him in shifts. Sometimes the rattle pauses, and Alex feels everything inside of him plummet with fear until Max takes in another painful breath.

He's sure George also wakes up in a cold sweat, lying frozen to listen to the sound of Max's continued breathing. He's not sure George knows about the blood.

He doesn't have the heart to tell him.

------

George doesn't want to open the email. It's sitting in his inbox like a ticking bomb, because if he doesn't open it, it can't hurt him.

Can't let him down, can't shatter him into a million pieces, can't resign him to a fate of watching Max die in front of him.

He's not stupid. Max isn't getting better. Not without help, actual help, help they can't get. They can't go to a hospital, because the hospital will ask for an adult that they don't have.

They live in a precarious house of cards, and George is watching it wobble dangerously in front of him, growing increasingly unsteady with each struggling breath Max manages.

He can't possibly race— but that's not something they've said out loud. Alex is driving them, and George has a plan.

He opens the email.

From: Fernando Alonso

To: George William

Subject: Re: Why you should lie to the government

George. I am not sure how you got my personal email, and I do not want to know. Your PowerPoint was very engaging.

I will not pretend to be your brother's legal guardian. However, I have the location of a clinic that will see him and keep their mouths shut.

I have attached their contact details.

- Fernando Alonso, FIA Formula 1 World Champion [2005, 2006]

He swallows, opening the email attachment. There's an address, and a list of names. If they detour now—

"Alex, Alex pull over."

Max has fallen back asleep in the passenger seat. His breathing is worryingly shallow and wheezing, and he's both pale and flush, chest barely moving.

Alex pulls over.

------

The detour takes them six hours and more gas than they can afford, but they're almost there. Max hasn't woken up once.

George calls Max's team, apologizing profusely about missing the race, that Max would be there if he could. They're far more understanding than he expected them to be, mentioning that they're glad he's getting rest, that they'd also been worried.

They know Max would be dead before he missed a race. It scares George just how close they're getting.

He has one of the bottles of water uncapped, nudging gently at Max's shoulder. His skin is waxy, and he occasionally shakes with small shivers.

"Max."

He never responds on the first try anymore. George shoves at his shoulder a little harder, fingers tight around the water.

"Hey, wake up, we're almost there."

Usually, that would at least get something. A flutter of his lashes, an attempt to try and drag himself to the surface. George blinks back the hot press behind his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady. He doesn't want to alarm Alex, who's been driving the entire time.

"Max."

His voice cracks. Alex hears it, because of course he does.

"How is he, Georgie?"

George isn't sure he can answer without falling apart, and the panic is starting to seep in through the corners, crawling up his lungs, strangling his heart.

"Max get up. Don't be— come on, don't be lazy."

He's never called Max lazy a day in his life.

"Georgie, hey, how is it?"

Alex sounds worried from the front seat. George presses two shaking fingers below Max's jaw, resting his head featherlight on his shoulder. He doesn't actually know how to check for a pulse, only that this is what they do on TV, on the medical dramas Alex likes.

Max is still breathing, but there's a low, watery sound to it.

"George."

Alex sounds more insistent now, but George doesn't know what to tell him.

"Drive faster."

------

The clinic is a nice building, until George runs inside out of breath, frantically trying to explain that Fernando Alonso sent them, that his brother is sick in the trailer, that he's not waking up.

Max disappears into the back of the building, and he and Alex aren't allowed to follow.

Alex tugs him tight to his chest, one hand shaking as he tries to pet at the back of George's head, still trying to be strong for them both. He can feel his hot tears drop onto his hair.

------

The clinic gets one good luck at Alex and George thirty minutes later and takes them into the back too. They're both put on fluids, and the clinic was apparently planning to cater lunch, so they'll get some extra for them as well.

They're still not allowed to see Max, but Alex has his fingers locked with George's.

"Georgie."

George sniffs, still trying to pretend like he hasn't been crying.

"What?"

Alex squeezes his fingers.

"Who'd you call? To get this?"

George has been a steel trap about how he'd managed to get Max a doctor. He'd told Alex very solemnly that he had a place for them, but he needed Alex to trust him.

So far, he has. Still, George shakes his head, frowning.

"Doesn't matter."

Alex actually thinks it matters quite a bit— not that it does him any good, because George clams up, refusing to tell him anything. He confirms it wasn't a gang, he's not indebted for life, and that it was a stroke of luck, but he won't tell Alex anything else.

By the time the food shows up, a catered table of salad and fruits, roasted meats and vegetables, Alex has accepted that he's not getting an answer out of him.

------

Max has pneumonia. It's bad, apparently. It wouldn't ever have cleared up on his own, and the knowledge sits like a stone in George's gut.

It would've killed him. Slowly, relentlessly suffocating him. There wasn't any kind of over the counter medicine they could've gotten, no amount of cough drops, no miracle words to fix it.

Max is still asleep when the clinic lets them see him. There's an oxygen mask across his face, stickers on his chest attached to colorful cords that lead up to a monitor. There's another one wrapped around his finger, and he has an IV in, running up to bag of fluids above his head.

George tugs his chair closer and gingerly rests his head on Max's thigh. He's always felt untouchable, above everything else, stronger than anyone else George knows.

He doesn't feel untouchable now. He feels fragile, and George wants to curl around him, wants to protect him from everything the way Max does for him, but he can't. Not against this.

Alex's hand rubs softly against his back as he cries quietly.

------

12 years later:

Charles bumps Max's hip with his own as they walk closer to the cooldown room, grinning. The podium endorphins are starting to hit, and he's ready to chug the entire bottle of blissfully cool water waiting for him.

George is ahead of them, already scrubbing a towel through his hair, cap in one hand. He's grinning too, the special wide one reserved just for Alex and Max.

Max yanks his balaclava off, slamming his fist against his chest as he coughs briefly. Charles winces in sympathy, but George darts over immediately, nudging Max out of view of the cameras. He's gone ashen, eyes wide as he checks over Max frantically.

"Christ, Georgie— it is the fucking humidity here, always, you know it makes my lungs act up. Chill."

"Do you need an inhaler? Aleix keeps one in his bag."

Max levels an impressively unimpressed face at George.

"So does Rupert, because they are my lungs. If I needed it, I would be using it. Seriously, go sit. I'm fine."

Charles quirks his head.

"You have asthma?"

Max wrinkles his nose, rolling his eyes as he grabs his own water.

"No. George is just being a worrywart."

George glares, jaw tensed.

"Sorry, I think it's fair that it makes me anxious."

Max sighs, gripping George by the hand and pulling him into a tight hug. Charles doesn't catch what he says, too quiet for anyone but George to hear, but he sees the way his shoulders relax, leaning their heads together briefly.

He didn't know Max had problems with his lungs. Or at least some kind of problem, if it's earned him George's anxiety. Then again, George is anxious about a million things at any given moment— Charles has never met anyone with the ability to juggle as many problem as George and manage to be equally as stressed about every single one of them.

He wonders if Mercedes has designed a ThunderShirt for him yet.

Max manages to appease George, and Charles attempts to put it out of his mind. He'll ask Max about it later, when there aren't hundreds of cameras capturing their every movement.

For now, he has a podium to get to.

[inkspiredwriting]

A Day of Fun at the Hargreeves Household

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Summary: Five comes home from work and thinks he can finally relax, but Y/n and his children have a different idea

A/N: I'm sorry for posting so late today. I hope you can forgive me.

Warnings: none

After a long day at work, Five Hargreeves was ready to go home and relax. His home was his sanctuary, a place where he could leave behind the complexities of the world and enjoy the simple pleasures of family life with his wife Y/n and their two children, eight-year-old Maddie and four-year-old Milo.

As he approached the front door and took off his shoes, he could hear the faint thump of music. Curious, he opened the door and stepped inside. The sound of laughter and loud music filled the air, and Five couldn't help but smile as he followed the noise to the living room.

What he saw next was a sight he would never forget. Y/n, his normally composed and sweet wife, was wearing a bright pink wig and dancing around with a hairbrush as a microphone. Maddie was clumsily tottering around in Y/n's high heels, her face smeared with makeup in a way that made her look like a clown. Milo, not wanting to be left out, had one of Five's ties tied around his head like a headband, and he was singing his heart out into another hairbrush.

They were singing and dancing to some pop song that Five didn't recognize, but the joy on their faces was unmistakable. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated fun, and Five couldn't help but laugh out loud at the sight.

His laughter caught their attention, and they all stopped mid-dance to look at him. Y/n's face lit up with a wide grin. "Hey, you're home!"

Five walked further into the room, still chuckling. "What in the world are you all doing?"

Y/n laughed, tossing her pink wig back dramatically. "We're having a dance party! Maddie and Milo found some of my old wigs and makeup, and we just decided to go all out."

Maddie wobbled over to him, nearly tripping in the oversized heels. "Daddy, look! I'm wearing Mommy's shoes!"

Five bent down to her level, gently holding her arms to steady her. "I see that, sweetie. You look very... colorful."

Milo, not wanting to be left out, ran over and tugged on Five's pants. "Look, Daddy! I'm like you!" He pointed proudly to the tie around his head.

Five ruffled Milo's hair, his heart swelling with affection. "You look very handsome, buddy."

Y/n came over, still holding her hairbrush microphone. "Care to join us, Five? We could use another singer."

Five raised an eyebrow, feigning reluctance. "I don't know, I'm not much of a dancer."

Maddie grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the makeshift dance floor. "Come on, Daddy! It's fun!"

With a resigned sigh, Five allowed himself to be dragged into the center of the room. Y/n handed him a hairbrush, and with a wink, she turned the music up even louder. The song switched to an upbeat tune, and before he knew it, Five found himself dancing and singing along with his family.

At first, he felt awkward and out of place, but the infectious energy of his children and the loving gaze of his wife quickly melted his reservations away. They laughed and sang together, their voices blending into a joyous cacophony. Five couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so carefree and happy.

As the song ended, they all collapsed onto the couch in a fit of giggles. Maddie snuggled up next to him, and Milo climbed into his lap. Y/n leaned against his shoulder, her pink wig askew and her face flushed with happiness.

Five looked around at his family, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. "You know, this is exactly what I needed."

Y/n smiled up at him. "I'm glad. Sometimes it's good to just let loose and have some fun."

Maddie nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Daddy! You should dance with us more often!"

Five chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Maybe I will."

They sat there for a while longer, basking in the warmth of their shared laughter and love. Five realized that moments like these were what made all the struggles and challenges worthwhile. No matter what the world threw at them, as long as they had each other, they could face anything.

Eventually, Y/n stood up and stretched. "Alright, I think it's time for dinner. How about we make some homemade pizzas?"

Maddie and Milo cheered, and Five smiled, feeling more content than he had in a long time. "That sounds perfect."

As they moved to the kitchen to start their culinary adventure, Five couldn't help but glance back at the living room, where the remnants of their impromptu dance party still lay scattered. It was a reminder that in the midst of life's chaos, it was the simple, joyful moments with his family that truly mattered.

And as they cooked and laughed together, Five knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, one precious moment at a time.

[xxtyongfs]

if ur takinf requests…. might i ask for an expansion on the johnny weed drabble??

i was going to do this but kept forgetting . i have a crush on you anon thank you thank you THANK YOU !

your best friend johnny was surprised to hear you had never done weed before , especially since it was one of his favorite hobbies .

more under cut ~ !

"say ahh," he hums one day, gently coaxing the brownie edible in your mouth. "this is the easiest way to get high, sweetheart." johnny's already slightly affected by the brownie he had prior, but he needed more.

not even a second after you finished chewing, he presses his lips against yours harshly. you could taste chocolate and weed in his mouth as he makes out with you. you're getting more lightheaded by the second.

"i have gummies," he says between sloppy kisses, "wanna try?"

you nod, wanting more of that airy feeling. in his bag, johnny pulls out gummies of multiple colors, and like he did with the brownies, he guides the gummies in your mouth after eating some.

"i feel funny," you giggle, face already feeling heated.

"that's how it's s'posed to be, baby," johnny could also feel his body heating up, and there was only one thing that could distract him from the heat.

"hm, johnny?" you look up at him as he parts your legs, pulling down your little baby blue shorts and white lacy panties. "what are you doin'?"

"sex is better when you're high," johnny says as if it's a normal fact. he's definitely had high sex with one-night stands before, but with his best friend is a different story. he pumps you open with two fingers before lining his fat tip up with your cunt.

"i- johnny," you can't even tell what's happening in front of you, your once normal vision blurring. then, an intrusion causes you to gasp.

johnny stares at you with half-lidded eyes. his fingers are tingling, his entire body is sensitive, but it's you he cares about. he wants his adorable best friend to feel good, and as he reaches climax, he presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck. "my pretty baby, so good at taking me."

"johnny, feel weird, oh my, fuck," fragments of sentences escape your lips as you feel a fire in your core, about to snap any minute now. you cry as you squirt, hot liquid spraying out of you.

johnny also cums, not bothering to pull out and filling your insides. "my girl," he hugs you tightly, stroking your hair as you sob. "did you enjoy it?"

"mhm, still feel weird," you sniffle, "and 'm hungry."

"i'll get you some chips," he kisses your cheek, "just sit there and wait for the edible to wear off, 'kay?" johnny gets up, proud he was able to get his best friend to try something new.

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe 2 Colors - Ep. 5

I'm watching the second season of Pit Babe on mute with no subtitles and double-speed just like I did the first season, so now I have a ton of questions. For science.

First question: Is Alan just a normal dude? Like does he have special powers? I don't think so, but I ask because . . . could he be pregnant and not Jeffery?

Because why is in looking so pitiful this episode, like he is just falling apart every two seconds? This is how Team Evil is going to get him! He is weak and they are going to try to supe him up!

Jeffrey played between the red and blue last season, but he had been consistently blue until whatever happened between him and Alan happened the last episode, so is something up now that Jeffrey is back to playing with reds? Did his power change? Did he get his man pregnant?

Second question: Peter can read minds, so . . . is this why he isn't touching Kentana because he doesn't want to know that Kentana is still in love with him? I feel like he read Kentana's mind last season and thought he should kiss him, but this season there are a lot of barriers between them, and it feels intentional on Peter's part.

Kentana has a key to his house because this is the third time Kentana has just walked in, yet Peter continues to fuck Waymond Christopher on every possible surface (I see the red on the pool table, and I'm ignoring it!), so is Peter doing this on purpose?

Peter is a good guy. He is always surrounded by blue.

Waymond Christopher is sus, but he is still light and heavenly, so I'm not too worried about him.

And Peter is clearly blindingly in love with him.

Or with Waymond (but they are the same person as far as I'm concerned so there is no difference).

And I think Waymond Christopher has feelings for Peter because he fell asleep in Peter's arms after sex.

However, he did sneak off to hack into his computer, but he was blue so he is safe, and I will fully admit that I used Google translate to figure out what each kid's profile said (it was too much text to be ignored), and one kid could hear people from great distances, another could move objects, one could manipulate people (Way Way?) and the last was Peter. I think Waymond Christopher is trying to track down others like him.

But I don't think he is doing it to give them the Team Evil serum. I think he is truly trying to help others like him lose their abilities, so they won't be used by Team Evil.

So even though I feel bad for Kentana not being touched by Peter in more than one way,

He has a bad bitch who watched Fast & Furious: Tokyo Drift and is giving him "I'm gonna fuck you and tuck you into bed at night" eyes, so he's good.

They are the perfect balance of light x dark, and they will literally ride circles around these other couples when they finally get together. Wait! Side question: Why isn't Kimberly racing? Because he is taking care of Kentana?

Third question, and the easiest: Someone blew the fuck up during that race, did they not?! Are we just gonna act like it's not a big deal? Because the race continued! And William, who has been orange, seemed to turn a bit red during the race.

Alan noticed something was up!

While everyone else was celebrating, Alan looked like he thought something was strange, so what is William doing? It had to be something since Barbie immediately approached him.

I, as the clown that I am, do not believe William is Team Evil because he is the dark side to Barbie's light side, so I truly think they are connected somehow and are stuck in the same situation, but I need to know what his power is and if it's exactly like Barbie's. Where is Barbie's dad because I have more questions? Does he have other kids?!

I've apparently watched too many toxic Chinese BLs.

Tell me who you love next episode, William (and it better be Charles!).

Fourth question, but it's not a question: Something is definitely up with Vegas' Hedgehog. He was slowly bringing back his usual style as seen in the shirt he is wearing, but he still had on white, and the red was backing him.

He also wore purple with white. I don't know what this kid has been up to, and I don't know who he has been hanging out with, but he's different, and I 👏🏾 don't 👏🏾 like 👏🏾 it.

Dean is slowly making his way back to the blue (still sus though), but Whiny Winifred used to be red, and now he is purely black. Heavy shit has to going down for a person to completely change or lose his color, and we know what's happening with Whiny Winifred, so what's happening with Vegas' Hedgehog?

Final question:

WHAT THE FUCK, BARBARA?!

Why is Barbara quickly turning red?!

Barbara is a Black Brooder. He wears blue for the team and the Blue Boy he loves, so why in the hell did he pop up as red this episode?! He isn't bad, but I feel he is going to turn to Team Evil very soon with the way he is going.

And if he loses Charles, who keeps getting darker, Barbara will be lost without his light!

STEP AWAY FROM THE RED, BARBIE! IT AIN'T WORTH IT!

[centipede-rain]

Second part!

The Toymaker has his own little space inside the Tardis. He uses it as a workshop of sorts, somewhere to keep all the tools and materials. He has quite the selection, after millenia of refining his trade. Leather, wood, a variety of cloths – linen, silk, cotton, with plenty of dyes to make them colorful. Wool, metal hinges, springs and gear wheels for his more mechanic creations. Awls, saws, pliers, needles, glue – all a Toymaker could possibly wish for.

Here he is now, working on his newest doll, a spooky little mime. It’s completely ordinary, neither dangerous nor alive, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make it unsettling. Eyes that follow you around the room, a shifting sense of unease. A taunting little smile, with lips the shade of human blood.

It’s one of his best works yet, such a shame that he wouldn’t get to show it to his partners. Perhaps the Master would appreciate it, and Rogue would certainly admire the handiwork, but coming across a little too sinister is never a risk he’s willing to take with them. Not when he’s working so hard on being fun and bright and sweet. Not that he minds the constant effort – they deserve that, and so much more. For all they have given him, they deserve nothing less than the universe itself. Sadly, the Master would certainly be the only one to want such a gift, and neither Rogue nor the Doctor would be very happy if he got it.

The Toymaker sighs, locking the little mime in one of the wooden drawers.

Speaking of his partners, he would very much like to go and see them. He’s had quite enough alone time for the day.

Careful not to let his physical form slip, he removes some of his being from the fleshy shell he uses so frequently these days, sending it to spread out across the Doctor’s ship. Sure, he could just walk around to search for them the old fashioned way, but that’s really so unnecessarily tedious. As long as he makes sure to stay out of any dimension they can perceive, they’d never even have to know.

Sure enough, he finds them in a second. The Doctor and Rogue are together, talking and laughing. The Master sits alone in a different place, reading.

Pulling all of himself back into its shell, he goes to join the Master.

 +++

The Master doesn’t react as he enters the room, keeps staring at the book in his lap.

 Toymaker drops onto the couch beside him, smiling his most charming smile.

“A beautiful day, isn’t it, mon amour?” when no answer comes, he ads “What are you reading?”

This time, the Master does answer, finally acknowledging his presence. “A book.” “Ja, that much ist clear,” he replies, pushing down the slight unease trying to crawl up inside him at the Master being so curt. ‘are you mad at me’ is on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out. But he holds it back. After all, it’s probably just be the Master being the Master. No use escalating the situation with an ill-timed ‘what did I do wrong’. After all, they are hardly in the habit of talking things out.

When the Master stays silent, he resigns himself to having fun on his own, conjuring up a pack of cards to play with. He likes how they feel in his hands, likes their weight, their smooth surfaces. He likes to make them dance, solely with the help of his humanoid body. All shuffling and smooth movement, all dexterity and card tricks.

For a while, all is well. They are enjoying themselves, each doing their own activity, co-existing in the same space. And that is nice.

 

Then, it starts getting cold.

At first, the Toymaker ignores it. It’s not like he needs warmth to live. Not like it brings him any physical discomfort not to have it. It’s strange though – normally the temperature inside the Tardis is stable, perfectly controlled.

He turns to the Master. After all, the Master should be noticing something like this long before him, being so much more breakable.

“A bit kalt, nein?“

The Master looks up, meeting his gaze with a blank expression. “You think so?”

He doesn’t just ’think so.’ he knows it. And if he has noticed, so should the Master. “I don’t feel any different. Is everything okay?”

The Toymaker’s mouth goes dry. If this isn’t just a Tardis malfunction, if the Master cannot feel it – if it’s only getting cold for him, then…

Is the void calling for him? Has it been decided, through the rules of the universe, that the time his price granted him has run out? Will he be pulled back, to suffer alone for eternity? He can already taste the bitter loss, the grief, the anger. The cold, vast, empty darkness-

The playing cards in his numb fingers freeze and shatter, as he stares ahead with unseeing eyes.

He can’t go back. He can’t, he has to- has to-

“Bit chilly in here, isn’t it?”

His gaze snaps to the door, where Rogue is standing. He hadn’t heard him enter.

“We should ask the Doctor to fix that.”

The Toymaker exhales in relief so intense it almost turns his bones to jelly.

 

He doesn’t notice the Master staring at him, mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

 ***

 

The Master doesn’t usually come looking for him. Or for the others, really. It’s not that he doesn’t seem to enjoy spending time with them, but it seems like he mostly prefers when they are the ones who come to him.

This is why the Toymaker drops his tool in shock, when the Master comes waltzing into his workshop, walking with the purpose of someone going to war. Nothing casual about it, his usual cat-like grace replaced by aggressive intent.

 

Under the weight of that unusually hard gaze, the Toymaker freezes.

“What-“ he chokes out, but the Master interrupts him, voice grim and commanding.

“Follow me.”

 

The Master doesn’t wait for him to agree, simply turns around and starts walking away. Leaving the Toymaker to scramble after him in a mad panic.

His thoughts are far from linear now, tumbling over each like a carousel, bombarding him with terrible possibilities of what might have happened.

 

He follows the Master silently, begging what powers there may be that whatever he’s done to make the Master so angry with him, it’s something that can be forgiven eventually.

 

When the Master comes to a halt, it is in front of a door. A door the Toymaker hasn’t seen before. Or perhaps he has, and simply hadn’t paid any attention. After all, the Tardis could have many rooms, as many as it wanted, and sometimes their placement changed.

 

The door opens, revealing a small closet area. Toymaker stares at it, drowning in confusion.

 

“Get in,” orders the Master.

 

Toymaker wants to. Despite his terrible confusion about what is happening, he wants to make the Master happy, no matter how bizarre his wishes. But looking at that small space, it’s ever so hard to make his feet move.

 

“But why-“ he tries again, his voice sounding embarrassingly small. “Get in there,” the Master repeats, leaving no room for discussion. “If you love me, get in.”

 

The Toymaker steps over the threshold, doing his hardest not to flinch when the door slams shut behind him.

All his efforts to keep a stoic face are doomed to fail the moment the lights go out, plunging him into utter darkness.

 

The Toymaker stops breathing.

 

He slides down the door, pressing his back against it. Solid solid solid solid solid - a thing, a solid thing. Physical matter, making up a tangible reality.

There’s floor under his feet, holding his weight. Gravity, pressing him against it.

 

He isn’t back in the void.

 

Nonetheless, he can feel the darkness pressing in, eating at him. He squeezes his hands against the door, maps out the surface with desperate fingertips. All the little bumps and ridges.

He tenses. Are they disappearing? Or are his fingers just turning numb? Why is it so quiet?

“Master?” He asks, voice breaking. “Master, please let me out.”

 

Silence is the only answer he gets.

 

The Toymaker is alone, nothing but darkness to accompany him.

 

Finally, the pieces click into place. The Master is punishing him.

He can almost hear the laughter. That sarcastic little voice, taunting him. Did you really think he would forgive you? That he could love you? That anyone could?

He had been so stupid.

The Master has locked him in here as revenge, abandoned him and left him to rot. Just like last time.

 

Has the Master already taken off? Is he running, endlessly running, into the great big universe and away from him? Has he left Rogue and the Doctor behind, simply because he could no longer stand the sight of him?

He can already see the disgust on Rogue and the Doctor’s faces, realizing what he has done, what he has cost them. The love he has taken from them.

 

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His voice is hoarse, trembling with the awful effort of keeping himself contained. His form is fraying at the edges, dissolving into the darkness. Darkness so very much like the darkness that has held him for so long.

“I’ll be better.”

 

He wants to blow this door off its hinges, wants to blast everything around him to smithereens until he can bask in the light of suns and stars and supernovas. But he could never do that to the Doctor’s beloved Tardis, and anyway - the Master’s warning echoes in his mind. ‘If you love me, get in.’

 

The Master is gone, irrevocably so. He’s sure of that. And yet… he doesn’t tear down the door, doesn’t escape. He stays, pathetically obedient, claws at the door. Tearing through flesh, scraping his very being. Smearing the door with blood, ichor and space dust.

“Please…”

 

***

 

The Master is slumped against the door, trying his best to tune out the Toymaker’s cries. Normally he would keep up his mask, but now, with no one to witness, he lets pain and exhaustion color his face.

 

This should be feeling good. After what the Toymaker has done, trapping him for so very long, he should be feeling at least some sort of vindication. Not that revenge is his reason for doing this, mind you. No. For once in his life, the Master is trying to be kind.

But his reasoning for doing this feels less and less convincing, with every minute that passes, with every bit of pain and terror and hurt in the Toymaker’s voice.

 

It makes the Master feel nauseous. All he really wants is to open that stupid door and hold his partner tight.

But if he does that now, all will have been for nothing. The Toymaker’s suffering, his own increasing self-hatred.

So he keeps that door firmly shut, waits for the others to arrive. He has made sure they will come.

Actually, where are they? They’re taking too long. They should be here already.

 

Perhaps it’s those desperate pleas that make time pass so torturously slow. The Toymaker’s howls and cries, ever less human, sounding like a wounded animal, tearing straight through his cold dead hearts.

 

***

 

In reality, it has barely been minutes, but it still feels like an eternity later that the Doctor steps into the room, followed by Rogue.

 

The Master watches surprise give way to confusion, then turn into something else. For Rogue, it’s worry.

For the Doctor, it’s something else, something much darker.

 

The Master understands. At the end of the day, they are who they are. With the history they share, how could the Doctor witness this and not immediately jump to the worst conclusions?

 

That doesn’t erase the hurt, the bitterness. To see the Doctor glare at him with such vitriol, such disgust, when he is trying to be kind for once.

There is no warmth in those ever familiar eyes, nothing but ice and danger. It takes him back to the past. Moments in which the Doctor had been so very close to killing him, so full of anger and disgust and hatred.

 

Memories of pleading for his life, memories of pushing for his own death, fighting on the forefront of his mind. And the Doctor is in every single one of them, always with that very same expression. Looking down at him with undeniable superiority. His savior, his judge, his executioner. His enemy, his friend, his partner. All packed into one terrifying, beautiful person.

 

The Master glares back. He is angry too, and rightfully so. The Toymaker’s hurt had been so obvious, and the Doctor should have known better, should have noticed. And maybe he had – maybe he had decided to drop the matter anyway. Because it’s easier. So much more convenient to never face the consequences of leaving the Toymaker behind in the dust back then. Justice served, people saved – no need to consider that the enemies he regularly bestows horrible fates upon are people too.

 

The Doctor takes a step towards him, lips pressed into a thin line, and the Master doesn’t flinch. He stands tall, his face a mask, expression a challenge. The nostalgia of it is bittersweet. Perhaps it’s simply fate that no matter how hard they try to be different, this will always be what they return to. Facing each other as enemies.

 

The rising tension is broken as Rogue pulls the Doctor back by his arm, freeing the Master from his oppressive gaze.

 

“What’s going on here? Where’s the Toymaker?”

 

The Master inclines his head towards the closet door, in which the Toymaker has gone disturbingly silent.

 

Before either of them can say anything else, Rogue is already across the room, ripping the door open.

 

In this moment, The Master is so grateful it hurts. Rogue, his beloved Rogue, understands what him and the Doctor had been too stupid to notice just now. This isn’t the time for old wounds and older fights, not when their partner is currently hurting.

 

As soon as the door opens, the Toymaker tumbles out of the tiny closet, landing on the floor in an undignified sprawl.

He doesn’t stay on the ground for long.

Almost immediately, the Master is upon him, pulling his shivering form onto his lap.

Wrapping his arms around fraying edges, melting matter, and holding tight. The Toymaker is crying, streaks of gold making their way down his pale face.

 

Rogue and the Doctor stand in horrified silence, mouths hanging open. The only sound filling the room consists of the Toymaker‘s pitiful sobs, his broken record of “Sorry, I‘m so sorry.“

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the Master hisses into his hair, “absolutely nothing.”

 

His disgust at what he has done, what he has turned someone he loves into, is almost too much to bear. But at least now they see. They see the cracks, the hurt - they see the Toymaker’s hands, torn and bleeding, clinging to him like a drowning man. They see his lack of anger, his apologies, his pathetic begging not to be alone.

It’s an ugly thing he has torn to the surface, for them all to see. But he’d rather have the others know it’s there, instead of letting it fester.

 

No more pretty lies.

 

Finally, the others awaken from their shock, and there are other hands, holding the Toymaker. Other sweet little nothings whispered, better ones than he could ever offer.

The Master isn’t good at comfort. At nice. Kindness, life, helping, hope - that is the Doctor. He is death, and he is hurt. And if the Toymaker were anyone else, someone with even a modicum of self-worth, he would leave him for this.

It would be a good choice.

But he isn’t nice. He isn’t selfless, like the Doctor loves pretending to be. And he will cling to whatever bit of happiness he can get his greedy hands on, until it is violently ripped from his grasp once again. But until then, if the Toymaker wants to stay - if his other partners are content having him in their life, he will be smart enough to keep his mouth shut about just how bad of a decision that is.

The technicalities of being happy

This story is about an AU by @janus-cadet , in which the fifteenth Doctor, The Toymaker, Rogue and the Master are a polycule.

Go check it out!

The Doctor apologises for leaving the Toymaker trapped in his dimension, when they first met. The Toymaker, not willing to acknowledge or even think about that time in his life, does his best to deflect.

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65880142/chapters/169706272

The Toymaker doesn’t sleep. His body is merely a simulacrum, a fun doll he made to interact with the world. Why would it need rest, when he has an endless supply of energy? Why would it need to repair anything if he keeps it in tip-top condition? No, the idea of sleeping is just silly.

That doesn’t mean he can’t see the benefits of lying in bed with his partners. He loves doing it, not because he needs the rest, but simply because it is wonderful to have them close. Feeling their warmth, seeing their smiles, admiring how relaxed they are around him… it grants him happiness he never would have thought possible. Not that he would have thought any kind of happiness possible, once upon a time.

But how could he? Eternally trapped in his very own hell, with no hope of escape. Ruining the life of any entity unfortunate enough to meet him. Making them play, wanting them to stay. Watching them fade and wither, decaying in front of his eyes in both body and mind.

Whatever he tried, even when he didn’t slip up with his puppet body (the slightest hint of his true form making their little minds snap like a fraying thread), he just couldn’t manage to keep them happy.

He felt bad for the little things in his possession, driven mad by an existence longer than they were meant for. Eventually, he always admitted defeat, tore everything down to start anew.

He played and played, and he got better. He mastered every game the universe has to offer, learned to build every single toy.

It was certainly some sort of existence. It had its merits.

But happiness?

No, he was never ‘happy’. And he certainly didn’t think he ever could be.

 

He had been so very wrong. Because here he lies, in a soft and comfortable bed, with his beloved partners. The Doctor is smiling at him, eyes as warm as molten gold, and he can feel the warmth in that smile, the genuine affection. The Doctor likes this, likes being close to him. That much is obvious in the way he reaches out a hand, lets it ghost over his cheek gently.

The Toymaker has to restrain himself not to melt into it like a touch-starved cat. It’s still hard to believe he might be deserving of such softness and joy. But who is he to doubt the Doctor’s judgement? Such a wonderful creature, so brave and smart and good.

He still remembers meeting the timelord for the very first time.

He was living his life as usual, an endless cycle of misery, with only his love for games to keep him sane.

Until, one day, someone quite interesting fell into his void.

A face changer, a trickster and liar. A multitude of people wrapped in one, with so many more to come. And oh so clever too, so creative and determined. Such a fascinating enemy.

He was perfect.

For him, the Toymaker got as close to cheating as the rules binding his existence possibly allowed.

Offering to never finish their game, offering to let the Doctor simply give up.

He offered survival, power.

He had been so naïve back then, thinking that was all that mortals were looking for.

The Doctor, being much better than he ever could be, had declined that offer, choosing destruction over eternity with him.

It had stung, certainly. Being denied.

But the indignity of it had been nothing against the terror of what he had to do next. “Serve me and live,“ he had said, laying out the rules of their game.

He did not want to destroy the Doctor.

He had left himself no choice.

To see the Doctor trick him, escaping with his little friends… it had been the ultimate humiliation, it had been aggravating, it had been… a relief so monumental that he had almost wept.

Looking back, the Toymaker can’t help but wonder - had he slowed down that final explosion on purpose, granting the tiny fraction of time that let his opponent slip away unscathed?

 

Afterwards, it had been back to the void, back to the loneliness. But he’d had a taste of something he wanted. He’d felt something, something dangerously close to-…

He kept an eye on the Doctor. Watched him live his exciting life, picking up new friends and losing them just as quickly. Helping, always helping. Being kind and sweet and silly, except when he was pushed too far.

He watched the Doctor change their face many times.

And one day, when the Doctor had once again lost so terribly much, he saw his chance.

He created a brand-new face, to match the Doctor’s little tradition, and he found him again. Offered up a bargain that was hard to refuse.

“I’ll bring them back. All of them. If you win my game.”

 

The Doctor had lost, had let him stay by his side, and that had ultimately brought them here. For that, and for so many other little and large kindnesses, the Toymaker would always be in the Doctor’s debt.

Without him, he would likely never have met his other partners. The Master, lounging comfortably beside him, one hand possessively placed on his thigh. Rogue, looking exceptionally adorable in an oversized T-shirt, a contend smile on his lips.

Such wonderful people. It still amazes him every day, how he had somehow managed to end up with them. The Doctor, savior of so many, larger than life, beloved by everyone he meets. So brave, facing impossible odds daily and coming out on top every time. Losing so much, yet never becoming blind to joy and love. The Master, burning so brightly. Fierce and dedicated, crafty, smart, delightfully sassy. Sometimes terrible, sure, but not that he could ever judge. He is, after all, something far more horrifying than any of them could ever truly understand.

Rogue, so unlike the others. Having loved and lost, having carried on anyway, never abandoning kindness as a principle. Rogue, who isn’t ashamed to admit to vulnerability and hurt, perhaps being the bravest of them all in that aspect.

Truly, they are the most amazing people the universe has to offer.

And somehow, they have chosen to let him into their lives. Somehow, it works, and they are all happier for it. And isn’t that just so beautiful?

 

It’s amazing how far he has come, with their help. After all, his interactions with other beings had exclusively been adversary for the longest of times. Not by his own design, merely influenced by the nature of his own miserable existence and imprisonment.

One of the few things he could do, during those first few lonely millennia of his existence, was watch.

Those beings, up there in the noisy universe, where he couldn’t reach - living, dying, fighting and loving. Playing and laughing without him.

He watched, for thousands of years, replicating their toys, learning their games. Imagining what it would be like to play with them. He even made bodies to wear, so that he could match theirs.

A different one for every kind of life form he saw. Like puppets, with wonderful detail and pretty colors. And it was great fun! For a while. Until he realized that they would never get to see them, never get to meet him.

That was the first time he had destroyed his toyroom. That terrible rage consuming everything, consuming him, his toys, his faces, until there was nothing left except him and the void.

And perhaps that void had gotten him after all, had seeped into his very being and filled all the little places happiness should be.

He built everything anew, a little more twisted, a little more terrifying than last time. And he kept watching the mortals, resenting them for all they had that he didn’t. Freedom, a whole universe, joy, and most of all - each other. Even death was something he occasionally envied them for.

By the time the first unfortunate mortal managed to stumble into his dimension, he quickly realized that while they could get in, he still couldn’t get out.

He had never wanted to keep something so bad in his entire miserable existence.

This tiny little mortal, lifespan the blink of an eye - he wanted, needed them to stay, to play with him and keep away the crushing loneliness. Yet all they did was scream and cry, begging to go home. They saw he wasn’t like them, and they hated what they couldn’t understand. They blamed him for ending up here, and they couldn’t see what he could offer - power, eternity, a life without a single worry, a god at their beck and call, for the small price of some company.

Determined to leave, they had challenged him to a game. Asking to be let go, should they win. And for the first time ever, the Toymaker had felt the pull of rules seemingly embedded into his very being. Trapping him, making him do things he didn’t truly want.

Because while he did want to play, his whole being howling to finally, finally have a real opponent, there was just one single thing he wanted more. To not be alone again.

Yet the Toymaker played against someone else for the very first time, and he lost.

And for the second time, all was consumed in his grief and rage, including that fragile little mortal he had wished so desperately to keep.

They were the first of many to end this way.

 

He still feels like that wretched creature sometimes, feels that terrible lonely fear bubbling over into rage, screaming at him to trap what he loves so that it may never leave him. But especially in moments like these, all his lovers close, so full of life and light, warming him simply by being in his vicinity, that part of him is easy to ignore. Why would he listen to it, and risk his partners’ happiness? They’ve already given him more than he deserves, and if they ever choose to leave him, he will understand. He shuts out the howling voice of that lonely child, imprisons it in the darkest corners of his being, so that it may never see the light of day again.

 

The Doctor’s hand in his hair brings him back to the present, asking for his attention in the gentlest of ways.

“Babe? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

“And what is zhat, Doktor?” he replies, letting real curiosity color his voice.

The Doctor is silent for a long moment, regarding him with an expression more serious than the Toymaker has become used to. His eyes betray vulnerability, looking almost… sad.

“I… I’m sorry. When we first met, I only saw the threat in you. I didn’t take the time to listen, and I keep thinking – maybe if I did, I would have realized sooner that all you needed was a chance.”

The Toymaker tenses. “No need to worry about that, mein Liebling.”

And there really isn’t. He’s perfectly happy now, happier than he’s ever been, and he owes all that to the Doctor, who had freed him.

“I do though. I never even thought to ask what it was like for you.”


Despite his best efforts, the Doctor’s words take him back. Way back, to the very beginning.

Back when the universe was still young, and the squirming vermin that somehow passed for life had first started becoming sentient, a new behavior had been invented. Something the young universe had never witnessed before - play. And with this new behavior, something else suddenly existed as well. A deity for it. Him, the god of play, champion of games.

There had been no loving parents, no handholding. He didn’t exist, and then, quite suddenly, he did.

Sometimes he wonders what it might have been like, if there had been someone to show him kindness, affection. Someone to watch over him with interest and benevolence.

He also wonders what it would have been like, had he been able to reach these new and interesting lifeforms. Would he have nurtured them, become their friend? Would he have helped them create fun little games, played with them, witnessed their conquest of the universe as a proud mentor?

He will never know. Because, as if by some cruel joke of the universe, the entity that loved play, needed it to live, had popped into existence not in the universe itself, but in an awful, lonely void, so cold that it froze him from the inside out since day one. A place even his nigh infinite power could not help him escape.

This void was so dark, so lonely, so utterly empty that it broke him. Yet what was he to do, a being so eternal that it couldn’t die even if it wanted to. He put himself together again every time he broke, again and again and again, each time less kind and warm than before. Warmth couldn’t survive in a place like this, and neither could kindness.

All he could do, all he did, was play. He created games, brand new and exciting, billions of them. And he played them, alone, as well as he could.

He built something, the toyroom - a fun world, filled with toys and games and  anything else he could think of. But all the bright and fun colors of the world couldn’t fight off the dread of the void encroaching, eating up all joy and snuffing out all light.

The Toymaker shivers, forcing a smile. “It was what it was. Nicht worth the mention.”

How silly, that he would feel cold, despite no longer being in that place. How utterly silly.

The Doctor doesn’t look very convinced, gaze searching for his. He looks very much like he wants to say more. The Toymaker isn’t sure whether he can take that, so he quickly blurts out “I had mein games, and you know there isn’t much else I care about.”

Rogue, who up until now had been listening with a deepening frown, lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. There’s no need to pretend. You don’t have to be fine all the time.”
Rogue’s touch, gentle and warm, burns like a brand. Makes the cold stand out even more, sharpens the terror settled so deeply in his bones, like poison. He shakes it off.

“I know what it’s like. Being trapped all alone in a barren place, with no hope of escape. With no joy, no friends, nothing to live for. It was absolutely horrible for me, I was very close to giving up hope when the Doctor found me. And I was only there for a little while, compared to you. I can’t imagine what it must have been like…”
He laughs, the sound sounding too harsh to be coming from his own throat. Too mocking for who he’s supposed to be now. “That’s because you’re mortal, darling.” Without meaning to, he’s slipped into his British accent. It’s less personal than his german one, less playful.

The flash of hurt on Rogue’s face feels like a knife being stabbed into his nonexistent heart.

“A mortal mind isn’t meant for something like that. It’s only natural that it hurt you. I, however, am not mortal.” He smiles, sends a teasing wink Rogue’s way. “Easy to forget when you get distracted by my pretty face, ich weiß.”

Rogue rolls his eyes and the Doctor huffs in amusement. “Oh yeah, he’s definitely fine, if he can drop lines like that.”

The Toymaker’s smile widens another fraction, turning cheeky. He blows a playful kiss in the Doctor’s direction, delighting in the fact that the Doctor mimes catching it.

He clings to that spark of delight, pushing away all the terror, the bad memories, the hurt. He’s no longer in that horrible place, and if he can help it, he never will be again.

He’s fine. Everything is going so well. He just needs to keep up his smile, and remember to keep breathing, keep blinking, keep moving like a human, or perhaps a timelord would.

With two of his partners successfully distracted, the Toymaker turns to the third, who is suspiciously quiet, and has been this whole time.

The Master’s expression is empty, maybe deliberately so. His eyes are dark, his heavy gaze making the Toymaker feel… seen.

He can’t know, can he? How awful it has truly been? The things he has done, the person he was forced to be?

That he still gets scared sometimes, like a pathetic child?

 

The Toymaker ducks his head, avoiding his lover’s gaze.

[moookar]

arthur and john reading poetry in a garden, for the painting asks???? i know it would be lovely in your style <3333

I put them in a park in early fall because I’m SO ready for summer to be over. Arthur remaining blind even after separation has a very special place in my heart

[thebrainrotsreal]

Eve, Kate, Mark and Rex! Nailing some ideas down on how I wanna draw them in the future, and enjoying messing with their designs like usual! Not a fix-it whatsoever just fun + ref for the future! I cannot do realistic styles so translating them into something I can do while still being recognizable is peak. I will mess with Rex's suit more. Trust. I Kate so much now. Look at her <333333

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

The General's Daughter

@g-backto505

[loveletterworm]

fall guys miku fanart (fall guys miku fanart)

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!

are you gonna start climbing, or what? / needletail

[sergle]

I think my favorite thing about doing ginger red hair instead of cherry red hair is: lying to people about it

[jamiethebeeart]

I'm so very very normal about Dani, I promise (lineart by @five-rivers ) @green-with-envy-phandom-event

[dasistmeinpferd]

charia + little sisters

[gravestone-sys]

guys for the love of god can we STOP WITH HOW WE TREAT COLOURBLINDNESS!!!!!!!!! I'm colourblind. I said I was colourblind in front of some people and immediately it was "oh yeah? what colour is this? lol!!" THIS IS WHAT PEOPLE DO TO PEOPLE WITH GLASSES. AND IT'S SO FUCKING ANNOYING. PLEASE STOP. YEAH THAT'S BLUE YOU DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT KIND OF COLOURBLINDNESS I HAVE. I CAN SEE A DEEP FUCKING BLUE.