#and i think partially what contributed to that me staying was

[courtclover]

💯

[remlionheart]

Split Decision

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦ ˚ *

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ i woke up this morning w a slutty, feral, urgent need for some soukoku x fem!reader smut and this fic just kinda poured out of me (literally), 3.7k words. porn with a plot. (hope u like it nasty) you're an intern, ending your last day in Yokohama when you're approached at the hotel bar by two men who have one very pressing question for you: red or white wine? i was melting into an actual puddle writing this so lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡ (and as alwaaayysss, thank u to the loml @bratbby333 for proofreading and being just as fucking pumped for this to come out as i was ♡) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You were tired, exhausted after a day filled with meetings that you barely contributed anything to. You were grateful for your internship, happy that it held the promise of a job right after graduation but being in Yokohama for the last two days had been a bit lackluster.

You sat at the bar of your hotel with lazy, muffled jazz music dancing around you as you fiddled with the straw in your empty cocktail glass.

The trip itself hadn't been all bad. The days were long, but you'd managed to make the most of your nights. The firm you were interning for was gracious enough to make it an all-expenses paid trip and you'd definitely taken full advantage of that over the last week.

You'd spent your nights in the most upscale restaurants the city had to offer, taking yourself on little dates to pass the time. You'd found yourself sitting alongside powerful businessmen and prominent executives that made you feel important even though you were still very much on the outskirts of their social circles. You had been a fly on the wall, quietly observing a world that you could only hope to one day be a part of.

It'd been a learning experience if nothing else. A secret glimpse into how rich men behaved when they thought no one was watching. There was something intoxicating about it all. Something that made you want to try harder when you got back home. You were determined to have this sort of life for yourself one day and you would.

That's what made being responsible tonight all the more important. Your flight back home was set to leave at 6 am. Your bags were already packed and waiting for you in your room. As tempting as it was to venture out into the city again, you needed to be well-rested and level-headed when you woke up tomorrow. So, you'd kept your promise to yourself and settled on slipping into your last clean black dress and grabbing a few drinks at the hotel bar to end your makeshift vacation.

Your legs dangled from your stool, the strap of your dress slipping down your arm as you yawned. The bar had been mostly vacant all night. People passing by, but never actually staying for more than one drink. The vintage grandfather clock at the corner of the room watched you tauntingly, another sway of its heavy arms indicating that it was nearing midnight.

You knew it was time to head back. Your hand reached out to bell for the bartender when two opposing, but equally powerful drinks were suddenly placed at either side of you.

A deep, rich red wine on your left and a deceptively alluring white wine on your right. Your eyes hesitantly drifted between the two men that were now occupying the seats next to you, the warmth of their bodies radiating off of them as they sized you up.

"Which one will it be, angel?" His voice was like velvet, a dangerous smirk creeping across his face as his brown eyes met you. His partially bandaged fingertips slowly pushed the Chardonnay towards you. "You look like a woman of good taste. Honestly, I think you'd like this one much better."

A gloved hand rested on the small of your back, gently turning you around to face him instead. His disheveled red hair and azure gaze were hard to ignore as he nudged the Cabernet closer to you. "Tch, you're too pretty for that cheap shit." He smirked. "Besides, I bet you're wantin' something that would hit way deeper than that, right?"

Your breath was suddenly lodged in your throat, an ache burning between your legs at the sheer shamelessness of it all.

The brunette's smile was piercing, his stare slicing into the man on your left as he let out a low laugh. "You've always had quite the imagination, haven't you Chuuya?" His eyes maintained the same sharpness, dragging back to yours with fervor. "I think what she really needs is something that would leave her begging for more and that's not something that measly little sweet red of yours would do."

The air between the three of you was suddenly suffocating.

You crossed one leg over the other, finding yourself actually having to clench while they carried on with their salaciously threatening banter. Their fingers roaming along your back and the top of your hand. Both inching closer and closer, still spilling out corrupt little nothings about which one would taste better going down your throat and which one would fill you up until there was no more room left.

You needed to be in bed. You needed to keep your wits about you. You needed to tell them both that you didn't have time for this, but your insides were on fire the harder they fought over you.

After being ignored at every meeting you'd gone to this week and being nothing more than a wallflower at the dinner parties you'd attended, having two admittedly depraved but attractive men competing over you like this was enough to make you forget about trivial things like time and responsibilities.

They were still going on. Still gently petting and praising you while their insults towards each other grew heavier and headier.

Your blood rushed through your veins as you looked down at the contrasting wines sitting in front of you. You knew the minute that you took a sip of either, your fate would be sealed for the night. You'd be declaring yourself to one of them. The only smart option you had would be to push both drinks aside, to choose yourself, and to leave the two of them to carry on with their degenerate rivalry with the next unsuspecting girl that waltzed in here.

But you weren't going to settle for either.

As you glanced between them, it dawned on you that there was an alternate, much more menacing 4th option at your disposal.

Their voices came to a pause when they noticed your hand finally raise, hovering directly in the center of the two glasses. Your eyes danced from the brunette back to Chuuya, a hazy smile pulling at the corner of your mouth despite the fact that your heart felt like it was capable of ripping straight through your chest at any given second.

You rested your palm over both, letting your middle finger slide into the Cabernet and your index finger slide into the Chardonnay in perfect unison.

The tension was palpable as they watched you slowly pull out and bring them to your lips. You cocked your head to the side, your tongue generously gliding against the mixture of red and white before you brought them all the way into your mouth, spit slightly dribbling down your chin while you looked between the two men.

A smile cut across your face as you noticed the two sets of blown out pupils staring back at you. "Does that answer your question?"

"No," Chuuya was the first to break the silence. "No fuckin' way am I letting that asshole anywhere near the same room as us."

But it only seemed to pique the brunette's interest more.

A grin that could rival that of the devil's began to pull at the corner of his mouth. "Oh c'mon, Chuuya. You're really gonna deny this angel what she wants?"

"Don't start with me, Dazai." he snarled, his eyes softening a bit when they reached yours. "Look, I'd love to fuck you, but -"

Dazai took full advantage of the redhead's decision to opt out, spinning your barstool towards him so that your back was abruptly facing Chuuya before he could even finish his sentence. "Well," he smirked with a dangerous sense of wit in his voice. "Guess that just leaves us then."

"Wait a minute, that's not how this works!" Your chair was once again being flung in the opposite direction. A gloved hand gently cupping yours as he tried to reason with you. "You're gorgeous, y'know that, right? Even if you end up leavin' by yourself, I promise it'd still be better than endin' up with that mackerel over there."

It should've been an insult. In fact, you were certain that it was an insult, but for some deranged reason, it made Dazai all the more persistent to get you what you had originally asked for.

"Okaaay, okaayy." He conceded as he stood up. "There's no need for petty nicknames. If you're too self-conscious to share a beautiful woman's body with me, that's all you have to say."

"Self-conscious?" The edge in Chuuya's tone only gave Dazai what he wanted. "I'm not self-conscious, you arrogant bastard. I just don't trust you."

Dazai leaned into your ear, his hand shielding his mouth though his voice was far from a whisper. "It's because of his height, I'm afraid. Quite sad really."

"Alright, cut the shit." It was enough to finally bring the redhead to his feet.

He stood up, grabbing your hand to help you off your chair, eyes now locked firmly with yours. "You really want us to fuck you?" He asked, completely ignoring the absolutely vile smirk Dazai was sporting.

A mix of fear and arousal pooled between your thighs as you realized that this was your one chance to back out.

You looked between the two of them one last time before promptly grabbing the drinks that were left on the counter and knocking them both back one right after the other.

"My room or yours?" You asked.

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The three of you had ended up in Chuuya's suite which was at least three times the size of your room. It was lofty, decorated with high-rise windows that were covered by thick, black privacy curtains. His king-sized bed made up in pristine white sheets that you feared would soon be ripped to shreds with the way the two of them could barely share the same elevator without almost killing each other, let alone share you.

Chuuya took off his gloves and hung his coat in the closest next to Dazai's as you slipped out of your heels and left them by the door. Your heart was suddenly in your throat now that you were actually here.

You were still by the entryway, not entirely sure how this was going to start while Chuuya went around and began dimming the lights, making a snide comment about how the less he had to see of Dazai, the better. The brunette just smirked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, motioning for you to join him.

He spread his legs, lightly guiding you to stand in front of him as he kissed the back of your hand. His brown eyes trailed over you intently, his slender fingers tracing along the curve of your hip. "No need to be nervous," he whispered, tangling his free hand into yours.

There was something so tantalizing about the way he was looking at you. Eager but thorough, like he wanted to memorize every single inch of you. "See how pretty she is, Chuuya?"

You felt him approach you from behind, his calloused hands holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail while his breath fanned across the top of your shoulder. "Care if I unzip this?" he asked, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck as you nodded. He continued to kiss and nip at you, carefully dragging the zipper down your spine before letting it fall to the floor.

"Fuck."

It was perhaps the one thing that they'd agreed on all night.

Dazai had the full-frontal view of you and Chuuya had the back. You were on full display for them both due to the fact that you'd opted for no bra or panties when you'd left your room earlier, thinking that you'd be coming straight back anyway. What a lie that had turned out to be.

Dazai's hand roamed along your stomach, goosebumps dancing across your skin as his fingertips dipped a bit lower. Chuuya's mouth was still on the nape of your neck, his grip tightening around your hips, drawing the poutiest little whimpers out of you.

"And to think you almost made us pass this up." Dazai taunted. "That would've been suuuch a shame."

"Shut up." Chuuya grunted, pulling you closer so that your ass was flushed perfectly against him. Your back arched feeling how hard he was, another little noise you couldn't quite control escaping you.

Dazai raised an eyebrow at this, realizing how easy it was to make you squirm.

"Oh, our girl's sensitive, isn't she?" He smirked, his fingers making their way to your center, just barely touching the outside of your folds. "Hmm," He hummed, surveying your desperate, dripping cunt. "What kind of sounds do you think she'll make if I do this?"

His finger ran along your clit, only giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation before he immediately plunged it inside of you.

"Nngh ~!" You whined, ramming yourself further into Chuuya's bulge. He held you steady, stuck somewhere between severely hating that Dazai had made you moan like that and fucking loving that you did it while grinding against him.

"Aw, look at that. I think she likes you, Chuuya." Dazai mocked, sliding into you again without warning, jealousy washing over him at how you were holding onto the redhead for support.

He went deeper, adding in another finger, to redirect your attention down to him as you mewled. "Feel good, angel?" he asked through heavy lashes.

You nodded back at him so pitifully, it made him groan, rubbing his thumb against your clit as his other two digits continued their assault on you.

You felt Chuuya undoing his belt behind you, his pants quietly dropping to the ground.

"You're doing so good," he praised into the softness of your neck, stroking himself with one hand and palming at your chest with the other. Squeezing a nipple between his fingers as you filled the room with more heavenly noises. "Think you can do me a favor, baby?" His voice felt like blissful static against the shell of your ear.

"M -" you struggled, your eyes nearly crossing at Dazai relentlessly hitting your g-spot. "Mhmmm." you finally managed.

"Can you bend over f'me?"

You tried your best to comply, but Dazai wasn't making it easy. In fact, he was making it impossible. Every time you tried to move, he'd go deeper, practically pulling you towards him from the inside with the curl of his long fingers.

Your vision was blurry, your body forgetting how to move altogether as the two men fought over you like you were a toy that they were willing to break in half as long as it meant the other person couldn't have it anymore.

"I -" you whined, noticing the absolutely feral smirk spread across Dazai's face. "I'm gonna - fuck, I can't -"

As much as Chuuya wanted to murder him for making you cum first, he knew his turn was next and he was going to fuck you into oblivion. "I've got you." he breathed, still playing with your nipple and holding you in place. "You're okay, baby. Let it out. Oh, just like that. Good fuckin' girl."

Dazai panted as you soaked his fingers, greedily trying to draw another one out of you before Chuuya intervened. "Alright, enough." he said, carefully pulling you away from him. "Here." he said, guiding you so that your ass was arched up for him and your face was on the mattress.

He was just about to put it in when Dazai stopped him, swiftly wriggling himself out of his pants before sitting on the edge of the bed again and placing your head above his dick.

Chuuya ran a frustrated hand over his face, the last fucking thing he wanted to see was your pretty mouth wrapped around Dazai while he was inside of you, but he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Be easy on her," he warned him.

You looked up at Dazai with glazed over eyes as he smiled down at you, proud of his work. "You know I wouldn't hurt you, right angel?"

Your pussy throbbed at the way he was able to make such a reassuring question feel so sinister.

His cock was long and thick and you were quickly realizing just how hard it was going to be to not choke on it. You started off slow, letting him tangle his hand into your hair as you lolled your tongue out and pressed it against him.

"Oh, fuck." Dazai groaned watching you make your way up to his tip, graciously opening your mouth wider to accommodate him.

Chuuya was wildly annoyed but not at all surprised at how vocal Dazai was. He blocked it out by rubbing his tip between your folds, reeling in the way your back arched for him as he softly massaged your abused little clit.

You were moaning, doing your best not to lose your concentration from how intoxicatingly tender Chuuya was handling you.

Whereas Dazai had practically bullied an orgasm out of you, Chuuya was prepared to play the long game. He'd fuck you slow and deep for hours if that's what you wanted. He was determined to make you feel so good you wouldn't be able to remember any other words besides his name.

Once he was satisfied with how wet both of you were from your cum, Chuuya lined himself up with your entrance. "You ready baby?"

"Y - yes." You struggled, Dazai only letting you come up for air for a second before your head was promptly pushed back down again.

You whimpered, completely forgetting what you were doing when Chuuya entered you. His cock stretching you out more than you knew you were capable of. "Oh - mygod." You choked out, eyes pleading as you looked back at Dazai.

Surprisingly, he wasn't jealous. Wasn't instantly shoving your head back down to get you to focus on him. He was in a euphoric daze seeing how fucked-out you looked. Your eyes were full-on watering, your pussy wrapped so tight and snug around Chuuya.

Dazai's grip in your hair lightened, pulling you up but only so he could watch you from a better angle. He held your head in one hand and began stroking himself with the other. "Oh, angel. You love being fucked like that, don't you?"

You nodded pathetically, completely overstimulated by the feeling of Chuuya pounding into you and the beautiful sight of Dazai jerking himself off to you getting railed. "Say it." He smirked. "Use your words."

Chuuya groaned, it was the first time all night that he wasn't tuning Dazai out. His hips thrusted into you harder as you whined. "I - love." Your eyebrows knitted together, your mouth dropping open at how deep Chuuya suddenly was. "I love - it." You cried out. "I love it so fu - cking much."

Chuuya wasn't sure if Dazai was trying to hurt or help him by coaxing such depraved things out of you, but he was lost in the sound of your moans.

Your legs began to shake, your cunt pulsating as Chuuya's tip knocked against your cervix. "I -" your head shook, you felt like you were going to pass out. "I can't - s'too much, I'm gonna -"

"Let me feel it, baby." It was almost more of a beg than a command. "Let me feel that pretty pussy soak my cock."

Dazai's breathing hitched in his throat watching the two of you. The tears that were spilling down your pretty face and the guttural noises you were forcing out of the redhead so effortlessly. The way neither one of you were coherent anymore, too lost in the way your bodies were aching for one another to know anything else.

Dazai wasn't sure why it was doing this to him. Wasn't sure why he couldn't stop himself, but just as you started to cum, he did too. He shoved your mouth back around him, reveling in the shock and pleasure and absolute awe on your face as you swallowed every last drop he shot into your mouth.

Your body felt like it was convulsing. The three of you had somehow all managed to reach your climax in perfect, lewd, synchronicity. Dazai's cum was pooling down your chin while Chuuya filled you up from behind. A combination of both of your fluids mixing together and then squirting out of you when he finally pulled out with a heavy, "Oh, FUCK."

You collapsed into Dazai's lap, your legs refusing to hold you. Chuuya helped pull you up onto the bed as the three of you fell into the mattress with a thud. You laid in the middle of them, your head rested peacefully against Dazai's chest as you tried to stop the room from spinning.

"And you told me to go easy on her." Dazai mused, running his fingers through your hair.

Chuuya rolled over on his side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck. "'Least I didn't get off watching her get railed by another dude." he sneered.

"Yeah, you're right." Dazai tsked, "Only thing that could've made it better is if it was by a taller man."

"Dazai, I swear to god -"

But their bickering came to a quick end when you began to shift against them.

"Hey," you mumbled dreamily, causing both of them to immediately revert back to petting you and leaving light kisses along your skin. "Could you shut the fuck up? I've gotta be up at 5 tomorrow to catch my flight."

Chuuya smirked and set an alarm on his phone. Truthfully, he was willing to let you talk to him however you wanted with what you'd done to him tonight.

He reluctantly pulled the comforter up over the three of you. As much as he didn't want Dazai in his room for another minute, you looked too content to move.

You had never felt more safe or secure than you did being smushed between the two of them. Their words were hazy as you began to doze off, two sets of strong arms wrapped around you.

"Y'know, I think I'll kinda miss her." Chuuya breathed.

"Me too," Dazai smiled, looking down at you. "She's our girl."

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[fanaticsnail]

Snail, mad props, I love all your writting but your Hey Doc series hits me in all the right spots! So fun and cute!

I've been thinking, Doc's in a pirate crew.. Does Doc know how to fight? Because here's a fun scenario that has been on my mind...

Doc is buying/gathering ingredients and gets attacked by thugs or other crew. Doc puts up one HELL of a fight but gets beaten up pretty badly 😩

Upon returning to the ship, Doc tries to hide away and lick the wounds, acting like nothing happen.

So who do you think would come barging in Doc's office yelling "Who the fuck this that to you?" Daddy Killer? Or the Captain himself?

If you feel like writing a little drabble to go with this I would die! 🫶🏻🫣🥹

Love! ❤️

Hello my darling. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of your request. This is how I saw it playing out in my head. Thank you so much for your beautiful contribution to the story!

What do I do, Doc?

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word count: 2,900

Synopsis: Dressing as a civilian on the usual supply run with Wire does not go according to plan. Your past finally catches up to you, and your crew scrambles to come up with a way to treat you from your injury.

Themes: kid pirates x gn!reader, platonic kisses, hurt, injury, graphic pain, impaling (reader receiving), Wire/Heat/Killer/Kid x reader, partial Bubblegum x reader, angst, fluff, delirious Doc, poison. You are "Doc", the doctor of the Kid Pirates. Pet names used: hon, honey, sweetheart, baby for Doc.

Notes: I have been feeling some sort of way for a while, and this request was singing me their siren song. I also wanted this in a fic pretty bad, and I wanted to make it sadder.

“Hey Doc,” the soft growl in Wire’s tone had an edge to it, a warning felt in his dangerous aura, “You gotta stay awake. We're nearly there, hon. Stay with me.”

The grogginess you felt masked the pain from the spear protruding from your thigh. Your life escence pooled from the wound, the stain dripping down your leg and onto Wire’s stomach as he cradled you into his chest. Each slow blink grew heavier and heavier, the frequency between them coming closer as unconsciousness called to you.

“Doc! Hey, Doc!” Wire jolted you in his arms, forcing your eyes open in shock to his ferocity, “Doc, I need you. Stay awake, damn it!” You offer him a fluttery smile, your lashes batting up at him as his expression contorted in fear.

“Keep-... Keep the pressure on it,” you managed to stutter, your teeth chattering through each syllable as you spoke. “Don't take it-... Don't take it out. Leave it in u-until the bleeding stop-...” Eyes rolling back into your skull, you never finished your instructions to the larger commander. He cursed beneath his breath, sprinting towards the Victoria Punk where the remainder of the crew were waiting for you.

This was not your fault, nor was it Wire’s. You both thought yourselves to be safe: both dressed in loose civilian attire away from your usual garb. Compliments were given to both you and your older commander, praise that would make even the most hardened pirate blush.

You were both seeming to be the least conspicuous and recognisable of the amassment of crew. Your reputations and bounties were both high, but away from your regular clothes, your vacant and stripped-back appearance was the perfect disguise.

Unfortunately, this base had someone you thought had long since forgotten your face. A person from a past you attempted to keep hidden, trapped beneath lock and key in the chest kept in your mind's eye. The spear came out of nowhere, impaling you against the floor and successfully rendering you immobile.

While pinned stationary, the only warning you gave was a choked gasp, Wire turned and immediately sprung into action. Trident aimed back in arms, his motions struck true: claiming the life of the attacker immediately. Usually one to extend the pain, Wire’s instinct to protect came before anything else.

“Doc,” his whisper hissed through his teeth, “Honey, what was that? Who was that?” You were struck in shock, looking down to the spear leaving a welt in the ground; a familiar engraving on the wood having your eyes scrunch tightly shut.

“Wire, just-,” you started, halting when Wire dropped to his knees and hovered his hands over the spear.

“-Doc, you know how to fight. What the fuck is this?” he pointed to the spear, the pain of the sting leaving you and dulling the longer you remained stationary. “Explain, now.”

You sigh, lip beginning to tremble as his eyes finally gaze up to join with yours. Noticing the quiver in your lip, the pooling in your eyes, his demeanor immediately changed.

“Oh, honey,” he gasped, rising to a soft crouch and cradling your cheeks in his palms. A small tear managed to spill from your waterline and trickle down your cheek. “Talk me through what to do. Tell me how to help you.” Closing your eyes, you lean into his touch and take a moment to calm yourself within his palms.

“Break the spearhead at the neck,” you informed him, “And keep the fucking thing in until I get back to the sh-...” You fell forward, your forhead brushing with the commander in front of you as your eyelids drooped.

“...Fucking coward,” you huffed out a soft laugh, floating your eyes to the injury. Gazing down at the spear, you nod against Wire's head with a sarcastic smile on your face.

“Poisoned. They used the poisoned one.”

Finally reaching the ship, your mission long since forgotten, Wire used his great height to his advantage in propelling himself along the top deck. Several crew members attempted to stop him, Bubblegum immediately shrieking and running before Wire to open every door towards your office.

The captain and the lingering two commanders trailed behind Wire, Killer halting as he bore his eyes down at the ground. A trail of bright red spattered over the deck, his piercing blue orbs glaring at it as his lips curled back. Clicking his fingers, he gestured to the nearest crewmember and gestured to the closest mop and bucket before trailing behind Heat and Captain Kid.

Once below deck, Wire set you down on your medical bay and immediately began readying gauze to replace the linen satchel you used to make a basic pressure aid. You mentioned about not making a tourniquet, nothing to aggravate the complications of the wound. Heat was immediately through the doors next, the Fire-Breather gazing through hollowed eyes at the injury first before running immediately to your desk.

“What,” a rumbling growl barked, “the fuck,” your captain ducked beneath the threshold of your office door, “happened?” Wire couldn't speak, his own manic state prohibiting him from thinking anything other than cutting away your pants with your scissors and placing the scraps in a damp pile beside you. Nothing was to pull him away from his task, keeping pressure on the wound while he cleaned you up best hr could.

“Wire,” Captain Kid roared, a jolt felt deep within his chest as he fell away from his transfixed attention. Turning to Kid, Wire managed to bark back at the captain.

“We were recognised,” he called over his shoulder, “Someone knew Doc.” He peeled away the final fabric, your doll-like state limply moving with each push and pull from the taller man.

Eyelids fluttering, slipping between consciousness and slumber, you peeled your eyes open enough to gaze at Killer as he entered the room. Offering him a weak smile, you attempted to move your lips to speak. Killer raised his hand to hush you, wordlessly telling you to save your strength for something more intentional than a greeting.

“The fuck recognised Doc?” Kid growled, “Doc's been with us for ages, changed their look and everything from that stuffy shit they wore before.” Kid bullied his way to Wire's side, shoving his hands away from the spear and assuring his one good hand be weighty enough to force the wound shut.

“I know as much about it as you, Cap,” Wire stuttered, his panic tangible in his shaken hands. “One of the first things Doc said about it was they were cowards for using poison.”

“Fuck,” Heat finally added, carding through his lengthy pale hair as he searched through the medical and personal journals in your desk for any information. Finally stumbling across a filagree design on one of the pages, he shook his head and clapped the book shut. “There's nothing in here. I don't know what to do. Doc just writes about weaponry in the journal, but nothing about poison.”

“What do I have to do about the spear? What does it say, Heat?” Wire yelled at the scarred commander, his Glasgow smile grimacing at the tone. Looking back to the desk at the open pages, Heat shakes his head and looks back at Kid.

“Doc needs a surgeon,” he uttered darkly, placing the journal back on the desk beside him, “Closest one is the marine base, next up is Trafalgar. Make a choice.”

The captain never tore his eyes away from your thigh, his deep frown growing in size the longer he lingered on the thought. The marines wouldn't help, they'd likely kill you and anyone else that entered on behalf of you. Trafalgar was days away, and there was no way wyou could make it. He didn't know how to treat this injury himself, that's what he had you for.

Considering there was poison in your leg, likely spreading to your blood at this point, he clamped his eyes shut and finally looked up to your face. Eyes open and glazed, you offered him a soft smile.

“What do I do, Doc?” he drew his metal hand up to caress your cheek, “What do I do?” You dart your eyes between his while slowly blinking in your daze.

“Under my bed,” you whispered, your vocal fry straining as the pain lingered, “Antidote.”

Killer was already out the door as soon as you stated ‘under your bed,’ refusing to daudle as you lay there bleeding out. Kid nodded to you, the cool of the metal palm soothing your scorching flesh. Beads of sweat flooded your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead as you bit back the ache.

“And the fucking spear?” Kid laughed down at you, “What you wanna do about that?” You snickered weakly, trying to best phrase how to proceed next.

Ideally, you would want to: remove the object, clean and sterilize the area, remove any necrotic flesh, provide antiseptic, antiinflamitries and suture it back up. Unfortunately, none of the crew were you; and you were in no position to do it yourself. Before you even had a moment to speak, Heat was at your side, pushing past Wire and glaring up at your captain.

You lazily lolled your eyes to the side of the desk, noticing the page Heat opened and let out a preemptive whimper in preparation. Heat looked down at you, watching your brows raise in a triangular peak in the center of your forehead as you nod to him.

“Antidote,” you hissed out, gulping while closing your eyes tightly shut, “And rum.” Heat nodded, immediately walking to your desk and almost instinctively pulling the leaver to reveal your secret stash of rum. Kid gasped out a laugh, smiling playfully down at you.

“Little shit,” he affectionately chastised you, “Where the fuck was that when I asked for it last week?” You choked through a soft laugh in response while biting back the pain.

“In my fuckin’ desk, hiding from you.” He laughed at you before his lips curled into a soft pout. Leaning forward, he kept the pressure against your wound as he pressed his forehead against your own. Clamping his eyes shut and grinding his teeth, he shared your breath with you in a bid to draw you closer.

“When you live through this, Doc,” Kid hissed before nuzzling his head against yours, “I'll-.”

“-Kill me?” you chirp playfully up at him, prompting him to open his eyes and glare down at you. The pain was in every follicle of your face, even in the radiance of that grin you wore so much.

“No, Sunshine,” he whispered, no humour in his tone aside from his melancholy smile, “No.” He learnt up, pressing his painted lips against your forehead while inhaling a sharp breath through his pointed nose. “I'll give you that raise you've been asking for. I swear to you, Sunshine.”

Pulling away from your face, he gazed down at you with hardened resolve and absolute unwavering compassion. Darting your eyes between his two, you lazily draw back your lips to a lazy smile.

“You know, Cap,” you utter whimsically, “From a distance, your eyes look almost orange.” Reaching up your hand, you gently take his cheek in your palm. Your weak grasp feels foreign on his hands, your usual steely demeanor slipping away, “But up close?” you whisper intimately, his breath catching in his throat, “You've got a band of gold in the middle.”

Kid attempted to keep his composure, staying strong in front of his commanders, and you, as you speak in nonsense. Your eyes held this foreign affection that he had yet to truly witness. Every part of your usual abrasive attitude diminished, your soul raw in your expression as you stared up at your captain.

“D-Doc-...” he gasped, Wire watching the interaction between the two of you and choking on his breath. Heat's eyes never left your face, waiting for the exact moment you give him that nod of approval to inact your unspoken agreement.

Stampeding through the threshold of the door tumbled Killer, each movement intentional and deliberate while weighty and desperate. Shoulders arched and chest puffed, he slid to your side and uncorked a vial of viscous liquid.

“Here you go, baby,” he leaned forward, taking your neck beneath his hands and cradling you up to steady you, “Easy does it now.” The vial ridge was placed at your lip, your eyes not leaving your captain's as you swallowed the contents of the vial. Barely tasting the liquid, the vial was replaced by the lip of a rum bottle to numb the pain and drown the pain you were about to endure.

As soon as the amber liquid hit your chest and trickled down your throat, Heat removed the spear from your thigh with his larger hands. A spurt of liquid pooled in your Captain's palm the moment he did as such, the scream you let up caught in the rum bottle. Killer leaned forward, placing his helmet covered lips against your temple and holding you against him. In your panicked state, you barely registed the next phase to Heat's agreement.

Slapping the captain's wrist away from your thigh, Heat placed his lips over your wound. Engulfing the area completely, Heat ignited his gullet and immediately seared the wound shut with the intensity of his flaming breath.

The sizzle of flesh lingered in the air, the scent of caurterizing skin and burnt hair tainting the burn of liquor in your throat. Your screams were stifled in your mouth as you grit your teeth, the widening of your eyes and glaring at that golden band within your captain's eyes.

He had no choice but to look down at you as Heat scorched your flesh. Heat's lips pressed a heart-shaped mark into your skin, the guilt of marking you with his ability ate at him from the moment he read the passage on cleaning and sealing wounds. Manuevering your thigh with ease, he released the topside of your skin and immediately pressed his lips to the underside of your leg.

Another roar of flickered flame ignited in his chest, this time your back arched and head lulled in Killer’s arms. Your vision went white, the lingering ache of pain and swell of poison leaving you as you fell into unconciousness. Four voices painted the air with their plea, your ears ringing with their unique cadence.

“Doc, I know it hurts. Forgive me, please.”

“I should've protected you, Honey.”

“Baby, hold on. Just hold on a minute longer.”

“...Don't. Don't, Sunshine. Stay with me now.”

Hours slipped into days before you managed to rise from your slumber. That first taste of air expanded your lungs felt fresher, cleaner, than what you felt in years. The weight of your past had managed to catch up with you, the cost being higher than the one you were ready to pay with such hastiness.

As you looked to your bedside, the signature purple jagged locks of your sensitive crewmate lay unravelled beside you. Bubblegum’s face burried itself against the plush duvet, both his hands lay cradling your own as you roused with a sucked gasp.

Where were the commanders? Where was the captain? Why are these bedsheets so comfortable? Questions you would not be plagued with for much longer.

Door sliding open, the towering figure of Wire entered your chambers and slipped to your side. His eyes met with yours just as his breath caught in his throat. His great strides close the distance between you as he kneels by your head. Forehead first brushing with your mattress, he slowly and silently raises his gaze up at you through his eyelashes. Rounded eyes: wide, guilty, and pleading at you.

Before he had a chance to utter his confession and explain his emotion verbally, you silenced him with a look.

“I'm so sorry, Wire,” you whisper beneath your breath in an attempt to not wake Bubblegum. “I hesitated. I should've reacted faster-.”

“No, honey. No,” he whispered, shaking his head and rising to stoop over your bed. “You don't owe me anything you're not willing to give. It's not my place to reveal you, just as it's not yours to interrogate me.” You sigh out, a flood of emotion washing your heart in waves. Each passing wave has Wire lean forward, his lips casting over your forehead and holding you firmly beneath his kiss.

“We love you, Doc,” he whispered softly, “Doesn't matter who you were, only who you are now.” You scrunch your eyes shut as you bite-back your emotion. The wound, the familiar unfriendly face, the sting of poison still flooding through your veins, everything spilled over the rim of your emotions. Each moment replayed in echoes, Wires arms and desperation reminding you of his compassion.

“I'm ready,” you whisper, feeling him peel away his lips from your head. He searches your eyes for meaning, your own orbs darting between his.

“But first,” you added, your smile returning to your lips as you teased him with it, “Send me Heat. He's likely to be feeling like absolute horse shit about the whole thing. I can't bare to have him beat himself up about it.”

“As you wish,” he smiled at you, releasing you from his grip and pulling himself away, “I'll bring you your Fire-Breather, honey.” Giving you one more playful wink, the larger man exited your bedside and sauntered down the hall to do as you asked. Bringing you the man who used his abilities to cleanse you from your ailment as he lay in the mess hall with the captain, finding reprive from their guilt at the bottom of their rum bottles.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @nerium-lil @sinning-23 @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @a-killer-obsession

[f1daydreamers]

𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 [𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏]

gif credits: @u-u-piastri81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Oscar is a visitor at your first art exhibition – not exactly his scene – but it's one that he contributed to financially to help you out, an upcoming artist he's taken a bit of a liking to.

Warnings: criticism but not always constructive, fluff, Reader and Oscar being cute, this man in a suit (audience may faint from the gifs), angst, maybe Oscar is a little out of character but I just upped his rizz by a solid 20% because I love him but he's way too shy to do any of this methinks :)

A/N: I know nothing about this profession icl but I got major black tie and exclusive event vibes from the gifs so this is what came out of it. I did a ton of research to make sure it wasn't too unrealistic but experience beats knowledge so if you guys read any things that need some correction, lmk!

Yeah, I never expected this to be so long but once I got to writing, I couldn't stop so hey, enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k words (17 mins reading time avg)

…

Safe to say, this wasn’t Oscar’s scene.

Standing among collectors, art enthusiasts, curators, and industry professionals meant feeling a little out of place was a tad understated.

But he wanted to be here tonight. Of course, being invited is one thing but accepting the invitation comes with a whole new world of formalities he hadn’t prepared for.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, busy greeting and socialising with what looked like a few critics and journalists.

The notebooks in their hands were a dead giveaway but your hand drumming on your leg was another. You were anxious.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, the one he was offered when he received an entry pass coming through the venues' doors. He knew how much this evening meant to you, both in the months of planning and the dreams that preceded it.

Initially, the idea seemed farfetched, but as you dove straight into creating the collection, photographing it, staying up late to create statements that wholly captured the essence of your creative process, the once exciting prospect of submitting it to a gallery felt somewhat dissatisfying.

In a few conversations with Oscar, you’d shared your aspirations of seeing your portfolio bask in the limelight. However, the reality of organising a self-funded exhibition in a rented space would blow your budget out of the water.

You don’t know at what point but he’d made the decision to donate a significant sum of money to your artist fund, covering a major portion of the exhibition's expenses.

It helped you realise all those curious questions about possible venues, dates, and basic costs weren’t just to fuel his enthusiasm, but to sincerely offer his support.

You were grateful beyond what words could describe, and the least you could do was ask him to be here today.

You were nervous partially because you had critics and community leaders alike wandering around the space, conversing about your work you’d spent years dedicating blood, sweat and tears to.

But you were also nervous because he was here tonight.

Even if you’d drawn a squiggly line on a blank canvas, Oscar would marvel at it like it was the most beautiful thing on this planet, but tonight was when he was finally seeing your work in all its completion.

He brought your vision to life and the last thing you wanted to do was make him think his investment was a waste.

Last you’d checked, you hadn’t seen his brown wavy hair anywhere around the venue, his innocent smile playing on your mind even when you were entranced in conversation with fellow artists.

You stepped in front of a painting no one else currently seemed to be trained on, focusing on inhaling and exhaling your breaths, fidgeting with your fingers by your sides.

Tonight, was the most important day of your career by a mile.

“Excuse me.” Someone spoke up behind you and you inhaled a deep breath before whisking around to greet them. But your eyes grew soft, and your smile grew amicably at the man glancing downwards back at you.

“Do you know where I could find the host of the evening?” He asked, his smile mirroring yours, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Oscar," you breathed out, and the F1 driver had to force himself to disregard the palpable sense of relief that accompanied the utterance of his name.

The way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue, it left him wanting to hear you say it repeatedly.

“You made it.” He nodded his head, “I did.” Initially, he had doubts about attending, but considering the venue was conveniently located close to his hotel near Silverstone and his flight to Budapest wasn't until Monday evening, he managed to find the time to come.

You drew in a breath, "you look good." Your compliment was genuine, whenever you'd met up with Oscar or came across photos on Instagram, he was either in racing gear or in casual outfits. To see him in a suit was different. A good different.

"Thanks. Pretty sure I should be counting my breaths though." You chuckle as he looks down at himself, the shirt was a little smaller than he would've liked.

A testament to how life in Formula 1 was like and that his neck size had grown exponentially.

"Each one could be your last," you joked, adding on and he nodded.

"Exactly." His laugh culminated into a final chuckle, melting into a warm smile.

When you looked away, seeing the waiters you'd hired tonight refilling cups as people wandered around, Oscar took the opportunity to let his eyes drag over your figure.

"You look beautiful," his compliment drew a smile from you.

You briefly cast your gaze downward before lifting it to his chest then finally up to his eyes. "Thank you, Oscar."

He responded only with a curt nod; his eyes trained on your face before he tore them away to have a look around him.

"How's it going?"

You hummed, thinking about your answer. "It's okay. There's a few paintings that are getting lots of attention, others a little less."

"Did you expect that?" He asked and you reasoned, you knew when you began this collection that people would naturally gravitate more towards some pieces anyway, that's the advice you were given everywhere you went.

"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I didn't." Oscar took a sip of some liquid courage before pointing at the painting you'd just been standing in front of with the rim of his glass.

"I like this one." You turned as he took steps towards it, his shoulder grazing yours. "This is the last one." You mentioned as he skimmed over the statements planted on the wall next to the artwork.

"I think it's an elderly couple, and the mirrors all around them are portals into a specific memory of their relationship." He said undisputedly. You look up at him, your mouth parting slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, how did you figure that out so quickly?"

"It's almost like you were brainstorming ideas to me on call a few months ago." You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately impressed by his memory.

He hadn't spoken much during that phone call, so you'd assumed he wasn't paying much attention to your endless rambles.

"I never realised you were actually listening." You softly said and Oscar turned his head to look at you.

"Every word." He reassured, and a warm feeling encompassed your chest at his affirmation.

His gaze traced over the painting once more. While he had never hesitated to express his belief in your talent, seeing your artwork displayed in such a way stirred a whirlwind of emotions inside of him.

He was proud of you and excited for you, knowing that you had undertaken this journey for your own sake, garnering an array of artistic admirers. It's no mean feat to organise an event like this, take a risk so early on in your career.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you." You snap him out of his thoughts, turning your body towards him, standing a few feet away.

Oscar mimicked your movements, turning so he was facing you, and placed his now empty glass on a bar tray that a waiter had extended to him, refusing a refill.

"Why do you think you need to repay me? Remember, it was a donation." He said matter-of-factly. You let out a sigh.

Despite his repeated assurances that he expected nothing in return, you couldn't shake off the feeling of indebtedness that lingered in your thoughts.

You found yourself dwelling on the late-night conversations, wondering if your eagerness to discuss your plans had inadvertently conveyed desperation.

Your gaze drops and without hesitation, he reaches his hand out and gently slots it into yours, his thumb caressing over your skin in a soothing gesture. Your heart skips a beat or two, the warmth of his hand was relieving.

"This is the best way you can repay me. Living the dream." He smiles and you nod, finally lifting your eyes to meet his. His voice was a calming anchor amid your thoughts.

"I'll never forget how you made it possible though," a small smile graced your lips, and he let out a chuckle.

"Yeah, you never miss a chance to mention it," he quipped, his eyes dancing with amusement. You playfully rolled your eyes, a good-natured sigh escaping you as you did.

Oscar's hand retreated to his side, and a subtle longing for his touch flickered within you. Nevertheless, you mask it with a smile that grew as you exchanged a couple more jokes.

...

He courteously held the door ajar, giving a nod to a man entering the bathroom who appeared to appreciate the gesture. Letting the door close behind him, Oscar took out his phone to check the time.

Absentmindedly, he began scrolling through his notifications: a mix of sports updates, a message from his mum, one from Mark. Yet, none seemed particularly urgent.

Just as he was about to tap on one of the notifications, his attention was drawn upward to the sound of your voice.

You were engaged in conversation with a man, his journal held in his hands, and sunglasses perched atop his head. Oscar's gaze briefly went back to his phone screen; he made no overt effort to eavesdrop.

Despite this, fragments of your conversation found their way to his ears anyway.

"I must say, your work is quite disappointing. The lack of technical skill is evident in every piece." Oscar's eyebrows furrow as he observes openly, a marked departure from his earlier disinterested demeanour.

You clear your throat as you try to collect yourself, bringing your fingers up to your mouth to hide your quivering lip.

You had previously cautioned yourself that not everyone will like your work, but experiencing such candid criticism directly was far more destructive than you could have expected.

"Um, okay. What sort of things did you not like about it?" You asked, trying to find some sort of valuable insight from such a respected critic in your community.

"The colours are garish and clash horribly. It's clear that you have no understanding of colour theory or composition." You nod, gathering some form of strength to just take his words on the chin but you were failing rather miserably. Your stomach was sinking, and your eyes were watering slowly.

"It's a shame that your efforts have resulted in such subpar creations." Your jaw tightens and as you scramble for the right words to respond with in your mind, a hand presses into your lower back from behind.

"Excuse me. I want to purchase a piece, but I can't seem to find your sales assistant." The accent is unmistakable, and you muster a smile as you turn to face him.

"I'll help you." Your voice is unsteady, your emotions deflated.

"Thank you," Oscar responds, though his gaze carries a hint of concern. He moves to follow you but before he can do so, the critic extends his hand to grasp his arm, waiting until he's certain you're out of earshot.

"Coming from a collector, don't bother." He smirks, his conviction clear. Yet, the F1 driver's face remains impassive.

"Sorry, I don't remember asking you. Now, if you don't mind." He looks down at the grip on his arm, his fist clenching by his side. The critic seems taken aback at the blank expression looking back at him, devoid of any gratefulness.

He swallows before loosening his grip.

Oscar rounds the pillar just as you press down on the handle to the fire door exit at the distant end.

He contemplates whether he should grant you some space, but he wonders if doing so will only make matters worse.

Pausing briefly, he contemplates his choices before deciding to make his way toward the fire exit anyway. His hand firmly grasps the handle, and he proceeds to push open the door.

With your back turned towards him, you're unaware of his presence. Your palms are pressed against your face as a means of stifling your sniffles hence the closing of the door registers faintly, the sound hardly penetrating your thoughts.

It's only when the crunching of gravel beneath someone's shoes reaches your ears that you realise you're no longer alone. But oddly, you know there's only one person who it could be.

The combination of embarrassment, distress, and sheer exhaustion was what left you feeling so overwhelmingly emotional.

Aware that you don't want Oscar to witness you in this state, you quickly swipe at your cheeks, hastily erasing any traces of tears from your face.

You whisk around, smiling up at him and nodding your head. "I'm good Os. It's not always going to be a perfect score, right?" His heart swells at the nickname you called him, very few people did so, but hearing it from you felt special in a way.

"He's a dick," the F1 driver bluntly responds, his tone carrying a hint of anger.

You chuckle softly, but the sigh that follows is slightly shaky. A wave of heaviness crashes over you again as the critic's hurtful words echo in your mind, your stomach sinking in response.

Oscar picks up on the shift of emotion and his eyes soften at your teary and lowering expression.

Without a word, he opens his arms and pulls you into an embrace. You don't resist; instead, you bury your face in his shoulder, your shoulders trembling as silent tears escape your eyes.

His arms encircle you tightly, offering a comforting refuge as your emotions spill over again.

His chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm providing you with some comfort despite how irritated you're getting at yourself for letting one conversation bother you this much.

As he holds you, his chest aches both for your vulnerability and the anger he feels towards the critic who provoked it. You reluctantly pull away after a minute or so, a mixture of gratitude and sadness in your eyes.

But in the moment, you can't help but feel that the money he donated for the exhibition might have gone to waste, that your efforts fell short.

Disappointing your clients is business but disappointing him felt personal, he was the reason you even had a chance to do this, and it'd turned out horribly.

"I let you down," you say quietly, and Oscar's eyebrows knit together as he studies your expression.

"How? Every piece I love, Y/N." He responds, placing his hand on your forearm, his touch warm. It sends a flurry of goosebumps over your skin which you're sure he would've picked up on considering his attention to detail.

He positions his index finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which you do. Your legs suddenly feel like they're incapable of keeping you upright, your face warming under his gaze.

"You didn't let me down." He whispers.

Oscar's concern remains palpable as his hand doesn't fall back to his side. His eyes hold a depth of emotion, the colours in his eyes becoming more distinct.

The connection that you can sense increases, and it's as if the unspoken understanding between you becomes more profound in that moment.

His cologne surrounds you but it's his gaze that flickers to your lips, a fleeting but unmistakable gesture. You realise that he's leaning in closer and there's a fraction of a second when it feels like the world around you fades.

The possibility of his lips meeting yours feels tantalisingly close.

But just as the moment deepens, you're both interrupted by one of the assistants, their voice breaking through the charged atmosphere.

"Sorry," the assistant interjects, sounding somewhat hurried. "There're a few clients waiting to speak with you Y/N."

Oscar slowly pulls back; he tucks in his bottom lip between his teeth and his expression shifts from one of intimacy to one of polite neutrality.

He offers you a subtle smile, the connection lingering between you even as the assistant's words redirect your attention.

"Of course," you reply, your voice steady despite quite the hurricane of emotions storming inside of you. You look to the assistant, ready to face the responsibilities of the exhibition once again. As you move away, you steal a glance at him, his gaze locked onto you for a moment longer before he nods.

That damned connection between you and Oscar remains, but now only punctuated by unspoken possibilities.

...

"Thank you, ma'am." you say with a warm smile as the elderly woman clasps your hand, offering kind words about your artwork while draping her shawl over her shoulders.

Once she'd left, you looked around to see if there was anyone else remaining in the space. Oscar had left a while ago considering he was on a flight tomorrow to Budapest.

Though a tinge of disappointment lingered within you, you understood and bid him goodnight.

You wrapped up a little later than you would've liked, a couple of your pieces had sold so you had to coordinate transport for them.

For the remaining few, you'd wrapped them up, gathered the papers for each one before loading them into the van to have them delivered back to your studio.

Oscar eventually made it back to the space he'd rented on Airbnb, staying in a hotel for a week definitely wasn't something he was fond of doing, a neatly packaged box of takeout planted on the small table.

He threw the crumpled paper bag into the bin and settled onto the couch, his phone in hand. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his feed to pass the time it'd take for him to get sleepy.

As he tapped through the stories, your profile picture caught his eye. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched it whole. The familiar scenes of the exhibition unfolded before him – videos capturing the venue, the artwork.

His gaze lingered on the art as if he hadn't been there tonight, his mind wandering into the world you had created. It wasn't just the work itself that interested him; it was the glimpse they offered into your mind, your perspective, and the emotions you poured into your work.

The admiration he felt for your creativity was intertwined with the growing fondness he was developing for you as a person.

Once you'd reached home, you dropped on to the couch with a sigh of relief that the day was done.

So, when your phone started vibrating besides you, you groaned and brought it up to your ear, not bothering to take a look at the caller ID.

"Y/N," you closed your eyes and waited for the other person to respond. They stuttered first before speaking up, "should I - should I reply with my name, or do we just get into the conversation?"

You lightly gasped, chuckling and straightening up on the couch. "Oscar, sorry. I'm still in work mode I think." You rubbed your forehead and the F1 driver poked through his food with a fork on the other end.

"No harm done. You back from the venue?" He asked and you stretched your legs out in front of you, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Yeah, only just. Perfect timing, Piastri." He smiled at your response, "I pride myself in that."

"I'm sure you do." You joked teasingly and fell back on the couch again. The similar onset of warmth and goosebumps from earlier bubbled up again inside of you.

"I thought you would've knocked out by now." Oscar hums, swallowing his food as he traps his phone between his ear and shoulder, throwing the now empty box on to the coffee table in front of him.

"Yeah well, I needed to eat. Luckily for me, there was a long queue at every takeaway place tonight." He retorted sarcastically and you scoffed, "typical London."

He agreed wordlessly before shifting his body horizontally, propping his head up on the armrest, his legs splaying over the leather sofa.

"What did you end up getting?" He made a humming sound as he reached for the receipt he'd tossed carelessly aside, bringing it up to eye level.

"Caribbean chicken curry." He said slowly, squinting to read the half-printed letters. Your stomach rumbling beneath you helped you remember that you too hadn't eaten for majority of the day. Your last meal was breakfast with a few snacks you always have on hand.

"Sounds good. I'd kill for some chicken curry right now." You mumble and Oscar's head turns to look up at the clock hung on the wall above the television.

"How 'bout I bring some?" He asks nonchalantly and your heart skips, you stutter in your response, glancing at the digital clock blinking at you from the corner table.

"You'd do that?" You say, a little more high-pitched than you would've preferred.

He smiles, refraining to say something corny. "Yeah, well I mean it's not my bedtime for another hour so..." He trails off thus leaving you to make the decision.

You don't even care about the food anymore, your stomach is doing somersaults from the mere thought of seeing him twice in one day.

"Only if it's alright with you. If you need to sleep, please sleep." You insist and there's a pause, you could swear you hear keys jangling on the other end of the phone before Oscar confirms.

"I'll be there in a bit."

...

You're changed into some slightly more flattering pyjamas than your regular animated giraffe ones when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walk the length of the hallway and reach for the doorknob.

Giving it a couple of moments, you open the door to find Oscar standing there, a warm smile on his face that mirrors your own feelings.

He's holding a paper bag up and you smile, "my saviour. Come in."

He slides past you, toeing his trainers off and pushing them up to the wall so they weren't in the direct pathway, allowing you to lead him into the living room.

He places the bag on to your wooden dining table and you sigh in delight, the smell of the food faintly wafting out of it.

"How much do I owe you?" He shakes his head, letting you take the box out of the bag.

"Only your eternal gratitude," he replies, his lips curving into a smile as he takes in the sight of your light expression, your eyes lit with appreciation.

"You already have that." You chuckle.

Eventually, you begin eating, all the while holding a conversation. With each passing minute, a subtle worry creeps in - that he might decide to leave soon. Not that you're against him getting his rest, but your own enjoyment of his company is growing stronger by the second.

The idea of the evening ending prematurely becomes less and less appealing. The warmth of his presence, the humour in his words, the hesitance you initially felt about him leaving transformed into a silent plea for him to stay, at least a little longer.

"I'm going to go up and use the bathroom, head over to the couch, make yourself comfortable." You insist and Oscar nods. His feelings he was aware of when he reached back to his place had tripled since he'd got here.

His leg had been bouncing the entire duration he'd been talking, he was nervous but albeit not understandably. He'd visited your place a few times now, he'd known you for nearly a year.

Nothing about the fluttery sensation in his belly, the excitement prior to seeing you, the attraction, the thoughtfulness, made any sense to him.

But at the same time, they made perfect sense. He likes you. A whole lot.

Realising he was getting a bit warm, he pulled the hoodie over his neck to reveal just a plain white tee underneath.

Tossing it on to the dining room chair he was previously sat on, he plops on to the couch, bringing the calf of his right leg up to rest on the knee of his left, his arm outstretching on the back of the couch.

You eventually return, having brushed your teeth since the aftertaste of the curry wasn’t a very pleasant one in your mouth.

“Do you piss for that long?" Oscar asks curiously, locking his phone and sliding it on to the table.

You scoff and feign offence as you sit next to him just a few inches away. "I don't actually, even if I did, what's it to you?" You tease and he shrugs, his lower arm draping off the couch casually, his fingertips brushing close to your shoulder.

"I was bored," he admits, his explanation falling a bit flat.

You raise an eyebrow, a mockingly sympathetic expression on your face. "Poor Oscar, suffering from boredom in my humble abode. My heart aches for you." He smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he shakes his head at your antics.

His eyes sparkle with amusement, "Well, I must say your empathy is truly heartwarming."

"That's just me, a paragon of compassion," you quip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. His proximity has your heart racing, and you're acutely aware of the playful tension that's building between you.

He tilts his head, his gaze holding yours as he leans in slightly. "You know, I was half expecting you to beg for my forgiveness."

You roll your eyes, your gaze locked on to his, you didn't mean for them to glance down to his lips, but it didn't skip past his notice either.

Your heart was hammering in your chest and the silence that followed afterwards definitely gave Oscar enough time to be able to pick up on it.

"Please forgive me Oscar, please?" You reduce your words to a whisper and he smiles, refusing to waste another second and he instantly ducks his head to catch your lips in a fervent kiss.

His actions catch you off guard, the sensation electrifying and sending a jolt of surprise through your system.

Your thoughts scatter as the world seems to narrow down to the point of contact between your lips. The kiss is eager and filled with a mixture of longing and curiosity, as if both of you have been dancing around this moment for far too long.

Your heart continues racing, and time feels suspended as his touch sends shivers up and down your spine.

The sudden intimacy of it all is exhilarating, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your fingers instinctively finding their way to his arm, your body moving a fraction closer to his.

A soft moan escapes you, and Oscar slides his hand beneath your top, pressing his palm against your waist. A squeeze of your skin hints at you to move back slightly, creating the room needed for him to push you down on to your back.

Your lips detach for a moment as he positions himself over you, lowering his head seconds later to press them together again.

His face was level with yours when he eventually pulled away to catch his breath, and let you catch yours, his arm propping him up besides your head.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" He chuckles softly, his fingers toying with a few strands of your hair.

"I'll just have to use the plane's naptime feature." You laugh, bringing your hand up to push his hair out of his eyes.

His gaze flickers across your face, capturing the traces of your faint smile lines and the tiny beauty mark adorning your skin.

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on the mole. Meanwhile, your fingertips journey to the nape of his neck, exploring the contours of his hair.

He grins boyishly when he picks his head up again. "I think I could stay here forever," he admits, his voice a soft confession.

You playfully raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? What if the plane's naptime feature gets jealous?"

He chuckles, a low, melodious sound. "Well, I guess it'll just have to deal with a bit of competition," he remarks before his lips find yours once again.

...

Masterlist

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 12)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

You didn't have time to think or react as she lunged towards you, grabbing your hair roughly and yanking you close to her face. Her venomous glare sent chills down your spine, piercing straight through your soul.

"You little slut!" she shouted furiously, enraged beyond reason while Cillian crumbled to retrieve his briefs from the floor. 

"You are going to regret this," she warned before grabbing your hair once more, twisting it cruelly in her grasp as you winced in pain. The harsh pull dragged you closer to her snarling features, causing you to whimper in fear.

"Why do you keep messing with us?" she screeched viciously, raining kicks upon you while you desperately tried to defend yourself.

"Stop, you are hurting me," you cried weakly, recoiling from another blow aimed at your ribcage as Cillian tried to shield you, only partially succeeding until, eventually, he managed to put himself between you and his infuriated wife.

"Danielle, please calm down." he begged earnestly, hoping to defuse the situation peacefully.

However, Danielle remained unfazed, livid and fueled by jealousy. Her eyes blazed with hatred as they bore into yours, leaving no doubt as to how angry she truly was.

You took a breath as Cillian had stepped in, allowing you to gather your clothes while he restrained Danielle by holding on to her wrists tightly. 

"I want this whore out of my house," she yelled and you could see Cillian's conflicted look. The pressure intensified, and soon, you felt suffocated underneath the weight of these events.

Taking advantage of the momentary silence, you turned to address them, seeking resolution amidst chaos.

"Look, maybe we should talk about this later when everyone has calmed down," you proposed, attempting to find common ground where possible. However, your proposal fell flat, as Danielle continued to rail against you bitterly before she finally managed to push past Cillian and throw you down the stairs.

"Danielle! What the hell is wrong with you?" Cillian exclaimed, horrified and bewildered by his wife's violent behavior as he raced towards you, seeing that it was clear that you had sustained a concussion from falling down the stairs.

Danielle seemed unrepentant, continuing to verbally assault you as you lay there bruised and battered, struggling to comprehend the situation. 

"Call a fucking ambulance, Danielle!" Cillian panicked, watching helplessly as blood trickled down your forehead. His earlier protective instincts returned full-force now that danger threatened the object of his obsession as he cradled you up in his arms.

"Can you hear me?" Cillian asked frantically, placing a hand on your trembling shoulder. You nodded feebly, still struggling to catch your breath and maintain consciousness due to the impact. Seeing your condition worsening, he quickly decided to call for emergency services instead of waiting for Danielle to act.

As he dialed the number and, soon enough, the sound of sirens grew increasingly audible outside. Panicking, Danielle walked off, leaving the house in a haste and Cillian did not attempt to stop her, staying by your side.

Soon, paramedics arrived and carefully carried you to the ambulance which then drove away rapidly. Once inside, the medical professionals began examining your injuries and monitoring your vital signs closely. They administered some painkillers to ease your discomfort before asking Cillian some questions regarding the incident. Trying hard to recall the sequence of events leading up to the accident, he explained the situation and they then queried as to whether he was her next of kin.

"No, I am just a friend," he responded truthfully, feeling an unexpected sense of guilt for contributing to her present predicament. 

As us arrived at the hospital, the medics advised Cillian to wait outside as the tests would require privacy.

Feeling anxious, Cillian paced back and forth nervously outside the emergency room, occasionally peering through the glass window. He couldn’t believe what happened – he knew he shouldn’t have allowed things to escalate to such dangerous levels. But somehow, the sexual tension between them proved too strong, consuming their rational minds entirely. How could something so passionate turn so brutal in the blink of an eye?

While awaiting updates on Y/N's condition, flashbacks flooded his memory, reminding him of those tender moments spent between the sheets but, just as he thought about the good times you had, your mother Sarah and Cillian's brother Frank arrived at the hospital.

He greeted them hesitantly, unsure if they knew about what had transpired and it wasn't a big surprise when Sarah started yelling at him.

"You disgusting piece of shit, I don't want you anywhere near my daughter ever again!" she screamed, her anger evident as her hands shook violently in front of her. Meanwhile, Frank, though also upset, maintained a comparatively calmer demeanor.

"Leave, Cillian. Please. Danielle called and told us everything," Frank said coolly, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

Cillian grimaced at the mention of Danielle's name, sensing yet another potential source of conflict. Turning to Sarah, he apologized profusely, promising that he wouldn't allow anything like this to happen ever again.

"Your apologies mean nothing right now, Cillian," Sarah retorted sternly, pointing accusingly at him. "You forced yourself on my daughter when she clearly stated multiple times that she wanted none of it." As tears welled up in her eyes, she added quietly, "It sickens me to know that someone whom I trusted could be capable of such malice and you will hear from the police..." before being interrupted. 

"I did what now?" Cillian interjected in confusion, caught off guard by Sarah's accusatory tone. "Is that what Danielle has told you?" Cillian questioned, surprised by the gravity of the allegations leveled against him.

"She witnessed every bit of it firsthand," Sarah replied vehemently, her tone leaving no doubt that she believed every word Danielle had said.

"I did not force myself on Y/N, Sarah. We were intimate but all of it was consensual," Cillian argued stubbornly, clenching his jaw. 

"She is only nineteen, Cillian," Sarah countered sharply, drawing attention to the age difference between them and the power dynamics involved.

"Yes, she is, and I am not saying that I didn't fuck up, but please consider the context here," Cillian pleaded desperately, trying to explain his perspective, his heart racing anxiously. "She wanted this as much as I did, Sarah. Don't mistake our mutual desire for coercion!" He continued, aware that his argument might fall on deaf ears but unwilling to give up without making his case.

Frank listened impassively, trying to remain neutral during this confrontation despite his wife's obvious distress. Yet, even he found it difficult to ignore the glaring inconsistencies in Cillian's account compared to what Danielle reported. 

After all, how else could Sarah possibly justify Cillian's indiscretions, especially considering his high profile status within the acting community. She held onto this skepticism firmly, determined to seek justice for you but just as she was about to yell at Cillian again, the doctor emerged from your room, allowing only one person to enter.

"She is conscious and only slightly dizzy. She had a mild concussion and needed a few stiches above her left eyebrow due to the impact," announced the doctor as he approached them. "We did not find any internal bleeding and, well, the rest is confidential information," he concluded noncommittally, unable to avoid the topic but reluctant to divulge more specifics before leading Sarah into the room, at which point Frank urged Cillian to leave.

With great difficulty, Cillian obliged, turning around to exit the ER, already beginning to contemplate the future - one that held uncertainty, shame, and regret for having indulged in their forbidden love affair.

Meanwhile, behind closed doors, Sarah sat beside you and patiently waited for you to regain composure.

"Danielle told me what happened, sweetheart," she whispered gently, reaching over to stroke your hair comfortingly. Her presence alone instilled calmness throughout your body. 

"What, she told you that she pushed me down the stairs and punched me in the guts?" you said as you tried to sit up, groggy from the drugs.

"She said it was an accident," Sarah reassured, stroking your head tenderly. 

"She is full of shit. She threw me down the stairs on purpose because..." you began but stopped, too afraid to reveal the truth to you. 

"Because you slept with her husband?" Sarah guessed correctly, furious upon learning the true nature of your relationship with Cillian. 

"She said that he forced himself on you and she tried to intervene...but failed," she explained haltingly, her voice filled with anger and disappointment. 

"What?" you gasped, astonished and confused by her revelation. 

"No, Cillian didn't...oh my god..." you began to say, raising your concern. "Mum, he didn't force me to do anything. In fact, I was the one today who initiated our encounter," you confessed, feeling weary and defeated, finally admitting the truth aloud. 

"So, you are saying that this has been going on for a while and that it was consensual?" Sarah questioned incredulously, attempting to reconcile the information provided by Danielle with yours. 

"Yes, it has been going on for about a month now and absolutely all of it was consensual," you confirmed softly, cringing internally at the idea of hurting your parents further. However, knowing that the truth must come out sooner rather than later, you pressed on. 

Sarah's face turned paler as she processed the disturbing reality. The very notion of her beloved daughter engaging in illicit affairs with men old enough to be her father infuriated her beyond measure and she was furious not only with Cillian but also with you.

"I can't believe your audacity, to think that you would betray your own family like this. Cillian is not only a man with a family, but he is also Frank's brother!" she exclaimed bitterly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Didn't I raise you to respect and honor others above selfish desires?" She demanded, struggling to maintain her composure amidst her raging frustration.

Stung by her harsh condemnation, you cowered under her wrath, feeling guilty for bringing shame upon your family. 

"I am sorry, mum. I made a mistake," you admitted painfully, looking deeply into her eyes. "This entire situation sucks, and my decisions weren't exactly smart," you conceded but your honesty no longer mattered.

"Once you recover, I expect you to move out. I cannot have you living with Frank under these circumstances, nor do I wish to see Cillian again either," declared Sarah resolutely, her words carrying weight. You nodded silently, understanding the severity of the situation and acknowledging the need for some distance both physically and mentally. Your relationship with Cillian had become absolute, and your bond with your mother seemed strained too.

"But where am I going to go? I am about to have exams," you asked, suddenly struck by the sudden change in your life's course.

"You are old enough to sleep with a married man, so you are old enough to look after yourself. You will figure it out," Sarah stated bluntly, her tone lacking compassion. Unable to argue back, you agreed submissively, accepting responsibility for your mistakes. But deep inside, fear consumed you – the kind of fear that leaves a pit in your stomach and makes you feel hollow. 

With this fear consuming you, soon after your mother left, you called your best friend Emma for support. She always knew when something was wrong since childhood and when she found out that you were in hospital, she raced over immediatly.

Emma arrived at the hospital breathless, her frizzy red hair disarrayed around her flushed cheeks. Clutching a bouquet of flowers, she burst through the doorway and ran straight to your bedside, unmindful of everyone watching her.

"How bad is it?" She asked anxiously, her blue eyes brimming with worry. Without waiting for an answer, she squeezed your hand tightly, sending a silent message of solidarity and friendship. You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her loyalty.

"Not too serious, thankfully. Just a bump on my head and some bruises. Plus they put five stitches near my eyebrow," you explained briefly, not wanting to dwell on your injuries too long. Emma nodded sympathetically, placing a gentle hand on top of your cast.

"At least it wasn't worse, right?" she offered tentatively, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled faintly, trying to forget the incident but Emma wanted to know what exactly had happened to you.

With a heavy heart, you recounted the events surrounding your relationship with Cillian and how it came crashing down. When you finished, she looked at you in horror, taking in the magnitude of the betrayals committed against you. "Oh, Y/N! Fuck!," she exclaimed, visibly upset on your behalf

Your tears threatened to spill over once more, but you managed to hold them back, knowing that expressing sadness openly would make you seem even more vulnerable than you already felt. You remained stoic, hoping to demonstrate resilience instead.

"So Cillian and you, it's over?" Emma asked thoughtfully, carefully studying your facial expressions. You paused momentarily, contemplating whether to admit another facet of your involvement with Cillian. Ultimately, you decided to disclose everything, trusting Emma's ability to handle sensitive matters responsibly.

"Yes, we're done," you answered honestly, meeting her gaze with sincerity. Emma frowned, clearly troubled by the gravity of the situation.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?" she ventured, sensing there might be more to the story. Feeling exposed, you hesitated briefly before confirming her suspicion.

"Yes, I fell in love with him, Em." Your voice quivered, a mixture of sorrow and defiance coloring your tone. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way, but it did."

Her expression grew grim, mirroring your own feelings. She reached over and placed a gentle hand on yours, offering a token of sisterly support. "Look, maybe it won't turn out so badly after all. We could work through this together, help you get past it."

"I wish it would be that easy. My mother just kicked me out of the house, all this shit is probably going to end up in the tabloids and, well, there is something else..." you let out a long, exhausted sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

"I am pregnant," you blurted out, unable to hide the fear etched across your features any longer.

Emma's eyes widened in shock, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For several moments, neither of you spoke, absorbing the enormity of the revelation.

"How the fuck did this happen?" Emma asked in disbelief, still processing the news. "When did you find out?" She queried, concerned about your well-being both physically and emotionally.

"Just earlier, when they were running some blood tests," you replied quietly, glancing away momentarily. A single teardrop escaped your eye, trailing slowly down your cheek. 

"Does Cillian know?" Emma questioned gravely, her brow furrowed with concern.

"He doesn't and he won't need to. I am not going to have a baby right now," you responded solemnly, feeling immense guilt about concealing such crucial information from the person responsible for creating this predicament.

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[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! You have a really cool blog and have been getting me into indie RPGs, so firstly just thanks :) But anyway, any RPGs that could work well in a play-by-post format, even if you'd need to homebrew or hack it a little? Online friends on the other side of the world are a beast.

THEME: Play-by-Post.

Hello friend! So I haven’t done a lot of play-by-post games, but I’ve tried it out once or twice. I think in many cases, you might not even need a ttrpg in order to do online roleplay; I’ve played in Star Wars pbp that used the FFG system, but I’ve also seen Star Wars forums that are completely text-based and host their own wikis on information that’s been established in their world to keep track of what's happened so far.

That being said, I can understand having a framework to help guide you, especially if you enjoy the structure of traditional ttrpgs. The possibilities of playing these games by post are vast, although I'm noticing that most of the old forums have migrated over to Discord these days - and Discord makes things like rolling dice so easy, so it makes sense!'

If you're converting a ttrpg that uses dice into something that is play-by-post, you'll have a dice-bot, while if you're using a game that has no dice, or is a little more free-form, then that's one less mechanical piece that you'll need to worry about. Other considerations will likely be things like where you put character sheets, whether the game will be organized in a West Marches format or more like a traditional story, and how often players will be expected to write up what they're doing.

All of this is to say that the following recommendations are just the tip of the iceberg, really. Some of these are designed for play-by-post, while others are just games that I've seen out in the wild before.

Lords of Creation, by Five Points Games.

Lords of Creation is a rules-lite cooperative world building game with a focus on the Divine. Players create Divinities and populate a fresh, open world with a focus on myth telling and lore. The game is intended to be played via Play by Post, allowing players to run multiple societies, factions and elements at once.

Five Points Games clarifies in the game text that this game isn’t really their brainchild, but rather the culmination of play-by-post roleplaying on old WOTC forums. It’s a game about divinity and world creation, and each “turn” of the game takes place over the course of a real-time week. I think this gives a lot of time for each player to be involved in each step of the game, as well as providing in-universe ways to manage players who no longer participate, or who need to stop playing for one reason or another. Lords of Creation is also GM-less, allowing everyone to participate in a partial player, partial GM-style role.

Yowl! What A Strange Hotel, by Zargo Games.

Yowl! is a reviewing service that allows customers to rate establishments from 1 to 6 stars and tell the important details of their stay in a handful of paragraphs. This game is about telling the story of a particular establishment, in this case a hotel, through a series of Yowl! reviews. Reviews are from a different perspective each time, and should reveal something interesting and unusual about the hotel. Is there a dark secret that the hotel is hiding, or is something even stranger going on?

Yowl! looks to be designed for a shorter length of play. Together you will create a strange hotel, and then take turns leaving reviews, letting little pieces of information contribute to a larger story-line as you go. I think this is a relatively simple way of playing by post, although it relies mostly on each player’s creativity, as the game doesn’t come with any prompts.

World /Chronicles of Darkness Games (currently published by Onyx Path).

The World of Darkness franchise is a beast, and has been fuelling play-by-post form play for decades. There’s a number of reasons this collection of settings has been so popular.

It’s focused on factions and politics, which means that a large number of people can join in and fill out various political groups and start plenty of drama with each-other. Because the drama is so juicy, dice rolls can fade into the background. (I don’t think that stops you from being able to use it in a small group though!)

It’s got oodles and oodles of lore, but it’s set within the real world, so players can use something like Google Maps to create a fantasy version of a real-life city, and it provides a solid frame of reference.

It’s been around for a long time, which means that there is so much in terms of resources and advice that you can look at, such as the Onyx Path forums, or the WoD Discord Server.

The Chronicles of Darkness games are specifically designed to be cross-compatible. Changelings, Hunters, Vampires, Werewolves and more can all interact in the same universe - as long as the GM is on board with it. Most of the base rules are the same, with some tweaks for each splat, so if you have some players that really want to play a werewolf, while others are more interested in becoming mages, you can combine the two no problem!

Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine, by @jennamoran.

The Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG is a dice-less RPG from Jenna Katerin Moran, author of the well-regarded Nobilis and an important contributor to Eos’ Weapons of the Gods and White Wolf’s Exalted RPG.

Pursue fabulous quests. Progress through Issues. And find a place for yourself in a world of breathtaking beauty.

Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine doesn’t require dice, but rather asks you to role-play through scenes and spend points in line with your character quests. You gain XP for the experiences your character has, the way they interact with other characters, and the steps they take to move towards completing their quest. Because character advancement is dependant on role-play, I think Chuubo’s is a great way to prompt interactions in a play-by-post setting, and character advancement is both a compelling reason for folks to participate and an engine that feeds the storytelling machine.

The rulebook for this game can be a bit of a big read, but there’s a starter adventure included, with pre-built characters to help you get going.

Kids on Brooms and Teens in Space, by Hunters Entertainment.

Kids on Brooms is a collaborative role-playing game about taking on the life of a witch or wizard at a magical school you all attend that uses the “Powered by Kids on Bikes” system, first used in the award winning Kids on Bikes. Kids on Brooms is a rules-light storytelling system that takes you on magical adventures.

Teens in Space is a space opera RPG that uses the “Powered by Kids on Bikes” system. Teens in Space is a rules-light storytelling system that takes you into the cosmos for adventure and profit.

Both of these games use the teen-horror inspired game Kids on Bikes. Since these games rely heavily on polyhedral dice, I think setting up a discord server that also has a dice bot is the way to go with this one. You can choose a character from archetypes provided in the books, or create your own piece-by-piece. Different locations could be represented by different Discord channels, and since these games seem to work really well in regards to mysteries, I think a GM could focus on putting clues in different locations for characters to find, allowing the characters to slowly piece together a mystery over time.

I think Kids on Bikes is a kind of game that is going to require a lot more work to replicate as a play-by-post game than some of the other games on this list, because characters will need to roll dice in order to get things done, and it's best used in a small group. However, one thing I think really works well for these systems is the relationship questions that you roll on to determine how your characters relate to each-other. It gives you a connection right from the get go, and it can give the players something to work with while they're finding their feet.

Belonging Outside Belonging Games.

As a rule, Belonging Outside Belonging games don’t require dice, and as a common feature, BoB games don’t usually require GMs either. Characters are typically organized into playbooks; tropes or classes or collections of abilities that both define characters and make it easier for new players to find their rhythm. These playbooks will come with three categories of abilities: things that you can always do, things that require a token to activate, and things that reward you with a token when you do them. These games also usually include the setting itself as a playbook, or a divided series of responsibilities handed out to each player.

I can imagine a play-by-post form of game moving between descriptive scenes and active scenes, with players alternating between introducing elements of the setting / narrative obstacles; and describing how their characters react to these new events. (I've also seen this kind of thing happen on a Wanderhome server.)

Some Belonging Outside Belonging games that sound interesting to me are Lunar Echoes (a solar punk hack of Wanderhome), Geese at the Beach (chaotic water fowl looking for shines), and Capitalites (urban Asian young people trying to figure out who they are).

I hope you found this useful!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTAH if I ask my mom to save up her money instead of buying me gifts?

My mom recently got kicked out of her housing, and none of my siblings are in stable situations to take her in, so I did. Having her around makes me nervous, both because she was abusive my entire childhood and because I'm not allowed to have her here. She hasn't been abusive while she's been here, probably because she feels guilty about staying here (considering how much she called me a burden when I was a *child* depending on my *mother*, she probably isn't much nicer to herself for depending on her adult child).

I haven't been asking her to contribute to our rent because I can basically afford it as long as I don't buy much in the way of things I don't absolutely need, and because I know how hard it is to find an apartment around here if you haven't been saving up. So, you know, I figured I should let her save up.

For the record, when I told her she could stay, I told her she could stay for winter break as long as she left once the semester started. The semester started over a month ago but I haven't asked her to leave because I haven't been *as* stressed out as I thought I'd be and, like, where's she gonna go? She has no money.

Unfortunately it seems that not paying any rent, despite the fact that she's unemployed and cannot afford it, just increases her guilt about staying here. And I see it as mostly harmless for her to placate it with things like doing the dishes etc because I know it makes her feel like she's earning her keep (and I know her, and no amount of telling her that I don't expect this from her will make her feel better because she's mentally ill like me).

But another habit she's picked up to make herself feel better is buying me things, always as a surprise. With her even-less-money-than-I-have. If we were in any other situation I would welcome it, but the reason I haven't been asking her to help with bills is because she needs to be saving up money, and, selfishly, the less she buys right now the sooner she can leave.

On the one hand, I don't think it's particularly assholeish to ask her to stop buying me gifts. On the other hand, if I make it clear that it's (partially/mostly) because I think she should be saving up money to leave, I feel like that's a) judging her for how she spends/saves her money, and b) telling her I need her to leave ASAP. And like, I do want her to leave so I can feel safe in my own home, but I also know that I only *feel* unsafe, I'm not *actually* unsafe, and if I tell her that her being here is affecting me it'll only increase her guilt about being here. So yeah, I don't know what to do.

What are these acronyms?

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Beyond surface appeal, what makes Ganon a compelling antagonist

I think cruising my blog would provide a good number of possible answers, but I guess my tl:dr would be (otherwise I could probably make a full 24h conference about it at this point): because he does reveal (if one is willing to look) the brutality of a world in which gods uphold a natural order through a given kingdom that will not budge on its god-given right to rule, and him as both a rebellious disorder to that status quo which also ends up devoured by said status quo as just one natural part of a cycle of creation and destruction that ultimately always kind of stays the same.

Also, I find the setup of a man born to a tribe of outcast women, considered exceptional by birth while also having to figure himself out + the role he needs to play in that kind of structure and in a very difficult context, someone who both is being granted a lot of natural power while also still being sneered at and considered lesser and/or inherently evil by those blessed by the gods (while also carrying a lot of unexamined baggage of their own), is just so juicy and interesting and brimming with potential psychologically speaking (especially when applied to his motivations of: why does he want power, why does he always alter his own body, his uncanny resilience, etc). It does come with a lot of baggage, as "the evil man from the desert" is far from being a neutral concept coming from a neutral historical place --but examining what kind of world would come to such conclusions is also deeply revealing of said world.

And then, Wind Waker gives him even more of a window to reflect on his own rage while also never apologizing for the horrors he commited, mourning what he wanted and what he became while also being the only one calling the gods of Hyrule out for being terrifyingly cold entities --far more than he could ever hope to become.

Yeah, I think Nintendo has been sleeping on Ganondorf ever since (even if I defend his TP appearance). But he has a fascinating cross-game story(ies), and I find him to be a deeply tragic --if horrendously flawed-- figure, which is partially why TotK was so disappointing to me, because TotK saw nothing but the surface level + the fact that putting him in a game sells and makes people horny.

(you'll notice I didn't mention Demise, because I think that, while the whole cycle thing wasn't bad or not that interesting, fans really overly simplify this concept in a way that has contributed to make Ganondorf extremely flat, which I am not here for.)

[imawreck]

Sweater Weather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/WinterSoldier x Original Character

Summary: Bucky comforts Snow after the interrogation, and they share a private moment.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the late update!!

Warnings: mentions of self deprecating thoughts, angst, some fluff if you squint

Word Count: 3,100

Bucky-

Tony had explained the information that was potentially relevant from the interrogation with Strucker. He conveniently left out Strucker's suicide attempt and the action Snow had taken to prevent it. More than likely to keep the others from questioning her about it. I appreciated it and I'm sure she would too. In that moment, my respect for Stark raised just a little. He cared for her and had begun to look out for her in the same way I had seen him look out for that kid, Parker.

"There isn't any confirmed information yet, and the only leads we have are the names Snow has for us. But as of right now, all of you should give her some space. Today was hard for her."

They all nodded in silent agreement. I let out a breath, folding and unfolding my hands in front of me as I listened to Tony. "I think it's time to turn in for the night, these past few days have been rough for us all. Get some sleep, take the next few days to recoup. I'll get with Snow tomorrow and see what we can figure out." He pushed off the couch with a final nod, turning and leaving the rest of us.

The rest of the team trickled out slowly, leaving in pairs after talking amongst themselves for a short while. Steve had spoke with them from his spot next to me, sending me occasional glances in between conversation. I sat there partially listening in, but mostly consumed by the events of today. After a while, I decided it was best for me to retreat to my room. I could use a good shower to clear my head.

My thoughts wandered as the water ran over my skin. My mind kept going back to the conversation I had with Snow earlier today and the way her face lit up as we shared a memory together. Her happiness wasn't as uncommon as it had been before when she first came to stay with us. She would smile and laugh with the others more often when she joined us for meals. She was bright and wonderful, kinder and more thoughtful than almost anyone I've known in my lifetime despite her past. Even though her happiness wasn't as hard to achieve, I found myself going out of the way to bring a smile to her face or a laugh in conversation. She was sarcastic, smart, and strong too. A sure force to be reckoned with.

Her company was something I had begun to seek unconsciously. I noticed I'd find myself in the gym when I knew she would be there, starting my workout earlier than normal just to spend a few hours with her even if we didn't speak. I'd walk into the commons room to find her lounged out on one of the couches with that old roughed up poetry book clutched between her dainty hands. I would search the fridge as slowly as I could even if I knew exactly where the item I was looking for was. Sometimes I would even sit across from her and ask if I could watch some television. Of course, she'd nod and give me the softest smile I'd ever seen. My stomach erupted in butterflies just at the thought of it.

I raked my hands through my soaked hair and shut off the water. I stepped out and threw on a towel before making my way into my room. It was bland as can be, I hadn't personalized it much since coming here. I didn't have much to contribute to the room anyways. I put on some sweats and a long sleeve shirt, noting the coolness of the air and figured the night had chilled. I slipped on a sweater for good measure and threw the towel back over my head to dry up the last of the water.

I still hadn't seen her since the interrogation hours ago, and since Tony told us to give her some space I hadn't made any attempt to check on her. I took a glance at the clock setting on the nightstand across the room. 8:00. It was getting later, I'm sure checking wouldn't hurt.

I tossed the damp towel into the hamper in the corner and left the room. Steve had gone to bed earlier, I had heard his door shut down the hall from my own so our corridor was quiet as could be. The soft thrum of the heater kicking on was the only sound made. I pressed the elevator button, letting the doors shut behind me before I pressed Snow's floor. The trip seemed longer as my nerves rose, but soon enough I found myself in front of her door.

I knocked softly, not wanting to wake her if she was sleeping. I waited, but a minute passed and still no answer so I knocked again. Nothing.

I pushed open the door slowly, keeping my eyes down just in case I had caught her at a bad time. When I braved a glance at the bed, it was empty. I lifted my head a little more to scan the room and listen for any indication that she had been here.

The bed was still made, and there were no dirty clothes or discarded jackets strewn atop it. The floor was spotless and everything looked as if it had been untouched for a while now. Her poetry book was set on top of her small dresser next to the bed with a flower petal sticking out of the top.

I walked over to it, gently lifting the pages to look at the neatly pressed flower I had given her that day. My heart warmed at the fact she had preserved it.

I released the book, a little embarrassed I had snooped in her personal space, and moved to her bathroom. I hadn't heard the water running or any movement but thought it safe to check anyways. Snow was unsurprisingly quiet.

Still, I didn't find anything. There was a towel still damp tossed over the shower rod to dry, so I knew she had to have come to her rooms a few hours ago. Where had she gone?

I left the room, making sure I hadn't moved anything noticeable for when she came back. I listened for her on the way to the elevator, but there was still no signs of her. I figured with everything going on she might have taken it out in the gym.

Once I got down there, I picked up the pace, rounding the corner only to be met with an empty room. Again, I looked for any signs of her presence. Not a single thing was out of place. Now the panic had started to seep in. Where could she have gone?

I backpedaled out of the gym, hustling down the hallway back into the elevator. There was a hole forming in my stomach. I hadn't any clue where she would have gone. I had checked her private rooms and the places she would frequent. She didn't have her book, so there wasn't any reason for her to be in the commons room.

I could feel my heart pound faster in my chest. I really shouldn't be worrying so much, she was a grown adult. But I couldn't help but think back to the days things had gotten too much for me and the thoughts that would come with it. The doubt, the self loathing, the overwhelming sense of worthlessness. But I had Steve. He was always there for me and seemed to know just when I needed someone to pull me back from the edge. Snow didn't have anyone like that. The closest thing to someone like that was me, and I'd be damned if I let her take things on alone.

Friday's light voice interrupted the silence, "I have detected high stress levels. Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?"

It dawned on me then, why hadn't I thought about it before? This is Tony Stark's building, he had cameras everywhere.

"Yes, I'm fine. Could you tell me where Snow is?" My heart was pounding against my ribcage in anticipation.

"Miss Snow is currently on the roof."

Just like that everything seemed to stop as I thought the worst. Why the hell was she on the roof? I gripped the hand rail, "Take me to her."

"Yes, Mr. Barnes."

Dread was consuming me the closer I got to the top. I wasn't sure what I would find, and I desperately tried not to think about the negative possibilities. The elevator chimed, and slowly the doors opened. My heart stilled at the sight in front of me.

There, sat on the edge of the building, was Snow with her white hair tousled by the breeze and her feet dangling in the air. I stepped out of the elevator shaft, keeping quiet so I wouldn't startle her but not covering my obvious approaching footsteps.

She heard me, I could tell by the tilt of her head and the quick movements her hands made coming up to wipe her face. Her shoulders shook with her soft labored breaths but leveled out as I got closer.

I kept my voice gentle when I spoke. "Hey, what are you doing out here?"

She sniffled, lifting her head to look out at the city. The lights illuminated her face as I sat down beside her. "I just needed some air. I thought this would be the best place to go." She wiped her face again and looked at me. She pressed her lips into a smile but it wasn't nearly as honest as it normally was. Her eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, making her icy blues an even more vibrant shade.

I turned to look out from where we sat, marveling at the busy streets and the lights around below us and trying desperately to ignore the pang that shot through my heart at the sight of her. "It is a beautiful view."

A sudden bark of laughter erupted from beside me as I turned back to face her. There were fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. "You have a girl crying next to you, and those are your words of comfort?" She laughed again. "Yes, Sergeant Barnes, it is beautiful." She let the tears fall freely this time.

I gave her a small smile, mostly out of embarrassment. I sat with her and looked out at the world below. I could hear her crying softly beside me and it stung me like nothing else. I wasn't any good at this, dealing with emotions. Or comforting people for that matter. So I sat there and listened to her cry as we watched the people below. After she had calmed down some, I braved a glance in her direction. There were still teartracks illuminated by the city lights. We had been sitting for a while, an hour maybe. We hadn't spoken very much but I felt like I should try to. I just couldn't find the words.

I hesitated for a moment, thinking over what I could possibly do to help her. I obviously wasn't great with words in these kinds of situations, so I decided action was the best choice. I lifted my hand to reach for her own, faltering once more when I realized it was my left one. I could hardly stand to touch anyone with it.

In that second of stillness, she had wrapped her own hand around mine. Her grip was tight, so hard I could feel her shoulders shake with fresh sobs. I clasped my metal fingers around her smaller ones, ever so gently.

I shifted closer to her, taking her hand in my other and carefully pulling her into my side as I wrapped my arm around her. Her head dropped to my shoulder as she cried some more, still clutching her fingers around my own. We sat like that for a while longer before she finally stopped, but neither of us made any effort to remove ourselves from the embrace.

Snow brought an odd sense of calming when she was around me. Maybe it had something to do with our past or The Soldiers memories, or maybe it didn't have anything to do with that at all. Maybe it was just her, but I craved this closeness like nothing I had ever felt before. As I held her there in my arms, even stung by her pain, I felt... Something different.

"Thank you for being here." Her words were barely above a whisper and were nearly swept away in the cool breeze. Her hand sent a pulse through my own after her words and she shifted her head to look up at me. "I needed this."

I looked back at her, overwhelmed for a moment by the sincerity of her confession. "Anything you need." She sent another squeeze to our clasped hands before looking back down at the city. I wanted to break the silence. "What is your favorite color?"

Snow chuckled, "Oh no, you're asking a tough question there, Barnes." She lifted her head, examining the lights below us, "I think it's blue. Light blue, like that over there." She lifted her arm and pointed to a billboard decorated with a makeup brand. "Not baby blue, a little grey in there too."

I raised my eyebrows, "That's oddly specific."

"I'm a sucker for details." She shot me a wry smile, "What's yours?"

I pursed my lips, thinking hard. "I like darker colors, maybe black."

She nodded, squinting her eyes. "Mm, I see. Definitely fits your Mr. Mysterious demeanor you have going on."

I couldn't help but scoff at her, fighting the smile that came with it. She grinned, kicking her feet. "I like black too. It's your turn."

I absentmindedly stroked the back of her hand with my thumb as I spoke. "What's your favorite season?"

"Definitely the Summer, I get too cold in the winter time. Hard to get warm again." As she said it, a cold wind blew by, and I realized she was shivering.

I let go of her for a moment to shrug off my sweater, handing it to her after I pulled my arms out of the sleeves. "Here, put this on."

Snow looked at me for a moment before taking my sweater and pulling it over her hair. The black fabric caused her white locks to practically glow under the lights. I was much bigger than her, so the sleeves swallowed her arms and the hem pooled in her lap. "Thank you,” she said, and I swear my heart sputtered at the soft little smile that peaked up at me.

I gave her a winning smile, folding my hands in my lap. "Couldn't have you freezing out here, could I? I prefer the summer too. I've spent enough time in the cold for several lifetimes."

She laughed at that, "You and me both."

It was getting late, and the night was growing colder. "We should probably head back inside, it's supposed to get below freezing."

Snow sighed, "I think you're right." She tossed her legs over the ledge and hopped to the ground, waiting patiently for me to join her.

I mimicked her movements and met her on the pavement. We walked to the elevator and I held the doors open for her as she stepped through and pressed the button for her floor when we were ready to go. She wiped her face clear of any sign she had been crying and tugged at the sweater sleeves when she was done.

We stepped off on her floor, both of us walking a little slower than we could have been. "How is your poetry book?"

She smiled up at me, "I've read it through three times and I love it more every time."

I laughed, "Three times? Do you like reading?"

"I do, I love reading." She nodded as she said it, smiling at the floor. "Well, here we are."

I stopped next to her, a little disappointed that I hadn't had more time to talk with her. I had wanted to ask her about the memory we had talked about in Tony's lab, but I figured the subject might be a little much for her right now. My curiosity could wait.

She moved to take off my sweater, but I stopped her with a gentle hand on her elbow. "Keep it, I don't remember buying you any jackets. I'll mention it to Tony when I see him next. Hopefully it'll help a little until then."

Another smile pulled at her lips as her blue eyes looked back up at me. She tugged her lip between her teeth for a moment, her eyes searching mine for a second before she moved. Her hand came up to brush against my cheek as her lips met with my jaw, "Thank you Bucky, for everything." Her hand pulled away almost as quickly as she opened the door and slipped behind it, shooting me one last shy smile before shutting it behind her.

It felt like an explosion of heat was spreading through me. She kissed me. She kissed me! I couldn't move away from her door, couldn't help the heat from crawling up my neck and the smile from fighting its way onto my face. She had kissed me. I wrenched myself from her door and forced myself to take steps away, to make my way towards my own floor.

What could it mean? The way she looked at me, I knew there was something there. She had told the team clear as day that she had valued the Winter Soldier as her friend. The memories I had, they seemed to tell a different story. Could we have been more than that?

I opened my door, moving in and kicking it shut softly behind me. I ran my fingers through my hair and replayed our conversations to myself. I remembered how I felt whenever she would smile, when she would laugh. When she would simply look at me.

I had to see, I had to know more about her. About what she had with me.

I layed on the floor that night with my thin pillow and the bedcover draped across me. I could hardly stop thinking long enough to fall asleep. I wanted to do something for her to cheer her up. I set my alarm early and turned over, slipping into sleep. I don't think I had a single nightmare as I drifted off.

Tags<3

@cjand10 / @imdoingathingmom / @blackbirdwitch22

[malwaredykes]

leigh and cat rambles

thinking about. the fact that leigh was NOT used to being treated kindly or gently, or being looked after, or being cared for. shed just never gotten much warmth from anyone all her life, didnt really have friends or anyone who appreciated her presence more than in very fleeting superficial ways. she had been generally just left alone to figure things out on her own (which definitely contributed to a lot of her idiosyncrasies and her ways of assessing situations or her own behaviors). she had a very shaky idea of who she was or who she couldve been to other people, aside from like. someone to get things done when asked, someone who makes themselves useful.

and im thinking about how much it sucked for her to have to travel from goodsprings to primm to the mojave outpost to nipton to novac all alone--its not that she wasnt used to traveling by herself, after all she was a courier, but like. she had just been Shot In The Head. she was sore and confused and Torn Away From Her Own Sense Of Self and basically got a free partial lobotomy and a bunch of symptoms she had trouble dealing with (especially the seizures, scary stuff, knowing it could happen at any moment and there wouldnt be anyone to make sure she was okay). she was sleep deprived and broke and had to painstakingly remind herself how to do stuff like mend her gear, make food, use her weapon properly etc. she knew she couldve stayed in goodsprings for a while longer to recover, or stopped in primm or at the outpost, but she just didn't feel welcome. regardless of how people actually reacted to her presence, she just felt that she wasn't wanted or welcome, and the only ways she could exercise the degree of "selfishness" thats necessary for survival was to, yknow, steal shit. the vast majority of what she had on her by the time she got to novac she'd stolen lol. change of clothes, personal hygiene items, first aid essentials, the damn pot to cook things in, etc. obviously most of it was stuff that people wouldve shared with her if she'd asked, but You Try Getting Her To Ask.

thing is despite all of that sort of life experience she wasnt ever the, yknow, Hrngh Everyone Has To Survive On Their Own, Its A Dog-Eat-Dog World, Cant Rely On Others type. she always believed it was all about community and helping one another and contributing to the collective good. not even in a We Instinctively Need One Another As Human Beings way, just that its sensible and effective. its just that she didnt really get to have that like most others did. she watched it all from a distance. she contributed if she could, but knew not to expect much in return. at some point it became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy really, but like, it was just How Things Were to her, it hardly even registered as anything irregular. it was just sort of obvious. she wasnt getting much of anything from people and it was wrong of her to ask

all that is to say it was kind of crazy to her when boone was just like. nice to her. not outwardly warm or anything obviously (i mean its boone. specifically freshly widowed pre-transition boone), and she did ask leigh for help with something, but leigh did pick up on that it was at that point out of sheer desperation and helplessness and having no one around to turn to. which, i mean, Leigh Was Familiar With The Experience. but with that out of the way boone was. nice to her. didnt do pleasantries, just like. made her some food. gave her clothes a wash (washing machine privilege...). and then decided to travel with her, and turned out to be eager to keep leigh safe and for them to have each others back. crazy stuff for leigh. like Whats going on. This Rules.

leigh got kind of overly excited there actually akdhncksfhdj like it made her a little bit hyper initially. high on Nice To Her. omg omg boone lets check out gibsons scrap yard omg can you show me how to use a rifle omg whats your favorite food!! bit too intense for boone, You Are Overstimulated And Cannot Hang. leigh quickly settled down and apologized a bunch but boone was like Why are you apologizing its fine im just not good at this kinda stuff and im Still Not In A Great Mood Due To Recent Events. that too was crazy to leigh like Wait so im not irritating and off-putting and Too Much? you Dont want me to shut up and leave you alone?? and boone was like What. No.

so yeah. it was significant, it felt significant. and clearly it was mutual, cuz boone was ride or die for her pretty much from the beginning. Boone Will Now Die For You. but yeah, it was a Connection. something nice and unexpected and kind of weird to process at first, but they both felt secure in it and quickly grew to be very comfortable around each other. Warriors Bond. leigh just felt really tender about the whole thing. I Really Like You, I Really Trust You. even when they discovered some uhh disagreeable things about each other, that didnt change.

also i mean theres the fact that leigh was the first out trans woman boone had ever even spoken to. so boone was like Waow.... Something About Her Makes Me Feel Like If I Follow Her I Will End Up Where Im Supposed To Be. Which Could Mean Nothing

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

i read your post you tagged “if you take nothing else from this blog let it be this”

and i’m glad i did because it paints a really great picture of your ideology

“i have nothing in common with trans women,” you say, and then you proceed to describe in vivid detail some obviously painful memories from your childhood that stayed with you: begging god to “fix” you, being viewed as dangerous by your peers for your identity.

you’re so right, when trans women were children everyone always clapped them on the back and said “great job today buddy we accept you!”

they never felt alienated, they were never treated as predators whilst being mere children, and they certainly never hoped a higher power would make them normal.

nothing human is alien to yourself and i’m sorry you think you have not an inch of common ground with 50% of the earth. i hope you’re very young, that would explain this really defensive, combative and self-isolating stance you’ve taken.

i’m a cis woman who was also bullied in middle school for being gay so unfortunately you cannot write this off as another “angry man” or whatever, but i expect you’ll find some other way to dismiss this criticism, or maybe you’ll pretend you didn’t read it despite me reading your much longer vitriolic post.

i’m not saying you have to love and welcome trans women into Our Spaces—although i wish you did feel that way—but specifically i’m baffled that you think you have NOTHING in common with them solely because they were born with a penis. are genitals really that defining of a human being? i personally don’t find it super feminist to reduce my entire identity and human experience down to my having a vagina.

No, anon, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t read this ask. I do acknowledge and appreciate two things:

You took the time to read my post. If I can be honest, I thought it’d be a bigger hit, and the fact it wasn’t is at least partially contributed to its length, I’m sure.

Even though you clearly disagree with me, this ask is respectful. I really do appreciate that.

With that out of the way, I would like to give you a response.

““I have nothing in common with trans women,” you say, and then you proceed to describe in vivid detail some obviously painful memories from your childhood that stayed with you: begging god to “fix” you, being viewed as dangerous by your peers for your identity.

you’re so right, when trans women were children everyone always clapped them on the back and said “great job today buddy we accept you!”

they never felt alienated, they were never treated as predators whilst being mere children, and they certainly never hoped a higher power would make them normal.”

I would like to point out that the post I made was specifically talking about “lesbian” trans women. In the beginning, I speak a bit generally about trans women as a whole, but my post was mainly about straight males who claim to be lesbians. I'm willing to accept that I have plenty in common with homosexual trans women (trans women into males) because we are both gay. Not only that, but I can relate to being so gnc that I’d rather just be the opposite sex. However, this part of your ask does not make nearly as much sense if we are talking about heterosexual trans women. Yes. Straight males very much so are considered normal. I think where people like you and people like me get into the most arguments is that we can't decide who is and who is not a trans woman. You seem to view them as tortured minorities who struggled since childhood. And some of them are—mostly the homosexual ones, but the thing is that men with sissy fetishes or autogynephilia also call themselves trans women. “But they’re not!” is what you’re probably saying, right? Those men are perverts, right? Okay, but they call themselves trans women. How do you know who's telling the truth or not? How do we prevent the liars from hurting women? What is stopping a man with a fucked up fetish from identifying as trans, entering a woman’s bathroom, and assaulting someone? You might be thinking that if a man wants to assault somebody, a woman's bathroom sign isn't going to stop him from doing so, but the thing is, if you make it a law that anybody can go into whatever bathroom they want to go into, it then becomes asinine to call the police on him. The police can't do anything because how do they know he doesn't belong there? Do you understand why this whole thing causes women such great pause?

You and I can trade pathos all day. I can tell you sad stories from my childhood growing up gay. You can talk to me about a sad boy crying in his room wishing he was a girl. It always comes back to “who do you care about more?” If a teenage girl talks about feeling genuine discomfort over males being allowed in the school locker rooms and a teenage boy talks about how much he wishes he had access to the girl locker rooms because he “feels” like a girl, whose side do you take? Who do you care about more? I will always choose women and gay people.

I left something out of my post, anon. It wasn't relevant but now I think it is. I've talked about this before but when I was a kid I struggled greatly with the fact that I was black. I can say with full confidence that I had racial dysphoria. I wanted to be white so badly. Both of my parents are black people, but I used to ask people if I could pass as half white. It was pretty bad. Would you have told me that I was meant to be born white? No? Then why do you think it’s okay to tell someone they’re meant to be born the opposite sex? Why is sex the only thing people are allowed to say is “wrong” about them? How ingrained are biases about sex that people look at a little boy playing with dolls, say “he’s supposed to be a girl”, and a disturbing amount of people say “true!”? That’s insane! Imagine if someone looked at a white person eating watermelon and said they were meant to be born black? That’s how people with your ideology sound. You don’t think you sound that way because you’ve had so many people backing you up, but if you can tell me why racial dysphoria isn’t valid but gender dysphoria is, I’ll reconsider everything. It is my “bad” luck I was born black, anon. There is nothing I can do to change that. Some boy wishing he was a girl is a sad thing, sure, but it’s simply a matter of tough luck lmao. He shouldn’t suddenly get everything he wants just because of that.

“nothing human is alien to yourself and i’m sorry you think you have not an inch of common ground with 50% of the earth.  i hope you’re very young, that would explain this really defensive, combative and self-isolating stance you’ve taken.

i’m a cis woman who was also bullied in middle school for being gay so unfortunately you cannot write this off as another “angry man” or whatever, but i expect you’ll find some other way to dismiss this criticism, or maybe you’ll pretend you didn’t read it despite me reading your much longer vitriolic post.

i’m not saying you have to love and welcome trans women into Our Spaces—although i wish you did feel that way—but specifically i’m baffled that you think you have NOTHING in common with them solely because they were born with a penis. are genitals really that defining of a human being?  i personally don’t find it super feminist to reduce my entire identity and human experience down to my having a vagina.”

50% of the population? You and I have been talking about trans women this whole time. Are they 50% of the population? Are you talking about men when you say this? Why? This is a bit of a freudian slip, anon. Seems like I’m not the only one here who knows trans women and men are the same thing.

I do think that “nothing human is alien to yourself” is a beautiful phrase, and I do agree! There are men and straight people I can relate to just fine. But I don’t agree with calling males lesbians and I don’t agree that people can be born in the wrong body. I am defensive and combative. Women and lesbians are actively being threatened. Self-isolating though? No, I don’t think so. I don't feel isolated at all. In fact, I think being open about my views has led to me being close to people I never would’ve thought. And even if my views did lead to my isolation, I would much rather be alone than with people who are actively hurting women and gay people.

“i’m baffled that you think you have NOTHING in common with them solely because they were born with a penis.” I can concede that saying “nothing” was more emotion based than logic based, but I think that the straight male experience is pretty damn different from the lesbian one. The male experience, in general, is pretty different from what I’ve had. That’s what I was speaking about. 

“are genitals really that defining of a human being?” I don’t know about how much they define a human being, anon, but they definitely do contribute a lot to how the world treats you. If you have a penis, the world treats you a shit ton better than they do if you have a vagina. That’s just facts. Nobody can help being born with a penis, but the world is not a fair place. Also, for a trait that is apparently so neutral, people with penises manage to commit 90% of all violent crime. What do you make of that? If genitals are really neutral, why isn’t the crime rate between people with vaginas and people with penises a 50-50 split? You said yourself that nothing human is an alien concept to other humans, so if women go through the same experiences men do, why is there such a large disparity in crime? Why can women go through the things men do (and worse, let’s be real) and generally not end up as criminals? What is it about having a penis that contributes to this?

“I personally don’t find it super feminist to reduce my entire identity and human experience down to my having a vagina.” I never said women are only their vaginas. If I tried to talk about racism, I would not be “reducing black people down to their skin color”. There is no reason why talking about the female experience should be met with claims I’m reducing women down to their vaginas.

[fanfic-chan]

A/N: Soooo, I just wrote this after waiting way to long and wanted to share it. Hope you guys like it!

If you asked Lyney what his favorite part of performing magic was, he would say it was seeing the reactions of the audience. This was partially true. There was no beating the satisfaction of seeing people's faces light up in wonder at the spectacles before them, but what was even greater was the smiles on their faces. Growing up, he and his sister had little to smile about. Life on the streets leads to a lot of mistrust, both on their own parts and of others. It was at his first magic show that, through his amazement of the showmanship and miracles before him, he turned to his sister and saw an even greater miracle, a smile on Lynette's face.

From that day forward, both he and Lynette dedicated themselves to the craft of magic. Lyney might have made the excuse that it was for money, but he knew the real reason was to get the chance to give others a sliver of joy through their day.

That love of seeing his sibling happy extended as he and his sister were adopted into the house of hearth. Upon meeting his new little brother, Freminet, he recognized the same seemingly expressionless look on his face as the very one Lynette seemed to have. He never thought he would want to see anyone smile as much as his sister, but he felt the bond of family towards this quiet, shy boy almost immediately, as if the three of them had always been siblings. And for the first time, Lynette felt the same need to make him smile as well.

Maybe it was an older sibling's instinct, to protect and provide while also making sure the youngest was the happiest they could be. Or maybe it was the fact that Lynette saw a bit of herself in him. Someone who was quiet and preferred to work in the shadows while the real star of the show shined in the spotlight. Though he didn't participate in their shows, he had other ways of bringing joy to the masses while staying out of the limelight. For instance, he designed Pers himself, and he allowed a local toy company to sell miniature versions of his adorable machine. That way, he could share this small joy he had with other kids around Fontaine.

Needless to say, both siblings were always determined to see Freminet happy. They would commonly rehearse their shows and workshop new magic tricks in front of him, looking to see what made him smile the most. They would always ask for his feedback, both for their own improvement and to give him a chance to feel that he contributed to the show. Almost every rehearsal left him in amazement, no matter how many times he had seen it. The only suggestion he had ever made was adding Peres to the show. Both twins thought it was only fitting that they added what was essentially their brothers mascot to some of their performances.

After workshopping some new tricks, they settled on one where he would pop out of Lyneys hat, waddle over to Lynette, then walk into her hat and disappear, only for it to reappear and waddle offstage.

"So," Lynette asked after his bow at the grand finale, "What do you think?"

Fremite was already smiling ear to ear as he watched his creation cutely walk away.

"That was amazing! How did you even get him to wind back up again?"

Lynette smirked as she went to retrieve the mechanical penguin. "You know we can't tell you the answer to that."

Freminet sighed as Pers was handed back to him. "I suppose, but that won't stop me from wondering."

"Wonder is all part of the show," Lyney chuckled as he went to ruffle his brother's hair. "I can tell this trick will be a hit. I think Pers makes a wonderful addition to our performance."

Freminet swatted his hand away and attempted to fix his hair. "Why are you so sure people will like it? I thought you guys go through tricks all the time, and you hardly ever settle on one so quickly."

"Well, if it could make you smile then it could make anyone smile." Lyney gently grabbed back Pers and held him out, making it look like he was walking towards Freminet. "I think it's a great trick." Lyney spoke in a high pitched voice, his impression of what he believed Pers sounded like.

Freminet struggled to suppress another grin. "You're so childish." He turned to Lynette for some support.

"He's right you know," She gestured to Lyney, "If something can make you happy then it's surely worth adding to the full show."

Fremite gave a groan as he snatched back his beloved penguin. "What is it with you two and mentioning me smiling whenever you get the chance. Do I really smile that rarely?"

Lynette huffed in amusement. "I'd say it's pretty rare. Even when you were a child you wouldn't smile all that often."

"True," Lyney chimed in, "it seemed like the only thing that ever made you really laugh was the games we used to play."

A pink blush appeared on Freminets freckled face, remembering him and his siblings acting out various myths and fairytales he had read about. The previous director had berated Freminet for reading these fairy tales, claiming he was too naive and needed to grow up. After that, he had hidden away his stories, that is until his siblings were adopted into the house of hearth. It was their companionship that made him want to share his stories with them. Though they didn't believe in fairy tales themselves, they saw how happy it made him, and of course they found ways to incorporate the stories into games. With their help, he slowly conditioned himself out of the habits imposed on him by the previous director and started nurturing that part of himself again. As he grew, he had less time for games, and sometimes felt he was too old for them. Even so, he still found joy in these stories.

"T-that was a long time ago." He responded.

"Not to us," Lynette said, "and last I checked you still love reading your books. Why should enjoying games be any different?"

"Because, they're..." He really had no defense. If he was being honest he did find a part of himself missed playing those games. But another part of him found it all too embarrassing. No, embarrassed wasn't the right word for it. Flustered. That's how he felt remembering those games. Still, he couldn't say he hated it.

"If I remember right, there's one fairy tale you were always particularly interested in." Lyney said.

Freminet racked his brain trying to remember which story he could be referring to. That's when he noticed the creeping grin on his brother's face and his wiggling fingers.

"The story goes that there lives fae's in the woods that love making people laugh."

His eyes widened suddenly as memories flooded back to him. The tale of the tickling fae's had been one of his favorite stories. So much so that his siblings started making up games where they would act as the mischievous creatures and do everything they could to get him laughing.

"I'm sure you're starting to remember the tickle fae's. You must, you're already turning pink. You must remember how fae's love finding people who are grumpy and tickle all the grumpiness right out of them."

Freminet felt a grin starting to form as he covered his face. He had always been extremely susceptible to teasing, which Lyney was exceptionally good at.

"Lyney, plehehehease!" He giggled, already feeling ticklish from the teasing alone.

"Please what, brother of mine? Please tickle you until you can't stop smiling?" His grin could have been mistaken for one of pure evil, but Freminet knew it was all a part of his "Fae persona", where he and Lynette would become ruthless tickle monsters.

"I-I'm already smiling!"

"True, but we've hardly gotten to see it lately. I say we should make up for lost time." He had been getting more and more occupied diving and going on missions, hardly getting the chance to spend time with them. The more he thought about it, the more he felt himself missing getting to laugh with them. Still, tickling was just so childish and silly, he wasn't sure he could handle it all without dying from being so flustered.

Suddenly, Lynette seemed to be right behind him, swiftly grabbing both his wrists and pulling his arms above his head. Freminet tried to hide his face, now with a full smile, by turning his head into his shoulder, but Lynette's grip held strong and he could only cover half his face.

"Well well well, it looks like this grumpy gus has fallen into the tickle fae's trap."

"Whahahait, lets talk abohohouht this!"

"Laughing already?" Lyney chuckled. "Seems like nothings changed, you're as ticklish as ever. And you aren't even trying to get away, just trying to hide your smile from us."

Freminet couldn't even bear to open his eyes, fearing that just looking at his siblings would cause them to attack. Still, the anticipation was killing him, and every second that passed felt like an hour.

"Stop teasing! I cahahan't help it!"

"I'll stop teasing you when you stop hiding your smile from us. The tickling fae's will get to see it one way or another, you might as well show it now."

He knew that his siblings wouldn't let up any time soon, and the build up was killing him. Against his better judgment, he turned his face to look at Lyney. "Fhihihine, are you happy no- NOHOHOHOHOHO!"

Just as he had suspected, the moment he made eye contact Lyney started scribbling under his arms. He tried to pull them down but Lynette kept his arms up and high. She wasn't usually one to tease, but she had a soft smile on her face as she looked at the hysterical boy.

"There's that smile! See? That wasn't so hard."

"Yehehehes it was!"

"Well, you've done it at least. Now, which of the fae's games should we play?"

There were a few games the twins had come up with over the years to entertain their brother. Counting ribs, tracing shapes, having to choose which spot to be targeted, you name it and they had played it.

"Hm," Lynette finally chimed in, "How about we let him choose for himself."

"Nohohoho! Dohohon't make me chohohohose!" He giggled Lyney hovered his hands over him in suspense.

"If you don't pick then we'll just have to play all the games! Better choose fast, grumpy gus, or the fae's will choose for you!"

Freminet could hardly think straight through his laughter. He had extensive experience diving, and with that came good control of his breath, but these attacks always tested that ability, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything when he was this breathless from laughter.

"We'll give you till the count of 3 to choose, then the fae's will go through all their games on you!" Lyney teased. "One..." He wiggled his fingers ever so closer to his ribs. "Two..."

"THE SHAPE THING!" Freminet shouted.

"Hm? Not sure what game you're referring to, you'll have to say the name."

"T-the one where you trace shapes, and I have to guess what shape it is..."

"Oh! You mean constellations."

The name came from an old version of the game where they would trace Freminet's freckles. One day after reading a book about mythology, Freminet became sad that they couldn't see the stars from the city. To cheer him up, the twins pretended his face was the night sky and traced their own constellations as they made up their own stories, and when they ran out of room on his face they started tracing the freckles that lined his back and stomach. Freminet proved to be too ticklish to pay attention to anything, so they began a new game where he would have to guess what shape they were trying to make.

"It's been so long since we played that one. Here, I'll start with something easy."

Lyney lifted his shirt up to trace across his stomach. He used a single finger to trace out a circle right around his belly button.

"Hehehehee, I thihihihink its a circle?"

"Ding! That's right." Lynette smiled. "Hey, you shouldn't peak, that's cheating."

"Ihihihi wasn't lohohohoking!"

"Hmm, alright. I'll let you off the hook this time," She teased as she switched to holding his arms with just one hand. "It's my turn now." Right where the bicep met the under arm, she began tracing what was supposed to be the shape of a cat's head.

"Ihihihis it a house?"

"Nope." She suddenly scribbled his under arm, making him squeak.

That was one part of the game Freminet had forgotten: if he guessed wrong, they would unleash a sudden tickle attack wherever it was they were tracing.

"WAIAIAIAIT! A PERSON!"

"Still wrong." She continued scribbling her fingers over his bicep.

"IHIHIHIHI DON'T KNOW!"

"Giving up already?" Lyney laughed.

"YEHEHEHES, JUST TELL ME!"

"How unfortunate, it was supposed to be the face of a cat." She decided to show some mercy and went back to holding his arms with both hands.

"That's way too complex," Freminet wheezed through his remaining giggles.

He still hadn't thrown in the towel yet, and the twins knew that meant he was having fun, even if he wouldn't admit it. Lyney glanced to the side and saw Pers lying on the ground and an idea came to him. He snickered to himself as he picked up the mechanical penguin.

"Look at that, it seems that Pers wants to help make you laugh as well." He held out Pers, this time slowly walking him towards the younger brother to participate.

"Come on, friend," He once again said in his high-pitched impression of Pers, "I love seeing your smile, too." He slowly moved the penguin closer to Freminets torso and suddenly had him 'pecking' at his tummy.

"Nohohoho! Thihihihis is tohohoho much!"

"You used to love Pers' tickle attacks, remember?" He continued gently brushing Pers beak across his torso. Freminet would never admit it, but he did in fact used to love when they would pretend Pers wanted to join in the tickle attacks.

"Ihihihi cahahant!"

"Can't what? Can't stop giggling? That's the whole idea, little brother."

Lynette, deciding to up the game and join in the fun, suddenly releases his arms to squeeze at his ribs. Freminet threw back his head in laughter, trying his best to swat away the hands now scribbling all over his torso.

Before Lyney decided to set Pers aside, he had one more trick up his sleeve.

"I think someone could use some raspberries," he said in his Pers voice while moving him back and forth, "but I can't because of my beak." Lyney pretended to have a conversation with the little bird. "Well that just won't do. I'll just have to give him some raspberries on your behalf."

Freminet started giggling hysterically as Lynette once again took his arms to hold above his head.

"Whahahahait! Nohohohohohot thahahat!" Raspberries we're something he was especially weak against. Something about the silly noise accompanied by the ticklish sensation sent him up the wall every time, to the point he would get tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. Even just the threat of raspberries against him made him turn to a mess of hiccupy laughter.

"I'm just doing this on behalf of your friend," Lyney sang, "he's the one that wants to give you lots of raspberries. Who am I to turn down his request?" He lifted up his shirt just high enough to see his belly.

"Lyney wahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!" He was cut off as Lyney finally blew the biggest raspberry he could right above his bellybutton. He instantly started squirming like his life depended on it, kicking his legs and shaking his head back and forth. He heard his siblings laughing along with him.

"I haven't seen you this happy in a long time," Lynette chucked. "We should do this more often."

"NAHAHAHAHAHA WE SHOULD- BAHAHAHA!" He was immediately cut of by another barrage of raspberries, all in quick succession and all over his tummy.

"ALRIGHT! TIME OUT!" He squealed as he kicked his feet in the air.

Lyney couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face, eyes squinted and cheeks bright as tomatoes. Nonetheless, he stopped immediately, as they always did when he officially asked for a time out. Lynette followed, releasing his arms and allowing him to curl up into a ball, residual tickles still making him giggle like mad.

"Are you alright?" She asked. She was usually the one to check first to make sure their brother hadn't been pushed too far.

Between his remaining laughter he replied, "Y-yeah, I'm alright. Its just... been a while since I've laughed like that."

"I'll say," Lyney chimed in as he handed him back Pers. "We have to start bringing more games back." He laughed as Freminet covered the blush returning to his face. "Only if you want to, of course. The whole point of this is to make you happy."

Freminet groaned. "I-I like the games, I just... Don't know if I'm getting too old for them."

"I don't think there should be an age limit on something that brings you joy," Lynette said as she wrapped her brother in an embrace.

"Agreed, dear sister. And what did the fae's say about covering that smile?" Lyney poked him in the ribs, causing him to put down his arms with a squeak.

"Ohohokay! I'll try not to cover my face anymore."

By the time he had finally recovered, Lynette had made tea for the three of them.

"Isn't it a bit late for tea?" Lyney asked.

"It's the non-caffeinated kind. I believe it's an herbal blend from Liyue, it's actually supposed to help you sleep." She took a sip herself, taking a deep breath in to get a full scent of the aroma. Her brothers followed, feeling relaxed already.

It wasn't long after they had finished that Freminet let out a yawn. The tea really did wonders.

"I don't think I can stay awake long enough to change out of my clothes," He said, eyes already drooping with sleepiness. The twins appeared just as tired as he did.

"Well, we can always shower in the morning," Lyney said as he laid back on the couch.

"Are you at least going to sleep in your bed?" Lynette said as she walked over to him.

"Nope, too tired."

Lynette and Freminet were about to leave to their own rooms when they both felt a hand pull them back to the couch. They both yelped in surprise, falling back and being pulled into their brother's embrace.

"Lyney, we have to go to our rooms!" Lynette stated, though amusement was evident in her tone.

"Lets sleep out here tonight," he responded. "Or I could just tickle the both of you until you agree."

They both felt a sudden squeeze at their sides, sending both of them into laughing fits.

"Ohohohokay! We'll stay!" She answered. "Just give us a break!"

Fortunately Lynet was too tired to dish out the same treatment on her as he did their brother. They both relaxed into his embrace as they closed their eyes for the night. Not even a few minutes later Lyney could hear the soft snores of both of them, and Friment could be seen holding Pers close to his chest. He smiled softly at the two of them, letting himself slowly drift off to sleep.

Yep, seeing his family happy and safe in his arms was all the magic he needed.

[their-dearest]

This tag has been rlly dry recent, so I'd like to contribute to our beloved sparkly man.

Super random Headcanons (sfw & nsfw) below (warning: might be OOC):

SFW:

His love language? Definitely quality time (giving & receiving) & physical touch

Just imagine reading a book with him, or his teaching you some spells <33 (can't u tell I'm a whore for quality time?).

Braiding & doing his hairstyle <33 Aaravos loves it when his S/O touches him, it makes him feel relax and forget his problems, even if it's just a short while

(I just wanna run my hands to his hair )

I feel like he's pretty good at drawing, to specific, water coloring. Like, have u seen the way he moves his hands? He has the precision for it!

Nickames he'd give to his partner/s: star, starlight, love, my dear (i feel like I'm missing a few more)

He also has the biggest bisexual energy in the show (asides from Harrow lmaoo)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT! MINORS PLS SCROLL AWAY.

NSFW Oness:

He's def a switch, although he leans on the dom side of things

I have no idea how elves genitalia works/look like, but he does have big 🍆 energy

His tongue isn't just for telling half truths 😏 (I'll let you fill in the gaps)

Grab his horns or hair while he's doing it and he would let out the prettiest moan ever.

Like one of those gaspy moans that sends shivers down your spine.

If he's subby, i feel like he's a brat sub (like he's such a tease fr fr. Weirdly enough, it reminds me of that time where the viewers & Viren 1st see him.)

Anyways that's all, thank you for reading my (partially down bad) headcanons of him! I hope you stay hydrated & drink your meds (if u have 1)!

(EDIT: OMG TYSM FOR THE 50+ LIKES, I ADDED EXTRA HCS FOR PURPLE GLITTER MAN <33)

NSFW:

It may not be obvious at first, but he enjoys a little bit of pain (if yk yk~)

Just not too much or it'll ruin his mood

Also on the topic of kinks, i feel like he doesn't like being restrained or blindfolded

Although it would be a pretty sight

Like he's probably left in that same spot in the mirror for centuries,

It makes him feel helpless, and he hates it.

A weirdly specific one is that If you're someone who's fem, or AFAB, I feel like he has a fantasy of being pegged. (Although he has yet to bring this up since he knows that pegging isn't for everyone.)

SFW:

Remember the watercolor hc before?

Yea let's elaborate that.

So imagine him teaching u how to paint with watercolor!

Or or!

Even better, if you know different medium, you could paint each other's portraits<33

(kicking & twirling my hair rnn)

I feel like Aaravos also wear a little bit of make up, to be more specific, eye makeup

He'd definitely ace a perfect wing.

This isn't rlly a headcannon, but what shade of lipstick do u think will fit him? (If not lipstick, other lip makeup)

Extra head cannons!

Study dates! Study dates with him!! (*Shakes you like a bag of fries*)

He has a lot of good study tips for uuu

Like he's been studying spells and learning the 6 primal sources for most of his life (probably)

But also he would be observant of your limits

Like homeboy would know your about to have a breakdown before you will.

A wee bit on the angst side of things:

On the topic of arguments

I feel like he would be stubborn on his side of the fight

Like he would be sooo eager to prove that his right

That he might blatantly ignore your side

Although after the argument peaked and both of you decided to give each other space

That's the time where the argument plays in his mind

And where the pieces internally click

Regarding apologizing, of he's the one who's in the wrong, I feel like he'd apologize first.

But if he's the one on the right, he'll probably wait for you to heal up and apologize 1st.

Okai, back to normal hcs!!

Imagine doing each others make-up!

Him doing your eyeliner

You doing his lips make up

(Try not to kiss Aaravos challenge: Impossible)

Random topic about kids (idk, angsty ig?)

I feel like he'd be on the fence about having kids

While yes, he loves you with all of his dark heart

I think he'd have second thoughts about having them, since, yk

He's THE archmage Aaravos

He def has a lot of enemies up his arse

And this is just a specific hc

But I feel like he's afraid that he'll be betrayed by his own kin

Glitter man definitely has some trust issues

It took him a while to warm up to you as a person, and even a longer time as a lover

So perhaps give him some time about the matter,

He might change his mind...

... But only time will tell.

[ournachojesus]

I just saw your death note time loop au (which is everything I've ever looked for in a death note time loop au btw thank you so much) and I have a game to recommend! It's called In stars and Time and it's about being stuck in a time loop! It's a really really good game and I hope you try it!

Oh ya! I saw that in my recommendation at seem point and started watch a game play of it. Didn’t make it far since I didn’t have time but just from the get go the entire time fast forward concept is super interesting to me cause it has some bases in how our brains work.

Let me explain. Do you ever noticed how the drive home always seems shorter than driving somewhere new even if it’s the same amount of time? The reason is, your brain isn’t interested in things it’s already seen. When taking in new information/surroundings you end up being more in the moment. A lot of the time you are partially spacing out when you are seeing the same thing. It’s part of the reason why time seems to go faster the older you get! Lots of things are just not new anymore. Of course being super engaged makes time fly by fast but if it’s like medium level then you experience all the time.

Sorry but I’m going to say stuff about death loop since I want to bring this up. Light and L are eventually going to start having failing memory and/or start showing signs of mental health decline due to this reason. It’s not the only reason and isn’t the main cause for a lot of their weird/horrible behavior but it contributes. Like how animals in zoos need enrichment, so do they. First, failing memory would set in sooner not just because of the amount of time passing; even with each reset that brings their minds back to peak health it doesn’t stop the effects of memories. The body catches up with the mind. I feel they’d be smart enough to avoid this outcome. The behavioral systems though, they’d probably be dumb enough to only due onto what’s necessary, to keep their memories intact. Boredom, they’d start hurting themselves and others (they’d already be doing that due in a different way due to the NPC effect as I’m dubbing it). Like touching a burning stove or grabbing someone too hard. After a couple small moments like these they would probably be told by the team in the loop it started in to go on a vacation cause everyone thinks the case is taking a toll on them (kind of right). So they go to some European country in that loop and stay till the next reset. Every few loops it becomes a habit for them to go out on these vacations. It be weirdly sweet? More scary if you’re anyone but them. 

The behavior they’d start showing to eachother when the vacation stuff starts to become a habit is more of an accepting codependency. After the two incidents would this take place. The minimum stimulation they’d been doing to not go crazy from nothing new would end up frown out the window for a bit after those two incidents. The mix of this and the trauma of what they both did leads to the hurting thing (honestly isn’t the worst thing they’d done during the loops to the other people. Really tame compared to other stuff but it’s the first loop they are doing something so low level.)

The dependency they have is disturbing because they are getting more physically affectionate, not cause they are building a bond in a healthy way. It’s literally the case of being the only to captives in a prison. Light hold onto the bend of L’s arm when they walk the streets of Toronto or L pressing his forehead to Light’s as they listen to the sounds of people in the streets below their hotel in Taiwan. It isn’t the soft quiet content you have with a loved one, it’s the shaky breaths you take as you try not to cry. Breaking usually means things end or you pick yourself back up and move on. Change is an opportunity that has been robbed of them. Only the free will to act upon one another is all they have left.

[charles-leclerc-official]

So I definitely don't want to take away from what George did today because it was an amazing drive and he had the skill and determination to pull it off, but is it possible that his choice to try the one stop was at least partially due to his lighter car?

I imagine he noticed the gentleness on the tyres and figured it would be possible, but I figure if his car had been at its normal weight, theres a chance he would have seen normal deg and stuck with his original two stop strategy.

(It was such an awesome drive and I hate that he had to lose a win like this, but we still have plenty more races for him to show us more of what he can do, so I will stay tuned for that)

So, this really depends on the reason that the car was underweight. And we don't know the reason (we may never know depending on what gets shared)

Because it's possible that not getting to do a cooldown lap to pick up rubber was the reason the car was underweight.

I said my thought was possibly they did forget to add weight to the car prior to the race. But that's speculation on my part.

So if it was something like the tyre rubber pick up issue then no, it wouldn't have been anything.

Also, since there is tyre deg and he did a one-stop it is also possible the tyres were so worn down that the weight was under there. Like the strat to stay out and make use of the old tyres possibly cost him, because they did deg so much and lost too much weight. But again that isn't 100% clear.

Now someone did the math and if the car was truly 1.5kg lighter the entire race that was roughly a 2 second time advantage give or take.

It's really hard to say. Yes if the car was underweight the entire race it would have contributed. BUT I think the drive was still possible, he might not have won, but he still would have put forth a phenomenal drive.

It's really hard to say because without knowing the reason the car was underweight we are left speculating. And it's unclear the reason. The two most likely options to me are that Merc forgot to add weight to the car, or that the lack of cooldown lap meant he couldn't pick up enough rubber on the tyres and was under.

[lightdancer1]

One of the big reasons I think that it's always a bit of a bad thing to forget the Endless really aren't human:

Is because, and I admit here that this is from the POV of someone who does most, if not quite all, of my fanfics from a Death-centric perspective flip both because Gaiman did Dream well and like prequel Anakin there is only so much man pain and mangst I can take before wanting to reach through the screen and strangle the son of a bitch. Disliking Dream as a wangsty jackass who is the architect of almost all of his own problems does not mean being blind to how dysfunctional the Endless as a whole are.

Yet at the end of the day Dream is not your pantsfeels, he's the in-universe true architect of fear and maker of all nightmares, the guy who casually sends a woman to Hell because she told him no. He is inhuman and fickle and dangerous for any mortals that cross his path.......and as a being of story he is also bound by story-logic to pursue the path that makes the better story at the expense of multiple logical and even emotional reactions.

And in terms of this Dream is not really so different to the rest of the family. Even Destruction, when he walks off, very much remains an Endless and is still Destruction. He doesn't become human, he doesn't give up his powers and he goes into a long rambling set of justifications on that and believing simultaneously that the Endless interfere too much in human affairs and turns his group of friends into a minefield to ensure he stays hidden. Destruction, in short, is a flaming hypocrite at best and should not be taken as the reliable one true truth. None of the Seven Endless are that.

So what does all this have to do with Death? Simple. She will outlive the universe and Death of the Endless will be a title and a moment in time. Unlike any of the others she did outright completely quit and walked out and where Dream's captivity and Destruction's hippie moment didn't cause immediate unraveling of reality as opposed to the realm Death did. She is unlike the other six in ways that would and do contribute to why there's so much talking past each other.

The other six, even Destruction, all see their natures as intertwined with their functions, spheres, and all that go with them. Every hundred years for a day Death gives up all that power and becomes fully, truly mortal. She takes the step none of the others can bring themselves to do, and in spite of being the one that outlives the universe, she has died the most of all her kin and the DCU being what it is probably more than a few of those deaths were not pleasant ones. And this is without the equally logical assumption based on Overture that we only see the Earth mortal day, that there were and are such days on all worlds, in all forms of life.

And as I've brought this up before, too, Death's little apartment is not her realm. The realm is only glimpsed partially once, in her second miniseries and it looks every bit as dark as a realm called 'sunless lands' would. With the exception of Destruction all the other realms are seen in detail and not just a partial glimpse. Death has that detachment from that realm, which is as much a part of her as she of it.

In short, unlike the rest of her siblings I think Death is if anything in the comics the least truly focused on duty and much as I consider the 'none of them came for me' to be a good example of Dream's self-serving hypocrisy as he'd hate and scorn and react violently to anyone that actually did and Gaiman is repeatedly on record as noting that, I see the 'our purpose is our function' line as a bit of self-serving hypocrisy in the interest of cheering up her brother. Death couldn't and doesn't take dealing with her function or being an Endless well. She walked out, she keeps trying to turn herself mortal, she will one day continue to exist but no longer be an Endless.

Thus in the end, there is a great irony here. Dream is too rigidly bound by duty to ever truly entertain the idea that he could leave and figure out how to do so short of dying. Death is too frantically eager to discard her Endless status to figure out why anyone would, given the choice, choose to remain one even if it hurts them.