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[flowersandbigteeth]

Now I’m thinking about how cute of a story it’d be if a human woman reader had a preference towards monster men, but she kept getting used by a lot of monster fetishists to fill their own fantasies. Getting her heart broken constantly as they didn’t see her as a being with real feelings. And eventually she gives up…But of course x monster comes into her life and tries his best to court her cause he actually does love her and see her as a person. Reader of course is very jaded and thinks he’ll use and abuse her too, just like all the others.

If you’re still interested in writing somber stories with a happily ever after in the end, something like this could be fun to explore. The ugly exploitive relationship dynamics taken onto human women by monster men.

Like just imagine reader is sitting in a park, having a picnic, a monster comes up to her, is pleasant, and reader thinks that this is going to be “the one” finally, and gets her heart broken again when he asks her for a one night stand. Or even worse…hands her a card to work at a human x monster exclusive private fetish club…

Um...so I ended up with something close to this, but kind of with a different spin. I've been wanting to do a mothman for soooooo long and this just came together in the right way. So here he is ^_^

Mothman (Roth) x f reader

Word Count: 9.5K

General Plot: Your gargoyle crush asks you out on a date and things don't go as planned.

TW: nsfw mothman smut, moth genetalia, a lot of teeth, kidnapping, sexy pheromones, a bit of violence, reader being tied up and gagged, revenge, mating and soft yandere vibes, bad boyfriends

“Five, ten, fifteen…fifteen,” you sighed counting your tips as you sat on the curb outside the kitchen of the Italian restaurant you worked at. 

Tears bubbled in your eyes as you realized you hadn’t made nearly enough to cover the rent you were already late on. 

“How you doing mite,” a deep voice rumbled behind you. 

You heard a squeak and then a thunk as Tyre, the chef, dumped some trash. Wiping your eyes, you peered up at him, trying to hide the redness on your cheeks. Tyre was a handsome gargoyle with slate gray skin and piercing blue eyes. He smirked as your eyes met. Sniffling, you tried to clean up your face. 

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine.” 

He glanced down at the odd dollars and some change in your hand. 

“Bad night?” 

You sighed. 

“It’s always a bad night.” 

He scratched his chin, eyes traveling from the top of your head to the slip-proof shoes you had to wear. 

“There’s someplace I ought to take you,” he said, eyes taking on a predatory gleam. “You like monsters, right?” 

You blushed, unsure what to say now that your secret wish seemed like it might be coming true. You’d always had a crush on Tyre. He was big and strong with a rakish smile that made all the waitresses swoon. 

“Um…yeah, I guess.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “You’re off tomorrow night. I saw it on the schedule.” 

You were going to beg for another shift from one of the other waitresses, but if you were only going to make a few bucks, you figured you couldn’t pass up the chance for a date with your crush. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, your breath a gasp. 

He pulled a phone from an apron pocket and handed it to you. 

“Put your address in here. I’ll pick you up. Wear something pretty.” 

Overcome, you could hardly speak, typing your address and phone number into the phone. 

“See you tomorrow night, mite,” he winked before walking back inside. 

The door slam made you jump, but your heart was already pattering. Tyre had finally noticed you! Ever since you’d started that job, you’d been in love with him. It was true. You did like monsters, but not in a weird way. You were curious, but you were too shy ever to ask Tyre any questions about himself. You didn’t want him to think you were a weirdo fetishist trying to get in his pants for a thrill. But finally, he’d noticed you and asked you on a date! 

Despite the lack of money in your pocket, you hopped up from the curb with a pep in your step. Maybe something was finally going right for you for once. 

When you arrived home, you frowned at the yellow notice taped to your door. 

EVICTION NOTICE: VACATE THE PREMISES WITHIN 15 DAYS OR YOU WILL BE REMOVED

Your breath caught in your throat, and you wondered if you should call Tyre and cancel your date. Walking inside, you frowned. Your apartment was small, if you could even call it an apartment. It was only one room with no kitchen or bathroom. You had to use the common toilet down the hall, and you either ate food you brought home from the restaurant or cooked noodles on your hotplate. Still, you couldn’t even afford this little closet. 

Where were you supposed to go? Pulling out the crumpled fifteen dollars, you stuffed it in the large mug with all your tips. You already knew how much was inside. You counted it over and over again every night, hoping it would magically bloom to a higher sum. 

One hundred and fifteen dollars. That’s how much you had to figure out a new home with. While tears bit at your eyes, your feet were exhausted from running around all day, so you flopped on your dipping air mattress and fell asleep. 

You woke to the next morning to your phone buzzing and grinned at the message on the screen. 

“Pick you up at 9.” 

Scooping up the phone, you beamed. As you dropped it on your chest, you indulged yourself in a quick fantasy. You’d go on a date, Tyre would fall madly in love with you, and then you’d move into his flat, have his little gargoyle babies, and everything would turn out just fine. This had to have happened for a reason, right? All afternoon, you skipped around your apartment, trying on your meager array of outfits for just the right one. 

When 9 came around, you sat on the edge of your bed, checking and rechecking the message. 9, he did say 9, right? Right. He’ll be here. 

Thirty minutes later, there was a heavy knock on the door. You tripped over yourself to answer it, eyes lighting up the moment you met the cool blue on the other side. He looked you over, a meaty hand braced against the doorframe, showing off his massive biceps. 

“Look at you, mite,” he said, brushing a curl of hair from your face. “You clean up nice.” 

“Ah, thanks, Tyre. It’s nothing really,” you half whispered, words having a difficult time making themselves past your lips. 

“Come on,” he said, taking you by the arm. “You’re gonna have fun where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, from the inside of Tyre’s Denali, as he cruised down a dark alley. 

You had only just realized it was a little late to be going to a restaurant, so where was he taking you? He only smirked at you, eyes glittering in the dim vehicle. 

“You’ll see,” was all he would say. 

You should have been concerned, but the truth was you were down bad. You were about to be evicted, had hardly any friends, and no boyfriend. Your last situationship with a werewolf had been a humiliating disaster. You needed this. He pulled into a parking lot, flashing a black card, and a gate lifted, allowing you inside. 

“Here we are,” he said when he parked, circling the car to help you out. 

When he’d set you on the ground, he frowned for a moment, scrubbing his chin. 

“Let’s’ fix this,” he said, grabbing the tight skirt you were wearing and hiking it up your hips so it was more of a mini skirt. Then he yanked on the neck of your sweater, pushing it down over your shoulders.  

“What? Where are we going?” you asked, getting a little more concerned. 

He only looked at you lazily, reaching a hand down to smudge the makeup at the corner of your eyes more. 

“A private club. Freaky girls like you love this shit,” he assured you, though he was becoming less and less assuring. 

What did he mean by “freaky girls”? You were just a normal girl. You liked reading books and cooking when you had the chance. There was nothing “freaky” about you at all. 

Grabbing your shoulders with his big hands, he shoved you forward through the dark lot. Around you, large, monster-sized, luxury vehicles were parked in neat rows. When you reached an odd metal door, he knocked with his knuckles. A hatch slid open, and bright green eyes peered out. 

“What do you want?” 

They narrowed on Tyre. 

“You’re not welcome here.” 

You gulped, cheeks reddening, looking between the pair of eyes and Tyre. 

“Tell Roth I brought him a new girl,” he said, “Told him I’d pay my debt.” 

The eyes flicked down to you for a moment, and the door squeaked open. 

“Tyre, what is going-?” 

You didn’t get a chance to speak as the large, man with pale skin and green eyes snatched your wrist up and dragged you away from him. 

“Tyre! Tyre!” you half shouted, confused as he jerked you down a dark hall, but looking back, the gargoyle only smiled and waved at you. 

“Stop screaming. You’re disturbing the ambiance,” the man holding you in his firm fist, hissed. 

When he opened his mouth, you could see sharp fangs framing straight white teeth. The rest of your words caught in your throat as he dragged you through the club. 

On a large platform in the center, human women dressed in skimpy outfits danced on stage to oddly alluring music. Where the bright stage lights didn’t shine, you could see monsters of all kinds with human women clinging to them engaged in a frightening variety of sexual activity. 

Three gargoyles were sharing one woman, splayed on a table. A centaur had a woman strapped to him with some sort of harness, and your eyes popped when you saw the way he used her. Your heart started to race as you put two and two together. 

You’d heard about these clubs. Places where well-paying monsters could play around with human women to fulfill their fetish fantasies. Yes, you liked monsters, but you would have never stepped into a place like this, not for all the money in the world! You experienced enough creepy fetishists as a waitress. It seemed the only time anyone offered you any real money was to take you home for a night of their own entertainment. 

Betrayal cut you to the core, remembering Tyre’s words. He’d brought you here to repay a debt! He never had any plan of dating you at all! You were nothing more than a trinket to be traded! 

Panic startled you to your senses, and you started to fight the vampire holding you. 

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” you screamed, jerking so hard on your wrist that you thought you might break it. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Jesus, that bastard. He tricked you to come here, didn’t he?” he hissed, frowning. 

He paused, thinking for a second, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. 

“Still, I’d better take you to Roth and see what he wants to do with you. Can’t have you running off to the cops and blowing up our whole operation.” 

Clubs like these weren’t exactly legal. Along with the girls, they usually sold drugs and were the sort of place where you could hire a shady person to do below-board jobs.

To silence your screams, and to the amusement of a few of the monsters standing nearby with drinks, he slipped the tie from around his neck and tied it tightly around your head, before he stripped off his belt and used it to secure your hands. Then he flopped you over his broad shoulder, carrying you out of the larger room up a set of stairs. You bit on the gag, desperately trying to saw away at it with your teeth, but it was no use. 

You couldn’t see, bouncing on his shoulder, but you heard a door open, and then you saw it shut. 

“Tyre brought you a girl, boss,” he said. 

Suddenly, he flopped you on the floor, forgetting you were a fragile human. You squealed as you hit the carpet hard, pain radiating up your side. Looking up, you froze in fear. The room was dim, the edges hardly visible, the only light a small lamp on a large wooden desk. Peering past the light, you met the gaze of two glowing, red orbs on the face of a dark body you could hardly make out. All you could tell was that it looked large. 

“Why’s she tied up?” 

The voice was almost a hiss, like silk sheets rubbing together. 

“Tyre tricked her into coming here.” 

The orbs disappeared for a moment, then appeared again along with a long sigh. 

“That idiot.” 

“What do you want me to do with her? Dump her? Put her on the floor? She’s pretty enough. She’ll make us some money.” 

Your heart pounded, as your future was being discussed without you. Dump her? 

“Leave,” the voice barked, sounding irritated. 

You whimpered as you heard the heavy footsteps of the vampire leaving and the door slamming behind him. There was a rustling, and the big body behind the desk grew much larger. It wasn’t a shape you recognized, two large protrusions arching over either side of its head and then two more feathery-looking ones on top. Heavy steps echoed in the quiet room as it rounded the furniture and loomed over you. 

A clawed hand emerged from the darkness, clutching your chin, slowly turning it from side to side as his red eyes examined you. 

“Hmm. A little flame,” he purred. 

You tried to scream again, but all that came out was a muffled whimper. 

The protrusions jumped as the creature chuckled. The monster kneeled down next to you, and only then, you could make out his features, just barely. His neck was thick and fuzzy, as was his body, the angular slabs of muscles softened by a coating of black down. Up close, you could see the two side protrusions were actually silver wings, and the ones on top, were elegant antennae. They twitched as he looked you over. His facial features were invisible behind more black fuzz.

“I’ve been wanting a pet,” he said more to himself than you. 

The red orbs narrowed to slits. 

“Do you know what we do at this club?” he asked. 

You’d gotten a pretty good idea when the vampire gave you the impromptu walk-through. So you nodded. 

His lips cracked, and jagged white teeth glinted at you. 

“Good.” 

Clawed fingers slipped through your hair, scraping your scalp. 

“You’ll be well fed and kept, but you are my pet. Mine.” 

You let out another muffled squeal, shaking your head as tears tumbled down your cheeks. A thumb slid through the wetness before traveling to his red tongue. 

“Mmm,” he said, smirking. “Even your tears are sweet.” 

By that point, you were hyperventilating into your gag, the world getting spinny as you panicked. You’d started your night daydreaming about gargoyle babies, and now you were being adopted as some kind of fuck pet for a monster boss. Your breaths grew increasingly shallow until the darkness writhing at the edges of your vision merged into a large black spot, and the world went silent. 

—

You jerked awake by the sound of screaming. The stone floor beneath your cheek was cold, so you sat up abruptly, only to awkwardly flop over onto your side. You were still gagged, but now you were bound by your ankles, as well as your wrists. The room you were in was dark except for a small lamp hanging from the ceiling. It put out just enough light to see the large figure of the mothman who’d taken you as his pet and an orc you didn’t recognize. You shrank back against the wall behind you, immediately afraid of what would come next, but their attention wasn’t on you. 

Another scream pierced the air, making you wince. It sounded almost like…Tyre. 

“Please! Please! She came willingly, I swear!” he said, his tone frantic, all the aloof coolness you’d crushed on erased. 

“Did you tell her what we do here before you brought her?” the orc barked.

“She was dying to get her cunt pumped with monster cock. All those girls love that shit,” he spat. “She’s just a whore like the rest of them.” 

“Tyre?” you murmured, but it only came out as a quiet grunt behind the gag. 

Roth nodded at the Orc and you heard chain rattle, then a crunch as he whipped the heavy metal into Tyre’s face. For a moment, you almost felt redeemed. Like Roth might care about your honor, but his next words evaporated that thought. 

“You know I don't like liars, Tyre,” he hissed, his voice still terrifyingly quiet and emotionless. “You brought me a problem. Now I've got to tie up a bunch of loose ends.” 

You were shocked Tyre could still speak, though his words garbled. 

“She's a slut! She wants it! Just ask her! She was ready to open her legs for me for nothing!” 

Tears poured down your cheeks, hearing the gargoyle you'd been shyly admiring for a year now finally revealing what he really thought of you. He was just like your last monster “boyfriend” who’d dumped you when he realized you were more than just a doll to play with. 

One night after hooking up, his phone started going nuts while he was sleeping. Unable to help yourself, you'd glanced at his texts, humiliated to find he'd been detailing his conquest to his packmates. You were just a joke. 

A “monster-cock hungry slut,” in his words. You stupidly let him sleep peacefully through the night, only asking him about it in the morning. You remembered his sharp green eyes full of humor and his disgusting sneer when you'd confronted him. 

“What'd you think this was? You really think a weak little human like you is good for anything but a quick fuck? Don’t fool yourself. You wanted my knot like a dirty little bitch in heat and I gave it to you. End of story.” 

You broke into big, ugly, wet sobs as your whole world collapsed around you. Your body shuddered against the gritty cold floor, tears forming dark spots on the surface. 

Across the room Roth’s antenna twitched. He gave the orc a look before crossing the room to crouch down next to you. He dug a thick hand into your hair, lifting your head. Your tears blurred his glowing eyes to wobbly blobs. 

“You're crying for him? Is he telling the truth? Are we wrong to punish him?” 

You sniffed, whimpering and shook your head. He dropped your hair abruptly, the gesture suddenly becoming something close to comfort. He patted your head a little stiffly as if he wasn't sure what to do with you. 

You watched him blink, looking away for a moment before he scooped you up, curling his wings around the two of you. He carried you back across the room, turning your face into his soft chest before he spoke. 

“I want his teeth when you're done with him,” he hissed at the Orc. 

Tyre begged behind you, his voice brassy.

“She's lying! That bitch is lying!” 

Roth didn't even flinch, striding confidently out of the room. As he carried you down a dark hall you heard screams following you until they finally faded. 

Roth walked slowly up a long staircase until he reached an elevator. It occurred to you, every room you’d been in was dim, this elevator included, just light enough for someone with average eyesight not to trip over themselves. 

Your stomach dropped as the elevator ascended, finally letting out an echoing DING when it reached the desired floor. 

He stepped forward and you peeked out from behind his wing. 

You were in a beautiful, but dark penthouse. Through the wall to wall windows you could see the stars of the night sky twinkling through. The furnishings were expensive, all black and chrome. 

“Welcome home,” the mothman said, his voice ever soft. 

He set you down on a black couch and you flinched as he crouched in front of you. His long nails picked at the knots binding your wrists and ankles until they were free. 

The moment your limbs were your own again, you slid to the opposite side of the couch, frantically untangling the gag. 

“Let me go!” were the first words that bubbled out of your lips. 

Roth’s blood eyes narrowed at you. It was unnerving you couldn't really read his expression, his facial features obscured by dark fur. 

“Go where?” he asked, calmly, his head tipped to the side. “I had my associates look into you. (Y/N), broke waitress, evicted…where will you go?” 

Your cheeks burned that he knew so much about you. 

“I don't know. Not here. Not a pet.” 

“You'll live better here as a pet than on the street as a stray.” 

You blinked and he was a few feet closer to you, stretching his long fingers out to drag a knuckle down your cheek. 

“No matter. I'm not letting you go.” 

You snorted. 

“Until you get bored with me and toss me out again.” 

His eyes became narrow slits. 

“Did someone throw you out, (Y/N)?” 

Your eyes burned into his, heavy with rage. This was just the cherry on your monster loving cake wasn't it? At least, he was honest and called you what you were to him. A toy. A pet. An object to break and throw away. 

“It doesn't matter. You're all the same.” 

You heard a hiss and then his claws pricked your cheeks, pinching your face. Bright eyes filled your vision. 

“Are we?” He asked. 

Your confidence faltered and you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

“You own a human fetish club. Explain to me how I'm wrong. You see us as weak objects to be passed around.”  

He bared his sharp teeth at you. 

“You will not be passed around. You. Are. Mine.” 

You drew your legs underneath your chin, glaring at him, but winced as a sharp pain shot through you. 

“Ouch!” 

His eyes widened and his fingers left your cheeks, clawing at the tight skirt you still wore. You tried to wiggle away, but his wing boxed you in so he could glide a thumb over your bare skin. It seemed impossible he could see anything in such a dark room, but he growled at the painful spot on your hip where you'd landed when the vampire dropped you. 

“Don't!” you hissed, jerking your skirt down. 

You watched his eyes open and shut, before he stood. 

“Damian!” he said so softly, you weren't sure who he was talking to.  

You jumped as an elegant Naga appeared, wiping his hands with a towel. 

“You called, sir?” He asked his yellow eyes drifting to you only for a moment before they returned to Roth. 

“Bring Vince. Make her some food.”  

The Naga nodded sharply and disappeared. 

He sat next to you on the couch, stretching his wings slowly and resting his forearms on the tops of his legs. Seeing him closely, now, you could see he was tall with broad shoulders, not including his massive wingspan. 

“The girls I employ want to be here,” he said, turning his face to you. “They get paid well and they enjoy their work.” 

“Is that your pitch?” you sneered. 

He flashed his teeth, chuckling. 

“No, you won't be working the floor, but you should know the facts,” he said. “Tyre broke a pact bringing you here. I don't kidnap humans.” 

“Except me.” 

“You're a unique situation.” 

“I won't tell anyone if you let me go,” you promised. 

He was hard to read, but you got the impression he was examining you. 

“I'm not letting you go. I want you.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” You blurted, your heart starting to race again. 

Roth didn't have to answer as the elevator dinged and the vampire from before stepped out. 

“You hurt her. Apologize.” 

Vince’s eyes found you and his eyebrows rose. Giving the mothman a contrite glance, he crossed the room, bending down to one knee in front of you and dipping his head. 

“Apologies, miss, I was too rough with you. It won't happen again.”  

“Good. Get back to work,” Roth said, tone blunt. 

“Have a pleasant evening, miss.” 

Vince stood and winked at you with a little smirk, before he boarded the elevator again and disappeared. 

“Come here, you need to eat,” Roth said, gesturing for you to follow him. 

You wanted to say no, but you hadn't eaten, expecting a quiet dinner with Tyre so you slowly got to your feet and crept after him. 

In the dining room Damian had set the table with a little flickering candle and red roses. Roth politely pulled out your seat for you, encouraging you to sit down. Though you were hungry, you glared at the food in front of you as he took his own seat. 

“Something wrong?” he asked placing a napkin in his lap. 

“How do I know you haven’t drugged this?” 

“Why would I?” 

You blinked at him, opening and closing your mouth as you thought of what accusations to spew. 

“I don’t know! So you can have your way with me or whatever!” 

Though you couldn’t see his lips, a triangle of teeth appeared as if he were smirking. 

“I don’t need to drug your food to do that. Personally, I would rather my lover be conscious when I have her.” 

You crossed your arms. 

“How many lovers have you had?” 

He snorted, picking up his knife and carefully cutting his meat into little cubes. 

“That’s a rather personal question little flame,” he said, before sticking a bit of meat in his mouth and chewing. “What would you say if I asked you the same thing?” 

Your cheeks burned, realizing it was a very rude question. His low, scratchy voice drove you insane. Every word he spoke was soft, deliberate, and calm. None of your fussing seemed to move him, much. Unsure what else to say, you turned your attention to your food. The first bite was apprehensive, but after you’d swallowed that, your hunger took over and you quickly consumed the rest. 

“Damian is a good cook,” you commented. 

“I can tell he’s happy to have someone new to cook for,” he said, scooting a vegetable out of the way with his fork. “I usually have the same thing every night but this is new.” 

Your cheeks burned that he’d made such an effort, but with nothing left on your plate, you weren’t sure what to do next. 

“Come with me,” he said rising. 

You narrowed your eyes on the vegetables he’d left behind, only eating the meat, but followed him out of the room. 

The penthouse was large and airy, the atmosphere perfumed with rows of night blooming flowers arranged in planters outside of the open glass doors. 

“You keep the doors open?” you asked. 

“Though I enjoy my luxuries, my people rested in trees for thousands of years. I like to feel the breeze,” he explained. “Don’t be concerned. You are very safe here. I have security posted everywhere.” 

Your eyes jumped to your forehead hearing that. 

“Are you often under attack?” 

“My business is a dangerous one, but I’ve been at it for many years. You are safe. This is our room.” 

He opened a heavy door and led you into a sumptuous bedroom. A four poster bed sat at the center with silver chiffon curtains fluttering in the breeze flowing in through the open balcony doors. Moonflowers and datura swayed on an arbor framing the entrance, the moon hanging in the center. It’s blue light cast a silver glow over the plush white chairs and vanity. 

“Our room?” you gulped. “I have to sleep with you?” 

He chuckled. 

“I don’t sleep on a bed, usually,” he said. “My kind sleep upright on a perch. The bed is for your comfort.” 

You shuddered, a dark thought passing through your head. 

“H-how…how did you know you would need that?” 

In the darkness, you followed his red eyes. 

“Damian brought it up while you were resting.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Collapsed from panic on a hard stone floor while he tortured Tyre was hardly resting. He suddenly turned to you, grabbing you by your waist and placing you gently on the bed. 

“W-what are you doing?” you mewled as his claws curled around the edge of your skirt, scooting it further up your thigh. 

He pinned you with a glance, before turning his attention to the bedside table and extracting a little pot. Opening it, he scooped some gel from inside and carefully smoothed it over the darkened bit of skin where a bruise was forming. It tingled, easing the slight ache. 

His eyes lingered on the patch of skin, before his claws split the fabric. 

“Stop! Stop it!” you screeched, trying to push him away with your smaller hands. 

It was only then you really understood how strong he really was. He didn’t budge, but captured your wrists in a hand while the other shredded your sweater. 

“I’ll buy you better clothes,” he assured you when you were sitting underneath him in only your underwear. 

You regretted wearing your skimpiest pair, as you’d planned on seducing Tyre with them. Now you felt naked and vulnerable, the red light of Roth’s eyes outlining your curves. 

He swallowed, heavily, making a small grunt in the back of his throat before he released you and stood. 

“Sleep.” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The sun is rising.” 

Peering past him, you could see the sky getting ever so slightly lighter. He pressed a button and heavy blackout blinds lowered automatically. The sliding door slid shut, making the room pitch black except for Roth’s eyes still shining in the dark. 

You let out a yip as his wings fluttered, stirring the air in the room and he delicately perched on the rail at the end of the bed. 

“Are you going to watch me sleep all day?” you barked, crossing your arms.

“Yes.” 

You sputtered your displeasure, but weren’t sure what to say. Hurriedly scooting under the coverlet, without meaning to you let out a satisfied hiss as you sank into the bed. Having slept on a droopy air mattress for many years, this bed felt like you were nestled in clouds. As much as you would have liked to stay awake, glaring at Roth until he went away, your eyes slid shut and you drifted off. 

–

“Miss, miss,” you heard a voice in your ear. 

You pried your eyes open, taking a moment to remember where you were. Sitting up suddenly, you were met with Damian’s yellow gaze. 

“Time to wake up,” he said, “I have breakfast for you in the dining room.” 

You blinked, realizing you could see him fairly well, and glanced at the windows to see the blackout blinds had been lifted and the sun was well on it’s way below the horizon. 

“But it’s evening,” you muttered. 

He smirked, slithering around you to open a door and then another. 

“We operate on the boss’s clock here. Mothmen like the dark, they don’t see to well in the sunlight. Here, this is the bathroom and the closet is here. I spent the afternoon purchasing you some new clothes, but if you’d like something else, just tell me.” 

“Oh, um…okay.” 

Damian gave you a slight bow and slid out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Taking a breath, you climbed out of the coverlet, first examining the balcony. Standing just in the doorway, since you were still dressed in lingerie, you could see the whole city spread out before you, streetlights flicking on one by one as the sun set. 

On the deck, along with the flowers, was a swinging chair and a small fish pond. You watched the white finned fish swimming in lazy circles  below a few lotus flowers before you went back inside. 

Poking your head in the bathroom, you found it was quite luxurious and to your surprise when you flicked the switch a real light turned on, not the dimmed bulbs everywhere else. Damian, you guessed, had stocked it with a fresh electric toothbrush and all the essentials. Oddly, there were either the exact products you had in your bathroom or the not value brand versions. Instead of the face cream you used, there was a high end cream you’d always dreamed of buying. The same with the makeup, hair supplies, and soaps. Satisfied you had what you needed, you crept into the closet. 

It was one of those fancy closets, you’d seen in magazines with clothes arranged by color and an island in the center full of shelves holding jewelry, scarves, shoes, and-

A sharp scream burst from your lips. 

Damian appeared in the doorway, out of breath as if he’d been slithering at top speed. 

“What’s wrong?” he gasped. 

You pointed a shaking finger at what was a multi compartment jewelrybox, but instead of jewels inside there were carefully arranged, polished, teeth. Hundreds of teeth. 

“What the fuck is that?” you squealed, jumping behind Damian’s body as if he could shield you from them. 

He let out a sharp breath, looking relieved. 

“Heavens, I thought something was wrong,” he sighed. 

Your eyes darted between him and the box of teeth. 

“There IS something wrong! What the fuck?” 

“That’s the boss’s collection,” he said. 

“D-do those teeth come from people?” you whispered. “Are they real?” 

Damian nodded as if that was the most perfectly normal thing in the world. 

“He likes to collect the teeth of his enemies. It’s some mothman cultural thing. It’s kind of neat if you take a good look at them. There are specimens from several species.” 

“He keeps them in his closet?” 

“Where else would he keep them?”

You felt light headed and slumped against the vanity sitting just by the closet door. Were Tyre’s teeth already part of the collection?

“It’s part of his culture, (Y/N),” he said. “Children in your culture put their teeth under their pillow for their parent’s to collect. Think of it that way.”

You shook your head, rubbing your eyes. 

“Please, please stop. I don’t want to hear any more.” 

“Is anything else the matter? Do you like your clothes?” he asked pleasantly. 

“I-I didn’t get a chance to look.” 

Damian nodded and slipped into the closet, returning with a handful of items. 

“Why not wear this outfit,” he said. “I saw it on a Pinterest board and I think it will suit your figure.” 

“Er…thanks,” you said, taking the pile as he slipped out of the room so you could dress. 

You took a long shower, trying to clear your mind of the teeth cache you’d stumbled across. When it was finally time to put on clothes, you had to admit, the outfit Damian had chosen was quite stylish, though you looked a bit like a mafia wife with a diamond tennis necklace around your neck and matching bracelets on your wrist. 

You crept down the hall to the dining room to find Roth waiting on you, surrounded by paperwork. You yelped when to his side you saw another monster you recognized handcuffed and gagged on his knees next to him. His nose was bloody and one eye was swollen. 

“What the- Elijah…what?”

Roth’s eyes rose to you, lingering for a moment before he gestured towards your breakfast. 

“Eat, your food is getting cold,” he murmured, turning his attention back to whatever he was working on as if the monster by his calf wasn’t eyeing you for help. 

You hardly noticed if the fluffy pancakes Damian had provided were good or not, because you were trying to sort out what the monster “boyfriend” who’d jilted you a year ago was doing handcuffed in the dining room. It was hard to know where to look and words escaped you as your mind spun with messy thoughts. 

Halfway through your meal, Roth gathered his stack of papers and tapped them on the desk to straighten them before he spoke. 

“Now that that’s all done,” he said. “Time to other business.” 

He stood, dragging Elijah by his collar along the table to you, leaning on it casually as if everything about this wasn’t very, very illegal. 

“What would you like me to do with this one?” he asked, a clawed hand slipping through your freshly washed hair. 

You stared up at him for a moment, a bite of pancake still half chewed in your mouth before you swallowed it hard. Your mind’s eye immediately went to the tooth collection in the closet. 

“Um…I don’t know? What do you mean ‘do with him?’” 

Elijah whimpered loudly, begging for mercy. 

Roth’s eyes narrowed and he kicked him sharply to get him to sit still. 

“Well, I can give him to my boys and have his teeth extracted or you can keep him around the club polishing the girl’s shoes if it makes you feel any better. They make a game of bullying miscreants. I’ll only take his fangs and claws if you’d like to show him mercy. But he’s not getting away without a punishment.” 

He grabbed the werewolf, by the neck, his red eyes reflecting in Elijah’s green. 

“Monsters like you make me sick. I ought to take your balls.”

He pried his lips apart, his thumb running over a fang. Though Roth’s voice was low, it was thick with a terrifying cruelty. 

“All that power, all the gifts you’ve been given and you use them to trick the ones smaller than you. You could have had a willing human woman on her knees in front of you playing whatever games you like, but you get off on torturing the sweet ones.” 

Elijah’s eyes were wide, full of terror. They flicked to you, begging for forgiveness. 

“I don’t want you to kill him,” you said, your voice thin. 

Roth looked up at you and tipped his head to the side. 

“Pity.” 

His eyes flicked down to his captive. 

“I suppose you have a new job, hm?” 

He narrowed his eyes again, head dipping down so he was close to Elijah’s snout. 

“(Y/N) is very kind. I am not. If you get into trouble, I’ll take what’s left of your teeth and dump the rest of you in a ditch. Understand?” 

Vince appeared from the shadows making you jump and dragged Elijah out. 

“Have fun with the girls!” he called after him. 

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, glaring at Roth. “Yes, he broke my heart, but his fangs? His claws? Threatening to kill him?” 

Roth slipped a knuckle under your chin, his eyes arcing in what must have been a smile. 

“My job is not easy and my world is not kind. Strength and cruelty are sometimes required to take care of the ones who can’t help themselves. That’s the way things are.” 

You huffed. 

“You’re horrible.” 

Fangs flashed in the dimming purple light streaming in through the window behind you. 

“I’ll happily be horrible so you can always stay sweet. My methods may be unappetizing, but it’s worth is to see the truth reflected in your eyes. You deserve to feel justice.” 

He leaned towards you, searching your gaze. 

“And even if you won’t admit it, I can see that you do.”

Your eyebrows jumped and your ears burned. 

“H-how did you even know about him?” 

“I went through your text messages.” 

“You have my phone? Give it to me!” 

He shook his head. 

“You haven’t properly settled in yet. I’ll give you a new one when you’ve come to accept your place here.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’ll soon get used to it. Come on.” 

He beckoned you to get up, leading you towards the elevator. 

“I have a use for you,” he said. 

You flinched, narrowing your eyes at him as your heart tightened in your chest. 

“What use?” 

“The girls always have things they need. Some new brand of makeup comes out or melting spray, whatever that means. I have no idea, but I’m sure you do. Can you handle a budget?” 

You nodded, more curious now that your “use” wasn’t anything alarming. 

“All you have to do is receive their requests and figure out what we can afford to buy every month, what’s most important and all that. Then hand over your report and I’ll have one of the guys deal with the order. Simple enough?” 

“Sure,” you agreed. 

He patted you on the head and you peered up at him, trying to read his expression as the two of you landed on the first floor. The club was empty this early in the evening, except you could hear the titter of women through one of the doors that led to the back. A cyclops was restocking the bar, slicing limes and he nodded to you politely when you met his gaze. 

Without writhing bodies, you could see that it was a very pretty place. Tufted benches in Navy blue velvet formed curved shapes housing glossy hardwood tables. The walls appeared to be some kind of fabric with an elaborate swag curtain arrangement softening the corners. The bar was a slick snake-like shape running along one wall, the liquor bottles lined up to the ceiling lit up by gold light. 

A woman with bright pink hair came rushing through a side hallway, looking in her purse for something, almost slamming right into you. 

“Oh sorry!” she squeaked, looking up. 

Her eyes widened at you, then looked to Roth. 

“New girlfriend, boss?” she asked, a sly smile growing on her face. 

Glancing up at him, you couldn’t tell behind his black fuzz, but you almost thought he might be blushing. 

“I’m Candy,” she beamed, shaking your hand. 

Roth waved at you. 

“(Y/N) will be taking your supply requests from now on,” he explained and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You’re putting your girlfriend to work?” she pouted, slipping an arm around yours and pulling you close. “Shame on you! You ought to spoil this rare blessing! You’ve been waiting long enough, haven’t you? You’re going to chase her away if you work her to the bone!” 

“Candy!” he growled, obviously a little annoyed, but she just waved him away. 

“Mr. Roth acts tough, but he’s got a gooey center,” she said, her bright eyes filled with mischief. “You’d better take him for all he’s worth! He’s been wanting a girlfriend for as long as anyone can remember, but never could find the right one.”

She winked at you. 

“The girls and I like variety but Mr. Roth is so sentimental he can’t stand the idea of sharing. He’s always wanted one little flower to spoil. It’s so cute. You’re his first girlfriend, you know. He’s never brought another woman here. We would know if he did.” 

“Oh!” you said, glancing back up to him. 

You were sure he was blushing now, though you couldn’t see it. 

“Jesus,” Roth grumbled, hiding his face with a clawed hand. “Aren’t you running late, Candy?” 

She grinned. 

“I can’t wait to tell the girls about this!” she chirped before she smooched you on the cheek and ran off. 

Roth sighed, looking at you for a moment, before a thumb rose to your cheek and he rubbed away Candy’s lipstick. 

“Don’t listen to her,” he grunted, turning quickly and leading you to his office. “The girls pretty much run this place and they get silly ideas in their heads. Meddlers, all of them.” 

“I am I really your first girlfriend?” you asked his back as he walked into his office. “I’m not really your girlfriend, though. You said I was your pet.” 

He plopped down at his desk, waving you over. 

“It doesn’t matter what I call you,” he griped, grabbing you by your hips and setting you on his desk. “You’re mine.” 

Your head tipped to the side. 

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend before? You’re rich and powerful. Don’t women fall all over you?” 

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a tight breath. 

“My kind mate once, for life,” he explained. “It’s very…serious. Most women don’t like that sort of…intensity hanging over their heads from the start.” 

Your eyes widened, watching the stiff personality he’d been so carefully trying to cultivate melt in front of you. 

“So you haven’t had any other lovers?” you asked. 

He fiddled with the hem of your skirt, refusing to answer. 

“Is that why you’re so hard on sleazy monsters?” 

At that his eyes lifted to meet yours, and his thumb absently slipped over your thigh.

“Being so crass and careless is a sacrilege among my people. Breaking a soul who might be someone’s sacred mate is considered a crime punishable by death.” 

You looked down at your fingers, suddenly feeling an ache in your chest. It should have been a relief, not a pain. He would get bored and let you go someday. Now you knew that for certain. 

“Am I just a placeholder until your real mate comes along?” you whispered, the words slipping past your lips, though you tried so hard to keep them in.  

He chuckled, lowering his head to fill your vision with his bright eyes. 

“I just told you. We mate to one person only. I wouldn’t have brought you to my bedroom if I intended to have someone else.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that? Why be so distant? You scared me. If you’d wanted to mate me, holding me against my will is not exactly how to start a relationship.” 

At that his eyes avoided yours. 

“Like I said…women tend to run when they find out we mate for life. Humans aren’t like us. Your kind have lots of different partners and you break partnerships when they no longer suit you. If I don't force you to stay with me, you might leave."  

You had no idea what possessed you, but you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled his face towards you, forcing him to meet your gaze. Your fingertips sank into the soft fuzz and you liked the way it tickled your skin. 

“Not all of us,” you whispered. “Some of us just want one person we can be with forever.” 

“Is that what you want?” he asked. 

The words left your lips on a silvery note. 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

He pulled you into his lap, curling his wings around the two of you. 

“I can give you that, if you let me.” 

A light giggle filled the little space for just the two of you. 

“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” you tittered. “You don’t plan on letting me leave.”

“No,” he murmured. “But if you stayed because you wanted to it would mean a lot to me. It’s okay if you don’t feel it now. I’ll spend our lifetimes trying to convince you.” 

Your head tipped against his soft chest, feeling a strange giddiness a lady shouldn’t feel towards her kidnapper, especially one who had a large collection of the teeth of the people he’d murdered in his closet. 

You were fairly certain monsters had driven you to madness. None of your dramatically swaying feelings made any sense… but your “enemies” had been defeated, you’d had the best sleep you’d had in a long time in a big comfy bed, and you were wearing half a million dollars in diamonds. Objectively, your quality of life had wildly improved from the day before when you were sitting on a dirty curb clutching fifteen dollars. 

For the first time, you felt his soft lips against your forehead and your head tipped up, following them. When you pressed yours against his, you felt a shudder roll through his chest, making your skin tingle. His clawed hands slipped into your hair, holding your head in place while he explored. 

You felt his breath fanning your face, panting into your kiss and underneath your fingertips his heart raced, causing yours to skip as well. An arm reached behind you and you heard sundry items clatter on the floor as he laid you out on his desk. 

His tongue explored your mouth, tasting like cinnamon, as his fingers clutched your cheek. Fear and anticipation muddled your thoughts. Part of you was still unsure, but the other part knew it was too late for doubts. Your body was ready to surrender, panties damp and thighs sticky. 

You gasped underneath him, his wings forming a silvery cave tinted with the glow from his red eyes. You ran your fingers through the soft feathers and felt him shudder with appreciation. Notching his body between your legs, he pulled only an inch away, looking at you. 

“I will keep you no matter what, but this I will not take without permission,” he murmured. “Just know, if you accept me. I won’t tolerate competition. I’ll murder anyone who dares to touch you and take their teeth.” 

Your cheeks burned, blinking at him through a heady veil of pleasure, his scent carrying notes of the moonflowers decorating his home. This was the key moment. You could refuse him and go back to being his reluctant captive…or you could become his. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart answering the question before your still unsure mind. “I…ah…I accept you.” 

His lips covered yours again as he let out a needy grunt, this kiss more desperate and claiming. You felt the prick of his sharp teeth as yours slid against his, the thrill of danger sending lightening bolts up your spine. You could feel the strength in his fingers as they moved over you and the weight of his body as he pressed you into the desk. 

His claws curled around the neck of your blouse and he jerked ito down, exposing the tender breasts perched in your bra. You dragged in a heavy breath tasting oddly like cinnamon, the small space under his wings suddenly feeling thick with the scent. 

Your body grew hot and sensitive, each brush off his soft fuzz making your skin tingle wildly. You suddenly felt light headed and needy, your mouth watering at the taste of his tongue. 

“W-what’s happening?” you gasped when he pulled back to press kisses into your neck. “I feel hot…” 

His hands cupped your breast as you felt his lips agonizingly brush your sensitive skin as he spoke. 

“My pheromones are binding you to me,” he hummed and your heart skipped a beat. 

“What?” you hummed, pushing your breasts into his big hands for more pressure. 

“My pheromones are designed to make mating more pleasurable…to make me irresistible to you.” 

You gasped, but your mind was getting ever hazier as the scent wound around you. Your hips bucked into his stomach, begging for what you wanted. 

“Not yet,” he purred, pulling a tender nipple into his mouth. Colors exploded behind your eyelids, feeling more pleasure flood your system than you’d ever experienced before. 

You’d had enough lovers and a few good orgasms, but this blew that all out of the water like a nuclear bomb and you hadn’t even cum yet. Your back arched and you screamed as his long, agile tongue curled around your nipple. 

The slight prick of his claws bit your skin as his fingers played with the other one, alternating between teasing plucks and firm rolls. The small panties you wore were soaked through and your thighs ground against his hips for more friction. Every inch of skin felt as sensitive as your clit, the fuzz all over his body feeling maddeningly good against it. Your fingertips dug into the thick collar of fur around his neck, wanting to just rub him all over you. 

He let our pleased hums as grunts as your fingers couldn’t decide where they wanted to be, one moment clutching his neck, then his head, then scratching at this chest. The room filled with your desperate mewls, begging him in slurred words for his cock. 

“That’s right,” he murmured on a smug chuckle. “You’re all mine, little flame. Only I can give you what you need.” 

His kisses trailed down your stomach, his soft, delicate antennae caressing your skin as he moved lower. Claws shoved your skirt off your hips, exposing your panties to him and his long tongue slid up and down your slit. You heard the sound of tearing fabric and then his breath on your sensitive lips. His tongue dipped inside of you and you suddenly understood the actual length of it, easily filling your weeping pussy.  

“Roth!” you gasped, fingers looking for something to clutch and finding a few odd feathers to wrap in your grip. 

You heard him hum as he licked you up, making your eyes cross as the vibration drew a blooming orgasm from your core. Whimpering, with tears streaming down your cheeks you felt the agile appendage lapping up your juices, while his thumb found your clit. 

He circled it slowly, making your thighs tense so tightly you thought you might pop. Pleasure zapped you like a lightening bolt, the electricity lighting up every nerve until your whole body felt like it was cumming all at once. Your head dropped to the side, drool leaking over your cheek as your eyes rolled back in your head. 

You weren’t sure you could take much more. Making love had never been like this. Your mind couldn’t process what his pheromones were doing to you. 

Finally, Roth couldn’t hold back anymore, standing so he loomed over you, only his red eyes visible in the darkness. His fingers slipped past your open lips, holding you you in place as you felt his thick shaft investigate your pussy. It felt a little strange, your skin so sensitive it could make out every detail. Though velvety skin still covered it’s girth, the head was more elongated than a humans, ending at a slightly sharper angle with a pronounced ridge bisecting it. Smooth bumps formed a line running vertically along the shaft and something…or some things grasped your thighs like little fingers, holding them open. Your confusion as what was holding your legs apart melted away when he snapped his hips and his cock entered you.

A ragged roar filled your ears as he bottomed out inside of your channel. You could tell by the way the fingers in your mouth flexed, he was doing his best to hold back, not to hurt you. He was still for a moment, as he gathered his resolve, but you had other ideas, sucking on his fingers lewdly, your wet tongue tracing his claws. 

He bent down on top of you, fingers fleeing your hot mouth and wrapping around your neck. 

“Naughty girl,” he gasped as you bucked your hips, the little nubs lining his shaft making you whimper. 

You could hardly see him, but you knew he could see you and you were getting annoyed with him trying to be gentle. Pulling your tits out of your bra, you kneaded them shamelessly, pressing the flesh against the arm holding your throat and arching your back so he couldn’t avoid the dirty show. 

You couldn’t hold back your victorious smirk as he let out a hungry growl and his hips started to batter your soft flesh. His eyes disappeared into the darkness as instinct overtook him, rutting you wildly. Strong fingers tightened on your throat, only ratcheting up the spice swirling through every limb like a savage tornado. 

Drowning in pure bliss, hot tears poured down your cheeks, your body jerking underneath his as he pounded into you. Nonsense poured from your lips, rational thought swept away in the storm. When the sensation reached it’s peak you felt like your body might shatter into a million pieces and you welcomed the oblivion that overtook you. Body shuddering violently as you fell over the edge. 

Your wet, needy cunt, clamping down on Roth’s cock so suddenly made his body respond in the way it was designed. His shaft suddenly inflated to twice it’s original girth, stretching you decadently before he cursed and you felt ropes of searing cum splash against your sucking walls. 

You could hear heavy panting and it took you a moment to realize it was your own breath. Roth let out a long, groaning sigh, his body slumping on top of yours, only stopped by a strong arm bracing the desk. 

His bright red eyes returned, looking somehow more entrancing than before. Everything about him seemed…more. His cinnamon, flower laced scent stuck to you and his soft fur felt luxurious. Even the sound of his ragged breaths tickled your ears in a sumptuous way. 

“You’re…different,” you muttered, brain having trouble putting words together. 

He let go of your throat, a thumb brushing your bottom lip as his hand clutched your cheek. 

“My pheramones have soaked into your body,” he purred. “You’re mine now. I’ve marked you.” 

“Oh,” you hummed, eyes slipping shut, as you felt the aftershocks of your love making roll over you. 

Whatever little claspers were holding your legs retreated and as his cock slipped out of you, cum and slick splashed on the wood floor. 

He scooped you into his arms, pulling you into his lap as he peppered soft kisses on your forehead. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, fingers, absently stroking your hair. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “Will it always be like that…now that you’ve marked me?” 

“Yes,” he said, twirling a bit of hair around his finger. “Now that we’re bonded…I can’t control my pheremones. They…have a bit of a mind of their own and their purpose now is to reinforce the bond.” 

A knock at the door sobered you a bit as you tugged your shirt back up to cover your boobs. 

“Who is it?” he called, still so quiet you weren’t sure how anyone heard him. 

“Vince,” said the vampire on the other side of the door.

“Is it an emergency?” 

“No.” 

“Go away.” 

“Got it, boss.” 

He tucked the bit of hair he was twirling behind your ear and smiled. 

“Do you want a snack?” 

Your eyes met his with all of the earnestness in the world. 

“Yes. I would love that!” 

He pulled out his phone and texted someone before setting you back on his desk and leaning back in his chair, looking deeply satisfied and proud of himself. You flopped over on your stomach, kicking your heels in the air and resting your chin on your arm. 

“Do we have to work now?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. 

He looked at you for a moment before answering. 

“No…What do you want to do?” 

“I kind of want to get to know you a little better…Since I’m bonded to you or whatever.” 

“Okay,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head. “What do you want to know first?” 

You blinked at him. 

“Why do you have hundreds of teeth in your closet?” 

#monster romance #monster oc #monster x reader #male mosnter #monster boyfriend #mothman x reader #mothman romance #mothman #cryptid #terato fic #yandere fluff #monster fluff #x reader #monster lover #monster x girl #terato #yandere monster #yandere male #yandere x reader #fem reader #monster bf #monster x human

[island-in-the-shadows]

Hannibal and Will Adopted Oliver AU Pt. 2

I literally have waited long enough to continue posting this one. Definitely owed it to @ib3li3v3you so here goes:

Pt. 1 here: https://island-in-the-shadows.tumblr.com/post/742073028536582144/my-hannibal-and-will-adopted-oliver-au-hcs

Oliver goes hunting on his own for the first time at 18 (so prior to arriving at Oxford). His dads are waiting in the wings, so to speak, in case Oliver fumbles. His hunting style is, given that he's a teenager, a little more conspicuous than his fathers'. His target had been scoped out for months, however. Got just the right person from his papa's (Hannibal) Rolodex of Rude.

Oliver wanted to try something a little different from how his dads do it which meant finding the rude man in question and seducing him while simultaneously remaining in the shadows. He really thought this out. Anyway, very looong story short, he basically does what cannibalistic spiders do to their mates. Except with a deadly syringe. His fathers' help him create a spidery display.

Oliver does start out eating regular, if incredibly fancy, food but does develop the taste for long pig and, in either case, has a fondness for Sweetbreads. Don't ask me why, I'm still not clear and do not want to probe.

Oliver seriously considers taking care of Farleigh for a while because he finds him unspeakably rude. However, Hannibal and Will advise him not to and recount how they have waited for the right time. Besides, they both know that Farleigh going missing would be noteworthy and possibly alienate their son from what he wants the most: Felix.

Hannibal sympathises with Oliver much more than Will does about the whole Felix thing. Will knows Felix's type and is just instantly on his guard. Hannibal, on the other hand, knows what it's like to fall for some pretty boy more or less at first sight.

This means that Hannibal is the one that gets the brunt of the calls when Oliver needs to vent about Felix. Yes, even when Oliver is so angry with Felix for abandoning him to shag some girl that he debates about killing him.

Back to Oliver's lies: Instead of telling Felix that his dad died, he says his mother died.

Will is the one that helps Oliver fully understand what it is that Felix wants. Except Will never suspects that Felix might want Oliver too. Cut him some slack, it's his kid and he mainly just wants the crush to go away.

Hannibal and Will argue about Oliver's obsession with Felix. Get in a fight about it. Hannibal believes Oliver and Felix are inevitable. Will thinks their son is going to wind up with a corpse and a broken heart.

The tack in the bike tyre was Hannibal's idea.

Oliver finds horror movies funny because, come on, he's literally seen and done worse.

Oliver does tell his dads that he's going to Saltburn instead of coming home.

Oliver knows how to cook though not as well as Hannibal. However, when he eats Venetia out, he thinks her blood would be wonderful in a Sanguinaccio Dolce. He wonders if Felix's blood tastes better.

His phone kept ringing while at Saltburn and Oliver kept ignoring it. The "HL" and "WG" brought questions from Felix, so he lied and said it's family members who are always asking him for something or to forgive his dad. Stupidly, this prompts him to change the name for both numbers and put "dad." (Let's remember Oliver is very smart but also very fucking stupid in canon; same goes here.)

When Felix answers the phone when "dad" calls, it's Hannibal on the other line. Hannibal follows his son's ruse and pretends he knows nothing about Felix. He does, however, get curious. Tells Felix that he would love to see Oliver for his birthday and that wouldn't it be nice if Felix came with him.

Hannibal lies and says that he's at something like a program for rehabilitation. Really wants to make it extra tempting for Felix. Gives him the address and says that oh this whole building was remade and blah blah he plays it up. He has a ball doing this.

On the drive to this place (not Prescot because, even though that's where Hannibal and Will found him, that's decidedly not where they live now.), Oliver at first doesn't recognise where they're going. Hannibal and Will and Oliver moved to this estate (one that Hannibal has long owned but barely used) a few months before Oliver started at Oxford and Oliver really only left it to hunt once and then to get on the trains and busses that would get him to school. [I did actually look for real estate for this and had fun doing it.]

However, when they turn into a familiar little road with all the familiar buildings before they get to the definitely familiar 16th century manor, Oliver starts to panic.

Felix comments on how nice it is for a rehabilitation program. Oliver is dying inside and he knows his dads did this on purpose.

Felix is, however, taken by complete surprise when he realises that Oliver's dad and his "friend" are the only people there.

Hannibal asks Felix forgiveness but that Oliver is so embarrassed of them that he had to lie. He reveals Will is his partner and that oh yes, shame about Oliver's mother dying all those years ago.

Will is polite but quietly observing. Hannibal is the consummate host. Felix is livid but polite. Hannibal likes that Felix keeps playing at politeness. Will finds it grating.

Oliver will pull Will aside and ask why? Will pats Oliver's shoulder, "We were curious what would happen, you should know that."

When Hannibal hugs Oliver goodbye he whispers, "Don't spoil the meat."

Ok this is long enough...will keep developing this for later with the big party, the maze, Felix surviving, and eventually becoming interested in more exotic meats. LOL

#saltburn #hannibal #cattonquick #hannigram #felix catton #oliver quick #just a bit of fun really

[morsesnotes]

I found this interview from when Shaun Evans was promoting S3 of Endeavour in 2016 and thought it was one of the more interesting ones as he gets asked some different questions. I particularly liked seeing him talk a bit about his peers and how he views his career.

Shaun Evans talks Endeavour series three, Hollywood and whether he'd star in Doctor Who

As Morse returns, the star of the hit ITV drama reveals what's next for his career By David Brown - Radio Times

Falsely accused Endeavour Morse was last seen languishing in a prison cell after being framed for murder. But fans of the hit ITV drama needn't despair - Shaun Evans is back on the case for a third series beginning this evening. Here, the actor talks about life as the Oxford detective, why Morse has endured for four decades and what the future holds...

So what has brought you back to Endeavour for a third series? I didn't feel like we should have left it where we did last time. It would have been odd. As a viewer, I would have been dissatisfied to have left it there because you'd have only been telling half the story. Luckily enough, we had the opportunity to come back to do some more and I think the stories are really good - particularly the final one. It goes along at a lick. It's a bank heist but it's also a love story. And it's heartbreaking. I think it's great and it ends in a really satisfying way.

The character of Morse has now been around for 40 years - why has he endured? A good story well told will stand the test of time. And if you throw in an unusual character - someone who is in a world but not of that world - then that's intriguing.

The original series of Inspector Morse did episodes in Australia and Italy - would you like to do an overseas Endeavour? Well, they keep telling me that the character is going to Spain. But I can take myself to Malaga. I'm joking, but I'm being honest too. There is a Spanish idea, but I'd want it to be right. I don't want this job to be a jolly or something that we take for granted and phone in. There are so many variables to that kind of thing: would the locations be as good? Or the actors? Granted, it would be a laugh to go away with Roger Allam, but would it serve the show?

Does Endeavour Morse become more like you as the series goes on? I think that’s a danger, definitely. The more comfortable and confident you get with something, the easier it could be to be less diligent about creating a character. But then you’d be taking shortcuts that you might not have done three years ago. So I try not to be complacent about it. I want to be even more diligent than I was when I started. But I admit that it's a tricky one.

Having a two-hour slot for a drama seems like a privilege these days - do you worry that viewers' attention spans could be too short to cope? I don’t worry about it at all. I feel like the work we’ve done so far has been very good. Some have been better than others - as would be the case. But I feel pleased with it. Now if audiences change and they feel that the episodes are too long, boring or complicated, then we’ll just stop. That’s OK. But I've seen some crime dramas that try to tell the story in an hour and, for me, it just doesn't work.You’re tyring to set up a killer, set up a world, solve it in an interesting or dynamic way and put in some character stuff as well. It’s nigh on impossible to do in an hour. I don’t think you can do it in a satisfying way. That’s my impression as an audience member.

Fans would be up in arms if you decided to stop Endeavour! No. I don't think that'd happen. It's just work. And they'd just fill it with something else. There'll be another brilliant show.

I think you'd make an ideal Doctor Who - would you like to play that role one day? I’ve never seen it! I think Matt Smith is a brilliant actor. And David Tennant also. But it just wasn’t my thing growing up and I feel like I’ve missed it now. I was in Moscow a few months ago and someone asked me about Doctor Who. And she thought I'd make a good Master. So if you’re offering me a part, then I’ll play the Master.

What about playing James Bond? Well, everyone wants to play James Bond, right? He always gets the girl at the end. And in the middle. And at the beginning, come to think of it. But I think that Daniel Craig would be a tough act to follow. He brings something really interesting to it.

Do you ever look at contemporaries like Benedict Cumberbatch and Eddie Redmayne and think, 'I'd like top billing in a Hollywood movie'? I know both those lads and I like them. But I never really think of my career like that. Of course, you want people to see your work, but I'm not interested in being the next so-and-so. It doesn't attract me. Mainly because it's short lived. It's better to keep working and do interesting stuff.

So being a big Hollywood star isn't all it's cracked up to be? I don't know. I suppose if you had enough clout to guarantee finance for a story you wanted to tell, then that would be a good thing. From a business point of view. But I don't spend my time being envious. There are so many variables in all that bollocks! When you desire fame or fortune - which are ephemeral things - you're building your house on sand, aren't you?

Do you have a dream project that you'd like to do? I'd love to do something about poets or photographers who have done interesting things and left an impression on their portion of the world. Someone like the American photographer Walker Evans. Or the French poet Arthur Rimbaud. 

So what's next for you? I'm purposefully having some time off. I've been busy and I'd like a bit of time to read some books and just study. I want to educate myself on writers, photography, filmmaking and poetry. I'm very lucky that I've now got enough money to have a bit of time to myself and study. I'm very lucky to be in that position.

#endeavour #itv endeavour #endeavour morse #shaun evans #doctor who #did not know he was so into poetry! #interview

[loveyougoodbi]

Miami unserious race overview

Hello and welcome back. We have another interesting race behind us. My thought on each team and driver under the cut as always.

1. Red Bull

I cant believe I'm saying this but Max lost on lack of pace. This is both good news and bad news to me. Good news because the Red Bull is within reach to the rest of the grid and we might get a possible lestappen fight in the future and bad news because my Maxie lost 😭. But it's OK he's gonna win the next one (if Charles let's him he he)

And it looks like red bull got the setup wrong for this race (they applied for a change that was not approved under Parc Ferme) so I'm not too scared. And by the looks of it neither was Max.

At one point Perez had such a bad pace I was like WHAT is wrong with the Red Bull??? It's insane. I'm starting to like Checo again so I don't want him to flop too hard. But alas.. it's Checo. But please please for the love of good be good enough to keep Daniel in the midfield. 🙏

2. Ferrari

Charles was amazing once again all weekend. That's my perfect driver. He did everything right except for that spin but he controlled amazing there too. I just love him so much ok? OK. And he didn't seem too dissapointed with his pace compared to McLaren either maybe because they could keep up with them on similar tyre life's without upgrades. So those coking upgrades must be good if he is this nonchalant to losing to Lando. Like I said, both Charles and Max seemed pretty unaffected but maybe that was just them in the moment being happy for their friend. No way to tell.

Anti Carlos rant and thoughts on the rest of the grid below the cut

Carlos was horrible. Honestly just all in all a really bad performance from him. Please let us start acknowledging this. First he could not pass Daniel in the sprint, then in the race the first thing he does again is attack Charles instead of defend against Perez. Which lead to Perez barging in and almost taking both of them out. He was extremely lucky that didnt happen. Then he kept whining on the radio about how he is faster (he was 0.029 faster for god's sake). And one point when he lost the DRS he wanted a switch which was exactly when he saw he was losing pace and he needed something to happen for him to be in front. Then I don't even want to talk about the fight with Piastri. That was just embarrassing, both from a on track battle perspective and a horrible whiny human being perspective. No skill no personality nothing. I honestly don't remember him being in a battle with someone and not making contact in recent races. And then this same person goes and blames everyone but himself. And not only that, he's saying he had the win???? Honey, Lando would have passed you in half a lap if you hadn't pitted, what are you on about? What win? I wish to be this delusional one day.

Carlos rant over moving on to the man of the hour:

3. McLaren

Lando finally got the win! Yay. Kinda a lot of mixed feelings about this one. I don't want Lando to do good but I am happy that a man who has worked his entire life and has faced disappointment after disappointment is getting to have this moment. And I believe in good karma and positive attitude so I will not be a bitter hater on this one. Congrats Lando and Lando fans. And I am counting this as a win, the safety car helped him but he is not the first nor last to be helped this way, however he drove beautifully after that and deserved the place. Max and Charles fell behind on pace significantly and very fast (albeit Charles was on significantly older tyres).

I am so sorry for Oscar. He used the situation at the start then was really fast and kept both ferraris at bay for too long. All that without the full upgrade package. Really really good performance. He was my driver of the day. Not to mention he had the hardest job yesterday - having to deal with Carlos. Imagine if ferrari didn't decide to pit him first.. I cant even think about it honestly I might go crazy. Can't wait to see what he can do with all the upgrades in Imola.

4. Mercedes

They were fighting Haas all weekend. Toto should stop yapping about Max and resign once and for all.

5. RB

I think RB only have one working car but are not telling anyone. One race Daniel suddenly remembers how to drive the next one its Yuki. They switch the one working car they have each race and no k e can convince me otherwise. (Real talk tho Daniel being p20 3 hours after he got p4 in the sprint is extremely hilarious)

6. Aston Martin

They were racing? The only time I saw Strolls name was when he drove into Lando in the sprint (not his fault this time). I honestly have nothing else to say..

7. Haas

MY NEW FAVORITE TEAM!!!! They are so funny but they are gaining points from it. They provide entertainment on and off track AND they are climbing up the standings. How fucking amazing. Kevin Magnussen you beast. You my man represent what f1 should be about - unhinged chaos. He came he collected 1 minute worth of penalties he finished last. But did we have fun? We sure did. Did Lando win? He fucking won. Did Logan DNF? Unfortunately there has to be a victim here. And he has 2 penalty points left to spare before Ollie makes a comeback and with this track record I think we are about to see Ollie in Monaco. Kevin the fairy godmother of f1. Giving everyone what they want in the most entertaining way possible. Did I mentioned how much I love him? Yeah I do!

8. Alpine

Alpine got a point!!!! Another sentence I didn't think I'd be writing this soon. Good for them. I don't know if it is still only Esteban with the upgrades but it seems like it. Either way this is promising and I'm happy for them. They did that for Travis btw. If you even care.

9. Williams

I feel so sorry for Logan. I feel like I say that way too often but it's the truth this season. Poor guy. The latest victim of the Magnussen tornado. Who Will it get next week? My guess is Perez.

10. Sauber

Idk if anyone noticed but Zhou made it an insane amount if laps on a soft tyre. The last time j checked was 5 6 laps to the end and he was on lap 23 on softs. That's impressive. He probably didn't want to risk losing 50 seconds In the pits again poor guy. Other than that they need to do better. Good job to Zhou tho.

This was my lo gest overview to date I think but im happy with this race and how everything went.

#here you go hope you enjoy #i rant a lot #theres a lot #of #anti carlos sainz #as there always is #f1 #f1 miami #miami race overview #also this has a lot of gramatical erros excuse them please

[the-penguinspy]

prompt: spidey bea and human torch ava I'm making you write it

:)

--

The glow-in-the-dark hands of the alarm clock show the time to be just after midnight. 

Illuminated by the lamp on her desk, Beatrice takes up the familiar rote of needle and thread to mend her suit from the various rips and tears. Tonight’s fight was quick, but brutal. She won the fight but not without her own casualties - the cuts and bruises on her body hurt, but they’ll heal by tomorrow.

The same can’t be said for her suit, unfortunately, which is why she’s sewing the rips and tears tonight.

Pinch, puncture; follow-through, tighten. Repeat. The repetitive motion of sewing is an oft-used exercise to ground herself after the dynamism of patrols and fights. Automatic, now, part of her nightly routine, but tonight she’s feeling more tired than she should be, and more than once she’s had to re-do her handiwork for how close or far it had been from the previous stitch.

A dog barking from a few doors down, muffled conversations from the couple next door. Sounds from the street below filter in through the window she left half-open; murmured chatter from pedestrians, the occasional static of tyres over wet asphalt. 

Through the window and into the room, a small breeze wafts in, ruffling her hair and cooling the sweat on her face. It borders on cold; the weather seems unable to make up its mind between autumn and winter, but Beatrice is grateful that tonight it soothes instead of bites. The change in seasons however reminds her of the semester that she’s in the thick of, assignments and readings piling up and begging for her attention. 

A sudden, sharp knock on the window and Beatrice startles, head snapping up, jumping off the chair and into a crouch, arm aimed halfway to the window to prep for a webshot, fingers poised over the trigger. When she sees who’s at the window though, her arm slackens, tense muscles relaxing. 

Ava crouches outside her window on the fire escape. Her sneakers squeak on the grates, laces long and dragging over the black chucks that Beatrice knows she favours. Her hair is wind-ruffled from her flight over, and it doesn’t seem like she’s bothered by the chill in the air – always running hot, Ava’s opted for a crop top and light-wash skinny jeans. She grins at Beatrice through the glass and holds up a hand, fingers wiggling in greeting, her other hand on the strap of her tan backpack. 

“Woah, Spidey! Good thing you’re against friendly fire, huh?”

The huff that leaves Beatrice is more relieved than annoyed. “Torch.”  “‘Torch’? Bea! And here I thought we were friends.” Ava brings her hand to her chest and pretends to fall backwards, back almost hitting the railing behind her with how narrow the space is. 

Beatrice, tired, doesn’t suppress her eye-roll, though she does stay her tongue from making a comment on friends.

She makes her way over to the window and jimmies it open. The fire escape is a commonly-used point of entry by necessity, and Beatrice knows from experience that it’s difficult to get it unstuck from the outside. Coupled with the rusty-looking railing, no building inhabitant is courageous enough to venture out, which more than guarantees that she gets in and out of her apartment without detection.

Beatrice barely opens the window wide enough before Ava moves forward, one leg over the ledge and ducking underneath the window to tumble in. The ancient landing of the fire escape grumbles with the shift in weight and the sound echoes to the stories below. 

Ava makes her way across the room and lands heavily on the made bed, the mattress squeaking its disapproval underneath the sudden weight. 

Now standing, Beatrice takes the opportunity to stretch her arms over her head. She bends to touch the floor with her palms and revels in the glorious stretch in her hamstrings and calves, ignoring the twinge in her muscles as she straightens and makes her way back to her desk, picking up her fallen suit from the ground. If she falls into her chair a little less gracefully than usual, Ava doesn’t remark on it. 

The canvas flap of the bag is unlatched. Ava, brows furrowed, rummages in the pack with a focus like a hound on a scent trail, and Beatrice has to bite the inside of her cheek to tamp down her smile. 

With a triumphant crow, she presents her spoils for the evening: a four-by-four Rubik's cube, coloured stickers worn and peeling, that she places on the quilt. A battered copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas thrown carelessly onto the bedspread, its heavily creased cover page making Beatrice wince internally. 

Ava finally looks up and in her hand: a metal thermos, stainless steel silver and unassuming – extended towards Beatrice.

With a quiet thank you, Beatrice takes the thermos. Steam wafts up from the opening as she unscrews the lid, and the decadent aroma of coffee, expensive coffee, greets her tired senses. Her eyes flutter shut as she takes a sip, as the bitter flavour of it grounds her and rejuvenates her tired muscles in equal fervour, the warmth of it loosening the tightness in her shoulders and her back and returning them to their pseudo-limber forms. 

She indulges herself with one more sip before once again taking up needle and fabric. A quick glance to her right shows Ava splayed out on the bed and entranced in the novel already, eyes roving over lines and thumb gently running transverse across the pages. 

They exist in companionable silence. That is, until Ava pipes up, “Don’t you have an early class in the morning?”

Beatrice can feel the weight of Ava’s gaze on her. She must have swapped out her book for the Rubik's cube earlier; her hands don’t stop cede in their motion, the cube’s sides swivelling and clicking into place. 

Beatrice hums noncommittally, backtracks on a stitch. “Something like that.” 

The bed squeaks as Ava sits up and Beatrice hears the accompanying twin thumps as her elbows find purchase on the bedspread. “It’s that seminar with Vincent, right? Do you have to do this tonight?”

“Isn’t that why you brought me coffee?” Beatrice replies. She sees Ava scowl in the corner of her eye. Beatrice pauses her work and looks over at Ava fully. “Wait. How did you keep the flask and your other items from burning up? And your clothes, for that matter?” She’s certain that Ava flew over; the evidence of such may as well have been laid out on a platter for her. 

“Were you eager for the alternative?” Ava husks. 

Her voice is low; teasing. The change in tone is whiplash from the serenity of before, and all at once Beatrice feels the blood rush to her cheeks, and she ducks her head as her mouth works to stammer out a reply. 

Thankfully, Ava seems to take pity on her. “My suit’s bulletproof and made of kevlar. I think Jillian also mentioned something about unstable molecules?” She can imagine the casual shrug that follows. “I’m not too sure, though I can ask her for you if you’d like.”

Beatrice’s hand jerks in her haste to answer, and she stifles the curse on her tongue as the needle pricks her finger. “Oh, no, that’s quite alright–”

“Bea,” Ava interrupts gently. Beatrice looks up, and she’s greeted with the sunny smile that Ava’s aimed her way. The Rubik's cube is stationary in her hands; half-done, colourful squares almost uniform.

“Jillian would love to pick your brain on material properties and other textile nerdiness,” Ava says. “You’re always welcome at Arqtech, and we’d love to have you there.” She picks at the worn edge of a red sticker and bites her bottom lip, before her teeth relinquish the flesh and she continues. Beatrice tries not to stare at the swell of it. “I’d love to have you there.” 

There’s a sudden knot at Beatrice’s throat that makes itself known, the constriction of it tight like the ties she wore to the dinner parties where her parents rubbed elbows with political allies and blue bloods. Her presence then had been a tool for them, a way to form connections; a means to an end. 

The pressure at her throat is present now, but in this space, it’s not nearly as unpleasant. 

“Thank you, Ava. I’ll consider it,” Beatrice says, and she blames the gruffness in her voice to the late hour. To that, Ava only shoots her another warm grin, one that Beatrice mirrors a little shakily before going back to her mending. The rhythmic click-click-clack of the rubik’s cube soon starts up again, and they stay like that for a while. 

//

It’s just past two in the morning when Beatrice finishes stitching the final rip. The needle pokes its head out of the fabric, and she winds the thread around it three times before pulling taut, careful to keep the knot flush to the cloth. 

She snips the thread. Her hand goes out to reach for her lighter on her desk, but after fumbling for a few seconds and not feeling the familiar shape of it on the desk, she looks over, frowning when she doesn’t spot it. Dropping to her knees, Beatrice looks underneath the desk; maybe it fell off in her earlier shuffle. 

“Here.” 

A turn of her head and then suddenly she’s face-to-face with Ava, muscles tense and straining to avoid jerking back at the proximity. 

Beatrice didn’t even hear her come near. Ava’s kneeling as well, the worn denim of her jeans meeting the rough of the carpet, body pitched forward slightly and leaning towards Beatrice. 

Ava brings her hand up, fist half-formed. Beatrice is expecting to be presented with the vibrant yellow plastic of her disposable lighter, but among the slats of Ava’s fingers the lighter was not present. 

Hand held equidistant between them both now, Ava brings her fingers together, thumb meeting middle finger. Her fingers snap, and Beatrice feels the friction of it run a mirrored course down her spine, although it’s hard to say if the heat that travels down each vertebrae surpasses that of the flame that now hangs suspended above Ava’s pinched fingers. 

The light from her desk slants, edges; it doesn’t reach them here. The fire holds strong in an upwards laminar flow; a small handheld jet of flame, pale yellow and no bigger than a phalanx of a finger, and yet it still manages to bodily illuminate the space between them and bring to light the features of Ava’s face: elegant arches of eyebrows, gorgeous eyes, neat bow of her upper lip. 

The flame is small, but Beatrice’s face warms, and she feels the heat of it caress her cheeks.

Ava extends her other hand, palm up. For a moment, Beatrice doesn’t understand why; she considers placing her own hand atop Ava’s before she shirks the thought off completely. The flame is small, it’s hot but bearable, but this close, if she were to touch Ava, she isn’t certain that she would be able to withstand the heat, isn’t convinced that the fire won’t spread from flame-tip and make its way down Ava’s hand and up her arm, traverse across shoulders and back to arm, to hand, to Beatrice, and set her ablaze. 

(Would that be so bad? Ava’s always held a certain magnetism, an attraction that's counter-intuitive for one looking to avoid getting burned. She’s warm, always so warm; a quality intrinsic to her person that extends beyond the physical power that she yields. The heat of it bleeds into her smile, her humour, her kindness; it explodes in a nova blast when her ferocity shows in a fight, and radiates steady and protective like a hearth for the weary.

How can something with such destructive power simultaneously pose as an argument for healing and protection? Beatrice tells herself that this curious dichotomy is what brings her within range of Ava's gravitational pull: the itch to study and dissect, the thirst to understand. 

Perhaps a closer examination will yield clearer answers. And so Beatrice longs to come close, to touch, and the desire to do so rips through her sternum almost violently, the suddenness and intensity of it surprising but no less welcome.)

She’s about to offer her hand in response to the invitation, but–

Both hands are occupied by the feel of smooth spandex. Beatrice realizes, belatedly, that to reach for Ava would mean to let go of the suit. She grips the fabric, feels the softness of it stretch and mold over her fists and, after a beat, relaxes. Looking down in the half-light, she squints to find the end of the thread, thumb smoothing over the cloth to find the knot that was made earlier. She pinches the spot to keep the place before handing it over to Ava, wordlessly, the flame still glowing radiant between them. 

A small smile from Ava. The intensity of the flame must have increased by a fraction, because Beatrice feels the heat of it spread through her cheeks and down the back of her neck. Ava takes the suit from her and, carefully, she brings the flame closer until the tips of the thread shrink and melt. 

With both of Ava’s hands occupied, Beatrice is the one that brings her fingers up to the stumped thread ends. One hand is placed underneath Ava’s to steady the hold while the other hovers over the melted polyester thread, and she presses the ends down firmly onto the fabric to seal the finished stitch onto the surface of the suit. 

It’s done. 

Beatrice inspects the workmanship under the glow of the flame; stretches the seam to test it and finds the strength of the mend to be satisfactory. It’ll hold. 

The work is done, and yet – 

The flame still burns. 

She looks up to find Ava watching her, but Ava doesn’t shy away. The flame flickers, its body swaying back and forth between the two of them without rhythm, turbulence present, and the irregularity of its movements make shadows dance across Ava’s face. The fire moves in double-time as if making up for the rigidity from before, and it reveals and hides the dimensions of her face in a neat, net-zero sum. 

The flame flickers. Closer to orange now, the hue of it is warmer and darker than the brightness of before. A little less luminous than previously, and it’s strange – it shouldn’t be hotter now than when it was bright-white, but somehow it is, it must be, because the heat against Beatrice’s cheeks is almost unbearable now, the cavern of her mouth dry like a desert storm, and when she swallows hard it doesn’t help at all, not even marginally, the scrape of it unforgiving against the roughness of her throat. 

Beatrice leans in, sure that her face is flushing something fierce but unable to find the energy to withhold herself, and when her nose brushes against Ava’s, the small gasp that leaves her is a confession of sorts; when their lips meet, the admission is sealed between them like a secret. 

A brief beat of separation. When they come together again, more sure this time, the sigh that escapes Beatrice is echoed in her mouth by Ava. She takes Ava’s bottom lip between her own and tastes the remnants of vanilla chapstick, and that familiar element alone makes the experience exponentially sweeter, sharper. Her hand foregoes fabric to rest on the nape of Ava’s neck, thumb brushing over the soft skin of her jaw and, with a slight nudge, she brings them closer together. 

They break apart. Beatrice takes stock, with some difficulty, that all the air seems to have left her lungs, traded in for a roaring inferno that she now nurses inside her chest. Just as well, she thinks – fire can’t grow without a source of oxygen, and her body must have known that for it to cut off the supply. 

Her lungs burn anyway. They crave for air. 

(Beatrice wonders if it would be so detrimental to consume Ava, and to be consumed in turn. Surely, some kind of cosmic balance would be kept in their doing so.) 

She takes one deep, shuddering breath. When that doesn't take her in a fit of combustion, she takes yet another, until her breathing comes in even-spaced intervals in an attempt to right the balance. 

Her body’s doing its best to keep her alive but stil,l Beatrice leans forward, her grip on Ava’s neck tightening. Her impeccable balance is nowhere to be found.

One of her hands still cups Ava’s. It’s burning hot; not about to burst into flames, but the distinct fever-like body temperature is noticeable, almost like her control over her powers slips around Beatrice. Self-satisfaction is a rare indulgence for Beatrice; the feeling is almost foreign, but she’s not able to miss it with the way the heat licks at her belly, as it radiates from its epicenter on the left side of her chest.

“You’re heating up,” Beatrice says. The laugh that leaves Ava is breathless, disbelieving. “Can you blame me?” she replies. And then: “Is your suit – um. I held it a bit close to the flame. Sorry.”

Beatrice bends her head to examine the fabric: a small mark on the surface of the spandex near the thread-end. The dark blue of the material, combined with the waning light from the flame, makes it difficult to verify the extent of the damage. She runs a fingertip over it and tries to focus on the silkiness of the cloth instead of the tenderness of Ava’s skin.

Where the burn is, it still feels soft like the rest of the fabric – the damage is superficial. 

She looks back up at Ava. “It’s fine. Thank you for helping.”

“Anytime,” Ava says, and Beatrice knows that the sentiment is truthful to the edges, buoyant in its honesty; it saturates the boundaries that define objects, and solidifies the parameters of subjects of a less physical nature, too.

Her throat tightens again in an imitation from earlier. Beatrice is flattered, but wholly unsatisfied. She feels greedy. She’s craving more; wants more. 

She leans in and Ava does as well, and they’re about to meet at halfway but Beatrice's stomach growls and her body goes stiff as mortification freezes her in place. Ava only chuckles softly though, and she completes the circuit by kissing the corner of Beatrice’s mouth, then her chin, before resting their foreheads together. 

“You’ve gotta be starving after tonight,” Ava says softly. “I think the Thai place down the street is still open at this time.” Her breath washes hot and damp over Beatrice’s lips, and Beatrice has to actively stop her body from succumbing to the intense urge to continue where they left off. 

“I am.” Beatrice clears her throat, swallows once. “It is.” And it’s true – she’s been there so many times over the past few weeks that the owners have her order memorized. 

Ava grins. “Alright then! My treat, let’s go.” The flame in her hand is extinguished with a flourish of folding fingers and she stands, extending a hand to Beatrice.

Even now, offers towards her are aplenty. (Beatrice tries not to think about being undeserving.) And now that Ava’s mentioned it, she realizes that yes, she’s hungry – inside her there’s an ache to soothe, a void to be filled; a hunger of a different kind, though not at all what Ava was making reference to. 

(She tries not to think about that, either.)

Beatrice scoops up the suit from the floor as she takes Ava’s proffered hand. A quick jaunt of her limbs and she’s upright, and she folds her costume and places it on the desk in one smooth motion before reaching for her wallet and keys. Her phone, she holds in one hand. “Dr. Salvius won’t notice the missing funds from her pocket?” 

There’s a particularly mischievous glint in Ava’s eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but she grins with teeth as her arm links through Beatrice’s before leading them out the door.

#warrior nun #warrior nun fic #ava silva #sister beatrice #avatrice #penguin writes #birgittesilverbae #thx for the prompt em :) #spideybea au

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 21)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 7,356

Summary: After arriving in Manizales, Horacio introduces Javier to his family, leading to a long overdue heart-to-heart and a drinking game with a twist.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Discussions of coming out, grief, parental loss, canon-typical violence, allusions to period-typical prejudices, drinking game, smoking, swearing.

Notes: Firstly, I will soften the blow of leaving it so long since my last update with the news that chapter 22 will be posted within the next week or so! I decided to split it in half to give more space to the conversations between the characters. So, hopefully that will make up for my elongated silence lol.

Secondly, I finished drafting the rest of the fic at the end of last year 👀 So, I just need to complete editing on chapter 23 and the epilogue. Then, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this, it will be time to leave these two messy idiots to it.

I think it will take me some time to get my head around it coming to an end, not least of all because it's been almost 3 years since I started working on this behemoth. And I can't believe how much has happened/changed since then, yet my love for this ship and this story has stayed strong and close to my heart. So, a bit of a premature thank you to anyone who has supported it at any point since March 2021, it's been quite the emotional rollercoaster ❤️ As always, I love hearing from my readers, so feel free to drop me a comment/message!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 21: For Old Times' Sake

A haze of mist hung low on the horizon, clinging to the rolling waves of verdant peaks that bled seamlessly together with worn asphalt until it was impossible to tell where the sky began and the earth ended.

Luckily, the tyres of the hire car were built for rougher terrain, and it wasn’t the first time Horacio had driven this route. Admittedly, it would have been easier to fly. But this had the added benefit of giving Javier a taste of undiscovered territory.

If truth be told, it gifted them more time to mentally prepare for what was getting closer with every hour that passed, each stop off to admire the view and refresh a stubborn way to prolong the status quo.

Progress had been slow for the last hour as the congested traffic crawled along the sharp angles of the road with its treacherous drops only a few inches away. They had come to a standstill behind a bus that allowed passengers off to take photos, and with little room to manoeuvre around the vehicle, a trail of cars had no choice but to wait.

Javier lounged back in the passenger seat, one foot resting on the opposite knee, his elbow leaning on the door, and the window half open.

He watched Horacio’s hands on the steering wheel alternate between clenching and tapping, a particular kind of rigidity returning to his jaw for the first time in months – if not years.

Javier made an executive decision by reaching into the glove box. He pulled out an emergency pack of cigarettes and a lighter they had stashed away before setting off from Medellín.

He lifted one out of the pack and sparked up. “So, did you say it’s a farm we’re heading to?” There was no point asking the obvious, so distraction it was.

“A coffee farm on the outskirts of the city, yeah. It belongs to Fabián’s family. He and his brother, Santiago, do the bulk of the work now their father’s winding down.”

“Sounds nice. And kinda familiar.”

Horacio’s eyes finally left the windshield and met Javier’s with a shadow of a smile. “Yeah, it does. A lot hillier than Texas, though.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Javier held out his smoke across the car, their first one that wasn’t post-coital in a long time. But needs must.

Horacio apparently agreed as he accepted it with a huff of resignation. “Fine, one for the road.”

“I think it’s allowed on roads like this one.”

“I did warn you.”

“Hey, no, I like it. Keeps you on your toes.”

“It reminds me of when Papá drove us to visit Tia Salomé and Tio Jairo in Bogotá. He and Mamá let us have sweets for the long journey but warned us the Mareco would take them away if we didn’t behave.”

“The Mareco?”

“La Leyenda del Mareco. It was a story we were told as kids. The Mareco’s a red devil that looks like a lizard on two legs. He steals children’s candy and conjures up a whirlwind to blow them away if they don’t obey their parents.”

Javier nodded in recognition as Horacio passed their cigarette back. “La Llorona was the story used to scare me and my cousins.”

“Oh yeah, we got that one as well.”

“I gotta say, the Mareco explains a lot.”

“About what?”

“About how you developed a problem with authority.”

“What’s your excuse then?”

“What can I say? I was led astray.”

It was a blatant lie, but Javier didn’t care when it caused laughter lines to materialise in the corner of Horacio’s eyes.

“We both know you were drawn to it as much as you resented it.”

“Only where you were concerned. Anyway, you were just as bad even though you'd never admit it.”

“Maybe you were my exception too.”

A moment of silence fell as memory after memory collided, snapshots of how the push and pull between them had evolved with their relationship.

"Listen, I was thinking,” Javier started before taking a drag, “would it make things easier if you wore this? Just while we’re here, I mean.”

Horacio’s gaze drifted to Javier’s exposed skin, the taillights of the car in front catching on the crucifix at his chest. “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s yours now.”

By the time their cigarette was finished, the traffic edged forward, and the road ahead and Javier’s hand on Horacio’s leg soon replaced conversation.

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Two and a half hours and several bursts of heavy rain later, the muddied hire car pulled up by a complex of buildings nestled amongst a sea of lush green and vibrant flowers. The buildings sat atop steep slopes of vegetation that led to the coffee plantations below, the foggy skyline above etched with rugged ridges and the ominous outline of Nevado del Ruiz in the distance.

Any sounds from life on a working coffee farm were drowned out by birdsong and their feet crunching beneath them as Horacio and Javier walked up the gravel path towards the main finca. It was typical in its style with a rustic tiled roof, whitewashed bricks and wooden pillars around its perimeter painted in the same shade of terracotta red as the doors and window frames. At the back of the property was a large garden with a patio area, pool and a spectacular view for miles on a clear day.

As they lugged their suitcases onto the porch, Alejandra waited to greet them at the front door. Her dark hair was styled in a bob with waves bordering on curls, the kind Javier imagined Horacio could grow if he wasn’t so insistent on keeping his hair short. At least since leaving the CNP, he had been less strict about cutting it.

The family resemblance between the two siblings was evident in their facial features, particularly in the shape of their noses, charcoal eyes and Cupid’s bows. But Alejandra was a few inches shorter, and her frame was slimmer on account of not carrying the same muscle as Horacio.

“The wanderer finally returns,” Alejandra announced as she pulled Horacio in for a long hug, neither of them keen to be the first to let go. “At least you remembered how to use the phone before turning up on my doorstep.”

“Of course. It's good to see you. But I am sorry I left it so long. There’s, erm…a lot to catch up on.”

“I’ll say.” She peered curiously behind Horacio. “But first, let me say hello to this handsome new face.”

She all but pushed Horacio to one side, forgoing any formal introductions he might have had planned. All Horacio could do was stand and watch two parts of his life converge that, for a long time, he believed would never – and could never – meet.

Javier had hung back by several feet, his hands self-consciously stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he kept his eyes on the ground until he was spoken to.

“Hi there, I’m Alejandra. You must be Javier?”

“Oh, er, yeah, hi.” For reasons unbeknownst to Javier, he raised his hand in a stiff wave rather than the relaxed handshake he had planned and felt the heat instantly rise in his cheeks. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Beautiful place you’ve got up here.”

“Likewise. And thanks.” Much to Javier's relief, she took the lead and held out a hand for him to shake with a reassuring smile. “Although you’ve got Fabián to thank for that. He’s down there giving a tour to one of our new buyers.” Alejandra turned back to face Horacio. “Mamá’s shopping for school supplies and tonight’s dessert with Juan José, Sofía and Mateo. Ana María’s out with friends. But they should all be back in the next few hours.”

Horacio nodded but remained taciturn, keeping to himself his strong suspicions that Alejandra had made sure she was the only one to greet them upon arrival.

“Come on, you can show Javier around whilst I make us something to eat and drink.”

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It had been a long time since Horacio’s last visit, but he could just about remember the layout of the place. He took Javier through the downstairs rooms, moving from the hall to the living areas and then the kitchen, which appeared tidier now than in his dreams.

The décor was all tiled or wooden floors and earthy tones, contrasting against large airy windows that made the landscape outside seem like a part of the finca. Evidence of three generations and two cats was scattered everywhere in the form of toys, games, videos, tapes, books, various coffee products and photographs from over the years. In one corner stood a home altar containing a large crucifix, prayer cards, rosary beads, candles, and a statue of Virgen de Chiquinquirá. In the opposite corner was a shelf full of old vinyl with Lucho Bermúdez taking pride of place, naturally.

Upstairs housed six bedrooms and three bathrooms, on account of the brood of four children, three adults and a spare room. The spare room was their last stop, where they dumped their luggage, sharing an amused glance at the double bed with a smaller fold-out one laid out in the corner with a pile of fresh sheets.

“As your guest, I take it I get the bigger one?” Javier asked with a spark of mischief in his eye.

“Well, technically, I’m also a guest here. And I did do all the driving.”

“Maybe I’ll, er, flip you for it later.”

Horacio merely raised a brow at the suggestion in Javier’s tone before they headed back downstairs.

They sat under cover of the terrace in the wildly growing garden, just in case the rain returned, which was always a distinct possibility in Manizales. An impressive platter of fruits was laid out on the table alongside freshly made coffee.

“So, how was the wedding?” Alejandra asked as she poured from a pot into three cups, the dark, rich aroma diffusing into the same crisp air the beans were grown and harvested.

Horacio accepted a cup with a thanks and passed the other to Javier. “It was nice. Good to see everyone again.”

“How’s Trujillo doing? It’s been strange seeing his face all over the news.”

Rather than his, Horacio thought with a strange lurch to the gut he wasn’t expecting. “He’s doing well; he’s a Major now. He deserves some happiness after everything.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Alejandra gave Horacio a pointed look, one he wasn’t ready to entirely meet, so he reached for a slice of guayaba instead.

“And Javier...I take it this is your first visit to Manizales?” she continued, offering him the fruit tray.

“Thanks. And yeah, it is. Never got the time to explore much beyond Bogotá and Medellín.” That wasn't exactly true, but Javier didn’t think talk of Cartagena or Tolú would be welcome right now.

“Well, I hope it won’t be your last.”

Horacio could feel another look directed his way but pretended not to notice it and sipped on his coffee.

Once they had eaten their weight in fruit, Alejandra had some business calls to make, leaving Javier and Horacio to unpack and freshen up before reconvening to make a start on dinner.

Of course, it had to be sudado de pollo. Horacio and Alejandra worked as a team, issuing sporadic instructions to Javier when necessary. But he was happy listening to them catch up and reminisce.

“That smells amazing already,” Javier said as he finely chopped onions across a wooden board, gesturing to the dishful of chicken thighs that Alejandra had just finished marinating.

“Mamá’s secret blend,” she replied as she set the dish aside to move on to dicing several tomatoes.

“Oh yeah? What would I have to do to get the recipe for that?” Javier reflexively caught Horacio’s eye across the kitchen.

“If we told you, we’d have to kill you.” Horacio shot Javier a warning look that indicated he was only half joking before focusing intently on cutting up a large batch of yuca and potatoes.

“Yeah, not even Fabián knows.”

“Papá never knew either. But he was happy for us or Mamá to make it for him.”

“My Mamá was the same with her Abuela’s morisqueta. Although, not long before she passed, she left me and my Pops the recipe.”

Alejandra paused her knife to look up at Javier, the surprise on her face soon transforming into recognition and sympathy. “I bet it’s delicious. You should make it for us some time.”

Now it was Horacio’s turn to stop, his eyes travelling from Alejandra to Javier and back again as the implication of his sister’s words hung as heavy in the kitchen as the aromatic spices of her marinade.

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Once the chicken and vegetables were all prepped and placed in a pot on the stove, the front door opened and closed, a loud chatter of voices soon filling the hallway.

Before Javier knew what was happening, he was being introduced to the children, shaking hands with Fabián, then kissing Elena’s cheek.

“Welcome, Javier. It’s good to put a face to a name at last,” Elena said, thoroughly taking in his appearance, apparently satisfied with what she saw.

At last. Javier wasn’t sure whether those words put him at ease or made him more nervous, but he managed to push such thoughts behind a smile. “Nice to meet you, and likewise.”

Javier had briefly seen pictures of Horacio’s family in the past. But he, too, spent time studying Elena now that he was close enough to smell the floral notes of her perfume. Neat oval glasses and a mix of dark and light grey hair cut short and choppy framed her sharp features, the shape of her nose and Cupid’s Bow matching those of her children.

“No thanks to this one here, mind you.” Despite her chastisement, Elena embraced her son tightly, reluctant to let go. “I think he’s been hiding from us.”

“You know it wasn’t like that, Mamá.” Although, over his Mamá’s head, Horacio gave Javier a sheepish look that said otherwise. “It is good to see you. And I’m sorry I left it so long.”

Upon greeting his nieces and nephews, Horacio was struck by how much they had all grown up since his last visit. Ana María was the spitting image of her mother. Juan José was several inches taller than Horacio and resembled his father more than ever. And Mateo and Sofía had presumably become resentful of all the matching outfits in their younger years of being twins, going out of their way to dress as differently from each other as possible. Once they had said their obligatory hellos, they scattered around the house and no doubt wouldn’t re-appear until dinner was ready.

Right on cue, when Alejandra brought out steaming and brimming plates full of sudado de pollo, everyone rapidly took their places around the table.

Silence fell as they tucked in, the warmth and comfort of childhood cocooning Horacio from what he knew was inevitable. A welcomed interruption from his thoughts came with a soft brush against his leg, his instincts telling him it was one of the cats issuing their own greeting. But he should have known better.

As they ate and endured the usual family small talk, Javier's foot became Horacio's anchor, subtle and soothing rubs against his ankle unseen under the table. Steady, grounding, home. 

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Horacio carried the last few empty plates to the kitchen, where piles of dishes were already stacked high. He had left Javier with Juan José and Mateo, who were showing off the latest video games they had got for Christmas – and were comfortably beating Javier at them, too.

“I’ll wash; you dry. For old times’ sake,” Alejandra said without looking up from the sink where she was filling the basin with water and suds.

“Okay. On the condition we both tidy everything away afterwards.”

“Deal. You’ll just put it in the wrong place unsupervised anyway.”

Horacio swatted the tea towel he’d picked up in her direction, only for her to retaliate by flicking bubbles in his hair.

“We did okay with dinner, didn’t we? I haven’t made that in a long time,” Horacio said.

“You had a good teacher.”

“So did you.”

“Oh, I know. I think that’s why Papá always loved it. We were all in there somewhere.”

“Like our Christmas tamales.”

“Oh, yeah, he couldn’t get enough of those. Remember we always had to make an extra batch for him to take to work?”

“He said they were to share with his unit, but I’m not sure many made it that far.”

Now they were laughing as they worked in tandem, Alejandra changing the water as Horacio cleared the draining board, ready for the next load.

“Did you ever feel like you let him down?” Horacio asked after a long silence, both siblings seemingly waiting for the other to fill it.

“Of course. You know Papá didn’t approve of Fabián at first, right?”

“What?”

“You must’ve heard the arguments?”

“To be fair, there were plenty of arguments between you and Papá.”

“Yeah, and they were mostly about me daring to marry someone other than a cop.”

“That’s what it was about?”

“Mostly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Fabián; I just think he had suitors picked out for me. People he knew he could trust.”

“But they got along in the end, didn’t they?”

“Once Papá had got over himself, yeah.” Alejandra let out a nostalgic laugh, which Horacio quickly joined in with. “He could be tough when he wanted to be, but…he meant well,” she settled on. “Once he saw how happy I was and how Fabián had taken after his father with the farm, he came around. It was never personal with Papá. It’s just the way he was.”

“So, you don’t think he’d be disappointed in me…” Horacio paused to swallow, his throat drier than a Texan summer. “For quitting?” he got out eventually.

Alejandra gave Horacio a look he’d seen countless times over the years. One only a big sister could give her little brother when she had to feign ignorance of something she had already discovered for herself. The perks of being the eldest.

“How did you know?”

“Horacio, are you really asking that of someone who has been surrounded by cops all her life?”

Horacio rolled his eyes but let Alejandra have that one unchallenged.

“I thought you might have been discharged on medical grounds, to be honest. I hoped you’d seen sense. Or maybe met someone.”

“I wasn’t discharged, but I negotiated a payout after my injury.”

Alejandra released a self-satisfied hum, a whisp of a smile threatening to break free from the corners of her mouth. “Two out of three’s not bad, I suppose.”

Horacio gulped hard enough for Alejandra to hear; he had no doubt about that. But no words followed, not even when he caught her eye.

“You love him, don’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation or an interrogation. In fact, it was barely even a question.

“Yes.” It caught Horacio off guard how fast he answered. How direct and concise he’d been.

“And he loves you.” There was no pretence of a question mark now, but rather a clarification of a well-established fact. A rite of passage both parties needed to hear.

“He does.”

“Enough to walk away from it all, too.”

Horacio nodded, scared the lump in his throat would give way to something else as his glassy gaze met Alejandra’s.

“His father – Chucho – owns a ranch in Laredo, Texas. That’s where I went after…” he trailed off, not wishing to dwell on the finer details of the ambush. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I hated lying after everything we’ve been through. But I figured the less you and Mamá knew, the safer it was.”

“I had a feeling you’d left Colombia. But Texas?” Alejandra blew out a low whistle. “That’s the part we’ll need to prepare Mamá for.”

“They’re Mexican-American. And the ranch is right on the border by the river.”

“I’d lead with that part if I were you. Not sure you can avoid a lecture about fraternising with Spanish colonisers, though. Twice.”

“I got that the first time I moved over there. But she went quiet when I reminded her Madrid was good enough for Simón Bolívar.”

Alejandra’s shoulders shook in unison with Horacio’s until a comfortable silence fell between them.

“So, you were there a whole year?”

“Just over. I couldn’t do much to help for the first few months – whilst this healed.” Horacio flexed his right arm to prove to Alejandra that everything was back in working order. “But it was good to have a routine eventually.”

“Wait a minute…you worked on the ranch?”

“No need to sound so surprised when you live here. I was actually pretty good at it. And I liked it.” Although Horacio understood and returned his sister’s bemusement because even he had shocked himself.

“No, I’m not. It’s just…oh, Horacio...” Alejandra broke off to bring her hand to his cheek, her brow creased, but her eyes caught between being on the brink of a smile and tears. “Look at you.”

Horacio made a show of wiping away the suds from his cheekbone, hoping he wouldn’t still have an audience afterwards. But no such luck. “It’s not what I expected to happen – any of it. But it just....felt right. I know that probably doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, it makes perfect sense.”

“Does it?”

“Well, for starters, I can see the appeal. Obviously. Can’t blame you for going for a younger man, either. And taller.”

Horacio rolled his eyes and hoped his face didn’t look as hot as it felt. “Not by that much. On either count.”

“Hey, no judgment from me. But seriously, of course, it makes sense. I know we all used to joke about you being married to your job, but…after Juliana, I did wonder if there was more to it than that.”

“I think burying myself in work killed two birds with one stone.”

“It was killing you.”

“I know.”

“And Papá would have told you the same.”

A hollow laugh escaped Horacio’s throat, Martínez’s words from the wedding still ringing intrusively in his ears. “I’d have been kicked out of the force. He’d have made sure of that. And I wouldn’t have blamed him.”

“Right, because you were the first officer on Colombian soil to commit violence or be used as a political weapon.”

“He was against it, Alejandra. La Violencia was enough for anyone to see in a lifetime.”

But that was just another in a long line of civil wars. Even if his father's life hadn’t been cut short, he would have seen yet another bloody outbreak in which the state did more to perpetuate the death toll than bring peace to the country. And Horacio had plenty of blood on his hands. At least his Papá was spared witnessing that.

“And you don’t think he was ever put in a compromising position back then? You don’t think La Violencia was why he didn’t want the same for you? You won’t remember much, and Mamá and Papá never spoke about it around us, but I got pretty good at listening through doors.”

“He never did talk about it. Even when I was older.”

Not that he really needed to, Horacio conceded. Even though they were kept relatively safe and away from the violence in Medellín compared to other regions of Antioquia – particularly the rural parts – he had heard enough over the years to fill in the blanks.

He remembered his Mamá’s stories of helping the displaced, those who sought refuge in the city. Thousands who had been forced to flee the violence and start over again, often in makeshift housing on the outskirts, the irony never lost on Horacio that one of those neighbourhoods became Comuna 13. But for all his Mamá’s tales and the work she continued to do until she left for Manizales, his Papá never spoke about those years.

“He was protecting you. Like Mamá was with us after he died. Sometimes silence is easier.”

“I know. I get it. Before he died, the cocaine trade hadn’t got going in Colombia yet. It was mostly marijuana. But with FARC around and the gringos spreading their anti-communist propaganda, he knew it was a question of when, not if, another war was coming. I think he hoped things would be different this time.”

“You did what you had to do, Horacio. Just like he did. Just like every generation of our family did to survive. What’s done is done.”

“I’m not sure you’d say that if you knew everything.”

“You think I never heard any of the rumours out here? Or picked up a newspaper once in a while?”

“You never said anything.”

Alejandra shot Horacio a cutting glare, the kind he was an expert at delivering, but only a select few could get away with throwing back at him. “I knew you wouldn’t talk about it even if I asked.”

Horacio scoffed. Touché. “Not all of it was true.”

It was Alejandra’s turn to laugh. “Well, I kinda figured you weren’t dead after you called.”

“I don’t just mean the ambush.”

“I know,” she said briskly.

But Horacio couldn’t ignore the relief in her body language. Even though he understood it, a wave of shame hit him for even planting a seed of doubt in her – his older sister, the mother of his nieces and nephews – mind in the first place.

“But that’s all in the past now,” he concluded, shutting down his own train of destructive thought. “And you’re right; Papá’s not here. But Javier is.”

“So your future’s in Laredo, then.”

“Are you mad?”

“Am I mad that my little brother is finally getting his shit together and is head over heels in love? Oh, yeah, I’m livid.”

An inferno had spread across Horacio’s cheeks, and he struggled to think of a response. But luckily for him, Alejandra wasn’t done yet.

“It’s…safe, though, right? For you both to live together?”

“As safe as anywhere else. Every country has its problems. I’m sure there’ll always be people with something to say. But we’ve been careful.”

“Just promise me you’ll keep being careful.”

“We will, I promise.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll convince Mamá to visit in the summer, though.”

“That’s fair. But you do think she’ll want to visit?”

“She might be strong, but we know what she lost – what we all lost. So, if there’s a chance for you to share your life with someone as she did with Papá, to be safe – to be happy after everything – yeah, I think she'll want to visit.”

“Do you think Papá would if he could?” Horacio knew it was a loaded grenade of a question and unfair to ask. But he couldn’t help himself.

Alejandra hesitated, seemingly aware she was between a rock and a hard place. “Maybe in his old age. Or if he knew Javier saved your life.”

“How did –?”

She expelled a comedically dramatic sigh. “Keep up, manito. When you called, you told me the DEA came after you that night. I don’t need to hold a badge to guess who that was.”

Horacio was banged to rights once more as he tried to recall the exact information he had relayed to Alejandra in the hours after the ambush; evidently, it was more than he thought.

“He – and his partner, Steve – went against orders and got suspended for helping me and my men.”

“So, they took a leaf out of your book then?”

“Something like that.”

Before Horacio could overthink it, he took a deep breath and told Alejandra everything. From the blackmail to his and Javier’s resignations to their year in Madrid, it all came tumbling out whilst she kept washing and he kept drying. Just like old times. Just like their Papá was in the next room along with their Mamá. And in so many ways, he always would be, not as a ghost of their past, but forever a part of their present and future.

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Arriving during the week had its advantages, as it wasn’t necessary for Horacio to make excuses to get an early night. Work and school beckoned in the morning for most of the household, so the evening had ended in a low-key fashion.

That was more than fine by Horacio after a long drive and an overdue heart-to-heart. He lay on his side, his back nestled into Javier’s chest in the centre of the spare room’s double bed. They made up the fold-out bed for pretences, but it was purely extra space to store their luggage.

A bedside lamp and hints of moonlight peaking around the edges of the curtains cast the room in soft shadows, the low murmur of a telenovela in one of the nearby bedrooms the only sound to be heard at this hour.

“How old were you there?” Javier asked, his voice muffled against Horacio’s shoulder where he’d temporarily paused his trail of kisses after picking out one of several framed photos on the wall.

“The one from Alejandra’s wedding? I’d have been 24.”

“Cute curls.” Javier’s nose nuzzled against the back of Horacio’s head, which was sadly lacking the same unruliness as in the photo.

“Fuck you.”

Javier sniggered. “Hey, I was being serious! They suit you. Plus…more to grab hold of.” He slid a hand into Horacio’s hair as his mouth resumed its work along bare skin.

Horacio’s back arched with a sigh as he leaned into Javier’s touch. “You know we can’t get carried away. Not here.”

“I know.” Of course, Javier understood. It was one thing for him to have sneaked in and out of the guesthouse back in Laredo; it was quite another to be under the same roof as Horacio’s whole family. But that didn’t stop the almost petulant tone in Javier’s voice. He was still human, after all.

“I promise we’ll make up for it once we leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Despite their flirtation, exhaustion was thick in their throats and pressed heavily on their limbs, pushing them closer towards sleep as the butterflies in their stomachs finally settled.

“The wedding wasn’t that long after Papá died. Alejandra asked me to give her away instead. At first, I didn’t think I deserved to take Papá’s place. But I think she needed me there with her, so, I said yes.”

“Of course you did, and I bet she never forgot that.”

“No, and I’ll never forget tonight."

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It was still dark in the spare room when Javier stirred and untangled himself from Horacio as slowly as possible. He had woken up thirsty and threw on a precautionary pair of jeans before tiptoeing down the wooden staircase towards the kitchen.

The clock on the oven read 01:30am, so he wasn't expecting to find the spotlights above it switched on. He searched through the cupboards until he found a tumbler and filled it with water from the tap, taking large gulps until the glass was drained.

“So, you’re a night owl too, then?”

“Shit!” Javier hissed, spinning around with a sharp intake of breath, almost dropping the glass on the tiled floor.

“Sorry,” Alejandra whispered. “I was just reading before heading off to bed.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I just needed some water. Didn’t think anyone else would be up.” Javier was suddenly very aware of the fact he was standing half naked in the middle of the kitchen, Horacio’s necklace like a flashing beacon at his chest. “Obviously,” he added with an awkward huff, looking down at his state of semi-undress.

“Right,” Alejandra replied with a stifled laugh. “How about you avoid catching a chill whilst I find something a bit more…authentic than tap water?”

Once Javier came back downstairs with his chest now covered, Alejandra was sat at the kitchen table with two shot glasses and a bottle of aguardiente.

“Not sure my stomach can handle any more of that after the wedding.”

“Lightweight. And just think of it as an initiation.”

Javier sighed in defeat, accepting the challenge as he took a seat opposite Alejandra.

She unscrewed the bottle and tipped measures into each glass. “Wanna make this more interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Three shots, three questions each. But you can only ask a question after you’ve emptied your glass.”

Javier laughed for a second, unsure what he imagined Alejandra to be like, yet somehow, she surprised him anyway. “Okay. Already sounds better than every other icebreaker inflicted on me. Who goes first?”

“Guest’s choice.”

He stared down at his glass as though it was the barrel of a gun, remembering why he had eventually insisted whiskey was his and Horacio’s go-to drink. When he first arrived in Colombia, Horacio would offer him a shot, pouring liberally from the stash of aguardiente in his office drawer, and Javier accepted on multiple occasions. But it was over and done with like a spoonful of caustic medicine. At least whiskey could be drunk slower and delayed saying goodnight.

That wasn't the order of things now, though. So, Javier grabbed the bull by the horns and threw back his glass, wincing at the aniseed burn as it slid down his throat.

“New rule: you’ve got 30 seconds to come up with a question. Otherwise, you take another shot.”

“Alright, alright, I’m thinking.”

Alejandra’s gaze fell on the oven clock, ramping up the pressure. “10 seconds left…”

“Okay. I’ve got one. What was it like growing up with a younger brother?”

“Annoying, obviously. Especially after he got the highest grade in his English class. I don’t know where he picked them up, but he knew all the swear words. Of course. He drove me crazy testing them out.”

“He did that to my old partner, Steve – his Spanish isn’t great, and Horacio sure liked to remind him whenever he got the chance.”

“Sounds about right. No wonder he liked you – best of both worlds.”

“Maybe.” Javier knew what Alejandra meant, but it didn’t stop heat from spreading through his cheeks regardless.

“He was generally pretty quiet at school,” Alejandra continued, "but not afraid to take the lead…or break a few rules.”

“Again, I’m not surprised.”

“Nope.” They both laughed at that. “He always liked to be moving, though. Doing something with his hands. Or playing sports – he was a good runner. We used to race each other around Jardín Botánico, and he would always beat me. I think he already knew he was in training for the Academy. So, obviously, he was accepted. No doubt some thought he got a free pass, but he was determined to prove himself. Then he had to grow up.”

The joviality faded abruptly from Alejandra’s face, transforming into a wistful smile.

“We both did. But at least I’d had more time with Papá. Good job I did have those few years to myself ‘cos Horacio followed him around like a shadow. Until he couldn’t. Then he thought he had to be the man of the house. Even when there were two much more qualified women for the job.”

“He thought it was his duty."

“Yeah. He did.” There was something akin to awe in how Alejandra looked at Javier, as though she was simultaneously taken aback and impressed that someone summed up and understood her brother so accurately and succinctly.

“Isn’t it your turn, now?” Javier asked after a moment of silence.

Without further hesitation, Alejandra downed her shot. “Why Colombia?”

“Why not Colombia?” He tried a feeble laugh but knew that wouldn't cut it. “I studied Gabriel García Márquez in high school. Although, can’t say I really got him at the time. Took me another try when I was older.”

Now he thought about it, Javier wasn’t convinced he exactly got him the second time around either, considering García Márquez’s views on extradition aligned fiercely with Horacio’s. But that was the luxury of hindsight.

“By then, my Mamá had long since passed, my fiancée had just become my ex, and I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life. Guess I needed to get lost in someone else’s problems for a while.”

“Tell me about it.” Alejandra held a book up in the air that had been abandoned on the table since Javier joined her.

“Smart move. My teacher loved telling us how García Márquez moved to Mexico and wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude over there. And with how things went down in Laredo, I could see the appeal of starting over in another country. Mexico was…too close to home. The drug war was getting out of hand. More and more agents were being transferred. And what’s the line?” Javier broke off, eyes cast towards the ceiling as he licked his lips in concentration. “‘We came’, they said, ‘because everyone is coming’.”

Alejandra let a pause of bewilderment pass between them as she studied Javier with intrigue. “You’re not at all like the other gringos he’s worked with in the past.”

“Did he bring any of them home to his family?”

“No. You’re the first. As I’m sure you're aware.”

“Maybe.”

“Drink up.”

Javier did as he was told, repressing a cough as the potent liquid worked its magic. “Why did you choose farm life over being a cop?”

Alejandra laughed a little too loudly, considering the time. “There are other career choices, you know.”

Javier gasped. “There are?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But that’s not quite how it went for me. The farm came with Fabián. They’re sort of a package deal. I’m sure you can understand that.” She threw Javier a knowing smile. “But I ruled out being a cop years before I moved here or met Fabián. I knew from Papá that women in the force were few and far between back then. They’re still pretty scarce now. I wasn’t up for putting myself in the firing line being a General’s daughter. They never would have respected me or believed I got there on my own merit. I didn’t want to spend my life trying to gain anyone's approval.”

“Makes sense. It’s not easy in the force if you’re…different from the rest."

“Exactly. I’m not sure it’s what Papá even wanted for me anyway. Because he knew what it’d be like. Then there was Mamá with her social work. She was in her element. Always fighting someone’s corner, especially during the suffrage movement. I think I was the odd one out in the family, ‘cos everyone else seemed to have…a calling except for me. So, I studied, got a business degree, became a buyer for various companies and ended up in the coffee industry. And the rest is history.”

“Good for you. And I guess that explains Horacio’s, er, distaste for a badly made cup of coffee.”

“Yep. He’s got no excuse. And neither do you anymore.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Your turn.” Javier took the bottle this time and filled Alejandra’s glass.

She downed it in one go. “¿Por qué no un llanero ahora que has descartado ser policía?” (Why not a llanero now you’ve ruled out being a police officer?)

“¿Por qué no un vaquero?” (Why not a vaquero?) Javier corrected with a glint in his eye that Alejandra returned with an eye roll. “Like you said…there are other jobs. That one was just never for me. I need more variety day-to-day. Like I’m making a bigger difference somehow. But preferably without the pretty fucking significant risk of death or blackmail.”

“A fair demand.”

“Right? It’s not like I’m asking for a raise.”

“When I moved here, I didn’t know where life was taking me, especially when the kids came along. I couldn’t keep my old job because of all the travelling…and being a mother was the priority until they started school. It took me a while to find my place on the buying and selling side of the business. So, all I’m saying is, things might get clearer once you’re settled back in Laredo.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Javier raised his glass and nodded his thanks to Alejandra, touched by her unprompted advice.

His third and final question had arrived, and the pressure to make it a good one pressed uncomfortably on his increasingly fuzzy head. “If your father was here now, what would you say to him?”

For a brief second, Javier feared he had overstepped some forbidden and invisible line and been overfamiliar with someone he only really knew by proxy at this stage.

But whilst Alejandra’s smile was permanently stained with traces of grief, warmth flickered then grew in her charcoal eyes. “I’d tell him we’re fine. That we miss him and wish he’d come back for good but that he needn’t worry. Because even though Mamá didn’t always get things right, she steered us through it as best she could. And we didn’t turn our backs on the world. That we found love in the dark.”

Alejandra sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Sorry. I think it’s the alcohol.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Javier paused to clear his throat, blinking his vision back into focus. “It was beautifully said.” His hand reached for hers across the table, hoping again that he hadn’t gone too far.

But she let his hand rest there until she shook her head like a wet dog and poured her final shot. “Same question to you about your mother, obviously,” she said before downing the aguardiente in one.

Javier scoffed. “Well, I guess I deserved that.” He took his time, collecting his thoughts as though he was preparing an important speech. As though he’d been trying to find the right words for most of his life – and how rarely he’d succeeded.

“I’d tell her I miss her morisqueta. I’d tell her Pops visits her every week. But then I think she already knows that. Same way I think she made sure he never re-married.”

Javier couldn’t help but laugh, seeing with perfect clarity where his own loyal streak came from when his Pops was still as devoted to Mariana as the day they married. Siempre tuyo was no exaggeration.

“I’d make sure she knew he wasn’t alone, though. That he was known as Don Chucho to most in Laredo. That she’d be proud of him for growing the community she helped start. I’d brag about all the tamales we’ve made and quote her favourite poems. I’d introduce her to Horacio.”

He envisaged showing her Horacio’s poetry book, knowing that all it would take was for her to read Javier’s message in the opening pages to understand everything about who they were to each other. He’d even dreamed of it, waking with a ridiculous hope that she had somehow intercepted it.

“She sounds as incredible as your father. I hope one day I can thank him for taking my little brother under his wing when he needed it the most.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“I can’t – and don’t want to – imagine where he would have ended up without either of you, to be honest. He told me about the ambush…and everything else. And even though it doesn’t feel nearly enough, I just want to say...thank you.”

At first, Javier could only nod and swallow the lump bobbing at the base of his throat. “He did the same for me. It wasn’t easy walking away from my job, don’t get me wrong, but it was different for him. He felt like he’d betrayed Colombia and his Papá. Yet he did it anyway.”

“When it’s the right person, the sacrifices are worth it. And I can’t think of anyone more worthy of wearing that.” Alejandra’s sightline had fallen to Javier’s neck. His chest may have now been covered, but the silver chain still poked out from beneath the seam of his shirt.

She poured them a bonus shot each and raised her glass. “Welcome to the family.”

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

[lokiforever]

🖤Love in the Dark🖤

Mafia!Loki x Fem! Reader

•Series Masterlist

~°~ start of POV

~°~~ end of POV

Warnings : VERY SHORT CHAPTER! Mentions of blood,

Chapter 2

➡️Barnes

"What about 'her', Barnes?"

Before he could say anything else, Loki heard a screech of tyres and the line went off. 'Suspicious' he thought to himself before returning back inside .

To his surprise, you didn't ask questions like 'what's wrong' and 'what happened' . Good.He didn't want someone to pretend like they care. But then why does it feel weird ...as you didn't ask him anything? 'Clear your head, Loki. This is all utter rubbish .' He thought to himself. You'll leave one day or the other. Everyone does. She did.

"Meet me in the living room"

Once you went to the living room, Loki revealed a bag which had a beautiful, short emerald green dress in it. "This is for you" he said, not wanting to show any sort of emotion and kept his face blank but he couldn't resist the small smile which formed on his face at your respose which was - "Loki...you didn't have to...... Thank you so much. It's very beautiful"

"Get ready. We're going for shopping" he said. "But, we don't have to... Loki, you've already done so much for me." "Hey- listen, it's totally fine. Just go and get ready." he said with a ......smile?

'Hold your stupid emotions, Laufeyson. She's just.....a girl whom you have not known for long .Stop these freaking things and especially smiling at her. That is what took you down earlier!' He mentally scolded himself.

He tried not to focus on you, your smile and your beautiful form. But when you came out wearing that sundress with your hair loose in waves.... it was really, really hard for him to not just keep looking at you and to k-

'Shut the fuck up! What are you thinking! Dammit'

He cleared his throat, " You look amazing" he said "Thank you" you said with a smile. "I'll just go and change" he said. Yes, he could've changed while you were but he was a little too preoccupied with his thoughts.

After a while he came out wearing a pair of his usual black slacks and a burgundy shirt with it's sleeves rolled up.

~°~

Y/N's POV

You had been thinking about Loki more than necessary...but who can blame you? He is so .... handsome.

No,no, no,no. This is wrong. So very wrong. He helped you. And what you are doing?

......

He walked towards the table in the living room and picked up the car keys "Let's go" he said simply. He was looking mind-blowing!

Why, like why does his slacks have to be so ....tight?!!! Always!

"Y/N!?" he said, seeing you a little zoned out . "Y-yeah, let's go"

~°~~

You and Loki were sitting in the his car, while two more covered his from the back and front respectively. " Y/N?" He asked as you turned your focus to him from looking out of the window and hummed "Is there something about you that I should know?" he asked "What exactly are you talking about, Loki?" "You know what, it's ok.. nevermind"

Weird....

*in the store*

You were looking around when someone bumped into you "Oh, I'm so sorry" the person said ...."Lily!?" "Oh heavens, Y/N! Where in the world were you? I was so worried" "Well.... that's a very long story. Some freaking bastards kidnapped me...." "Holy Shit-"

"Uhh..Y/N, we're taking this dre-" Loki looked at Lily and then at you, visibly confused. "Uhh.. Lily, this is Loki, he uhh..." "Is he your boyfriend or something?!" she said as Loki tried hard to hide a smirk "No! I'll tell you later, we have a lot to catch up on." you said, blushing.

"Will someone please explain to me- what is going on!?" Loki said. "Oh, yeah, right. Umm, this is Lily, my best friend and Lily..well..I already told you who he is" "Well, hello there. Pleased to meet you, Lily" he said "Hey. Same here" she got a text

"I'm sorry, I'll have to go, work reasons.... I'm so sorry..Uh, we'll catch up soon, Y/N. How about we meet here tomorrow? Call me when you get time, ok?" "Hey- it's okay, no worries. I'll call you. And as for meeting here ...." you looked at Loki and then said "Well, I'll tell you on call"

After giving you a hug, she went off.

"Now, maybe you'd like to give a detailed explanation of that interaction" said Loki "There's no detail actually, we bumped into each other and then you saw the rest." "Anyways, we're taking these" he said gesturing to a few dresses " Go, try them on" "Loki, they are so many ...we don't need to buy all of them and this one is a party-wear I don't have any parties to attend" you said with a chuckle at the end. "Yes, we do cuz I like them and I obviously can't wear them myself, neither do I want to. So, you'll do that for me. And that's final" he said with a mildly firm ending. "Oookay" you said with a chuckle.

After trying the dresses on, both of you went to a makeup store after your much efforts on declining, he was so good to you, he already did so much. He gave you shelter, and above all, he saved your life. And now this. Though he didn't show it of off that much but deep down he had a great heart.

*After shopping*

You both sat in the car but he wasn't driving in the direction of his mansion. "Loki, where are we going?" "To a restaurant and you can't tell me that you're not hungry after all that shopping" he said "Well, yes, I am" you said with a light chuckle. It stirred something inside you, you were most definitely developing feelings for the insanely handsome man - No, shit- this is not right.

Fuck

He stopped at a very fancy restaurant, and booked a private booth for you two.

After that you both had your food and headed back.

No sooner you and Loki had entered the mansion than a loud horn was heard outside. Loki immediately rushed outside cuz that was not normal, his house was not in the public area. You followed him out.

A man with a metallic arm, who was clearly shot in the one of flesh and blood appeared from the car. "Barnes? Shit-" Loki said, looking at him "Y/N? Can you treat that wound?" "I-I'll try my best, I have to examine it first to be certain." he walked towards Barnes to support him and brought him inside. He took him to a room which seemed to have all sorts of basic medical stuff for such wounds...must be because he has a personal doctor too.

"Uhh...it most definitely needs stitches" you said, examining the wound "It's much worse than yours , it's a literal shot. Luckily, the bullet passed through and no major damage is done" you continues "C-can you do that?" "Yes, yes I can" you said wasting no more time and starting the procedure as Loki waited outside.

Once it was done and the man whom now you know as Barnes asked to meet Loki immediately after he thanked you.

"Is he ok now?" Loki asked as you walked outside the room "Yeah, he is completely out of any sort of danger, mild or any and wants to meet you" you told him "Thank you so much, Y/N" "Oh, come on Loki, it's nothing compared to what all you have done for me" you said with a smile he reciprocated the smile and went inside.

"Barnes?" "Mr. Laufeyson, I - that girl-" he started as he tried to get up but was not able to and winced "Hey- you need rest now."

"No, you need to listen to me . It's important. She....."

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Taglist :

@holdmytesseract @jennyggggrrr @lotsoflokilove23 @jaidenhawke @wolvesmom1 @gruftiela @mary-jinx @mischief-dream@ladychota @dishahaldar @eleniblue @foxherder @allesiaandnx

#loki #loki x reader #loki mcu #marvel loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader insert #loki x you #loki x y/n #mafia loki #mafia!au #mafia #marvel #loki layfeyson x you #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson #mafia!loki x reader #mafia! loki #mafia!bucky

[race-week]

hey Al, what does a set up exactly entail? i never fully grasped the concept, but i always hear about the small window for it and how hard it is to "get it right". And how long does it take a team to change the set up? they can't test multiple ones in one session, can they?

A set up is really varied and there’s loads of components that can be changed and even the slightest change to any one component can result in the car feeling or behaving differently.

You can change the suspension stiffness which will make the car handle bumps better or worse.

You can change the tyre pressure (although Pirelli usually impose minimum tyre pressures and the teams aren’t likely to go much higher than this) but this can help with grip levels.

They can change the angle of the front wing (you might hear the driver asking the pit crew to add half a turn on the front wing) and this would change the distribution of the downforce making the car understeer or oversteer more.

Setup in Formula One is a bit of a tricky task, plus, the driving style of each driver is linked to setups and that fact adds to complication.

Any minimal changes you make to the car will have an effect on the track handling.

Therefore "extreme" setup solutions rarely work. The key philosophy in creating a setup is to always to seek a compromise. The second, and equally important factor in creating a good setup, is the use of telemetry.

They can try multiple changes in a session but they won’t necessarily know how a particular set up will work across a race distance.

#al’s asks

[mixed-theater-faisty-tings]

Infinitely Jealous

Conrad Request

A/N:HIII!!! I KNOW I HAVEN'T POSTED IN AGES I'VE REALLY MISSED IT. WITH THE NEW SEASON OF THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY I FELT A SMALL SPARK OF INSPIRATION AND GOT THIS REQUEST FROM @shqtteredcrystql1. NOW BEAR WITH ME MY WRITING SKILLS HAVE DETERIORATED A BIT SINCE I LAST POSTED AND I'M STILL WORKING ON MY SMUT WRITING SPOILER ALERT. I AM OPEN TO FEEDBACK OR EVEN ADVICE. I AM TYRING TO WRITE MORE WHEN I CAN I JSUT NEVER WANNA GIVE HALF BAKED IDEAS. OKAY I WILL STOP BABBLING ENJOY!

P.S please don't hurt me for using Conrad and Belly's infinity for this I just love the concept. okay thank you.

Warnings: Explicit language, smut, cheesy lol, Teen Drinking, Protected sex.

word count: 3.2k roughly

——————————————————————————

Masterlist

Requests

——————————————————————————

Y/N POV 

The stench of alcohol fills my nose as drunken teenagers dance the night away with whatever is in their system. I came to this stupid beach party with Conrad and Jeremiah who both ran off to do god knows what not that this was a new occurrence.

Jere has always attracted girls like moths to light meanwhile Conrad ventures off to do whatever he does and if someone happens to join them he won't push them off so long as they don't try to actually get to know him least that is how he has been the last few summers. 

They started bringing me here with them 7 years ago when we met. I've always been closer with Conrad. Jeremiah had Belly and Conrad had me though you never want to go to boardwalk with the four of us unless you're wanting some quality entertainment.

The Fisher boys always know how to have fun the Conklin's and I can never say no even if it means coming to a dumb beach bonfire. I'd go anywhere with Conrad it's been that way since we met this includes an impromptu trip to the other side of the country to attend a Universal Studios Horrors night as my birthday present. 

We were grounded for 2 months after that one but it was worth any time with him was. He'll only ever see me as his best friend though he has made that crystal clear he's been in touch with this Deb he met last summer "Nicole", they've just been talking but it seems like they could be more this summer or just a casual summer fling of convenience. Maybe this summer I'll find my fling.

"Hey don't think I've ever seen you around here?", a voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "Huh?",  I connect with brown eyes belonging to someone tall, dark skinned, curly dark hair and muscular. "I said I've never seen you around here.", he repeats himself. "Funny because I've come here every summer for the last 7 years." a laugh decorates my words with a hint of sarcasm.

"Oh yeah?  Which house is yours?", he plays along. "First of all creepy and second I'm a guest with the Fisher's.", I giggle. "Ah great guys always fun at a party." his attitude changes from interested to standoffish. "We are just friends all of us.", I smile kindly. "Good to know..care for a drink?", he extends his hand to me with a kind smile. 

"Sure why not.", I take his hand. "I'm Lucas.". "Y/N.". "And I'm Conrad glad we got the introductions out of the way now let's get beer.", my best friend pops up out of nowhere. "Uh okay sure I'll be right back.", Lucas runs off wearing a confused expression. "What are you doing?", I hiss at the brown-haired boy. 

"Hanging with my best bud what do you mean.", he slings his arm around my shoulder with a smirk planted on his lips...his lips..focus. "No why you're doing is ruining a potential new friend.", a stern tone clutches onto my words. "Friend huh? Yeah sure whatever.", he scoffs. "Go makeup with Red Sox girl some more.", I roll my eyes pushing his arm off of me. I knew it was Nicole but saying her name out loud stung.

"Jealous?", I don't have to look at him to know a sly look sits on his face. "As if. Have I ever been jealous of the girls you've dated?", my arms sit crossed just beneath my chest. "I'm sure you have been.". "Check your ego bro.", I turn to walk away when he says, "I have you to keep me humble don't I?", a chuckle follows. 

"Whatever I'll see you later.", the sand envelops my feet treading to find Lucas. "Y/N over here!", a voice calls me over belonging to Lucas over by the fire. "Your bodyguard still with you?", he asks when I finally make it over to him. "Funny uh no I gave him the night off.", I smile. "Good to know.", he playfully bumps my shoulder handing me a beer can unopened. 

"So do you come here just for summer or do you experience Cousins in all four seasons?", I ask. He takes a seat in the sand waiting for me to join him before answering. "I actually go to boarding school so I experience a little bit of all four seasons on holiday assuming I don't run off to Mexico for Christmas or spring break.", he laughs. "You don't seem the other spoiled boarding school brats we run into here.", confusion swirls in my head. 

"I mean would you prefer for me to? Ugh my parents shipping me off to some lame ass boarding school with their credit card knowing I have a trust fund to carry me for the rest of my life even though I'll probably blow it on some stupid shit as soon as I'm 25.", his tone becomes snarky, and attitude narcissistic quickly replaced by the charming side once more. 

"Entertaining I will say but not my vibe.", a laugh escapes my lips. "Good cause that's not who I am.", he chuckles joins the air. We spend the time talking soon leaving the fire to walk along the beach taking about just how different our lives are. He was good company, but I kept thinking about Conrad and what he was doing, who he was with, why he wasn't with me. 

Yes, I know I basically told him fuck off but it's not like he ever listens he's my best friend and he knows y/n speak by now. Conrad maybe smart enough to get into Brown but sometimes he needs a little push in the right direction. "Y/N are you listening?", Lucas jumps in front of me. My face drops into a frown feeling bad i hadn’t been pay attention.

"Y/N quick it's Conrad!", Steven yells. My feet carry me as fast as they can without getting caught in the sand back to the group of teens surrounding a fight with none other than my stupid best friend in the middle of it.

"Con! Quit being stupid!", I push my way through the crowd and try to pull him off the random dude. My attempt was moot until Jere finally stepped in and broke up the fight around the same time as sirens began sounding. 

"Cops!". The teens that once covered the beach dropped their drinks and scattered like cockroaches. "Y/N let's go grab some ice cream and I'll take you home.", Lucas grabs ahold of my hand gently tugging me away from the guys.

"Like hell you will.", Conrad pulls me towards him. "You don't own her man. She can come with me if she wants to.", the alluring guy I was talking to all night disappears taken over with frustration and anger.

"We brought her, we will take her home besides she just met you like I'd ever let her endanger herself like that. Besides your place isn’t her home. Mine is.”the brown hair boy mocks the curly haired boys statement. "I never said anything about my place quit putting words in my mouth".

 "Would both of you just shut up!.", my outburst took both of them aback. "Lucas I'll see you around. Conrad let's get your stupid ass home.", annoyance prominent in my voice as I drag them away from each other. "Give me the keys Conrad.", I hold out my hand. "Not a chance.", he pushes past me and gets in the drivers side of his sedan. 

"I can't fucking believe you.", his tone accusatory. "Believe me about what?". "That boarding school trust fund fuck boys are your type.", his hands grip the wheel tighter than normal meanwhile I completely lose it.

"And how the fuck would you know what my type is huh! You have never cared nor taken an interest in the guys I have talked to. God acting like my dad I don't need your protection okay I can take care of myself.", I can feel my cheeks turning hot with anger. 

"You are so wrapped up in your own world you don't even notice that I do care about who you are with. You deserve more than that jackass.", tension settles in the air, suddenly this car feels like a tiny box."All that guy wanted to do was hook up with you.",his voice was filled with a know it all tone.

"So what if that is what I wanted!", he is surprised by my response. "You don't wanna lose it to some random one night stand.". "And if I do?", I didn't but he didn't need to know that.

"I know you Y/N you want to lose it to someone you care about and you know cares about you.", his grips loosens. "Maybe it's just not meant for me.", I can't let my guard down. 

My eyes follow his hand as it leaves the wheel and lays flat against the skin between my thigh and knee. "Don't say that.", we finally pull into the driveway of the beach house quietly making our way in the house careful not to wake Laurel or Susannah. I make my way to the kitchen grabbing some powdered donuts from the pantry. 

"I wasn't trying to upset you..honestly. You're my best friend and I never want to hurt you but lately I just keep fucking up.", he follows me after Jere, Belly and Steven trot upstairs to their rooms. "It's fine Connie you were right I don't wanna lose my virginity to some dude I met on the beach at a lame party.", I avoid looking at him. 

"I wouldn't want that for you either.", a gentle tone takes over his voice. "You're not fucking up anything by the way I mean I'm still here aren't I?", I attempt to lighten the mood. "Surprisingly so.", he chuckles. "What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?", I finally bathe the strength to look at him without melting. 

The way the front pieces of his hair kind of flop in front of his eyes, he's constantly pushing them behind his ear mainly when he's nervous but he also refuses to cut it Susannah loves it. His brown eyes seep into mine without even trying encapsulating me in a daydream. 

"You...me...y/n you think I don't care who you date but I do.", a nervous Conrad is not something I don't see often or ever really. "Let's not have this conversation again please.", I beg. "I have feelings for you.", he blurts not looking me in the eye. "What?", I'm taken aback praying he said what I heard.

"I like you Y/N and I have since we met I'm just so screwed up and I didn't wanna drag you down with me especially with my mom. You're the only other person besides me who knows about my parents and they don't even know that I know.", the sound of the stool screeching against the floor as he stands up out of the chair echos string us both. 

"Con you're not screwed up..", I gently take his hands in mine connecting our eyes. "You just need to develop better communication skills.". "How's this for practice?", his body leans over mine slowly coming down to bring his lips to mine. 

Is this really happening? Am I about to kiss Conrad Fisher, I've only ever dreamed of this moment never anticipating the reality god don't let me mess this up please. The soft skin of his lips gently connect with him, his hands disconnecting from mine caressing my cheeks instead leaving my hand to go to his shoulders pulling him closer afraid to lose the moment. 

I've always felt safe around him but, here in this moment it was cloud nine times a million. I didn't want it to end but we had to breathe eventually. "So?". 

"Well ahem.. a kiss isn't communicating however you can take that as an I feel the same way..", I anxiously pull my bottom lip between my teeth. "I love how you do that when you're nervous.", a nervous laugh escapes his lips. "We should head up to bed it's getting late.", as much as I don't want to I pull away from his body, his warmth knowing he'll be different in the morning. 

"Stay with me tonight.", it comes off as a statement rather than a question making my heart jump with excitement. "Your mom would flip if she caught us in your room.", I raise a brow. "Not if she doesn't find out or I come up with a really good excuse as to why you were in my room, and my bed.", he keeps me close.

"I don't know Con.". "Please.". "Okay fine.". 

Pleased with my appliance to his wishes he leads us upstairs to his room carefully closing the door. After removing our shoes we lay in his bed facing each other, the light of the moon casting a light so bright I could see his whole face in the dark.

The soft touch of his hands push some hair behind my ear before pulling me into our second kiss of the evening. 

Without thinking I immediately kiss him back, our bodies manage to close any gap left between us in a matter of seconds the moment enclosing us in a world of our own. I pull back slightly we are still nose to nose but rarely any space is between us. 

With as much confidence as I could muster I whisper the words I've wanted to say for months, "I want it to be you.". He is slightly surprised by my statement but doesn't break our contact, a small smile daring to turn up the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure? That wasn't what I was trying to do not now.", the words are soft spoken. 

"I'm sure unless you don't want to?", my eyes search his for an ounce of rejection. "Believe me I want to I just don't want you to feel rushed or pressured.". Without another word my hand takes a hold of his guiding it from the softness of my legs up to rest on my hips slowly and ever so gently. "Please Connie." with that I connect our lips once more. 

He takes this as his green light deepening the kiss turning me onto my back so he can be onto careful not to crush me under him. My fingers dance under his shirt against his stomach and chest, he smiles into the kiss before moving to my neck tenderly nipping at the skin a gasp escaping my lips. 

"We have to be quiet baby.", he whispers into my ear sending shivers down my spine in the best way possible. We both sit up swiftly removing our shirts, he gently pecks my lips allowing himself to kiss down my jawline, neck and along my shoulders till his hands reach the clasp of my bra. 

"May I?", his breathe tickles my neck and I nod. The white lace is soon gone leaving my top half completely bare and exposed, to my own surprise I'm not as nervous as I'd thought I'd be but how can I be when it's him.

He begins to kiss from my shoulder back down my chest gently laying me back down before reaching my jeans. I can feel his fingers undo the button and zipper tugging the denim off my hips and down my legs. 

A cold breeze hit my sensitiveness causing me to shudder. One step further and my panties have fond the rest of the clothes on my the floor. His eyes meet mine again a smile plastered on his face before speaking in a hushed tone. "Okay I'm gonna be honest it does hurt the first time but I promise I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure that you are ready before then. Do you trust me baby?". 

"Of course I do.", I smile. 

Our lips attach themselves once more as his thumb begins to rub my bud an action responsible for my hips bucking up. "It's okay.Relax", he reassures me against my lips.

My mind goes foggy overcome by his touch, of course I've touch myself but his hands against my most sensitive part was a whole new feeling of pleasure I've had yet to explore. 

When he feels I'm ready he slides a finger inside pumping in and out slowly, our moans mix together in the air trying to remain quiet. "I'm going to add another okay?". "Okay.". I feel his index and and middle fingers sliding in and out of me a wave of pleasure washing over me. I kiss him to try and cover my moans a futile action as I end up moaning against his lips instead. 

"Fuck yes just like that.", my hips begin to grind against his fingers giving him confidence to speed up slightly. My stomach begins to tighten as my climax winds up, he plants soft kisses along my chest continuing his motions only heightening my moans. "You are so beautiful y/n.", his whisper causes butterflies to let loose in my stomach. 

"I think I'm ready Connie.", I couldn't hold back anymore. I wanted him, all of him more than anything in this moment. "I think so too.", all contact is taken away so he could remove his jeans but I can't help the whimper that leaves my lips at the loss. 

The moment stand still our eyes locked on one another taking in this sight of each others exposed state, emotionally and physically bare. I prayed he couldn't hear how loud my heart was beating I've wanted him for so long to be more than my best friend and here he is, here I am giving him my first an I wouldn't change a thing. 

"Do you have protection?", I ask. He nods before reaching into his drawer and pulling out a shiny gold foil, putting on the condom and hovering over me once more. "I want you to be mine.", the words fall graciously from his now swollen lips. "I am yours.", I'm quick to answer.

"No I mean I want us, you and me. Boyfriend and girlfriend. This isn't just a one time thing. Be mine? Please.", a vulnerable Conrad is a side we rarely see and only in his most emotional state thought I've always been his soft spot. "I've always been yours whether you knew it or not my love.", I don't blush at the statement instead I smile and plant a small kiss on his nose. 

"This may still hurt I'm gonna go slow and let me know when I can move okay?", his lips lower to mine. His tip rubbing against my clit earning a small moan. "Okay.", I force the one worded answer out. As he kisses me slowly his member enters me...holy shit...a stint of pain swells inside my body, "Please move Con.", I manage. 

The thrusts replace pain with bliss, his minty scent fills my olfactory nerves, the soft touch of his lips and hands dance along my skin with sweat glistening on us both.

"Fuck you feel good baby.", he's as breathless as I am. His hands grip my hips imprinting small marks on them while my nails dig into his shoulders and back my entire body buried in ecstasy. 

"More.", I beg. I can feel him smirk into my neck picking up his pace and pushing deeper into me causing my back to arch off the bed our chests colliding. "Oh god." I moan gripping his shoulders so tight my knuckles are white.

"You're okay we're almost there.",his words soothe me and I allow myself to fall back against the mattress. As if they have a mind of their own my hips being to move meeting his hurts with equal enthusiasm and energy. "Just like that.", he groans into my skin. 

The knot in my stomach grows and grows I'm toe curling close to my end as is he. His speed picks up, ours moans mix praying we don't wake anyone. Mass amounts of Conrads groans fill the air when I begin to clench around him neither of us could hold on any longer.

 A white haze clouds all my senses as my entire body shakes with my orgasm. I feel him finish with me both of us panting and completely gone for each other and the moment we just shared.

A few minutes pass allowing us to collect ourselves before he quickly jumps grabbing an old t-shirt to clean us up. His care is gently and appreciated as some soreness begins to settle between my legs. 

"So how was I?', my cheeks turn red as I ask. I grab his shirt off the floor and pull it over my head covering myself.  "Perfect.", his arms wrap around my body spooning me, comforting me in a way I've never known a person could.

"Thank you for being my first.", the words are spoken just above a whisper. "Just hope you don't regret it.", his body tenses nervously against my back a sadness coating his words. "I could never regret you Conrad not about this, and not about us...we're infinite.". 

"Infinite.". he repests. "I should probably go to mine and Belly's room before anyone gets suspicious.", I try to get up only to be pulled back by Conrad. "You aren't going anywhere. I told you I will find a great excuse as to why you were in here.", I giggle at his statement.

"And what about the clothes that covering the floor?", I cock an eyebrow at him. "I've been meaning to do laundry.", he answers. 

"That includes my panties?", I can't help but laugh. "They got mixed up?", he shrugs. "My boyfriend ladies and gentlemen the best liar.", we both erupt in a fit of laughter though it is short lived as my eyelids begin to droop closed.

"Goodnight Connie.", my whole body relaxes into his chest sleep taking over. 

"Goodnight my infinity.", him kissing my head is the last thing I remember before being swept away in sleep. 

Infinity.  

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp conrad #team conrad #conrad fisher #team jeremiah #tsitp jeremiah #tsitp s2 #tsitp

[doctorweebmd]

night before the storm

Izuku gasps awake. His whole body is shaking, and for a groggy second, he considers whether there’s an earthquake going on. Fingertips grip into his bedsheets in an attempt to steady them – he recoils instantly, feeling how absolutely damp they are under him.

With all the effort in the world, he sits upright, breathing deeply, attempting to dislodge that weight that’s sat on his chest. Shaking fingers brush through sweat-soaked curls and, as we wipes against his eyes, he notices there’s a wetness too.

Whatever dream he was having lays heavy on his subconscious. He can’t seem to recall any of it; but whatever it was, it’s left him feeling scooped up and dried out, an empty scull left to decompose in a desert. He checks his phone and closes his eyes tighter. Its an awful night not to get any sleep.

He climbs out of bed, cringing at the sensation of the soaked through t-shirt sticking to his chest. Quickly, he changes into another set of sleep clothes, then gather his sheets. He’s too exhausted to wash them properly, but there’s no way he’s falling asleep on this cold sweat. He throws them in his laundry basked and, quietly as he can, walks out of the dorm room.

Izuku looks up and down the hallway, tyring his best to ensure that no one else was awake. He’d feel terrible if he disturbed the sleep of his classmates, considering the day they’re going to have tomorrow. Carefully, he tiptoes down the darkned hall. There’s something ominous about the silence, the walls, the closed doors around him. His legs, too, feel like its difficult to move, like they’re stuck in some kind of goo. Whatever nightmare he was having, it seems to have lingered.

He makes it down to the laundry room with hardly a single noise.

With his bed sheets in the dryer, he sits down at the side of the laundry room, thinking. They’ve gone over the plan a hundred times. They’re got the element of surprise, after all. They’ve got every pro hero on their side. They’re as ready as they’re going to be. So why Izuku feels like there’s something he hasn’t done is nagging at him, picking at his brain like dried paint on a wall. There’s something under there. There’s something old and hidden, but god do they not have the time to go there.

Having to waste an hour, Izuku wanders out to the common room, going to the refrigerator. He grabs a bottle of water. He’s probably dehydrated with how much he’s sweat out.

In the darkness, he wanders over the couch to wait, maybe watch some TV, barely registering that there is already someone sitting there, in the pitch darkness like a freak.

 “Can’t sleep?”

“Wah – Kacchan?” Izuku’s heart jumps so hard it tickles his tonsils before he’s able to force it back into his chest.

Katsuki Bakugou is laying down on the couch, knees hooked over the armrest while his head lies on the cushion. His gaze does not drift to Izuku – instead, it stays focused on the ceiling.

Something about his expression makes Izuku want to burst into tears. To collapse to his knees, to cry and dissolve into the very floor beneath him.

“…Bad dream,” Izuku finally answers, sitting down at the other end of the couch. Somehow, even with more than a full cushion between them, he feels Katsuki’s warmth. His palms are suddenly damp and he wipes them, as discretely as he can, against his shorts before looking away.

There’s a nervous energy buzzing through his entire body, and he doesn’t know why. Things between himself and Kacchan have been okay recently. More than okay.

“What about?” Kacchan asks, sounding sincerely curious. Izuku feels his shift on the couch, but he can’t seem to look at him. Something is scratching in his brain; peaking that paint back, insisting that Izuku get a look at what’s underneath.

He does not want to see what’s underneath.

 “I don’t remember,” Izuku admits. To do something with his hands, he unscrews the water bottle (barely – it takes him an embarrassingly long time with how hard his fingers are shaking and with the explicit knowledge that, somehow, Kacchan is watching him) and downs it.

“Shit – are you getting’ sick?”

There’s a warm palm against his clammy forehead and a body that’s suddenly much too close; Izuku acts on instinct, grabbing the other’s wrist and pulling it away from his face.

So he’s left with an incredulous looking Kacchan, eyebrows furrowed in what certainly can’t be concern, red eyes burning him alive on the spot. His body heat is stifling. Its only because of that, Izuku figures, that the heat is ascending up his neck into his cheeks.

He drops the other’s wrist like its physically scalding him, eyes drifting down to his own legs. Kacchan does not pull back.

Why doesn’t Kacchan pull back?

“M’ okay, Kacchan. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“I’m not worried about you,” the other spits back instantly, and Izuku can’t help the smile that inadvertently takes over his face.

They sit in silence. Katsuki doesn’t leave – Izuku wonders why, briefly. There’s so much he wants to talk to the other about. They have vehemently talked about none of it, not the apology, not Katsuki’s sacrifice for him. The other still sports the scars; Izuku could barely take his eyes off them when he first came back. He wants to thank him, but knows that it would only make Katsuki angry. He wants to ask why, but knows it would make Katsuki even angrier.

Really, all he wants is to sit here. Next to him. He always wants to be next to him.

It dawns on him like a sunrise, gradual and natural. Like it was always going to happen. Like it has already happened, hundreds of millions of times before.

He has no idea why he’s never realized this before.

“Hey… Kacchan?” Izuku starts, heart hammering away. He smiles to himself. Katsuki looks at him. Both their hands rest between them on the couch. They’re too close to one another – if Izuku was a braver man, he’d nudge his hand over, intertwine their fingers. But, no. Facing the demon lord and saving the world? That’s doable, Holding Kacchan’s hand? Absolutely impossible.

“Hm?” the other says, and it must be the exhaustion talking, because it almost sounds like the other is holding his breath.

“I…um. I have something to tell you.” Izuku swallows down the lump in his throat. There is pain in his chest – sweet and constant. He doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t know how he feels, he supposes.

They meet eyes and Katsuki is jumping off the couch.

“What? The fuck. Tell me after the battle tomorrow! Seriously – “ he seems flustered, his own face becoming a bright pink. Izuku tilts his head in confusion at the response. He stomps away, down the hallway, but doesn’t leave.

“You addicted to distracting me or somethin’?”

Izuku bites his lip and glances back down to his thighs, frowning slightly. Yeah, this is probably the absolute worst time in the world for a confession. It’s a selfish thing to do.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hey.” 

Izuku glances behind him. Katsuki has his hands shoved in his pockets, cheeks a perfect pink. His eyes seem to be glowing in the moonlight. Izuku can spend the rest of his life in silences like this with him. Just being here together.

“…When we make it out of this,” Katsuki says, slowly, deliberately. Confidently. Izuku’s chest aches. He doesn’t understand why.

“… I have something to tell you too, Izuku.”

Izuku’s heart skips straight over the moon reflecting in Katsuki’s eyes and into the stars.

“..You’re getting good at – um. Calling me by my first name,” Izuku says non-sensically.

“…I’ve had practice,” Katsuki says. Its mysterious with a hint of nostalgia and something about the way he says it makes Izuku’s skin crawl uncomfortably. 

“…Get some sleep, nerd.”

#bkdk #dkbk #drabble #this is a kill your darlings sort of situation #was a scene out of chapter 10 of nothing else fills but.... i can't use it anymore #but liked it too much to fully delete it #...anyway #read my fics boy

[slow-button-off]

What the fuck was that. I have so much to say after that race, I feel like I need a full debrief.

How did they get it so wrong. How do they keep taking the gamble/risky choice with the lead car, i thought we left that in the binotto era. They could've just done the safe choice, what was there to gain by trying the alternative strategy, it's not like he would've gained any positions even if it did work out. This scares me so much for next year, because clearly they haven't sorted out their problems. Last year it was very evident that their simulations and data was off based on all the weird strategy calls they made, but it appeared that they massively improved on that this year - or maybe that gremlin only shows up when charles is on pole and has decent pace and then they think, oh how can we take advantage of his good pace. Also how do you get it so wrong on a sprint weekend?? You had a 19 lap mini race where everyone could see that your car suffers from more deg than your rivals, why would you think a one stop would work and then why would you try it out on your lead car. I'm truly baffled by this decision. And then by the decision to not box again when the others did when you saw that it wasn't working, they could've still salvaged something. It's so annoying when you look at the pace compared to Lando, who looked like he used up his tyres quickly in all his stints (need to look at the data again, but I'm almost sure that a podium could've been on the cards) and so infuriating when you look at the gap charles created to sainz - to then end up 2 places behind just gives me flashbacks to last year.

And I'm also surprised by Charles reaction to this. I know he's not one of those drivers to go crazy on team radio or yell at the team via the media, but his words really surprised me. I don't know if he's completely checked out of this year already (I wouldn't blame him) but he sort of just accepted his fate. He said that this year is a learning year as they're not in the championship fight and it's all beneficial for next year. Unless his got some assurances that everything will change next year, I can't see how he's satisfied with this because there's clearly a fundamental problem that will come up next year even more often if the car is competitive - namely which driver gets priority and the race simulations that are weird. I hope that behind the scenes he has clarity because this has been a Ferrari problem for a long time and he shouldn't just expect it to fix itself if the car becomes fast.

Another thing that surprised with his reaction in interviews was when asked about being initially unhappy to let sainz past he said "it changed because I asked for an explanation and then they told that Perez was coming up and that he had great pace as well so it's understandable why we shouldn't fight with Carlos. The Red Bull was behind and we couldn't lose a position. So no I understand, but it's true that in that moment I thought Carlos was all alone so I wanted them to let us race but I completely understand the choice after getting to understand the situation and especially after they explained because I couldn't know in the car."

this is weird to me because it sounds like he was prepared to "race" carlos. We all know if it was the other way round, carlos would be asking for team orders to stay in front if he was the one that started ahead and was given a different strategy. Does charles just have no expectations from his teammate that he was preparing for a fight, even on old tyres. Does he for some reason not want to ask for team orders. Did he not realize how fucked over he was and thought that a fight would be fair. And then in the interviews when he was giving his rational and saying that Perez was right behind so that's why he was okay with the decision, why did he just accept that carlos needs to be protected instead of wanting carlos to play defender for him for the benefit of the team (like carlos has asked in the past and probably would've asked again) or even let him go past and give him the drs for protection. Like I just don't understand how he was okay with his teammate starting behind, getting the better strategy, allowing him by and then leaving him alone to get passed by one car and vulnerable to a second car. I don't know how to explain it, but just found charles answers very weird, it's almost like he doesn't want to ask anything of the team or his teammate. Maybe it's because he thinks he can't because they're not in a fight for anything, but we all know if the roles were reversed what the team radio would sounded like. It just makes me nervous about the state of things and the heirachy at Ferrari and that maybe things haven't really changed and that all we have to look forward to next year is a repeat of 2022.

Anyway, so sorry for the essay. Like I said, I really need a debrief 😅

I don't have an issue with them getting a little bit creative and talking small gambles but that only works if their tyre and strategy simulation is good and it is evidently not at all good.

It's been bad for a while and it's significantly worse when they don't have much data to work with.

Their data clearly said that a one stop could be a decent gamble because they also expected others to try which they didn't. The reason they did it with Charles is because he took great care of his tyres! and Carlos was cooking his. Charles was like 3 tenths a lap faster in that first stint.

So they had to pit Carlos because there was no way that he could do a one stop and Charles and his tyre saving fucked up their bad numbers even more and they thought it could work.

and by the time they realised it wouldn't it was way too late.

They are very bad ad pivoting their strategy once they've gone down one route and it's extra bad because their data is trash.

I don't think Charles expected them to fight as such I think he might've expected them to tell Carlos to hold position.

Charles just had an extra tough weekend with his tooth too. And it's a throwaway year for him I think that's why he "doesn't" care that much.

I just wish that they would finally fix their data simulation. their Simulator is good but their strategy sim is so bad but at least Fred called that out. I guess that is a start.

#asks asks asks

[knoxvilleforever]

Being Childhood Friends with Bam and Ryan Headcanons

request: I absolutely love your work. how about being childhood friends with bam and dunn and you’re one of the main cast members on viva la bam?

you met bam and ryan in high school

you were late to class one day when you found them both stood on the roof of one of the buildings outside

a low building, thank god

bam had his skateboard in tow and was just about to jump off when you rounded the corner

‘uh, that looks like it’s gonna hurt y’know.’

to be honest you couldn’t believe the sight in front of you

but you’d soon get used to it

‘i hope it does dude.’

at first you thought bam’s response was insane

until ryan wanted you to make yourself useful

‘hey, if you’re gonna watch can you film from down there?’

you didn’t get much choice as he was already throwing his camera down to you

but from then on the three of you were barely seen without each other

you’d help film videos for them whilst also expressing how much of a bad idea you thought the stunts were

and you’d play nurse for whoever needed it at the time

it didn’t take long before you were one of the number one targets for their pranks

so you had to learn quickly to prank them in retaliation

you were more paranoid than ever when viva la bam started filming

although when knoxville showed up to film you knew he’d be on your side

they let you in on the snake they’d brought in for bam

but bam’s reaction was to use you as a human shield

which wasn’t much fun when you weren’t the biggest fan of snakes yourself

so after that you were fully invested in the prank war

but of course bam apologised for using you as a human shield

because out of everyone he had a soft spot for you

was pouty about it at first but just wrapped his arms around you from behind

mumbles a sorry for getting you involved

and it made you feel a little bad for helping turn his hummer into a convertible

the three of you were often inseparable

and if you were out drinking with the two of them be prepared to be smothered with affection

if they didn’t show it all the time, they definitely made up for it when they’d been drinking

ryan would be the first to give you a bear hug

and bam would join in because he didn’t wanna be left out

out of the three of you, it was you who could handle the hangovers the best

so you had to look after the two boys who felt ill the next day

despite their pranking habits, the two were very protective of you

it was only them who were allowed to take things a step too far

if anyone else dared they’d have both a margera and a dunn to answer too

they made it very clear on set of viva la bam that you were off limits to everyone except them

‘what the fuck dude don’t do that to y/n?’

‘yeah dude? what the fuck?’

the three of you got into so much trouble with ape and phil

and it’d been the same way since you were teenagers

they wouldn’t change you for the world though

growing up with ryan and bam into your early twenties was an experience

it made certain things like dating very interesting

like your first boyfriend breaking up with you ended in three of his tyres being slashed

and two of your friends insisting they had no idea how it happened

anyone who hurt you opened themselves up to being terrorised by bam and ryan

because they’d do anything to see you laughing again

everytime they leave a kiss on each other’s cheek you can guarantee you’ll have one either side of you

they kiss your cheeks at the same time

you feign annoyance but it’s actually really cute

despite their weird ways of showing it, you’re like a little family

and you wouldn’t trade the chaos in for anything

#jackass #bam margera headcanons #ryan dunn headcanons #jackass headcanons #viva la bam headcanons #bam margera #ryan dunn #viva la bam #cky #knoxvilleforeverwriting #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader #ryan dunn x reader

[amazonworrier]

Can you write something about how Quinn’s season 3 accident affected Santana? Please :))

Ooh I actually did this scenario as a warmup/procrastination exercise for a proper-grown up/non fanfic related script I worked on a while ago. So it’s in the wrong format and probably super weird to read but oh well. This is how I always saw the post-crash scenario playing out in my head..

.

INT. HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM - NIGHT

The glee club sit gathered among a cluster of mismatched chairs. In the thick of it is Santana, balanced half in Brittany's lap, half in Mike's. She taps her foot impatiently - Mike wincing as her heel squishes his toe, over and over again...

Rachel: What's taking so long?

Although everyone else has changed, Rachel is still in her wedding dress. A comical sight in the context of the bland white walls and otherwise casual clothing. Finn watches her pace the length of the room.

Finn: I'm sure she'll be okay. The doctor said all the bleeding was internal, so they can just put it back, right?

Santana: That's not how it works, you irregular bowel-movement.

Mr Schue: Santana

Santana: What? First we had to go along with that ridiculous wedding earlier, and now I'm supposed to listen to Mr. Would-Be-Berry over there vomit worms from where his brain should be? No me Gusta

The group watch silently as Santana storms out of the room. Brittany follows.

Tina: Should someone-

Rachel: No. Give them a minute.

Finn: Rachel, it's the middle of the night.

Rachel: And their best friend is lying somewhere in this building in an operating theatre fighting for her life, Finn.

Mercedes: Rachel's right. Just leave Brittany to do her thing. I'm sure they won't go far.

EXT. AMBULANCE BAY - CONT.

Santana leaps into the passenger seat, startling JACK (25-ish), the unsuspecting driver.

Santana: Okay, where are we headed?

Jack: You can't be in here.

Santana: And you can't have sexual relations with anyone under the age of eighteen, but that didn't stop you crawling up to my room at Dr. Lopez' annual holiday mixer last year, did it?

Jack tenses, face white as a ghost.

Jack: Please don't tell your Dad.

Santana: As if he'd listen.

A beat, then Jack shakes his head in defeat. He turns the key in the ignition, engine whirring to life.

Jack: I was actually just about to finish my shift.

Santana: Great. You can drive me home.

As quickly as the ambulance starts moving, it stops. Suddenly. Tyres screech against the road beneath. A lone figure blocks the vehicle's path - obscured by headlights.

Jack: What the hell?

It's Brittany.

Santana gawks, angrily alighting the vehicle. She slams the door behind her.

Santana: What are you doing?

Brittany: What are you doing?

Santana: Leaving. Obviously.

Brittany: No you're not.

Santana: Yes I am.

The vehicle behind them zooms away, stranding Santana in the ambulance bay - aghast. Brittany approaches her carefully, eyes glowing with that disturbingly intense focus she seldom displays around any others.

Brittany: Quinn will be okay.

Santana: You can't know that.

Brittany: I know that if she wakes up and the first thing she sees is Rachel's wedding dress, or Finn's annoying face then she'll go into shock and die for real.

Santana can't help herself. She laughs. A wet, broken, but nonetheless there, laugh. The pair fall into each other, both softening the second their bodies meet.

Santana: If she dies, I'm going to kill her.

Brittany: I know that too

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY 

Quinn opens her eyes slowly, wincing in pain. Then, wincing again at the sight of a wide-eyed, tipsy Judy Fabray - towering unsteadily above her. 

Judy: Quinnie, you’re awake!

Rachel (O.S): Oh my God!

Rachel, white dress-and-all, is next to enter Quinn’s field of vision. She doesn’t quite push Judy out of the way to get to Quinn, except she does. Aggressively. 

Rachel: Hi. 

Quinn: Everything hurts. 

A beat, then:

Quinn: What happened? 

Santana (O.S): You got into a fight with a semi-trailer. 

Santana is the only other person in the room. She sits alone by the window, unamused. While her comment leaves Rachel and Judy visibly shocked, Quinn is unperturbed.  

Quinn: Is the truck okay? 

There’s a loud, obnoxious snort. Santana crosses the room then, paying no mind to the human obstacles in her path, to climb wordlessly up onto the bed. She and Quinn curl into each other without pretence, much to the discomfort of their audience. 

Rachel: We’ll just-

Judy: Doctor

Rachel: Yes! We’ll go find a doctor

Neither girl on the bed react to the sudden departure, too wrapped up in one another to register anyone else coming or going. Quinn seems the first to realise how odd that is - quirking a brow. 

Quinn: Santana? 

Santana: Yeah?

An accidental swipe of Santana’s hand against Quinn’s leg distracts her from finishing the thought. She frowns, features darkening in an instant.

Quinn: I can’t feel my legs. 

Silence - just for a moment. Santana sits up abruptly, balled fist rising high into the air, then back down to collide with Quinn’s thigh. 

Santana: Anything?

A long, gut-wrenching beat.

Then...

Another.

Quinn: No. 

Brittany enters the room just in time to find Santana standing up from the bed. They lock eyes: Santana’s watery, yet determined; Brittany’s simply confused. Santana clears her throat, turning back to face Quinn but refusing to look at her. 

Santana: Berry’s right. You need a doctor. 

INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER

Santana staggers out of the room, collapsing against the nearest wall, only to find Rachel there already. Rachel’s eyes flicker to the opposite window, where Quinn now makes conversation with a nervous Brittany. 

The pair share a look. Knowing. Terrified. Santana balks. 

Santana: I need some air.

Rachel: Me too. 

As they approach the elevator, our world descends into a dark mass of blurry, monochromatic confusion. Santana and Rachel grow unsteady in their steps - the only clear figures now in a glitchy, pixelated hospital backdrop. A deep, bassy music track thrums: 

Rachel: It doesn’t hurt me

Santana: Yeah, yeah, yo

The elevator door opens, both step in. Rachel presses the button, Santana falling against the back wall in defeat. 

Rachel: Do you wanna feel, how it feels? 

Santana: Yeah, yeah, yo.  

The bell dings, elevator doors bouncing open. Santana bursts out as if repelled by an unknown force. 

Santana (CONT’D): Do you wanna know, know that it doesn’t hurt me?

Rachel is slower, but remains in tow. Barely a step behind. 

Rachel: Yeah, yeah, yo.

Rachel: Do you wanna hear about the deal that I’m makin? 

We see a montage of moments between Rachel and Quinn: slaps in bathrooms, wistful looks in choir rooms...

Rachel: And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God

Fights... 

Laughs...

Santana: And I’d get him to swap our places

Then, a similar MONTAGE of flashbacks for Quinn and Santana - only this time more volatile: backstabbing, glares, hallway fights...

Santana (PRESENT DAY) shakes the memory off. She zigzags through the hospital, in a desperate race towards the exit. 

Rachel: Be runnin’ up that road

An elderly woman steps out suddenly from behind a door. Santana evades her in the nick of time, Rachel doesn’t. They collide at speed.

SMASH TO: 

Memory of Santana, colliding with Quinn in the McKinley Hallway. An explosive fight. 

Santana: Be running up that hill 

Then other memories: softer, this time. Of Quinn crying into Santana at Nationals. Of Quinn hugging Santana after she was outed. 

Santana: Be running up that buildin’ 

Of casual touches, and smiles, and the pair ruling McKinley with their iron, perfectly manicured fists. 

BACK to: 

INT. HOSPITAL - PRESENT DAY

Santana stands outside Quinn’s room again. There are tears in her eyes. Rachel appears at her side, then Brittany. The three watch their friend helplessly, as Quinn tries (and fails) to prop herself up in the hospital bed. 

All: Say, if I only could, oh...

#anon #quinntana #faberry #writing things #writing prompts

[yeyinde]

sorry to ramble + feel free to ignore this btw 😭😭 but i adore this show sm </3

but, yes i think u absolutely have richies character down to a T. one of the things i really appreciated about the show was how complex all the characters were and yeah, Richie is this ultimate asshole but you also see how much he cared for mikey and how he cares for carmy in his own weird way. and his dynamic with syd is also very interesting i think, and just seeing him struggle with grief and being SO resistant to change and he is confrontational but almost in an insecure way…. it just does something to me.

no, please keep rambling!!!!! 🤩 And also, sorry!!! This got away from me!

But I completely agree!!! Richie is the personification of "bottle that shit up, kid" and I love those types of characters, especially when they are good despite it all. He could have just been a paper-thin asshole, but he isn't. I mean, he is, but! He's an jerk with a heart of gold (kinda. maybe faux gold.)

I think what really sold that for me was the date scene, where he's just absolutely crushed. Devastated. And still trying to salvage something from it despite it being a losing battle. It really displayed his grief perfectly.

His is completely ignored.

He didn't lose a blood-brother. People are considerate of Carmy (to an extent), but Richie is just the childhood friend.

He can't even commiserate with Carmy, despite the fact that Carmy probably grew up with Richie.

(I h/c them as being childhood friends, and that, honestly, makes everything so much worse. No one ever asks about how the childhood friend is doing, and I don't think he expects them to, but still. He was there for Mikey through everything. Everything. And he can't even talk about it because everytime he tries, he cries, he gets choked up, and how can he cry when Carmy is going through it so much worse? It's selfish.)

He's the crabby, surly worker who everyone thinks should have been in jail a long time ago. Who no one expects much of, despite the fact that he's always at work. Always there. Dependable in his own way. He didn't go to a fancy school, but he knows things. He's street smart. Slick. He knows how to get around.

And when Syd goes off on him??? Omg. I honestly shattered. Like, I get it. I love Syd. I get it. But the way he just stood there and silently took it all, said nothing but just did what he had to do to keep the mess from spilling over any more than it already was. You would have expected him to lash out. To scream. Hurtle insults. And I think that's because he believed everything she said. All of that is the same stuff that runs through his head on a loop. He's insecure about all of it, and she picked it pieces.

When he's arrested, he called his (ex??)-wife. No answer. And I -

AHHHHHHHHH.

He's not nice, but he's kind(-ish).

If you told him you had a flat tyre, he'd help you change it, but he'd mock you the ENTIRE time. He'd be a right jerk about the whole thing. But you know what? He's still in the dirt, the snow, changing your damn tyre. And put your wallet away, he doesn't take charity from idiots who can't change a damn tyre. Use it to buy yourself a clue, stupid. Who drives in Chicago, anyway? Asking for it, if you ask him. Have you seen those potholes?

He's in a rut, but he doesn't have the tools to express it outside of anger. Lashing out. His marriage is (perhaps??) over, but he still wears his wedding ring. He does his best. He doesn't like change. He's comfortable. Sure, it isn't great, but it's good. And that's enough for him.

And if someone truly good came into his life, he'd push them out. Run. Flee. He doesn't deserve it, and you're just pulling his leg. He's no charity case on rough side of Chicago who needs someone to polish him up, thanks. Mind your damn business and stay the hell away from him unless you just want a quick fuck (but after, you should probably stay the night, or whatever. It's cold outside. And don't mind the kids toys all over the place. There his girls if she ever wanted to come over. Just shut up about it.). And, hey, it's late. You shouldn't walk home alone at night. You both get done at the same time. He'll walk with you. And you haven't eaten? Well, shit. You should have said something because the best Italian place (authentic Italian, none of that cheap shit) is three blocks in the opposite direction, but it's late. You probably have things to do, so get to them. Oh, you don't? Well, why wouldn't you wanna spend time with him? He's a delight. And stop flirting with him, you heathen. It's against HR policy. He'd know. He wrote it.

(but maybe there's some clause or whatever about not letting a good thing go, so. maybe you're stuck with him.)

#annddddd omggg #im doomed #this messy messy man #who is like #on the fringes of a breakdown but hiding it under layers and layers of anger and irritation #is gonna ruin me #richie jerimovich

[pathofregeneration]

Michael Z Tyree, In the Silence

* * *

Spiritual Progress — part I

“Christina Rossetti’s well-known lines:

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Does the journey take the whole long day? From morn till night, my friend.

are like an epitome of the life of those who are truly treading the path which leads to higher things. Whatever differences are to be found in the various presentations of the Esoteric Doctrine, as in every age it donned a fresh garment, different both in hue and texture to that which preceded; yet in every one of them we find the fullest agreement upon one point—the road to spiritual development. One only inflexible rule has been ever binding upon the neophyte, as it is binding now—the complete subjugation of the lower nature by the higher. From the Vedas and Upanishads to the recently published Light on the Path, search as we may through the bibles of every race and cult, we find but one only way,—hard, painful, troublesome, by which man can gain the true spiritual insight. And how can it be otherwise since all religions and all philosophies are but the variants of the first teachings of the One Wisdom, imparted to men at the beginning of the cycle by the Planetary Spirit?

The true Adept, the developed man, must, we are always told, become—he cannot be made. The process is therefore one of growth through evolution, and this must necessarily involve a certain amount of pain.

The main cause of pain lies in our perpetually seeking the permanent in the impermanent, and not only seeking, but acting as if we had already found the unchangeable, in a world of which the one certain quality we can predicate is constant change, and always, just as we fancy we have taken a firm hold upon the permanent, it changes within our very grasp, and pain results.

Again, the idea of growth involves also the idea of disruption, the inner being must continually burst through its confining shell or encasement, and such a disruption must also be accompanied by pain, not physical but mental and intellectual.”

— H.P. Blavatsky, Collected Writings

#Michael Z Tyree #In the Silence #Art #Beauty #Painting #Visionary #Spiritual Progress #Christina Rossetti #Poetry #Wisdom #The Path #Esoteric Doctrine #Vedas #Upanishads #Light on the Path #Pain #H.P. Blavatsky #Collected Writings