#You would get people liking your work and you could see other people's work and it was so friendly and beautiful and customizable

[jksarchives]

volume 3

[ 35/35 ]

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❖ proposal — by @hansolmates

Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. | 20.1k [f, a]

❖ magic stick — by @badbtssmut

Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset. | ? [s]

❖ crazy — by @girlygguk

you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook. | 15.5k [s, f, a]

❖ we are all dreamers — by @yoonia

Jeon Jungkook is a cocky bastard. Not only does he have the pride and insolence twice the size of his head, but he also has an anger that could open up the door to hell on itself. As he continues to refuse to believe on the soulmate system, he keeps on unknowingly hurting you, punishing you for what the universe has thrown at him in the past. Would he change his ways as he finally meets you? Or would you run away, giving him the exit that he had seemed to desire so greatly? | 16.5k [a, s]

❖ comfort inn ending — by @joonbird

“It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.” | series [a, s]

❖ angel’s trumpet — by @hansolmates

one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. | series [ a, f, s]

❖ the habits of a broken heart — by @softykooky

jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. | 26.3k [a, f]

❖ animal — by @cutaepatootie

series [a, s]

❖ a fallen bookmark on a thursday afternoon — by @cutaepatootie

He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can't even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That's how Jeon Jungkook came into your life. | 19k [a, f, s]

❖ scattered stars — by @taegularities

It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love? | 17.9k [f, a, s]

❖ welcome to the heartbreak show — by @numinousher

you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him? | 28k [a, f]

❖ mutt — by @letsbangts

when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. | 6k [s, a]

❖ answer your phone — by @letsbangts

when the consequences of his actions come calling. — 12.8k [a, s]

❖ the love prognosis — by @awrkive

for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time. | series [f, a, s]

❖ lie with you — by @girlygguk

in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it. | 8.4k [a, f]

❖ out of gas? — by @97kuu

It was a setup between Taejoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night.. | 3k [s]

❖ ordinary things — by @lovieku

after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you. | 6.9k [a, f]

❖ cosmic balance — by @explicit-tae

Every universal realm has a positive and negative - good or bad. Jungkook manages to cross the portal from his dystopian world to your utopian one and decides that he'd do anything to stay with you. | 8.7k [a, s, f]

❖ seven storms — by @wintaerbaer

As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option. | 9k [a, s, f]

❖ first class— by @girlygguk

in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite. | 25k [a, f, s]

❖ when she loved me — by @jungkookstatts

How does one live when life is bound to end? | 11.2k [a, s]

❖ staged for the season — by @voyter

Going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend. — 18.3k [f, s, a]

❖ guilty as sin — by @gldrushh

You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying. — 17.3k [a, s]

❖ mature — by @jiminrings

The good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. — 8k [f, a]

❖ 6 AM — by @neimaami

Jungkook wakes you up at 6AM for more than just morning cuddles. — 4k [s]

❖ year 22 — @rkived

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ — 11.5k [a, f, s]

❖ tangled webs — @ughseoks

Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half. — 14.1k [a, f]

❖ fighting hearts — @kooktrash

Never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more. — 15k [a, s, f]

❖ a thousand reasons why — @taegularities

After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn't expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend's wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance. — 43.1k [a, f, s]

❖ can’t be without you — @ahundredtimesover

One night you’re gushing over rom-coms and Jungkook’s cooking; a few nights later you’re tending to his beat-up face. But while it’s his stubbornness that’s saved you countless times before, it’s that same quality that constantly puts him in danger. OR your best friend just can’t let go of underground fighting and so, drama ensues. — 30.4K [f, a, s]

❖ tangled thoughts — @hongcherry

It wasn’t easy to leave your boyfriend of two years, but the constant lies made you question your relationship. You tried to move on, but you were somehow constantly tangled in his web. After being captured by an unknown, yet familiar, enemy, Jungkook wondered if he was doing the right thing by keeping his secret identity from you. Was it too late to come clean? — 10.5k [a, f]

❖ warning signs — by @hongcherry

Spider-Man is a beacon of hope for most residents in Seoul; although, it causes you to feel a little useless to society. With determination to be a change in the world like your masked boyfriend, you find yourself involved in a secluded organization meant to eradicate underground gangs. However, you’re deeper than you expected—leaving Jungkook trying to discover who this ‘new you’ is alone. — series [a, f]

❖ kiss me better — by @jaykaysthicthighs

Jungkook said some really mean things to you when you started coming home so late. when he realizes how horrible he was, he tried making it up to you. — 4k [a, f]

❖ disney+ & blast — by @1kook

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. — 13k [f, a, s]

❖ blackjack — by @kpopfanfictrash

Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out? — series [s, a, f]

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Fourteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, jealous lando, protective grid, sexual content

Notes — Welcome to the 2021 Formula One season! (Testing, but still... it counts). Also... hehehehehehehe double update <3

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Lewis H. A warm welcome to our 2021 rookies! Mick, and Yuki :)

Lando N. Yeah, welcome or whatever More importantly, does anyone know if I can call up the Apple store in Woking and get them to deliver to me? Even though it’s closed rn

Lewis H. What happened? Did her iPad break?

Lando N. Yeah mate, completely toast.

Max V. Shit. I can have one express delivered to your flat, Lando. It is, of course, a work expense.

Yuki T. Uh hey I guess! I thought this was a work only chat? Did I get the wrong briefing?

George R. It usually is, but as admin I allow Amelia-based chat @Yuki

Mick S. Hey! Great to be here. Um, just curious though. Who is Amelia?

Max V. My lead technical engineer.

Lando N. My girlfriend.

Lewis H. Zak Brown’s daughter.

Fernando A. Her iPad is broken? I will bring her one now. Lando, send me your home address.

Mick S. Ohhh, I actually know Amelia Brown!

Lando N. ?????????? @Mick

Fernando A. Lando you have not sent me your address.

Max V. @Fernando I have already purchased the iPad.

Mick S. @Lando we met years ago, mate. She used to ski with her family where mine did in the winter.

Lando N. You heard the part where she’s my girlfriend, yeah @Mick?

Mick S. Yes…

Lando N. Good.

Fernando A. @Max She will need it delivered to her soon.

Charles L. It finally broke? Wow. Lasted far longer than I believed it would.

Lando N. @Charles Not a good time for jokes, mate. She’s devastated

Daniel R. Should I start carrying a spare iPad to races with me just in case? LOL.

Lando N. Wait that’s a good idea Somebody write that down Max write that down

Max V. I purchased three. I will carry the spares

Fernando A. Vamos, Max!

Pierre G. I bet the rookies are so confused lmao. Welcome to the grid group chat. We discuss penalties, race conditions, plane shares, and Amelia Brown.

Carlos S. @Lando How is she? Did she freak out?

Lando N. She’s good now. All chill.

Lewis H. Tell her that I just bought her a new bunny sticker book. I’ll give it to her at testing.

Lance S. If I buy her the entire Apple company, do you think she will come and fix the Aston Martin car?

Max V. NO.

Yuki T. This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in any grid group chat, and the f2 chat used to get weird lol

George R. Welcome to the grid, Yuki. Keep your head on straight, and if you ever find a lost iPad with a bunny sticker on it anywhere in the paddock, make sure it gets back to Amelia asap

Lando N. Thats important for all of the rookies to know @Mick @Yuki 

Mick S. Sure I’ll keep an eye out!

Lando N. Actually I change my mind Mick if you see an iPad just leave it yeah :) 

Mick S. ????

Pierre G. This is going to be a great year. 

Checo P. All of the other drivers have this chat muted, yes?

Kimi R. Yes. 

— 

Amelia was crouched down by Max's car, her hand resting on the tire as she scanned through the data on her iPad. The numbers on the screen felt too slow, almost static, compared to the racing thoughts racing through her head.

Beside her, Jos loomed over her, a red-ink pen poised above her little black notebook. He was taking notes for her. Her mind was moving faster than her hands could keep up, and sometimes, just sometimes, she needed someone like him, methodical, steady, and patient, to help her process it all.

Her fingers flicked over the screen, swiping through the data from Max's morning run, when she paused, eyes flicking to Jos. “You see what I see?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking any louder might break the delicate focus she’d managed to carve out for herself.

Jos nodded, his eyes scanning the information on the screen before looking back down at the scribbles he’d started in her notebook. “More rear stability in the high-speed corners. We’ll need to adjust the dampers again,” he said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

Amelia’s eyes tightened slightly as she thought. “We might need to soften the rear more. The front’s too reactive. Max is going to be fighting it in corners three and four, especially.” She tapped the screen lightly, zooming in on the section of the track map. “The car’s settling into a snap too fast, can’t keep up with the rear load in the high-speed sections.”

Jos made a mark in her notebook. “Front end’s still too eager, then?” He sighed. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Amelia made a face. “We soften that just a little bit more. Max needs more confidence in the corners. Less initial bite, more consistency. Maybe tweak the ride height slightly too.” Her words were coming faster now as the solution to their issues fell into place in her brain. 

As the day wore on, Max’s car was fine-tuned with the adjustments, and Amelia watched on with satisfaction as everything came together in perfect harmony. 

They had a plan. The tweaks would work. Max would be happy with the handling.

She turned to Jos when the mechanics started to wheel Max’s car back into the garage for the final time, day one of testing officially over, giving him a small but appreciative smile.

He pulled her notebook out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. “I hope you can understand my handwriting.” 

— 

Amelia sat opposite Max at one of the small team tables in the Red Bull hospitality unit. Most of the staff had already filtered out for the night, their voices fading down the hallway as engineers, PR reps, and mechanics headed for shuttles and taxis. But the two of them lingered — Amelia, still editing Jos’ scribbled notes from earlier in the day, and Max, who had quietly gotten into the habit of not leaving until she did.

It was almost sweet. He dropped her off to Lando at her hotel room at the end of every day like she was a preschooler getting passed between divorced parents. She hadn’t said anything about it, partly because it was practical, and partly because she didn’t mind it. It was nice not to have to worry about being alone.

Across from her, Max was hunched low in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, mouth set in a hard line. His gaze flicked from the tabletop to her notebook and back again, a rhythm she’d seen a hundred times before. It meant he was thinking. Hard. Or more likely, overthinking.

She didn’t bother looking up. “Just say it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been fidgeting with your straw for six minutes. It’s starting to irritate me.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the bench with a groan. “You are very annoying.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, finally meeting his eyes. “Max, tell me.”

He hesitated, then shifted forward, resting his elbows on the table. There was a pause, a rare, tentative kind, and then, quieter than usual, he said, “I’m nervous.”

That made her put the pen down.

“For the season?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Max nodded. “Everyone keeps saying 2021 is my year. Like it’s inevitable. Like this is it. And I want it — Fuck, I want it so bad. I’ve worked for it my whole life. But now that it’s here, I don’t know…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “What if it doesn’t happen?”

“It might not,” Amelia said plainly.

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but stopped short, blinking at her. “Comforting.”

“You’re not asking for comfort,” she said. “You’re asking if you’re good enough. And yes, you are. But this sport doesn’t always care about that.”

He let that sit for a moment. Nodded.

Then, quieter still, “There’s something else.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“I met someone. Over the break.”

She made a face. “Someone?”

He groaned. “Don’t do the eyebrow thing.”

She relaxed her face. “Who did you meet?”

Max scratched at the edge of the table. “I met her in Monaco. She’s nice. A lawyer . She thinks I’m just… Max. I didn’t tell her about the racing. About… everything. She doesn’t follow F1.”

Amelia leaned forward slightly. “So she doesn’t know who you are.”

He shrugged helplessly. “She knows who I am. Just not… what I do.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you like that?”

“I think so,” he said. “It’s peaceful. She talks to me like a normal person. No hero-worship, no pressure. Just… calm.”

“You’re lying to her, essentially,” she said bluntly. “Not a good foundation for a relationship.”

He shot her a withering look. “Jesus. You’re worse than my dad.”

“I take that as a compliment. We have the same goal.”

“I know.”

She looked down at her notebook, flipping a page and skimming it for a second. “You think you can manage both? A relationship and a championship battle?”

He hesitated. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” she said, then looked back at him. “But it might be a bit stupid.”

Max chuckled dryly. “Thanks.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have both,” Amelia added. “I’m just saying that it probably won’t work.” 

He frowned, nodded slowly, then said, “But you’re managing your relationship and my championship.”

“I’m not the one driving the car, Max.” She argued. 

“Still,” he muttered. “You’re making it work. I could make it work.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Is she nice?”

Max nodded, “I almost ran her over.”

She blinked at him. “Oh. That’s… romantic?” She tried. 

He laughed shortly. “She was in a rush, didn’t look properly. I apologised and gave her a ride to work. She— she, uh, thinks that I’m just some wealthy businessman’s son, or something.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. “You should stop lying to her. I would… I would not like it if I was in that situation and I found out that I was being lied to.” 

Max sighed. Nodded. 

Then he stood, grabbed both their jackets, and slung hers over the back of her chair. “Come on. Let’s get you to your boyfriend before he starts texting me again asking where you are.”

She gave him a flat look. “He has a GPS tracker on my phone.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. Typical Norris.”

She shrugged. “It’s sweet. Sometimes I get lost and he has to come and find me.” 

Max laughed, and for the first time all day, some of the tightness left his posture. “Yeah,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Probably good that he has it, then.” 

— 

The lights of Manama twinkled in the distance, warm and hazy against the desert night. From the balcony of their hotel suite, the city looked like it belonged to another world; quiet and golden and slow in a way the paddock never was. The hum of the air conditioning inside was replaced by the occasional distant honk of a car, or the hush of wind weaving through the palm trees below.

Amelia was seated cross-legged on one of the outdoor chairs, wrapped in a white robe, her hair still damp from her shower. Lando, in a t-shirt and joggers, was fiddling with a tiny bottle opener, attempting to open a bottle of some obscure sparkling drink he’d insisted was “romantic, okay baby? Trust me.”

Their room service tray sat between them on the small table. Grilled flatbreads, mezze, roasted lamb. Lando had ordered for them and he’d gotten everything right.

“I don’t know how you always remember this stuff,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into a tangy yogurt sauce.

Lando grinned, finally getting the bottle open with a victorious pop. “Because I listen when you talk. I know the face you make when you think something tastes bad or has a yucky texture. I have eyes. Shocking, I know.”

Amelia gave him a pointed look. “Last week, you kissed my eyeball because you were being lazy and tried to kiss me with your eyes closed.”

“Shut up.” He huffed. 

She laughed quietly, curling into him, giving him a bit of the blanket. “I think Max might be in love,” she said suddenly.

Lando blinked. “Max? Verstappen?”

“Mm,” she nodded, chewing. “He told me today that he met someone over the winter. She doesn’t know who he is. Like, really doesn’t know. Thinks he’s just some rich guy named Max.”

Lando made a face. “That… feels impossible.”

“She’s apparently very disconnected. Doesn’t follow the sport. Max likes it.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Weird. But kind of sweet, I guess.”

She frowned at him. “I told him he shouldn’t be dating during a title fight.”

“Very romantic of you.” Lando teased. 

She shrugged. “I never said I was romantic.”

“No,” he said. “But you are.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree. Instead, she reached for his hand where it rested on the table, her fingers brushing over his lightly. “I hope you do very well this year, Lan.” She told him, earnest and hopeful. “You deserve it.” 

Lando turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. “So do you. Deserve to do well, I mean. You’ve worked so hard this past year. You deserve to see it pay off.”

Amelia didn’t say anything right away. She just leaned over and kissed him; soft, sweet, clinging. It wasn’t meant to lead anywhere at first, just a thank you. But she didn’t pull away. And he didn’t let her go.

She ended up in his lap, her legs curled against his chest, her robe brushing his knees. His hands slid instinctively around her back, fingers splaying wide against the thin fabric, grounding her. Grounding himself.

They stayed like that for a long time. The balcony lights dimmed behind them. The city hummed faintly in the distance, the last remnants of dinner cooling on the table, the silence between them easy.

Then, gently, she climbed off of him and stood. Her bare feet whispered against the tile as she stepped forward, and she stopped just in front of where he sat, between his knees. Her eyes searched his face for a beat, then she reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

“Come inside with me?”

Lando’s breath caught slightly. He looked up at her, her expression steady, soft, open, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside, the hotel room was cast in warm light, golden from a low bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn against the city, muffling the world outside. The bed was turned down, sheets crisp, pillows fluffed. A quiet kind of invitation.

She tugged him by the hand toward the bed, and he followed without a word, heart thudding in his chest.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t awkward.

There was a kind of reverence to the way they undressed, slow, curious. Amelia’s robe slipped from her shoulders, caught briefly on her elbows before pooling at her feet. Lando’s hands hovered just for a second before brushing up her arms, like he was making sure she wouldn’t vanish if he touched her too quickly.

Their kisses deepened, still hesitant but filled with intent, with the weight of everything they’d been building toward for over a year. Every laugh, every shared moment of delicate intimacy, every time they’d caught each other’s eyes across a garage or a hotel lobby, it all settled into the space between them.

Lando’s mouth trailed across her skin with an almost startled sort of wonder, like he was learning a language he’d been waiting to speak. Her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently when his lips brushed the hollow of her throat. They moved together with quiet urgency, limbs tangled, breath catching against skin.

At one point, Lando paused, hovering just above her, his eyes sweeping across her face, flushed, focused, real.

“You’re so... fuck,” he whispered, barely audible.

Amelia blinked, lips curling faintly. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, then her collarbone. “It is,” he murmured. “It really is.”

And when they finally settled under the covers, tangled together with her head tucked beneath his chin, Lando let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

She didn’t say much, but her fingers curled into his shirt like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, and that was enough. 

— 

The sunlight was already creeping through the sliver of the curtains when Lando stirred, warmth pooling low in his stomach before he was even fully awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, just blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember if he’d dreamt the night before, or if it had really happened.

Then she shifted against him.

Amelia was tucked beneath his arm, hair a little wild against his chest, one bare leg tangled over his. Her cheek was pressed just below his collarbone, lips slightly parted, her breath steady and warm against his skin.

Definitely not a dream.

He smiled, slow, stupid, unbelievably content.

She felt it too, maybe, his laugh or the way his fingers brushed along her back, because she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like a complaint and burrowed closer, clearly not ready to be awake yet.

Lando tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”

She made a noise that was more sigh than word. “Mm. No.”

“No what?”

“No talking,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Too early.”

He laughed quietly, the sound muffled by her hair. “It’s almost seven.”

“Too early for you to be this cheerful.” She grumbled.

Lando shifted just enough to look down at her, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m not cheerful.”

“You’re smiling.”

He smiled wider. “Can you blame me?”

She cracked an eye open, blinking up at him. Her face was still soft from sleep, a little puffy and makeup-free, but to him, she looked... ridiculously beautiful.

“What?” she asked, because he was staring.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I just really like waking up next to you.”

Her expression shifted slightly. And then, a second later, she exhaled and said quietly, “I like it, too.”

Lando kissed her, just a little one, lazy and warm.

They lay tangled in the sheets, the morning light spilling gently across the room. For a while, neither of them moved, perfectly content to exist in the quiet, wrapped up in warmth and each other.

Eventually, Amelia stirred, shifting just enough to reach over to the nightstand. She blinked blearily at her phone and then sighed and glanced across the room.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot to charge my iPad.”

Lando, still half-asleep, pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “I plugged it in when I got up in the middle of the night to go for a piss.”

She turned to look at him, her expression soft, a little surprised. Her voice came quiet. “You did?”

He nodded, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want you waking up to it dead.”

A pause. Then she gave him the smallest pout, sleepy and affectionate and so purely her. “I love you.”

He broke into a grin, one of those quiet, full-body smiles that lived in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I love you too.”

—

The McLaren motorhome was buzzing with early morning energy, the consistent hum of coffee machines working overtime. Amelia slipped through the front doors with her badge swinging around her neck, hair still damp from a rushed shower, and Lando trailing behind her, half-yawning into a croissant.

Zak spotted them first, already seated at one of the corner tables with Daniel, who was halfway through a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and talking animatedly about something.

“There’s my girl,” Zak called, waving them over.

Amelia dropped into the seat beside her dad with a tired sigh. “Morning, dad.” She kissed his cheek. 

“You sound tired,” he frowned at her, sipping his coffee.

Lando slid into the chair beside her, nudging her with his knee under the table. She handed him a napkin in response, gesturing for him to wipe the crumbs away from his face, and he smiled. 

Daniel looked between them, eyebrows raised. “You must be Amelia. I’m Daniel. Can’t actually believe we’ve not met properly before now.” 

“I know.” Amelia agreed, already reaching across the table for a muffin.

Daniel leaned in a little, grinning. “Lando talks about you all the damn time. In debriefs, pre-race meetings, on his radio—”

“Please stop talking,” Lando glared at his new teammate, clearly embarrassed.

“She’s worth talking about,” Zak laughed, patting Amelia on the shoulder with a fond smile.

Daniel smirked at Lando, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Lando just narrowed his eyes at him, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Amelia took another bite of her muffin, savouring her food. But before she could finish, her phone buzzed violently against the table. It was from Max.

iMessage — 7:33am

Max Verstappen Are you here, sister? I want to talk about my steering set-up

Amelia On my way to you now.

She shoved the rest of her muffin into her mouth and stood up in one swift motion. “Okay. I gotta go.”

Lando looked up, surprised. “Already?”

Amelia kissed him quickly on the cheek, her lips lingering for just a second longer than expected. She gave her dad a quick shoulder squeeze before smiling at Daniel, her usual bluntness softened by a bit of shyness she wasn’t used to showing in front of him. “Max wants my advice.”

Zak called after her with a grin. “Tell Jos I want my daughter back for lunch.”

“No promises,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder, already speed-walking toward the exit. Her hair bounced with each step, and her phone was pressed to her ear before she even made it out of the motorhome.

Daniel leaned toward Lando as she disappeared down the hallway. “You’re screwed, brother.”

Lando shot him a look, kicking him under the table. “Shut up.”

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Yuki T. I have Amelia’s iPad in AlphaTauri garage

Lewis H. Yeah, this has to be a new record.

Lando N. Lol she’s just been rly busy. Probably hasn’t noticed she hasn’t got it yet

Max V. She just noticed and started freaking out. @Yuki I’m on my way to get it.

Lando N. She okay @Max?

Max V. Yes mate, no need to worry.

Mick S. @Max Can I pop by your garage and say hi to her? It’s been years!

Lando N. @Max Say no. Max, say no. Max, say no.

Max V. @Mick No, she is too busy for friends.

Lando N. LMAO, REKT @Mick.

Mick S. Bro????? I really don’t want to steal your girlfriend 😭

Fernando A. You do not believe my Amelia is good enough for you, Schumacher?

Max V. What the fuck Mick

Charles L. Uh oh 😬😬

Pierre G. Bro that was NOT the right thing to say 😭

Max V. @Mick She wouldn’t even look your way. 

Lando N. Wild angle, mate @Mick

George R. We are witnessing a man dig his own grave live in chat

Daniel R. *shovels faster* Keep going, Mick. Say you think she’s boring next.

Sebastian V. This feels like bullying.

Yuki T. I think it is  

Carlos S. @Mick Just lie down. Accept it. The storm will pass.

Mick S. I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭 I literally just meant she’s your girlfriend and I respect that! @Lando

Lando N. Sure you did. 

Fernando A. In my country we have a saying — "Schumacher has placed his own foot in his own mouth."

Lewis H. Pick your words better next time yeah? @Mick

Lance S. This is why rookies don’t get access to Amelia.

Esteban O. Wait does that mean I have access to Amelia?

Max V. No.

Fernando A. Absolutely not.

Lando N. You do not.

Valtteri B. I do not speak much in this chat but I just want to say: Mick, this is very funny.

Antonio G. +1

Nicholas L. same 😭

Sebastian V. Let it be a lesson to all of us. Never try to be polite in here. It will be weaponised.

Charles L. I miss when this chat was about tyre pressures and strategy.

George R. That’s adorable. It’s never been that.

NEXT CHAPTER

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist

(DCxDP) | Masterpost | Next to be written

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," his newest social worker started, turning in her seat so she might actually get him to look at her. Danny continued looking out the window and up at the gigantic building they were parked in front of.

"This is your last chance before the system declares you unfit for foster homes and sends you off to juvie. And before you get all uppitty about it, know this is as much your fault as it is the system's."

Danny rolled his eyes, watching as shadows rushed past windows too tinted to actually see into. Another shadow darted past a lower one, dragging his eyes down and toward the door. The shadow was quickly followed by three more, one of them waving something over their head.

Allowing his hearing to spread out from its usual range, Danny listened as muffled shouts filled the air, quickly turning into clear words.

"GET THE MASK, GET THE MASK!"

"SHIT!" fallowed by a thump and the sound of a large piece of furniture tipping backward and landing.

"I GOT IT!" another voice cried.

"HEY, I HAd that, you little shit-"

Danny quickly pulled his hearing back, not wanting to listen anymore. He already knew he was going to hate it here.

"Now, Mr. Wayne has taken in a lot of kids and has been very gracious to open his home to you. Make no mistakes, young man. You will listen to what he tells you, and so help me, if you cause this man any trouble whatsoever, you will regret it. Stay in the car until I tell you you can get out. I need to go over your file with Mr. Wayne first."

She was acting like Danny was some delinquent picked up fresh from a gang fight. He was half tempted to act like it just to spite her, but bit his tongue and continued looking around the place.

The large garden surrounding the building was obviously well taken care of, the green hummed happily as the (what Danny's gathered) rare sun shone in the sky.

His control over plants still needs work, but he's gotten good enough to connect to the green and get the general feelings. Like how the man who just walked out the front doors was greatly loved by the plants, which meant he was the one taking care of them.

"Are you even listening to me?" the lady huffed, unbuckling herself and shoving the car door open. She was already standing and treating the old man before Danny could respond.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, was it? Hi, I'm Ms. Clance, I'm Danny's social worker. Is Mr. Wayne home?" she slammed the door shut and held her hand out for a handshake.

The older man eyed her hand but otherwise ignored it, instead turning to look at Danny, who was still in the car. "That is correct, Ms. Clance. Master Wayne is in his study; he'll be down in a moment to discourse any last minute things you need to cover. Now, why don't we get Mr. fenton inside and aquanted with the others?"

"Hold on for just a moment," Ms. Clance cut in, sending Danny a nervous glance. Danny raised his brow, but continued to pretend he couldn't hear a word they were saying, 'waiting' for her signal to get out of the car.

The front door opened behind them, three heads popping out in an obvious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, a blond girl, still in her teens, and a guy with eyebags. Though Danny's were definitely worse, he might have Tucker beat. which was worrying, because what could this guy possibly need to pull three all-nighters for?

"I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne before letting the kid settle in. No offence, but I want to make sure Mr. Wayne is serious in wanting to house the kid. We've already had three other families agree to take him on and then drop him in less than a month."

"I see," Mr. Pennyworth hummed, studying Danny with a sharp eye. Danny studied him back; he had good posture, and his graying hair was slicked back. He had a mustache but no other facial hair, so he obviously kept himself well-maintained. Jazz said people like that were more likely to be well-disciplined and lean toward being blunt and honest.

His stance didn't lean toward classic butler, though; it leaned toward fighting and alert. He had experience in the army or something then, which meant Danny would have to keep an eye on this guy. he probably was the one running the house when Mr. Wayne wasn't around. which meant he'd be the one watching Danny the most.

"I still believe the young man should come inside, master wayne doesn't go back on his words, and he'll unlikely do so now."

Ms. Clance warily glanced at Danny, then back at Mr. Pennyworth, a fake smile plastered on her face, before one of the three spying on the cut in," yeah! I want to meet the little guy!"

The door swung open, allowing even more people to crowd around and watch the scene in front of them.

"And you will," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to face the growing group. "Once I speak to Mr. Wayne. We have to go over a few things in Daniel's file before I can sign off on all of this."

"Like, what?" the blond one asked, her eyes meeting danny's as she skipped down the stairs. Danny could just tell she'd be down for all sorts of chaos. And he could also tell she'd be glued to his side until her interest died, which would take only clockwork knows how long.

Instinctively, Danny reached out and grabbed the door, just as someone tried opening it. Glancing up and to the side, Danny met gray eyes. It was the other girl he had spotted a few minutes before.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling and stepping back. 'You can come out,' she signed. Danny glanced back at Ms. Clance, then back to the girl before sighing and getting out.

Her eyes lit up once he closed the door and turned back to her.

"You know sign," she asked, her voice quiet but not obviously disused.

'absoltly not', danny signed just to be a little shit. Turning back, he stared at his social worker, who was watching them in confused frustration.

"Daniel, what did I say about staying in the car?" She looked ready to march over and smack him.

"I thought you decided I wasn't listening?" Danny pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car. If she wanted to waste time, then that was perfectly alright with him.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning back to the butler. (he had to be a butler; he looked just like the one at Sam's place or the one his parents employed when they had made that deal with the GIW.)

"You never answered my question," Blondy cut in, smiling sweetly at the frustrated woman.

"Like the plethora of misdemeanors?" Danny asked, watching as everyone turned to look at him. The gray-eyed girl had slowly made her way back to join the others, though she still looked happy for some reason.

"no," ms. Clance huffed, obviously starting to get overwhelmed for some reason. she needed to take a step back and breath, there was literally no reason for her to be this agitated.

"More like we need to go over how many times you snuck out, got seriously injured, seriously injured someone else, and sent your last foster parent to a mental facility."

"All classified as misdemeanors, so obviously not that bad," Danny waved off, rolling his eyes. "And Mr. Thompson deserved it."

"You drove that man insane!" she hissed, swatting a piece of her hair out of her face.

Danny blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion, "He was already insane before I got there, though?" which was actually quite annoying. danny's dealt with enough insane people at this point, he'd rather hug Vlad than deal with another one.

"He was not," Ms. Clance sniffed, trying to straighten herself out.

"he definitely was," Danny argued, pulling his backpack tighter against his back in annoyance. "The dude thought locking me in a room and feeding me white rice once a day was perfectly fine."

Danny ignored the sudden stilted silence at his words, choosing to instead focus on the man slowly making his way outside and over to them.

"Would you stop making things up already?" Ms. Clance huffed, "We've already gone over this. There wasn't a lock on your door, and there was plenty of food in the pantry."

Danny rolled his eyes, going back to studying the gray-eyed girl. The happy sparkle was gone, and she was making hand signals that the others around her were focused on. It wasn't a dialect of sign he knew, most likely a self-made code then.

"Don't need a lock to lock someone up," Danny grumbled, turning back to Ms. Clance, "and if that doesn't count as insane, then talking to the shadows on the wall and claiming to be immortal does. Do you know how many times that man tried jumping in front of cars or out of a window? Way too many. So yeah, he deserved to go to the mental institution, where he'll get some actual help."

"right," ms. clance waved off, turning to continue talking to Mr. pennyworth. danny cut in before she could, "so, do you guys make it a habit; lingering back and listening to conversations?"

The rest blinked, then turned to see who exactly he was talking to, their eyes following his as they finally spotted the man they were all waiting for.

"ah," mr. wayne chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "sorry, I didn't want to interup. it sounded important."

"Right," Danny huffed, glaring at the man. Honestly, all the eavesdropping and being loud as hell was turning out to be a regular thing based on the fact that no one else was acting like it wasn't.

Yeah, he was going to hate it here if that was true.

[comicaurora]

sorry if this is out of left field but you seem to have a lot of good insights on emotions and self awareness so i thought you might be a good person to ask. do you know if theres any good way to deal with jealousy? like, the genuine "other people having/getting certain things makes me want to explode" kind of jealousy that sits in your brain making you feel guilty. (feel free to delete this ask if ur not cool with it btw, i know this is a weird thing to ask a stranger on the internet)

Oogh, that's a tough one.

I think jealousy is a bit of a weird little funhouse mirror. In my experience, while it feels like it's about the lives and achievements of others, it's structurally based on you comparing yourself to them, or rather using them as a metric to judge yourself by. It circles back around to a matter of self esteem. The person you're feeling jealous of isn't the target of the feeling - you are.

Jealousy can feel very poisonous, because it can make you feel extremely negatively towards innocent people, making you feel like a bad person for feeling that way. But it's totally normal to feel negatively towards people who don't deserve any actual negativity - feelings and moods are shaped by a huge number of internal factors, and as long as you don't take them out on the people themselves, you feeling some kinda way doesn't in any way make you a bad person. It just means you're in distress, and it would benefit you to figure out how to mitigate that distress. I don't trust how I feel about slow walkers and loud chewers after a long and overstimulating day, and the Bite Risk feeling I experience when those situations overlap doesn't mean I'm a bad person, it just means I need a nap.

Like most emotions, jealousy has a function and a purpose it serves. I think it's to give you an idea of your goals. It can be deceptively difficult to know what you want, in both the short and the long term. Seeing someone else get something and thinking "oh, that's what I want" can be a valuable first step in pursuing something. You might envy someone's achievements because you yourself want to achieve something you're proud of; you might envy someone's likable personality because you want more, closer friends. It's a reflection of you, not really about them at all.

When a feeling of jealousy pops up, I think it can be good to unpick it and process what exactly you're feeling jealous of. That's going to be the important, actionable thing that you can start intentionally pursuing for yourself. Envy of someone's appearance might actually be wanting their active, exciting lifestyle that sounds fun and energizing, or it could be wanting their confidence, or their financial security that keeps them dressed so nicely. Envy of someone's success could be wanting to accomplish a similar great work, or it could be a desire for fame, or for the close friends they seem to have made in their journey, or anything else.

It's not bad to want things. The only thing wrong with jealousy is the undertone that you could take this thing from the person who has it. You can't; that's not how it works. But you can sate the hunger for yourself if you can find the path forward.

[annoyedbreadstick]

"There's one of them in every time. Somebody who's willing to help, who always has the necessary information. It's easy to spot them, if you know what to look for. A Guide always has short fluffy brown hair, and androgynous clothing. They have no makeup(or little makeup, depending on the time), and tired eyes. But most of all, they give off an aura that draws time anomalies to them.

After the Federation legalized heavily regulated time travel, time agents were trained in what to do when heading to the past. We would always appear near a Guide, and though confused, they would always relay the basic information needed to ground oneself.

Manipulating the fabric of time is not a precise science, which is why Guides are required. Unlike some fictional works, we cannot simply set coordinates and a date and be on our merry way.

My name is Mæřÿ, and this is the story of my first Travel.

I had manifested in what looked to be somewhere in the 2020s, during the height of the quarantine, judging by the scarcity of people out and about. That would make finding the Guide slightly harder than usual.

I let myself wander around until I felt a pull in one direction, then let myself be led by the feeling. I came across an unassuming house, with blue paint and an untended lawn. I knocked on the door, feeling apprehensive about meeting my first Guide. Had I got the wrong house? Were my senses wrong?

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening; just a crack, but enough to see to the other side. A child stood there, looking up at me.

"Could you bring your mother or father to the door?" I asked him. The boy nodded and scurried off back into the house, leaving the door open. I peered inside, seeing if I could catch some hint of the year. The living room, from what I could see, was cluttered with toys, shoes, and other debris. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten in front of the television, gone stale a long time ago.

The child returned with his mother in tow, this time wearing a cloth mask decorated with a tie-dye pattern of red and blue. The mother wore a mask as well, though this hers was paper, resembling a surgical mask.

"Yes?" She asked me, her voice weary. Her hair was cut short and tied into a ponytail, frizzy from LA of care.

"Apologizes, but if I may inquire about the year?" I questioned, confident she was the Guide I seeked.

She sighed, recognizing the question from years of experience. "2020, during the Coronavirus quarantine. The date is February 2, the current president is Joe Biden. The iPhone 12 is coming out this year, and there's a store with a bathroom you can use to finetune your time about 15 minutes from here.'

I thanked her, but as I moved to leave, she stopped me.

"Do I get a pay?"

"What?" I asked her, not understanding her question.

"A pay. I've been doing this since I was 16, shouldn't I be counted as an employee?"

"Guides aren't counted as employees, they're a Timelinal Constant."

"Well we should be. I have to keep track of all the relevant political data at all times, just in case one of you comes knocking at my door. Shouldn't I be counted as an employee?"

"Ma'am, without you Missions couldn't be completed, this is an obligation." Her child looked between us before walking back inside, evidently bored of the conversation.

"If I'm so important, I should get a paycheck, shouldn't I? If the whole future rests on my shoulders or whatever bullshit I'm being told this time, shouldn't I be compensated for my work?"

I dug around in my pouch before handing her the business card for the Time Travel Federation. "I don't know Ma'am, but you can contact my higher-ups if you'd like."

She took the card, staring at the number on it. "And this will work in my time?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes, it's a separate line. It shouldn't be affected by time or distance. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go. I've wasted too much time already."

I walked away to complete my mission, leaving the Guide with the business card.

"And that, dear friend, is how I unionized all the Guides."

Ĵæme§ looked at me skeptically.

"Mæřÿ, you work in IT."

You once made a promise to yourself: if you ever met a time traveler, it wouldn't be a big deal. You’d tell them the date, the most important political conflict, a recent technology, and send them on their way. You now encounter a time traveler nearly every week.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

talking about married ladies, it is quite interesting that georgina doesn't wear a ring! if you look at princess leah, she has a ring on her left hand's ring finger; but if you look at maleanor, who's also married, she wears a ring on her right hand's middle finger! this makes me wonder if different races have different wedding ring customs! personally, it made me think that merfolk just dont wear rings as proof of marriage; in the little mermaid prequel, for example, ariel's mother and father wear no rings despite being married (i think???) anyway, i hope we find out more about this what do you think? are there any other married characters that come to mind?

I don’t have any comment on the actual Disney characters and whether or not they wear rings and in a consistent place after marriage; I’m of the opinion that even if I checked this, details that are true in the Disney versions do not always translate over to Twst. We also can’t tell what are animation errors or not, especially granted that it’s usually the lower budget sequels or prequels that show married characters.

Traditionally, a wedding ring would be worn on your left hand’s ring finger (fourth finger from the thumb). The only Twst parent to be wearing a ring like this is Queen Leah.

As someonetwisted said, Maleanor wears a ring on her right hand's middle finger. This could be indicative of different races having different traditions when it comes to where their wedding ring is worn--however, because we have seen so few married fae + merpeople and no married beastmen to compare to, it's unclear whether this is the case or if Maleanor's ring is just something she wears as a sign of opulence as a princess.

The only other fae I can think of is Baur, but it's not obvious if he was married or not at the time of Lilia's time as a general. Even if Baur were married during that era, his armor would make it difficult to wear a ring:

This is probably also why the Dawn Knight wears no ring. However, I do believe that if you extract the in-game assets, he is shown to be wearing a wedding band under his armor.

Lilia, who is a single parent and never got married, of course wears no ring. (It would also be odd to pass as a high school student while you’re wearing a wedding ring/j)

Then we have Dylla and Eric Venue, who may have been married at one point or (for whatever reason) are no longer with their partner. Neither wear rings, which could be because they never actually married or have split up with or lost their spouses in some other way. It could be something practical though?

For Dylla, a ring might get in the way of her truck driving and delivering goods. She may not want to wear something “fancy” for such a physically demanding and casual job. For Eric, a celebrity, he wouldn’t want the public to know he is already taken or has been with a woman in a physical capacity. This is especially the case because Vil doesn’t want people to know about their familial connection and claim he only has his success due to nepotism.

When it comes to parents who are happily married, there's the Clovers (from the Heartslabyul manga!) and Mr. and Mrs. Shroud.

You can't see Mrs. Clover's hands, but Mr. Clover appears to wear no ring. I'm going to assume Mrs. Clover is the same. Again, I see this as a practical thing. Wearing a ring while making baked goods seems unsanitary.

Mr. and Mrs. Shroud wear gloves, but no rings. I'm not as certain about this one, but maybe Mr. Shroud avoids wearing a ring due to workplace professionalism? He does seem to be the more serious one of the duo.

As for Mrs. Shroud, maybe she foregoes the ring (despite being so love-dovey) in case it gets in the way of her job...? I'm not sure how tech stuff works, but my thought is that this would be to avoid the metal or gem of the ring interfering with whatever she's inventing in case they come in contact. Or maybe she just wants to match with her husband?

The only married merperson we know of right now is, of course, Georgina, who wears no ring:

One proposed (kek, get the pun?) reason as to why this is is that every race has different traditions or customs to indicate being taken. However, I wonder if there's another reason...?

If you look at the true form of a moray eel merperson, they have webbed fingers. This would make it extremely difficult to wear a ring. (I should point out that the more humanoid merpeople, like the Atlantica Memorial Museum guards, do NOT have webbed fingers, so it would be possible for them to wear rings.)

It seems tedious for morays to keep a ring prepared just to slip on every time you visit the land. It also feels like a small thing like the ring would be easily washed away by the waves. And how frequently would you be going to land, anyway? Would this extra effort be worth it??

I also think it’s entirely possible that Georgina doesn’t wear a ring because it goes against glove etiquette. Yes, there is such a thing 😂

In glove etiquette, you are not supposed to wear a ring over your gloves. This just is not done, I’m assuming because it can mess with the fabric. (Besides, rings are measured to fit your finger, without taking gloves into consideration!) It’s also not advisable to wear rings under your gloves, as this would ruin the smooth silhouette with an unsightly lump.

Another component of glove etiquette is the length: shorter gloves are appropriate for cocktail parties and more informal occasions, while gloves that extend past elbow length (which is true of Georgina’s outfit) are for formal occasions. Since Georgina does appear to be formally dressed and in attendance for an acquaintance’s pre-wedding festivities + is a well put-together woman, it’s not too far-fetched to assume she doesn’t have a ring on in order to conform with the etiquette.

We probably won’t see Mr. Leech this event, but maybe in a future one! That’s probably when Floyd gets his “hometown” (a bit of a misnomer, since Ultramarine City and Maquillaville aren’t Jade or Vil’s respecrive hometowns) SSR. I always thought that Jade took after his dad since Mr. Leech stresses the importance of proper dress and attitude… but hey, maybe he’s got a bit of loose cannon in him like Floyd??

[hidingwhere]

141 with reader on their team

You’re a soldier like the rest of them, but know quite a lot about medicine and therefore share the role of both soldier and medic. You’d been with them ever since the task force had been assembled and the rumours flying about on base never really died down.

You, Kyle, Simon and Johnny. Were you friends? Lovers? No one knew. Some swore they’d walked in on you and another kissing, but none of you had ever denied or confirmed that. John didn’t comment on the whispers he heard so frequently, letting his children live peacefully.

Heaven forbid one of them saw John sitting on the sofa alone; because they’d join. If Simon innocently sat down beside him, Kyle would then find him and sit next to him. Then Johnny would find them, dramatically laying across the three of them who had already fallen asleep. Eventually, you’d sniff them out and lounge on top of Johnny, only lightly disturbing him as he rests a hand over your back.

The team worked perfectly together, like a puzzle with all the pieces. A father and his four chaotic children, causing havoc with one another as laughs and giggles filled his office where they lingered after missions.

Even some nights, when Johnny would complain about his sore muscles, he’d always convince one of you to join him in the shower. That’s why peoples opinions were always so mixed on the four of you; how could a group that close not be romantic? Others just suspected friends with benefits and left it at that.

During missions, if any of the boys got injured, you’d be next to them in a heartbeat, staying calm as you patch up a non-fatal bullet wound or force an oxygen mask over their mouth after suffering a concussion or close explosion. You’d kiss their cheek, sometimes with a little too much force, after you knew they were fine and would recover well. Johnny would sometimes ask for one on the lips (and you’d sometimes give it to him).

Gaz would demand massages everywhere after the mission, and Simon (although wouldn’t say directly) appreciated when you sat with him afterwards in silence, and enjoy when you’d yap about random things. It kept him entertained and focused on something other than his negative thoughts. He’d act annoyed when Johnny, Kyle and you would squeeze into his small bed on base and refuse to budge, all lying in the small space, limbs tangled and bodies pressed close together.

However, when they all went home, you’d never mention anything about what you were doing, if you were meeting anyone, seeing family. You were always quieter on the plane ride back to England, more distant and lost in your own head. They knew where you lived, on the outskirts of London, but wanted to know more. One day when Kyle asked if you’d be seeing family, you shrugged your shoulders. “Dunno,” was all you responded with.

So John invited you round his house. Then Johnny found out, claiming his apartment was too far away and convincing John to let him stay round his house as well. Then Johnny forced Simon to stay with them (he didn’t need much convincing); and when they arrived at the airport Kyle somehow ended up in Johns car as well (influenced by you).

At Johns house, the four of you ended up falling asleep over one another on his sofa as he cleaned up the mess of the food you’d nicked from his cupboards. Johnnys snoring woke you up multiple times, but he made up for it in his own ways.

————————————————

this was a random idea I had that I needed to get down 🙂‍↕️. Interpret it how you want, they could be just friends or they could all be secret lovers. Who knows? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

[xerserise]

I used to supervise the graphics department of a small publishing company, making coffee table travel books. I was their highest paid non-management employee. (I didn't have authority over employees, I had authority over the design made by the employees. And a lot of organizational and technical responsibility, in addition to the design work that I did for the books and for the company.) It was one of my last jobs, and I've had a lot.

I've also had thousands of dollars of dental work, because I couldn't get myself to brush my teeth regularly.

I don't work for a living anymore, because trying to survive as a worker under capitalism gave me autistic burnout and an adult-onset tic disorder. Thankfully, with the help of friends, family, social workers, and a lot of trauma that I could have done without, I survived and won my Disability claim.

Now I pay someone to call me multiple times a week, on a schedule, so that I can make plans for the upcoming week (and the rest of the day), be reminded of things that Past Me thought were important, and go down my list of basic things that I need to make sure I do (brush teeth, take meds, clean and refill my humidifier, look at and reply to my messages and mail and such, etc.). It's been a huge benefit to my life, over these past years.

If I were working, I wouldn't have the energy, focus, or capacity to work on my own life and goals the way I do now. I know this, because when I was working, all I could manage was work and escapism and sleep.

My autism and ADHD diagnoses came after the breakdown and the onset of the tic disorder, after I had become completely unable to work, was struggling to eat enough (for stress reasons), and was losing an unhealthy amount of weight (which messes with brain chemistry), at a time when I was very traumatized and unable to mask.

But I was unable to handle it all, long before then. I used to drink and smoke all evening, pass out, wake up, go to work, and do it again. I had dirty dishes that stayed in the sink for over a year. And I would go to work every day. I would manage to do my laundry before everything was dirty, and shower before work, and do the things that were required to appear normal once I walked out my door. But that was it. I had cavities that I could see and feel, and I did nothing about them until my canine tooth broke. I moved my futon into the living room, because my bedroom was filled with boxes of stuff that I didn't want to deal with. The bedroom became a place to shove stuff out of the way. I almost never opened the door.

I was able to have a job. But I wasn't able to also have a life worth living. Now? Now that I have a meager income from SSDI? I'm living a simple life, focused on myself and my needs, with support. And I'm giving support to others. And I'm finally connecting with a few people, and making real friends for the first time in my life, as I near 50 years of age. I'm using my knowledge and experience to build a local queer Discord, to help others find connection.

I can't work (anymore). But that doesn't mean I can't contribute to society. I can contribute far more as a happier person who is connected to community and free to follow their interests than I could as a lonely and depressed replaceable staff member who disassociates all the time.

And even if I couldn't contribute, I would deserve food and shelter and medical care and the like. Because everyone deserves it.

Instead, the requirements of life, of community, of basic human interactions, are used as ways to extract as much money as possibly from the workers who create everything. Are denied us, kept behind barbed wire, with fees to access anything.

And pointing the finger at groups of people, saying 'they are useless, they are taking your resources, they are destroying your family, you deserve more', is a good way to get folks to ignore the systems that paywall life itself and instead blame the people who such a system already marginalizes and oppresses.

People can contribute to society in many ways, while also requiring support from society.

Our value as a human beings exist whether or not we can contribute to society.

And many jobs exist that don't contribute to a happier, healthier, more welcoming world. Only to a dystopian hellscape. Sure, you're contributing. But why?

Many, many things are being implied when disabled and neurodivergent people are called burdens on society.

Society, as it is, is a burden on us.

Fuck the system.

“Of course autistic people can go to the bathroom by themselves and have jobs!!” Some can’t. They’re not burdens or an “epidemic” either. Please don’t get pulled into an argument about usefulness, because that feeds into their baseline eugenic idea that you have to “contribute to society” to justify your existence. Nobody’s worth is tied to what they can do for the state.

[lilhawkeye3]

“why do you keep bringing up racism when you talk about the Seam inhabitants, they’re Melungeon, they aren’t Black”

I’m going to hold your hand when I say this:

The Melungeon ONLY EXIST BECAUSE OF SYSTEMIC RACISM. That’s the ONLY REASON it’s even a term for us to use to identify this group with!

There used to be this fun thing called the one drop rule, or blood quantum laws. “One drop” of negro in your bloodline could see you lose any standing in polite white society, or at worst, see you enslaved! A great example of a common way people hid Black ancestry was by claiming indigenous ancestry— hard to trace, and more “noble” to claim (ever heard someone saying their greatx-grandma was a Cherokee princess? Yeah.)

The Melungeons are traced back to a group of families in 1800s Appalachia who were mixed-race. The term “Melungeon” is actually a slur for them, coming from the French word for “mixed” (mélange, thanks @midwesternfields for reminding me I left that out). They were part white, yes, but they claimed mixing with Native American tribes, Portguese, even the ancient Phoenicians (which… don’t get me started).

The thing is— they did DNA tests on the descendants in the past twenty years. The majority of these descendants were found to only have European and African ancestry, not Native American (one or two families were the exception). Being Black was so dangerous and shameful that they claimed a whole new ethnic term for themselves. And I’m not saying that’s bad. I understand why people would do that in that situation. And I agree that they have formed a regional culture of their own in the past 200 years.

The problem is y’all trying to pull the “I’ll accept the Seam people are brown but it’s because they’re Melungeon, not Black!”

Be so ffr. You’re continuing the same racist rhetoric that led to the whole reason they needed to create the term in the first place! You do not have one without the other.

Yes, the Seam population is not largely written as “Black” in the manner District 11 clearly evokes with dark-skinned kinky-haired farm laborers who work at gun point and with the threat of whippings, who have overseers and recognize Lou-Lou as theirs from a plantation hymn. But the commonality is there: Louella McCoy from the Seam had a near enough body double in the form of a Black girl from the fields of District 11 because Louella McCoy and enough of the Seam has African ancestry, because the regional population of Appalachia has it too, even if they still don’t like acknowledging it.

And then maybe you should consider why the easier group to think of as “Black” is the one compared to plantation slaves and field laborers, and not miners despite that history, too.

Anyways. Racism and colorism are a key point of the Hunger Games books and you don’t have one without the other.

this has been another tea time with hawk ☕️🦅

[fairyofshampgyu]

i love that beomgyus successfully putting on some muscle, would love 2 see u write something and add some praise for his new arms or smth 😋 love ur work !!!<33

Yess me too I never would have thought buff gyu would make a comeback and he seems so much more confident about his body I’m so happy for him <3 needless to say I still go positively insane seeing his arms sfhhgd…anyway

PRAISE KINK W BUFF GYU !!

it’s the morning, both of you lazily laying in bed still sleepy, legs tangled and arms encircled around each other. The room tinged in a warm, comforting yellow, rays of sunlight highlighting his sleepy face and soft features of his face and beomie just looks too cute, clinging to you like a koala. You know he’s been working out more than ever recently, even coming back from the gym late just last night. And as you lay cuddling together, his arms wrapped around you and holding you, you could feel just how considerably bigger his arms had gotten in such little time. It’s subtle but definite. His muscles, no longer just soft and lean but shaped toned.

You’re just filled with warmth at the sight of him, and just feel the need to love and praise him at that exact moment. Urgently. You adore beomgyu and his body and think he’s perfect in every form no matter and you hadn’t worshipped him for the new change yet, hadn’t appreciated him properly yet. You know just how much he loves your praises and how much it affects him, all giggly and grinning, eyes turning the shapes of little crescent moons, cheeks rosy, brown puppy eyes impossibly bigger, waiting for you to praise him even more, chases every compliment like it’s the air he breathes.

And so you do, pulling away from his arms and he immediately blinks open, making him raise a quizzical brow at you, a pout already forming like he’s offended you’re trying to move, you now hovering over him, taking ahold of both his wrists and placing them either side of his head, making his biceps flex at that and look even bigger, on display for you. You hold his hands there, leaning down to kiss his lips slow and he kisses back instantly, melting into it. Then you pepper his face lightly with kisses, nose, cheeks, forehead, eyelids and he’s softly giggling already making your heart swell—“stopp” trying to cover his face but you know he loves it.

A few kisses to his neck too and then you move your lips to his biceps, pausing to admire them kissing them, telling him how much you love them—“You’ve gotten so big, gyu…” and he lets out a loud embarrassed laugh, tilting his head away trying to playing it cool, half embarrassed, half excited and thoroughly enjoying this.

You bite down on the flesh of his arm, just enough to leave a little mark. He jolts, gasping. “you’re soo cute beomie…” you mumble against his skin, peppering kisses all over his biceps—“my strong, pretty boy.” and that gets him. he bites down on his lip, trying to suppress a grin, ears already turning pink and he’s suddenly all flustered and shy, you contining your praises and sucking on the flesh of his arms, kissing them harshly and biting leaving hickeys and love bites, licking a stripe, marking up his arms and they look so pretty like that, it makes his cheeks heat and up go red, whining softly and even whimpering, squirming underneath you. Were his arms sensitive? At least if he wears shirts or tank tops and people go ogling at his arms now, everyone will know he’s all yours.

You just pepper kisses everywhere, body littered with all sorts of marks, tummy, chest, inner thighs, ankles, telling him he’s such a perfect gorgeous boy and you love him and his body, you know he’s eating up every word, even begging you to say more, all whiney and flustered, whimpering loudly, feeling mushy, the praises and marking of his body, all the hickeys making him so worked up and horny by now all going to his pretty little head, he’s dazed and his chest is heaving up and down. His whole body flushed, still holding his hand, interlocking and he’s gripping it tightly—“you like this?” you ask, mouthing against his chest, playing with his nipples, swirling your tongue around the bud and kissing, “getting all horny just praised like this?” Beomgyu just nods deliriously and desperately, too breathless to speak. “y-yeah… please… keep going…”

You kiss his lips again, harder this time, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth and he moans, pulling away to look at you imploringly, panting, so debauched with half lidded eyes and fluttering doll lashes, “please, baby…need you so bad”, his cock all hard and leaky by everything you’ve done to him especially when you were kissing on his inner thighs, gripping them and teasingly leaving hickeys everywhere, moving your lips up so close to where he needs it most.

And how can you ever deny your pretty boy?

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

So You Wanna 'Revive' Your Show

Hi Tim. This took me like ten minutes because I actually have two brain cells to rub together. <3

Give the 911 call center more to do. Linda and Sue especially in my opinion.

Go back to what made the show great in the first place which was the core characters becoming/being a family.

Mix up the dynamics. Remember Chim and Bobby's friendship in season one? Hen and Athena's bestieism? Bring that back along with some lesser seen dynamics. I want more of Chim and Karen's friendship. Have Maddie and Bobby work together on something. Pair Athena and Eddie together and have Athena realize just how like her husband Eddie is (and maybe in doing so they help each other get perspective on other things).

Give Bobby a promotion and have him deal with that (although so soon after he quit being an advisor and was clearly enjoying being captain might not work but something to consider).

Have Athena retire and become a private investigator.

More fun filler episodes. A bottle episode where they have a boring day at the station. An episode made up entirely of B shift or the non-firefam members of A shift like SG-1's The Other Guys. An episode entirely from Jee-Yun's point of view showing a young child's perspective of crazy silly adult drama. Boys Night Out/Girls Night Out a la Leverage. "Alternate universe" episodes like Bones' season four finale and Castle's Blue Butterfly episode.

Keep Buck single for a while and give him a safe haven baby. Another way to bond with Hen and Karen over adoption, another way to bond with his sister, and another way to bond with Bobby by making him a grandfather. And oh, hey, Eddie, you want to help me coparent?

Maybe stop having all of Eddie's important shit happen offscreen, I don't know if there's BTS beef or what but grow the fuck up and keep it out of the script. Professionalism, heard of it?

Make Buddie canon. Yes my bias is showing but it's what a large percentage of your audience and media reporters have been clambering after for years. Put guns to heads if you must. Jesus. You want to revitalize the show that's literally the number one way to do it. You dumbasses.

Okay I always said I didn't want it and I still don't but fine. fine! do a musical episode! if that's the price of Bobby's life I'll fucking pay it!!!

Maybe relearn the concept of arcs that last an entire season and not just two-three episodes.

Michael and David have a destination wedding and every single firefam member encounters some kind of emergency, either life-threatening or comedy-of-errors, that means they all show up looking like they got run over by trucks.

RASHOMON EPISODE. For either dramatic or comedic effect. Or both.

Everyone loved the heist episodes like The Taking of Dispatch 9-1-1 and Ocean's 9-1-1. Like come on you fuckwit let the show be fun again.

Actually commit to giving any of the main characters a pet. I know everyone wants Buck but it could be Athena and Bobby, Hen and Karen, Maddie and Chim... personally I would love to see Eddie get hit by the Cat Distribution System.

Firefighters do charity drives all the time, go to schools to do talks about fire safety - show the team interacting with the local community more. Show the parents interacting with their kids' schools or the parents of their friends' kids a bit more. I want to see Eddie and Karen fight the PTA.

It's not hard. That's what gets me. You don't actually worry about the show becoming stagnant. You just wanted to do a really big shocking holy shit episode that everyone would be talking about, forgetting that truly good shows earn those. Shit shows that pull that kind of nonsense lose their audience and get cancelled. You did it because you're a mediocre, boring, never-quite-popular-enough egotist with an inferiority complex who was luckily born with a dick so you fell upward your entire career, and you orgasm to other people's pain.

And for once in my life? I hope cast/crew do know my tumblr. I hope they are on here. I hope they fucking read this, and I hope they print it out and tape it to your office door and every other door on set they can manage like Martin fucking Luther. I want you to go to bed at night knowing you are despised and that a starving barely-breaking-even idiot who wrote a stripper!Buck fanfic knows more about television writing and comes up with better ideas than you do.

To quote David Lynch, fix your heart or die.

[ds-angel1]

can you do a hitman! rafe x reader fic where reader hires hitman! rafe to kill her cheating husband— and she finds out that rafe doesn’t seem too bad himself ;)

a/n: um so... I didn´t read the request well enough and didn´t see the cheating... so so sorry!! I´m gonna keep it the way I have it, cause it´s not that integral to the plot. I hope this isn´t too far off from what you wanted and sorry that it´s taken me so long, such a cool request!!!!

cw: murder/hiring a hitman, brief mention of abuse, mention of shooting and drowning, unprotected sex

wc: ~ 1.5k

The parking lot was a wasteland of cracked asphalt and flickering streetlights, each drip of water from a leaky gutter slicing through the silence like a metronome of dread.

Your footsteps echoed, uncertain and slow, each one louder than you'd like. Fingers twitched at your sides, restless and cold, while your mind spiraled, thoughts crashing into each other with no room to breathe, let alone think clearly.

Time stretched. Minutes passed like hours, every second a drumbeat in your chest. Then finally, movement. A figure emerged from the shadows.

A man. Jeans, hoodie, buzzcut, and a scowl etched so deep it looked permanent. His eyes swept the lot in quick, practiced scans before settling on you. He stopped just out of reach.

“Um… are you… the guy?” you asked, the words fumbling out, awkward and thin. You didn’t know his name, only what he was supposed to do.

“Yeah. You Mrs. Walton?”

The name stung, triggering something deep in your skull. You clenched your jaw. Not for much longer, you reminded yourself. Soon, it would be gone, scrubbed from your life like blood from tile.

“Yes,” you murmured.

He studied you, eyes dark and unreadable. “You got anything on you I should know about?”

You shook your head. “What… like a recorder? No.”

“Good.” His tone was flat, but the warning behind it landed hard. “If this gets out, there’s people who’ll handle it. Even if I’m inside.”

You nodded, stiff.

“You’re gonna buy a new phone. Cheap, burner. Text me when and where. Got it?” He held out a slip of paper, a scrawl of numbers barely legible in the dim light. “Half the money now, half when it’s done. I’ll text you the location for the other half the day before.”

Your fingers closed around the paper, knuckles pertruding with tension. Your brain burned the details into your memory, this wasn’t a mistake you could afford.

This was murder. You were paying to have your husband killed.

It sounded monstrous when you thought of it like that. But you’d run the math a hundred times. A divorce meant ruin, he’d bury you in court, leave you penniless, maybe even dead. You knew the connections he had. You’d seen the bruises. Felt them. This wasn’t just escape. It was survival.

You looked him in the eyes, steadied your breath, and nodded. “Okay.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, he turned and disappeared into the night, swallowed by the same darkness he came from.

And you stood there, hand tight around the number, knowing there was no turning back now.

Just a few days later, the call came.

“Mrs. Walton? I’m terribly sorry to inform you—your husband was shot while driving to work this morning. The impact caused him to lose control of the vehicle… he drove off a bridge. Rescue teams are still recovering the car from the river, but… we’re confident he didn’t survive. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

It took them nearly two days to drag his overpriced luxury car out of the water, along with what was left of him. His bloated hands, that smug face already softening with rot. The bullet, once perfectly placed over his heart, had nearly dissolved in the water, just like the man himself, dissolving into memory, into myth, into nothing.

Then came the wave: condolences, hushed voices, solemn faces, the funeral. You cried on cue. Hugged on cue. Played the grieving widow like you’d been born for it. You should’ve won something for that performance, an Oscar, at least.

Six days after the hit, the text finally arrived.

A location. Coordinates in the kind of place GPS signals go to die—the edge of the worst part of town, where the streetlights didn’t bother working and the air smelled like rust and regret.

You showed up on time. Summer, yet the sun dipped early, casting the trailer in long shadows. It looked like it had been pieced together from scraps and curses. Through the grimy window, you spotted him, same buzzcut, same scowl, hand lazily resting on his chin as he watched you approach.

By the time you reached the door, he was already there, holding it open with that same unreadable expression. Wordless. You stepped inside.

“You got my money?” His voice was gravel in the cold, stale air.

“Yeah.” You reached into your purse, pulling out a plastic bag stuffed with bills—his money, technically. Now yours.

He took it without ceremony, fingers rummaging through it, counting. “You stay while I go through this,” he muttered.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The silence was sharp. Tension hung like a fog as he flipped through stacks, licking his finger, counting aloud under his breath.

“Did… did you plan that?” you finally asked, breaking the quiet. “The river, I mean. To like... get rid of evidence?”

A low hum escaped him. A yes, maybe. Or just acknowledgment.

You let another beat pass before speaking again, quieter now. “Is this... your place?”

“Friend’s,” he answered, clipped and uninterested.

You frowned, letting out a small huff and turning your gaze to the peeling walls. His eyes flicked up at the sound.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you said, folding your arms. “Just think you could be a little less rude. You know, considering.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely incredulous. “Yeah? I kill people for a living. You expect rainbows and compliments?”

You met his stare. “Wouldn’t kill you to be a little more polite to your clientele.”

Your words were met by a roll of his eyes before he stood slowly, nearing you threateningly.

“Oh yeah? Ya want me to be nice to you, darlin´?”

You don’t know how it happened, the moments between those few words and now, were a blur.

You were sat on the cluttered counter of the trailer sink, arching your back off of the wallpaper-ridden walls as the man holding your thighs to your chest was pumping in and out of you unapologetically rough and hard.

His eyes, illuminated only by a tiny lamp in the corner, were strictly focused on the sight of his length being engulfed by your soppy cunt.

You let out whine after whimper and moan after exclaim, muttering about his size and how damn good it felt over the lude squelching sounds and the rattling of the trailer. The tip of his mind-screwing cock hit a spot inside you your dead husband could never reach, making you come like you never have as he emptied his seed inside your warm, inviting womb.

Silence settled in, thick and charged, as the two of you caught your breath. His thumbs traced slow, almost tender circles on your bare hips, an unspoken lullaby after the storm. Then, with a quiet groan, he pulled out. A soft, slick sound followed, and a warm rush of your mingled release slipped from you, trailing down your inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, low and almost reverent as if the word alone could ground him.

He crouched down, redressing you with surprising care, slipping your panties back up, smoothing your skirt into place. His hands lingered at your waist as he guided you upright, placing you gently on trembling legs.

“You don’t tell anyone about this,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath. His gaze lingered on your face, drinking in the wreckage of your expression, flushed cheeks, mascara streaked in messy rivers, eyes wide with something between shock and surrender. The dim light tried to swallow it all, but it couldn’t. He saw everything.

He reached up, his fingers rough but delicate as they wiped away the smudges beneath your eyes.

“Okay…” you whispered, the word ghosting past your lips. Your mind hadn’t caught up yet, still lost somewhere between shame and euphoria, disbelief and craving.

He nodded once, sharp and unreadable, before turning to the bag. Without finsishing counting, he began gathering the stacks of money, trusting it was all there. Somehow, that trust felt heavier than anything he’d said aloud.

You watched him in silence, your heart thudding like it was trying to break out of your chest.

“Can I… will I see you again?” you asked, your voice barely steady enough to make it out of your dry throat.

He didn’t look up. Not until his bag was zipped shut with all the money you paid him for killing your husband buried deep inside. Just like his cum was buried deep inside you.

“Keep the phone,” he said, tone flat, but something in it twisted, subtle and raw.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat.

He walked to the door, hand gripping the bag so tightly that his tanned knuckles turned pale. You stepped forward, words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Wait… what´s... what’s your name?”

He paused in the doorway, half in shadow. Then, turning his head slightly, just enough for his voice to reach you.

“Rafe. My name is Rafe.”

[sramoonlight]

Bad feeling

What if Conner saw the light on someone?

Content you’ll see here: Conner Kent x Bat!sis, platonic!yandere!batfam, neglected reader

English it’s not my first language, please be patient

One thing you hate about your family is how they keep telling you how much they love you but then they send you to this kind of galas

They don’t want to deal with having a social persona who keeps telling everyone what they want, so they just send the least favorite

The one who they don’t care if it’s not on movie night.

You always thought it was okay, maybe one day you’ll be feeling their gratitude, so you kept telling them when you were leaving

Dressed in fancy clothes, bag in hand as you tried to catch their attention

Never works.

They say a quick bye before going back to the TV, you hate how they just act like nothing happened

Like you weren’t waiting for someone to tell you to not go, for someone to invite you to this movie night, for someone who offer you a seat next to theirs.

It never happens.

You’re their sacrifice, but maybe one day they’ll see how much you do for them

Always talking to people who try to have a place on the Wayne family, they just don’t know how neglected you are.

You sighed before taking a sip of your champagne, you just walked away from a rich couple who tried to have a relation with your family

And you can feel the urge to run, it’s getting late, you usually call Alfred to send a chofer for you (because they complained about Alfred leaving in middle of the movie)

You took your phone and then a voice made you stop your movements

— Is it my eyes or is a cutie here? — you turned, ready to face this bold guy who tried to flirt with you

Surprisingly, your eyes shined at the sight

Black hair and ocean blue eyes, locked on yours

The worst part, that smile like your attention was the best thing he could ever have

A gorgeous look, one that made you melt in an instant.

— Such a boring night, isn’t it? — he offered a hand, without hesitation you gave him yours

He kissed your knuckles, he never stopped looking at your eyes.

It made your heart beat like a lion was chasing you, you tried to ignore it with a smile but the color on your cheeks was enough to make him smile even more.

— but I must say, it got better when I saw you, Miss..? — He asked for your name with that charisma that kept on your knees

Wait, he doesn’t know your name? He doesn’t know your name!

You wiped out the blush on your cheeks clearing you throat

— (Reader) Wayne, but please just call me (reader), may I know your name? — You smiled at him, he trapped that smile and you noticed how he kept holding your hand

He doesn’t want to let your touch go..

— Conner Kent, what about if we leave this place? — you don’t know why, but you found yourself following him like your life depended on it

He’s the first man who ever looked at you for what you were and not what you could do.

By the time you were back at the manor it was passed midnight, you can hear how a few voices are on the living room and a couple of games sound

They grow old of the movie, in other circumstance you would ran to tell your father how bad the gala it was only to hear a quick “oh, must’ve been horrible, go to sleep” but now you can’t hide the smile on your face.

Floating steps as you walk to the room, Alfred was picking up the plates of popcorn before facing you

— Ah, master (Reader) I thought the gala ended at eleven o’clock — he acted like it was nothing to not noticed if you arrived or not

But now you don’t care

— Yeah, it did — you chuckled, a laugh filled with joy as you kissed his cheeks running upstairs.

— That’s new — Tim said, before going back to the game.

Everything felt like cake and stars since then, texting Conner at all times and smiling at you phone was a routine everyone looked weird

You never smiled that much, you always had a dark aura around you, it will usually grow when everyone finished their meal and you were left there eating by your own.

Now, you eat quicker than ever leaving the room in a rush while you smiled at the phone

It was weird, and still they let it pass.

Then you started dressing up, wearing perfume and you got yourself some makeup

And the worst was, you asked Bruce for some money

You were used to always shut you mouth when you needed money, because you didn’t want to be seen as a spoiled brat

But now you asked him for money, not only that, money for going out

Bruce is scared, he doesn’t know why you don’t see him with that glowing eyes anymore, he remembers how you used to look so excited when he asked you how you were

And now, it looks like he is someone else to your eyes.

You get downstairs, a scent of Chanel filled everyone’s nose

Stunning as ever but still casual, Dick had to control the ached on his heart when he noticed you were wearing makeup

— Dinner is almost ready, master (Reader), are you joining us? — Alfred said with a plate on his hand, small cookies everyone eat before dinner on it.

You fixed your hair looking at a mirror on the hallway

— Oh, I’m sorry Alfred, but I’m leaving now for my date —

And the silence was set on the room, even Damian stopped playing with Titus.

Dick was the first one to talk

— Do you… have a date? How wonderful! — that last part sounds too forced, and it was, he can’t hide the bad feeling on his chest.

You faced Alfred hugging him as a goodbye, he’s the only who doesn’t look surprised, of course you’ve told him about this days ago

— May we know who it is? — Bruce tried to wipe away the sudden jealous feeling in his chest, he stood walking to you.

You looked at him, those eyes that doesn’t shine with excitement for some attention

— You may know him, it’s Lex Luthor’s son — you smiled at the mention of him, even if it was just a mention of his father

— Conner?! — the most surprised was Tim, he tripped out of the couch before running to you

His arms trapped your shoulders as he shake you, he knew Conner was seeing someone, but his sister?

— He isn’t someone you want as your boyfriend! He would cheat on you the first week! — he doesn’t hate his best friend, but God he knows he is such a womanizer

Well, every men are womanizers if they are dating you.

Your eyes trapped how Jason left the room, good to know at least one isn’t crazy like them.

— Good, so we passed the curfew two months ago —

Two months ago?! You have a boyfriend and none of them knew? The one who is most hurt is Dick, his little sister didn’t tell him! He can understand if you didn’t tell the others, but HIM? He could’ve stop you from doing this big mistake

— Little bird, you’re too young to be dating someone — he tried with all his heart to make you realize it was bad

Not only you were dating a man, but Conner Kent! He can’t date you! You’re so small and so innocent, he can’t let him stain your pure beauty, you’re just fifteen!

— I’m eighteen, Dick — ouch, it hurt to notice how he doesn’t know a thing about you being older than that

And you’re not surprised, with a sighed you turned to see Alfred

— I’ll be back before midnight — you smiled at him ready to go, and you could see how his eyes opened wide

bang!

You felt onto the floor in a loud noise, Damian was carrying a pan on his hands, the weapon he used to knock you out

Jason behind him, leaning on the door frame

— What? You were taking too long, we couldn’t let her go out with that Kent trash — and no one complained about that

Dick picked you up, now he could see how beautiful you were looking, all of this for a boy? God no, he won’t let anyone have his gorgeous sister.

— Tim, go for the Kryptonite on the Batcave — Bruce said as he followed Dick upstairs like a worried dad, what about if you fall? His baby can’t fall, you need to be okay.

Somewhere, a place where Conner was leaning on a wall, his eyes closed

He is used to hear you before going out, it was a way for him to know when you were ready so he could just appear on your door

And he opens his eyes, a little smile on his face

— So we are fighting for her, huh? —

And he was ready for it, because the day he met her, it was the day he knew he could have a soulmate

They are not taking you from him, he worked so hard for it.

[tojisteddy]

Just thought about Inmate!Suguru and jeeez | cw: 18+ mdni, some fluff, phone sex, masturbation.

Inmate!Suguru who has everyone in the prison on a tight rule despite being locked up himself. Inmates, officers, the god damn warden— everyone moves and does as he says.

If you think some people saw him like a God in there— you’d be right.

Strict on routine, Inmate!Suguru is up by five, morning tea with his cell mate, breakfast by six, headcount at 7, a college course or two in the morning, ‘straightening shit out’ he likes to call it right after lunch at 11:50, meeting his cell mate and a few of his older buddies for mahjong on the coast yard by 1pm. Work out at three pm while listening to Britney Spears and Aaliyah (yes, he’s a big fan). He’s either on weights, or playing basketball. Long hair slipping out of his ponytail, Orange jumpsuit tied at his waist, sweat dripping through his wife beater— God would you pray to see him like that right then and there. Suguru showers after that, dinner at 5, another headcount, he spends the rest of the time in his cell. Thinking, drawing (he’s got a knack for it), another tea, listening to the mixtape you sent him of songs you’d been listening to, writing a reply to one of your letters.

But when Inmate!Suguru does miss you, and I mean really misses you, gets out a little track phone hidden in his mattress and calls you. It could be the dead of night when he does it, lights out in the prison of course, he knows you’re deep in sleep but he calls anyway. You pick up on the forth ring, he sighs, “Baby.” Soft because he doesn’t he doesn’t want to disturb his cell mate, an old man who’d been in for too long on a sentence he didn’t deserve. You don’t even open your eyes, you’d just go on yapping about anything that pops up in your head because that’s what he wants to hear. Your sweet voice that takes him away from this dirty cell, this prison and home to you, where he’ll be in ten more months. even if it’s just for ten minutes.

That’s what he misses at times like this. Your voice, your smile, your soft body pressed against his— the way you’d laugh at the dumbest jokes, your curls getting in the way of your gorgeous face or when your brown black hair is overlapping with his jet black strands— he missed it all.

Inmate!Suguru who has Saturo look out for you while he’s in jail. He’s a good friend to him and to you and trusts him to take care of what you won’t tell Suguru because you don’t want to worry him. You car in the inbound lot? Suguru’s got Gojo to get it out for you. Sink making that weird noise again? Suguru’s Gojo’s calling a plumber to come fix it. Want to hang because you’re feeling lonely? Don’t worry, Gojo’s bringing your favorite snacks over and hogging the couch.

Inmate!Suguru who only calls you from the pay phone once a month. Just before dinner on the third Friday, 4:30 pm sharp every time. “You are now receiving a collect call from—“ and there’s a break in the automated message so he can speak, “missed you soooo much doll.” “Inmate number—“

Suguru can hear you moaning on the other line, squirming and rubbing at your bundle of nerves. “Miss you baby, shit!” You gasp, turning your head into your pillow. Suguru’s already imagining it, your mouth open, cursing up a storm, running away from your own pleasure.

Yup, phone sex. The freak had to hear you get off for him, help him envision exactly what he’d do to you when he got out of that place. He’d fuck you till you didn’t have words to speak, give you everything you needed.

“Come on baby, put your phone to your pussy, gotta hear her.” You follow, bringing the phone down and opening your legs further. You’re completely soaked, running your fingers through your folds that squelched with every movement. You were making a mess that’s dripping down to your little asshole. You’d been edging yourself for the last 40 minutes, waiting for Suguru to give you the demand to let it go. It always feels better this way.

“Good girl, sound so perfect. Stick those fingers in your pretty cunt for me, yeah? Just like I always do.” He grunts, shifting to give his growing chub some breathing room.

You slip one finger in thrusting it a little then another finger.

“Not- ughh- it’s not as big enough!” you whine thrusting your fingers inside your hole as best as you can but they could never do what his big tattooed hands could do. Get you cumming in two minutes. Suguru snickers, god you sounds you were making were music to his ears. “I knooow,” he fake pouts, his poor baby :(, “Just imagine it, you can do it. Try to find that spot for me, just like I would do. Rub on your fat clit, and think about me teasing your nipples. Licking all over ‘em just how you like. You can do it, you’re a good girl.”

You shake groaning at his words and working your fingers into your gushing entrance. Mumbling his name while your thumb found your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, “Gonna- hnnngh- cum! Sugu Lemme cum!”

Suguru smirks, the bastard, “Not so sure.”

“—B-but”

“—B-b-but,” he mocks, “come on, you can hold it for another second, can’t you?”

You huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “I-I’m a good girl.”

“Yes you are, my gorgeous girl. Bet you’re gushing right now, imagining how I take care of you, holding you and touching you all over, hm?”

And there’s yelling, too fucking loud, three phones down. A guard telling them to calm down or shut up. Suguru tried to ignore it. Focus on you, your moans speaking right to his aching dick. Just before he can get out the words to let you release, some prick comes yelling at him.

“—Damn it Geto! You’re hogging the fuckin phone!” Someone yells behind him. He takes a breath through his nose, closing his eyes and not giving the idiot the slightest attention. He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, sweet girl, gonna have to finish yourself off without me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You hiccuped, clarity finally getting to you. “I was holding you up.”

“No, never. I love our calls baby- just- fuck— these damn monkeys don’t know when to keep their fucking heads down and mouths shut. Do they?” Your boyfriend sneers, he’s half talking to you, half talking to himself because how dare an imbecile below him interrupt his precious time with you?

Suguru knows the monkey doesn’t even understand the gravity of the situation, how incredible you were, his princess. How every second of his 20 minute call, hearing you moan and cry his name, was thee most important thing every fucking month he was in here.

He’d skin him.

“You write me a letter like you always do sweetheart. I miss you, love you.”

“Take care of yourself. I love you Sugu.” Fuck, the man’s heart gushed. He hears your sweet lips pucker, sending him a kiss and then the dial tone. Suguru puts the phone back, straightening his poster and turning towards the man who yelled at him and tying his hair up.

“Pray you don’t die today.”

Inmate!Suguru, who surprisingly became close with a man with pink hair named Sukana. And it’s fucking off that the two would get along, both men like control and to be able to control whatever setting they’re in. Any setting besides the little book club created by the sweet elderly woman, Ms. Joanne, who used to be in jail herself and decided to help those who were just like her when she got out. She new exactly how to control the big and tall men around her— by informing them she’d take away the books if they didn’t get their act together. That changed everything.

Inmate!Suguru who would rather you send him a letter than call often. Who knows you cried your eyes out those first couple months right after your calls and hates that he’s the cause of your pain. So he writes and writes all the feelings and words left unsaid down on paper so you can remind yourself of all his love whenever you want. And you do the same writing and writing till your heart is at ease, full, waiting for the day Suguru makes it back home to you.

a/n: finally writing by manga/anime boys, I live.

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[five-rivers]

Tuck's Labyrinth

[Phic Phight Phill Phor @mistythefifth!]

Tucker was a lot of things.  A genius.  A first-rate bachelor.  A carnivore.   A snack.  A geek.  Unbelievably handsome.  An Esperantist.  God’s gift to women (and men of good taste).  A gamer.  Cool beyond cool.  A hacker.  Eminently eligible.  A ghost hunter.  Drop-dead gorgeous.  A hobbyist archer.  A magnet for Cupid’s arrows.  The reincarnation of an ancient and possibly evil pharaoh.  Bootylicious. The best friend of the personification of memento mori and also Danny Fenton.  And, most importantly, too fine.  

He was not, however, in any way equipped to deal with this.  

“It's so obvious,” said Wes.  “If you'd just open your eyes–”

“You're the one who needs to open his eyes.  Or at least get checked for colorblindness.”

“Do you hear yourself?  If even you think it's reasonable to mix up Fenton and Phantom just by swapping colors–”

“Uh, one, it isn't, and, two, I was talking about coming to school wearing… that.”

Paulina pointed a manicured fingernail in the direction of Wes's clothing, which was, in her defense, a particularly eye-searing combination of flannel plaid jacket, striped t-shirt, novelty camouflage pants, and bright orange boots.  Even Tucker didn't dress like that.  Regularly.  Wes hunched in on himself.  

“It's laundry day,” he said. 

“Your mama's washing your shoes too, huh?”

“Shut up,” said Wes.  “I don't need to take this from a necrophiliac.”

“You–!”

Tucker couldn't take much more of this.  “You guys do know that there's an actual evil ghost in here somewhere?  You know, the one who turned the school into a maze and trapped us in it?”

“I don't know what you're worried about,” said Wes, “Fenton's not going to leave you here.”

Paulina scoffed.  “Fenton's hiding in a closet somewhere. Mi amor, Phantom, on the other hand, will beat up that nasty ghost and sweep me off my feet at any moment.  You can thank me now.”

Tucker loved Danny like a brother, but these guys had way too much faith in a guy who'd once lost a fight with a grocery bag.  (Long story.)

“That's great,” said Tucker.  “But may I remind you: giant maze.”

Wes rolled his eyes.  “Mazes are easy.  You just have to make all right turns.  You can stop the performance already.”

“My what?”

“You know, hyping up your lying friend.  Being a ghost doesn't make him cool.”

“Nothing could make any of you cool,” said Paulina, “but Mr. Delusional is right.  Mazes are easy.”

“You're calling me delusional, when you're–?!”

“Okay, okay,” said Tucker.  “So, three things.  One, the right hand turns thing is only good for getting out of a maze, not for finding people in it.  Two, it only works if you start with a wall that connects with the outside.  And, most importantly, for it to work, you have to actually be doing it.”

Tucker was definitely channeling Danny, or maybe Sam, but there was such a thing as being too laid back.

“Well, we're not stopping you,” said Paulina, examining her fingernails.  “Go run off and do whatever.  I'll tell Phantom when he comes to rescue me.  Probably.”

“Hey, wait, no, Fenton's coming for him–”

Yeah, Tucker wished he could leave.  But these two had no ghost fighting experience, would throw themselves at a ghost if they thought it would get Danny's attention, and would throw themselves at each other if Tucker wasn’t here.  Heck, they were doing it with him here. 

Sam probably would have left, which meant that he was channeling Danny.  

This was terrible.  How did Danny do this?

“Look,” said Tucker, interrupting the argument.  “Even if you think that we’re going to be rescued, we don’t know when and we don’t know if there are other ghosts around who could attack us.  We need some kind of a plan.”  

Paulina and Wes stared at him.  

“Other than just waiting to be rescued,” clarified Tucker.  He waved at the ‘room’ around them.  “We aren’t even somewhere we can barricade, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a drinking fountain or a bathroom anywhere.”  They were, in fact, in a fairly featureless stretch of hallway, complete with lockers, slightly-cracked linoleum, and buzzing fluorescent lights.  The locker numbers were non-sequential and had three more digits than the highest-numbered real lockers at the school.  

“I never go to the bathroom at school,” said Wes.  “That’s where they get you.”

“Dude,” said Tucker.  “Like, how?  Do you not drink or what?”

“I don’t drink at school.  If I did, I’d have to use the bathroom.”

“No wonder you’re so crazy,” said Paulina.  “I’d say that you should just go to the bathroom with your friends, like a normal person, but you don’t have any of those.”

“I do too!”

“Yeah?  Who?” asked Paulina.  

Tucker listened, too.  And took out his PDA.  This would be good data for his all-school relationship map.  

(Hey, it was an important multi-function tool.  How was he supposed to know who to ask out without it?  Or who to blackmail with what if someone more credible than Wes Weston found out Danny’s secret?)

“I’m not going to tell you.  You’ll just say that they aren’t real.”

Ooh.  That was just sad.  Tucker put his PDA away.

“Well, now I am,” said Paulina.  

There was a sudden, startling chime from the PA system.  Tucker looked around, trying to find the speaker.  

“Hi, so, first off, don’t panic,” said Danny’s voice.  

That… was maybe not the best way for Danny to start.  Jeez.  

“Oh!  Oh!  It’s Phantom!” said Paulina, bouncing distractingly.  

“It’s Fenton,” said Wes, “and it’s about time.”

“And, secondly, no, I haven’t found the office.  I’m possessing the PA system.  And, no, I can’t hear you, unless you find one of the PA buttons and–”

There were a series of beeps, followed by shouting, followed by a screech of feedback.  

“--ough of that!” said Danny, getting control of the system again.  “So, if you can get to a button, I can hear you, but I can’t teleport you out, so that’s kind of pointless.  Unless you’re being attacked or something.  Which could be happening.  This guy named himself Daedalmouse, which sort of implies the existence of a Mousotaur, and I’ve been fighting a lot of ghost rats trying to find him.  I’m pretty sure that finding him and beating him up will undo the whole labyrinth thing, but I don’t know how long it will take – yes, I know about the right hand wall trick, but that only works for getting out of mazes that are, you know, following the laws of physics, and not finding crazy ghosts that aren’t following the laws of physics.  I’ll try to check in by possessing the speakers every couple of hours, but in the meantime, hang tight, find places with water, all that survivalist stuff.  If you find a way out, go for it, but no Icarus stuff.  Icarus,” mumbled Danny, sounding distracted.  “Icarus.  Icar-mouse?”  The PDA system chimed again, and then fell silent.  

Except for everyone mashing the buttons, but that was just unintelligible noise and didn’t count.  

“The ghost is named Deadmau5?” asked Paulina.  “What a rip off.”

“He said Daedalmouse.  Like Daedalus?  From Greek mythology?  Ringing any bells?” asked Wes.  

“Whatever,” said Paulina.  “I bet you don’t even know who Deadmau5 is.”

Tucker breathed in slowly through his nose.  “Let’s at least find one of the call buttons so that we can, you know, call for help?  Hello?  Wes?  Paulina?”  Tucker sighed and adjusted his glasses.  “Or so that we can call Phantom when he gets on next?”

“Please, like you need the announcement system to call your best frie–”

“Yes, and then once Phantom knows where I am, he will come and rescue me,” said Paulina, skipping down the hallway.  

“Sure,” said Tucker.  He started walking.  He didn’t want Paulina to get too far ahead.  “Are you coming, Wes?”

“You could just call him,” said Wes.  “On your phone.”

As a point of fact, Tucker had already tried that.  It didn’t work.  “I don’t have Phantom’s number, Wes.”

“I hate you so much.  All of you.”

“I know, Wes.”   

.

“Oh!  Look at that!” said Paulina, pointing around the corner.  

Tucker ran forward - well, jogged, they’d been walking for a while, vainly searching for a classroom door - thinking she’d seen a ghost.  She hadn’t.  

They all looked at the vending machine, hungrily. 

Paulina ran forward and punched in a number on the vending machine keypad, then stopped and turned back to Tucker and Wes.

“Do, like, either of you have any money?”

“Aren’t you rich or something?” asked Wes.  

“Which is how you know I’ll pay you back,” said Paulina.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “I can’t believe that the one time I leave my purse in my locker during school, this happens.”

“Is it still school property if it’s in a nightmare ghost maze?” asked Tucker, because there was jerky in there, and his ultra-predator instincts needed fuel, darn it.  “We can always say the ghost broke it.”

“Okay, but, like, how?” asked Paulina.  “I’m not breaking my nails on this thing.”

“Just move,” said Tucker, pulling out his PDA and nudging Paulina to the side.  He probably had some dongle or other that would connect to the vending machine.  Not this one…  Not that one…  There, he could slide that into the card reader and then just run the program.  He hadn’t tested this before, so he had no idea if it would–

Tucker didn’t have Danny’s ghost sense, but after over a year of ghost hunting, he’d picked up a few things.  Like when a ghost was about to cream him.  Unfortunately, he still didn’t have much of a skill set when it came to what to do when he noticed a ghost was about to cream him.  He looked over his shoulder.  

Yep.  That was a giant ghost rat, all right.  

He dropped his PDA, then threw himself to the floor as the rat jumped straight at his head.  It hit the vending machine, sending it crashing to the floor.  Paulina screamed and ducked around the corner.  Wes stared, frozen.  

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled out his lipstick laser.  He spun the top and started firing.  The rat yelped.  He loved this thing so much.

But giant ghost rats had thicker skin than the typical animal ghost, because it jumped on Tucker, knocking the laser out of his hands.  He and the rat rolled around, wrestling.  

Man, all this scene needed was some fire, and then it’d be straight out of that one mov–

Paulina came screaming back around the corner, carrying a large cork board over her head.  It was covered in motivational posters with slogans like ‘If someone tells you that you cannot become immortal, they are liars,’ ‘Doesn’t it make sense that a lot of witch hunts are witch hunts because it’s your birthday?’ and ‘If we all work together we can make the north pole collapse under its own weight.’  

She slammed the board down on the rat’s head and it sort of staggered off Tucker, twitching.  It was a good thing it was too stupid to go intangible.  Paulina had used enough force that Tucker would have some broken ribs if the rat was smart.  

But the rat’s disorientation was momentary.  It turned back to Paulina and Tucker, teeth bared.  Which was when Wes started shooting the rat with the lipstick laser.  The rat yelped and twisted to face him, levitating up into the air, which in turn gave Tucker enough time to roll to his feet and activate his wrist ray.  

He didn’t like the wrist rays as much as the lipstick laser, they were harder for him to aim, but at this range, that hardly mattered.  After being hit a few dozen times, the rat ran away, squeaking.  

“Thanks,” said Tucker.  “That was–  Thanks.  Can I have that back?”

Wes, pale faced, handed the lipstick laser back to Tucker like it was a loaded gun…  Which wasn’t exactly inaccurate…  

“That was so gross,” said Paulina, holding her hands out in front of her as if they were contaminated.  Tucker didn’t know what her problem was, she hadn’t even touched the rat.  

“Yeah,” agreed Wes, who hadn’t even been near the rat, breathlessly.  He was getting some of his color back, though, so that was good.  Tucker never knew what to do when people passed out.  Unless those people were Danny, in which case what to do usually involved evacuation, ghost first aid, and deciding how many days to tell Danny he’d been out for when he woke up.  

“Could’ve been worse,” said Tucker.  “Luckily, you had me.  Tucker Foley, too fine.”

Paulina and Wes stared at him, lips starting to curl.  Tough crowd.  

How did Danny do this?

Tucker shrugged, discarding the thought, and walked over to the vending machine.  He rescued his PDA - the reinforcement upgrades were really paying off! - kicked the machine to shake off some of the broken glass, and reached in to pull out a packet of jerky.  It had his name on it.  Metaphorically speaking.  

“Are you really going to eat that?” asked Wes.  “That thing was all over you.”

“Well, yeah,” said Tucker, peeling open the packet.  “But it was dead, so…”

“It could have the plague,” said Wes.

“Then I’m already dead,” said Tucker.  “Since it was all over me and all.  Ooh, this type has cheese in it.”  He took a bite and the walls shimmered.  The next thing Tucker knew, he was standing on the front lawn of the school, along with the rest of the student body.

“We’re out?” asked Wes.  

“Phantom saved us,” said Paulina, clasping her hands together, her previous disgust forgotten.  “I knew he would.  Next time, I’ll have to give him a hero’s reward.  Fate is so cruel, to keep us apart.”

Wes scoffed.  “He literally sits two rows behind you in almost every class you have.”

Tucker took a deep breath, anticipating the argument, then turned and walked away.  They were out of the maze.  It wasn’t his problem anymore.  He could enjoy his jerky.  

High overhead, Tucker heard Danny scream.  “It was about the ‘mice’ finding the cheese in your stupid maze?  Why the heck are you Ancient Greek themed if you’re just a mad scientist?!”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Choose One (Chapter 1) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore and Elias "Stack" Moore (characters in the Michael B. Jordan movie "Sinners"). Lena Blackwell (OC).

Warning(s): Adult language, Angst, Pre-Sinners movie.

Summary: Lena Blackwell works in an illegal after-hours Black & Tan club in Bronzeville where she seduces twin brothers Smoke and Stack. Each brother has qualities she likes and she embarks on an illicit affair with both. All is well until one of the twins starts catching feelings.

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist HERE.

"See-line woman (see-line)

Dressed in red (see-line)

Make a man (see-line)

Lose his head (see-line)"

Nina Simone – "See-Line Woman"

She fucked them both.

Smoke and Stack.

Seducing the twin brothers was easy, but confusing at the start.

She met Stack first. The gold in his teeth gleamed in the light of the Sunset Café, one of the most popular Black and Tan clubs in the Bronzeville section of Chicago. Lena Blackwell worked behind the bar instead of the floor, where jam packed circular tables faced an at capacity dance floor moving to the sounds of the latest jazz band snazzed up in tuxedos.

Although the Sunset Café advertised itself as a supper club and a popular music venue, people along the stroll knew it was a higher class speakeasy. Unlike other clandestine establishments with secret code words whispered to get in and concealed entrances to deceive law enforcement and politicians, the Sunset owners paid off low-salaried policeman to look away. Their mob ties kept money in the right pockets to warn of raids and shakedowns from other gangsters. People wanted liquor and any other spirits they could get their hands on in a city that was supposed to be as dry as the Sahara.

Stack slithered over to the far end of the long polished mahogany table with a toothpick wedged between his gums. For over twenty minutes, he rapped to her while she tried to keep the prohibited drinks flowing.

"You should come work for me," he said, sizing her up with blatant lust in his bold brown eyes.

"I'm not a whore for you to put on the stroll, mister. Order another drink or leave me be."

He gave her a crooked grin with his sexy lips, then admired her perfectly coiffed hairdo styled with pin curls and slathered in Sweet Honey Brown pomade. Lena cut him to the quick.

"I know a pimp when I see one," she snapped, mixing drinks for one of the female servers.

"I ain't mean it like that baby. This is a legit business proposition. I'ma go back home and open a juke. I need a talented drink mixer such as yoself."

His delta accent was raspy and thick like overcooked grits. He was one of them sorry souls who migrated from the dirty south. She wondered if his feelings got hurt when he discovered the north was no different than the low down redneck peckerwoods he ran away from.

"Mmm hmm," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious. Think about it. Lemme have some cold water," he said.

Lena reached down into a false shelf and poured Stack some high grade illegal moonshine. She slid the glass to him and he guzzled it down.

"Stack!"

Lena tilted her head to see the caller.

Well, damn.

The head of the Bronzeville syndicate gestured toward Stack. Ernie Miller, the Black godfather of the south side, was wide in the gut and built low to the ground like a bulldog. A dangerous cat, who carried a switchblade known to cut throats on a whim.

Stack slid a fat wad of cash out of his pocket and laid a crisp twenty on the counter.

"Keep the change for your tip," he said, winking at her.

The change from his tab would cover her rent for two months.

He stuffed the rest of his money in his pocket where a shiny set of brass knuckles dangled, and left the bar to join Ernie. For the first time, Lena took notice of Stack's finely tailored brown suit and the sharp creases in his pants. He had syndicate connections. A gangster. And a good tipper. She watched him enter a secret door in the back and never saw him again that night.

Two days later, as she started work at the bar, she spotted Stack nursing a drink at the far end, listening to an older barfly chat away to him. He drained the last of what was in his glass and Lena offered him some cold water.

Stack looked at her in confusion and shook his head in the negative.

She worked her shift, expecting Stack to hit on her at the bar again, like most men did.

He didn't.

"Cat got your tongue tonight, mister?" she teased, wiping down a spill near his arm from another patron.

He stared at her and then turned away to watch chorus girls tear up the Black Bottom dance in short dresses. Maybe she'd been too curt for him last time, and he took the hint. Ironically, that made her take a sudden interest.

He was tall, fine-looking, and a sharp dresser. She wondered if he smelled as good as he looked. Her eyes stayed on him until he wandered off to take an empty seat next to Ernie in a far left corner with some other broad-shouldered men.

"What was he drinking?" she asked another bartender.

Max, a reed-thin high yella man with a nasally voice, glanced at her.

"A South Side and the last glass was some Smoke."

"Eww, he likes that Smoke shit? That could kill him," she said, crinkling her nose.

"Them ex soldiers like that cloudy fuel alcohol."

"How you know he's an ex soldier?"

Max held out his hand and wiggled it.

"His hands. They shake a little bit. Lotta them war boys came back messed up."

Lena couldn't imagine the jovial man she met the other night acting shell-shocked. She reached under the bar and grabbed some gin. Adding some lime, sugar, and a bit of mint, she made a fresh glass of South Side.

"I'll be right back," she said.

Her heels click-clacked on the floor and she passed several raucous tables enjoying the floor show. Ernie had stepped away to talk to some people two tables over. She placed the South Side in front of the ex soldier.

"Thought you might enjoy this better than that rot gut you were drinking earlier," she said.

He glanced down at the drink and a slow smile raised the corners of his lips. No gold on his teeth. She studied his features, his hair, and the large build of his body. This had to be the same man.

"What they call you around here?" she asked.

"Smoke."

"Not Stack?"

He showed more teeth and some dimples.

"No. Just Smoke."

He had a twinkle in his eye and he chuckled softly.

"Where you from?" she asked.

"Mississippi."

"You really opening a juke down there?"

He squinted at her, but before he could answer, Ernie returned.

"Let's go," Ernie said, grabbing his coat.

The soldier stood and brushed against her. She looked up into his eyes and shivered. He reached down for the drink she prepared for him and sipped it down in front of her.

"Thank you," he said, handing the glass back to her.

She clasped it with both hands, feeling woozy by the scent of his cologne. He grabbed his suit coat, and she glimpsed the gun in a holster strapped to him.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice soft like cotton.

Lena stepped aside and touched her forehead. The man had her breaking out in a sweat.

Two more men caught up to them near the bar and that's when she gasped, seeing double. The man who called himself Smoke greeted his twin brother Stack. Lena returned to her post and Stack peeled back his lips, showing her gold in his mouth. She ended up grinning, and he leaned an elbow on the bar.

"You look even more beautiful when you smile," Stack said.

Staring at them both, she could tell they were physically identical, but the personalities, their auras…so opposite.

One thing was for sure, seeing them together…she was smitten.

And she wanted them both.

Stack usually showed up at the Sunset around nine.

Lena figured out his routine quickly because out of the two twins, Stack liked to party and be around the nightlife the most. He stood out in a crowd of men and the ladies loved him.

The Sunset Café started advertising to lure more women into the place for capitalistic gain. Originally the owners created it as a gentlemen's club, but in order to stay lucrative during prohibition, they had to open up the market to new customers, and women loved to drink.

To hide the odorous stench of bootleg hard liquor that could turn female customers away, new cocktails were created adding syrups and various fruit juices to sweeten the bitter taste. The club manager ordered all bartenders to add more cherries, orange slices, and canned chucks of pineapples in the drinks to appeal to the good-time girls who sought excitement. Especially the white ones.

White women loved the Sunset.

White men loved it too, and the forbidden allure of rubbing shoulders with negroes brought out their lascivious side. Everyone in Chicago knew that colored folks couldn't have their own entertainment spaces without white folks sniffing for some action in the mix. As much as they pretended to hate negro people, they sure couldn't stay away from them. Colored patrons and performers tickled their libidinous fantasies. The best music, the best food, and the best dancing happened on the south side where negroes were crowded together. They didn't call it Bronzeville for nothing.

Lena eyed the entrance. Stack was due to swagger through any minute.

The supper hour kept the bar less hectic as folks ate garnished devilled eggs, green beans, steaks, fried catfish, buttermilk-dipped fried chicken, with the added sides of creamy macaroni and cheese with generous slices of honey cornbread.

Max flipped through his tattered, olive-colored copy of the H.P. Dreambook. A man wearing a turban in front of a crystal ball illustrated the cover. He pestered busboys, servers, and Lena about their dreams so he could search them up in his book and find the corresponding numerical interpretation to play the numbers. Another bartender named Frank polished glasses and worked the other end of the counter.

"C'mon Lena, your turn, what you dream last night?" Max asked.

"I don't really have dreams."

"Everybody dreams. Bernice, what about you?"

Bernice scratched an itch on her prominent nose and thought about her answer while she waited for Lena to pour whiskey into three tumbler glasses.

"The night before, I dreamed about going to Paris and seeing Josephine Baker," Bernice said.

She spun around and shook her hips.

"Y'all think she really dances over there naked wearing bananas?" Bernice asked.

"Lemme see, travel… bananas…dancing…" Max murmured.

He circled numbers in his book with a stubby pencil. Lena placed the drinks on Bernice's tray and tapped her foot waiting for Max. Two other female servers went to Frank to fill their orders.

"Okay…two…twenty-nine…seventeen," Max said.

He reached into his tip pocket and pulled out a coin, handing it to Bernice.

"Give that to Melvin and tell him to combinate my numbers," he said.

"You give your own money to the numbers man," Bernice said.

She flounced away from the bar, and Max sucked his teeth.

Stack strolled in and took off his hat and coat, leaving it with the coat check girl. He surveyed the room and two gleeful white women sauntered over to him.

"Them ofays sure do love them some Big Stack," Max said.

Bernice returned with another drink order. She glanced at Stack, too.

"Can you blame them? Look at him…just a big stiff drink I'd love to pour down my throat."

"Man can't even get into the club without women flocking to him," Max said.

"Those two wait to see him every week. They reserve the table closest to the door to catch him," Bernice added. "I ain't never seen him with anything darker than a paper bag, though."

"That's cuz you and those ladies are at the top of the hierarchy."

"What are you bumping your gums about now, Max?" Bernice sighed.

"Niggas out here go for color first, hair texture second, and shape last. Listen to me…don't roll your eyes…white girls and you lightskins…that would be you Bernice with your mixed ass…are at the top. If a woman ain't that, they'll take a brownskin, like Lena, if they have good hair. But if they can't have number one or two, a woman has to at least have a good shape. See, Bernice here, she only got one and two—"

"I got a cute shape, too! I'm all three!" Bernice protested.

"Not with those knock knees and small tits…anyway, like I was saying…you gotta have what's on that list or you won't get no attention in this club. That's why Lena is behind the bar and not on the floor with you all night getting the fat tips. Facts is facts, and that man over there likes to have all three."

They watched Stack as he charmed the women blocking him from the rest of the club.

"Hmmph. Men are stupid," Bernice huffed. "Miss Two-out-of-three, can I get three shots of rum?"

"Coming right up, Miss Three-out-of-three," Lena said.

Bernice cackled, then took the drinks away.

"I never noticed she had knock knees," Lena whispered to Max.

Stack sauntered over with the women and their loud chatter livened up the counter.

"Hey Max," Stack said.

"Good to see you this evening, Mr. Moore," Max said, taking on his polished bartender voice.

He dropped his dream book under the counter.

"What can I fix for you tonight, sir?"

Max waited for the order. Lena headed over to another patron who wanted hooch.

"Ladies, what would you like to drink?" Stack asked.

The first woman, a shapely red head with narrow features asked for a Sidecar, and the second woman, a wide-eyed brunette, requested a Malört.

"You like that bitter stuff?" Stack asked.

Lena clocked the brunette's curling edges from perspiration, and the slight roundness of her nose. To a regular white person, she could pass as Italian or even a Jewish Russian. However, the hair, the extra curve in her ass, and the nervous fluttery eyes told the truth to Lena. The woman glanced at her; a mutual understanding passed between them that she would be treated as a white woman. Who was she to judge what people had to do to survive a depression?

If Stack knew, he didn't let on. Max gave them their drinks and Stack turned his steady focus on Lena.

"You look real nice tonight, Lena."

"Thank you, Mr. Moore," she said.

"When you wear all those curls, it makes your pretty eyes look mysterious—"

"Stack," the redhead interjected.

Her tone came out sharply, saying his name.

"I'm talking, baby, give me a minute," he said.

The bass in his voice caused her lips to bunch up. Her brunette friend sipped the Malört and looked away.

"I didn't come down here to watch you talk to a bartender," the redhead whined.

"Bitch, I don't care what you came here to do."

Max stepped in to de-escalate.

"Mr. Moore, what would you like to have?"

Lena left them to serve other people, and Stack dismissed the two women. He conferred with Max and the floor show began, capturing his attention. Stack loved watching the dancers. He probably ran through most of them based on his reputation. Irritation stretched across his face and Lena served him the moonshine he loved.

"Those girls don't know how to act when you talk to other women," she said.

"I'm tired of them dingy broads anyway. They both have dry coochie and bad attitudes. White bitches love slumming with dark dick, but act all bent outta shape if a colored woman gets a tiny bit of attention."

"You do know one of them is colored, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He grinned and looked deep into Lena's eyes. She gave him a sly smirk and his eyes drank her in.

"You want some more?" she asked, enunciating each word.

Stack watched her succulent red lips and his gaze dipped to the top of her white blouse, eyeballing the outline of her breasts.

"You undressing me with those eyes, Mr. Moore?"

Dimples.

"I think you're undressing me," he said.

"I been did that," she teased, and sashayed away to serve a counter rush of older men with their mistresses.

She knew he kept his eyes on her ass the way she intended by swinging her hips extra hard.

He loved watching her.

For weeks she acted coquettish and purred his last name any time she served him. Ernie treated him and Smoke as his most trusted muscle men. If he needed an enemy whacked, he sent the Smoke Stack twins with the chopper to deliver a Chicago overcoat first class. Stack strutted around the club with a dominance that aroused her. Most tough guys annoyed her, their performative masculinity a tremendous joke to her.

Not Stack.

He oozed overt power, and she wanted a taste of that in her bed.

"Be careful, Lena, being a gangster's woman ain't the life you want," Max warned on a different night.

He caught her ogling Stack. Lena loved the way his thighs stretched the material of his pants, and she licked her lips at the heavy bulge in the crotch. What she would give to sit on all that hefty weight. She flirted with the gangster using long unblinking stares on him, and lightly touched his hand whenever she served glasses of rum, gin, or the moonshine he liked to call dog soup. Eventually, he would just beeline to the bar to greet her the moment he walked into the club. He only had eyes for her.

Women were easy for Stack to catch because they threw themselves at him. She lured him in night by night, forcing him to chase her, keeping him expectant, and on his toes. The man hadn't chased a woman for a long time and it showed.

Her calculated seduction worked.

He started bringing her things. Diamond earrings. Real ones. Fancy gold hair clips and chocolate candy in heart boxes. He asked around and found out her favorite snack was the roasted peanuts sold a block away on the street from an old German man. He left her small warm bags at the bar before her shift started on Fridays to last her all weekend. She showed up to work one night and Max could barely contain himself. He handed her a large box with a knee-length fur coat inside.

He asked her out a few times, but she played demure, citing the rules of employees not fraternizing with employers.

"Aw Lena. I don't own this place…I work for the man who does. He pays your checks, not me."

"The other girls will be mad if they see me with you."

"Fuck 'em."

"I'll think about it."

He floated for a week after she said that. Like most men, he wanted a slut to fuck in private, but a good girl to woo in public.

A month later, Lena had a rough night with some rowdy patrons. Lower-level men of Ernie's syndicate. Stack had been out of town on business, and she missed interacting with him. His flirty nature kept her work nights fun, and they flew by fast. Without him, they dragged on for hours.

After Lena helped clean the bar area and counted money at closing, the numbers man slid over to Max and handed him a fifteen dollar win.

"Holy shit!" Max shouted.

He turned to Lena, his eyes shiny with joy.

"I'm taking you to Al's Diner for steak and eggs!"

Lena grabbed her coat and purse and walked out of the club with Max. Bernice joined them. They caught a cab to Al's Diner in a seedier area, but the food was delicious. Lena ate her fill and listened to Max make plans to buy his girlfriend new dresses, and a new tailored suit with nice dress shoes to replace the clodhoppers he wore outside of work. Bernice planned a rent party and Lena promised to spread the word and address to their shared apartment building. Max offered to pay for all the food at her party so she could sell dinner plates and keep all the proceeds.

After Max splurged on chocolate malts, she shared another cab ride with Bernice to her second-floor walk-up.

Another week passed, and Stack didn't come to the Sunset. Lena worried that the Italian mafia under Al Capone's orders gunned him down in the windy city or Bugs Moran and the Irish mob caught him slipping and threw him in Lake Michigan. Smoke huddled with Ernie and the other men in their crew, talking animatedly. She made her way around the bar counter. Tensions around the city had been thick among the immigrant groups, but colored folks kept on striving for better. Tempted to ask the other twin about his brother, she felt two muscular arms lift her up when she headed to the secret storage room to retrieve more spirits.

"Stack!"

Her heart triple-thumped in her chest like a train roaring down an uneven track. She turned and threw her arms around his neck instinctively.

"You missed me," he whispered in her ear.

The vibration of his voice along the delicate skin on her neck thrilled her. The breathiness in the shell of her ear heated the blood in her veins.

She kissed him.

Smashed her plump wanton lips across his fuller ones and slipped her tongue past the seam, tasting the strong whiskey on his breath. Their heads slanted for the proper angle to slide warm tongues together. His deep kisses sent love pulses straight down to her toes. Stack tongued her breathless hidden behind an alcove. He cradled her face before pulling away first.

"Damn. I ain't been kissed like that before," he drawled out in his delta accent.

She held his longing gaze in the yellow light of the hanging lamp that dangled above them. As tough as he was, his face looked so gentle and pure up close. Like a big ole puppy that just wanted to play fetch with her heart.

"Go out with me tonight," he asked.

She tickled the facial hair on his chin, then ran a slender finger down the part in his hair.

"How 'bout you go out with me?"

He grinned.

"Where?"

"It won't be nowhere high class like you're used to, but you'll have a good time. Promise."

He lunged for her mouth again, wrapping his beefy arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet.

"Oh, no wonder it's taking you so long to bring those bottles out," her co-worker Frank said.

Lena jerked away from Stack and grabbed the bottles she came for. She rushed past Frank, beaming all the way back to the bar.

Chapter 2 HERE.

A.N.:

Thanks for your patience! It's easier to do little chapters to buy me time to finish it. But y'all read so darn fast though!

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