#and usually you’re split into groups of 2 and you have to work together to solve a couple of problems

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 6 - australia, march 15 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 1735

Coming back from the lodge felt like stepping back into the real world. While you settled back in London, splitting your days between work,  catching up with friends and Dylan. Lando’s preseason schedule consumed him completely. Between testing, media obligations, and rigorous training, he barely had time to answer texts. Max was the bridge that kept everyone connected, his group chats filled with memes, updates, and occasional calls to check in.

The first race weekend arrived like a jolt of adrenaline, pulling everyone together again. The paddock was buzzing, cameras flashing, engines roaring, and an unmistakable energy in the air.

You didn’t have to look far to spot the papaya orange of McLaren’s setup. Lando’s teammate for the season, Oscar Piastri, stood just outside, chatting with a group of mechanics. He looked calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that gave away his nerves.

“Hey, Oscar,” you greeted, stopping by. He turned, offering a polite smile.

“Hey,” he replied. “Excited to be back?”

“Definitely. Though I think you’re the one everyone’s excited for.”

Oscar laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, right?”

“You’ll do great,” you assured him. “you’ve got Lando to show you the ropes.”

At that, Oscar chuckled, glancing toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s… helpful. In his own way.”

“Translation: he’s been teasing you nonstop?”

“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted, grinning now.

Before you could continue, Lando emerged from the garage, spotting you immediately. His face lit up with a wide grin, and he jogged over.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” he said, pulling you into a quick hug, keeping his arms casually around you as the conversation continued.

“I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” you teased, putting your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it gets when you’ve been stuck doing PR interviews all morning,” Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Oscar cut in. “He loves the attention.”

Lando gasped in offense. “Betrayed by my own teammate. Unreal.”

The paddock was as much about racing as it was about the people who made it feel like a second home since the karting days.

“Finally!” Max called out, spreading his arms, walking over. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see my twin sister grace us with her presence?”

“Max,” you said dryly, but pulling him in a tight hug. “It’s been what, a month?”

“One and a half, but who’s counting?” he shot back, pulling you into a tighter hug. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” he smiled nostalgically.

“Speak for yourself,” you replied with a small laugh. “Some of us don’t get paid to stand around looking cool.”

Max smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Lando during preseason. He’s useless without me.”

“Fewtrell,” Lando said, glaring at Max.

“You ready for qualifying?” you interrupted. 

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered by the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Yeah. It feels good to be back. Preseason was… long.” He hinted at his break-up with Magui.

“Tell me about it,” you said with a small laugh, thinking about how busy he’d been. You had barely seen him outside of a few fleeting texts and FaceTimes over the last couple of months. Max had told you not to bring up the break-up too much, but you felt bad not being there for him a lot.

As if reading your thoughts, Lando added, “It’s good to have everyone here, though. Makes it feel normal again.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Ah, there she is!”

You turned to see Christian Horner striding toward you, his usual confident grin firmly in place. Behind him, a few Red Bull team members hovered, chatting among themselves.

“Our favorite Red Bull athlete’s girlfriend,” Christian said warmly, clapping you on the shoulder. “Dylan’s been singing your praises all winter.”

Your smile froze for a second, but you recovered quickly, glancing around to find Lando and Max watching the interaction with identical expressions of barely concealed amusement.

“Well,” you started, “I’m sure Dylan exaggerates.”

Christian chuckled. “I doubt it. I heard you were quite the good luck charm last season. Don’t be a stranger around the Red Bull garage, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Christian,” Lando chimed in before you could reply. “She’s not a stranger.’’ crossing his arms.

Christian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the hostility? Feeling threatened?”

Lando grinned. “Not at all. It’s just worth mentioning—she was a McLaren fan first, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Christian shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect. Don’t let Zak Brown hear that, though.”

Lando smirked, stepping closer. “Zak knows where her loyalties lie. Right?”

“Careful, Norris,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”

Christian laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but his attention was quickly pulled away by someone calling his name from the Red Bull garage. “Alright, I’ll let you lot get back to it. But seriously, swing by later—Red Bull is where it’s at, your boyfriend knows”

As Christian walked away, you turned back to find Max and Lando watching you with matching smirks.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Favorite Red Bull girlfriend,” Max said, mimicking Christian’s voice. “Hadn’t expected my sister to become that kind of girl”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “At least she knows better than to wear a Red Bull cap in the McLaren garage.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you teased, grinning at his exaggerated look of horror.

-

He won the first race. He actually won the first race of the season. He’d been in F1 for six years but since the wins last year it had been different. You all went out, but Max had to head back early, having an early flight tomorrow for an important meeting. “Didn’t expect you were gonna win” he pestered Lando, hiding his disappointment of having to leave. The club was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pounding bass, and a sea of bodies moving in sync. You nursed your drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching Lando with cautious eyes. Max's voice rang in your head: "Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s been... off since the breakup."

At first, you’d expected to be playing crowd control, pulling Lando out of his usual post-race antics. But to your surprise, he wasn’t bouncing from girl to girl or drowning himself in shots. Instead, he stuck mostly to your side, occasionally wandering off to dance or chat, but always returning.

“You’re not going to drink me under the table tonight, are you?” you teased, leaning closer so he could hear you over the music.

Lando grinned, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the club and the alcohol in his system. “You never know.”

Lando was leaning back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“What?” he asked, catching you staring.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Nothing.”

Lando gulped down his drink, his gaze dropping for a moment before he spoke again “So... what about Japan?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a second, you froze. It wasn’t like Lando to address these kinds of things so directly, especially not when he was tipsy, but here he was, his eyes locked on yours.

“What about it?” you asked carefully, buying yourself time. You hadn’t actually told anyone yet.

He gave you a look, his brows drawing together slightly. “You know what I mean. Are you... still thinking of going?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Actually,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m not going to Japan. Not for a long time, at least.”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident in his expression. “Wait, what? Why?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Because I got a bigger promotion. I’m overseeing the Japan project now, which means I’ll still have to go there occasionally, but not for months at a time like we thought.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

His grin widened. “That’s amazing. I mean, for you. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You sound a little too excited, though. Think you can contain yourself?”

Lando leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Not really, no.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back again, his smile lingering. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving. That’s all.”

Another song started, and before you knew it, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. You laughed, shaking your head, but didn’t resist. His energy was infectious, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself matching his rhythm, letting the music and the drinks blur the edges of the night.

As the hours wore on, Lando got bolder. His hands rested on your waist a little longer, his fingers brushing your bare skin. He leaned in to shout something in your ear, his breath warm against your neck. Normally, you’d push him away, crack a joke, or remind him to focus on something else. But tonight, you let it happen, trying to ignore the shivers his touches sent up your spine and down to somewhere else.

His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as the music slowed. You felt his forehead rest against yours, and then his lips brushed yours—soft at first, tentative, testing.

“Lando—” you started, pulling back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just this once.”

“C’mon, you,” you shot back, trying to laugh it off, but it came out shakier than you intended. “I’m not going to be your rebound kiss. You’re finally free to actually kiss girls at the club.”

His hands tightened slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I don’t want to kiss girls at the club,” he said, his voice steady now, the playful edge gone.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung between you, cutting through the haze of alcohol and music.

“Lando…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just drunk.”

You didn’t believe him for a second.

-

WN: Hope you guys still like it! Let me know! Took a bit longer this time, but will try to upload again tomorrow!

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus @motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini @acesofspadess

[superhaught]

Incurable Cravings (Chapter Six)

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warning(s): brief references to sex.

Word Count: 1500, Part 6/6 - Final Chapter (better late than never!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Regina and reader discuss Harvard and their future together.

You immediately covered your eyes with your hands trying to avoid Regina’s reaction, so it wasn’t until she gently pulled your hands down again that you saw the blonde beaming back at you. 

“Is that all?” She asked.

“What?”

“Baby, come on, I’m so fucking proud of you! Did you think I was going to be upset?”

“Well, yeah… If not for the fact that I’m moving far away then because I waited this long to tell you.” You averted your gaze, your eyes were still watering and you didn’t want her to see.

Regina sighed and then shook her head, “I’m not upset. My darling is going to Harvard. I’m ecstatic, and you should be too. I’m going to miss you like crazy while you’re away, but you can bet your ass that I’m going to visit you every single chance I get! Hell, I can visit Leighton in Vermont, too.”

You sniffled and looked back at her but you were still nervous.

She tutted at you, “I know that look. What’re you worrying about?”

“Me going away… I thought… I thought that it would mean you’d break up with me.”

Regina raised an eyebrow and frowned, “why would I go and do a stupid thing like that?”

You stared at her in shock, “t-the… distance… other people… all of those things.”

“Do you want to split up when you leave for school?”

“No!” You grabbed her arms, tighter than you maybe should have.

Regina reached up and touched your jaw gently, “then there’s nothing to be worried about, okay? I know I don’t say everything that I feel out loud… but believe me, I never want to be without you. So what if you’re going to be moving? You’re still mine.”

Whatever dam that was inside of holding everything back crumbled at that and you fell forward into Regina as you sobbed. 

She held you while you cried and eventually slid down the bathroom wall, pulling you both down to the ground to sit until you recovered. She whispered quiet affirmations to you while kissing your hair and rubbing your back. 

You finally were able to get in a few deep breaths and then you pulled back to look at her again.

Regina dabbed at your eyes and whispered, “I love you, okay? And… there is so much life that I want to live with you, still. So, stop your crying because you’re going to get puffy and because we are going to celebrate this accomplishment.”

“Celebrate?”

“Oh, yes baby. Just you and me tonight…” she smirked at you in a way that made your stomach flip, then continued, “and then I’m going to throw you the biggest fucking party ever.”

You laughed incredulously, “you’re… going to throw me a party?”

Regina nodded, biting her lower lip, “yes, I am.”

“A party… with people there?”

Regina laughed, “people are usually present at parties, yes.”

“No, I mean-”

“I know what you mean, but I want to do this. I want everyone to know how amazing you are.”

“Gina…”

Regina simply leaned in and kissed you, saying all that needed to be said. 

That evening, Regina took you home with her, confidently holding your hand in hers as she brought you inside and up to her room. If you noticed any kind of reaction from Ms.George, it was immediately forgotten as Regina ate you out to within an inch of your life in her bed, and then fucked you again in the bath, and then gifted you a gorgeous strapon that she has been saving for a “special occasion” that you used to fuck her until you were both too spent to do anything but go straight to sleep. 

A couple weeks later, Regina invited Janis to get coffee with her. You encouraged Janis to accept the offer, and thank God she did, because they finally talked and worked through everything. You watched as Regina and Janis forgave one another and a supportive friend group formed. You, Regina, Janis, Cady, Damien, Gretchen, and Karen all ate lunch together everyday and hung out outside of school. 

Regina figured out that she didn’t have to make a big deal out of coming out, she could just be. Before long, she was using her powers of influence to shut down classmates’ homophobic comments, got teachers to start talking about queer history in class and got a portion of the Senior Prom profits donated to a local shelter for queer youth. Then, in the week before graduation, Regina threw you a massive party celebrating your Harvard acceptance and she kissed you in front of everyone.

You were on cloud nine all summer. You and Regina spent nearly every day together, sometimes joined by your friends. You went swimming all the time, took a weekend trip to Chicago, saw drive-in movies, and barely slept at your own house. 

When it came to leaving for school, Regina insisted on driving you to Boston herself. You made a list of all the sites in Cambridge and Boston that you wanted to see and Regina smiled even when she was bored out of her skull while you rambled about the State House and the Great Molasses Flood. Regina was far more interested in thoroughly investigating your dorm and campus, stating that she needed to know you’d be safe without her. Your roommate, Daphne, was so nice and didn’t even get upset when Regina grilled her about her high school experience and college ambitions. 

You both cried when you had to say goodbye because you had to give in to the dramatics of it all even though Regina called you twenty minutes later when she hit the freeway. 

Days turned to weeks, then months. Regina was taking a gap year to figure things out and work and she made sure to visit you and Leighton and her other East Coast residing friends as often as she could (Cady was settling in wonderfully at MIT and the two of you hung out often, and Janis was very happy at RISD). 

Before you knew it, your sophomore year was around the corner. You had stayed on campus for a research internship over the summer and one day when you got back to your dorm, a certain blonde was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag onto the ground and ran into Regina’s arms, kissing her cheeks frantically. She laughed and said, “I needed to tell you in person - I’m starting at the fashion institute in New York this semester baby!” 

You laid in your twin size dorm bed with Regina curled into your side while she drew nonsensical shapes onto your bare chest with her fingers. 

“We’ll be able to see each other so much more often, the bus between Boston and New York is so cheap!” 

Regina shuddered and made a retching sound, “you can take the bus, I will be traveling First Class on the Amtrak, thank you very much.” 

You laugh, “you say that now but just wait until you spend all of your allowance on eating out instead of succumbing to whatever they’re serving at the dining hall.” 

Regina looked up at you, "I love you, I really do but I’m sorry, I’ll die before I take a Megabus out of Port Authority. For literally so many reasons.” 

You chuckled at the blonde and rolled over to be on top of her as you began kissing down her body and made her shut up about the transportation options.

So you stayed in Boston, Regina moved to New York which was a massive improvement, but still not close enough sometimes. 

Things really started to feel settled when a couple weeks into the semester, you got word from Regina that Leighton was transferring from Essex to MIT. Regina started coming to Boston so often that she ended up signing up for a clinical trial on POTS being run at the Harvard Medical School so you got to see her a lot and she started to feel so much better even through all the complaining that you guys did about how shitty the transit system in Boston was. 

You went down to New York to see Broadway shows and concerts with Regina. One night while out for dinner she said, “just move here, will you? I hear Columbia is fine. I hate Boston.” 

You laughed and responded, “no you don’t, just last week you said that New York overstimulates you and that you love that you can actually see the leaves change in Boston.” 

“Ugh, didn’t I tell you to stop using the things I say against me?” 

“Mm no I don’t remember that. At least we know that we’ll never move back to Illinois.” 

Regina smirked and clinked her drink glass against yours, “that, my love, is very true.”

[oldiesstationlover11607]

HESITANT ALIEN GERARD IM BEGGING YOU

Cheater - Hesitant Alien!Gerard Way x Reader

Warnings: Mikey Way being a dick (note: I love mikey way too much and know he would never in any way do this to his brother), cheating.

Word Count: 1670

A/N: I wrote this 1000 years ago but I think it fits the prompt pretty well :) would love to have more MCR requests :)

“Are you ready?” Gee asks as he stands in front of a mirror holding a flat makeup brush in one hand. 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” I complain from the couch, looking at him in the mirror. I haven’t forgiven him for splitting up the band. I don’t think I ever will. My Chemical Romance saved me, it was my life, my reason to live, but he destroyed it. He killed it. Me. 

“Baby, come here,” he waves me over gently and I get up, grudgingly. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Gee cups my face gently. “You know I wasn’t coping, you know I was starting to get bad again.”

“I know that Gerard. I can’t be mad at you for ending the band, I know that, but I’m certainly allowed to be mad that it’s over. It’s easy for someone like you to write a new album and move on by yourself because you’re a singer. People like Mikey, Frank and I, we’re not you or Ray. We can’t just straight away find another opportunity. You gave us that opportunity, not many people are gonna give us another chance. But I’m happy for you Gee, I really am. This new album is gonna do great things.”

Gerard just stands there listening to me. He watches tentatively, paying attention to every word I say. I’ve just opened up in a way I wish I could take back. I want him to act like I didn’t say anything. I want us to just go back to being happy. 

“You know I love you, right?” he asks, shocking me. My eyes go watery. I’m so tired of feeling like I’ve lost my entire world. “You’re going to find more work Lo, you’re going to find a group that appreciates your talents. And if you don’t then we’ll work on your music together,” he kisses my lips gently. 

“I love you too Gee. I know you love me, I’m just tired. Forget I said anything, you know me, I just go off when I’m tired,” I sigh, closing my eyes. 

“I know baby, I’ve known you since you were twelve,” he laughs. The sound of the crowd gets louder as Mark, Gee's manager comes into the room. 

“You’ve got about 3 minutes Gerard,” he sticks his head in through the doorway. 

“Thanks Mark,” he responds, “I’ve gotta head out now, sorry. I’ll see you after Lo, I love you,” he kisses my forehead, grabs his cellphone and rushes out the door, leaving me alone. 

It’s different being backstage and not the one up there. It’s been about 2 years since I was on a stage, the feeling of adrenaline and excitement turning into loneliness and quiet. Gerard’s dressing room is the same size as the band’s used to be, except now instead of having four other people in it, it’s just him. He’s the star now. I flop down onto the couch and turn on the television, showing a live stream of the show. 

“Lola?” I hear a voice come from the doorway, a familiar voice. Turning around I see a face I haven’t seen in months. Mikey. My best friend Mikey. Gee’s brother. 

“You’re here? Mikey–wait what? Gee said you were busy?” I mumble in shock. 

“I’m never too busy to see you Lola, you know that,” he walks into the room and shuts the door gently. He’s tall, taller than I remember, sitting next to me on the couch. 

“I thought you were in Jersey, Gee said you were taking time off?” I question, looking over at him. He sits there, quieter than usual. He’s normally more energetic, excited to talk about the latest and greatest comic book he’s reading. 

“I came to tell you something, I just couldn’t keep it in anymore, I had to come.” Now I’m worried. Mikey’s never like this. 

“Mikey, you know you can tell me anything, you’re my best friend,” I sigh, glancing at the television as the outside screams get louder. Mikey grabs my hands softly, his fingertips calloused from playing bass. “You’re worrying me.”

“No, don’t be worried! Please,” he looks distraught, “I–it’s just hard to tell you this given… Gerard and I… and Frank… I–”

“Mikey spit it out!” I snap, overstimulated by the loud television, my own stress and Mikey sitting in front of me mumbling every three words. 

“I–I, uh…” he sits forward and cups my jaw, linking his lips with mine. I gasp into the kiss which he takes to his advantage, pushing his tongue into my mouth. This is wrong. This is wrong. Gerard is out there preparing for one of the biggest moments in his career while his brother is making out with his fiancé in his dressing room. Mikey’s other hand grips my neck, gently pressing me forward.

“What the fuck?” a voice shouts from the corner slamming the door shut. Mikey pulls away quickly, faster than he pulled me in. It’s Frank. Fuck. “What the actual fucking hell are you two doing? Mikey Way I swear to god,” Frank grabs Mikey by the arm and forces him against the wall. 

“Don’t hurt him Frank, please. Gerard will kill you if you hurt him,” I cry.

“Don’t try me Lola. You and I both know Gerard is going to die inside when I tell him you’re cheating on him,” Frank snaps.

“Mikey?” he walks in. The scene, a large dressing room. His ex-bandmate, holding his brother against a wall while his fiancée sits on the couch crying. “Get off of him!” he shouts trying desperately to pry Frank off of Mikey. 

“You’ve got no fucking idea what these two have been up to Gerard. I walked in on these two with each others’ tongues down their throats,” Frank shouts back. Gee looks like he’s going to throw up. He looks like his whole world is falling apart and being burned to the ground. 

“I–no. No Lola wouldn’t do that,” he looks at me, disappointed and broken. 

“She didn’t,” Mikey says, “I kissed her. It was an accident.” An accident? Him kissing me was an accident?

“Bull fucking shit,” Frank pushes him further into the wall, earning him a wince from Mikey.

“Accident?” Gerard takes a minute to process what’s happening. I can tell he’s trying to decide whether he’s angry or disappointed or sad. “Go fuck yourself, are you serious right now? That’s the excuse you’re going to give me?” Bingo. He’s pissed as fuck. “You’re my fucking brother Mikey. I’ve given you everything from the day you were born. You’re my brother and you did this!” He shouts at his little brother, his entire body showing his anger. The only sign of his sadness are his hands, his index finger and thumb tapping each other desperately, an anxiety coping mechanism he uses often. “Get him out, get him out now! Security!” Gerard shouts as three tall men escort Mikey out of the room. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Frank says, running out quickly after Mikey. 

Gee’s fingers continue to tap as he sits down on the floor, avoiding the couch. 

“Did he really kiss you?” he rests his head in between his knees. After a show like this, he doesn’t need conflict in his life, it destroys a person like Gerard. 

“Yes. He did. I didn’t like it, Gee.” I move to join him on the floor. He looks weak, his body shaking gently. 

“I–I can’t believe he’d do something like this. I can’t believe you let this happen.”

“I didn’t let anything happen Gerard. You left, he came in and said he needed to tell me something and then he just grabbed me. I might be upset that the band broke up but I would never do anything to hurt you Gee. You’re the love of my life,” I sigh. He lifts his head, looking at me with a damp, red and puffy face. 

“I love you Lola. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry my brother did that to you. I’m sorry that I’ve ruined everything by breaking up the band,” he starts to weep, crying desperately. 

“Oh no, no honey, don’t cry,” I wipe away his tears as he rests his head on my lap. 

“I’m so tired, Lo. I just want to go to bed,” he continues to cry in my arms, exhausted from the last six months. “Can we go back to our hotel? I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, we can go Gee. I’m sorry the day ended like crap for us,” I sigh, getting up with him. Tomorrow will be a better day, I know it. He leads on my side, almost too tired to walk himself, eyes half closed. 

“I need to kiss you Lola. I need you,” he stops in the middle of the hallway, looking like he’s about to collapse from exhaustion. I nod and we slip into another room where we can get some privacy. He grips my jaw in the same place as Mikey did, except Gee’s touch is more desperate and loving than his brother’s. Gerard stops an inch away from my lips, scanning my eyes desperately to tell if I really love him. He tucks a strand of my bright pink hair behind my ear before kissing my lips gently. We both know we’re going to grow old together, regardless of what happens in our future. We’re made for each other. 

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. Mikey isn’t going to take that away from me,” he sighs, pulling away softly. 

“I know that Gee. I know.”

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 5}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: ~6.5k

Summary: In Mexico with Los Vaqueros!

A/N: I swear I didn't take a break, I just wrote this a billion times and am struggling to make my writing better without a beta writer. I hope ye enjoy!

The constant drone of the plane's engines became white noise after the first hour. It blended into the sound of your breathing by the 10th. Given four days after the medical ward stint, exhaustion still coats your nerves with a steady hum, rivaling the plane’s engines.

Thankful for your government stipend coming back into play, a private plane across the pond was allocated to the team. Besides this, it meant you got to lie down and sleep during the flight to Mexico.

“Sae whit th' heck ur we daein' ower 'ere again?”

Groaning at the man whose lap your head rests on, you slap his knee weakly.

“Soap, be quiet.”

“Sorry, bonnie.”

His warm hand that's been petting you throughout the flight cards through your hair. A soft laugh bleeds through his breath. He’s been careful not to touch your horns after giving him a warning bite to his thigh earlier.

The sergeant had been an angel the past few days, as had Gaz and Ghost. After Deidrick was reported and shipped out in handcuffs, the boys stuck to you like glue in the easy moments. Annoyingly hovering because they had no issue with your protests.

Price and Gaz sit adjacent to you with laptops clicking away. Ghost, sitting opposite of you, spread out like a pampered cat. Something you feel that man deserves to enjoy.

“Tha’s the fifth time you're asking, Soap.” Gaz groans out. Making a noise that you can assume is him stretching out, the lower timber of Price echoes him a moment later.

“Alejandro’s men are having a tiff about selection to bring in a hybrid operator.” Price begins. “And they’ve got an issue with a renegade group. So, they’re having us help with their bug problem and show off Saint.”

“Show off that she’s a little shit most of the time?” Ghosts' deadpan humor never ceases to amaze you. All you manage is a small flip of your middle finger in response, making him laugh again.

“The fact being…” Price begins, voice coming closer to where you lie. “She is an enhancement to our team. Show ‘em how we work and help ‘em outta bit.”

You catch the small frown on his lips as your eyes blink open. The ocean in his eyes seems colder, foggy. A shallow wave of concern emits, forcing you to become conscious of how you’re curled into a ball, searching for warmth in the comfort of Soap’s legs. Goosebumps have been in a constant roll on and off during the flight, the chill on your body never ceasing to crest over you.

“How you feelin?”

“Cold, and like I need a B-12 shot with a Red Bull.” Looking much better than days prior, the dark circles under your eyes were still present. You’d all chalked it up to being subjected to a serious wound, then fighting against restraints whilst wounded, followed immediately by an 18-hour flight.

At least Mexico was going to be warm.

The feeling of a cheap blanket covering you brings some sense of ease as Price gently tucks it around you.

You miss the look Soap gives him when your eyes close.

“We’ll be there soon and can get you an IV if you want.” Is all the Captain offers before he goes back to his seat.

Truthfully it wasn’t even something that would help at this point. You’ve been starved of anything intimate for days you don’t care to count. As dry as the salt flats, your body groans with each crack of your powers. Stiff, split, and rough on each edge that tries to hold itself together.

In this state, your body let a small remnant of human mechanics take over to get you in good health. Eating food felt good, and drinking electrolytes and vitamins made you perk up. Your demon accepted emotions offered in your presence; love and care.

And usually, you would preen in the presence of these, savoring every moment you could. Yet right now, you hated the taste of it on your tongue.

Every ounce of care you received felt embarrassing. Coddled like something so fragile that can’t be protected. It angered you, the sense of superiority you radiated washed out and dragged under sea foam while trying to grasp at the surface. As if the moment you were left with the humans and away from the lab, every force of nature wanted to knock you off the water you walked on.

For now, you were surviving.

Price hadn’t said much after the interrupted kiss on the couch, having to scramble while Laswell mandated him on everything to be done.

The kiss was just that. A kiss.

Something passionate in the moment, but you knew it didn’t hold even a flicker of a flame. There wasn’t time in the dark hours of the night to huddle around the wet wicker that he is. He’s in charge, and his life is sacrificed to do so.

Sure, it would have been easy enough to come in and check on you while practically being babysat by the others. You listened for his familiar gait to approach your room in the late hours of the night.

But it never came.

With Laswell on base, the lack of interaction between her and Price made you feel like a toy soldier. Forgotten and avoided. Like he was embarrassed after it all. It made the attention from the others feel artificial, pitiful of his absence that was painfully obvious in the way you silently pleaded for him.

You had a bit more pep in your step by the time the plane landed.

Stepping into the Chihuahuan desert greets you with an eye-blinding brightness. The warmth is unrivaled as you open up like a sunflower. Looking around the expansive base, did you become coherent to where you are. Oh. This is familiar. Very familiar.

The mountain range peaks in the background of the small town in contrast to the flat land the base is planted onto. The airstrip has an impressive size, yet your plane is the only one showing activity. Like a barricaded wall, your teammates form a barrier around you while walking forward.

“Bienvenido de nuevo, my friends.” The first speaks out. Is that-?

“Good to see you all, again.” The second voice followed immediately after.

No fucking way. Had Price not been blocking your view with his large and toned back, you’d have recognized the voices sooner. You wait, rather forced to, while the men stand in a guarding wall before you.

“¿Dónde está tu demonio?” The men shift to disperse and greet each other with handshakes and half-hugs.

“She’s ‘ere. And don’t call her-” Ghost starts, looking over his shoulder to you while Price stays blocking your view.

“¿Y a quién llamas demonio?”

Ringing out from behind Price, peaking your head out to make your appearance.

Meeting the gazes of Alejandro and Rodolfo.

“They call me Saint, now.” Walking forward with an almost shy smile, you take in their reactions; Alejandro looks as dumbfounded as the day he first met you while Rudy almost cycles through the emotions of grief before blatant excitement settles on his face.

“Santa madre de-” Rudy punches Alejandro’s arm as if to make sure they're not in one of your trances. “You? It’s you?”

Dropping your bags, you meet him in the middle with a small hop into his arms. Peaking an eye open, you watch Alejandro walk with an almost angry swagger to wrap his arms around your back.

“Is this where you went? After how long- ¿Estás bromeando?” He almost shouts against your hair, each of them leaning down to leave a kiss where your horns won’t poke them.

“Are they takin’ the piss?” Gaz whisper-yells behind you, followed by Soap. “Does she speak Spanish?”

The small reunion disperses after a moment. Turning to face your teammates by the sides of the Mexican operators, a dazzling smile on your lips. Something they hadn’t seen before.

“Care to enlighten us how you know each other?” Price's arms crossed, body rocking on his heels. Chin tilted down in almost a parental look while flicking his eyes between the three of you. Your smile falls while taking in his sharpness.

“She came on a test assignment with us, in the forest. Even let us interview her.” Alejandro claps your back, looking down with an affectionate smile. “Was supposed to be for us, but they felt our men were not ready to handle a mujer malvada like her.”

“So when she left, we thought that would be the last of her we’d ever see.” Rudy finishes, moving a hand to pet your hair. “Mira cómo has crecido, princesa.” The low murmur draws a soft smile as he looks you over, almost too intimate with so many eyes watching.

Price shouldn’t feel threatened as threatened as he does.

Getting a move on, you’re led into the base's hallways. Nostalgia rushes over your lungs, almost suffocating from having the tangible feeling. Back when you were less experienced in a trepidatious custody battle.

An empty barracks hallway designated to 141 has three rooms lined up. Soap and Ghost already make their way into one, while Gaz moves to the one next to them. Price watches as you enter yours, staying in the doorway while Rudy enters the room with you.

“Are you not going to sleep with her?” Alejandro’s voice startles the seasoned vet. Watching as Price tries to move away to hide the tips of his ears turning red.

“No- No. It’s not like that.” He shakes it off, saying it for the thousandth time. Setting his bag down opposite where Gaz lays. “She’s her own person. I’m not using her for my entertainment.” There’s so much more he could say to defend himself. Dispel any feelings or even waste a breath trying to justify himself. But he leaves it at that.

He can feel Alejandro watching, hearing the cogs in his brain turning at the lack of an answer. Gaz brushes aside them to join Soap and Ghost.

“She’s different.” Alejandro starts, checking to see your door closed before he moves closer to Price. “She needs you to survive, Capitán. Nothing wrong or in the way of it- Yet you’re not getting your team to its full potential.”

This whole trip should have been a video call. Price’s clothes drop on the bed with heavy thuds, no soft movements but refrains from snapping at his host. Tension glimmers in the silence. Sounds of their breaths cut at your voice through the wall, almost smothered by the boys on the opposite side.

“We’ve been here less than an hour. How are you already giving me pointers on my team?” It’s not meant to be as harsh as it sounds. Alejandro can read between the lines from his position.

“She’s quiet. She’s not happy yet, not to what she should be.” His murmur breaks down the grating air between them. “You need to be careful with how slow your bond is going-” There’s that fucking word again. It pisses him off. It pisses him off more so that Alejandro knows your schematics exceptionally well to dish out advice. “Before something happens to her.”

“An’ what’s going to happen?”

The sound of your door opening as you and Rudy enter the hallway pulls Alejandro’s attention for a moment. Arms crossed while leaning against the wall in a relaxed form, his eyes almost appear softer with a quiet plead behind them.

“Just don’t let it get to that point, cabrón.”

Whatever means Price and the Colonel had drafted up was to show Los Vaqueros how your integration uplifts the team's mission while coinciding with integrating you into society. It sounds like a reentry program, save for the fact that you weren’t a criminal. The obvious added perk that you’ve been shaped into a soldier.

Plus you were fucking hot, so the perfect candidate to be a psyop if needed to sway the Mexican forces.

Tensions were underlaid with the men’s belief that having more than human power in an ordinary fight would soon lead to their dismissal. That, and that there was an underlying bias towards hybrids and creatures even stepping into war.

Having met Alejandro and Rudy previously set you at a higher level than respect. They know your capabilities and knew how to promote you.

You can hear the gym filled with deep voices that speak fast and low. Some women linger in their respective groups, but there was less of them compared to the base in England. The sound of the voices diminishes as you and the team step into the room.

Confidence exuded from Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap as they entered; Finally being able to parade you around in front of strangers made that feeling of being their pet return. Chin held high, your horns pointed towards the sky with a shine that catches the lights. Tail flickering behind you teased the soldiers with glances. The shape of your wings almost seemed like a shadow on your back, so black that it almost absorbed the light if not for the reflection of the soft scaled texture.

They move and flex in time with your breaths, brushing against Ghost as his hand keeps on your lower back to guide you through the door. Some whispers still stand out for those taking in your appearance, some speaking “Demonio” if they remember you.

When your red eyes look up and over the crowd, silence takes over.

“Buenos días, gracias por estar presente.” Alejandro breaks the static with an introduction and reasoning for the meeting- mandatory for the entirety of their base to move in on better resources, opportunities, and allocation of funding. “We welcome our friends back, to bring information on their newest addition.”

His speech moves through the facility definitions on the program; Highlighting the newest strategies for combined arms, and operations other than war, while showcasing how 141 has been integrating you within previously followed operations. A piece of them that solidifies their objective's success.

In the middle of the gym is a kill house. Made of plywood and spray-painted markings to denote entry and exit points, furnished to simulate a residential environment that tests differentiating friendly from hostile. Above is a projector screen, playing feed of the inside walls. It’s not the largest kill house you’ve been in, but tighter situations like this cause more stress and demand quicker reaction times.

In events such as this, where it's kill or be killed, those with a quicker reaction time will always come out on top. When Price steps up to speak, he presents you like a new piece of artillery.

“Saint can empathetically rule out emotions. Being able to sense them without even seeing the person, she can discern the intentions of the individual.” He shifts his weight, looking over the kill house before turning over to you. “The test will showcase her reaction time, and ability to compensate hostile forces while being mindful of civilians- if any, around her.”

Speaking on the heavy stress of why you were chosen for them, Price continues on while you're led to a small armory table by Rudy. His voice similar to telling a story with a moral at the end; Gloating on your interrogation skills and how you could make the information come out in less than a few minutes.

“Her breed is beautiful. Known for her looks, that's one of her greatest advantages. But-” You can hear him move about, getting comfortable in the crowd. “She is much more, than just a piece of art.”

Rudy’s hands check your gear, handing you an ISO and two 30-round mags while he leads you to the doorway.

“Show them what you’re made of, princesa. Eres mortal.” His lips meet your ear, giving a soft kiss that makes your smile grow pointed at the edges, giving a dangerous lick to your teeth. Rudy had learned how to rile you up since the first meeting, even in ways that Alejandro couldn’t.

You let your letting your lips kiss his cheek while smiling. A silent thank you for something sweet to make you feel just a bit more sinister. His hands give your waist a rough squeeze, your body absorbing his arousal as if sucking down water in an oasis.

Price’s voice booms a bit louder as the countdown begins overhead and signals Rudy to step back.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

“The challenge she faces today-”

Seven. Six. Five.

“will be the lack of human opponents.”

Four. Three. Two.

“But instead, virtual targets.”

One.

The buzzer rings out and your boot is already kicking in the door before it can finish. Sharpening your senses, to scan the maze-like layout of the house. The sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears fades in your mind.

As the first apparition appears, your hand moves with lightning speed to draw your weapon. The projected figure seemingly peaks by a bookcase with a weapon trained on you.

“Hostile.” Speaking in a growl from the back of your throat, a single burst rings out, hitting the target square in the chest before it fades away. Moving from the living room to the kitchen, four apparitions pop up from unexpected angles, forcing you to adapt and react in real-time. Going in time with how quickly the projections have them raise their weapons, you shoot bursts into their chest before looking at the figure displayed in a crouched position.

The barrel of your gun guides your eyes to focus, noting it's displaying a child crouched on the floor. “Civilian.” By the time you reach the fifth and final room, you’re met with a hostage situation playing on the bedroom wall.

“No te muevas o dispararé!”

Stilling, your gun stays trained on the man who holds the woman to his chest with a pistol raised to her head. The actor cries, cheesy enough it almost ruins the atmosphere. Before the animation can play out any further, a burst of fire embeds itself into the wall and they both disappear.

Finding your way back out, you dispose of the gear and fix your hair. Making your way back to the sides of your CO’s, the hidden signs of their approval don't dispel how it radiates around them.

But the sting of something sharp catches your heart. Surfing your gaze over your teammates, you catch Price’s eyes.

A sharp, hard-set stare holds you captive. Anger. You can tell from the sharp feeling in the back of your throat and almost as displeasure as pepper spray makes you recoil.

Did you fuck up?

The screen above draws your attention away. A fleeting excuse to turn away from him.

Your analytical statistics are side by side with the footage, showing near-perfect numbers; Two minutes in and out. Your figure, or lack thereof, looks as if a black haze in the kill house. Static borders the edges of you, leaving your eyes almost pitch black in the light amplification of the video.

“Think you look more of a ghost than Ghost does, lass.” Soap’s hushed laugh comforts you.

Trying to brush off whatever is stuck so far up your Captain’s ass, you stay between Ghost and Soap, hiding from Price’s aura that sours your confidence.

“Vaqueros,” Alejandro’s voice cuts the silence after the video ends. “It is time for your challenge.” He moves to the middle of his impromptu stage space where a sparring mat lies with a clear circle in the middle.

“War is changing, and now we have to. Pick a brother to fight and test her. Make it count. ¿Comprendido?”

The resulting answer is louder than you expected for a bunch of men who looked like they may faint at the sight of you.

The man sizes you up. Short wavy hair that looks black. About 6’ in height, medium build. Brown eyes. He’s by far no Gaz or Ghost, a lighter hue that doesn’t hold a depth like theirs. Less inviting.

The first lunge is led with his chest, feet following with the weight in his toes. Heavy in his strikes, you give the man credit and think you’d have been at least hit if he wasn’t a bit fearful. You can taste it.

Not using an increase of speed, you dance your dodges with him. He presses on, each time more intense as he gets used to your presence, your appearance, and nature. Not like you’d bite his hand off, damn. Having enough, you catch his wrist, using the shock of your touch to the advantage before turning and tossing him over your body and to the ground.

A collective sound of “Aye” and low whistles ring in the room, taunting and scrutinizing the operator looking up at you.

“Otra vez.” Masculinity in this culture is a serious thing, you learned a great deal from Alejandro and Rudy. There’s no smile, no laugh, or taunt, to your demeanor. His glare is vicious, but it means good progress for an actual spar.

Resetting, he wastes no time to tackle you.

You let him, wanting him to have his moment and feel a semblance of training. Your body rolls with his, absorbing his momentum while adjusting your limbs to grapple against his hold. Vaguely, he reminds you of a boar. Head-driven while using his size as intimidation, the testosterone that leaks from him is almost enough to make you cough.

It’s when you release a hiss of air from taking the knee to the ribs that you decide the show’s over. Elbowing the arm that holds himself up, locking your legs around his hips, you push him onto his back, growling. “Enough.” Your voice has that ethereal chime, sending shivers down the spines of those looking on with an intent to devour.

Focusing on his eyes, the connection forms a bridge. Golden glowing embers that only you can imagine leading your intentions to coat him with a soft push of influence. He stills beneath you. His grip on your thigh which was previously attempting to push you off becomes soft. Almost petting your muscle before he nods.

“Sí, señorita.”

The men watching start to holler, making enough racket that you have to push your control just a bit harder. Hand trailing over his face before taking his wrists and printing them above your head.

“Very good. Wake up.” As easy as it was to enter his mind, and form around him in a soft embrace, you pull back your influence. The trance leaves him in a breath, becoming aware of the crowd before looking up to find you smiling down on him.

The erection pressing against your ass is immediate. Giving his wrists a small squeeze, you stand from his lap a second later to let your actions speak.

It takes about another ten minutes for the meeting to adjourn. Some of the men had spoken up and even asked questions, and a lesser tension could be felt, compared to the beginning. They’d have much more work to do if it was ever to become a safe environment for whatever creature was chosen, but you had hope for Los Vaqueros.

Alejandro and Price agreed on having downtime before meeting for the second reason of the task force’s visit. With an hour to do nothing, Price decided to walk around on a self-guided tour, wanting to separate himself from the others.

He isn’t one to let curiosity get the best of him, but that became a lie when you joined. Tension in his knuckles begs to be cracked by the force of at least hitting something, pent-up frustration storming.

It was the moment between you and Rudy. He’d seen it.

What seemed like a private moment between you two hadn’t been fully concealed at the entrance point of the kill house. While everyone else had watched the feed of internal cameras, he’d been watching you.

Seeing you instantly melt into Rudy’s affection sparked something far too inappropriate for a man his age. Immature for a Captain. The nagging thoughts of hands coating something that belonged to him, made him want to lay his hands on you in any way. Spar marked as training, or grabbing you by the waist and against his chest.

Maybe you’d ask for a transfer. Fuck, maybe you’d be in bed with Rudy and Alejandro at the end of the night.

He doesn’t understand how you could chase him like a puppy, just to sniff a new bone and run in the opposite direction. Fleeting and impatient where your attention should be on him. You’re on his contract. Not theirs. That can’t possibly be broken and torn up. You’re his and his alone.

“I’m a fucking mess.” He admonished. To whom, he wasn't sure.

The hallways of the base were more intimate and narrow than the ones back home, making an eerie quietness come over him. Minimal sounds echoing, letting Price’s footsteps reverberate quietly on the concrete ground. It's when walking past a small corridor of offices, that the silence breaks.

“-your face, princesa. You’re tired and cold. No nos mientas.” Alejandro’s voice breaks over the hum of electricity in the halls. Straining to hear the vibrato of the conversation, Price follows the sound coming from an office a few yards away

“Tell, him. If he doesn’t know, how is he supposed to fix you?” Rudy’s voice consumes the space in a whisper, absorbing sound as he speaks gently. Price leans against an adjacent wall, the blinds on the door’s window blocking any view of him.

He can see you sitting on the desk with the two men he has loathed far too harshly since the start of the morning, crowding you. You lean into them, the movement of their hands petting you isn’t missed by Price.

The unspoken relationship between the three of you is so blatantly contrasted against you and the 141, that he wants to throw himself out of a window. The ignorant belief you wouldn’t stray from his heel grating in his mind.

Jealousy makes his lungs stutter at the wave of pressure from the sight. It makes him want to have a team bond that makes holding and sharing you in soft moments. It’s what he’s beginning to crave as he watches it happen with them.

Maybe if you weren’t a self-righteous prick it would be different. He tells himself, seething as he watches on.

“I’ll be fine. Just a few more days like this and I’ll be back to normal.” You almost sound defeated with the insistent directing and questioning.

“You know… We could always just-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Rudy’s hand gives a smack to your arm in the form of a reprimand. “No, cariño.”

Alejandro follows the reprimand, capturing your chin in his hand. “We respect the Captain. We’re not going to interfere with what you have together.”

Alright, Price is fractionally less mad at them, his paranoid mind bristling still.

“Yeah, right.” An irritated scoff leaves you, shaking your head from his hold. “Doesn’t want me. Made it known.”

When you hop off the desk to gather yourself, you miss the look between the Colonel and Sergeant Major.

“Price is a good man, princesa.” Alejandro starts, and the words stir you enough to let the disbelief on your face show.

“Why are you-” You cut yourself off, moving to turn on Alejandro. “Look at me. Any man would have fucked me on the first day. You know what's going to happen, if-”

It almost sounds as if you’re going to cry. Has it really been this big of an issue?

“Shh, you’re okay. Estas perfectamente bien.” Through the blinds, Price watches as they bring you back into their embraces. “We believe in you two, just let him come to his senses.” Rudy murmurs against your hair.

“If he doesn’t… Please call us, mi amor.” Alejandro finishes.

You don’t make it more than five minutes before being grabbed and shoved into an empty conference room.

“What the fuck-” A hand covers your mouth as the door locks behind you, flicking on a yellowing overhead light.

“What the fuck was that?” Startling at the intensity of his voice, your eyes dart to the ice-blue ones glaring at you, filled with rage.

“The hell are you talking about?” Your muffled reply makes his hand move from over your mouth and down to your jaw, his body crowding you against the wall.

“Don't you play stupid, girl.” Price’s voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard. Even thicker than when he finishes a cigar. The prickling feeling rolls off of him again, making your throat tighten. There’s another feeling to him. A crash of emotion that makes you want to lower your head and dispel any argument between each other. To please him.

Your silence makes him continue. “That little thing you had with Rodolfo earlier today. That little meeting you just had with them. What the fuck is going on?”

It's suffocating how fast your brain spins to make sense of it all. Trying to remember while the weight of his emotions makes a cyclone crash into you. It’s not fair that his eyes are boring into you, scanning for a lie.

Oh, Christ. That moment with Rudy. It almost feels shameful to know that he had seen it, and watched the intimacy between someone you trust. But the anger at Price for now approaching you like this, like he cared, outweighs everything.

“That wasn’t anything. It wasn’t even a thing.” Hissing back, gaze unmoving from his while puffing yourself up in defense. “It was a small pick me up.”

Price's expression turns dark. For a moment, all you can hear is the light humming above you.

“I saw it. Plain as day, Saint. The whole team did.” You feel the pressure on your body getting firmer. “Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? Seeing you act like a little slut for all to see?”

If it wasn’t for the anger boiling in your veins, you’d be turned on by how degrading he is.

So, you play his game.

“Oh I see.” A silent grin haunts your lips. “You jealous, Price?” Tilting your head up before he reaffirms his hold on your jaw. “Didn’t like how he touched me?”

You can see how close he is to doing something, being on the edge of a tipping point you don’t know of. The anger floods into you, making your own emotions match. The previous submission evaporates into a storm of fury, potent enough that your tail twitches aggressively against the wall.

“You’re really askin’ for it, ain’t cha?” He fumes. Breath fanning across your lips, the heat makes you lick your own. The buckle of his belt presses against your stomach, and you wonder if it’ll leave a mark with how much he pushes onto you. “Say that again, I dare you."

The heated air between you charges something greater than your dream ever did on him, heavier than any touch you’ve felt by his hands. So, you do what he asks.

“Are you jealous, Captain?”

Before you take your next breath, his thumb moves to invade your mouth; Pressing against the backside of your lower teeth, he opens your mouth for you while leaning to speak against your ear.

“You think I don't know what kind of games you’re playing, right? Tha’ I don’t see how you’re acting right now?” The brush of his beard itches your right cheek. And god damn this forsaken man, your panties are already soaked from the feeling.

Your jaw is still trapped in his hold, not allowing you a noise besides the garbled mess of a protest.

“You’re trying to piss me off right now so I punish you, and give you the satisfaction you want eh?”

You’d argue that it didn’t start that way, but now he’s certainly correct. “Keep acting like a child and you’re gonna be treated like one. Demon brat.”

Had it not been for the use of that insult, you could have forgotten that you were mad in the first place. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you can see his eyes dart down at the stand that drops onto your shirt.

You remind him of your fangs with a curl of your upper lips.

Seemingly reigning himself in, he releases his hold but lets his thumb remain on your bottom lip as you swallow.

“You want me to behave?” Inhaling shakily, as if high on a stim, your head tilts back to match his glare. “You gonna keep me on a leash? Make sure I’m by your side so my tail only wags for you?”

Price raises his eyebrow at that and somehow you feel like you’ve just let him win.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" His expression transforms into something more dangerous; A small smile curls on the corner of his mouth. "To be my little demon dog, staying by my feet, always ready to obey. Is that what you're after, Saint?"

Your hands move from the wall to instead find the meat of his hips, digging into his jeans with the tips of your nails. Pressing against him to stand on your tip-toes, the pressure of your hips together makes you bite down a groan, feeling a flicker of his arousal inlet to you.

“I’m not your little bitch.”

“You’re not?” He drawls, looking at you in fake surprise. The hand previously on your shoulder moves to your ass while he presses into you harsher.

"’Cause right now, you’re barking an awful lot with tha’ pretty little mouth of yours." He sneers, his hips grinding against yours forcing a gasp from you.

"And I think that pretty mouth of yours could make some different kinds of noises. Hm?"

At that, your head thuds against the wall. Fisting your hands onto his jeans, you don’t offer a response.

“Tsk. Gone quiet now?” His low laugh saturates your heart, the heat flowing to your core. To your surprise, he encourages your behavior. Lifting you with a hand under your ass with the other on your back, he turns to lay you on the conference table.

His erection grants you friction across your damp panties, good enough to almost sedate you in a drunken haze. When you prominently roll your hips against his straining cock, he groans loud enough to make him turn and bite his shirt.

“Maybe if you used me, I wouldn’t have to go bending over for anyone else.”

“You’re my operator. Your loyalty lies solely with me.” Snarling in a sharp contrast, a choleric look peers into you. “Is that understood?"

The drag of his beard across your cheek comes back, scratching your skin to bring you back from the feeling of his hardened cock rocking against your clit through your clothes. When you can only grunt in response, the hold on your jaw is the only warning before he kisses you.

Tongue diving in to meet your own, he dominates his way in while holding your jaw. Breaths borderline panting, the searing anger turning into a lustful spark, and fuck he tastes so good on your tongue. It almost dulls the meaning behind his words, of his claim and possession that comes to the surface. The feeling of submission comes to you again; Understanding that it's not you empathetically picking up on it, but rather the way your body wants to submit to his domineering energy.

His hand fists into your hair, holding you down as he licks into your mouth. You find your ground in the moment, kissing him back like a cannibal and expecting to see red smeared across each other's lips if he were to pull back.

“Show me you’re mine and I’ll give you what you want.” You can feel him start to leave you, his hold lessening to leave you on the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” A broken growl rumbles your chest, eyebrows furrowing as your jaw sets. Reaching out a hand to latch onto his belt, frustration glowing in your eyes.

He scoffs. Actually scoffs as he looks down with a twisted smile.

“Careful sweetheart. Don’t go ordering me around.” He easily shakes off your hand and greedily lets his eyes take in your body underneath him. It's uncomfortably tense as he grips your hip, moving to get off and away without a second thought.

The feeling of your pants tugging makes him stop.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.”

Looking down, you both find you're stuck together; The button of your pants having looped into his belt buckle. It doesn't make any fucking sense whatsoever, but rather keeping his hips tilted against yours with the pull.

“Could be fucking. But not kidding.” You griped, not offering any assistance. Wanting to keep him there for longer, your hips buck up.

“Stop. Moving.” He hisses, adding emphasis as he smacks the top of your thigh. “I'm trying not to bloody rip it.”

“Just take it off.”

The whine comes unabashedly from you, childishly biting your lip as you laugh at him. His fingerwork is clumsy, unable to unhook the button from himself. Huffing, you swat his hands away to take over. “Let me-"

Your fingers fumble between the button seemingly wrapped around his belt buckle, weaving around the metal in a way unknown to either of you. You’d settle for divine intervention.

“How’s it so fucking tight-” His hand holds yours while he tries to pull free again, only to feel you’re still stuck.

“Ye sly. Old. Dog.”

The speed at which Price’s head whips back over his shoulder is almost concerning for a man his age. Had you not also immediately looked to see Soap standing at the door, staring with the proudest shit-eating grin, you’d have noticed the vein pumping in Price’s neck.

“Soap, ‘ave you gone daft? Get. Out.”

You can’t even respond as your jaw drops from the surprise. The man wolfishly snapping his eyes to find yours, and holding it with a tick in his jaw. Fuck, even he's aroused with the imagination of finding you and the Captain fucking. Without validating any part of the story, Soap darts away with the door clicking shut, Price aggressively pulls hard enough that you’re freed- clothing unscathed.

“That’s gonna be spread like wildfire now.” He busies himself with being sure his pants are on correctly and probably hiding any remnants of his hard-on. You let the silence hang while fixing yourself up, wanting to walk out of the room as if you weren't close to being fucked. Trailing your eyes over Price, he doesn't bother looking at you, but the subtle flush on the tips of his ears is there. An expert in hiding his emotions and blending in for whatever the social context calls for.

“Don’t act like that’s not what you want to happen.” Hopping off the table and heading to the door, he crowds you from behind. His warmth makes your hand pause on the door, feeling the draft of his breath skim your shoulder. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, sending an anxious chill down your spine. More and more it feels like you've lost your advantage with him.

“I don’t want an endless fling to become your permanence. To sustain you.” His hand wraps around your front, securing a place on your neck.

“I want to drown in you.”

[sinfulequity]

Swing and...A miss!

Mikoto’s door is finally here!

Along with the announcement of his cover song and his voice drama name; how fun~

Now onto actually analyzing this thing lmao (Gunsli/Archivalofsins and I both worked really hard on structuring and formatting this thing)

TL;DR- Neoplasm is a fitting evolution from John Doe for both personalities within Mikoto. It is fitting for the one we’re familiar with due to the abrupt change in perception and the one we found out about afterwards because they are becoming more active/growing more defined as Milgram progresses. There are a lot of horror elements involved in Mikoto’s song and previous mv that both of us are excited to see elaborated on in Double. The door is likely based on some sort of operating room and the lettering of the song title in English is probably referring to division.

I.            The Title

Firstly, I want to go over how the title is formatted in English! Initially I was thinking of it in writing terms (i.e. how parentheses are used to add clarifying information to a sentence).

A parenthesis is a word, phrase, or clause inserted into a sentence as an explanation or afterthought. When a parenthesis is removed, the surrounding text is still grammatically sound. A parenthesis is usually offset with parentheses (i.e., round brackets), commas, or dashes. These are called parenthetical punctuation marks. A parenthesis is sometimes called an "interrupter" as it interrupts the flow of text.

Examples of them are:

·         Andrew Jacklin (last year's losing finalist) is expected to win this heat.

·         The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary. (Journalist HL Mencken)

When parentheses (round brackets) are used to offset a parenthesis, the parenthesis is easily seen. However, some writers feel that parentheses can make formal texts look unorganized.

There are more links above, outside of the meaning, usage and formatting of parenthesis. If you’re interested, you can go through it all to see the way that grammar and formatting can help explain/emphasize a point! Being informed on this, at the very least, will be helpful for those that wish to more critically engage with and analyze written media.

Applying this logic to the English title of Mikoto’s second trial song, further emphasizes Mikoto being MeMe. As it can literally be read as Double I’m MeMe. Due to the lack of punctuation, this can be interpreted as both a statement and a question.

Something alluded to by Mikoto’s expression. However, this isn’t the only way it can be read!

We’ve had addition,

“Clothes Food Shelter + Love and Miss.”

We’ve had subtraction,

“Loving Affection (minus) Love, it’s tacky, this two-way deceit.” (Also, another effective use of parentheses.)

Now get ready for-

Division

Yep, the way I’m (MeMe) is written should be familiar to anyone who knows basic Algebra. Because this is exactly how basic division problems are shortened within that form of math and others.

Some examples,

This serves to follow up on what we were told within MeMe,

“Split in half, make that heart beat.”

Since that’s exactly what division is all about

“Division is a mathematical operation which involves the separating of an amount into equal-sized groups.”

Regardless of the outcome it will always be balanced and through recombining those groups will equal the whole. This is why any single number divided by itself equals one because it is equally distributed down. This is why uneven numbers when divided usually have solutions that are not integers as well. The exception being when they’re divided by themselves or by 1.

The point of division is breaking something down into equal parts that can be put back together to get the number you divided by.

For example,

7/2=3.5

89/2=44.5

In either scenario if one were to add this number to itself (essentially combining the two halves) it would make the number that was divided. Add forty-four point five to forty-four point five, to get eighty-nine and three point five to three point five to get seven.

Division is all about figuring out what number added to itself as many times as the number it is being divided by will equal out to the number that is being divided. So, in the case of our first two examples where we are dividing by two doubling the number we get will equal out to what we divided.

A more on topic example would be dividing Mikoto’s prisoner number by two.

9/2= 4.5

Ultimately, this would just be another way of stating something we know about Mikoto already. That he is the ninth prisoner within Milgram.

Let’s use Mikoto’s prisoner number in another division example,

9/3= 3

In multiplication three multiplied by itself equals nine, as many know. However, that doesn’t equate to three overall but three groups of three. Basically being,

3+3+3= 9

Only serving to further reiterate to us that Mikoto is the ninth prisoner overall. That’s just how math works. Now that we’ve gone over some rather basic math; what does the way they chose to organize the lettering on Mikoto’s second trial cd tell us?

Under this framing it could be read as Double I’m/(MeMe) or Double I’m divided by MeMe.

This could reflect that Mikoto’s current state of being is separated into these parts. Stating that these are the parts that make up I’m. Or to put it in math terms again I’m/(MeMe)= Y(X).

Get it because his first trial song quote is,

“Why?”

Also, because the solution, just like punctuation, isn’t here within the title. Something that further emphasizes this lyric in MeMe,

“Why, hey why, I’m nowhere to be found.”

In this case, the two me’s would be making up the I’m while being a source of division for it.

This way of reading it may allude to a disagreement between these two parts or just imply that both these parts are getting in the way of discovering “I’m” in some way breaking their overall sense of self down.

This is something, that has also been illustrated in Yamanaka’s tweet regarding the voice drama,

Which roughly translates to,

“I (ore) did it. I (boku) didn’t do it! You saw it through Milgram! What do you think?”

All this implies that we will more than likely be seeing Mikoto/and the other face this aspect of themselves along with the concept of identity in some way.

II.            The Door & Speculations on the Voice Drama Snippet

When it comes to Mikoto’s door, Gunsli and I couldn’t really agree on what it was. At first glance I thought it was an elevator door and she thought it was a train door. However, the door opens outwards while noticeably not being broken in any way that would force it to do so, illustrating that this door has hinges.

Meaning that both beliefs are incorrect.

Train doors also don’t have this on top,

This digital prompter is why I initially believed it was an elevator before taking into consideration how it opens. These words have been put on all the prisoner’s doors. However, they have always been in some way apart of them. This implies that this digital prompter is a part of the door, proper.

Making it more unlikely that these are the doors to a train. I’ve also seen speculation of it being a swing door (opening both outwards and inwards, which would be cool), but… given how fortified the frame is and how thick the doors themselves are… I find that highly unlikely.

The closest thing that we’ve come to a consensus on is actually…

Operating room doors (Operation Theatre Doors). Possibly, emergency operation ones? If this is it, I’m curious to what Mikoto’s MV is visually gonna be like. I think it would be hilarious if we didn’t get visceral imagery, but I don’t think that’s likely after taking into consideration the horror inspirations that can be noted within his previous trial (something we’ll go into later).

Those give his door a few more fun implications. Especially, if these are in fact operating room doors. This is because a lot of zombie/infection type horror movies take place in hospitals. If one were to look at his door through that sort of lens, wouldn’t it appear quite reminiscent to the doors seen at ground zero infection sites in virus or zombie genre horror flicks- The blood smeared on the door as people try to make their way in the glass smashed in hopes of reaching in and unlocking it or breaking a barricade. That airtight thick frame around the door. The likes of movies such as Contagion, 28 Days Later, or The Sadness. Warning for flashing lights on all these trailers by the way.

Outside of continuing these horror inspirations, operation room doors would be a good fit considering his voice dramas name as well. This time, the voice drama is called “Neoplasm”, which is not technically a word that exists, but does follow the format of a bunch of medical terms.

Now, I’m gonna rewind a little, because I haven’t given my opinion on the first trial voice drama name, “John Doe”, either (I promise this connects lol). John Doe applies to both personalities in Mikoto in different ways.

The Mikoto taken into Milgram (referred to within this section from now as Miko), is initially described as “mass goods”. In other words, an “everyman” or to quote Gunsli, “a dime a dozen”. Miko is an office worker, one of the most mundane jobs out there.

This touches on the fact that, like Gunsli has said previously, he could be replaced at any point without much trouble. As we know, John Doe is widely known to be used as a generic name/placeholder in order to withhold details from the larger public.

Either that, or the details don’t exist.

The Mikoto we find out about after Milgram has started, proper, (referred to in this section as Koto), is someone we don’t have an identifying “tag” for. The only (overt) way we know that Koto is out is that he has different behavioural mannerisms and vocabulary.

Even then, his use of personal pronouns seemed to be the same as Miko’s in MeMe, given the line:

“I” will save “me”.

This line uses boku in both instances of a personal pronoun.

In this way, John Doe could be meant in its more formal way; where a body is called this when the identity hasn’t been verified yet.

Incidentally, did you know that John Doe used to be a court term?

Specifically, to hide the identity of a plaintiff in an ongoing court case. There’s also a counterpart called Richard Roe, that hides the identity of the defendant.

There is a mild but real possibility that Miko could be trying to implicate Koto as the perpetrator within his second voice drama to skirt taking responsibility for his actions. It has been brought to the audience’s attention that the prisoners can hear what the audience has been saying about them since the beginning of trial two.

Though Yuno is the most candid about it,

Absolute Zero Yuno Trial 2 Interrogation

“It’s fucking bothersome- I told you this from the start; didn’t I. There’s no end to how much people will punish each other outside of the law. Due to that I really had no interest in Milgram.”

Yes, I remember that. You told me that you wouldn’t pay my judgements any mind and just continue as you have been.

“Oh, that’s right; I’m happy you remembered! Yet, at that time, I didn’t exactly hate it…Milgram. Sure, this place is full of nothing but weirdos but it was much warmer than my day-to-day life at least.”

It did appear like you were having fun the last time we spoke.

“Yes, it was fun! Sure, they’re all murderers but they’re interesting people. They put me at ease a bit, there was just something nice about being around others who also seemed to have something missing in one way or another.”

You’re saying that changed because of me?

“Yep! The situation has become more bothersome than fun. Now all the novelty of it that I found fun at first has been overshadowed- So, I’ve chilled out now that’s all.”

��

“And…Are you satisfied with this situation?”

Everyone within Milgram is a murderer, to the extent of clarifying the information I’ve been handed, to understand your sins… This job, my role, is necessary. Milgram will pull to the forefront not just your essences but the truths that lie within.

“Who are you trying to convince with that? Do those feelings and observations of yours not hold up unless you repeat them over and over again to yourself?”

…!

“You want to find the truth…huh? Pf…Haha!”

Yes, of course, as the guard of Milgram finding the truth of the matter is integral to correctly judging your sins-

“It’s the result of A LOOOOT OF sugar-babying: abortion.”

…!

“That’s probably my murder. Well have it, go and partake of the truth you were seeking so badly.”

…

“How is it, as good as you thought? Are you satisfied? If so, can we be done already?”

Yuno…you…

“You don’t surprise easily, do you? As I thought, you knew it from the song extraction.”

Well, yes, I considered it as one of many possibilities. However, that is the one I believed was most likely. Taking into account Milgram’s lack of specifications concerning the terms murderer and murder alongside it acting outside of common law I could not overlook the possibility it could interpret such a thing as murder.

“Yes, I’m sure. Well, more to say, I had this inkling that was your way of thinking. I could feel it.”

You could feel it…you say?

“Feel it, hear it, all throughout Milgram it’s probably the same with the others as well. Voices talking, observing, poking their noses into things that they ought not to and then discussing my sins.”

Something like that…

“Were those not the sort of thoughts you were having or something? It’s not as if I can really know for sure after all.”

…I don’t know. I wasn’t informed that Milgram could have that sort of impact. It is true I decided to forgive you with that thought in mind. However, that decision is only provisional.

“Haaa….”

…

“Well, then now I’ll tell you the second reason I’m so chilled out! Yaaay!!”

…

“You’re bad at going with the mood, huh.”

I’m starting to lose what little grasp I had on the type of person you are.

“You know it’s dull if you get too serious all the time.”

Noted. Continue.

“My second chillout reason simply put is the fact I was forgiven.”

What?

“Well, to get specific, it isn’t the fact I was forgiven itself but…”

I don’t understand. Just state it plainly.

“Hm…well then, should I just tell you what I heard in my head, what those incessant voices were saying. “Because she’s pitiful.”, “There’s no doubt, she definitely had some sort of reason for doing it.”, “She’s probably this way because there were problems in her home life.”, “She just doesn’t know love yet!” Ah…! “Because of that… I’ll forgive her!”.”

It's true that my decision was impacted by that sort of analogical reasoning and those are all things I considered.

“Ah, yes, yes… Well, and I have to stress this is going to purely and fully my own personal opinion but- I find making those sorts of assumptions preachy and unpleasant!”

…

“It’s all worthless. Deciding that I’m pitiful, making up a backstory for me, creating this personal idealized version of me- This acceptable version of me that you can feel good looking at. Aa..h- They exist you know the sort of people who do that. Those sorts of people have never will never do anything for me.”

Yuno..

“I’m not pitiful, my family gets along great, and I’m not particularly struggling financially. I decided to do what I did of my own free will because I felt it was necessary for me.”

-End of Transcript-

Tear Drop

“Just shut it, will you? You know it all.”

During her voice drama, Yuno explains and calls to attention this new phenomenon within Milgram. Both before and after her the other prisoners conveniently omit the specifics of the information they have heard. Kazui being the most egregious display of this, as he does not bring up hearing the voices at all and only responds to questions after gaining more clarity on the situation. His entire voice drama really comes off as though he’s just leading Es by the nose.

Taking into consideration what was established through her interrogation (the implication that all the prisoners have heard the prevailing theories about their cases) who’s to say Miko has not weaponized the information he’s heard? Omitting he heard it like the others and using it to push the blame more onto the other personality. Whom if we’re being frank would more than likely be willing to take the fall for him anyway.

However, the fact that this is said,

“I (ore) did it. I (boku) didn’t do it! You saw it through Milgram! What do you think?”

Very quickly showcases to me that the one speaking is Miko here not Koto. Koto in the snippet of Double we’ve been shown is questioning what’s wrong,

“Why are you crying?”

If Koto is not aware of what is negatively impacting Miko in the song proper, why would they know what Milgram saw or how Milgram reacted to it? A thing stated to be specific to prisoners beneath Milgram’s control.

This is something alluded to during the second trial commencement notice. At that time Jackalope tells us Koto has been free and unchained this entire time.

Exempt from the rules of Milgram and unable to have punishment administered to them. This means the voices all the prisoners have been hearing as part of their punishments or rewards would not impact him.

So, once again, I ask- How the fuck would he know that anyone saw anything through Milgram? Especially the specific implication and pervasive theory that it was them (Koto) who committed the murders.

Something that gives more credence to this idea is how Koto has even interpreted the song,

“I should have saved you but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise me with your song, I am your saviour.”

As a form of praise and a way in which Miko is relying on him. Simply as if Koto doesn’t see a thing wrong with what was displayed on top of not knowing what is upsetting Miko.

How much Koto knows about the song and Milgram’s response to it is rather questionable as we’ve been expressly told he is not a prisoner proper yet.

This possible way of handling the situation on Miko’s part is oddly reminiscent to how the Devil within Not A Devil attempts to convince the viewers they’re good through lines like,

“Another clandestine rendezvous with myself. Drained, oh so drained, introspection and in prayer.”

MeMe

“Snuggle together and say, “Good night” switch, shake up that brain.”

“The minus energy that I swallowed hugged me.”

Double (though official translation liable to change)

“I should have saved you but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise me with your song, I am your saviour.”

“No worries, no worries everything’s fine. This is just a silly joke.”

Trial 1 Voice Drama

“Of course, I want to think of all this as a joke…Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Calm down, that’s just a rumor.”

MeMe

“I won’t forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“All those ridiculous accusations.”

“Now shut up and give me your signature. Not a devil, I’m not a devil. So, sayeth the devil.”

MeMe

“I’m probably not to blame, it’s probably nothing.” – “Why am I here?  It must be a mistake, right?”

Taking the court terminology, Miko implicating Koto as the culprit with his denial firmly puts him in the role of John Doe (plaintiff) and Koto in the position of Richard Roe (defendant). Beginning a back and forth of finger pointing where Miko implicates the other and Koto can either deny the accusation or accept it.

This makes his second voice dramas title “Neoplasm” very apt naming. Because over the course of Milgram, the mold (interpretation) Mikoto was put under as this every man, silly little office worker caricature has been reshaped into to something new and abnormal.

Miko’s possible response to this new perception of his character being pretending to be Koto to fit this new shape he’s been given within the voice drama while attempting to save face isn’t surprising coming from him. He would know that Koto uses ore as well. Since, the audience has repeated it consistently over the course of the intermission. If Miko has been hearing the audience, as has been implied, it’d be very difficult for him to not be made aware of how Koto behaves.

Taking into consideration how much the other has been discussed, drawn, and written about. It has been more than shown that the prisoners know our speculations, in regard to their cases, and they’ve all been shown making attempts to confirm the validity of the statements they’ve heard over the course of their voice dramas. As such, there is a real possibility that Miko has heard the argument that the other committed the murders and he is in fact an innocent harmless individual.

Information that he’d rightfully take advantage of in this situation. Because it’d be a bit more difficult for people to condemn an innocent and harmless individual. Even if the other one did it and the only way to punish Koto was through punishing Miko a few people would be hesitant about doing such a thing. Simply put it would feel wrong to do as it’s dragging down a blameless individual just to get to someone who for all we know may not be at fault either.

We now find ourselves in a very classic dilemma-

MeMe

“The truth will come to reveal itself. I won’t forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“The truth will come to reveal itself. I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

“So, I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me even though I’m right.”

At this point, or maybe even from the beginning, they’ve just been in a finger pointing competition. And things are only about to get messier.

III.            Voice Drama Title

Now back to the title of the voice drama “Neoplasm” (orz). Remember how I said Neoplasm isn’t technically a word? Well, it’s technically not and is.

As many were quick to point out, Neoplasm refers to a new and abnormal growth of tissue within the human body that could either be benign or malignant. It’s a term to describe the discovery of new tissue growth such as a tumour that was not previously present. However, when this occurrence is discussed, the individual neoplasm is rarely referred to by name instead the phenomenon is usually referred to and discussed as “Neoplasia”.

As you can see in these lists of Human Anatomy & Physiology: Latin and Greek Word-Parts plasm is not included as a suffix.  

Now this may seem like semantics. However, it’s incredibly important to differentiate between these two terms. Neoplasms are the result of Neoplasia. Neoplasia is when neoplasms are formed. Through naming the voice drama Neoplasm Yamanaka plainly stated that a Neoplasm has formed but Neoplasia, the act of it forming, has not been observed.

Through using this term instead of the one usually used in cases of observing (discovering) this new tissue and the process of its formation this comes off as saying though an abnormality has been observed it was present when the patient arrived. Again, unlike in the case of observing Neoplasia when doctors usually go okay this was not here several months ago but it’s here now.

Meaning, the Neoplasm is more than likely not entirely new but it shouldn’t be there, and it wouldn’t normally be there.

Let’s move onto word roots and meanings.

Now we know that Neo has an etymology from Greek

"New, Young, Recent," from Greek neos and "new, young, youthful; fresh, strange; lately, just now," from PIE root *newo-. In the physical sciences, caeno-, ceno- is used in the same sense. Paleo- is an antonym of these terms.

However, modern day definitions of the word (Yes, I said definitions!) are a bit different,

As it can mean “something new” or “new or recent, or in a modern form”.

For example, within Ace Attorney there’s a show called the “The Steel Samurai” the location of this show is stated to be Neo Olde-Tokyo. A new/revived version of old Tokyo. In this case the use of Neo and Olde together better highlight the intricacies of this word.

A more recent example of this would be NEOTWEWY. The title of the revival/follow-up game telling us out the gate this is something new built on the foundation of The World Ends With You (TWEWY). It is also, canonically, a remade form of Shibuya that Joshua made at the end of the original base game. Albeit, one made to be pretty much the same as the original.

So, while the immediate thought would be that it’s something new, it could also mean that it’s something that’s been reformed and shown as “new” that way. Something I’m sure that Miko is fully aware of. In fact, I’d say anything in reference to him would be more likely to use a pop culture meaning! Especially when you take into account his active attempts to keep up with the times and be seen as popular.

Plasm, however, has two roots in terms of etymology: Latin and Greek. In Latin, its root means “mold”. In Greek, it means “something formed”/“formation” or “to shape”.

The term also has modern-day definitions!

The first one is,

“formative or formed material (as of a cell or tissue)”

But there’s also

“Any of the components of protoplasm”

Protoplasm being the building blocks for all life on a cellular level.

In medical science it can also be used as a prefix and a suffix, but let’s focus on the suffix here.

Suffix meaning living substance, tissue.

These definitions of plasm may seem similar, but there is a difference in nuance. The first definition listed here refers to it as the material itself, specifying that it’s used in cells/tissues. The second one refers to the fact that they act as smaller parts to a whole (the whole in this case being the -cellular- foundation of life).

And the third one focuses on what the material makes as a whole. In other words, living substances and/or tissues.

Let’s move back to Koto. Well, we don’t know that much about him, right? Except, since the last trial ended, it’s been stated that he’s shown up more often. This includes in the trial two website voice lines, somewhere we’ve never seen him before! This, in addition to the usage of ore in the Double preview, seem to indicate that he’s solidifying more of an identity for himself.

Going back to the topic of the lettering choices on the CD cover real quick; specifically the division idea brought up earlier. Considering I’m as the whole and Miko and Koto as (MeMe) in this framework once again reiterates that Koto may possibly be growing a sense of identity outside of Miko and vice versa. Since Miko may be growing a more solid sense of identity as well after becoming aware of the other. You know, something you could also put as separating/dividing from Miko?

Neoplasms themselves aren’t really a big deal unless it turns out they are cancerous. In fact, benign ones are extremely common.

This is something that is once again rather fitting for Mikoto’s character and the implementation of it within Milgram. Allow me to elaborate, Mikoto as a character has subverted expectations from his first trial. There is a clear pattern with him of taking things that are usually considered normal and distorting them into something easily perceived as extreme, odd, or out of the norm.

Turning the mundane into the terrifying, a very common thing done within the horror genre.

This is one of the reasons Gunsli finds it very exciting that his second trial will be releasing in October. As it’s not just the month of his birthday but Halloween. So, she’s really hoping for some more horror inspired imagery with all those very common horror lighting tropes.

IV.            Horror Influences

From static effects,

To flat lighting from a television,

Those fisheye lens sort of shot at the beginning,

Then there’s this shot,

and the usage of both anamorphic lenses and vignetting.

(Side note; if you want to look more into how lighting utilized in horror, check out this video- x)

The atmospheric lens allows the lighting to look more ethereal. This, on top of the colouring used for the lights, makes the overall shot feel cold and liminal. The usage of a wide shot also emphasises this feeling of isolation.

In addition, the pillar at the foreground on his right makes him look crowded in while the emptiness to his left highlights how alone he is. This is also where the victim comes in from. The framing and direction here make it look as though the victim is cornering Mikoto.

That combined with the vignetting, makes the shot the visual equivalent of being “between a rock and a hard place”. This is likely a representation of how Miko was feeling at the time of the crime; trapped and as if he had to do this to survive.

Leading into another point, the way that all of the shots in MeMe are set up. Is something I find interesting, because a lot of them are ones usually used for victims/horror protagonists. Something that contrasts wildly with both his crime and how callously it’s shown. This puts Mikoto in the interesting position of both predator and prey.

For Gunsli this is all the stuff that just makes a horror fan go, “Yeah, this guy... This guy fucking watches horror movies for fun doesn’t he.” while everyone else who’s normal and hasn’t watched almost every horror movie they had access to goes how do you know this- Just for her to respond with, “I’m not the one on trial here he’s the fucking murderer; this ain’t about me!”.

All while managing to draw attention to and show off Mikoto’s genuine love and eye for photography. Possibly even nodding towards a bit of an interest in cinematography.

Q.07 What are your hobbies?

Mikoto: shopping / darts / photography / cycling

Every shot in MeMe meticulously planned out and executed in a way startlingly similar to how his murders are alluded to have gone down.

All this makes it difficult for them to say the team doesn’t know what they’re doing when it comes to him. Mikoto’s character in general turns the benign into something cancerous or the mundane into something controversial. A skill that has made him the topic of many divisive conversations and instances in Milgram’s history.

The usage of neoplasm could also touch on how Koto was immediately stigmatized by most of the fandom. Just as everyone assumes the worst-case scenario from tumours showing up, they assumed the worst of Koto’s entire existence. From statements such as,

“Having a person with D.I.D being a murderer is bad rep” to “I can’t believe they gave someone with D.I.D a murderous personality again”.

All this, despite the fact we don’t know who committed the actual crime. Though we’re pretty sure it was Miko for multiple reasons Gunsli has covered elsewhere.

Closing remarks from Gunsli- It’s always fun to write with other people but it’s always the best when I get to write with Star. I initially came to her for help with this one because I was just in the worst of moods due to multiple circumstances. However, this wound up taking so long mostly because there was just so much to cover and talk about. Plus, we haven’t even went into his cover yet. I was rather excited about guessing Mikoto’s second trial cover song correctly~ However, in the excitement of that I made some rather hasty observations myself like guessing that the door was train doors. Luckily, I took a step back to observe it more and talked over a lot of things with Star. Hope people enjoy all of this and sorry for leaving the TL;DR to you Star.

Here’s my (Star’s) parting words. Or rather, image-

-We try and have fun here

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 1

David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class. Largely because everyone's butt looks too good to believe.

2 (Next)

ass expansion // growth

2526 words

(btw this is inspired by one of my favorite TF stories)

---

“Now the point of these journals is to start recognizing energetic and temporal anomalies, better attuning yourselves to…”

I paused mid-sentence, feeling that something was off, taking a beat before I continued with the lecture. I was hoping to have some time to settle into the Fall semester before having to deal with an inevitable minor metaphysical crisis, but a reality warper a few weeks in was not what I saw coming.

Having a job that includes resolving paranormal wrinkles in spacetime seems exciting until you realize that somehow they’ve found a way to turn it into yet another 9 to 5. People often expect some sort of imposing mansion or gothic structure whenever they hear “Center of Supernatural Sciences,” but it’s actually a squat concrete block cobbled together by a regional college in the 70s. The scariest thing for visitors is figuring out how to connect to the WiFi, though if you’re rude to Seema at the front desk, she will put a hex on you and that’s just your own fault. It’s been a mainstay on this campus for decades, but for how much longer was unclear, as administration has been defunding us relentlessly for as long as I’ve been here. The university doesn’t see our value in light of its own investments in mass surveillance technology and a more ‘hard science’ study of spookiness, but the work we do is still important. Supernatural phenomena are much more common than a lot of people realize–it’s just a matter of actually paying attention–and our work is split between teaching, research, and service, addressing issues locally and regionally as they arise.

And no, we’re not magic cops. We’re not out to punish or control, fist bumping each other as we shoot silver bullets first and ask questions later. That’s archaic. We investigate, mitigate, and remediate, stepping in whenever the fabric of reality gets a little too bunched or frayed and mending as best we can.

I teach a class called “Investigating Supernatural Threats” almost every semester, which is a title that I absolutely despise–I think it’s an insult to our more than human neighbors–but the department is worried that if we change it we’ll end up losing funding to the criminal justice program, and it’s a hill I’m only willing to get bruised on. But it’s a survey of identifying and responding to paranormal, metaphysical, and magical shenanigans, so it tends to get all kinds. It’s usually a relatively small group, a smattering of grad students from occult history to crypto-zoology, museum curators and archivists needing a refresher on what to be cautious of, and often–which I’m personally delighted by–new forest rangers sent by the state’s Department of Natural Resources who are doing overnights for the first time.

But back to the issue at hand. It’s my job to stay observant across multiple temporal and dimensional planes, so I’m known for picking up on minor phenomena and patterns that at first glance may not seem significant. So around week 3, I couldn’t help but notice that most, if not all, of the men in the class had near perfect, juicy butts, yet all unique in their own ways. I was used to commanding attention with a round booty sitting pretty on my 6’1” frame, looking downright disproportionate against my lean swimmer’s build–a blessing and a curse, really–but some of them were giving me a run for my money. Which isn’t really an issue, squats are en vogue and there are plenty of male leg day enthusiasts thanks to social media trends, not that I’m complaining, but in week 4, I picked up on the fact that all of their pants fit so well. Too well. Like not just fitted but custom made for each of their unique and sizeable proportions, as if carefully crafted to emphasize and display their bubble butts. A telltale sign.

During class, I kept my extrasensory eyes and ears open, seeing if I could pick up on any novel energetic shifts. And I felt something odd. Something deep and subsonic, pressing tentatively against the borders of our reality, like a sperm whale floating up to a kayak without making a sound. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something building to some sort of threshold, before, with a submerged *pop* that I could ‘hear’ elsewhere, it was gone. It was like nothing had happened. In fact, nothing had happened. I turned to the board to continue writing something that I had forgotten, only realizing after class had ended that I had been writing about two inches above where I had left off. I did a somatic check, quickly scanning my body from toes to head to fingertips. I felt fine, had all ten fingers, only two eyes, an ass that could stop traffic, still a strapping 6’3”. But had that been true an hour ago? Doubt was setting in.

As someone who teaches the detection and mitigation of magical fuckery, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a potential situation like this. You’d be surprised how often some horny gay warlock has a little too much fun and needs to be reined in, or someone’s chaos magic manifests without them realizing–even worse, with them fully realizing. If you’ve ever had to neutralize an entire college dorm (and a frat house to boot) you would understand why we need more funding and support in magical education, but this isn’t the time for my soap box. A mystery’s afoot.

My most important piece of advice: Just ignore it. The thing is, a reality warper is a serious matter. If you call someone out, you better come correct and prepared for anything. Even just them knowing that you know–or that you’re on the hunt–can get real messy real fast. So you have to act casual. Don’t let them know you’re on to them, and don’t let them know that you know that something is seriously off. This is why I always introduce an extended project around tracking anomalies in the fabric of spacetime, having my students keep journals of anything weird, unusual, or metaphysically wobbly. Don’t react in real time, just on paper and in private, keeping a record of things as they happen. But it seemed like whoever this was was influencing the passage of time in very subtle ways and everyone’s memories, for the most part, were adjusting accordingly. Which is why no one in class has batted an eye at the fact that the asses in this room look like they were expertly morphed to near-comical proportions. After all, what else is new? So I took a different strategy and laid a trap.

The donk on my 6’4” frame (Hmm…) was a sight to behold. All muscle with a healthy layer of padding ballooning out from my otherwise lithe form. It was leaps and bounds my best feature, had been for as long as I could remember. I was used to men staring dumbfounded in public as my cheeks swished back and forth, including my own students whenever I turned to the blackboard, pushing it out ever so slightly as I leaned forward to write, the globes of my ass encased in one of many perfectly tailored pairs of tweed slacks. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, seeing as any pants off the rack would either be way to loose in the waist or way too tight in the glutes, risking catastrophic failure. So I got my pants carefully fitted, but the thing was, so did everyone else. All the men in the class, from muscle butts to perky, round ones, to jiggly booties and wide hips, always had expertly fitted pants without fail. So we know what the focus of the shifts was, but it seemed like it was an expert reworking of time, and with that, memory. The phenomenon of unusually juicy asses in class pinged on my paranormal radar, but mine had always been this way. Right?

The thing is, the fit of everyone’s pants wasn’t just good, it was too good. Perfect, even. Yes, I had memories of having all my slacks tailored but they fit like they had been hand sewn on a lifelike model of my bulbous glutes with millimeter scale precision, not too little and not too much. So I found a pair that I didn’t much care for and took a razor to the back seam to weaken it just so. I squeezed into my form fitting pants and made my way to campus, careful not to stress the stitches too much and too fast, waddling into the room early and looking forward to this ordeal being over. Before anyone showed up, I cast a spell of detection around the space. Not detection of magical activities, which would’ve risked tripping any alarms that my possible warper may have already had in place, not to mention the possibility of interfering chaotically with their own spell whose function I was still unsure of. It was more of an emotional and energetic heat map, tipping me off to any sudden shifts in people’s auras.

Class began like normal as I offered some further thoughts inspired by the previous week’s discussion of AI programs as a potential tool of revealing and visualizing temporal anomalies. The discipline, in order to stay relevant, had been getting into the implications of digital technologies and new media for magical phenomena, so I figured we should spend a little more time on the topic. Also I was genuinely interested in hearing people’s thoughts, albeit distracted by the ticking time bomb of my basketball buns putting catastrophic pressure on my pants as I sometimes too excitedly paced across the front of the room. 

Per usual, I could feel the crescendo of strange, unfamiliar power rubbing almost playfully along the barrier between worlds, but everyone’s auras seemed fine. There was no corresponding wave of connected energy from any one person, beyond the general simmer of erotic activation (i.e. horniness) that spiked every time I turned my back to the class. I had become familiar with the exact threshold that this power would hit before it seemingly reset everything to a new, slightly more enhanced normal, and I was counting on the regularity of that threshold with the timing of this next move.

The previous, and now continuing discussion of new media had led me to realize that the enhanced asses in the room really did look like expertly done morphs and the perfect fit of every pair of pants, no matter the material, was simply improbable. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was operating along the edges of possibility, letting fantasy seep into what we generally regard as the real (or what we think is the real). So I figured, why not use one of my favorite tropes and see what happens.

My tweed slacks were impeccable but not indestructible and as the energetic threshold was reached I just happened to drop my chalk, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The spike in erotic attention from the view of my ballooning backside paled in comparison to what followed, as the seam of my pants finally gave way, my cheeks spilling into view along with a pair of pink and purple polka dotted bikini briefs that did nothing to cover the shelf of my ass.

I played it off with my expert acting skills (this wasn’t the first time I had to feign surprise from some magical mishap), performing a practiced mixture of embarrassment and humor that I assumed the reality-shifter would expect. From the men in class was a mix of nodding in understanding and whispers of It’s even bigger than I thought and How did those pants even fit. I felt a wave of erotic energy move through the room, but there was a spike of something else in the back corner. Something sharper, a tendril of fantastical power peeking into our dimension, concentrated around Logan, who I found staring directly at me with a look of surprise and mild confusion.

I knew of Logan, he was an archivist based in the college’s paranormal artifacts collection, and I think he had signed up for my class as a refresher for methods and safety when investigating and collecting potentially powerful and chaotic objects. He was skinny all around, topping out at no more than 5’7”, his thick, hexagonal rimmed glasses sitting below a mop of bouncy curls with an undercut. He usually came in wearing a pair of loose, flowy drop crotch pants, a surprisingly bohemian look with his otherwise reserved demeanor and sensible button downs. He was demur and unassuming, not seeming like the kind of person to cause this kind of trouble. But at this point he was the only dude in class that didn’t have an absolute dump truck.

The following week, I wondered why I had even hatched that plan in the first place, seeing as I always wear a skirt over tasteful leggings. I had given up on wearing pants years ago because it was just too much of a hassle, opting instead to let the globes of my ass bounce back and forth with more freeform bottomwear. Slacks were constricting enough in the back, but I was also tired of my donkey dick being suffocated in the crotch. A blessing and a curse. It looked like a couple of the guys in class had followed suit, perched on their round glutes as they let some thick bulges snake down leggings or compression shorts.

No wonder those pants ripped, I thought. I probably haven’t worn those in–

Ah ha. Another bread crumb. And an added wrinkle. Time hadn’t been totally rewritten and my memory hadn’t been totally wiped, just altered in the most efficient way in that moment. In fact, I was still mentally very much on the case and making progress. It wasn’t the sort of loose thread that a reality warper this competent would leave, and by now they must realize that I of all people would be on to them. I began to surmise that Logan wasn’t the one pulling the strings, but was actually some sort of conduit. Maybe for a bored trickster god playing an erotic prank–which, frankly, happens much more often than you’d think.

That week, through irony or serendipity, we actually were discussing strategies for navigating the psychological and emotional games that tricksters love to play, but as the supernatural energy began building on schedule, that previous playfulness had hints of… irritation? The power was a little discordant and I could feel it somatically in a way that I hadn’t before; it seemed everyone else could too. We continued on like normal as my leggings felt fuller and tighter in the glutes, my shoes feeling uncomfortably snug as more of my ankles revealed themselves, my dick inexorably snaking its way towards my hip while staying totally soft.

This was new.  And potentially a game changer. But I, along with my students, followed the central mantra of my profession: Note it. Track it. But until you have a plan in place, just ignore it.

[homoeroticbetrayal]

Iconic Homerotice Betrayals: Round 2

*I actually haven't been in a convention for 10+ years so I don't know if that's still true.

Round 2 Directory

Context:

Anakin/Obi-Wan

Summary by Anonymous Contributor

Imagine this. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi. Your jedi master (basically your teacher & parent), finds this random ass kid on a backwater planet, promises to teach him against the wishes of basically every jedi master with a say in this, gets killed and saddles you with the promise to teach the kid. You are now a 25yo with a 10yo kid. That kid is the chosen one. His name is Anakin Skywalker.

For years you love the kid, raise him and teach him to the best of your ability. You see him knighted, and you fight along with him in a galaxy-wide war. He is the one who has your back. You trust him with your life and the lives of your men. Sometimes he makes crazy plans, but usually it all works out. He gets a student of his own, and you find yourself co-parenting a teenage girl and everything is ok, it looks like you're gonna win the war and be able to have peace again.

Wrong.

Your men turn against you and your people are slaughtered. Leading the assault on your temple and slaughtering the younglings? Anakin. You go to the senator he has been close with since he was a child and find out not only is he married, no. He's also got a kid on the way. So you stow away on her ship to get to where he is, when you get there he almost chokes the senator to death and you fight, because "if you're not with me, then you're against me" he said, and you're not with him on this. He was your brother, and you had to cut off all 3 of his remaining limbs and leave him to burn on the lava planet of mustafar.

You take his wife to a medic space station, she gives birth to not one but TWO kids, and then proceeds to die of a broken heart. To make sure the children are safe, you split them up, giving the girl, Leia, to a trusted friend, another senator, and taking the boy, Luke, to Anakin's step-brother.

For a decade you hide, wasting away, unable to process the genocide of your people, until Leia is abducted and your senator friend contacts you to help. While trying to rescue her, you find out the bastard didn’t even have the decency to die but instead became Darth Vader, a sith lord. You’re still too traumatized, too cut off from your powers, to give him a proper fight. He burns you, and you’re saved. You rescue Leia, but you have to make a sacrifice, knowing he will follow you if you split away from the group of refugees, making sure they and Leia will survive. You fight but its not really a fight, and he traps you to die a slow death under a pile of rocks.

But then you realise that it can’t end like this, you fight, and you win. He says “You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.” absolving you of your guilt. You could kill him, but you don’t. You walk away. You’re a jedi. You have no interest in killing him, you’ve done it once already.

Years later, Leia is once more in Vader’s hands. You go to rescue her with Luke, whose aunt and uncle have just been killed by the empire. Once more, you sacrifice yourself, fighting Vader as a distraction for the rescue mission. You will not win this. You know it. But when Vader kills you, you become more powerful than he could ever have imagined.

You help guide Luke, and eventually, Vader is defeated, not by Luke, not by Obi-Wan, but by the light still within him, and Anakin Skywalker dies free of darkness. You reunite to watch over the future together as force ghosts. The End.

Sasuke/Naruto

Summarized by anonymous contributor

Two traumatized orphans find kindred souls in each other (even if they're too emotionally stunted to admit it even to themselves). They both grow stronger, but then Sasuke grows jealous of Naruto's progress. He's obsessed with strength, needing to get revenge for his family, and Naruto threatens that. Sasuke decides he's not getting the strength he needs from the village, so he leaves- but Naruto chases him. They face off in a dramatic waterfall battle before the giant statues of historical figures (that also had a friends-to-enemies thing, let's go Symbology), and Sasuke manages to beat him. He swears he wants to kill him, but when he finally has the chance, he just hangs over Naruto's unconscious body... face to face, just staring at him from inches away... before he gives up. He can't kill him, even if he refuses to admit to himself.

Why.

Fast forward several years, Sasuke is 16 and "evil", Naruto is OBSESSED with getting strong enough to bring Sasuke home. They fight - over and over and over again, Naruto trying Desperately to bring Sasuke home, and Sasuke refusing over and over again. Everyone tells Naruto it's a lost cause, but he refuses to give up. And somehow, Sasuke never works up the will to kill Naruto.

Eventually they work past it all and end up joined at the hip (and in gay love, no matter what Kishimoto tries to say).

[thenostalgiadepartment]

Here is my reading list for December 2024. I read more digitally this month than I usually do. There were several titles I wasn't ready to commit to purchasing physically (and some that I'm glad I didn't) 🧵

Home Office Romance by Kintetsu Yamada

The newest one-shot by Kintetsu Yamada (the mangaka of Sweat and Soap) is about two people who meet during the COVID-19 Pandemic. This slice-of-life romcom is adorable and sweet in all the right ways. Rating: ★★★★☆

Senpai, This Can’t Be Love! by Shinta Harekawa

This single volume story is a workplace romance about a senior CG designer that mentors a new hire who shows nothing but indifference towards him. That is until he finds out underneath that frosty exterior this new hire is his biggest fan.  I think this story needed more time to develop its characters to have the emotional pay off. I wouldn’t recommend anyone to go out of their way to read this title. I think there are a lot of better manga to read in this genre. Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Let’s Eat Together, Aki and Haru by Makoto Taji

Two roommates share a love of cooking and eating together. The art style is very adorable and goes great with the slice of life theme. Don’t be hungry when you read this though or it’ll make you salivate.  This manga was very similar to She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat if genderswapped and the two main leads started out as two best friends but a little lighter on overall store depth. With only three volumes it's worth reading if you’re looking for some cozy manga. Rating: ★★★☆☆

H.P. Lovecraft's The Call of Cthulhu by Gou Tanabe

“In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.” After the death of his grand-uncle, a young man stumbles upon a link to a disturbing cult and a mystery that changes his life forever. Tanabe captures the unhinged and terrifying themes from these Lovecraftian stories just as they’ve done in previous adaptations. The full page spreads, the dark ink background, the expressions of these characters, all shown in an art style perfectly befitting these eldritch horrors. Rating: ★★★★☆

This Wolf is Not Scary by Riko Sakura

A story about two half-human, half-animal guys on the opposite ends of the food chain. I didn’t really get what I wanted from this manga. The story has no depth or character development even for a single volume, but the art is nice. Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Solo Leveling vol. 10 by Chu-Gong, So-Ryeong Gi and Hyeon-Gun

This volume picked up towards the tail end with the start of a fight that's been simmering since volume 2 of this series, quickly escalating into a heavy hitter duel. Beru is one of my favorite characters despite his origins. His chibi form is adorable. Rating: ★★★☆☆

Colette Decides to Die by Alto Yukimura

Overworked apothecary Colette decides to jump into a well one day to avoid her never ending droves of patients. She unknowingly travels to the underworld to discover not even the underworld can keep her from work when Lord Hades is in need of an apothecary as well. I love this story so far and the artwork. It has a surprising amount of depth I wasn’t expecting. This series is emotional and caught me off guard a few times with how introspective this story is. Rating: ★★★★★

All or Nothing by Shikke

A four man friend group is suddenly split when two of them reveal they are dating. The two outcasts then decide to try a physical relationship to see what the big deal is. There really is nothing here for readers. No story or character development. Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Strange Adventure of a Broke Mercenary vol. 1 by Mine and Area Ikemiya

A broke mercenary is forced to join an incompetent new party for funds. After a disastrous first mission, he learns one of his companions is more than she seems. This manga is based on a Light Novel. The artwork is good and the main character was interesting enough. The end of the volume started to develop the story more. Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Confession by Nobuyuki Fukumoto and Kaji Kawaguchi

After a hiking accident, two friends become lost in a blizzard. Thinking his death is imminent, the injured man confesses to a murder. However, instead of dying, they both find shelter. The problem is now that their rescue is on the way, the secret hangs heavily over them both. The premise of this story was interesting but the execution was comically bad. Rating: ★★☆☆☆

The Second Alpha by Shibue Yofune

On his first day of his new job an alpha meets his fated mate only to discover the omega of his dreams is already wearing a wedding ring.  Finally an actual STORY in an omegaverse manga, and a good and unique premise too! I would give it 4 stars but there��s a dubcon heat scene at the start of the manga. Other than that the story is actually quite heartwarming and deals with what happens when you get a second chance at love. Rating: ★★★☆☆

I Hear the Sunspot: Four Seasons vol. 2 by Yuki Fumino

The cliffhanger from the last volume is finally explored, bringing with it the amount of drama you would expect from this series. I’m curious to see how all the plot threads evolve as the story continues. Especially with the troublesome new hire. The romance is still going at a snail's pace, but the story and side characters make this series worthwhile. The last section of this volume was a short story titled My Little Boy. This story in particular showcased just how wonderful Taichi’s grandparents are. His grandfather is 10/10. Rating: ★★★★☆

Thunder 3 vol. 1 by Yuki Ikeda

Three friends travel to a parallel universe to save one friend’s sister. The retro gag manga style cover first drew my interest however the story isn't that deep so far. The art style transitioning from gag manga to hyperrealism does a lot of the heavy lifting for this story. Rating: ★★★☆☆

[bethannangel]

saw your post about tww s3e1 bc i follow the west wing tag and tbh i probably have seen that episode maybe 2 times? in all my rewatches i usually just skip to e2. i first watched tww when i was 18 and i think in my brain that episode is just boring (and ive always assumed racist) — is it worthwhile to watch? esp given current context?

In a current context? Maybe? It’s exactly as you probably remember it, but here’s a little summary of the episode.

A back and forth about terrorism to high school students regarding whether or not you kill all of these people or jail them. Explaining that an equivalent to Islamic Extermists is the KKK because of how they read their religious works while giving each of them (Josh, Toby, Sam and CJ) a different chance to speak on terrorism and how to handle it.

The especially racist part is the racial profiling done within the White House because someone has the same name as an alias of a known criminal. They put Leo at the forefront of that story line because he’s been our head champion for equality but also for protecting the president (also helps he’s old and white).

The show ends with the guy being let go with no charges held against him, Leo apologizing for profiling him and explicitly stating that it was profiling because he looked like the enemy.

(Here’s where it’s relevant and it’s like the last five minutes of the show and I basically tell you everything but Stockard Channing is brilliant so) Abby ends their side with the story of Isaac and Ishmael (name of the episode) of how Abraham wanted a kid, had an affair with Hagar for a kid and then his wife Sarah finally became pregnant (yearrsss later) so he banishes Ishmael and Hagar and keeps Isaac as his heir. It’s said then began the split of Islam from Judaism and the hatred (can’t think of a better word atm) of each group. But she makes a point to say that no matter what they both came together to bury their father.

Another note of relevance (and racism): they’re talking about the CIA and spies and a kid asks what do you call it if you live everyday with the idea that wherever you are can just be blown up out of nowhere and Sam replies with Israel

Also it has young Josh Zuckerman (also known as the young guy in Oppenheimer) and it’s worth seeing Josh pretend to hate him because the kid is smart. Also that one guy who was also in Zoey 101 for a couple episodes.

But honestly if you’re in the show for the story then it’s very skippable. I looked more into it and even the actors prefaced the episode saying this is a bit of a play and not at all part of the continuity of the show at large.

[immortaladrien]

A private detective encountering an old colleague they always had a crush on as a rookie

okay this… but what if it’s the vigilante they’re investigating that turns out to be that old crush? :)

tws: corrupt governments, angst, tension, ambiguous ending

The Vigilante had a mask on the entire time.

In all of the security camera footage, in all of the files; no one had ever been able to successfully capture their face. Voice. Nothing but a vague silhouette, usually shrouded in darkness at the very edge of CCTV footage.

This was the first time they’d slipped up.

In a daring escape from a group of officers, their disguise had slipped. Though they scrambled to retrieve it, their eyes were visible for a split second on the officer’s body camera.

Was that enough to figure out their secret identity? No, not to most people; but as the Private Investigator zoomed in on their face, they sucked in a sharp breath.

Those piercing blue eyes, double-lash line, perfectly plucked eyebrows…

“It’s you,” The Investigator whispered, slumping back in their seat. 2 long months of detective work, crime-scene chases, and sleepless nights… they’d all led to this.

They carefully shut their computer, glancing over their shoulder to ensure no one had seen the tape; the footage had been trusted to them exclusively, anyways. Perks of being the best in the field.

Please say I still have their phone number.

–

The nightclub seemed near-empty upon the Vigilante’s arrival. Despite their civilian attire, they still carefully scanned the premise before entering. Spared a glance at their phone.

PI: i’m here

With a hum, they stuck their phone into their pocket and approached the bar area, where an old friend awaited.

“Miss me that much?”

The Private Investigator practically jumped, whirling to stare at them. With a coy smile, the Vigilante slid into the seat next to them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually show.”

“Of course! Did you really think I’d stand up an old colleague like that?” They waved a bartender over with one hand, who dutifully approached. “Chardonnay, please. So, what’s this about?”

After clearing their throat, the PI mumbled their order and the bartender retreated to serve them. “Aren’t I allowed to want to see an old friend?”

“Sure, but you were far too shy to ever do that while we worked together. What’s changed? Someone boost your self-image?” Their counterpart choked, looking away. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Even when you were a rookie, you showed potential. Someone needs to stroke your shockingly small ego.”

The Vigilante laughed a little at the glare they received, a grateful nod offered at the bartender as they served the drinks and left once more. The Private Investigator sipped their drink, a shade redder than before.

“Why’d you quit?” They finally managed, swallowing and keeping their eyes on their glass.

Weird question. “Personal reasons.”

“You loved your job.”

“I loved the idea of my job,” The Vigilante sighed. “I wanted to help people. There just came a point when I realized I was doing far more harm than good.” They spared a glance in their acquaintances’ direction, who’s darkening gaze was fixed on their drink. “Are you having issues with your job?”

That seemed to startle them out of their stupor, eyes snapping up. “No! No, everything is– that is to say, I’m the best in my field by now.”

“Better than me?” They teased, watching the PI redden.

“You’re not in the field anymore.”

“If I was, you’d probably have surpassed me by now.”

“Don’t– …Don’t say that. No I wouldn’t have.”

Quirking their eyebrow, The Vigilante studied their former friend. Something was wrong. The fidgeting. The way they worried their lip, looked away at any opportunity they could.

“What is going on with you?”

“H..hm?”

“No, seriously. What’s on your mind? The gears in your brain are turning so hard that I can practically see smoke coming from your ears.”

There’s a moments pause before the Private Investigator tightens the grip on their glass, jaw stiffening. “While you were on the job, did you ever find out something that you wish you didn’t?”

A hum. “Sure. I got into things the city was trying to keep under the rug. Stuff that made me sick. There was a point when I couldn’t keep quiet. They didn’t like that.”

“But anything about… What about something about someone you cared about?” Two doe eyes fixed on them, glancing through lashes.

Oh. That’s where this is going.

“I suppose so.” It was the Vigilantes turn to sip their drink, curiously peering back.

“What did you… do, with that information?”

They frowned. “What is this about?”

“Seriously, just- answer me?”

“I quit,” They replied bluntly, setting their drink down to cross their arms.

There was silence, and then a tiny nod. The Vigilante watched as the Detective pulled out their wallet, producing a small wad of money, and standing from the table.

They stood in turn. “Where are you going?”

“I have a lot to think about. Thank you for getting a drink with me.”

“Hey–”

“There’s enough money there for both of us, plus tip. Take… take good care of yourself.”

With that, they were gone, leaving Vigilante sitting alone at the bar with half the mind to go after them.

Before they stood, they noticed a small tape under the wad of cash.

Police Bodycam Footage #2182: Confidential, Original Copy.

—

a/n: the way i could make a whole series out of this… they’re so… 😍 sorry for the cliffhanger! hope you enjoyed! @soggiestofsocks i went a different direction but thanks for listening to me panic

[duckapus]

The Goomba Arc

Super Meme Bootcamp

SMGs 1 and 2 are disappointed to find out that 3 and 4 have been somewhat neglecting their Guardian Training ever since the God Box and decide to put them through a week long crash course with Mario and Lil Coding’s help. Chaos inevitably ensues, and this time it’ll have far reaching consequences

Mario Replaces His Water Heater

Exactly what it sounds like, and for once all hell breaking loose isn’t even his fault.

New Demigod on the Block

There’s a County Fair in town this week, and Mario, SMG3 and Melony all end up deciding to go together. There they meet Franky and a very quiet, seemingly human teenage boy with orange-and-black hair and bright green eyes he insists is his new brother Desmond. Melony and Desmond turn out to get along really well, so the two groups decide to join up and enjoy the fair together. All the while unaware that they’re being watched from the shadows…

As it happens, Desmond has a lot in common with Melony, specifically pre-Zero Melony. He doesn’t really say anything, is curious about and confused by all sorts of relatively mundane things, seems to have Narcolepsy, and is weirdly empathetic towards and protective of sports equipment, of all things. When she decides to address it and figure out who-or what-Desmond really is, their stalker comes out of hiding, revealing himself to be the not-so-Happy Mask Salesman, who’s come to retrieve the masks the two of them are using.

Turns out Desmond was originally Franky’s basketball, and was changed into his current form when one of the Salesman’s masks landed on it after being stolen and lost by the Wario Bros. So the reason he’s acting like Sleepy Toddler Era Melony is because he sort of is Sleepy Toddler Era Melony! The Salesman has been tracking said mask ever since its theft, and this time he’ll stop at nothing to reclaim his property, as evidenced by him actually using one of his precious masks to turn into some giant monster(doesn’t really matter which one) and attack.

That attack is countered by Mario and 3, who’ve jumped in to keep the Salesman busy so Melony and the kids can get to safety, because between Mario initially creating her in Mario’s Home Alone and 3 bringing her to life by coming up with her weirdly elaborate backstory, she’s Kinda-Sorta-Maybe their kid, and like hell they’re gonna let this nutcase take the body and power she worked so hard to be able to call her own.

So now the action’s split between Melony sprinting away from the battle through the fair while carrying Franky(because Toads have no legs) and Desmond(because he’s asleep again), and the battle itself, which is also moving through the fairgrounds and gets progressively more chaotic as time goes on, especially when 3 manages to snag some masks and turn the Salesman’s strategy against him. Interestingly, 3 has some trouble adjusting to the new forms while Mario just sees them as particularly elaborate Power-ups. There’s even one particular moment where Mario puts on the Mario Mask and becomes the godlike Double Mario, though it doesn’t last long.

Eventually they all end up in the middle of a melon growing contest, the Salesman decides “fuck it, if you’re gonna fight fire with fire then so am I!” and sticks Majora’s Mask on the first place winner, a Minecraft melon three times the normal size(grown by Steve, of course). The result doesn’t end up being Majora’s Wrath as usual, but a woman who’s basically “If Melony was a foot taller and cosplaying as a Majora Giginka,” with an out-of-place bright blue hair ribbon and much longer, more yellowish-green hair

As you might expect from someone desperately invoking a demon, the Salesman gets blasted into the middle distance before she zeroes in on her counterpart and starts attacking her with demonic claws and whips, because apparently being created with specific intent lets you skip the Sleepy Toddler phase and get straight to God Powers. So everybody’s trying not to die, except Desmond who’s somehow still asleep, and Mario decides to start to call the evil melon girl “Welony” which she sort of just goes along with for some reason, and eventually she’s got Franky by the throat and is preparing to gut him like a fish, which is when Desmond goes from “I Sleep” to “Real Shit?” and slams her across the area and away from Franky with a shield bash, because now he’s got Galacta Knight’s lance, shield, wings, horns, and eye color because apparently that’s the mask he’s been wearing. And we get to hear his first real line.

“Don’t. Touch. My Brother.”

They manage to drive her off after that, mostly because even though she skipped the Sleepy Toddler personality she still has the Sleepy Toddler low power reserves, and then they go back to enjoying…what’s left of the fair.

Marcy vs. Retail

When Marcy realizes that sticking around the Mushroom Kingdom to harass her brother is going to require funds, she applies at a local supermarket and somehow gets hired. So now Karen is stuck teaching a violent, short-tempered assassin how to be a cashier, hopefully without landing either of them in jail.

Mario Lives in a Society

Alternatively, Mario and Luigi versus the Annoying Homeowner’s Association. Finally, Mario gets to use his obnoxious personality for something productive.

Animation vs. SMG4

Through an incident involving SMG4’s PC, Tari’s arm, and a can of Diet Sprite, most of the crew ends up on Alan Becker’s computer and Crossover Shenanigans ensue.

Detective Luigi; The Case of the Missing Boopkins

Bob and Jubjub are beside themselves with worry when Boopkins doesn’t show up to pick the latter up from the playground, and go to their friends for help. The crew is more than happy to look for him, with Luigi in particular getting Really Into a Noir Detective roleplay so he’ll have the right mindset for mystery solving. But even though they practically turn the Kingdom upside-down and end up solving a few tangentially related mysteries in the process, there’s no sign of their fishy friend anywhere.

Until he shows up on TV.

On every channel.

Standing on a stage next to a Goomba.

The Goomba Who Sold the World

A Flashback episode, detailing who the Goomba was before he got his powers, what he’s been doing in the background of all the episodes, and why Fishy Boopkins is working for him. Then it catches up to the present, where he makes his speech about how he’s going to change the world and what they all need to do to help him. Including catching Mario and the SMGs. The episode ends with the three of them and Lil Coding surrounded by their clearly controlled friends.

Mario: Most Wanted

Thanks mainly to the fact that Melony was immune to The Goomba, the group just barely manages to escape the Showgrounds, only to run into the Military, obviously led by Chris and Swag(it’s deliberately unclear if Swag actually saw the broadcast or if he’s just going “hell yeah Swiggity Swooggity Comin’ for Dat Phat Italian Booty”). Thankfully, they then get picked up by Steve in his farm truck, which also has SMGs 1 and 2. And Marcy, who apparently doesn’t watch TV and only heard the broadcast on the radio, which had no effect since the User has to be seen for Manual Override to work. The group works together to flee the city, including one terrifying scene where Joe Motherfucking Boopkins is after them!

A “Perfect” World

An episode with barely any Mario, or even jokes, in it, showcasing the bleak, cookie-cutter world that The Goomba seems to think will make everyone happy, whether they want it to or not. It also shows Boopkins’ current horrible situation as The Goomba’s assistant, and his gradually deteriorating mind and body.

Mario Plays Minecraft Mods in an Undisclosed Location(ft. Steve)

This is a terrible idea, but SMG4 argues that with things as they are now the world needs Memes more than ever, and besides, it’s something to distract their two known troublemakers while the others are shoring up their defenses.

Welcome to the Resistance

Bad news; despite their best efforts, somebody managed to find the group. Good news; the people who found them are on their side. As it turns out, Professor E. Gadd’s eyesight is so bad that the Manual Override couldn’t trigger even with his glasses mostly correcting things. So he did what any sensible Mad Scientist would do under these circumstances and went out to find other people not affected. The results:

-Karen, who was making dinner, heard the kind of shit The Goomba was spewing and went out to change the channel back to something decent, and was smart enough not to look at the TV when she saw what it was doing to her kittens.

-Franky, who has similar eye problems to the Professor.

-Desmond, who just slept through the whole thing.

-Kaizo, who has never listened unquestioningly to an authority figure in his life and isn’t about to start now.(yes, he managed to beat mind control through sheer force of delinquency.)

-And Hal Monitor, who actually was affected, but went through a hard reboot when one of The Goomba’s instructions would’ve made him Break The Law.

E. Gadd then got to work on a way to block the Override for the members of the team who weren’t immune, using Hal as a willing test subject since he had a reliable un-brainwashing method built in, and through trial and error managed to invent Anti-Hypno Shades(which use the same model as the Octo Shades from Splatoon 2). Meanwhile, SMG4 has his own contribution; he’s managed to get in contact with the Stick guys from Alan’s computer, bolstering their numbers even more since the five of them have the same Outside Entity Immunity as Steve. So now that the full resistance is assembled, it’s time to make a plan.

Meanwhile, in Adminspace

Aka the reason why the Hologram Trio hasn’t been doing anything about this mess; they have, it’s just that what they’re doing involves Domain and Emulator doing a Deep Dive into the game’s Code to figure out what the hell happened, how to fix it, and how to prevent it from happening again, while Forum’s trying to keep the Higher-Ups from doing something drastic. It’s…mostly going well?

Stormin’ the Castle

The Plan is deceptively simple. The Sticks, an army of assorted Minecraft Mobs, Kaizo and Desmond will cause as much mayhem and damage as possible in the city as a distraction, while the rest of the resistance(minus E. Gadd and Franky, who are acting as mission control) sneaks into the Showgrounds Castle, which The Goomba has repurposed as his base of operations. The inside team will find The Goomba and pin him down long enough for Melony, 3 and/or Lil Coding(the three teammates best at code manipulation) to deactivate Manual Override and revoke his Command privileges, hopefully all without getting spotted. Unfortunately plans rarely survive the first phase, or rather the corn maze, which is apparently now a thing that surrounds the castle.

As you might expect, this means they have to deal with Rob in full Lord of Corn mode, as well as the rest of their friends, before they can reach the main event. And when they finally do fight their way to The Goomba, he’s ready for them, and in his arrogance challenges them to a type of War they’re more familiar with…

WOTFI 20??

The challenges are standard WOTFI fair, aside from any of them involving Boopkins who is extremely Out Of It thanks to his dehydration and more severe brainwashing. As usual, it’s the Rap Battle that’s the true main event. Turns out that Marcy and Hal can sing pretty damn well. And when it’s coming down to the wire and nearly everyone’s pinned down by The Goomba’s borrowed might, it’s Steve of all characters who turns out as the MVP, finally, after over a decade of silence, going into his settings and turning on Voice Chat. The result is lyrics so fire that they change the genre of the song, as well as giving the expected second wind that allows the hacker trio and hologram trio to finally depower The Goomba and free everyone. They’d probably have ended up stomping him right then and there, but Hal’s in the group so Due Process must be followed lest they anger him.

After that, we get the standard sendoff scenes. Recovery, reunions, rebuilding, parting of ways, Marcy insists that she’s still the group’s enemy so long as Bob isn’t in the clan and 3 kindly doesn’t call her out on the same bullshit he used to spew after every team up.

And Welony might still be out there, but The Goomba Who Sold the World is powerless once again, and he’s going to be in prison for a long, long time.

[amyahava]

First Intro to Judaism

After my first Hebrew class, I had my first Intro to Judaism with Rabbi Tali. The sessions are on Wednesday night, with half an hour for Hebrew and an hour to study the questions of the week. At both of these sessions its a mix of people at different stages of their conversion, from beginners like me to Giorgio and Stephanie, who had finished their conversion process just the day before who hopped on to say hello. They both had their mikvah and went before the Beit Din seperately, then came back together before the Beit Din to be told that they had both successfully completed their conversion. Giorgio then got down one knee in front of the three rabbis and proposed! If there isn't a single mazel tov gif I haven't seen at this point I'll be really surprised, the conversion whatsapp group has been absolutely popping off.

Each week in Intro to Judaism, we explore a different aspect of Judaism, often relating to where we are in the year. This weeks' questions were around the Torah service - we had questions to answer for homework and then went through them together in class. I thought it might be useful to someone out there to have some of those qs here.

1. Why do we sometimes read one scroll and sometimes more? When do we read more than one? And when do we double them up?

The Torah is split into 54 Torah portions (Parshiyot), and we usually read one Torah portion each Shabbat. However, there are 14 Parshiyot that, depending on the year, can potentially be paired together, so two Torah portions would be read on that Shabbat.

2. When does one stand or sit during a Torah service?

Move with the torah, if she's up, you're up!

When the Torah is being read, or when ark is open.

3. What is an aliyah (pronounced aleeyah) and how are you called up?

Aliyah is hebrew for go up, and is when you’re called up to the bimah for a Torah reading. You have to do an aliyah at the conversion ceremony.

The person who receives the aliyah goes up to the bimah before the reading and recites a blessing for reading of the Torah. After the portion of the Torah is read, they do another blessing.

Certain times when someone might receive an aliyah: bar mitzvah, aufruf, before a yahrzeit (anniversary of a parent's death).

5. why does the aron hakodesh (or ark) have two doors?

Lots of possible answers for this one including:

a. The aron hakodesh houses the Torah scrolls. It resembles the Ark in which the stone tablets engraved with the Ten Commandments were kept in the Temple, and the two doors symbolise to the two tablets

b. One is for the written and one is for the oral

c. Rabbi Tali then talked about the symbolism surrounding the Torah, modesty, undress, dress, and asked why do we talk about the torah so erotically?! She went on to say how the Torah needs to be taken care of, treated with intimacy and protection. She went on to talk about a Kaballistic teaching: the opening of the ark as a birth, with the doors as open legs and the Torah is the baby. We carry the Torah very gently, and treated as we would a newborn, even complete with a light kiss. I found it really interesting the Torah is a feminine word in Hebrew so lends itself to being a she.

7. Why is a yad being used?

The word yad in Hebrew means hand, and it is a pointer used by the reader of the Torah to keep their place, and not touch the Torah directly with your hands.

Why not just touch? The librarian answer is don't touch the Torah (or any other delicate paper works) with your bare hands, as the oils in them can be damaging. The Torah is written by hand and incredibly delicate.

The Jewish answer is a bit of a paradox - you will become ritually contaminated if you touch it, not the other way around! 

8. why do we process the Torah? what are the psalms sung when we do, and why these psalms?

The Torah contains the books of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. It is best-known for establishing 613 laws for Jews to live by, which include the Ten Commandments. Many Jews consider the written Torah to be the direct word of God given to Moses.

9. what is the Haftarah and how does it relate to the parasha?

Parasha - weekly torah portion

Haftarah - a conclusion from the prophets, relating to the parasha

The connection between the parasha and the haftarah may hinge on just a word or two. On holidays and special Sabbaths, the haftarah is selected to coincide with the calendar.

The haftarah is a way to linger, we want more of a good thing! Rabbi Tali said that this can be the most passionate part of a service, "I want to get close!" If the service has been bleak, the haftarah will be a bit more uplifting.

10. When did translations of the Torah started being read at synagogues alongside the Hebrew?

Since the beginning, the Torah and Jewish teachings have always been translated so that everyone can understand. Its not catholic church, not everything's in Latin! You're supposed to be able to read, understand and interpret it for yourself.

"Its not rarefied, we're not worshipping the thing, we’re trying to connect with the content."

[f1]

30-car Formula 3 field could get messy in Monaco drivers say | Formula 3

Formula 3 races on the streets of Monaco this weekend for the first time since 2005 with a capacity, 30-car field taking on the short and narrow street circuit. The series’ usual weekend format has been revised, partly to accommodate the challenges involved in running so many cars on the Monaco track. Practice takes place on Thursday rather than Friday. Qualifying has been moved forward to Friday morning and will run in a shortened, split format much like that used in Formula 2. The field will be divided into two groups of 15, with each getting 16 minutes on-track. The fastest driver overall gets pole for the feature race, but the second fastest driver won’t necessarily make it to the front row as the lead driver in the slower group will qualify second. The order of the pole-setting group is used to fill all the places on the odd-numbered side of the grid, with the slower group filling the opposite side. F3 gets morning slots for both of their races, with Saturday’s reversed-grid sprint starting at 11am local time and Sunday’s feature taking place unusually early, at 8am. “It’s going to be a tough one, especially tomorrow free practice for 30 minutes with 30 drivers in 3.3 kilometres. It’s going to be messy,” predicted Alpine junior Sophia Floersch, who drives for PHM Racing by Charouz. “Obviously for us, because it’s first time for us drivers, but also especially for the team and the engineers here, it’s all going to be about learning. Also it’s the first time with soft tyres, so many new things are coming together.” Despite the revised qualifying format meaning drivers should have twice as much room on track, traffic is still going to be a big problem in a shortened session as drivers on flying laps will be encountering others on cool-down laps. “Planning the strategy is the tough bit,” said Carlin-run Williams junior Ollie Gray. “You always go out with a loose plan that in an ideal world you want to follow. But, especially around Monaco, this is probably one of the only ones where the traffic is going to be a massive player in qualifying and in free practice as well, trying to get a lap under your belt. “You can’t really plan, you’ve just got to adapt when you’re out there. The team have a GPS which can help sometimes, but once you’re in the car I think it’s mainly up to you and trying to figure out when you should cool, when you should push.” With so many drivers vying for room on such a short track, disruptions due to incident are inevitable, said Floersch. “There’s always a strategy you kind of have, but in the end most of the time it works all different compared to what you planned, actually, because [of] yellow flags, red flags and so on. “The good thing is that we have groups in qualifying, so it’s less cars on tracks, but still in the end it’s the same for everyone and you’ve just got to make the best out of it. It’s going to be busy on track.” ART Grand Prix’s Gregoire Saucy, who was part of the 32-car Formula Regional Europe field in Monaco, two years ago, said his team will have “no plan” for the distinct challenge the circuit poses in qualifying. “We just need to go for it and to manage it,” he said. “Of course my engineers will be there helping me about the traffic, but at the end it’s mainly up to me in the car to manage and to adapt with the traffic. “We will have the free practice to learn the track, and then the qualifying it’s less time, but less cars on track. So you need to adapt with the traffic.” Formula 3 Browse all Formula 3 articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[purelyfiction]

All Fun & Games

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x F!Reader | 2 | 3.1 | 3.2 |

Word Count: 4,685

Summary: Returning to San Diego was just another assignment for you. Another step in the career path, full steam ahead, until you come to an obstacle in the road. Usually, you’d navigate around it, keep on going, but this is no normal obstacle. It might be enough to reroute you completely.

Content Warning:  This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision. || Mild NSFW subjects

Author Note: listen, listen, i know everyone’s waiting for Crossfire, but I couldn’t help it have you seen this man??? Anyways I love me some Bob, and I know others do too and there’s not enough Bob in the world. I’m realllyy excited to share this one!! So I hope y’all love it and eat it up like i have :DDD

                                                   ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

One of the biggest lessons you’d learned when you’d entered the Navy was not to get attached to those around you. 

Sure, friends were fine, but the minute you found yourself relying on someone else, you needed to take a step back. 

Though, there was one exception to the rule, and his name was Robert Floyd. 

When you’d arrived in California, you’d been frazzled while trying to get to San Diego, having been turned around nearly four times to different gates, canceled flights - it had taken the Navy’s involvement to get you to the San Diego Airport. When you went to get your bag, you’d mistakenly ended up with another duffle that wasn’t yours. You’d then met Robert - or Bob as he’d introduced himself. He’d been incredibly polite about it, having approached you with a tap of your shoulder and an ‘excuse me, ma’am? I think you have my bag.’

After turning to face him you were greeted with a taller gentleman, dressed in his working uniform, a pair of blue eyes smiling back at you through gold frames. His position and name displayed proudly on his chest. Lt. Floyd. He was very well polished, you’re certain any commander would be happy to have him on his squad as a perfect example. You initially were taken back by how bright his eyes were, but simultaneously pulled into his friendly demeanor. The sailor had the overwhelming aura to him that made you feel safe. 

You’d exchanged bags shortly after introductions were made. Somehow in all your combined time in the Navy’s Air Force, you’d never met one another. 

When he mentioned he was also headed to Fightertown, the two of you split a cab. He explained his background, where he was from, what he’d studied, how he’d even ended up in the Navy to begin with. It was beyond interesting to hear his journey to get to this point, a few tours, one in Syria and TOPGUN training with top awards for WSO service. 

Having learned that he wasn’t a pilot was surprising. Sure, he could get out of the situation if needed but he took the backseat while flying. 

And elsewhere it seemed, as you ran into him again at the bar later on, coming across some of your graduating classmates hanging out at the crowded bar. When you found Robert and his group, he’d waved rather shyly at you which took you by surprise. He’d chatted you up the entire way to base and now shoved himself in the corner of the room, away from everyone else. You’d made an effort to engage him, and kept his attention for most of the night. You exchanged stories about tours with one another, laughing at some of the things you’d heard over the years.

This kinship continued into training, where you’d tagged onto the officer and his pilot, forming a small group between the three of you. It was clear that they’d been working together for a while as they had a natural affinity to step into conversation, many an inside joke cracked in your presence, not that you minded. It was nice to see Bob in his element. He was rather friendly when he was comfortable around people, faring better in one-on-one engagements rather than the entire group of twelve of you. 

Now you’re entering the second week of a specialized mission where you and eleven other pilots had been chosen to train with some of the most prominent names in the Naval Air Force, for a mission none of you could speak about outside of your immediate group and its supervisors. Out of those eleven you knew maybe five of them, including the two you’d clung on to, having previously met once before in the long history that you’d made with the Navy. That had been years ago though and none of them had changed drastically, including their habits. 

Which is why you’re sitting on Payback’s dorm floor, the six of you in some warped looking circle. Having the weekend off and the thundering rain outside, it kept those who lived off base penned in with the others. Not that you were complaining, as your two bedroom rental had a tendency to get lonely. 

Instead of paying attention to the group that’s around you, you’re in your head making a mental checklist of everything you need to get accomplished over the course of the weekend. Packages that need dealt with, laundry, lots of dishes-

“Vegas, if you’re tired you can head out.” Coyote offers, making you shake your head as you sip your seltzer. 

“I’m fine, I was making a mental to do list for tomorrow.” You explain before Rooster’s sighing. 

“All work and no play with you. They should’ve called you Buzzkill.” Hangman laughs with the other in agreement before the quietest one in the group speaks. 

“How did you even get the name?” Your head turns to see Bob who’s fiddling with the plastic lid of his water bottle, watching you carefully. 

“Oh cmon, you haven’t heard the phrase?” Hangman suggests, before Payback gives him a glare. 

“The ice you’re on is getting thin, man.” He offers, but despite the warning he’s speaking. 

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?” The rest of the group lets out a disgusted groan, Payback throwing his pillow from his bed at the male, which he misses. 

“You’re the worst.” Phoenix grumbles, turning to face you. “Ok, but really?” There’s a sympathetic grin on her features encouraging you to explain.

You’re reluctant to share, mainly because it seems like Hangman will use any details about the name against you - as evidenced by the way he’s leaning closer, a mocking gaze on you as he props his chin in his hand. “Fine, fine. The thing was that Vegas is full of surprises and you never know what you’re going to get. You’ve got to have luck when you go to Vegas.” You shrug and take a heavier sip of your drink, nearly finishing it off. 

“It suits you.” Bob compliments with a grin on his face, making you look at it and return the smile. 

“Vegas is also wild and unpredictable and full of scandals.” Hangman smirks before Phoenix reaches over and flicks the top of his ear. “Ow! What the hell?” He whines, a hand moving to comfort the spot. 

“Stop being a dick.” She directs and he rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever. This is getting boring. We should play a game.” He’s getting up, moving to the wooden box of a closet in Payback’s room, leaning against it. 

“I’m down. I’ve got cards and-“ Payback’s efforts to host are shot down by the arrogant pilot. 

“I was thinking..” a hand pushes the door to the closet open, a creak as it runs along the rail. “Some of the classics.” 

“Hangman, I seriously doubt anyone-“ Coyote’s about to finish his statement when you stand up, downing the rest of your drink. 

“I’ll play.” The blonde gets a new wind of energy when you speak, a smirk coming to his features. You crush the can in your hand, tossing it in the trash can before reaching down and grabbing Bob’s hand. “C’mon Floyd.”

“Floyd?” Hangman’s voice comes in shock as Bob - who’s admittedly taller than you remembered him being - stands to his feet with reluctance. “You know this game is 7 Minutes in Heaven, right V?” There’s the slightest hint of disappointment in his face as you turn to look at the WSO who’s stood beside you. 

“I know.” Brief, you give a smile to the bespectacled male who returns it. This time it’s not a forced one, it’s rather genuine, as though he was appreciative of your choice. He moves past you, pushing into the closet past the many hanging articles. While Hangman stands in shock, you grab his hand and set the timer on his watch. “7 minutes on the clock?” You’ve got the smuggest look on your face as you step into the closet with Bob, sliding the door shut. 

You’re getting your giggles in as you turn to the brunette, a soft whisper coming from you. “I was just trying to fuck with him so there’s no pres-” The words are barely off your tongue before there are lips on yours, hesitant hands on your waist. You can’t stop your body from reacting before your mind can string together what is happening. Fingers are in his hair, pulling him to you even further, lips fervent and over excited to get to his. His hand moves from your waist up to your biceps, a light grip to them. Bob is the one to deepen the kiss, a little more resistance to it, making you arch your back a little to keep the contact. A desperate pause for air, only for both of you to go dive in for seconds. Large hands migrate again to your waist, finding a comfortable spot before tugging you nearer by the fabric over your skin. 

His tongue makes its appearance, exploring and marrying it with yours in rhythm, so perfectly exhilarating. This is the last thing you’d expected when you’d dragged his hand toward the closet. Yet, your fingers are long gone, tangled in the cropped length at the very top of his head, a light grip pulling his head back, forcing both of you to take a breath. A soft whimper leaves him when you do so and your stomach does a somersault. What was that? He’s pulling against your hand as he dives in for more, hands hesitating as they grow closer and closer to your chest. Bob’s thinking about it, yet doesn’t dare to move, so instead, you’re picking up his hand and guiding it to your chest, encouraging his grip. A light groan leaves your lips as his grip closes on your body, lips pulling from yours to start to pepper down your neck. The cold metal of his glasses skims over the newly warm spots as his hands continue to massage, a breath of air leaving you with more weight than the last. When a voice comes from outside the closet, you nearly jump. Right. There were people out there. And you were here. With Bob. 

“One minute left guys.” The rule was no one could be leaning against the door, listening, recording - nothing. So, with the minute warning, Floyd’s pulling away, looking at you, a soft chuckle leaving him. His shaky hand reaches up to smooth a spot of your hair that had come undone in the frenzy that had just been sparked. The overeager countdown begins, and you’re straightening your clothes. With surprise, he’s taking your hand, his other one holding a pointed finger to his lips. 

The closet door opens, flooding the small space with light, letting you step out. Bob’s soon following out, but making a bee-line for the door, waving a brief goodbye to everyone. 

What the -fuck- just happened.

It’s quiet, leaving everyone to stare at you, waiting for something. A crumb so to speak. “Vegas? What happened there?” You shrug, looking at Coyote with a smile. 

“We just talked, I made a few jokes that he groaned at - mainly because they sucked, but-” you throw your hands up, picking up your water bottle and downing the rest of the liquid. You sit down and Hangman claps his hands together. 

“Okay, who's next, Phoenix?” He points to her and she laughs, shaking her head. 

“In your dreams, Seresin.” 

                                                  ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Your laundry list had been erased from your mind after what happened in Payback’s closet. No, scratch that. It had been crumpled up, thrown in the direction of the trash can and bounced off the rim of it and onto the floor. Long forgotten- instead, the 6 minutes of sheer adrenaline inducing touches replayed in a loop. You barely fell asleep last night, in near shock of it all. 

There was no part of you that actually regretted a single thing that had happened. Not him kissing you, not you guiding his hand. It was exhilarating. 

You’d not told a soul, but there’d been a certain draw towards the WSO that Phoenix flew with. Day one you’d stuck up for him when Hangman continued being an asshole to the man, which was uncalled for. Since then, Robert seemed to cling to you.

The two of you tended to stick around one another, with how comfortable he was with you. He’d let you in about his family, speaking at lunchtime over poorly made sushi and stale fortune cookies. For someone who didn’t seem all that at ease with people, he’d grown to be rather chill around you. 

Every now and then, a thought would cross your mind when you’d get a good look at blue eyes shining in the San Diego sun. It would be the reminder you would get that this man was attractive. The worst part was that he never seemed to show that he knew that he was. It had been a shame, especially when you’d see him out of uniform. 

The two of you had conflicting schedules, but you’d get a glimpse of his workout sessions on Hangman’s snapchat stories, seeing the male in the background, working his ass off. Usually a cut up grey Navy t-shirt and basketball shorts, both of which highlighted his body that wasn’t usually on display. His arms as he did curls seemed to grow with each pump, and his thighs… 

You’d gotten lost in countless daydreams about him, to say the least. Now that one of those daydreams had actually happened?

There’d been no indication that your interest was reciprocated. At least not that you could see, the man was rather reserved in all aspects of the word. He was pretty quiet with most of the group, only spoke when he needed to, a meek smile on his features every now and then. Even the first night at The Hard Deck, he’d been a bit of a wallflower, a cup of water and an attempt to dance along to a song he’d never heard. 

So the question was… who was the man that kissed you? ‘Cause you weren’t entirely sure that it was the same person. 

You knew that you couldn’t sit in contemplation all day - which is how you ended up doing a rapid tidy of the house before grabbing your bag and moving to get back to base. You’d kept a pretty regular workout schedule with Coyote, having been doing an hour of work together, a two hour session overall. He’d get a half an hour head start, you’d come and spot him and then cool down with him as you warmed up before he’d spot you and then hang out with you while you did your cool down. Working out alone was your least favorite thing, and Coyote was not a good lone wolf. 

Returning to base, you’re parking your bike, tugging off the helmet and shoving it into the seat, only before hearing your last name. When you turn your head, the man from your mind is standing with a timid smile. He’s in civis, a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a graphic tee for some sort of superhero…. Holy hell he looked good, and he didn’t even try. “What’s up?” Pulling hair from your mouth, you start the conversation as an active aversion to the inevitable detour your mind would end up taking. 

“I… um… wanted to talk about last night?” He’s scratching the back of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “If.. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really, really sorry. I just - I’ve, well, I think most of the squad knows but - point is that I’ve had this thing for you since we got here and the guys - it’s so stupid honestly -” Bob’s going into a ramble, his hands fidgeting with the watch on his wrist. Hesitantly, you take a step toward him, grabbing his hand. 

“Breathe. I’ve got time to listen to you, okay?” You reassure him, hoping to clear his thoughts and get the statement out a little faster. Bob takes a breath before looking at you, blue eyes firm to yours. 

“The guys had this running joke that even if I had a chance with you that I wouldn’t take it.” He seems to shrink at the admission, making you watch him as he pushes his hands into his pockets, looking at the parking lot as he avoids your face. “I guess, I just wanted to prove them wrong?” Finally, he looks at you again. “So, I didn’t really consider what you wanted, which was… selfish of me.” Now scratching the back of his bicep, you’re about to speak when Coyote slams his car door, making both of you look at him. He gives a wave at Bob, who returns it before you speak to the other male. 

“I’ll be in, just give me a minute.” You smile before your attention is turned back to him. “Floyd-”

“You can call me Bob, you know.” He cuts you off, only to tumble on his words. “I-I meant, if you want. I just felt like, since we’ve met you… are the only one who doesn’t.” With a small tilt of your head you nod. 

“I am, aren’t I?” He returns it shyly, making you grin. “I just felt like… you didn’t like it.” It’s your turn to stay hesitant and you see the small smile on his face. 

“Everyone’s adopted it, so I don’t have much of a say.” He’s kicking his shoe into the gravel at his feet, looking back at you from the tops of his lenses. 

“Well… I’ll find something you like. Even if it’s just me who uses it - you should like your name.” A reassuring comment as you smile at him. “As for last night…” You’re grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder, “I don’t think you have much to worry about.” With a well timed wink, you’re moving past him into the building. “Talk soon, Rob. Nah I don’t like that one.” Just before the door shuts, you can hear his laugh, and you know this feeling too well. 

You’re hooked. 

From then on, you’re doing anything you can to hang out with him. The problem is, if you aren’t on base, you are at home, studying or doing work. So, after practice one night, you invite the team to pizza night at your place. You’d even invited Maverick, but he’d declined politely, something about needing to get to an appointment. 

“An appointment at 7 o’clock? Hm, right.” Hangman snickers as he pulls a slice from the pie that had been freshly delivered not more than ten minutes ago. 

“He’ll probably say Penny needed one of the fridges at The Hard Deck fixed or something.” Coyote pipes up from your couch, he and Payback watching some form of football. 

The turn out is pretty good, though it doesn’t slip under your radar that he’s not there. You’re certain he has to have a valid reason, but you’re putting yourself through a thousand different scenarios. 

You stay rather tuned to your watch, seeing the hand tick by each hour. It’s not that you aren’t enjoying yourself - far from it. Rooster had initiated some form of spontaneous karaoke night which had left you and Phoenix in a fit of tears. As the hostess however, you’re excusing yourself as you pick up empty pizza boxes, starting out to the car park to toss them in the bins outside. When you drop them into the plastic, you look around, only to spot a shadow approaching from the end of the driveway. It makes you jump, not having seen him when you came outside. Hands pocketed in what looks like a Nike hoodie, khaki shorts and flip flops, the pilot begins approaching. The only way you knew it was him was the glint of the porch light off of his glasses. “God, you could warn me next time.” You laugh, waiting for him to come to your presence. He looks far more laid back this time around, and - is that a baseball hat? 

“I guess that’s the ‘stealth’ part of ‘stealth pilot’?” He suggests making you smile. It’s mirrored as he points to the trash. “Did I miss pizza?” Bob asks, hope floating in his voice. 

“I saved you a couple slices.” You smile, and open the back door and lead the way, hearing a whooping group of voices cheer his name as he comes into the kitchen. He offers a wave as you move to the fridge, grabbing the leftovers and starting to toss them in the oven to broil. “Do you want a drink? I’ve got water and soda - and beer but..” You offer an understanding grin, which he seems to chuckle at. 

“Soda’s fine. It’s in the fridge?” He’s pointing in that direction, leaving you to move back to the task at hand. As you’re tossing the slices in the oven, Bob’s come around the counter to lean on the edge of it. “This place is nice. It’s yours?” Your head is quick to rise to meet his face which leaves you to find that he’s taking a sip from his drink. 

“Sort of. Mine for the time being. I’m renting it off of a short term site. I think I’ve got it for like a month or so?” You shrug looking over the house. It was a decent size, a nicely redone kitchen, and clearly a great space for entertaining. “Why don’t you go say hi to everyone?” You ask as you nod in their direction. 

“I didn’t come for everyone.” The way he says it doesn’t sneak past you, nor does the way his eyes seem to meet yours with lingering purpose. 

“What did you come for, then?” Part of you has a suspicion, but you’re not sure he’d admit to it. 

“Free pizza, obviously.” He pokes a smirk in your direction, standing upright and looking at you over his shoulder as he approaches the group. You but let your gaze follow him as he finds a spot criss-crossed on the floor next to Phoenix, contentedly. There’s a fuzzy feeling swimming in your gut, and you know that means trouble. 

With pizza finished, and actual games played, everyone heads out, one straggler behind. He’s helping you clean up bottles and plastic plates, a true gentleman helping the host tidy before he heads out. “So I’ve been thinking, I’ve got a new list of nicknames, you just stop me when one jumps out at you, okay?” 

Hesitantly, he looks at you as you lead him to the trash can. “Alright, Vegas. Go ahead.” You find the undeniable amusement on his face as you pull out your phone and open your notes. 

“I don’t think you’re ready.” You tease before taking a dramatic deep breath, “Rip, Rabbit, Bobby, Robbie, Dobby, Robot, Ro-bort, Reboot, Bert Minus Ernie,” You slow, watching as he leans his hip into the counter, fighting back a smile, “no? I’ve got more.” 

“Keep going.” Blue eyes are ablaze with amusement as you face forward, chests parallel to one another before you speak up again. 

“Bob-it, like a bop-it, you know? Beebo, Bill, Billy bob, a time honored favorite, Ricky Bobby,” He dips his head into a nod in faux contemplation, stealing a step closer to you while you’re still rattling, “Bob the Builder, What About Bob, Bob Ross, Spongebob, Bob Belcher,” both of you are laughing now as you go down the list, still reading from the list as he slides his hands over your waist, index fingers sliding into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you forward as you laugh. “I’ve got like two more pages that start with Bo-” Bob cuts you off, his lips meeting yours in an effort to stop your nonsensical rambling. Clearly, he succeeds as your hand droops, nearly dropping your phone as your head dips further with his kiss, breaking a moment, letting you pull away if you want to. Seeing that you have no intentions of doing so, his hand pulls from your waist, finding a comfortable spot along the roots of your hair, encouraging your head to sneak closer. Every part of you wants to keep this up, the way his tongue slides along your lips, lingering tastes of ginger ale and pepperoni - but your lungs are refuting, which is why you pull away, a loud smack sound hitting the air when you do. You’re taking deep breaths, trying to suck in as much oxygen as you can. As you do, you witness Bob start to panic, hand reaching to your bicep. 

“I should’ve asked, I know- I know, god I promise it won’t happen again-” Instead it’s your turn, cutting him off, hands maneuvering his hips with a tug of his belt, lips sloppily engaging with his. Bob sneaks out words every now and then, “I promise,” teeth pull on your bottom lip as hands move over your ass, under your thighs, “really, it won’t happen again” between ragged breaths as you pull your arms around his neck, Bob’s picking you up and sliding you onto the counter in swift movements. The cool marble under your jeans doesn’t do much to calm the steam radiating from your skin. Large hands have traveled up to duck under your shirt - bringing everything to a grinding halt as you grab his wrists, pulling away and looking him in the eye. 

Neither of you say a thing, stuck in an intense gaze as your pants echo off the walls and reverb back to your ears. While you’re still, you notice a bit of tension built in his stance. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Your voice is soft, reaching up and pushing his baseball cap up and off his head and readjusting it so the bill faces forward like it had before he’d adjusted it to kiss you. 

“I.. I don’t want this to just be sleeping together, just because we can.” Finally he seems to relax a little more, seemingly getting relief from admitting something that had been at the forefront of his mind. 

“So, we don’t.” You shrug, as your hand falls to his shoulder. It’s quiet again before you tilt under his hat to kiss his cheek and pull back. His hands have slid into a comfortable spot on your waist, thumbs running back and forth over the same spot. 

“I.. I haven’t hooked up with anyone, and I just… don’t think it would be wise to start now. Don’t get me wrong, Vegas, this is…” A light laugh leaves him, making you smile, “it’s good, but I don’t want to give you the wrong message.”

“That’s fine by me, Bo.” His eyebrows pop up at that, a genuine smile on his own face. “Oh, you like that one?” You tease and he laughs. 

“It’s better than the, like, forty others you listed.” Bob helps you off the counter waiting for your response. 

“Bo it is then.” Grinning at him he reflects it, reaching up and adjusting his glasses as he turns his head to his watch. There’s no urgency to leave about it, but more so an acknowledgement that it’s getting late. 

“I guess I better get going.” He speaks at a lower volume, almost like he’s willing you to ask him to stay, but you won’t. If he does, you can only imagine what would happen .

“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to be late to practice tomorrow ‘cause you got caught up here.” You point out as he heads for the door. 

“Yeah? The guilt would be all too consuming for you?” He retorts, leaning in the now open door frame. 

“Absolutely.” A mutual smile rests on both of your features as the conversation comes to a close. “Hate to watch you go..” You offer as he turns. 

“But you love to watch me leave.” Bob responds in a sing-songy voice, starting out from the car park and down the driveway. “See you in the morning, Vegas.” 

“Night Bo.”

                                                ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

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[throwaway-yandere]

"Aren't You Supposed To Hate Me?" (Yandere Modern!Il Dottore/Reader)

CW: mild yandere

the real a/n: if you see me putting too many sylvia plath references, no– no you did not. Also, webttore rights. I promise he's not that bad bakery anon pls don't kill me-. ALSO LOGO'S MADE BY ESTHER ANON!!!

Mother of Klee, Alice’s note: When your bakery opens, can you make some Eton mess? What? “That’s not on the menu…?” Well, you should add it! My darling Klee looks adorable eating strawberries! Oh, but you're not leaving Teyvat Pro, right?

Yandere! 1k Idol Match-up Event

---------

According to what people have said about you, you exude calmness. And that it’s a strength. That your soothing and somewhat “motherly” presence puts you one step forward more than most people. But why isn’t your composure congruent with the frantic screaming inside of you that begged this lunatic to quit clutching your baking supplies?

Damn, this isn't the time to NOT be assertive, assistant (Y/n). Pull yourself together.

"Please stop. You're strangling it."

"We all die, (Y/n). The sooner you internalize that, the better."

The man in front of you is none other than your boss: "Il Dottore", the man behind the idol group ADDICKTZ's creative decisions. You have been given the responsibility of maintaining order among the original 4 ADDICKTZ members while he deals with the second batch after he chose you out of the other 22 interviewees. 

"Sir, we're just baking. Please use a proper measuring cup. Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor–"

"Master. Not sir. I suggest you speak to me in a more respectful tone, Assistant (Y/n). The mere fact of your utility does not make you indestructible."

"I understand that very well, sir– Master, but please put the dough down. I cannot allow you to do the frosting at this rate."

Dang Akademiyan scholars and their honorifics.

Zandik huffed, unsatisfied, before leaning back on his chair. 

"Mind you, I'm a licensed surgeon." He boasted snarkily. "I'd certainly outmatch you when it comes to steady hands, assistant."

"Well– shame that a medical degree does not automatically mean you'd be good at art, then."

"(Y/n), did I hire an imbicile? Answer me, who exactly are you working for?"

"You, Master Zandik." 

"And my occupation?"

" ADDICKTZ’s Creative Director–"

Zandik smugly raised an eyebrow.

"... I admit defeat."

ADDICKTZ values both of your artistic inputs. Even after work hours, you've done what you can to support DCKZ. You helped Diluc choose a haiku to confess his emotions not long ago, and more recently, you aided Zhongli to find inspiration in contemporary poetry for his lyrics. Sir Zandik, on the other hand, would help the group's plans progress from simple masquerades to a magnificent mashup of VISUAL Kei and distinctive pop elements with unbuckled bones facing the front view just tasteful enough to adhere to the unit's usual aesthetics.

Of course, these tasks are obviously trivial in comparison to what your "real work" entailed, and the CEO would split hairs if you joked about retiring. The doctor is no different; in fact, he is the most guilty of this dependence. Normally, superiors wouldn't break into their staff members' closed bakery at 2 in the morning on a Saturday, but Il Dottore has a few loose screws.

Partly, it's your fault too because Zandik has a crush on you.

That's not your ego talking– he admitted it three days ago. Maybe you would've accepted that confession if he didn't utter another word, you did hear Sohrah and the other staff members mention that he's some eye candy. The nose, the eye pits, the full set of pearly white teeth– those mean nothing when the person is Zandik. His personality is as foul as the things Ayato bought in the ADDICKTZ's hotpot game. You’re never crossing the water for an obvious red flag.

Following his direct confession, he went on to enumerate all of your faults in a psychopathic and alphabetical order. As to add more salt into the wound, Zandik brought out printed pictures and pointed at all the blemishes on your face that needed fixing before tossing a plastic surgeon's business card at you.  What an absolute jerk. Not the most romantic confession out there, but he did ask you out, right?

WRONG.

After his long spiel about being burdened by unnecessary dependence on you, he gave you an incentive to "look more unattractive during work hours" with a pay raise. 

So, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. Yet, you can't loathe Zandik when he's THAT honest about his avid repulsed fascination. The man is mad, but being mad doesn’t make him stupid. He wants the exact opposite of the likable behavior reinforcement theory coming from you. Zandik would sooner receive the loving embrace of an iron maiden than be in a rendezvous. He wholeheartedly believes that love is an illusion of a Greek necessity– whatever that meant. 

You were ready to argue when he pulled out a contract that Zhongli had revised for added credence. As self-preservation reared its not noble but necessary head, your anger left you. His proposed numbers were bafflingly astronomical that you might just quit your job after the first pay…

The moon has nothing to be sad about once it witnesses your dreams bear fruit. Zandik knows that as well, that's why he visited your little bakery before its opening day, demanding that you make him any type of pastries. Unfortunately, you're the type who would adjust your schedule for others and not the other way around.

Zandik wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeves. "Mind if I strip?"

"E-Excuse me?" You chuckled nervously. "Strip your apron, right?"

"Hair extensions, assistant." He clicked his tongue, amused. "With some common sense, you would’ve discovered that they get in the way and that these two long strands are artificial. Clearly, you lack some degree of rigor expected for an assistant."

Should’ve expected as much. This is the same man who cut off Childe's hair because he's "so damn tired seeing everyone in this forsaken group have the same fucking rat tail." You're pretty sure the only person who thought it was mildly amusing was Dainsleif.

Still… Last time, he told you those two strands were part of his hair. Zandik is not the type who would pettily lie for a joke. He's as straightforward as CEO Alhaitham– for better or for worse. Maybe he has a twin brother or something… 

No, that’s just inconceivable.

Zandik watched in amusement as your forehead creased. 

"You should've worded that differently… Doesn’t matter. Is there a flavor you’d like? Chocolates or...?"

He answered immediately. “Strawberries. Saw Alice ate some with her daughter last night.”

“Definitely it's not because it's your favorite, I’m aware,” you mused sarcastically. “Since you’re not actually into strawberries, might I suggest chocolate?”

Zandik glared. “Why?”

You batted your eyes at him playfully. “Oh, doctor, don’t you know chocolates have the love drug? As Langston Hughes would say “Have you dug the spill of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims, on this sepia thrill–”."

“Debunked. It’s laughable that you would insinuate such an incorrect notion.” Zandik scoffed loudly. “Chocolates don’t directly pass phenylethylamine to our nervous system, you’re more likely to excrete these pathetic sweets off your a–” 

Never been a romantic. Dottore somehow loves to make it a point to remind you of that foul personality trait of his in every conversation.

“Alright, that’s enough. It’ll be strawberry flavored.” You sighed as you placed the tray inside the oven. “Might I say, you’re acting rather… cocky, for a lack of a better term, with how I should handle my work.” 

“In my many years of living, I’ve learned that arrogance is a side-effect of truth and intelligence.”

“Yes, but your methods of holding that dough is quite barbaric. Please let it go.”

“Tsk.”

Dead hands, dead stringencies– Zandik simply lacks the talent for baking due to his rigidity. He dropped the dough and you smirked for a second, relieved. You secretly have a competitive side and you'd hate to admit that you're scared he might just beat you at your own game because of the frostings.  

“Master Zandik, please just sit down. There are empty chairs at empty tables–”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his legs on your table. You tried not to scream at him about hygiene and barely succeeded. “Friends are all dead and gone– I know. Do not think you can reference Les Miserables without me knowing, baker.”

You shook your head as you set the timer. While you were preoccupied, it seemed as if the doctor just couldn’t sit still.

“Hmph, this is the only thing of interest I’ve found in your precious little bakery thus far.”

You turned to look at him.

Zandik paused in front of the small wall of photographs you had on display. A smile crept on your face as you remembered how proud you were of organizing the photos of your friends and family into a heart-shaped mosaic. There is a tiny square space in the middle and he correctly inferred that will be the center will be used to display a photo of the bakery's opening day. Be that as it may, his attention lay elsewhere.

"You had a violent streak, didn't you?"

"... Pardon?"

"You were the "problem child", that's my assessment," Zandik smirked, detaching a photograph from your wall, which surprised you since you've had trouble easing them free. 

He specifically picked the photo you took during kindergarten with your grandma. 

"You had scraped knees and elbows but you don't have that stereotypical dumb boyish smile. You seem to have quite a pronounced frown. Would I be wrong to assume you weren't well-liked in your school–"

“Put it back.” While you do generally dislike being put under a spotlight, the cause of your harsh delivery stems from his unpleasant phrasings.

Zandik pretended not to hear you, "–I'm not teasing you. I would know this because I had a photo similar to this one."

For a moment, you saw a flicker of melancholic humanity in your otherwise monstrously rigid employer. You thought that vulnerable display would be brief, but the hollow chuckle that echoed proved that this event will mark a milestone in your "work" relationship.

Master Zandik is opening up to you.

"Unlike this cute and happy memento, I don't have a grandmother who would take a picture with me. I’ve lost them all in the fire." He muttered, his voice low and his eyes squinting. "Hence the reason why I squandered most of my hours burying my nose in textbook after textbook. Pantalone and I had to prove ourselves worthy of living a life outside the orphanage. But this picture…"

Your boss grumbled. "This picture looks awfully similar to the only childhood picture I have taken. A large frown, beat-up uniform– a rage that I can relate to. I understand your child self all too well. Too well, in fact, that I feel the urge to burn this photograph like what I’ve done with mine."

He traced his thumb around your young self's image, shockingly intimate.

You blinked incessantly, trying to process all the information that he told you. First, your boss has no family left. Second, he’s an orphan raised alongside sir Pantalone. Third, he burned the only picture he had when he was a kid. You would pinch yourself but this conversation is jaggedly real. 

As sensitive as this topic may be, your skepticism slips out as easily as breathing. "You burned your only childhood photo?"

Zandik ruminated. 

"Curious as to what I would've looked like? You don’t seem to find my decision very agreeable."

"Who would?" You didn't mean to whine, but the tone of your voice made you sound like complaining. "What possessed you to do that?! Now no one would know what you looked like, not even yourse–"

"I didn't look too different as to who I am now," Zandik answered, his usual confidence coming back. "Only back then, shades of purple bruises would overlap my face, arms, legs, and stomach. If I loathed my natural features I would've done something drastic to tweak my appearance."

"Of course, you would, hair surgeon." You jokingly muttered Childe's best Dottore insult.

"What was that?"

For the sake of the hair Ajax is trying to grow out, you need to change the subject, fast.

"Master Zandik, I have to ask– aren’t you supposed to hate me? Pray tell, what are you doing here then?”

It’s been bothering you since he walked in. If he wants his “crush” for you to disappear, then why the hell is he spending more time with you?

Surprisingly, Zandik was also stunned by your question. His eyes went wide, perplexed.

“... What are you talking about?”

“You know what I meant.” You deadpanned. “The contract, what else?”

“Contract?” He squinted. “What contract? Is it a contract revised by Zhongli?”

“An astute guess.” You mocked his tone. “Yes, it is. Perhaps we’ve handled so many workloads the past month because of Sir Alberich’s eye-plucking shenanigans that’s why you forgot. To put it simply, you ordered me to act less attractive in exchange for a pay raise.”

“What?”

He looked at you incredulously, as if you were joking.

“Is this some kind of twisted joke?” Zandik huffed. “I would do no such thing. That’s...”

His demeanor shifted once, then twice. After a moment of silence, he nodded.

“Forgive me, you’re right. I did propose that contract, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And I also confessed my affection for you as well?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Pity.” He muttered, his tone grieving. “There should be no other person who can understand me more than I do.” 

Zandik glared. “But why on earth is He trying to sabotage us.”

He?

“What are you talking about?”

Zandik gritted his teeth and smiled. “No matter. There’s no need for concern, darling.”

…

Did Master Zandik always have shark-like teeth?

He reached out and ruffled your hair slightly, but there is an ominous aura that lingered in his expression. It was akin to self-loathing, but not quite. Zandik pulled his hand back slowly, clenching it into a fist as he walked away.

You will never understand what he was talking about. After all, “Zandik” failed to mention the most important aspect of that photograph.

He had no parents, aunts, uncles, cousins… But the outcast did stand next to someone in that single childhood photo he had.

And that person was the picture-perfect imitation of himself, the perfect “sibling”.

Il Dottore laughed.

Now, if he could just throw him in the fire too…

Ansytea: Thank you so much for joining the match-up event Bakery Anon! Please don't chop, cook, and serve me to faceless!ayato–