#comatose machine

[ciaran]

13 - leo and alex

"You're such a goddamn pussy, man," Alex snarled. Half his words were muffled by the helmet; he ripped it off his head and tossed it aside, ignoring the clatter and crack of the visor snapping. "Such a fucking pussy!"

For once he knew what had happened back there, knew enough to get a grasp of what had happened. Sometimes he got a slideshow of a run weeks after the run itself, isolated pictures marching through his head, and sometimes it was just hours afterwards, and sometimes it was like now, a ringing frustration and the whole thing bright and clear as fucking day.

Leo was staggering out of the cockpit, brown hair plastered against his temples, dripping sweat. He took off his helmet first. Alex stalked forward, grabbing the straps of the suit and shoving Leo back. "What the fuck was that?" he yelled. "We almost had it, and then you had to go and fucking botch it up because you're always, fucking hell, always—"

A weak hand gripped Alex's wrist, but the voice that followed it was pure electrifying ice, like cold water dumped over Alex's head. "I saved you," he said, and then coughed, red flecks splattering against Alex's face and chest.

"Didn't need saving," Alex snapped. "Could've killed it. If you hadn't gotten your big-ass cow of a mech in the fucking way."

"Get your hands off me," Leo replied, weirdly calm, weirdly rough. There was a little blood on his lips. A little blood in the veins of his eyes. A kind of crazy that made Alex want to shout and shout and shout until it all came pouring out, except it never fucking did. Not with him, not with anyone. "Alex. Get your fucking hands off me."

And Alex must've been slow, must've been a little too caught-up in the way the whole hangar bay was paralyzed around him, like Leo had some insane fucking gravity that stepped on the throat of time at his whims, but Alex was choking. Took him a moment to realize that the hand on his throat was Leo's, took him another to figure out that the little bit of red was still just little and this was something else, something fucking else entirely, that was holding Alex down.

"How dare you?" Leo said, scraped-silk-scorn. "If you have such a fucking death wish, I'll give it to you right here. Not out there. Get it? Never out there, get it?"

Alex made a garbled sound. Leo's eyes widened, and everything went black. Black as black. And then Alex slumped, gasping.

"Shit," he heard Leo say. "Shit. Medic! Shit, shit, shit, Alex. come on man, I didn't mean that. Don't fucking die on me, I didn't mean all that."

"You did," Alex ground out, accusatory, and pretended like Leo's relieved exhale didn't float right into Alex's lungs, like that little hint of guilt had snuck in to soothe Alex's wounded pride. "You did."

"I didn't mean it like that," Leo said. He'd pulled Alex's head into his lap, was leaning over and around him. He stank of cockpit-goo and blood and sweat. Alex probably smelled the same. He didn't care.

"You did," he said, feeling reckless, feeling hazy. "And I meant to call you a pussy. Fair's fair, hey. Don't fucking get weepy, man, it's so embarrassing."

Leo shoved Alex off his lap. "You take over," he told the medic. "I'm outta here."

"Not so fast, young man, you need a medic too," the doctor yelled after his retreating back.

Alex laughed. It came out weird. "Coward."

[frereamour]

my wife was following the case of a 21yo girl who was pronounced brain dead, but since she was pregnant they kept her hooked up to the machines until the fetus was viable for extraction. well yesterday her corpse had some kind of reaction so they had to stop the incubation process earlier to extract the fetus, short of 7 months gestation. and it died one day afterwards anyway. for some reason the woman's ghoulish family wanted to be present to witness the extraction of the fetus out of her corpse. i wish all pro-life people would be bludgeoned to death actually

[dailykugisaki]

Day 251 | id in alt

Oopsie. Well it's off the technical college grounds so.....

[nancytheslutwheeler678]

Very talkative and provacative rn

[himasgod]

PLEASEEEE platonic Malleus x reader where he just judges your taste in men

Basically calling u out bc *gasp* you like THEM?!

If I could REALLY ask about who are THEM pls pls PLS make them Ace, Riddle, Leona, Vil and Kalim (I'm a slut okay)

Malleus and Reader

Where he complains about the boys you like

How would Malleus complain when you told him about the boy you like?

With Ace, Riddle, Leona, Vil and Kalim.

I BUSTED MY ASS WRITING THIS. PLEASE, SOMEONE MAKE A REQUEST WITH OTHER CHARACTERS. I’M DOWN TO DO ALL OF NRC.

"I think Ace is kinda cute, actually.” Malleus, blinking slowly: “…You think who is what?”

He turns his head toward you like he’s just spotted a crack in the very fabric of reality. There’s silence. You swear the air gets colder.

“Ace Trappola. The one who argued with Professor Trein over homework formatting. The one who once attempted to cheat on a pop quiz and still failed. The one who slapped Rosehearts's face. That Ace Trappola?”

You nod.

“You are aware that, last week, he mooned the enchanted armor in the hall and declared it ‘a win for man over machine,’ correct?”

“Okay but—”

“And this is the person you've found appealing.”

He stares ahead, hands folded behind his back, voice unnervingly calm

“He treats life as a game he does not know the rules to, nor does he care to learn them. He teases you daily, refers to you as ‘bro’ and once called you ‘mid.’ And this endeared him to you?”

“...Maybe?? He’s fun! And kinda smart—when he wants to be.”

Malleus places a hand over his heart.

“You must never let Lilia hear of this. He will not survive it.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I think Riddle’s really admirable. I like him, Like, he’s passionate and smart and—”

"Interesting."

Malleus, 0.02 seconds later: "Concerning, but interesting."

He tilts his head like an owl and stares directly into your soul.

“You speak of someone who nearly sentenced you to public decapitation for wearing the wrong socks.”

“That was a month ago! He’s mellowed out—”

“The same Riddle who recites bylaws at breakfast? Who lectures you for yawning during study hall, claiming it disrespects the sanctity of ‘scholarly hour’?”

“Okay, yes, but he’s also really driven. Like, I respect his work ethic—”

“He once corrected Silver’s grammar in the middle of a fire drill. The building was actively burning.”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

“You are attracted to a man whose idea of romance is likely organizing your schedule to the minute and berating you lovingly when you are sixty-two seconds late.”

He sighs, deeply, as if bearing the weight of your poor judgment alone.

“...You deserve flowers. Not spreadsheets.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“I dunno, I think Kalim’s kind of sweet…”

“Sweet?” he echoes, tone vaguely offended. “You once nearly perished because he brought exploding fireworks into a dining hall.”

“But he apologized! And then he bought everyone cake!”

“He bought seventy cakes. Half of which were flan. You were comatose from sugar consumption for two days.”

"He meant well!! He just wanted people to be happy!”

Malleus pinches the bridge of his nose like you’ve just announced your intent to marry a hurricane.

“He does not understand the concept of ‘danger,’ nor ‘budget.’ Nor the line between ‘generosity’ and ‘bankruptcy." Even if he's rich.’”

He looks at you very seriously.

“If you confessed your feelings to him, he would likely throw a parade. During a thunderstorm. On carpeted floors. With live tigers.”

"That sounds kinda romantic though.”

“That sounds like a liability.”

He sighs, turning his face to the heavens as though begging some greater power for strength.

“It is not love, it is survival. You are enamored with chaos dressed in gold.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

"I think Leona’s really… alluring.”

“Ah.”

Malleus, slowly turning to face you.

“You enjoy being insulted, then.”

“What—no?! I mean, he’s confident! And smart! And he has that whole… brooding bad boy vibe—”

Malleus raises one elegant brow, his tone somehow both dry and royally disappointed.

“You are referring to the man who skipped an entire midterm because he was ‘emotionally allergic to mornings.’”

“He just needs someone to believe in him, y’know?”

“Believe in him? He kicked you off a sand dune because he ‘felt like it.’ He naps in alchemy. He once said, and I quote: ‘If it looks like effort, I’m not doing it.’”

“He’s just… misunderstood!”

“He is perfectly understood. He is chaos made of ego and nap schedules.”

“You would become his favorite pillow, his errand assistant, and—if you are lucky—his designated ‘person he smirks at when bored.’”

He puts a hand on your shoulder, face solemn.

“You do not need a man with a superiority complex. You need one who knows the day of the week.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

“Okay but… Vil is gorgeous. Like. Undeniably.”

“And tyrannical.”

“He’s disciplined! He has standards!”

“He once threatened to replace your entire wardrobe because your color palette was ‘offensively autumn.’ You were wearing beige.”

“He just wants me to shine!”

“He wants you to be a doll. A well-dressed, properly postured, kale-eating doll who never slouches and only drinks water with lemon slices.”

“And you think that’s bad?”

“I think if you gained three pounds he’d try to ban sodium from your life.”

Malleus looks at you like you’ve brought home a sentient blender and called it your soulmate.

“You would never have peace. Only toning creams and judgment. He once insulted Lilia’s eyeliner.”

“Okay but—he’s driven and elegant and talented and—”

“And ruthless, dramatic, and convinced that only he knows what beauty is. If you had a bad skin day, he’d schedule an intervention. With a PowerPoint.”

He exhales, softly. Almost kindly.

“You are lovely as you are. Do not let him convince you that loveliness must be earned.”

Malleus Draconia does not approve!

[fear-is-truth]

IN NOMINE PECCATI ( IN THE NAME OF SIN )

— CHARLIE MAYHEW x f!reader

tags — mature content﹒porn with plot﹒doctor + priest charlie mayhew﹒fem!reader﹒cnc﹒somno﹒oral (f!receiving)﹒unprotected p in v ﹒wc : 1.5k

THE DOORKNOB TURNS, allowing a sliver of yellow light to slip into the quiet house as charlie mayhew steps inside. with practised ease, he hangs up his coat and sets his keys down without a sound, as he’s done countless times before. his eyes fall on you, lying sprawled on the couch, bathed in the blue flicker of the television. you’re wearing nothing but a grey t-shirt, the hem brushing the tops of your bare thighs, one arm draped across your stomach, the other lying beside you. he notices the familiar band logo stretched across your chest—you’re wearing one of his shirts, hanging loose over your frame.

the sight tugs at something deep inside his chest, an ache tempered by affection.

an infomercial flickers on the tv, with over-excited voices and pristine images of miracle kitchen gadgets that promise to “slice, dice, and change your life!” charlie reaches for the remote and lowers the volume, careful not to let it die completely—its glow is enough to keep the room from sinking into total darkness. he treads lightly toward you, feeling a bit like an intruder in his own home as he crosses the room. when he finally stands by the couch, looking down at you.

he takes a moment to study you—no, admire you. your face is slack with sleep, lips parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows across your cheeks. a loose strand of hair has fallen over your face, and he carefully reaches down to brush it away, fingers lingering against your skin as he cups your cheek. he drinks in the sight of you in the eerie blue light, noting every rise and fall of your chest, the slight flutter of your eyelids. there’s an ethereal quality of your slumber, a serenity. so lost in dreams, undisturbed by the world around you.

his sleeping beauty.

he reaches down again, brushing a thumb over your cheek, a featherlight touch as he marvels at the smooth softness, in juxtaposition to the harshness he’s known all day. you stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but he holds still, waiting until you settle again. unable to resist, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, lips warm against skin. then he climbs onto the couch, carefully positioning himself above you with his forearms braced on either side of your body, his weight held carefully. his face hovers inches from yours, his gaze tracing every detail—the slight curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fan across your cheekbones, the softness of your expression in sleep.

carefully nestling himself between your legs, charlie’s mind drifts (a bit morbidly) back to the icu, the patients lying motionless in their beds, tethered to tubes and machines, barely clinging to life. hours spent witnessing the slow erosion, orderlies turning over comatose bodies to prevent bedsores—wipe, clean, repeat. he’s grown cynical about them over time, but here, with you—your skin soft, alive, bathed in coloured light—he feels the difference.

fingertips trace your collarbone, meandering through the valley of your breasts,delving to your stomach and finally their destination in between your thighs. no panties, that have been your mutual agreement.

in your dream, there’s warmth, first. heavy and unyielding, a heat that settles over you like fire, burrowing into your skin like ultraviolet rays. your senses wake slowly, your cheek brushing against something coarse, unfamiliar. dark fabric clings to you, wrapping you in heavy folds, thick wool scraping against your neck and wrists like penance. your eyes open to an unnatural red glow that bleeds across the vast, vaulted space, spilling from the stained glass in vivid torrents. it bathes the walls, fills the air like smoke. shadows stretch and twist across the stone, curling toward you as if drawn by some unholy force. the air reeks of incense—an earthy, heady scent invades your lungs,

and then, there’s him.

above you, a figure looms, like a dark angel descending. his face is half-shrouded in shadow, lit only by the crimson light that paints his regal features in blood-red relief. a white collar gleams against the black of his robes. a priest’s collar, you realise.

charlie is dressed as a fucking priest.

your eyes meet, and the face of your lover is a study in contrasts, softened by the lurid red light but edged with shadows that deepen every line, every trace of restraint he’s barely holding onto. hands frame your face, roughened palms warm against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours, a kiss that is equally reverent and devastating, as though he’s whispering a prayer between your lips.

his weight presses you down, rooting you to the altar, cold marble biting into your back and only feeding the heat pooling low in your stomach. his mouth captures yours, lips parting to coax you open. when his tongue slips in, it’s unhurried but intentional, roving over your hard palate and tracing against your tongue. his hands cradle your face, thumbs grazing along your cheekbones, grounding you in an act that feels like the quiet theft of something sacred.

charlie pulls back, lips parting from yours which leaves you breathless and aching in the sudden absence. his gaze holds yours for a moment, then he shifts, hands trailing down your sides, fingers pressing gently against your hips, before he slips down from the altar entirely, lowering himself onto the floor at your feet. his hands rest on your ankles, thumbs tracing over the sensitive skin there as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened in the crimson light. from where he kneels, he seems to take you in entirely, a reverence in his gaze that skirts the edge of blasphemy.

fabric clings to you, unfamiliar and restricting. you glance down, catching a glimpse of black, long and heavy against your arms. the realisation dawns slowly, seeping in with the blood-red light: you’re wearing a nun’s habit. heat coils through you, unsettling, molten desire dripping into your loins like honey. you know what you share right now is both holy and desecrated.

your head drops back against the altar, cool stone pressing into your scalp and your spine arches in a slow, involuntary curve. skilled fingers curl in a languid manner, breaching that sweet spot inside you. a broken moan slips past your lips, and the last vestiges of your willpower dissolves under his touch, leaving only the warmth pooling low in your belly and the faint tremble in your breath. charlie continues to devour your forbidden fruit, claiming it without guilt or hesitation. each swipe of his preachers tongue in and out of your searing cunt carries reverence, as if he’s sampling something holy yet wholly his.

“mghm.. charlie…”

charlie’s head lifts at the soft sound of his name murmured from your lips, breaking the silence of the room. a slow smile spreads across his face as he watches you, noticing the way you shift, lips parted, fingers curling faintly as if reaching for something just beyond reach. licking his arousal-coated lips, he leans in, carefully easing himself back onto the couch, moving with a quiet intent. his legs nestle between yours, fitting into place as he settles. the t-shirt has slipped off your shoulder at one point, revealing the delicate curve of your clavicle. charlie dips his head, letting his lips brush against your temple. fingertips lightly graze your side, tracing the hem of your shirt, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

somehow, miraculously, you’re still asleep. carefully nudging your legs wider apart, he tilts his pelvis to the precise position. charlie bites down on his bottom lip to silence a groan as he eases himself inside you, inch by agonising inch until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

lashes flutter, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he bottoms out, a tingling sensation spreading from the base of your spine to your thighs, his cock nestling deep within you. filling every inch of you with a sacred fullness.

charlie buries his face into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, placing languid kisses up the column of your throat as his hips rock steadily against yours. the glorious stretch coupled with the way his hands and lips are all over you—fondling your breasts and nibbling at your earlobe coaxes out another mewl from you, tightening your grip on his shoulders and leaving pink, crescent indentations. he pauses mid-thrust to mumble an “i love you,” against the corner of your mouth.

velvety walls pulsate around him, milking out charlie’s orgasm as he succumbs to the white-hot pleasure, hips stuttering before he spills himself inside you, warmth spreading low and deep, radiating from your core like an ember kindling to life. waves of pleasure flows through you—a blessing you’d missed, returning to you as if by divine grace.

all around, the shadows seem to swell, the red light growing deeper, darker, as though hell itself waits just beyond the cathedral walls.

MASTERLIST

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Things that canonically exist in the same world as transformers prime because they also exist in rescue bots:

-fairies

-ghosts

-time travel

-still-living dinosaurs

-optimus's third mode, the fucking t-rex

-a machine that cheats death and reverses the aging process

-skyrim, if blades making the arrow to the knee joke is to be taken at face value.

-mass displacement tech the way the fandom's been portraying it for ages

-the exact same altmode-locking paralytic virus from beast machines

-full-on mind control, effective on both humans and bots

-lycanthropy inducing fake meat

-a hal-9000-esque rogue AI intent on turning the world comatose to keep humanity maximally safe

-freaky Friday mind swapping

-time loops

-machine that forces you to sing in full musical numbers

-Allspark day, which is basically cybertronian new years day

We need to start subjecting the prime bots to the weirdass facets of their world.

[racsow]

after seeing the godawful trailer, I did a reread of the Electric State and i cannot physically understand how the russo brothers did not "see potential" in the story

i'll admit, i underappreciated the writing on my first read! going over it again there is so much richness to the character building and the dread of the atmosphere. There's a vibe that I can only describe as desiccated americana and i love it. The world is rotten and dying, and there is really nothing left to do but go on for going on's sake.

anyway i'm doing a very large essay on Stålenhag's whole body of work, but the Electric State holds a special place in my heart as the first of his books I discovered and the most resonant to me, so i just had to share my thoughts right after the reread.

This is less about the artwork, which i could talk about for ages, and more just a general overview of the story themes specifically!

(Moderate general spoilers? i don't go into much detail, and it's not a story overly reliant on its plot twists anyway)

The hopelessness of The Electric State is rather unique among Simon Stålenhag's works - his other books, set in Sweden, are much more fondly nostalgic, though they of course offer strange horrors of their own - but of a much more physical, immediate level.

The Electric State is different. It takes place in an alternate 90s US even more drowned in consumerism and blind greed than our own. A civilization that is crumbling, not from nuclear war or global crises or meteors, but by its own hand, by capitalism driving itself into the ground. The perfect pleasure machine, the neurocaster headset, leaves people twitching, comatose creatures whose minds lie in vast Silicon Valley servers as their bodies are left to starve.

Michelle does not have the privilege of escapism. She is one of the few left to wander a silent world, an apocalypse without people to see it. She is privy to the horror of watching the inevitable trajectory of a world falling to its death, and feels only recognition that it's probably better this way.

Michelle is never sad about the end of America. She doesn't ever reminisce about how good things used to be, or how we should have "appreciated it while we had it." But she certainly does reminisce.

She has the memory of her foster parents, who derided the government "coddling neurine addicts" like Michelle's mother. She has the memory of her grandfather coughing himself to death in their tiny apartment, irradiated from his lifetime of underpaid work assembling gigantic war drones. She has the memory of her mother overdosing on a drug the government hooked her on during her service in the military. She has the memory of her first and only love, a love which the world hated, how it kept her alive in her foster home of Soest City, and how it was ripped from her by the pastor.

Unlike Stalenhag's other stories, there is no element of nostalgia or quiet undertone of hope. Only disgust for what came before, and quiet fear for what comes next.

The horror of the Convergence, the eldritch machine god hivemind, is not even very relevant to the story - if anything, it's a side plot. When Michelle faces actual danger, it's never from giant robot gods in the mist; it's from cops and hotel clerks, from doomsdayers hoarding guns and a FBI agent hunting her down. She lives in fear of other people, of people who say they want to protect her.

But when she sees the gigantic silent machines wandering through the mists of Oregon, she isn't afraid. It's almost peaceful. The Convergence is beyond understanding. It grew out of the servers where millions of minds seeking oblivion from the world went to escape, and they converged into something unknowably vast who wanders the world in a hundred million thoughtless bodies. It's otherworldly. It does not fear, it does not dream, it does not hope, it does not hate. Maybe that's better.

I was scared. But I also felt something else when that thing stepped out of the mist in front of our car. I can't think of a better word than awe. Like when you suddenly become aware that you've walked into the wrong part of the woods and come face-to-face with a gigantic wild animal. Beyond the grotesque, there was also something else - something majestic.

And in its wake, the citizens of Point Linden, hundreds of people linked together, their neurocasters connected to the oily god in the mist, floated across the ground in front of the car, and they looked almost happy. Calm and peaceful, they moved past the car and formed a single group again behind us, and soon disappeared into the mist again.

[stareiiez]

nsfw alphabet for sinister mark

based on this ask <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

HA. idiot. there's no aftercare, you think you're getting aftercare?? from him?? the most you get is a snide comment and a towel thrown your way to clean yourself up.

B = Body part 

Sinister Mark loves your thighs, and breasts. He's not much of an ass man, but if he see a pair of juicy thighs that have good amounts of fat? his mouth waters, he drools over cellulite and stretchmarks, it brings more flavor to his delicate meal.

C = Cum 

loves to cover you in his cum, creampies are his favorite, cherry cream pies are even fucking better. he doesn't let you get dressed most of the time after so he can watch his cum dry against your skin and leave obvious proof he was with you. weirdly thick and stringy, the kind you see in porn, he cums gallons.

D = Dirty secret 

he whimpers when you praise him and call him 'my lord' or some regal title. has a huge praise kink.

E = Experience

experienced as hell. after all viltrumites fuck to breed and expand their species, so he knows what he's doing from alien autonomy to human bodies. he know's where the clit is babe, don't worry.

F = Favorite position 

doggy. easiest way to shut you the fuck up because you cry too loud when he hooks a thumb in your ass and bullies squishy tight muscle. he hates seeing your face look all stupid and dopey, he wants to watch your pussy cum, that's it.

G = Goofy 

he's here to fuck and to feast, there's no jokes here. mohawk mark took all the goofy ass tendencies out of all the variants.

H = Hair 

depends. wasteland sinister? there's no hygiene, he smells of sweat, blood, oil, rot and other putrid smells. pubic hair is as wiry and long as his hair on his head, he doesn't give a fuck if he makes you gag on it when you suck him off. normal sinister? he's clean, shaved. thinks it's dirty if he doesn't care for himself always.

I = Intimacy

lol.

J = Jack off

jacks off after committing genocide. likes to lay on the bodies and fuck himself because he feels so good he can't help his boner. he's a suck fuck that gets off on murder. jerks off to you, sometimes . . i guess.

K = Kink 

bondage, gagging, choking, crying, blood and weapon kink. LOVES to make sure his bitch is half way on the brink of passing out, that's when he knows he's doing good.

L = Location 

anywhere, he isn't picky. you think of it? he's probably thought of it, and done it to you.

M = Motivation 

power. loves to exhert his power over little things like you. also curiosity, lets see how much you can take till it kills you, kay?

N = No 

affection. telling him you love him? immediate no. he's soft and clambering off you. watersports are disgusting to him, you wanna be gross? do that somewhere else.

O = Oral 

LOVES GIVING because (ie bloody eating out post I made). loves receiving as well. he doesn't know when to stop.

P = Pace 

rough. hard. fast. there's other option.

Q = Quickie

doesn't believe in them. you should be satisfied enough after ten rounds with him. stop being greedy.

R = Risk 

fucking the man is risk enough.

S = Stamina

Viltrumite stamina is crazy. he doesn't give you a chance to breathe. you end up going comatose because your body can't keep up with his own. he still ends up fucking you even while you're passed out.

T = Toys 

He destroyed your toys, sorry. He's better than those machines, but he likes to see you masturbate and loves a good show.

U = Unfair

Incredibly unfair. he will stop in the middle of sex to go deal with whatever is suddenly more threatening or distracting to him. Will completely pick back up with you, if he's bored. The sex isn't the same after.

V = Volume

he's quiet, except for making grunts and growls through clenched teeth. your moans and wet pussy noises are the loudest things during sex.

W = Wild card 

LOVES A GOOD HAIR PULL. Even when his hair gets longer in the wastelands, and you're there to be with him. he loves it when you gather the hair in your palm and yank as hard as you can, it at least makes him groan a bit more louder than usual.

X = X-ray 

thick, uncut pretty pink eight inches. he's got the girth of nearly a soda can, he's a monster that hurts you in every single aspect. he's not veiny, but burns hot red at the tip when he's hard and throbbing. he's shaved and clean, slightly musky at drooping sac. his body is more built, unrealistically chiseled, like it hurts to be this buff in such a lean frame.

Y = Yearning 

very high, after he gets a good blood lust going. thankfully that's nearly every day since he has a plethora of lowlifes to be wiped clean off the earth and co-exisiting planets.

Z = Zzz

after whatever round he's lost track of, he sleeps rather peacefully on his bed. you're reserved to sleep on the floor or the couch if he thinks its fitting for you after how good you've been to him.

[ciaran]

17 - lionspine

Leo was hiding something from Will; Will was sure of it. He’d checked the footage twice and gone over every one of their interactions from the past week. The evidence he’d gathered went as follows:

Normally, Leo only avoided the cameras on the base when he was mad at Will, and didn’t want Will to be able to see him. They hadn’t fought in two weeks, though, and Will had checked whether Leo was mad at him for something he didn’t know he’d done, and Leo wasn’t. And yet, he was avoiding the cameras. 

The routes he was avoiding being seen in ran from the smallcraft hangar at the ass-end of the base to Dean’s office, and then from Dean’s office to his own room, and from the kitchen to his own room, and from the kitchen to Dean’s room. And he’d taken those routes a lot recently.

How had Leo gotten so good at avoiding the cameras? When he did appear in them, he was holding something, but that something was always hidden by his body. Will disliked the reminder that Leo was letting Will see him; it was his base, and he’d kept Leo alive for so many years, which meant Leo had been able to keep everyone else alive. Leo belonged to Will. 

He also liked it. He liked that Leo trusted him so much he strolled around under Will’s gaze like he knew that he was always safe as long as Will was watching and WIll was always watching.

Leo had been very vague about what he was up to recently. He could talk circles around Will in his sleep, but Will was sharp, and knew bullshit when he saw it. And he loved Leo, loved him enough to admit for both of them that Leo was at least seventy percent bullshit by volume on a good day. And now that had risen to a solid ninety percent, and Will was getting irritated. If Leo didn’t fold when pressed, they fought, but Leo was neither folding nor arguing, and that was just not how it was supposed to be.

(Will wondered, half-habitually, if it had anything to do with Alex. He’d never seen the base’s ace pilot as a strong contender for Leo’s affection, but he still couldn’t help keeping a close eye on them, every moment they were together, just to make sure. Just to make sure.) 

(Because he knew Leo would die for Alex, and he wasn’t always sure Leo would die for Will. Maybe he was tired of having to be ready to die for people. Maybe he knew that between the two of them, Will was the needier one, and therefore the one who would be happy to die for the other.)

Leo had visited the city thrice in the last week. He could be as vague as he wanted, but Will had access to every record on the base, and knew precisely what to look for. The trips were a few hours long, and two of them had been conducted back to back.

(Secret girlfriend in the suburbs, an ugly part of Will’s mind whispered.)

(But no: if Leo was cheating, Will would have found evidence of it by now. Leo was smart, but not that smart.)

(Will had snooped through his phone, just to be sure, before Leo snatched it back and kissed the top of his head and asked, snide and cocky and so obnoxiously hot, “Found what you’re looking for?”)

Armed with the facts, Will knocked on Dean’s door and asked, “Do you have a moment?”

Dean was doing pushups. His metal arm turned into a metal shoulder, half a metal torso, and a machine heart. But it all worked together seamlessly, as graceful as the mechs the pilots flew. Will’s fingers ached. He’d wanted to be a pilot when he was a kid. He’d wanted it so badly. But his mother wouldn’t enroll him in the program no matter how much he begged.

“Sure,” Dean said. He rose to his feet and stretched. “What do you need, Will?”

The words failed him suddenly. It sounded so ridiculous. All the facts and faced with another person’s scrutiny there was only the squeaking bleat of Will’s dumbest animal brain. He couldn’t bring himself to say Leo’s name out loud in front of this man. He couldn’t even get the first letter out.

“Will?”

“Nothing,” Will muttered. He started to withdraw. “It’s… Nevermind. Nothing.” His cheeks felt red.

“Wait,” Dean said. “Isn’t it your birthday soon? Do you have plans?”

The question was so mystifying, Will almost forgot his embarrassment. Almost. “Why would I have plans for my birthday?” All that day was for him was his mother’s simpering facsimiles of joy and, later, watching Leo tirelessly organize parties for kids who’d be dead in a week and wishing, wishing, wishing he could do anything at all to ease that pain. Oh, he bought himself things, but he bought himself things anyway. There was no point singling out a day for it and pretending he was special.

Dean was staring at him. “Okay, then,” he said. “Anything else?”

“No,” Will said. “Sorry for bothering you.”

[phant0mth1ef]

the icu was such a complex place, a variety of machines had been beeping all throughout every day and night, and yours, god yours, was the loudest of them all.

your room wasn’t near katsukis, and yet he could hear the ventilator from your room whirring rhythmically as your chest rose upwards and fell, your eyes softly shut.

shigaraki had done this to you. he’d completely pierced your lungs and your torso, and the new lungs were just, they weren’t working. why weren’t they working?

flashes of you both together surged in the boys mind, glimpses of you at the sports’ festival, at i-island, and more.

he didn’t particularly like you. no, some could say he actually hated you. hated how you’d always been tied with him, ever since kindergarten. and why the hell did you even have to follow him everywhere? if you didn’t follow him to ua, none of this would’ve happened.

he stood outside a door, your name etched onto a chart that was placed outside your room. almost everyone in your class had been permitted to go home, except you, todoroki, midoriya, and himself.

he didn’t open the door, nor did he look inside. he tried, his hand rested right above the doorknob, ready to grab onto it and twist. but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. to invade your space like that.

and when he was discharged from the hospital, your figure still rested inside. asleep. comatose.

so he waited, waited for you to wake up & be discharged. because he had so many words that had been left unsaid.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

What Stories Are About the Academy Era? A Guide

@zombies-sold-cheap

Context:

Stories set in the Academy Era/Otherwise Early Days are sparse to say the least (even Divided Loyalties only shows you the Academy through a dream), but you can actually piece together a pretty decent chunk of the Doctor’s early life (while it still remaining very mysterious) using the Expanded Universe. I've done a lot of infodumping in my time, so I'll do my best here by typing up my personal reference guide to this era. Anyway:

Theta Sigma and his friends would attempt to climb Mount Cadon. At the peak, you could apparently see all of time, but they never got to the top because of hallucinogenic snow. While attempting such a climb, Vansell broke his leg, and Theta Sigma fixed it with a time bubble he made from a sonic wrench and some twine. (Audio: Devil in the Mist)

Theta Sigma and Koschei traveled into the past of Gallifrey in search of Valdemar. Theta was horrified by the power that Valdemar represented, but Koschei was intrigued. (Novel: Tomb of Valdemar)

Theta Sigma time-locked his dorm room so thoroughly that even centuries after he graduated they hadn't managed to undo it. (Audio: Time in Office)

Theta Sigma also once used the food machine to get mercury for his own science projects and in doing so almost caused his professor to regenerate. (Audio: Time in Office)

At some point, Theta Sigma and Koschei traveled to the planet Machasma and used sonic agitation to get them out of trouble. (Audio: Darkness and Light)

Theta Sigma, Koschei, and three others were part of a band called the Gallifrey Academy Hot Five (see: my username). Theta Sigma played the perigosto sticks, and Koschei played the drums. (Novel: Deadly Reunion)

Millennia came from a wealthy family and was gifted in temporal engineering. She and Rallon had a "thing" for each other (wink wink) (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Theta Sigma once made High Tutor Albrecht regenerate in an incident involving a perigosto stick and a temporal feedback loop. He was reprimanded by Borusa for this. (Novel: The Time Lord Letters)

Koschei was obsessed with the Necronomicon. (Short story: The Nameless City)

Runcible was the hall monitor at the Academy and regularly got into conflicts with the Deca because it was his job to make sure students were in bed after dark. They have mutual hatred of each other. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Indeed, the Master would one day stab him in the back and kill him. (Television: The Deadly Assassin)

Drax built a skimmer and would sometimes use it to take Jelpax home because they lived close to each other. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Theta Sigma attended Ushas's 94th birthday party. (Novel: The Death of Art)

Theta Sigma engineered a dangerous bacteria that rendered all multicellular life that came in contact with it comatose. This was a huge scandal on Gallifrey, and the Academy thoroughly hushed it up and had all samples destroyed. However, Ushas kept a sample and would one day use it in a scheme as the Rani. (Audio: Planet of the Rani)

Koschei taught Theta Sigma hypnosis. He'd also hypnotize others a lot because he thought it was amusing. (Novel: The Dark Path)

Mortimus once asked Ushas out but was so thoroughly rejected that he thought she wasn't interested in dating at all. Unbeknownst to him, Ushas later had a relationship with Magnus. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Theta Sigma and Koschei were bullied by Torvic. Theta was eventually forced to kill Torvic to save Koschei's life, but when Death came to offer Theta to be their disciple, he had Koschei take his place. He forgot about this deal and lived for centuries under the impression that their places had been swapped and that it had been Koschei to kill Torvic. (Audio: Master)

Despite this, he apparently drew pictures of Torvic in his diary. (Short story: The Three Paths)

Theta Sigma was also bullied by Anzor at the Academy. Anzor would use a galvanizer to make Theta do his navigational homework. He also turned another student named Cheevah into a crystal and threw him off a bell tower. (Audio/Novel: Mission to Magnus)

Koschei was in charge of organizing the end of term parties, but the Eighth Doctor recalled that they weren’t good. (Comic: The Glorious Dead)

Theta Sigma and Koschei would sneak out of the Capitol and go drinking with the Shobogans. (Novel: The Eight Doctors)

Theta Sigma was given an avatroid named Badger as a young child to act as his friend, protector, and tutor. He apparently gives bone crushing hugs. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

Theta Sigma did not have a good relationship with most of the House of Lungbarrow. Indeed, his first memory is of Satthralope smacking him so hard he could not walk afterwards. (Audio/Novel: Cold Fusion)

Satthralope would also let the drudges attack Theta if he refused to come to dinner. Drudges are basically servants of the Houses, about two and a half meters tall, and strong enough to hold a fully grown Time Lord in one arm. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

One time, those at the House of Lungbarrow wanted Theta Sigma to return home for Otherstide and even sent Badger to collect him. Theta refused, so they contacted his professor Delox, who proceeded to expel him from her classroom after chastising him on his family in front of the entire class. After this, Theta appeared to exhibit many of the signs I associate with a nervous breakdown. Distressed, Theta came up with an idea that would prove he wasn't what they all said he was - he would go after the Toymaker. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Millennia and Rallon were the only two to join him on this trip, the rest of the Deca thinking them mad. They stole a Type 18 TARDIS, and after making it to the Toyroom, Rallon's body was basically immediately taken over by the Toymaker. The Toymaker had Theta play a game of Capture the Flag. He turned Millennia into one of his dolls, and Theta returned to Gallifrey, the only survivor. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

Because of these events, Theta was put on trial. The only two to attend this trial to support Theta were Jelpax and Magnus. Vansell showed up but only to reveal that he had been working with the CIA, having been tasked with watching Theta. Koschei and Ushas had been off working on a research project at the time. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

While Theta, Rallon, and Millennia were gone, Mortimus ran away from Gallifrey, which made many think he had gone with them, and eventually also ended up in the Toyroom. (Novel: Divided Loyalties) Other accounts suggest Mortimus left Gallifrey later, so perhaps he returned after this trip.

Theta Sigma was on the same zero-grav hyperball team as Padrac, who he called "Paddy." (Audio: The Eleven)

Theta and Koschei's "kindergarten spat" apparently almost destroyed the planet. During this time, Theta used to call Koschei "Scabby Knees." (Audio: Blood of the Time Lords)

Theta Sigma had no friends in his very early life. Instead of creating imaginary friends, he had an imaginary enemy called Mandrake. Mandrake was actually a dead lizard he pinned to an engine part that Theta would defeat using a stick. (Audio: The Widow's Assassin)

There was a Hermit who lived behind the House of Lungbarrow on the mountain. Theta Sigma once went to him, depressed and full of despair, and the Hermit showed him hope in yellow flowers. (Television: The Time Monster)

Shimmerlings live in the time vortex, but after a storm, they were stranded on Gallifrey and dying. A very young Theta Sigma saw the Hermit throwing them into the Untempered Schism to save them. Theta asked him what was the point because he wouldn't be able to save them all before they died, and the Hermit taught him the value in saving who he could, despite not being able to save everyone. (Audio: Crossed Lines)

Theta Sigma was the Time Tot Hide And Seek Champion for 42 years in a row, which apparently drove Ushas nuts. (Comic: Weapons of Past Destruction)

When Maris - a retired CIA agent - was hired to find out where Theta Sigma, now probably the Doctor, had run off to in the TARDIS, Ushas and Koschei kidnapped her, interrogated her in an attempt to find where the Doctor had gone, and eventually almost killed her when she knew nothing (she was extracted from the situation before she could be murdered). (Short story: Celestial Intervention - A Gallifreyan Noir)

After graduating, Magnus rose quickly in Time Lord society, which Borusa felt threatened by. Borusa had the CIA manufacture evidence implicating Magnus in treason, leading to him fleeing Gallifrey and becoming a renegade. (Novel: Timewyrm: Exodus)

Koschei befriended a professor at the Academy named Salyavin because he wanted access to the restricted libraries. He wanted to find The Worshipful and Ancient Law of Gallifrey, an act which was illegal. Salyavin took the blame for this, was sent to Shada, and stole the book (since he was condemned anyway, he might as well). (Short story: The Legacy of Gallifrey)

Theta Sigma and Ruath, another student at the Academy who was obsessed with vampires, once electrified Borusa's perigosto stick. (Novel: Goth Opera)

After the Academy, Koschei attended a ritual with Theta Sigma and Susan, then likely called Arkytior, in Arcadia. Here, he gave her a toy, which was actually a communication node that he planned to use to find Theta and her if they ever left Gallifrey. (Audio: The Toy)

According to one account, Koschei led students at the Academy in a coup against Lord President Pundat the Third and tried to convince Theta Sigma to join. Pundat died of stress soon after the revolt and was replaced with Chancellor Slann. There was a second coup, but they were overheard by the authorities trying to yet again convince Theta to help. After each coup, there were bloody reprisals against the students, but Theta, who was not involved, had his memory wiped. Koschei assassinated Slann, but the students weren't ready for another go. He ended up fleeing Gallifrey. (Short story: Birth of a Renegade) There are, however, many other accounts of him fleeing Gallifrey.

Koschei and a "friend" were locked in a bathroom of a bar in the Tower by the Time Lords after a prank gone wrong. The two fought, and the friend left Koschei behind in the Tower, where he remained locked in for centuries. (Short story: Rebel Rebel)

Theta called Vansell "Nosebung" and continued to do so for centuries. (Audio: Neverland)

Theta Sigma came in fourth place in the Time Lord Academy Sprint Championship. (Comic: Space in Dimension Relative in Time)

Theta Sigma fed a snapping wart fowl to Valyes's summer project, and Valyes still holds a grudge over this. (Audio: The Next Life)

Flubbles are koala-like animals with six legs. Theta Sigma used to keep one under his bed at the Academy as an illegal pet. He almost got caught when she went into heat and started performing her mating call. (Novel: Island of Death)

Theta Sigma used to chase tafelshrews - a species almost like rodents - through the snow of Mount Cadon. (Short story: The Three Paths)

By some accounts, Theta Sigma was loomed, and by some, he had parents. In a version where he had parents, his father and Mr. Saldaamir were once working in the House and were therefore ignoring Theta. Because of this, Theta, at this point a small child, caught a cobblemouse and set it loose in the House, interrupting their plans. (Novel: Unnatural History)

A cousin of Theta's - Glospin - used to bully him quite a lot. He once claimed to find evidence in the Loom pointing to the fact that Theta did not belong in the House of Lungbarrow. If this was believed, Theta Sigma would have been executed. This caused the two to have a physical altercation. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

During this fight, Glospin got a genetic sample from Theta, allowing him to force a regeneration into a Theta lookalike. Then, Glospin murdered Quences, the Kithriarch of the House of Lungbarrow (basically the head of the family), before regenerating again, thus framing Theta for the murder. This was because Glospin wanted to become the next Kithriarch instead of Theta, but because of this, the House of Lungbarrow buried themself (the Houses are sentient, did I mention that?) for centuries. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

Despite doting on Theta (and Theta generally being his favorite), Quences had been convinced by Satthralope to disown him when he announced he didn't want to be a Lord Cardinal. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

Some of Theta's cousins include Quences, Satthralope, Glospin, Innocet, Arkhew, Owis, Salpash, Luton, Rynde, Jobiska, Maljamin, Farg, Celesia, Chovor, DeRoosifa, and Almund. (Novel: Lungbarrow)

Grandfather Paradox was also of the House of Lungbarrow from the same generation as Theta, but of course, he never actually existed. (Novel: Christmas on a Rational Planet)

Pandad VII issued a Burn Edict on Braxiatel, but Braxiatel killed his would be assassin. As punishment, Braxiatel was forced to take up the mantle of Lord Burner for some time, the personal assassin for Lord President Pandad VII. He was ordered to erase an old man and his granddaughter (wink wink) who were fleeing Gallifrey from history but refused to do so and let them go free. That very same day, Pandad died when a power relay that was in his office overloaded, but an inquiry led by Braxiatel found that this was an accident. Just an accident. Nothing shady going on here. (Audio: Disassembled)

Magnus tried to drain the Artron energy from a giant sphere from the time vortex. Theta Sigma opposed him and used the gun of a member of the Chancellery Guard to stop him from draining the energy because he had learned that the energy was alive. This set the energy free. Magnus never forgave him for this, and their friendship ended. (Comic: Flashback)

Theta Sigma had a great aunt lived in a house high in the mountains. She would sing him lullabies. The Eighth Doctor said she was "terrible." (Audio: Together in Eclectic Dreams)

Anyhow, I'm spent, so I'll post this now. Might add on some more later lmaoooo

Don't forget to check out the next part in the reblogs!

[breakmeoff]

Blow

pairing: jackson wang x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, SMUT: toxic reader, public groping, hands stuff (m. receiving), switch!jackson, degradation kink, rough unprotected p in v, spanking. MDNI, 18+ only

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: jackson can't count how many times he's tried to quit you, but the hold you have over him is impossible to resist. you know how much he is still addicted to you, and you can't help yourself from trying to make him blow.

note: this fic is loosely based off of the song blow, and in no way am i insinuating this is how he would behave in the real world. and if any woman treated him this way irl i'd hunt her down and gut her like a fish. 😇🤭 as always, thx for reading :)

Masterlist

Present Moment - The Gym

Jackson’s feet repeatedly hit the belt of the treadmill at a steady pace, maintaining his running speed of 6 to 7 miles per hour.  Cardio had always been in his daily regimen, though he had been going at it for longer than his usual 20 minutes.

Tuning out the noise around him with his Beats headphones sitting over his black baseball cap, keeping time with the pumping trap music, Jackson’s eyes focused on the street outside of the window he was facing.  Well, less focused than glazed over, his mind obviously somewhere else.

Having joined this gym several years ago and staying on a consistent schedule when he wasn’t traveling, Jackson had come to befriend others who worked out simultaneously on a similar basis.  Like many other fitness enthusiasts who were members at this particular location, their habitual routine made it easy to form a bond.

Jackson’s closest gym friend, well… truly real friend at this point, was Henry - general counsel for some tech company he could never remember the name of.  On any usual day, Jackson would crack a joke when Henry walked in late, or would rib him about being out of shape if he missed one too many days in their pattern.  Today however, Jackson’s consciousness was nowhere to be found.

“Yo Jacks!”  Henry called out to his friend, only to be met with silence.  Figuring he just had his music up too loud, Henry walked a little bit closer and tried again.  “Jackson!”  Still… nothing.

Finally, Henry walked up to Jackson’s machine and stepped just to the side, enough to wave his hand in front of his friend’s face.  “Yooooo… twinkle, twinkle, where’s the k-pop star?”

“Fuck!”  Jackson yelled, ripping his head phones off and was startled so abruptly he nearly tripped on the treadmill belt.  Bracing himself with a white-knuckled grip on the machine’s handrails, he stepped off onto the side rails while clicking the speed button down on the digital screen.

With a deep laugh, Henry used his clean towel to whip Jackson in the arm now that he was back in the real world and at a pace that he could hold his composure.  “You were fuckin’ comatose there, man.”

“Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack, shit…” he sighed, grabbing his own towel from the handle near the control panel on the front of the machine and wiped his brow.  

“My bad, my bad…” his friend repeated, holding his hands up in surrender as he turned and walked over to the chest press not too far away.  After adjusting the seat to the correct height, Henry sat down and faced Jackson again who was now reaching for his water bottle and stepping off of the treadmill.  “What’s got you all… that?”  He asked, waving his hand dramatically in Jackson’s direction.

After chugging a half of his bottle, Jackson side eyed his friend and swallowed.  “Nothin’ man… just slept like shit.”

Raising both of his arms to grasp the handlebars on the piece of equipment, Henry lifted a brow.  “Long night?”

“You could say that…” Jackson started, lifting his hat and readjusting it on his head.  “Passed out in the back of my car.”  

Henry snorted, shaking his head as he began his reps.  “Better you than me.  But shit, why didn’t you just call a fuckin’ ride share?”  

“If I wasn’t fucking wasted, I probably would’ve.  Way smarter idea than waking up in my back seat blacked out from the night before.”  Tipping the water bottle back up to his lips, he finished the remaining liquid in two long drinks.

After finishing his first set, Henry brought the machine back into resting position and paused, eyeing Jackson more scrutinously.  “This has Y/N written all over it…”

Turning his back on his friend, Jackson walked over to the lat pulldown machine, straddling the seat until he bent down to sit on it.

“Jackson…” Henry’s voice was low, accusatory.  “Tell me you didn’t let her sink her vicious little claws into you again…?”

Jackson reached up to the handlebars and pulled them down.  “Who… my dirty little secret that keeps me awake?”  He muttered, eyes focused on the mirror across the room, unable to make eye contact with his friend.

“Fuuuck… dude, she’s gonna ruin your life, I keep telling you to let her go.”  

Turning to look over at Henry, Jackson lifted the corners of his lips in a mocking laugh.  “Yeah but you know what?  I got a problem… think I’m into it,” he said with an unconvincing smile, poorly justifying his actions.

Henry scoffed, setting himself up to do his second set of reps on the machine he was seated at.  “Damn right you got a problem…” 

Letting go of the handlebar on the lat machine, Jackson dropped his head in shame, resting both of his hands on his thighs as he groaned loudly at himself.  “Dude, I even felt her coming and I couldn’t escape…”

“At least you can admit you fucked up,” he said between reps, exhaling heavily.

Still not yet lifting his head, Jackson growled at himself in frustration, ripping his hat off the top of his head and threw it aggressively at the wall nearest him.  “I did it again.  I’m in the belly of the beast.  Again.”  

Henry shifted his gaze over to Jackson who was clearly going through it, and moved the handlebars back to their resting position, dropping his own hands to his lap.  “What’s so special about her?  You’re normally so fuckin disciplined, I don’t get it with her…”

Squinting his eyes shut, Jackson inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds and exhaled shakily.  “She’s like a drug.”  Finally shifting in his seat, he angled his body to face Henry fully, getting more animated with his hand motions.  

“Or… or you know like the moment when you first take a drag off of a cigarette after the longest time?  And it’s just like… everything?”  

Letting his eyes flutter shut, he straightened his posture, mimicking bringing a cigarette to his lips.  “I take a hit… and let it burn my lips…” fully going on with the story, Jackson slowly licked his lower lip.

“I breathe her in,” Jackson paused, inhaling again dramatically, holding his breath.  “...and I hold it in my chest,” he continued through gritted teeth, his chest puffed out with the inhale.

Henry quickly interrupted, “Aaaand then you die of lung cancer because you have a horrible addiction that’s gonna kill ya!”

Jackson exhaled, eyes open, slumping back into his previous position of despair and regret.  “Yeah well I don’t think they’ve come up with any patches yet for manipulative bitch exes.” 

Rubbing his hand over his face, he mumbled to himself before shifting back in the correct position on his machine again.  “How'd I let it get this far?”

Last Night - The Club

Perched on a barstool at the end of the overcrowded space, Jackson lifted his head and casually waved over one of the bartenders.  ‘Another Henny please… neat.” he asked, motioning to his now empty double-old fashioned glass.  The bartender nodded in acknowledgement, and Jackson shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder at the dance floor.

Nodding his head to the beat of the music, he idly tapped on the bartop as he looked around over the rim of his black rimmed Gentle Monster sunglasses.  A few moments later, he heard the bartender return with his new glass and he reached for it with a smile.  Before Jackson could spin back around, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shivered involuntarily.

“Come here often?”  The voice was syrupy sweet, laced with something devious, and oh too familiar.  Pushing his frames back up further on his nose to hide his eyes behind the black lenses, he barely turned his head over his shoulder and saw you.  

He didn’t even let his attention linger on you for more than a second before he turned back around, facing the bar, and brought his glass to his lips, taking a small sip.

“Aww, c’mon Jacky,” you said sweetly, placing your hand gently on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to turn back to you.  “Not even a hello?”

Every time he ran into you, the same thing always happened.  He’d drink too much and you’d sucker him back into you like the evil succubus you were.  Not this time, he was determined.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Conniving Shrew.”  Jackson said blankly, still not shifting to face you.  

“Don’t be like that Baby…” you said, moving so now you were standing just to his side, facing him fully.  “You know you miss me.”  

Taking another sip of the strong brown alcohol, Jackson gave one short nod of his head.  “Yeah.  Like the black plague.”  

With Jackson’s glass still in his hand, elbow resting on the bartop, you reached forward and took the vessel from him.  His eyes, invisible behind his sunglasses, followed your movements.  Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you took a small sip of the amber liquid and let it linger on your tongue before swallowing.

“Mm… still drinking the good stuff.”  You said appreciatively.  Before handing the glass back to him though, you lightly drug the tip of your tongue against the outside of the glass, collecting any droplets that remained on the rim.

Jackson kept his expression blank, though he retrieved the double old fashioned that you’d just defiled and brought it back to his own lips, silently praying that the alcohol would soon take effect to help him cope with this bitch.  

“Ugh, fuck…” Jackson said, crinkling his nose in disgust after taking a sip from the same area your lips and tongue previously were.  “You taste like cigarettes…”

“Oh please,” you said, rolling your eyes.  “I bet if I…” pausing, your eyes shifted to his baggy black shorts and without permission or warning, began digging into one of his oversized pockets.

“What the fuck are you doing?”  Jackson said, pissed off, raising his arms like he couldn’t believe you had the gall.  Just as he was about to grab your hand from his lap, you pulled it back with a nicotine vape pen dangling from between two long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers.  “Bingo.”

”Yeah well when your cancer sticks start tasting like Watermelon Ice then maybe you won’t be so disgusting,” he snapped, yanking his vape back from you.  “I’d also appreciate you not trying to grab my dick anymore, thanks.” 

“Hmm, well maybe not Watermelon Ice but…” you said softer, shifting further into his space, brushing your lips against his ear, “you didn’t seem to mind when I tasted like that Blow Me Blueberry cock ring you loved so much.”  

Jackson’s jaw tensed with your wet, hot breath against his skin.  Closing his eyes to try to steady his slightly elevated heart rate, he lowered his glass to the bartop.  Clearing his throat, he craned his neck, stretching out his taut muscles.  “Turns out I have a new allergy to fake.”

Your arms slowly moved to drape over his shoulders, leaning against his side, so close that your breasts pressed against his bicep. “Loosen up, Jacky.  We had some good times, remember?”

Inhaling sharply, Jackson turned his head and eyesight to focus on the back of the bar and his drink in front of him again, trying to ignore the fact that you were clinging to him.  

Inching forward again, you pressed your plush lips, stained bright red, against the side of his neck just below his ear.  Jackson’s eyes fluttered shut with the gentle pressure, clenching both of his hands into fists.  Right against the spot you’d just left a light lipstick mark, you blew cold air lightly against him causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps.  

Giggling softly at his reaction, you whispered again, voice thick with saccharine.  “See, I still know what makes you tick.”  

With a smirk playing on your lips, you turn fully towards the bar, elbows resting on the sticky wooden top.  Tossing your hair over your shoulder nearest to him, Jackson can’t help but get a whiff of the recognizable, sweet scent of your products - sugary vanilla mixed with a hint of something floral.  

The bartender made his way over to you, and standing on your tiptoes, you leaned further over the counter to get a better look at some of the bottles.  With your arms accidentally pushing your breasts together from the low cut neckline of your dress, and the dangerously short hemline which was inching up your backside the further you bent over, it was obvious from anyone paying attention that you were looking to get some.

Lifting your eyes to the bartender who was obviously staring down your dress, you flashed him a bright smile, exaggerating your position even more.  “Can we get 2 shots of Moutai, please?  And stick it on his tab.”  You added with a wink, pointing your thumb over to Jackson.

Ever the gentleman, and not a stupid or blind man, Jackson noticed your dress creeping up your thighs and quickly shifted off of his barstool to stand behind you, protecting your ‘virtue’ from any unwanted eyes.  Watching the swift change in his position, you glanced over your shoulder to him and laughed.  “I’m a big girl, Jacky.  I know what I’m doing.  You don’t need to protect me.”

“Oh, cool.  So I’ll just let you flash your bare ass to the club then?”  He asked sarcastically, faking a step to the side to let you resume your position. 

“Nah, you’re right.  This is better.”  Pushing yourself back from the bar a tiny bit, you moved to brush your ass against the front of his shorts.  Instinctively, Jackson’s hands lifted to either side of him, not wanting to give you the wrong impression that he was enjoying your over the top advancements.

The bartender returned with the two shot glasses, which you reached for before turning around, fully facing Jackson again.  His eyes, still hidden behind his dark lense sunglasses, picked up on the two small glasses in your hands.  “You know that shit’s strong right?  And I’m not taking care of you if you pass out in a corner somewhere.”

With a giggle, you shook your head.  “That’s why one of them is for you, silly.  We’re gonna party like we used to.”

“Ahh… no, I’m good.”  Jackson reached for his glass of Henny on the bar, and held it against his chest like a form of protection.  

“C’mon Jacky,” you pouted.  Jackson just stared at you, silently wondering how he ever fell for your phony tactics.  But, seeing as you weren’t about to leave him alone any time soon, he reached for the shot glass.

“Nuh uh!”  Your smile was wicked, one eyebrow lifted teasingly.  “Not gonna make it that easy for you.”

Rolling his eyes, he groaned at your brattiness.  “Fuck.  Fine.  Let’s get this over with.”  There had always been a certain way the two of you enjoyed shots historically.  And simply taking them out of the glass was never an option with you.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth as your grin grew, you looked down to the front of your dress and tucked one of the cold shot glasses between your breasts, resting perfectly in your cleavage.  

“You’re fucking annoying, you know that?”  Jackson deadpanned, sighing in disappointment.

“Yep, don’t care.  Quit your sniveling and drink up, baby.”

Sucking in a breath, Jackson leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the rim of the glass perched securely between your tits, brushing his nose against the soft skin between them before tipping his head back and swallowing the harsh, burning clear liquid with the shot glass still between his teeth.  

Once the glass was empty, he reached up and grabbed it from between his lips, hissing harshly at the sting of the 106 proof liquor.  Cringing slightly from the burn, he shook his head and dropped his eyes back down to you.  With a nod of his head, he motioned towards the other full glass between your fingers.  “Your turn.”

“Yep, and I choose to take it from there…” you lifted your empty hand, pointing at his mouth, one of your fingers lightly flicking his bottom lip.

“You’re insane.”  Jackson said, not moving from where he stood.

Your hand near his face went to rest on his shoulder while the other brought the shot glass closer to his lips.  “Tip your head back like a good boy…”  

A cold shiver ran down Jackson’s spine with your praise, another involuntary move he hated that gave him away.  With a grunt of frustration, he lowered his jaw and tipped his head back just enough.  

Leaning forward, you poured the cold, clear liquid onto his tongue with a smug smile.  Once it was emptied into his mouth and his lips closed, your hand that was previously on his shoulder went to the back of his head, and you tugged him closer to you, pressing your warm lips roughly against his own.

With a gentle brush of your tongue against his lip, he took the hint and opened his mouth again to transfer the Moutai into your mouth.  With a satisfied moan, you swallowed as quickly as you could, hardly giving him a chance to back away before your tongue slid into his mouth.

After his initial shock and instinct to back away, Jackson’s eyes fluttered shut with the familiar taste of liquor, hint of menthol cigarettes, and something specifically you.  Despite his best intentions, he’d always been weak for you.  

Lifting his free hand, he moved it to the side of your face, thumb gently caressing your cheek close to where your lips met, shifting his feet closer to you as he tilted his head, deepening the intense kiss.  With a deep groan, Jackson pulled his lips away, forehead resting against yours.  “Fuck… you pull me back every time I quit you.”

“Stop resisting it…” you purred.  Taking a baby step back, you tipped the bottom of his glass of Hennessy, hinting to him to finish what remained.  Jackson obliged, tipping his head back to swallow the rest of the deep amber liquid. 

Once the glass was empty, you reached up for it and placed it, along with the two empty shot glasses, on the bartop.  Turning back to face him, you outstretched your hand, grasping Jackson’s and pulled him away from the bar.

Like a lovesick, lost puppy, Jackson dutifully followed behind you.  Finally stepping down a dark hallway towards the restrooms, you walked like you were on a mission, but were halted when he yanked your arm to stop you.  Backing you up against one of the walls, Jackson placed both of his hands flat against the hard surface on either side of your head, caging you in.  

Tipping your head back to look up at him, you frowned, noticing those black sunglasses still hiding his eyes from you.  Lifting a hand, you reached for his frames and he grabbed your wrist quickly, pushing it against the wall behind you.  A dark smile spread across your face, loving his attempt at taking control of the situation.  Little did he realize, you still had him in the palm of your hand - almost.

“What’s wrong, Jacks?  Cat got your tongue?”  You teased, your free hand now pressing flat against his chest.  Jackson swallowed and you watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, a hint that his resolve might be weakening.  

Your fingertips slowly began to trail down the front of his body, past his belt, and just over the soft fabric of his shorts before you pressed your palm roughly against his stiffening cock.  Sucking in a harsh breath between his teeth, he dropped his head to look down at your hand now rubbing over him.  

Unable to help himself, he shifted his hips closer to you, pressing further into your hand.  Arching your back off of the wall, you tried to draw him closer to you, your grip over his length getting firmer as you whispered to him.  “I know you miss me, Baby.  Let me take good care of you again.”  

Jackson moaned lowly, lifting his head just enough to lean over and pressed his warm, wet, parted lips against your collarbone.  “Girl, you got me dripping sweat…”

Testing him, you tried to pull your arm down from his grasp and were surprised when you met little to no opposition.  Reaching your newly freed hand forward, you grasped the waist of his shorts and boxers, pulling them away from his body.  

Your hand that was previously groping him through his clothing now slid effortlessly down the front of his body, your palm hot against his bare abdomen.  Jackson made a strangled noise as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and slowly began stroking his length.  

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually enjoying this,” you whispered, the palm of your hand now caressing the head of his cock, the precum smearing between your hand and his heated flesh.  

Increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, you reached with your free hand to grip his chin between your index finger and thumb, tilting his head up to force him to look at you once again.  The look on his face was dripping with want, his plush lips parted in a breathless gasp, chest rising and falling heavily.

A dark, sinful, dry laugh slipped past your lips.  Tilting your head to the side, you studied his face, still gripping his chin with one hand and pumping up and down his slick cock with the other.  “Look at you, like putty in my hands… I bet you’d do almost anything for me right now, huh?”  

Jackson’s hips jerked further into your hand sloppily, your words always doing something to him.  The heady combination of your skillful hands, cold teasing and the thrill of knowing anyone could walk by and see you in a compromised position was dizzying.  “Tell me what to do,” he panted, sweat starting to bead along his hairline.  “I’ll do anything…”

Letting go of his chin, you leaned forward, ghosting your lips over his neck tortuously slowly.  Humming against his flesh, more sensitive than ever, you murmured.  “First… you’re gonna make a mess in your pants,” Jackson moaned loudly, absently fucking himself in your hand.  “And then you’re going to take me into the bathroom and fuck me hard enough I’ll forget my own name.”

Noticing the sporadic movement of his hips, you could tell that he was getting close.  But you also knew you didn’t want to give it to him that easily.  “Fuck, fuck, I’m…” Jackson stuttered, pressing more of his weight into his hands against the wall. 

“Don’t stop baby, shit, don’t stop now…”  Huffing out a breath, you could see his eyebrows pinching together, about to lose himself.  “Shit, you got me ready to…” and at that exact moment, you stopped your hand and pulled it out of his pants.

Jackson lifted his head to look at you again, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, breathing heavily and knuckles turning white they were clenched so hard.  “What the fuck, Y/N?”  He cursed at you, groaning loudly in frustration.

“Bathroom.  Now.”  Grunting, Jackson shifted himself in his pants and then grabbed your wrist and forcefully pulled you into the nearest single occupant restroom.  Slamming the door shut behind you, he roughly grabbed your hips and backed you up against the sink.

“You’re such a fucking bitch…” he said through gritted teeth.

“And you fucking love it,” you seethed in reply.

Spinning you around, he placed his hand on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you down into a bent position, gripping onto the sides of the sink.  You lifted your head just enough to look into the mirror in front of you, watching the darkened expression on Jackson’s face.

Roughly forcing the hem of your short dress over the curve of your ass, he laughed mirthlessly.  “Of course you’re not wearing any panties.  God, you’re so desperate.”  Jackson said dismissively, running one of his hands over the curve of your ass before spanking it hard, causing you to jolt forward further over the sink with a filthy moan.

“Worst fucking part is I fall for it every,” he paused, smacking his hand against your ass again.  “...fucking,” smack, “time,” smack.  

By this point you were starting to writhe under his hand still pressing you down and the sting against your ass.   

Dropping his hand to the front of his shorts, he swiftly unbuttoned them and drug the zipper down, pulling them and his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring out from its confines.  

“Every time… let you play me like an instrument,” he seethed, bending his knees a little to angle himself better, pressing the tip of his angry red cock against your now soaked entrance.  “But I’m addicted to it,” Jackson grunted, fucking his entire length into you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out beneath him, straightening your arms in an attempt to push yourself up from being so far bent over.  Watching you try to gain some sort of control back, Jackson reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your cheek flat against the dirty, cold porcelain right next to the faucet.  “Ohhh no… you and your body feels like disrespect, and I’m fucking tired of it.”

“Jackson,” you whimpered, eyes squinting shut at his powerful thrusts, relentlessly fucking into your tight cunt.  

His whole body tensed up, determined to make you feel every last inch of him.  “You wanted this,” he growled, his hips slapping against your ass cheeks with his force.  “You begged for this, remember?” 

His pace was ruthless, somehow fucking into you deeper each time.  Every roll of his hips was precise, and he knew exactly how to get you to start to crumble for him.  

“Hate that I’m addicted to it, your filthy, tight pussy…” Jackson sputtered, his hand between your shoulder blades moved down to your lower back, forcing you to arch beneath his touch.  

You began babbling desperately, fully at his disposal, and despite the tears forming in the corner of your eyes, you loved every second of it.  And just took it.

Jackson’s movements became erratic, a thin sheen of sweat spreading across his exposed skin.  Through gritted teeth, he dangerously rasped between grunts. “At least this time,” he paused, fully seated inside your throbbing cunt as he pulled your head back forcefully with his grip in your hair. “I’m the one who controls when I blow.”

tag list: @angel-writes-here @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[crimsoncandy04]

What if... Scaramouche cucking Kabukimono

(meanwhile in a parallel universe)

You never thought in a million years that it would be possible for someone to actually defeat The Traveler. But it finally happened.

And Scaramouche had finally completed his life's ambition and become the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom.

But it STILL wasn't good enough for him. Something inside of him still burned with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance. Yet he didn't understand why.

Had he not achieved everything he set out to do?

Why was he still so... unsatisfied?

And then he remembered you one night.

You who had fought so bravely until you had been dealt a near fetal blow that had caused you to become comatose and unaware of the deaths of your old friends. You who had been clever in your attacks and almost just as underhanded as him sometimes.

Scaramouche could respect it.

A little.

Your martial prowess was often overshadowed by your disgusting and burdensome sensitivity.

You didn't want to hurt people.

Not if you didn't have to anyway.

It was your weakness and eventual downfall. Because after hearing Scaramouche's own life story and sympathizing with him, you were hesitant in finishing him off like you should have.

And he had seized the opportunity.

Emotions were a scourge on the face of humanity. Making them irrational. Making them weak.

You were no exception it seemed.

At least he, in all his wisdom and glory could understand this and overcome it.

Even if it was hard sometimes.

Scaramouche continued to imagine you, scared, confused, mournful, angry, and utterly alone in your cell beneath the sanctuary. He wanted to laugh at your circumstance or at least belittle you in his mind, but that same burning and nagging feeling ended up preventing him from doing so.

What was wrong with him?

Did he perhaps... feel bad for you?

Why?

You and that pesky traveler had been nothing but a thorn in his side since the day you met.

So why, now that he had won. Had locked you away until you were healthy enough to be tried by law, did he continuously have dreams about your teary face? The deep sorrow that probably plagued your heart after learning that your friends were gone?

Why did Scaramouche... feel like he was experiencing some kind of deja vu whenever he pictured you all alone with no one to turn to?

It was that original sin of his wasn't it?

The very same feeling of empathy that had besmirched his very being since the day of his creation.

Why wouldn't it die?

It needed to.

But alas...the spirit of his former self lived on inside of Scaramouche's mind like a parasite.

And he hated how YOU triggered it.

It took a few weeks for Scaramouche to finally come up with a plan to solve both of his problems.

First was to extract the essence of his former consciousness and self via an abyssal reach that only a god could ever hope to accomplish. It had exhausted him in doing so.

But the results were better than ideal.

Secondly, use the knowledge of the world at his disposal as well as what he could remember about himself and his own inner workings to create another vessel for the extracted consciousness.

And lastly, order some attendants to retrieve you from your prison cell below and bring you to him somewhat sedated and pumped full of some new drug that had been created by the fatui for torture purposes.

Once Scaramouche laid eyes on the perfect physical replica/clone of Kabukimono as well as a half conscious and drooling you on the floor, he knew that he would leave this room with there being no more doubt in the world,

That Scaramouche was truly the most powerful being in existence.

***Time Skip***

You sit awkwardly as the machine beneath you brought you to orgasm for the 6th time in a row. The giant purple dildo thrusts in and out of your soaking wet pussy quickly, assaulting your g spot repeatedly whether you liked it or not.

All the while, the monster who had you injected with powerful aphrodisiacs and sedatives was just watching the sybian destroy your cunt with a sick delight in his eyes. You wanted to yell at him through your ball gag but instead you just continued to moan loudly as you felt yourself piss again. Even then the machine didn't stop.

Scaramouche laughed coldly as he grew bored of you and soon turned to face his former self who he had bound in a similar fashion to you just a few feet away. Kabukimono's arms were pulled tightly behind his back. Secured to his ankles, forcing his legs apart.

Scaramouche couldn't stand the pitiful and obvious longing in those eyes. Especially when he heard you scream or cry through your gag. Kabukimono's eyes would widen even more. Torn between wanting to help you, and also wanting to take you.

It was no mistake. Scaramouche knew this because even if he DID find you detestable at best, as far as human women went, you had quite a soft and sensual body that just BEGGED for someone to ravage it.

Scaramouche had considered setting it up many times in the past. Making it to where his subordinates distracted your annoying companions while he had his way with your pretty body secretly.

But he has fought those needless and lowly desires instead.

However seeing the lust in the eyes of Kabukimono, made him realize that perhaps, this attraction to you was something that he couldn't fight. Something that even his most inexperienced form was feeling whether he understood what it meant yet or not.

And if this was true, then Scaramouche would conquer these feelings too. He'd keep you as a fuck doll for himself and at the same time, show this annoying and pesky version of himself that HE was stronger.

And HE was in charge here.

Scaramouche walked over and after casting Kabukimono a withering look, he began to press his sandal against Kabukimono's shaft. Forcing his hardened cock to be uncomfortably crushed against the ground underneath Scaramouche's foot.

Kabukimono whimpered as tears began to leak from his eyes and his nipples hardened. He was aroused from the pain and Scaramouche couldn't help but feel nothing but disgust towards him for it.

"you want the girl huh?"

Kabukimono nodded quickly. His own gag stifled his voice as he groaned slightly at the sensation of Scaramouche putting more of his weight down on his dick.

"Too bad. You seriously think I would let YOU have her before ME? That I'd let you fuck her with this useless cock of yours that gets off from being crushed?"

Scaramouche chuckled wickedly. Seeing Kabukimono blush a little as he heard you cry out again. His eyes fixated on the dildo as it stretched you apart and kept you in such a lewd position with your juices coating the floor beneath you for all to see.

Scaramouche couldn't stand it.

He crouched down and grabbed hold of Kabukimono's cock. Roughly stroking it then to the pace of the toy penetrating you in front of him.

"you wish that was your cock fucking her right? Tearing her apart and making her cum?" Scaramouche taunted. Continuing to pull several soft moans from his former self as he continued to pump his own cock.

"Do you even know HOW to use this pathetic thing yet? I doubt it. That machine isn't even real and it's better than this thing between your legs."

Kabukimono's back arched a little as artificial semen suddenly squirted from his dick. Coating Scaramouche's hand. Scaramouche narrowed his eyes in disgust as he tried to shake the stuff off.

"pathetic. You actually ejaculated from that? Oh how pitiful I truly was." Scaramouche got to his feet and turned back to you. Your head had slumped back a little and tears leaked out from underneath your blindfold as another orgasm was ripped from your body. He watched you gasp and tremble as you remained helpless in your bondage. A sadistic gleam filling his indigo eyes as another idea suddenly came to him.

He knelt down again and reached out to tease your swollen clit a little as he spoke.

"get used to it doll. I could make it hurt worse. However, if you behave during the next game I have planned for you, I'll make you feel better than anyone else ever could ~" Scaramouche purred. His touch makes you squeal as you try to fight back another climax but fail miserably.

"so fragile. So many ways I could make you crumble and break. I wonder if...I could somehow make this part even more sensitive."

You feel him pinch your pleasure nub between your legs and you struggle to not pass out. What was this bastard planning next for you and his other self?

[pampushky]

i hate the air he breathes his foolish decrees

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 2 - 5k

woooo welcome to part 2 my loves! sorry for the slight wait. I've been doing hot bitch shit (my actual job). but now we're back. enjoy the fuck out of it. TW: no mention of abuser other than as him. mentions of abandonment and severe physical trauma in the form of a house fire. lore drop on the main character too!!

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Mid-March 2005. Los Angeles.

Niki gets a call from an unknown number that wakes him up from a deep slumber, and he hardly has any time to think as he’s pulling a sweater over his head and forgoing a hat entirely. It’s his third day in as your legal guardian, and you’re already transferred to a state-of-the-art hospital in Los Angeles, across the country from where you’d lived previously. A newer set of mountains. A city to the hamlet you’d once known, hidden away in the foggy mountains of North Carolina.  

As he blearily walks into the hospital lobby, there’s already a small team of doctors waiting for him, explaining rapidly what's happening to you as they walk him up to your room in the burn ward. You’re in the best hospital for burns on the continent— Niki had made sure of it. Had paid for the flight over here two days ago, with a medical staff on board to keep you stable during the five-hour flight. 

The doctors swarming around your unconscious form resemble vultures. The burn center director explains everything to him when they finally get to your room. The rapid medical treatment nearly made you present early. Freakishly early, by all standards. It’s understood to have been a panic response by your body— because you're on the brink of death in the burn ward, your hormones so out of whack that for whatever reason, your brain had gone, ‘Oh, yes, it’s time to do that now.’

Studies had shown that those in areas where the risk of death was high often presented much earlier, with other cases that also supported something known as “panic presentation”. You’re an extreme example of the latter. But it had never been seen to this degree. You need to be knocked out for several days, going comatose while a team of doctors works around the clock to save your life while it seems likely you will melt away like the first snowfall on a sun-warmed road as it seems new complications get piled onto your case file every day. The way the doctor talks about you makes Niki feel like you’re more of a specimen meant for study, and not a pup who’d just lost her Dam. 

Marlene has already decorated the sterile room to reflect more on a child’s room. And wherever there’s an empty space on a table, she’s placed down vases full of fresh flowers. Flowering dogwood. That’s what the state flower was of North Carolina, and however early in the season for blooming it was, she managed to find fresh ones every day. Now, Marlene was back at the hotel, settling a new wave of interest about your identity while Niki tried to figure out what he was going to do with you when he's lead into the room.

You’re already on several new medications to prevent you from presenting early, having them inserted in through an IV and eventually, to be taken as a pill when you could swallow. You'll be on these same medications until you’re seven or eight, when they can start to consider weaning you off of them to let you present then because it’ll be safer. Niki hates the idea of you presenting even then. You should be almost fully grown when you present. Not— not still a pup. With baby teeth still in your mouth. You should be wrestling. Learning to access your canine form, and causing mayhem like his sons had. 

So he does what he’s been doing for the past five days. Niki sits quietly by your side in your private room. Holding your tiny hand while a machine breathes for you, not even five years old, and fighting for your life. Completely unaware of the complications your existence has thrown straight into Niki’s lap, dredging up old, old wounds that his sons have yet to recover from.

Because the great complication is that you’re his biological grandchild. 

Through a son, a beta, that neither Lukas nor Mathias had gotten to know. Or Niki, for that matter. But here you are. The only link to that son. To the ultimate undoing of his marriage and mating, his infidelity thrown back in his face in the form of a sedated, traumatized pup that can’t understand him through his accent.

Left without a dam, your mother. Lost to the roaring flames of a housefire that you’d somehow survived. Part of Niki wants to know how his son had ended up in the area, and if there are any other new descendants he should know about. So he petitions the court to gain access to your files before he legally adopts you, and he stares down at them before finally lifting the cover of the manila folder and starts to read.

All the files seem to stare right on back at Niki as he continues to pour through them, officially five minutes and nine seconds into being your legal guardian. They’re meticulous, just as expected— it had become standard for anyone who’d had so much as a visit to a hospital to create a DNA profile, especially after they presented. His affair child’s profile stares back at him, with what he can only assume is an up-to-date photo. Male. Beta. Signed away parental rights before birth. Austrian nationality. That’s all you have to go on for your biological father’s identity. 

That’s all that linked Niki to you, and how the social worker had managed to contact him. All other positive matches from your father’s side are his former mistress as your biological grandmother and his two sons with Marlene as your uncles. There are no other pups listed for his affair child. No other grandchildren that he has to worry about. Your dam’s profile is more complete. A smiling picture of her holding you as an infant, left by her family.

Female. Omega. Deceased. American nationality, born in Banner Elk, North Carolina. 

And under that:

Dam’s pack signed away pack and next of kin rights to the pup. Relevant health history is accessible through the International UN DNA database. Pack requested no contact order until the pup has reached legal age, or unless the pup does not survive her time in hospital, so they may bury her in the family plot with her Dam.

This makes a chill run down Niki’s spine. Your pack had… signed you away? The only people who had been familiar to you— and they had signed away their rights as though you were more of a burden than anything, only asking for you back if you were dead. It makes him shudder, as he looks down at your tiny body again, for what must have been the thousandth time since he’s been introduced to you. Since he’d so quickly agreed to become your legal guardian, your legal sire. Covered in bandages and hooked up to dozens of wires. 

The social worker explained that signing you away was them not wanting to pay for the massive medical bill, along with the scandal your birth had caused in the small community. Your Dam was unmated, and even worse, unmarried, raising you on her own in a less-than-up-to-code cabin her late father had left her, further out in the mountains, a thirty-minute drive into town. 

The matriarch of her pack had been well-regarded in the area— it was an open secret that she was looking for any excuse to remove you from the picture. This just happened to be the perfect excuse. How was she going to be able to pay for your medical costs on her own when it was just her? All the advanced treatments you’d need— it would be too much in her old age.

When told about the Children’s Health Insurance Programs that could easily provide care for you, your grand-dam had just made a sour face and told the Social Worker she was still signing away her rights. Her surviving children were quick to follow her lead.

What a backward system. Niki had growled to himself, pacing in the room. Reading the reports from the insurance company he’d managed to legally bully his way into receiving from your biological family. 

The cabin had burnt down in nearly an hour. You’d been trapped under a metal bed frame when the roof collapsed in on itself. When they’d found you, it had been a recovery effort for bodies. And despite it all, you’d survived, your whimpering and crying alerting the firefighters that you were alive. Severely burnt, with the old mattress and polyester blankets having melted and dripped across your little body as the embers settled. Half of your body severely burnt from where the flames could still reach you. Crying out for your Dam even as you were airlifted to the nearest hospital with a functioning burn ward.

Going over your files has become a habit for first past three days. Ever since Marlene had gone silent when Niki told her that he was going to adopt you, before brusquely starting to order furniture and calling countless contractors that a new pup-friendly room be added to his house in Hof. He’s lucky to at least be considered a friend of his former mate, otherwise, he would be stumbling through his second round of parenting. He looks down at the newest addition to his pack. You. Four and a half. With burns covering an incredible amount of your body. Nearly 45% percent of your torso, completely mangling one of your legs, crawling up your neck and dancing across your jaw. Now lying in a medically-induced coma to conserve your energy. 

You wake up nearly two days later. Five days into Niki’s tenure as your legal sire. Unable to scream. Eyes fixed on Niki as your little chest heaves with the effort it takes to breathe. You pull at your IV and try to snap at a nurse who tries to stop you. But your eyes are still fixed on Niki, likely horrified by his burns. You were glancing at your own bandaged arms and body as if to gauge how you would one day look. 

There is a wild look in your eyes as you look at him. The way you tremble as the doctors try to explain everything. It hurts Niki’s heart, especially with the gasping noise you let out before they sedate you again when you’re still not responding well to anything. Niki wants to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go. You mumble something out as you drift away again, tears in the corners of your eyes. Foggy eyes on the extravagant bouquets of flowers on the tables beside your bed and across the room.

Where is my Dam? 

Early February 2024. Woking.

Your right leg was acting up again. It always did when you were stressed. The fire had mangled it— and that was putting it lightly. Not bad enough to amputate, because that would be too easy, and they didn’t want to send your body into even more shock. So you had your crispy, chicken-fried, useless leg. You could put some weight on it now, after nearly twenty years of intense therapy and correcting surgeries. But it was still incredibly weak. All twisted, mottled skin and a full knee replacement.

That’s what had made it so easy for him. That’s what had made it easy for him to chase you down as you tried to leave every situation that saw him near you. Easily able to keep pace with your shambling, stress-induced walk as you choked on his scent. 

Your upper thigh twinges. The needle pierces your skin all over again. That was the only reason you’d been able to walk away without experiencing a true heat from whatever drug he’d hit you with. The bad, mangled leg of yours. Your downfall and savior. 

The halls are winding, but you can vaguely follow the way to your office from previous talks. You call Lewis the moment you get to the room. There’s already a brand-new mini fridge sitting on your desk, likely from the accommodations you’d listed in the countless documents you’d had to sign when you got hired. 

There’s a few people unboxing your items and they look a bit shocked to see you back from what was supposed to be a much longer meeting.

“Ms Lauda—”

“Leave, please,” you whisper while pacing across the room, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel your scent-blocking, adhesive strips tingling. Your scent glands, especially the damaged ones, threatening to blister from the stress of what just happened. You were going to be sacked for certain. Not only had you yelled at the driver you were meant to work with, you’d also thrown an empty can at him. “I’d like some space.”

The workers, your new assistants, you realize, hurry out, not even catching your mumbled thanks as you tuck yourself into a corner where you can’t be seen from the door. So much different than Williams. So much more support. Lewis doesn’t pick up immediately, but just as you’re about to call again, his contact photo appears on your screen. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay—” Is the first thing you hear, like the protective older brother he’s always situated himself as in your life. “What room are you in? I still haves ways to get into the classified parts of the MTC—” 

“I’m going to fucking kill Lando Norris,” You growl into the phone, and Lewis lets out a relieved noise, before breaking off into a fit of laughter, his voice more distant as if he’s trying to muffle himself. “Don’t laugh! That fucking brat, I should box his goddamn ears, showing up nearly an hour late to what was supposed to be our initial meeting—” 

“Ah, yeah, sounds like Lando!” 

“Fuck off, Lewis,” You whine, and he has the audacity to laugh even harder, because your accent slips, as it always seems to do when you’re with your immediate pack. You can hear him shuffle a bit. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t,” You concede to him with a soft sigh. You hear the chortling barks of Roscoe in the background of Lewis’s call. “I’m gonna do my job. But I’m gonna hate it. Unless I get switched to Oscar.”

“Don’t sound too hopeful.” Lewis chides on the other side of the phone, and you hear the doorknob jiggle, followed by a soft knock. “Sounds like you have some work to do.” 

He hangs up before you can say something in response to him, leaving the gentle knocking on the door to slowly drive you insane. Likely Andrea or Zak, telling you that you were going to be let go for committing a minor assault against their star driver. 

And you're right, it is Zak. But he looks more concerned than angry with you, immediately putting his hands up in a placating manner when you open the door as if you’re the one with all the power and he’s not the CEO of McLaren Racing, your ultimate boss. Your boss’s boss. The one who bulldozed his way into getting you on the team because he’d seen your work to get at least a modicum of respect back to Williams, and, in his own words, got a good vibe from you.

(And maybe Niki had been in his ear a little bit about it, but when Niki Lauda spoke, people had a habit of listening rather closely to whatever he said.)

“Mr. Brown,” You start formally, leaning down in a way that is traditionally seen as submitting and a very, very formal way to apologize before he starts to squawk in surprise at it all. 

“Don’t– What are you submitting for— are you alright?!”

The last thing you expect is Zak fretting over you like you’re a pup. He’s gently squishing your cheeks with his hands, checking you over, and you can see his nose twitching, as if he’s checking your scent for any signs of distress. Only to look confused by how… clean, you smell.

“Are you— are you still hurt from everything?”

“No, I just,” You take a step backward, and hold up your hands just like he had just been doing for you a few seconds ago. “It’s easier to hide my designation when I smell like this.”

He just looks confused at your explanation but doesn’t seem to question it.

“And you… want to continue hiding it?”

“Preferably.”

Even as you say it, you can see a bit of pity in his eyes. You know his mate is an omega. He has a pup who’s an omega. Both of which he supports wholeheartedly. You’d seen all the articles. Part of you is jealous. Another part just wants everyone to stop caring about what your designation may be. Why should anyone care what you are? 

You’re proud of yourself, regardless of your designation. You’re not some prize to be won! You can stand on your own two feet, you can take care of yourself. You had more than shown that—

Zak is hugging you. Rumbling softly like any parent would do for a distressed pup.

“You don’t have to justify it. I just need to know so I can make sure that no one else is told, aside from our medical people.” He whispers, and you sag against him. Relief fills your mind. “What— what do people think you’ve presented as?”

“Alpha. Like Vati. They think I’m an Alpha.” 

“We can work with that,” Zak pulls away, looking at you. There’s only worry in his eyes. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Yeah,” You sniffle, not realizing you’d starting to tear up as you look at him. “What is it?”

“Why…. did you throw an empty can of Red Bull at Lando? You’re not in trouble, I just want to know why.”

You flush, and Zak just starts to laugh. 

McLaren is much, much different than Williams.

Lando has been sitting in a chair while Oscar screams at him. Andrea has disappeared. It’s been ten minutes and all he wants to do is curl up and die and apologize for commenting on your voice and being late and not charging his phone and really, every other thing that he’d done wrong, ever.

Yes. He is technically the older one. No, he shouldn’t be acting like such a pup over this.  

Yes. He should know better than to comment on things that people can’t change or help about themselves.

Yes, Oscar, Lando was aware that you had survived a very traumatic house fire that nearly killed you. No, it’s not okay that he called you a robotic bitch. No, he didn’t read the email about the apparent triggers that you had from this event. Frankly, he wasn’t even aware that they had emailed those to him. That seemed like a bit much.

“I mean seriously, Lando! This is ridiculous! Fucking calling her that!” 

It feels like he’s being lectured by his Dam again, her words blending English into Flemish until he can’t tell what she’s saying, just that she’s pissed at him. Instead, it’s just Oscar’s accent getting thicker and thicker until Lando’s certain he’s never heard anyone sound so furious with him, and that’s really saying something. 

“I get it,” Lando whines, letting his head slip so that he can press his forehead against the table. And he does feel bad! Really! “I didn’t know she’d respond like that!”

“Wonderful excuse to be a fuckhead, champ,” Oscar drawls, eyes narrowed. His arms are folded. He looks unimpressed. He smells more, now than ever, of rotting oranges. Lando can imagine the maggots. “I’m shocked you didn’t comment on her designation as well.”

“She’s an alpha! And she smells so medicine-y,” Lando wrinkles his nose, lifting up his head enough to glare at the omega in front of him. Oscar’s face is a blank mask of annoyance, with a flicker of some other mystery emotion. But he can at least tell what he’s thinking because he can smell his displeasure from across the room. It’s all rotten oranges, burning rubber, and singed hair. “C’mon! I didn’t know it’d set her off that much, man!”

“Commenting on traumatic events tends to do that to people.”

“How was I supposed to know it was traumatic?!”

“Wow, you really didn’t read any of the emails,” Oscar lets out a low huff, sitting across from Lando in one of the plush office chairs. “We’ve been in talks with her for weeks!”

“You were in talks with her, maybe,” Lando says snidely, narrowing his gaze at the omega across from him, “I didn’t think I needed a new race engineer, yet here we are. But you seemed awfully interested when you heard she was looking for a new team.”

Oscar scoffs. His cheeks turn slightly pink. “No, I wasn’t. She’s a good friend. I thought she’d be a good fit for the team.”

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the fact that you have such an obvious crush on her? I bet Logan even helped set you up,” Lando knows he’s been a dick again. But he’s frustrated. He’ll get lectured by his therapist for this later, and he’s okay with that. He just needs to make Oscar squirm a little for his high-and-mighty attitude. “You want her pups, I bet. Already have the first three named.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snarls, and Lando decides to keep digging a bit more. “It’s not like that! Besides— I’m courting someone!”

An awkward silence settles between the two. Oscar’s flushed pink. And Lando starts to grin. All evil like, in Oscar’s opinion. Gleefully, in his own. 

"Oh, but it is!” Lando chimes, his voice all sing-songy. He’s in full older brother mode. He knows exactly what to do to push Oscar’s buttons now that his teammate has shown his weakness. He’s done this with his sisters. And Oscar’s probably used to being the one doing the tormenting, as his family’s oldest pup. “You like her!” And then, with a very dramatic gasp, “Oh, you’re probably courting her! No wonder you wanted her here!”

Without so much as a warning, the Australian driver leaps at him with a snarl the moment the words are out of his mouth. They’re both tussling on the ground, before it turns into the two of them in their canine forms, snapping and snarling at each other. This is when Andrea decides to make a reappearance, looking a bit startled to see a mousy-brown wolf and a dark-brown wolf rolling around on the floor of the conference room. Oscar is large for an omega in his canine form, but still smaller than Lando. Lando is wirey, not as bulky as many would expect an Alpha to be. It’s rather evenly matched, considering how often the two of them are training. 

One moment, Lando has Oscar pinned. Another, Oscar has him pinned. Snarling and biting and kicking until the door opens again, and now it’s Andrea, Zak, and yourself watching the two of them wrestle until you fearlessly walk into the fray and grab Oscar by one of his hind legs.

Oscar turns human again immediately, hitting the ground with a loud ‘oof’ while Lando scurries away, watching as you start to lecture the other driver as he stands up. Your tone is hushed, but it’s clear that this seems to be a common occurrence between the two of you. You’re leaning over him, and the rumblings of annoyance and displeasure are clear as day.

Lando can’t help but smirk as the other man makes fleeting eye contact with him as you sit on his side of the table, taking your place as his engineer, despite your obvious contempt for him. 

“Now, let's get to business…” Andrea sighs. You keep your eyes ahead. Hands folded neatly in front of you. Letting his words blur until you feel Oscar gently tugging on your arm. He looks concerned, and you smile tiredly at him. Only just remembering the promise of cuddling in his nest with him when this was all done. 

You don’t even care if you look or act nothing like the Alpha that Lando thinks you are. You just slump against Oscar with a grumpy half-whine as he hoists you over his shoulder. The other driver lets out a loud snort at that, and your friend only glares at him, about to say something else before you bring one of your hands to tap his cheek lightly.

“Just get to th’nest,” You mumble, leaning against him. Your leg aches. You don’t want to walk. “Wanna get th’blockers off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oscar sighs, glaring at Lando over his shoulder before walking past with you in his arms. You don’t care about how it looks. You’ll deal with it later. And before you know it, you’re curled in the world’s comfiest nest, all in shades of orange and black. With the comforting scent of sweet tangerines and charcoal. Oscar hands you a nice little bottle of micellar water to help get the sticky adhesive of the blockers off, much more gentle with your skin than you ever are with yourself. He’s even soaked cotton rounds to make it a bit easier to apply, gently rubbing them across your scarred glands to clear any remnants of the adhesive off of your skin.

The smells of mountain rain and fresh baked peach cobbler mix with Oscar’s scent as you stretch, rubbing your cheeks tiredly.

You let yourself relax then. Sinking deep into the soft pillows as Oscar comes to spoon you from behind. A commonplace action, and had been since he started to get more and more bold with you in his attempts to court you. 

You can hear Oscar start to Facetime someone, probably Logan. But you honestly don’t care all that much— he’s there, and you’ll give your friend a full debrief, of course, after you’ve fully rested. 

“Your leg acting up?”

Oscar nudges you, and you grumble, trying to press your face further into the plushness of the nest, voice muffled by pillows. “Who cares if it is?”

“I do.”

“So do I!” Logan chimes in from the phone, and you roll over enough to glare at him. “Did you take all your meds, mouse?”

“Unfortunately, yes. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to put me down at this point—”

You don’t even have time to respond as Oscar cuffs your ear. You let out a dramatic whine, actually letting yourself act on your instinctual noises. Nothing hurts, of course. Oscar’s always been gentle, making sure nothing actually hurts when he wrestles with you or cuffs your ears. 

“Did you have to get my bad ear?” You whine, looking accusingly at the Aussie who just grins down at you, cuffing the same ear once again. “I’m gonna tell Lewis.”

“He doesn’t scare me, and besides, he’d probably agree with me! All, ‘C’mon, Mousey, that’s not how your therapist said to cope with your trauma—”

“That’s a bit scary, how accurate that was,” You prop yourself up to glare at your dear friend, only to smile broadly at him. You can’t help it, really. He manages to make you smile, even when you feel like shit. And even when he cuffs your right ear by mistake, after swearing he won’t do it again.

In truth, the ear looks almost melted. It’s usually carefully hidden by your personal stylist, with hair masterfully combed over it. The skin around it— luckily missing your scalp— was mottled and pink. What was left of your ear was little more than a small ridge of skin and cartilage at this point, and was much the same in your canine appearance, just more dramatic without all the fur. The upper half of your ear was utterly gone, along with most of the lobe. It was the ear you were deaf in. 

“Can it even hurt if you’re deaf?”

“Yeah! Doesn’t mean it’s gone numb to the feeling,” you pout, looking at him as he sets his chin on your shoulder. Logan giggles from FaceTime. He’s set up somewhere, Williams blue all around him that makes you avert your gaze but continue talking to him nonetheless. “Ugh. Logan, I almost killed Lando.”

“She threw a can of Red Bull at him,” Oscar clarifies, to his rather shocked-looking boyfriend and courting partner. To his credit, it takes a few seconds before Logan starts to cackle.  

“It was empty!” You protest back, but there’s a wide smile on your face as you hazard a glance at your former partner. “He was being a little bitch!”

“Should I be offended I didn’t get the same treatment my first day?” Logan’s voice crackles and his face is frozen on the screen with a mix of a confused look and smirk, before serenading both of you with a jumbled, robotic mess before the call abruptly ends. 

“Stupid wifi,” Oscar mumbles, pulling the phone away to text his boyfriend to see what happened. You just settle back into your side of the nest, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off while Oscar’s comforting scent wafts over in you waves. You could just about fall asleep when there’s a gentle knock at the door, followed by Andrea poking his head in. 

He blinks at the two of you. You blink back at him, already knowing you won't be able to take a much-needed like you had originally planned.

“Ah! Ms Lauda— can I speak with you for a second?”

“Can I do it from here?” you try to press yourself deeper into Oscar’s nest. You’d need to find a place to make one here— a nice, private room. Somewhere you can easily reapply your scent blockers and can fully surrender to your instincts until you were comfortable with more people knowing about your designation. “Took off my blockers.”

“Of course. I just wanted to check in, make sure everything was alright after… how the meeting went.”

There’s a hearty pause. As if he can tell you’re thinking over your words carefully.

“It certainly… went.”

“Ah. And… no other comments?”

“I meant what I said. You baby Lando.” You shift slightly. Tiredly. Giving the team principal the trademark Lauda stare from where you’re comfortably curled into the nest. So soft, yet so harsh at the same time.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to fix that,” Andrea smiles politely at you, and ducks out of the room without another word. You just settle deeper into Oscar’s nest, wondering what in the hell you’d gotten yourself into. The only thing on your mind when you finally manage to fall asleep is how much you miss your mother's fresh peach cobbler.

tags: @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda

[corvidaequeer]

There's not really a point to this. I'm not saying Arcane is bad or you shouldn't watch it or you shouldn't like Jayce or jayvik... I'm just feeling annoyed at the way they took Jayce's character in the second season for a lot of reasons & I want to rant about it.

Starting with the whole scene of Jayce & Mel talking by comatose Viktor. Jayce says "never again" to making hextech weapons & Mel promises to protect his & Victor's dream. Then, 30 seconds later, Jayce makes Caitlyn more hextech weapons anyway! His wishy-washy promise wasn't surprising, just annoying that he'd make the same mistake AGAIN (Then a third time to defend Piltover from Ambessa's attack).

-

Later, in seeing the whole story, we know that Viktor sent Jayce back to teach himself some life lesson. So why was Jayce's first reaction to kill Salo & blow a hole in Viktor's chest?? Shouldn't he have tried to reach Viktor in a less murdery way first? Try to reason with him & teach him said life lesson? It just doesn't make sense.

-

After Jayce gets back to Piltover, he has this sudden resentment & distrust towards Mel. Where did that come from? Why does Jayce suddenly think Mel is an enemy?

Jayce starts accusing Mel of selecting who she protected. What would she have to gain from that? Even if Mel DID know she had powers, why would Jayce think she would willfully let the council & Viktor die? Why would he think her so cruel?

Then there's the "investments" line. Firstly, it was Alora that called Jayce an investment. Mel just said, "Indeed." Secondly, Who the fuck told him that happened anyway??

Then Jayce claims Mel was "using" them? Yes, she wanted Jayce & Viktor as allies & directed them in her favor, but thats really not "using" them. She saw a good opportunity to make some change & took it like anyone else would. The rest of the council used him for their own benefit far more than Mel did. But more importantly, Mel CARED about Jayce & Viktor. She cared about their dreams & helped them to achieve it! She was the one who supported them from the start. She was trying to get the council NOT to make hextech weapons. She wanted to protect their dream, but she's still somehow "using" Jayce & Viktor to get hextech?! Jayce is the one who keeps making hextech weapons without anyone pressuring him to do so! So what was the narrative point of having Jayce take his regrets out on Mel? What function did it serve?

That whole scene was just-

Mel: Hey, I need some emotional support from this traumatic thing that just happened to me

Jayce: Fuck you, Mel! You should have saved everyone. Also, how dare you have unconditionally supported Viktor & I & our research!!

The anger towards her just comes out of nowhere & has no evidence to back it up & it annoys me. Also, it just feels out of character, even with the more edgy way they portrayed Jayce in act 2 & 3. So, just, why?

-

Then there's "my partner died in this room." Jayce saw Viktor in the future, as himself, not the machine herald. He spoke with him & promised to fix things. So clearly, Viktor's humanity wasn't dead, so why even say that? What was the point?

-

Then there's Jayce's little speech. There are so many things with this.

Jayce, who had up to this point, chose violence, is suddenly all soft again & just NOW trying to reach Victor. Where was that in the last few days?? Would he not have done this first instead of blasting a hole in him?

"You always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses" No, bitch, he wanted to help people in poverty & didn't want to fucking die!! What are you even talking about!? Viktor was insecure ONE TIME about being up on stage, so why is Jayce diminishing Viktor's ENTIRE MOTIVATION to him being insecure about being disabled??

Then, in the same line of thinking, there's Jayce saying Viktor's disability & illness (his "imperfections") make him beautiful & he admires Viktor for that??! Cut the inspiration porn trope! Are we not passed that?!

Lastly, Jayce is supposed to show Viktor some life lesson of all that being left is "dreamless solitude" & "there is no prize to perfection" but Jayce doesn't even say any of that?? He just shows Viktor saying it. How is that something only Jayce can do?

Sure, I love the idea of Cosmic Destiny Partners. It's a great idea & a somewhat happy ending for these two. I get it, I do. But the whole path leading up to it & its execution was poor, confusing, & frankly ableist.

-

In general, Jayce just felt inconsistent.

Yeah, in season 1, Jayce has a track record for flip-flopping on his morals & ideals. His character arc is that of someone being easily swayed. He makes a lot of mistakes & then corrects himself by swinging in the complete opposite direction, only to make more mistakes. It's his character flaw.

Then season 2, he becomes more resolute in the promise he mentions. You think, oh, this makes sense. He finally grew a backbone & is standing his ground. Apparently, choosing violence as his footing, but still. He keeps this aggressive demeanor up for the rest of season 2. But then suddenly, right at the last second, he turns around & says the softest & sappiest shit in the whole show?? The fluffy confession of adoration & partnership just comes out of nowhere! If you're taking Jayce in an aggressive direction, then do so. Don't come in swinging with this totally different person.

Overall, it just feels like Jayce is there for shock value & relationship drama instead of being an actual character with solid motivations & and a steady narrative.