#gravely l model

[gumify]

20/20 feat. toji fushiguro ❝ BOYFRIEND!TOJI NEEDS GLASSES ?! ❞

now playing… blind by role model.

summary. after months of denying his deteriorating eyesight, your boyfriend finally lets you drag him to an optometrist appointment.

tags. boyfriend!toji x fem!reader, fluff, some suggestive parts, established relationship, toddler!megumi being the cutiepie that he is, boyfriend!toji being everything a man should be (hot, blind, and utterly whipped).

wc. 2.6k

note. I ❤️ NERDS

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤyou heard that right.

boyfriend!toji, who very clearly needs reading glasses, but would rather take his blurry ass eyesight to the grave before ever accepting it.

boyfriend!toji, who always — always — asks you to read the labels on his food for him to make sure he’s getting the right amount of protein in or whatever. (he claims the tiny letters make his head hurt, but you like to tease and blame it on his age. he never laughs.)

boyfriend!toji, who is never not squinting. it’s pretty easy to see why people think your partner’s so intimidating, considering the fact that his already daunting eyes are narrowed into slits 24/7. most people you encounter on a daily basis probably think he’s internally cursing them… not that he minds. even if he had 20/20 vision, he’d probably be glaring at them anyways.

you first notice it on a night you’re cuddled up and watching a movie with him. boyfriend!toji’s leaned into the corner of your L-shaped couch as you nestle your head against his broad, firm chest — lifting it momentarily to gawk at the devastatingly hot specimen of man currently tracing patterns down your spine with his calloused fingertips. his face is pretty much devoid of any emotion, as it usually is whenever he’s fully relaxed; but you notice his gaze deviate every once in a while from the television, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners as his jade irises go in and out of focus.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“turn the sound up, dove.” toji murmurs, too comfortable in his current position to even think about reaching for the remote. spotting the way your lips twist into a stubborn (but no less pretty, mind you) pout, he huffs. “... please.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“but ‘m too lazyyy.” you whine.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“so am iii.” he replies, kicking up the pitch of his normally husky voice to playfully match that of your protest.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“hmpf. aren’t you the man, anyways?” you counter, poking him in his pecs to emphasise your point. “all the labourful work’s on you, babe. ‘m literally just a girl.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“thought y’said we should abolish gender roles.” he drawls.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“… not this one.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“that doesn’t sound very fair.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“tojiii!” you roll your eyes, “we don’t even need to turn the volume up — jus’ read the subtitles!”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ mean the size five ass writing at the bottom of the screen?” he scoffs, “i don’t have x-ray vision, dove.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“x-ray vision wouldn’t even—” you stop yourself short, choosing to save yourself the middle school science lesson and shaking your head at your boyfriend’s antics instead. “the subtitles are perfectly visible. you just need glasses.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“wha—” he sits straight up, sounding almost offended at the accusation. “no i don’t.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes you do.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“no i don’t.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes you do.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“no i d—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“it’s past midnight, toj’!” you tut, “last time we turned the volume up this late, we got a noise complaint, remem—”

toji cuts you off by squishing your cheeks together with his thumb and forefinger, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pucker and planting an equally dramatic mwaaah against them with his own.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“do you remember why we had to turn it up in the first place, hm?” he teases, giving you another softer peck before releasing you from his grip. “don’t think it was the movie they were complainin’ about, dove.”

ugh. he always knows how to shut you up.

you make it your life’s mission for the next week to make boyfriend!toji realise just how blind he really is. and you don’t have to do much, seeing as he only further proves your point himself.

for example, boyfriend!toji asks you how many boxes of strawberries you’d like him to pick up at the grocery store one day. too immersed in your morning reading to give him a proper reply, you hold up three fingers from across the room. he comes home with five.

boyfriend!toji misreads a sign on the highway later that weekend — which leads to him taking a wrong exit, and the two of you showing up to your fancy dinner reservation half an hour late. you end up spending date night eating mcdonald’s in the backseat of his volkswagen instead. (greeeat.)

boyfriend!toji damn near kills one of megumi’s friends who’s over for a playdate the following week. the little boy’s mother had talked his ear off at the front door about her son’s plethora of life-threatening allergies — even given him a list she’d taken upon herself to print out beforehand — and he still managed to miss the ‘MAY CONTAIN NUTS’ warning plastered on the chocolate bar in bold red lettering. if you hadn’t come to the rescue, practically diving headfirst into the living room and snatching the confectionary from the child’s grip, you imagine his mother would most definitely have the both of your heads on a platter by now. (phew.)

so boyfriend!toji finally gives in, letting you drag him along to one of your optometrist appointments for a check-up.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“this is dumb.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“just read as many letters as you can from the screen, mr. fushiguro.”

“… what is this, pre-school?”

“toji.”

the man slumps back against the optometrist’s padded chair at the sound of your voice, folding his arms across his chest and giving you a silent little hmpf before doing as he’s told.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“a, f, g, k… e, t, o, d, z… p, m, j, f, l — this is so stupid — n, r, s.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“good. now onto the next level.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“uhhh…” you watch your boyfriend’s everpresent confidence begin to falter at this stage, brows furrowing as he squints against the darkness of the small room. “m… f… c? uhhh, no — that’s an o. wait! actually — a d.”

you stifle a giggle at the scene unfolding before you, and he shoots you a warning glare.

“keep going, mr. fushiguro.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“that’s a… k… then a z…” you swear he’s just making up letters at this point, “and— the fuck, is that a hexagon?!”

with the click of a button, your optometrist fishes out a sheet of paper and slaps it down on the table next to him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“your prescription will be ready soon.”

boyfriend!toji, who picks up his new glasses the following week — a standard rectangular pair with black frames that you helped him choose.

boyfriend!toji, who quite literally tells you to wait outside as he tries them on for the first time in your shared bedroom, locking the door behind him as if he were going into some sort of top secret mission.

boyfriend!toji, who refuses to come out for the next ten minutes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toji, this is ridiculous.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i look like a fuckin’ incel!”

you give the doorknob another jiggle; yet, still, he doesn’t budge.

“unlock the damn door, fushiguro!” you huff, “i need to get ready for bed!”

a short pause.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“… fine.” you hear your boyfriend murmur. followed by the sound of his footsteps treading closer to the door, the knob turning slowly before he adds, “promise y’er not gonna laugh.”

you roll your eyes, “sure.”

and then the door peels open to reveal… well, what might just be your newest obsession.

the stark black frames do nothing to mask the stubborn blush tinting toji’s cheeks but goddamn, do they compliment the rest of his features well.

they’re not too chunky, nor too thin; just the perfect amount of thickness to emphasise the angles of that strong jawline, those prominent cheekbones, and the pair of brows almost always raised in sinister jest. his eyes also look darker, sharper — if that’s even possible — flecks of emerald in his irises brought to life by the viridescent sheen of the lens.

fuck, your boyfriend’s so hot.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ think so?”

you blink a couple times, too distracted by the man’s new look to realise you had voiced that last thought fact aloud. but if the way his subtle frown morphs into a shit-eating smirk is anything to go by, he’s most definitely caught on to the effect it has on you.

and oh, does he love it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“cat got your tongue, dove?” toji hums, the hellish glint in his eyes magnified by the lenses. “c’mooon, say something. y’er lookin’ at me like i’m a piece of damn meat.”

it’s true.

you should be ashamed of the way you’re blatantly staring at him as if you’re a hormonal middle schooler catching a glimpse of the opposite gender for the first time — but you can’t find it in yourself to care. not when your man looks this fine. and certainly not when it’s already taking everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping onto the ground and drooling all over the place.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“still nothin’?” toji pouts mockingly. “aw, y’er breakin’ my heart here. don’t tell me my girl doesn’t want me anymore?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“shut up, toj’.”

he pushes the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. a statement.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“or you must reaaally like ‘em, huh? got ya’ all speechless and i didn’t even do anything. but i bet you’d just looove to—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toji.”

he raises a brow. a challenge.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“bed. now.” you blurt out, much to the protest — or could it be encouragement? — of your own deafening pulse. you bite your lip before adding, “… n’ keep the glasses on.”

again, toji smirks. that goddamn smirk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“yes, ma’am.”

truth be told, neither you nor boyfriend!toji could have anticipated the effects of a pair of measly glasses. (five rounds, then another two in the shower, actually.) but one thing’s for certain — now, he wears them around with a newfound pride.

the first time boyfriend!toji comes home from a particularly challenging job not only battered and bruised, but battered and bruised in his equally damaged glasses, your eyeballs almost pop out of their fuckin’ sockets. he stands in the doorway with his chest heaving; one of the lenses of his glasses cracked; slashes of crimson adorning his brow, cheek, and even that signature scar decorating his now-bloody lips. you have no idea whether to feel concerned, or truly deplorable amounts of turned on — probably a little bit of both. and that you most definitely are.

when boyfriend!toji lets you pick out his outfit for dinner at your parents’ house, you’re practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. you land on a safe option — a creamy knit sweater that hugs his muscular build oh-so deliciously, paired with some black slacks and, of course, his glasses. he looks so… sophisticated like this, you think. so handsome. you can barely keep your eyes off him for more than two seconds as he helps your father clear the table and converses with your mother over a glass of merlot.

and don’t even get you started on megumi’s recently developed habit of climbing atop boyfriend!toji’s lap to toy with the frames in his lil’ hands. the sight alone is enough to make you melt — every. single. time. and even more so when the kid decides to steal the glasses off of his father to wonkily place them on himself, giving you a gap-toothed grin across the room as you feel your heart swell at the uncanny resemblance.

see, these are only some of the very many reasons you happen to love boyfriend!toji’s new at-home look… though for him, it all comes down to one thing.

boyfriend!toji comes to this epiphany a couple of weeks after his first trip to the optometrist. megumi’s sleeping over at a friend’s place, so you and him decided to make the most out of the free night. namely, by hitting a swanky new speakeasy in town and letting loose for once in a blue moon.

alas, boyfriend!toji’s not the drinker he used to be — which means you’re nursing the man back home after no more than three and a half whiskey highballs at the ripe ol' time of 10pm.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“fuuuck, my head’s spinnin’.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ya’ big baby.” you tease, earning a distasted scowl from your boyfriend. “okay, okay - where are your glasses? ‘s not helping that you can’t see straight enough sober.”

toji barely manages an “mph.” in reply, murmuring something that vaguely sounds like “— bedroom… top drawer…” before slumping against the couch like a giant ragdoll.

by the time you return with his glasses in hand, he’s still letting out tipsy grumbles into the empty air. drama queen, you think, walking up ‘til you’re right in front of him and bending down to meet him at eye-level from his position on the couch to slide them into place yourself.

your heart does the usual thing it does whenever you see toji in his glasses — or toji at all, for that matter — and the way he’s looking at you through his thick lashes and heavy-lidded gaze isn’t helping.

immediately, something clicks.

toji’s eyes widen enough behind the lenses for you to see his pupils dilate, and before you know it, he’s got your face cradled in his hands.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“toj’—”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“my god, woman…”

he’s nothing short of mystified. your brows knit in confusion at his sudden change in demeanour, but he’s too lost in his own mind — in you — to offer any sort of explanation.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“have you always been this pretty?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“w— what?”

you’re unable to suppress the giggle forming in your chest at toji’s words, but he’s being dead serious. you cock your head to the side ever so slightly and he gifts you with a light peck on the corner of your lips.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i mean it.” he says so sincerely it almost makes you wonder what the fuck has gotten into him. (most probably the highballs, but you digress.)

he doesn’t even look tipsy anymore. well, not on the alcohol, at least. he pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, the stare framed oh-so prettily behind them now beyond blown out. his hands are so big yet so gentle; able to ghost the slopes of your facial features with his thumbs whilst still keeping your face still and focussed on him at the same time.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“y’make me feel so lucky, dove…”

you start to shy away under the intensity of it all, but toji doesn’t let up. his eyes are everywhere — it’s as if he’s searching for something; or, better yet, memorising it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen…”

it’s been too long since he’s gotten a chance to look at you; really look at you — the subtle beauty marks that sprinkle your skin, the lines decorating the outer corners of your pretty eyes and lips that serve as a testament of all the times he’s made you smile, and all the other tiny details that make you… well, you — in all of your 20/20 glory.

it always feels like the first time.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ“i love you s’much, my beautiful girl.” he kisses the words into your skin, each one as reverent as the last. “never forget it.”

boyfriend!toji, who makes sure to get his eyes checked at least twice a year now — because there’s no chance in hell he’s letting himself miss out on any of this again. ㅤ

�� GUMIFY 2024 do not steal, replicate, or modify my work.

[doromoni]

Clash of Champions | MV1 , LH44

Act 2. Part 6 : The Truth Unraveling

Ships : Max Verstappen x Engineer! Reader, Lewis Hamilton x Engineer! Reader

Genre : Drama, Angst, Romance

Warning : Morally Grey Characters, Manipulation, Blackmail, Swearing

A/N : Rahhhh! I’m so sorry for taking so long to update, forgive me.

Summary : The rivalry between the titans of Formula 1 goes off track and only one will reign victorious.

< Previous Masterlist

Act 2. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Distinguished, proud, and dignified are words paralleled to the motorhome of Mercedes Amg Petronas F1 team. The team where this era’s champions are bred and trained. It was the model of what a Formula 1 team should be.

However, this is all in the perception of the common fan —a facade carefully built for the media and their sponsors. In reality everything was far from it. Manipulation, deceit, and sketchy dealings are rampant behind closed doors. Rumors and slander come out of that place on the daily. And in the world of Formula 1 when scandals arise, however unjust and cruel — a person is guilty until proven. That was the deal.

All are well aware of such a notion. And when Mercedes had posted an official statement about Y/N L/N’s supposed lawsuit. The entirety of motorsport was in shock and disbelief. Many were convinced about the allegations and had petitioned for your removal from the sport, while the few who had actually known you had stood by your integrity and your character as a person.

In an instant, your years of hard work were put under a microscope and are being devalued to its foundations. Your presence as a woman in motorsports was already a hot matter, and some are only waiting for you to trip. And now they have the opportunity to discredit you.

Inside the motorhome of Mercedes, chatters and whispers littered every corner and every wall. Not one Mercedes employee wasn't talking about the topic of Y/N L/N’s lawsuit. With them insulting your name — most of which are the engineers who were envious of your success. Nevertheless, in the darkness there are some fireflies where they light up the night by a fraction. These are the people who actually directly worked with you… they were not your friends, but they cannot diminish your work as they saw it first hand.

And they were the people who saw the change in Lewis Hamilton upon your departure from the team. They knew that you and Lewis were dating, but they kept it to themselves. They were not blind nor were they stupid, but why should they care? The team was winning, that was all that mattered.

However, when you left and went to Red Bull and became Max Verstappen’s engineer — they watched as Lewis lost himself bit by bit. First came anger and agitation, Lewis was livid inside the motorhome, snapping at everyone and everything. Then day by day every ounce of spark had drained from the driver’s body, leaving a hollow vessel behind. He no longer went out drinking with the team, no more parties and galas, no more women.

Until that one fateful day where everyone was mandated to celebrate in a club chosen by their boss specifically out of nowhere. Lewis was with the other drivers only nursing a single drink in his hand. Up to, late that night when he looked out of it and a girl was in his arms kissing him feverishly. They thought that Lewis was back to his partying playboy personality.

However they were gravely mistaken, as the morning after Lewis was back to the hollow and empty version of himself and he went on racing on autopilot. Another drastic change had happened to Lewis Hamilton that got the team on their toes — Lewis Hamilton was suddenly filled with determination and resolve , for what? They did not know. Not till they heard of the news of the party in Monaco where Y/N L/N had Max Verstappen wrapped around her finger and had made a fool out of their boss.

Lewis came back a man with a purpose, it was as if he was in his rookie years filled with so much resolve and focus to prove himself. And they could only point all of this to one person. The person who turned their motorhome upside down — Y/N L/N.

And so , when they’ve gotten news about the lawsuit, they immediately informed Lewis.

He was already on edge from his loss to Max in the race and he was furious at your exchange of affection with Max on the podium. Lewis was not angry with you. How could he? You were his light.It was his fault for letting you go into the arms of the enemy. He knew that it was his mistake for taking you for granted. Lewis knew that he should’ve loved you and came clean when he had you. You would’ve understood… Lewis knew that you would. He knew you – he was sure of it.

Lewis knew that he should’ve told you the truth and confessed his sins… be he was too ashamed and guilty for what he has done to you. Ultimately, he was terrified that you would never forgive him for what he had agreed to do. He was afraid that you would’ve left when you came to know that his relationship with you was tailored by Toto Wolff. But you had already left him for an entirely different reason.

It was just supposed to be business and nothing more for the British driver but now all things were clouded as he found himself in the clutches of Love itself. Maybe it was his punishment for his selfishness and greed for success. But you cannot blame him for wanting the best for himself– after his father sacrificed so much for his dream. The temptation of Wolff’s words was a trap that he willingly went under.

Date the girl, make her content with what she had and nothing more. Tie her down and make her loyal to him and the team. Make her believe that it was him and her against the world. Keep it a secret so he would still be free.

It was easy to pretend at first– Lewis always thought that Y/N L/N had everything made easy for her. Lewis had despised that you had climbed the ladders so quickly in such a short amount of time… where he had to bear the prejudice, discrimination, bigotry and grudgingly wait, swallowing his pride for so many years at the chance in Formula 1. He hated that the pretty girl had made her way through the system without much of a hiccup.

With the plan in mind, Lewis started with flirting here and there– which Y/N had only prompted back with humor, not showing any true interest. Then came the banter, side jokes, and actually spending time together that ultimately opened the avenue of Lewis to get to know you, proving Lewis wrong of his prejudice against you. He saw himself in you, the pain and struggle that came with not fitting in with the cookie cutter image of Formula 1. Lewis Hamilton had seen your courage, tenacity, and will to prove to everyone that you belonged in the sport. In this you had earned his respect.

The friendship between the two of you bloomed. Lewis eagerly sought for your companionship and conversation, he had found a true friend in you. Then the gifts had started coming in – it was all in good heartedness at first, a true gesture of appreciation. Everything was innocent at first, Lewis had forgotten why he had approached you in the first place. That was till the big boss had reminded him of their agreement and toxified Lewis’ mind yet again – that he needed to prove himself to the world and to the team and all that. Then the flirtings came back and the intention of making Y/N his came back. And this time it was successful, Y/N had shown reciprocation to his advances.

Lewis had officially taken Y/N for himself. Lewis had enjoyed his time with you, all the memories you’ve built together from then forward were authentic and true. Through every ups and downs, you were with him. Without notice, Lewis Hamilton had unknowingly truly fallen for you. His agreement with Toto was the last thing on his mind.

However, that love was not enough to distinguish his desire for greatness. Lewis was still consumed by what the world offered. But everything became real and true way too fast for Lewis when the entry of a young Dutch driver to Formula 1 had happened. Suddenly his reign was shaken and it had clouded his judgment, even towards the person that he had loved. Lewis saw your friendly interactions with Max and he had seen you defend the young driver. In his panic, jealousy, and uncertainty, He had allowed Toto to manipulate him against the very person who had shown him love and care. He had once again allowed someone to poison his mind against you.

Lewis had started to doubt you and your love for him. He allowed the rumors and false accounts on you get to his head. And to his shame, Lewis had believed the stupidest thing that he could’ve thought— that Y/N was causing and conspiring in his fall and loss of the championship.

Lewis had believed that Y/N had betrayed him. He believed Toto’s words and he allowed Toto to demote Y/N. Lewis knew that he chose to believe everyone but the person that had loved him. And this had caused him the person he loved. Y/N had left him.

Regret was short of what Lewis felt. The emotional pain had manifested into pain that he felt on the outside. Lewis had felt pain like no other at the loss of Y/N. But it was a pain that he would choose to go through, if it meant that he finally realized the mistakes that brought pain to his Y/N. He would gladly go through the pain if it meant that he finally realized the depth of his love for the girl he once took for granted.

And He promised to himself that he will get her back and prove himself worthy to Y/N. Lewis Hamilton will take all means necessary to right his wrongs — and it starts within Mercedes, where the root of the problems began. Fuck the championship and the team. He wont let them touch Y/N again.

Exploding with simmering rage, Lewis had found himself in front of Toto Wolff’s office. Not bothering to knock, he had opened the door with a crashing bang not caring if he broke the office door or if everyone heard the commotion.

“WOLFF!! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” The loud shouts of Lewis filled the entire office.

“Calm down and close the damn door, Lewis” there sat behind his office table, a stack of paper in hand — Toto Wolff. The man’s expression was unreadable and cold. Toto knew how to keep his reactions and emotions away from the English champion. Toto Wolff always knew how to control and deal with Lewis Hamilton … until Lewis had fallen for Y/N L/N for real.

Toto can read Lewis Hamilton like an open book— Toto knew what Lewis’ thoughts were before he said them. But when Lewis had started to deviate from the plan, Lewis Hamilton’s priority had shifted. The champion had set his heart on you.

Lewis Hamilton had deviated from the plan. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the engineer. No, the plan was to date the girl to keep her in Mercedes, be his race engineer and keep her in line.

This was set between Lewis and Toto from when he transferred to the team. From day 1, everything was set in stone. But to Toto Wolff’s vexation, Y/N L/N had always come up on top.

Y/N L/N had turned his golden driver, the key to his success and fortune against him. Lewis Hamilton was no longer the puppet he could control. Just because he fell to the charms of the engineer.

“Shut the fuck up Wolff! Drop the fucking lawsuit on Y/N or I’ll swear I’ll tear this team and your reputation apart” Lewis raged, muscles tensing as he jabbed his finger menacingly at Toto.

***

“Christian what is this about? What is going on?” After you had received the urgent news. You had quickly made your way towards the Red Bull Motorhome.

Your phone was blasted with notifications from all social media platforms. Mercedes had the insolence of posting in the media of something that wasn’t yet to be discussed with you nor Red Bull. You knew that this was another dirty tactic on their part

“They’re suing you and the team for a data and contract breach” Christian had said begrudgingly as he sat back his chair, a hand on the bridge of his nose.

“What? On what grounds?” You asked exasperated as you took a seat in front of Christian’s table.

“Here’s a copy of their claim” Christian gave you a copy of the paper from Mercedes. You flipped through the pages and you couldn’t help but mockingly laugh.

You were being sued on the grounds of sharing information on team and driver strategies to Red Bull and that you didn’t finish your employment contract with them. You could help but think of how desperate and pathetic they could be.

How can they be so petty and think of you cheating just cause they couldn’t win against you.

“Wow, they couldn’t handle the fact that they’re loosing, huh. What did the FIA say?” You once again asked your team principal.

Suddenly the door opened revealing a disheveled Max— who seemed to have ran his way here.

“What the fuck did I hear about a lawsuit?!” Max was hysterical as he made his way into the room.

Christian didn’t mind the Dutch driver as he answered my question.

“They haven’t contacted us yet, but expect that you will be suspended from engineering for Max till end of the season.” A look of sympathy had shown itself on the principal.

“They wouldn’t dare! Y/N is innocent! Just cause they cant swallow their incompetence, they target Y/N?! Cowardly motherfuckers” Max ranted.

They expected you to cower and run for the hills, but this was something you had already planned on them doing. Petty and underhanded actions are Mercedes’ MO and you are prepared for it.

If they wanted to play it this way, then you’ll up them in their own game.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have your back and we’ll do everything in our power to prove your innocence” Christian had said showing his support. Meanwhile Max was on his phone typing away muttering under his breath that he’ll pay millions for the best lawyer for you.

“Thank you Christian, it’s very much appreciated! Great to know the team has my back. But I think we should fight fire by fire first” you smiled at them menacingly as looks of confusion appeared on them.

“What do you mean, Liebling?” Max questioned

“A counterclaim on Mercedes on the grounds of employee maltreatment and workplace harassment — don’t worry, Nico will testify if needed” You smiled brightly, as if what you said was nothing.

“It will only be fair if we take this to the media as well right? They did start it first” you added.

“That will ruin the reputation of Mercedes… are you sure, y/n? They will be out for blood.” Christian warned.

The pain, humiliation, and mental abuse you’ve experienced in that motorhome, everything they’ve done to you came rushing back.

“They’ve ruined mine and they’re dragging the team into. Its only fair”

“Y/N there are hundreds of employees at Mercedes that will face fire. Are you certainly sure?”

“Mercedes will survive, it’s only the principal and top management that needs total revamping.”

***

Red Bull had just posted their response to Mercedes and all of motorsports was having a field day. All sports news was covering the debacle between the two motor teams.

Your phone was once again lighting up with notifications. And one particular message has gotten your attention that you couldn’t help but reply.

Upon reading the last reply, your heart dropped to your stomach. Should you ask Max?

Max wouldn’t do anything like that right? Max knew what Toto Wolff had done to you… he wouldn’t work with Toto right?

Max knew you detested the man that made your life a living hell. Max would never.

Yeah … he wouldn’t.

Anyone interested to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or DM me!

Taglist : @vicurious28 @xoscar03 @barnestatic @stelena-klayley @sopheeg @imagandom @4-20-21-12 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @minkyungseokie @d3kstar @kimialaia @cosmicwintr @younxii @ssrcsm @paigem00 @seokjinkismet @wcnorris @jayjay11122 @embersparklz @sam-is-lost @peterholland04 @luckyladycreator2 @lovemesomeescapism @yettobedetermined7 @nikfigueiredo @ironmaiden1313 @alliwantisadonut @uuoozzii @marshmummy @kemillyfreitas @yaesflorist @zoeyjadetice2010 @splaterparty0-0 @likedbygaslyy @myinternettlifeimagine @ilamara @pluviophilefangirl @starssfall @haydensith @adoreleeknw @leilanixx @dr4g0ngirl @forfeityourbugs @choisannyreads @justtprachisblog @felicityforyou @jehun @halleest @closestthingtocoffee @jexxy04 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @a-beaverhausen

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.

[megamindsecretlair]

Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?

A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?

Blackbird, Part 1: Lust

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?

Word Count: 10,810k

Part 2

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby

Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection. 

The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you. 

“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now. 

Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death. 

The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around. 

He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile. 

Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy. 

Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something. 

Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record. 

“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.” 

“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair. 

They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered. 

You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck. 

“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack. 

You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.

One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.

You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood. 

One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you. 

You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them. 

“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you. 

Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled. 

He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him. 

“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt. 

“You heading inside?” He asked. 

“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.

The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face. 

Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.

“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.

“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both. 

“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not. 

You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense. 

“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth. 

You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said. 

“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.

“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.

“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin. 

“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.

“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.

“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous. 

You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.  

You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.

“Probably,” you said. 

He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.

You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.  

“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.

“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him. 

“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish. 

“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup. 

You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.

You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours. 

Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club. 

You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number. 

Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.

“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror. 

“Another day?” She asked.

“Another dollar,” you said back. 

You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations. 

The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.

You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time. 

They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever. 

Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up. 

You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley. 

Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top. 

So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”. 

You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas. 

As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine. 

You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.

The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”. 

Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples. 

“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!” 

You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain. 

“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you. 

“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted. 

Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies. 

“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said. 

“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips. 

“Sheeit, this is better,” he said. 

You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.

“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes. 

A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.

“Your turn,” you said.

“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.

“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark. 

“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”

“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said. 

“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”

Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.

Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires. 

Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head. 

You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.

“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms. 

Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.

“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.

“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact. 

You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news? 

“Moved up how?” You asked. 

“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma. 

“I cannot with you,” you said. 

Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but. 

He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.

“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said. 

“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins. 

“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building. 

“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door. 

“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile. 

His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.

You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up. 

But, but, but.

“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said. 

“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said. 

You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it. 

“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer. 

The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life. 

If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.

You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.

So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close. 

That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.

You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said. 

Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body. 

Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger. 

“Would you like to continue?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”

Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all. 

After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit. 

There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans. 

You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.

Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate. 

But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too. 

He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down. 

Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it. 

When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you. 

And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting. 

Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door. 

Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore. 

As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy. 

Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles. 

“Hey you,” you said. 

“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said. 

“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked. 

“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth. 

“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you. 

But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you. 

“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked. 

“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach. 

“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be. 

When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.

It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now. 

Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.

It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous. 

Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside. 

“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.

“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed. 

“You really do look good,” you said. 

“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom. 

“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute. 

“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.

“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word. 

Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself. 

Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you. 

As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee. 

You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses. 

“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.

“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless. 

“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.

“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute. 

Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.

Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked. 

“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.

“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said. 

“I do not! Just answer my question!” 

Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams. 

“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”

He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it. 

“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.

When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear. 

Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.

Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes. 

You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.

It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room. 

With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up. 

You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.

You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it. 

There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway. 

Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started. 

She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free. 

You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then. 

There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers. 

Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy. 

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.

You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.

You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.

“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this. 

After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here. 

Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said. 

You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to. 

You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.

“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth. 

“Fontaine?” You asked. 

He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat. 

“Delicious,” he said. 

He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties. 

“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.

“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat. 

“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.

In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.

He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you. 

“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.

The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction. 

You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.

It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back. 

“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

“Where we going?” He asked.

“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone. 

You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything. 

The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera. 

“Forreal this time!” You giggled. 

Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes. 

You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them. 

“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.

“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked. 

“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips. 

“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said. 

Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you. 

His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way. 

The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them. 

Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee. 

Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it. 

You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him. 

But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade. 

You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure. 

Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer. 

He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.

He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.

You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.

You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said. 

“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire. 

You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck. 

You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down. 

“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.

You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.

That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips. 

You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you. 

You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.

You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.

He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing. 

Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.

You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?” 

You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that. 

Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.

He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth. 

His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips. 

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking. 

He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.

“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer. 

“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.

“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.

He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him. 

He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.

You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.

He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.

You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!” 

He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you. 

You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”

“Fon-tai–” you moaned.

“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.

He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes. 

He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned. 

Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself. 

“You-you didn’t…” 

“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.

He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you. 

“Fuck!” You moaned. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.

He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.

“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.

You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm. 

“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned. 

“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie. 

Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move. 

Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.

“You’re so damn cute,” he said. 

“You are,” you said and smiled.

“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked. 

You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said. 

“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.

You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.” 

The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.

“Only if you want to,” you said.

He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.

He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him. 

“I want you to stay, please.”

He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else. 

Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.

Me and you. 

You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.

You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight. 

There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.

Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files

Graphics by saradika-graphics

[polygnosticu]

Hi! l saw your comments in a post you were saying something like how Luz abandoned the others. l was wondering your thoughts on this and especially about the relationship between Lumity.

My thoughts are that Luz isn't the character that her stans want her to be. She's not a good person.

In Thanks to Them Luz was shown being prepared to abandon her Hexside friends as well as the entire Demon Realm to their fates at the hands of Belos and the Collector. She had made this decision without discussing it with any of them with the intention of not telling them until the last possible second when they couldn't do anything about it. The only thing that saved everybody was Camila's intervention.

This was an unconscionable act of cruelty on Luz' part and proves a hypothesis I had about Luz from her first appearance. Luz never took the Boiling Isles and the people who live there seriously. She treated the place like her own personal fantasyland and the people who lived there as NPCs in her self insert fan fic. We can see this in how Luz based all of her decisions there in reference to Azura. Her only interest in Amity was how she served as Hecate to her Azura and wanted to befriend her on that basis rather than learn anything about her as a person.

She interfered with Willow's life and violated her boundaries trying to fit Willow into her Azura fantasy model. In both Understanding Willow and Wing it Like Witches Willow asked Luz not to interfere with her decisions on how she handled her problems. In both cases Luz ignored Willow in favor of her Azura fantasy and Willow suffered as a result. After Luz did this a second time Willow walked away from the friendship. Luz had to work her butt off to earn back Willow's trust and friendship.

Luz was fine with playing in the Boiling Isles as long as it was fun and things were going her way. When Belos and the Collector showed up and things started getting serious and people started getting hurt Luz turned her back on the place and ran. She was prepared to abandon the entire enterprise because she never saw the Boiling Isles as a real place with real people and real problems.

Lumity isn't a relationship. It's a mutual crush between two fourteen year old children. They are not in love with each other because they are both too young and too emotionally damaged to even know what that means. Prior to Lumity neither Luz nor Amity has even had a successful friendship with anyone much less a full romantic commitment yet stans want to see Lumity as this perfect relationship that will last the two of them to the grave.

Luz is crushing on Amity and does not take her seriously. Luz is fine with the fun parts of crushing on Amity but when things get serious Luz is actively cruel to Amity. Luz lies to Amity repeatedly even though Amity knows Luz is lying to her and has asked her to stop. Luz didn't stop. Luz emotionally abandons Amity and seeks comfort in Hunter in whom she confides her secrets rather than Amity. In real life this behavior would be considered emotional abuse.

Amity has become codependent on Luz. Amity has given up every other aspect of her life to become Luz' awesome girlfriend. Amity no longer even challenges Luz the way she did in Lost in Language and Adventures in the Elements. When Eda did these things to Raine, Raine walked away from the relationship. Raine loved Eda but wouldn't tolerate Eda lying to them. Willow walked away from Luz when Luz violated her boundaries. Twice. Amity doesn't walk away from Luz despite being obviously hurt by Luz' lies. She is in a complete state of codependency on Luz. We've seen that other people don't tolerate this behavior from Luz. Amity does.

So these are my thoughts. If you have any questions or thoughts of your own to contribute, by all means feel free.

[itsjustaninchident]

You Are in Love

Lando Norris x Interior Designer!Reader

socmed au

summary: seems like mclaren's driver is not available in the market anymore but the real question is, to whom?

warning/s: none

author's note: This is a part 2 for this. Didn't expect that much love from the first part😭 I am overwhelmed and thankful for y'all. Also please request more socmed au ideas :)) <333

F1wagsupdates

liked by pierregasly, sharlechair, and 2,032 others

F1wagsupdates there has been numerous rumors circulating that a certain driver from the orange team is dating someone. To further confirm a friend of the driver accidentally posted a photo of what seem like a romantic weekend getaway for the lovebirds. How true is it this time?

view 345 comments...

user1 I'VE BEEN TELLING Y'ALL THIS

user2 THIS IS DEFINITELY LANDO

user3 why can't you guys leave them alone. I'm sure they would've posted it on their socials if they wanted you all up in their business 🙄

user4 @/user5 pay up! im so right!

user5 NOT UNTIL HE HIMSELF OUTS HIS RELATIONSHIP

user6 I wonder who the girl is ?

user7 probably another model or influencer

user8 ABOUT TIME

user9 I'VE PRAYED FOR DAYS LIKE THIS

yourusername

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and 324 others

yourusername romantic weekend getaway they say🫢

view 23 comments...

yourbestfriend digging your own grave, i see

yourusername totally not😆

lilymhe you're so pretty bae!

yourusername I LOVE YOU

lilymhe tell L I'll literally steal you from him!

yourusername no need for that love im all yours!

alexalbon leave my girlfriend alone!

yourusername she still prefers me over you 😛

user1 ARIANA (lando) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

user2 what are the other drivers and lily doing here? 👀

via twitter...

yourusername added to their story

landonorris

liked by charlesleclerc, maxfewtrell, and 638,978 others

landonorris romantic getaway with my love😉

view 485 comments...

user1 oh OH he's brave now!

yourusername romantic indeed 😂

landonorris are u in any type of way feeling romantic?

user2 NOT THEM HAVING AN INSIDE JOKE BEC OF THE POST

user3 THEY'RE SO CUTE WITH THEIR LITTLE INSIDE JOKE😭

user4 god ive seen what you've done to others

user5 idk if i still have any "me n who" i got in me

user6 they're so cute :'))

user7 i think i have an addition to my favorite wags

user8 SHE'S SO GORGEOUS LEAVE HIM QUEEN AND BE WITH ME INSTEAD

user9 although it's out now i hope people will still respect their privacy especially yn's !

lilymhe can't wait to meet you again!

landonorris stop trying to steal my girlfriend!

lilymhe never!

user10 NOT THEM FIGHTING OVER YN😭

maxfewtrell finally!

carlossainz55 tell yn we'll play golf together

landonorris you'll just replace me like that?

carlossainz55 can't help it if she's better than you

landonorris this is hurting me too much

danielricciardo hope to see u both again soon!

liked by yourusername and landonorris

user10 yn being loved by everyone 🥺

user11 the fact that they seem to love yn more than lando now is so funny to me😭

landonorris no one can ever love yn more than me though 😏

user12 HELP HE'S DOWN BAD

user13 IM SO JEALOUS RN😭

[chlmtsdoll]

my suggestion could be i dont know if you seen this show called the l word before but there is a character named dana fairbanks and she RADIATES tashi duncan energy. so if you could maybe make a dana fairbanks inspired tashi duncan x reader or if you haven’t seen it i was thinking former model reader x tashi is a good one too 🤍

I’ve literally always wanted to watch the L word and I’m gonna have to start it soon bc I GET what you mean omg !!! And former model reader x Tashi hits my niche on the NOSE. This took me forever to publish bc I just had so many ideas I wanted to go with 😭 so I hope this is good !!! 🤍

IS IT A CRIME TO WANNA SHINE ?

✩ Pairing: Tashi Duncan x reader

✩ Word count: 3k

✩ Summary: your a wild and free it-girl, adjacent to a life going on to be an inspiring top model when you suddenly meet Tashi, you then start to crave even more

✩ Warnings: eventual smut !, gxg, age gap (reader early 20's) Tashi mid to late 30’s, failed!marriage Tashi, fingering, slight angst, spanking, cursing, degrading, pet names, needy reader, brief mentions of substances, Tashi went blonde after her divorce (blonde hair Z during the Challengers press tour)

Your life was casting calls, early (or late night) rehearsals & fittings, caffeine runs, flights back and forth around the country, and fashion show after fashion show, after party after after party..

You loved the career you were lucky enough to pursue, you had all the beauty, ideal body, and money. You’d been on top of the world but you were also twenty two and nearing burnout.

Your love life was non existent unless it was last minute hook ups, and you’d go home to a cold bed. Empty hearted and longing for someone to make it all change.

And it did change rather quickly when you met her.

“Um- excuse me, can I get by ?” You covered your eyes as lights and flashes blinded you. Trying your best to maneuver by meddling paparazzi, and your few body guards were barely any help. You were rising to the top but still hadn’t always been able to get the best protection which was essential for a young girl like you — even though to the outsiders it had seemed your life was so glamorous and beyond, even a dazzling starlet like you had struggles. It wasn’t always pretty.

You had finally been able to scurry to your limo and you were taken off fast to your next destination, an after party hidden for only the most relevant socialites and models in the industry. You’d known a few athletes and actors would have been there too since the club was well known yet anyone hardly got an invite.

Even you were declared lucky enough to be attending as you were still merely just an it-girl trying to find her place on the scale. When security tried to stop and ask you for verification because you looked far underaged, you rolled your eyes and dug through your thousand dollar Versace bag you did not pay for, to pull out your id.

Just a walk around, say hi to a couple known faces, and go home. We have an early rehearsal tomorrow.

You had a drill. The dozens of times you’d gone to these parties, you learned it was all a tactic,. simply being just work and networking for you — you were on a schedule. As much of a sex symbol your agents tried to present you as, deep down you’d still been this shy and reserved girl from your home tow, only difference is you just knew you had bigger places to be.

Lights low and music blaring throughout the place filled with bodies and people way too into their own self obsession to notice you after a while, all you wanted to do was have a smoke, maybe a drink. You’d known as big as the space was there had to be somewhere you could get away.

You headed upstairs to another area that was a bar as well, but much more relaxed. No club lights flashing and heels clashing against the marble floors by influencers hanging off their nearing the grave “boyfriends”.

But there had been one person sitting at the bar, and there had definitely been some interesting heels.

You’d seen the back of her excellent lean body. Almost in a way that was unreal. Legs had been slender and long, you had to double check if you’d been hallucinating at the sight of her.

She’d been wearing a full sparkling silver dress that had a pleated skirt with a few navy blue stripes lining it. It was preppy but in a glamorous and classy way.

Her skin tan and soft short blonde curls sat on her shoulders, it gave you a Marylin Monroe feel. And her heels — you’d never seen anything like them. They were Louboutins with tennis balls on the six inch heel ?

You took a breath as you examined her figure, stepping in the quieter room, you’d gone straight to the bartender as they asked your drink preference.

“Um, a gin and tonic please ?” you thanked the bartender before turning to peer at the woman a few feet from you, her hair draped over most of her face and all you could really see was her perfectly sculpted nose.

“Are those… tennis balls on your heels ?” You questioned softly, and the blonde had looked up at you, striking brown eyes searched your face under her lashes coated beautifully with mascara.

You had swallowed over a new lump in your throat at her gorgeous features. Never had you seen a woman so beautiful.

She’d look so familiar as well, you couldn’t tell if it was nolstagia, but you could of sworn you had posters of her on your walls when you were young- oh my god.

It’s Tashi Duncan.

The blonde highlights had thrown you a curb since you always remembered her with brown hair, but you remembered she had been much older since the days when she was every tennis girls idol in your eleventh year. Plus, you’d heard she’d gotten a divorce with her star tennis player husband, Art Donaldson.

Either way, fuck had the blonde complimented her eloquently. You’d been completely mesmerized by the way it framed her face.

“Oh these ? Yeah, they’re Loewe.” Her tone smooth as she looked down at the silky white shoes with a striking heel, neon green from the balls just tying it all together.

“I-I love them,” later you’d scorn yourself for stuttering like some starstruck fan. “Are you debuting in fashion week this year ? Not to be a bother but, you’re such a huge inspiration for women like me..you’re amazing.”

You shut your eyes quickly. You sounded way too juvenile. But Tashi had showcased a small flattered smile as she examined you face. You expected her to be unbothered and just walk away, after all you were merely just a dumb little model girl, frolicking around New York on a trust fund to her. She was a powerful and sophisticated woman who worked hard for everything she has. With all her shit together and much more life experience than you.

“No, I um.. I’m here for the fashion, but what to add to my company’s new roll out. I’m looking for models to campaign for me as well, but no luck so far. A lot of these girls all the same, and the designers they walk for pussy.” she spoke over her glass of vodka and your eyes glossed over with an immediate burn of yearning taking over your body.

You had forgotten that after Tashi stopped playing tennis from her infamous injury, but she hadn’t stopped there. She became one of the biggest business women in the industry, with her name tied to multiple brands. She was richer than your worth to be standing next her right now — but you were a strong believer in destiny. And being told she was looking for models to run for her brand,

She might as well say she’d been looking for you.

“Oh, that’s.. awesome. I’m walking in Milan for Vera Wang in a fortnight. But yeah, they make this all seem so serious but a lot of it is bullshit.” You thought if you threw in some pretty words she’d take you seriously. Coming from being in this industry since you were sixteen years old, you knew your way around selling yourself quick and sharply. In desperate hope she’d maybe let it run through her own to let you model for such a woman like herself. That you weren’t just one of those model girls.

“Lovely.” Tashi’s eyes graced over your tall slender body, you’d been so happy you went with a shorter Chanel dress and not the leather Prada pants you we’re pondering on. “You play tennis ? I know a lot of younger models love to think they’re all tennis players these days.”

You couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh at her joke, but it had been true, you nodded over your glass of gin.

“Yeah, I play a little here and there with friends. But nothing like your upbringing, my god, I could never.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.” Her eyes had narrowed but still sparked all the way, and she’d glanced at the way you licked your lips shorty. Your face heating up at the way her finger ran around the rim of her glass.

You couldn’t help but think about them sinking into your mouth.

Tashi took a breath to lean back against her chair, then she had leaned up to asked the bartender for a pen and napkin. When he brought it back to her, she had started scribbling on the paper, her slender fingers manicured with a nude color.

“If you ever want to model for me.” She handed you the napkin with her number and you’d feel like you had to stop breathing for a moment. Not even most high class brand deals had ever gotten you all flustered like this, but when it came to hot older women, you’d been like putty. You couldn’t deny it.

“Oh my god.. okay, okay I’d love to. I’ll contact you.” You had given her a girlish smile which you rarely ever did, it was all about resting bitch face, and to Tashi’s defense she had quite liked the lightness too you. The hope I’m your eyes that far too many girls your age had given up on already. She knew you had a spark.

In that moment, you had been already getting prepared for the dreams you’d have that night about being Tashi’s favorite and best model. When you said you wanted to be on top, you meant here.

And that was three years ago.

And not only had you become her best model, top seller in everything you wore, shown off on your angelic like body, making all your friends from your intern Jobs at Vogue envious with hate — that you’d eventually bump up even higher to becoming her girlfriend, but then that extended when you became the Tashi Duncan’s ex supermodel wife.

Now at the ripe age of twenty four, you’d no longer needed to run around to casting calls and auditions, nor even model unless either you desired too or you’d been offered to walk in fashion week.

You’d been promised a life of luxury. With Tashi by your side, letting you be her pride and joy that took her even farther to the next level. Your days had consisted of being a stay at home wife, going on yachts, accompanying her to photoshoots and work dinners, and you would even play tennis often in your free time with you and Tashi’s shared wealthy friends.

You had the life you’d always wanted in the palm of your hand, never did you honestly have to lift a finger. And definitely no thinking on your feet or wondering when the next spontaneous adventure would be really.

And as enticing as it all was, it could at times get a little mundane even for you.

“Make sure she arrives to her lessons on the dot. And I don’t want tv time running to late when practice is over.” you over heard Tashi on the phone with her mom whom was watching over her daughter Lily while the two of you took a quick work trip (flying to Europe.)

You’d been on Tashi’s private jet just about to take off in due time, and you watched as your wife sipped on a cup of Matcha by one of the window seats. Her light colored locks pulled up into a French roll, and some of her bangs hung over her lashes.

She wore a suit dress, white with fabric silky of the softest kind. The way she wore the blazer had her glowing tan skin on display. A true sight for sore eyes.

She was beautiful in every way, and not even your own overachiever mindset could still grasps the fact that she had been your wife overall.

“Okay. Love you too, bye.” Tashi hung up the phone and dropped it onto the table in front of her in a unbothered manner as she went right back to her laptop to check emails.

You, observant and always in witness of the life you two had altered together, watched her. Pondering by the cafe station that was stocked with dozens of different flavors from teas to lattes and all kinds of milks and creamers to choose from.

You’d always gone with almond.

“We have to stop in Florence. There’s a dress fitting you have to attend with Ralph Lauren for this seasons collab.” Tashi spoke to you in orderly to you as she hadn’t even looked up from her laptop screen to meet your eyes. She took a sip from her cup and went right back to typing, you had scoffed and shook your head a bit as you pushed away the container of sugar in your hands,

Leaning against the counter, you remembered when you’d been in your honeymoon phase with the woman you loved most. Happily traveling across the country with her full attention on you. You missed that rush.

You missed her.

“Oh..” you trailed on, voice reluctant as you looked down at your cup, dark black tea. You didn’t even need to look because now you’d known Tashi’s eyes had found your figure from just a few Louis Vuitton sit cases away.

“Yeah ? What’s up ?” Her voice was light although you knew she had picked up on your distance. Now giving you full attention of whatever you had been disproving of from just the sound of your voice.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment at your puzzled expression, finger tips hover the rim of her mug.

“I just thought we’d get Dior this season.” Is all you said. Standing up straighter and looking at the woman who nodded.

“Well, they haven’t decided on if we can or can’t do a campaign this year, it’s been a couple of years we’ve been trying. You know that.” Tashi answered as she let her mug down and you’d known the slight annoyance in her voice all too well. You bit your lip a little in thought.

“I just thought this would be the year. I want Dior, I want to work with them this season.”

Tashi looked at you with a blank expression, trying not to play this game she’d known you’d been treading on for a while now, and you tried not to break a grin at her switch in demeanor to your obvious attempt to make her get unpleasant with you.

“Are you being ungrateful ?”

“No.”

“You’re acting like it.”

“I want a say in what I wear, who I walk for.” You had addressed her more sternly and it was a small moment that had passed before Tashi got up from where she was sitting, to trot over to you calmly.

But that wasn’t so when her hand came up to you sharp, bringing slight pain when she grabbed your chin in her grasp so you could look her eye to eye.

“You don’t wanna do it. Don’t do it. But you can leave.”

Your eyes went to her unsympathetic expression quick, and you tried not to whine at her hold on you.

“You can always leave because I don’t think it runs through that pretty little head of yours that I didn’t get divorced and remarried just to repeat the same shit I did with him. You think this is some fucking charity ?”

You fell back on forming a response when the glint in Tashis eyes as she narrowed at you had, scared you much more than you intended — yet at the same time you couldn’t look away as she got in your face.

“I give you everything. Life, a career, a voice. Let you choose your own hours and let you become of whatever you want while you whine and complain in jewelry that cost more than most people’s rent. And you want what ?” Tashi furrowed her eyebrow as she had grow repugnant of you, which you couldn’t help but love.

“Don’t forget I was your boss first. And I always will be.” Her tone has gone darker as she peers at you, your eyes wide with craving and you’d be lying if you said your core hadn’t become soaking wet when her sent of oak and raspberries was almost suffocating you now.

You’d shown her a soft grin on your lips, signaling you couldn’t have wanted her more right then, she wet her lips intermittently. Tashi turned you around with force and pushed your lower back onto the counter that was embarking you,

“Is this what you want ?” The woman croaked hungrily over your ear as she pushed on your slender body to bend over for her,

“Yes,” you let out a breathe of satisfaction finally.

panting softly as her hands explored your shape and your eyebrows knitted in exhausting bliss when her palm had came down hard on your now exposed ass.

Tashi kissed the space between your neck and shoulders briefly as she whispered,

“You’ve always been an attention whore.”

You couldn’t help but smile as she pulled on your hair to lean up and her fingers graced your heat, wet and pulsing for her. Tashi had hesitated before dipping them into you and you let out a pleading moan, face against the cold marble counter top.

You clawed at something to grab at as her digits pumped you slow than gradually faster, other hand grasping at your waist to seize you because she knew you’d come quick.

And you did with half a cry and half whimper.

You only had a second to catch your breath before Tashi pulled you up straight. She had gently placed your skirt back over your thighs, fixing your presence back to how she found you. Your wife then hovered over your lips,

“Behave.” Was the last thing she said to you without even an apologetic kiss before walking back to her lap top like nothing. You had gone back to your tea and with a pleased simper on your lips indeed.

You were a wild card that would do whatever to be under Tashi’s control, have her notice, and with that she’d known that you’d now be her perfect little model the moment you two would land this evening.

[dollielliot]

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏the missions (these are excerpts from eric harris's site)͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏❀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏

[CONTENT MISSING]

1 The first was when we put an entire assortment of very loud fireworks in a tunnel, and lit them off at about 1:00AM. This mission was part of a rebellion against these assholes that shot one of our bikes one day. They were rather angry that night, and we were very happy. We will be doing another hit on their house sometime in the near future. And that one will be much closer. And louder.

After each mission we get drunk. Not with wimpy beer, we only use hard liquor. Aftershock, Irish Cream, Tequila, Vodka, Whiskey, Rum, and sometimes a few shots of EVERCLEAR. We also sometimes make up our own shooters. And sample others (never try a prairie fire, its killer!). In our next few missions, we are planning to hit the dorks house a few more times, along with a few other houses. And also set off some more fireworks at that tunnel. We each have a large supply of fireworks...loud ones...and soon I will have my license and we can drive around any place we want to. heh heh. Soon I will be putting our directions for mixing drinks that we make up. We will put up any good shooter or other drink that we try. So check this place out often.

[CONTENT MISSING]

R....e....b....e....l....C....l....a....n

this page was written by REB

REB VoDkA KIBBz

2 Our second mission was against this complete and utter fag's house. Everyone in our school hates this immature little weakling. So we decided to "hit" his house. On Friday night (2/7/97) at about 12:15AM we arrived at this queer's house. Fully equipped with 3 eggs, 2 rolls of toilet paper, the cheap brand, no pretty flowers, (we were disappointed to) superglue, and the proper tools to make his phone box a busy box (for those of you that are stupid, a buy box is where you set their box so that when they try to make a call, they get a busy signal and when someone else calls, they get a busy signal too). We placed 2 eggs in his very large, thick bushes. We just barely cracked them open so they will be producing a rather repulsive and extremely BAD odor for sometime. We placed the last egg on his "welcome" mat. It was very neat, I cracked the egg, put the yoke in the center, and the 2 halves on either side of the yoke. Then we teepeed his large pine tree and this...oak? tree. I don't know, it's big though. It wasn't a complete teepee but it was enough to agitate the homeowner greatly. We also put the superglue on the front door and on the little red mailbox flag. 

3 This mission was an attack on the people who shot Vodka's bike, and on some random houses. First, after sneaking out of my house at around 1:55, we lit off 1 strand of 200 thunderbombs and 6 bottle rockets. We had also set a time delayed assortment too. This was made of 10 bottle rockets and a few crackling balls. We aren't really sure if those went off though because by the time they would have, we were a mile away. After the fireworks we went over to this asshole's house. His name is brooks brown {redacted by FBI and missing in files - possibly home address}. If any of you feel like pranking him. Anyway, we didn't really do much to him. Just put some model puddy on his Merc. Then, we went to another kid's house, and started to teepee his big, tall, thick, thorny-ass-tree. We set off the motion detectors about 4 times, and we dodged 1 car. But we didn't get caught! His tree was completely covered and wrapped in ass wiping paper. Even though we only had 4 rolls, we did one helluva good job. After that we moved some rather large rocks onto people's driveways and tagged RC into a fence. Then, we came home and got drunk while watching Bordello of Blood. 

4 This mission was frehkin unique. The mission was from my house (REB), through the corridor, past the graves, and to the place where we do all of our fireworks. It was supposed to be like the other missions to this place. The weather was nice, we had 4 items made up and ready for use. The first fuse didn't work. The second fuse malfunctioned also. Both of those items were just about 100-120 thunderbombs strapped together. We had one more like the first 2 and we also had a little contraption of bottle rockets. These bottle rockets were strapped together, and put into a bottle. We placed this bottle on top of a large hill. So quite a few people could see. After about the 3rd try, I decided to just light the fuses that were directly from the rockets. Usually we use loooong fuses so we have time to get away. But this time, with Vodka and Kibbz standing over in front of some bigass shrubbery. I just did the direct fuse. After lighting it I ran like a sonuvabitch to Vodka and Kibbz.

 By the time I made it to them the rockets were starting to go off. We had about 50 in the assortment, so it lasted a while. It was rather perrrty. Then we busted the bottle and went BACK to the 2 strips that didn't work. They both had rather crappy quality fuses so they went out before they reached their target. I took the last one, tied the remainder of the first 2 fuses to it, and lit it for the final f*ckin time. Since I am the fastest in the group, I usually light the fuses and Kibbz would be at the point where we stop running. Vodka would keep guard while I light. This time both of them went over and laid down on the side of this hill about 100 yards away. This would be the first time we have ever seen our own work in action. All the other times we just heard them. I lit it, ran to the hill, and watched the lovely ass fireworks go off. They lasted about 45 seconds, a total of around 400 went off. Dogs were barkin and everything. It was really cool to see em all to. 

After that we went to this point in the trails that looked like the Q from quake. We smoked some cigars, and headed home. Except...when we were a few blocks away from home, we had an incident. We were walking along the sidewalk when a f*cking garage door opened at the house that we were right by! We bolted into that person's yard...and ducked down and tried to be as quiet as possible. This adult came out, got his newspaper(it was about 4:30 in the AM) and went back in. I tried to signal Vodka and Kibbz but they didn't see me. We waited...a few minutes later the man got in his car and started down his driveway. The flood of lights from his car just covered us. He stopped, got out, and yelled "WHO ARE YOU!" we got up, said we were just passin through and stuff, and he kept sayin "GET OUT OF HERE", "ILL CALL THE COPS!" and "WHO ARE YOU." We f*ckin hauled assholes and elbows home. 

This mission was also liquor free as a result of this person named Brooks Brown {redacted by FBI and missing in files - possibly home address} who tried to narc on us. Telling my parents that I had booze and @#%$ in my room. I had to ditch every bottle I had and lie like a f*ckin salesman to my parents. All because Brooks Brown thought I put a little nik in his windshield from a snowball.......BS? yes, Anyway, that was mission 4.

5 This mission was one of the best we ever did. This was from Kibbz's house to several locations in his neighborhood. That night was probably the longest walk we ever did. First we went to this soccer field/playground. It was right on the corner of a very busy intersection. So every minute we had cars going by. There was a lot of moonlight that night, we got to the playground and dodged the lights of cars for about 20 minutes. Then we decided what our first strike would be like.

We got a big McD's cup, and went to the center field of the soccer field. We got out about 20 bottle rockets that were stripped together, and a 100 somethin strip of blackcats. Each had very good and long fuses so we had lots of time. We lit them, and ran over and got in front of these big pine trees. We were totally out of vision. The rockets went off first. They launched out over the field and then the strip went off, after that we started goin back the way we came. Which went through this trail about 35 yards wide with houses on either side. We found this large metal tub...perfect for firecrackers!!! We decided that Kibbz and Vodka would walk off toward the street on the other side of the trail and hide behind some trees while I lit it. Except...the street was over 100 yards away. And they were about 15 yards past it. Once they signaled me, I lit the small assortment of thunderbombs and about 50 stickless bottle rockets. They would only make sound, no visual effects. But anyway, I lit and sprinted the whole f*ckin way. About 3/4ths the way the fireworks went off, I was right in the middle of this bigass trail.

I never ran so fast in all the missions. But I made it to the others and watched all these lights go on from the houses. Then we walked over to this big open hill between some houses and a busy street. We got a long wooden board and placed it on the hill. We had a long strip of about 200 and a little brick of about 3 packs of thunderbombs. This time we used a cigarette fuse. We only needed about an inch of it. We lit the cigarette and went over to hide behind some trees. When it went off it was VERY loud where we were so we bolted outa there. After a few minutes we went back to see if all the stuff had gone off and it all did. So we got some souvaneers (i know misspelled) and went home. Drank some Aftershock that night too. We were supposed to have a few chicks come with us, but they couldn't make it...so maybe next time.

[CONTENT MISSING]

              6. Awwww yeya. This mission was so fuckin fun man. Ok, first of all, my dad was the only parent home so it was much easier getting out...but still hard since all these rocks in my backyard make so much noise. Plus the neighbors faulting dog barking its faulting head off. First we went through the corridor...going through some very tall grass fields...not as tall as the ones in the Lost World, but close. Felt kinda cool. Then we set up the strip of 1132 firecrackers. Using w cigarettes as starting fuses, we had plenty of time to spare. We also had a nice little crackering fountain hooked up to the fuses too. After a few minutes of setting it up, we lit it and went over and hid it on top of this big cement pipe going under a street. We were on the side of a hill so we hid in the grass. There was also a full moon that night, and not a foaming cloud in the sky. So it was like noon on the equator when we were out in the open. But, black clothing and tall grass sure helps. After about 5 minutes (forever) it began.

Beforehand we watched as some lights in the target house went on.....then off. Maybe the bastard heard something. But when the strip started, he turned his bedroom lights off. The strip lasted for about 30 seconds.....we think.....it was very fucking long. Almost all of it went off, loud and bright, everything worked exactly how we wanted it to. After about 15 minutes we started down the bike trail to the next target. The first targets lights were on again in the bedroom but we think we got away undetected. While we were walking to the next target we shot some stuff. Heh, VoDkA brought his sawed off BB gun and a few BBs too. So we loaded it, pumped it, and fired a few shots at some houses and trees and stuff. We probably didn't do any damage to any houses, but we aren't sure. The gun was not loud at all, which is very good. At the next target, we set up the saturn missile battery and the rockets. These both had fuses about 2-3 feet long. I lit them as VoDka and KiBBs were hiding in the shadows. 

Luckily there were some trees and stuff at the 2nd target so we could hide pretty good. Anyway, I lit and went over to the others. We watched as the fuses burned and burned...then the rockets went off. It was pretty nice, not so much meant as a prank, but more as a nice little fireworks show. They made some noise, but nothing to shit yer pants about. But the battery didn't work. So I went back, checked it out, and the fuse had burned down to about 2 inches. So I just said up yours baby nad lit it. Right as I made it back to the others it went off. It was pretty quick, and loud too. Since the missiles are whistlers, they probably woke up a few residents. YEY. Then we started heading to this construction site. It’s right on the side of a kind of busy road, but before the houses. We dodged a few cars, messed around at the site and we also swiped some signs from this fence that was put up around the soon-to-be-foundation of whatever is being built. The signs read "RENT-A-FENCE" and had some 1 800 number on them. So we got some very nice souvoneers (spelled close enuf) from that place.

Then, as KIBBz and VoDkA were down in the foundation hole and I was up on top, a cop drove by. We had enough time to see it, take cover, and watch it go by, so it didn't get us by surprise. But once we saw it was a cop we decided it was time to farming LEAVE. He didn't stop, he drove right by, but @#%$ he mighta been looking for us. So we got out of the fence, grabbed our signs and went to the neighborhood again. We didn't have that much trouble getting back home, just some dogs and @#%$. Once we got in, we were tired as a priest after a 5 hour orgy. The total mission took about 3 hours. We left around 12:30 and got back around 3-3:30. We are not very sure but it lasted a while. And damit, it was well worth it. We needed that mission too, we were all pretty tired of waiting and our nerves were just about shot. So it was perdy relaxing to be free like that.

[CONTENT MISSING]

{mission unnumbered} [CONTENT MISSING]

NEXT MISSION=aaaan whenever

Ok people, I’m gonna let you in on the big secret of our clan. We aint no god damn stupid ass quake clan! We are more of a gang. We plan out and execute missions. Anyone pisses us off, we do a little deed to their house. Eggs, teepee, superglue, busyboxes, large amounts of fireworks, you name it and we will probably or already have done it. We have many enemies in our school, therefore we make many missions. It’s sort of a night time tradition for us. 

It’s a very close replica of the missions sites. But we have never seen the inside of the house…so we just guessed. It’s also cut off where the area isn't important (ya know I didn't want to put in all of the neighborhood!).  

The mission has been done. And the rebels…once again… emerged victorious. Vee falking blew de sheeeit outta lossa stoof!!

As for the next mission, we haven't decided what to do or where to do it. I had some thoughts about hiding in some large bushes and shooting stuff. Or maybe some more aerial attacks. But we need to go up to Wyoming and load up on that stuff. We are running low. Plus we just got our paychecks….they aren't big…but they can cover quite a bit of shit. We still need to get the fuses too. So far, the next mission will probly be in July sometime. But we AINT SURE. 

[CONTENT MISSING]

[adalricus]

Infatuated with you (pt.2)

Cw: mafia themes, yandere themes stalking, coercion, power abuse, non-consented surveillance, kidnapping, totally not proofread

Pt.1. Pt. 3

It had been a few weeks since you'd gotten into your current ... situation. It's safe to say you've met your fair share of people and persolities so far like...

Mi-Young Allison who was a Korean-american and your co-model, she was calm and always seemed to have something going on in her head then she would lead on. You asked what her name meant and it was truly suitable for her. She always seemed to be where you are, but you felt you had something on your chest around her. Suddenly one day you broke down and told her everything "Love you wouldn't understand why our boss does this, why we do this." When she said that you finally connected the dots, this whole agency was a front to make more money and she was a apart of it you tried to move away from her but she grabbed you. She was oddly strong and held you to her body."My lovely, maybe all the people here won't blatantly show how much they love you. I care about you and so does everyone here. More over there's no way any of us are letting you go, not ever."

Then you met a man by the name Jean Dubois who was happy so happy it was almost scary. He was the secretary " g'morning (y/n), how are you?" He asked as gleefully as usual "I'm fine, tired as all what about you?" You replied "I'm honestly elated now that you're her darling, oh and the boss is back in town tomorrow he wants to review all your photoshoots and finally meet you, so be prepared for my darling." He smiled before letting the photographer know you were there, as you walked to the designated photography room you felt your heart sink. You couldn't imagine meeting the boss

You opened the door to the room and saw your photographer Lukas Madison. Who was stoic and a man of few words. "Good morning Lukas." You greeted him "Morning" he said dryly "Sit down so we can get started." He was always so sweet during your sessions, and gently when repositioning you.

Your days felt longer than how long they actually were. You were always scared to go home so you took usually trips to your local coffee shop and sat there scrolling on on your phone eating your favorite pastry and drinking your favorite drink. "Hello are you (f/n)(l/n)?" You heard a deep voice say before looking up to see a tall man in a business suit "Y-yes why?" You replied, he sat down right after you said that "(y/n) my name is Victor Florence, I'm the CEO of your agency. I'm sure you have heard people refer to me as the boss. I don't have much time so I'd like to have a dinner with you later tonight. A chauffer will pick you, before you ask yes I do know where you live. Be ready by 8:00 pm." After he said that he got up and left. You decided to go home after the whole ordeal in disbelief. Know you had to have dinner with the man behind all of this. You can't seem to stop digging your grave can you?

[greenerteacups]

The great hormonal storms in book 5 lead me to this ask: let's talk about sex. Or at least sex ed. Does Hogwarts have it (at least in LH'verse)? Is that a nurse duty or a Head of House one? Did Narcissa sit her baby boy down for The Talk, at least to impart how Miss Granger would return to her parents in the same state she left them or at least unimpregnated? Did she outsource that task to Uncle Severus? Did Ron share what his older brothers passed down? What does our favorite victorian-in-spirit know abt sex beyond "lie back and think of the bloodline" and his hormonal daydreams?

I'm l o s i n g it at the idea of Narcissa instructing Draco to leave Hermione "unimpregnated," which, I just — I think the minute she uses those things in the same sentence, Draco hits the road at the speed of Mach Christ. He's gone. He's not here. He's not in the building. Can't have the Sex Talk if you can't fucking catch me, Mom. (For the record, I can fully see Narcissa trying. She's much less prudish than Draco is — gossips about adultery with her 11-y/o son on Christmas morning, references Ye Olde Wilde Times with Lucius, cracks the occasional bawdy joke, etc. — she just doesn't often see the need to discuss it, being aware that Draco, as far as she knows, remains an un-Awakened little Victorian. The Great Granger Debacle of 1995 is likely raising her suspicions there.) That said, Draco knows what sex is; for some reason my mind gravitates to the slightly handwavey answer of "boy's dormitory." I'm picturing him in his four-poster, curtains drawn, pretending to be asleep, while Ron and Harry have a free-ranging, horrifically creative conversation about what Ron thinks sex is (courtesy of the twins). Optimistically, Neville hops in with corrections from Augusta Longbottom's sexual etiquette seminars. Either way, Draco never, ever reveals that he has heard this conversation.

Or, alternatively, he and Theo have a really intense heart-to-heart during that summer before third year, which would do a lot to explain why the two of them are so weird about each other basically for the rest of time. (Raising the question of where Theo/Pansy/Daphne learned it. At age 12, Pansy got an excruciatingly detailed Talk from her mother, who was scared to death of a teen pregnancy pitching their family into ruin; Pansy, deciding it was unfair she had to suffer this and Theo did not, inflicted said Talk on Theo, who was just relieved that he didn't have to ask Sibelius. And Daphne grew up around so many healers that she just badgered them until someone gave in and told her. She's also a stated connoisseur of trashy romance novels, so. Make of that what you will.)

I think that Hogwarts, being modeled in mores and general Vibe from old English boarding schools, probably is not the most forward-thinking with sex ed. I also do believe Severus Snape would sooner jump off a bridge, and I kind of need him for the plot, so I've got to spare him that grave and important duty. Poppy Pomfrey probably gets the question the most of any staff member, and over the years, I think she's honed her answer down to a tight 3 minute-monologue that covers all major topics.

Odds and ends in the same vein:

Hermione gets a sit-down with the Drs. Granger the summer before her thirteenth birthday, so sometime in August, 1992. It is meticulously explained and flawlessly presented, with color-coded diagrams, an index, and a syllabus. It includes a diagnostic chart for common STIs and a spreadsheet on birth control options. Dr. Granger gets excited after a tangent about ovarian cysts and runs to pull out her old copy of Grey's. Hermione spends the whole time fully miserable, wondering why parents couldn't be like, greengrocers or something. (That doesn't stop her from asking questions, obviously.)

Ron, like all Weasley men of his generation, gets a knock on his door sometime around his 14th birthday, and Arthur invites him to "go fishing." This is code for "stand by the river and try to keep a will to live while your dad explains the mechanics of sex, its importance, and the value of waiting until you feel comfortable and safe sharing that level of intimacy with a trusted partner" (sic).

Fred and George got separate talks, because Arthur wanted to emphasize that he sees them as individuals; however, Fred ran back and immediately recounted it all to George, who proceeded to feign extraordinary expertise in it the next morning, to his father's horror.

Ginny's "go fishing" equivalent is Molly taking her out for tea and delivering a well-meant but incoherent combination of abstinence-only sex ed, aggressive body positivity, and highly technical discussions of how to insert a diaphragm. Ginny, who bullied the real story out of Bill years ago, is baffled, and to this day can't say for sure what she was supposed to take away from it.

Harry spends his 14th birthday at the Burrow. Ron and his brothers make a blood pact in advance not to tell him about it, though, so when Arthur invites him out for the day on August 1st, his sole thought is: oh, nice! Can't wait for some fun fishing :)

[gogandmagog]

As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead.

— L.M. Montgomery, 1923, from Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction

Below the cut, I’ve included L.M. Montgomery’s submissions to ‘Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction,’ which may be (obviously) best summed up as… Maud’s writing advise for beginners. Mind, it is still a thoroughly enjoyable read, even if you don’t write, and would really simply just like to hear more about her process!

QUESTION; What is the genesis of a story with you—does it grow from an incident, a character, a trait of character, a situation, setting, a title, or what? That is, what do you mean by an idea for a story? L. M. Montgomery: The genesis of my stories is very varied. Sometimes the character suggests the story. For instance, in my first book, Anne of Green Gables, the whole story was modeled around the character of "Anne" and arranged to suit her. Most of my books are similar in origin. The characters seem to grow in my mind, much after the oft-quoted "Topsy" manner, and when they are fully incubated I arrange a setting for them, choosing incidents and surroundings which will harmonize with and develop them.

With short stories it is different. There I generally start with an idea—some incident which I elaborate and invent characters to suit, thus reversing the process I employ in book-writing. A very small germ will sometimes blossom out quite amazingly. One of my most successful short stories owed its origin to the fact that one day I heard a lady—a refined person usually of irreproachable language—use a point-blank "cuss-word" in a moment of great provocation. Again, the fact that I heard of a man forbidding his son to play the violin because he thought it was wicked furnished the idea for the best short story I ever wrote. QUESTION; Do you map it out in advance, or do you start with, say, a character or situation, and let the story tell itself as you write? Do you write it in pieces to be joined together, or straightaway as a whole? Is the ending clearly in mind when you begin? To what extent do you revise? L. M. Montgomery: I map everything out in advance. When I have developed plot, characters and incidents in my mind I write out a "skeleton" of the story or book. In the case of a book, I divide it into so many "sections"—usually eight or nine—representing the outstanding periods in the story. In each section I write down what characters are necessary, what they do, what their setting is, and quite a bit of what they say. When the skeleton is complete I begin the actual writing, and so thoroughly have I become saturated with the story during the making of the skeleton that I feel as if I were merely describing and setting down something that I have actually seen happening, and the clothing of the dry bones with flesh goes on rapidly and easily. This does not, however, prevent changes taking place as I write. Sometimes an incident I had thought was going to be very minor assumes major proportions or vice versa. Sometimes, too, characters grow or dwindle contrary to my first intentions. But on the whole I follow my plan pretty closely and the ending is very often written out quite fully in the last "section" before a single word of the first chapter is written. I revise very extensively and the "notes" with which my completed manuscript is peppered are surely and swiftly bringing down my typist's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. But these revisions deal only with descriptions and conversation. Characters, plot and incidents are never changed.

QUESTION; 1. When you read a story to what extent does your imagination reproduce the story-world of the author—do you actually see in your imagination all the characters, action and setting just as if you were looking at an actual scene? Do you actually hear all sounds described, mentioned and inferred, just as if they were real sounds? Do you taste the flavors in a story, so really that your mouth literally waters to a pleasant one? How real does your imagination make the smells in a story you read? Does your imagination reproduce the sense of touch—of rough or smooth contact, hard or gentle impact or pressure, etc.? Does your imagination make you feel actual physical pain corresponding, though in a slighter degree, to pain presented in a story? Of course you get an intelligent idea from any such mention, but in which of the above cases does your imagination produce the same results on your senses as do the actual stimuli themselves?

2. If you can really "see things with your eyes shut," what limitations? Are the pictures you see colored or more in black and white? Are details distinct or blurred?

3. If you studied solid geometry, did it give you more trouble than other mathematics?

4. Is your response limited to the exact degree to which the author describes and makes vivid, or will the mere concept set you to reproducing just as vividly?

5. Do you have stock pictures for, say, a village church or a cowboy, or does each case produce its individual vision?

6. Is there any difference in behavior of your imagination when you are reading stories and when writing them?

7. Have you ever considered these matters as "tools of your trade"? If so, to what extent and how do you use them? L. M. Montgomery: Yes, when I read a story I see everything, exactly as if I were looking at an actual scene. I hear the sounds and smell the odors. When I read Pickwick Papers I have to make many an extra sneak to the pantry, so hungry do I become through reading of the bacon and eggs and milk punch in which the characters so frequently revel. I never feel physical pain when I read a story, no matter how intense the suffering described may be. But I feel mental pain so keenly that sometimes I can hardly bear to continue reading. Yet I do not dislike this sensation. On the contrary I like it. If I can have a jolly good howl several times in a book I am its friend for life. Yet, in every-day existence, I am the reverse of a tearful or sentimental person. No book do I love as I love David Copperfield. Yet during my many re-readings I must have wept literal quarts over David's boyish tribulations. And ghost stories that make me grow actually cold with fear are such as my soul loveth.

I can "see things," with eyes shut or open, colors and all. Sometimes I see them mentally—that is, I realize that they are produced subjectively and are under the control of my will. But very often, when imagination has been specially stimulated, I seem really to see them objectively. In this case, however, I never see landscapes or anything but faces—and generally grotesque or comical faces. I never see a beautiful face. They crowd on my sight in a mob, flashing up for a second, then instantly filled by others. I always enjoy this "seeing things" immensely, but I can not do it at will.

The very name of geometry was a nightmare to me. I decline to discuss the horrible subject at all. Yet I loved algebra and had a mild affection for arithmetic. These things are predestinated.

I have no "stock pictures" as a reader. I generally see things pretty much as the writer describes them—though certainly not as the "movie" people seem to see them! This is especially true of places and things. But very few writers have the power to make me visualize their characters, even where they describe them minutely. Illustrations generally make matters worse. I detest illustrations in a story. It is only when there is some peculiarly striking and restrained bit of description attached to a character that I can see it. For example: when R. L. Stevenson in Dr. Jekyll says that there was something incredibly evil about "Hyde"—I am not quoting his exact words—I can see "Hyde" as clearly as I ever saw anything in my life. As a rule, I think the ability to describe characters so that readers may see them as clearly as they see their settings is a very rare gift among writers.

Yes, as a reader I do resent having too many images formed for me. I don't want too much description of anything or too many details in any description.

When I read a story, I see people doing things in a certain setting; when I write a story I am the people myself and live their experiences.

QUESTION; When you write do you center your mind on the story itself or do you constantly have your readers in mind? In revising? L. M. Montgomery: In writing a story I do not think of all these things—at least consciously. I never think of my readers at all. I think of myself. Does this story I am writing interest me as I write it—does it satisfy me? If so, there are enough people in the world who like what I like to find it interesting and satisfying too. As for the others, I couldn't please them anyhow, so it is of no use to try. I revise to satisfy myself also—not any imaginary literary critic. QUESTION; Have you had a classroom or correspondence course on writing fiction? Books on it? To what extent did this help in the elementary stages? Beyond the elementary stages? L. M. Montgomery: I never took any kind of a course in writing fiction. Such things may be helpful if the real root of the matter is in you, but I had to get along without them. I was born and brought up in a remote country settlement, twenty-four miles from a town and ten from a railway. There I wrote my first stories and my first four books. So no beginner need feel discouraged because of remote location or lack of literary “atmosphere.” QUESTION; How much of your craft have you learned from reading current authors? The classics? L. M. Montgomery: I think I owe considerable to my greedy reading and rereading of standard fiction—the old masters—Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Hawthorne. Occasionally, too, a well-written modern magazine story has been helpful and illuminating. But, as a rule, I think aspiring authors will not reap much benefit from current fiction—except perhaps from a purely commercial point of view in finding out what kind of stories certain magazines take! Most writers, except those of absolute genius, are prone to unconscious imitation of what they read and that is a bad thing. QUESTION; What is your general feeling on the value of technique? L. M. Montgomery: I feel that its value is great up to a certain point. But when you become conscious of a writer's technique that writer has reached the point of danger. When you find yourself getting more pleasure from the way a writer says a thing than from the thing itself, that writer has committed a grave error and one that lessens greatly the value of his story. Carried too far, technique becomes as annoying as mannerisms.

QUESTION; What is most interesting and important to you in your writing—plot, structure, style, material, setting, character, color, etc.? L. M. Montgomery: In my own writing character is by far the most interesting thing to me—then setting. In the development of the one and the arrangement of the other I find my greatest pleasure and from their letters it is evident that my readers do, too. This, of course, is because my flair is for these things. In another writer something else—plot, structure or color would be the vital thing. Only the very great authors combine all these things. For the rank and file of the craft, I think a writer should find out where his strength lies and write his stories along these lines. In my own case I would never attempt to handle complicated plot or large masses of material. I know I should make a dismal failure of them. QUESTION; What are two or three of the most valuable suggestions you could give to a beginner? To a practised writer? L. M. Montgomery: As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead. Write—write—write. Revise—revise—revise. Prune—prune—prune. Study stories that are classed as masterpieces and find out why they are so classed. Leave your stories alone after they are written long enough to come to them as a stranger. Then read them over as a stranger; you'll see a score of faults and lacks you never noticed when they came hot from your pen. Rewrite them, cutting out the faults and supplying the lacks.

I would advise beginners to cultivate the note-book habit. Jot down every idea that comes to you as you go on living—ideas for plots, characters, descriptions, dialogue, etc. It is amazing how well these bits will fit into a story that wasn't born or thought of when you set them down. And they generally have a poignancy that is lacking in deliberate invention. For example, I was once washing the dinner dishes when a friend happened to quote to me the old saying: "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed." I retorted, "I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed." Then I dropped my dish cloth and rushed to "jot it down." It lay in my note-book unused for ten years and then it motivated one of the best chapters in my first book. This illustrates what I mean by the note-book habit.

Practised writers should try to avoid mannerisms and stereotyped style. They won't succeed, of course, but they should try. Also, they shouldn't presume on their success and think that anything goes because they write it. QUESTION; Do you prefer writing in the first person or the third? Why? L. M. Montgomery: Personally I prefer writing in the first person, because it then seems easier to live my story as I write it. Since editors seem to have a prejudice against this, I often write a story in the first person and then rewrite it, shifting it to the third. As a reader, I enjoy a story written in the first person far more than any other kind. It gives me more of a sense of reality—of actually knowing the people in it. The author does not seem to come between me and the characters as much as in the third-person stories. W. Collins's Woman in White is a fine example of the use of the first person. It could not have been half so effective had he told it in the third. And Jane Eyre simply couldn't have been written in any but the first.

QUESTION; Do you lose ideas because your imagination travels faster than your means of recording? Which affords least check—pencil, typewriter or stenographer? L. M. Montgomery: I don't think many ideas ever get away from me by reason of slowness of recording. My aforesaid note-book habit has been of tremendous value here. I write with a pen and couldn't write with anything else—at least, as far as prose is concerned. When I write verse I always write on an ordinary school slate, because of the facilities for easy erasure. But for prose I want a Waverly pen—this is not an advertisement—I just can't write with any other! a smooth unlined paper and a portfolio I can hold on my knee. Then I can sail straight ahead and keep up with any ideas that present themselves. But these are only personal idiosyncrasies and have nothing to do with a writer's success or non-success. So no aspiring beginner need despair because his or her stationer is not stocked up with Waverly pens!

[iz1331]

More Funko Pop! ideas for Beetlejuice and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.

Be warned. It's a long-ish post.

I made one earlier:

Spoilers if you haven't watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice or Beetlejuice. I'll add gifs and pics for reference later, but if you're a fellow Juice box and have watched the films, then you'll know them.

Here's a chart/guide for the types of Funko Pops:

Note: "A Chase is a rare variant of a common Funko figure, whereby its design differs slightly to the original figure it's based upon."

Beetlejuice (1988)

Pop! Deluxe: Delia getting trapped by her art statue (the first time when they were moving their stuff inside the house)

Pop! Common: Lydia with her camera and maybe also holding the polaroid of the "No feet" (hopefully, this is the design they'll release for the upcoming Beetlejuice Funko Pops that have been leaked)

Pop! Moment: Wedding clothes Betelgeuse and Lydia, they're first wedding, with that alien priest and the altered chimney (kinda repetitive using their wedding clothes, but they're freaking iconic outfits)

Pop! Ride, Moment or Premium: Betelgeuse's commercial, him as a cowboy, with the cow and lasso spinning and his sign

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse's cowboy outfit

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse in his robe, the one he was wearing when he met Lydia in the attic

Pop! Moment: Lydia dancing Jump In The Line mid air

Pop! Common: Juno

Pop! Commons or 2 Pack: Adam and Barbara Maitlands in their wedding outfits (possible Chase variants would be their decaying body, or Barbara with the zipper mouth or steel plate)

Pop! Common: Adam in normal outfit with a long nose

Pop! Common: Otho (possible Chase variant would be the outfit Betelgeuse put him in, the pale blue suit)

Pop! Moment: Betelgeuse about to be eaten by the Sandworm

Pop! Moment: Betelgeuse in the waiting room between the witch doctor and the shrinker hunter

Pop! Deluxe or Moment: Betelgeuse floating after the Maitlands dug him out of his coffin

Pop! Town: Lydia and the Winter River model

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse with a cigarette or at least just holding it (let me have my smoking Betelgeuse 😭)

Pop! Common: Lydia with the veil (the outfit she wore on their first dinner after moving in)

Pop! Ride: Barbara riding the Sandworm

Pop! Common: Sandworm

Those for now.

Betelgeuse as a snake, Betelgeuse w/tombstone, Beej w/shrunken head and Here Lies Betelgeuse (Deluxe) are already rumoured to be the new designs from the leaked next line up.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

Pop! Commons or 4 pack: Delia, Astrid, Lydia and Rory outfits at Charles' funeral

Pop! Moment: Lydia and Betelgeuse in the attic after she summoned him (the Winter River model in between them, Beej floating on the other end of the table)

Pop! Moment: Lydia, Rory and Betelgeuse therapist scene

Pop! Town: Astrid with the Winter River model

Pop! Common: Delia holding the asps

Pop! Common: Rory in his poor excuse of a wedding outfit (possible Chase variant is him wearing that shirt Betelgeuse put on him, "I ❤️ Delores") 😆

Pop! Common: Rory holding the cardboard boxes over his head

Pop! Moment: Betelgeuse injecting Rory with the Truth Serum

Pop! Common: Wolf Jackson in his suit holding a paper cup filled with coffee

Pop! Common: Wolf Jackson in his leather trench coat holding a gun (possible Chase variant would be when he was covered in cake when he fell into it) 😆

Pop! Common: Delores when she was alive (possible Chase variant would be her wearing the plague doctor mask)

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse when he was alive, the one he wore while grave robbing (possible Chase variant would be after he got poisoned, foam on the mouth)

Pop! & Buddy: Lydia or Betelgeuse with Baby Juice (I'm sorry 😭)

Pop! & Buddy or Moment: Lydia with miniature Betelgeuse playing the guitar

Pop! Common: Bob disguised as Betelgeuse

Pop! Moment: Lydia at the set of Ghost House sitting on her chair, and across from her is Betelgeuse in an audience chair, munching on pop corn

Pop! Moment: Sandworm chase scene with Lydia and Astrid

Pop! Deluxe or Moment: Betelgeuse sitting on a stool, microphone on hand about to tell his backstory

Pop! Moment: Lydia and Betelgeuse in the attic, Lyds holding the Handbook for the Recently Deceased and Beej holding their marriage agreement contract

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse with his hands together in a prayer position (possible Glow in the Dark Chase variant would be him getting caught on fire)

Pop! Deluxe: Betelgeuse reading a newspaper while sitting behind his desk

Pop! Common or Deluxe: Delia screaming in front of the camera ("Why?")

Pop! Common: Astrid in her school uniform

Pop! Commons: Astrid and/or Lydia holding Betelgeuse's new and updated flier

Pop! Common: Richard

Pop! Common: Jeremy Frazier (possible Chase variant would either the clothes he died in or his James Dean costume)

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse wearing the Immigration staff uniform, complete with hat

Pop! Common: The Janitor (love me some more Devito Pops!)

Pop! Common: Father Damien (preferably in the robes he wore for the wedding, Burn Gorman is freaking hilarious in this film 😆)

Pop! Common: Baby Juice (Betelgeuse Baby or his inner child)

Pop! Common, Deluxe, Super or Jumbo: Inflating or blown up Betelgeuse

Pop! Moment: Lydia and Betelgeuse in bed together after the nightmare dream (freaking indulge me, let me daydream 😭)

Pop! Common or Moment: Betelgeuse and Lydia in the attic, a wall with a bomb drawn on it and the tip of Betelgeuse's thumb is lit

Pop! Commons or 8 Pack: Bob, Al, Brad, Chuck, Dave, John, Phil and Tom the Shrinkers

Pop! Common: Betelgeuse in his El Matador outfit (might become an Exclusive, to be honest, a lot of the designs above are Exclusives types, too)

Every scene that Betelgeuse and Lydia are in together is worth being made into a Pop! Moment, the "Let's go, honey", "We're like Bonnie and Clyde, but without the bullet holes", "I'm gonna make you so happy", "You want me to marry you; I thought you'd never ask", "That was you stalking me; If stalking means trying to remarry the love of my life, then I'm guilty as charged, c'mere", half of these I don't even know how to make into a Funko scene, but all of them are just too good 😭 I WANNA MAKE EVERY PART OF THE WEDDING A FUNKO POP MOMENT!

Anyways, that's it for now. Some of the scenes I have in mind probably can't be executed properly in a Pop! Moment.

[liaarxse]

hi! main tr boys with a taller s/o? like 6'

I'm baaack !!!

I get this struggle. I'm around 5'10, and I sucks simping for someone who's like 5'7 or below

This also includes real-life

FEE FI FO FUM

Characters: Ryuguji Ken, Hakkai Shiba, Keisuke Baji

Warnings: None, crack

A/n: I'm so sorry for this unannounced break I took, I just truly needed it <3

— Ryuguji Ken

When he first saw you, he was FLABBERGASTED

Why the hell are you so tall??

As if he isn't walking Mount Fuji over here

Bffr

But he never made fun of you

He actually admired you

Why?

You were rocking the height

And slowly, he started falling for you, and your just as big personality

That's how you ended up dating Ryuguji

And to be frank, you couldn't be happier

You knew the kind of environment he was raised in, and the fact he grew to be such a smart and responsible teenager was one of the things you admired most about him

And you always reminded him of that

Which only deepend his love for you

<3

He also likes to slap your ass

BABAHAHAH

It wouldn't be me if I didn't ruin a sweet moment 🫶

He's also very VERY protective of you

As if you aren't a walking mountain as it is

But there still are assholes who could try to hurt you, and you both knew it

And Ryuguji will be damned if he let anything happen to you

If someone, somehow, ended up hurting you, don't worry

Toman will be at their doorstep

Escorting the people who tried to hurt you to the ER

Like goddamn y/n

All jokes aside, the last thing Ken would be looking at are your looks. You could be half his height or half over it, and he'll still love you regardless. <3

The first time you visited the brothel, the girls were amazed

Like

Beauty and height all in one?

Did a model just enter this place?

Would befriend you on the spot

And would, of course, watch what they say to Draken from now on

Would make sure no man comes up to you with the wrong intentions

More devious than Draken himself frfr

Your big sisters love you as much as your big boyfriend <3

Even though you're taller than them <3

— Hakkai Shiba

Baby boy

Will love to be dominated–

–Whilst cuddling

Get your head out of the gutter y/n

But only if he has had a bad day

Good luck trying to little spoon this big boy on a regular basis

Loves to hug you from behind and hide his face in your neck without having to sprain half of the bones in his body

Would be shook when first meeting you

Like

Holy shit they're tall

To this day he's still trying to calculate how much milk you drank as a child to grow this much

And you?

You are too

Because why tf are you this tall?

This ain't jack and the beanstalk y/n

The first time you met Yuzuha she was shook

She knew you were tall but not THIS tall

She loves you regardless

Also babies you both

Why?

Because you're her babies

Her 6'0+ babies

Hakkai wouldn't be as protective as Draken, but will be possessive

Not the yandere psychopath kind of possessive but the kind that would cuddle up to you if you're talking to his sister on the couch

Would also keep a close eye when you're around his brother even though Taiju wouldn't harm you

Also forget about fighting

You might be double the height of his enemies, but you're staying double the distance away from them

Just stay away from fights

Boy only wants to keep his girl safe and sound y/n. Don't be an asshole

Nonetheless, Hakkai will make sure you feel at ease with your appearance no matter what because in his eyes, you were the most gorgeous person he's laid eyes on

And he makes sure you know it

— Keisuke Baji

BAHAHAHAHAHH – Mikey and Smiley

💀 – Mikey and Smiley 2 minutes later

Keisuke does not CARE about height

He'll treat you the same way as if you were half his own

Does not give a fuck if you're tall, he fell in love with you and that's final

Nobody messing with you from now on

You've had bullies? Wanna visit their graves?

A car almost hit you even though you're taller than siren head? Wanna see him light it on fire?

Baji solos your favorites

Wait Baji is your favorite?

Baji solos himself

LMFAO

Bonus points if you like cats

Because who doesn't like to play with cute little pussies?

Especially the big ones

Wanna know Baji's favorite big pussy type?

Black tigers

UGH I LOVE THEM

What did you think I was talking about huh?

HUH?

You nasty

Speaking of cats, Baji loves it when they climb on you

You'd be minding your own business, waiting for Kaisuke to get ready so you could finally go out when you felt something tug on your pants

When you looked down, you saw one cute little black kitten climbing up your pants

Swear to God your heart melted

You started baby-ing the cat, encouraging it while making sure it doesn't fall

Keisuke entered the room, wondering who the fuck you were talking to and when he saw this scenario unfolding before his eyes he deadass dropped to his knees in front of you, encouraging the kitty as well

You were both ecstatic when it managed to reach up to your top, and Baji took a quick family picture, which is now his wallpaper and would beat anyone who made fun of it <3

Jokes aside, Keisuke adores you and will never let anyone or anything make you feel any less

You're perfect inside out in his eyes, and that's more than enough

Just accept the love because there isn't any other way out of this

You're loved

[dot-https]

Saiki K and Death note crossover where, for reasons beyond understanding, the café Saiki frequents becomes a break in space.

Saiki has, of course, zero interest in this. Of course he knows, but, really, who cares? Sure, these people are a little bit strange, and the art style shift is jarring, but really, there's nothing to it.

There's nothing to the strange man in the back who orders an entire stock of cake every day (really, he's lucky their worlds logic is based on convenience. if not, they would have ran cakes eons ago,) and thinks to fast for Saiki to read. It's nothing. It is so incredibly, absolutely nothing.

It's a little less nothing, however, when he runs into another space time anomaly thinking incrimentally less fast, and of casual things, like notebooks and murder.

So, naturally, Saiki goes invisible, steals a few strands of the mans hair, and puts it on a pencap.

The logic is simple: this is a comedy. That being the case, murder can happen only if it's comedic, and reversible. Nothing about this inspires humor, so it's only natural Saiki has to save the integrity of his genre. He takes the pencap, wanders around until he finds a crime scene (far too easily, might I add) and drops it off. Then, he un-invisibles, wanders back to that crime scene, and as such a good, upstanding citizen, simply has to turn it into the police as potential evidence (under the promise of anonymity, of course, so he isn't targeted, of course) (he'd disguise himself, but he's already exhausted his transformative powers for the day. so sue him.)

It's all well and good until about a day later, when the guy from the café shows up at his house.

The issue is simple: apparently, none of these crime scenes have physical evidence. Not a single one. In fact, the crime scene Saiki had dropped the pencap at had been so thoroughly searched a layer of the dirt and concrete around the area had been carefully shaved away for testing. Essentially, L knows that Saiki knows, and L doesn't believe the whole 'average, gee-wilikers' thing for a second. He just doesn't know how.

Naturally, he sees through all of Saiki's attempts at getting him to leave, and correctly pegs him as someone who likes to be left alone because he's hiding something, and now Saiki is double fucked. He's interrogated for a while, gives nothing up, but makes a grave, fatal mistake:

Nearly falls over himself when he sees the rare, one of a kind coffee jelly L is eating when he arrives for another interrogation.

Now, he's being followed around by an insomniac detective who believes they simply must solve this case together, and also maybe eat some rare sweets Saiki will never be rich enough (not fairly, at least) to get himself, and did I forget to mention god's favorite angel having convinced herself that theres competition to be found in an otherworldly (ha.) model, and is also deadset on going with him, wherever it is?

Good grief.

[norahastuff]

I’ve said this before, but 2x20 and Dean’s djinn dream really gets me. I mean, you have Dean bleeding emotions all over the place. His wish came true, he got Mary back, and it’s almost like he reverts to being a little kid. He’s so damn vulnerable. He gets to play house, his mom’s alive, Sam is happy... but he and Sam don’t have much of a relationship, because Dean’s fear has always been that the only thing keeping them together as a family was hunting. Without that, why would Sam bother with him? Then there’s also the fact that the Dean in this fantasy is a complete fuck up. He’s a drunk who steals, cheats, and lets down the people he loves. I think that’s another fear Dean’s always had about himself. Hunting and saving people allows him to think of himself as the hero, the good guy, but without that, he thinks there’s not much to him. 

Which is total bullshit. I mean, come on: can you ever imagine the Dean Winchester we know stealing his brother’s prom date? The same Dean who would walk over hot coals to see his brother happy. The second he ever notices Sam show interest in a girl, he completely backs away. But in this djinn universe, that’s the role he casts himself in. 

Also, John is dead, which is something that needs a whole other post to itself. The one thing I will say is that when Dean has his breakdown at John’s grave, when he pleads with him and asks “Why does it always have to be me?” John doesn’t answer. And Dean’s face is really something. It’s an “of course he’s not gonna fucking answer” expression. Whatever the universe, John will always be the unknowable, unreachable deity that Dean will never really be able to please. He’ll never get what he wants from John.

And then there’s Carmen. His partner in this world isn’t someone he knows or someone who knows him. It’s a model from a beer ad with the caption “go someplace better.” She’s not real. Dean doesn’t even have a concept of what a real partner would be. Dean seems a little troubled by that when he comes across the beer ad in the magazine. Like he’s disappointed by how empty his life is that he can’t even fantasise about a real person.

I also find that really interesting in the context of Lisa. The next time we see Dean fantasise about someone, it’s Lisa. He imagines a life with her and what could be. But the truth is, Lisa’s not any more real than Carmen was. She represents Dean’s fantasy of the kind of normal life he thinks he should want, but in reality doesn’t. Initially, you could claim he’s not happy with Lisa because he thinks Sam is trapped in the cage, but even after Sam comes back, Dean’s not satisfied with his suburban life. It’s not until he rips the tarp off the Impala and heads out on the road, do we see Dean actually smile and feel like himself again. 

Anyway, it’s all fascinating, especially in the context of s14/15. Like, take what everyone in his djinn world tries to tell him to convince him to stay: 

MARY: It's everything you want. We're a family again. Let’s go home.

JESSICA: You don't have to worry about Sam anymore. You get to watch him live a full life.

CARMEN: We can have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, Dean.

SAM: Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough?

What Dean truly wants is a family. A home. He wants Sam to be happy and to have a life that he gets to be a part of. And he wants a partner who will raise a family with him. Someone who loves him. 

The reason he can’t stay in the djinn dream no matter how much he wants to? It’s not real. 

Cut to Cas, over a decade later looking Dean in the eye and telling him “Dean, you asked what about all this is real? We are.” And to Dean point blank telling John, in the home that he shares with his brother, his angel and their nephilim son, that he has a family. He’s happy with who he is, with who Sam is. 

And fucking cut to Cas, an angel who loved Dean so much, it rewired his entire existence. Someone who saw Dean, saw all of him, who knew him to his fucking core and loved him anyway. Loved him because of all that he saw, and not in spite of it. He’s not the fuck up he sees himself as. Cas sees him as he really is: someone who loves, who lights up the world around him, 

That’s something Dean thought he would never have. In the djinn dream Dean tells Mary that he has to leave. That none of this matters because it’s not real. Mary says: 

“It doesn't matter. It's still better than anything you had.”

It’s heartbreaking, but in the context of future seasons... Dean will have something better. And it’ll mean so much more because it’s real. 

[soldjermon]

Diagram#2 complete… Took too long. Part of Luigi's Mansion: Darkness Arises story- chapter 33 and beyond.

Alternate versions, full-size and parts of these pics are in the links below. Link to Google Drive Folder is here!

Full details without downloading onto computer-more detailed version Full details without downloading onto computer-less detailed version 3D model Poses help from NDY's 3D models This round for diagram took just as long compared to the last one… x-x thanks to work, exhaustion, distractions, and lack of motivations that are hit or miss some days- mostly miss though.

These pics of Luigi/Mr. L, Dark Illusion and Dark Super Dimentio are from the Luigi's Mansion: Darkness Arises story, chapter 33 and later; but the chapters after 33 were never released… So, these images are from the unreleased chapters that wasn't posted onto Ao3 currently, but are on google docs(that's not technically public). Dark Super Dimentio was going to be part of the final battle with Maya and King Boo, but that part of the story was never written currently- because the story had halted long before it even got there.

However, if I do get any incentives to post the later chapters(just letting me know if anyone wants to read the chapters), I'll start posting those chapters onto Ao3. Though eventually, I'll release them onto the site. Not sure when, however. Even then, the whole story was never completed unfortunately- even after the unreleased chapters ever do go up.

Anyway, here's some juicy information to why these pics were created. The Dark Illusion was created from the demon king Maya from the fabric on Luigi's overalls- since that part had the plumber's DNA on it and was able to pick up the memories and emotions of both the plumber/mechanic. The Dark Illusion targets Luigi/Mr. L to try to gain control of them when both halves were at their most weak and vulnerable; successfully taking control of them to create Dark Luigi- a force to reckon with and disrupt the progress of freeing everyone on the S.S. Friendship from the paintings and from their controlled ghostly form- as well as the life-death balance.. Luckily, the void missile attack from the modified poltergust G-00 - thanks to Hatty having the poltergust at the time - forced the Dark Illusion out of Luigi's body and freed him from the dark control. Void missiles can instantly slain a person into non-existance once launched and targeted to an evil being, but Luigi was fortunate- barely surviving that kind of attack twice and fully recovered with the help of the two docs on the S.S. Friendship and the silver hearts.

However, his soul was gravely damaged from the second void missile attack, and had-to recover somehow; in which his soul absorbed so much of King Boo's raw and tainted ectoplasm, it changed the green clad into a semi-specter once his own tainted soul reunites with his recovered physical body. This also caused both halves to fuse together for some time, though the ectoplasm won't last forever and will separate after some time has passed. It does, help with some ways- like being confident and cautious at the same time when needed for example.

During the final battle, a new and more demonic Dark Illusion shows up again, this time gaining so much power from the demon king Maya- transforms into the much more menacing Dark Super Dimentio; after knowing about Mr. L's fear of not wanting to become that kind of monster again from the paper-themed adventure(Super Paper Mario).

Enjoy the pics~ :3

Soldjermon