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sweetflanfiction · 2 days ago

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Asymmetrical Symphony

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

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There was a second. Less than a second before Ekko's time flowed again. In that, second before Jayce and Viktor vanished into nothingness, before time turned in your favor. In that second you felt your mind separate from your body, your consciousness being bent into a spiraling corridor of Hextech, your soul being erased and repainted with the runes you studied. And then…white…a flash of nothingness and the ticking sound of a clock and in a blink of an eye you jolted awake.

The impact with something cold and hard took the breath out of you, feeling it hit right below the diaphragm. You kept sliding down something until you woke up enough to figure out where you were and how fast gravity was working against you.

You quickly figure out where you were: the Hexgate rooftop. The place you had been standing a second ago, looking at a white construct plucking all your memories away, now a dark slide with a not-so-fun ending. You cured under your breath, your hands finding anything they could grab and stop the swift descent. Finally, your fingers clawed at a sill and you haphazardly stopped your death by floor.

With two big puffs of air, you managed to pull yourself up the ledge and immediately fall on your back, when you figured the ground was straight. You could feel your lungs explode with cold air, the tears you had before drying out in the night air.

You frowned. Night air? Something snapped in your brain and straightened your back, sitting on your small perch. It was broad daylight … The flood of memories and images hit you all at once, and you felt all of them all at once. You felt your brain split open and be sewn back together. Jayce, Viktor, your two friends, broken and made whole again. The hextech, the hex core, and its idea of a hive mind world. Mel, a force of nature finally found what she was truly made of, marble and gold. Caitlyn and Vi, the backbone of the enforcers. You, a high society figure tangled in the science you patronized, turned fighter for Piltover's survival.

You heard the chaos of the last hour in your mind, the screams, the clinking of swords and blasts of guns. The smell of blood, fear, and magic.

You felt it all until…you didn’t. And it all became quiet. The silent whisper of the wind on your face and the normal sound of a city under your feet.

You got up on unsteady feet, realizing you were still wearing your makeshift enforcer armor. You looked around, seeing the skyline of the city, bathed in an orange moonlight, until you reached the Academy’s dome. A silent gasp came out of your mouth.

It was still intact.

The gasp turned to frown and the hope to realization. You took a step back as you watched the red moon reflected on the glass pane.

It was still intact, but not for long.

You remembered Jayce talking about how he got to go to a different time, an alternate universe. A divergence in reality that sent him somewhere. His description was dire, filled with what he called ‘Hex Angels’ coming after him. But this seemed like your world, your time. Before Jinx attacked the council.

Before Jayce placed Viktor in the hextech bath, turning him into the Herald.

You had one chance. One impossible chance.

The urgency of needing to get to council chambers hit you like a brick and you started to try and make your way inside the hexgate. Find an enforcer, tell them to get you into the chamber, and warn the councilors of the attack. If it would be easy, you were a well-known face in Piltover. Your father was a respected figure, an old councilman, only giving up his seat when your mother died 20 years ago. Getting into that chamber would be easier than getting down from this rooftop.

Which you managed with surprising ease, thanking Caitlyn for showing you the many ventilation entryways where the enemies could try and get inside.

And your feet hit the metallic floor of a walkway you ran as fast you could to any place you deemed safe to jump down. It seemed like a never-ending spiral that was clawing into your anxiety. But when you were about to scream you found yourself face to face with a door with a sign “Maintenance. Do not open it if Hexgate is hot.”

You gave it a few tugs. Nothing. You groaned and started pounding on it, until you saw an enforcer come to the door, frowning.

He opened the door, a hand on the handle, another on his electric baton.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

You frowned at the first question but answered it. His eyes looked nonplussed and you frowned deeper. You hated to pull this card but you didn’t know how much time you had.

“Do you not know who I am?” Your voice echoes through the tube. “I don’t care who you are! You are trespassing on government grounds” He grabbed your forearm and roughly pushed you into a small corridor. “How did you even get in there?” He mumbled to himself, losing the door. “Doesn’t matter. I need to get to the council chamber.” You blurted out, knowing by his demeanor it was futile. “Pal, you're going straight to HQ to answer how you got into a place with only three guarded doors, and why.”

He once more grabbed your elbow and dragged you away from the metal door towards a minuscule industrial elevator. With his free hand, he grabbed the key ring around his belt and unlocked it. It was beautifully crafted, as was everything in Piltover, but the cramped space and your shoulder pauldron made it difficult for both of you to get inside at the same time.

You looked at the Enforcer, while he was trying to figure out if going down the thousands and thousands of stairs was worth it. The stairs were barely used, placed there by an overzealous engineer and much like the door to the elevator, it was locked.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered to the guy and when he turned you did your best Vi impression and head-butted him, leaving him hurting and confused. You quickly snatched the keys from him and rushed to the stairs.

“Stop!” You heard him mumble, trying to regain his balance.

Yanking the door open you rushed down the stairs, jumping whole sets of stairs at a time, using the walls as a concrete cushion to break your descent. You kept jumping and running and colliding with the walls, begging that the ground floor appeared soon.

The last landing was below you and you saw four enforcers open the door below you and rushed in, looking up and spotting you. You couldn’t take them all.

Before you could do anything you felt something shift. Similar to when someone stretched after a good nap, but it was in the air around you. Not the air you realized, the reality around you awakened. It whispered something unintelligible, but you heard it even above the guards shouting at you. A faint piano note followed and right in front of you a rune appeared. Like a pattern on a broken mirror.

A magical rune, you remembered talking with Jayce and Viktor about it.

The officers were approaching and without thinking you inscribed the rune with your foot on the dusty floor of the stairwell. Once made you waited. The guards stopped for a moment looking confused. Nothing happened.

A conversation between you and your father flashed in your head. You had finished practicing a piece on the piano, your father, ever the willing audience sat with a frown on his face.

“What's wrong?” you asked, turning to him and he shook his head. “Is it supposed to be a happy song?” He asked and you shook your head. “No, it’s a requiem, but I didn’t feel like playing a sad song, so I changed the note.”

Your father smiled sadly and got up from his armchair.

“My dear child, if a song is intended to be sad, then it must be played as such. That was its intended purpose.” He placed a hand on your shoulder “You are only a tool to bring that song to life, your aim should be to bring it to life.”

Intention. You’re a tool with a purpose. You nodded and took a deep breath. Looking up at the enforcers you thought about what the objective of your plan was. Leave. Move from here. And then, you stomped your boot to the ground and a wave of air burst from it. Like a gust of powerful wind, knocking the enforcers down.

You looked at the groaning bodies on the floor, your chest heaving in deep breaths. For a second you were frozen to the ground, until the clanking of metal armor and footfalls snapped you out of it.

“I’m so sorry…” You whispered to the guards on the ground and ran outside the hexgate, shoving whoever stepped in your path out of the way.

You relied on your muscle memory of Pilltover to get you to the University where the Council of Clans was to be taking place. You managed to lose most of the enforcers by swerving into the building’s back alleys, stopping only by a garbage chute to dispose of the outer layer of armor you still had on, leaving you with a simple pair of blue pants and a tank top.

Arriving at the University steps you slowed down and walked confidently towards the enforcers at the door, hoping they had not been warned about your encounter at the Hexgated and that they knew about who you were. The last part was quickly dismantled as they stepped towards you with a hand up.

“I am here for the Council meeting.” You announced, your tone showing the confidence you didn’t have, but that years of practice made second nature. “Good evening. We are not expecting any visitors.” The enforcer replied, politely. “Please turn back and come back tomorrow with an appointment.” “Councilwoman Mel Medarda is expecting me.” Your tone dripped with the impatience only a Topsider was known to have. “I am truly sorry, but we are not expecting visitors. If any member of the Council was expecting you we would have been warned.” The other enforcer repeated and started towards you. “This is astounding. How dare you stop me from an engagement with a Councillor? Preposterous. I will tell your supervisor about this…” “As is your right. Now please turn around.”

You huffed and puffed, putting on a performance of a lifetime until you finished the rune you had learned minutes ago. Once that was done you turned to the enforcers and once again apologized, watching as they got knocked on their asses when you stomped the rune with your boot. It was enough for you to walk to them and grab another key ring for your collection.

Unlocking the side door of the main entrance you stepped inside while hearing shouting approaching from the outside. Time is running out. You looked at the marble steps and both you and your knees groaned. You took the steps two by two until you reached the second landing and then you found the main elevator. You had no time to wait for the thing to arrive nor to go to the last floor by the stairs.

Reality did the thing again and once more a rune whispered and showed itself as if it was a patch on the elbows of a jacket. There was no dust on the floor or walls, nothing for you to write the rune on.

All of a sudden you felt a burning sensation in your hand and looked at it. In your palm, a bright blue rune appeared, glowing in the darkened university hall. The bright light spread, filling your palm, your knuckles and your fingers. When you moved your hand to turn it and watch the light consume the rest of your extremities, you noticed your fingers were painting light into the air. You moved your fingers in a wave a small path of light painted the air in front of you, like a stroke of a brush on canvas.

Once again, the clanking of armor and shouting kicked you out of your stupor and you used your now weirdly illuminated hand. For a second today, the rune did nothing and once again you thought of the purpose you had. Reach the last floor.

Another voice flashed in your head. Vi’s shouts when you were on the hexgate, back…back there.

“Well…don’t just stand there…push forward…get them out!”

Push forward. Quickly you drew the rune in the air and just as Vi sometimes spoke with her fists, you did the same, punching the rune with enough force to push it towards its destination.

The elevator pinged and opened its double doors and you rushed inside. The elevator took off as fast as it could with its old gears but it was still quicker than the steps and by the quiet you were hearing, the enforcers were still finding a way up.

As soon as the elevator stopped you were darting towards the gigantic doors. Midway, you caught a glimpse of something shining through the sky through a window—the rocket. Jinx was going through the motions of pulling the trigger if she hadn’t pulled it already. If the rocket was already in the air, you had seconds to put a stop to the Herald’s ascension.

You swerved right, knowing the main doors would be guarded, but the side doors were usually…hopefully… left unattended. Never did a sigh of a door make you so happy. You grabbed the door handle. Locked.

Instinctively you made the gust of air rune in the air and punched it, the door rattled. You groaned loudly, your desperation evident. You painted the rune again but made it bigger. The door rattled again. If not size, then quantity. You made four runes on the ground, in a single line and stomped on it.

The door flew open and you ran inside, watching as everyone in the room fell silent. You hadn’t been inside the chamber when the rocket hit, but you knew that Mel’s shield had naturally appeared to protect her. Jayce, being so close to her, had been protected, but Viktor was a breath away from it.

Mel’s eyes snapped to you as you took several gulps of air. Looking at a smaller window in the chamber you saw a light fly towards the dome. You locked eyes with Viktor, sitting on a chair, his expression confused.

As you dashed towards him, Mel and Jayce, you were half tempted to use magic again, but when he reached for his cane you stopped that thought. You weren’t about to throw poor Viktor around, this was gonna hurt as it was.

A councilman got up in an attempt to stop you, but Vi and Caitlyn's training had paid off and you quickly skidded away. You were centimeters from Viktor when a blue glow bathed the chamber. Everyone’s face turned towards the domed ceiling. As everyone’s eyes were transfixed on the sky you grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him to you as you rushed towards Mel. You heard the glass shattering as the rocket hit the target, the force of the impact enough to send you crashing to the ground, never letting go of the bony hand in yours. And then…blackness…

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devosin · 2 hours ago

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— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! prologue : keeping up with Y/n L/n . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Y/n pov . .

Your fingers glided through the screen—which was on its lowest brightness setting—skimming through the terms and conditions of your contract, noting anything that stood out, before you threw the phone aside back on the nightstand and fell back down on your bed, pulling the comforter on yourself, as you try and relax your otherwise restless brain.

Tired shallow breaths leave your chest, your eyebags felt heavy, almost weighing you down—and the light peeking from your curtains almost caused a headache—there was this feeling that grew in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t quite label, a mix between both nausea and the dreadful feeling of doom, and after effect of an intense hangover, that didn’t seem to go away even if you drowned it in water and pills.

You hated it, you hated how being drunk leads you to do impulsive shit, and you hated the aftereffects making you so wary of your decisions, which only resulted in you sowing every decision you make.

Everytime you drink, you end up regretting it, and promising yourself that you won't ever again—it’s not that you're a heavy drinker—You just don’t trust yourself, you never have, but the alcohol really does wonders in bringing those feelings of deep-rooted insecurity up to the surface.

It’s really not your fault, it was an after party for the cast and crew in celebration of your series finalé—You didn’t do well under pressure, and when everyone around you was pushing you to take another hit and another shot . . and well saying no would have ruined the mood—You don’t regret going on your phone, and you most definitely didn’t regret emailing a response back for the hosting offer—You would’ve accepted anyways, the alcohol just gave you the push you didn’t have before.

It still triggers your anxiety, because you’re jumping into something headfirst with nothing prepared, you haven’t done that in ages.

You sigh, getting up from your bed, you’re clearly not going to get any sleep with this much stress, it would be best if you get some air, to calm down . . .

You were still in your pajamas, a large winter coat and hat covering most of your features (in order to avoid paparazzi), as you made your way through the streets, your hands buried in your pockets, forming fists as you looked through your surroundings. It was early november, barely any snow to be found yet it was colder than any winter you’ve ever experienced in the city.

It’s been four years since you moved out to the outskirts of Pyroxene, you used to live in the capital, before your acting career even started. You even attended University there, not much going on with your degree anymore though. A lot of your friends still live there, and sometimes you miss the bustling streets, the noisy cafe’s, the ability to meet up with your friends as often as you’d like, or the feeling of home—However, if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the fucking traffic.

The traffic there was hell. You still have a small private condo in the capital under your name, considering a lot of your filming jobs take place there, and it seemed like a better investment than renting a hotel room every time, and hotels generally trigger your germaphobia . . —Plus it’s a lot cheaper just renting, and convenient for last minute things also hotels in the capital are fucking expensive—and everytime you film having to drive back and fourth made you want to take a knife to your throat, but that’s not a hotel exclusive problem.

You snapped out of your thoughts, when you heard a car horn, realizing you had walked straight into traffic.

‘Shit.’, you ran across the street as fast as you could, and for a moment you started believing in God again, because that was a close one.

Y/n and Navia beef because I looped "Girls so confusing" remix a lil too much and I wanted to have a friendship rebound in this because I clearly ain't getting one irl. (ew trauma dumping? in front of my yogurt/j)

I decided to double post and publish both pov's (praise me frfr/j), so you can get a grip on how things might flow?! Also creating relationships of side characters and dynamics as we move along, I want ya'll to really know these characters.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or for updates)

— taglist ♡ ; @well-look-at-this , @honkai-freak , @kingnem10 , @immahuman , @katzline , @pebble-bb , @meigalaxy , @lordbugs , @crowbird , @yuus3n , @azriel-sama , @reivelmin , @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 , @eliza-be-t-h , @feverish-dove , @yejiswifex , @l0v3r666 , @cece-cherries , @frootloopscos , @abell2029cluster , @ephemii , @alienlatteinspace , @frangiipanii (you'll be tagged in the comments due to tumblr mention issues)

♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

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pascaloverx · 14 hours ago

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HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you��re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

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princepv · 12 hours ago

Text

I was extremely embarrassed to finally publish it, because it seemed to me a banal cringe to interfere in this

maverick moon is one of fresh's parasites, initially not having any difference from the others.

at some point fresh visits the alternate universe of the grease maker, leaving some of the parasites there with the aim of temporarily infecting this place.

surprisingly, moon was unlucky to be there: all of his gathered after some time could not withstand the atmosphere filled with nicotine, smoke and other harmful masses.

in turn, he managed to survive in an unknown way for himself - the parasite is broken by the world itself, forcing him to unconsciously copy some codes and replace them in his own with new ones.

the parasite not only gained sanity, but also lost the ability to further infect au, received a tendency to deny the need to live and dark obsessive dreams.

from that moment on he ceases to be just an ordinary parasite, giving himself a name.

due to the inferiority caused by the lack of reproduction of his own kind, he experiences an instinct to care for his fellows, especially those who are unable to stand up for themselves for some reason.

a vagabond junk dealer who steals all sorts of junk and resells it. takes "under his wing" the weak or those living out their last hours of life parasites.

an extremely weak creature - not capable of the same quick reaction as others, smaller in size than most and has only a couple of pistols as a weapon.

however, collecting parasites plays into his hands - he is able to set them on the attacker or scatter them across worlds, as Fresh usually does with his own.

he can be considered a "scavenger" - Mun mainly grabs the bodies of creatures who are barely able to live, literally taking the soul's magic completely for himself. unlike other parasites, he does not let go of the victim until death.

prone to drinking alcoholic beverages, especially vodka. alcohol in any other form, like all parasites - despises. No, there shouldn't have been a joke about the emphasis on vodka, it's just extremely harsh in taste.

he also considers forbidden herbs obscene.

however, he is seen smoking weak cigars from time to time.

small facts

he drinks not because of the desire to seem somehow cool - he wants to distract himself, at least for a while, from heavy thoughts.

like most parasites, Moon has practically no feelings and emotions that are not feigned by him. The exceptions are: fear, rage and awareness of worthlessness.

despite his poor moral state, he continues to look cheerful and positive, will not miss the opportunity to joke or say something for fun.

collecting parasites for himself, he not only uses them for some kind of self-defense, but also treats each one with reverence, showing a sincere desire to take care of them, but does not even remember the death of one or another of his brothers.

He has an extremely low timbre of voice. Something comparable to the sound of a contrabass

his name can be shortened to MaM, which makes a small reference to his unconscious desire to take care of one of his (just replace the letter a with o)

he tried to dye his hair black, but the natural shade still showed through on his hair

he carries a lot of parasites under his clothes, gets along with everyone, and is the "dominant" one among them

Its camouflage is poor due to the fact that it absorbs relatively little energy due to its size and corrupted code. By itself, it is planned as a character ready to "take under the wing" any of the other brothers, including RetroRock shipkids.

#undertale #undertale au #sans #retrorock #freshgrease #greaserfresh #fresh sans #greaser sans #utau #utmv #undertale multiverse #ship kids #freshgrease kid #MaMs lore #freshgrease mam

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rowiewritesstuff · 1 day ago

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I have a request for yandere tfp breakdown x gn human reader breakdown finds reader in the mines energon finding them adorable so he immediately grabs them taking them to the decepticon war ship convincing megatron to keep them as their spark mate or pet megatron agrees with it

Yandere Breakdown X GN Reader

Special thanks to @paci-transformers for the collab but not for letting me use bullet points.

The sun had definitely set hours ago.

Having been trapped in this cave for several hours, after making the mistake of being curious about the unusual rock composition and deciding to investigate, you were starting to lose hope you'd ever find a way out. Your phone had no signal so deep underground, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, you hadn't brought more than just a small bag of supplies and tools, believing this would be a short in and out adventure.

Which, unfortunately for you, it wasn't.

Maybe it wouldn't be as frustrating if your flashlight wasn't starting to run out of battery.

For what feels like the ten millionth time, loose rocks skitter under your feet. Unlike the last few times, your hand flies out to steady yourself, and grasps thin air. You think your own involuntary shout rings back through your ears, but you can barely hear it.

You're falling a lot further than you thought, and a lot harder.

Dazed, and barely able to make anything out past the blur and dust of the likely concussion, you think you hear footsteps.

But… are footsteps supposed to be that loud? It sounds like a giant.

It certainly feels like one, when something grabs you.

You can't do much more than dangle there, trying to focus on what's in front of you, but… maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. You could almost swear there's a giant robot in front of you. And holding you.

You blink a few times, trying to grasp the situation at hand. It's a little harder than usual, and you can't quite make eye contact with the giant robot. If it is a giant robot. There's too much space between the yellowish-orange lights you assume are how it sees.

"It's almost cute how tiny you are."

It takes a long moment for you to realize that was directed at you, and when you do, you can't help the quiet huff of indignation.

"'m not tiny," you manage, rather intelligently. "You're big."

The giant robot has the audacity to laugh at your weak defense, pulling you close to its-- his?-- chest.

And, being real with yourself, this isn't really your idea of a good time. Especially not when you're getting carried off somewhere against your will, and are rather sure you trying to squirm out of the grip is the reason the robot is laughing again.

“You sure about that?” He huffed in amusement. “You organics really do think you’re the center of the universe. Got some bearings on you, I'll give you that.”

You blinked, your vision clearing more. As your brain finally decides to come back to you, mild apprehension shifts into outright terror.

You are, in fact, being held by a giant robot.

“Why're you shaking so much?" He grinned down at you, but it wasn't reassuring in the slightest. "I’m not gonna hurt you, you know.”

Somehow, you highly doubt that.

Your vocal cords finally decide to unstick themselves, unfortunately in time for you to ask:

"What… are you?"

The robot lets out a low laugh.

“I’m Breakdown." He squeezed you a little tighter, but not enough to hurt you-- and yet, you aren't reassured by it. He could crush you like a grape if he wanted to. "You’re adorable, you know that?”

“L-let me go!" You snap, fear winning out. "Now!”

You claw desperately at his hands, and are only rewarded with your bag plummeting to the ground.

Breakdown looks at where your bag fell, eyes suddenly narrowing at it. The purple crystal had fallen out of the cloth you wrapped it in earlier.

“Where did you find that?”

You were confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Your words wouldn't come to you in the face of it, and suddenly, you're getting shaken around.

“I-in a cave lower down, I think?" you manage to force out. "There were a ton of them in the wall.”

“Really, now?” Breakdown raises you to his eye level, eyes narrowing again. "How did you find it…?"

Trying your best not to shrink back, you manage to pull the survey meter from your belt. The dial on it is still turned too high for a seemingly normal area, but you aren't quite sure why.

“M-my device detected unusual energy… I thought it w-was broken, but I went to see.”

The look on his face unnerved you. He tapped the side of his head and began speaking. “Lord Megatron, you’re gonna want to see this.”

---

Not too long after, you were being guarded by some of what ‘Breakdown’ called Vehicons. You could do nothing as they began drilling into the ground and wall, going downwards. It was about half an hour until a huge, terrifying being walked in. Its every step made the floor tremble beneath him, and it had to be at least thirty feet tall. Your eyes could only widen, not being able to stop your body from trembling. It glanced around, surveying the room, and its gaze fell on you for a moment. The cold red eyes send shivers down your spine, even after his gaze drifts away.

��Breakdown, you know better than to waste my time,” Its cold and gravelly voice was showered with irritation. "Surely, you haven’t brought me down here to show me a mere pest…?"

“No, Lord Megatron.”

Breakdown handed the crystal you had found to him, and Megatron’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He laughed lowly, making you more uncomfortable. You notice all eyes on him-- maybe you could slip away safely?

You quietly got up, backing away into the entrance of the cave. Right when you thought it was safe, you turned around--

A foot slams down right in front of you. The loud noise turns all eyes to you and the large feminine being before you.

“Ah, a pest." Spindly fingers lifting you by the scruff of your shirt, and you freeze. "Shall I exterminate it for you, Lord Megatron?”

You're shaken around wildly, a fearful cry breaking loose against your best efforts.

“Enough!” Megatron’s voice echoes, the room going silent in an instant. “That human is currently more valuable than you are, Starscream.”

Starscream glared at you in disgust, before dropping you roughly into Breakdown’s waiting hands.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Megatron turns to you, and you try to tamp down the trembling.

“Now, organic--" he spat the term like an insult, "--what device led you here?”

You were trembling again. You couldn't help it, when he was the most intimidating thing you’ve ever seen.

“I-I… um--”

“Well?!" Starscream screeched at you aggressively, crossing his arms. "Spit it out already!”

“It d-detects unusual radioactive energy signatures!" You yelp out, swallowing hard. "I modified this so I could track certain frequencies, but… um… these crystals give it off too…?”

Megatron eyes you appraisingly. It's no less terrifying, and just makes you all the more aware of the ease with which a slight misstep could kill you.

“Even so far underground, you managed to get a signal?” Megatron looked deep in thought for a moment. “On dark energon, no less…”

Megatron was clearly incapable of smiling. That could be the only explanation for his increasingly terrifying smirks.

“What is your name, little one?”

You hesitated. Why did he want to know? Couldn't it be dangerous to--

You shrink back, red eyes boring a hole straight through you.

“I asked you for your name.”

“It's (Y/N),” you squeak. "(Y/N) (L/N)."

“Well, (Y/N), you’re going to make me more of these--" Megatron gestures loosely to the device still in your grasp, "--and ones to get a read on other things. I sense you’re going to be very useful.”

Megatron turned to leave, but his words still rang in your ears.

“…what?”

Your face paled, but it was as if you had said nothing at all.

“Breakdown? After the human has exhausted all use…" Megatron sends a cold sneer your way, too-sharp teeth glinting dangerously, "…you may do as you please with it.”

Words have never filled you with as much dread as those did.

“Aw, I've always wanted a pet," Breakdown laughs. "Bulk always makes it look so fun."

You can't even bring yourself to struggle, even as you're being carried from the cave. Your thoughts are swarmed with panic and fear, only eight terrifying words breaking through the noise.

"Don’t worry. I’ll take great care of ‘ya.”

---

Breakdown got a large terrarium, filling it with everything he thought humans needed. He got you a bed, a television, books, food, clothes (not that any of them fit, but you weren't about to say anything), and even installed a bathroom somehow. You never understood how they made the plumbing work, but were too afraid to ask or investigate it. Being investigative was what got you in this mess in the first place.

The only time you’d be able to leave was to work on your "project", which you swore was the one of the only things keeping you sane here. Megatron had very strict requirements for your modifications, but would never let you see more information than he wanted you to. It wasn't as though you knew how to read the glyphs on the giant screens they used, and there wasn't exactly a translation guide for "giant alien robot" language.

Because, apparently, they're aliens. Not just gigantic robots with an unfortunate penchant for kidnapping humans.

But they weren't the only ones of their species on Earth, it seemed.

Every once in a while, you’d hear about the Autobots from someone passing by. Stories about them stopping Decepticon plans, or guarding humanity from the threat of destruction. Your dreams were filled with ideas of the Autobots-- whoever they were-- coming to save you. Each time you woke up from one, finding yourself right back in that damned terrarium, you almost wanted to abandon all hope. The only thing that kept the hope of freedom alive was hearing of the daring escapades of a group you'd never met, always there to thwart whatever plots the Decepticons attempted. All you knew is that the Autobots protected humanity…

…and maybe someday, they would come to protect you, too.

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paraphwrites · 2 days ago

Text

a categorization of all queer media

after i told @diangelodork about this, he said "YOU MUST TUMBLE ABOUT THIS" so here i am, tumbling

i believe i have created a categorization system which encompasses all of queer media into one label or another, through a mixture of the way queerness is represented, the intended audience, & a secret third thing. bare with me, i'm right

note: when i cite artists, i'm citing their music, not the person

spiritual- texts interacts with sexuality in a way which is not explicitly queer but is so transcendent of sexuality that it once again becomes queer. queerness is about radicalism just as much as it is about explicit sexuality; the entire disregard of sexuality IS in turn radical. (hozier, florence + the machine, good omens)

gritty- the not so nice sides of being queer. unafraid to discuss nuances and intersectionalities, unafraid to acknowledge the ways being queer can genuinely be damaging. (perks of being a wallflower, feels good, aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe, girl in red)

flamboyant- the art of being queer. queerness taken to such an extreme that its relation to art cannot be removed. the performance of it all. (drag race, lady gaga, jack from will & grace)

for the straights- queer representation commodified intentionally for heterosexual consumption (i kissed a girl by katy perry)

historical representation- written in a time past where homosexuality was not legal or published, but the author intentionally utilizes queer-coding to their advantage in order to discuss taboo topics in a stealthy way. (the picture of dorian gray)

non-representation representation- where queer characters can be replaced by straight characters with minimal impact on the plot. you might have to change a small bit but the story could be very similar without it (get even, shadow and bone, most queer rom coms, derry girls)

palatable- where if a queer character is replaced by a straight character, the entire plot falls apart. the target audience is typically children, traumatized gay people who are desperate for a happy ending, and heterosexuals. digestible milestones, clear-cut labels, no critiquing of systemic issues. (love simon, heartstopper, glee)

i am not saying any of these are better or worse than the others. they all exist and they all serve their purpose. but i think it's really interesting when looking at this and examining which media is most popular and why we may think that is. and, i think it's interesting to note which queer shows are renewed and which are not; which find their way into the culture and which do not.

palatable queer media is far more -you guessed it- palatable for a mainstream audience than gritty queer media is. "heartstopper" offer a queer utopian ideal where the homophobes get punched and the gay teenagers get a happily ever after and never break up ever. that is a much nicer thought that the storyline of "feels good," where queerness and addiction and a public career meld together for failed stints at rehab and mental health collapses. many people prefer escapism over the painful aspects of reality and that is entirely valid. neither is better or worse than the other but there is an important distinction where one is escapism and one is a representation OF reality.

my bestie erebus talks more about how the recently cancelled netflix show 'dead boy detectives' treats queerness here. for background, i'd qualify it likely as gritty, though an argument could be made for spiritual.

to conclude: like most aspects of queerness, most queer media does fit into multiple of these categories. few things truly are binary. attempts at categorization are always futile etc etc. but perhaps not

#queer #lgbtqia #media analysis #queer theory

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chimneyz · 8 hours ago

Text

To Think We Could Stay the Same

Words: 7,801 and Counting | 2 out of 15 Chapters

Evan 'Buck' Buckley/Tommy Kinard

post episode 8x06 | angst with happy ending | make up

It appeared Evan Buckley and Tommy Kinard stood outside the realm of space and time, nothing else mattered. Buck’s breathing hitched as his feet melted into the pavement below unable to move, his skin itched as he gazed at Tommy. He gulped down the anxiety filling his mouth but leaving it dry as the anxiety filled his stomach weighing him down. His eyes scanned Tommy, soaking up every bit of him. He looked like shit, good, as long as he looked like how Buck felt, good. Tommy’s hair curled more than its usual shaping, to Buck it wasn’t the clean cut he was accustomed to but disheveled, dark circles rested under Tommy’s eyes, a stubble hand grown in on his cheeks. Conflicting emotions stormed through Buck’s mind, he wanted Tommy to hurt as much as he did, it was only fair that way. But my God did it hurt to see Tommy this way. “Firefighter Buckley,” Tommy nodded as he passed, almost robotic, emotionless. Firefighter Buckley? Oh, that enraged Buck. Before his brain and logic could catch up, Buck turned toe, following Tommy closely behind. “ Firefighter Buckley? Is that all I get?” Buck snapped. Tommy didn’t turn to face him, only moving to the wreckage. “Hey!” Buck grabs his shoulder swinging him around, to actually look him in the eyes. Tommy couldn’t even give him that, focusing his eyes on Buck’s left shoulder instead. “I am talking to you Tommy!” “Buckley, this is not the time!” Lucy hissed. “I-It’s fine this won’t take long, go get the patient, I’ll be ready shortly.” Tommy worded carefully. Hesitantly, Lucy looks between the two of them then leaves to check on the patient getting details from Eddie about the man in the car. Luckily, Bobby was busy elsewhere working on a small fire in one of the cars that had been evacuated. Buck could feel the eyes of both Hen and Chimney passively watching as they assess some of the other less injured people at the ambulance. But Buck couldn’t care less that all of this between him and Tommy would be on display for the world to witness, he needed to get this off of his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Buck sneered, “First you dump me after me telling you how I could actually see a future with you, you say it’s to protect yourself, which is bullshit. Then the first time we see each other after…. You act like there was nothing between us? You won’t even look me in the eye! Why? I want to know why Tommy!”

SUMMARY: The breakup was harder to deal with than they had expected, both Evan 'Buck' Buckley and Tommy Kinard now have to face the new chapter of their lives alone. It seems like the universe has other plans though.

(new chapter every friday)

#very excited about this fic i hope you enjoy #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 #911 abc #911 fic #911 fanfic #mine

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estellan0vella · 2 days ago

Text

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirty One: Sounds Illegal As Fuck SS: 11 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 3K Content Warnings: Previous Next Masterlist

Minho is sitting at a corner table in the university cafeteria, poking at a chicken wrap with disinterest. Hyunjin is sitting across from him, twirling his straw in his iced latte while Chan and Changbin are in a heated debate about who would win in a fight: a bear or a Komodo dragon. Seungmin is scrolling through his phone, unbothered as usual, while Jeongin is trying and failing to hide his laughter at Changbin’s increasingly ridiculous bear impersonation.

Chan looks at his watch and frowns. “Where the fuck are the three criminology nerds? Their lecture ended like fifteen minutes ago. Don’t they know lunch is sacred? I mean I know their lecturer is keeping them behind but fifteen minutes is excessive”

“Maybe Hayun’s doing her usual, losing herself in a rabbit hole,” Hyunjin says, slurping his drink obnoxiously. “Felix probably followed her to make sure she doesn’t trip over her own feet.”

“And Jisung’s probably helping her dig,” Changbin adds, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk. “Those three are either like one brain cell divided between them or the smartest people in the room, there's no in between”

Before anyone can respond, the cafeteria doors slam open, and Jisung bolts in, looking frantic. He spots Minho and runs straight over. “Minho! You have to come with me. Now.”

Minho straightens, already alert. “What’s going on?”

“Just come on!” Jisung grabs Minho’s wrist, tugging him up so abruptly that Minho nearly knocks over his tray. The others rise instinctively, exchanging confused glances before following Jisung, who is practically dragging Minho toward the criminology department.

“Jisung, what the hell is going on?” Minho presses, his tone sharp, but Jisung doesn’t slow down.

“You need to see this,” Jisung says, his voice low but urgent. His usual cheeky, upbeat demeanour is completely absent, replaced with something raw and serious.

The group trails through the corridors, Hyunjin, Jeongin, Changbin and Chan jogging to keep up. “If this is another one of your dumb pranks, I swear-” Changbin starts, but the tension in Jisung’s expression shuts him up.

When they reach the criminology department, there’s already a crowd gathered around the large bulletin board by the lecture hall. People are snapping pictures, murmuring among themselves. Minho pushes through the throng with Jisung guiding him, the rest of the group on his heels.

Standing at the edge of the scene are Hayun and Felix. Hayun is still, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. Felix is glaring at anyone who so much as glances in Hayun’s direction. Minho feels his stomach churn as he pushes past the last few onlookers and sees what’s on the board.

A crude voodoo doll meant to resemble Hayun is pinned to the corkboard with large needles sticking through it. Its fabric is soaked with a red liquid that drips onto the floor, forming small, eerie puddles. Above the doll, in large, jagged letters painted in the same red liquid, are the words:

JANG HAYUN IS A DEAD GIRL WALKING

Underneath, another line reads:

SONG MINGI’S WHORE

Tacked next to the writing is a confidential police report. One of Mingi’s interviews with the authorities, where he names Hayun as his youngest victim.

The sight feels like a punch to Minho’s gut. He reaches for Hayun immediately, pulling her into his arms and trying to turn her head away from the display.

“Don’t look,” he says softly, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Don’t look at that shit, Princess.”

But Hayun doesn’t let him shield her. Her voice is steady, almost unnervingly calm. “Minho, it’s fine. It’s just some idiot with too much time on their hands, a talent for hacking police files and some red paint”

Minho grips her tighter, his jaw clenching. “Hayun, I don’t think that’s paint.”

Chan steps forward, his expression thunderous. “If I see another person take a picture, I’m gonna start smashing phones.”

Changbin stands beside him, arms crossed. “You heard him! Get lost, assholes!” His voice booms, scattering the crowd like startled birds.

Meanwhile, Seungmin returns with campus security, who start directing the remaining students away. Hayun sighs as she watches the scene unfold, her calm demeanour unwavering.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, stepping back from Minho’s embrace. “Just take it down. The police aren’t going to do shit about it anyway. They’re already pissed we made them look bad by solving Chaeryeong’s case and clearing her name.”

She walks toward the board, grabs the voodoo doll without hesitation, and tosses it into the nearest trash can. Her movements are deliberate, almost defiant. “The paint or blood or whatever it is another story, though, I can't clean that off,” she mutters, glancing at the red streaks on the floor.

As the security guards work to remove the rest of the display, Felix steps up beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re handling this a lot better than I would.”

Hayun gives him a faint smile. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen.”

Minho approaches, standing so close their shoulders brush. “Still, it’s not something you should have to deal with.” He reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not leaving your side until we figure out who did this.”

Hayun glances at him, her lips quirking up in a wry smile. “Thanks, Min.”

Chan walks over, arms crossed. “I swear to God if we find out who did this-”

“You won’t have to,” Hayun interrupts. “We’ve got bigger things to focus on. This?” She gestures to the remnants of the display. “This is just noise.”

But as Minho looks at the red-streaked board and the confidential police report, he knows it’s more than that. And whoever’s behind it isn’t just making noise. They’re sending a message.

The group leaves the university building in tense silence. Minho strides toward his car, tossing his keys in the air. Hayun follows him closely, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized sweater she’s borrowed from Minho.

Jisung, Jeongin, and Felix trail behind, their steps heavier with worry. Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin peel off toward Chan's car, murmuring among themselves.

Minho swings open the driver’s door of his car, glancing at Hayun as she slides into the passenger seat. "Let’s get coffee," he mutters, starting the car with a low growl. Jisung, Jeongin, and Felix pile into the backseat, squeezing into the limited space.

Hayun glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “Fancy coffee or basic coffee?”

Minho shoots her a look, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite himself. “You know what I’m ordering, princess.”

Jisung leans forward from the backseat, grinning faintly. “Bet it’s a basic bitch iced americano.”

“Fuck off, Jisung,” Minho retorts, though his tone is lighter.

When they reach the drive-through, Minho orders his iced americano with a dramatic sigh. Hayun leans over to order her hazelnut honeycomb frappuccino with an extra shot. Jisung and Jeongin shout their iced americano orders over each other, while Felix calmly requests a peach iced tea.

“You’re all fucking parasites,” Minho grumbles, handing over his card. “I should start charging you assholes for gas.”

Hayun grins, sipping her drink. “And emotional labour. Don’t forget that.”

“Yeah, you should bill Hayun specifically,” Jisung chimes in, snickering. “The girl’s got baggage.”

Hayun flips him off without looking back. Minho smirks, resting his hand lightly on her knee. “I’ll take it,” he says, his voice low enough that only she hears.

The house feels heavy with tension as Hayun walks into the kitchen. She doesn’t hesitate, grabbing her hazelnut honeycomb frappuccino and pouring a generous amount of Bailey’s into it. The rich, creamy aroma wafts up as she stirs it with slow, deliberate motions, her mind racing.

She takes a long sip, the alcohol cutting through the sweetness and soothing some of the tension that’s been gripping her chest since the incident at the university.

Behind her, the others trickle into the kitchen, their faces drawn tight with concern. Minho’s presence at her side is immediate, his hand briefly brushing her lower back as if to silently ask, Are you okay? She doesn’t answer, just leans slightly into his touch.

Chan’s group enters moments later, Chan immediately zeroing in on the growing group. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once, his tone brisk. “What the fuck’s the plan?”

Hayun shrugs, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. “What can we do? Report it to the cops?” She snorts derisively, shaking her head. “They already hate us. We’ve been on their shit list since we started digging into Chaeryeong’s case.”

Jisung, pacing in the narrow space near the sink, stops mid-step and throws his hands up. “You can’t just shrug this shit off, Hayun! Someone hacked into a police database and used fucking blood to send a death threat. That’s not just some bored college kid pulling a prank. That’s serious psycho energy.” His voice is sharper than usual, panic and anger bubbling to the surface.

Minho’s face hardens, but his tone remains calm, measured. “If it’s that elaborate, it’s not Mr. Shin,” he says, taking a slow sip of his americano. “The guy’s a cop. He wouldn’t risk being that blatant. He’s smarter than that.”

Jeongin tilts his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “But what if it’s not him directly? Could be someone connected to Mingi, right? Someone who’s pissed about him going down or scared they’re next. If Hayun’s name is tied to Mingi’s trial-”

“Which it is,” Felix cuts in, his voice even but sharp, “then yeah, she’s a fucking target. They’d come after her first to send a message.”

Seungmin, perched on a stool by the island, raises an eyebrow. “But why just Hayun? If they wanted to scare us off, wouldn’t it make more sense to target all of us? You know, spread the fear around?”

Hyunjin, who’s lazily sitting on the counter and twirling his iced latte, points at the group with his straw. “Hayun’s the linchpin. She’s the one who planted the seeds to frame Mingi for Yuna's murder. If they know that-”

“They shouldn’t fucking know that!” Minho snaps as he slams his coffee cup onto the counter. The sound reverberates through the room, silencing everyone. He turns to Hayun, his dark eyes intense. “Princess, is there anything you’ve done that might’ve made you their target? Anything you haven’t told us?”

Hayun blinks up at him, startled by the weight of his stare. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

Minho’s jaw flexes as he leans back against the counter, his frustration simmering just below the surface. “We need answers. Fast.”

Chan steps forward, folding his arms. “If it’s someone tied to Mingi, we start there. We dig through his connections, find out who he was working with, who had the most to lose when he went down. That’s where we’ll find our culprit.”

“And how exactly do we dig?” Changbin asks, his tone sceptical as he leans against the fridge. “We don’t exactly have access to his Facebook friends list.”

Jeongin’s face lights up with determination. “We hack”

“Sounds illegal as fuck,” Seungmin mutters, though there’s no judgment in his tone.

“So is painting threats in blood,” Jisung fires back, his voice brimming with barely restrained anger. “I’m fucking done playing nice. Whoever did this doesn’t get to just walk away.”

“Ji...” Hayun’s voice is soft, and she steps closer to him, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Jisung shouts, yanking his arm away, his eyes blazing. “It’s not okay, Hayun. You keep acting like you can handle this shit on your own, but you shouldn’t have to. They came after you today, but what if it’s Felix next? Or Jeongin? Or Minho? Or me?”

The room goes quiet, Jisung’s words hanging heavy in the air. Minho clears his throat, his voice low and dangerous. “Let them try.”

Hayun places a hand on his arm now, grounding him in the same way she’d tried with Jisung. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to figure out who’s behind it before we go all vigilante.”

Chan nods, his tone decisive. “Agreed. First step: gather intel. We’ve got the skills, the tools, and more than enough motivation.”

Felix raises his peach iced tea in a mock toast. “To us: the broke, overworked Scooby-Doo gang.”

Hyunjin snickers. “If we’re Scooby-Doo, who’s Shaggy?”

“Jisung,” Jeongin and Minho say in unison.

“Fuck you guys,” Jisung mutters, though there’s the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The room relaxes, but the tension never fully dissipates. As Chan begins assigning tasks, Minho catches Hayun’s eye. He leans closer, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not doing this alone. Not now, not ever. Got it?”

Hayun looks at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she nods. “Got it.”

But even as she says it, Minho can see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the part of her that still believes she has to carry this burden on her own. And he silently promises himself that he won’t let her face this fight alone. Not ever.

A few hours later, the living room is a cacophony of chaos, wine bottles and whiskey glasses strewn across the coffee table like casualties of war. The air is thick with laughter, half-shouted arguments, and the occasional clink of glass against glass.

Hayun is curled up on Minho’s lap in the loveseat, her legs tucked to the side, her black yoga shorts and fluffy socks making her look comfortably at home against his body.

Minho’s arm is looped securely around her waist, his hand resting on her hip as if to anchor her there. In his free hand, he holds a glass of whiskey that threatens to spill every time he gestures too emphatically.

“Listen,” Minho begins, his voice rising as his whiskey glass wavers dangerously in the air, “I’m just saying, Edmund is the fucking worst. Absolute worst. Who the fuck betrays their family for a box of Turkish Delight? Powdered sugar? Really?”

Chan bursts into laughter. “We’re still doing this? Minho, it’s been a week! A whole-ass week. Let it go!”

“Never,” Minho retorts, pointing at Chan with his glass as though he’s delivering a divine proclamation. “I hated him in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, he’d redeem himself in Prince Caspian. But nope. Still a little shit.”

Hayun, her face buried in her wine glass, starts to laugh so hard her shoulders shake. Minho glances down at her and narrows his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, but she can’t stop giggling.

“He’s not that bad,” she finally manages, her voice tinged with amusement. “By the end of the trilogy, he grows a lot. You’re just being dramatic.”

Minho jerks back, scandalized. “Not that bad? Not that bad?! Princess, were we even watching the same movies? The guy fucked up every single situation he touched!”

On the couch, Chan sprawls with one leg propped up on the armrest, swirling the wine in his glass. He groans loudly. “For fuck’s sake, Minho, it’s a kids’ movie.��Get a grip. Cut the guy some slack.”

Minho slams his glass down on the coffee table with a thud. “No. I don’t care if it’s for kids. Edmund deserved to get his ass kicked by Aslan. And not just once, multiple times. That’s character development.”

Jeongin, lounging on the armchair with a blanket draped over his lap, grins wickedly. “You must have hated Eustace, then.”

“Don’t even get me started on Eustace!” Minho exclaims, throwing up his hands. “That little fucker was worse than Edmund. At least Edmund was manipulated by the Witch. Eustace? Eustace was just a dick for no reason.”

Felix snorts into his wine glass, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “The dragon redemption arc didn’t fix anything for you, huh?”

“Not a damn thing,” Minho replies, shaking his head vehemently. “He was a shithead before, and he was a shithead after. Turning into a dragon doesn’t erase that.”

Hyunjin, perched delicately on the arm of the couch like a cat surveying its domain, raises a hand. “Alright, but can we all agree that Prince Caspian is hot as fuck?”

The room erupts into drunken agreement, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of dreamy sighs and affirmations. Chan leans forward, nodding vigorously. Felix dramatically clutches his chest like he’s about to faint. Even Jeongin raises his wine glass in silent approval.

Minho stares at the group, his jaw dropping. He turns to Hayun, who’s giggling into her glass. “Not again,” he groans, dragging his hand down his face. “I already had to deal with you drooling over him when we watched the movies. I’m not doing this twice.”

Hayun grins. “Minho, we’re not even watching the movies right now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho declares, covering her eyes with one hand. “You’re not seeing him again. Not on my watch.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You know she already knows what he looks like, right? This is pointless.”

Minho shrugs, still holding his hand over Hayun’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’m protecting her from bad accents and worse decisions.”

“Stop being a fucking buzzkill, Minho,” Felix says, rolling his eyes. “She’s allowed to find Caspian hot.”

“Not while she’s sitting on my lap,” Minho counters. “Levi Ackerman? Fine. He’s 2D. But Prince Caspian? Fuck no.”

Jisung, already tipsy and emboldened, smirks. “Still haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend, though. So maybe you don’t get a say.”

Minho shoots him a death glare. “And you haven’t asked Hyunjin to be your boyfriend, so maybe shut the fuck up, dickhead.”

Jisung flushes, his bravado deflating as Hyunjin smirks and ruffles his hair. “Minho, you’re such an asshole,” Jisung mutters, louder this time when Hyunjin starts laughing at him.

Hayun pulls Minho’s hand away from her face, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “For the record,” she says, setting her wine glass down, “I already told him I’m not going to be his girlfriend until he watches Harry Potter.”

“That’s so fucking ridiculous,” Minho groans, leaning back against the loveseat and dragging Hayun with him.

“No, it’s not!” everyone shouts in unison, their drunken solidarity palpable.

“Fucking finally,” Chan shouts. “Someone with standards!”

“That’s not fucking ridiculous,” Jeongin adds. “That’s basic human decency.”

“Watch the damn movies, Minho,” Felix insists, throwing a piece of popcorn at him.

Minho groans, leaning back into the loveseat and dragging Hayun with him. “You’re all insufferable.”

Hayun laughs, patting his chest as she rests her head against him. “It’s okay, Min. I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll even make popcorn.”

Minho looks down at her, his gaze softening despite himself. “You’re too fucking sweet, you know that?”

Felix raises his glass in a mock toast. “To Hayun: the only person who can tolerate Minho’s bullshit.”

“Cheers to that!” everyone shouts, their laughter filling the room. Minho rolls his eyes, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

I originally wasn't going to post this until tomorrow but I had to because your girl is going to see Stray Kids in LONDON!

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

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neptunescore · 2 days ago

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I LOVE IT SM 🫶🫶 same anon with the jealous osc. Carlos is like the forbidden word at McLaren with how they miss him sm.

Altho Osc, that’s like straight up murder 😭 I would imagine him being filled with anger every time he sees red, or just seeing Charles in general.

Altho of course his performance goes downhill cause its not carlos speaking anymore. In this universe, will there be a chance of Carlos going back? Cause I think if he didn’t, Oscar would become a wanted man.

The Carlos being a forbidden word thing is so real😭 Also, I can totally imagine random groups of Mclaren team personnel disappearing at times, just for photographs to surface later where you can distinctly see the grainy outlines of them sitting with Carlos in some paddock cafe in the background. Maybe even a few instagram posts on their personal accounts that include him. The way Oscar is driven insanely mad. He is SEETHING.

How come they get to go out and talk to him, and he doesn't? And wasn't Carlos always dragging him along somewhere? Why isn't he doing that now? Why must Oscar just settle with seeing small glimpses of him? Not to mention each and every one of those glimpses is just Carlos being all lovey-dovey with Charles. It's not fair! It's not!

(This man remains in denial for a while, and he just deals with it all by pure anger. And the Oscar type anger. Where no one will know, but all of a sudden Charles is just randomly tripping in the paddock all the time, or his suitcase is going missing, or he can't get enough sleep because the room beside him won't stop playing deranged music)

Anyways, in my original work, I don't think Carlos leaves Mclaren in the first place, but in this alternate one, I honestly believe he wouldn't come back.

Oscar just wants Carlos. And when him and Carlos finally work things out, he has him. While I do believe Oscar gets sad and pouty abt Carlos not being his race engineer anymore, he knows it's a little too late. Even more, Carlos seems genuinely happy where he is now (it took him a while to adjust, but he absolutely loves it), and that's all Oscar wants. He'll just settle for hearing that Spanish accent in bed rather than on track, a major upgrade in his books.

Oscar still glares at Charles whenever he sees him, though. Who does this man think he is, stealing Carlos away from him. (Carlos finds it absolutely hilarious)

#nep's inbox🪐#☆race engineer au`▪︎°#user-> carcar anon #carlos sainz jr #oscar piastri #carcar #formula one rpf #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fic

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rakhalofthestars · 16 hours ago

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Trust Fall

Synopsis: Boothill loves eagles and wishes to mimic their courting ritual with you <3

Tags: Boothill x gn reader, Boothill's backstory mentioned, Pre-IPC boothill, Fluff, Humor, Light angst, Established relationship, courting rituals, Boothill is native american and latino a/n: This fic also has a bit more heavy usage of cowboy slang than all my other fics

Warnings: None !!

wc: 1 496

The people of Aeragan-Espharshel had many different beliefs, each one spread through word of mouth from parent to child. From the burning hot sun that gave life to the organisms on the planet to the tiny, hard-working ants. There were stories and legends behind each and every single thing, each having their own little tidbit of wisdom to learn from. Nothing was too small or too big for the people believed that we play our own part in the cycle of life, no matter our size or role. These beliefs reflected the tribe that inhabited the planet and the respect and love they held for the land.

Naturally, it’s no surprise that there would be stories and beliefs surrounding the eagle, which was seen as the mightiest of all birds. Its feathers symbolized that which is highest, bravest, strongest and holiest. Eagles were the symbol for a warrior.

It must be why you could find the bird all across Boothill’s person. The eagle feathers in his cowboy hat, which he had once fondly told you to have found one day with his siblings whilst running through the grassy fields. The small eagle on his left shoulder, attached to the burnt red sarape that he had managed to salvage from that fateful night. The small eagle insignia on his favorite 9mm gun, one that he had commissioned to be made from brass. The eagle on the back of his leather jacket which he had carefully painted using bleach, having even added a little cowboy hat to the bird to match him. You can easily remember how eager he had been to show you his more artistic skills, at least when it came to drawing eagles.

Boothill had always admired eagles. It was one of the few aspects of him that remained from who he was before the bombing. Before everything had quite literally turned into ashes.

Him and his fellow gunslinging friends of the past would often sit by a fire at night and yarn the hours away. Boothill would be lying on the soft grass, chewing on a piece of straw, his expression thoughtful for once as he’d stare up at the vast universe up above.

“Bee in yer bonnet, [REDACTED]?” One of them would always ask, having noticed the absence of his voice amongst the crude songs they’d have started singing by then.

“Jus’ thinkin’...”, would be his short reply, followed by one or two or the whole bunch prodding at him to spill the beans.

“Share yer wisdom, why dont’cha, O’ Great [REDACTED]”, they’d all tease and the young cowboy would laugh along good-naturedly.

“Was jus’ thinkin’ that I’d like to be one a’ them eagles up in the sky. Be as brave and courageous as them.”

“See, this is why I tell y’all to keep an eye on him. He’s an odd stick, ain’tcha [REDACTED]?”

But no matter how much his friends would tease him, Boothill’s admiration for eagles would never fade. He’d look to the great birds of the sky whenever he felt at sea. An age old habit that would stick until he fulfilled his role in the cycle of life. It’s what he did when the IPC had first arrived on his planet in their foreign and menacing spaceships, spouting off what he and countless others had thought to be taradiddles. It’s what he had done when trying his damndest to keep the corporation away from disrespecting the soil he had grown up on. It’s what Boothill does now when the weight of carrying out revenge gets too heavy for his shoulders, no matter whether they were flesh and bone or cold, hard metal.

Unsurprisingly, the man knew countless facts about these mighty birds. He had made sure to infodump about them when he took you bird-watching on planets that were similar to his home, thus housing the same or similar species of birds and the like. You were always curious and wishing to know more about your partner and his roots and who was he to deny you?

“See that one right there? That’s a bald eagle”, Boothill murmured softly one time against the shell of your ear once, pointing to the sky.

“How can you tell all the way from down here?” You asked, squinting into the binoculars that you were holding in your hands.

“Well, sugar, it’s because of that white noggin of theirs. No other eagle got that same appearance.”

“Did ya know that the eagle sound you hear in Penacony’s films ain’t actually the sound they make?”, Boothill would continue, ready to tell you the same little factoids and stories that his parents had told him.

You listened while watching the eagle. Well…you weren’t really focused on following the bird’s movements anymore. You were too focused on how the cowboy’s voice had softened its usual gruffness and laced with the aching feeling of nostalgia and homesickness.

During such moments, you usually rarely interrupted the man. It was clear as day to anyone with functioning eyes how much this meant for him.

However, your eyes caught a change in the eagle’s movements and you let out a surprised gasp when you see another bald eagle locking its talons with the one you had been following. To your horror, the birds had begun hurdling down towards the hard ground below, spinning in some form of cartwheel.

“Oh no! Are they fighting?”

Boothill looked questioningly at the sky, looking for what had caught your attention and chuckled fondly.

“Naw, don’t worry darlin’. That right there is what we call a death spiral. It’s like a courting ritual. Think of it as a type of trust fall.”

“What’s the point? Won’t they get hurt?”

*I just said it’s a trust fall, didn’t I?” An exasperated tone which quickly backtracked upon receiving a fierce glare from you.

“As I was sayin’... it’s a trust fall. That pair trusts each other to let go at the last second unless they wanna bite the dust….See?”

You had sighed with relief to see the bald eagles separating just before hitting the ground, quickly flying back up to the sky.

“Thank goodness… You still haven’t explained why they do it though?”

“It’s for courting each other. Eagles are one helluva adrenaline junkie. S’pose they want a partner who can give ‘em that rush.”

The two eagles interlocked their talons once more, spinning once more in the air as they fell. You watched in awe while Boothill watched you carefully, an idea taking root in his mind.

“Say…I reckon we should give it a shot too, sugar”, the man suggested and flashed you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely not. We’re not eagles, Boothill”, you refused almost immediately.

“Oh c’mon sugar, have some faith in yer man!”

The two of you went back and forth on the matter before eventually forgetting about it. At least, that was the case on your part. Boothill on the other hand…

–

“Your bounty is complete. How would you like to land?”

“...Good question.”

In truth, Boothill wasn’t too worried about the landing since he already could see you zooming towards him on an air-hover, ready to catch the cyborg. Oh, you were mad as a march hare alright.

“I’ve told you time and time again to have a better plan for these things!” You nag at him, your pretty face contorted with exasperation.

“Don’t get yer britches in a stir, sugar. I know what I’m doin’ “, Boothill drawls, looking too carefree for someone who was free falling through the air.

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure as hell doesn’t look like it!” You roll your eyes, following him down towards the ground on your hovercraft.

“I do, thank ya kindly. I got trust in you and mahself.”

“Take my hand then, you bag of bolts!”

“Not yet.”

It takes all your strength to not just up and leave the cowboy to fend for himself in such a situation but the thought of him potentially becoming a metal pancake stops you. You decide to trust his judgment, against your own better judgment. This wasn’t your first rodeo after all.

The two of you speed towards the ground, Boothill simply leisurely holding onto his hat while you were locked in completely, waiting for his signal.

Just a few seconds before you two would’ve crashed into the rock-hard ground below, Boothill whistles and with all your strength, you pull him onto your air-hover and promptly speed the vehicle back up into the sky once more.

“This is the last time we’re doing this”, you sigh, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Come now, lovely. Ya gots to admit that it’s fun!” Boothill grins as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and nuzzles his face against your neck. You grumble at his actions but leave him be, opting to savor his closeness instead.

“Haven’t gotten your fill yet, lil’ eagle?”

“How can I, when I trust ya’ll catch me each time?”

#hsr boothill #boothill fanfic #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #boothill hsr #x reader #gender neutral reader

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crguang · 2 days ago

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marriage asks are making me wonder how it would be like to marry himeko...

r better be happy they got to marry himeko cuz they got to be w the girl that every sapphic in the universe wants.

himeko had to travel around the space cause she knew she'd drown in pussy if she stayed on ground 😭😭

oh my god…. i can’t even picture the bliss. getting to marry the prettiest, kindest, sweetest angel in the cosmos you have to be some kind of otherworldly being. himeko’s the dream girl of every sapphic in the universe and their parents who would be thrilled to have her as a daughter in law. shes just so perfect to me omfg. i know she’s had to politely shut down so many love confessions because “trailblazing is her path” but me personally i’d embark on that train and leave everything i know behind if it meant i’d be seeing her every day. idc. drowning in pussy is sending me tho😭😭😭

marrying himeko means you have the most reliable partner ever. she’s always there to help even when you dont realize you need any, she’s the best listener and gives the greatest, warmest hugs whenever you need one. does her best to cheer you up if you’re sad, always follows through on her promises and commitments to you, finds creative solutions that work for the both of you if you’re at an impasse like wow. she’s just a great partner all around because shes so understanding and wants to make you happy above all. physical touch is a must; whether it’s full or side hugs, holding hands, cupping your cheek, a hand on your lower back, gripping your thigh, playing with the ring on your finger, kissing you chastely or deeply— she does it all. cuddling at night is her favorite thing and she loves being the big spoon. baths where the back of her head rests on your shoulder and your arms are around her… simple and innocent acts of affection through physical touch makes her melt. sometimes she lifts her left hand and stares at her ring with the cutest smile on her face. she remembers every anniversary and plans something cute for each even if its small. she’s a busy girl but still insists on making time for you when she can. you’re never apart too long without her making up for it in the most romantic, thoughtful way. im rambling but marriage with hime would actually be equivalent to walking on clouds, she never stays mad longer than a day and wants to fix things up immediately because she cant stand you being angry either each other and shes great at compromise anyway so shes just perfect ok. i need to propose to her

#sat answers

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m1nd-r0t · 1 day ago

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DAITARABOTCHI THROUGH THE SIGNS… V2

Daitarabotchi in LIBRA

The colossal force of balance and harmony turned into an overwhelming, imposing presence. A being of enormous influence, who reshapes relationships, partnerships, and aesthetics with the weight of their power. Their desire for equilibrium is immense, but it feels more like a tidal wave than a gentle breeze—leaving others crushed under the force of their expectations. They demand harmony, not as a request, but as an unrelenting force that molds their environment to their will.

Justice as a divine command. Their sense of justice isn’t just personal—it feels universal, as though they’ve been charged with bringing cosmic order to a chaotic world. They wield this sense of justice like a weapon, smashing through anything or anyone that dares to oppose their vision of fairness. To them, injustice is an affront to existence itself, and they will stop at nothing to obliterate it, even if it means becoming monstrous in their pursuit.

Relationships as power struggles. Partnerships with them are anything but ordinary; they feel seismic, shaking the foundations of everyone involved. They dominate their connections, their influence so massive that others often feel dwarfed, struggling to maintain their sense of self in the face of such overwhelming energy. Their need for balance can tip into obsession, as they tirelessly impose their version of harmony, often at great emotional cost to those around them.

A terrifying kind of charm. Their charisma is magnetic and impossible to resist, but it carries an undercurrent of awe and fear. Being near them feels like standing before a towering statue of a god—beautiful and commanding, yet utterly overwhelming. Their charm is not gentle; it’s like a flood, sweeping others along whether they want to go or not.

Beauty as a weapon. They see aesthetics as a battlefield, their vision of beauty becoming a standard that crushes anything less. Their creations are monumental, breathtaking in their grandeur, but their pursuit of perfection can feel like tyranny. Their environments reflect their immense energy, towering and immaculate, but often suffocating in their intensity.

Diplomacy becomes domination. While they speak the language of peace and harmony, their actions often feel like conquest. They don’t simply negotiate—they impose their will, leaving others with little choice but to comply. Their diplomacy is calculated and forceful, designed to reshape the world into their ideal, no matter the resistance.

Overwhelming need for connection. They crave relationships, but their connections are often fraught with tension and imbalance. Their immense presence makes true equality difficult; others may either worship them or feel crushed under the weight of their expectations. They yearn for harmony but often create chaos in their pursuit of it.

Creation through destruction. Their attempts to build balance often involve tearing down what exists, reshaping it from the ground up. They don’t simply mend or adjust—they demolish and recreate, leaving nothing untouched by their transformative energy.

Aesthetic perfection at all costs. Their vision of beauty is expansive and divine, but it demands sacrifice. They will go to extremes to ensure their world reflects their ideals, even if it means alienating those who cannot keep up with their standards.

The shadow of imbalance. For all their pursuit of harmony, they often tip the scales too far, creating instability in their efforts to enforce stability. Their energy can overwhelm, leaving destruction in its wake even as they strive to create something better.

Power incarnate in social dynamics. They are the architects of human connection, shaping relationships with the precision of an artist but the force of a hurricane. They mold social structures to their liking, their influence felt in every interaction, no matter how small.

Presence that leaves an indelible mark. Encounters with them are transformative. They are unforgettable, their energy lingering long after they’ve left, reshaping the lives of those they touch. To meet them is to be forever changed, whether for better or worse.

The weight of their ideals. They carry their sense of balance, beauty, and justice like an enormous burden, one that demands they reshape the world to reflect their colossal vision. It’s a task that consumes them, often leaving them isolated even as they tower over others.

They embody the overwhelming force of harmony and justice, their presence leaving an indelible mark on all who encounter them. Standing before them feels like facing the enormity of creation itself, where every interaction is both awe-inspiring and terrifying in its impact

Daitarabotchi in SCORPIO

The overwhelming force of transformation, destruction, and rebirth personified. A presence so intense it feels like standing in the eye of a cataclysmic storm. They are the living embodiment of the phoenix, burning everything to ashes before rising again, stronger and more terrifying. Their energy is dark, magnetic, and consuming, drawing others into their orbit only to dismantle them piece by piece. They wield power with surgical precision, cutting through facades to expose the raw, vulnerable truths beneath. Their influence feels like an earthquake, shaking foundations and forcing change whether it’s wanted or not.

The shadow of dominance. Their desire for control is immense, an unrelenting need to manipulate, dominate, and bend situations to their will. They view power as a tool to be mastered, using it to dismantle anything—or anyone—they see as weak or unworthy. Their hunger for influence can be terrifying, as they pursue it with a single-minded focus that leaves no room for resistance.

Emotional annihilation. Their inner world is a battlefield of extremes, where vulnerability meets destruction. They feel everything with an intensity that borders on unbearable, transforming their emotions into weapons or shields. Their pain becomes a driving force, pushing them to conquer their fears and weaknesses by obliterating them entirely.

Sexual power turned overwhelming. Their sexuality is an abyss, deep and consuming, pulling others into experiences that are transformative, intense, and often dangerous. They use their seductive nature as a weapon, turning intimacy into a tool for domination and control. Encounters with them leave others forever marked, changed, and haunted by the depth of the connection.

Unyielding hunger for truth. They cannot tolerate superficiality, tearing through lies and pretense with an almost brutal need to uncover the core of things. Their search for truth often leads to destruction, as they dismantle illusions and expose realities others fear to face. They are relentless in their quest for understanding, no matter the cost.

The architect of chaos and rebirth. They thrive in situations of upheaval, where destruction paves the way for new beginnings. They are the ones who burn bridges, destroy old systems, and clear the rubble to build something greater. Their methods are often ruthless, but their results are undeniable.

A mesmerizing darkness. Their presence is hypnotic, a dangerous allure that draws people in despite the risks. They are both feared and admired, their intensity captivating those who dare to approach them. Their charisma is like a black hole, pulling others in with no guarantee of escape.

The destroyer and the creator. They embody the cycle of life and death, wielding the power to end and to begin. They dismantle not for the sake of chaos, but to pave the way for something new. Their destruction is purposeful, even when it feels devastating.

The depths of obsession. They are consumed by their passions, their desires running so deep that they dominate every aspect of their lives. Their obsessions can feel terrifying to others, as they pursue their goals with an intensity that leaves no room for compromise or doubt.

Shadowed wisdom. Their understanding of the dark side of life gives them profound insight, but it comes at a cost. They carry the weight of their own darkness, using it to guide others through transformation but often losing pieces of themselves in the process.

Unforgiving strength. They do not break under pressure—they thrive in it. Their resilience is otherworldly, their ability to endure and rebuild leaving others in awe. However, their strength can also isolate them, as few can match their capacity to survive and conquer.

Dangerous allure. They are the scorpion in the shadows, beautiful but deadly, waiting for the right moment to strike. Their movements are calculated, their intentions hidden, and their actions often leave devastation in their wake.

They are the god of destruction and rebirth, the titan of transformation and power. They leave no stone unturned, no weakness untouched, and no soul unmarked. To encounter them is to face the inevitability of change, a force that tears apart and rebuilds in equal measure. Standing in their presence feels like standing before a volcano—unstoppable, awe-inspiring, and utterly devastating.

Daitarabotchi in SAGITTARIUS

The unstoppable force of expansion and unyielding vision. A giant who strides across the world with boundless energy, reshaping landscapes both literal and metaphorical. Their presence feels like a roaring wildfire of ideas, philosophies, and ambitions, burning through limitations and redefining horizons. They are the eternal explorer, chasing truths so vast they seem unreachable, yet their colossal drive brings them closer to the unattainable. Their energy is overwhelming, a tidal wave of grand aspirations and relentless pursuit of meaning that sweeps others along with it.

The giant philosopher. Their mind is vast and far-reaching, constantly seeking to understand the bigger picture. They embody wisdom on an overwhelming scale, using their knowledge to build systems of thought so immense they challenge comprehension. Their ideas are like mountains, unshakable and enduring, yet sometimes so lofty they lose touch with practicality.

Relentless expansion. They are never satisfied with the ordinary or the finite. Their hunger for growth drives them to push boundaries in every aspect of life, whether physical, intellectual, or spiritual. They see limits as challenges to be overcome, often bulldozing through obstacles with sheer force of will.

Charismatic wanderer. Their presence is magnetic, drawing others into their grand vision of life. They carry the energy of the eternal traveler, someone who cannot be confined to one place or one way of thinking. Their charisma feels like standing in the light of a burning star—dazzling, awe-inspiring, and almost too much to handle.

Ideological conquest. They are driven to spread their beliefs, philosophies, and ideas, often with a fervor that borders on overwhelming. Their words and actions carry the weight of an unstoppable force, reshaping the mental landscapes of those they encounter. However, their intensity can verge on fanaticism, leaving no room for dissent or alternative perspectives.

Freedom as a non-negotiable. They crave freedom above all else, and any attempt to confine them feels like a personal attack. Their energy is wild and untamed, like a force of nature that cannot be controlled or directed. Their independence is both their greatest strength and their greatest challenge, as it can isolate them from others.

Cosmic vision. They think on a scale that dwarfs the ordinary, seeing the universe as their playground and humanity as a canvas for their ideals. Their ambitions are as vast as the stars, and their desire to leave a legacy is insatiable. They aim to create something so grand it will echo through eternity.

The preacher and the conqueror. They inspire others with their vision, leading through the sheer power of their belief. However, their need to impose their ideals can feel overwhelming, turning inspiration into domination. They are the kind of leader who builds empires of thought and action, but sometimes at the cost of individuality.

Unyielding optimism. They carry a relentless belief in the future, even when faced with destruction or chaos. Their energy feels like a beacon, lighting the way through darkness, but their refusal to acknowledge limits can lead to overreach and collapse.

The shadow of excess. Their pursuit of growth can spiral out of control, leading to recklessness, overindulgence, and the destruction of what they sought to build. Their vision can become so vast it loses focus, consuming everything in its path like a wildfire that burns indiscriminately.

Mythic adventurer. They are the hero of their own story, constantly seeking the next great adventure. Their life feels like an epic tale, full of quests, battles, and victories that leave a lasting mark on the world. They embody the spirit of the giant who creates new lands simply by walking across them.

The pursuit of the unattainable. They are drawn to goals so massive they border on impossible, yet they pursue them with unrelenting determination. Their dreams are larger than life, and their belief in their ability to achieve them is unshakable.

They are the titan of vision and expansion, the towering force of unyielding ambition and belief. They reshape the world not through subtlety, but through overwhelming energy and unstoppable will. To encounter them is to be swept up in their journey, carried by their colossal momentum toward a future that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Daitarabotchi in CAPRICORN

The monumental force of structure, power, and legacy. A giant that reshapes the world through sheer determination and relentless ambition. Their presence is like a mountain—immovable, commanding, and awe-inspiring. They build empires from the ground up, their every step carving out paths of authority and control. Their energy is unyielding, a ceaseless drive to create something that will stand the test of time. They are the architects of destiny, constructing frameworks so vast and enduring they seem eternal.

Relentless ambition. Their drive is unparalleled, a towering hunger to reach the pinnacle of success and power. They are consumed by the need to achieve, their focus laser-sharp and unwavering. Every action they take is a step toward their ultimate goal, no matter the cost.

Unshakable authority. They exude an air of dominance and control, their presence commanding respect and often fear. They are natural leaders, but their leadership is cold, calculated, and unyielding. They hold themselves and others to impossibly high standards, tolerating no weakness or failure.

Builders of legacy. They are obsessed with the idea of permanence, striving to leave behind something that will last for generations. Their projects are monumental, their ambitions stretching far beyond their own lifetime. They see the world as a canvas for their achievements, each stroke a testament to their power.

The weight of responsibility. They carry the burden of their ambitions like a giant’s yoke, pushing forward despite the immense pressure. They thrive under responsibility, using it as fuel to drive their efforts. However, their sense of duty can become overwhelming, leaving little room for rest or vulnerability.

Cold and calculating. They approach life with the precision of an engineer, carefully planning every move to ensure success. Their logic is unyielding, their decisions made without emotion. This detachment can make them seem ruthless, as they prioritize the greater good—or their own goals—above all else.

The titan of discipline. Their self-control is unmatched, allowing them to endure hardships that would break others. They possess a near-superhuman ability to push through obstacles, their resilience as unyielding as the stone they build upon. Their discipline becomes their greatest weapon, a tool for achieving what others deem impossible.

Power through endurance. They are not sprinters—they are marathoners, capable of sustaining effort over long periods without faltering. Their success comes not from sudden bursts of brilliance, but from consistent, methodical effort that grinds away at challenges until nothing remains.

The shadow of rigidity. Their need for control and structure can become suffocating, leaving no room for spontaneity or flexibility. They risk becoming trapped by the very systems they create, their lives defined by the frameworks they build.

Imposing presence. They carry themselves with a gravitas that demands attention and respect. Their very existence feels heavy, as though the weight of their ambitions and responsibilities extends to those around them. People feel their power instinctively, sensing the enormity of their purpose.

Fear of failure. Despite their outward confidence, they are haunted by the possibility of falling short. This fear drives them to push harder, to work longer, and to demand more from themselves and others. Failure is not an option, and they will do whatever it takes to avoid it.

Destructive ambition. Their pursuit of success can lead to collateral damage, as they bulldoze through obstacles—including people—in their path. Their focus on the end goal blinds them to the costs, leaving relationships and lives shattered in their wake.

Eternal legacy. They are the builders of dynasties, the architects of civilizations, and the creators of legends. Their actions reverberate through history, their impact felt long after they are gone. They leave behind structures—both physical and metaphorical—that define the world for generations.

They are the colossal force of ambition and discipline, the unyielding titan of structure and power. They reshape the world through their immense will, building legacies that endure like mountains carved into the earth. To encounter them is to stand before the sheer weight of determination, a force that cannot be stopped or denied.

Daitarabotchi in AQUARIUS

The towering force of innovation, rebellion, and visionary transformation. A giant striding across the realm of ideas, reshaping the world with groundbreaking concepts and unorthodox methods. Their energy is electrifying, unpredictable, and awe-inspiring, as though they channel the raw, untamed power of a lightning storm. They are the architect of revolutions, breaking down outdated systems and building something entirely new in their place. Their presence feels alien and otherworldly, as if they exist on a plane of thought far beyond the comprehension of others.

The revolutionary visionary. Their mind is a colossal machine of innovation, constantly churning out ideas that challenge the status quo. They see the world not as it is, but as it could be, and their vision is vast enough to encompass radical change. Their thoughts feel like cosmic downloads, carrying the weight of otherworldly intelligence.

Unrelenting progress. They are driven by an insatiable need to push boundaries, to explore the uncharted, and to disrupt the ordinary. They cannot stand stagnation, their energy exploding like a supernova to bring about transformation wherever they go. Their every action is a step toward a future no one else has dared to imagine.

Chaotic brilliance. Their genius is undeniable, but it often comes with a dose of chaos. They thrive in disorder, using the turbulence to fuel their creativity and push the limits of possibility. Their methods are unconventional, often defying logic, yet somehow they achieve results that leave others speechless.

The breaker of traditions. They have no reverence for outdated rules or systems, seeing them as obstacles to progress. They demolish the old with the force of a wrecking ball, their actions often shocking and polarizing. To them, tradition is a cage, and they will stop at nothing to break free.

Alien presence. They carry an energy that feels entirely otherworldly, as though they are a being from another time or dimension. Their appearance, behavior, and ideas often seem out of place, leaving others both fascinated and unnerved. They are the embodiment of the unconventional, standing out no matter where they go.

Champion of individuality. They fight fiercely for personal freedom and the right to be different, their energy inspiring others to embrace their uniqueness. They attract misfits and outcasts, offering them a sense of belonging in a world that often rejects them. However, their own independence can make them difficult to connect with on a deeper level.

Social disruptor. They are a force of upheaval in group dynamics, challenging norms and encouraging others to think differently. Their presence in any collective feels like an earthquake, shaking up the status quo and forcing change. They thrive in movements and revolutions, often leading the charge with their visionary ideas.

Technological titan. They have an innate connection to technology and futuristic concepts, their mind wired to understand and manipulate the tools of progress. They see technology not as a convenience, but as a means to reshape humanity itself. Their innovations often feel decades ahead of their time.

Emotionally detached. Their focus on the bigger picture can make them seem cold or aloof, as though they prioritize ideas over people. Their relationships often lack traditional intimacy, as they struggle to balance their need for freedom with the demands of connection.

Unpredictable energy. They are a walking storm, their actions and decisions as erratic as they are brilliant. People never know what to expect from them, as they thrive on breaking patterns and defying expectations. Their unpredictability is both their greatest strength and their greatest challenge.

The paradox of connection. Despite their focus on individuality, they crave a sense of belonging to something larger than themselves. They are drawn to collectives and movements, yet they often remain on the fringes, unwilling to fully conform to any group dynamic.

Cosmic scale of thinking. Their thoughts are vast and all-encompassing, as though they carry the weight of the universe in their mind. They see humanity as a single organism, their vision encompassing the entirety of existence. Their ideas are not just grand—they are galactic.

They are the colossal force of rebellion and progress, the titan of innovation and individuality. They reshape the world with their unrelenting drive for transformation, standing as a towering figure in the landscape of change. To encounter them is to face the future itself, a force of nature that cannot be contained or predicted.

Daitarabotchi in PISCES

The boundless force of dreams, illusions, and transcendence. A giant whose steps ripple through the unseen realms, creating waves of emotion, intuition, and spiritual awakening. Their presence is vast and otherworldly, like a mist that envelops everything, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. They are a bridge to the infinite, channeling energies that feel both divine and incomprehensible. Their influence is tidal, reshaping the emotional and spiritual landscapes of those they encounter with the overwhelming force of a flood.

The dreamwalker. They live in a world of their own creation, their mind an endless ocean of imagination and possibility. Their thoughts flow like water, formless and ever-changing, carrying the weight of dreams and visions too immense for words. Their ideas feel like they come from another dimension, pulling others into their surreal, enchanting world.

The empathic giant. Their emotional depth is immeasurable, a well of feeling so profound it threatens to drown them. They absorb the energy of their surroundings, becoming a mirror for the pain, joy, and longing of others. Their compassion is overwhelming, but their inability to set boundaries leaves them vulnerable to being consumed by the emotions of those around them.

The mystic creator. They wield the power of creation, shaping entire worlds within their mind and bringing them to life through art, music, or spiritual practice. Their creativity feels limitless, an endless stream of inspiration that flows like a river, carving out new paths wherever it goes.

The veil between worlds. They exist on the edge of reality, their presence a constant reminder of the unseen forces that shape existence. They are the dreamer and the prophet, channeling energies that feel ancient and divine. Their connection to the spiritual realm is so strong it can leave them detached from the physical world.

The shadow of illusion. Their gift for imagination can become a curse, as they lose themselves in fantasies and delusions. Their connection to the infinite makes it difficult for them to ground themselves, leaving them vulnerable to deception and self-destruction. They risk becoming lost in the very worlds they create.

The tidal wave of emotion. Their feelings are not subtle; they are tsunamis, crashing over themselves and others with relentless force. Their emotional intensity can be both awe-inspiring and terrifying, leaving those around them overwhelmed and unmoored.

The healer and the martyr. They possess an almost divine ability to heal, their energy soothing wounds both physical and emotional. However, their need to save others often leads to self-sacrifice, as they pour their energy into others until there is nothing left for themselves.

The shapeshifter. Their identity is fluid, shifting like water to fit the needs of the moment. They are everything and nothing, their true self hidden beneath layers of dreams and illusions. Their adaptability is a strength, but it can also leave them feeling unanchored and unsure of who they really are.

The spiritual titan. They are deeply connected to the divine, their energy vibrating at a frequency that feels otherworldly. They embody the mysteries of the universe, their presence a constant reminder of the vastness and beauty of existence.

The shadow of sacrifice. They give and give until there is nothing left, their selflessness becoming their undoing. They risk becoming a vessel for others’ needs, their own desires drowned in the tide of their compassion.

An infinite presence. Their energy feels boundless, stretching beyond the limits of what others can perceive. They are not just a person—they are an ocean, vast and uncontainable, their influence reaching far beyond their physical form.

They are the towering force of dreams and emotions, the titan of the unseen and the divine. They reshape the world not through force, but through the endless ripple of their energy, their presence a reminder of the infinite possibilities that exist within and beyond reality. To encounter them is to stand at the edge of the cosmos, where everything feels possible and nothing is certain.

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