#like. the idea of starting over from scratch in ANY field with this kind of advice being handed out? tragic. fucking hate it

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Ten

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Cricket Oscar I repeat Cricket Oscar! Also... you know that whole 'ten chapters per era' thing? Yeah, scratch that. I'm just going with the vibes. They have more story to tell than I thought! We're almost at the end of Boarding School era though. Almost.

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

The outfield shimmered under the kind of sun you could almost believe was nearly summer, not just the British version where your nose still ran but your calves were burning.

Harper was stretched across the cricket pavilion steps, blazer bundled under her head, school skirt hitched to mid-thigh. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her legs — bare, pale, with a fresh constellation of freckles — were aimed straight at the sky like solar panels.

"Do you think it's working?" She asked, squinting behind her sunglasses.

Jane, sat beside her with her knees up and a blue slushie in one hand, sniffed. "Your thighs still look like milk, but your knees might be caramelising slightly."

"Excellent," Harper muttered. "Just what every girl dreams of. Caramelised knees."

On the pitch below, the Year 11 and 12 boys were playing some kind of friendly cricket match, which was loosely organised and entirely chaotic.

Oscar, Sam, and Matt were all in full whites — jumpers on, shirts rolled at the sleeves, trousers already grass-stained and untucked. Oscar bowled like he was in the Ashes. Sam swung the bat like he was in a pub fight. Matt had no idea what he was doing, but his mum was a big donator to the sports department, so he was on every team they had.

Jane slurped her drink loudly. "How do they look fit in cricket whites? Like. That shouldn't be hot. But it is."

Harper hummed in agreement. "Oscar looks so good."

"I'd let Sam ruin my life," Jane said mildly, tilting her sunglasses down her nose to peer over them. "Just for the record."

"That's a given," said Alfie from behind them.

He was leaning against the pavilion rail with his arms crossed, sunglasses on, his tie slung around his neck like a scarf. He looked like a bouncer at a VIP tanning party, watching the crowd.

Harper smirked. "You alright there, security?"

"I'm good," he said, not moving. "Just enjoying the weather. And making sure no one ogles the royal bump or the goth queen over here for too long."

Jane fluttered her lashes. "Aw, Alfie. That's so sweet."

"Don't get used to it," he muttered, but didn't deny it.

Two Year 10s walked by, gawking a bit too long at Harper's stomach. Alfie flipped them off without looking away from the field.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered. "It's like they've never seen a pregnant girl before. Weirdos."

Harper rolled her eyes. "Leave them alone, Alf. Our sex-ed programme here is awful."

On the pitch, Oscar had just clean bowled a year 12 twice his size. He didn't celebrate. Just walked back to his mark like a soldier reloading his gun.

Sam, meanwhile, had pulled off a sliding catch and promptly started peacocking like a West End actor. Matt attempted a cartwheel and fell flat on his face.

The girls howled with laughter.

"They're so stupid," Jane said, beaming.

"They're our stupid, though," Harper replied.

"And you're stuck with them forever," Alfie added, which made Harper laugh so hard she snorted.

Oscar looked up at the sound — squinting toward the pavilion — and smiled when he saw her, quick and quiet and just for her. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, waved once, then turned back to the game.

Jane sipped her slushie. "God, you two are cute."

"Shut up," Harper said, but she was still smiling.

The sun drifted a little lower. Somewhere in the background, the school bell rang for Sunday chapel — and nobody moved.

For a moment, just one, they weren't kids dealing with exams and babies and contracts and races and aristocratic uncles and tabloid magazines.

They were just fifteen and full of sugar, with sun warmed skin, watching the boys they liked pretend to be grown-ups in too-big uniforms and too-small egos.

It was perfect. Brief. Messy.

Life.

—

The boys came trudging up the slope from the pitch victorious — Sam with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, Matt skipping like he'd just won Eurovision, and Oscar... quiet, scuffed, a bit pink in the face and pretending he didn't notice Harper jogging down the last few steps to meet him.

"Oi, lovers!" Jane called, slapping her empty slushie cup onto Alfie's head. "We're going this way!"

Harper didn't care. She launched herself at Oscar, nearly knocking the water bottle out of his hand.

"You were so good," she said, wrapping her arms round his neck. "Seriously, I think I'm ovulating. I don't care that I already have a baby inside me."

"Jesus Christ," muttered Alfie, who had not asked to hear that.

Oscar went bright red. He kept his arms mostly around her waist but was clearly short-circuiting in front of his friends.

"Harps," he mumbled, shifting his grip awkwardly. "There's, like—people watching..."

"Let them watch," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. "You're so fit."

Sam passed by, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. "You're a proper stallion, mate. Well done."

"I hate all of you," Oscar muttered, voice muffled by Harper's hair.

Jane high-fived Matt for literally no reason. "Good effort, you absolute weapon."

Matt beamed. "I caught a ball with my face."

"And still the girls love you," Jane sighed. "Life's unfair."

As they reached the top of the hill, the group slowed — sweat-stained boys dragging their jumpers over their heads, the girls walking barefoot across the hot pavement in socks.

Alfie rolled his eyes as Harper kissed Oscar on the neck. "Get a room."

"We've got a room," Harper said sweetly. "Yours. I sleep in it four nights a week."

Sam gagged. "Alright, alright — leave some dignity on the grass."

Oscar was flustered beyond speech. He kissed Harper's temple, quickly, like a reflex, then shoved his kit bag higher on his shoulder and marched ahead of them.

The rest of the group, of course, followed him, cackling like feral hyenas.

By the time they reached the dorm block, Oscar had nearly made it to the stairwell alone — but Harper caught his wrist and tugged him back.

"You alright?" She asked, quieter now.

He glanced around — no one right next to them, just the echo of stomping boots on the stairs.

Then he nodded. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

Oscar looked at her, eyes soft now that it was just them. "I don't mind the kissing. Just...not when Sam's narrating it."

Harper grinned. "Sorry. It's the hormones."

"Okay," he said, leaning in and kissing her properly this time — quick, but real. "I like when it's just us."

She smiled. "Me too."

"Also I think Sam might throw up if he ever wakes up when we're — you know."

"Sucks to suck." She said.

Oscar huffed a laugh.

They walked the rest of the way up together, quietly bickering over whose turn it was to nick KitKats from the vending machine and which bed they were claiming tonight.

Down the hall, someone yelled that Matt had thrown a sweaty sock at the fire alarm, because Jane was already in the process of burning her toast.

Harper smiled at Oscar.

Oscar smiled at Harper.

—

The classroom windows were cracked open, but the air still tasted like too many bodies in one place — biro ink, cheap deodorant, and GCSE anxiety.

Harper sat at the back, her copy of Macbeth balanced on top of a closed ring binder. She had a pen tucked behind one ear, a half-drunk bottle of Lucozade on the desk, and one hand pressed to the base of her spine like she could physically will the ache away.

Miss Freeman was rambling up front about ambition and power, pacing between the whiteboard and her desk with her usual furious energy. Her voice was sharp, quick — trying to cram five months' worth of content into five minutes, as if the sheer velocity of her teaching could force it into their heads.

"Harper," she called without turning, "what's Macbeth's fatal flaw?"

Harper blinked, sat up straighter. "Uh — ambition?"

"Good. Expand."

She swallowed. "He... wants power more than he wants to do the right thing. Even though he's full of doubt, he still goes through with it. Because he wants it too much."

Miss Freeman turned and pointed her marker like a sword. "Yes. Wanting something doesn't make you worthy of it. Write that down."

The room scratched with the sound of pens on paper.

Harper tried to focus — genuinely, she did — but her lower back was killing her. Not sharp pain, just that low, constant pressure, like someone had tied a sack of flour to her spine and told her to sit still with it.

She shifted slightly in her chair, trying to stretch out discreetly, but the movement drew a glance from the boy next to her — Toby something, always smelled like orange body spray and stale chewing gum.

He leaned slightly away, like she might suddenly explode.

"You alright?" He asked, face pinched.

Harper raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine."

He stared at her stomach like it had just started glowing.

"It's not catching, you know," she added dryly, turning back to her notes.

Toby flushed. "Didn't say it was."

"Didn't have to."

He said nothing after that, except to edge his chair a full six inches away.

Harper bit back a sigh, pressed her fingers harder into the knot at her back, and underlined the word ambition three times.

Across the room, she caught Jane's eye — Jane raised both eyebrows and mimed stabbing herself with her pen.

Harper smiled, barely, then went back to her book.

The clock ticked too slowly. The air buzzed. And the ache in her spine crept up just a little further.

—

The school nurse's office was too bright, too white. Fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, sharp against Harper's already pounding head. She sat stiffly on the low cot near the radiator, both hands braced on either side of her bump. Her back hurt — a dull, dragging ache low in her spine that came and went like waves. Not agony, but not normal either.

She'd tried to ignore it in class. Kept her head down, revising and pretending the ache wasn't spreading like warm pressure across her belly. Until she couldn't anymore.

So she'd texted Oscar.

Can you come with me to the nurse? Not urgent just... a bit of pain.

He hadn't replied.

He'd shown up at the English classroom less than two minutes later, breathless, eyes wide.

Now he was sitting beside her, not saying much, hand closed tightly over hers. She could feel how tense he was in the way his thumb didn't move, how his leg bounced nervously even though he was trying not to fidget.

Mrs. Lyle, the school nurse, was kneeling by a cabinet, flipping through a stack of maternity leaflets she hadn't touched in probably two years. That's how long it'd been since the Haileybury baby.

"You said it's low back pain? Tightening?"

Harper nodded. "Sort of like... pulling. Like pressure. Not sharp, but weird."

Oscar's fingers tightened slightly around hers.

Mrs. Lyle stood and crossed to them, sitting down on the little stool by the cot. "Sounds like Braxton Hicks. You're about what — thirty weeks now?"

"Almost thirty-two," Oscar said, before Harper could answer.

Mrs. Lyle smiled softly. "Right. That makes sense, then. These start around now — practice contractions, essentially. Not actual labour, but your body's working out the muscles. Like rehearsal, in a way."

"But it hurt," Harper said, quietly. "I mean, not properly. But it felt like..."

"Something more serious?" The nurse finished for her, nodding. "It's normal to worry. It's good you came in."

Oscar looked down, jaw clenched. "So it's not — she's okay? The baby's okay?"

"Everything sounds textbook," Mrs. Lyle said calmly. "Nothing to panic about. She needs rest, hydration, and someone to carry her backpack for the rest of the day."

"Oscar always carries my bag." She said, automatically. Then she let out a breath, trying not to sag too visibly into Oscar's side. But he felt it anyway, leaned a little closer like it was instinct. His thumb finally moved, brushing against the edge of her knuckle. "I didn't know what to do," she said quietly.

"You scared me," he replied.

"I thought maybe it was real. Like — too early. I thought something was wrong."

"I know," he said. "I thought that too."

The nurse busied herself across the room, giving them quiet.

Oscar stared at the floor, then looked at her again. "I'm going to switch English periods. So I'm with you most of the day. Only class we'll have separate is Maths."

"Thanks." She whispered.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, his hand lingering at her jaw. "I keep thinking I'm going to mess this up. Like there'll be a moment, and I won't know what to do, and you'll be hurting, and I'll just... freeze."

Harper turned toward him, forehead brushing his. "You didn't freeze, though. You ran out of class and came to get me."

"I got detention for it," he muttered.

"Worth it?"

"Obviously."

She smiled faintly, and for a second it almost didn't hurt anymore.

Mrs. Lyle came back with a bottle of water and some instructions about warning signs. Harper nodded through them, Oscar listening like it was life-or-death briefing.

Later, when they walked back toward the dorms together, Harper's bag slung over Oscar's shoulder and her hand in his hoodie pocket, she felt it again — the ache, the low pull in her back.

But she breathed through it. Didn't let herself panic.

Oscar stopped, watched her, gave her a minute.

And when she gave him a tiny little nod, they started walking again.

—

Oscar's pit garage was alive with movement — laptop screens glowing, air compressors hissing, the sharp scent of tyre rubber and brake dust thick in the air. The mechanics were everywhere, half-in and half-out of red team jackets, their radios clipped to belt loops, voices clipped and fast in the way only race days made necessary.

Harper sat on a crate in the back corner, half out of sight, a bottle of orange Lucozade in one hand and Oscar's helmet balanced beside her. She was wearing his old team fleece, zipped to the chin. Her legs ached from walking too much around the paddock that morning, and the baby — thirty-three weeks now, she kept reminding herself — was sitting weirdly on her spine. But none of that mattered.

She'd learned the names of all the engineers now. Matteo, who let her plug in tyre temp data to practice her number handling skills; Hugo, who always made her tea when it rained; and Ana, who'd secretly slipped her a granola bar the first time she nearly fainted from the garage heat.

They didn't look at her like she was a distraction.

They looked at her like she belonged.

"You're back early, Harps," Hugo said, passing her a stack of pit notes. "Track walk not worth the dust?"

She smiled faintly. "It was just Oscar doing that thing where he looks at gravel and pretends he understands how it affects his drive."

"Funny kid. Acting like he doesn't just drive like a lunatic every weekend and somehow make it work," Matteo added, grinning.

Harper smiled wider, adjusting the fleece over her bump. "We like lunatics."

There was the clatter of boots on metal and a burst of voices outside the canopy. Then Oscar pushed in through the side flap of the tent, tugging off his headset, face flushed and bright-eyed. His hair stuck up on one side, and he looked like he'd just run three miles.

He spotted her instantly.

"Harper—" His voice was breathless. He crossed the garage fast, past the prep bench, around the team radio desk, and knelt beside her like he couldn't get close enough fast enough. "Come here. Two seconds. Just—"

She blinked, startled, letting him pull her up by the hand and half-drag her toward the quiet side of the tent, near the stacks of spare slicks and a half-drunk bottle of Red Bull.

Oscar looked like he might combust.

She tilted her head. "You alright?"

He looked at her for a second like he was checking if it was real.

Then he said, "Prema wants me. For F3."

Her mouth parted.

"What?"

He nodded, quickly, still flushed, eyes almost glassy with adrenaline. "Just talked to Marco. They want me. Already. Like—next season. They said I'm tracking above expectations. They want to get me in the F3 car before the year's out. Testing. Maybe a free practice."

"Wait—wait, wait," Harper said, stepping in closer. "Oscar, are you—are you serious?"

"I think I'm going to cry or be sick," he said, but he was smiling, wide and unguarded.

She grabbed his face with both hands, stared at him like she was trying to press the words into his skin. "You're going to F3."

"Yeah."

"You're actually—"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God." She let out something between a laugh and a sob and kissed him. It wasn't a careful kiss. It was messy, hot with nerves, almost desperate — the kind of kiss that comes after months of half-holding your breath and hoping everything you're building doesn't slip through your fingers.

When they broke apart, Harper kept her forehead against his.

"You deserve this," she whispered. "You've worked so fucking hard, Osc. This isn't luck. This is you."

He didn't say anything at first. Just closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, they were clear and determined.

"I want it," he said. "I want it bad. But I'm scared that—"

"Don't," she said. "We'll make it work."

Someone called Oscar's name from the garage entrance.

He kissed her again, faster this time, and muttered, "Gotta go."

"Win this one," she said, still breathless.

"I will."

As he jogged back to his engineer, helmet under one arm, Harper stayed near the stack of tyres, heart hammering in time with the noise of the circuit starting to come alive beyond the paddock.

F3.

It wasn't just an idea anymore.

It was happening.

Step by step, formula by formula.

Her boyfriend was going to be a world champion one day.

And she'd be right next to him when it happened.

—

The computer lab always smelled like dust and old wires, the kind of cold room that was either boiling from server fans or freezing from the busted window. Today it was somewhere in between.

Harper sat in the corner by the window, legs tucked under her in the school's worst office chair, a hoodie tugged over her bump and a stubborn frown etched into her face.

"Line thirty-six," Matt said, leaning over her screen from the side. "You've got a missing semicolon."

She groaned and dropped her head to the desk.

"I hate JavaScript. I hate the entire concept of JavaScript. It's all chaos and no laws."

"You're learning React, which is basically JavaScript on crack."

"I chose this language because it was meant to be user-friendly."

Matt looked at her with wide eyes. "It's not. It lies."

Harper sat back up, cracking her knuckles. "Whatever. It's a project site, not a space launch. It just needs to work."

On her screen: a rough landing page — bold, accessible design, a mockup portfolio header, a contact form that mostly worked, and a bright pink font that she'd argued about with her teacher twice already.

The title read: Harper Grace Whiatt | Front-End Developer.

"You're not even doing this for class anymore, are you?" Matt asked, squinting at the layout.

"Nope," she said, popping her lips. "I've been attending this accredited course online, doing the certification stuff. Once I get my GCSEs out of the way and baby is born, I'm going to spend all my free time on it. Maybe go freelance. Build stuff."

Matt blinked. "Like... actual websites? For people?"

"Yeah," Harper said, tapping her space bar like it owed her money. "There's this girl I follow on Instagram — she's eighteen, self-taught, does Squarespace templates and Shopify setups, makes more than a junior lawyer. I figured, you know... it's smart. Futureproof."

She said it like a defence. Like she had to prove to everyone — to herself — that she wasn't going to be the story people had already decided for her.

"You don't have to," Matt said after a moment. "Prove anything. We already know you're clever. And, like. Kind of terrifying."

"Aw," Harper said. "You're sweet." Then she said . "Ever say that again and I'll launch this keyboard at your head."

Matt rolled his eyes, but grinned. "You're going to be good at it."

She looked back at the screen, the site stubby and full of placeholder text, but real. Hers.

"I want to build stuff people actually use," she said, softer now. "Not just pretty things. Useful ones. That don't assume you've got perfect eyesight or that you know where all the buttons are."

"Accessible design?" He asked, a little impressed.

Harper shrugged. "Bit ironic, right? Couldn't pass GCSE Maths if you paid me, but give me a CSS framework and I can make your entire checkout system retina-ready."

"You're the only person in this school who knows what 'retina-ready' means."

She grinned. "Maybe."

A message pinged on her screen — a Discord notification from a dev server she'd joined the week before. Someone had commented on her mock portfolio build: Nice typography choices. Would love to see more of your work.

She stared at it for a second.

Maybe this wasn't some pretend future. Maybe this was real.

Her world didn't have to shrink. It could shift. Change shape. But it didn't have to vanish.

Her laptop fan wheezed and clicked. She opened her browser, pulled up her GitHub, and started typing.

—

Oscar was lying flat on his bed, hair still wet from his post-training shower, eating Haribo one by one like they were sacred. Harper was on the floor cross-legged, MacBook balanced on her knees, pyjama sleeves pulled over her hands. Her bump curved gently under the fabric, resting against her thighs.

The screen glowed blue in the dim light.

"You're not allowed to look yet," she said, waving him off.

"It's going to be my website," Oscar muttered, tossing a Haribo into his mouth and missing.

Sam snorted from the other side of the room. "To be fair, you couldn't design a website if your life depended on it, Piastri. You'd just put a picture of your face and 'vroom' underneath."

Oscar threw a sock at him.

Harper kept typing.

They'd been working on it — quietly, between revision and races and everything else — for the last two weeks. He hadn't told anyone yet. Mark knew, obviously. And Alfie, by accident, when Harper asked if anyone had high-res images from Oscar's most recent F4 race.

They'd all gone to watch him from the grandstands like normal fans. Sam, Alfie, Jane, Matt — and obviously Harper. It'd been like a weird, fun little school trip.

Now the website was almost done.

"Okay," Harper said finally. "Try it."

Oscar leaned over and squinted at the screen. Then blinked.

The landing page was sharp and minimal, black background, bold white type. A full-width photo of him racing — visor down, car catching the light just right — stretched across the top.

OscarPiastri.com

"Whoa."

She kept scrolling for him. Stats. Race results. An embedded video reel Mark had helped them trim. A bio she'd bullied him into writing. Sponsor contact section. News feed. Instagram integration. All responsive. All accessible.

"You made this?" He said, eyebrows high.

She nodded. "Built from scratch. No Wix bullshit. I even set up the CMS so Mark can update the results and press stuff without breaking anything."

He just stared. "It's so... professional."

"I am professional."

Oscar looked properly impressed. Then a little overwhelmed. "You're literally fifteen."

"Sixteen in, like, nine weeks," she corrected, deadpan.

He reached for her, pulled her gently up onto the bed beside him, and kissed her temple.

"Thank you," he said, soft.

"'s nothing," she said, tucking herself under his arm. "I liked doing it. Made me feel like I'm... part of it."

"You are part of it."

She didn't say anything. Just closed the lid of her laptop and leaned against him.

Across the room, Sam looked up. "Wait. If you're building sites now... think you could make me one for my rap career?"

Harper didn't even blink. "No. I want nothing to do with that disaster."

Oscar laughed.

Sam sulked.

—

The early morning light filtered through the cracked dorm window, casting a pale glow on the cluttered room. Harper sat on the edge of her bed, fiddling nervously with the hem of her jumper. Oscar leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, eyes tired but trying to look calm.

"First one," Harper muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar shrugged, trying for casual. "Biology. Easy, yeah?"

She snorted. "You're joking. You've seen my biology notes."

He stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Hey, you've got this. We've done the revision, the late nights, the panic... now it's just another test."

Harper bit her lip. "I'm scared. What if I mess it up? What if I let everyone down?"

Oscar crouched down, grabbing her hands. "No one's expecting perfection. And what does a biology result matter anyway?"

She squeezed his hands, trying to hold onto that steady feeling. "Thanks, Osc."

He smiled, awkward and sincere. "We celebrate. Whatever happens."

She nodded, took a deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

He pulled her into a quick hug, warm and tight. "Go smash it."

NEXT CHAPTER

[nonhuman-help-column]

Hey hey hey! Can you help a werewolf out?

I seem to not be shifting as often and I was wondering if I could have some advice or like ideas on what i could do to help shift (any kinda advice is welcome!)

(Nothing too physical as I am disabled with my legs, not drastically but it can be hard to do thing for extended periods of time)

So, similarly to what I told the tiger yesterday, start with time outside being still and observative. Animals spend lots of their time idle, and sometimes settling down and getting yourself out of your head and into your surroundings is what it takes to quiet the human side of your mind and let your animal instincts take the lead.

In fact, here is a little practice that I personally do to help induce a shift, modified a little for wolf specific language.

Go outside and find a comfortable place to sit. Consider kicking off your shoes if you're in an area without many sharp things to step on.

Look all around you, notice what any birds, bugs, squirrels, etc, are doing around you. Notice what kinds of plants are growing in different areas. Is what grows in the shade different than what grows in the sun? Is anything blooming or fruiting? That sort of thing. This should start to help you stop mulling over your day or any human life worries you have.

Once you feel pretty relaxed and familiar with your surroundings, close your eyes. Remembering what you saw before, try to now mentally recreate your landscape using other sensory input. Notice how the wind hits you and any scents it brings (Did you have a field of flowers? Sun baked grasses? Exhaust from the road?). Notice how it sounds rustling through different plants. What temperature it is. Notice what animals you can hear and what that means in relation to the surroundings you remember. The sound of birds tells you which direction the clumps of trees were. The croak of frogs tells you the direction of any water. The click of grasshoppers wings forms a picture of where the tall grasses were. Slowly, you should be able to paint a pretty vivid picture of what is around you using your other senses even without sight. This trains you to notice that input the way a wolf would.

When you feel you have painted a pretty good picture of what is around you, keep your eyes closed and hold onto that image, but start to turn some focus on yourself. Picture the way your ears would swivel to follow those sounds. How your nose might twitch and flare to investigate that scent. The way your fur and whiskers would be blown by the wind. Think about how your claws might squish into the grass and dirt or scratch against the stones beneath you. Slowly but surely, you should find yourself painted into that mental image as well.

Open your eyes. Look around yourself as a wolf, sharp and ready. Notice how the world looks and feels different in this state. If any of the scents and sounds you noticed earlier interested you, and you feel safe to do so, investigate them. You might be surprised what you find. From this point, do as you wish! I usually find that the shift peters out on its own after a while.

Keep in mind that you don't need true wilderness to do this. A backyard or city park is just fine as long as you won't be bothered.

That's a pretty long intense one though!

Here are some smaller activities to help either as a supplement to doing that practice or in place of it if that one doesn't speak to you.

- Journaling. I've fallen off the habit lately, but I used to love just sitting down by myself with my pen and paper and writing a little journal entry about my kintype or nature or any small shifts or animalistic things I noticed about myself that day. If you're worried about not having anything to write, pick a day to think of a bunch of writing prompts and put one at the top of each page. Then you can just flip through your journal and pick whichever one you feel like answering that day.

- Sleeping with the ambiance of your biome playing

- Watching videos of wolves doing whatever you are doing at the moment. Wolves eating while you eat. Wolves sleeping or cuddling while you rest. Wolves fighting when you're angry. That kind of thing. Wolves are very social creatures, so I imagine seeing others participating in the same thing you are would be euphoric.

[linksthoughtbrambles]

HUMMMMMM

What about Links to Zelda’s point of view of pre relationship after calamity BOTW, where everybody and their brother (AND SISTER) is in love with Zelda and hits on her, she’s oblivious of course because, yknow super in love with Link.

Every place they travel to post calamity, poor links cheeks STAY clenched.

Thanks for the prompt, @raziasark! I have been very slow, so I decided to post this one in installments. This first one is about 1100 words. I hope you enjoy the beginning and I'll try to be less slow 😂

Thanks @newtsnaturethings for bouncing ideas back and forth with me!

---

The Princess Vibe

At first, Link didn’t notice. He had a lot to deal with, and he was disoriented. Who could blame him? He’d just shot a giant purple boar on magenta-fire with magical golden arrows which somehow emerged from his soul while riding Geranium (who had somehow materialized in Hyrule field despite Link knowing for a fact when he last left him, he was happily munching hay at Riverside Stable).

Zelda’s arms around him were even more disorienting.

“Thank you, Link. Thank you,” she said, over and over like someone still half-dreaming, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He held her firm, but so, so careful—she deserved every ounce of support he had in him, but she was his Princess, half-remembered and half an ethereal vision from his life before. Was it real? Was she real? Did he love her? He thought he did, but nowhere in all those glimpses of his past life had he said or done anything about it.

He could be imagining things, especially if they were in the past.

His head could be coping with all that secondhand drama.

Past-him might’ve just been doing his duty.

Past-her might’ve expected him to do his duty, too, and that was it.

Now-her might be glad he finally finished his duty, but that’s all.

Zelda shook like a dry, crackling leaf against him.

Link stroked her hair without thinking. He winced, waiting for an objection, but she just kept thanking him. He swallowed the taste of malice-fire, acrid and sulfurous in his dry throat.

She was free for the first time in a hundred years. She deserved that freedom. He wouldn’t foist his own feelings on her.

Later, he found himself wishing everyone else would see it that way.

--

They arrived, filthy and exhausted, at Riverside Stable.

“Huh?!” Ember said, his mouth agape as they approached on the unmistakable giant horse. “When’d you take him out?”

“Snuck him out like a thief in the night, eh?!” Gotter said, squinting at Link. “Why didn’t you ask us like normal?”

Zelda’d been half-dozing against him in the saddle, but her head rose at that. “Indeed not. I teleported him.”

“You-“

“What?!”

“I apologize for any inconvenience,” she said.

They stared at her.

As Link dealt with Ember and the logistics of re-boarding the horse, Gotter seemed unable to stop staring at Zelda, who’d sunk onto a stool to rest.

“Eh- do you- teleport often?” the portly stablehand asked in a strange tone of voice.

“Only recently,” Zelda replied.

“O- oh. I see, so- eh-“ Gotter wrung his hands and took a step closer to her. “What kind of things have you- tried?”

“Only Link and that horse.”

“Oh! You can teleport people?!”

“Not anymore,” she said.

“Eh? Why not?”

“I suppose it must be due to my renewed corporeality.”

Gotter scratched his head with a befuddled squint.

Link finished exchanging rupees just in time to see Zelda listing sideways. He rushed over, thinking to scoop her up, but she hugged his leg instead.

“Thank you,” she said.

He blinked. “You’re welcome.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up to see a sort of intense vacancy on Gotter’s face, totally fixed on Zelda.

Link hadn’t planned on staying there overnight anyway, but it gave him the creeps. He whipped out the Sheikah Slate. “Ready?” He asked.

Her face turned up, her eyes glazed and smeared face pale. “For what?”

“Let’s get you somewhere to rest.”

“Oh! Oh, there are beds here!” Gotter said.

Zelda started pulling herself up with Link’s thigh as anchorage. He helped her. Gotter reached out a hand, then pulled it back with an odd little…

Giggle?

“Oh- you have it, haha,” Gotter said.

Link had enough of the weirdness. “Ready?” he asked again as her arms wrapped around his neck. At her nod, he reached around her shoulders and tapped the icon for the Myahm Agana Shrine.

He adored her little gasp by his ear as the blue energy shivered through them. It was lucky, really—he could pass his own shiver off as that, instead.

--

They spent days just recuperating.

Zelda slumped onto a seat at his table as soon as they walked in, but he didn’t let her stay there. He carried her to his bed, deposited her there, and took her sandals off for her—she was already asleep.

He wrapped the comforter around her, grabbed a bedroll, and laid it out on the floor beside her. (This, it turned out, was unwise, since she stepped directly on his bladder about two hours later when she awakened to empty her own).

That incident aside, they each slept the rest of the night and morning away. Link awakened to the gentle pat of Zelda’s fingers on his cheek, and he turned to find her hanging partway off the bed to reach him.

“Where do you get your drinking water?” she asked.

Link was up like a shot and trotting to the well around back for her. He drew three hot baths that day, too—two for Zelda and one for him.

Time passed in a complete haze while they got used to being rested, clean, fed, and safe again. Link kept startling with this sudden feeling he’d forgotten to do something important—a false sense of urgency, leftover signals rattling around his nervous system (except on that first day, after Zelda’s first bath, when he realized with horror the only women’s clothing he had was his vai outfit, and he would feel like a monumental ass if he offered her that, so he offered his typical day clothes instead and that was worse—the way she looked coming out of the bathhouse with his undershirt and—shorts?!).

“Oh, uh,” he'd said with a nervous tremor in his voice. “Yeah, so those are undershorts, the pants are-“

“Too tight, I’m afraid,” she’d said with a furious blush (Link felt awful for embarrassing her), “around my- ah- posterior.”

Link had started to sweat as he feverishly searched his brain for the meaning of the word “posterior," which he knew he knew when his internal monologue wasn't screaming.

“Perhaps,” she’d said, “you could spare those Sheikah tights instead? They ought to stretch.”

“Oh! Sure,” he’d said, extremely happy for the excuse to escape any potential revelation of his temporarily-depleted vocabulary.

He later had a small moment of enlightened panic when he realized how she must’ve known about his tights (“every step” of his journey? Every single one?!).

There were quite a few other small panic attacks involved in not looking at all, not one little bit, at how those tights fit her. Eyes up, straight out at all times, absolutely no looking anywhere below neck-level at Zelda. None.

But apart from those things, his jumpiness was nothing but leftovers.

At first.

---

[To be continued! Not sure how long this will be, but clearly a multi-installment fic!]

[kaeyas-beloved]

Character: Childe

— he’s hopelessly in love with you <333

CWs: spoilers for Childe’s real name, gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned), not proofread!

a/n: snatching this format that I’ve seen around Tumblr because I like it and it fits here. Will I use it again? Not a clue!

hopelessly in love ajax who introduces you to his family relatively quickly and with little to no hesitation. childe feels with his whole being, love is no exception. so, when he can see a future with you, no matter what form that future may take, you meeting his family is the first step forward.

hopelessly in love ajax who’s all talk unless you make the first move. he can kiss you over and over and over again, teasing you along the way, but the moment you pull him forward and plant your lips on his face before he can is the same moment it’s all over for him.

hopelessly in love ajax who buys you gifts often but they all have sentimental value to them. he’ll but you flowers, handing them to you with the confession that he bought them because his love for you was too much to keep in his heart and no amount of words would describe what he was feeling. childe would also purchase your preferred jewelry - watch, ring, necklace, earrings, a bracelet, whatever you liked, as long as you promised to wear it whenever you went out. “so you’ll always have me with you!”

hopelessly in love ajax who refuses to let go of you once he has you in his arms. he acts like he might perish if he loses the warmth and love you radiate in your embrace! it’s not that he hasn’t received a hug in years, he gets plenty when he visits home, but there’s just something different in your hugs and cuddles that regular holds don’t have. a certain feeling they lack.

hopelessly in love ajax who grabs your wrist if you’re ever helping him take off his scarf or fatui mask, allowing his cheek to rest in your palm. you’ll find he nuzzles into it much like a cat would, but unlike a cat looking for warmth or to scratch an itch, ajax does it because your touch is one of the few things that soothes him after a long day, his mind instantly at ease.

hopelessly in love ajax who tries to impress you in any way he can. it starts simple enough, trying to flash his strength on the battle field and such, but the more he falls for you the more creative he gets. balancing a spoon on his nose, his (slowly improving) chopstick skills, leaping over decent sized creeks, anything to rouse some kind of pleasant response from you.

hopelessly in love ajax who flips between drowning you in whatever fancy dates his money can buy and the more simple, quieter date ideas. it’s never bad to change things up, he reasons, childe’s favourite being to take you out on walks through the nation’s scenery. whether it’s the snow dipped forests in snezhnaya, the golden mountains of liyue or even the green fields of mondstadt, as long as ajax is around, he’ll make sure you enjoy your time with him. (he certainly will be, because when dates like this happen is when he truly gets to connect with you!)

hopelessly in love ajax who’ll sometimes just stare at you. could be while you’re cuddling or sat at the table for a meal, his pretty blue eyes are on you, taking in all that you are. he’ll think how gorgeous you look, how luck he is someone like you loves someone like him, the darker sides of him and all. he thinks about how it’s now his mission to spoil and love you for the rest of his life, because anything less is a crime punishable by life behind bars.

Tag list: @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @saishin-michiyoshi // @ajaxstar // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @lemontum // @akiria12167 // @ari-the-wr1ter // @dontmindmebeing // @xiaos-wife // @irethepotato // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @stage-lucida

. . .

Wanna be tagged in future works? Consider filling out this form! And if you want to be removed just DM or send an ask into my inbox!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I started doing sex work while still living with my mom?

Warning for sexual mentions(nothing heavily explicit though)

I (18F) can't get a typical job like working in customer service or physical labor because of a mix of reasons. I'm both physically and mentally disabled, for one. I have chronic pain & chronic fatigue so extensive physical labor or any job that requires being up for a long time is out of the question for me, as it would cause me a lot of pain and put me at risk for collapsing or falling asleep due to exhaustion. I also have heavy social anxiety and sensory issues, and despite being in therapy since I was around 11, this hasn't gone away. I still have problems with stuttering when talking to people I don't know, and feel on the verge of panic the entire time. I also can't handle loud noises well- I carry around a pair of headphones constantly but that does mess with my hearing so I couldn't really use those in a customer service focused environment. I'm a full time student as well, and will be for several more years, as I'm going straight into college out of high school. On top of all that, I can't drive yet, as the process was delayed due to concerns that my health issues would make me a hazard on the road, so I won't have my full license until late this year.

I've tried looking for other job types before, but nothing I've been able to find works. I've tried doing art, but it's not easy to get people to actually commission you- I've only gotten 1 so far and I've had commissions open for almost half a year. I've tried content creation but have yet to build a platform big enough to make money from it. I've looked for online focused jobs such as creating captions or proof-reading others work but realized very quickly I'm not equipped/qualified for that job due to my problems with processing audio correctly, and my problems reading and writing correctly first try- I often have to re-read things many times over and re-type things at least once to get it at all correct, as words and letters get mixed up in my brain sometimes or I just accidentally skip over entire words or even sentences. And even then I sometimes still get it wrong. So I'm a pretty slow worker with things like reading, and something that requires listening to something and then writing what was said took so long it wouldn't meet the time requirements a lot of places are looking for in workers for that (that I've seen).

So the only idea I have left for making money so I at least have something to help pay for college and to go towards me being able to move out someday is some sort of sex work. I'm not planning on doing anything super risky, like meeting up with real people or anything that would show my face. So I wouldn't be worried about this bothering my mom since she's not really sex negative or strictly against sex workers or anything if it wasn't for one thing. I'm not sure if this will work either. I have a lot of acne problems all over, and problems with picking at my skin that leave scratch marks in a lot of places. And I'm not sure anyone would be willing to pay to look at that. It's not something that bothers me on an individual level, it's just a part of me, but that doesn't really change what other people do or don't find attractive. So it just kind of feels disrespectful to be selling that kind of thing in my mothers house if it's not even going to be significant enough for it to matter financially. And, of course, there's always the risk my mom could see it, and I worry it would upset her to see her daughter selling that kind of thing. But I don't see other options left for how I could make enough money to not end up drowning in student loans down the line, or end up living with my mom for many years into adulthood- which wouldn't be fair to her since she's not financially well off either. I don't plan for it to be a permanent job, just something to help me through my college years till I can start working in the field for what I'm getting a degree in or until my issues get well enough I can work a more typical job.

WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[ateriblewriter]

Butterflies (t.z)

Continuation of I’m Here

TRIGGERS: self harm, self worth, hinting at other things (if you or anyone ever needs help please do reach out)

a/n: sorry this a year late. but here it is! read with caution.

Enjoy?

"Do you have any sharpies? Or a permanent marker or something like that?" Trevor untangled himself from around your body when he felt the time was right. He didn't wait for your answer before he started to rummage through the drawers of junk that were in the kitchen.

Trevor wasn't about to act like he all the answers in world or like he was going to be the one to fix you. Because in reality that would be impossible, you needed someone trained in that field to help you long term. But that didn't mean that he couldn't help in the moment or at least try.

And he had an idea, something that he had seen when he was younger. A reminder for when your feelings got a little too big for you to handle by yourself. It also a place holder until he was able to help you find the correct help you needed. Because he wasn't going to leave you alone to deal with this on your own.

"Um. I think there might be one in the cup next to the sink." You mumble trying to remember where they were. You knew you had some. "Or else it's in with my art supplies. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Hey now. There is nothing to be sorry about y/n." Trevor carried you over to your couch and making his way to your art corner to start scrounging around for that marker.

It took him a minute to find your collection, it turned out they were with the art supplies that hadn't been touched in months. He picked out two colors, purple and blue, your favorite color along with one of his.

Returning to where he had left you, he made himself comfortable. He snagged a blanket from the bin and laid it across the both of you. Trevor wasn't

"Give me your arm" He said, not asking. You didn't have the strength to question what his motives were, so you presented him with your wrist full of healing scars. He grimmaced seeing them, wondering how long this had been going on and why he didn't notice earlier.

Trevor took the purple marker starting to draw something. He started off with the body, adding some sort of antenna to what was supposed to be it head. He then took the blue marker and made wings on either side of its body.

"A butterfly?" You question rubbing and tracing over the temporary tattoo with the tip of your finger.

Your friend nodded and explained the simple rules: you want the butterfly to live by letting it fade naturally and reapplying it when you feel that certain urge. Oh and if you do act on those urges the butterfly dies.

You could do that. Or at least try. It seemed easy enough.

"You think she's gonna like it?" Trevor asked peeling off the bandage that once covered his newly acquired tattoo that laid on his right shoulder. He was looking to get something new to add to his collection of art in his body and he chose a butterfly design.

"A butterfly?" Mason scratched his head. He was a little unimpressed and a bit confused. But that's because he didn't know the significance of the creature. "I don't know man, it just seems kind of-"

"Perfect, right?" Trevor finished his sentence. He had grabbed a warm wash cloth to clean the remaining goop off.

"I was gonna say weird. But whatever floats your boat." The younger man shrugged. He didn't care what Trevor decided to put on his body.

Trevor groaned, quickly finishing up his tattoo care so they could go meet up with you. You would like the new ink, he was pretty positive of it. He just needed to show it to you know.

You weren't paying attention to what you were doing. Sometimes you do things and it just sort of happens and you don't really remember it. It was almost like you were in some sort of trance. A trance that had you acting upon some of those heavy feelings that had been plaguing you lately.

"Shit" You mumbled when you heard the knocking on the door. You had completely forgotten that Trevor and Mason were coming over. There was a fresh mark on your arm that you needed to take care of.

You hurried to the bathroom in search of some sort of bandage for your arm. Maybe you could play it off as an accident. You didn't need to tell Trevor what had happened. It would be fine right? Oh god you hoped Trevor wouldn't notice.

You just found a bandage, when you spotted the butterfly you had just drawn on your arm the day before. You panic a little, the drawing didn't have a purpose anymore and had to go. You drop the band-aid to reach for a nail scrubber and start to get rid of the butterfly.

"Come on, Y/n, open the door!" Trevor banged on the door again.

"You think she forgot?" Mason crossed his arms. It wouldn't be the first time it slipped her mind that they were supposed to hang.

"No we were talking about it earlier. I highly doubt she forgot so soon." Trevor frowned unsure what to do. Should he wait for you, maybe you were still getting ready. But he had a sinking suspicion that wasn't the case.

Trevor fished the key you had given him out of his pocket and opened the door. He suggested Mason stay there. Mason had no idea what Trevor had walked into last time something like this had happened, so he agreed to stay put.

Cautiously he entered your apartment and started to look around for you. He found you in the bathroom scrubbing away. He notice the red on your arm and put two and two together.

"Hey, Y/n?" He called out. He wasn't fully sure if you had completely heard him so he tried reaching you again. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry" You continue what you were doing.

"Hey. Listen to me. You're okay. It happens. I'm not mad." Trevor wanted to grab onto your wrists to get you to stop scrubbing at the butterfly that had already been cleanly washed off, but you swore you could still see a piece of it. Instead he grabbed onto your shoulders and turned you to face him so wrap his arms around you and pull you in close. "It's okay. Wanna draw a new one?"

Let me know what you think! Anything is appreciated!

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

I’d love to request a fic with a female reader and a angsty/comfort storyline with the Bad Batch.

For a broad storyline I was thinking something by along the lines of a female reader joining the Bad Batch (per Hunter’s idea) and Crosshair and/or Echo not being very happy about it. However they eventually they come around to having another girl in the group.❤️

Winning Approval

Clone Force 99 x Platonic!Reader

Summary- You felt as if you were living a purpose-less life, so when Hunter asks you to join his crew, you say yes! Not everyone on the force is as happy though... Takes place during and after Season 1, Ep. 2.

A/N- Thank you so much for requesting! I appreciate it so much, but I think I'm done writing platonic xD. This was sooo hard for me to write. I love the challenge, but i'm not sure how great my platonic writing skills are!

Word Count- 1,454

Growing up, helping people seemed natural. You remember discovering this when your old friend Kaiya fell and scratched her knee. It was second nature to dress her wound and comfort her. You were nine at the time.

Your mother enrolled you in medical classes as much as she could, you learned how to set bones, stitch holes, and treat infections. Amongst many other skills.

The city you lived in was soon taken over by the empire, but you found a way out before it was too late. That's where you found yourself- living with Suu and her husband Cut. The two had taken you in when they found out your home had been destroyed.

It didn't hurt when you found out you and Suu's parents knew each other in their youth.

When you had stumbled onto Hunter- he and his crew had set off a trap you had set in the fields. Your gun raised at him was lowered by Cut, claiming he knew them.

Things blurred together since then, everything moved so fast. Having to relocate away from the empire again was not something you fashioned. You were tired of running, and expressed your concerns.

Hunter initially suggested dropping you off at the planet of your choice, (a repayment for taking care of one of Omegas wounds).

Crash landing on a moon wasn't on anyone's roster, but it happened nonetheless. It did, however, give yourself an opportunity to prove yourself to them.

You helped Tech repair a part of the hyper-drive, earning his favor.

You shared your rations with Wrecker, earning his approval.

You played and entertained with Omega, earning her and Hunters trust.

Last was Echo. You wanted him to like you, as you enjoyed everyone's company. They were so kind to you, and didn't pay any mind to flaws. They knew themselves that they were defective- what was one more defect?

Maybe you were in over your head, would they really accept you as a member of their squad? They just met you a week ago. For all they knew you were an Empire spy... You couldn't deny that you wanted to stay though. You felt like you belonged- finally.

When Echo still avoided you like the plague and the ship was ready to fly again, you felt like you had run out of time. You sulked around the ship for awhile, waiting for Hunter to ask where you wanted to be dropped off.

That was until you noticed- he hadn't asked you. It had been hours and he had said nothing about you leaving.

This made you crack, anxiety like ice through your veins.

"Hunter, I mean this in the least selfish way possible. But, why haven't you asked where I wanted to go yet? What planet?" You thought you messed up when his face fell. He looked dissapointed?

"Well, we were hoping you would want to stay. We were going to formally ask, but Wrecker and Omega are still making the poster." He rubbed the pack of his neck and chuckled a little bit. "Would you like to join us? If not, that's completely understandable. Just name the planet and we will be headed there." He stated, making sure you knew you had options.

"R-really? You guys want me to join you?" You wanted to smack your head at how cliche you sounded. Though, you didn't have time to think on it, as Hunter started talking again.

"We don't have an official medic. While Tech possesses all the knowledge needed, he doesn't have a, uh how do I put it? A steady hand when it comes to medical means." He reasoned.

"You are more than capable as we've seen, and between Wrecker and Omega we need a medic- bad." You smiled at this. You felt a purpose. Someone needed you! You would be able to help your squad and civilians you came across on any journey.

Before you could respond, Omega and Wrecker barreled through the mid-section of the ship. Omega held a small banner in her hand, and Wrecker a large sheet of paper. It was full of colorful pictures, drawn by the two.

Your heart warmed at the effort they put in, all to make you feel welcomed.

"How could I say no? You guys have been so perfect to me, and I want to help you guys as much as I can." You smiled up at Hunter, he patted you on the shoulder. His way of officially letting you on the squad.

After that day, things started to move more smoothly. Yeah, you had some bad run-ins, almost got captured a few times, and had many near-death experiences. But, you were with your family through it all. The only problem was Echo.

Maybe 'problem' wasn't too nice of a word. Echo never did anything wrong. He just, never seemed to like your company. You guessed he didn't have to like you, not everyone would. Because of this, you pushed back your guilty feelings surrounding him. That was until you over-heard a conversation between him and Hunter.

"Something feels off about her." Echo told Hunter. You couldn't see either of them, and didn't want to expose your position by moving.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"I can't place it. I don't understand how everyone can just accept her, no questions asked." Echo sounded confused.

"She's shown us many times that she can handle herself. Plus, Omega needs another female on the ship.'' Hunter defended you, but still wanted to hear Echos concerns.

"She's not a clone. She doesn't think like us!" Ah, so that's why he's been so put-off by you. It was because you weren't a clone. You assumed he was so used to clones, that of course you were an odd piece in their clone family.

You slowly moved back to your sleeping cot. You sunk down slowly. It wasn't your fault, really. You can't control where or how you were born. Thoughts surrounded you. Was it that obvious? Were you that different from them?

As much as you wanted to pack your bags and not burden anyone else, you decided to talk to Echo first.

After landing on a planet to resupply, you asked to speak to Echo alone.

"Uh, sure." He replied, skeptical. You both exited the ship, though keeping close.

"Echo, I didn't really know how to bring this up. I figured I should just get straight to the point?" You asked, not wanting to waste his time.

He nodded, looking straight to you.

"I overheard you and Hunter talking last rotation..." You nervously picked at a nail. He still stared, not wavering.

"I can't help that i'm not a clone. I'm not sorry either, but I do want to know what I can do. To gain your trust." You dropped your hand, eager for his response.

He licked his lips, thinking. "I'm sorry you heard that..."

"Echo, I don't care. I just- I want to be a part of this family..." You mustered out. Now or never!

This surprised him, "What are you talking about. You already are!"

He seemed, mad? Was he really that disgusted by 'normal' humans?

"I can't help that i'm not a clone!" You regrettably yelled, throwing you arms up.

"That doesn't matter, everyone accepts you anyways!" His words were strained, like he didn't want anyone to know.

"Why don't you?" You whispered.

He sighed and took a step back. "When I first joined force 99, it wasn't as easy."

You couldn't imagine what he was referring to. You knew he was a regular clone before joining Hunter, but what did that have to do with anything?

After seeing your confused look, he continued. "I wasn't born a defective clone, I became one. It took a lot of time to understand how to use this. But you fit in so easily." He gestured to his mechanical arm.

"I had no idea you felt that way... I wasn't trying to mean anything-" He cut you off.

"I know, and really, we do need a medic. I was just being resentful, I'm sorry."

"I'm not trying to take anyone's place. The team wouldn't be the same without you. Besides, Omega adores you, and I think Hunter will do whatever it takes to keep her happy." You laughed, he luckily gave out a chuckle as well.

"Thanks. I think It'll just take some time to get used to the difference." He said, honestly.

"I get that, just let me know if there's anything I can do... Ya know, to speed things up?" You smiled up at him. It was then that you knew everything would be fine. That you really had found your family, and nothing could take you from them.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I am sorry if this isn't what you had in mind! Feel free to send in another request if you would like a more specific plot! Again, sorry that my platonic writing skills aren't that sharp! Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 2

Day One | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Three

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked.

Warnings: Public sex (car sex); roleplaying; blowjob; cumplay; fingering

“You come here often?” 

You’ve talked about this, sure, but your question still makes him dip his head, his cheeks going pink with embarrassment. You can’t help but smile, biting the inside of your cheek to keep it from becoming a full-blown grin. You scooch your bar stool a little closer, tipping your head into his field of vision. 

“Am I bothering you?” You ply softly. 

“No.” 

“You sure?” 

For a moment, you think he’s going to back off, to mutter, “Red light.” But he nods, and turns his face toward yours a little, and insists,

“I’m sure.” 

You let your grin bloom then, leaning against the bar. You reach out, gently tipping the brim of his hat up to get a better look at his kind, dark eyes. 

“So?” You press. “You come here often?” 

“I’ve been here a time or two before. You?” 

“Nope. I’m just passing through. Or, well—” You let out a put upon sigh, “I was supposed to be. My car broke down, so I called for a tow.” 

“This late?” He pushes his sleeve back to eye his watch. 

“Yeah. They won’t be able to help me out until morning.” 

The man frowns, raising his hand to scratch at his chin. 

“What are you planning on doing until then?” 

“Gee, I don't know,” You sigh again. You can see him fighting back a smile at your use of gee. “Do you know any good motels around here?” 

“Tell ya what,” He sits up, “Why don’t I take a look at your car? I might be able to get it up and running just enough to get you where you need to go.” 

“Really?” You brighten. “What would that cost me?” 

He waves you off lightly. “Let’s just…See what the damage is, first.” 

-- 

He seems to balk at how far you parked from the bar. He casts cursory glances around the otherwise empty, dimly lit parking lot. 

“It’s lucky that you were able to pull off safely,” He comments. “Why don’t you, uh—Pop the hood and try getting it to start?” 

He keeps a careful distance as you climb into the car, shutting the door behind yourself and popping the hood. Once it’s raised entirely, you try to start the car. It lets out a cranking noise before you cut out the engine again. You hear him huff a soft, disbelieving laugh before he mumbles, “What did you do.” 

You step out of the car, leaning against the side and watching the man shine a light under the hood. His brow furrows before he reaches inside, rummaging for something. You hear a clank, then a clonk, and then— 

You tip your head to the side, watching as the man leans back with something in his hand. 

“What’s that?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“It’s a wrench.” 

You push your lips into an innocent, o. “Now how the heck did that get in there?” 

“Haven’t the faintest idea, ma’am.” 

“How can I thank you, Mister…?” 

“You can just call me Frankie, no need for 'mister' anything. And really, I’m just glad I could help.” 

“There must be something that I can do,” You insist as he shuts your car hood.

“It’s really not…” He goes quiet as you step closer, hooking your fingers in the belt loops of your jeans. He swallows thickly, gaze dropping to your breasts, then to your hands. “Not…Necessary.” 

“You sure?” You step closer, pressing your body up against his. “I really,” Your gaze sweeps over from his eyes, to his lips, then up again, “Really want to thank you.” 

Frankie swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing like a fishing fly in a lake. He finally manages, “Not here.” 

“Where?” 

He nods toward the car, and you smile salaciously, using your grip on his belt loops to tug him closer to you. 

“It might be a tight fit,” You warn, “You’re so damn broad.” Your lips widened to a grin as he flushes red, his embarrassment plain even in the dark. You worry again that he'll call off the game, but he grasps your wrists, insisting, “I’m sure we’ll manage.” 

--  

“Oh my god,” He mumbles. You grin, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock before he leaned down, taking more of his shaft into your mouth. You twist your hand around the length, spreading your spit as it slips from the sides of your mouth and working in a steady motion between your lips and the blunt edge of his zipper. You go still as he rests his hand on the back of your head, fucking between your lips. You can’t help but whimper with each thrust, gagging slightly as he shoves just a touch too far into your throat. 

“Fuck, sorry—” He breathes, sliding his hand down to your neck, but you won’t have any of it. You push yourself down again, gagging roughly, and forcing yourself there for as long as you can manage. You finally draw off with a gasp, tipping your head up to swipe your tongue along the head of his cock. Frankie’s mouth falls open, a shaky exhale leaving his lips as he nods hurriedly. 

You grin, jacking his cock even harder and closing your lips to suck around the head of his cock. His thighs go tight, a shaky swear passing from his lips as he cums suddenly. You close your eyes as his cum spurts across your lips and cheek, his hips giving aborted little jolts as he desperately tries not to rock the car or draw attention to the two of you. 

He finally sags back in the seat, groaning and drawing his hat down over his face. You grin, leaning back and swiping fingers across your face, gathering the few stray drops of cum. You wait until he pushes his hat back up to slide your fingers between your lips. 

“Goddamn,” He growls, grasping your jaw and drawing him up for a kiss. You wobble a little, planting your hand on the back of the seat as you grin against his lips.

"Here," He reaches down, grasping the seat level and sliding the seat as far back as it'll go. "C'mere." He steers you to sit on his lap, your legs splayed across the console to face the driver's seat. His fingers delve beneath the band of your leggings, and you grin as his touch smooths over your dampening pussy.

"Fuck," He groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

"Something wrong?"

"No panties? Seriously?"

"Is that a problem?" You sass, spreading your thighs and tipping into his touch as his fingertips swipe across your clit. Frankie just groans, leaning in and giving your neck a sucking kiss.

"I saw you put them on after we showered."

"I changed my mind about them."

"You drive me crazy," He mumbles. You hook your arm around his shoulder, sliding your fingers up into the curls at the nape of his neck.

"You love it."

Frankie chuckles against your skin, nipping it gently as he swirls his fingers around your tingling clit. You sigh as his fingers slip slickly over your skin, letting your head fall back against the cool window as you drive your hips into his touch.

"Is that what you need?" He murmurs, "Did you like that?"

"Yes—"

"You liked picking me up?"

"Frankie—"

"Pretending you were bringing me back to fuck in your front seat? Would you take me home if you didn't know me?" His pace picks up, hand swiping with an almost vicious speed. You shiver, grip tightening in his hair as you chase your release.

"Would you let me?" You whimper. You're so close, so goddamn close—

"In a heartbeat."

Your back bows as you cum sharply, mouth dropping open, only for Frankie to shove two fingers inside. He strokes along your tongue at the same speed and angle that he strokes your clit, keeping up the urging pressure until you feebly bat at his wrist. He stops then, resting his fingers over your pubic mound, his other hand lowering to rest over your shoulder, fingers slick with your spit.

"We have to go home," He mumbles.

"Why?" You pout, head still buzzing from your release. "You're not having fun?"

"I am, baby." He soothes, "But we're gonna need a bed for what I wanna do to you."

"The backseat's free."

"And it's all fun and games until the check engine light for my back comes on." He gives your pussy a friendly pat before drawing his hand out of your pants.

"Drive."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021

[tsukimefuku]

Team fighting

You decided to train team fighting with Higuruma in an unorthodox way.

Tags: Jujutsu Kaisen, f!reader, light Higuruma x reader, crack taken seriously, fluff.

WC: 1.1K

The song (heh): Aozora Lonely - Sunny Day Service (on YouTube)

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

"Are you... Serious? Aren't we a little too old for that?" The former lawyer asked, sat beside your makeshift dorm room bed, incredulous, as you pointed at your phone, showing him a video of two teenagers playing Dance Dance Revolution. You sighed, because even though he had a point, you thought it'd be beneficial to try it in order to develop your synergy in the field.

You had been working alongside Higuruma for two weeks now, and on your third mission by his side, you had to save the sorcerer from being hit by the poison curse both were fighting, rendering you bedridden. Furthermore, you still had a couple of days to rest, but thought that, as long as there wasn't any actual fighting or cursed energy manipulation involved, you'd probably be just fine.

"Look, playing things like these has helped me improve my control over my cursed energy. It teaches you to move without thinking." You pointed out. "But if we do it together, maybe you will learn to sync your movements with someone else's. God knows you need it."

He scratched the side of his temple with his thumb, pensive, without any faith this would work. "I can get behind the principle in what you're suggesting, but aren't you still in your recovery period?"

"I am, but this is just dancing, not actual heavy training, you know? I think I'll be fine."

He looked at you, wearing pajamas and sitting on your bed. You still had a few wound dresses around your face and neck. The video showed an extremely vigorous dance game session, with all the jumping, stomping and pirouetting. Higuruma thought to himself that sparring would probably be a lighter exercise routine when compared to this. 

"This looks pretty intense, and no offense intended, but you don't seem to be ready for this much exercise at the present moment." He said, still staring at the screen.

You sighed, a little defeated, and leaned back against the wall on the side of your bed to think of an alternative. Even if he wasn't right — and he was —, there was still the issue of leaving Jujutsu High's headquarters and walking around Tokyo to find a joint that had Dance Dance Revolution.

Then, you had an idea.

"Higuruma, get up and put your chair over there." You said, pointing to a corner of the room. Curious, he followed suit, as you got up, and started to search around the songs you had saved on your phone. "I had an idea."

"And what was that? I might get behind it, or leave you to your own devices. You still need to rest and shouldn't be coming up with these kinds of shenanigans." He said, putting one of his hands inside his pants' pocket. Even if he was more open to collaborating accordingly with Jujutsu High, his demeanor was mostly uncooperative, overall. Higuruma was still feeling like a wild animal in domestication process, and you noticed that, trying to propose this exercise to chip away at his aloof facade. If this got him to fight less like a suicidal maniac, you'd be satisfied enough.

"I'm doing this in order to not get hurt again when trying to protect you from your lack of practice fighting alongside other people" you told him, still searching for something to play. He opened his mouth to answer you, but felt a light surge of guilt, choosing not to say anything instead. After all, it was his fault that you were injured like that. These little pinches of guilt and remorse creeping up on him were bringing Higuruma back to the real world and its consequences, after what happened when he awakened his cursed technique.  

"Ah, here it is." You finally found a song, and let your phone on standby over the bed. "We will dance together, and you'll let me lead, okay?"

He huffed, somewhere between a sigh and a sardonic chuckle, still in disbelief at your idea. "I have no problem with that, but is this really necessary?"

"Firstly, I'm bored out of my mind. If I don't do anything, I might actually go insane locked up in this room." You began answering. "Also, you're great when fighting alone, but an absolute menace to any ally around you when fighting with company. We can't have that being the norm when you're stuck working with me, and I'm stuck working with you."

Higuruma sighed, defeated, and acquiesced.

You took both of his hands and pulled him to stand right in front of you. Then, raised one of them to rest over your waist, holding the other around shoulder-high, and rested your own palm on his shoulder. "Are you ready?" You asked.

He simply shrugged. "I guess. I must warn you that I am not very good at this, though."

You smiled and parted from his hand briefly, extending your finger to press 'play', beginning to waltz around to the beat of the song. You chose something easy and slow enough to start out. Higuruma was stiff as hell, so you tried the simplest thing you could, trying to guide him two steps back, two steps forward. Your efforts were fruitless. He was sturdy and his body would simply not budge. The sorcerer was clearly having a lot of difficulty following your lead, ending up stepping over your toes a few times. On top of that, he was trying to follow your movements by looking at your feet, as opposed to feeling the movements of your body and following along.

"Ouch! Higuruma, what the hell? I feel like I'm dancing with a rock." You told him, stopping for a second.

"In my defense, I informed you I wasn't good at this" he pointed out.

You sighed. "This isn't difficult." You looked at Higuruma and pulled him closer, so he wouldn't have room to be looking at your feet in between your bodies. "Come on, look at my face, not our feet."

You felt his body tightening, as his shoulders stiffened and rose up slightly, startled at the sudden way your bodies had pressed against each other. You tapped the hand you had over one of his shoulders and said, "relax. If you don't, I won't have toes at the end of this. Inhale, exhale, you know the drill."

"Fine." Higuruma closed his eyes, inhaled, held his breath, exhaled and then looked at you. He seemed more focused now, and you began to dance again, pulling and pushing him slowly to the beat of the music. This time, he had his eyes locked on yours, and followed your steps appropriately, so you began to increase the difficulty. You started to dance circularly, and he followed your waltzing effortlessly, as you smiled at him.

"There you go. See? You're not so bad," you said, "not bad at all."

For the first time in months, he truly smiled. This was the first time you saw him smiling, actually, and you returned the expression.

Higuruma began thinking to himself that this, maybe, was really not bad at all. 

[misc-obeyme]

First Aid for Beel

What! Another daily chat scene so soon?? Yeah, I dunno, I should be working on my book but man sometimes I just gotta write some fluff, ya know? Anyway, I wanted to do a scene for Beel that wasn't about food, so here's this. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but I don't think it's terrible? Anyway, Belphie's coming up next.

GN!MC x Beelzebub

Warnings: injury, blood

BEELZEBUB MC, could you bring me a first aid set?

MC Did you get hurt?

BEELZEBUB Yeah, I took a fall during club activities. I was hoping you could bring me some bandages and an antiseptic solution.

MC I'll head over straight away!

BEELZEBUB Thanks. But it's not a major injury, so there's no need to rush. I wouldn't want you falling down and getting hurt as well. I'll be waiting.

You were in the House of Lamentation when you received Beelzebub's message. Even though it said not to rush, you did anyway. The idea of Beel being hurt in any capacity was stressing you out. You ran to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, nearly colliding with Levi on your way back out. His shouts of protest didn't even register as you made your way to the front door.

You burst out of the House and started immediately toward RAD. You knew he was likely still out on the field behind RAD, where the sports teams did their various practices after school.

When you got to the field area, you looked around and it didn't take you long to spot him. There were certainly a lot of groups of demons around, most of them engaged in some kind of physical activity, but Beel's orange hair made him easy to find in any crowd. He was sitting down on the grass, watching the others as they went through various drills.

You made your way over to him, moving through groups of demons as you went. Some of them looked at you askance, but most people had probably figured out what you were doing there. Even if they hadn't, you didn't care in the slightest.

You finally reached Beel's side and dropped down beside him in the grass. He was wearing a practice uniform - black shorts and a black t-shirt with the RAD logo on it.

"What happened?" you asked, setting down the first aid kit next to you.

Beel smiled when he saw you. "MC. Thanks for coming. I just got scraped up a little. It's not a big deal."

Beel turned slightly so you could see his leg.

You gasped and reached out, your hands hovering uselessly over the injury. It was much worse than you had been anticipating. There were three deep large cuts going down Beel's leg from knee to ankle. The edges were jagged and they were seeping with dark blood. It was slowly running down the side of his calf, dripping onto the grass.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. "Beel! You said it wasn't a major injury!"

"It isn't," Beel said calmly, tilting his head in confusion.

"What happened?"

Beel rubbed at the back of his head. "I tripped over Gamigin and it startled him so much, he went into demon form. He's got some long claws and he tried to grab onto me to stop himself from falling, too. We both ended up falling."

You took out the antiseptic and frowned. Would the bandages in the first aid kit even be enough to deal with this? You glanced at Beel, who looked completely unbothered, then applied the antiseptic to the wounds as well as you could. Beel didn't react, only watched you.

"This may not seem like a big deal to you," you said as you worked. "But an injury like this would be very painful for a human. So you have to understand why I'm concerned."

"But I'm a demon, not a human," Beel said. "It's just a scratch to me."

You sighed, finishing with the antiseptic before moving on to the bandages. You wrapped them around Beel's leg, keeping them tight enough to stop the blood flow, but not so tight that it would be painful. Though you realized you could no longer be certain about Beel's pain tolerance levels.

"There," you said, as you tied the bandage. "That should be okay."

"Thanks, MC," Beel said. He blushed a little. "I really appreciate you coming out here to help me."

You sighed. "Of course I'll be here when you need me."

You weren't looking at Beel, your eyes still on his injured leg, your fingertips running along the edge of the bandage you had applied.

You were surprised to feel his arms around your shoulders. "It's okay, MC," he said. "You don't have to worry so much. I don't like seeing that look on your face."

Although you knew there were plenty of other students around to see, you returned Beel's embrace. You had to get on your knees to hug him properly, considering his large size. You nuzzled your face into his neck and sighed.

"I can't help it," you said. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

Beel chuckled, a low rumbling in his chest that somehow put you at ease. "I know, but I'm going to be okay. I have you to take care of me."

You leaned back, your hands on Beel's shoulders, his on your waist. You smiled at him, though you knew the worry was likely still visible on your face. You pressed a light kiss to his lips, then stood up.

"Can you walk? I think it's time to go home," you said.

You offered him a hand. He took it, but it was obvious he didn't need your help to stand.

"I'm all right," he said. "I can stay-"

"Absolutely not!" you interrupted. "You're coming home with me right now."

"But-"

"Don't argue," you said. You picked up the first aid kit and started off of the field toward home, tugging Beel along by his hand. He paused to grab his bag, which likely held his equipment and usual RAD uniform.

He seemed content to let you lead on, but you noticed the way his hand tightened around yours. You kept your fingers threaded with his as you began the walk back to the House of Lamentation.

You were halfway across campus in an area with few people and many trees when Beel stopped. You turned to him immediately, concerned that his leg was more painful than he had realized. But he just pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you. His bag had been dropped at his feet.

"I meant what I said, MC," he said quietly, his eyes locked with yours. "You really don't have to worry so much. It's a minor injury for me, just like I said."

You smiled. "You can say that until you're blue in the face, but I'm going to worry about you all the same."

Beel blushed then, a soft pink dusting across his cheeks. You kissed him again and this time, you lingered a bit before pulling away, your hands clasped tightly as you continued on your way home.

others in this series:

Mammon | Barbatos | Solomon | Lucifer | Simeon

Leviathan | Asmodeus | Diavolo | Belphegor | Satan

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[crying-fantasies]

Fighting instincts

Masterlist

Heavily inspired by @michaela-o new work (hope you don't mind), just love the idea of fighting instincts on humans and while reading her work I was: How come I overlooked that?!

Some may ask how much of an organic DNA structure a terraformer sparkling has taken from the human creator.

It shows, barely, in physical traits described before, but in recent years some show way more noticeable things such as metallurgic imperfections on the derma (scars) some points of different color (similar to dots), in some cases even different kinds of paint appearing when the youngling is old enough as discoloration or degrading paint even when the quality and healthiness of nanites is the same.

But, when faced with difficult or way too stressing situations, some have been able to produce organic chemicals, maybe not sweat or tears, but chemicals that help their bodies to produce or increase their "organic instincts".

Imagine a feral human, like some bots call humans in dead or life situations, somehow increasing their strength and sharpness, more fluid while moving.

Now imagine that very same human but give it a few more meters, a hard like tank reinforcement exterior, and energon running in the circulatory system faster than any blood vessel could ever do with blood, and you have a Terraformer about to go feral.

It doesn't always happens, practically since all the terraformers have been forged in times of peace, but given the problem of being easy targets since they don't have experience in war have show quite the examples of responses to these situations.

With the records of New Cybertron the first one to show registered traces of human die or fight behavior in dire circumstances was Sabersky, it was in a mission far from Cybertron and they crashed without knowing in a neutral settlement that didn't know the actual situation back on New Cybertron.

Official in charge: Astrotrain, mentioned that: "They didn't have the slightest idea the war had ended, not even how to use a gun! When they saw my old decepticon insignia and Mariah's autobot badge they began shooting like crazy! Didn't even get a scratch of it, but the kids", his previous proud smile dropped, "the kids have never been in between open fire before, Mariah and Chainbreaker were the first ones to get injured, Bloodhorn tried to talk and made it worst, she was the next and then Sunset, I had to stop Cloudjolt from shooting back, I transformed back to alt mode to take them away as fast as possible, Sabersky was-" he paused, servo over his eyes, "Saber was behind me, I'm sure of it, I swear, I'm looking out for these reckless younglings at every moment, he is the second youngest and maybe the worst, I counted all of them, called out for him to contact back to Cybertron and he didn't say a word, when I looked back he wasn't there anymore".

Cadet Sabersky was shoot mid air, the blast and conservative fall destroyed his left wing and crashed on enemy territory, "I don't really remember what happened after they beat me", after his retrieval he was put on medbay, one of his wings wasn't fully developed, as it was new, but was attached to his frame, the content on his tank made more than one medic frantic for answers.

"Would you want to tell us what happened to you?", The psychiatrist asked softly, the youngling put a servo over his helm, feeling the dents around.

"I remember one of them took me by the helm", note: the subject looks angry to remember the events, making his servo a fist, "and started to smash me against the dirt", the fist collided against his open servo to put emphasis on the events, "I heard every one of them, like an echo!", Note: the patient is smiling, apparently to cover the gravity of the assault, "I thought: so I'm going to die here, just like pops said: if you're weak and the enemy gets you then it's over" he stopped the movement of his fist, smile faltering, the patient's field dropped, "I thought about them, mom and pops, I mean, pops is more than able to go on with his life! But mom, mom would have been sad if I died there... I can't remember".

Note: patient's wings dropped with his field.

"It angers me! I can't remember!"

Under the request of the patient an exploratory mnemosurgery was realized.

The mnemosurgeon had a hard time explaining what happened after suffering a panic attack in the middle of the procedure and also at the end of it, "I need to know how it could be possible!", was his answer before returning to his job, but in a resume after the physical attack started there was a strange rush in the patient's energon lines, a pulse, strange in it's nature before the HUD powered off, two nanoclicks of silence before the pulse reappeared, stronger, and he started to move again.

There was no way to explain it except that cadet Sabersky entered a strange stage of self preservation only comparable to the ones humans get ir order to survive, joints moved in impossible and painful directions, armor was loose in certain portions of the body to improve movement, and hunger, the cadet consumed some of his attackers, riping off their steel to consume it and also integrating it to his own body by something similar to new tissue generated by a process equal to human digestion and homeostasis.

"He looked like a dire wraith, but less deformed, I don't know how to explain it but he looked a lot like a human with armor, for Primus' sake, he started to move on four limbs, his vox glitched and he sounded like a human! How is that possible!", The surgeon seemed to be enthusiastic about the whole ordeal and the possible hypothesis around the event.

Note: Further research is needed, since terraformers are still a subject of many questions, we'll contact the scientists aboard the Lost Light since they are the first ones to have any information of the first individual.

Cadet Sabersky has zero recollections of the incident and the medical personnel has decided that was the best outcome of the whole situation to prevent bigger trauma.

[marshmallowloves]

I've got WarioWare brainrot lately rewatching clips and playthroughs and getting excited to dress up this Halloween and I'm like I gotta DO something with this 👀 so I decided to revamp and make a more proper reference for my WarioWare self insert!

and it's...not Sirela???

soooo... long story short, I don't really feel like Sirela fits as a WarioWare self insert anymore...mostly because I originally made her for the Marioverse, and I only shifted her over because I had just recently added Orbulon to the f/o list and needed someone to pair with him, and I...didn't have any other ideas at the time gkdhg but now I do! the idea is ME cause I love the funky lil alien dude! So here she is!! :D ...Here I am...?? ...THIS GUY ☝🏻 (also I tried to imitate the look of the character bios from Mega Party Game$ and it's not 1:1 but I think I still did pretty well considering I made it all from scratch kjdsfhg)

little backstory under the cut~

Cici is an aspiring artist who specifically wants a career in video game design! She heard that Diamond City and the surrounding area was fairly diverse and rich in culture, and figured it would be a perfect place to try and land a job somewhere in the art field…or at least peddle some of her own drawings to the artsy-fartsy people living there for a quick buck.

For a while, she's able to find part time jobs to make ends meet, but nothing that lets her express her creativity like she wants… Until she hears about WarioWare Inc., which happens to be URGENTLY AND DESPERATELY hiring game designers regardless of experience or…any other qualification really. Kinda shady…but she still seizes this golden opportunity to finally get a real head-start in her career, unaware that she will…probably not be getting much of the gold she needs from this establishment (or any at all kdjfg).

As she's home working late one night on concept art, trying to meet a deadline from her new boss, she hears a BOOM! just outside her house. When she goes outside to investigate she finds that a certain alien has crashed his ship in her yard (what else is new?) and after making sure he's okay, she urges him to stay at her house at least for the night - it's dark out and the weather's getting colder lately, certainly not ideal conditions for him to start making repairs... Delighted by her generosity, he accepts the invitation, and it's over a warm and sweet cup of cocoa that they learn they're both working for the same guy right now! What are the odds?

It's also when she learns that her boss has a…less than reputable track record of getting people to do his work and getting away with not paying them djfgsf. And while that definitely sucks, she's at least getting to do the kind of work she always wanted to, so it's still a win in her book!

And so I…haven't thought much beyond that actually dkjfg. I'd imagine it's through working for Wario (at least partly) that she and Orbulon spend more time together after their initial meeting. I think maybe he'd enjoy coming back to her house every so often, even after he's fixed up the Oinker, because he just finds her interesting as a human. She's actually happy doing her job for dirt pay, she's always got weird (to him dkfjg) and delicious snacks at her place…and to top off his intrigue, she's sort of fascinated by him too - after all, she's hanging out with an actual hyper-intelligent alien! 👀 (and it doesn't hurt that he's cute and weirdly charming to boot kdjfg)

[autumnistic-danmei]

Fantasy FengQing One-shot

Idk I just pulled this out of my ass, so enjoy I guess. XD

This is from that one random Fantasy AU I posted about a little while ago btw. F u n.

Feng Xin was starting to think that this wasn’t such a good idea. He had been wandering through the uninhabited eastern forests for over a week now, and he had quickly come to the realisation that he was not suited to a nomadic lifestyle. He was dirty, sweaty, tired, and he was getting dangerously close to being completely out of food.

God, I miss the castle… He thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pushed through another patch of tallgrass. The tough fibres of the plants scratched at his legs and tickled his arms, but he knew he had to keep pushing forward. Who knew what kind of snakes, rats, or if he had particularly rotten luck, feldgeister, lived in these abandoned crop fields.

Eventually, Feng Xin safely found his way out of the field, but once again, he still saw no signs of civilization. As a royal beast tamer, he was used to residing in areas with villages and roads abound, but now, after the fall of Xianle… He found himself lost and alone, with no king to serve.

Well, not completely alone. A few weeks ago, Feng Xin had encountered an odd man who refused to remove his hood and mask, and ever since that short, frustrating, interaction, he had spotted the same man multiple times in the woods. Somehow, the man almost always managed to disappear before Feng Xin could talk to him, but through the few short interactions he had managed, he had found out that the man’s name was Mu Qing. The name sounded familiar.

Another odd acquaintance of his was a black cat. It seemed to be following him, judging from exactly how many times he had encountered the creature, but it didn’t seem to have any malicious intent. In fact, the fluffy animal was quite friendly, cuddling up to him at times or sleeping beside him at night. Feng Xin was pretty sure that it was not a normal cat, because it was easily the biggest cat he had ever seen, and it sometimes showed some very odd behaviour, but really, he didn’t mind the company, so he wasn’t going to ask.

Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to be nearby at the moment, so he would likely have to spend this night alone.

Feng Xin sighed, then just sat himself down on a flat rock and set his bag down beside the small tree nearby. He only had a few small chunks of flint remaining, so that was just another thing for him to stress about before he could find his way back to civilization.

He just stared down at the ground for a few minutes, starting to regret his decision to “start a new life” by walking off in a random direction and just hoping that he found people. When he finally turned back to his bag, planning to just set up a small fire and eat some food before going to sleep, he found that it was being dragged away by a disgustingly large rat.

Yeah, he definitely regretted it.

As the unnecessarily large rodent continued to pull at his bag, Feng Xin reluctantly got to his feet and drew his bow out. He had just notched an arrow on the string when abruptly, a large black shape fell down from the trees above.

Feng Xin blinked, mildly confused, as he watched the black shape and the oversized rat tussle for a few seconds, but he quickly realised what was happening. The unknown shape was that odd black cat, seemingly having come to his rescue when it saw his bag being stolen by the rodent.

The fluffy creature eventually sprang off of the rat, hissing indignantly, before it calmed itself down and began slowly to lick the thick blood off of its paws.

The little guy gave me a heart attack... Feng Xin thought, putting his bow down and sliding the arrow back into his quiver as he did so.

He approached the large feline and affectionately scratched it behind the ears, chuckling. “You’re still following me, huh? Y’know, I should probably give you a name…”

The cat glanced up at him, its steely grey gaze looking almost incredulous, but it didn’t respond, and just went back to calmly grooming itself. Feng Xin ignored the cat’s odd look, writing it off as just another weird quirk that the fluffy feline had. He stared down at the cat for several seconds, thinking through a few possible names, before he glanced at the dead giant rodent and decided on a name.

“How about ‘Fu Yao’? I think that’d fit you pretty well, little guy.” Feng Xin asked, knowing that he would receive no response. The cat just blinked at him again before simply tapping its head on the palm of his hand, letting out a quiet chirp. He chuckled, a slightly giddy grin spreading across his face as he happily continued to pet the cat, enjoying the warm purring sounds he was receiving.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Fu Yao started to paw at Feng Xin’s bag, mewling loudly. He chuckled, untying the strings for the cat and just watching with a warm smile as the cat dragged out a strip of dried meat and started to take small, dignified bites of it.

Feng Xin grabbed a strip of meat from himself, tearing chunks out of the tough flesh as he watched Fu Yao’s slow nibbling with mild amusement. He has better manners than I do…

He continued to silently eat for a few minutes, pulling his blanket out of the leather bag at some point, which Fu Yao proceeded to immediately claim as his own. Feng Xin chuckled fondly, waiting another few minutes, he just awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced down at the black cat.

“Have you ever run into that weird guy in a cloak?” He abruptly asked, and when Fu Yao just blinked back at him, he added, “His name’s Mu Qing, apparently, and… He confuses me. He might be stalking me or something, but I have zero clue why, and he refuses to say anything.”

The cat just blinked again.

Feng Xin rubbed the back of his neck, then slowly laid down on the blanket covered rock beside Fu Yao. “I don’t really know what he looks like, either. It’s just a bit odd…” He trailed off, glancing at the cat again before laughing quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to a cat about this.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Fu Yao climbed onto his chest, kneading Feng Xin’s tunic with his black paws before curling up and burying his fluffy head in his own tail. Feng Xin sighed affectionately, then just resigned himself to his fate as a mattress. He rested his head back against his bag and allowed himself to properly relax for once, his eyes slowly drifting shut.

…

Feng Xin awoke to the sound of birds chirping and insects buzzing overhead. As he cracked open his eyelids, he squinted slightly in the bright morning light, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes. It took him a few moments of confusion to notice it, but soon enough, he came to the realisation that Fu Yao was gone. Did he just come here for food…?

The brunette sighed, shaking his head, then just slowly sat up and began to put his stuff away into his bag again, preparing himself for another long day of walking.

As he haphazardly shoved his blanket into his bag, he began to quietly talk to himself. “…I’m pretty sure Fu Yao just wants my food, but hey, at least he’s nice to me.” He snorted, then added wryly, “Unlike that little fuck with the fancy mask.” 

After a few more minutes of reluctant packing and stretching, Feng Xin was back on the road. Thankfully, he found an overgrown dirt path running close to a river, which he decided to follow just in case there were people at its end.

He continued on his trek, still feeling very dirty, but thankfully much better rested. That was until he spotted a shape moving through the trees to his right. Oh, come on. What is it this time? Feng Xin rolled his eyes, but he prepared his bow and arrows just in case.

Slowly pushing plants to the side, Feng Xin peeked through the trees to see what the shape was. It’s probably just a buck or something. He thought to himself with an internal sigh.

He was proven wrong very quickly.

Staring at him like a deer in the headlights was Mu Qing, his ornate steel blue mask held in his hands. His grey eyes were wide, and all colour drained from his face for a moment before he quickly schooled his expression and shot the bow in Feng Xin’s hands a wary glance.

“You?!” Feng Xin blurted, raising his weapon slightly.

Mu Qing took a step back, snapping. “What about me? And put that thing down, I haven’t done anything to you!”

Feng Xin was about to reply, before he realised that the other man did have a point. “I… Okay, fine, but you still need to answer my questions!” He snorted, lowering his bow.

Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms and responded, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “And why is that? It’s not like I’m a criminal. Walking through the Feywild isn’t illegal, is it?”

“...The what?” Feng Xin responded quietly, his eyes widening slightly.

The man standing before him ignored his expression of shock though, just rolling his eyes and putting the mask back on. He seemed alarmingly unbothered for someone who had just stated that he was currently in the Feywild, and that just confused Feng Xin even further.

Feng Xin’s mouth opened and closed several times as he watched Mu Qing turn around and start to walk away, his mind buzzing with confusion.

“H-Hey! Wait up! What did you say?” He yelped, running after Mu Qing as the masked man swiftly walked in the other direction. “Where are we? Why are you following me?”

Mu Qing didn’t spare him a backwards glance though, instead just walking even faster as he snapped back. “Well, I’m obviously not following you right now!” Noticeably, he didn’t acknowledge any of the other questions.

It wasn’t long before Feng Xin gave up in his pursuit. Mu Qing was moving impossibly fast, and soon enough, he straight up just hopped into a tree and began to flee through the branches overhead.

He stared at Mu Qing’s retreating back, his amber eyes still wide with confusion and a little bit of fear. What? The Feywild? There’s no way… I haven’t seen a Fey even once!

He blinked several times before he crossed his arms and began to walk down the path again. That's bullshit. He's just trying to scare me...

Right?

[gunshou]

(it's not 500 words but I'd very much love to have a dvd-esque commentary <3)

And afterward, Rumlow would disassemble his weapon, wipe him down carefully and perform any necessary maintenance before returning him to storage, unlike the last time when Skelton had the Soldier shoved back into cryo still full of come that froze and ruptured his rectum, a bloody frothy mess the technicians discovered upon thawing later. Brock Rumlow knew how to properly care for his weapons, how to clean and oil his guns and keep his knives sharp, and maintaining the Winter Soldier would be no different. 

Rumlow was only a junior member of the team, however. Assigned to babysit and explain to the Solider how to act like a fucking human being instead of a death machine. He’d have to pay his dues for a while before he got his chance.

The asset nodded at him now, seeming to understand the implied command to hold off on dropping into his role until he was placed downstairs at the party. Again, Rumlow frowned. 

“You know, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” he said very softly, “even if your brain’s been fried to hell and back. I think you know exactly what you’re doing most of the time. Don’t you?”

The Winter Soldier narrowed those disconcertingly bright eyes, listening to the thin thread of danger mixed with admiration in Rumlow’s voice. Assessing it for threat.

“Yeah,” Rumlow continued in that same quiet, soothing tone. “Don’t worry.” He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, because he really didn’t want his neck snapped today. “I’ll keep your secret.” Murderbot wouldn’t remember the threat Rumlow posed for longer than a couple of days anyway; once he got strapped in the chair everything would disappear for him in a blaze of electricity.

“Hey,” Skelton called, “you two done making out over there? Time to roll.” 

Rumlow raised an eyebrow and asked, “We good?” 

Yay, thank you for the ask!

To start, I swear I didn't abandon this fic. My depression has had the better of me for awhile and I've been in a creative slump. But I do have at least another few chapters planned for this fic.

I love a hyper competent Winter Soldier, but anything that isn't muscle memory is going to have to be retrained each time he gets wiped, as well as new technologies as the decades pass. He picks up on things fast -- the memories are in there, but he can't access them -- but he has to be explicitly coached to bring them out. And of course, pulling on some memory threads runs the risk of unraveling the whole thing, so it's a delicate job. The agent tasked with it has to be proven reliable, but low enough on the ladder to be expendable in case the Soldier snaps. Rumlow, recently recruited into STRIKE, fits the bill.

The idea of TWS as a weapon, particularly Rumlow's weapon like The Gun, comes to me from SubverbalDreams and itallstartedwithdefenestration. They have a way of writing Winterbones that's codependant and wonderfully warped, and I really wanted to explore that vibe more.

I think it's easy for HYDRA to characterize TWS as stupid and obstinate: he's not chatty, shows no clear personality, and fresh out of cryo or the Chair he's a dazed and barely responsive wreck. But in the field, he's fucking terrifying. He kills precisely and relentlessly, and he does. Not. Stop. until the mission ends. His squad is trained to support him, but also to keep their guns trained on him, like he's a barely tamed bear they've collared and make dance in a circus. So they dehumanize him further and mock him to alleviate their terror of him. That shows up in the repeated rapes and in this case, a deliberate breach of storage protocol that caused just enough damage to agonize the Soldier on thawing without hopelessly compromising his ability to complete his mission.

Rumlow sees that shit as petty, and it irritates him. TWS is this perfectly crafted deadly weapon, one of a kind (as far as they know), and these dipshits scratch the paint and bust up the engine just to prove they can in some sort of pissing contest. And for what? It's not like the Soldier will react or retaliate: he can't.

Except Rumlow's not stupid. Rumlow is fascinated by the Soldier and has studied everything he can get access to on the man. And Rumlow has noticed that handlers who repeatedly abuse the Soldier tend to have a higher than normal chance of ending up dead. It's nothing obvious, and no evidence can be traced back to the Soldier even circumstancially, but still. The statistics paint a frightening picture there.

Except Rumlow isn't frightened; he's gleeful he figured it out and impressed that the Soldier is even more capable and crafty than HYDRA suspects... and completely, thoroughly responsive to his handler's will. That's a lot of power for one person to hold. Here's this devastating force of death held on the thinnest of leashes, and god, does Rumlow want to be the one holding that leash.

What could he accomplish for HYDRA's world order if he had total control over the Fist? What would it feel like to know the most dangerous assassin on Earth would follow his orders and protect him with his life?

All Rumlow needs to do is earn the Soldier's trust and he'll have TWS eating out of his hand. And earning his trust begins with a calculated risk: saying he suspects and respects the Soldier's intelligence, and then keeping that between them. The Soldier won't explicitly remember the conversation, but some part of him will recognize Rumlow next time they meet.

And when Rumlow has the Soldier's complete trust, when the Weapon fits perfectly to Rumlow's hand, his place in HYDRA will be secured.

[dustedmagazine]

John Zorn/The JACK Quartet — The Complete Quartets (Tzadik)

Over the last 40-something years, John Zorn has worked in many styles: there’s the punkish energy of Naked City and punishing grind core of Pain Killer, some 25 volumes of soundtracks, high-wire jazz with Masada, and the many, many side groups he’s composed for (Moonchild, Chaos Magick, a bunch of others that don’t have names). Classical is style that doesn’t immediately come to mind. After all, most of his music has at least one foot in jazz and improvised music.

But as the new two-CD set The Complete Quartets shows, Zorn’s also had an interesting side career writing for the traditional string quartet. The eight pieces here comprise just over 35 years work in this field and show him growing and coming into his own. Sure, it’s a lot to take in all at once, but we’re talking about a guy who loves to do things in bulk. Zorn’s been as prolific as just about any other musical artist you can name.

The four pieces on disc one are some of Zorn’s first pieces for string quartet and they’re also his most familiar ones, too. “Cat O’Nine Tails” was first recorded over 30 years ago by the Kronos Quartet and in the years since, Tzadik has released a couple of records focused on these pieces: 1998’s The String Quartets and 2000’s Cartoon/S&M. But the music on disc two isn’t as well-travelled and where some of this set’s interest lies. It’s largely harder to track down and hasn’t been put into this kind of a context yet. First things first, however.

“Cat O’Nine Tails” was written in 1988 and was Zorn’s first major piece for a string quartet. It still feels wild in the way it jump cuts from bursts of dissonance to little bits of music: at times it sounds like George Crumb and at others like a country hoedown. It feels like a needle jumping haphazardly on a turntable. The way the JACK Quartet moves around inside this is of a piece with Zorn’s other late 1980s ideas: the frantic blasts of Spy vs Spy, the sonic miniatures of Naked City, the quick cuts of his soundtrack work. But they also give an idea of his creativity: he’s exploring the language of the string quartet and creatively misreading his influences.

Indeed, you can hear Zorn working out this language on the first disc. “Dead Man” opens with choppy plucked strings. Zorn works out his voice in the little bits of noisy scratches and the way the strings sometimes sound like a tape unspooling during playback. The quartet handles these tricky passages well, moving through the piece’s 13 sections (presented here as one long track) with aplomb. It’s a short one, but you can hear echoes of this piece’s softer side throughout the rest of the record, particularly in “Memento Mori” and the way the notes sometimes hang in the air, slowly turning into a drone. It’s the longest piece on the set and even if it feels a little too rambly at times, the group handles its quieter passages well.

The first disc ends with “Kol Nidre,” a slower and more melodic composition that’s a change of pace from the set. It moves around two themes that revolve around each other, giving the music a sort of throbbing quality. It’s short, the shortest piece on the record but in some ways it’s the most memorable in its more reflective and emotional passages and the way it shows Zorn working in a different mode, something closer to, say, Phil Niblock. It closes about a decade of his creative growth in this form.

The second disc takes up Zorn’s post 2000 string quartet works. It’s a period where he increasingly turned to others to play his works and started releasing those huge box sets: The Book of Heads, The Bagatelles, The Book of Angels. Comparatively, his work for string quartets slowed down with just four pieces in the last 25 years. Of them the first is the most memorable: the five-part “Necronomicon.” It opens with bursts of energy, particularly in the higher registers, and is livelier than either of the two pieces before it. But after this bombastic intro it moves into a slow, moody mode on “The Magus” and builds up the tension with drawn out notes followed by short little buzzes. The whole piece has the ambience of a soundtrack to a horror movie. You can almost see the wizard working deep inside the castle, stirring up trouble and coming to a frantic, grizzly fate by the end of the fifth movement. In the JACK Quartet’s hands, this piece comes alive and draws you in. It’s the best part of this set.

The final two pieces lack that creativity and ambition. “The Unseen” swirls around little riffs and motifs, while “The Remedy of Fortune” draws on older forms of classical music and has moments of tension, but doesn’t have the same spark. They’re both nice to have, but neither are essential.

But stuck between those and “Necronomicon” is 2011’s “The Alchemist.” According to Zorn, it was inspired by a 16th century occultist/astronomer with an interest in Kabbalah, which honestly tracks with Zorn’s history of influences. It’s a busy piece that would fill a whole side of a vinyl record, but it has some interesting moments where the strings seem to swirl around each other, rising and falling. But there’s a really cool moment about six minutes in where everything drops out except for some ringing high notes and it completely changes the mood of the piece, taking it into spaces where Zorn hasn’t really gone on the other quartets. It’s one that could’ve been easily lost in a larger set but here, placed against his other later works, it shines.

With many albums of his classical music out there already, it’s hard to recommend The Complete Quartets to people newly coming to his classical side. Safer bets are 1999’s The String Quartets or 1996’s Bar Kokhba. But those with a deeper interest in Zorn and an interest in seeing how his compositions grew from collections of miniatures and ideas to more fully fleshed out pieces, will find a lot here to chew on. And throughout the JACK Quartet show themselves as able players for the sometimes tricky music.

Roz Milner

[itsmissing]

Hi, you said we were allowed to ask random questions, so I wanted to get your take on this if it is ok. I have followed you for years at this point, and your creations are incredible! They inspire me so. I recall some time ago posting a.... reskin? Revamp? Of one of your DnD characters? I know most of your characters are not dnd nor should people use them in their own games, but if I am reading this correctly it means you yourself play or have at least played TTRPGs in the past. So, since you are welcoming questions, I thought it fair to ask an insanely creative person like you.

So I am in many DnD games right now, and most of them are very RP heavy. I find I can articulate myself well digitally when I can edit what I'm saying to make myself look thoughtful and knowledgeable. But when I RP verbally in the moment - particularly characters that have different thought patterns than I do- I flounder and words become difficult.

Suffice to say- how do you approach RP from a creator's stand point? Creating many different characters and making them unique from yourself but still compelling and competent? What is your thought process to RP?

If you do not feel comfortable answering this ask and that is perfectly fine- I realize this is coming out of left field but you did say you were bored and wanted asks, so I thought this line of questions was fair game. Regardless, I do wish to share how insanely creative and incredible I find your works. If you do not mind more questions in the future, I would love to ask a bit more of your inspirations and thought processes towards how you approach art, but instead I'll settle on my odd ask and hope I am not egregiously overstepping.

thanks for the question! bit of a long answer so i'll put it under a Read More.

i've actually played a couple of campaigns of dnd and blades in the dark (tho they were all over discord calls, and none of them ever concluded naturally), and i totally understand where you're coming from! tho i'll be honest, i haven't played ttrpgs in general in a good long while. i definitely had frustrations in my first ever couple of sessions of dnd (using a character i lovingly designed from scratch), and i think a lot of those pain points stemmed from me trying to force a narrative journey i already had in my head, pre-planned, that i imagined during the design phase for that character. but at the end of the day, dnd is improv, and if you're not used to that, your character's going to end up a little different than how you imagined, and that's ok! a session is always going to be a collaborative roleplaying space, where the party's stories as a group and as individuals are crafted gradually, over time, and some of the ideas you had for your character at the start-- their backstory, their personality, the way they talk and think-- are going to be constantly workshopped into something different, naturally, over the course of a campaign as you get more comfortable. i also find it's a lot easier to rp when you stop trying to inhabit The Exact Character That You Made With Love, and instead try to rp with their essence in mind instead. the most important thing for me when roleplaying is to understand the basics of my character-- whether they're nice or mean, outspoken or reserved, polite or straightforward, etc-- more than anything else. more practical, actionable advice is that it helps to ask yourself questions in your off time and try to answer them as best as you can, out loud and in-character. interview yourself as your character! what's their favorite fruit?

thanks for the question, and also the kind words about my art! i had typed a lot more than this out but i felt like it was mostly incoherent rambling. this might still qualify as that, actually. hope this helps in any way!