#more like i am half of october not in so i am not too sure how much i can draw in advance haha

[lylianrae]

A list of all the things I have manifested ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

We manifest everything in our lives btw - the good and the bad which is why I will be including both to prove that the law does not discriminate. If you can successfully become poor, you can most definately become rich with the same ease because everything is just a state.

Long hair

AHH this is one of my favourite manifestations. Ever since I was young I had a weird bob with a fringe (often crooked) and I wanted long hair like all the other girls (lmaoo) but my mum was strict so she didn't let me grow it out. Although I didn't know about manifestation back then, every new year and birthday I would wish for long hair and I would pretend I was a princess with butt long hair. Guess what, somewhere along the line, my mum let me grow it out and now I have butt length hair (don't really know what to do with it tho </3).

As all kids do, I went through an emo phase where I chopped off like half of my hair like 4 years ago. I literally grew back 7-8" of hair within a month because my parents got too mad. I knew about manifestation here so I just assumed my hair always grows unaturally fast. Same with when I cut bangs, they grew past my chin within a couple of weeks.

Manifesting my way into a private school

Honestly this just shows that you dont need 2430430 hours of working on your self concept to manifest. Literally so many celebs, including Marylin Monroe (the queen), manifested their fame with awful self concept. Likewise, here I was possibly going through the worst time of my life back then. I would wake up at 8 am and start studying and end at 11 pm despite being only 10 at the time. I was so freaking stressed and envious of all the other children and went into a depressive spiral where my two options were pass or die. I didn't even have enough practice and I cried my self to sleep on most nights. Anyways, when i did the exam I was deathly calm and even after the exam I was apparently so chill so my parents thought I failed.

I literally left 9 questions on one paper but throughout the summer, everytime I found a dandelion I would make a wish and imagine digging a tunnel to the examiners room where I secretly change my answers into the right ones (lmfao my tiny 10 yr old brain - idek how it worked). Anyways my results were sent back to me a month later on a random October evening and I got a really high mark. Even after 7 years of going to this school I havn't met anyone who has gotten a mark higher than mine.

Curly hair / straight hair

Sigh. We always want things we don't have. When I was younger I had really straight hair like 1A asian hair but when I was like 10, I really wanted curly hair and I would try to curl it often. After a few months, I manifested a curling iron and my hair literally became naturally curly like right after a wash it would curly af when before it was dead straight. Naturally I grew bored of it and I wanted my straight hair back and for ages I began overcomplicating the law and struggled to manifest it. It was only recently when I actually let go of the 3D that I manifested the silky, shiny straight hair.

Social life?

This is also a funny one, just shows how easily you can manifest. So back in 2021 after lockdown I felt so lonely and felt so left out of my friendship group so after a few months I began stressing myself out and spiraling for like 30 minutes, sobbing to myself about how I was so lonely and how nobody loved me (💀). Anyways it became reality, I found myself uncomfortable in many social situations and found myself becoming forgotten far more easily. I don't really remember the details but it was so bad that I think I accidently manifested social anxiety (oh well we still up tho).

However I am a loa girly so I found myself listening to popularity subliminals and slowly (but surely) my mindset change from having no friends to being the most popular girl in the year. Like no joke I became friends with like 3 people from different social circles so at lunchtime we had to join up like 3 different tables so we can all sit together. Overall I got myself 20+ close friends and even my ex friends began to admire me although it had ended badly. Even now, when someone says something thats untrue - for example saying that they are dumb when they are not, they would be like "ahaha so its like when Rae (me) says she has no friends, the whole school knows who Rae is".

Clear skin

This was sort of in the beginning of my loa (law of attraction back then) journey, I just randomly found out what subliminals were and was still quite new to everything. Now I don't even understand how it happened but I had busted some capillaries under my skin and it looked like small red viens under my skin and bro I was freaking out at the time. One night I was like just, I had enough, I'm going to get myself better skin and so I listened to a sub once for 3-4 days and on like the 4th day, my cheeks began to heat up which was odd and the next day it was 90% gone. Just like magikkkk.

Desired university?

Guys. Feeling is the secret. Don't you ever forgot that - not feeling as in emotions but rather the feeling of knowing. I had 2 entrance exams to do to apply for my universities and it was a stressful time where I wasn't getting enough sleep and wasn't eating enough simply because I didn't have the time. Like I come home from school and would have 3-4 hours of homework, then I need to revise for tests and then the remaining time would be spent on the entrance exams. Each past paper took 2 hours and I have around 13s per questions and I was already struggling on time. Anyways, I began to hate them and I would often complain to my mum saying things like "My score got even lower!!" or "I hate it so much" or "My head hurts / eyes hurt".

Guess what? Not only did I see my score decrease over time but I also made such a silly mistake on the most important entrance exam which I needed for 4/5 of my universities. I left a question and completely forgot to mark on the answer so when I finished the section I realised I had one more space on the sheet with like 10s to spare. I didn't have enough time to go back and fix it and lemme say that I did so badly in the test. Even while waiting for results I was just like "ah it would be a miracle if I scored above this bla bla".

I got the score back and it was so freaking bad like I did not stand a chance at my university at all. However, I started to affirm for a place and to my utter shock and surprise my desired university reached out and offered me an interview. I knew people who had like scores which were 50% better than mine and they still got rejected pre-interview. Anyways I began stressing about the interview and the results of the whole thing and boom. I got rejected 3 days after my birthday lmaoo. But its okay because I'm reapplying and I learnt so much more. I'm redoing the entrance exam and my score is a loooot better than it ever was last year.

A key take away would be thoughts are the result of the state you are in. Your dwelling state manifests and I was focusing on the unrealness and the difficultly of getting into this uni and thats what manifested. At the time I was heartbroken and literally went through the 7 stages of grief and spent so many months trying to revise it only for me to focus on the 3D. Just know that everything is done in imagination and it appears in the 3D as a result.

Photographic memory

So this is also something I had manifested before I actually knew about loa but the takeaway here is that manifestation is always instant. I was around 11 reading a random book on my tiny kindle and the book was on how to develop a good memory and I was like ah that'll be useful. Anyways later in the car, I asked my dad about photographic memory and he sort of explained it to me. I just assumed that I have that and I told him I do. He just laughed at me and said thats something that you have to train for and I was not impressed lmao. Inside my tiny brain, I was just like nope, I already have photographic memory and I dropped that thought. Let me tell you, my memory is actually photographic and has helped me out on so many occasions like my brain just takes pictures of things.

Learning fast

This is also something I did before I knew loa, I was just always wondering why the other kids couldn't grasp concepts as easily as I did. Literally in every lesson I would be like ah I learn so fast and now I am actually blessed with the ability to grasp complex subjects so fast. A favourite example of mine would be when I was obsessed with music but to take it to a higher level you need to be able to play an instrument. I couldn't at the time and my teacher told me the requirements a week before the actual deadline. I have never actually played piano with both hands but one day I sat down and worked through the entire song (fur elise by Beethoven) which is a grade 5 (I think) and it normally takes people months / weeks to learn. I learnt the whole thing in 3 days and from then on, I could play piano like I had been doing for ages. Again the memory thing was so helpful because I never actually used any sheet music, I learnt it off a youtube video and I remembered every single note I needed to play.

Hourglass body + 22" waist

This was a couple of years ago when I actually didn't understand loa. Anyways long story short, I would do a 3 minute workout and then flex infront of the mirror all day (💀) and be like omg I have abs. Overtime, I actually got so skinny everyone around me kept pointing it out to me and my mum got so concerned that she took me to the doctor like 4 times. It was so funny, I would loose like 2-3kg overnight and my parents would have to buy better fitting uniform.

Bigger boobs

This was also back in the day (2021?) when I didn't understand how to manifest things easily af. I had an A cup but I wanted better boobies and I listened to like 2 subs for a week and I went to a B cup. But I just assumed I have a bigger cup size recently and I just skipped C and went to D+ (haven't measured in a long time).

I'm not done but I'm tired now bye bye

[jamminvroomvroom]

everything.

ln x fem!reader

in which you’re his best friend until you’re something more

hi! here you go lmao. probs the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written and i am obsessed with the concept! thank you for being here and baring with me - i loved writing this one and i’d love to hear what you think! huge shoutout to my girlies @mcmuppet and @lavenderlando ily both!

songs that set the mood: pink and white by frank ocean, daylight by harry styles, angel by finneas, enchanted by taylor swift, hate to be lame by lizzy mcalpine

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, friends to lovers brain rot, slight corruption kink, readers first time, qatar angst

6.4k words

“do you wanna talk about it?” you whispered softly, your hand resting on lando’s sagged shoulder.

your eyes were fixed on the third place plaque on his table in front of you, his very much fixed on the floor.

“no.” his reply was short and sweet, his tone conveying exactly how deflated he was.

you’d only flown in to qatar this morning, the october sun hitting you hard as you walked into the paddock, drastically different to the london climate you’d grown accustomed to. lando had all but begged you to come, your evening before spent on the phone, and you knew that he needed a friend, otherwise he never would have asked you to fly halfway around the world.

friends. that’s what you were.

you’d hugged him tight and told him that the weekend had to get better, and then his teammate put it on pole and got his first win. so, yeah, maybe it wasn’t going to get better and not even the podium could cheer him up.

his radio messages had hurt your heart, your chest aching as he self deprecated in the cockpit. he owned his mistakes, sure, but he’d taken it a step too far and you knew you had a job to do. you’d do anything, quite literally anything, to cheer him up.

you’d always found a way to be there for eachother, your friendship spanning five long years after you’d knocked a coffee over a guy you quickly recognised as the new mclaren driver. both nineteen and awkward as hell, you’d um-ed and er-ed and danced around one another in the busy pret in central london, chucking tissues at him, attempting to mop up the frothy mess all over his white sweatshirt.

eventually you’d just burst into laughter, lando immediately following suit. your cheeks were hurting from smiling at the curly haired stranger, intrigued by the very way his faced moved when he laughed, and he’d looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, not like someone that had just destroyed a brand new hoodie.

and just like that, a connection was born.

you’d gotten used to having a friend for only half the year, but he never let you feel the distance. paddock passes often fell through your letter box and you could usually be located in the background of his streams when he was home long enough to do them, the amount of times you’d been wrongfully accused of being his girlfriend a list as long as your arm. even in those moments of awkwardness, friendship prevailed and you both managed to crack up together about the conspiracy that you were more than friends.

and what an intriguing conspiracy it was.

“we should get you back to the hotel, you need to get some rest.” you told him, standing from the sofa and offering him your hand.

lando grabbed it, squeezing, his own special way of telling you he was grateful for your presence, and let you pull him up. as he tried to walk towards the door, you stopped him, hands on his shoulders. you wanted to shake him, tell him how fucking great he was. you didn’t think he’d appreciate that after an intense session in the car.

“hey, look at me. you got this, okay?” you smiled reassuringly, managing to get the smallest crack back from him, his lips upturning ever so slightly. something in his eyes told you that you’d succeeded, a small glimmer of an emotion that you didn’t know how to unpack.

friends.

that’s what you were.

-

you tried to ignore how touchy lando was being. you figured he just needed some comfort, physical touch not out of bounds in your friendship, but a new level had been reached.

on the entire walk through the paddock to his car, his hand sat comfortably on the small of your back, despite the endless amount of cameras pointed at you. his hand skimmed your thigh in the car, accidentally, you told yourself, and you had to avert your eyes when his hand graced your headrest as he reversed out of the parking space. knowing that he needed you in qatar so desperately that he’d flown you out was one thing, the way he was treating you once you got there was something else.

he’d opened your door when you pulled up at the hotel valet, helping you out of the car, his hand tucked in yours for a second longer than necessary. once again, his hand seemed to be glued to your lower back the whole way to the elevator.

the ding of the lift had you both shuffling out onto your floor, trailing towards your rooms in a heavy silence, something more left unsaid in the air.

you reached your door first, coming to a stop and shuffling around in your bag for your keycard.

“um, i need to be at the track early tomorrow. breakfast?” lando asked.

you turned to look at him, nodding your head profusely.

“of course, just drop me a message and i’ll come down and meet you.” you affirmed, your fingers finally grasping the piece of plastic that had, of course, fallen to the very bottom of your tardis of a tote bag.

you expected him to leave, but he lingered, as if there was something else on his mind.

“you okay?” you raised an eyebrow, unlocking your door. lando seemed to snap out of it then, awkwardly running a hand through his curls that had taken a brutal hit from the humidity. you liked the look on him, nonetheless.

“yeah, i- yeah, i think i just need some sleep.”

“okay, well, goodnight. let me know if you need anything.” you disappeared through the door then, the tension getting the better of you. you slumped against the shut door, wondering what he so clearly wanted to say.

-

the clock read 1:32am on your bedside.

a faint tapping had woken you up, and you groggily scanned the room, trying to find the source of the noise. you deduced that it was coming from your door, letting out a groan as you threw the cosy comforter off and trudged towards the disturbance.

you cracked it open, peeking through the gap and coming face to face with your best friend.

“lando?” you croaked, opening the door further.

“i’m sorry, can’t sleep. can i come in? it’s okay if not, i just didn’t know what to do.” he sounded so shy, something you didn’t recognise in the man stood before you, and you quickly swung the door open, ushering him inside.

“come, sit.” you waved for him to follow you across the room to the foot of your bed. he sat down beside you, the mattress dipping.

you patted your lap and he instantly knew what to do, laying down with his head in your lap. it’s something he did quite frequently when you were sprawled on his sofa at home, watching a shitty movie that neither of you were really paying attention to. you’d often be looking at him, praying he didn’t notice, and he’d be playing with your fingers, tracing the palm of your hand.

you couldn’t help yourself, running your hand through his curls. you didn’t mean to, stomach instantly twisting with embarrassment, but it was quickly twisting with something else. his eyes fluttered shut, a low groan falling from the back of his throat. it made your thighs clench, and he must have noticed, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“you okay?” lando asked, his eyes still shut, a look of relaxation finally on his face.

you coughed awkwardly.

“yeah, sorry. are you comfy?” you said teasingly, trying to cut the growing tension in the room.

“i am now, could fall asleep here.”

“you can, you know.” you whispered. his eyes flew open. your heart was hammering in your chest. this was new territory and you were worried you’d fucked up. sleepovers were also a norm, but one of you usually retired to a guest room, not the other side of eachothers beds.

“you want me to stay?” his voice rose in surprise.

“well, i mean, you can if you want, like, there’s space and-“ you rambled.

“do you want me to stay?” he repeated.

“is it gonna help?” you questioned cautiously.

“yes.” the confidence in which he replied did something to you.

“then stay.”

you crawled up the mattress, falling back into the place you’d so comfortably occupied just minutes before. you laid so still, watching with quiet curiosity as he slipped his hoodie off. his shirt came with it ever so slightly, riding up over his back, and you had to pry your eyes away, the ache between your thighs still ever present.

what on earth were you doing, allowing your best friend to crawl into bed with you? emotions were running so high, but it felt like a switch had been flipped ever since you hit the tarmac in qatar. every look, every touch was fuelled by something different to what it had been before and you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

lando turned towards you, making his way back over to the bed. he looked apprehensive, as if he was thinking the same thoughts as you, wondering if there was any logic in what was about to happen. he seemed to come to the conclusion that this was, in fact, happening, crawling into bed beside you.

“is this okay?” lando breathed into the darkness of the room, his hand brushing yours. you were both as still as planks, mere centimetres separating you, the only light coming from the lamp beside the bed.

“yeah,” you took a deep breath, preparing for the words that were about to come tumbling out. “i’ve just never done this before.” you spoke quickly, sucking in another breath as you finished.

“you’ve never…”

“i’ve never shared a bed… like this.”

“like what?”

“with a… a guy?” your anxiety riddled words came out more like a question than an answer.

“oh. oh.” it seemed to dawn on lando then. “so, you’ve never… oh. i mean i can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“lando, no, i just wanted you to know. i’m always comfortable with you.” you said, quietly baring your soul to him.

you weren’t sure why you’d basically told him you were a virgin. it held no relevance, he was just here to sleep, for some friendly comfort. he was not here for any other reason. and yet here you were, spilling the beans, all over the bed you found yourself sharing.

“i didn’t come here to, you know. i just needed you.”

you tried to ignore the pang in your chest and the annoying, minuscule butterfly springing to life in your belly.

“god, yeah i know! i didn’t think that you wanted to, well i mean not with me because why would you want me like that anyway, i get why you’re here, lando.” you rambled into the empty air. you heard yourself, groaning in embarrassment and dragging the cover over your face. lando laughed, pulling it back so he could see you again.

he was leaning over you, perched on his side, resting on his elbow.

“trust me, i’m more than happy with any part of yourself that you wanna give me.”

“don’t tease me, lando.” you scoffed. he was joking, right? right?

“i’m not! i promise, this is the one place i want to be.”

“why? why with me? i mean you could’ve called max. all he does is stream when you’re not home, think he misses you.” you were half joking, half deadly serious.

“come on, it’s you. it’s just… its been so hard this year, being away from you so much more. and then you came all the way here…” lando trailed off, averting eye contact.

you turned on your side to face him, placing your hand over his affectionately.

“you needed me.”

“exactly. i needed you. you.”

he gave you a look, one that you didn’t recognise, but you understood what it meant. it said more than anything had done since this confusingly beautiful interaction began. you got it, then, why you were here.

“lando-“

“i know that i shouldn’t tell you this and i can’t just spring this on you in the middle of the night, but i-“

“lando!”

“what?”

“kiss me.”

and god, he kissed you. the air was sucked out of your lungs, dragged out of you by the way he put his hands on your body, so urgent.

you sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up top. your hands were in his curls, and you revelled in the way that you could shamelessly touch them now.

he paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless and grinning down at you, a knowing smile that was so beautiful that it rendered you speechless.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this.” lando breathed, scanning your face as if he was trying to take it all in. you, panting beneath him, coy smile, cheeks flushed. you’d never looked so gorgeous to him.

you leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, relishing in the moment. you were lost in him, thinking back to the very first time you’d locked eyes and how you never thought it would come to this. this, the way he was holding you, was the best surprise.

lando pulled away, peppering your flushed cheeks with kisses, a dazed giggle passing your swollen lips.

he flopped onto his side, grinning at the ceiling mindlessly. you hadn’t seen him smile that big all weekend.

“are you tired?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek, his light stubble rough against you. you wondered how it would feel elsewhere, scratching over your bare skin.

“no.”

“then why did you stop?” you asked, the words falling off your tongue slowly, sinking all over him like honey. you felt the way he tensed up, the suggestion that laced the seemingly innocent question making you tingle.

“i didn’t come here for that.” he reiterated.

“and i didn’t let you in for that. but here we are.” you weren’t ashamed of what you were asking, the moment was right, the one, and you knew it.

“it’s too soon.” lando was apprehensive. he was always overly protective of you, previously as his friend, but this, god, this was an entirely different ball park and he was proceeding with caution, against every natural instinct in his body screaming at him.

“says who?”

“it’s your first. it needs to be special.”

“everything about this is better than i could have ever imagined.”

“are you sure you want it to be me?” there it was again, those unrecognisable nerves that made everything inside of you flutter.

“lando, there is no one else i could ever want to do this with more than i want to do it with you. i want it to be you.”

“but… now? are you sure? i don’t want you to regret this.”

“the only thing i regret is that this didn’t happen sooner.”

“one last time. i just need to hear it one last time.”

“i want you, lando.”

and with that, the air changed, charged with a different kind of tension. lando pulled you on top of him, hands firm on your body, the action itself gentle. you steadied yourself, hands on his shoulders, his resting on your waist.

“can i take this off?” he tugged at the hem of your shirt. you nodded profusely. “words, sweetheart. i need you to use your words.” lando cupped your jaw as he said it, squeezing ever so slightly, enough to turn you into putty in his hands.

“please. yes.” you said shakily.

he smiled softly, slowly peeling the material off of your body, up over your head and tossed carelessly onto the floor. he kept his eyes on yours, despite the fact you were now left bare, aside from the white cotton panties that separated you both. he pawed at your sides, kneading gently at your soft hips.

“we’re gonna start slow, okay? gonna take my time with you.” he muttered, eyes on yours before they trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. he began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch.

“okay.” you choked out, head tipping back as he placed a kiss to the base of your throat.

his kiss trailed further down your body, peppered in the valley of your breasts, and then you stopped breathing, the air caught in your throat because he was looking at you, really, truly looking at you, as his tongue found your nipple. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was making you feel this good already.

lando pulled away, just for a second, just so that he could shift you from his lap onto his thigh. he was still fully clothed beneath you, totally in control, and you craved him in a way you didn’t know was humanly possible, so much so that you didn’t need the encouragement he was giving you to start rolling your hips, pussy grinding down on his covered thighs, the friction of your underwear driving you insane.

“oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“it feels so- oh, god.” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his curls, back arching further into him as your thighs clenched around his. he licked over your collarbone oh so slowly, a shiver running down your taut spine.

and then he was kissing you again, tongue slow over yours, his fingertips surely leaving marks where he was controlling your pace. the kiss was filthy, untameable, and you found yourself dragging against him slower, harder.

“i need you.” you panted, forehead falling on his shoulder as you pulled away from his lips, goosebumps pricking your sweat slicked skin. you were so close to an orgasm, desperate to feel him everywhere.

“i want you to come for me like this first, okay? can you do that for me, baby?” he cooed, bouncing his leg ever so slightly. “look at me.” and you did, somehow mustering the strength to pull yourself back up and find his darkened eyes.

you were a mess of curses when you let go, your body convulsing, collapsing into him as you came. you were throbbing on his thigh, one glance down at where you were grinding against him displaying your slick. his arms went around your body, flipping you onto your back so that you were resting against the mattress.

“you did so well, baby.” lando crooned, resting over you on his forearms. you stared up at him in awe, blinking away the haze. “do you want more?”

“i want everything.” you breathed, pulling him against you. you smoothed your hands over his shirt until you reached the hem, dragging it up over his back. he helped you take it off, and then it was lost to the room. you grabbed at his shoulder blades, smooth, muscular planes of bronzed skin so warm under your touch. you felt insatiable, like nothing was enough, totally intoxicated by him and everything he was managing to make you feel.

lando’s hand slid down your body, searching for the band of your underwear. when he reached his destination, he toyed with the lacy edges, letting them snap against the pudge of your belly, teasing you. you bucked your hips, frustrated, and he used the opportunity to cup your pussy, feeling where you’d soaked through the cotton. the groan he let out was carnal, animalistic, almost needy. he could feel all of you, how you ached and dripped, how you needed the everything that you’d requested.

“you’re so fucking good for me, god.” lando almost slurred his words, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. you keened at the sound, pushing your hips further into him.

lando didn’t give you much time to dwell on it, mouth latching onto your underwear where it met the crease of your thigh. he was so close, so tantalising close to where you were aching for him and you were just about levitating off the bed when his teeth grazed your inner thigh. you couldn’t see him looking at you, losing it, inhibitions out the window. your eyes were already squeezed shut when he began mouthing over your cloth-covered pussy, spit further ruining the sodden material.

“take them off.” you cried out, tugging hard at his curls that you hadn’t even realised you were clutching for dear life. and lando was a good listener, because he complied immediately, tearing the lace down your legs like a starved man.

his tongue was on you then, everywhere all at once, running through your folds and over your clit. you didn’t know if you were dead or alive, a different kind of pleasure than anything you’d ever experienced coursing hot through your veins. lando switched between long, slow licks, his tongue flat against you, and rapid kitten licks, burying his face in your cunt.

everything was moving in slow motion, your hands grasping frantically at anything you could reach; his curls, the sheets, his shoulders. you could barely make out what he was saying, his words muffled, lost to the soft flesh between your legs. it seemed to echo, every lick, stroke, word. you snapped out of it, finally, when he pulled away.

“more? you want my fingers, baby? gonna get you nice and ready for me.” you just nodded, voice lost to the air of the room.

one arm locked around your thigh, pinning you still, and the other snaked up your leg until he reached the mess between your thighs. he took a moment to take it in, how wet you were, how fucked out you looked, knowing full well he must have looked the same, unhinged as he gave into your shared desire that he’d tried his best to keep hidden. he’d never felt more stupid in his life for holding back, as he took in the ethereal delight sprawled under his touch.

when lando slid the first finger in, your stomach twisted deliciously. he watched you carefully, searching for discomfort but all he could find was sheer bliss, written all over your face as clear as daylight. he worked the digit in and out, nice and slow, curling against your walls. he could feel how tight you were, clamping around just one finger and he thought his head was gonna explode. he added another finger, watching the way you took him in, twisting his fingers.

“are you gonna let go for me again, sweetheart?” lando punctuated his words by putting his mouth back on you, teeth grazing your clit as he sucked.

you were thrashing, a silent scream building from the fire in your belly. you could just about make out the way he was spurring you on, his mouth running as you spilled over the edge, covering his fingers. you saw white, maybe god, ears ringing, and when you finally mustered the energy to look at him, you could have come for a third time. lando looked feral, lips red and coated in everything you had to offer him. his eyes were glazed over, a hazy grey that sent a jolt through your body, the aftershocks of the orgasm setting in.

“christ.” was all you could sigh out. a lazy smile painted your face, your eyes blown out, everything a little blurry. everything except him.

you could feel him scaling up your body, crawling over you until he was level with your face. he placed a kiss to your throat, your jaw and finally your lips; when he pulled away all that was left was shared giddy smile, both of you suddenly shy. you couldn’t stop the roaming of your hands, exploring all the parts of him that you could reach. when you found the waist band of his joggers, your hand grazing his abs as you did, he sucked all of the air out of the room, a sharp inhalation making him tense up.

“you still want all of me?” he breathed, his shaky breath fanning your face. lando was obsessed with hearing you say it, obsessed with how you wanted him as much as he needed you.

“all of you. lando, this is… you’re perfect.” you admitted, lips brushing his. your hands pushed the material down his hips, nails raking over him as you did. he couldn’t seem to wait any longer, kicking them off the rest of the way, his boxers quickly following suit.

you couldn’t help but stare, all of him bare against all of you. your nipples brushed his chest, his hands holding you close, your hands threaded through his curls. it was like you were sussing each other out, eyes watching lips and hands getting lost. you stayed like that for a moment, pressed together, closer and closer, until he was slotted between your legs like he was coming home. lando searched your face one last time, hunting for a smidge of discomfort.

“are you ready for me?” he whispered.

“yes.”

the initial stretch burned, but he slid into you smoothly, his cock slipping through your folds with ease. he felt you clamp down on him, his head thrown back as far as it could go, thick neck exposed to you. you bit down on his shoulder, where it met the base of his throat, trying to mask the gasp of pleasure that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. he grunted at the sensation, enjoying the sting.

“oh, fuck.” he was shuddering, trying to keep himself in check.

“don’t, oh god,” you started, meeting the roll of his hips. “don’t hold back.”

“we gotta go easy.”

“i don’t want easy.” you tightened around him then, and he saw stars.

“you’re so fucking good.” lando groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice, and then he unleashed everything that he’d held back. how much he wanted you, and a bittersweet weekend of frustration versus success came crashing down and he couldn’t do anything except give himself to you exactly how you wanted.

lando was a delicious weight on top of you, the drag of his hips slow, meeting yours hard. the pressure made you lightheaded, his body moving against yours like the thick drip of honey, smooth and sweet. you couldn’t make sense of it, of how fucking good he felt, grinding deeper and deeper into you like he’d found buried treasure. the overstimulation had your third orgasm building nice and quick, waves of pleasure making you dizzy.

“you like it like this? like when i fuck you nice and hard?” yes you did. “don’t think i can go without this now, you know that? such a good fucking girl.” you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just let his words wash over you. “so beautiful, taking me so well.”

you couldn’t process that this was your best friend lando. this was a different person, it had to be. yet, somehow, it made sense that the man you knew, the one who spoke his mind, mischievous and troublesome, would be like this, a god above you as he fucked deeper into you with every thrust. he was filthy and gentle, brutal and sweet. it didn’t make sense, but it also just did.

“are you gonna come for me? one more time, baby. need to feel that perfect fucking pussy.” well, his wish was your command, because then you were gushing. the one thing you could feel was him, none of your other senses worked, you couldn’t see past the tears that fell, couldn’t get any words past your lips. maybe you screamed, you weren’t exactly sure.

lando was kissing you everywhere. each hip bone was met with his lips, your stomach, over your ribs, breasts, clavicle, neck. your face was covered in kisses next, your cheeks, forehead, a dainty peck to your nose.

“can you look at me?”

your eyes cracked open slowly, the exhaustion hitting as you came back to reality.

“was that okay?” there he was again, this shy version of lando that you couldn’t get used to.

“okay? lando that was…” you shook your head in awe. “that meant everything to me.”

he smiled then, that gorgeous, gorgeous smile, the one with the crinkles by his eyes and his teeth on full display. you melted.

“me too. you’re fucking beautiful. so, so fucking beautiful. should’ve told you sooner.” he murmured.

his words made you think, way too hard for your current state. what happened next? lando had said some things, some pretty big things that you didn’t know how to comprehend. it was crazy, how scared you were to bring it back up to him, considering he’d just been inside of you.

“sooner?” you whispered, hardly audible. lando was midway through tucking you both into bed, pulling your flushed, naked body into his own under the duvet.

“yes. a lot sooner.” he replied, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

‘how much sooner?’ you thought to yourself, unable to stay awake any longer to agonise over it, your dreams haunted by the way he touched you so well. it was magnificent to fall asleep in his arms, and you couldn’t help yourself from wondering when it would happen again.

-

you woke up tangled with him, fingers stroking your cheek, smoothing your hair out of your eyes.

lando was always so warm, but now his tanned skin radiated sunshine, a beacon of light in your bed. you smiled, eyes still shut, shielding yourself from the streaks of light casting over the room from the crack in the curtains.

“what time is it?” you croaked, bringing a hand to your eyes to rub away the sleep.

“gone eleven. i need to go, baby.”

baby.

you hadn’t gotten a chance to take my notice of the things he’d called you last night, too caught up in the way he played with your body. now that you heard it, in the calm after the storm, it made you swoon.

“already?” you tried to hide your disappointment, not quite ready to detangle yourself from him.

“need to get to the track. i think i’m already late. i just wanted to be here when you woke up.” lando sounded so soft, not as groggy as you, and you wondered how long he’d been awake, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest.

“thank you.” you knew that you’d have spiralled waking up alone, and you were immensely grateful that he’d stayed.

lando began to get up, wincing at your whine of protest.

“i’m sorry. i’ll have someone pick you up later, okay? i’ll see you soon, i promise.”

you knew he had to work hard today, knew how much analysis he needed to do before the race. he was starting further back than anyone would have liked, and he had something to prove as well, oscar starting too close to the front for lando’s liking. there were places to make up and hard work to be done to get back to the front.

“don’t apologise. i hope it goes smoothly today.” you smiled at him, watching him collect his long forgotten clothes. you were entranced by the way his body moved, the lines and shapes that tensed and rippled as he dressed himself.

“i’ll message you.” he promised, creeping back over to the bed. you weren’t sure what to expect, but the soft kiss to your lips, almost apprehensive on his part, could have killed you off, your heart pounding.

your grinned like a fool when the door shut behind him.

-

the shower was burning hot, loosening up your muscles. you cleaned yourself slowly, examining your body, the same one that you’d given to lando. he’d taken you apart, piece by piece, and put you back together, the traces of him that he’d left behind delectably apparent.

you followed the trail of marks he’d left, starting with the love bite below your right breast that you couldn’t even remember him leaving, making your way to the litter of fingerprints that were tattooed into your hips. your fingertips ghosted over your swollen lips, the kiss that he’d left at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, reminiscing the evening. you seemed to ache everywhere, the dull pain setting into your bones so nicely.

you prayed it would happen again. you felt like it would, everything between you had changed now, changed from any possible return to the norm. you wanted it to change, you couldn’t fathom the idea of staying friends when the lines had blurred like this, when he’d kissed you so deeply, touched you so intimately.

the shower was much needed, refreshing your body that was now tainted by him in the best way. you tried to keep a clear head while you got yourself ready, taking your time to make yourself presentable to the paddock. the time of your departure was looming, the pink and white sunset outside your window indicating that the race was only a few hours away. the air had cooled slightly, and you knew you needed to make your way to the lobby.

your phone dinged in your hand as you were packing your essentials into your bag. you glanced down at the device, unruly smile gracing your face.

see you soon, the text read, an orange love heart punctuating the short but sweet text. it was safe to say that the butterflies in your belly were well and truly alive.

-

the screen beeped as you scanned your paddock pass, and you slipped through the gate, making your way into the paddock. it was beautiful in qatar, they’d outdone themselves with this structure, the glass ceilings and jungle of greenery an expression of wealth and elegance.

you made a beeline for the mclaren garage, greeting lando’s pr officer who smiled warmly at you. you recognised oscar smirking as you appeared in the garage, and as you got closer you realised why.

“nice to see you. looking for lando?” his monotonous voice held an amused twang.

“hey oscar, great job last night!” you said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “yeah, is he around here somewhere?”

“yeah he’s just doing press i think. extra spring in his step today.” oscar gave you a knowing look, one that made you blush.

“what do you know?” you deadpanned, fighting back laughter.

“i know that this was a long time coming.” he smiled, and then he was gone, lost to the bustle of the garage.

you stood there, probably in the way, lost in thought about what oscar had just said. he was right, this was a long time coming.

you jumped a bit when a hand landed on your waist, relaxing instantly into lando’s body when he pressed himself against you, head on your shoulder.

“i’m so glad you’re here.” he whispered, pressing a secret kiss under your ear, and then he, too, was gone, before you could even react.

your nerves were shot, ushered to the back of the garage where you found a headset. you chewed your nails, anxious about it all. the race, the changes that you were surely coming. you wanted it, wanted everything from him that he’d give you, willing to commit to all of it, to him. the distance, borrowed time, chaos of his world. last night had changed everything and you couldn’t have asked for more.

eventually the lights went out and the fight was underway. you found your hands clasped together, sweating in the dry heat and the anxiety. you clapped every time he made an overtake, storming through the field. when he made it into p3, picking the pace up on oscar, the nerves resurged and you prayed for a clean end to this race.

lando’s radio messages flooded your ears, and your leg bounced uncontrollably, your shoe slapping against the floor.

“be sensible, lando.” you muttered under your breath, resting your chin on your tightly clasped hands. he would be on the podium, but you knew it wasn’t enough for him, it never was. would you be enough for him?

eventually he agreed to hold position, thank fuck, and you could breathe again. he’d driven a beautiful recovery drive, bringing the car onto the podium, and you rushed out with the team to congratulate him. you lingered at the back of the pack behind the metal barriers, watching in quiet admiration as he jumped out of the car. he slapped oscar on the back, hugging his younger teammate before bounding towards the team. his head was darting around as if he was looking for something, but you couldn’t make it out with his helmet still on. and then the helmet came off and it became clear.

he was looking for you.

lando pulled away from a hug with a mechanic, leaning over the barrier right in front of you. you gravitated towards him, somehow moving through the swarm of team members until you were pressed against the metal too. he was beaming, eyes brighter than they had been all working weekend, and then his hands were on you. the hug he pulled you into was tight and you clung to one another for a moment, unbothered by his damp race suit, or the tickle of his sweat slicked curls.

the kiss he pressed to your cheek was far less secret than the one in the garage, so was the one he pressed to your forehead, but the one he pressed to your lips, as quick as it may have been, was the one that really took the cake. you were blushing when he pulled back, a mischievous grin on his face. you shook your head in disbelief at his boldness, unable to tame your bewildered smile.

“what are you doing for dinner, baby?” he called out to you as he walked away. the podium high had clearly set in.

nothing, you mouthed back, not quite confident enough to shout across parc ferme.

“good, we’re going on a date.” lando winked and then he was gone, pulled into the chaos of post race duties.

tears pricked your eyes when he stood on the podium, a much happier man than the one you found when you’d arrived. you couldn’t put it into words, how one night had changed everything, giving you everything you didn’t realise you wanted.

then again, lando was always good at beating expectations.

-

hehe the end

-

taglist

had to remove some tags that aren’t working! let me know if you wanna be added or removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph @wilmasvensson @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @h0e-xoxo @mattxxamryli @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3

[gamblersdoll]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘!

you take off yuuji’s cowboy hat, that means you have to ride him, right?

small mentions of roleplay, groping, reverse cowgirl, sexual tension.

yuuji always did like halloween as a kid, he found it pretty cool, and being the curious one he is, he always did a costume at least everyday. whether it was batman or robin, a supervillain he found cool at times, or just a character from a game, he always dressed up every day of october.

today, he was a cowboy. he felt it was like a calling or something, considering he grew up in the southern parts of japan and he also happened to grow accustomed to the south. especially since nobara was southern as well.

the difference between you both were you really only dressed up on the night of halloween, thats what you really were supposed to do. but, you indulged in his shenanigans, feeling his hands slip around your hips and his breath fanned over your head. “you from ‘round here?” he asks in the most southern accent hes ever picked up, a smile pulling at his lips.

a smile pulls at your lips, too. a smirk pulling as well and you turn your head to the side a bit. “i sure am, sir.” you say, feeling him get closer and get close in your ear. “ha’nt seen you ‘fore, either.”

he flips you around, tilting your head up and he licks his lips. “yeah, sweetheart?” he says, biting his lip when you pull his pink cowboy hat off his head and plop it onto yours. “i reckon that you musn’t do that, unless you want to ride somethin’.”

“well, i reckon that i do, mister.” you tease, his lips pressing onto yours and his hands slide down your back to your round ass and gropes the flesh, lips attacking your neck.

you moan, his hands scooping you up and having you ontop of him once he lays himself down on the bed. your hips move in circles in his lap, feeling his growing erection as he paws at your breasts. “youre makin’ me so hard..”

“yeah?” you giggle, licking his lips and pulling his cock from his confinements. your body flips around and you hover over his leaking cock. he groans, squeezing your cheeks in his hands as he lies back.

he helps you slide down, his thick, veiny cock stretching you just a tad. you both groan in the feeling of him sinking deep, your hips already knowing to sit back on him and your knees already prepared. he mumbles a ‘ you okay?’ and you nod. eyes rolling back, you circle your hips and start to lift yourself half way until you slam yourself back to his base.

“oh, damn..” he moans, a hand over his eyes and he bites his lip.

you moan, too. his cock twitching slow and feeling himself brick up even harder than usual.. “like that, baby?” you ask, the bed springs creaking just a bit. you place your hands on his chins, steadying yourself as he slightly fucks up into you.

“yeah, just like that, pretty.” he praises, a hand coming down and slapping your ass. he opens his eyes, watching your cunny pull up and how he stretches between your folds. its a sight to see, for him. his pretty baby fucking her cunt onto his cock, taking it well.

you lean forward more, your back straight and chest pressing against the bed as your hips do all of the work now. “gunna make me cum..” you whine out, his hands resting on the shelf of your ass. “so close, ‘dori…”

“yeah? me too..” he retorts, eyes rolling back for a second and his hips take over, stilling your hips so he can fuck up into you. “oh, shit, oh shit, fuck!”

“yuujiiiii!” you moan, an arm reaches back and takes his hand into yours. “thought— i was doing all the work?” you surprisingly moan out, drool soaking into the sheets and tweaking with your own nipples.

“cant help it, cant help it, oh fuuuck!” he grunts, not sure why his body was moving on its own. his cock twitches when you clamp down, his legs tensing up. “you really cummin hard, baby.”

how he knew you were about to cum before you did was beyond you. but he was right, your squealing muffled by the thick sheets he had bought for the both of you. your legs shake, his thrusts becoming more rapid and fierce as he reaches the end of the tunnel to bliss and paradise, a shout from his lips as he creams himself inside you.

translucent white and a thicker creamy white seep down his shaft, coating his heavy balls as you both recollect yourselves. his eyes snap to you, pulling you back to his chest by his hand and tossing the pink cowboy hat to the side. “you ‘kay?” he asks, holding you to his chest.

“mmhh..” you shuffle, your knee almost hitting his junk.

“watch it—“ he hisses, moving before you could potentially knee him in his balls and tip. “just relax, i gotchu.”

[obeymetournaments]

hi there!!! as i mentioned earlier in an ask, my next project is going to be hosting an Obey Me Month!

this post is just mainly made to a) talk more about it, and b) see how many people would be interested in participating in such an event!

My schedule for this is pretty simple--I want to be able to post the prompts, all themed around obey me and the month of october, by early september, as to allow people to have a month or so in advance to plan and get ahead of any prompts they would want to create for! it would then of course just start officially in october, with 31 prompts in total, with 5 extras ones that people may use i they dont like any certain prompts that are listed.

i currently have about half of the prompts filled out, though i have not double checked them with anyone yet. i really wanna be sure to make this enjoyable for anyone and for the various creative pieces that can be made, so i will be triple- and quadruple checking to make sure the prompts are as perfect as they can be <3

this post, as mentioned, was also mainly made to see how many people would be interested! i know not everyone may see this and may find out about it in the future, but i just really wanted to get word out now and be able to gage just how many could see themselves participating--even if it was just for one day! so please reblog this if this is something that interests you!!

okay, im done talking now. i feel like i made this post too long lol but long story short:

Obey Me Month shall be hosted this October!! I hope many of you are as excited about this as i am!!! <3

[mingi-s-dimples]

Scented Shadows - Wooyoung

KINKTOBER DAY 14 - REQ. BY @la-undercover-latina

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR LOVE AND READERRRRR IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAYYY HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY ^^ (on 26th october, idk if it's still 26th for you or not 😞)

~"Werewolf!Wooyoung can smell your heat coming before you know. And he doesn’t have any plans of you leaving his side during your heat."

pairing: werewolf!wooyoung x half human/half werewolf fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth, werewolf au

summary: I don't even know what to write bro.. let's just say that your boyfriend senses your heat moments before you do and well... he fucks you *senselessly*.

wc: 4.4k

warnings: pureblood werewolf!wooyoung, cocky wooyoung, he kinda teases the hell out of reader, fingering, finger-fucking, tying up her hands to the headboard, manhandling at it's finest, did I say he's cocky?, monster cock wooyoung agenda (obvi, he's a werewolf), lots of cummm, two rounds and *def* implied multiple next rounds, fucking against the wall, ass slapping & squeezing, overstim, orgasms (both m&f), slight possessiveness, at first he's really sweet and all about her first heat around him but uhm he's Wooyoung so expected the unexpected, making out, biting, marking, breast fondling, slight nipple sucking, he's so damn talkative I'm going insane, unprotected, completely consensual, unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: *wooyoung brainrot* please. I went *insane* writing this. I don't even have words to explain how many *horny* breaks I had to take because it turned me the fuck on while writing? Anyways, @woolysium , you might enjoy this too ^^ you'll see it when you'll wake up 😭😭 I can't wait to see your reaction (3:24am for me, 8:24 am for her as we speak). As for you, my dear love, @la-undercover-latina , I hope you'll enjoy this lil fic for your birthday ^^. I had fun writing it, hihi 🤍 Happy birthday once again and.. enjoy !!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The dim glow from the TV cast flickering shadows across Woooyoung's sharp features, his warm hand resting on yours, and his other draped over the back of the couch. You felt so safe beside him, nestled in a cocoon of blankets, his heat and presence a comfort. The movie played on, though you hadn’t been paying much attention to it, stealing glances at him every few minutes. It felt like you’d finally found a moment of peace, a moment that felt untouched by the usual chaos that came with being half-werewolf, half-human. With Woooyoung, you could forget that you were anything but his.

You settled in closer, the cozy room filled with nothing but the hum of the TV and his occasional laugh or quiet, whispered comment, always managing to bring a smile to your face. It was so effortless, so natural, being around him. As much as Woooyoung had a reputation for his playful mischief, there was a seriousness, a depth in the way he cared for you that caught you off-guard sometimes. He had always been protective, a pureblood with instincts that ran deep, strong and unmistakable—yet he’d shown nothing but patience and care for your half-blood nature, never letting it matter more than the person you were. He was your haven in ways no one else could be.

But then, all of a sudden, you felt the shift. Woooyoung's hand tightened around yours, his thumb slowing as it traced gentle circles on your knuckles. His gaze, once relaxed and lazy as he watched the movie, suddenly sharpened, an intense focus clouding over his usually warm eyes. You blinked, unsure if you were imagining it, but you felt the change ripple through him—a silent charge in the air that prickled over your skin, setting your pulse racing before you even understood why.

“Woo?” you murmured, nudging his shoulder lightly, hoping to bring him back to the moment.

He turned to you, his eyes holding a glint that hadn’t been there before, something deep, primal, and entirely possessive. You felt his gaze sweep over you, an almost hungry intensity that seemed to unnerve him just as much as it did you. It was then that you realized the warmth spreading through you, a heat unfurling from somewhere deep inside, slowly overtaking your senses. It was subtle, creeping up on you like the steady build of a storm on the horizon. The realization struck hard, a mixture of shock and nerves that made your cheeks burn.

Your heat.

This was the first time it had happened around Woooyoung, and you weren’t even sure how to process it. As a half-werewolf, your cycles had always been unpredictable, never quite like those of full-blooded wolves, but now there was no denying the signs—the way your pulse quickened, your skin tingled, and every sense seemed to be dialed up to ten. It was unmistakable, and judging by Woooyoung’s expression, he had picked up on it before you even had.

“Woooyoung, it’s fine,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady, though you could hear the tremor in it. “Really. I can handle this.”

But he didn’t move, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your flustered expression. “Can you?” he asked softly, his voice a rougher, deeper rumble than usual. “Because from where I’m sitting… it doesn’t seem like you should be handling this alone.”

There was no mistaking the edge in his voice, an unmistakable possession, a fierceness that seemed to run far deeper than his usual protectiveness. He was close now, his hand moving from yours to gently cup your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. His touch was warm, grounding, but you could feel the restraint there, the careful control that kept him from holding you tighter, pulling you closer.

“Woooyoung,” you whispered, trying to keep the tension at bay. “I just… I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t think I’d be… around you when it happened.” Your voice faltered, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.” He tilted your chin up, his gaze unrelenting, filled with a determination that made your heart skip a beat. “This is your first heat with me around, isn’t it?” he asked, though it was more a statement than a question. His jaw clenched, a glint of possessiveness flashing in his gaze that made your breath catch.

“Yes…” you managed, the word barely a whisper.

He nodded, a satisfied sound rumbling from him as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I thought so. I could tell something was different tonight.” His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair in a way that was as much comfort as it was claim. “And you think I’d just leave you to handle this on your own?” he asked, his voice laced with a quiet intensity that sent warmth pooling through you.

“No, but…” You tried to hold onto some semblance of control, to keep things from spiraling into uncharted territory. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He let out a low chuckle, a sound so full of warmth and affection that it sent a shiver through you. “Trust me, the only thing that makes me uncomfortable is the idea of you feeling like you have to hide this from me.” His hand found yours again, and he held it tightly, his thumb brushing over your skin in soothing, grounding strokes. “You’re mine. All of you—everything you are, everything you feel. I want to be here with you, for all of it. So don’t try to push me away, especially not now.”

His words left no room for argument, each one infused with a strength that was as reassuring as it was intoxicating. The intensity in his gaze softened slightly as he watched you, his expression warm, protective, and so full of care that you felt your guard slip, the tension easing from your shoulders.

“Alright,” you breathed, giving in to the pull of his words, the comfort of his presence. “I just… I didn’t want this to change things between us.”

Woooyoung let out a quiet sigh, pulling you into his arms, his embrace warm and solid, a barrier against all your worries. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said firmly, his lips brushing your forehead. “If anything, it just means I get to be here for you in a way I haven’t before. I want to be here, *need* to be here.”

You could feel the depth of his emotions, the fierceness of his resolve, and it made something in your chest tighten, warmth spreading through you as you sank into his hold, letting him steady you.

As he held you, his hands gentle yet possessive, you realized that there was nothing to fear, nothing to hide. Woooyoung was here, steadfast and unflinching, a presence as constant as the stars outside the window. And for the first time, you felt truly safe in the knowledge that this was something you didn’t have to face alone.

---

The room felt suddenly warmer, the soft glow from the TV screen casting a low, intimate light over the two of you. Woooyoung’s hands lingered where they held you, one hand cradling your face with a tenderness that sent tingles down your spine, while his other hand traced slow, deliberate circles against the small of your back, his thumb grazing over the thin fabric of your shirt. His gaze, dark and intent, held yours, and you felt your breath catch as his eyes dipped to your lips.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his breath fanning across your face as he leaned closer. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently through your hair as he tilted your head up, his thumb stroking along your jaw in a way that left you feeling dizzy, each touch grounding you and yet sparking something electric, something that was growing impossible to ignore.

You couldn’t deny the fire that was building inside, the heat that seemed to flare each time he touched you, each time his gaze lingered on you. Your heart raced, your pulse hammering in your ears as you felt yourself leaning into him, drawn to the warmth of his skin, the steady, grounding presence of him against you.

“Woo,” you whispered, though it came out breathier than you intended, your voice thick with the intensity of your own need. You felt yourself slipping, your usual control slipping with it as his fingers trailed down your neck, pausing at the delicate line of your collarbone before slowly moving down your arm, igniting every inch of skin beneath his touch.

Woooyoung’s breath hitched as he drew closer, his face only a whisper away from yours, his gaze flickering over every detail, taking you in like he was memorizing you, savoring the moment. The possessiveness in his expression was unmistakable, mingling with the tenderness in his touch as his thumb brushed over the curve of your cheek, a small, reverent gesture that somehow left you feeling even more breathless.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he murmured, his voice thick, a little rough around the edges, his breath warm against your skin. “But God, I can’t stand the thought of letting you go through this alone. Not when I’m right here, not when I can be here for you.”

His words sent a shiver through you, your heart racing as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw, soft and barely there, but enough to send warmth pooling in your chest, spreading through you in waves. You felt your own breath hitch, the sensation of his closeness, his warmth and touch, intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

He pulled back just slightly, his gaze finding yours, his hand still at the back of your neck as he ran his thumb over your skin, the gesture gentle, grounding. “Tell me to stop if you want me to,” he whispered, though you could see the way his eyes darkened as he watched you, his own control beginning to slip. “But if you don’t… let me be here for you.”

Your voice caught in your throat, the words escaping you as you looked up at him, feeling the full force of his gaze. The restraint, the tension in his muscles as he held himself back, all for you, all for your sake, made something in you ache. But it was his tenderness, the care in his eyes, that undid you.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, the words barely a breath as you met his gaze, your cheeks flushed, heart pounding as you gave in to the pull between you. His eyes softened, a look of relief crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and gentle at first, but that quickly deepened, his hand tightening at the back of your neck as he pulled you closer.

Your heat flared, the intensity of your need rising with each kiss, each gentle brush of his lips, each time his hands roamed over your skin with a reverence that left you breathless. Woooyoung’s hands moved to your waist, his touch warm, possessive as he pulled you closer, his lips never leaving yours, his breath mingling with yours as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more fervent.

Your own hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling as you pressed yourself closer, losing yourself in the warmth of him, the steady, grounding presence that kept you anchored even as the heat within you burned brighter, hotter with each passing second. Woooyoung’s breath hitched as your hands traced over his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, his pulse quickening in sync with yours.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, his hand still at the small of your back, keeping you close, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles that only served to make your heart race faster.

Woooyoung’s fingers grazed the hem of your shirt, hesitating just a second before he tugged it up, his eyes never leaving yours as he carefully pulled it over your head. The shirt fell away, leaving you feeling suddenly vulnerable under his gaze, his eyes taking in every detail, a mix of admiration and possession reflected in the warmth of his gaze. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing strokes that sent shivers down your spine, grounding you in the tenderness of his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a reverence that made your heart stutter. His hands moved with a deliberate gentleness as he traced along your collarbone, the warmth of his fingers making you melt under his touch, every movement sending waves of warmth through you. His hand drifted lower, coming to rest at your waist, fingers curling around you with a possessiveness that left you breathless.

Your own hands moved to his shirt, the need to feel him, to be closer, urging you forward as you tugged at the fabric, pulling it up and over his shoulders. His skin was warm, the muscles beneath tensing slightly as you traced your fingers over his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, the way his breath hitched under your touch. He watched you intently, a softness in his gaze as he let you explore, his hands never leaving your skin, holding you close as he soaked in every moment, every reaction.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice gentle, his thumb tracing small, grounding circles against your waist as he watched you with a concern that left you feeling safe, even as the intensity between you continued to build.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely audible as you met his gaze, your own cheeks flushed, heart racing as you leaned into him. There was a vulnerability in this closeness, a sense of connection that went beyond words, beyond touch, and as he held you, every ounce of doubt faded, replaced by the warmth of his presence, his tenderness.

Woooyoung’s fingers moved to the waistband of your pants, his gaze flicking back to meet yours, seeking silent permission. When you nodded, he carefully slid them down, his touch gentle and reverent, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, his gaze filled with awe and something deeper, a need that was matched by his control, his dedication to being there for you in every way you needed.

“You’re everything,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held you, his hands resting at your waist, pulling you close, grounding you in the warmth, the safety of his embrace. The two of you sank back onto the couch, the world outside fading away as you let yourself fall into the warmth of his touch, the steady, grounding presence of him there beside you, as if he was your world, and you his.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—just you, Woooyoung, and the warmth that blossomed between you, a connection that went beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he murmured, his voice rough, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth, a tenderness that left you breathless.

You felt yourself melt into him, the warmth of his hands, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips grounding you as he leaned in, capturing your lips once more. His kiss was tender, reverent, filled with a care and devotion that left you feeling weightless, swept up in the warmth and safety of him.

For now, nothing else mattered.

"H-haven't been like this before" your breath hitched, barely above a whisper.

"Neither did I see you like this.. but who am I to complain? How I'd love to fuck you right now until you can't walk tomorrow.." he smiled playfully, eyes wandering all over you.

Your attitude suddenly changes, feeling provoked by his words. "Hah, if you can even compete with my heat, baby".

"Jokes on you... I'm sometimes able to coordinate my heat to other werewolfs... but you weren't aware of that, were you, my love?"

You gulped.

"What do you mean..?" you muffled, barely above a whisper. Did you have any reason to be.. scared? No, he wouldn't hurt you, never. But.. his heats were *intense*.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, his voice a low, rumbling whisper. "It means," he murmured, "that tonight, you're not getting away from me." His fingers trailed along your arm, igniting sparks that made your skin prickle. "You’re right to be nervous... but not for the reasons you think."

Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with a thrill you couldn’t deny. Every inch of you felt hyperaware of his presence, the primal energy simmering just beneath the surface. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you struggle with your composure.

"Tell me to stop," he dared, his gaze locked onto yours, a playful challenge lingering in his eyes. "Or... surrender."

His words hung in the air, a tantalizing choice dangling between the two of you, "you also clearly...need it" he peeked between your legs, arousal already dripping from your panties.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the gravity of his challenge sinking in. The weight of his gaze held you there, pulling you deeper into the intensity of the moment. You tried to form words, but they tangled on your tongue, every coherent thought slipping through your grasp as his presence consumed your senses.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as you whispered, "I... I don’t want you to stop."

A triumphant glint sparked in his eyes, and he moved closer, his hand reaching up to gently cradle your face. His thumb brushed along your cheek, a delicate touch in stark contrast to the fire blazing behind his gaze. "Then surrender to me completely," he murmured, his voice like velvet, dark and alluring.

With a slight tilt of his head, he pressed his lips to yours, slow and intoxicating. The kiss was a promise, a claim, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You melted against him, feeling the strength and warmth of his hold. The tension between you shifted, giving way to a raw, undeniable pull that neither of you could ignore.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Tonight, you’re mine." His words hung in the air, sealing the promise of a night you would never forget.

From the tender, sweet guy he was at first when he first sensed your heat... he became the primal instinct-driven man you'd always see and.. feel, on your own, whenever Wooyoung was in heat.

He suddenly lifted you in his embrace and threw you on the mattress in your shared bedroom. You slightlt got up on your elbows but were soon pushed down by Wooyoung, his right hand holding you eagerly by your throat. He undressed himself and smirked at you. That *damned* smirk... the one that was telling you that you're basically.. done for.

"Let's see if you keep yourself true to your words, baby." and as soon as he finished his words, he leaned in for a kiss. At first it was a slow, deliberate kiss, then it deepened and became more needy, lustful, craved. His tongue interlocking with yours, sloppy and playful sounds could be heard.

You loved that Wooyoung was so.. talkative, and loud whenever he was in a heat. It actually turned you the fuck on.

He took his belt from the pants he threw on the floor a moment ago and tied up your hands thighly, right above your head to the headboard. He then spread out your legs forcefully, your body arching against the linen. He ripped off your soaked panties and threw them somewhere. He got rid of his briefs, too, his huge girthy and lengthy cock springing out angrily, waiting for any kind of action. He then slightly positioned himself closer to you, one hand going between your legs, one on his cock.

"Nhh-, please.." you mumbled.

"*Please* what, darling? I can't quite.." he pushed 2 of his fingers right inde your cunt, receiving a soft moan from you, "hear you" he pushed another one, making it 3 fingers. Your back arched against his touch as he started finger-fucking your rapidly, the hand on his cock moving, too. As he started stroking his length, you tried moving up and down on his fingers, trying to get to feel him way more and deeper.

"Try to stay quiet if you can.. I dare you"

"Huh? I- Wooyoung-ah!" you moaned his name loudly as he positioned himself to your cunt and fully thrusted in, no warning before he started fucking you rapidly and roughly. ""I want to see how far I can push you.. see where your limits really are."

As Woooyoung was senselessly ramming into you, his hands roamed in your body, his lips too. They went from your thighs which he kissed and, at first, softly bite, to your belly where he harshly sucked your skin and left marks all over, then to your collarbones and breasts where his lips found their way to your now-hardener nipples. He suck them off for a long minute at the same time he was fucking you, sending shivers through your whole body.

"I love the way you react to me. All those little shivers... I could do this all night" he cockily said, thrusting even more rapidly, breath hitching in his throat as he leaned in for a soft kiss. As he pulled back and saliva dripped from your lips, he looked down at his cock going in and out of you rapidly. He saw your face flushed, not being able to look in his eyes. "Keep your eyes on me. Don’t you dare look away—I want to see every second you lose control."

He flipped you over. Yes, his cock was still inches deep inside you, but he flipped you over and one hand went over to the nape of your neck, pushing your face in the mattress. His left hand, the free one, went to your ass and squeezed it once, then he slappped you hard, leaving a rosy mark on your fair skin. You whined at the rough touch, sound barely above a whisper, face buried in the linen. The same hand from your ass went to rest on the curve of your back, softly pushing himself in way better. He started rapidly fucking you again, but this time with a twist. You could feel him in all your sweets spots, back arching and legs already starting to tremble as you felt your high coming closer and closer.

"Wooyoung, ngh-I'm cl-close...!" you shouted, barely being able to form coherent words. As soon as he understood what you meant, you could basically feel the smirk he gave you a second before his hand travelled between your legs from over your legs and waist, aiming for your cunt. His dick inches in you and ppunding into you, 2 of his fingers circled your swollen clit. You quietly moaned at his touch. As soon as he combined those two motions, ramming and circling your clit, you came down from your high beautifully, creaming on his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm and he for sure didn't plan on stopping.

"I know exactly where to touch you, where to push you… look at you coming undone just like I knew you would. Good girl, princess." Woo confidently and cockily said, drops of sweat falling off his head on your chest. "Let's try one.. more. Shall we? I’m going to make sure you feel me in every breath you take."

"Wooyoung wait-!"

"What." he said, confused.

"Slow d-down !" you whispered.

""I'm not stopping until I have you exactly how I want you" he flipped you over on your back again and lifted you up. He pushed you to the uncluttered wall in the room, the headboard behind you slightly breaking when he forced the belt off. Your hands fell to his shoulders, holding onto him thightly. He held you by your ass and pulled you close, making you jump on his cock.

"I love fucking you against a wall so damn much.. and I'm so sad your heat is irregular.. really fucks up my mood. But now? I will make sure you won't be able to walk tomorrow, as I said." and he started kissing your collarbone. He bit you again, this time leaving teeth marks all over.

"You feel so good.. sweetie. I'm so close-" his breath caught up in his throat as he released his load in your cunt, pounding it all up in you. He took his sweet time until he felt satisfied with the amount of thrusts he did and pushed you over the edge, legs trembling around him and hands barely holding onto him. You came down from your high the 2nd time for the night.. and it was not about to be even close to the last one.

"See? This is what you joined in for. How do you feel about it, sweetie?"

"Please just... don't ever stop" you muffled, with teary eyes and a smirk on your face.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips, his gaze flickering with that unmistakable spark. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "we’re nowhere near done. I warned you, didn’t I? Once you’re in, there’s no stopping. And tonight? We’re just getting started."

He tilted his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, taking in the way your breath hitched at his touch. "Think you can keep up with me?" he asked, letting a confident chuckle slip through as he traced his fingertips along your skin. His expression softened for a moment, but that mischievous glint in his eyes stayed strong, hinting at the intensity yet to come.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium

[phantom-0-writer]

*standing menacingly at the door* i made u something

anyways lol. i had a lot of school work and was really busy freaking out and stress studying for a singular test that was 4 questions and would be over in like an hour and then i proceeded to cry about it in my car for various reasons.

but yk what that means!

time for our irregular and unscheduled update of

Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program

this episode featuring a fan favorite: Duke Thomas (aka The Signal - but thats kind of irrelevant for this)

you were supposed to read that like it was from a '90s sitcom and the off screen crowd cheers rly loudly.

some house keeping updates: this scene happens in the beginning of the school year (going by the american system should be september) danny meets damian (and upsurges tim on the same day) around midterm which is around october and then the stuff with jason and damian's drawing happens around december. i kinda accidentally burned the irl timeline for anything dc first scene so now im just gonna do whatever i want.

anyways with out further ado:

table of contents

scene 04: after school activities for normal kids

Duke stood around the corner of the classroom awkwardly, wondering if he had made the right call. Sure the bats and the birds had a plethora of hands on deck any time, but most of them specialized as night time heros. Not to say that they were incompetent or anything, they were some of the most skilled and innovative people Duke had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Sure if anything happened, they could handle it, at least until Duke could slip away and show up as the Signal- Alfred and Bruce had assured him so much. But Duke couldn’t slip the guilt of busying away more of his time to after school activities when he could be patrolling or studying instead, 

But Duke had wanted to do something outside of those things, which was specifically why he had made the difficult decision to join a few clubs and after school activities. He could use a break from being surrounded by people who worked the vigilante life-style just to remember how to be a normal civilian. Let himself take a break from constantly be consumed by one case or another, one disaster or another, not being able to do enough no matter how much he tried or how much time he spent patrolling. 

Duke needed to feel grounded, like his feet were on the ground and he could press the brakes and smell the fragrance of life. Even if the fragrance was a forgotten pile of dog s-

“Alright,” The instructor for their culinary club started with a weird German accent that sounded really fake. “I am Herman. You can call me Chef or Chef Herman or just Chef. I will not bore you all with the boring introductions, and let's head right into the cooking, yes. On this paper here I made the partners for all of you to cook with for the rest of the year. If you have problem with it then quit.” 

This Herman guy seemed like quite the character, and was definitely not helping any of Duke’s previous anxieties. Many of Duke’s clubmates seem to think so too, sending their friends various looks. But no one spoke out, and instead shuffled to the front to look at the singular sheet of paper that would assign them their partners. Duke finally made it to the front and saw that he was paired with a Daniel Fenton at Station 7. 

Crossing his fingers that Daniel had at least only a half-rotten personality, Duke made his way over to station 7. The station was already prepped with an assortment of ingredients and cooking equipment. Duke had already set his stuff down claiming the seat closer to the exit (in case) when a lanky kid comes over, “Uh, your Duke Thomas?” He asks hesitantly looking back at the front counter the partner assignment sheet was. 

It took Duke an awkward second longer to realize that this kid was probably his partner. “Oh yeah I am.” He laughed apologetically, “You must be Daniel.” 

“Danny’s fine.” The boy smiled, absentmindedly brushing his messy black hair out of his face, his glacier blue looking at the equipment. Duke couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about Danny. Not in Gotham’s usual psycho-maniac-out-to-terrorizer-the-city-and-kill-innocent-people kind of off, more in a he’s not in sync with the rest of the world off. While Chef Herman explained the general structure of various types of kitchen and kitchen hierarchy that Duke was already familiar with, Duke tried to get a read on him. 

Weird did not mean threat, after all many of the Justice League- heck even the local Wayne/Batclan were pretty weird- and they (usually) didn’t mean any harm. It wouldn’t be fair of Duke to jump the horse like that. 

Deciding he should try to be friendly with him, Duke leaned over, “Is it just me or is Chef Herman’s accent totally fake?” he whispered. 

“Oh, Ancients,” Anciets? “I thought I was just going insane.” Danny sighed in relief with a small chuckle. There was a moment of silence between the two of them where no one said anything for longer than socially acceptable and Duke debated using his powers to see if he could find a clue or something. That seemed kinda invasive, though. 

When the Chef had started instructions on making today's recipe, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Danny helped Duke measure out the ingredients. “So,” Danny tried again, “What are you in for?” 

“What am I…” Duke repeated confused, 

Danny chuckled awkwardly, “Like why you joined the club.” 

Duke seriously needed to get his head in the present; this was getting embarrassing. “Oh.” He nodded in understanding, “I’ve always liked cooking,” Duke shrugged, “When I was little my parents and I would always cook together, and it was always one of my favorite things to do. And I’ve kinda always liked it, but I fell off of it for a while with school and stuff,” emphasis on the stuff “I thought joining a club could help me get back into it and get away from… everything.” That was a little more candid than Duke had planned on being with someone he had met quite literally a few minutes ago, but it felt good to have that out of his chest. The pleasant memories of his parents swimming in his mind. Mixing the dry ingredients, “Sorry that was kind of a lot.” Duke laughed genuinely this time. 

“Dude, no it’s actually so cool that you like to cook.” Danny said admiration was easy on his face, and Duke couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. 

“What about you, then?” 

“Ugh,” He groaned jokingly, “You can’t seriously be asking for my lame ass reason after you pulled out the flashbacks.” Danny whined, letting the oven preheat like Chef told them to. 

“C’mon, it’s only fair.” Duke played along, already ahead of the other groups. 

Danny sighed, “Promise you won’t laugh.” 

“Okay, it can’t be that bad.” Duke could already feel the smile cracking on his face. 

“It is.” Danny drawlled, “So I live in the dorms right, and I got to pull some strings and room with one of my friends from back home this year. And well, let’s just say my family has a bit of a reputation for causing problems, and the kitchen definitely wasn’t an exception. One time my dad tried to make some soup for my mom because she got sick.” Duke nodded approvingly, that was a sweet gesture, “It was all fun and games until the bomb squad had to show up and long story short we had to move.” 

“You’re joking.” Duke gaped at the bizarre story, but at Danny’s solemn expression, Duke couldn’t help but be appalled, “A bomb squad over soup.”

“My parents were never really heavy on lab safety,” Danny added, as if that explained everything, “But I burn one pot of water and maybe make a few extra-crispy eggs, and suddenly its all ‘Danny you’re not allowed in the kitchen unless you start taking actual classes’ and ‘Danny that's a biohazard’.” 

“You burned a pot of water.” Duke echoed, Danny nodded innocently, “Water doesn’t burn.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” Danny sneered, trying to crack an egg on the corner of the bowl only for all the shell to fall in the bowl and the yolk on the counter. 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” Duke said, taking the bowl from him and expertly cracking an egg single handedly. Danny looked on in awe. “You said you live in the dorms?” Duke asked easily. 

“Oh yeah, all of the non-local scholarship kids have to.” 

Before Duke could respond, a girl from the station in front of them whips her head around, “You said you’re here on a scholarship?” She asked almost oppressively. 

Danny just as taken aback as Duke felt, “Uh, yeah.” 

“Me, too. Have you heard anything about the Mentorship Program here? Apparently we all have to join.” The girl’s partner was looking between Duke and Danny confused, but returned to their cooking uninterested. 

“Oh, yeah. They make us all join.” Danny nodded. 

“I heard from some of the older kids, that no one actually gets picked for that. It’s just like a weird formality thing.” The girl spoke animatedly, “What department are you in?” 

“Applied physics and engineering design.” The oven beeps that it was ready but no one moved. 

The girl seemed to deflate that answer, “Oh, I’m doing culinary science.” And with that solid conclusionary statement, she turned around and got back to her work station. 

Danny blinked, processing what just happened and slowly turning to look at Duke for proof that just happened. But the second the both of them met each other’s eyes, they burst into a fit of silent laughter. 

Bent vunuralably over the table, trying to catch their breath, they were accosted by Chef Hermon. “The two of you are having a comedy club, not a cooking club.” Chef crossed his arms at the edge of the table. Duke was pretty sure he was trying to sold them, but the fake accent was making it hard to tell. 

Danny cleared his throat and striated up, “Sorry, Sir.” He apologized quickly. 

“Chef.” Hermon peered at them, his hat looking comically large and lopsided on his head now that Duke was getting a closer look. 

“Sorry, Chef.” Duke amended, trying to keep his cool. 

“Yes, finish cooking your cookies.” He nodded satisfied, leaving their station. 

“Okay so,” Duke tried to recount what the last thing they did was, but one look at Danny trying desperately to hold in his laugh had ruined all of Duke’s efforts as well. Barely managing to get their cookies in the oven, over Chef’s fake german accent and floppy oversized chef’s hat. 

“So scholarship for applied physics and engineering design, huh.” Duke recounted from earlier, impressed. 

“Yeah…” Danny trailed off embarrassed, “It sounds kinda snotty.” 

“Dude. That’s literally one of the hardest departments to get into, and the scholarship is no sneeze either. There’s no doubt you worked your butt off to get that.” Duke assured Danny as they sat in their stools waiting for the cookies to finish. 

“Thanks,” Danny smiled sheepishly. They sat in a much more comfortable silence now before Danny spoke again, “What grade are you in by the way?” 

“I’m in 10th. General studies for now, but I was thinking of doing medicine. You?” 

“I could totally see you as a hot-shot doctor.” Danny nodded approvingly, “11th. Technically, I’m your upperclassman then.” 

“Technically?” Duke asked.

“I mean, how old are you?” 

“15.” Duke supplied confused. 

“Me too. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so we’re actually the same age.” Danny explained, sheepishly. 

“Dude, you're actually way smart.” Duke gaped in awe. 

“Hey medicine isn’t a day walk either.” Danny nudged his arm playfully, “I’m glad the mentorship thing is just for show, though. Now that we’re upperclassmen, y’know. I would not want my hands full with some random rich kid.” 

Duke laughed, “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a lot of work.” 

Easily unfolding the conversation into various topics and interests Duke found that he didn’t mind that the cookies were burnt. Or that Danny was definitely weird. But in a good way. Duke was glad they met and would get to hang out and cook with their weird not-German Chef every week. And if Danny and Duke exchanged numbers and planned to hangout outside of club activities, then well who was going to stop them.

[solarmorrigan]

“That’s it?” Steve asks. “You’re not going to go to prom because you don’t know how to dance?”

“I’m uncoordinated enough! I don’t need to be out there making even more of an idiot of myself in some floofy dress,” Robin insists.

“Rob, no one at prom knows how to dance. Everyone kind of looks like an idiot, that’s half the point,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah, Steve, you’re really selling me on the experience,” Robin drawls.

“No, listen, I’m not done,” Steve says, giving her a nudge. “The other half of the point is just… going and having the memories, y’know? You get to dress up and take the dumb picture with your date, and avoid the punch because someone probably spiked it, and you get to dance and be close to someone and just, like, be carefree for a night.”

Robin says nothing. She doesn’t agree that prom night is paramount to the teen experience, she doesn’t tease the shit out of him for having such stereotypical expectations of a dumb high school dance, she’s just… watching him. She’s turned sideways on the sofa, one leg drawn up to her chest, and she’s looking at him like he’s something between a fascinating puzzle and the saddest thing she’s seen all day, and he knows what she’s thinking.

Steve hadn’t gone to senior prom. He’d been planning to, of course, at the beginning of the year – he’d had Nancy then, and even as early as October, he’d been fantasizing about the flowers he’d bring her and the dinner they’d go to and the way they would sway slowly to whatever shitty songs the DJ put on. But by the time spring had rolled around, he not only hadn’t had Nancy, he hadn’t really had any friends in school at all—not real ones—and so he hadn’t seen the point in attending.

He'd gone to a movie with Dustin that night, instead (he’s at least eighty percent certain the little shit had set it up as some kind of pity outing, since he’d known Steve wasn’t going to prom, but it had been kind of nice that someone had cared enough to even try). It hadn’t been bad, but it hadn’t been exactly what he’d wanted.

Stiffly, Steve glances away from Robin and shrugs. “Or whatever. That’s what it’s like in the movies, right?”

Robin opens her mouth, but her eyes are still soft, and suddenly Steve doesn’t want to hear what she has to say. Instead, he levers himself up off the couch and turns to her, holding out a hand.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you,” he says, cracking a grin. “Then you won’t have an excuse not to go.”

“You… want to teach me how to dance,” Robin asks flatly.

Steve shrugs. “You got anything better to do tonight?”

Raising a sharp brow at Steve, Robin starts to smile, too. “You sure you wanna subject your feet to that?”

“I think I can handle it,” Steve shoots back, and then Robin is up off the couch and helping him push the coffee table out of the way.

They rifle through Steve’s collection of tapes until they find something he deems just the right tempo, pop the cassette in, and stand in the middle of the living room.

“Okay, give me your hand,” Steve says, taking her right hand in his left, “and your other goes on my shoulder.”

Robin does as he says, glancing dubiously down at her feet as Steve places his hand on her waist. “I’m not actually sure this is a good idea,” she says with a grimace. “I might be unteachable.”

“We haven’t even started yet,” Steve reminds her. “Seriously, relax, this is super easy. It’s just a box step waltz.”

Despite her uncertainty, Robin can’t help but smirk at him. “A waltz, huh?” she teases. “Did your parents make you take fancy-pants, rich kid dance lessons when you were younger, or something?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No. My mom taught me,” he says, and then rushes on before Robin has anything to say about that. “So you’re gonna start by stepping back with your right foot when I step forward, alright?”

Brows furrowed, Robin nods and looks down at her feet again, and Steve squeezes her waist gently to get her attention.

“Look up at me, not at your feet. It’ll be easier, I promise.”

“How am I going to know what my feet are doing if I’m not looking at them?”

“You’re attached to them, Robin.”

“That’s debatable.”

Steve tries not to laugh. He really does. “Okay, you’re in marching band, right? This cannot be harder than following whatever steps that involves while also playing an instrument.”

“This is different!” Robin insists. “I can’t step on the French horn’s feet! The French horn isn’t gonna judge me if I fuck up! Like, the worst that’ll happen in marching band is that the drum major will yell at you, and the drum major is always yelling, so it doesn’t even make a difference anymore, and–”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, squeezing Robin’s hand this time. “I’m not going to judge you if you fuck up, okay? I am literally the last person qualified to do that.”

Robin huffs out a little laugh. “Right. Two of a kind,” she says.

“Exactly.” Steve grins. “Now c’mon, Buckley, I know you’ve got this. On one, back with your right foot.”

Nodding, Robin glances down at her feet, but looks right back up at Steve. “Okay.”

“Okay. One–”

Steve steps forward with his left foot, and Robin immediately steps forward with her right and kicks him in the shin.

“Ow,” Steve says, dry and flat because it hadn’t really hurt.

“Sorry!” Robin ducks her head, laughing nervously.

Steve shakes his head. “Let’s try that again. Back with your right foot.”

“At least I had the right side?”

“Yep, now aim for the right direction, yeah?”

This time, when Steve counts off, Robin’s right foot goes back, and his left follows her.

“Okay, now what?” Robin asks, looking down again.

“Now, you’re gonna bring your left foot–” gently, Steve judges the top of her left foot with his right, “back,” as she begins to slide back, he moves and taps the inside of her ankle, “and to the left. Just like that.”

“No injuries this time,” Robin quips, and Steve smiles.

“Now move your right foot over next to your left.” He nods as Robin gets her feet back together. “Forward with your left foot – good,” he encourages as he steps back to mirror her. “And now forward and to the side with your right. Like you did with your left before, but opposite.”

“Uh.” Robin makes the move slowly, still staring down, but she looks back up at him when she gets her right foot planted. “Like that?”

“Yep. Now left foot over, and–” Steve follows her, bringing them back to the same position they started in, “that’s it!”

Robin blinks at him. “That’s it?”

“Easy, right?” Steve says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods hesitantly. “I think I can handle that.”

“Of course you can,” Steve insists. “Now let’s try it again. Back with your right foot. One–”

Robin steps forward with her right and kicks Steve in the shin.

“Sorry!”

Steve quickly becomes glad they’re both in their socks, or he’d be sporting much more serious bruises by the time they reach the end of the tape. Robin doesn’t have any trouble keeping the order of the steps in mind, but keeps moving in the opposite direction of where she’s supposed to be going, and Steve has been kicked and stepped on more times in the last half hour than he thinks he has been in his entire life.

“This is ridiculous,” Robin groans. “This is the literal definition of women having to do everything backwards and in heels!”

“You’re not wearing heels,” Steve points out.

“I would be at prom,” Robin says. “Why do I have to go backwards?”

“Because you’re following.”

“Well why can’t I lead?”

“Because you don’t even know how to follow!”

“Exactly! I’m starting from scratch either way!” Robin aims pleading eyes up at Steve. “Can’t we just try it in reverse? How much worse at it could I be?”

The thing is, Steve’s only ever led when dancing – he’s never had reason to learn how to do the follow part. But then, he’s already been reversing the steps in his head all night in order to instruct Robin; following couldn’t be that hard, could it?

“Fine,” Steve groans, letting his head hang back for a moment. “Fine. Trade me.”

“Yes! Trade!” Robin pumps her fist once in triumph, and Steve can’t help but laugh.

He lets go of her right hand and instead takes her left before putting his other hand on her shoulder.

“Hand on my waist.” Steve nods to his to his left side, and Robin moves into position. “Right, so you’re gonna step forward with your left this time, okay?”

Robin nods. “Forward with my left. Okay.”

“Okay. One–”

Steve steps back with his right foot. Robin steps back with her left.

They stand there, each half balanced on their back foot, staring at each other, before Robin bursts into laughter. Steve follows suit.

“I– I told you I was unteachable,” Robin giggles once they’ve caught their breath, her forehead resting on Steve’s shoulder.

“Nope, this is a personal challenge now,” Steve insists, still grinning. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a quitter. You’re going to learn to waltz if it kills me.”

“Shouldn’t it be ‘if it kills me’?” Robin draws back to ask.

“My death is looking a lot more likely at this point,” Steve says, and Robin snorts.

“God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, okay, Miss Unteachable. Ready to try again?”

Robin takes in a breath, wiggles her shoulders, and puts her hands back in position. “Ready.”

“Great. Just remember–”

“Forward with my left foot,” Robin echoes, overlapping Steve’s instruction perfectly.

Steve grins. “Okay, then. One–”

Somehow, Robin makes a better leader than a follower. Once she gets over the initial nerves, she manages the reverse order of steps just fine, even getting confident enough to stop looking at her feet after several sets.

(The fact that Steve has no trouble immediately reversing the steps himself and still instructing Robin receives no comment, though it does receive a brief glare, which gets a smug grin in return.)

They rewind the tape again and keep going. Steve lifts their joined hands to spin Robin around when they hit the second song and she follows with a laugh before insisting that, since she’s leading, she should be the one spinning Steve. He has to duck a little to get under her arm, but they feel the maneuver is quite successful.

Robin offers to try to dip him, but Steve declines, insisting he doesn’t feel like getting dropped on the floor today, earning a pinch at his waist even as Robin laughs.

As the evening wears on, they give up their carefully-held waltz positions and lean in close, until Robin’s head is resting on Steve’s shoulder again, her arms wrapped around his waist, while Steve drapes his arms over her shoulders and leans his head on top of hers.

“This is the kind of slow dancing I would’ve expected from Steve Harrington at prom,” Robin says as they sway in gentle circles to the beat of the music.

Steve hiccups out a little laugh. “Yeah, well, I had to make sure you knew how to do the real thing, first.”

“And?” Robin asks. “Do I pass?”

“I think you’ve got the hang of it,” Steve says. “Now you have no excuse not to go.”

“Steve,” Robin draws back a little, enough to look up at him without pulling away, “who the hell do you think I’m going to be dancing with at prom? It’s not like I can ask– anyone I’d be interested in.”

Steve’s heart sinks a little, the same way it always does when he’s reminded of how fucking unfair the world is to Robin and to other people like her. He shrugs a bit lamely. “You could go with friends?”

“I guess,” Robin says, staring at the front of Steve’s shirt, suddenly lost in thought.

Steve frowns. He doesn’t even remember what had gotten them onto the subject of prom—it’s January, the dance is months away—but what had started out as something fun is starting to make Robin feel bad, and he can’t have that.

“Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You should go with me,” Robin cuts in, looking back up at him.

“What?”

“To prom,” Robin says. “You should be my big ol’ platonic date.”

“Right,” Steve drawls. “Because going to prom the year after you’ve graduated doesn’t scream that you haven’t moved on from high school at all. Definitely not sad, or anything.”

“Sure,” Robin agrees wryly. “About as un-sad as not going to your senior dance at all.”

Steve cuts a sharp look at Robin, who just smiles at him.

“I mean, I’m just saying: who better to give me the whole prom experience?” Robin shrugs, tone entirely too innocent to be trusted. “If you go with me, we can dress up and get the dumb picture together, and we can avoid the punch, and you can tell me all the gossip I know for a fact you still know about at least half the people there, we can dance… The whole shebang.”

When Steve had been imagining prom night with Nancy the year before, he’d imagined romance. He’d imagined meeting her eyes across the dinner table and sneaking kisses on the dance floor. He’d imagined going back to his place afterwards and making love, spending the rest of the night worshipping Nancy and making sure she knew how beautiful she’d looked and what a wonderful time he’d had with her.

But when he thinks about it now, he thinks about making jokes at dinner with Robin, about standing around in the tinsel-strewn gym and making catty remarks about who’s dressed terribly and whose dancing is even worse. He thinks about them dancing together, still, and maybe they’ll still go back to his place afterwards, where they can watch terrible movies for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t sound at all like what he’d wanted a year ago.

It sounds perfect, now.

“You’ll have to buy the tickets,” Steve finally says, and Robin’s face lights up. “And I expect my corsage to be very fancy.”

Robin laughs. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t be a cheap date, Harrington.”

“We can go Dutch on dinner, if you want,” Steve says.

“How generous,” Robin deadpans, and Steve doesn’t bother to hold back his own grin.

They both know he’s probably going to pay for dinner. He doesn’t mind.

“You’re serious, though?” Robin asks, looking up at him. “You really want to go to prom just to waltz with me?”

“Well, I went to all the trouble of teaching you.” Steve shrugs.

Robin bites her lip around a smile. “Do I get to lead?”

“For the sake of my shins, you’d better,” Steve says, and Robin laughs, leaning back in to cinch her arms around his waist again.

“You are my favorite person, you know that?” she says softly, just audible over music still crooning from the stereo.

“Yeah,” Steve says, pressing his cheek to the top of her head and closing his eyes. “You’re mine, too.”

[Prompt: Slow dancing]

[earl-grey-teacake]

so how are we feeling after that news.

I am not sure how I feel about everything since I just keep finding out more stuff and it makes me feel worse and worse. I’m sad, and upset, and it feels like a tinge of grief. Not for my own dreams or aspirations but for Logan’s. That being said, I will continues writing my Baby!Loscar AU and I will continue/ start my other Loscar fics. I feel like it is a tough time and I hope to make it a little bit lighter.

I think my biggest feeling is overall disdain and disgust for how Williams went about this. My biggest issue is the whole situation being portrayed as “Williams is a business, this was a business decision. No emotion here” Businesses are not faceless entities, they are teams of people. It’s why teams put a lot of effort in PR and companies invest so much in HR. They are comprised of people and we as spectators and fans also play a role in the business that is Williams. Fandoms are profitable, fan content keeps people engaged, and those who are engaged spend money. This decision has shot William’s PR and whatever goodwill they managed to achieve last year. Logan is a martyr in the eyes of fans and James Vowles has come off as a deranged man. For the past month, any comments to the media are either of him passive-aggressively calling Logan a failure or thirsting after Carlos in a way that makes me want to call HR.

This decision isn’t even a money decision either. They talk about the upgrades, and need for points but are putting their faith in a driver that is clearly being brought up from F2 too early. They are taking risks that genuinely make no sense to me and I am afraid it may damage this new rookie’s confidence on top of it.

I cannot tell if James Vowles is doing this because he wants to live a bit wild before Carlos comes, has a vendetta against Logan, or he is just off his rockers.

I am happy Logan is out of there though and wherever he goes, I go. I hope he goes to Indycar. This is not me seeing Indycar as so lesser sport where unsuccessful F1 drivers should go it. I have great admiration for Indycar and genuinely enjoy watching it more than F1. My wish for Logan to go to Indycar is for the general vibe and how friendly everyone is and for the fact that I live 3 hours away from a track and will absolutely take PTO to see Logan race.

Personal feelings are below if anyone wants to read them.

I got into F1 last year around September but really dove into it around the beginning of November. Logan was someone who never really stood out to me in the beginning but I began to notice him more and more around October and November and I couldn’t help but sympathize for him. I remember how anxious I was waiting for him to be re-signed and the relief I felt when it happened.

I wanted him to do well and succeed so desperately and as it became more and more apparent that James and Williams, were doing, I became a bigger and bigger fan of him. I know I’ve mentioned it briefly on here before but near the end of last year and the first half of this year, I was dealing with a toxic workplace and an abusive supervisor. As the months went on, the treatment towards me got worse and worse and so did Williams’s treatment of Logan. Our workplace started to mirror each other.

The remarks, the veiled threats, the passive-aggressive comments that points to the same message “you’re under-performing, you’re not good enough”. Most of all, the expectation to practically perform miracles with tools and equipment that was vastly behind the rest of the field. I know very well how heavy and oppressive the work environment must have been. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to have to be doing it everyday, to have to perform for the public like everything is fine, and take the abuse from James, from journalists and commentators, and social media. I was already breaking under my supervisors treatment of me, I definitely would have snapped in Logan’s shoes. However, while my supervisor got kicked out of their position, Logan was the one who got kicked off the team. I do hope he takes the summer to enjoy himself and heal.

I feel so bad for him and I’m so upset at how I didn’t know this was his last race. I had Abu Dhabi planned out thinking that was going to be Logan’s last and now I’m just a bit crushed.

[voxofthevoid]

*banging pots and pans together* Goyuu gremlins, come get y'all fucking juice.

I say this as if I'm not inundating you in goyuu every week, but Gojou has been conspicuously absent from my current WIP for...10 chapters and over 70k words. A major character and one half of the endgame ship, and he shows up halfway through the story—JJK has got me making more and more novel (in terms of my writing) narrative choices with each fic.

Gotta say, it feels great to get back into writing Gojou. Last time I tackled him was at the end of September, for the fem!Gojou no-powers oneshot. The necrofic from October beginning has a lot of Gojou, sure, but he's a...well, a corpse. Sinking back into goyuu banter and interactions felt like coming home.

Now, here's Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #9, featuring Gojou Sluttoru Satoru in the flesh.

There’s a man on the platform.

It’s the height that startles Yuuji first. He’s freakishly tall. The tallest person Yuuji’s seen—unless he counts Sukuna, which he won’t. Besides, this guy’s all legs, and it’s weirdly fascinating how they move, smooth and graceful under shiny pants reflecting the platform lights. They eat up the platform with long, languid strides, getting closer and closer and—

Yuuji blinks, dragging his eyes from the man’s legs to a face that’s a lot closer than he expects, even though he has to crane his neck to make eye contact—kind of. The man’s wearing sunglasses, those thick black ones that show nothing of what’s underneath, so Yuuji just ends up staring at his own distorted reflection.

His eyes are wide, his mouth a little open. Yuuji closes it, his teeth clicking together.

The height isn’t the only startling thing about the man. His hair is a shock of white, messy strands covering his forehead and even falling over the sunglasses. And Yuuji’s got no leg to stand on when it comes to people with eye-catching coloring, but there’s still something about this man that makes it hard to look away.

“Hi?” he offers warily.

“Hello,” comes the answer, immediate and cheerful. “You a local?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”

A tilt of the head. Those snowy strands shift with mesmerizing motions. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Why…am I reassuring you?”

The man claps, once. “Good point! You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

Yuuji’s so confused. “No?”

“Hmm, you don’t sound very sure about that either.” The man leans closer, which involves a lot of bending. Yuuji blinks at his reflection in the glasses, which blinks right back. “Nah, you’re too cute to be a serial killer.”

“Thanks, I think. Who are you?”

“Gojou Satoru!” The man declares, straightening up and sticking out an arm. “And who are you, my young, uncertain friend?”

Yuuji takes the proffered hand. It’s big, almost swallowing his whole hand when it closes around it. There’s warmth too, seeping boldly into his flesh.

“Itadori Yuuji,” he introduces himself. “I’m very confused.”

“I did get that impression.”

“No, I mean, you’re—” Yuuji shakes his head. “Never mind. Why are you asking weird questions?”

“Hey now,” the man says, his lips pressing into a pout. They’re very shiny. And pink. “Those were very sensible questions. There’s no point asking for directions from a non-local, is there? And it’d be very unwise of me to put myself in the maw of a murderer.”

“Well,” Yuuji says, slightly less confused, “I’m not a murderer. And I do live here. Moved here a few months back. Pretty sure I can give you directions. To where?”

“A recent transplant. I see,” Gojou murmurs, his head still tilted slightly down. Despite the opaque glasses, Yuuji has the distinct sense of being looked at. “Would you happen to know the way to the Fushiguro household, Itadori Yuuji-kun?”

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji repeats. “You know him? Or are you here for Tōji-san?”

“Both,” Gojou says, his smile widening. The glossy gleam of his lips doesn’t hide how sharp the expression is, and for the first time, Yuuji really takes in the rest of his face—the chiseled jaw, the straight nose, the prominent cheekbones. A sharp face, but pretty too. Like Fushiguro’s, except that while Fushiguro’s soft around the edges, this man looks like he’ll cut if touched. “—to me?”

Yuuji blinks back to himself, trying and failing to make sense of what Gojou just said. “Huh?”

That smile grows even bigger, flashing a hint of very white teeth. “I asked if you’re listening to me?”

“Oh. No,” Yuuji admits. “Sorry?”

Gojou hums, tilting his head like a curious cat. “I don’t think you are. But I’ll forgive it if you’re a good boy and take me to the Fushiguros.”

Yuuji swallows, his throat very dry. “I could, but…”

“But?”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer, Gojou-san?”

Gojou snorts. It’s an ugly sound, rough and nasal. Something inside Yuuji unclenches, like that’s the proof he needed that this guy is human and not some abnormally pretty dream he conjured up. It’d be a kinder dream than usual, but Yuuji can’t trust his imagination anymore.

“I’m too handsome for that, don’t you think?” Gojou asks, his grin grown lopsided.

“Yeah, but—” Yuuji makes a sweeping gesture with his free arm, covering Gojou as well as the rest of the platform. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“So there is a brain under all that pink fluff,” Gojou says, his tone weirdly approving.

“I don’t think you get to talk about anyone’s hair,” Yuuji points out, eyeing Gojou’s snow-white strands again.

But Gojou just tosses his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “It’s all natural.”

“So is mine,” Yuuji says drily. “Not the point.”

“Oh? What is your point then?”

“Serial killing. I think.” Yuuji shakes his head. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take you to the Fushiguros’ place. Do anything weird and I’ll punch you.”

“Careful,” Gojou purrs. “I might be into that.”

Yuuji just looks at him for a moment, before taking in the rest of the platform with half a mind to foist this guy off on someone else. There’s no one, obviously. It’s not like this place is bustling even during what was the rush hour back at Sendai. Nanami and Yuuji were alone the entire time they waited, and he’s pretty sure no one but Gojou got off from the train.

Plus, he probably shouldn’t inflict this guy on anyone else. Yuuji doesn’t think he’s a bad person or anything, but he’s kinda weird. And Yuuji’s pretty immune to stranger danger.

Except when he walks into cursed churches.

“Come on then,” Yuuji says. “It’s getting late, and Tōji-san usually turns in early.”

Gojou’s lips and cheeks do something very weird. “Fushiguro Tōji has a bedtime.”

“Uh, not exactly—”

Yuuji’s cut off by demented laughter—full-on cackling, filling up the open air of the empty platform. All he can do is watch, nonplussed, until Gojou calms down, and even that’s startlingly abrupt, the noise stopping so suddenly that the resulting silence seems to boom.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gojou says, not sounding all that sincere. “That was just too funny. Guess the single dad life suits him.”

Yuuji thinks of what Fushiguro sounds like every time he has to talk about his dad. “I…wouldn’t say that. Anyway, you coming?”

“Sure,” Gojou says easily. “You going to let me go first, or are we holding hands the whole way?”

“What’re you—”

Yuuji realizes the answer before he even finishes the question, blinking down at his own hand—still clasped firmly around Gojou’s bigger one. He lets go quickly, snatching it back. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Wiping it on his pants would be rude. And it’s not like Gojou’s palm was sweaty or anything. It was just warm, and Yuuji’s whole hand sparks like it’s stolen that heat for itself. He settles for folding his arms across his chest. 

Gojou looks entirely too amused. “Pity.”

“Don’t tease me,” Yuuji grumbles, hoping the heat on his face doesn’t actually show on the skin; he knows his odds though, and they’re not good. He’s about to march off, leaving Gojou to choose whether to follow, when something occurs to him. “Wait, are you…”

“Yes?” Gojou prods after a moment, that curling grin still in place.

Yuuji squints up at him, specifically the sunglasses. He doesn’t think Gojou’s blind. People wear sunglasses all the time, though he’s rarely seen ones so dark. And Gojou navigated the platform pretty easily earlier, no cane or anything. Still, the thought won’t leave his head, and Yuuji’s mind refuses to accept the vague sense of being watched as enough proof, so he asks, “Are you blind?”

“How blunt,” is Gojou’s response. “I like that in people.”

“That’s not—”

—an answer, Yuuji doesn’t say because Gojou proceeds to give him an answer, raising one long-fingered hand to pluck his sunglasses off.

A maelstrom of blue slams into Yuuji.

He’s seen blue eyes more than a few times. People he knew, people he passed in the street. Bright ones, dark ones. Then there’s Fushiguro, whose eyes act like some deep-sea trench, shifting from dark green to depthless blue based on the lighting and his mood.

But he’s never seen eyes like these.

It’s not just one shade of blue, but every blue, all at once. Thin threads of shuddering color, spreading out from pupils that swallow all light. It’s breathtakingly bright, like the colors are reaching out of the eyes to claw at the air. Or maybe they’re just swirling inside, chasing each other inside the confines of those irises.

A part of Yuuji knows that he’s imagining it, that Gojou’s eyes aren’t actually nuclear ghosts. But that logic doesn’t quite penetrate the blue haze in his head.

Gojou blinks, cutting off that stream of color, and Yuuji sucks in a breath like a drowning man.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Halloween in Waterdeep

Gale Dekarios x F!Reader (called "Tav" once)

Synopsis: Tav thinks Gale's tower might be haunted; Gale has an answer for it. But is it the right one?

Author's Note: Happy Halfway to Halloween, everyone! Since people celebrate "Half-o-ween" anywhere from April 30th through May 2nd, I'll hopefully be posting a few more Halloween themed fics in the coming days! But for now, enjoy this fluffy Gale fic. <3

*Extra Info: Some of this fic is stretched a little beyond what is canon, I am aware and did it on purpose to suit my idea. However, what I did research for canon-alignment purposes is that Faerunian "October' is commonly known as Leaffall, and the holiday at the end of Leaffall is called Liar's Night, which is essentially Faerunian Halloween, or Samhain. It's on the 30th day of Leaffall and it's common to dress up in disguises to avoid the attention of the deities known as Leira and Mask.

"Gale, are you certain your tower isn't haunted?" You scrunched your knees up to your chest as you sat in the very center of Gale’s large four poster bed. The wizard was sitting merely feet away at his desk grading papers, but he still seemed too far away for your liking, your earlier experience in the tower while he was away for work still lurking in the shadows of your mind. 

"I'm quite certain, my love. I lived here by myself with only Tara for an entire year and never experienced anything of the… phantasmic nature. That is, unless the spirits of the mice Tara has disposed of in that time have returned for justice." He chuckled to himself, and normally you would chuckle with him, but your fear currently outweighed your humor and you huffed instead. 

Your frustration caught his attention and the pen he was holding went down. He turned to you in his chair and appraised your balled-up position on the bed. You looked so small and helpless, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty for teasing you. Pushing himself up, he made his way to you, the urge to wrap his arms around you and make you feel safe again superseding all of his professor duties for the time being. You came first; you always had, and you always would. 

You reached for him as he climbed up onto the bed, and he gathered you up in his arms, pulling you close to his chest where the marks of the orb still lay in harmless divets and grooves along his skin. The hair that grew there scratched your cheek as you nuzzled into him, and you found comfort in the familiar sensation. 

"Alright. Tell me what happened and we'll see what we can do. If it is a spirit, I know several incantations that will allow us to speak to them and safely move them along. If it's something else, we've fought worse, I'm sure. Yes?" He cupped your cheeks in his warm hands and lifted your face, forcing you to meet his tender eyes. 

You nodded, determination returning to you now that you had the confidence of your fiancé again. "Alright," you began, walking back through the experience in your mind. "I was in the kitchen downstairs making coffee, and I heard a thumping noise behind me. I knew you were at Blackstaff, so naturally, my first guess was Tara, so I called out to her as I turned around, but she wasn't there. I looked all around the kitchen for her but she was nowhere to be found. Finally, I found her in your study, curled up asleep. So, I figured it must have been an animal of some sort inside the walls. It happened a few more times when I returned to the kitchen, but I ignored it as best I could in favor of my task. But then, something happened that I simply could not ignore. The spice cabinet door flung open by itself! I was shocked, of course, as none of the windows were open - for the gods' sakes, it's the 26th day of *Leaffall, it's chilly out there. I stared at it in shock, then it closed right back! I cast Detect Magic, as you taught me to do, and came up empty handed. That is not the first odd occurrence that has befallen me, Gale. In the last week alone, there have been numerous times in which I've felt like I'm being watched or heard strange, unexplainable noises in the tower."

Gale shook his head, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "I do believe I know what's going on here." 

"Oh?" You quirked a confused eyebrow at him. 

"In the days leading up to *Liar's Night, some Waterdhavians pull pranks around their houses to confuse the deities of Leira and Mask. They wear wooden necklaces so their magic cannot be detected while they have their fun. Then as you know, on Liar's Night, we all don disguises to keep those deities from showing us any special attention. Well, in the year Tara and I spent alone here, Tara did her best to keep my spirits up in any way she could in that dark time, including pull pranks on me during Leaffall. I suspect she's doing the same to you as a sort of… welcome to the Dekarios family. Let's ask her, shall we?"

You nodded, finding yourself both relieved and irritated at the Tressym for tricking you. Gale led you from your shared room and led you to the study, where Tara was bedded down next to one of Gale’s many bookshelves. "So, Tara." Your fiancé's voice was deceptively casual, but you heard - and you were certain Tara did too - the undercurrent of annoyance laced in his tone. "Playing pranks on my fiancée for Leaffall, hm? You truly startled her, my friend, and I do hope you will apologize."

"Mr. Dekarios," Tara tried to interject, but Gale continued without pause.

"By all the gods, she thought the tower was haunted!"

"Mr. Dekarios…" another failed attempt. 

"I very much want my wonderful fiancée to feel safe in her new home, and-"

"Mr. Dekarios, for heaven's sake it wasn't me!" the tressym screeched and flapped her wings indignantly. Gale, at last, halted in his tracks and furrowed his eyebrows, the creases on his forehead deepening in displeasure. 

"Tara, are you being totally honest with me?" He said, his voice stern, and you stepped up behind him, laying a hand on his tense shoulder. He breathed out slowly, relaxing under your touch. "I apologize, Tara, Tav." He nodded to both of you in turn, then fully turned to you, taking your hands in his own. "I just- I can't stand the thought of you not feeling safe here with me. So, Tara, please, if it was you, just tell m-"

Thud

All three heads whipped around suddenly as a loud, clear thudding sound came from the wall of the study behind them. "Gods above, what kind of anim-"

Thud Thud 

"Gale-"

Thud Thud Thud 

"Mr. Dekarios-!" 

BANG!

Books flew off the bookshelves and piled unceremoniously into the floor as the wall cracked open with a blinding light for several seconds before a woman was revealed standing in the study with them. The crack of light closed as though it had never been there in the first place, and the woman, giggling gleefully, cast a spell to return the books to their rightful places. You took glances between the strange woman and Gale, whose jaw had fallen slack. But after several seconds of uncharacteristic silence, all was revealed.

"Mother?!" 

.

.

.

fin

Tagging Darlings: @knightofmight01

( If you'd like to be on the taglist for all my writing, please DM or send in an ask! Thank you for supporting me, and Happy Half-o-ween! <3 )

[mimicha-arts]

Date: 09/29 SPOILERS FOR S2 Part 1

I don't know how many times I rewrote everything, my documents flew away for dozens of pages, so I will divide my post into several parts.

I like to theorize and explain things to myself, but at the moment every new question that comes up contradicts every answer I found. I don’t have a lot of time now, and unfortunately I have to write first, then translate. So I don't know when I will be able to edit the next part and post it.

In the first post I want to talk about time, number of attempts, and what the original reality is. My friendly reminder - this is all just empty speculation and I'm just having fun (while crying actually). I'm pretty sure that when we get trailers and more information about canon, I'll change my mind a lot. But that's it for now.

Time

The events in s2 take place in a short time. In the last interview it was said that about 3 days had passed. so. October, 23th - Lu Guang was stabbed, Cheng Xiaoshi was interrogated during the day, the events in the hospital placed during the evening. October, 24th - Chen Bin's funeral, Cheng Xiaoshi dived in his photo October, 25th - dive in Li Tianxi's photo, interrogation of Li Tianchen, time loop, Lu Guang's kidnapping October, 26th - everything that happened in the theater and in the tunnel Plus taking into account the time (about a month) they spent in the hospital, ep12 ends at the end of November/beginning of December, congratulations. The start of the new year is almost here, have we really crossed the critical point for Cheng Xiaoshi and he won't be forever 21? Heh.

9/13 is not the date of Cheng Xiaoshi's death,  it has to be 9/12. Below I will describe why I think that this is not his first attempt, and in this case more than 5 minutes have definitely passed. Time has not stood still, seconds are passing. Lu Guang's watch does not say five in the morning, but midnight and five minutes. The date of the password is Lu Guang's reminder, corresponding exactly to the time of the dive. If that's the case, I believe that each new reality is a new password corresponding to the time of  diving, as a reminder of the previous failure. 

Technically, I think that Cheng Xiaoshi actually died at 5:35 in the original timeline - this date was indicated, everything led to it, but in the end it was not shown  in s2 itself. The events in the tunnel do not correspond to this time, since the actions took place earlier (the meeting at the theater was scheduled for 3 am, the rest of the events happened very quickly, the whole action couldn't have lasted for 2 hours and a half, so I think everything happened before approximately 4 am or so).

It coincides too well with this broken time in the Overthink. So, I am desperate enough to believe that  Cheng Xiaoshi's death occurred at 05:35 (as actual time). Even if the specific time in the ED can be perceived as 5:20, because that is literally the reason why Lu Guang broke the time - his wish that Cheng Xiaoshi could live, his love for Cheng Xiaoshi. It is possible that time passed in the original reality - literally from this moment until the last attempt at 00:05. So maybe. While Lu Guang lives one life after another, in fact, Lu Guang is truly “frozen” in this 12-13 September, and not even a day has passed in the original timeline. Why do I think that exactly this amount of time has passed (more than five minutes, but less than a day)?

It’s difficult to say at all that Cheng Xiaoshi died in the photo studio in the first place.

There are changes in the design of their room.

Lu Guang probably washed the blood from his hands, so he spent some time for it, but did not change his clothes, still covered in blood, even has traces of blood on his face. (Did Cheng Xiaoshi touch his face before he died? Did Lu Guang himself cry, covering his face with hands? Oh, boy)

I'll talk about details in the next part.

Again and again

I feel sorry for him. He is the most pathetic, most selfish, most insane person in the universe. I love it so much.

I believe we have not yet seen the actual chronology in terms of events, but we have seen the original timeline in terms of Lu Guang's insane room.

I’m sure this is not his first dive; we have always had the symbolism of constant resets. Again and again, again and again, again and again. I think there have been many attempts. As many as there were photographs he could find - if the ability works the same way as Cheng Xiaoshi use it himself, and he should be the author of the photo, we can only cover our heads with our hands and cry.

This is Lu Guang's POV - Lu Guang already knew that the death node cannot be changed (meaning he already tried), but he still wants to use the very last attempt to try.

He looks so dead inside, it's impossible. In my understanding: he initially used earlier photographs that were closer to September, the death of Cheng Xiaoshi in the original reality, and then dived deeper and deeper into the past, into more distant events.

Let's go back to s1. It is still difficult to say how many times the events were repeated. Lu Guang himself confirmed it in his words that this happened more than once. There have been a lot of attempts, he himself said “no matter how hard you try".

I think that “last chance” meant just that, last chance. From what he said, we know that a photo can only be used once. If s1 showed us the events of the current timeline, which I believe, this was probably one of the earliest photos that Lu Guang could use - a photo that happened before their first meeting. Back to their real beginning. This… tritely has a beautiful and symbolic logic behind it. Current events are “all or nothing.”

The photo studio from the flashback is the original universe, this reality is not destroyed, he returns to it after each original attempt. We know that Cheng Xiaoshi died many times in many different ways. If there have been many attempts, if the attempts are limited to photographs, all he can do is use them from some original point.

Like I think he can't get an "infinite" number of attempts by using the photos again within the "past" he returned to. In my opinion, “dive within a dive” is impossible. I don't think that after diving, there is a possibility of another dive by the same person inside the diving - because it makes more sense if Lu Guang has an invisible timer that reminds him - the time is running out.

I think the design of their room in the original timeline confirms this. Their table is always full of books, there are things, lamps, even framed photo. Everything is empty. If these were the events immediately after Сheng Xiaoshi's death, would their room be so lifeless?

I'm inclined to think that Lu Guang went through all their belongings, used every possible attempt to find suitable photographs that would allow him to try to rewrite the events again.

I find destroyed or burned photographs more symbolic of failed attempts being burned, too - after all, a photo can only be used once, everything is changing, it’s not a time loop. Every used photo, every reality that doesn't turn out well, is another crossed out opportunity. But remembering his words about the destruction of photos - I think that we will see this again in the context of the fact that he destroyed the photos himself. It is quite possible that he destroys the photo after the dive to erase the reality/time where Cheng Xiaoshi died again as a fact. Because… otherwise a terrible situation will arise. If Lu Guang possesses himself from a photo, then after leaving it after Cheng Xiaoshi's death, the original!Lu Guang moves back to the original line, while Lu Guang from the rewritten timeline remains in the timeline where Cheng Xiaoshi is dead (and if the events are rewritten so deeply, it is not at all clear what will happen to his memory). Therefore, I am sure that the original Lu Guang must destroy the photographs because of this as well.

I was wondering if he destroys the photo while diving, right after it - maybe that's how the mechanics could work, I would say, of how he "locks" himself into a certain reality. But since I believe that he should return to the "original point", I do not think that this is possible - if he doesn't need to come back, if he just "dives after diving" further into the next timeline, it won't make sense: more photos can be taken, attempts won't end with a limit. But do I like this idea for the last attempt? That he has to live his entire life from the very beginning without a “save point” to return to? Oh. Yes. Note: I considered the possibility that there is no original timeline as a starting point for diving, that he dives again after diving inside the dive itself, destroys the photo immediately inside the dive, that everything is repeated again, no limit either. Just at some point Lu Guang himself decides there is no point in continuing to use any photos from this period, so decided to use a photo corresponding to the very very beginning. But in doesn't make sense, in any case he will have the opportunity to take more photos that he could use for further dives, this does not create a " the last try" point (even if it was possible, also knowing Lu Guang’s character, I don’t think that he could partly “give up”, partly take such risks voluntarily)

But it's still questionable. Because, if the original timeline exists, all dives were made from there, then a simple problem arises - given Cheng Xiaoshi's ability, all dives take place in “real time”, i.e. in the original reality the same amount of time should also pass. We all understand that this is impossible, it is difficult to imagine how many attempts Lu Guang made, how many years actually passed.

So, if we believe that the “original reality” is a thing, then the combination of their abilities, becoming a “perfect fusion,” has other limits, other specifics of using and/or the original timeline is so broken that time only passes when Lu Guang exists in it.

The original universe… or?

I hope I've made it clear enough before - in my opinion the original timeline was shown to us in terms of the timeline from where he dives into the photos. Their room. Because there must be something that creates a limited number of attempts.

But I have some doubts about the fact that what we saw in the vision or flashback is the original timeline, too. Yes, they could have shown us the very first death of Cheng Xiaoshi, this would even be logical, but the problem is that this is only relevant if we agree that Lu Guang has white hair from birth.

Considering that the hints themselves within the series may turn out to be a joke, I still haven't completely dismissed this idea. The only characters with unusual hair color are twins, but they are like that at least because of genetics, they inherited it from their mother. While the issue with Lu Guang remains open.

Therefore, I am considering 2 simple options: 1. Lu Guang's hair was originally white from birth, so we shouldn't expect him to have a different design in the original timeline. Or Lu Guang's hair turned white before Cheng Xiaoshi's death for some other reason. Then we can safely say that the events of the flashback is the original universe.

2. Lu Guang's hair was not originally white, but his hair gradually turned white with each dive attempt due to overpowering, trying too many times, and overusing his abilities.

If we consider the second option, then:

The flashback events shown to us are one of the later attempts, for example, the penultimate one, which is generally a possible option. That version of death, when Cheng Xiaoshi received a very similar injury to Lu Guang - that why the flashbacks were specifically about this late attempt.

The events shown to us are this current reality in which Cheng Xiaoshi was/has to be the 7th case, and this is exactly the death that was intended for him in this timeline - but this period of time, from April to September, was cut out and "stolen", just as case 7 disappeared. And that in the most recent attempt, not only was time rewritten “from the very beginning,” from the very first photo, but something else happened to prevent Cheng Xiaoshi’s death at the appointed time.

The one who was supposed to die in the photo studio when Lu Guang was stabbed - was Cheng Xiaoshi himself, and what was shown was not a flashback, but Lu Guang's vision of how things could have been different (if we perceive the forest not as a literal location, but a symbol) . I doubt it, but let's leave this possibility open.

Why do I even think that the white hair theory could be real? Of course, maybe it's just the light, but maybe… Due to Li Tianxi's memories and abilities, taking over the memories from the other reality in which Lu Guang lived, Qiao Ling's hair also changed a bit. Pay attention to the only white strain in her hair. This is an extremely interesting and rather intentional detail.

If this is the case, then Qiao Ling's white hair is a hint. This does not mean that every attempt is 1 white strand of hair. It's not that… literal. This is an artistic way of allowing the viewer to speculate if this is the case.

I'm not betting on any particular idea, given that things can't be that simple and we don't really know how September-April will be explained. Another problem is why Lu Guang is wearing a watch on his other hand in this shot. Everything may be different, case 7 may be about a completely different character. But I also think many things will be connected at some point.

Photos and OP

There are a lot of photographs. So many. As we remember from Dive Back in Time. There will be two key ones - thanks to Vortex.

One of which is precisely related to the moment that allowed Lu Guang to travel 6 years (or more) into the past - to the moment they even met. Would this be a photo at school? Was it an accidental photo left behind? I have much more painful though. Their “very beginning” has a huge chance of not being high school time, but as I mentioned before, I’ll leave that for a separate post.

But the other one? I can’t imagine clearly, of course, but for me there are 3 ways:

This is about the current timeline - September-October were influenced by the use of a different photo - it will let us understand what the 7th case and one of the main storylines.

The starting point from where Lu Guang began his attempts to save Cheng Xiaoshi and change his fate. The core one.

If we believe the hints in the art book, the intro, the dark design of Cheng Xiaoshi, then the photo will be from the moment where something happens to make CXS become depresso!CXS.

I had hopes that the teaser would be about s3, and thus something would become clearer in my head, but… For now, we can only build theories for the next year or two.

Thank you for reading ~

[massivedrickhead]

Pitch Perfect SpookFest Day 2 - R is for Run

Words: 3282

Summary: Chloe goes out for a run, but soon wishes she’d stayed in bed.

Notes: A vague summary, but I’m honestly not sure how to summarise this one other than a run from hell. I started running this year, and I came up with this fic while on one of my first 5K outdoor runs. 

A million apologies because obviously I’m several days late on this one. I’d hoped to have it done by Saturday but I was nowhere close, and both Saturday and Sunday turned out to be pretty busy days.

Trigger warnings may contain spoilers so if you want to avoid those, skip past them.

Trigger warnings: Themes of depression and suicide

Read on AO3

@pitch-perfect-spookfest

-

“It’s Sunday,” Beca groaned, rolling over in bed at the sound of Chloe’s alarm. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, one eye closed against the sudden bright light. “It’s 7 am, you animal.”

“I’m just going for a run,” Chloe replied, quickly silencing her alarm and getting out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”

Chloe whipped off her pyjama top and began pulling on her gym clothes. Beca blinked a few times and propped herself up on her elbows. 

Chloe rolled her eyes and smirked. “Go back to sleep,” she repeated. “I won’t be out long.”

“You went for a run yesterday,” Beca replied. “I thought you were meant to take breaks?”

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’m running a marathon or something. I’ll just do 5K.”

“She says like it’s nothing,” Beca said, shaking her head. “You said your ankle was hurting.”

“I didn’t,” Chloe replied, pulling her hair into a tight bun. 

“You said it felt spongy,” Beca countered, cringing at the thought. 

“I mean…” Chloe tilted her head and lifted up her leg, rotating her foot. “It feels a little weird, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Don’t you think that’s maybe a sign you should have a day off? If you wanna work out so bad, I can think of something for us to do.”

Chloe laughed. “And who says I can’t do both?” she said. “You aren’t going to talk me out of this, so are you gonna go back to sleep?”

“That depends, are you gonna stretch before you go?”

“I always do,” Chloe said. 

“I think I can stay up for a little longer,” Beca replied, settling back into bed. “Wouldn’t want to miss the show.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Uh huh. Less talky, more stretchy.”

Chloe disappeared into the bathroom once her stretches were done, and Beca began dozing again almost immediately. 

She was woken up by the feeling of Chloe pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. 

Beca caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back for a kiss on the lips. 

“Is everything okay with you?” Beca asked. “Like, really okay?”

“Yes,” Chloe replied. “Getting outside and exercising is all part of the plan. It’s good for me, it helps clear my head.”

“I know,” Beca said. “And I’m glad you have something to help you do that now, I just…” she trailed off, her brain still half asleep. “You’ve been running like every day this week. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Chloe replied. “I’m fine.”

“And you’d tell me if things got bad again?” 

“Of course,” Chloe said. She kissed Beca again. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Beca said, finally releasing Chloe’s wrist and sinking back into her pillows.

-

After a five minute warm up walk, Chloe’s pace picked up and she started running. 

When she had left the house, it had been the perfect October morning for a run. Clear skies, bright sun, and a crispness to the air that Chloe knew would become welcome as soon she started running.

But by the time the walk had ended, the clear skies had been replaced by grey, and a mist had started rolling in off the sea. 

Chloe didn’t mind though. She’d never run in fog before, and liked the idea of doing something new today. 

They hadn’t lived in this little seaside town long, but Chloe had already established a 5K route. It started in the park and then continued down a stretch of path covered either side by trees and grass. At the end of the path was a road that, once crossed, would lead her to a promenade along the seafront. From there was the pier - which she ran up and then down - and then it was onto the more uneven sand-covered tracks which led all the way to the beginnings of the cliffs. The sea on one side, and the grass-topped dunes on the other. From there it was back to the sidewalk and a straight run home. 

The playlist Beca had curated for her was a perfect mix of musicals and pop to help keep her tempo up, and at this moment Chappell Roan was singing Red Wine Supernova over the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

Chloe wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt better. 

She knew Beca was worried, but Beca didn’t need to be worried. 

Chloe was better now. She was good. She was outside and exercising and that darkness that had begun consuming her in New York was gone. 

She didn’t even think about it anymore. 

The path took a sharp right and Chloe followed it down the hill and beneath the canopy of trees. 

The leaves had begun falling in the last few weeks, and the normally clear path was now almost completely covered in hues of orange, yellow, and green. Beneath her feet, the leaves were slick and slimy, almost pounded flat against the path, like they had been painted on. She slowed her pace, careful not to slip, and followed the path down and around until she reached and crossed the road. 

The move to this town had been Beca’s idea.

“Are you an old timey doctor sending me off to convalesce by the sea?”

“Yes,” Beca said. “You have a case of the melancholies so we need the sea air to blast it out. I was thinking of getting some leeches too, since you have sad blood.”

“You’re a dork.”

Beca had suggested this place because it was quiet and calm, and no one was likely to know or care who Beca was. 

She had blamed herself and her overnight rise to fame for the resurgence in Chloe’s anxiety and depression. 

Chloe hadn’t agreed - this had been something she’d dealt with since she was a young teen after all - but she couldn’t deny that the sudden appearance of paparazzi everywhere they went, and seeing her wife’s name plastered over every gossipy news site, had made it worse. 

The final straw had been an article Chloe had seen written about herself, with a picture of her and Aubrey holding hands outside a bar. The headline implied cheating, and her social media had been flooded with hate messages only hours after it had been posted. Chloe had been told to kill herself no less than 52 times. 

She had counted.

Like tally-marks in a column, she had counted.

“Beca, I swear I didn’t-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. Jesus, you do not need to justify holding your best friend’s hand to me.”

The wind had picked up slightly by the time she had hit the promenade, and Chloe was grateful for it. 

It slowed her pace, made her work harder, and cleared out any spiralling thoughts she might have hypothetically been dwelling on.  

She smiled at an old man walking his dog, and gave a nod to the runner coming in the opposite direction. 

She was good.

She was feeling good.

She increased her pace again, and felt the ache in her legs.

Good.

This was good. 

She had gotten into running in college but had fallen out of the habit in the years they’d lived in New York.

At a suggestion from her therapist she’d started up again in this new town, and the bug had quickly taken hold.

The fog was thicker now, and she couldn’t quite judge how far along the promenade she was, but she knew she was approaching her favourite part of the run.

The pier.

It was a mile long stone structure, and at the very end was a lighthouse. One side had a wall that came up to Chloe’s hips, and the other was completely open. It was wide enough for four people to walk comfortably side-by-side, but there was still the thrill of danger that, with one wrong foot too close to the edge, you could slip off and into the sea below. 

There was a moment when running along it that Chloe looked forward to every time. When the beaches on either side would fall away into the sea, and there would be nothing but open ocean around her. 

Chloe loved it. It felt like the whole world dropped away from her leaving nothing but the pier beneath her feet and the infinite ocean stretching out all around her. 

It was addictive, this feeling of breaking free and escaping. 

Today it would be different, she knew. The fog - which had steadily gotten thicker - made it impossible to see the pier stretching out ahead of her, and the ocean either side was completely hidden too. 

Never mind, she thought. I can do it again tomorrow. 

She took a sharp left and began the run up the pier. 

It was a strange feeling, running in the fog. Chloe likened it to running on a treadmill. There was no sense that she was making progress. No idea how far she had come or how far she had left to go. It was like running in a dream. In a void. 

The fog closed around her and, without the usual warning tone that let her know her earphones had died, her music stopped. 

“Shit,” Chloe muttered aloud. 

She was sure she’d charged her earphones the night before. She was sure she’d checked them that morning. 

She didn’t want to stop running to investigate, so she decided to just endure the rest of the run in silence, or as silent as it could be being so close to the sea. 

It was then that, without the music to drown it out, Chloe realised that she couldn’t actually hear the sea. 

She had done this walk with Beca a number of times, and you could always hear the sea. It crashed against the rocks at the base of the pier, and was often louder than their conversations. 

Chloe couldn’t hear any seagulls either, which was also strange. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t heard one squawking.

Then Chloe realised she couldn’t hear anything at all.

Not the sea. Not the birds. Not the occasional bark of a dog, or a parent calling to their child. Nothing. 

It’s early on a Sunday morning, Chloe reasoned with herself. Everyone is probably still in bed. 

Even the birds? Came another voice in Chloe’s head. 

Chloe shook her head, and kept up her pace. 

Her ankle had started feeling weird again, and there was a slight twinge in the side of her knee. 

Maybe Beca was right. Maybe I’m pushing too hard and I need to take a break. 

There was a sharp pain in her back. An old injury she had sustained building IKEA furniture when she and Beca had first moved to New York all those years ago. She aggravated it sometimes by sleeping in a weird position, or spending too long sitting in one spot, and now it seems she’d done it by running. 

Annoyed with herself, and with how the run was turning out in general, Chloe decided that once she got off the pier, she would keep running forward, instead of left and down towards the cliff. She would cut the run off early. Go home and take a shower and then crawl back into bed with Beca. 

She judged she had maybe another few minutes left before the pier would end and she’d run around the lighthouse and then back the way she came. 

She kept running, the only sound coming from her feet hitting the ground. 

She waited to see the lighthouse loom into view. 

She’d expected to see flashes from it long before now. It should have been on, warning the ships of the rocks and shore ahead. 

But there was nothing. 

Just the endless grey of the fog. 

Assuming her pace had been much slower than she’d thought, Chloe checked her watch. 

She didn’t like doing this in a run, because it made her too aware of her speed, her form, and how long she had left to go. She liked to just run and then check out her stats when she got home. 

Now, however, she wanted to know how fast she was running. How long she’d been on this pier. 

But her watch didn’t show that. 

It didn’t show anything, not even the time. 

The screen was a jumble of shapes and colours, as if she was trying to read the time in a dream. 

Great, first my earphones and now this. 

With the intention of pulling out her phone from her running belt, Chloe slowed to a walk and then eventually a stop. 

The fog closed in around her, and suddenly Chloe felt white hot pain. 

It was everywhere, all over her body, and it startled Chloe so much she let out a scream. 

The only feeling she could relate the pain to was when she’d once ran along the beach on a windy day, and had been blasted by sand that had been picked up by the wind. Except now the sand felt closer to glass. 

Chloe looked at her arm and saw pinpricks of blood begin to bloom on her skin. 

Run, an urgent voice in her head said. Run! 

She turned on her heel and started running again, back in the direction of home, and the pain on her skin eased. 

What the fuck is happening?

-

There was no way to know how long she’d been running, but it was long enough to know she should have been home a long time ago yet here she was still on the pier.

She didn’t dare slow down but she knew this pace wasn’t sustainable for much longer. Every part of her was aching, and her exposed arms were covered in a coating of dried blood and tiny cuts.

Blood had begun blossoming through the toes of her white running sneakers, and her heels felt like they had been rubbed down to the bone.

Surely she would reach the end of the pier soon.

Her breathing was laboured and there was a painful stitch in her side. Tears had been falling steadily down her cheeks for what felt like the last hour.

She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to get home.

She wished she’d stayed in bed that morning.

Was Beca worriedly pacing their home right now?

Was she out looking for her? Calling her name into the fog?

Chloe felt a jolt of fear at the thought of her wandering out onto the pier and getting trapped just like Chloe had.

She tried to pick up her pace - to force her legs to move faster - but her body simply refused to cooperate. She had no energy left to spend.

Her left foot hit the ground and then her ankle rolled.

She hit the ground hard.

Elbows and knees hit first, the impact reverberating through her arms and legs. Beneath her leggings, the skin on her knees tore. Her chin scraped against sandy concrete.

And the fog closed in to rip up the rest of her skin.

This is how I go, she thought. A literal death by a thousand cuts.

She curled herself into a ball, eyes squeezed shut to protect them, and she thought of Beca.

Thought of how she’d looked that morning, half-asleep yet still beautiful. A crease of worry between her eyebrows that had been there for a long time now.

Ever since that night.

The night that prompted Beca’s sudden hiatus from work and eventually their move.

Chloe remembered the whirr of Beca’s printer that she had borrowed for the occasion as she printed off all 52 comments telling her to kill herself.

She read them through again, organised them in a neat pile, and placed them under the note she’d written her wife.

Chloe remembered pills. The smear of her blood against the side of their bathtub.

The sound Beca made that she wished would get out of her head.

Maybe I died that night, Chloe thought, as the tiny shards of glass reopened the barely healed scars on her arms. Maybe this is hell.

She tried to move, tried to stretch out her arm to push herself back to her knees, but it was difficult. Her hand slipped against the sand beneath it - a new graze to add to the collection - and she fell again. She stretched her arm out to try again, but felt open space where the ground should have been.

I must be near the edge.

It dawned on her that this was her way out. A faster end than being sliced up by a million shards of glass. 

Who knew how long that would take?

All she needed to do was roll to her right, and she would crash against the rocks at the base of the pier.

If that didn’t finish her off, the sea definitely would.

She felt… disappointed.

She really had wanted to get better.

She didn’t want to hurt Beca like this. Not again.

No, there had to be another way.

It would be easier to stop.

No.

Just one more roll and you’ll be free.

No.

No more pain. No more guilt. You’re allowed to stop fighting when it gets this hard.

“No!”

Chloe yelled the word until her voice was hoarse. The fog filled her mouth and cut into her tongue and throat but she didn’t stop yelling.

She spat out a mouthful of blood.

She had fought hard to get here and she wasn’t giving up now. 

If the sea was to her right, that must mean the wall was to her left. 

Maybe there were two ways off this pier, and she didn’t have to choose the way that ended her life.

Instead of rolling right, she rolled left. Again and again and again until she hit the 2 foot wall. 

She kept her eyes closed as she began pulling herself up the wall.

Her hands gripped the top, and she pulled herself into a standing position. She knew she must be leaving bloody smears against the stones. Once upright, she tried to lift a shaking leg over the wall, but it wouldn’t go high enough.  

She moved her hands until they were gripping the other edge of the wall and she pulled herself over, not caring she was about to drop head first into sand and rocks and tufts of razor sharp grass.

Her music came back on in a deafening blast as Chloe hit the ground on the other side of the wall.

One earphone was gone, and through that ear she could hear the sea and birds and sounds of life.

She started to cry.

Tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the hundreds of tiny cuts on her face.

The pain was blinding, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t care because she was alive.

Chloe opened her eyes and saw the fog was gone. Her body was awash with dried and fresh blood and the cuts stung in the cold October wind.

She lifted her arm to check the time.

The screen of her watch was cracked, but she could see it was only 7:35 am.

She started to laugh but it quickly turned back into a sob.

She pulled herself up on shaky legs and began a slow walk back home.

Beca was in the kitchen when she got back.

“Oh hey, you’re back earl- Oh my god!”

The mug she was holding hit the ground and shattered, but Beca didn’t even notice because she was already hurrying towards her wife.

When Chloe spoke, her voice was rough as sandpaper.

“Bec, I don’t think I’m okay after all. I think I need some help.”

[buggyboba]

✦ October 5th | Blow Jobs

AN 𓏧 ↳ ○ | Day day five! We have another Simm!Master x reader, I am fairly positive I didn't gender reader, so take it as you will! Smut so MDNI.

SUMMARY𓏧 ↳ ○  Being Harold Saxon is stressful, having to play nice and be patient, he is used to the long con, but human politics? You feel bad for him, and that's how you found yourself under his desk.

PAIRING𓏧 ↳ ○ Simm!Master x Reader Fairly sure I didn't use gendered terms this time TW𓏧 ↳ ○ Blow job in semi public space, petnames (Puppy) swallowing cum. WORD COUNT𓏧 ↳ ○ 1100

A03 lINK𓏧 ↳ ○ x

MASTERLIST LINK𓏧 ↳ ○ x

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

You had played your part perfectly, a doting partner, his companion. There was just something about him, something that made you feel alive—more alive than you had ever felt. People liked that you were middle class, you were relatable, and you made him look even better. You noticed, however, that after he won the election, he seemed to be more snappy and more dangerous than before. Not that you didn’t know he was dangerous before; oh, you knew how dangerous he could be. As his companion, you had been on many of his ‘adventures’ not through time and space. Well, there was the one time, back to the end of time, it was sad, the end of humanity, but you didn’t think about it too much; there wasn’t anything you could do, nor would you be alive long enough to see the end naturally, so at the end of the day, it wasn’t your circus, not your monkeys. 

He had been charming and very devoted, in an odd way, and had such a voracious appetite for you that it made you feel good in a way that you hadn’t felt before. So you decided to visit him at the office. He hadn’t been home last night. You brought lunch and happily slipped into his office. He looked up and leaned back, watching you as you walked over to the desk, offering him the bag of takeout. 

“Can’t imagine you’ve eaten today, busy little bee that you are,” you said lightly and sat at the edge of his desk by him as he looked in the bag with a musing sort of look. 

“Domestic," he voiced, and then looked at you, letting his hand grip your thigh. It was a possessive grip, which made you smile. “I do enjoy Mexican,” he tilted his head as he watched you. 

“It’s just some street tacos and Elotes.” You said and shrugged. “It’s from that, um, place down the way from home.” You noticed a wince from him, a sign that you had learned that the drums were being much louder than normal. You knew not to give him a softer concerned expression; the last time you had done so, he had been rather mean, and you didn’t want to make the day worse. 

“Well, my faithful, darling... I suppose I appreciate it,” he muttered, and let his thumb rub a small circle along your thigh, letting the air he was holding release through his nose in a deep sigh.

“It’s bad today then?” you asked carefully, to which he nodded. You couldn’t help the sad pout that took your lips; you knew you couldn’t do anything to silence it. “And I can’t imagine having to deal with all this is helping any.” You motioned to the paperwork on his desk—the actual prime minister stuff he had to do while he waited for his plan to fall into place. You moved to slip between him and the desk, causing him to raise his eyebrow. “Let me help,” you said, nodding, to which he gave a confused shake of his head, but his eyes widened momentarily as you slipped to your knees, your hands trailing up his thighs to his belt. Undoing it, he quickly smirked that cheeky grin you loved and leaned back. 

"Well, who am I to say no?” he gave a half chuckle watching as you undid his belt and his pants. “You look so cute on your knees for me, puppy.” He breathed out, letting his hand move to the back of your neck, rubbing his thumb against your pulse point, feeling how your heart raced. Oh,  how he loved that feeling. He gave a soft hiss as you pushed his pants down enough to get to his boxers. Pulling his cock out, you stroked it until it hardened. You looked up at him, letting your tongue circle the tip, which earned a soft hiss from him, and his hand moved to tighten in your hair. “Oh, what a good puppy.” He breathed watching you with a sort of predatory interest, a look that made your heart race even more. 

You moved, taking him into your mouth, the wet heat enveloping as much as you could take. Your hand moved to stroke what wasn’t in your mouth as you gave slow, languid licks and sucks, His head tilted back for a moment as you started to bob saliva dripping from the sides of your lips, and you stroked it into his skin. He gave a soft roll of his hips, forcing himself deeper into your welcoming mouth; the action gagged you, making you make a delicious sound, his hand tightened more in your hair, keeping you down for a second, letting your throat swallow a bit, he let you up. "Oh, just like that,” he breathed out. The drums momentarily pushed to the back of his mind; all he could focus on was the delicious heat of your mouth and the squelch of saliva and you bobbing and sucking. 

You gave a soft groan around him, making sure to stay as quiet as you could; you were in a public office after all, and you hadn’t locked the door, hindsight was twenty-twenty. You felt his cock throb, and the way that he had to physically stop himself from rutting into your mouth told you he was close. You let your tongue lap against him, sucking on the tip again. “Close.” he growled out, “Swallow.” he looked back down at you. The tone was not a request; it was a command, and you felt the pressure on the back of your head, signaling he wanted to be deeper in your mouth.

You obeyed, sinking him further into your mouth again, positioning better so he could slide against your throat. You choked, but he didn’t pull back, the feel of you helplessly swallowing against him was enough to send him over. He growled out your name and held your head as he felt himself spill into your throat, pulling back a bit to coat your tongue. He gave you a soft pat as you swallowed around him. Once he was finished and starting to come down, he let your hair go, letting you move back onto your heels. He smirked at you as you licked your lips and wiped the saliva from your lips and chin. He was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. He pushed you hard under the desk and moved his chair to trap you under it; luckily the desk was solid and no one could see under it. He shook his head and quickly grabbed the food you had brought. “Come in,” he called calmly. It was impressive how he could flip the switch so fast.

“Prime Minister, I was wondering if you had a moment.” The man said as he entered.  “Of course,” he said, oh, how cruel keeping you trapped here now, facing down his still semi-hard cock; maybe you should teach him a lesson, just maybe, it was certainly worth it.

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

Taglist𓏧 ↳ ○ @bees-fart-too , @bakusquadobsessed , @anastasa-mslfedit , @cabinedepapel , @asteria237 , @suckerforcate , @bingewatchingmylifegoby , @toastvogel , If you want to be added to the rest here is the link to the tag list| x

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap (creature feature: werewolf): what hidden truth does the moonlight illuminate? where do you lack control? where are you in transition?

welcome to my october pac/pap creature feature series - instead of having a single pac/ pap this month, there will be five! every monday (at 5p / 17:00 EST) this october, a new creature will be coming out to play as the sun begins to set earlier and earlier... keep an out; you never know what is lurking in the darkness..

today's creature is the werewolf: song queued: "she wolf" by shakira! when was the next full moon again? phew a few weeks to go... half man, half beast, the werewolf is - according to lore - forced to transform on every full moon. the once civilized man loses control of his body and senses.

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: creature feature: the beholder - what do you see that no else does? what aren't you hearing?

masterlist of pap/pac posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading. options and prices!

pile one

the truth is that you must share your ideas more actively - you need confidence that matches your passion. you can trust that you will be accepted for your ideas - and if not where you first attempt to be so, you will find yourself in a more accepting place the next attempt. if you keep doubting your abilities, you might just find that you can't grow like you hope/dream to. so the spotlight (moonlight) is on you - share what you want to / are passionate about right now.

oof you are really trying to control a lot right now. things aren't going as you expected, huh? you can't control that something is close to the end of its cycle. it's okay that you are going to miss that something - know that you should be celebrating instead. celebrate your wins. you have done so much! new things are just around the corner.

a power transition in your life is underway. you are being given a chance to lead and prove your strength. make sure that you are leading from a place of wanting to see others succeed instead of one where you are asserting your power over others. you can't just be thinking about yourself right now, remember that "with power comes responsibility" - it's not just about you anymore it's about those around you too.

pile two

your disconnection for others and your beliefs seems to be in the spotlight right now. you might be feeling hopeless and alone in your situation right now - it's time to reconnect and recharge. a cleansing is needed - do not lose faith, you are right were you are supposed to be, despite how painful this moment may be. let the glimmering moonlight be a sign that healing is ahead - better days are coming.

i feel like your schedule right now is unsustainable - you are stretched too thin and juggling too much all at once. you might have too many school/work responsibilities considering your personal ones. this is all making you feel emotionally drained (have you stress cried recently - i feel like you might have). you should know that you are currently "leveling up"; anytime you level up in life, this type of challenge to your routine occurs. do things in moderation and ask for help if you need it (there is no shame in reaching out for help).

an opportunity has arisen recently that is going to change your world - likely in a monetary way. there is a new beginning on the horizon. you are getting even closer to the life that you have been dreaming of - prosperity is in your future, it is written in the stars. you are cultivating abundance for yourself and i couldn't be more proud. you have unlimited potential - keep it up.

pile three

new moon energy. there are a lot of things that you are hiding, you are also likely refusing to acknowledge the truth, and you are refusing to look at things deeply (which can be good (you're not reading too heavily into things) and it can be bad (you might not be "reading the fine print")). you aren't listening to your intuition like you should be - stop deceiving yourself. trust that you are capable and you are worthy of so much more than you are currently doing / have.

right now a relationship of yours is extremely out of balance (someone is doing all the work in the relationship or someone is extremely co-dependent in the relationship). it is not good to rely too heavily on a partner to fulfill your needs. your expectations might be unrealistic which causes you to feel even more out of control. look inward so you can better find the source of your disharmony.

i feel like you reading that last paragraph has your wheels turning - the transition ahead of you has to do with your relationships. you are noticing that there is a imbalance in what you are giving versus what you are receiving. i know that receiving things makes you feel weird (you feel unworthy/undeserving), but get use to it - haha! stop feeling obligated to give back equal to what you have received - things are being given of their own volition, no one expects you to give back what you were gifted. simply remember that kindness breeds kindness - the more comfortable you become with receiving, the more you will gain.

want a personal werewolf reading? tip 4.99 USD with the comment "werewolf" and i will privately get back to you with what hidden truth the moonlight illuminates for you, where you lack control, AND where you are in transition!

other then that, thank you for reading! don't forget to comment down below which monster you believe is coming to join us next monday?

[c0smiccom3t]

Dimension Dyfenders Mini-newsletter blog - OCTOBER EDITION!

Hello, everyone!! Welcome back to a new D.D newsletter blog post! This time, like ive said ever since a month ago, it's not a big one, but it's very exciting indeed! So, i guess you can call this a "mini"-newsletter post. Now without further ado... Let's hop 2 it!

BIG NEWS REGARDING POCKET ADVENTURES!!

You guys still remember pocket adventures, do you? If so, remember the part where i said its first minisode's script was half-way done? Well... THIS JUST IN! I'm happy to announce that the script is OFFICIALLY FINISHED! Now, all that I have left for minisode 1 at this rate is finishing up all of its pages! And speaking of pages, Here are some panels from the upcoming pages from the comic, possibly to be finished in April, and planned to be released in May 2025 (the series' anniversary month)!

And that's not all! A script for a minisode of pocket adventures also finished production a while ago. (It's not minisode 2.) But hey, i'm saving that for another time, anyway. It's way too soon, and summer has already passed, so... Maybe next time, waves will be easier to catch. Who knows?🌊🏄‍♂️🏖️

What's that you're saying?

"Comet, that's great and all that Pocket Adventures minisode 1 is coming along great! But what about Toonies?"

Ohhh Am I GLAD you asked!

Lucky for you all, I have more toonies comics planned right inside my noggin. So, once i can think up of any good ideas, they will be released for you all to enjoy! As for the new fans however... Since there are some people (esp on Bluesky) who are NUTS abt Indie animation and comics and all that and want to know about D.D's world, premise, cast, etc... I'm happy to announce that RE-INTRODUCTION COMICS ARE IN THE PLANS! they may not be in development, yet. But I can assure you, new fans who discover this series will get their cake! OH YEAH! I forgot to mention another thing... Sometimes in toonies and in the reintro comics, there will be chibi versions of the characters getting into shenanigans! Here's what one of our characters will look like as a chibi, courtesy of the y2k artstyle and Knockout himself.

Look at this, isn't he adorable?? Just think of what the other characters will look like! the possibilities are endless!

I dont know when those comics will be made and uploaded. But trust me, wether it's the re-intro comics, toonies or Pocket Adventures, you're sure in for a treat! Okay... I'm sure there isn't anything else i wanna say, is there...? Oh yeah! Almost forgot!

So... About the specials.

Yes, I mean the Halloween special AND the supposed to be 3rd anniversary special. As much as it pains me to say it, the latter is NO LONGER an anniversary special due to time constraints and IRL stuff getting in the way. Instead, it will be a regular special! (It's still a special though!) It will be rewritten to fit less into the anniversary type and instead it will be made about something thats the same (the gala) but just 30% different which i cannot say because i put an NDA on myself and i can't get it out because if i try to his highness will kill me.

As for the good news, I can say that there's another special in the back of my mind. Actually, its script has been in development for a while now! Just give it a few februarys and it'll happen. However, i'm not telling what it is, but I'm positive that it'll leave you... Love-struck.👑💕

Speaking of plans and whatnot, I'll have to reveal that there isn't gonna be much content in 2025 after m01, mostly because i'll be working on the minisodes and won't release them until theyre finished and because me and my mom have been thinking of moving back to italy next year once im done with art school. So, that means D.D might go on yet ANOTHER hiatus, unfortunately. HOWEVER, I have BIG plans for 2026! Plans that i can't go much into detail (once again NDA by myself). But i can definitely tell you all, that's its gonna be amazing! No, it's not animated (yet.) but it's def worth waiting for!

And for any "fansies" reading this. Trust me, he's NOT leaving anytime soon, and you know it!

As for other stuff before i close this off. There will be a thread on my bluesky about introducing you all to Dimension Dyfenders as a whole! (once i finish up with concept art + ref sheets and new renders im currently working on.) So, be sure to look out 4 it!

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING! I am so excited to show off what this series will get into next as yours truly tries to carry it on their back while its 2 team members are away as much as they can! And trust me, I'll be sure to NOT disappoint you all. And thats a promise.

once again, thank you for reading and thank you all for your support! I still will be on the lookout for any fanart i see about the series! Remember, stuff like that and criticism are very appreciated here!! Have a riftastic day/night!!

[muse-write]

Towering Past

Here's my entry for the 2024 Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge)!

Jan. 12, 2023

H.,

Sorry for not responding to your Christmas letter…or your New Years’ letter. Really, I am! I know you probably think I’m tired of this method of communication—and I can’t rightly say I’m not—but there was more to my lack of response than sheer avoidance. I know you well enough to know you haven’t watched the local news anytime recently, so you might not have heard about the October explosion on the upper east side of the city. They’re saying it was a bomb planted in the subway system. It took out half the Northern line and a couple of blocks in every direction.

I have my own story to tell about that explosion, but I would sound insane, so I’ll leave this letter at that. And anyway, my hand is hurting from scribbling this letter out in record time now that I feel up to writing at all. You at least know I’m alive and hopefully you believe I wasn’t avoiding responding on purpose.

How are Jen and the kid doing? If you weren’t so set on letters like this you could text me pictures, you know! Why can’t you just call me like a normal person, H.?!

Love,

Frankie

Jan. 17, 2023

Dear Frankie,

Thanks for responding—finally. I was about to hop on a plane or send a strongly worded letter to your commanding officer just to make sure you hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. I suppose a cellphone would make this kind of thing easier, but we’ve had that conversation too many times to rehash it now. Jen’s doing fine. Eric is running around and getting into trouble, and we both know who he takes after on that score. I always was a good son, Mother always said. If you please, you might want to drop by and visit next time you’re in the area; you might have some tips born of experience for how to deal with a little boy who insists on coloring on the walls.

What a vague way of ending your story; you aren’t saying you were anywhere near the explosion, are you? I know it’s your job and all, but don’t blame a man for getting worried when his sister defuses bomb threats on the daily. Anyway, you know I wouldn’t find any of your stories insane, and you must tell me your version of events. Just don’t wait another two months to do so, or I really will send your CO a letter asking after you.

Glad to know you’re alive,

Henry

P.S. In the envelope is a bracelet Jen borrowed from you a few years back. She was very worried that you thought she was planning on keeping it forever.

Feb. 10, 2023

H.,

I’ll tell you what happened if you insist. But you have to promise me not to laugh. I haven’t told anyone else what happened; I’m not entirely certain it was not a vivid dream. And you know I’m not much of a storyteller, so it won’t rank among your beloved novels. But it will be what happened to me, as accurately as I can put it. Forgive the late letter. This took days to write down.

First off, the explosion wasn’t an explosion at all—so you can put your fears about me being among the defusement team to rest, at least this time. I had woken that morning to a leisurely day, not having so much as a drill to look forward to on my day off, and that meant I had a clear view out the window at the precise moment a tower erupted from the concrete sidewalk only a block or two away from my apartment. When I ran from my complex down the street, I had no thought of entering the tower—I didn’t even know if it was that kind of tower, one that could be entered—but I knew someone had to check it out, and that someone had best be me, with my gun and military training. I brought my Sauer and phone with me (not being a technophobe like you) and approached the tower.

It was not pretty or elegant or admirable in any way. In fact, it was rather ugly, with sharp jagged peaks—I forget what they are called—at the top, and the walls made of black brick—except it wasn’t brick, it was more like marble or stone, lopsided and uneven, like the tower had been thrown and glued together. And it was completely silent. Nothing moved, except at the very tip-top there was a flashing blue light. Like a signal. It didn’t seem to be Morse code or any other signal method I could make out.

And then something moved in the very highest window, and through a pair of binoculars I took from a man next to me (there was a crowd forming by now) I peered up at it and saw that it was a human.

Henry, do you remember Lieutenant Gorsk? A few years back. It was him. Somehow he had found his way into the tower and all the way to the top, and any doubt of my venturing in there was put to rest.

I would find him.

I am ashamed to say that I didn’t prepare. I was so afraid that if I went back home and returned with gear it would prove to be a dream that I marched straight up to the entrance—I know you’ll beg for a real description, but all I can say now is that it was a door, black and wood of some kind, with an ornate gilded knob for a handle—opened it, and walked through, my hand on my Sauer the whole time. I still had the binoculars from the man outside.

This is where it gets insane, H. The interior of the tower was like one of those ancient cathedrals, you know the ones, like in England. The ones tourists go to and exclaim about and take pictures of sunlight streaming through the windows. Though there wasn’t any stained glass here. And the windows—don’t laugh—they didn’t look out onto Seattle, H. They looked onto a completely different world.

I can’t describe it. I can’t remember it all that clearly, either, it’s a huge blur in my head, after the hospital and…anyway, I remember that outside the sky was red—like blood-red, and below there was a dark river, sluggish and black and I didn’t like to look at it for very long, so I turned away and looked at the tower instead. It was Gothic, I guess. You’re the architecture freak. I’ve attached some pictures below, so make of them what you will.

Anyway, I’d entered a large foyer-like hall, with a great staircase sweeping up the far side and climbing the walls in spiraling loops. There were statues in this room, tons of them, but they were—they had such terrible expressions of sadness and terror that I couldn’t look at them for long, either. Even more than the sights, it was the feeling that stays with me, even months later; there was something utterly depressing about the place despite its eerie beauty. It sank deep into my bones and chilled me to the core. But I had to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I tightened my fingers on the Sauer and began up the stairs, ready for…well, anything. I had no idea what to expect from a place like this.

And what I encountered, I had no way of expecting at all.

What descended down the stairs towards me when I had only climbed a few steps was a horde of—I don’t know what to call them. Demons, I suppose. They were not like the demons you see on church windows under the feet of angels. Some of them almost looked human, but were spindly and covered in scales like lizards or dragons or fish, scales that were matte and dark and reflected no light. Others weren’t human at all, but animal-like, though they resembled no animal I’ve ever seen except that they traveled on four legs, or maybe more. The horde of things surged toward me and I raised my gun to shoot.

I have killed people in my career, H., you know that. I’ve spent entire nights awake in my bed unable to get rid of their faces. I killed these things almost too easily, though the scaled ones gave my bullets some trouble. I had to resort to picking up a sword, fallen on the ground a few feet away from a bleached skeleton, to pierce through the gaps in the armor. It was helpful in preserving my ammo, since I’d only brought the few rounds that were in my gun, and I would need one round for when I reached the top--though I wondered what kind of other world I’d stumbled into. Who had this person been who had ventured in and died with a sword in their hand?

I proceeded up the stairs past the corpses, which were dusting away as though they had never existed in the first place. The tower reared up above me. Along its walls were grotesque tapestries of things I do not wish to remember, and I kept my eyes on the stairs and the gaping doorways I passed, waiting for another horde of demon-like things. I have been a soldier for decades, and never have I been more grateful for it than when I was ascending those stairs. My training kept me safe.

I reached the first landing and had to fight through another horde. I will not describe them all—some of them I don’t remember clearly enough, and others were simply too odd to put into words. All I know is that, with gun and sword, I managed to clear a path up the stairs.

But then one of them got the first hit in. I remember these clearly: three large, hulking things, with mouths like lions and bodies like eagles, large golden wings sending strong wind swirling around the landing. I could not move forward. My bullets barely pierced their hides. My sword could not break through their guard, and one of them sent an arm forward and its claws slashed my shoulder to ribbons. It burned like a gunshot wound, and I knew there was no hope of me defeating all three of them. I could only run and hide and hope they didn’t pursue me, so I turned and left the staircase to venture into the rest of the tower.

This floor was full of branching halls and large empty rooms that smelled of decay. The red sky outside left a garish red tint to everything that unnerved me, but I ran down hallways at random and tried to remember my way back to the stairs in case I lived long enough to return. The lion-eagle creatures chased me, but gave up soon afterward, and vanished into other areas of the tower. I ducked into an empty room and used the relative peace and quiet to inspect my arm. It was bleeding heavily, and I made a note to myself to check it for infection later in the day, assuming I survived that long.

I could have turned around. Abandoned my quest. Left Lieutenant Gorsk up at the top of the tower and returned to the peace of my house, a peace I had fought so hard for and tried to attain for so long. But you know what he did to me, Henry.

At the time, it seemed obvious to me that this was my second chance at justice. My chance to make peace, finally, with what had been done to me, and leave it in the past.

It never occurred to me to wonder how Gorsk had found his way here, or what had been done to him in the process, until much later on that day.

I wrapped my wound in strips from my shirt and hoped it would hold and wished I had some antiseptic, but a dirty shirt would have to do as gauze. Then I tried to creep out of the room, but realized that the door was locked. I had not closed it.

Demons appeared in the room around me, the scaled spindly ones I had fought off before, and I had become used to their movements and attacks and knew with relative certainty how to defeat them. A few strong strikes with a sword would weaken them, a gunshot through the head would finish them off. I would rely mostly on the sword now; I was running low on ammo, and I did not know how many more floors I would have to fight through. I refused to think about the fight back down once I reached the top. There had to be ten demons in the room, and my shoulder was burning and slowed me down, and there were quite a few close calls I prefer not to think about. I don’t know what it would have been like to be killed by one of these things and I don’t want to imagine it. They had sharp teeth meant for ripping and biting, and at some point after I killed a few of these I began tearing those teeth from the corpses’ mouths for extra weapons.

Ten of these demons were more than enough to test me, but with a lot of luck I managed not to die, and had a pocketful of demon teeth-blades to show for it at the end.

The door unlocked by itself as the last demon corpse dusted away.

I ventured back to the stairs, losing my way a few times in the process, and it was amazing what a relief it was to see the familiar grand staircase spiraling up over my head once again rather than the red wash of the old windows. The castle grew darker as I headed further up, and there were less and less windows, and less and less red, until I began to long for the light, eerie as it was. It was never dark enough to blind me, but it was surely dark enough for the shadows to shift and move and look like demons. I have had decades of experience calming terror in combat; this tower tried my nerves in a way I have never experienced before and hope to never experience again. In all of those books you’ve read, have you heard the phrase, “bear wrongs patiently”? In the military, I turned that into a talent. I bore the hazing, the combat, the setbacks and the horror and the fear. I tried to do that here, too, but the tower seemed to steal that control away from me, until even I was left trembling like a little girl surrounded by monsters. I gripped my gun in one hand and my sword in the other and ventured on, wishing more and more that I did not feel such an urge to find the Lieutenant. Wishing that I could be normal and move on from that time.

You can maybe understand why it took me so long to finish writing this letter.

I will leave it at that for now, so that you can get your letter in two months and not feel the need to call up my superiors. Though I think a glare from you, looking like some Oxford don, might just frighten Commander Paik more than all the roughest thugs in the city.

Love,

Frankie

Feb. 18, 2023

Frankie,

I don’t quite know how to start this.

First, let me say thank you for trusting me with your story. I don’t think you’re insane, and I didn’t let out a single chuckle.

Second, I am familiar with that tower. It appeared in my own city—around the time yours did. It looked exactly as you describe, and the pictures confirmed it. It was the same, or one of the same type. I entered the tower, though not at all for the same reasons.

You see, when I looked up at the top of it, in the window I saw Jen. Of course, I couldn’t leave her there.

I did not tell you of this before because I did not wish to worry you or cause you alarm; after all, what transpired became something much greater and more beautiful than I could have imagined when I first stepped through the door.

I sympathize with your quest to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I remember him very well, and I wish I could have been there too, to punch him in the face (a second time, if you remember!). I don’t know if I can condone your mission, nor the intentions you implied, but after what the man did to you, I can’t say I wouldn’t have considered the same. And considering you are not writing me from a jail cell, I need to know the end of the story as soon as you can bring yourself to give it to me.

I did not bring a gun with me—you know my stance on them well enough—but, as with  you, there were plenty of demons. I have never been a fighter, but I picked up a stray sword and a dagger or two and managed to hide and slip past many, and fought those I couldn’t. It was with a great deal of trepidation that I climbed those stairs—I can only imagine you, flying up them like a goddess of vengeance with wings at her feet! It was an eerie experience for me; the light made everything look as though blood covered it. The sun outside was not—right. It was deep and vibrant and would have maybe been pretty if not for the sickly pallor to the sky around it, like when a tornado is about to touch down.

I deciphered that I had entered a new world a little earlier than you. I had found a storage room to hide in—and what a storage room, with jars and masks and boxes—and could not help reading a few of the files I found stuffed in drawers (I know you’re rolling your eyes at me about now, so stop it!). The files were plain documents, just text written in a crusted brown substance I refused to consider any further than necessary, but I couldn’t read a word of it. It was not Latin, nor Greek, nor any derivation of any language I have ever come across. The letters themselves were indecipherable, and anyway I felt like it was best not to know what was written in them, so I shoved the papers back into their drawers and did my best not to wonder. I am not very good at that, but it was time to move on, and my survival (and Jen’s) relied on not being overly distracted by the theoretical.

I reached the top of the tower perhaps slower than you, but with far fewer injuries (please tell me you went to the hospital, Frankie!), and emerged from the stairs into a long corridor that extended to a single door. This part of the tower was not a maze, as I had discovered in the lower levels; it was very straightforward and clear about where I was meant to go. That door was my destination, and behind it must be Jen, and the window through which I had glimpsed her.

There were no enemies laying wait for me along that corridor, but I fully expected there to be some monstrous creature waiting for me behind the door. I grasped the knob. It swung open easily, terrifyingly easy.

I assume this room looked much the same for me as it did for you—circular walls, broad windows letting in that wash of red light anew, a view of a mountain range of some other world, dark and strange, stretching out beyond. Jen was there, and I called her name, but saw that she could not move, because, though she stood, she was enclosed within a barrier of some sort—her hands, I saw, were burned where she had attempted to push through it. There would be no breaking it.

And then the monster—appeared. I mean that very literally; one moment it was not there, and then I blinked, and it was. I could not make sense of it at first; it did not fit your descriptions at all of any of the demons you encountered. It was hulking and winged, but appeared to be made of chitin all over its body, like an insect has, and blue flame flared from the gaps in this natural armor. It bared teeth—I suppose would be the expression, on something that had such an unnatural face—at me, and there were two rows of sharp needle-like prongs.

This terrified me.

But it held Jen, my wife, the mother of my son, and what would I ever say to Eric if I let this beast harm her, or whatever it planned to do with her? Whisk her away? Kill her? Keep her imprisoned here, like some damsel out of a fairy tale, to lure adventurers with?

I tightened my grip on my sword, feeling a sense of hopeless doom fall upon me (yes, that was the only way to describe it, let me have my sense of poetry once in a while without mocking me, Frankie!). There did not seem to be a way I could triumph over such a foe. But neither could I hide or flee or distract it. So fight I must, even if it led to my own death.

I see no reason to regale you with the battle; there was nothing glamorous about it, as you well know. Suffice to say, I charged at it, which was not a good strategy, and my strategy changed to accommodate this. I was injured (and Jen gave me a good lecture about my stupidity later) and the pain nearly made me sick, but miraculously I managed to stay upright. It was a long battle, the monster was fast and strong and wanted me dead as badly as I wanted it dead, and I was afraid every instant, but eventually I managed to get lucky, and the blade sunk deep into one of those infinitesimal cracks in the monster’s chitin, and with a wrench I managed to twist the blade hard into its heart. That is not a feeling I wish to relive, Frankie.

But in the end, the monster lay there, its breath rattling out, and the barrier simply disappeared, just as the monster had suddenly appeared. Jen could move again—she later told me that the barrier had not been there until, presumably, my hand had touched the door; the monster’s doing, I assume—and she rushed to my side. I have never before felt like a brave man, especially when compared to you, brave sister, and I wish it had not taken such awful circumstances to turn me into one.

Jen told me later that she had no idea where she had been; in a moment she had been whisked from the living room of our house to the top of the tower, and for hours she had been staring out at that dark mountain range and the red sky and attempting to find a reasonable way of climbing out. The door had been locked, and the lock had repaired itself even as she had broken it, and escape seemed hopeless, unless she were to throw herself out, and she had not been quite that desperate yet.

Hearing your story, I simply wonder why? Why was it Jen who was picked up and plopped in that window to send me creeping up the stairs? Why was the same done to Lieutenant Gorsk? Was it a punishment? Or coincidence?

Do you have any theories, Frankie?

Henry

Feb. 30, 2024

Henry,

I never would have imagined that you had had such an experience, or that both of us have been carrying it around with us for months without letting on. We’re both stubborn—well, a soldier’s language isn’t something I want to subject you to, so I’ll leave it there.

When I finally did reach the top—though I don’t think it was so much as a goddess of war as a very frightened, very stubborn military-trained soldier—it looked the way you described it. The same long corridor, the same door at the end, the same suspicious lack of enemies. I had one bullet left in my Sauer, and plenty of demon teeth in my pockets.

Except there wasn’t a monster for me. Maybe the tower had decided I’d had my fill. Maybe the final challenge I encountered was the monster. I don’t know. I didn’t think much of it then. I just knew that odious lieutenant was behind that door, and I needed to get in there and shoot him dead, military protocol be damned.

It was a desire for murder, plain and simple, but I wasn’t thinking about the consequences then. I was thinking about those two years of hell, with the king of demons being Lieutenant Gorsk and his stinking breath and wandering hands and my only savior the friendship of Corporal Alice Lewis.

I turned the door, and there he was. Oddly, he was kept in place by the same barrier you described.

H., have I ever told you how easy it is for me to kill someone with a gun? My trusty Sauer, familiar and worn in my palm, my callouses formed around it, my target in its sights. It’s far easier to pull the trigger on my old friend than it is to take my Swiss knife and stab someone in the guts, but I’ve done both. I was prepared to do either, if it meant ridding the world of someone like Gorsk.

By now it’s been…what? Eight years since I was under his command? Not that long, in the grand scheme of things. Two years of hell, and eight years recovering.

I’ve put him out of my mind as best I can. I had almost imagined that I could go my whole life and think only of moving forward, but that vanished the second I laid eyes on him again. All my old rage and hatred and desire for vengeance came back to me in a moment, and propelled me up those stairs. Maybe in that way I was some goddess of vengeance after all.

My gun was lined up with his temple. He stood there, unable to move, his hands and arms burned by the barrier, knowing that I would be the last sight he saw. There was no doubt in his mind in that moment, I’m sure, that I would kill him.

I did. I did kill him, Henry.

I pulled the trigger and he fell back against the wall. It was a clean, cold kill. The door behind me unlocked, and I stepped out onto the stairs again. Going down, there were no enemies to fight, and I relived the moment I had shot him again and again, and did not regret leaving his body there at the top of the tower. I was victorious, the winner, the survivor, and I had killed the man who had made my life a misery for years.

I returned to my apartment, and the tower…crumbled. It fell, brick by brick, stone by stone, back underneath the city, and left no sign it had ever been there. I was quite satisfied with myself, and didn’t feel guilty about what I’d done until that night, when I remembered suddenly that he had had a wife, the last I had heard. Maybe a son, too, but I’m not sure. The next morning, while I ate breakfast, he appeared in the news—but not news of his death. Instead, there was something about some promotion to Major General, and I stabbed myself with my fork and threw my plate across the kitchen.

I realized what had happened soon after that.

I am not writing this from a jail cell, Henry, because to all intents and purposes Lieutenant Gorsk is still living—in this world, anyway. In whatever terrible, twisted mirror world I found myself wandering through, Lieutenant Gorsk is dead, a bullet’s clean entry and exit wound through both sides of his skull. I know I killed him, and I must live with knowing that I was capable of doing so, that I was fully aware of what I was doing. In my mind, he lies in a pool of spreading blood.

Love,

Frankie