#optimisation baby

[keferon]

Now you know the truth

[transgaysex]

dude laying in bed feels crazy

[caeca-iustitia]

Wot??

Where tf did all that MATK come from???

Seph... tf is Vincent feeding you?!

Vinnie is a healthy boi

Pretty even stat spread overall tbh

But that health is something else lol

Aerith is lookin' alright

I absolutely could do better and I will

Thing is she isn't built as optimally as the game wants her to be- she's built to fit how I prefer to play my team so she's a little behind Seph and Vin...

[wrioluvr]

dr ratio x top male reader

this idea came to me in a dream..... dr ratio it seems i've grown quite fond of you. nsfw, gets wholesome at the end

"see, dear, if you insert your cock in me at exactly 67 degrees to the right, we'll both feel the maximum amount of pleasure." dr ratio says confidently as he precisely adjusts your tip at his entrance to his desired position. "are... are you sure?" you can't help but stare incredulously as he treats your cock like it's a mathematical instrument. "don't be silly. i'm always right." lying beneath you, he finally finishes calibrating the angle he wants you to fuck him in. "okay. put it in me now!" he declares triumphantly, clearly proud of his own work. you can't help but shake your head fondly at his antics, his dedication to using his intelligence to "optimise" every situation was rather.... silly sometimes. nevertheless, you push into him slowly, enjoying the sound of him trying the stifle his moan at the feeling of your cock stretching his tight walls. "s-see. i told you so- mmph." his pride meant he'd completely deny this in front of anyone else, the way you'd fucked him like a whore, thrusting in and out of him at "the optimal speed" (according to him), but in private, you were the only one who he wanted to please. increasing your speed of your thrusts without warning, you can't help but smirk at the way he bucks his hips into you, legs shaking and hole clenching even tighter. "you idiot! i told you to follow the speed-" he starts to protest, but he's quickly quietened by your hand over his mouth as you lean forward and whisper lowly to his ear. "you talk too much, baby." he shudders at your words. "need some....stern teaching?" despite the intimacy of the situation, you have to try not to laugh as you repurpose the conversation you had a few days ago to rile him up. hearing you use his own words to tease him, he glares at you, but can't get any words out as his mind is so focused on being pummelled by your cock. it's so pathetic, he thinks to himself. usually his brain is so busy, endlessly pondering, but now he can't think of anything but the way you're fucking him. "shit...i'm gonna cum..." you breathe out as you hold his hips, almost reaching your limit. "do it in me." he says sharply, his attitude coming back in an instant. you have no choice but to oblige, pumping him full as the both of you climax. the two of you collapse onto the bed, a heap of sweaty bodies and unspoken affections. you lie on his chest as he strokes your hair, trying to catch your breath. "well done. plus 10 points." "what the fuck are you saying??" you laugh as you throw the pillow at him. "nothing... just talking to myself." "weirdo."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"you know, you might be an idiot, but you're my idiot." he suddenly says, looking back as you soap his hair in your shared bath, cleaning up from your intense session earlier. his words carry a level of warmth to them despite their bluntness, a warmth he'd never give to anyone else. "stop calling me an idiot." you pout, leaning forward to smack him on the head playfully. "i'm serious! don't worry your pretty head about anything, i can do more than enough thinking for the both of us." you place your arms around him and hug him from the back in a tight embrace, the warm water surrounding you only adding to the romantic atmopshere. "whatever you say, veritas." ♡

omg i based his personality completely off his leaked voicelines and tried to incorporate some of them here hfgdhgd

[toskarin]

baby hands... rather strange. not really useful for wielding blades or slaying beasts, but seemingly optimised for consuming great numbers of carrots in small portions and swinging around the clown shaped toy. could we learn from that? is there a technique we have forgotten?

[madschiavelique]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

[communistkenobi]

the individual intentions of the writers feels kind of secondary when talking about how reactionary the mandalorian has become, but if you wanted to be extremely generous about what’s going on, I think that the very simple and boring answer is that there is no financial incentive to care about what happens in the show anymore. Disney lost over a billion dollars on Disney+ last year, despite the wild success of the mandalorian and other D+ shows. I’m assuming the primary way they make money is off of mando and baby yoda merchandise - this would explain why the showrunners reunited both of them before the first episode of the third season even aired. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the mandalorian now exists primarily to sell the mandalorian merchandise. it has become an advertisement for itself.

and this would explain a lot! It explains why virtually all of the narrative threads from the previous two seasons have either been dropped or quickly resolved. It explains the exponential increase in nauseating Star Wars references like “Han shot first” “it’s a trap” yoda doing backflips etc. It explains why Din has become something of a zombie, going through the motions without any particular motivation beyond whatever deranged escapade he and Bo-Katan get up to on a given week. There’s no point to caring because the only real pressure is getting eyes on the screen and selling more baby yoda stickers. This is why we went from an Ahsoka cameo in season 2 (an obvious ploy to launch another show but still somewhat reasonable for the story) to having Lizzo and Jack Black in season 3 (literally no narrative reason at all). Those celebrities are really popular and their inclusion in the show produces media headlines that combine their names with the mandalorian, optimising search engine results and presenting the opportunity to sell merchandise to Jack Black and Lizzo fans, even if they aren’t Star Wars fans.

but the shape of this not-caring takes on a particular political form in the show - its lack of care for politics doesn’t equally produce progressive and reactionary political conflict, it’s only reactionary. And one of the reasons for this is because I think a lot of pre-existing Star Wars canon, which this show is leaning more and more heavily on, is so politically fraught that using it without thinking about it produces reactionary narratives. I think this is a large reason why 3x03 was so deeply disturbing politically, because it was all set-up for the arrival of the First Order in the Sequel Trilogy. The show doesn’t seem to take any specific perspective on this aside from telling the audience that its all very ominous, but it’s only ominous because the First Order are established as the villains of the Sequels, not because the rise of fascism in a fictional world is a specific horror that Favreau wants to explore, and the reasons for its rise are extremely lazy, boiling down to “the government is too wrapped up in bureaucratic processes to care and too forgiving of the empire to notice.”

and two I think that in general, positioning your story in opposition to politics - not a specific set of political beliefs, just “politics” as a whole - also produces de facto reactionary narratives. the show is not espousing any positive beliefs about what an ideal world may look like, nor is it precise in its criticisms about what it believes to be the flaws that currently exist in the present day world. It’s just against bureaucracy in general, democracy in general, technology in general. and the show abdicates responsibility for taking a position on why it thinks any of these things are bad. Din dismissively scoffs “politics” in 3x06, perhaps the laziest possible admission that the show is not interested in exploring anything it considers political, and aims to position the characters as being outside of politics. but that itself is a reactionary position, to assume that presenting a “direct democracy” as an overly-decadent, hyper-tolerant society who is too scared to give cops guns but will arm citizens if their cultural “feelings” allow them to carry firearms as “not political.” Again to be way too overly generous, perhaps Favreau is attempting to wave in the general direction of current society and say wow doesn’t this suck! too much democracy produced trump, too much technology produced ipad babies, too much bureaucracy produced complicated tax forms. That’s still stupid and wrong but it’s at least not an openly fascist position. but when you don’t confront those things as political and just say “they suck” in a way that you believe to be outside of politics, the perspective you take is that of a reactionary. a refusal to confront what you consider political is itself a political position, one where you intentionally shrink your imagination of politics to, like, government employees who work at the government building, and everything outside of it is just “natural” society - or, in this case, deeply unnatural, perverted by politics. the only apparent solution for the political conflicts in the show is to scale back “the politics” that are preventing natural society from flourishing. That’s fucking reactionary! and like sorry to pull this card but the whole “I’m above politics” schtick has a pretty extensive history of appearing in fascist slogans, from Mussolini to fucking Alex Jones, a rallying cry that these people eternally get behind - “We’re above the Left-Right divide.” positioning yourself as above politics is itself a political act, one that has a lot of baggage that, by virtue of positioning yourself as being too good for politics, you will not engage with.

so like I don’t know if Favreau is “really” a reactionary. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter because his current cultural output is deeply reactionary. but I don’t think any of this is done with intentional malice. I think when you turn art into a purely financial instrument you produce art that is fascist by default, because its only goal is to concentrate financial and political power for the ruling class by appealing to “common man” interests like. fucking Star Wars!!!!!!

[niseag-arts]

You know what, Vanadium lore dump.

this man does not yet have proper art, nor is he a fully realised OC yet but

In short:

techmarine, iron hand, baby (still in training with the mechanicus), big softy (for an iron hands)

A note on looks:

Vanadium wears Red mechanicus robes overtop his armour, rather than the more standard red techmarine armour. He also Really dislikes taking his armour off and will keep it on almost permanently (yes he is very stinky when he's finally coaxed out of it to clean himself). This, combined with the robes, makes people suspect that Vana would prefer to see his armoured form as his body, rather than the fleshy marine inside the armour.

He's kinda envious of tech priests and their freedom to shape their bodies however they please.

History and things:

Vanadium was born to two tech priest on a yet undecided forgeworld, and had an upbringing befitting for that. That is to say: strictly scheduled and optimised for productivity, whatever that means for a literal baby. However, this did not last long. When Vana was roughly 6 terran standard years old, he was presented to the Iron Hands as a bargaining chip. His forgeworld would recieve a good stack of STCs the chapter had found in return for a good number of new recruits.

He has survived "induction" and training with the iron hands and with that mental mess fresh on his mind he was send to Mars, and honestly, he found great relief and comfort in falling back into the schematic and structured life of the mechanicus after the harsh treatment of his chapter, and he quickly became a well-liked student among the mechanicus for his natural understanding of their "culture". Though they accept no diversion from him, and will discipline vana if he is percieved to be out of line. Possibly because of this, he has mellowed out a little from the hatred and distrust that wrecks his brain ever since the geneseed implementation. Remember, he is young. which brings us to

Personality and stuff:

Vana struggles. a lot. to accept his situation. He is in constant battle with the effects of the Iron Hands' geneseed and a lot of the hatred he feels turns inward and turns into self-loathing quite quickly. Of course, to admit that would be weakness. he hates admitting it. But to admit such things amid the mechanicus is a lot safer than it would be to admit such things amid his brothers, which puts him in a weird dilemma of loyalties. He dreads the day he will be returned to his chapter, and wishes that there was a way for him to progress within the ranks of the mechanicus instead. Of course, this is impossible.

I feel like I forgot stuff about him...feel free to ask questions and things

[octuscle]

Business trip (Day three)

It was a night of wild dreams. Liam fucked me harder than I'd ever been fucked before. At least when I was sober. I still don't know what happened the day before yesterday on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. Liam got up at 05:00 and drove to the wholesale market. Apparently he had planned for me to spend the night at his place. My suit from the day before hung neatly in his room. Next to it was my laptop bag. Was all this shit with the kitchen slave and submissive boot servant a crazy dream? It didn't matter at all. I have a whole lost day at the office to make up for. I shower, get ready and head to the client. The door is locked. My phone rings. It's Liam. "Good morning, Mack! Did you sleep well?" I ask, what the fuck, I have to get to work. "But not like this, Mack. There's a long hair clipper in the bathroom. And a wet razor. The door won't unlock until you're shiny bald." I want to protest for a second. I think about calling the police. But I reply, "Sure thing, boss!" And go into the bathroom. Half an hour later, I look at myself in the mirror. Everything as usual, right down to my eyebrows. I run my hand over my head, which is as smooth as a baby's bottom. Shit, I've soaked my underpants with precum again. I get a message from Liam. "Good boi!" And the door lock buzzes open.

When I set up my laptop at the customer's, I find a packet of tobacco, cigarette filters and cigarette paper in my laptop bag. And a Zippo. I am a professional. I don't get distracted when I'm working. I love my job. But I can't wait for my lunch break. Normally I would have sat down in a café somewhere and had lunch. Now I grab a sandwich from the supermarket and sit on a park bench. And practise rolling cigarettes. I watch tutorials on YouTube. The first results are pathetic. But the fifth cigarette I roll and smoke before I get back to my desk is already quite respectable. I take two more cigarette breaks in the afternoon. Shit, why didn't I start smoking earlier?

When I arrive at the hotel in the evening, my room card no longer works. Damn, of course, I actually wanted to leave on Thursday. I go down to reception. The lady is very friendly, but explains that housekeeping had to pack up my things this morning because the room was occupied again. Unfortunately, I couldn't be reached on my cell phone. I ask her to call me again. She says it goes straight to voicemail. I look at my cell phone in amazement. Liam sends a message. "I've forgotten. You have a new number. I have your old SIM card." Shit, this has gone too far!

I ask the lady at reception if she has another room. She is sorry. There's a fair in town at the weekend. They are already overbooked and have a waiting list. Message from Liam: "Sorry, mate! I have a visitor today. But you can sleep in the back room of the snack bar tonight." I ask if I can pack my suitcase somewhere quiet and make a few phone calls. The lady says that one of the small meeting rooms is free. She even helps me with my suitcase, the two plastic bags and my laptop bag. I sit down at the meeting table and start by emptying my suitcase and plastic bag. My things are all there. And I'm used to packing my suitcase. Everything is neatly stowed away after a few minutes. But there were still a few things in the plastic bags that I hadn't noticed yesterday morning. Two monstrous dildos. Three jockstraps that were no longer fresh. A fat silver chain. And a hip bag. In addition to condoms, it also contained poppers, tobacco, cigarette paper and small plastic bags with dried flowers…. I put the chain on. It feels cool and chavvy. I check my mailbox remotely. Fortunately, hardly any calls, nothing important, most of them sent me an e-mail afterwards anyway. I change the voicemail text to say that I can't be reached by phone at the moment for technical reasons and to ask for an e-mail. Okay, whatever Liam is up to, at least he can't do me any more harm. And now maybe I should take him up on his kind offer of the back room. But first I really need a fag. I'm standing outside the hotel with my belongings, rolling a cigarette pretty routinely, when the next message from Liam arrives. "Mack, the place is full. Your shift starts in an hour."

The room behind the snack bar is a bit of a hole. But I have a locker where I can hang my stuff. There's a cot that's even already made up. And my things are on it. White jeans, white fine-rib undershirt, jockstrap, long soccer socks. All old and worn. But clean. Plus high rubber boots and yesterday's heavy rubber apron. The long rubber gloves. No hairnet. You look in the mirror and rub your bald head, which is no longer quite so smooth. Hehehe, you really don't need a hairnet anymore. You really look like a chav with that chain. The jockstrap absorbs the first drop of precum. It'll have more to swallow in the course of the evening.

The snack bar is indeed packed. Many guests are hooting and clapping when I come into the dining room at around 8:30 pm to clear the dirty dishes. More than one person slaps my ass or grabs my crotch under my apron. An astonishing number of the guests are wearing leather jeans. Most are wearing T-shirts or tank tops, some are bare-chested. No wonder, it's warm outside and hot in here. I quickly work up a sweat. I have to take off my undershirt and necklace, I just get too warm. But at least I'm getting on well with the dishwasher now and I've got the scullery pretty well under control.

"Hey Mack," I hear Liam yell. "The toilet's blocked. Clean it up!" Damn, dishwasher was already an imposition. But toilet cleaner is a step up. The toilet is a disaster. The floor is a puddle of piss and the urinal is completely filthy. But the toilet bowl takes the cake. Hey, where can you shit all over it? It stinks like hell. But somehow… It turns you on. You know where the bucket and cleaning cloth are by now. I start by mopping the floor so I can kneel down to clean the toilet. And then i stick my arm deep into the toilet to clear the blockage. I'm covered in shit. Without thinking, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my forearm. Behind me, there is howling. Four or five guys are standing in the doorway wanking. I don't want to wipe that shit away too. So I let them cum in my open face. More and more guys join them. I kneel in a growing mess. Full of cum. Pissed all over. Smeared with shit. Meanwhile, dirty dishes are piling up again in the dining room. Liam shouts at me that I'm not employed as a urinal but as a dishwasher and toilet cleaner. Little by little, the dining room empties. Around 11:30 pm, the last guest has left. With Liam in his arms. It takes me until 02:00 a.m. to get everything cleaned up and me, too, to be clean.

I roll my first cigarette in hours. I stand outside the snack bar. And wank at the thought of the hot evening.

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK POV) • Chapter 3

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: foul language, Jungkook is whipped, Jungkook is naive, Trish is a B as always, jealous Jungkook, sweaty Jungkook, yearning, heavy drinking, blacking out because of heavy drinking, Jungkook is the sweetest, confessions, word count: ~4.950

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

a/n 2: Please make sure to read the chapter in OC's POV before JK’s POV to have the best reading experience!

series masterlist

So, last night I had an epiphany. The ultimate, non-plus-ultra master plan for winning you over seemed to descend from the high heavens right into my genius brain just as I was about to fall asleep.

But.

I wouldn’t be the genius I am if I didn’t write it down immediately.

So, as I walk down the corridor on your floor, half an hour before our debrief, I keep reading the tiny post-it note over and over again, unable to resist internally applauding myself.

Step 1: Win ___ over 

Step 2: Tell ___ you love her 

Step 3: Kiss ___

Step 4: Marry ___ and make a lot of babies 

Truly and absolutely foolproof. 

Out of nowhere, Trish appears before me, and I quickly crumble the little note and tuck it away. Her shrill voice scratches at my eardrums as she greets me, “Hey!” 

“Trish, ‘sup.” I stuff my hands into my pockets, making sure not to lose the precious note.  

“Would you like to drink some coffee with me?” she asks, batting her fake eyelashes at me. I can’t seem to understand why women do that. They don’t even look natural at all. Ew. 

Just before I decline her offer, she adds, “I really would love to talk to you about Yoongi. I had a crush on him forever, and I know you know him more than I do.”  

Oh hell yes, I love playing Cupid! “Sure.”  

And that’s how I find myself at the kitchenette, not far from your office, imitating Yoongi’s attempt at flirting during the last Christmas party when he was drunk. I’m making my best impression, complete with exaggerated winks and slurred speech when you walk into the kitchen.  

The moment I see you, I’m struck silent by your presence. You look like an angel, beautiful and confident in your grace. But there’s a flicker of annoyance in your eyes, and I stand up straight, swallowing dryly. This is not good. That’s horrible.  

Cold sweat breaks out on my hands, neck, and temples as you greet us with a friendly and professional “Good morning.” Your distance stings to no limits.  

I move to the side to let you pass to the coffee machine, but as I glance briefly at Trish, her face thundering with a hostility I’ve never seen before, it dawns on me quickly—this stupid fucking snake just played me. I shake my head almost imperceptibly and scoff silently. How stupid could you be, Jungkook? You let yourself—and your plan—be sabotaged by another woman… no, SNAKE! Before it even started.  

Your cold voice snaps my eyes back to you, and there’s no trace of the prior annoyance visible. “We’ve been scheduled for the debrief half an hour ago. I’m free for the next twenty minutes until my next appointment. You know where to find me until then.”  

Wait, I’ve been late?! I didn’t know! And what’s in twenty minutes? “What’s in twenty minutes?”  

“I’m meeting with Joongki to optimise…” The rest of your sentence becomes white noise. Why did you schedule us back-to-back with me only having an hour with you? That’s not fair! You’re surely going to spend much more time with him!  

It all plays out rather quickly as you grab your coffee and leave me with Trish behind. I don’t miss how you still act friendly towards Trish, even though she’s a snake. As you round the corner, it hits me that I need to move, so I start walking with fast and heavy steps behind you. “Bye!” I wave half-heartedly over my shoulder to Trish, not bothering with her any longer.  

When we’re in your office, sitting facing each other, I can’t seem to care about the qualifying or the problem with the KERS. My professional self on autopilot while my true and only focus is on gauging if you’re as pissed as I am with Trish. If so, then why aren’t you showing it? Or are you angry with me because I yelled at you? Yes! I need to apologise regardless.  

“About the qualifying... I, uh, wanted to apologise. For my behaviour. I shouldn't have yelled at you or accused you of nepotism.”  

You wave a hand dismissively. “It's okay. It’s understandable to react emotionally, especially under the pressures of qualifying. We all have moments like that.”  

Thank God you’re not mad. Wait, did you just passively insult me? You never lost control over your emotions, so why did you say ‘we all’? You must still be mad at me. Is it because you’re interested in Joongki? Why aren’t you interested in me?! And why the fuck did you insult me if you’re not interested in me?  

Oh, your smile is so beautiful. “Apology accepted. Let's focus on moving forward and making sure we don't encounter similar issues again.”  

Apologise - check! 

Okay, so now to the real issue at hand. Joongki. My nemesis. Okay no, he’s cool. And married. But STILL. You’re surely not meeting him alone. There are multiple people involved with my car, bazillion engineers. 

"Wait, are you meeting Joongki alone?"

"Yes, I am. We need to go over some technical details. Why do you ask?"

Oh no, you’re raising your eyebrow. Oh no, you're suspicious. Play cool. Play cool. Play cool. How do I do that? Yes, just shrug. That’ll do. 

“Just curious. Is he... your type?"

Yeah, no. That's far from cool, Jungkook. Well done, idiot. 

My eyes can't help to briefly fall to your chest where you're folding your arms. But as quickly as they fall, I force them back up, knowing better than to dig my grave deeper than it is.  

"I'm here as a professional, Jungkook. If I were to have affairs left and right, I wouldn't have made it this far in my career. I think we both know that professionalism is key in this environment." 

Your eyes flicker with a hint of challenge I can't miss. How dare you insult me! Unfounded at that! I need to clear the air before you think I'm basically a hypothetical cheating idiot, but again, you beat me to it. Why can't you let me talk, woman? 

"Look, the point is, we're here to work. And I expect everyone, including myself, to act accordingly." You glance at your watch and I fear our time’s up. "I have to go. Joongki and I have a lot to cover."

Nooooo. Stay! Nooooo. Fucking Joongki! You gather your notes and stand, ready to leave, and I can't do shit about it. 

"Fine," I mutter, reluctantly standing up as well. "We'll talk later." 

You nod once, professional and composed. And I hate it! "Absolutely. Let's ensure we’re both getting ready for Singapore."

With that, you leave the office, your heels clicking against the floor, something I sure want to hear for the rest of my career. I can't help but watch you walk down the corridor while my thoughts run wild with everything that went wrong in the last hour. Unfolding the note with my precious master plan, I know I need to make sure to win you over, and the first step is to make sure Trish stays in her fucking lane. 

Last week was a success, if I do say so myself. You and I got closer. You've been laughing and giggling more and more at all the jokes and flirting I've been doing.  

It truly was a wonderful week, and working with you is something I never want to miss out on. You're competent beyond words, and I admire how hardworking and dedicated you are. You'd make a great mother, too. I'm sure you would be, and so much more.  

It's hard for me to keep away from you, especially during those boring meetings we have to attend every day. I get that it’s all new for you and you want to pay attention, but can't you spare a little bit of it for me? For now, I'm happy you let me bump my knee softly into yours. That's enough for me, really. As are the light brushes of your fingers against mine whenever you hand me your tablet with the data you want to discuss after the simulations or meetings.  

I'm positive that step 1 will be checked off soon. I can just feel it. I sent Trish Yoongi’s number, so I think she got the message. Since the kitchen incident, she hasn’t overstepped any of my boundaries during our training sessions. I’m sure she knows it was her first strike.  

Like now, as she lets me do another set of reps even though my biceps are killing me. What definitely crosses the line, though, is when she abruptly steps closer and leans in. I frown up at her through the mirror, but she keeps staring angrily at the gym entrance. When I follow her gaze, I see you standing there in all your beauty, and I have to remember to keep breathing evenly. You’re clearly searching for someone, and when your eyes land on me, not realising I can see you in the mirror, I feel like I’ve won the lottery.

Your cute little mouth falls open, and I see your precious eyes widen even from this distance as you gulp. Hell yes, that’s the reaction I want from you. I’m euphoric that there’s finally some proof you think I’m your type after all. Wooooooop!

Let me just grunt a little louder…

And yep, you finally catch my eyes through the mirror. Gotcha! Because you’re such a cute, flustered mess, I want to make it just a little worse by winking at you. I could keep going with the reps for days if it means you’re watching me like this.

As you walk toward us, I lower the dumbbells and grab my towel to dab around my face. It’s enough movement to make Trish step back.

“Toto has scheduled an extraordinary meeting regarding a rival driver in half an hour. He sent me to inform you,” you say, keeping your voice steady and authoritative as if I didn’t catch you drooling over me a second ago.

I’m not letting you off the hook so easily this time. “Caught you staring, huh? Enjoy the view?”

“I’m here to deliver a message, not to ogle.” But you sure did, babe. “Make sure you’re there on time.”

You don’t even give me time to respond before you turn and walk out of the gym.

“If you keep acting like that around my colleagues, you’re fired,” I state matter-of-factly, not even looking in Trish’s direction. Strike number 2, snake.

I’m sure you care. You have to after what you said to me during the emergency meeting. Step 1 isn’t completed yet, I know that. It was more than obvious when you stormed out of the meeting room before I could tell you how much I appreciate you being by my side and believing in me. But that’s okay because good things take time.

So why does it feel like Step 1 isn’t even on the paper during Saturday’s qualifying when you’re so friendly with Tae? It’s like the euphoric echo of my thoughts that you care is now mocking me.

Why is he so thrilled to see you? And you even hugged him! You never hug me, and we’re colleagues. Okay, that sounds wrong, but where do you know him from? I have to know. 

“Where do you two know each other from?”

Taehyung chuckles lightly before responding, “Miss Genius and I shared some classes, and she used to come by the racing club one time when I needed help.” His playful nudge at your shoulder elicits a laugh from you, and I think I might cry.

This really can’t be happening now. If you’re into him, then I stand no chance. Did he just say racing club? I was a driver there! I would have known if you were there! I would have never missed that!

“I don’t remember you being at the club.”

“Ah, that must have been around the time you were out with that illness.”

You. Little. Shit. 

He knows I’ve had a crush on you forever! He knew! And still, he didn’t tell me! I would have come regardless of whether I was sick or not. I would have come even if I was lying on my deathbed. He did it on purpose.

He’s trying to steer the conversation away from his clear betrayal. Oh hell no, we’re not doing this.

That girl is mine, thank you very much.

As I take your arm and guide you away from this…this…jerk, I realise that you were talking about your role. It would have been nice to hear that. I love when you talk about yourself. Oh god, I’ve dug my grave even deeper nby overreacting like a psycho. I need to apologise right away before you think I’m mad at you. Make it clear that it’s because of Tae and myself.

Just as I’m about to open my mouth, Toto strides briskly past, his voice cutting through the bustling paddock, “Get ready for qualifying, everyone!”

Shit. “Shit.”

I’ll talk to you later, after the race. Buy you flowers and apologise. 

But the race is all wrong, Mingyu distracts me and you’re gone from the paddock before I have a chance to talk to you again. 

So, Plan B, it is. Redeem myself by going out with you and at the same time learn what’s up with Mingyu. Again, another master plan. 

Oh, how our kids will be beautiful and intelligent. 

I've dressed nicely, and I feel good, so why am I this nervous? I've been pacing the hallway before your hotel room for ten minutes by now. Again and again a fraction of a second away from knocking before chickening out and walking away. 

It's the third time I've done this by now. I stop some distance away with a sigh, running a frustrated hand through my hair while my heart’s racing uncontrollably. 

What if you say no? What if Tae is there? No, he wouldn't be, right? 

Mustering all my courage, I walk with fast steps towards your door, giving myself no time to rethink it again, and finally knock. 

When you open, my heart melts to the floor into a puddle bigger than any sea in the world. 

You're the cutest woman in PJs and a face mask I have ever seen. Like literally the most beautiful woman, even when lounging. It’s unfair to be this intelligent and cute, leaving everyone else in your shadows.   You, as this little swamp monster, still hold my heart in your palms without knowing. 

“What do you want?” Your voice snaps me out of my daydream. 

“We’re going out.”

“I’ve got work to do,” you clearly bullshit me with this. 

“Work is over for tonight,” I step past you, and it's remarkable how small you are. So tiny in comparison with me. I know you were always shorter than me, even back then when you still didn't wear heels. But I've grown since then, and I thought you did too. “Were you always this small?”

“I’m not that small.”

YOU POUT! My heart sings like a musical aria of an opera. I just need to convince you to come with me. 

“Mingyu is hosting a party tonight. We’re going to attend it, and you’re going to get close to him and figure him out. The ultimate masterplan.”

You stare at me incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

Hey, that's not nice…why aren't you as nice to me as you are to others? 

“I’m not going. Why isn’t Trish doing this?”

Huh? Trish? There is no way I would ask her for anything related to my private life. “Why would she? And of course you’re going with me.”

You groan, looking at the cream-coloured ceiling, massaging your neck. “Jungkook, please. I don’t even have any clothes for a night out.”

“That’s an excuse. You’re coming. Now, let’s see what you have in your closet.”

If you're not getting ready yourself, perhaps you need a little push from me. Your closet is full of clothes even though we're only staying in Singapore for a handful of days. All dresses, in various colours, but black seems to overpower it all. The fabrics feel so nice in my palms, and I wonder why men’s clothing can't be as smooth. 

“Stop! Hey! Hands off my clothes! Jungkook!”

I stop so I can look at your face. You’re clearly stressed with your new role. I’m sure it’ll be good for you if you would just spend one night out. Laughing and relaxing a little bit. Perhaps if I bring you to laugh with something stupid, it’ll help convince you more. “You’re not going to go out like this. What’s that you have on your face?”

“It’s a face mask,” you say, exasperated. 

Let’s just touch it and make a scene, hm? Perhaps you're losing up then. “Ew, I got it on my finger. Make it go away! Oh my god, make it go away!”

You grab a tissue from the sideboard nearby and halt my hand. Your touch causes this fuzzy feeling in my stomach, which I can't get enough of and you're so close, your scent engulfs me in an instant. 

“You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable and insufferable,” you mutter under your breath, carefully wiping the mask off.

Yes. Yes, I’m unbelievably insufferable in love with you, babe. 

When you look up, locking your vibrant, sparkling eyes with mine, I can't help but let my thoughts run wild. The future I desire with you by my side, how the plan works, how I get to take care of you, say I love you whenever I want, just having you by my side. It suffocates and equally revives me. You're so close, just a breath away. And I wish I could kiss you stupid, shower you in the love and admiration you deserve. Your smooth skin peeking out of the mask, your pretty moist lips, your thick eyelashes. You're an angel sent to Earth to show us mortals what a fraction of divinity is. 

But you abruptly pull away when something behind us makes a noise. Whatever it was is now at the top of my nemesis list, but when you subtly shake your head, it’s like a knife to my heart, so I turn around and continue my search for a fitting dress for you. 

Pretending as if the times you pulled away from me didn't hurt me. 

When you disappear behind the door of the ensuite to get ready, I sit down on the side of your bed that didn't fall victim to all the work you did before I took you by surprise with my visit. 

A packet of Haribo gummy bears immediately catches my eye, and I pick it up, turning it from one side to the other. There’s only so much of the red ones left, my favourites, and I pick each one out. 

You probably like the red ones the most, too, as there’s not much left of them. So I put them back, picking out the white ones everyone hates and start eventually snacking on them. 

With my elbow, I push your laptop to the side and let my head fall onto your plush pillow, feet dangling over the edge of the bed’s side. Your scent encases me from all sides, overwhelming my senses. I've never met someone who smells as divine as you do, and I can't help but wonder how you do it. I roll onto my stomach, cheek now resting squished against the pillow so I can snack on the gummy bears and enjoy your scent to the fullest. 

I don't know how much time passes, as I'm too caught up in fantasies with you as the main character, but when you emerge from the bathroom, I know that reality can be so much more beautiful than any fantasy I could come up with. 

As we arrive at the party, we head straight for the bar to grab some drinks and scope out the place. We chat about ourselves, our childhoods, likes and dislikes, and I’m over the moon that you’re letting me in. You trust me enough to share the little and big things that make you who you are.

Your smile and laugh are the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and I feel blessed to be the recipient.

“No way you never went to parties!” You laugh right in my face. The joy that radiates from you is a sight I’d fight to keep on your face.

“I was never a party person. What’s the point anyway?”

“Jungkook, you really can’t tell me you’re not the type to go partying every chance you get.”

Ouch. Why don’t you believe me? Is my reputation that bad?

“But I’m telling you the truth! Look around!” I gesture to the people around us—the women in dresses so tiny and tight you could practically see their organs, the men more shallow than a baking sheet. “Why would I want to surround myself with these people?”

You frown up at me, taking another sip through your straw as you glance at the crowd. “Yeah… I know what you mean. But…” Your stunning eyes lock with mine again. “I never thought you wouldn’t like that.”

Ouch again. I sigh, not knowing how else to show you who I really am except by being honest.

“Now you know I’d rather spend the night somewhere else than be surrounded by people I can’t stand.”

My laugh makes your lips twitch around the straw, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you challenge me, “So you don’t like me?”

As if.

“Au contraire.”

The blush that creeps up your cheeks is phenomenal, causing my lips to stretch into the biggest smile possible—one that hurts my cheeks, but I couldn’t care less.

“Shall we start your ‘master plan’?” You turn your gaze over your shoulder, looking at Mingyu, who’s just sat down on a couch at the other end of the terrace. When you look back at me, there’s uneasiness in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, let’s just get it over with, hm?” You turn, taking a step toward Mingyu, but I stop you by holding your arm.

When our eyes meet, there’s clear fear in your irises, and I know I can’t let you go like this.

“___, talk to me. You don’t have to do this. We can leave right now if you want.”

The sigh that escapes you weighs a ton. You again come closer, causing me to let you go, but you refuse to look at me when you ask, your voice small and unsure, “What if it doesn’t work, Jungkook? What if he turns me away or something?”

You can’t be serious. You can’t be insecure when you look like this.

“Hey, listen. First, he’ll never turn you away. No one here would turn you away. And second, if it doesn’t work, that’s fine. Don’t pressure yourself with expectations no one’s set for you.”

You don’t seem convinced, so I gently guide your face with my fingers to look at me. “I’m right here. I’ll be watching over you. If anything goes wrong or I sense you’re not comfortable in the slightest, I’ll get you out of it. We can go now if you like. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

I can’t breathe; the smile appearing on your alluring lips sucker-punches my guts.

“Thank you,” you husk, and I wish we were alone. “Here goes nothing.”

And then you’re walking toward him. The sight tears me apart from the inside out, and I know that I never want to see you walk away from me, away to another man.

Half an hour later, I’m ready to burn this place to the ground. 

Not because women approach me. No, I just rejected them without much of a thought. 

“I’m taken.” 

“Off the market.” 

“Not interested.”

And watching you flirt with MiNgYu~ is bad enough, but seeing you touch him, practically sitting on his lap, and him touching you back is unbearable. 

I’ve seen enough. 

Not caring if I cut off anyone in my path, I march toward you. I should have stopped this a long time ago, before you got this drunk. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to take her. Now.” BACK OFF, MOTHERFUCKER. 

I help you up immediately, and I would lie if I said it doesn’t surprise me how you're clinging to me. I like it, though. 

As we head to the elevators, you suddenly start giggling. But your next words nearly make me stumble over my own feet.

“Jungkook, you’re so hot. Did you know that?”

Oh God, she thinks I’m hot! I can check off the first step! I try with all my might not to grin like a lovesick idiot, and I think you don’t notice how much your words affect me.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re like really, really, super hot. And so funny.”

My heart stops. It halts and ceases and just quits. Your words are a fucking jackpot. 

I’m unprepared when you suddenly stop and look up at me with the most serious expression a drunk woman has ever given me. Though the hiccup betrays you and I want to laugh, there’s no time when you fall to your knees amid the crowd, saying, “Let me feel your thigh.”

What the fuck woman?! Get up! Shit! I need to pull you up immediately.

“This is not the time for that.”

“No, you don’t understand. Jungkook, let me feel—”

“NOT THE TIME, ___!”

Enough is enough. I hook my arm under yours and pull you to the elevator, and while we descend to the ground floor, you giggle non-stop.

We don’t get too far after we start walking toward the hotel, and I know you’ll never make it back there drunk in your heels.

With one swift movement, I pick you up on my back, causing you to let out a cute little scream. “Hold on tight.” I pat your thigh through your dress, and you oblige right away, wrapping your legs around my waist and hugging my neck.

It’s after the first turn when you let your head fall onto my shoulder, your lips and breath brushing against my skin. You inhale deeply, making me shiver. 

“You smell so good,” you say dreamily. 

Take that MiNgYu~

“Thank you,” I manage to say, trying to even out my breathing and heartbeat. 

“Is there any flaw in you? Like, you’re super talented and tall and big with all these muscles, and your face is like sculpted by God himself. And now you smell soooo good.” 

I’m burning up inside. I feel the blush on my cheeks, and I think I might faint. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. There’s no way.

“Oh, and you’re kind, and I feel safe with you.” 

“Well, I—”

“But I don’t like that you’re with Trish and now carry me.”

What?...like for real now. What?!

“I’m not with her. Why would I be? I really don’t know where…”

But there’s no need to explain myself further; you’re asleep by the time we reach your room. I sigh, shaking my head, wondering why you’d think I’d be into her when I only have eyes for you.

I carefully steady you against the wall as I search your bag for your room card. After I gently lay you on the bed, I head to your en-suite to search for makeup wipes.

When I come back, you’re still in a deep slumber, so I take off your shoes and wipe your feet down quickly, tugging you in. Sitting down beside you, I can’t help but trace your features. Taking another wipe out of the package, I carefully try to remove the makeup from your face, avoiding your eyes entirely. I’m too scared I might hurt you by accident.

As I finish, I fold the used wipe to throw it away, but it’s nearly clean, with just a little pink on it. Weird…

I take another one and wipe with a little more force than before. But again, it’s void of makeup.

Frowning at the wipe, I think there must be something wrong. Or did I do something wrong? It can’t be this difficult to do. My gaze switches between your face and the wipe in my hand until I notice there’s still some lipstick on your lips. This time there’s again a faint pink on the wipe.

Huh…interesting. I lean in, inches away from your face. Your skin is, in fact, clean, and it fascinates me how it’s this flawless. When your breath, tinged with alcohol, hits me, I regret not taking better care of you and hope you’re not mad at me when you wake up.

You look so peaceful, and I wish I could watch you the whole night as you sleep, never wanting this night to end.

“I’m really in love with you, ___. I’ve been for years.” It’s so lame to confess to you while you’re unconscious, and I rub my hands over my face, not knowing what to do with myself. Everything seems to go wrong. “If you don’t want me, it’s fine. But if there’s the tiniest chance for us…then let me show you that it’ll be worth it.”

With that, I stand up, making sure you’re neatly tucked in.

“Good night, princess.” 

It’s not much later, when I fall asleep with the post-it note in my hand.

series masterlist • JK 3

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! what was your favourite part of this chapter?

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla, @darkeneddiary , @dumbheadblog

[zahri-melitor]

More thoughts on paying for WFA:

I own some of Tiny Titans and Mini Marvels in trade

I’m considering picking up Lil Gotham

I DO own all of the Power Pack reboot in trade

I’ve got Billy Batson and the Power of Shazam! on my shopping list.

I’m not opposed to owning cute, light and fluffy comics in trade. Heck, I’ll especially point to Power Pack for a moment, which was a successful tonally light reboot that only had shared premise with the 80s run, and they got about a dozen minis out of the reboot. I’m pretty sure there’s a small contingent of Power Pack fans who feel about the Gurihiru stories like I do WFA. It was very much an adaption for a new audience.

On the other hand: everything I’ve listed above was optimised for existing comics fans, either as ‘light and funny relief comics’ or specific kid-friendly adaptions for under 10s. WFA instead feels very much like outreach for a different market.

When I think about the WFA episodes that stick with me the most, they tend to be ones where I can either slip it straight into my mental map of comics storylines (baby Robin!Dick getting eaten by a flower could be a Silver Age comic), or they’re making interesting commentary on New Earth/Prime Earth storylines and I can footnote them myself.

Not just references. Commentary. And I think that’s where Lil Gotham feels more comfortable to me than WFA. Nguyen is adapting and riffing stories and characters he loves and knows well. WFA tends to feel like it’s adapting and riffing background default canon and fandom’s favourite talking points. It’s (here’s an OLD callback) Casstoons v Tiny Titans.

I smiled and laughed at Casstoons back in the day. I bought Tiny Titans.

[additiva]

Frechheit Ch 16 Snippy

I've reached the editing stage, which means the first baby little section of Ch16 is available for your viewing pleasure (or displeasure I suppose), under the cut.

-----

In the morning, things are better. They lay in bed for a while. Not talking, just pressed together with the sun filtering through the gauzy curtains. He traces his fingers down Charles’ spine, to rub his palm over the warm skin of his back, then up to scratch at his scalp. Any sliver of air between their bodies is eliminated, as Charles sighs into his shoulder, and melts against him. He must be cold-blooded, Max thinks. Always finding some patch of sunshine, or seeking Max out to warm himself.

Eventually, one of the cats starts pawing at the closed door, meowing, and they get up. Charles goes to meet his trainer, while Max does his own workout, then makes them an awful protein shake as always. Max’s trainer, Rupert, must have some idea of what’s going on. He’s never seen Charles at Max’s apartment, but Max’s behaviour has no doubt been very suspicious. Refusing to have him come over, asking to meet at strange times, and going through his meals and shakes much more quickly than planned.

Max makes a mental note to remind Charles to bring his own meals from his apartment. They have different weights, and body compositions. He knows Charles cares about that.

They spend the rest of the week together, between Charles’ many commitments, and his visits to family and friends. With the stress of the sponsor event behind him, Charles essentially returns to baseline, though Max can see the excitement building within him.

Monaco is Charles’ favourite track. He knows it intimately; every curve and dip, every barrier, every inch of every straight. The track is runs like an artery through the city, flowing straight into Charles. The excitement among the residents is visible, audible and palpable; Charles thrives off of it, confident and assured.

He’s immaculately prepared, Max knows. His training for this race will have been comprehensive. Ferrari will no doubt bring a specialised rear wing, to optimise their chances.

But Charles sometimes has episodes of incredible bad luck, and luck matters at Monaco, more than at any other track. A small problem in qualifying, or one misstep in the race means the difference between winning and missing out on the podium entirely.

Which means that no matter how good his preparation is, there’s still a lingering uncertainty for Charles. And as the anticipation grows, so does Charles’ anxiety. It seems to come upon him in waves, increasing in frequency and intensity as the week goes on.

He gets quiet, and sits out on the balcony a few times, staring out at the water. Other times, he gets agitated, prodding at Max, like Max will lash out, and scratch an itch he can’t reach.

Most times, he stops himself, and goes for a run to get the nervous energy out. If that doesn’t work, he comes back and hovers tensely around Max until he gathers him up and takes him out of his mind for a while.

One night late in the week, though, he comes back from a dinner with his friends, paradoxically in a terrible mood; bitchy and nasty from the second he arrives home, snarking and glaring poisonously at Max, alluring in the way a shard of glass is, daring you to touch it.

And Max isn’t.. upset, at the things he says. There’s a million things he could say if he genuinely wanted to hurt Max: about his dad, and his childhood, about how he’d only just discovered emotional intelligence last year, and only after hurting basically everyone he could reach with his idiocy.

Charles is just baiting him; he doesn’t say any of those things; but eventually, when Max is already kissing him quiet, trying to sooth him, and none of his barbs are working, he loses his patience completely and bites. Hard.

Max pulls back sharply, shocked, his lip stinging. When he flicks his tongue over it, the coppery taste confirms it; he’s bleeding. Charles watches him lick over it again, then tips his head to meet his gaze directly, and smirks.

Alright, Max thinks with total calm, as the shock fades.

If that’s what he wants.

One hand shoots up to grip tightly in Charles’ hair; he gasps a little, eyes wide, but bright with anticipation.

Tomorrow, Max thinks, they’re going to talk about this. They’re going to talk about communication again. But for now, since it’s a particularly stressful week for Charles, he’ll bite.  

[artemisia-black]

For the ask game (I'm making these challenging ehehe): Sirius - 31 Regulus - 3, 21, 24 Walburga - 35 Bellatrix - 30, 40 Orion - 47

oooh love a challenging ask :D x

Sirius:

31. If the had a tumblr what would it look like?

Motorcycles, Motorcycle engines and looooonggg posts about how to optimise your engine and his detailed opinions on motorcycle models. Also pictures of various magical beasts and his long posts about caring for them/how to find them. He would also reblog travel pictures and privately save recipes.

Regulus:

3. Obscure headcanon

He had an excellent Baritone, but hated how good he was because he really disliked being made to sing at every family event.

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

An expensive full-bodied Red wine (Chateauneuf Du Pape comes to mind)

24. Most annoying habit

He is quieter than other members of his family, but if he's speaking about a subject he's passionate about (war crimes, blood supremacy, cats, blood supremacy, his family lineage and war crimes) he will monologue at the person who is being forced to listen to him.

Walburga:

35. Their idea of a perfect day

Waking up and the house is quiet. Having a good quality breakfast made by Kreacher. Putting together a fashionable and well made outfit. Going to the pureblood ladies society and everyone deferring to her and getting to deny membership to the member of a lesser family. Then coming home to a quiet dinner where she and Sirius don't fight. Followed by sex with Orion.

Bellatrix:

30. Sleeping habits

Sleeps like a baby most days, but does occasionally have bouts of insomnia (especially when she's hyperfixating on something).

40. Favorite book

A witches guide to the latest Parisian fashion. Magique moste evile

Orion:

47. Their dream job

Orion would never deign to dream of work. Work is for lesser mortals who have to earn their living- the thought of this makes him shudder.

[hexenmond]

madwoman

I am going to teach myself a different keyboard layout. Neo, which is very different from QWERTZ (which I am used to).

Why would I put myself through this? I can type pretty fast with QWERTZ, thanks to years of doing it a lot (never learned it properly though).

There's a few reasons, the latest that is currently tipping me over the ledge being that typing anything in Turkish with a bog standard German QWERTZ layout requires me to copypaste all the special characters from a character table, which is seriously no fun. And switching keyboard layouts just for a word or three – meh, no, uncool. Functional but uncool.

But learning a whole different keyboard layout that will enable me to write things in sooooo many languages? And generally type even more efficiently once I've mastered it?? Sign me up baby 🤩

…honestly I cannot resist the siren call of Optimisation™. Things could be better! I only need to put in a large amount of effort! 😆

But seriously, I'm giving this a go. I already installed the layout and the training programme, AND did my first lesson (two letters, did not pass). No risk no FUN!

(So if you don't hear from me for another while, it's because I cannot type quickly enough, and/or I got stuck entering my password because I can't do it with the new keyboard layout.)

[okthatsgreat]

Reversing it, what would your Danganronpa OCs be as DnD characters?

HEHHEHEHEHEHEEHHEHEHHEHHEHHEHEHEHEH. so fucking awesome. kicks my feet giggling

billie: starting with her is so fucking funny because she is just a npc. born to be a halfling npc with the commoner stat block. shes not even necessarily an important npc either shes mostly just somebody the dm would make should a player character ever need to ask for directions. if i were to really try to give her a story i reckon she would resent how horrible she feels as a boring commoner and TRYYY to become an adventurer but she really doesnt fit into any category LMAO

erin: GLAMOUR BARD!! pippy would fucking THRIVE in this universe where it is way more acceptable to take out her instrument and start randomly playing something. still just as annoying but you cant hate her for this... race wise i can see her as a gnome BUTTT honestly just a regular human might make more sense for her lore lmao. as a race that is notorious for having a fleeting lifespan in comparison to a lot of the other fantasy races she would be far more paranoid with keeping up her persona while also lamenting the fact she cant stay young forever

naomi: STARTS AS A SCOUT ROGUE DEFINITELY that skirmisher ability........... possibly turns into a phantom rogue later on down the line! she would be an extremellyyyy agile adventurer and definitely stock up on so many goddamn invisibility potions. either a wood half-elf or (more likely) a tabaxi for that feline agility ability, paired with bonus action dash she would FLY out of any combat she finds herself in hfjkgds. kinda like her as this more humanoid looking cat with brown and ginger spots Yknow

mika: definitely would not be an adventurer, still an npc but with a better stat block than billie!! human merchant that seems kind of jealous of you when you walk in but will give you a cool amulet if you are patient

rie: eloquence bard/pact of the archfey warlock :)) she is extremelyyy charming and able to weave her way out of so many situations with her words alone, in a way that exceeds normal bard limits. like shes definitely got multiple people suspicious about her and accusing her of dark magic already LMAO, and they arent WRONG, she definitely took a pact with an archfey, but her success is what is keeping her family afloat so she cant complain that much. i think she's an elf :) that beauty is ETERNAL baby!!!! theres no ending this torment!!!!!!

ryobe: ok its actually a bit of a toss up for me here because ryobe's stats are definitely high charisma/high intelligence, but im not super suurreeeee what that would translate to class wise....... im honestly thinking yet another bard LMFAO. possibly a glamour bard/arcane trickster rogue multiclass???? which isnt the best optimisation but. yknow GDFKGFD. i kinda like him as a satyr, gives him a reason to prioritise fun as much as he does

sae: path of tempest barbarian that THINKS shes a beast master ranger that kinda sucks at magic for soooo much of her life. the last time she went into any sort of rage was when she was a kid and even then she was in denial bc her rage manifests in this terrible storm so she just assumed it was natural and nothing to do with her LMAO. its a mix of both "that cant be my doing. surely" and "i can not be an angry person i canttttt be a barbarian" that prevents her from reaching her full potential for while, and even when she does comes to terms with the fact shes a barbarian its still badddd bc her rage is explosive as FUCKKK. she'd be one of the more physically intimidating races like a half-orc i think. maybe a firbolg but most likely half-orc

yoshito: life domain cleric of ilmater 😁 ohhhhh buddy your saviour complex is gonna SUCKKK in this universe, but he would definitely be an adventurer that tries to help out as many people as he can as a roaming cleric!! he would mostly act on his own but possibly joins a party at some point for the more dangerous quests :) im thinking he's a drow half-elf?? his mother and himself both came from a place theyre not fond of but they both found ilmater or something and now it motivates him to help others out

[disabilityhorizons]

Optivus wheelchair bag - The Captivator

Wheelchair bag with lots of internal and external pockets that you can easily organise and locate the things you need

Anti-theft – a hidden pocket located at the back of the bag

Smooth large zip with assisted puller in orange so that it’s easy to see and find

Bright orange inside lining so you can easily locate things

Light reflector for safety and easy visibility during the night

Multi-purpose – it offers flexibility to both wheelchair and non-wheelchair users

USB port for mobile charging with corresponding cable (power bank not included)

Polyester 1680d external with weather resistance

Scroll down for more information and bag dimensions. 

A wheelchair bag on the go! It is designed to protect and hold your valuable items when travelling. The large capacity will help you organise everything you need for travel, work, school, hospital trips and daily activities.

The wheelchair strap will keep your bag at a safe height so you don't have to worry about it dragging on the floor when moving. The top handle helps you to hold and carry it.

It's ideal for travelling as the wide opening and well-cushioned laptop compartment helps to keep items safe when passing through airport controls. The anti-theft pocket is perfect for passports and valuable things.

The wheelchair bag is flexible for wheelchair users, carers and parents who may need a variety of items on the go.

Bag dimension: 32cm L x 45cm H x 20cm W

About Optivus

"Optivus is the first streetwear-inspired and adapted clothing entirely dedicated to people with physical disabilities."

Moulded with its versatility and commitment to give comfort, functionality, affordability and yet would uplift the user’s spirit. It is inspired to make life easier and dressing more accessible to the user and the people who support them - making dressing fun and less stressful, creating a memory.

Optivus is conceived out of a mother’s struggles to dress her disabled child. Her son Liam was diagnosed with Type 1 glutaric aciduria, a rare metabolic condition that doesn’t allow him to synthesise protein and results in brain damage.

Diagnosed at 10 months, he went from a healthy baby to a severely disabled infant. Her child’s stiff limbs and spasms turned what would typically be a 10-minute dressing routine into a marathon that could take up to an hour to complete.

Optivus is fuelled by its goal to make users valued, empowering self-esteem and self-acceptance by rendering a treasured experience. The product collection - clothing, shoes, and accessories - are revolutionised with quality, long-lasting materials that are trendy and stylish.

Optivus uses packaging that is useful to our daily living, giving a solution to a necessity and limiting plastic use. It values humanity and respects nature.

Optivus will always be inspired by its one promise…to optimise!

https://youtu.be/0_5acg4EGoo