#thank you very much to those of you who helped me with this

[5sospenguinqueen]

No Boys Club | Dad! Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris has a very public freak out when his daughter comes home with flowers from a boy.

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, overprotective dad behaviour 

Requested: yes by anon. i made them about 5 instead of 3 because the pictures i found are a bit older

F1 Masterlist

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landonorris just posted

liked by danielricciardo, alex_albon and others 

landonorris someone tell this little lady to stop growing up

189,856 comments 

carlossainz55 wait, what happened to the little baby you used to swing around the paddock? who allowed this to happen?

→ landonorris don’t get me started. i keep telling y/n to figure out how to make it stop 

georgerussell63 still have no idea how you ended up with such a cute, calm kid

→ its_yn that was all me

→ landonorris hey, i contributed 

→ maxfewtrell for like two seconds liked by its_yn

→ landonorris you take that back! 

user1 i love how every pic of little norris with y/n is really cute and serene but any time we see her with just lando, it’s chaos 

→ user2 she matches each parent’s energy perfectly 

maxverstappen1 i might need you to teach me how to do hair bows 

→ landonorris bring P over, we’ll have a hair afternoon

→ user3 i love girl dad lando so much 

→ its_yn me too 

oscarpiastri were the hair bows y/n’s choice?

→ its_yn nope. lando made a whole drawer just for her hair bows, and he picks them out the night before so i have to plan her outfits around them 

→ mclaren guess who’s telling the design team to start making hair bows asap 

its_yn posted a new story

alex_albon replied you didn’t put a bow in her hair today? → lando is going to freak → its_yn he’s too busy freaking out about his little girl getting flowers off a boy  → alex_albon i know 😂 he was in the middle of the paddock having a fit  → i’m sure you’ll see gifs of it later on twitter 

alexandrasaintmleux replied of course they were orange flowers  → its_yn setting me up for a lifetime of orange → alexandrasaintmleux at least little norris’ new boyfriend has taste  → its_yn reacted with “😂”

charles_leclerc replied has lando seen this yet? → never mind. i’ve just heard a high-pitched screech come from the mclaren garage  → i’d like to thank you for sabotaging lando in this way, so ferrari can get ahead in the constructors  → its_yn forza ferrari sempre → just don’t publicly thank me 

landonorris posted a new story

carlossainz55 replied why are you threatening children  → landonorris because they’re trying to take my baby away from me → carlossainz55 how you managed to get a woman pregnant, i will never know 

maxverstappen1 replied do you want me to help you beat up a child?  → landonorris thank you. you’re the only one understanding my crash out  → maxverstappen1 i don’t think that’s the defence you think it is 

its_yn replied baby, you can not attack a child → landonorris why not → its_yn well, for one, you’re on the other side of the world → landonorris hence why i’m learning how to teleport!  → i thought we understood each other → its_yn i thought i understood how insane you are → but every day you show me new levels of crazy 

its_yn just posted

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55 and others 

its_yn when dad’s away 

76,334 comments 

landonorris wtaf, babe

landonorris when i told you to take care of my girls, that meant keeping the both of you away from the male species 

landonorris can’t believe this is what you do when i go away for a race 

landonorris this is why i didn’t want to go 

landonorris gonna throw myself in front of max’s car

→ maxverstappen1 i’m not cleaning you off my visor  

user4 i can’t tell if it’s the style but yn’s top seems to stick out a bit 👀

→ user5 ugh. don't be one of those people

mclaren we’ve seen enough. little norris can have lando’s seat next year 

→ its_yn so i can listen to him whine about that? no thanks 

charles_leclerc i hear the italian anthem calling me

→ its_yn shhhh. we had a deal 

landonorris i’m actually going to end it all

→ its_yn i gave you a baby. what more do you want 

→ landonorris for my baby to never look at another man

→ its_yn i’m leaving you 

→ landonorris i’d like to see you try. you won’t run very far 

maxfewtrell it’s nice to see she didn’t inherit her father’s talent. she smoked me

→ landonorris is my suffering a joke to you? have i not been punished enough?

→ maxfewtrell yes

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requests open

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury  @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx

[nikito0x]

Alternatively: Your significant other was never unfaithful.

When they enter through that door, they look heartbroken. When they see you, they look scared and as if they are dreading whatever conversation will follow.

Your priorities are straight. Your first instinct? To comfort them, reassure them that everything will be alright, whatever may have happened. You will be there for them. You hold them as they start tearing up and desperately cling to you.

Their sobs break your heart. You promise to yourself, whoever dared hurt them will pay. The trash who caused this will learn the true meaning of a monster. They will not find a safe place on this earth ever again.

After your love has calmed down, you wipe their tears, sit them down at the table, prepare their favorite drink and snack. You grab the bouquet and finally present it to them. They seem surprised, even shocked.

"You waited for me..? All this time?"

Of course you did. You searched for them, reached out to every resource possible. They are still your spouse, your beloved. There was never any doubt about that.

They almost start crying again but manage to calm themselves before that.

Then, the whole story comes out.

How they were chosen for an impossible quest. How they had gained friends and teammates to help them along the way. How their mentor seemed kind and generous, but in truth manipulated them into being in just the right spot to become a sacrificial lamb.

When they'd refused and tried finishing the quest in another way, almost everyone had shunned them. When they had succeeded anyway, without their ex-comrades' stupid plan, your beloved had been framed, made out to be the enemy's accomplice, while the betrayers enjoyed the rewards of your lover's success. They had escaped before they were wrongfully imprisoned but had no idea where to go from here.

You hold them and you reassure them, everything will be alright, you promise. After they have calmed down again, you finally pull away. A cruel smirk stretches across your face, something your lover has never seen before on you, and you finally tell them about your escapades during those five years.

You tell them about your new shiny leadership position. You tell them about your power, your connections, your wealth. You tell them that even if they were truly guilty, their ex-friends could never touch them as long as you're around. You tell them that no one and nothing would be able to as much as breathe in their direction if they just said the word.

And since you have your finger in every pie out there, you could make it very difficult, if not completely impossible for the trash to get away. They will never live in peace again, if you had anything to say about it.

Your spouse is shocked, amazed. They didn't think there was a way out for them. That they would just end up dragging you with them if they stayed but... But now?

Hope blooms in their eyes, a smile stretches over their lips, dimples dent their cheeks. They are the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

They say they're proud of you and your accomplishments. They thank you for staying, when it seemed like no one else had. They have missed you and your dumb jokes and they wish they had just stayed in the first place. They're sorry.

You forgive them. You never blamed them to begin with.

Now.

Time to plan how to completely and utterly ruin those friends of theirs... After you finish spoiling and pampering your lover first, though. That might take a while... Maybe you should ring up your assistant to start on the preparations while you're busy.

For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey, you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face asking to speak to you.

[primrosechronicles]

"I Fear He might be Beast.. or a Troll."

A Telemachus x Princess!Reader requested by: @luckywitchsong

Summary : You a Princess is scared, for you do not know who the identity of your fiance. Word Count : 1296 Credits to @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers

“You are to marry the son of Queen Penelope Períphron and King Odysseus the Polytropos. In three months, you will be sent to Ithaca.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You sit in your bedroom, filled with the golden glow of Apollon’s light, its warmth wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Yet, in stark contrast, your mind is a cold wasteland, destroyed by a swirling tornado of thoughts about who this man could be.

You try to think positively, You know your parents! There's no way they would marry you off to a man with no class, he must be a kind man. Not like those rude men in stories. The ones who are usually nobility—entitled, arrogant… and unhygienic. Oh gods.

You stand up and start frantically pacing around the room, thinking about who this mystery fiancé could be. What is he like? Is he really like a manchild like you thought he would be or could he be the opposite? 

A long sigh leaves your lungs as you lean on the balcony, you can only wait until the fates weave you and your future (hopefully kind) husband together. 

Meanwhile, In a distant land, a young prince gazes out towards the horizon 

The Prince sighs, longingly staring out to the sea, his elbows perched on the balcony's railings. He leans onto his hand as he daydreams about his future bride.

His parents had described his bride-to-be as a kind woman. Now, he wasn't foolish; he knew his parents understood what they were doing when choosing a bride whose kingdom's assets could benefit Ithaca. Yet, doubt remained. What if this woman was not what his parents had described?

But… she could be kind and intelligent… The thought of him marrying an intelligent and beautiful girl made his stomach burst with butterflies.

‘Oh Lady Aphrodite, guide me… ‘

3 months later….

Your ship arrived in Ithaca under the cover of night. The guards on duty had orders to provide temporary shelter for you and your companions if arrival occurred during the sleeping hours, ensuring a place to rest until morning.

You lay awake in your bed, unable to sleep as your thoughts are consumed by the identity of who you’re marrying.

These thoughts lead you to the Palace’s gardens, trying to find some comfort in this unfamiliar place. It’s cold— very cold, you rub your hands together in an attempt to generate heat but to no avail.

This weather is not helping your nerves. Mentally preparing yourself, you raise your palms upwards and pray to the Goddess of Marriage 

Hear me, Queen of the Deathless Gods, 

Consort to the Mighty Zeus

and Goddess of Marital Union, —-

“--- My Lady what are you doing..?”  You turn around and see a young man with leaves in his hair and a blue blanket wrapped around his frame. You look at the man from the side of your eye. “Nothing.” You say in response, getting back to your prayer.

I seek your wisdom and guidance.

Please grant me a good husband.

A husband who is loyal— “My lady… while praying to the Gods is important, I feel as though that the God or Goddess you are praying to will be much happier if you weren’t shivering while praying..” 

“I am not shivering.” You say as your shoulders shake from the chill of the wind. You raise your palms up to continue praying.

A husband who is— “But, you are... Shivering”

You let out an annoyed exhale, “I am not.” 

“You are…”

“I am not!” 

“You are!”

‘Sorry Queen Hera, I fear my prayer will have to wait.’ You internally pray as you lower your palms. 

You turn around, annoyed; and raise an eyebrow at the man. “Good Evening um– Ithaca has harsh winds this time of year, I recommend you come back inside where it is warmer, or atleast have something to keep you warm…” He says as he offers his blue blanket to you.

You furrow your brows in suspicion, slowly backing away from the mysterious man. “I’m quite alright thank you…” but then suddenly, a wave of cold air washes over the palace. You shiver and instinctively hug yourself with your arms to shield yourself from the cold.

The young man walks beside you and offers the blanket again. “You say you don’t need it but your shaking shoulders tell me otherwise; please take it, I insist.” 

You shakily reach out and take the blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Thank you,” You whisper. “For the blanket…”

You and the man stare out into the horizon, Selene’s moon casting an ethereal glow onto Poseidon’s deep blue sea.

“Your hands were stretched out… Were you praying?” “Yes.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him turn to you. “Why?” He asks.

“Well that’s oddly personal.” You look him up and down. “None of your business.”

You and the man stiffly stare back out into the distance, the whooshing of waves filling the awkward silence. You tiredly sigh, maybe you shouldn’t have responded rudely. “Because I am afraid, I am afraid of who or what he is, my parents have not told me any details of who he is.”

Your hands grip onto the blanket tighter. “I am afraid of my future, women who are often in arranged marriages tend to have husbands that are… goblins…” 

“A goblin?” He asks, “or a brute.” 

He raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue in thought. “Who are we speaking of?”

“The prince.”

“Not a peep of information from my mother and father, clearly they are hiding the fact that the Prince is a goblin or a brute.”

He smirks. “Understood.”

You gasp, a metaphorical candle lighting up above you. “Maybe you could assist me in running away from my fate!” 

“A question please my Lady— you do not like brutes or.. Goblins? Does looks happen to be an important quality in marrying you..?”

“I do not care what he looks like, what I don’t like is having no knowledge of my future husband. Now—”

You walk along the side of the palace and spot a horse with a saddle on it. “Do you see that horse over there? By the torch? With your help I believe I could escape my goblin husband!”

“You want me to help you run to that horse so you may escape…?”

“I quite literally just said that.”

“Won't your entourage notice your absence?” 

You wave your hand “I shall worry about that later, now– make haste!” 

He breathes out and shakes his head. “I… have no desire to help you.”

You raise your eyebrows and stare at him in disbelief. “I am a maiden in need of saving.. You refuse? You refuse to help a maiden in distress?” 

“I refuse when that maiden in distress is trying to horsenap a horse so that she won't have to marry me…” He says softly, a soft smile gracing his features. “Hello ____.” 

A crashing tsunami of realization hurls into you. “Oh gods… Forgive me my Prince— I did not know..” You attempt a bow but he stops you in your tracks.

���Please, Call me Telemachus” He softly holds your shoulders, guiding your posture so that you would face him. “Not ‘My Prince’ or ‘Your Majesty’ Only… Telemachus.” 

“Please Your Majesty—” “Telemachus.” He corrects you.

You cough to clear your throat. “Telemachus forgive me, If I had known that you were my fiance—” “You would’ve what? Not have told me your plans that you would steal a horse..?” 

“....Well yes.” You say, He chuckles in response. “I deeply apologize, Your Majesty.” “Telemachus… well yes— ‘your Majesty’ but to you..? Always just… Telemachus.” 

You exhale 3 months of anxiousness, what-ifs, and fears out of your body. He wasn’t a brute after all. He was just Telemachus.

A/N : Chapter 2 of my series "For the queen" will come out soon (not rlly soon but it is in the works!) sorry for not posting guys school has rlly been hectic lately.

[apatheticsunday]

Apprentice of the Butler

AKA "Alfred Pennyworth hires an interim butler while he recuperates from a Rogue attack. Who better than adoption bait Danny Fenton?" prompt!!

Okay, so imagine Danny moves to Gotham to pursue astrophysics at Gotham-U but he's having a surprisingly difficult time keeping a job. Every time he gets hired, the place gets burned down or blown up by Rogues; it's like he's catnip for trouble. Somehow, he's always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And Alfred Pennyworth also happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He's at the Gotham Market Co-op, where Danny's been recently hired, and suddenly it's gassed by Scarecrow's Fear Toxin. All the employees and customers scramble to put on their gas masks, but Danny's new enough that he has no idea what's happening. He's suddenly seeing Fright Knight, Dark Pariah, and the GIW. So, he Goes Ghost, defeats all of Scarecrow's goonies, and saves the day! If only his boss would think so, too.

Uh, no. Apparently Danny's now on a Wanted List as an undocumented meta?? And his boss can't be investigated by the GCPD (he's, like, four years behind on taxes and has been dodging the IRS for longer), so he regretfully has to let Danny go. But, hey! Maybe if he becomes a documented meta, he can get hired back. Except Danny can't because the GIW can access the meta registration database and he'll be found out faster than he can leave Gotham.

So, Danny's fired again.

And Alfred "Pride & Honor" Pennyworth?? He's not gonna let the child who saved him (because Scarecrow absolutely was going to snatch the Wayne's butler, who better to take hostage than a billionaire's publicly beloved Father Figure??) possibly become homeless. It's clear the kid is a college student and is barely scraping by, probably paying way too much for room and board at Gotham-U. And... maybe his wrist hurts a bit from a fall. He's older now, it's not impossible that he'd get a sprain or a broken bone. (Plus, Alfred knows the look. The same one as Dick, Jason, Tim, even Bruce. There's an immense grief in those small shoulders, fear and loneliness.)

Cue Alfred hiring Danny on as an interim butler while he recuperates (oh, he's terribly injured, thank you so much for helping me, my boy-). And Danny can't say no. I mean, this old man got injured during the Rogue attack he was apart of! And he's asking for help! And it's also nice to have some money. And a bed and... oh, God, he's working for a billionaire frootloop. Uh-oh.

(Alfred absolutely doesn't tell Bruce about his new son apprentice. It's worth it to see Bruce's eyes glaze over as sees a black-haired teenager standing in the kitchen with Alfred, then doing a double take when he realizes it isn't Jason. And the others are banned from the kitchen, so who is this child in his house?? It's not Kon or Jon either??)

Meanwhile, Danny is actually having a great time with Mr. Pennyworth!! The older man is kind, soft-spoken, and really knows his stuff. Danny really enjoys learning how to cook, especially because none of the food comes alive to fight him. Eventually the Batfam just become used to seeing Danny in the kitchens, gardens, around the house with Alfred. He's a cute kid, always smiling and talking about his college classes. He has effortless sarcastic banter with both Damian and Jason, bonds with Tim about some kind of difficult mechanical mathematics or something, trades dad jokes with Dick. He even manages to win over Cass, Steph, Duke, and Babs.

The only one Danny doesn't truly seem to like is Bruce Wayne, although he never outright disrespects him, since he pays the bills and Danny's midwestern manners kick in. Bruce is confused and very concerned because why is this kid literally glaring daggers at him all the time?? Is he going to poison Bruce's coffee?? Danny's just trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne is a "collects vintage dentures" or "keeps teenagers locked in his basement" type of billionaire frootloop. (He'd kinda prefer the kidnapping, Danny does not want to go looking for a wine cellar and find an entire basement of old teeth.)

Bonus if Bruce tries to subtly win the boy over and Danny's just like, squinting at him, white-knuckling a frying pan and muttering, "That's exactly what someone who collects teeth would say..."

[gatorbites-imagines]

could you do something were one of the mark variants likes ftm reader who has a 1 sided crush on his mark (if that makes sense lol)

bottom/sub reader pls😔

Shiesty Mark x ftm reader 

Drabble 

I just... really like this Mark. The mask does something to me. I also learned that shiesty Mark was inspired by Cole Cash from DC, which is really cool. 

Bit of a mixed bag when referring to readers bits, and hinting at front hole penetration at the end.  

It's been so long since ive written smth like this, so bear with me. 

You hated this fucking city, and country, and probably world. Just because you had powers, because your mom just happened to be some hero, who fucked some government guy, you were expected to keep her legacy. 

Your dad wasn't much of a dad, even less so when your mom kicked the bucket when you were little. Your powers weren't even that impressive, you could make force fields and different shapes with your will, but it was nothing compared to the powerhouses of this world. (imagine like an off-brand green lantern, but without the ring) 

Dear old dad had you trained from the very moment you could walk, and it was clear from a young age that you were not his son, or rather daughter at the time, but an asset. But what else could be expected from the guy that turned your dad mom's corpse into an reanimen. 

Life was a chore, a drag, you didnt get a social life, it was all about training and becoming a better asset for the GDA, for your so called dad. There were days you wanted to use your powers to just... kill him, to kill everyone.  

Or yourself. Those days were growing more and more common. It made you wonder if your will was so strong you could surpass the human want to survive, and just... take yourself out. 

At least your top surgery and testosterone were given to you for free, like some kind of reward, like the GDA were dangling a carrot, after you had sacrificed so much of yourself with as little as a thank you being given in return. 

It all became a little less shit when Invincible appeared. In the beginning you liked him only because your dad feared him so much, after seeing what omni-man did to the guardians and world.  

Invincible, or Mark, didn't help these blooming feelings. He was just so kind, so willing to help and so determined. He hadn't been crushed under the weight of the universe, of his father's legacy, like many others would have. Like you had. 

You two had worked together on multiple occasions, since you didn't have much of a choice about joining the new guardians.  

Being raised by the government to live as a tool meant your ability to communicate and build relationships was very lacking, so you two never became more than acquaintances, but Invincible still made your heart flutter and your body heat up. 

Maybe that was why it was hard to fight these alternate variants of him. It wasnt like your forcefields and will created tools were much help, as they shattered under the punches and kicks of the Mark variants.  

The Mark variant you had ended up with was an extra rude one, he cursed and spat and growled like some kind of animal. He fought manically, clawing and bloody from all the lives he had taken. Maybe dying wasn't too bad, if you got to die by Invincibles hand. 

That was why you had ripped out the earpiece you always wore, even using your will to shape a little sharp contraption to dig out the one that had been placed under your ear with surgery, a long time ago. 

It could explain why you allowed this veiled Mark passed the multiple layers of glowing green walls, when you let him clasp a bloody hand around your throat, and why you only groaned a little as he slammed you down, the very pavement shattering into rubble. 

“Im getting tired of your fucking lightshow” he snarled, his voice so similar to Marks put different in its roughness. There was a familiar heat pooling in your gut, your thighs clenching together as this Mark variant choked the very life out of you. 

You weren't reaching up to hit him as he choked you, instead gripping onto the veil he wore. Part of you wanted to look him in the eyes as he killed you, so you could at least see the face of the one person who made you feel alive, even if those feelings were never returned. 

Black spots were swimming across your vision, your grip weakening and focus wavering, enough for your green domino mask to disappear in a flicker of green.  

There must have been something in your eyes, as this Mark variant furrowed his brows, his hand loosening just enough for you to gasp in a few breaths of air, ripping the sweet release of death out of your hands once more. 

“Shit, you are into this, aren't you? You disgusting freak” he snarled, a cruel animalistic smirk growing on his lips, Marks eyes widening like a tiger spotting a wounded rabbit. His pupils were blown, but if it was adrenaline or lust, you couldnt be sure.  

One thing was sure, that expression on his face, was never one you would see on your Mark. He would never look so wild, so feral and violent. It made your cock throb and front hole grow wetter than you had ever been before, the inside of your suit growing uncomfortable. 

The Mark variant gave a snarl, grabbing you like a ragdoll and blasting off in some random direction, his veil falling back in place as he did so. 

You weren't sure where you guys ended up, but it was somewhere not destroyed by the invasion. The near-death choking had left you with an aching headache and blurry head, so you ended up just flopping down on the ground Mark threw you on. 

“I love nasty freaks like you. Always aching for dick as much as you ache for pain.” the Mark variant purred, settling between your thighs, his hands strong and tight as they gripped onto them, spreading them apart far enough for it to burn. 

“Fuck, i could break both of these, and i bet you would just beg for more” he groaned out, voice somehow more growly and hotter than before, as he squeezed your thighs, right above your femur. 

“Come on, give me that dick” he chuckled, bending forwards just enough for his veil to move, enough for you to see his hungry shark-like grin, and the way his tongue licked against his teeth. 

There hadn't been much thought in your head about your body this whole time. You had never been very active in that regard, what joy was there in jerking off and exploring when you were always under watch.  

So, you hadn't thought of this Mark variant's reaction when you willed away your suit, just enough for your crotch to be freed, your t-cock hard and filled with blood as your slit oozed. 

Mark stopped for a second, his brow furrowing so visibly you could even see it through his veil, and for a moment you felt something akin to dread. Damn, did you fuck it up? Maybe he was disgusted by it, it was a fear you had of your Mark, that he would think you were a liar, or something. 

That was, until the Mark Variant laughed, his tone like somebody who just won the damn lottery. “Shit, fuck yeah! Spread those fucking legs, open up for me” he cackled, hands pushing at the back of your thighs, almost folding you in half. 

You weren't given much time to reach before he leaned down, his veil almost innocently covering your pubic mound, before his lips closed around your engorged t-cock. 

Your legs kicked at the sudden feeling, a noise leaving you like he had just punched you in the gut. There was no damn finesse in this Marks movements, as his arms kept your folded in half, as he feasted on your slit like a starved animal. 

It was so loud and wet, his tongue and lips pulling you open, sucking, biting and flicking anything he could reach. Mark groaned as if your slit was a five-star meal, his tongue wiggling inside your slit as he released your legs with one of his arms, only so he could pinch and jerk your t-cock in cock cruel movements. 

There was no control over the noises you let out, your hands gripping at his hair, his arms, shoulders, anything, the blank yellow goggles of his veil staring back at you as Mark slurped up all the juices you had gushed out. 

“Ffffuck, I could suck this cunt for days” he gurgled out, even his voice sounded wet from feasting upon you like this. Marks tongue returned to your t-cock, his fingers plunging inside you and fucking back and forth with a speed that had to wailing. 

Not being able to see what was happening only made your legs shake more, your spine arching upwards as he wrenched an orgasm out of you.  

“There we go, god damn, fuck. I wanna see you fucking squirt” Mark panted, his mouth descending back on you as his fingers twisted and worked even faster. He sounded near drunk, almost as much as you as your entire body tensed and jolted from overstimulation. 

But you had nothing against viltrumite strength, and hunger, it seemed. “Come on, come on, on my face, give it” the Mark variant growled, and for a moment, you could imagine it was your Mark, slurping and licking at you like a hound lapping up a puddle.  

The noise you let out must have been loud, as your throat ached from what you could only assume was a scream, or perhaps a screech of some kind. Your entire body felt like jello, as you shivered and shook through what must have been the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced. 

It was difficult to open your eyes, even as Mark dumped your legs back down, letting them splay open to give him a perfect view of your sore reddened cock and slit. 

When you finally succeeded, you almost shut them again. Marks blue veil was soaked, giving it a darker hue. It was so wet that it stuck to his face, draped over the bridge of his nose so you could see his pink wet lips, and his wet tongue as he licked at his chin, trying to lap up the last of your fluids. 

“Shit, might just have to keep you if you keep doing that” the Mark variant chuckled, voice rough as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  

“I'll have to be sure though, might have to make you do it again” Mark borderline giggled, as he ripped the front of his suit, letting his own very large, aching problem, slap against your abdomen.  

“You gonna show me freak? Huh?” the tone was so degrading, but hungry. “Let's see if it's just my mouth you can't resist, or if this works too” Mark groaned, slapping his length against your t-cock, before shuffling down to press it against your hole. 

Maybe it wasn't all bad... and they couldn't say you hadn't distracted one of the invincible variants, so technically you had done more than others at the end of the day. 

[gem-de-lune]

Ahhhhh!!!!!

YOU GUYS

I have done a flipped pyramid reading today.

1 How Seunghan's situation is going

2 How SM is feeling regarding his return to Riize

3 Final Outcome

To keep it brief, on the physical realm level Seunghan seems a bit worried or scared. The 5 of cups was the first thing I pulled so I was a bit worried at first but this seems to be dramatics lmao. He seems to be thinking that the chance is gone at the moment, but there is something very clearly approaching him from behind that he doesn't realize yet. Someone in a position to do so will be helping him by making a decision based on their own moral compass and will. Female. This could be the female we have been talking about. She is and has been working very hard up to now.

For SM- I was very pleased. This is the first time I have EVER pulled clear affirmatives for them in regards to Seunghan's return. Thoe outlook is good. The Ace of Wands makes it seem like they are ready to continue a story, and the 10 of Cups speaks of proper unity and resolution. The outcome is set to be favorable in every way, and they are taking action to ensure that it remains untainted and celebrated this time.

The outcome being Justice is very, very telling. Whatever happens, it will be fair and balanced. This is a good indicator that there is intention to set things right and do the right thing. People and entities will be standing their ground when the decision comes to light.

I see this happening very soon, though I cannot say when- I feel that it's in preparation. When I asked for an indicator that the time is HERE i pulled the King of Swords-

So feathers, silver shiny things, claws, and the colors white, black, TEAL and red stand out. Look for those in regards to Riize promotions or any related media or posts ahead of announcements.

Notes

I have done this lil reading today as I woke up. I am still waking up as we speak lol. I miss Riize very much and needed to check in personally.

The reason I took some time away was not only because i was busy with school and work- (as usually I manage well) but in my passion and drive to do readings every day not just for yall, but for me too- I had a bit of an energy depletion. I was not well for the holiday season up to this point as I had overdone it, which I did realize but did not understand to what extent until I suddenly couldn't do my readings very well anymore and the answers were getting extremely fuzzy. So I stopped for a bit altogether. I got too excited 😅 These are just excuses, but I do feel that I owe you all some explanation for distancing a while. Thank you to everyone who checked up on me 🩵 I am well, and hope you all are too. Please hang in there. Whatever happens it is divine timing and all the fairest outcome for Riize.

THE TIME IS NIGH!!!!

[skibasyndrome]

Oooh could you try "This was a bad idea." "Then why are you still kissing me?" 👀

Thank you :)

Hi Helen! Thank you so so so much for sending me one of these!!! 💜💜💜 This was a lot of fun <3

Whatever song is playing right now, Simon couldn’t possibly muster the brain capacity to recognize it. He’s gone, nothing else matters, he’s 50% butterflies and 50% wobbly knees. Simon doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Wille crowding him against the wall in the most closed off corner of Felice’s living room they could find. How he ended up with his fingers threaded through Wille’s hair, with his lips moving against Wille’s. But, god, Wille’s kissing him. Wille’s lips are so soft, feel even softer than they look, and whatever Simon has spent the past months imagining doesn’t even compare to the real thing, to having Wille close like this. Closer than they’ve ever been before.

When Simon feels Wille’s tongue gentle nudging against his bottom lip, his breath hitches. No day-dreaming about his best friend could’ve prepared him for the feeling of them deepening their kiss. It’s- everything about it is so very Wille, that Simon feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He’s gentle, he’s soft, but there’s an underlying urgency there, there’s Wille leaning into Simon, Wille cradling the side of Simon’s neck. Wille is kissing him like Wille does all things, with care and attention to detail, but with a determination that Simon has always found unfairly attractive. When Wille pulls away, Simon wants to whine. Thankfully, he seems to muster a last shred of self-respect, keeps his eyes shut firmly to stay in the moment for longer and oh, oh. Wille isn’t leaving. He nuzzles his nose against Simon’s, his breath tickles Simon’s lip and. Well. How is Simon supposed to resist. He tugs Wille closer, blindly finds his lips again, feels his pulse hammering loudly in his ears when he gets another taste of Wille. Just… Wille. And some mint from his chewing gum, and- sweet and fruity like the shots Maddie was handing out earlier. A knot of dread lodges itself between Simon’s ribs. This isn’t- this isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Fuck. Right. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who got impatient and who might’ve just blown his one chance at doing this the right way. He’s fighting his every instinct when he pulls back, immediately misses Wille’s mouth on his. “This was a bad idea." His voice wavers, shaky, unsure. God, he can’t even convince himself. Wille’s hand on his neck stills, and Simon immediately thinks he’s made a mistake.

And because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself, because it’s been too long and because now he might never have the real thing, he lurches forward again. Desperate and needy and acting like he’s gonna find the air that’s suddenly gone from his lungs on Wille’s lips. But this time it’s Wille who stops him, who gently pushes Simon away after a brief touch of their lips. Just far enough for Wille to rest his forehead against Simon’s. "Then why are you still kissing me?" Wille sounds more sober than he’s done all evening, sounds… Simon can’t place the tone, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to cry.  He’s kissed his best friend. His drunk best friend. His drunk best friend who does this. Casually, from time to time. Who he’s seen kissing Maddie and Felice and Nils and who always ends up a giggly, beautiful mess afterwards, only to never kiss them again. Only to go back to being their friend. And now Simon is going to be another friend he’s kissed while drunk at a party and will never kiss again. It takes everything inside of him not to let out a pathetic little noise of frustration. “You’re drunk,” he forces out instead, saying nothing at all. He shakes his head.  “We’re drunk,” he corrects himself and suddenly curses every decision that’s lead him here and curses his earlier self for ever thinking those shots would be a good idea. Maybe without them, he wouldn’t have- All thoughts desert Simon’s brain at once when Wille lifts a hand up to his cheek. Every fingertip is warm and comforting, and yet Simon feels like he’s breaking apart under the touch. But Wille is still close, so close, his breath is everything Simon hears, his cologne everything he smells, and a silly, silly part of him is still clinging to the illusion. “Did you not want to kiss me?”

Something about the way he asks it, nothing but earnestness, is so very Wille that it cracks Simon’s chest right open. He doesn’t think he could lie to Wille, ever, but especially not now. So he nods, accidentally brushing the tip of his nose against Wille’s. “I did,” he breathes. But, because that’s not quite right, he tries again, with his heart beating so fast he thinks he might have to sit down.  “I do. Do wanna kiss you.” For a beat, there’s nothing. Just Simon, suspended in a vacuum, one second from falling to his death. But then he’s back, Wille is back, is somehow closer, is pressing small kisses against Simon’s lips, his nose, his cheek, and Simon can breathe again, sucks in the air that smells like Wille. “Then kiss me again,” Wille says, lips somewhere near Simon’s ear, then on his cheek. “Please.” Simon thinks he can taste the single syllable on his tongue when he pulls Wille in again.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: thank you to all who voted in my poll and i hope you all enjoy this<3 please send in any questions you have abt this au, I'll be very excited to answer them all and I am also trying to find a nickname for out reader so if you have any ideas please send them. please like and reblog🎀

summary: rafe takes the reader on a week long trip to florida

warnings: fluff, angst, infidelity, I don't think theres any more warnigs but let me know if I'm missing any :)

Rafe decided that we should go on a small vacation. He said it would be best if we took a break from the hectic lifestyles we were living, and he was right. The drive to Florida was long. I kept trying to convince Rafe to book us a plane ticket, but he kept telling me no. Every time I asked him why, he responded with complete silence.

I had never been to Florida before, so I was excited for the week-long trip.

As Rafe and I entered the small beach house, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of normalcy. It almost felt like a home. Rafe said it would be better if we rented a small beach house for the week instead of staying in a hotel—he said we needed a change of scenery. Rafe carried our bags inside as he looked around, his eyes taking in the small, cozy space.

“You did a good job picking this house out,” I said to Rafe.

He smiled, setting down the bags in a small corner. “Yeah, it’s nice. Better than those cramped hotel rooms, right?”

“Yeah… that’s why you should stay at my place more often.”

Rafe glanced at me, a sly smirk on his face. He took a step closer, his voice low. “You always make excuses an—”

Rafe interrupted himself, his voice firm. “No arguments. No fighting. This is supposed to be a relaxing trip, sweetheart. I don’t want any of that bullshit.”

“Sorry.” I was quick to apologize—I couldn’t ruin the trip on the first day. I didn’t want him to hate me for the rest of the week.

“No apologies, baby. I just want us to have a good time, alright? I just want to spend time with you.”

Rafe leaned down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to my cheek, his hand coming up to cup my face tenderly. He pulled away with a small grin.

-

Since we were staying in a house instead of a hotel, we had to go grocery shopping instead of relying on room service and takeout. Rafe grabbed a grocery cart and pushed it through the aisles, eyeing different foods and snacks. We made sure not to buy too much since we were only staying at the rental property for a week.

“What should we make for dinner tonight?”

Rafe looked at me, shrugging as he scanned the frozen meat section. “I’m not sure. What do you feel like having? Something light or something heavy?”

I shrugged my shoulders, not really knowing what I wanted to eat. At the end of the day, it was all up to Rafe—I just wanted to see him happy. He looked at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the freezer. He reached for a pack of steaks, tossing them into the cart.

“Steak? Feeling fancy, huh?”

“Yeah, I figured we could treat ourselves. Besides, you know I love red meat,” Rafe teased.

-

We finally arrived back at the house. Rafe and I collapsed onto the shared bed, both of us drained from the long trip to Florida. Rafe pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my neck as he yawned. I never had to worry about feeling cold or scared at night when Rafe was with me—he gave me a sense of clarity and safety. Every time I had a nightmare, he was there—holding me, whispering that I had nothing to fear because he was right beside me. His presence was my safety, my comfort. I couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Once Rafe and I woke up, we made our way to the kitchen to start cooking. Rafe took charge of the stove, preparing the steaks while I set the table. I could get used to this life. I wanted it to be like this forever.

Rafe glanced at me, his attention still on the steaks sizzling on the stove, making sure he didn’t burn them. “How do you like your steak, baby? Rare or well done?”

“Medium rare,” I replied.

Rafe nodded, his tone firm. “Medium rare it is. That’s the only right way to eat steak.”

After finishing our meal, we took a moment to relax and continue our conversation at the dinner table. Rafe leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face as he looked at me.

“So… how’s life back home?”

His expression quickly changed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Home? Home is just… home. There’s not much to say.”

“You sure?” I asked eagerly. I wanted to know what it was like back home for him, but more than anything, I wanted to know about his wife. Does she treat him well? Does she know about this trip? Does she know about us?

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s just… not that interesting, ya know?”

“Sorry to hear that.” The words felt hollow, but I didn’t know what else to say. Apologizing was all I ever seemed to do.

Rafe shook his head, waving off my apology. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’d rather not think about home right now. I’m just here to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Rafe reached over and stroked my head gently, his expression softening. “Exactly. We’re here to enjoy our time together, not talk about boring stuff.”

There was a moment of quiet between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rafe’s attention was focused on me, his gaze fixed on my face. He studied me for a second.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” I asked.

“Well, I was thinking of going to the beach. Spend the day on the sand. Just us.”

“Sounds fun. Been a while since I got a nice tan. You need a tan too—you live on an island and still look pale,” I teased.

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Hey, not all of us can be constantly tan, sweetheart. Some of us burn too easily.”

I gave Rafe a small smile in response. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of my face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

-

The next day, Rafe took me to the beach as promised. The warmth of the sun on my skin and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore made everything feel so peaceful. In that moment, all my worries faded, and it was just us—playing in the water, laughing, and losing ourselves in the simplicity of being together. Rafe took every opportunity to touch me, his hands always finding an excuse to be on my body.

“Rafe, put me down! You’re gonna make me all wet!” I giggled, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

Rafe laughed along with me, his gaze heated as he looked down at me. “You’ll get even wetter when we get back to the house. But for now…” He tossed me back into the water playfully.

As time passed, we found ourselves back at the house, lying in the shared bed, talking in hushed tones. The conversation was easy, a sign of the growing comfort between us.

“I like it here,” I said.

A warm smile spread across Rafe’s face at my words, his expression softening. “Yeah… me too. I like having you all to myself.”

“We should move here, you know? Just me and you.”

Rafe stayed silent, his expression shifting at the suggestion. He didn’t answer right away, his eyes searching my face as he considered the implications of what I was saying.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Rafe shook his head, taking in my words. The idea of living in this peaceful place with me seemed to resonate with him, pulling him in. He shifted closer, his arm wrapping around my waist, his presence grounding me in a way that felt both comforting and intense.

His tone was soft but firm as he gently pulled me closer. “You need to rest, baby. Today was a long day. Come on, close those pretty eyes and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” I responded obediently. He pulled me into his arms, holding me close to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, his hand rubbing up and down my back soothingly.

We made the most of the rest of our trip, enjoying each other’s company, living a simple life, playing house. He seemed happier than ever, his usual tension and anger melting away in my presence. But I couldn’t help but feel a little sad, realizing this was just a temporary escape from reality—and the life I so desperately wanted was still out of reach.

[rizzanon]

Heyy how are you?

helloo!! using this ask to answer everyone who’s been asking for my wellbeing these past two weeks! i’ve been doing alright!!

ramadan this year was just a little more tiring that usual and i didn’t really have the motivation to go and answer my inbox these past few weeks so that would explain my inactivity lol 😅🥲 (so sorry for those who sent in asks 😭)

but that doesn’t mean i haven’t been thinking about undoing fate and batfam feb (if we can call it that still 💀 it’s almost april oh my days)

that being said, i officially won’t be back until april at best, it’s exam season again and i totally flopped my H2 chem paper (fucking hate organic chem so much)

i’ve already drafted all of the works i planned to post during batfam feb, but some are still not finished yet—i’m planning to multi drop them when i’m freed from the shackles of exams 😭😓

and undoing fate chapter 8 and 9 (yes 9 🙂‍↕️) will be dropping sometime in april (mid april latest)

so stay tuned!

that being said, incase you guys want to know what i’ve been doing (other than racking my brains for exams 💀), just click below the cut.

was super hyped for invincible season 3 and i loved every bit of it (rexsplode you will be missed dearly—it should have been immortal 💀) and i absolutely loved marks black and blue suit (we gotta love our graysons and their redheads 🥰🤗)

and because i kinda got back into my invincible hyperfixation, i can’t help but think of regressor! sister grayson—you’re a year younger than mark here(but technically i wouldn’t call this version a regressor, just someone who regressed once and used it to her full advantage) and have been exploiting my sideblog to test it out a bit… (these are privated lol)

got the motivation when i rewatched season two and remembered angstrom mentioning how in quite a few dimensions, debbie joined nolan and mark in their conquering, so take it that in her first life, she came from such a dimension, but when she regressed, she found herself in the current dimension that we know of… somewhat.

i completely understand if yall think this is probably more of an oc than a x reader type but yes this was kind of self-indulgent and still a wip lol

that being said, i also made some other platonic aus—if there is a batsis au, there must be a supersis au too! 🤭

probably won’t be a series, just some fluff works surrounding this au lol

and i’ve been delving into the actual comics for arrowfam and green lantern corp as well so i can’t help but imagine…

of course once again, this might be very self-indulgent and probably more of an oc than x reader, but i can’t get this idea out of my head until i write it all out 😓🫣 (incase you can’t tell all these ss are just snippets and i’ve written a lot more in my sideblog posts lol)

there’s still that one bruce wayne x childhood friend! reader slow burn fic that i have in my drafts that’s 90% done as well as another work i’m working on… so yes, i’ll most definitely be spoiling you guys in april 🤗🤫

ALSO THANK YOU FOR 2.5K FOLLOWERS WHATT that’s insane 😭🫶🫶

i think that’s mainly it 😅

oh

i also got addicted to dc dark legions 😓💀

still learning the meta behind these but i didn’t expect myself to fall in so deep 😭

red hood is still one of my best characters (he should have been red but thank god he’s yellow, because he’s been carrying my team, along with mera lol)

hate the fact that my beloved nightwing is so hard to get though 😭 so yup, that’s about it! let me know what yall think about the few teasers i dropped lol)

[carbonfiction]

Hello 🥰🥰

Popping in to say, I love your writing 💜

I’m very new to falling in love with Frank Castle, seeing him introduced in Daredevil season two and I’m just swooning.

Thinking about him coming home, all banged up, but that’s nothing new. Your first aid kit has gotten pretty extensive. And he likes how soft your hands are, cleaning cuts, applying butterfly bandages. Jokes that maybe you should “kiss it better”, rolling your eyes and telling him that he’s barely stopped bleeding, but he doesn’t care, pulling you into his lap and telling you that you’re his favorite kinda medicine…and man is so handssyyyy

Hi hello welcome!! Thank you so much, im so so glad you enjoy my stuff! <3

Honestly the swooning of him in Daredevil is so real bc our man is looking fiiiiiine- shabby and sad in that uniquely frank way, but visually.. So goddamn beautiful anyway. Truly missed seeing him so much.

But you are SO right! He absolutely is softening the blow of him coming home hurt by trying to joke or get touchy. Hands grabbing at your waist beneath your clothes or drifting until his thumbs sit beneath your bra. Even while often bleeding from somewhere and bruised black n blue.

Yet it never ever stops you from letting him tug you close; even when you grumble at him for it.

Because Its those moments that Frank holds you like your the one bleeding. Standing between his legs or sat perched pretty on his lap.

He’s hurt sure, its visible and Jesus Christ Frank is it real, but it doesn’t phase him anymore- not after everything. You however? He sees the wall you try to build, the breath you take to steel yourself at the sight of him so banged up. Sometimes even limping through the door.

You love him regardless of those nights, how could you not? but he can always see what it causes you, see the hurt you feel for him. Its never pitty exactly, more that same pain from a bloodied bullet wound or a knifes gash that etches on your face. eyebrows cutely pinched and lips softly pouted as you insist on helping patch up.

Frank even watches the way you flinch for him, Visibily a little woozy as you hold the needle and thread for stitches in between trembling fingers. Forehead creased and nose scrunched just slightly, while he just watches, silent. The sharp pull and tug of fresh stitches hurting you more than him.

Yet the care of how you're taking it always shows in the way coos at you, grunted whispers of praise and guidance serving as a distraction to occasional sniffles.

“Atta girl, doin good.”

“Needs another stich, you see that spot right there? Good girl”

“best damn doc around, you know that sweetheart? Fixin me up real good”

"think a kiss would solve that one? No? You sure bout that doc? Heard kisses are the best medicine for that kinda thing.."

“big breaths yeah? Almost done. Proud of you”

"Who needs a hospital when you are this good? Givin em a run for their money sweetheart; ever thought of switchin career paths?"

And after? When blood has poured down the drain and his wounds are cleaned; skin stitched and holes packed? he hold you, like it was all inflicted on your body instead of his.

Large frame always pressed agasint yours in some way. Legs tangled or hands held. Once bloodied and most definetly bruised, but warm, safe. Home for another night, even if those pills he's began to hide helps dull the throb that extra bit.

But you dont have to know about those, no.. Not when hes got the best medicine around in you.

[liberty-barnes]

to the girls made of glass

Arthur Leclerc x Female!Reader

Part 2 to you will not always want to shatter

Summary: The next day. (In hindsight, he doesn't know why he told his family anything) 

Warnings: mostly fluff but also this turned out sadder than i expected it to? but happy ending dw, lorenzo has eldest child syndrome, mentions of masculinity and its expectations in our patriarchal world, mentions of the media being dicks (specifically about a child being born out of wedlock)

Word Count: 2.5k words + however many are in the texts

Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes

A/N: i don't know how but i ended up making a part two so. enjoy, i suppose! don't forget to add yourself to my taglist if you wanna be notified in the future <3

the purse mentioned in this fic is the Multitaker Bag in Blush by Poppy and Peonies aka my dream bag (and the essentials is indeed all of my essentials...might have a problem)

Title from Shelby Leigh's book girl made of glass

Masterlists | Formula One RI Masterlist | Taglist

Arthur took a deep breath, shaking his hands at his side, trying to shake off his nervousness as well. 

07:58.

He rang the doorbell.

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door before it opened and he was face to face with her again.

(Y/n).

“Hi, love, come on in, I’ve just gotta get my purse, which is… somewhere, surely.”

Embarrassingly, he was frozen in place. 

“Arthur?”

“You look really pretty.”

He could feel his cheeks heat up as soon as those words made it out of his mouth. That was supposed to be an inside thought. Was it too much to ask for the ground to swallow him whole?

She smiled at him, eyes going all soft and shiny and… wow. Just wow.

“You’re cute.”

She grabbed the front of his sweater and dragged him inside. He really should try to care more about her manhandling him. Surely, normal people would feel disgruntled by it, right?

Meh, who cares? Not him.

A loud skidding sound made him snap his head to the ground, right before Circe collided with his shins.

“Oh, hello there.”

She made a sound which he could only described as an impatient scream, rubbing herself all over every part of him she could reach, stretching her paws as high as they could go. He crouched down to pet her, although frankly, it felt a lot more like she was the one headbutting his hand hard enough that he feared there would be bruises.

“Yeah, fun fact, she’s actually an absolute menace and she missed you a lot. She tends to scream if we don’t immediately give her attention.”

He frowned.

“But she was so calm yesterday.”

(Y/n) only cackled loudly, clipping on her earrings. 

“Yeah, cause she was on her absolute best behaviour until she was sure you were infatuated with her. That’s gone out the window now, I’m afraid.”

She looked around her, huffing loudly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, where did I put that damned purse? I swear my things always decide to disappear the moment I need them.”

Arthur looked up from Circe’s very soft fur to where (Y/n) was standing right in front of him, hands on her hips.

Huh. Nice view.

Shut up, Arthur.

“What does it look like? I’ll help you find it.”

“It’s a blush pink bag from Poppy and Peonies, it’s got black edges, and creases on the sides from the amount of times I’ve managed to overload it.”

He nodded and got up, moving along with her while looking for the bag. There was a bag on her kitchen counter. Pink. black edges. Creases on the sides. “Um, is this… is this the bag?”

He pointed at it, and (Y/n) looked up from her spot near the couch in the living room.

“Yes! You found it! Thank you so much, angel, can you bring it to me?”

He lifted it up, surprised at the weight of it. She walked over and took it from him effortlessly.

“Um… Are you sure you’re gonna need all that?”

She nodded, putting on her shoes.

“Of course, it’s only the essentials.”

He blinked at her. His essentials were his phone, wallet, and keys. Those fit in his pockets.

“Essentials?”

“Yeah, you know. Phone, keys, wallet–”

Okay, so, much the same.

“A small first aid kit, small water bottle, chapstick–”

That was understandable.

“Phone charger, a bag of period essentials, pen, tiny notepad, chewing gum–”

Right, it was starting to sound like a bit much for a trip to the bakery.

“Makeup wipes, tissues, hard candies for if my sugar drops, a pill organiser with all the tablets needed in case of an emergency, headphones–”

She was still going?

“Sunglasses, mirror, portable toothbrush and paste, tiny makeup bag with my essentials, mini deodorant, mini perfume, mini hand lotion, mini sunscreen–”

Arthur didn’t even know so many miniatures existed.

“Nail file, fidget toy, and a Swiss army knife. The essentials.”

Arthur thought back to his mother and the giant purse she carried everywhere. And how Charlotte and Alexandra always had an extra ‘big’ purse that they left in the car when going out in addition to their ‘small’ purse that they took outside with them. Wisely, he decided it was best not to comment.

“Makes sense.”

The smile he got in return was definitely worth his silence.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the flat, leaving a disgruntled Circe behind.

He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but smile about it.

—

The bakery was really nice. (Y/n) ordered a hot chocolate, despite the weather being nowhere near cold enough to warrant it. They sat outside, on a little two-person couch, facing the water.

It was nice. Peaceful. Comfortable.

He brought the cappuccino he ordered to his mouth.

“So, what did you tell your family about me?”

His guardian angel must have been watching over him because he narrowly avoided choking on his sip of coffee.

He looked at her, wide-eyed.

“How did you know I told my family about you?”

She smirked mischievously and he felt a chill go down his spine.

“I didn’t.”

He blinked at her.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I expected you to. So, what did they say?”

She ‘expected him to’? 

Maybe his mom and sisters-in-law were right when they said she knew how pathetic he was.

“Well, Lorenzo’s convinced you’re secretly an axe murderer.”

She laughed loudly, eyes crinkling shut.

“Fortunately, he’s alone in that thought. Everyone else was just happy I met someone…”

He hesitated, deciding to keep the rest to himself, but something must have shown on his face because she suddenly turned to him.

“There’s something else.”

He avoided her eyes.

“Come on then, out with it. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll take offence to.”

“Well, um… They just said that uh… They kinda… forgot? That your dad had an older daughter. Since you didn’t go to races a lot, but your siblings showed up every now and then when Kimi was still racing.”

It felt awkward to say. Uncomfortable. But she surprised him yet again by not appearing the slightest bit offended, only smiling in a bittersweet way.

“Yeah. Dad learned early on that it was safer for me to stay out of the public eye. I went to races almost all the time, actually, people just never saw me cause I stayed out of the way.”

“But your siblings–”

“Were born of a happy, loving marriage. Whenever they’re mentioned, the media just focuses on how well-raised they are, and how sweet it is to see them support their father. As for me… It didn’t quite work the same way. Whenever people were reminded of my existence, they just wanted to see how bad of a fuck-up Kimi Räikkönen’s bastard daughter would grow up to be. Dad didn’t want people talking about me that way, so he made sure they never talked about me at all.”

She stared out at the horizon, only a small hint of sadness present in her voice.

“That must have been hard.”

She pursed her lips.

“It was, at first. It took me a while to understand why I couldn’t be in the garage with everyone else, watching the race, hugging him for good luck before he went out. But the older I got, the more I came to appreciate it. Even though he couldn’t show it to the world, I never doubted that Dad loved me. I didn’t get to be my father’s daughter in the way my siblings do, but I got to be myself in a way they likely never will. I got to grow up without cameras in my face, without people gasping whenever they heard my name. I could go out with my friends and make mistakes without fear of the consequences. I got to choose what I wanted to do with my life without the general public’s opinions clouding my judgment. That’s a luxury people like me don’t often get.”

He couldn’t help but imagine a little (Y/n) in the Ferrari garage, wanting to wish her Dad good luck but being unable to because of the cameras around.

“You’re very strong, you know? I don’t know if I could be as understanding about it if I’d been in your shoes.”

She shrugged.

“It is what it is. No point in crying about it.”

She looked back at him with an easy smile on her face.

“What about now, though? Do you still have to hide?”

She tilted her head to the side.

“I mean, I don’t have to, I just don’t have a reason to change. The media would probably focus on all the wrong things in my life, only thing they’d care about is that I don’t have a job that makes money.”

“How so?”

“I got a Bachelor’s in business and comp sci, but I never wanted to just work for a greedy capitalistic company. It’s just not me. I’m lucky that my dad has more than enough money to provide for our family for generations to come, so I wanted to give back, in a way. I work as a web manager for a few charities around the globe, all non-profit, and do a ton of volunteering in my free time. But that means that my only source of income is my trust fund and the money my dad sends me.”

He looked at her with barely concealed awe in his eyes.

“(Y/n), fuck… That’s amazing, that you’re doing all this.”

She shrugged.

“I like it. And Dad supports me wholeheartedly. But if the media knew–”

“They would just paint you as another spoiled nepo baby who refuses to get a job.”

“Exactly.”

He felt–

Honestly, he couldn’t fully describe what he felt. Anger. Sadness. Righteous fury. The sudden and overwhelming urge to wrap himself around her like an octopus and shield her from the media’s eyes.

“Are you done with your drink and food?”

He blinked at her.

“Um… Yes?”

She smiled mischievously again, like the previous conversation had never happened.

“Good. Because we have reservations in thirty minutes.”

“Wait, what?”

“What is this place?”

He looked around in wonder. Everything was so colourful, so big. He could practically feel his body buzzing with energy.

“Trampoline park. Usually it’s full of people, but on a Tuesday at half nine in the morning? I’d be surprised if we weren’t the only ones here.”

She walked over to the reception desk, leaving Arthur to look around in wonder. There was a foam pit, rope ladders, and was that a climbing wall?

“Come on, pretty boy, leave your stuff in the locker and take off your shoes, time to have some fun.”

He felt his cheeks heat up at the nickname. He practically tripped over himself to get ready.

“Off we go.”

She took his hand and started to run in the direction of the trampolines.

He looked at the smile on her face and had the sudden thought that, so as long as she kept smiling at him like that, he’d follow her to hell and back.

—-—

Arthur was asleep on her couch. After two hours spent at the trampoline park and a hearty meal of lasagna and steamed broccoli, he seemed to have fallen into a coma, head pillowed on her thighs and arms hugging Circe to his chest.

She ran her fingers through his scalp absentmindedly. She’d changed the channel as soon as he’d fallen asleep, continuing her rewatch of Bones. There was no work to be done today, so she could afford to relax.

Her eyes were starting to get heavy when her phone beeped with a notification.

By the time she put the phone down and looked back at Arthur, he was awake and staring at her with sleep-filled eyes.

“Hey, baby boy. How you feeling?”

He hummed, nuzzling into her hand.

“Still tired?”

He nodded, eyes fluttering close when she hit a spot on his scalp that practically made him purr.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

His voice sounded hoarse from sleep, but oh so adorable.

“Yeah, love?”

“Why do you do that?”

She furrowed her brows.

“Do what?”

It seemed to take an eternity for him to voice out what he was thinking.

“The nice things. You made me food, and paid for our breakfast, and you drove and opened the door for me. Why?”

She shrugged minutely.

“I don’t know. I guess I just enjoy taking care of you. Do you not like it?”

“No, I do!”

He looked like he was afraid she’d stop if he didn’t get the words out fast enough. To be honest, it was quite sweet.

“It feels nice…”

She traced the blush on his cheeks with the pads of her fingers, feeling her carefully guarded heart want to burst out of her chest and hand itself over to Arthur.

“Well, good. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He kept looking at her while she gently ran her fingers all over his face, feather-light, tracing constellations in the barely-there freckles.

“I wanna date you. But I don’t think we should.”

She fought against her every instinct to bristle and lash out. It felt awfully familiar to be told she “shouldn’t” date someone. But what was it this time? Was it the money? The fame? The media?

Or was one day enough for Arthur to realise she was simply not good enough? 

That no matter how hard she tried, she was still nothing more than a bastard child, abandoned by her mother, abandoned by the world, never deserving of anything more than she was already lucky enough to have?

“If you date me you’ll be back in the public eye. People are gonna take pictures of us everywhere. And they’ll tear you apart just for being with me. But you’ve worked too hard to create a safe life. I’m not worth you giving that up.”

She locked eyes with him.

“You should not be trusted to make decisions if you’re gonna be self-deprecating about them.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” she ran her thumbs under the dark circles that still stained his eyes. “But shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“You’re too good for me anyway.”

She laughed ruefully, heart starting to beat a bit faster.

“Many people would disagree.”

“Many people would be wrong.”

“I disagree.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

He said it with such conviction, such absolute certainty, like he was shattering years upon years of her feelings of inadequacy.

“Where did you even come from?”

He blinked innocently up at her.

“My mother’s vagina.”

She pushed him off the couch.

translations for the finnish (which i got off google so pls forgive any mistakes)

I love you, dad

I love you too, snowflake

tadaaa! hope you guys enjoyed that! before you ask, no, i do not have any plans to make a part 3 to this for two reasons: first is because idk what i would write, and second is because the quote that these fics were named after (to the girls made of glass / you will not always want to shatter) was a two-part one and i don't know what i'd name the third. so it will stay as a duology.

Don't forgot to comment and reblog, asks and DMs are always open!

-Love, Miah <3

For the people that wanted part 2:

@aykxz98 @camelliaflow3r @sarah-thatstings-ann @sinofwriting @mountainshuman

[mayakern]

thank you so much for the sitting photo page, and for everyone who posted sitting photos, im so overwhelmed in the best way at all the kindness and support my question has been shown :,) thank you so much for being a disability friendly creator and artist and company, and thank you for cultivating such a safe and accepting space that so many people felt comfortable sharing photos for my sake :,)) sending tons of love, and in excited to contribute to the outpouring of sitting photos one day when i can afford my own skirt 💜

of course!! i've included a link to it in the store's FAQ so hopefully the people who need it can find it without too much trouble! honestly i'm feeling a little silly that i didn't think to do this before. 😅

i'm really glad the photos (from us and from customers) have been helpful to you! and yeah, seeing those photos legit made me so emotional. i just feel very lucky to have cultivated such a kind community and customer base.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Ordinary Introduction, Wedding Bells

Masterlist Word count: 1.8k Zayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: After seeing his best friend getting married to the love of her life, Zayne can't help but be a little jealous. He never had this feeling before. It's almost like he's longing for someone to love. At the wedding, she introduces him to a colleague who instantly forces him out of his comfort zone. Could this be love?

“Might just be the only picture I ever post and it's not even my own wedding. Thank you @/Millennialgreyhater for being my friend and involving me in the most important moments in your life. It was a true honor to be your best man. I wish you and Sylus the very best and hope I'll get to see you shine for all the years to come. Love, Zayne.” 

Zayne looks at the post he made hours ago again. It was meant to be sweet gesture for a friend, but now it seems his own words are nagging him. "Might just be the only picture I ever post and it's not even my own wedding." 

No, because it is her wedding. Because he has written love off long ago. Because he keeps choosing his career over relationships. Because his work is important. With the insane hours he works, it might as well be impossible to keep a relationship alive. Every girlfriend he's ever had either ends up accusing him of avoiding them, accusing him of cheating, or just bore of spending so little time with him. He's not exactly an exciting man, he knows that very well, but he won't say no when he's asked to do something. However, none of them ever did ask him out. 

Seeing his best friend, the one who always made time for him, get married to the love of her life who quite literally changed his whole life around for her... it makes him jealous. Jealous? No, it is not quite jealousy. It's this strange empty feeling in his chest. Like his heart is there and beating, but there's no warmth inside it. 

It's not an unfamiliar feeling to him. Actually, it is a quite regular feeling for him. But right here, right now, it seems to sting more than usual. Especially seeing his friend dancing with her husband like they haven't been through hell and back together. It's almost as if their love has erased all the problems they've had. 

Realistically, he knows that's not the truth. Zayne knows better than others how much effort it has taken those two to get together again. At moments it has been like pulling teeth, but they made it through because they wanted a future together. It seems a little unfair that they are able to get all of that and he's barely able to get someone who texts him back. 

But the love they share, that is something he wants too. Forgiving, outreaching, helpful, affectionate. Is that too much to ask for? At this point he figures it might as well be. Either way, he's happy for them. Happy enough that it slips out of his eyes and rolls over his cheeks. 

When the song for their first dance ends, she approaches him with outstretched hands, inviting him for a dance. Zayne quickly looks over her shoulder to Sylus, her husband, who gives him a nod. He takes her hand, a warmth spreading through his body. Familial love, a different kind of love but just as appreciated by Zayne. Together, they sway over the dance floor with Sylus’ gentle eyes watching his wife enjoying herself, smiling contently. 

'Zayne, I don't think I can ever thank you enough for all you've done for me, for us,' she tells him as she pulls him closer, overwhelmed by the feelings of the day, 'but still, thank you.' 

'I'd do it a million times to see you happy.' She smiles knowing that he truly means it. Her head lays down on his shoulder and he feels the slightest bit of envy when he looks over at Sylus, who looks proud as can be watching his beautiful wife. The man has it all. Everything Zayne just can't seem to get for himself. Happiness, stability, a partner to rely on. 

The happiness that has been granted to them seems a gift from the gods, truly. He can only hope and pray he'll find something like that for himself someday. 

Just when a strangely green feeling starts spreading in his chest, she lifts her head off his shoulder with a cheeky grin and a glint of mischief in her eyes, 'Remind me to introduce you to one of my colleagues. I think you'll like her.' 

'You must be doctor Zayne.' 

Zayne turns toward the voice, startled by how close it is. He almost jerks back from the person, but then, for a second – just a second – it feels like the air is being punched out of his lungs. The woman standing next to him is positively radiant, shining brighter than the sunset spilling through the sheer curtains hung on the venue's windows. Golden hour could learn a thing or two from you. And then you have the nerve to smile at him, wide and unapologetic, like you know exactly who you are and what you're doing. He feels like he's lighter, floating almost, and that terrifies him. 

'The bride told me a lot about you,' you say, your voice warm and teasing, like you're in on a joke that he's still trying to understand. 

'She did,' he questions, his tone carefully cautious. He's suddenly reminded of the bride's promise to introduce him to someone, to a colleague of hers. Are you... her? You tilt your head, your eyes catching the light, and he feels his stomach drop. 'Are you one of her colleagues?' He tries to sound more casual but fails miserably. 

You nod excitedly, then stop very suddenly, as if to rethink your answer. 'Well, yes and no. I get hired for my serviced every now and then. I'm an artist, but art doesn't always pay the bills, so I also do murals for her company occasionally.' 

An artist? Zayne glanced over at his friend on the dance floor, having fun with her new husband. She's staring at the two of them with the biggest grin on her face, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question why she would send a woman like you his way. But she just shrugs as if to say, "You're welcome." 

He turns back to you and offers you a polite smile; the kind you'd give a stranger who strikes up a conversation on the subway while you've got your headphones on. 'That's interesting,' he offers, his tone friendly but distant. 

You tilt her head again, this time a little more taunting, a slight frown playing on your eyebrows. 'Interesting,' you repeat, your voice laced with amusement, 'that's all you've got?' 

Zayne feels a flicker of guilt, but he pushes it down. Here he stands with this beautiful radiant woman who is giving him the time of day, but he knows this will go nowhere. No matter how much he likes your smile or the way your eyes seem to see right through him. There is no way you'll be able to forgive that his heart belongs first and foremost to his work. How could you? You don't know him. 

But you're not giving up. You're not walking away. You don't even seem hurt by his cold words. Instead, you almost look like you've been challenged. And it looks like you like a challenge. 

'She told me you can be a little too serious sometimes,' you say, leaning in slightly. It almost sounds like an insult, but there's that same glimmer of mischief in your eyes that he saw in his friend's eyes earlier and your voice sweet as if honey drips right off your words. 

'Did she now?' Zayne replies, crossing his arms. He's not too sure if he's annoyed or intrigued, but there's a good chance that it's both. 

You grin, undeterred. 'She did. And I think she's right.' Then, you pause to study him for a moment. Your eyes run over his whole exterior, looking at the details of his neat, well-fitted suit, inspecting the details of his face. It almost makes him a little nervous. Almost. 'If you could paint your life, what color would it be?' 

The question catches him off guard. It's random, yet thought-provoking, and completely unexpected. Zayne opens his mouth to deflect, to say something safe and noncommittal, to protect himself, but the honesty in her gaze makes him stop in his tracks. 

'Gray,' he admits before he can stop himself. 

You laugh, a bright melodic sound, a heavenly sound that makes something in his chest tighten. 'Gray,' you repeat, shaking your head. 'We'll have to fix that.' 

Zayne blinks, unsure of how to respond. 'Fix it?' 

'Yeah,' you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'Life's too short to be gray. You need some color. Some... chaos.' The way you look at him implies you mean yourself, as if you're the living embodiment of both. The color part he understands and the chaos part... it's making more and more sense to him with every word spoken between them. 

Zayne can't help but smile a little, just a little. 'Chaos, huh? I'm not sure I'm built for chaos.' 

'Everyone is built for chaos,' you counter, your eyes sparkling with excitement, 'you just have to let yourself enjoy it.' 

Before he can say anything else, you grab his hand, your fingers warm and he notices the colorful stains on them. He imagines they are paint stains of some kind. 'Come on doctor,' you say, tugging him towards the dance floor.  

Zayne hesitates, glancing at the bride once more, who is now watching them with an expression of pure delight. He sighs, knowing he's already lost this battle. She will call him in a few days and pester him about you, begging him to take her out. 

'Alright,' he sighs, letting you pull him into the crowd, 'but I'm warning you, I'm not a good dancer.' 

You grin over her shoulder. 'Good thing I'm not either.' 

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Zayne laughs – really laughs – as they stumble around the dance floor together. You must look like a bunch of children at a school party, but for, what feels like, the first time in his life he doesn't really care. 

When he gets home from the party, he realizes he hasn't even asked your name, nor your number. The whole night feels like a blur, like a happy lucid dream. He was on cloud nine and in a few days he's in a sterile hospital again. Strange how a night like this can feel so different from his everyday life. 

He sighs. At least it'll be a beautiful memory. Just when he wants to get undressed to take a shower, his phone buzzes. 

"Hey, I asked our beautiful bride for your number, I hope you don't mind. What are you doing next Wednesday?" 

Next

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[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #300

1. Hello! I read a fic a while back, and now I can't find it again. The ineffables are house-hunting, Aziraphales idea, but he keeps taking them to places that have things just for Crowley, and Crowley thinks Aziraphale is trying to get rid of him. Can you help me find it again? Thank you! - @charlie-the-killer-plotbunny

2. Hello, I'm looking for a completed multi chapter fic post season two, but it starts only a few days after. Aziraphale rescues Jesus from heaven and comes through a portal into a compound being run by a resistance group. He is injured, gets speared in the lift, protecting Jesus, but gets healed. Crowley is there waiting for him. There is a new female and male character, and I think they are angels as well, who run the resistance compound. I remember the female has died in different lifetimes and remembers her death but doesn't remember that the male angel has been with her the entire time and through each death. The resistance group battle heaven eventually, pretty sure Gabrielle and Beeazlebub are part of it as well. I have looked for ages, read it at the start of the year or late last year while waiting for my A03 account, so didn't have it book marked :-( - anon

3. Hii :p I'm looking for a fic where Aziraphale ends up marrying a women and has two kids with her, a boy and a girl. His wife becomes quite ill and near the end of her life he ends up reconnecting with Crowley, whom he's know on and off since childhood or teenage years. Aziraphale genuinely loves his wife and she is SO sweet and understanding, she knows he and Crowley belong together and encourages them to date and take care of their children when she's gone. Aziraphale's teenage son is sad about his mom but is very happy his Dad is getting a second chance at love with Crowley. iirc this fic time hops around a bit to all the times A+C end up crossing paths over the years. There's one particular flashback (to their college years, I believe) where a group of guys attempt to rob Aziraphale with a knife, it turns out Crowley is one of them and he orders the other thugs off Aziraphale once he realizes who it is. The two of them end up talking and Aziraphale is worried sick about Crowley living on the streets and robbing people for money, Aziraphale also tells Crowley about some of his mates he's met in school and his fiance. Random but I also think Crowley plays piano in this fic ? In some flashbacks he's having lessons and then eventually becomes one of those live performers at fancy restaurants. Aziraphale's wife and kids love listening to Crowley play after hearing countless of stories of how good he is from Azi PS: thank you so much for what you do for this fandom (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥ - anon

4. Omg. Okay. Hi!!! So Sorry If it is hard to find, but i was wondering if you could help? I think it is kind of a soulmate fic (?) because they get instantly in love w each other Anathema is friends with both Aziraphale and Crowley, but they dont know each other. (i think Aziraphale work in a caffe of something) Anathema invite Aziraphale to a 'games night w friends' for them to meet. Aaa thank so much!!!! - anon

5. hey mods! im looking for a childhood friends/sweethearts fic. i remember that azi’s mom ?! was dating crowley’s father, or the other way around. i think there was a scene where they were sleeping in the same bedroom, crowley on the floor i think and azi on the bed. and if im not mistaken, crowley also gave azi a tape with some songs?! im not completely sure cause idk if ive read this on this fic or another one 😭 please help me out, thank you! 🫶 - @lovemkx

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[beautifulfrog]

I'm alive, and it took me almost three months to do this. Just one drawing was really hard to finish, but I hope to be able to post more often. The truth is, I still love Monsters, Inc. and the purple lizard. I'm a little tired, for those who might be wondering. Honestly, I had to change psychiatrists after a really tough incident. But whatever, I think I'll keep drawing, even at my own pace.

Thank you so much for all your comments on my last post; I love you all. In context, I was SO inspired by the alternate story in @randall-simp-nadt88 about Randall going to prison. I think it was a really cool idea, and I couldn't help but think it was intriguing to see another path. That's why I wrote this short story alongside the drawing. Feel free to add and comment on anything. By the way, here in Mexico, mental health hospitals are very different from what one might imagine. Obviously, they can have unpleasant situations like anywhere else, but generally, they're not like in the movies. I'm not promoting any ideas or bad ideas about these types of places; I just wanted to adapt the "shady asylum" stereotype to ME. I just think it was necessary to clarify this.

I'm really sorry if the translation is wrong, I'm still learning English properly.

Ohno

Randall was arrested shortly after he had once again become involved in a conspiracy with another energy company (and again, for having fled two weeks before being found), this time leading to a possible terrorist act in the city. It wasn't long before Johnny Worthington managed to afford him a decent lawyer so he could face a fair trial. Even if the horned one was in prison, he managed to have some power.

The trial took place barely a month after he was captured. Clearly, he didn't have the money to even pay bail. He was completely broke, since after his exile, he had already been classified as a missing person and a fugitive. His apartment was evicted, his family (who didn't even call) took his belongings, and unfortunately for him, the only monster that kept him fed was still in prison. He was alone, with the entire city against him.

Due to protocol and background, he was ordered to remain locked in an isolated cell while in the custody of the authorities.

Cameras monitored his movements day and night, and he was never allowed to go out or socialize with others. He didn't really want that, but he hated every second in there. To add a layer to his obvious humiliation and defeat, he was fitted with an ankle tracker on his hind legs, as well as being required to wear a thick metal collar around his neck that connected to the cell wall. This was normally used for large, aggressive monsters like himself, as monsters were aware of their physical superiority over others. Randall showed discontent, occasionally causing mockery among the guards.

That was the beginning of something serious. Just a short time after being sent to the cell, Randall began to experience some episodes of paranoia. He began to have regular hallucinations about things from the past, voices making their presence felt behind him, small shadows or familiar figures passing by him. The nightmares also manifested during the night, centering on the horrible memory of being repeatedly hit in the face with the sharp shovel. Every time he woke up, he ran in search of a hiding place. But there wasn't one, and this stressed him out.

His aggressiveness toward the police also increased dramatically, as he no longer allowed them to speak to him or approach him. This led to multiple problems and a possible increase in his sentence. His lawyer clearly had no interest in Randall's freedom, but he was working to reduce his sentence, which, had it been a trial held forty years ago, would have undoubtedly condemned him to death. He spoke with the judge privately and agreed to perform a special examination to assess his mental state before the trial, since, in his words, "Randall will not survive prison." With permission, he was taken for X-rays, interviews, tests, and a few sessions with specialists.

The results were a traumatic brain injury, caused by the severe blow to the head he received in the human world (also accompanied by characteristics of post-traumatic stress disorder when he remembered it). His memory, behavior, and reactions suggested that he was unstable enough to appear in court, and that gave the lawyer the opportunity to finish his work cleanly.

On trial day, too many monsters were present to testify against him (as expected, Sullivan and Mike were there, getting on his nerves). They all said the same things...

"He's sick!"

"He's a psychopath!"

"He threatened me constantly..."

"He could have murdered my entire family!"

And when he least expected it, his sentence was final. They said he wouldn't go to prison, and that made him strangely happy for a few seconds before the punishment was announced, followed by a hammer blow.

"You'll go to the city mental hospital, the trial's over."

Randall was indignant and filled with rage after those words, having no idea what it would mean to be locked up in a place where supposedly all those who had no hope of being cured went. The lizard cursed, kicked, and growled at the guards who held his shoulders so they could drag him away. The humiliation and pain increased when he saw for the first time the pitying faces of a few coworkers he'd once had. He was finished.

The most painful part was leaving the courtroom, surrounded by some guards and nurses who would take him to the van of the mental hospital where he would be sent. The press photographed every moment and struggle, even though Randall tried to hide. For protocol and security reasons, Randall was restrained by heavy metal handcuffs fitted to his thin wrists, and a straitjacket that kept his lower arms still.

The muzzle soon covered his mouth, clamping his jaws to deny him the freedom to bite or threaten the journalists intrigued by his case. Randall no longer remembered much of the event and always refused to hear a word about it. It was a total humiliation.

The first few days at the mental hospital were filled with resistance and aggression. Again, because Randall was sent there for a fairly strong criminal record, they had to apply strict protocol to him. They isolated him in a padded room, where they forced him to wear a loose-fitting white shirt so he wouldn't try to take advantage of his unique camouflage.

They also gave him medication based on his diagnosis and the results of the therapy he received regularly (he remained very reserved when asked any questions). He was forbidden to drink coffee for a time, and the food there was relatively empty and boring. Most of the time it was soup, and he couldn't even go to the bathroom without someone having to watch him outside.

The hospital was incredibly large, but Randall didn't know even half of it. He was prohibited from entering and leaving many areas. He lost contact with the outside world; he knew practically nothing about what was going on outside because visits were strictly regulated and his contact with the other inmates was nonexistent. He didn't hang out with them, he thought it was a mistake to be there and that he would soon get out.

Clearly, that wasn't the case. The only privilege he had was that he was occasionally allowed to smoke outside for a while, but someone always had to be there to light his cigarette and make sure it didn't burn. He felt like a child, and that bothered him. Days, weeks, and months passed... Randall accepted his new reality, but it only led to the dreaded depression.

Realizing that he was only sent there because he was weak and because it was the quickest way to get rid of him was a hard blow. Everyone was living their lives out there while he was rotting away in a nursing home for other outcasts like him. No one was going to rescue him, and that filled him with immense despair.

He was the only one who would die alone.

[ghostinthegallery]

This scene wouldn't leave my head, so congrats it's the world's problem now.

In which Ratchet has a graveside chat with Wing, aka the dead guy that fixed his husband for him.

“I want to be very clear.” Ratchet placed the small cup full of engex at the base of the stone plinth. “I don't believe in ghosts or spirits or any of that nonsense. When we die, we die. That’s it. No Primus or Guiding Hand or cushy afterlife and definitely no looking out for the living. Got it?”

The grave did not respond, which was good. It was what Ratchet expected. He sat down, legs crossed, careful not to crush any of the shimmering blue flowers beneath him. 

“I'm just on the fragging necroworld, and I'm not above respecting the local customs.”

Sunlight warmed his back plating as he settled into place. It was a nice day. Most days on the necroworld were nice, when nobody was trying to kill them. Not a place Ratchet would want to stay long term, but it made for a decent rest stop. Even with all the reminders of how fragile life was. The death flowers and the graves.

Carved into this grave was simply the name Wing.

“He really wanted to find you, when he found out what this place was.” Ratchet said. “Drift, I mean. Or Deadlock, you might've called him that. Got all excited at the idea of visiting. You’re one of the only things in his past he'll talk much about.”

He stared at the engex he'd offered, then pulled a flask out of his subspace. No sense making the ghost—who did not exist—drink alone.

“Since he probably never mentioned me, I'm Ratchet. Medic. Drift's conjunx, but that’s a recent development.”

Had he seriously just introduced himself to a rock? Maybe he'd gotten knocked in the helm and forgotten about it and this was all processor damage. Still, it felt right to speak, so he did. Not like anyone else was around.

“I saved his life once, a long time ago. He stood out to me. To this day, I don't understand why, but maybe you saw it too. Maybe you saw something in him that made you want to help. Sounds like you did a lot for him. Probably more than me, if we're being honest. I got him back on his feet, but after that…” Ratchet sighed. “He was still poor as scrap. He still watched enforcers shoot his friend. He was still angry.”

The image of Drift walking away from the clinic, off to sell his frame to anyone who wanted to use it made Ratchet's tank feel sour. It worsened when he thought about what was actually going on at those clinics. He wondered what he would have done if he'd known.  

“It sounds like I have you to blame for all Drift's spectralist nonsense. So frag you for that. It's annoying as hell,” he continued, eager to change the subject. “Yeah, it helped him sort through things. Even I can admit that. When he's not using religion to hide from his problems, it…it gives him some comfort. Still killed a lot of good bots, but hey, he’s in good company.”

Ratchet had no desire to hunt down Drift’s statue and see how many of the necrobot’s death flowers surrounded it. Or how many surrounded his own statue, for that matter. 

“War’s over, and we’ve all got to move on somehow. Frankly, he’s doing better than most. Brave, resourceful, too self-sacrificing for his own good. You fixed him up nice.” Ratchet studied his flask. “And I get all the benefits. Doesn’t seem fair but, thanks. I guess.”

He sighed and adjusted his position. “He feels real guilty about what happened to you. Thinks you'd still be alive if you hadn't helped him. Maybe he's right. Who knows? But you don't sound like the kind of person that would regret helping someone. You sound better than that.”

Heaviness settled over Ratchet's shoulders as he said, “I don't regret saving him either. I never have, even when Deadlock was a name autobots whispered in the same tone as necrobot. And considering how things turned out,” he chuckled. “I don’t know if that makes me a hypocrite. I’m happier with him. Less tired. He just feels right.” Ratchet added, “Probably don’t have to explain that to you.”

The strangeness of this one-sided conversation hit him again, but not harshly. It was an easy way to unload his thoughts. Like a waking defrag. 

“The swords were a nice touch.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Drift looked good wielding those blades of his. Ratchet didn't mind the view when he trained. Didn't mind it in the slightest.

“He still carries your greatsword. Doesn't use it much, but it's always on his back.” Ratchet took another pull from his flask. “Been hearing some of the other bots say he should fight a duel with Cyclonus and his big greatsword which even I think is a bit sacrilegious, but—”

“There you are.”

Ratchet started then turned towards the familiar voice. Drift, footsteps annoyingly silent, approached from behind. His expression morphed from inquisitive to shocked when he got close enough to read the stone’s inscription.

“You found him,” Drift said softly.

Ratchet nodded and moved aside so Drift could kneel. Drift’s EM field was wild with conflicting emotions. Surprise, happiness, and grief mingled together, and he made no attempt to hide them. 

“I was about to come get you,” Ratchet said, which was technically true. He fully intended to bring Drift to his friend’s grave. After he was done with whatever this was.

Drift’s optics settled on the cup of engex. He smirked.

“Is that an offering?” He gasped with exaggerated shock. “A committed skeptic, bringing a gift to a ghost? Ratchet, is that you or some sort of mimic?”

Ratchet grabbed the finger Drift poked against his chest. “I didn’t want to get slag from you for being disrespectful.” 

His spark jumped as Drift pressed his hand into Ratchet’s and intertwined their fingers. Then, to Ratchet’s shock, Drift swiped the engex cup and downed it in one gulp.

“What was that?” he demanded, surprised at his own offense.

“Wing never drank engex,” Drift said. “He always gave it to me whenever mechs brought him anything. The Crystal City stuff was so diluted I couldn’t even get a buzz, but it took the edge off.”

“Ah.” Ratchet nodded. “Guess you two had an understanding.”

Drift nodded and let his frame lean into Ratchet’s. Silence settled over them. Ratchet ran his thumb over the back of Drift's hand while the latter grew contemplative. His face fell, melancholy overtaking his field. 

“I wish you two could have met,” Drift said. “He would have liked you.”

“I doubt that.” Ratchet replied. “But I’d have liked to meet him anyway.”

A breeze caught the flowers, like ripples over water. Ratchet didn’t interrupt when Drift shut off his optics and took a meditative intake. They stayed like that for a long time, hand in hand, while Drift steadied his field and Ratchet watched and took the occasional sip from his flask. He’d learned to savor quiet moments like this. They didn’t come often.

Drift’s optics brightened and he said, “Is there anyone here you want to see?”

Ratchet waved his free hand. “I get enough trouble dealing with the living. Don't need to invite the dead to cause problems too.”

“So you won’t come and visit Gasket with me?” Drift pouted.

Ratchet groaned. “I didn’t say that.”

With a smile that made Ratchet's internals melt, Drift helped him up. He then paused and offered a spectralist sign to Wing’s grave. 

“Farewell,” he said. “And thank you for everything.”

As Drift pulled Ratchet away, Ratchet dipped his chin towards the plinth and muttered his own nearly silent,

“Thanks.”