#the entire hotel is driven to madness

[soapkaars]

If you think Sinsmas wouldn't be a perfect opportunity for Alastor to be even more annoying to Lucifer, you'd be sorely mistaken.

[no-144444]

making moves- l.norris

a/n: HI AND WELCOME TO MY FIRST FIC-TOBER FIC I HOPE YOU ENJOY :)))))

Day 1 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Lando and you don't exactly get along and now you're quitting, he'll surely take it well, right?

pairing: lando norris x fem! mclaren publicist! fem! reader

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You turned the corner of the media pen with Lando’s arm in your hand. If he stepped one foot out of line, if one hair was out of place, one unnecessary giggle or joke, you’d lose your mind. You were getting sick of this, of him, of cleaning up every single one of his messes. 

“I said I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you sighed. You hadn’t studied mechanical engineering and sports journalism for years in college to become a goddamn babysitter. “Just do your interviews and don’t say anything about your relationship status, please Lando.”

He rolled his eyes but obliged, moving past you to start an interview with some sports journal.

You watched the room around you. You would miss this, the buzz of the media pen, the entire paddock, being so close in the action of your favourite sport. You wished it hadn’t come to this. You didn’t want to quit, but you were being driven mad by a 24 year old man-child, and you couldn’t take it anymore. A year and a half ago, you were being driven crazy by how much you wanted him, now, it was his party-boy ways and arrogant smirk that set you off. Lando had always been a popular driver, you understood the attraction on every level. He was a pretty, sometimes funny, and rich man. He was on the younger side of the grid, and he was talented. Christ, was he annoying to work with. He was conceited, self-centred, a manwhore, and downright difficult the majority of the time. You disregarded almost every time he was kind to you, because less than 48 hours later he would do something dickish and ruin your weekend off, or make you cancel a date to come get him from a club because he was drunk and his friends left him alone, blah, blah, blah. You were excited to finally be free of Lando Norris and his asshole-ish ways, yet, maybe you’d miss his face. Anyways, just one race left, and your two-weeks are up. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ Team dinners were simple, you usually sat beside Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, and chatted with her about her course (the same one you took) and whatever else came to your minds. As the night came to a close, you walked Lily and Oscar back to their rooms with Lando trailing behind, texting on his phone. 

Lily pulled you into a hug. “I’ll miss you so much!” she sighed. “It sucks you’re not even finishing the season with McLaren.”

You shrugged, hugging her back. “I’ll call you, I promise. And we have Greece in January,” you reminded her. She nodded and pulled back. 

“See you in the morning,” she smiled, then disappeared back to their hotel room. 

“See you in the morning,” Oscar smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “You better call her once you land in New York, or she’ll lose her mind,” he chuckled. 

You nodded, smiling. “I will, don’t worry. And I’ll miss you too, Osc.”

He smiled, pulling back. “I’ll miss you too.”

You turned to go to your room, but Lando stopped you. “Why are you going to New York?”

“For my new job,” you explained calmly. “I’m leaving on Sunday night.”

Confusion flashed across his face, and you took the silence as a chance to leave. You brushed past him and continued on your way down the hall. 

“What do you mean you’re ‘leaving’ on Sunday night? Are you going on holidays for the weeks we have off?” he asked, catching up with you. 

“No, I start my new job the next week and I need to get my apartment unpacked and sort out my office,” you explained. 

“What? Why are you doing that?”

“Unpacking my apartment? I’ll be living there-”

“No, moving? You have a job, y-you work here, you work with me,” he stumbled through his sentence and you raised an eyebrow. 

“Did Stella not tell you? I’m leaving after the race this weekend. I sent in my two-week notice almost two weeks ago. I got a job offer from the New York Jets and I took it. Anyway, good night Lando, I’ll see you in the morning,” You continued on your way to your room. 

“You can’t just leave! What will I do without y- someone to-”

“Get your laundry and fix your mistakes in the media? You’ll be getting a replacement when I leave. His name is Will, he’s organised, and he’s quite funny. I think you’ll get along.” 

“What will I do without you?” he gritted out. “You’re meant to be here, with me, and now you’re leaving? How am I supposed to feel?”

“Imparcial I’d assume.”

“Imparcial? Y/n, come on, you can’t be that blind?” This was a different version of Lando than what you were used to. He was usually a brass and confident arsehole. Yet, here he stood in front of you, upset that you were leaving. 

“Blind to what? The way you abuse your power? The way you make me do your bidding? The way you make me cancel important things in my personal life to fit your schedule of heavy drinking? The way-”

“The way I’m in love with you?!” He practically shouted. You clapped a hand over his mouth and a surge of panic ran though you. You pulled him into your hotel room after you and sat him on the bed, then proceeded to pace the room. 

What did he mean he loved you? He hated you. He made your life a living hell. He made sure you’d have to see him everyday. He made sure you’d be in his apartment building. He made sure to-

Oh. Shit. He loved you. 

“Y/n,” his voice was soft. “You need to calm down.” 

You turned to him. “Calm down? What the fuck do you mean ‘calm down’? I’ve just spent the last fucking year and a half burying any and all romantic feelings for you, tried to hone in on all of your flaws to make myself hate you, quit my job to get away from you, and now you’re telling me you love me? What the fuck Lando?!” 

“You had romantic feelings for me?” He blushed. 

“That’s what you got from that?!” 

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, alright. We can work this out, just tell Andrea you don’t want to quit-”

“Lando I’ve accepted the job offer in New York, I’ve signed the contract. I can’t back out,” you sighed, putting your head in your hands. “You really have great timing,” you scoffed. 

He smiled, placing his hands on your waist. “Then we’ll make it work,” he shrugged. “I want you, if you’ll have me.” 

You looked up at him. Were you really doing this?  Lando Norris was your typical male celebrity in his twenties. He had everything he could ever want, any girl he could ever want, and he wanted you? Every insecurity and logical bone  in your body told you to run away. You’d seen what the internet did to girls he was seen in public with, let alone a girl he actually came out and admitted to dating. Was he worth being torn apart for? 

“You’re killing me here,” he laughed to hide his fear. He’d waited a year and a half for this moment. He wanted you more than anything. He wanted to be able to call himself your boyfriend and get to call you his girlfriend. He wanted you around him all the time. Every time he’d found out about a date you’d been on or met a guy you’d been seeing he was filled with jealousy. He was yours, he just needed you to be his too. 

“Lando, I don’t know if this is a good idea-”

He pressed his lips to yours and it was undeniable. This was what you had been searching for. That stupid ‘spark’ all those rom coms talked about all the time. Kissing him was like fireworks. He brought your hands up to wrap around his neck and smirked when you kissed him back. You fit together so perfectly, his lips against yours, your skin against his, everything. 

You pulled back slowly. 

“So can I be your boyfriend now?” he whispered, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Only if I can be your girlfriend,” you smiled back.  He pressed his lips to yours again. Maybe he was worth being torn apart for.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff

[understandableparadox]

a comprehensive list of everything wrong with hazbin hotel.

quick note before i lose myself in madness, my standards for helluvaboss are non existent because its a free show on youtube. also i kinda like helluvaboss and i will indulge in any bias i damn well please.

oh and spoilers. i guess.

the greater narrative of the entire season is "White lady civilize inner city hoodlum". ex: The blind side. rich girl, affluent family yadda yadda.

the story is set up to be like amphibia, owl house, svtfoe, steven universe, that being starting as something episodic then transforming into story driven narrative. why? because we know the benefits and drawbacks, episodic starts allows us to wander the world, it allows us to understand the dynamics, we are not forced to reckon with anything because there is no deadline. characters are allowed to bloom and shine and the audience can actually get attached.

the source material is Vary Clearly formed from remnants of something out of a middle school edgelord narrative. the usage of transformation, the big spooky grins, the "and then i smile as my eyes glow and-"-isms which in most cases i don't mind because in some instances but in a vary Particular case its astoundingly annoying and that annoyance is like a mold, shit spreads quick.

the color Red. as a lover of homestuck cherubs and karkat and aradia, as someone who fucking loves the color red, it is so painful to say but holy shit tone it the fuck down, i know its hell but their are so many other colors that you can use, its everywhere, the streets, the air, the windows, the screens, the characters, i know the pride ring is represented with red but change up the palates every so often for backgrounds

the rush, this ties into the second point made but i think the story itself is rushed. we know everything way to early. i know way to much and it makes it hard to care about anything because im still trying to digest the last chunk of info. "oh ok, so they clear out hell once a year. oh hell has a heaven embassy? ok. oh that adam the angel, i though he wou- oh its every 6 months now. wait the exterminators die a lot? then why is everyone sca- people in hell already have weapons that can kill angels? w- oh we are in heaven now, ok ma- no one in heaven except for the elites know the exterminations occur? how do-" and its that, just this incessant rush to explain everything to you. notably that's just the god damn spark notes, we need to know everything about the characters now, every single bit of their story, their insecurities, what charlie needs to fix, how she can fix them, the major bad guys, everything. you are never allowed to dwell on a character because we need to rush towards something else. it almost feels like this should have been like... season three, it would have been a fantastic season three if you dropped the introductions honestly.

the concept of redemption. for a story of redemption to work you need to look at three things. What is there crime, Do they want to change, What is preventing them from changeing? there is only one single character that has a notable path of redemption, angel dust, but if you look through their story it feels off. What Exactly is he guilty of? he has sex, does drugs and drinks. his apparent nymphomania is tied to his sad backstory as someone forced into the sex industry so how is that their fault? then if you think about it you start to spiral and notice "hey why are most of these people in hell?" like sure some of them may deserve punishment but then you see the fucking dichotomy and its like "I was a inventor in england and died of the fucking plague, i may have made evil little contraption hoohoohoo" vs "I was a cannibal, a full on cannibal, i fucking killed people and ate them and then someone shot me". ONE OF THESE THINGS ARE A LITTLE MORE FUCKING EXTREME. i'm going to go fucking nuts, the thing they went to heaven with when presenting a case to angels on the idea that redemption and becoming a better person is actually real was angel dust not drinking at a party and not having sex with consenting adults and i want to go fucking insane. WHAT IS THE CRIME, WHO IS THROWING THE BOOK, WHAT DOES THE BOOK INTEL, ARE WE ON GOOD PLACE RULES?! half the cast dont Need redemption they need fucking help, and the other half of the cast do need redemption but they do not seek it making the point moot. sir pentious acts like he has the brain of a hyper intelligent toddler tossing about toys, its almost like he did his one bad thing of spying and then got caught, sank his little diddy about forgiveness and second chances and become a null point through out the rest of the series, sure their was Some weight to him sacrificing himself, he was a decently funny character and he had good moments but him popping up in heaven felt like a fore gone conclusion, he didn't deserve to be in hell so why do i care that he is suddenly in heaven? because its working on the concept the good place already made. no one actually deserves eternal punishment they just need help processing what makes them a dick, but instead of looking at all the parts of the afterlife that make it bad, inefficient and then creating and trying ideas to see if it work instead over a few seasons, we crash dick first into all the major plot points in regards to that and say "tada, we fixed it.".

having a sub-plot about sexual assault and its victims then having multiple sexual assault related gag ruins your point.

don't make a bunch of stereotypically jewish characters into cannibals, that was a big thing, really shouldn't have to say it.

if you are going to make a character black, make them black, you can say alastor was black but sweet seren-fucking-dippity that's not a black man.

pot meet kettle but yeah the cursing could be a little less liberal. maybe just blue hair or the pronouns, not both.

there is a very distinctive art deco/jazz aesthetic which normally i love but i feel as though it is not used to its full extent and in some cases really hurts the character design in and of itself.

this is a vary obvious bit but the story is a million times more interested in gay men then it is of lesbians, which culminates in this insane thing where the writers clearly have more talent or perhaps it would be more abt to say practice writing male gay pining then they are with lesbian pining. which i personally think is hilarious because i did not know you could min max fujoshi-ism that hard.

this next section is more to do with each character on a fundamental level, for the sake of brevity whatever there is left, i'm just doing ones with speaking roles.

13. Charlie:

(see what i mean about that red thing?)

as originally stated charlie fits rather comfortably into every white saviour narrative, though that seems to be part of her joke. though i'm not entirely sure how much of a joke it can be when its rewarded and expected to advance the plot.

her character design says nothing, it has the motif of old puppets or dolls, she wears something vaguely similar to service suits, her demonic form is just some extra horns.not to say every character needs to have their life on a clothes rack but some more snake and goat imagery would be nice

its not the chol design of charlie with snake hair, not an actual problem but its a problem to me, damn you @cholvoq for ruining my ability to look at any of the characters without wishing i was seeing your designs instead.

character wise aside from the white savoir bit, i'm having a bit of trouble understanding what the arc of the character is. she is shown to be naive, someone who doesn't understand how the world works but everytime she says something its something astoundingly clear like "people can actually get better". and its treated like someone demanded faygo in every water fountain. is the joke that the world around her to cynical or is so to naive? please pick one or the other.

now if you know me, you know i fucking hate overpowered characters with a blinding passion, one that would set alit the god damn abyss but in this one special instance, i feel like its warranted, she's the direct descendant of fucking God, she can swing her weight around a little, i mean god damn. she in so many instances looks like shes cowering so often, why would the daughter of lucifer get backed down by some rando pimp? why wasn't she the one to fight adam? sure you can say she is young but how young? her parents were there since pre-abrahamic times, most of the characters showed up in hell in the 1900s, some of them showed up in the 1600s, how old is charlie??? how long does it take for her to learn how to be strong? The story does not suffer if charlie is strong and knows she is strong. it can easily be a case of "i don't believe in violence to a weird degree". fit it into her apparent naivety about the world to believe that violence is never the answer even when dealing with a being that is unilaterally horrible and abusive and monstrous.

she ga- no im kidding, i do think her romance was waysided a bit, it would have been fine to have more scenes of them togather and in love you know?

14. Vaggie

why did you name the lesbian vaggie...? Don't do that maybe?

I like how her design is almost moth like but again i feel as though you could have amped that up.

she feels as though someone tried to combine undyne and pearl from steven universe, same story beats and design elements. it makes it hard to really distinguish her as a character.

i honestly dont have much to say about her. she is fine.

christ kill me, lets just get the big one out of the way

15. Alastor.

God Damn

where to start.

"alastor is mixed race" mixed with fucking what? concrete? there is not a single black feature on that creature, now im not saying you have to make him a png of louie armstrong but it wouldn't hurt to add a curl to the hair maybe? make it a tiny bit more wavy? Something? a crumb i beg of thee?

his symbolism is all over the god damn place, native american monsters (you know the one), voodoo, radio, puppets, stitches, circuses??? and Tentacles i guess. two of those are from closed religions so if you dumped those you would actually get a more concise character focused on the concept of vox populi as a means of societal control and influence as we see in his first song. but again that gets drowned out repeatedly by all the other random toy box bits shoved into him.

tumblr sexy man bait

he serves no purpose in the story. he does spooky stuff, pretends to do things and then goes back to sitting around looking spooky. i understand that his motif is supposed to be aloof mastermind but maybe have him do more mastermindy things? if you remove most of alastors scenes, bar the songs, it doesn't change all to much. husk and nifity can still be at the hotel, they could be looking for outs in their contracts the same as angel dust. hell it even helps with the one scene where he dose some spooky shit, asking charlie for a favor in exchange for his help in the fight with the angels instead of asking him about angel weapons which should have remained a strictly vaggie scene.

his presence in a way delegitimize the story, as I noted in in the section regarding redemption, the three parts are "what is the crime, do they want to change, what is stopping them?" and alastor kinda just spits in the face of that. he is a serial killer cannibal that has no qualms about how evil he is and apparently must continue being evil due to being under the control under someone legitimately called the Root Of All Evil. show him take a slight interest in the idea that maybe shit for him could be better, make him Want Change at the bare fucking minimum or dont have him at the hotel.

his stupid little fucking horns, big shot the troll liker wants characters to have big fucking horns, make them noticeable or dont have them.

he looks more like a dog boy, which could have been an interesting thing with the collar motif but fuck me i guess.

personal pet peeve but i fucking hate characters that have a million plus powers, stick to a set number, be creative.

im getting more petty as i go on so last point: he could have been in less episodes, he didn't need to be in dad beat dad, that should have been just a lucifer and charlie episode. inverse the red and black and i think he would be fucking great color wise, his body type is the same as ten different characters, he isnt radio enough, aside from the voice and and staff if you told me he was the fucking Cat Demon i would have been just as convinced.

16. Angel Dust

what the fuck, gay spider? its hard to actully articulate all the thoughts i have on angel dust, not in the sense that he is a deeply thought provoking character but in the fact that there is not much meat on the bones.

all around i think angel dust is kinda middling. he has a decent enough romance with husk, he has a decent enough story line that revolves around battling addiction and removing yourself from an abuser (which the story tries to brand as "Redemption???")

I dont like that most of his jokes would qualify as sexual harassment, i don't mind him being sexual as a character but continuing on when clearly someone doesn't like the jokes hurts the character.

not a critique but he is pink, which honestly ill fucking take at point, as long as its not more fucking red.

i think his design is an improvement over some of the old vivzie designs but it feels like it could have done with going a few more rounds of design changes.

same thing with alastor, charlie and vaggie, there is not enough of the animal that they are supposed to be. You could have told me angel dust was a fucking bee or something and i would have had to believe you. nothing about angel dust initially says spider, hell he dosent even have enough limps to be a fucking spider.

17. Carmilla carmine

are... are you supposed to be a rabbit...?

Big Yoai Hands

ballet fighting style, could have been cool, wish she fought more like sanji or chun li.

A single mom that works to hard, who loves her kids and never stops-

her song was decent, not great, decent. it feels as though the actress has experience singing but not in the way they tried to make her sing during her two songs. they have a obvious mexican influence, honestly just let her sing in spanish in the english dub. go listen to the spanish dub, "out for love" sounds great in spanish.

i wish i had more thoughts on them, fucking rip.

18. cherri bomb

that's not a punk aesthetic that's 2010s alt

decent character, they showed up once or twice i guess, no real thoughts.

19. egg boiz

absolutely perfect, i have not notes on them, these are perfect creatures.

20. Emily

im so fucking happy to see a singular blue character

does the naive dreamer bit better then charlie

We really shouldnt have seen her until the end of season two or middle of three.

good contrast with the other angels on screen.

Wait she is supposed to be black??? Where???

21. Husk

keith david you absolute delight, Why on gods green earth did they only give you one singing part?

one of the few charecters where its clear husk is a cat, i do like the kinda... marquee design, he is a magic cat, thats neat. i still think you can toss the wings and eyebrows and still have just as good of a charecter.

has a deeply intresting story of someone who died as a nobody, became the fat cat of hell and then was forced back to the bottom by their own vices, not used at fucking all.

huge potential, little pay off.

22. lillith

I know nothing about her except she ditched her kid and husband to vacation in heaven and i think thats kinda funny.

alot of werid things floating around her, again she shouldnt have been shown in the show at all until next season.

23. lucifer morningstar

no notes, funniest charecter, did a song based on friend like me.

few notes: i do like the idea that the immortal symbol of pride is a constant emotional wreckage constantly seeking approval through grand showmanship and manic energy that threatens to take over anything they touch.

would have liked more snake stuff on him, maybe some more goat things like horns.

that is such a stupid fucking staff lmao.

24. Adam.

alex brightman you absolute fucking delight, you should have had more songs.

I wish his design was more focused on the idea of him being a glam rock wash up

I fucking hate his mask

We shouldn't have met him until the end of the season.

25. Niffty

again she is supposed to be a bug or cockroach but nothing about her points to that.

token straight

keeps rocketing back and fourth between sexulization and infantilization

you had kimiko glenn but didnt give her a single fucking song?

26. Sir Pentious

the secret season one redeemed.

the pilot version of him felt more like someone that could do a season one redemption arc, a megalomaniac constantly attempting territory grabs, there is something you can work with, actual character flaws to work through.

essentially a child after the first episode.

actually a snake which i appreciate.

no where near steampunky enough.

27. the villians of the show dont make much sense, each one feels like they should be season long deals on their own instead of a bunch of team rocket esque idiots that show up on occasion, do a bad thing and then leave.

28. Valentino

gOD THERE IS SO MUCH RED

only a moth some of the time.

sucks as a villain, maybe they need more screen time to show why they suck in a more substantial way aside from being told that he sucks.

it is interesting that angel dust is only under his magical control when in the studio, it shows that angel dust has to make a conscious choice to return, which in turn can be made to show how abusers can draw back their victims. I do not think it was done well in this circumstance as it shows him to be cartoonishly evil, constantly flying back and fourth between sweet and utter psycho, there is no actual reason for angel dust to ever actually go back to the studio, he just does so every so often.

29. Vox

legit who cares? the only thing about him that is in any way substantial is all the dope ass fan art we get.

propaganda machine angle that is not explored at all, just hinted at. no actual barring on the story whatsoever.

why didn't he try to do the same shit as alastor by the way? he knows its bad if alastor gets in good with charlie so shouldn't it be a ass kissing race?

same body shape as literally every other male character.

tumblr sexy man version of pyrocynicals fursona.

30. Valvette

the actual poster child of the shows huge problem of "Show me, don't tell me".

apparently the glue that holds the villains together. never shown.

apparently the one that makes the love potions that valentino is famous for. had to learn about that in the fuckin wiki trivias

we know so much about her from things outside of the show.

was there to call carmilla a coward, that's her plot contribution. she shows up every now and again but its never anything substantial and serves to more around take up run time for people We Don't Need To Know Yet.

im not trying to be mean, animation is animation, we need smaller studios to have success in the industry so that other indie studios can have that success, felling a tree makes it easier for others to follow. showing that its possible to number brain rot exacs helps all animators.

but this show has so much bullshit attached to it, it has so much fucking potential that it fries my brain with unyielding frustration.

this took a bit to write, im tired, thanks for reading.

[heliosunny]

I'm thinking a lot about vampire yandere dan Heng.

Instead of a dragon why not a vampire? Imagine when the reader joins the crew of the express and dan Heng never had any trouble with his hunger for blood until reader appears.. he goes mad and HAD to lure reader to his room to have a sip of her blood.. you can make this a fic if your comfortable i don't really mind I had to share this with someone.

🦐

Yan!Vampire!Dan Heng x Fem!Reader

>>First week on the Astral Express<<

The Astral Express wasn’t what you expected.

You thought it’d be all grand adventures and cosmic wonders, instead, it was mostly Pom-Pom yelling at you for leaving oil stains on the floor.

Well, as a mechanic trainee and an inventor, you supposed you will get used to things soon.

Welt would pass by sometimes, nod sagely, and then drop some cryptic line like "Back in my day, blablablabla..." before vanishing down the hall.

And then there was Dan Heng.

At first glance, he was exactly what you’d expect from the brooding, mysterious type—quiet, like he was mentally cataloging every possible way you might die. But then you noticed the little things.

Like how he’d linger near the engine room when you were working, keeping an eye on you. Or how, when you sliced your hand open on a busted pipe, he wordlessly handed you a clean cloth and then walked away like he hadn’t just saved you from bleeding all over Pom-Pom’s freshly polished floors.

Life was almost… nice.

The Express had been humming along peacefully when suddenly—

SCREEEEEEE—

The entire train lurched like it had been kicked. Alarms shrieked. Somewhere, a pipe burst, spraying steam everywhere.

Pom-Pom’s voice crackled over the intercom, somehow both panicked and exasperated: "EMERGENCY STOP! PROPULSION CORE FAILURE!!"

You skidded into the front cabin just in time to see the planet looming in the viewport.

It was gold. Not metaphorically. Literally. 

"Chrona-Vallis." Welt said, rubbing his temples like he already regretted this. "You four head to the city. Try not to touch anything."

March grinned. "No promises."

The descent was rough. A massive, gleaming clockwork world, its surface covered in rotating towers.

The city was nothing like you’d imagined.

Brass bridges arched overhead like spiderwebs. Glass streets showed gears turning beneath your feet. Gondolas zipped between towers, and everywhere, there were clocks. All ticking.

"This place is… weirdly empty." March said, snapping pictures.

Dan Heng’s voice was low. "Too quiet."

You walked, footsteps echoing. Then there. A skittering noise, like metal claws on metal. You froze. So did Dan Heng.

"You hear that?" you whispered.

His hand moved toward his weapon. "Something’s in the gears."

March laughed nervously. "Maybe it’s just how this place runs?"

But the look on Dan Heng’s face said otherwise. "We should hurry."

You quickened your pace, the sound of ticking all around, and for the first time, you realized that none of the clocks here ever struck a chime.

The streets were too empty.

You walked under arches shaped like clock hands, past market stalls full of goods no one had touched. The whole place felt like a stage set—perfectly arranged, waiting for actors who hadn’t shown up yet.

The only sign of life was a hotel.

The Ticker’s Respite, its neon sign hummed, perched on a platform that turned slowly, like the hour hand of some giant clock. Inside, the air smelled like oil and old wood. A thin man with a bright smile and a gleaming monocle greeted you.

"Visitors! And in the daylight, too." he said, like this was surprising. "You'll want rooms before the city wakes up."

You glanced at the others. March raised an eyebrow.

"People here work at night." the man explained, spinning a ledger on a gear-driven mechanism. His fingers were long. "The metal gets temperamental in the sun. Too much heat, and the clockwork starts sticking. So we sleep now. When the moons rise, that’s when everything starts moving."

March leaned in. "So it’s like… a ghost town, but backwards?"

The man’s smile didn’t waver. "Exactly."

Rooms were assigned, you with Dan Heng, March with Stelle. As night fell, deep bells rang somewhere in the city’s heart, slow and steady. Then, one by one, lights flickered on. And the people came out.

March clapped her hands. "Alright! Stelle and I will take the west side. I have to see that gear-fountain thing."

You didn’t doubt she’d get distracted.

Dan Heng shifted beside you. "We’ll go east."

The shop was cramped, shelves rotating on tracks, packed with gears and springs and things you didn’t have names for. The clerk barely glanced up. "Take what you need." he muttered. "Just don’t touch the hammer."

You reached for a cog and the moment your fingers brushed it, pain licked up your fingertip.

"Ow—!" You jerked back, instinctively sticking the cut in your mouth.

Dan Heng was there in an instant.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just… stopped. Went very still. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening like he was holding his breath.

You pulled your finger away, embarrassed. "Sorry. I’ll bandage it."

He didn’t respond. Instead, his head turned sharply, gaze locking onto the window.

"...We’re not alone."

You followed his stare.

There, just for a second, a shadow flickered past the glass. Too fast to be a person. Then again, in the reflection of a polished gear display.

Dan Heng’s hand settled on his spear. "It’s fast."

The thing didn’t stay. It slipped between alleyways, vanished into the turning mechanisms underfoot. But the feeling of being watched didn’t leave. You hurried through the rest of the list, grabbing what you could, but half the parts were missing.

"Let’s go." Dan Heng said.

Outside, the city had shifted. You walked close to Dan Heng, the bag of parts clinking softly at your side.

"Was that thing… hunting us?" you asked quietly.

He took a moment to answer.

"I don't know." he said at last, "But we should head back to the hotel."

You gripped the bag strap tighter. Suddenly, the missing parts didn’t seem so important.

The hotel room hummed with the quiet rhythm of the city, gears turning somewhere deep in the walls. You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully wrapping your injured finger with fresh bandages. The cut stung, but it was shallow.

Dan Heng stood by the window, silhouetted against the glow of the night-lit city.

"...Sorry" you said, breaking the silence. "For the mess. And, uh. Sharing a room like this. I didn’t know if it’d be inconvenient."

He didn't turn. "It’s fine. You should be more careful with sharp components, though. Especially around me."

You tried to laugh it off, but his words hung in the air, heavier than you expected.

After checking in with Himeko (who promised to research any reports of shadow creatures), exhaustion finally pulled you under. The last thing you remembered was the steady ticking of the city's heartbeat, lulling you to sleep.

Dan Heng didn't sleep.

He sat against the far wall, watching the play of lantern light across the ceiling. The scent still lingered, tempting. He could hear your heartbeat even now, steady and slow in sleep.

He shouldn't. He knew better.

But the hunger was a living thing tonight, coiled tight in his chest.

Just a little closer.

He moved silently, drawn to your sleeping form like a compass needle finding north. The curtains fluttered as he leaned over you, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath. His fangs ached.

His lips brushed your skin, just once, barely a touch.

Then he was across the room again, back against the wall, fists clenched. The hunger retreated, sated for now.

By morning, he was gone.

You woke to an empty room and a strange tenderness at your neck.

"...Huh?"

The bathroom mirror showed a faint bruise, small, barely noticeable unless you looked closely. You poked at it, frowning. Had you bumped into something in your sleep?

You received a text from Dan Heng:

"Gone to secure remaining parts. Regroup at noon."

Typical.

Downstairs, March accosted you the moment you entered the hotel's dining area, her mouth full of some kind of gear-shaped pastry. "Sleep well? You look like you fought a clockwork monster!"

Stelle sipped her coffee. "Where's Dan Heng?"

"He left early," you said, adjusting your scarf. "Said he'd get the last two parts."

March gasped. "Without us? Rude!" She leaned in, whispering dramatically, "Do you think he's hiding a secret clockwork girlfriend?"

You choked on your tea.

Stelle smirked. "More likely he just didn't want to deal with March's 'efficient shopping methods.'"

But as their bickering continued, your fingers strayed to your neck again.

The silence stretched too long. Three messages sent, no reply. Not even when March bombarded him with those ridiculous Pom-Pom stickers - the angry ones with the little conductor hat.

You all stood in the hotel lobby.

Stelle didn’t waste words. “Something’s wrong.” She pulled up the list Dan Heng had been working through, the map glowing faintly on her screen. “He should’ve checked these shops by now. Maybe the junction factory next.”

March wasn’t laughing anymore. “If he was just busy, he’d at least send something.”

You didn’t argue. Your stomach had been sinking since you woke up to an empty room.

The streets were too quiet. You followed the signs: a scuffed door latch here, deep scratches in the brass plating there. Something had dragged its way through these alleys.

A sharp ping!

March’s ice arrow shot past your shoulder and struck something dark moving behind you. The shadow screeched before freezing solid and shattering on the ground.

You stared at the glittering shards. “What was that?”

Stelle’s sword was already out, her eyes scanning the shifting darkness. “Doesn’t matter. There’s more.”

Your phone buzzed.

Himeko’s message glowed on the screen:

Metallovores. Metal-eating predators. Shadow form at night, most active during daylight. Do NOT engage alone.

“He didn’t know,” you whispered. “He thought day was safer, but it's the opposite.”

The factory looked like a carcass picked clean.

Rusted gears jutted from broken walls. The air smelled like burnt oil and something sour. Everywhere—scratches, dents, shattered equipment.

Then March pointed. “There!”

Up on the mezzanine, Dan Heng lay slumped against the wall, half-hidden behind a broken gear. His coat was torn, his sleeve nearly ripped off. Blood soaked through the fabric at his shoulder, and a nasty gash ran across his ribs. His breathing was shallow, uneven.

Stelle got him back to the hotel. You admitted she was strong.

You were at his side in seconds, digging through your first aid kit. You worked fast, ignoring the way your pulse hammered in your ears.

“Stable,” you muttered finally, sitting back. “But barely.”

March fidgeted nearby. For once, she had nothing to say.

Then, abruptly, she forced a smile. “Hey, uh—Stelle and I are gonna grab food. You hungry? We’ll bring back something hot.”

“...Yeah. Thanks.”

They left quickly.

And just before the door shut, you saw them exchange a look.

They knew something.

And whatever it was, it had to do with Dan Heng.

You sat by Dan Heng's bedside, your fingers still aching from stitching his wounds. The others had gone to scavenge supplies, leaving you to keep watch.

Dan Heng's hand twitched. You leaned forward just as his eyes flew open—but something was wrong.

"Dan Heng—?"

His hand shot out faster than you could react. One sharp tug, and you were pulled down, your shoulder hitting the mattress beside him. His breath was hot against your neck.

"Wait—!"

The pain came sharp and sudden.

You gasped as his fangs pierced your skin, your hands flying up to clutch at his arms. But he didn't seem to hear you. His body trembling as he drank, and as he did, the worst of his wounds began to knit back together before your eyes.

You felt the tension drain from him all at once. He pulled back, his eyes wide with dawning horror. Blood stained his lips.

"...No. I wasn't—"

But the room was already spinning. The last thing you heard was the door slamming open and March's shocked cry.

You woke to the smell of soup and the weight of a blanket over your shoulders. Your neck ached, but the pain was dull now.

Three faces watched you as you stirred.

March, guilt written plainly in her expression. Stelle, her usual calm replaced with something uneasy. And Dan Heng—his head bowed, his shoulders stiff, like a man awaiting judgment.

"...You bit me." you croaked.

His fingers tightened around his knees. "I did."

March fidgeted. "We should've told you. About... him."

Stelle cut to the chase. "Dan Heng's a vampire. It's usually under control."

“It is under control,” Dan Heng muttered bitterly. “Unless I’m dying.”

You let that sink in.

"So I was the only one who didn't know?"

March winced. "It's not that we didn't trust you! It's just... he doesn't like people being afraid of him."

Stelle nodded. "He's not a monster."

You met Dan Heng's eyes.

"...I know."

He looked up, surprised.

You sat up slowly, wincing as the blanket slid off your shoulders. "But next time," you said, rubbing your sore neck, "ask."

March let out a weak laugh and pushed a bowl of soup into your hands. "Eat. You lost a lot of blood."

Later, as you all huddled around a makeshift table, you brought up the creature again.

"It turns to shadow at night. But it's solid during the day."

Stelle tapped her fingers against the table. "We could trap it."

You pulled out your sketchpad. "I was thinking electromagnetic coils. Mimic the Express's energy signature, lure it into a choke point, then hit it with quick-freeze gel."

March grinned. "Bait and snap. I like it."

Dan Heng finally spoke. "I'll be bait."

You frowned. "No."

He held your gaze. "I can smell them before they strike. I'll keep us ahead of them."

You sighed.

"...Deal."

You texted Himeko the plan. Her reply came fast: Understood. Be safe.

You looked at the others, a spark of determination in your chest.

"Alright. Let's catch some monsters."

You and Dan Heng worked side by side. The scent of hot metal and ozone filled the air as you adjusted the last copper coil, its surface still warm from the energy pulsing through it. Around you, the city's gears turned steadily, a comforting reminder that time hadn't stopped.

At first, the citizens had watched from a distance, their brass goggles glinting in the lamplight. But when March, ever the showman, declared you all "monster-hunting engineers of legendary skill." something changed.

An old woman with grease-stained gloves brought reinforced plating.

Children carefully carried armfuls of glowing crystals.

A welder offered his prized arc igniter.

Their fear melted into something warmer, brighter. Hope.

By midnight, the first trap snapped shut.

By dawn, four creatures lay frozen and shattered at your feet.

As the last Metallovore dissolved into glittering fragments, the plaza erupted in cheers. A small boy, no older than six, with oil-smudged cheeks, pressed a handmade medal into your palm.

"For saving us." he whispered, beaming.

You knelt to accept it.

Dan Heng stood nearby, silent as ever. But when the crowd surged forward to celebrate, you caught his gaze lingering. His fingers flexed slightly at his sides, as if stopping himself from reaching out.

The next morning, the city's leaders came bearing gifts.

Crates of polished parts gleamed in the sunlight, far more than you'd asked for. Pom-Pom nearly collapsed at the sight, tiny paws clutching at their conductor's hat.

"Free?! FREE?! Finally, someone who understands the value of good craftsmanship!"

You laughed, wiping grease from your hands. The repairs went smoother than expected, the Express humming contentedly as new components settled into place.

That evening found you in the engine room, sleeves rolled up, hair sticking to your forehead with sweat. Welt stood nearby, nodding approvingly as you ran the final diagnostics.

"Good work." he said, adjusting his glasses. "The integration is seamless."

You rubbed your tired eyes. "Just making sure we don't have another emergency stop anytime soon."

Welt chuckled. "Caution suits you."

Neither of you noticed the figure in the doorway.

Dan Heng had meant to go straight to his room. But when Pom-Pom mentioned you were still working... something pulled him here instead.

He leaned against the frame, watching you. The way your brows furrowed in concentration. The stubborn set of your jaw as you fought off exhaustion.

You turned suddenly, spotting him. "Dan Heng? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I was going to," he admitted. "But I didn't like the thought of you working alone."

Welt cleared his throat. "I'll... check the control panel." He slipped out with a knowing smile.

You shook your head, turning back to the open panel. "If you're here to scold me for overworking—"

"No." Dan Heng stepped closer, kneeling beside you. "I just... wanted to be here."

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked.

After a while, you set down your tools. "Alright. I'm done."

Dan Heng nodded.

The repairs were done. You had collapsed into bed exhausted but satisfied, sinking into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only comes after hard-won victories.

Until you stretched and winced.

Your fingers brushed your neck.

"...Oh, you did not."

You bolted upright, scrambling to the bathroom mirror. And there it was, another faint bruise, just slightly offset from the first.

"Dan Heng," you hissed, already storming out of your room. "You promised-"

Himeko sat in the parlor car, sipping her morning tea with the grace of someone who had already predicted this exact scenario.

"Good morning," she said, smiling into her cup. "You look... well-rested."

You pointed accusingly at your neck. "He did it again."

Himeko's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh dear. And here I thought vampires were supposed to be subtle about their affections."

"I'm going to strangle him."

"Mm. I'm sure that'll go well." She took another sip, hiding her grin.

You groaned into your hands.

The Archives were quiet, the soft glow of data screens casting pale light across your face as you scrolled through profiles. Penacony's most famous siblings—Robin, the songstress whose voice could mend broken hearts, and Sunday, her enigmatic brother who seemed to exist mostly in footnotes and rumors.

A shadow fell across your screen.

"You've been researching them quite a bit."

You turned, raising an eyebrow. "Jealous? I was just prepping for Penacony—"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

"I bit you twice." he said softly. "Once when I was dying, once when you were asleep. And both times, you scolded me."

You crossed your arms. "Thrice."

Dan Heng's gaze flicked to the screen, to Sunday's polished smile. "And yet one mysterious man with a charming reputation appears, and suddenly you're fascinated."

You couldn't help it, you laughed.

Then he turned and walked away, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him.

The Astral Express hummed softly as it cut through hyperspace, the stars outside streaking into glowing ribbons of light.

Pom-Pom trotted over, ears perked. "Incoming transmission! A nearby shuttle requests boarding. Civilian clearance approved."

Himeko glanced up. "Let's greet our guest, shall we?"

The man who stepped aboard carried himself with effortless grace. He smiled warmly.

"Good evening. I'm Albert. It seems we're bound for the same destination."

Your breath caught.

It wasn't just his poise. There was something familiar in the curve of his smile, the intelligent glint in his gaze. You'd seen those features before—in countless research papers and holographic lectures.

"You..." The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "You look like Aiden. From the Genius Society."

Albert chuckled, clearly accustomed to the comparison. "So I've been told. Though I'm afraid I can't claim his brilliance."

"But his work—" You caught yourself, cheeks warming. "Sorry. I've just... studied all his theories."

Albert's expression softened with genuine interest. "Have you applied his principles to warp core stabilization?"

The conversation flowed easily after that. He listened with patient amusement as you talked shop, asking thoughtful questions in that calm, mentor-like tone. It was rare to find someone who understood your passion so effortlessly.

Someone else, however, wasn't sharing your enthusiasm.

Dan Heng stood apart. His usual composed demeanor had sharpened into something watchful—every smile you gave Albert, every eager gesture, tracked with unsettling focus.

He said nothing during dinner. Didn't react when Welt teased about your "new academic crush." But when you volunteered to bring tea to the lounge later, he followed.

You were pouring hot water when you felt him—warmth at your back, arms caging you against the counter.

"Dan Heng—?"

"You act like you've known him forever."

"I told you. He reminds me of—"

You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath.

"Stop." you said firmly.

"I.. Sorry."

Then he was gone before you could reply, leaving you standing there with a cooling teapot.

Dan Heng had perfected the art of subtle sulking.

No dramatic sighs. Just an ever-present shadow lingering just a little too close whenever Albert was near, his expression carefully blank while his fingers tapped restless rhythms against his spear.

You tried to be patient.

But when he claimed he was "just ensuring passenger safety" for the third time that day, you lost it.

"Oh, please," you snapped, "You've been hovering like a kicked puppy since he boarded."

"I'm not—"

"You are." You poked his chest. "And it's ridiculous. Albert's just a passenger."

"He looks at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve."

You groaned. "And you literally bite me. I think we're past the point of—"

A shriek cut you off.

Pom-Pom came barreling into the room, fur standing on end. "There's a thing in the cargo hold! It's eating the wiring!"

The creature was hideous, a six-legged horror with a carapace that gleamed like oil, mandibles dripping luminescent fluid. The moment it spotted you, it sprayed a mist that burned your nose with its cloying, spicy stench.

Dan Heng moved first.

Or tried to.

The second the mist hit him, he staggered. His pupils blew wide, and then he was on you, pinning you to the ground with terrifying strength.

His bite was desperate, his teeth sinking into your wrist with a force that left you gasping. When he pulled back, his lips were stained red.

Then he collapsed.

You almost failed killing the bug, Welt did the rest of the job.

The symbol on your wrist pulsed faintly as you dragged Dan Heng to his room, Pom-Pom fluttering anxiously beside you.

"A binding mark?!" the conductor squeaked, pressing a cold cloth to Dan Heng's forehead. "Those are illegal!"

You stared at the intricate pattern now etched into your skin. "How do I get rid of it?"

Pom-Pom hesitated. "You... don't. Not unless he breaks it."

When Dan Heng woke, his horror was palpable. "…What happened?"

"You… don’t remember biting me?"

He blinked, and then went still. His gaze dropped to your hand, to the pattern. His expression turned grim.

"Fix it." you said quietly.

He nodded. "I'll try."

---

You shouldn't have gone to his room.

But the mark ached. The scent of him filled your lungs the moment you stepped inside.

Dan Heng was waiting.

He looked up from where he knelt on the floor, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "You came."

He didn't seem like his usual self. So did you.

He reached out, slow, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn't, his fingers brushed your cheek.

"I don't want to..." he whispered. "But I can't stand the thought of losing you either."

The mark flared.

"I know I promised to help you get rid of it."

Your knees buckled.

He caught you, his arms wrapping around you. His lips pressed to your forehead.

"Maybe I'll keep this mark a little longer." he murmured.

[revelboo]

Not necessarily a prompt, but a funny thing to consider for later in your tfa series. (long ask ahead)

Sentinel feels like the last bastion of sanity as he witnesses this plague of madness and degeneracy sweep through all these Autobots who've touched down on this rotten organic mudball. Watching them become infatuated with these tiny monoform organics who look uncannily like Cybertronians but wrong. Optimus, the slagger, and his entire team have not only fallen for these fleshbags but produced viable hybrid sparklings with them. Worse, he's heard word that Agent Blurr has a human of his own that he's bonded to, and a whisper that they're sparked.

Worse still is that his own Elite Guard are being distracted by these humans, trying to befriend them like they're scouting out potential mates for themselves and Sentinel Prime has to put his ped down before this gets out of hand. Too late, though, the Jettwins have snatched up and are sharing a human who adores them both and Jazz found himself a human who's distracting him from his duties by getting him into their nasty Earth music. To top off the nightmare, he's heard that the Magnus himself is planning a visit to Earth to see about these newsparks and congratulate Optimus on maybe having found a way to save their dying people.

Now he's facing down these Decepti-trash who are increasingly causing trouble in detroit because they're gathering supplies for some nefarious--THEY HAVE HUMANS TOO?? WHAT IS GOING ON? Okay, now he's thinking that these humans have some kind of weird sex pheromone thing going on because nothing else can explain Megatron having a human mate. But he's facing them down in combat in the streets of Detroit, and one of the Cons tries crushing him under the weight of a cement-mixer. He protects himself with his shield but is knocked to his knee and as the dust settles around him, he looks down to a spot of color on the ground and sees a human, dusty and scared but looking up at him with wonder in their bright little eyes.

"You... saved me..." the little fleshbag speak up to him, awe-struck and adoring and that look and that tone are everything Sentinel has ever wanted directed at him and not a single nano-klik in his entire life has been as viscerally terrifying as now, seeing and hearing it coming from a human. Because this is how it starts.

🤣 the xenophilia got him, but the xenophobia is fighting it.

I don’t know exactly what happened, but I suddenly have requests for the TFA elite guard right now…

C’est La Vie

TFA Sentinel x Reader

• “Push forward,” Ultra Magnus roars, but Sentinel can’t find him in the chaos of the battlefield. Can’t seem to pull in enough air through his vents to cool himself either, feeling his spark thrumming frantically as a massive Decepticon stumbles back from out of nowhere, crashing down through a building. And he’s frozen, staring, dimly aware of Magnus yelling at him to get up there. He’s not supposed to die here, he’s supposed to climb the ranks, achieve glory and fame. Be loved and respected.

• Caught in the mayhem, you’d taken refuge in the lobby of a hotel, too terrified to evacuate. You’re so small, they won’t notice you. Tell yourself you’re not worth their bother, but as one of the monsters crashes into the building, you’re driven out into the street when the wall and part of the ceiling cave in nearly on top of you. And there’s another one, blue, orange, and shiny as he bares his denta defiantly, facing the Decepticon down with fear. Heroic as he stands defiant.

• Oh, frag this. Frozen as the Decepticon shoves upright and spots him and grins, Sentinel stumbles back. Because the Academy hadn’t taught him how to deal with actual Decepticons that are three times heavier, much bigger than he is. And this isn’t any Decepticon. Servos trembling as Megatron lazily lifts his arm, cannon humming and Sentinel slams his shield down in front of him, crouching behind it. But the blow is only glancing as Magnus and Optimus come from out of nowhere, both attacking Megatron, driving the Decepticon back. That should be him. His victory. But he can’t move. He’s terrified as Optimus steals his glory.

• On your knees, hands over your ears as they ring, you stare up at your massive savior crouching over you. He’d not hesitated, had taken a step forward and slammed his shield down just on the other side of you. Protecting you. And his helm bumps his shield as his blue optics find you and stare. “You… saved me,” you whisper, voice ragged with smoke, fear, and awe.

• Staring down at the little, squishy organic gawking up at him, he wonders where the Pit you came from. Didn’t even know you were there. ‘Thank you, so much. You’re amazing,’ you babble as his lip curls in disgust. Even if it does feel good to be validated. To have someone appreciate him. Hears Magnus roaring at him to get his head in the fight. But you, you look almost worshipful as you stare up at him. And he likes it. Even if you are a disgusting little flesh bag. ‘A hero,’ you add. He is, isn’t he. “Stay close if you want to survive,” he growls, straightening. Because someone’s finally appreciating him like he deserves.

[livfastdieyoung69]

Frank Castle & his Vigilante, their first sleepover

Frank had driven for the rest of the day after their diner escapade with nothing but two gas station stops keeping them from the road. She was restless the entire time, grumbling and tossing around in the passenger seat, but refused to sleep. Frank got sick of it and bought one of those crossword books from the gas station to keep her occupied.

Besides that, all she wanted was candy and a diet coke. Frank got some kind of protein bars, but she still refused to eat them and instead, tucked her knees up into her chest and did crosswords and sucked on Lemonheads for six hours. They ended up somewhere along the coast in Connecticut, and Frank pulled into the first diner he set his eyes on. Clearly, he had a thing for them.

“I already said I don’t want anything.” She pouted from across him, slumped in the booth and flicking the edge of the menu between her nail. “M’fine.”

“Either you’re pickin somethin, or I am.” He continued glancing through his own menu, responding with a sigh. He’d been fighting her about his for a solid five minutes. “Ain’t gonna listen to you complain more than you already do when you get hungry later.”

“Well, I’m not hungry now.” She slams the menu on the table in an act of defiance, and he finally looks up at her.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fuckin’ headache-“

“I’m on the way to being a migraine if you don’t stop trying to shove food down my throat-“ The waitress steps up to the table, interrupting her escalating yelling. Frank made her get a water, so she pouted, ignored every word he said, and watched out the grimy window.

“I’ll let you get a Coke if you eat.” It’s his last resort, and there’s a soft glint in his eye that makes him look more human- a little bit of exhaustion, a little pleading. Her eyes move from the window and scan across the table, not wanting to let him win.

“S’there chocolate chip waffles?” She finally gives in.

“Maybe if you woulda stopped bein’ a brat and read the damn menu, you’da known,”

“I don’t wanna read the menu.” She’s pouting again, leaning her head forward onto her palm and Frank really can’t fucking deal with this so he rubs his forehead with one hand and looks down to his menu held in the other, and reads the breakfast options to her.

She tried to order one single chocolate chip waffle, Frank made her get some special with hash browns and sausage or bacon. She got her Diet Coke, so whatever. As mad as she tried to be, the second those waffles came out they were halfway gone.

“Not hungry, huh?” Frank tries, and she glares at him through a mouth of chocolate and a sip of pop. She’s gotta have a sweet tooth, it’s all he’d seen her eat so far.

“Hard to tell with the whole constant adrenaline thing.” She waves her fork around before cutting another section. “Just kinda get bitchy, so.” Yeah, he could tell. After she bodies her waffles way too fast, she kicks her feet up next to his thighs on the booth and waits for him to finish what’s left of his eggs and bacon.

He left a hefty tip on the booth, and asked their waitress if she knew a good enough motel around, hopping back in the car for the quick drive. She stayed in the car with their bags (after nonstop whining she’d convinced Frank to let her grab her bag from her previous hotel), her feet kicked up on the dash while he got a room key, and made a run for the bed farthest from the door, or more importantly, farthest from the AC unit.

She watched cable TV- Forensic Files, Bar Rescue, shit thats always on- and he read some frayed, yellowing book for the rest of the night before Frank hauled himself off the twin bed, started towards the bathroom and came back out in a pair of sweats and a black tank top. She tried not to look too much, cause good lord, that man is fine, but it’s so hard not to cause Good Lord, he, is, fine.

She followed his actions soon after, grabbing a pair of light pants (as much as she would’ve liked to not wear any, there was a man she’d known for less than a day about six feet from her bed) and a comfy cami to slip on in the bathroom, going through her little process of face wash and moisturizer, brushing her teeth, staring at herself too long in the mirror, and then leaving. Frank already turned the TV off, so she closed the bathroom door and let the light leak out through the bottom.

The pair sat in silence, trying to convince themselves the other one was asleep for a couple hours before they both eventually dozed off. Frank, being the Marine he is, wakes a couple hours later to the sounds of blankets rustling. He tries to shrug it off, roll around, and fall back asleep, but she starts making these…noises. It’s strangled from her lips, breath heavy the way it always should be with a heartbeat that fast. He turns to look at her, finding her crumpled face bathed in the barely existing light, still sleeping as her arms frantically twitch over the mattress.

“Hey-hey,” Frank speaks in a rushed voice to wake her, sitting up in his bed while she turns more frantic by the second.

Suddenly, she’s up with a horrifying gasp of a breath, and tumbling over the side of the mattress where Frank can’t see her. She’s still making those noises, a couple identifiable words of pleads, and something about the cold. Frank rushes up to find her huddled between the wall and her bed, shoved in the corner and wrapped into a ball. He moves towards her, slowly, trying to let her know he’s there, but when he places a hand on the arm wrapped around her head, she screeches louder than anything he’d ever heard, and terrified. She’s sobbing and pleading, pushing herself farther back into the corner.

“Please-please, please, s’so cold, I can’t go back n’there-“ She’s interrupting herself with sobs and trying to take gulps of air.

“Hey, hey, hey-“ Frank tries again, voice softer than it has been in a long time, and puts his hand back on her forearm. She tenses, and makes this cry, like a dogs whine, like she knew she would be hurt, but he keeps his hand on and when she’s a little less tense, takes a step closer. “No ones making you go anywhere, girl. You’re alright, ‘verythings all good here.”

She’s still panting, but she’s not crying, and after a while she unfurls, leaning back against the wall. She looks exhausted, and defeated.

“Sorry.” Her voice is hoarse, and quiet compared to her terrified shrieks. Frank shakes his head at her, hand sliding down her arm, and instead resting on her ankle in a comforting, grounding way.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Frank doesn’t press any further, knows what it’s like to wake up from horror, still tired no matter how much you sleep. They fall into silence while she tries to catch her breath, and he sits with her.

“I just-I can’t, it’s so cold.” She rushes out the closest to an explanation he’ll get for months. Frank nods, fingers tapping on her leg before he lets go of her and stands up.

She can hear his feet shuffle against the carpet, hear his soft grunts when he bends over. He returns, holding a big calloused hand out from above her. She takes it, hauling herself up with a tired sigh, still stumbling a little when he pushes a black hoodie, warm and soft, against her chest.

He watches her for a second, but all she’s doing is staring down at the hoodie in one hand, and gripping onto two of his fingers with the other.

“Turned the AC down.” He tells her, hoping to break her out of whatever this was, but she just keeps looking down and holding the fabric like a lifeline, so he grabs her by the elbow with his free hand and leads her to sit on the bed. When he reaches to take the hoodie, she pulls her arm against her chest, fingers straining and losing color, lets out another pitiful whine like she had earlier. “I ain’t gonna take it away or nothin’, just be a little warmer on s’all, sweetheart.”

She is absolutely not a sweetheart and they both know that, but when she’s like this compared to the rest of the day they’ve had, quiet and curled in on herself, he can’t help it.

Franks voice, all raspy and quiet, and Frank himself, the only thing existing in the almost pitch black room, his warm hand, the two fingers she still hasn’t let go, is so convincing and sweet and just warm, and everything she’s never had, that she lets him take it. He pulls his hand from hers to pull the hoodie over her head.

He gives her some space while she lays down again, to get under the covers she’d thrown off in her sleep, turns the TV back on and grabs the thin blanket from his bed, throwing it on hers. He lets out another one of his little grunts when he sits back down on his bed, the side closest to her, back to the headboard.

Both of them kinda just knew they wouldn’t be sleeping again for a while, if at all. When she chooses Cake Boss he does his best to not scoff, but does absolutely give her a look she doesn’t notice. Somewhere on the fifth episode, she conks out under all of the blankets and tucked inside his very comfy, worn hoodie. Frank even manages to fall asleep for a couple more hours, too.

She wakes back up to the TV still playing the same channel, and Frank still in the other bed reading his paperback. For a while, they just exist together, lazily getting ready for the day in between show episodes and book chapters.

“We gotta be outta here soon.” Franks the first speak up when she walks out of the bathroom, just as pretty and put together as the first glance he got at her in the diner booth across from his.

She doesn’t answer, just nods, and grabs her bag of stuff to finish what little she had left of packing. Frank took their bags and piled them in the back of the car again, and she follows after him when she’s done pulling her beloved heels back on.

“I want chocolate chip waffles.” She demands as soon as he starts the car. He looks over at her, a little exasperated but smiling, leaning back in his seat with his big hands over the gearshift. He doesn’t respond either, just shakes his head at her and mumbles something along the lines of how ‘she’s back’ but lets her get away with it and they end up back at the same diner.

Frank lets her get her way a lot. He always turns the AC down, too.

[tatzelwyrm]

The reasons this movie from 1965 continues to live rent-free in my head since November can probably summed up as such:

Genius characterisation through parallels and everything from obvious symbolism to subtle context clues

Genius score by Ennio Morricone

Themes of greed and loyalty connecting all 3 principal characters

Intense relationship between the 2 protagonists

Beautiful, poetic finale

Stunning images

Entire movie is dripping with black humour

Lee van Cleef is stunningly gorgeous in this movie.

Clint Eastwood is stunningly gorgeous in the movie.

Gian Maria Volonté is stunningly gorgeous in this movie.

Only movie featuring The Man Who Hates Trains

But in more detail:

The main character is a cool and collected sharpshooter who is dressed to the nines 24/7 and rides the most beautiful black horse I’ve ever seen in a movie. He’s confident and competent and sassy – but he’s also driven by a loss so catastrophic that it made him uproot his entire life.

The details of this circumstance are – until the finale of the movie – conveyed almost entirely by context clues and exactly 2 lines of dialogue.

The class difference between Mortimer and pretty much everybody else in this movie.

The way the movie refers to him as being “reduced” to being a bounty killer.

This man was living a respectable life in the East with money, status and the respect of his peers. He probably had a very comfortable life. And for some reason he abandoned that comfortable life to move west. He’s moving from town to town, living in hotels and carrying only what his horse can carry (and most of that is guns), hunting outlaws for money.

He threw it all away for grief. For vengeance.

The person Mortimer seeks to avenge is his sister. How often do we see a bond that drives a character to such lengths revealed to be that of a brother and sister? Seeking revenge for a sister also has fewer sexist connotations than if she’d been his wife or daughter. A wife or daughter (sadly not just in fiction) is too easily, too often treated as an extension of the husband/father, with little regard for their own personhood. This is less the case with a sibling.

The way the 2 protagonists complement each other:

Both of them are bounty killers. The first 2 sequences of the movie show each of them, one after the other, track down and kill a target, allowing us to contrast and compare their styles.

Mortimer calmly executes his target from range, staying just outside the shooting range of the man’s gun.

Manco gets into a fist fight with his target before eventually shooting him.

Mortimer is shown to be educated. In his first scene, he’s shown reading the bible. Later, he’s able to break open a safe with chemicals and specialized tools. He also breaks a padlock and then seals it again so perfectly it looks untouched.

In order to learn more about Manco, Mortimer combs through the local newspaper archive. In order learn more about Mortimer, Manco goes and asks the local mad hermit.

Do we even know if Manco can read anything other than bounty posters?

Manco’s wearing simple, practical clothes: a poncho, sheepskin vest and jeans.

Mortimer’s clothes are fancy and terribly impractical. He’s wearing a caped greatcoat in the desert.

Mortimer’s sporting a very neat moustache compared to Manco’s scruff.

They refer to each other pretty much exclusively by cute nicknames.

They’re also both portrayed as intelligent throughout the movie. But Manco’s intelligence is his quick thinking and being able to improvise in stressful situations, whereas Mortimer acts more calculated and is more educated.

They’re both bullies. They both share an attitude of “might makes right”. Manco throws a man out of a hotel because he wants his room. Mortimer makes a train make an unscheduled stop because he doesn't want to change trains. They both have no problem with intimidating people and pushing them around with threats of violence. But in addition, Mortimer can use his rank and social standing to bully people and he takes a certain pleasure in insinuating that he’s dangerous (see the first scene with the banker), bc just because Mortimer is a tragic character doesn’t mean he can’t also be full of himself.

They properly meet for the time when Manco is trying to run Mortimer out of town, because he doesn’t want to share the reward money for Indio’s gang with him (Bounty Killer Meet Cute).

Almost did a spit-take at this point the first time I watched this movie, because I’m fairly sure the movie implies that they fucked after their little confrontation.

Symbolism:

Mortimer’s horse is beautiful. Like, there’s nothing wrong with the other horses in this movie (they’re horses so ofc they’re naturally beautiful). But Mortimer’s horse is striking. This is the kind of horse you’d see in a commercial for Spanish wine or men’s perfume or the kind of sports car that costs more money than a house.

It’s also the only horse in this movie that is Significant™. Because it reinforces the colour symbolism this movie’s got going on with Mortimer.

The quality of the clothes he wears and the horse he rides all imply Mortimer is upper class. But that’s not all they tell us. Far more important is their colour.

Mortimer is dressed for a funeral. Multiple funerals even. His sister’s (who he still mourns), Indio’s (who he seeks to bury) and perhaps even his own (depending on how you choose to interpret the movie’s ending. The man in black on a black horse, dressed for a funeral, riding into the night).

And I’m not sure how much meaning I should ascribe to names in Sergio Leone movies, but the “Mort” in the name “Mortimer” does come from the French word for "death".

The central significant props of the movie are a set of musical pocket watches playing a haunting melody. When the chimes stop, someone has to die.

The way the themes of greed and loyalty are used to characterise all 3 principal characters.

Mortimer is above greed. He is not concerned by money. He pretends to be in it for the money because he doesn’t want to reveal his true motivation to Manco, but his ultimate goal is vengeance.

Indio ultimately loses his life because of his greed. He could have gotten away with the murders and the robbery and all, if only he had been willing to share the money. Instead, he betrays his own gang.

For almost the entire movie, Indio holds all the cards. The protagonists play right into Indio’s hands – expect they also have themselves a little romcom along the way, forming a deep bond over the course of the movie that causes them to stick together during the finale while Indio ends up all alone.

Manco starts out as the kind of person Mortimer pretends to be. He is a mercenary type character hunting people for money. And, like Indio, he doesn’t want to share. When he comes to the conclusion that Mortimer is a bounty killer who is after the same target, he tries to run him out of town.

But by the end of the movie, Manco’s changed. He has the opportunity to backstab Mortimer (by letting Indio kill him) and claim the entire reward for himself. Manco does end up with the reward money, but not until after he's proven that Mortimer (and the fulfilment of Mortimer’s quest) means more to him than the money.

It is important that Indio lost because he betrayed his gang for greed. But it is equally important that Mortimer’s quest still would have failed if he hadn't won Manco's loyalty.

Manco and Mortimer's relationship and Manco’s character development in general are very satisfying.

Mortimer moves from town to town because he has to on his quest for revenge. Manco moves from town to town because that is who he is. Again, he’s a mercenary type character. He’s a drifter. He works alone. He doesn’t want to partner up with Mortimer for the life of him. It takes Mortimer beating Manco at his own game for Manco to even hear him out. And even then, the first moment that things don’t go as planned, Manco is ready to set out on his own again.

Yet, at the end of the movie, Manco not only saves Mortimer��s life, he provides Mortimer with the means to take his revenge on his own terms.

And when the villains are dead and the time is come to collect the reward and Mortimer tells him that he wants Manco to have all of the reward money, Manco reacts with shock. “What about our partnership?” he asks. The man who doesn’t do partnerships is suddenly very unhappy about the prospect of travelling alone again.

Very atypical of the drifter archetype, Manco is the one who's being left behind as the hero rides into the sunset without him.

Other little things about their relationship that fill me with love:

The way Manco is impressed at the sheer size of Mortimer's balls when Mortimer offers to open the safe for Indio in exchange for 5000 dollars.

Manco being impressed when Mortimer follows through on his part of the deal by opening the safe without damaging it with a little specialised toolkit he just happens to have (what did they teach you in the army, Colonel?).

Mortimer being hyper-competent and confident in general and Manco being visibly into it.

Yet another aspect I love about them, also because it plays against lone wolf archetypes, is the the submission.

The initial confrontation between Manco and Mortimer does not end in a draw. Mortimer clearly wins and from then on he's in control of this partnership. He's making the decisions and Manco submits to his leadership.

Even when Manco tries to set out on his own again halfway through the movie, Mortimer doesn't let him go without scarring him – to make Manco's story more convincing to Indio, to protect him. And what does Manco do when Mortimer shoots him? Nothing. He doesn't retaliate. He isn't even upset. He just takes it.

And when they reunite later and it becomes clear that Mortimer had even planned for Manco's rebellion, Manco still isn't upset. They show off their shooting skills and continue their partnership as if nothing happened.

There is never a moment, until the finale, in which Manco is in control of this arrangement and he doesn't really seem to mind.

And then we get to the finale, and what a finale it is.

First of all, I am in LOVE with how the finale is both a callback to the final shootout of A Fistful of Dollars (except this time the man with the smaller, quicker gun is the villain) and, in terms of visuals, calling forward to the finale of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (3 characters in a circle). It's genius.

Throughout the movie Mortimer is confident and competent and sassy and cocky. He’s the one who makes the plans, the one who calls the shots in his relationship with Manco.

The finale turns that on its head. Mortimer is no longer confident. He’s about to lose. All he did. All he gave up. It's all going to be for nothing. There’s tears in his eyes. He’s about to die. His sister is going to remain unavenged. The memento of her, the pocket watch, will forever be a trophy for her rapist. And that's when Manco shows up.

Manco shows up and for the first time in this movie, he’s in full control of the situation. He’s the one holding the Significant™ pocket watch and setting the pace. He arms Mortimer (with his gun belt and with fresh confidence). It's poetic. It's beautiful.

The way Mortimer, tears in his eyes but confidence restored, holsters Manco's gun with a little flourish the same way Manco likes to do. They've come so far in their relationship. There's so much respect there.

Manco loading the bodies in his cart and adding up the bounties of the gang members like he's adding up prices while loading groceries in his shopping cart is bloody hilarious. What a movie.

The way the final scenes are shot, with Manco in bright daylight, offering to continue their partnership, and Mortimer in twilight, eventually turning away from Manco to ride towards the setting sun, makes my heart ache. Mortimer’s story is done.

10/10 movie.

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Love: Rebirth from the Ashes - 31. The Limits of Restraint [18+]

-----------------------

The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Part 3: Driven by Love. Rebirth from the Ashes

Prologue

Nightmares

For Her, I'd Do Anything

Shared Nights

I Thought It Was the End

Scars

Say it again

Pleasant Views

Oh My God

Together

A Shared Trip

The Boss's Girl

I'm Back

She's mine [18+]

The Fight Continues

I Bloomed

Something's Going On

No Brakes

City of Sin [18+]

Title Defense [18+]

FIA Gala

Home and Christmas

Just Us [18+]

A Dream I Don't Want to Wake Up From

Return to Scotland

The Woman Who Blossoms

Return to the Paddock

Media Circus

Total Domination

Marathon

The Limits of Restraint [18+]

The Unexpected Guest

Fear of Loss

The Truth I Didn't Want to Say

I Won't Let You Go

A Promise I Couldn't Keep

The Truth I Couldn't Tell Her

The Last Evening

The Darkest Day of my life

Epilogue

---------------------------

Warnings: slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, sex scenes,

---------------------------

31. The Limits of Restraint

In the Shadow of Victories

POV Miriell

Three races. Three weeks. Three dominations.

It was an intense time—barely had one race weekend ended before we were packing up, boarding a plane, and flying to the next circuit. Bahrain, then Saudi Arabia, and finally Miami. Everywhere, the scenario was the same: we arrived, I outclassed my rivals on track, secured pole position, led from start to finish, and stood on the top step of the podium. The media talked about nothing else—speculating that this could be a year of total domination, that Mercedes was back at the peak of its form, that I was unstoppable.

But no one saw what was happening behind the cameras.

They didn't see the exhaustion that built up after every flight, the hours spent in briefings, training sessions, and meetings with engineers. They also didn't see the frustration that was slowly creeping in—because for three weeks, I was right next to Toto, yet I couldn't touch him, couldn't kiss him, couldn't even let my gaze linger too long.

That was the hardest part.

During debriefings, we sat on opposite sides of the table. On the plane, when the whole team traveled together, we had to maintain professionalism. In the paddock—it was obvious, even the slightest hint of affection could be caught by the cameras. We were together, yet apart.

Each race was an emotional rollercoaster. In Bahrain, I felt like I was in an entirely different league—Verstappen and Leclerc stood no chance against me. In Saudi Arabia, I could feel the team riding the wave of success, and I was soaring with them. In Miami... that was pure madness. The fans went wild, everyone wanted to talk to me, cameras followed my every move.

And while I loved winning, while I felt the satisfaction of being at the absolute top, it was tearing me apart inside.

There were moments when I just wanted to lock myself in a room with Toto and forget about everything for a while. I felt his gaze on me—sometimes during briefings, sometimes during the post-race ceremonies. I saw how his hands tightened around his notebook, how sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, his eyes softened, becoming warmer, more tender.

But there was nothing we could do.

In hotel rooms, there was no chance for stolen moments. Everyone was watching us, and no one could suspect a thing. Every night, I fell asleep alone, feeling the aching need for closeness, a longing that grew stronger with each passing day. It was like a silent hunger that nothing else could satisfy.

The worst was after the Miami GP.

When we finally returned to the hotel after my triumph, when the adrenaline slowly faded, and I sat in my room, I knew he was just a few meters away. I knew he wasn't sleeping either.

I wanted to knock on his door, but I couldn't.

I wanted to scream. That was the first time I truly realized how much I had become addicted to his presence, to his touch. And how much this game of hiding was becoming harder for me to endure.

The Limits of Restraint

Monaco, April

POV Toto

It had been a long month. Exhausting, intense, filled with work, races, and travel. I lived in a constant state of professionalism—meetings, briefings, strategies, data analysis. There was no room for tenderness, for touch, for moments just for us.

Miriell was right there, yet so damn far away. I could look at her, I could talk to her, but I couldn't touch her. I couldn't weave my fingers through her hair, kiss her, hold her by the waist. I couldn't make her moan my name, couldn't feel her trembling breath against my skin.

I missed her. Her body, her warmth, her presence.

...and then came that night.

The casino in Monaco, an elegant gala, hosted by Bernie Ecclestone—the old fox who could gather the entire elite of motorsport and business under one roof. I knew Miriell would be there, but when I saw her in that black, form-fitting dress...

I nearly lost control right then.

She was the embodiment of sin, a temptress whose gaze burned straight through me. I saw in her eyes the same thing I felt—hunger, desire, need. Every move she made was deliberate, aware of its power and how it affected me. She knew. She knew I was hanging by a thread.

Her eyes told me one thing: "Later."

We fought against ourselves the entire evening. Handshakes, conversations, toasts. It was all a damn act, while in reality, we were both dying for a touch, for a moment alone.

When the gala was nearing its end, I didn't wait.

Discreetly, I took her by the arm as if I feared someone might take her from me, and we got into the car. The ride to my Monaco apartment felt endless, and the moment we crossed the threshold, everything exploded.

I grabbed her waist, lifted her, and set her down on the kitchen island. Her lips found mine, and the kiss was full of desperation and hunger.

"Toto..." she gasped, catching her breath as my hands slid down her body.

With a heavy sigh, she lifted her hips, and her panties landed somewhere on the floor. She parted her thighs, inviting me in, and I couldn't hold back. There were no more boundaries, no more control.

She was warm, trembling, ready for me.

My movements were swift, certain, without hesitation. I pulled my belt, unfastened my trousers, and entered her in one firm stroke. Her head fell back, and a long, drawn-out moan escaped her lips.

She was breathtaking.

Every thrust made her grip my shoulders tighter, her nails digging into the fabric of my jacket. She still had that damn dress on, and I was still in my tuxedo—only an undone belt and lowered trousers gave away what we were doing.

It was wild.

I had never been like this. I had never allowed myself to lose control. I was always careful not to overwhelm her, not to do anything that might frighten her. But tonight...

I couldn't stop myself.

Her hips met mine, her body trembled with every deep stroke. She was breathing fast, unevenly, and when I was buried deep inside her, when she was close to the edge, her fingers tightened around my neck.

"Toto..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

That was all it took.

Moments later, we collapsed against each other, our bodies damp with sweat, breaths heavy and erratic. I pulled her closer, held her tight, as if letting go would make her disappear.

I pressed my forehead to hers, feeling our breaths mingle.

"I wasn't... too rough?" I whispered, barely audible.

Her hands traced gently over my face, fingers tangling in my hair.

"You were perfect," she murmured.

And then I understood.

She was no longer the same girl who once feared touch, who struggled to open up to intimacy. Now, she was a woman who wanted me just as much as I wanted her. A woman who trusted me enough to let me lose myself in her.

That night, we crossed another boundary. And there was no turning back.

As our breathing steadied, Miriell went to freshen up, and I took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. When she returned from the bedroom, I was sitting on the couch in the living room, a glass of wine in my hand, thinking that nothing could surprise me anymore that night.

I was wrong.

She was divine—her hair loose, her cheeks delicately flushed, wearing nothing but my white shirt, which barely covered her thighs. The sight of her bare legs, that subtle allure that wasn't even intentional, hit me with a force I hadn't expected.

I didn't take my eyes off her as she approached and sat down beside me on the couch.

She nestled into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I felt her warmth, the delicate scent of her skin mingling with the faint trace of perfume that still lingered on her body.

We sat like that, sipping wine, talking, and laughing softly. Miriell recounted an absurd conversation she had overheard between guests at the gala, and I just shook my head, chuckling under my breath.

I felt light. Carefree.

When I looked into her eyes, I realized this night wasn't over yet.

After a moment, Miriell moved closer, and without breaking eye contact, she slowly straddled my lap. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and her fingers began to wander through my hair.

"I don't think we're done yet," she whispered, leaning in until her lips were just a breath away from mine.

She didn't give me a chance to respond.

Her lips brushed against mine—first gently, sensually, testing my reaction. Then the kiss deepened, became more urgent, more demanding. Instinctively, my hands rested on her thighs, sliding upward, grazing her bare skin until they reached her waist.

Miriell sighed into my mouth, and I felt my entire body respond to her.

Beneath the thin fabric of the shirt, I could feel the warmth of her skin. Her hips shifted slightly against mine, drawing a quiet groan from me.

She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

My breath quickened as my hands traveled higher, gliding over her back, her ribs, until they found the soft curves of her breasts beneath the fabric. My thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples, and Miriell let out a quiet moan, pressing herself closer to me.

This was different from our previous encounters.

Before, it had been wild, desperate, fueled by pent-up tension.

Now, it was slow, tender—filled with something more than just desire.

Miriell wasn't in a hurry. She kissed along my jawline, down to my neck, until she reached my ear, her breath warm against my skin.

"I want you, Toto," she whispered.

Those words were my undoing.

I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bed.

She fell onto the sheets, and I leaned over her, slowly unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing.

I didn't look away from her eyes as I parted the fabric, revealing every inch of her body.

She was beautiful.

When the shirt slipped from her shoulders, I bent down, pressing soft kisses to her collarbone, then lower—to her breast, her stomach, until I reached her hips.

Every touch was slow, deliberate, filled with reverence.

I felt her body tremble under my hands, her breath hitching, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

And when I finally entered her, I did it slowly, wanting every movement to be felt, every second of closeness to linger.

There was no rush.

Only us.

Her hands tangled in my hair, her hips moving in perfect harmony with mine.

Every moan, every whispered gasp of my name meant everything to me.

That night, I loved her in a way I had never loved anyone before.

And I knew she felt the same.

----------------------------------------

NEXT -> 32. The Unexpected Guest

----------------------------------------

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:

Seria Niepowstrzymana AO3

Wattpad PL: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

[bullet-prooflove]

Miss Atomic Bomb Prompt List

Please check the updated character list on my pinned post to see who I am writing for before submitting a prompt!

Also read the rules and do not forget to put the entire prompt into your ask!

I was lying in bed with his bowtie on

You cuffed me up and treated me good

Like why, why are you only vulnerable when no-one's around?

All dressed up for a hit and run

I know that nightlight's on when you sleep

Making out, we got the radio on

I grew into the queen of hell

But if you're looking for strong and steady Well baby, you found it

So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames

I looked around in a blood-soaked gown

Lost in situations, circumstances, Miscommunications 

Then I remember the promise I made

It feels like a dagger driven right in your back

Summer went away, still, the yearning stays

I long to see you dance just one more time

Ain't it funny? Rumors fly And I know you heard about me

I keep a picture of you here in my head

I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this

It was just an ordinary wednesday night 11: 47, when the stars aligned

You let your clothes fall to the floor And lit a fire while I waited for more

You were just a little stowaway That stabbed her way to save herself

Don't try and tell me that you never loved me

You always liked the taste of blood

Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room

Your soul was innocent, she kissed and painted it black

From the coveted touch of a girl in love

'Cause I don't remember who I was before you

Saw your face, and then I felt the butterflies Someone's gonna fall in love tonight

You can tell me when it's over, if the high was worth the pain

And I get off when I point the gun

Sometimes I don't know what to do It's like I'm screaming in a dream

It's so good to have someone to be so bad with

You run for cover but you can’t escape the second attack

Oh God, I never thought we'd take it that far

Does it feel like everything's just like second-best after that Meteor strike?

Ran my fingers threw his hair So he thinks it's fun and games

You poured the gasoline

In her kiss I taste the revolution

Some killer queen you are

A little tenderness and charm

I’m standing here and you’re too late, your whisper has sealed your fate

I could show you incredible things Magic, madness, heaven, sin

From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes

To the ends of the earth would you follow me?

Grab your passport and my hand

Anywhere I go I think about it every day and night, I can't let go

It'll leave you breathless, Or with a nasty scar

Now I'm running and I can't stop

And what's that, that I heard, that you're still with her       

I was waiting in the getaway car You were stuck in the hotel bar

I picked the petals, he loves me not

Everything you lose is a step you take

Do you wish you could still touch ...her?

You look like my next mistake

Just to learn that you never cared

Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?

She sets the world on fire just to watch the sucker burn

[turnupswritessometimes]

Butterflies - Ch5 - Lies of P/Alice Madness Returns

Relationship: P/Alice Liddell

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53898544/chapters/137944243

Next | Previous | First

Summary: “But why go looking for other realities, when there’s no guarantee you’ll pass through to them?” “Because it’s an experiment, and I jolly well won’t learn anything more about all this unless I try,” Alice replied.

Having figured out how to slip in and out of Wonderland entirely, Alice Liddell sets off on a journey to find more realities around her own. When she follows a blue butterfly to Hotel Krat, she meets P. The more time they spend together, the more they feel as though there’s someone else out there, just like them.

Chapter Five: Which Explores the Difficulties of Dancing

Alice was, for once, very glad that she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Cheshire Cat. She could only imagine his riddles and teasing about the whole situation. She could waste her breath and tell him that she was only interested in saving Krat – the proof of which was her venture onto Rosa Isabelle Street that afternoon – and Cat would still insist she was losing her head over a boy.

The worst part was, that wasn’t incorrect. She lay on the luxurious bed of her hotel room, in a borrowed nightgown, and found she could only think about P. It wasn’t that he was a puppet; that seemed by the by, now. It was his hesitant smiles, like he was still learning how to do them. It was his bright blue eyes, and the way they saw everything. (The way they looked at her, as though she was something special.) It was his earnestness and openness, his insistence that his father gave him a weapon for an arm because he loved him.

P was created to fight. But he was so much more than that.

Alice stared at the shadows of tree branches on her ceiling, and wondered if she was the opposite.

She still didn’t hugely know what she was doing in Krat. P said he was bound for the Grand Exhibition next; the alchemists called it their base. They had been experimenting with Ergo, he explained, and might know more about what caused the Frenzy and the petrification disease.

“They might know more about—” And then he had stopped short, and hadn’t continued. He’d his behind his dark hair.

There was something he wasn’t telling her. That was nothing new, for Alice, but she hoped he would be able to soon. She’d had enough of secrets – that would make Cat laugh, if he was here. Didn’t Alice have so many secrets of her own? Secrets that would change the way P looked at her, she was certain. How would he look at her, if he knew she was mad?

For now, she was helping P to prepare for his attack on the Grand Exhibition – because there would be enemies there. That’s what she would tell Cat, though he would smirk wider and make even more sarcastic comments. She rolled over, pulling the covers more tightly to her chest. If she was honest, she knew the other reason she was staying in Krat. She also knew that it was pure foolishness.

It was foolishness that her heart had beat so wildly when P stood so close to her. She was not a silly young girl, driven to silliness whenever she was close to a young man. Alice half-wished she was – but she was too jaded for that. She’d never had a problem with snubbing boys before – she didn’t have a problem snubbing Venigni.

It was just P. She couldn’t’ stop thinking about how it felt to have his hands on her waist, on her wrist, butterfly-light, as he showed her the right posture for fencing. Couldn’t stop thinking about how he had walked through the steps, just behind her, his face so close to hers. So close, she could see his freckles; see the gentle curve of his eyelashes. He had been so there and kind, and gentle, and that was what was different about him. No one had been gentle with her like that, before.

None of that touch had been necessary; he might not have even realised what he was implying by being so close.

But Alice wasn’t going to tell him that.

*

It was at Lady Antonia’s request.

Alice and P had returned from scouring the streets for pipes, or saws or throwing cells that would be handy on his charge on the alchemist’s headquarters. Anything that he could use as a weapon. They returned covered in oil. P’s arm had needed mending, and Alice had a bad cut on her arm which needed seeing to. It was Sophia – whatever Sophia was – who helped her bandage it.  Her hands were capable and practised, as though she’d done this several times before.

When Alice ventured back downstairs to find P talking with Polendina at the desk. Polendina nodded his welcome at her, and she couldn’t help but notice how jerky his movements were compared to P. P, who offered his arm to her, like a gentleman. She suspected, from Gemini’s faint chirp, that he’d told him to do that.

Part of her wished he wouldn’t; it made her feel like a lady, and she most certainly was not. But a much larger part of her wanted to believe that fairy story. To be the Alice that she could have been, if her family had survived. So she brushed her hair behind her ear, and put her hand on his elbow. Let him lead her into the rooms where Antonia sat, and she thought that was only polite: that they keep the lady company in the evening, especially as she was so sick.

They listened to her reminisce about the heyday of the hotel, when it was bustling with guests, despite the rumours it was haunted. About the wonderful dinners and lavish parties held there, before the frenzy and the petrification disease.

“Polendina would play the piano and this room would be full to bursting with dancers,” she said, her eyes shining and distant. “And I’ll have you know, I had my fair share of partners, back in my day.”

P nodded, and Alice smiled to think about it. They were the kind of parties her parents threw; the kind that Lizzie got to go to, but not her. She’d been too little. She’d only ever heard stories about such parties.

“What I wouldn’t give to see the room alive like that once more,” Antonia leant back in her chair, and sighed. She looked to the pair of them, and there was a glint in her eye. “You know, you two make a charming couple. I don’t suppose you would humour an old lady, and recreate the past for me?”

  P nodded again, almost without thinking. Not because of any obedience, Alice realised, but because he wanted to; he was clearly devoted to Lady Antonia, and wanted to make her happy. It was a simple request, after all. Most other girls Alice’s age in London would be able to oblige.

But Alice could not.

Still, admitting that she could not was the more mortifying choice. Instead, she nodded, and murmured that she would fetch Polendina to man the piano. His response was “Of course, I would be delighted,” and she wondered if he could even say no. Either way, he moved much too eagerly for her liking.

She stepped to where the desk lifted up to delay him, if only for a moment.

“There’s just one problem,” she hissed. “I have no clue how to dance.”

“That is simply fixed.” At least Polendina’s voice came out quieter. “Just follow your partner’s lead, Miss Liddell.”

Not the most comforting advice. She couldn’t hold him any longer without it being suspicious. Alice stepped aside, and let Polendina head to the piano. She glanced back, to see Sophia at the foot of the stairs. Sophia nodded, and smiled in an encouraging, albeit unhelpful, way.

So, she trailed back though, as Antonia was turning her wheelchair around, and Polendina was taking a seat at the pianoforte, and P stood, waiting for her. At least he looked as adrift as she felt; stiff, and formal. She stopped, a few paces away from him.

“Can you dance?” she whispered, looking up at him.

“I think I know,” P replied. It was still better than her, so she nodded, as though she thought she could too. As though they were not about to make fools of themselves. She heard Gemini whisper from P’s belt, and he held out his hand again. And again, she took it. Had to move a step closer, and had to take a breath before she let her hand rest on his shoulder. It felt solid; like a rock in a storm.

His own hand hesitated before he took her waist. His legion arm; his weapon. She could feel the cold of the steel through her dress. Aside from that arm, the rest of him was warm.

Polendina began to play.

P started dancing. He stepped as lightly as he did whilst he was fencing. That was good, Alice realised, it wasn’t so different from fencing. She could follow his steps, and pretend that there were still doing that. The only difference now was allowing him to take some of her weight; to tug her, when she was moving too slowly, like a buoy in the sea.

How terribly unladylike, she thought, to compare dancing to fighting.

But she felt distinctly unladylike, and distinctly out of place. Not because she was out of her own reality, but because she did not belong in a hotel like this. Did not belong at a party, imagined or otherwise, and shouldn’t be dancing. Did not belong opposite this boy.

His blue eyes were soft, and he had the impressive ability to be able to dance without glancing at his feet once. His hair drifted softly with the movement as they turned. This close, she could see the freckles on his nose and cheeks. She thought she could see constellations in them, if she stared long enough.

The thought made her stumble. Just slightly, but just enough to make her aware of her own shortcomings. Her heart thudded, and she felt electrified with nerves.

The piano music continued; lilting and beautiful; the kind of thing Lizzie would play on a Spring morning. Thinking of Lizzie made it easier; Lizzie would know what to do now.

“How do you know this?” she whispered. They were making a path across the room, under Antonia’s nostalgic gaze, and were hopefully too far away to be heard properly.

P paused. A strand of hair fell in front of his face, and he didn’t have a free hand to brush it back. “The same way I know fencing.”

It was something Geppetto had given him. Like fighting. What else did he know – innately?

“You’re a good dancer,” P murmured. He lifted his hand to spin her. She managed to not look too much of a fool, her skirts flaring round her as she turned. When she returned, she clutched his shoulder more tightly.

“Liar,” she said.

And he looked cowed, at least. “I try to only tell kind lies.”

Kindness made her feel itchy. Her cheeks felt hot again. P always looked at her in that strange way when she blushed. As though he was surprised and intrigued, which only made her feel more flustered.

"You don’t have to be kind to me,” she said, much too aware of her boots clacking on the tiles.

At least P’s shoes were loud too. He tilted his head to one side, and that strand of hair moved with him. “Why not?”

Because kindness and Alice were strangers. Because most people who seemed kind wanted to use her. Because she didn’t know what to do with kindness. She didn’t know what to do with this boy. She didn’t know what she was doing at all, dancing and pretending that she was any kind of respectable girl.

How could she forget who she was?

Girls from asylums did not dance with kind boys.

Girls like Alice did not dance with boys like P.

They had stopped. The blood roared in her ears too loudly to hear if the music had also stopped. She stood in front of P, a hand on his shoulder, and a hand curved into his, and felt a rush of embarrassment. This was ridiculous, she was ridiculous, she wasn’t Cinderella.

She was a fool.

Alice stepped back. She saw P’s eyes widen in surprise. But he didn’t stop her. Not even when she turned and ran from the room. She ran all the way up the stairs, not noticing if Sophia was there or not. She could only focus on finding the door to her room tugging it open, and slamming it behind her. She pressed her weight against it, her cheek to the wood, listening for any sounds of a pursuit.

There was the faint murmur of voices, but nothing else.

She sunk to the floor, and tried to breathe deeply. If she wasn’t careful, she’d slide back into Wonderland. She could, and then she wouldn’t be in Krat anymore. She could leave.

But she couldn’t bring herself to.

*

P listened to the footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Listened to Antonia tutting and murmuring, "What a pity." Listened to his springs ticking and turning.

He stepped forward, to follow. There was the distant slam of a door.

Gemini chirped when he reached the threshold of the doorway. "You might want to give her some space, pal."

So, P stopped again, like that was an order. He knew that he didn't want to stay there, after that. He made his way to the foot of the stairs, and lowered himself onto the bottom ones. There was silence from upstairs. He heard Lady Antonia talking to Polendina, reminiscing about the old days, again.

He clenched and unclenched the fingers of his legion arm. Alice had looked – scared. Her green eyes had been wide and her grip had tightened on him, just before she let go. She'd been scared because he asked why he shouldn't be kind to her.

And then she’d ran.

"What happened?" he asked Gemini. It was the same thing Gemini often asked him, but that was always about monsters.

"Beat me. I don't think anyone knows what goes on inside a girl's mind."

P narrowed his eyes at him, but Gemini only chirped in response. He clenched and unclenched his fist, as he thought. It had been going well, before that. He'd understood the music and how to move; as easily as he understood wielding a sword. He had enjoyed moving to it with Alice, and how it felt to hold her – as much as he could, when he was a puppet. She'd looked beautiful, with the yellow light casting a halo on her hair and her eyes shining. His springs had felt like they'd kicked into double time, like a butterfly rapidly fluttering its wings.

"The best way to find that out is to ask her."

It was Sophia. She leant over P's shoulder. A strand of her blue hair had fallen from its bun, and swung forward.

"I don't think she wants to talk to me," he said. It was just like that first evening: he’d upset her, even if he didn’t know how, or why.

Sophia raised her eyebrows, though she was smiling softly. "I think you should try, clever one. You might be surprised at the outcome."

She even offered a hand to help him up. He took it, but made sure to take his own weight; Sophia looked so fragile, he was sure he’d pull her over.  She brushed lint from the shoulders of his coat, and straightened the lapels, as if he was truly courting a girl. When he didn’t move, she raised her eyebrows again, “Go on.”

So P did. He dimmed Gemini, and made his way through the hallways of the hotel, towards Alice’s room. Even then, he paused outside the door, listening. He didn’t hear anything at all. He supposed that was better than hearing sobbing.

He knocked. And waited. There was no response.

P’s springs felt coiled tighter. The hotel was supposed to be safe, but what if something had happened? Even worse, what if Alice had left? He opened the door on impulse, ready to fight – and found himself standing in a dark, empty room. It did feel haunted, when he was left staring at the silhouettes of furniture, and trying to find a human in-between them.

She wasn’t here.

But the window was ajar. A faint breeze fluttered the curtains.

P headed towards it, catching the handle to stop it blowing open completely.  He paused again, peering onto the windowsill. It was a wide stone windowsill, with an iron railing, with more than enough space for someone to sit. He saw a flutter of blue skirts in the wind.

He stepped out, onto the stone – and there she was. Alice sat against the corner of the iron railing, her knees to her chest, and her head buried on her knees. Her hair fell around her.

“Alice,” he said her name without thinking. He liked saying it, he realised.

It made her jump. She looked up, startled, and blinked. “P.”

He didn’t know what to do now, not even whether to sit or stand. He watched as Alice brushed her hair from her face, and wiped the heel of her hand over her cheeks.

“It’s rude to barge into someone’s room, you know,” she said, but she wasn’t scolding him. Her voice cracked a little, and she hugged her knees closer to her chest.

“I was worried,” P said. He slowly lowered himself, to sit on the other end of the balcony. The sun had set, painting the city in indigo and black. It was too cloudy a night to see any stars. “I thought I’d – hurt you.”

Alice sounded tired. “You didn’t hurt me.”

P waited, but she didn’t say anything else. He fiddled with Gemini’s lantern, watching her. His light cast a soft, amber glow over the two of them. Sophia had said to ask, but suddenly that seemed like very daunting. The silence stretched between them, and Alice still didn’t look at him. He thought she was trying very hard not to cry.

“Did I upset you?”

“It’s not you.” Alice sighed. She covered her face again, hiding in her dark hair. “You’re…perfect.”

He blinked, his springs jumping. “I was built to be perfect.”

She made a sound that could have been laugh, or a sob. He found himself shifting closer, on one knee, reaching out to take her shoulder, but it didn’t land.

“I’m not the girl that you treat me as,” she said. If her voice had cracked before, it broke entirely now. She took a long breath. “And if you knew the truth…”

She looked at him. Gemini’s light reflected in her eyes, casting spidery shadows over her cheeks. Strands of dark hair hung in front of her face. She looked sad, P thought, sad and scared, and that was terrible. He didn’t want that.

His hand hesitated, for a moment, before he leant closer, and brushed the stray hairs from her face. He tucked them behind her ear, and though her breath caught, Alice let him. She didn’t pull away. Her fingers grazed his wrist, but she didn’t take hold of his hand.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

Alice took a deep, shuddering breath. She closed her eyes, and he was sure he saw the glimmer of tears on her lashes. Yet, when she opened them, they were focused, and determined.

“I was in an asylum for ten years,” she said, and dropped his wrist. “I was considered quite mad.”

Perhaps she expected him to call her mad too; to be repulsed by her; to treat her differently. He didn’t; it was impossible to; unthinkable. She was still Alice. Still, he moved slowly, giving her the chance to pull away, if she wanted, and laced their fingers together.

“You know what an asylum is?”

P nodded. He knew. He didn’t think it mattered. Especially when she had accepted him, too.

“So, you see, I am not a lady of any kind,” Alice said. “Not anymore. I’m just – insane—”

“You’re Alice,” he said. He took her hand in both of his, all too aware of the cold metal of his legion arm. He cradled it, as if he was holding Spring. She didn’t flinch at his mechanics. She didn’t move at all. “You survive storms at sea to help save cities, and won against me in a fight—”

“We drew.”

“And you’re kind. You only agreed to dance for Lady Antonia, when you didn’t know how.”

Alice shook her head. P tightened his grip, hoping that he could make his expression display everything that he felt.

“You’re Alice,” he repeated.

Alice, who looked at him as though he was mad. “You’re impossible.”

But her mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile.

Before she sighed, again, and shifted closer, her other hand on top of his.

P didn’t need Gemini to tell him what to do, though he felt him buzz against his hip, excitedly. He untangled his hands, to put his arms around her shoulders, instead. Gently, giving space for her to slip away, if she wanted to.

Alice didn't. She fell against him, her forehead bumping against his shoulder, and her fists clutching his shirt.

For a moment, he froze. She was so close and so warm and he hadn't expected her to do that. But it was good; made him warm in response; gave him the confidence to hold her properly. He rested his cheek against her silky hair.

"This is mortifying," Alice said, into his jacket. "I'm not usually like this."

"I do not mind."

"I don't suppose you do." She sniffed, shifting so her cheek was against him instead. Her weight pressed fully against him in the twilight, and she seemed so light. He revelled in the feeling of her.

"It's just..." Alice took another shuddering breath. She might still have been crying, but P would not embarrass her further by looking. "The dancing made me think of Lizzie, and our life before, and how that's what I should be."

P didn't understand all of that. He didn't know who Lizzie was, or what 'before' truly meant. The words, he thought, were only half-meant for him. They were mostly Alice talking to herself. Asking about it might upset her even more. Still, he turned over what he did understand. He said, softly, "Then you wouldn't be you."

"I wouldn't be mad."

"Mad is what they call what they don't understand," P concluded. Alice made another sound, but didn't argue this time. He held her as tightly as he dared, his hands pressed against her back, and he could feel her breathing. Her skirts spread over his knees. P told her about the woman in the window. The woman who'd asked him to get her baby back, and he'd only been able to give her a puppet. The street sign had called her mad. It would be easy to call her that. But she was grieving and in despair and no one wanted to understand that.

Alice's breathing evened as he spoke. He could feel her breath against his cheek. Her hair smelt of roses.

"That was one of the first lies I told," he said. He tried to be very still, as though he had a bird on his hand he didn't want to disturb.

"What was the very first?"

"The hotel doesn't allow puppets. I told the door I was human."

He dared to look down at her, then. She watched him, the moonlight shining on her eyes. It made her lashes look very long and dark, and her skin very pale. She looked like a fairy, and his heart thudded as if he was in a fight. Alice’s hand shifted. Her fingertips grazed his cheek.

"I think you're more human than most people."

[grayintogreen]

Pinned Post 3: The Threequel

New year, new pinned post.

My blog contains multitudes. Main fandoms right now are Critical Role, Dimension 20, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, and Bleach, but I will also go unhinged and start reblogging stuff from things like Inuyasha/Yashahime, Pokemon, Steven Universe, Gravity Falls, Yellowjackets, Guardians of the Galaxy, LOST, Alias, and Wicked. Maybe I even have opinions on them. They're generally positive.

This is a chill blog. If you want negative opinions/critical opinions, go elsewhere. For the most part. If something makes me mad enough to even rant about it a LITTLE BIT, then it definitely fucked up somewhere, but I try really hard to not be a little hater on main. Mostly I'm just disappointed sometimes. It happens.

I'm a multishipper who does not care what you ship, just don't be a little dick about it. I won't come to your house if I don't like your ship. You don't have to come to mine.

I love redemption arcs and people figuring out their shit and turning over a new leaf. This is a theme you will see a lot in my writing.

I also like body horror, dark themes, and weirdly? Happy endings. But I also like tragedies. I just love stories, guys. All stories are valid.

I work in retail management for a popular chain and knowing that gives you full perspective on how done with all petty bullshit I am. I'm also very old, very autistic, and very tired.

I write A LOT. My AO3 is also grayintogreen.

I talk A LOT about my writing and fics, especially my two big series life in the margins of redemption (LitMoR) and red roses and dead things (Roseverse). It's a sickness. More information below.

life in the margins of redemption: a For Want of a Nail Critical Role Campaign Two Canon Divergent series, is a duology (with additional side stories) that takes the alternate path outlined in the Harvest’s Close session notes- Cree rescuing the Nein from the Gentleman’s wrath should they betray him- and takes it a step further with Cree reviving Molly on the Glory Run Road and traveling with the Nein in the hopes of finding a way to bring Lucien back. It is extremely Canon Divergent, but does feature CR2 plots under radically different circumstances and with additional characters. It’s worldbuilding heavy, character-driven, often dark, but has a guaranteed happy ending. You may heard of it as “that 1.5 million word fanfic series.”

It is not canon compliant with TNEOL as I had finished OUADYA before TNEOL came out. While I use some elements from the novel, the backstory presented for Lucien and the Tombtakers in the series is entirely different.

character sheet.

Voice Claims

red roses and dead things: A canon divergent (sensing a pattern here) AU of Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss that goes AU after Hazbin Hotel 1x06: Welcome to Heaven and Helluva Boss 2x10: Ghostfuckers. It is an ensemble series that focuses on the conflict between Heaven and Hell and the sordid history therein, Alastor's deal, various interpersonal drama, and Charlie growing into her power as a leader.

character sheet.

tumblr tag

Voice Claims

if you read these fics or share interests with me and wanna come hang out I have a Discord!!

[mi4017thesandukandevidanalge]

Film Review

The Shining

(Subtle) "The Shining" (softly) If you're someone who's never heard of a film and happens to watch it in the cinema, you probably won't be impressed. After all, in murder plots, movies tend to whisper. But why would a single word unsettle you? What does it mean? Is "The Shining" in the film about the cycle of death, or is it about the maze leading to the unknown, confinement, despair, and madness? When people slaughter Native Americans in the name of justice, when people, driven by desire, find themselves trapped in a maze and resort to cannibalism, when a hotel caretaker murders his family, and ultimately when a mad writer sells his soul for fleeting power and greed, ascending into the maze only to perish in desperate flashes of light.

I find this film to be nothing short of a poem, with its marvelous composition, cleverly arranged eeriness, and psychological implications woven through intricate details. With its flawless screenplay, every scene advances the plot seamlessly, making the lengthy narrative feel remarkably compact. Even the criticized opening scene, ingeniously linked through road layouts and shots of the hotel, focuses on those fleeing, cars with lights on in the daytime, and those stopped, cars involved in accidents; amidst eerie settings, the protagonist journeys toward the hotel of horrors. Swiftly, through several key scenes — a count that can be tallied on two hands — all the keys to the film are presented, leaving the rest to the viewer's interpretation.

Like the arrangement of horror in haiku, even the answers are extended through off-screen implications. How can such a film not provoke thought? How can one not reminisce about the characters? I truly admire the director for effortlessly condensing countless scenes, efforts, and reshoots into this two-and-a-half-hour masterpiece. What mastery it requires! Truly worthy of a maestro.

However, truth be told, I don't consider "The Shining" to be a film that truly encapsulates his efforts, considering it's based on Stephen King's novel. With its abundant conflicts of gender and race, what significance does such content hold for him? Is the entire film crafted merely for those two insignificant and irrelevant pedophilic episodes? Or is it a discourse on conspiracy theories, hinting at the Apollo moon landing hoax? Is it the protagonist's hysterical justifications expressing his conflicted desires to admit and deny? Or is it for the vindication of a Beatle?

Yet amidst all these details, the most evident implication seems to be reincarnation, akin to being trapped in a maze where one endlessly turns corners but still moves forward. Either tempted by desire and driven mad in solitude, or gradually retreating step by step, leaving the maze, escaping the labyrinth of the beast Daros. The beast's hypocritical humility serves to sell your soul in madness, dancing for insanity, one should beware of losing oneself. Do not be deceived by the facade embellished by authority, for within the strong lies the stronger, within the weak lies the weaker. Though a domineering husband may oppress his gentle wife, the wife is the reliance of the helpless child, while the husband is powerless before his superior. Clearly branded as a societal failure, the protagonist, amidst the hotel's meticulously crafted compositions, dons a shining crown symbolized by a chandelier, blinded by the power within the crown, he ventures into the labyrinth of authority. Able to surveil his family freely within the hotel, akin to overseeing the maze. Hence, when his wife attempts to flee the hotel, Jack defends it as their abode, demanding, threatening them to stay. But where there's no perpetual weak or absolute strong, Jack loses his way in the labyrinth.

The office scene resembles a voyage of the soul in an office, although Ullman, in his neutral manner, outlines the risks of Jack's impending choices, Jack, unswayed by Bill's guidance, insists on meeting Satan, whether lured by the devil or the demon within. Yet, he is blatantly deceived within the hotel. Initially the one his wife cares for the most, due to the hotel's machinations, she abandons him, plummeting him into despair. Yet he willingly descends into hell, "selling his soul for a drink" (a line from the movie), then signing a contract amidst the crimson toilet, preparing to dispose of his family, relishing in power. It's rather intriguing, as Carl Jung's concept of the unconscious speaks of the hidden evil within human nature. This suggests that those who consort with demons are the demons' cohorts.

However, what I find most intriguing is whether the hotel itself qualifies as a character. If something serves only one function, one purpose, an unchanging meaning, then it should be deemed an object; but if it can change, act, think, possess character and will, then where lies the distinction from a character? Are the two little girls, the woman in the bathroom, the crowd in the hotel ballroom, and the hotel staff not part of the hotel? If the protagonist Jack is part of the hotel, could the hotel not be an extension of him? Seeing the two paintings on either side of the bloodbath scene, the flying bird from "Afternoon in December," the hunter from "Hunting Camp," wouldn't they symbolize not only Jack but also the hotel?

There are many more details in this film that I cannot list all at once. However, regarding the theme of reincarnation mentioned earlier, it doesn't only manifest in the protagonist but also in society. Society squeezes Jack into failure, causing him to seek solace from his family. But from a perspective of racial discrimination, from the recurrent massacres of Native Americans to Jack's final decision with the hotel to avoid Black intervention, society seems to also be squeezing the hotel chef. Could it be that the ability of the hotel chef, the chef's grandmother, and Danny to have the shining is due to their status as oppressed individuals, traversing through women, ethnic minorities, and children, three vulnerable groups? Perhaps the entire film is about the cycle of power dynamics? Who knows? Truth be told, the film is formidable, truly a masterful horror piece, but as for its depth, I haven't really pondered much.

[reiketsui]

"LISTEN" >:)

the entire trip back from goldenrod is silent between them. well, not entirely silent – both of them easily slip into the business casual talk when meeting up with the client on board the magnet train. words spoken in a tone completely different to the one they used with each other, both of them knowing exactly how to treat a business partner of this caliber in order to keep up a productive streak between rocket and his company.

yet the words exchanged on the roof of that building repeat themselves in his mind to a point of madness. he is unsure what had prompted him to speak up – as he's equally unsure what pushed him towards the first proper kiss in the hotel room all those years back, when death was looming closer than ever before.

the cruel irony of two solitary beasts wrapping their bodies together in a moment of yearning passion, the beacon light of the radio tower flooding the room in maroon hues. archer never forgot a single second of that night, despite of his mind having shut out the majority of events of the era.

how could he forget?

he'd kept the leash firmly wrapped around proton's neck up until that, until the very night before what could've been their last day alive. they'd sworn to lit goldenrod ablaze were they to fail, if their message wouldn't reach their leader or he chose not to return – they wouldn't go out with a whimper.

in that moment, archer had thought about detaching the collar and telling him to run and save himself from the certain death he was leading them towards – despite of knowing that proton would have never listened to a command like that. just like all those times he had driven the man away in a fit of unstable rage, only for him to return to linger near the door of his office. it was only archer's own, selfish desire in the moment. i meant to spare you from this.

the door closes behind them as they enter the dark apartment, an exhale getting firmly stuck into his throat as he's pinned against the wall. he holds his breath for a split second, the arms draping around him telling how this is a continuation of their previous conversation cut short. archer has no intentions to push it too far – it's already a heavy mental toll, for both of them. they made a promise not to talk about it for a reason. everything between them is left behind closed doors, both physical and mental ones.

his arms make their way around proton to tug him in closer, close enough to keep their eyes from meeting – it's almost too much to bear as it is. there, surrounded by the dark, quiet apartment with the saffron city neon lights shining through the large panoramic window, archer feels more vulnerable than ever before.

" for whatever it is worth, i don't think you're a coward, " the words are quiet, enough so to mask away the fleeting emotion. " i thought about running away too. can you imagine– " he shakes his head, giving an almost pained chuckle. it's a horrid, shameful confession for him – the man whose reputation was built on being the shining beacon of loyalty. but he, too, had had his moments of doubt after they were abandoned without a word. the thoughts questioning whether all of their pain was worth it.

" –but i wanted to spare you more than i wanted to spare myself. in that moment, i would have been– content with an outcome like that, " his words remain firm despite of everything, the hesitation only lifting its head moments before the last sentence leaves his lips. " you held me above the surface through everything leading to that night. " / @chounaifu / pin my muse.

[shoresofgold]

[ AHOY. WELCOME TO SHORESOFGOLD. HERE BE MY RULES. ]

18+ interaction only! ERP is mostly quarantined to DMs, but I'm happy to roleplay suggestive content and shipping.

I roleplay in a semi-literate multiple paragraph style. I’ll adapt somewhat to the length and style of your replies.

This blog may contain: Abuse, kidnapping, graphic injury, and death. Stay safe and do not follow if these make you uncomfortable! Thank you.

I am fine roleplaying with original characters and most fandoms, however I will NOT roleplay with: Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss, IRL/YouTuber/Celebrity roleplayers, military/countries, and likely others that aren't coming to mind. 

I'm most familiar with: Sea of Thieves, Megaman, Phantasy Star Online, Zelda, Transformers, and Steven Universe. 

Be advised: I cannot always trim my posts right away! You may block my tag #trimlater if long posts are not hidden on your dash. This tag is used temporarily until I can edit the post on desktop.

Mun is Atrocity (24, it/its) my main is my art blog @machinafulmen, I'll be following and liking posts from there!

My other RP blog @calamitousarts contains my player pirate, a SOT AU of Zero from Megaman X.

Here's my WIP Carrd! I'll make that my new pinned when I get to it.... This one's uploaded as a look test.

MUSE INFORMATION UNDER THE CUT:

( Images coming in a future update. I'l be drawing references of my own interpretations of these characters. )

[ PRIMARY: Rathbone ]

Rathbone, also known as the Gold Hoarder, is a pirate cursed by his hunger for riches. His body is entirely skeletal, its decaying frame mended with pure gold, covered loosely with the tattered remains of the clothes he wore in life. His personality can be described as taciturn and apathetic; his indifference to anything unprofitable makes him a worthless ally. Driven mad by greed, Rathbone isolated himself and his plunder on an island surrounded by untraversable waters. However, he was summoned against his will to fight for the feared Davy Jones, then cast aside upon his own subsequent defeat. Currently, he is unable to return to his hoard, owning nothing but his trusty shovel and any shiny objects he can squeeze into his pockets.

[ SECONDARY: Lord Graymarrow ]

Lord Graymarrow is a fearsome cursed pirate who is proficient in magic. His skeletal body is massive, donning loose, heavy clothing reminiscent of the portly flesh he once had as a man. His loyalties lie with those he reveres most; Those who have bested him in battle and proved themselves to be powerful allies. His own crew sails the seas, their souls eternally bound to the jewelry that he wears. To his allies, he is boisterous and sociable, but to his enemies, he is nothing short of a living nightmare.

[ TERTIARY: The Burning Blade ]

The Burning Blade is the glorious flagship of Captain Flameheart, the true king of the Sea of Thieves. Her hull is monstrous, reconstructed again and again throughout her life. Armed with ten cannons and a fire-breathing maw on her bow, this nimble vessel is sure to strike fear in the hearts of all who oppose her captain. Fueled and cursed by the destruction reaped with her body, she developed a sort of.. personality, over the years. Every board of her frame churns and twists to her apparent will, favoring only her captain’s orders over all who man her helm. Begrudgingly, at her King’s request, she will allow lesser pirates to set foot upon her deck.

[earlgreydream]

time for us.

| loki x reader | angst | fluff |

anon requested. loki has been working a lot lately and hasn’t really had anytime for the reader and he completely forgets about their anniversary and she doesn’t tell him for a couple of days but then he snaps at her and they have a huge argument

a/n: this doesn’t have any spoilers for the show— just mention that Loki works for the TVA (which isn’t canon at the time of me writing this)

You loathed Loki’s new job, working for the Time Variance Authority.

Ever since Loki began at the TVA, they’d managed to occupy nearly all of his time and energy, leaving little to none left for you. Your relationship was strong, but only a few weeks of work had put a strain on the two of you.

He’d become more short tempered, and easily agitated. You tried to be patient, but little things seemed to antagonize you, and soon every small thing was becoming huge.

Above all, you hated to fight with Loki. You bottled up your frustration, shoving them down inside of you and keeping them hidden and locked away. Your limited time with Loki was precious, and you didn’t want to poison it with your annoyance. However, it was doing damage that you hadn’t yet comprehended, building a pressurized weapon that was bound to explode.

It took weeks, but the explosion came.

.

Loki had been so caught up in work that he missed your anniversary. It had escaped his mind entirely, passing like any other day. He was distracted by variants running wild, and the need to please his new boss. He felt responsible for things that were going wrong, and he had put your relationship on the backburner.

You’d been certain he’d take you out during the night, or at least do something to acknowledge the anniversary of your love, but you’d been dead wrong. You waited at home as hours passed, and when his normal arrival time had long passed, the pain in your chest grew until your entire body was throbbing with hurt.

You took your makeup off, along with the pretty dress you wore-- the green one that your husband adored.

Loki had stayed late at work, taking overtime and showing up just before ten. You were so hurt you could hardly speak, but Loki’s mind was too muddled with work to even notice. You were already in bed when he returned home, and he’d kissed your forehead and gone to sleep with less than five words leaving his lips.

You laid awake in bed that night, staring at the wall. You should have told Loki you were angry, said something then and at least gotten it in the open. But you shoved it down with everything else— every other hurt and grievance and annoyance that poisoned you.

.

“Can you set that down, please?” You asked, four days later. You tried to keep your tone even, but you were impatient. The bite in your words was all you could do to keep from tearing the file from his delicate hands.

Loki was in the kitchen, his face buried in a variant case file. He was supposed to be helping you make dinner, but you were dismissed and cast aside once again as his work outshined you.

“I’m working, Y/N! It’s important. Don’t you want me to get paid so you can have your pretty things?” Loki snapped, shocking you.

“No!” You screamed, slamming the cabinet door shut.

He stared at you, turquoise eyes wide in shock at your outburst. He dropped the file on the counter, a harsh glare adorning his stunning face.

“No, Loki! I don’t fucking care about the pretty things. I don’t even know that I care about YOU!” The words were coming out before you could stop them.

“You don’t care about me?! All I ever do is for you!” Loki met your anger, matching your energy and only fueling the fire of rage that was building in your stomach.

“You’re such a selfish liar! You don’t give a fuck about me, Loki! You’re in a relationship with your bullshit job, you don’t give a damn about me! All of your time and your energy... and fuck, even your kindness goes to the stupid fucking TVA!! There’s nothing left for me, and I don’t want your scraps!” You shoved him back when he took a step toward you.

“I’m selfish? You’re needy and dramatic! You’re a spoiled brat, acting out when not every ounce of my attention is being given to you. What, you’re mad that I didn’t help you make this salad? Grow up, Y/N!” Loki’s hateful words poured out, tasting like acid in his mouth.

“No! I’m mad that you forgot our anniversary and that you haven’t seen how much you’ve hurt me!” Tears burned as they streamed down your face, blurring your vision that was bleeding at the edges.

Loki’s lips parted, and realization suddenly crossed his features. He took a step back, recognizing his anger had spiraled out of control, and that your anger was justified.

“I didn’t mean it… I do care about you, I just want you to care about me.” Your voice broke, and shaky hands went to your mouth, stifling a sob. Guilt swelled in Loki’s chest as he saw you fall apart, unable to bear the weight of your anger.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know how I’ve forgotten. Please, my love, forgive me,” Loki’s tone softened, and he knelt down to his knees before you.

He didn’t care about the messy floors ruining his perfect suit, nothing mattered to him then except for you.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, I just miss you,” you were weeping, unable to hold the sobs at bay.

“It’s okay, scream and cry if you need to, but know I love you more than anything and I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Loki gently pulled you forward, closing his arms around you. His forehead rested against your stomach, and you laid your hands on top of his head.

“I know. I know,” you stammered in shaky breaths. Your fingers trembled as you dragged them through his hair, overwhelmed with every emotion that washed over you all at once.

.

You got home from work, a couple of days after your fight. You had both apologized, easing the tension over. Loki hadn’t stopped apologizing, even when you promised him it was okay. It had been better since-- you weren’t keeping secrets or harboring anger, and you felt exceedingly better in the aftermath of your fight.

You walked into your master suite, considering a hot bath or a shower after your day. You were lost in your thoughts as you kicked your shoes off, before turning to the bed. A dress was laid out on the end of the bed, glittery heels and jewelry in a box beside it. Loki wasn’t home, but a note was attached, telling you to get dressed and he’d meet you.

You smiled, lifting the black cocktail dress. You changed, fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror. Your day at work had been long, and you didn’t know what Loki had in store for you, but you were excited.

The lock clicked open on the door, signaling the arrival of your husband. You stepped into the foyer to greet him, met with Loki in an all-black suit. A grin spread across his expression as he noticed you, making warmth bloom in your chest.

“You look-” you both started at the same time.

You smiled and tilted your head, letting him speak.

“You look beautiful,” Loki spoke softly before giving you a kiss.

“Thank you. You look sharp. What’s the occasion, what are we doing?”

“I’m so sorry I missed our anniversary. I thought we could celebrate us tonight.”

You broke into a grin, nodding excitedly.

“Yes. Yes, let’s do it.”

“Of course. Let me set my things down,” he kissed your cheek and stepped into your master, cleaning up and dropping his bag.

.

You were driven to a fancy restaurant, one hand in Loki’s as the other smoothed over the wheel of his black sports car. He dropped the keys with a valet, and you were escorted to a table in the back of the place.

“Wine, Mrs. Laufeyson?”

“Please,” you nodded, and the waiter poured you a glass of sparkling pink moscato.

“I’ve gotten us a suite at the resort in the city. I have a bag packed for you in the car, I thought we could enjoy a weekend away. You deserve it,” Loki brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“You’re spoiling me,” you giggled, sipping your wine.

“As I should be.”

Elaborate French dishes were brought out on gorgeous plates, looking like something from a food blog. It tasted divine, and Loki told you some history about the dish from some time he was living or traveling in Paris. You listened to his animated stories, thinking about how you were so in love with him. 

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” Loki laughed softly, spooning sorbet into your mouth.

“Because I love you. And you’re charming and cute when you get excited,” you confessed with a grin. 

“I love you too. I’m sorry about everything,” he apologized. 

“It’s okay. We’re past it. Time moves forward for us.”

Loki nodded, leaning forward and smearing a kiss over your temple before retrieving your car from the valet.

“To the hotel?” he asked, sliding his hands over your hips and kissing your neck as you waited.

“Okay,” you giggled, squirming in his arms. 

He squeezed your bum, making you gasp before opening the door for you, helping you into the passenger seat. 

When you arrived at the hotel, there was a bouquet of roses on the table, and candles burning around. He kissed the back of your head, setting your bag down for you.

“Let me make this up to you,” his voice was deep as he unzipped your dress.

“Please,” you smiled, turning in his arms and pulling him into a heated kiss. 

[riotcontrolmargera]

Hi! I love your writing! Would you write some hc’s about what it would be like to go on vacation with Bam? Fem reader. I was thinking like maybe where you would go, what kind of cute tourist type things you might do, etc. Could have some smut or just fluff, either one :) Thank you!

vacation with bam HCs

note: fluff and some light smut elements ♡

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when he presented you with the idea of going on vacation with him and him alone, you were ecstatic! you were fortunate enough to get to travel, given your boyfriends line of work but it was work related mostly so there wasn't much time for love and romance.

especially when you were surrounded by jackasses.

i imagine that packing with bam would be a nightmare, you'd be doing most of the work while he goofs off. oh! and no matter how hard you try to make sure that he doesn't forget anything, he will! he definitely will.

"babe, have you seen my socks?" "damnit bam!"

but he would definitely have the, 'don't worry, i'll just buy more' attitude when he knows damn well that's not the point.

he would also to be sure to not let you pay for a single thing, even if you insisted on paying for at least some of the trip. sure, you weren't as rich as he was but you definitely made more than enough to chip in. at least a little bit but nope! he wouldn't stand for that.

when you arrive at your destination, i think the first day will be relatively lazy to unwind from all the travelling. you'd unpack then spend the rest of the day either lounging around the hotel room together or going for a short walk around the area to see whats around.

you'd probably screw around a little too, if you both weren't too jet lagged.

the second day of your trip, bam would wake you up with all the little ideas of what he wants to do and where he wants to take you. i don't think he would be too psyched on popular landmarks because 'you can see them in books and it looks the same' but he would be happy to take you anyway.

but he would quickly change his mind when he sees the look on your face as you look up at them with an awe and sense of amazement in your eyes. that would make it all worth it in his eyes.

"isn't it amazing bam?" "it sure is" he would say looking at you instead of the landmark.

he'd take you out to dinner but make sure that the restaurant wasn't ridiculously corny and romantic... i believe that bam would have a rather unconventional view on what's romantic which i think we all know at this point. he's romantic in his own quirky little way... so, don't expect candle lit dinners often!

he is definitely the type to take photos and videos the entire trip... mostly of you and not the beautiful landscapes or landmarks. whether it's of you in front of a land mark, you in the hotel room, he'd take any opportunity for a photo or video.

but getting any of him would be a fucking nightmare.

any time that you would try and turn the camera around on him, he would pull a goofy face or pick his nose or something do something that's extremely unflattering. it would be the same in selfies.

"bam, can we please just get one nice photo for the family?" "okay, okay" and then will proceed to stick his finger in your nose while grinning. yeah... good luck getting a nice photo to send to your family back home.

i think you'd expect some calls from ape to make sure that you are both doing okay on your trip AND to make sure that her son hasn't driven you mad yet!

and i don't imagine that his shenanigans would go on vacation either... he would probably pull (little) pranks on you, run into things on purpose, you know usual bam shit.

if you went to the beach together and you were out laying in the sun, you would definitely catch him staring at you because he would think that you were the best damn thing to look at one the entire beach.

"what are you staring at?" "you look so fucking hot."

he would definitely complain about sand being everywhere but would rather quickly change his tune when you offer to take a shower with him back at the hotel.

and of course, since you're on vacation, i believe that you'd fool around twice as much (unless, that's not your thing, of course) — having all that time together with no ape, phil and the CKY boys in sight would definitely lead to much more screwin than normal (not that you don't already screw like rabbits).