#the lights were shit in this segment what the fuck

[r-truth]

[kathlare]

behind the scenes

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a Quadrant promotional shoot, the team’s routine day is shaken up when Amelie makes an unexpected entrance, leaving everyone starstruck.

Wordcount: 3.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

January 12th, 2024 - London, United Kingdom

Lando adjusted his Quadrant hoodie as the cameras began rolling. The bright lights of the studio set bounced off the polished floor, giving everything a clean, modern look. Will was already in his element, cracking jokes as the crew set up their equipment. Becky and Zac were off to the side, discussing ideas for the promo, while Max stood next to Lando, fiddling with his phone.

Today’s shoot was an exciting one—Quadrant was introducing their new athlete lineup, and the energy in the room was infectious. Lando loved these moments, surrounded by friends and creative chaos. Still, there was a small part of him distracted, knowing Amelie might drop by. She was in London too, wrapping up a meeting for an upcoming project, and they’d talked about catching up later. What he didn’t expect was for her to walk into the studio mid-shoot.

The first half of filming went smoothly, with Will leading the intros and the crew getting plenty of footage of everyone joking around. As the team reset for a new segment, the door to the set swung open.

The door to the set swung open, and Amelie stepped in, wearing a casual yet effortlessly chic outfit—a black cropped sweater paired with high-waisted jeans and white sneakers. Her hair was loosely styled, framing her face with a natural elegance that immediately drew every eye in the room.

Lando froze for a split second, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected her to show up so early, and the reaction from the room was instant.

—Holy shit. Is that Amelie Dayman?—Will blurted out, eyes wide as saucers.

—No way. No fucking way,—Becky gasped, practically dropping her coffee.

Zac’s mouth hung open, and one of the crew members literally fumbled with a piece of equipment, causing it to clatter loudly to the ground.

—Guys, chill,—Lando hissed under his breath, glancing at Max, who was already grinning knowingly.

—Mate, you chill. That's Amelie bloody Dayman,—Will shot back in a stage whisper, gesturing wildly in her direction.

Amelie, completely oblivious to the mini-meltdown she’d just triggered, flashed a bright smile and waved. —Hi! Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to see how things were going.—

—You’re not interrupting,—Max said smoothly, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. —Good to see you again, Ames.—

—Good to see you too, Max,—she replied warmly before her eyes found Lando. The soft smile that spread across her face made his stomach flip.

Lando crossed the room in a few strides, his embarrassment melting away as he saw her. —Hey, you,—he greeted, pulling her into a hug. —Didn’t think you’d make it so soon.—

—I finished early,—she murmured, leaning into him briefly before stepping back. —Thought I’d surprise you.—

—Well, you definitely succeeded,—he said, throwing a pointed look at his friends, who were still staring as if they’d seen a ghost.

Will finally snapped out of it, though his voice remained incredulous. —So, uh, you two know each other?—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, glancing between them and Lando. —Of course. We’ve been friends for years. Didn’t Lando tell you?—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly. —Yeah, uh, friends. Totally. Just... friends.—

Max coughed pointedly, earning a sharp glare from Lando.

Becky, clearly not buying it, folded her arms. —Right. And does “just friends” always look this cozy?—

Amelie tilted her head, confused for a moment, before realizing how close she and Lando were standing. She laughed, a melodic sound that only seemed to make everyone in the room more captivated. —Okay, maybe we’re a little more than friends.—

Will’s jaw dropped. —A little? Mate, are you kidding me?—

—Alright, alright! Yes, we’re dating,—Lando admitted, throwing his hands up. —Happy now?—

The room erupted into chaos.

—This is amazing.— —You lucky bastard!— —Oh my God, I knew it!—

Amelie’s eyes widened as she looked around, a mix of amusement and mild panic. —Wow, okay. You all are very... enthusiastic.—

—Sorry,—Becky said, not looking sorry at all. —It’s just, like, you’re you, and he’s him. This is massive.—

Amelie glanced up at Lando, her expression softening. —I don’t know about massive, but he’s pretty great.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. —Alright, enough. Can we focus on the video now?—

—Not a chance,—Will declared. —This is the biggest Quadrant scoop of the year.—

—Seconded,—Zac added, pulling out his phone. —This is going straight to the group chat.—

Lando groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Amelie just laughed, patting his arm. —You’ll survive, Lan.—

Max leaned over to Lando, smirking. —Told you it’d come out eventually.—

—Shut up, Max,—Lando muttered, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed.

As the crew gradually settled down, Amelie found a seat off to the side, watching with a bemused smile as filming resumed. Lando kept stealing glances at her between takes, his heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

Every so often, their eyes would meet, and Amelie would flash him a small, private smile that made him forget anyone else was in the room.

When the shoot finally wrapped, Becky sidled up to Amelie. —So... any tips for dealing with this one?—

Amelie grinned. —Patience. Lots of patience.—

—Oi!—Lando protested, but he was grinning too.

As the crew began packing up, Will clapped Lando on the shoulder. —Mate, you better hold onto her. She’s way out of your league.—

—Tell me something I don’t know,—Lando replied, his gaze drifting back to Amelie, who was now chatting animatedly with Max.

The chaos of the day finally started to simmer as the crew packed up the set. The Quadrant promo had turned into a different kind of highlight reel, with Amelie’s surprise visit stealing the show. Lando was still reeling from the revelation. While it wasn’t how he’d planned for their relationship to be revealed to his friends, he couldn’t deny the small thrill of everyone knowing.

He watched from the side as Amelie chatted with Max, her laughter carrying easily through the room. She looked perfectly at ease, despite the initial fan-like reactions from everyone else. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the attention, her natural charm disarming even the most awestruck members of the crew.

Will sidled up next to Lando, sipping a coffee that he definitely hadn’t had during filming. —You’re a sly bastard, you know that? How’d you even pull that off?—

Lando sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this conversation. —It’s not like I planned it. It just... happened.—

Will raised an eyebrow. —“It just happened”? Mate, you’re dating Amelie Dayman. That doesn’t just happen.—

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, trying to suppress a grin. —We’ve known each other for years, alright? It’s not some wild celebrity thing.—

—Still, though.— Will shook his head in disbelief. —You’ve got some serious game, mate. Respect.—

—Alright, enough of that,—Lando muttered, though his cheeks flushed. —Can you all just not make a big deal about it?—

Will smirked. —Oh, it’s already a big deal. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us... for now.—

Lando shot him a warning look. —I mean it, Will.—

—Yeah, yeah.— Will waved him off before strolling away, no doubt to find Becky and gossip further.

As the last of the equipment was packed and people started trickling out, Lando made his way over to Amelie. She was now leaning against a table, scrolling through her phone, her expression relaxed. The sight of her, so effortlessly part of his world, made his chest ache in the best way.

—Hey, you,—he said softly, slipping an arm around her waist.

Amelie looked up, her smile lighting up her face. —Hey, yourself. Done being the star of the show?—

—Hardly. You stole that title the second you walked in.—

She laughed, resting a hand on his chest. —I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.—

—You didn’t. They just... weren’t ready for you.— Lando’s fingers traced absent patterns on her waist. —Honestly, I wasn’t either.—

Amelie tilted her head, her smile turning teasing. —Should I have texted first? Given you time to prepare?—

—Maybe.— He leaned down, their foreheads almost touching. —But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see their faces when you walked in. Totally worth it.—

She hummed, her fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie. —So... does this mean your friends approve?—

—They’re obsessed with you. Not that I’m surprised.—

Amelie’s eyes softened. —Well, for the record, I think your friends are great. A little loud, but great.—

Lando chuckled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. —You handled them like a pro.—

—Years of red carpets and press tours. This was easy,— she teased, leaning into his touch.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh at her response. He’d always admired her poise, how effortlessly she navigated situations like this. —Well, I’m glad you came. It’s... nice having you here. Makes this whole thing feel a lot more real.—

She smiled at him, her eyes soft. —It’s real, Lando. Just, you know, not how we expected it to be.—

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead briefly before pulling back, his hand still resting on her waist. —Yeah. But I’m kind of glad it’s happening this way. Feels... natural, I guess.—

Amelie looked up at him, her fingers tracing the edge of his hoodie again. —Yeah, it does. You’ve got your friends, I’ve got mine, and now we get to be a part of each other’s worlds in a way we never really got to before.—

Lando’s heart skipped. That was the thing with Amelie—they’d always been there for each other, even in the years when they didn’t quite work. But now? It felt different. It felt... right.

—So, I’ll see you at mine tonight?— he asked, a little hopeful. He hadn’t planned to get serious with her so soon, but the way she looked at him made him feel like they were already past the point of casual.

—Of course, Lan,—she replied, her voice a mix of amusement and warmth. —I wouldn’t miss it for the world.—

Max, who had been watching from a distance, cleared his throat dramatically, crossing his arms. —Alright, lovebirds, enough with the PDA. You’ve had your moment. Can we wrap this up so I can go home?—

Lando shot him an exasperated look. —Oh, shut up, Max. It’s not like you haven’t seen us act like this a hundred times already.—

Max held his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. —Alright, alright. Just, like, keep it down, yeah? Some of us still have a bit of dignity left.—

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle, his arm still around Amelie as he pulled her a little closer. The warmth of her presence was enough to make him forget all the chaos that had just unfolded. The crew was starting to wrap up, packing up equipment and heading out, but for a moment, everything felt still.

Amelie looked up at Lando with that familiar mischievous gleam in her eye. —So, how about we ditch all this and go grab something to eat? I’m starving.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —You’re really trying to get me out of here, huh?—

—You bet I am,—she said with a playful smile, tugging on his arm. —Come on, let’s go. I’ve been on my best behavior all day, now I deserve some downtime.—

Max snorted from behind them. —Right, because you’re always so “well-behaved,”—he said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Amelie shot him a wink over her shoulder. —Hey, Max, you don’t know the half of it.—

Lando squeezed her waist affectionately, making sure to keep his voice light. —Come on, before he starts talking about us again.—

Max raised both hands, his grin unrelenting. —Alright, alright. Go on. Just don’t forget that I’m the one who knows all your dirty secrets, Lando.—

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. —Thanks for the reminder, mate.—

As they made their way out of the studio, Lando kept his arm around Amelie’s shoulders, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. This was real. They were real. And for the first time in a while, he was looking forward to what came next.

The evening stretched ahead of them, full of quiet moments and inside jokes, and Lando found himself feeling more content than he had in months. They weren’t ready to go public yet, after all, there was still a bit of navigating to do, but being together, in their little bubble, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

—You know, I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone sooner,— Amelie said softly, her voice steady and thoughtful.

Lando paused, glancing down at her. —I wasn’t sure if we were ready for that kind of attention yet. It’s... easier this way. But, yeah. I guess I should’ve told them. I just wanted it to be... normal, you know?—

Amelie smiled up at him, her fingers still interlaced with his. —I get it. I think I just needed a little more time to figure out how to do this with you.—

Lando nodded, his thumb gently tracing her hand. —We’ll figure it out together, alright?—

She leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with a soft smile. —Yeah. Together.—

Max’s voice came from behind them, loud and exaggerated as always. —Are you two seriously going to stand there, or are we going to grab some food? I’m fucking starving!—

They both turned, sharing an amused glance before laughing.

—Coming, Max,—Lando called out, pulling Amelie toward the car with a smile. —Let’s go before he starts ordering for us.—

As they climbed into the car, the comfortable silence settled in, punctuated only by Max’s animated chatter in the backseat. For Lando and Amelie, it was just another step in their journey—a journey that had started years ago and, now, was something neither of them could have ever predicted.

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. They were together. And that was enough.

[sluttysanemi]

AHHH !!

i have this request with sanemi or even obanai, smut ofc although i love comfort & fluff !

sanemi or obanai during&after nnn (no nut november) ???

🤍 🤍

ੈ✩‧₊˚ – MORNING ARISES.

c/w: smut, thigh fucking, mirror sex? , established relationship

a/n: i promise ill write 4 obanai one day i jst rlly like writing and posting sanemi.. also what do we think of fallen angel sanemi?? idk that could be pretty hot

A new morning dawns as another month begins. You groggily vacate from your bed, as segments of light emerge through the window. It'd been an uproarious month, particularly for Sanemi- who slept, half asleep, beside you.

He restricted himself of you the entire november, for particularly petty reasons. There was no intimacy across those days, and you knew he grew desperate by the second week.

This was, however, not what rang across your mind. Rather, you proceed to your customary morning routine, shuffling your body to the common bathroom.

Gazing at the mirror across, you crank the tap, letting the water stream along your palm; before splashing it against your face. You clear the nightly buildup your body formed upon your face, whilst awaking yourself. 

While performing your morning dues, Sanemi would promptly stumble from the sheets. You could hear the heavy thud of his feet as he staggered along the floorboards to the lavatory. His rich sandalwood fragrance quickly spreads across the small space. You whispered an earnest greeting, as you continued. 

It was until he suddenly drew closer, throwing his robust arms along your waist and sinking his face in the crook of your neck. His chest was rigorous against your back,  you could feel the faint twitch of his pectorals. His hips were particularly close, as he pressed against you boldly.

It was evident he was still half slumbering as he laid his light lips against the exact region upon your shoulder.

“Missed ya so much…”, he spoke dazedly. 

You swiftly realized what he meant, as he drove his hips against you. You could feel the hard contour of his famished shaft as it pushed along. He dressed only in his boxers, thus you could feel every detail of his length, as it struggled against the thin fabric of the garment.

“Please…”, Sanemi uttered. 

Your cheeks flush, and your breathing grows heavy. You grant his plea with a subtle nod,  watching as he slowly tugs at your panties, exposing your cunt to the warm air. 

He follows, pulling his firm dick from his waistband. His rigid cock lubricated with the sinful beads of his pre, as it trails downwards.

Still barely conscious, he struggles to push himself into you, instead driving between your thighs. You could feel his veins throbbing against your clit, whilst he groans in ecstasy. It hadn't mattered where he was buried, you still felt phenomenal. 

He took a firm hold of your hips, and began to move slowly, humping himself between your legs. 

You could feel him rutting against your lower lips, as your slick stained his cock. He pulsed with excitement. 

“Hnn.. so good f’me… so soft…”, Sanemi’s words spilled incoherently, his mind clouded with pleasure. 

You looked wistfully to the mirror, your cheeks a deep scarlet. His cock pushes against you endlessly, while you clutch to your bathroom's surface.

A hand would slowly surface along your body, wrapping itself around your tit. His fingers delicately pinch at the soft nub, eliciting a groan from your lips. You grind yourself against him, desperately yearning for more of him, more of his desperation. 

His head separates from your shoulder, tilting back, as his hips grow more fervent. The sound of his labored breathing and the feel of his skin on yours send thrills down your spine.

His grip tightens around you, his rough nails pressing into your skin. His breath feels hot on your neck, his presence overwhelming and stifling.

“Fuck… s–so-.. Shit–..”, he pants endlessly. He's pulsating ceaselessly, so close to achieving a rush that he's starved himself completely of. His firm tip continually humping against you, twitching in elation as he feels the clench of your thighs, strumming against his sensitive skin. 

His balls begin to tighten, as his ability of thought fades. 

With a few more ruts of his hips, he spills himself, his spurts of pleasure trickling between your thighs, and the counter- too eager to feel ashamed of having finished so swiftly.

His formerly cruel fingers begin to gently knead your hips, while he splays kisses around your neck. You tilt your head backwards, indulging into his expression of affection. 

“C’mon, sweet girl… ‘nother one. Wanna show you how bad I missed you.”, Sanemi coos softly, against your ear.

[bimbolita]

I’m so glad everyone is having the same visceral reaction to episode 4 like I did. I thought I was being too sensitive but fucking no. It is painful. It is horrid. Knowing that this type of abuse actively happens to sex workers and those who are trafficked. It’s jarring because I didn’t expect to see this dark and explicit depiction in a cartoon that jokes about penises every 2 minutes. It’s like when light hearted coco melon shows start talking about death, it was just unexpected because I never took this show serious. I’m going to share more of my thoughts below! Trigger Warning: Mentions of SA ⚠️

I don’t think it’s my place to deny or confirm if the ‘poison’ scenes were fetishized, I personally believe it’s subjective. I know how I feel but I think no matter where you stand, you are right in your own way. Many things can be true at once. What we can all agree on, is that it was harsh. In a way, I hope the audience is able to understand how exploiting and non glamorous sex work is. There is nothing fun about having your body used multiple times a day by people you do not know and having said scenes recorded then plastered all over the media. Of course all forms of engaging in or creating adult content are different, I am specifically talking about sex workers who have no say or control over their bodies and finances. Like Angel. Let us put emphasis on WORK in sex work.

It is demanding. It is laborious It is scaring. Remember that and remember the unheard voices who must do this to simply survive.

There is a lot of criticism about angel’s personality and yes I agree it is annoying but you have to understand, it is a trauma response. Hypersexuality is a common trait among those who are sexually abused. Angel just outwardly expresses it all the time because it is all he knows. This thought process is the only way to tolerate his behavior. I say thought process because it is only an interpretation. It’s very obvious viv just adores writing sexed up characters with zero nuance or depth but let’s just pretend she can actually write male characters that think beyond their cock and balls. Let’s pretend that Angel Dust is a two dimensional character and not (grits teeth) fetish bait.

Now, let’s talk about Charlie. Alright great, she saw her friend being mistreated and was about to stand up to his abuser, ok good good. The victim (Angel) gets upset and wants her to leave because he was beaten. Yes, average response of someone who is an abusive relationship, he is afraid and wants to avoid more conflict between him and Val. The situation at hand couldn’t be more than obvious. How does Charlie respond? She cries. And not because she is frustratedly concerned for the safety of her friend. It is because he yelled and rejected all her poor attempts at helping. Charlie is weak as shit and I think that interaction was weirdly written. I wish she had the mental fortitude to understand how much danger Angel’s life was in at that moment. I cannot enjoy her ‘aggressive kindness’ cutie do no wrong baby girl type of character in a moment like that.

And I feel the same about Husk’s song. Out of all the responses you could’ve made, this is what made it to the final cut? Do better. I don’t care if I lack the mEdIa LiTeRaCy twitter keeps yapping about. It’s bad. You just showed a sexual assault montage and the rebuttal was basically “my uncle broke his neck tap dancing once :/“ lol we’re both losers and that’s ok, suck it up buttercup, I like you regardless. This was the best response to an SA victim? No degree in media literacy would ever help me think that was an acceptable response. I dunno about ya’ll but I major in common sense at the university of using my eyes and fucking ears. Now imagine, if that entire segment, when Husk and Angel are at the bar plus the musical number; imagine if all of that was placed BEFORE we see Angel and Val interact and then poison plays as the final song. It would be 10x more impactful because then the audience sees how deep and stuck Angel actually is. Trauma olympics is never acceptable but neither is trauma participation trophies. It is not right to make Husk’s issues be seen as the same as Angel’s issues. They are not the same and it is ok to acknowledge that Angel has it worst than Husk. It’d be more genuine if Husk were to just hug him in complete silence after dragging him out of the bar and have Angel tearfully embrace him back. The first non sexual and benevolent interaction between them. The first physical act of care with no ulterior motives of lust.

I grind my teeth at the wasted potential.

[gay-wh0re-slut]

Are You Mine?

rhea x reader

content: reader accidentally gets knocked out causing memory loss but rhea is there to help you remember. a cute fluffy lil fic (gonna try first person in a more diary kinda way?? i hope this makes sense and works??!?!)

One Monday Night RAW went a little too crazy. Rhea and Shayna were arguing which ended up becoming a fight. Things got out of hand and chairs were being thrown. Sitting in the front row, I got free tickets because Rhea is my hot goth buff girlfriend, anyway, one of the chairs ended up hitting me in the head. Everyone thought it was planned but it surely was not.

I was immediately out, on the floor. For the sake of television, Rhea and Shayna continued to argue but once the segment was over and the commercial came, the goth wrestler jumped out of the ring and flew to my side.

Medics ran towards me, rolled me out on a gurney and drove me to the local ER. Once the show was done, Rhea drove to the hospital and forced her way towards my bedside. She was crying and holding my hand begging and pleading for me to wake up. I had tubes and lines all over me.

“Is she okay? Will she wake up?” the australian asked the nurse.

“She had a bad hit, so she’ll be out for a while. But everything inside is looking as good,” the nurse sounded dull and tired. I was probably her fiftieth concussion that day.

“So she will wake up?”

“It looks like she will be able to. Considering how hard she was hit, she might have some memory loss, so be prepared for that,” she wrote something on my chart.

“Fuck,” Rhea growled.

The nurse jumped a bit at the muscular woman in her intense makeup and dark clothing. She was scared of her when she walked in but it wasn’t even close to the craziest thing she saw that day.

“I’ll be back later to check on her,” she placed the chart on the hook.

“Okay…Thank you,” Rhea kissed my hand and rested her head on the bed.

The nurse left and closed the curtain behind her.

You’re probably wondering how I remember all this…well I don’t. This is what was told to me and a little bit of dramatization for the story. But this next bit I do remember because it was after I woke up and I was able to recover my memory, but not at first. Don’t worry, it’ll get good.

So after a few hours, according to the doc, I finally woke up. I forced my eyes open and looked to see who was resting beside me. I tried to not freak out about this large dark woman holding my hand but I couldn’t think at all other than “Where am I ?!”

“Y/N!! You’re awake!” she kissed my hand and I immediately pulled it away but she didn’t take too much notice of it because she stood and called for the nurse, “Nurse!! Please hurry she’s awake!! Nurse!”

The nurse walked just a bit quicker than her normal gait. Followed by two more who were checking on different tubes and monitors. She shined the small light in my eyes as I squinted away from her, she checked my pulse and my breathing before spewing off some random medicines.

“Can someone please tell me where I am and why I’m here?” I sat up trying to avoid everyone touching me.

“You had a bad concussion, you were out for a good few hours. You’re at Rosendall Grace hospital,” the nurse said as if she was reciting lines from a play.

“How?” was all I could say.

“It was my fault,” the scary muscular woman said sniffling in the corner, “I was arguing with shayna and we threw a chair and it hit you, I’m so sorry baby.”

“Who’s Shayna and why’d you call me baby? Who are you?” I felt the side of my head that was pulsing. It felt like my brain was going to burst out.

“Don’t touch, there’s a wound there,” the nurse pulled my hand away.

“Shit,” the dark woman slammed her hand on the wall, “You lost your memory. I’m Rhea, I’m your girlfriend and have been for two years. I’m a wrestler for WWE, and Shayna is another wrestler and we were arguing on television but you were in the audience.”

The nurses that were swarming around me looked at each other as if it finally clicked in their head why she looked the way she did and why she was here with me.

“What’s WWE?”

“You’ll remember later, too much to explai-”

“Please don’t pull out your IV,” the nurse grabbed my wrist.

“I’m scared, I don’t know who she is, I’m in a random hospital with nurses that could give two shits about me. I want to leave, please!” I tried wriggle my arm out from her grip.

Rhea sits down in the chair in the corner of the room, “Please just listen to them for right now and you’ll be out sooner. Fighting them won’t help,” she sighed putting her head in her hands.

“Fine,” I huffed crossing my arms refusing them from touching me more.

“Please, we need to fix it,” the nurse held out her hand.

If looks could kill, she’d be long gone by now with the daggers I was shooting at her. She didn’t budge. So I so dramatically give her my hand.

“Thank you,” she snipped, “this is medicine that will help with the pain… morphine,” she shot a look to the australian, as if she was making sure she knew what was going to happen. “You should get your memories back within the night,” she looked back at me giving a fake smile. Taking a big sigh and checking the medicine bag hanging near me, “try to jog her memory like talking about things she likes or about the moments leading up to the injury,” she turned towards my girlfriend before nodding her head. Who knows how long she’s been here.

“Okay, yeah… I can do that,” Rhea dragged the chair back to the side of the bed.

“We’ll be back later the check on things,” the nurse gave a nod and shut the curtain once more.

“Hey,” she tried to grab for my hand but I pulled it away.

“Don’t touch me, I don’t know who you are,” I turned away from her.

“You know me very well actually,” she sat back in the chair, “You know how much vegemite I like on my toast, you know that I love to be the little spoon, you know that I-”

“Vegemite?” I looked at her confused because what the hell is that, legitimately.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved me away.

“And you,” I gestured frantically to her big arms and muscular stature, “like to be the little spoon?”

“Yes. Don’t start with me, princess,” she began to play into the memory loss as if I was someone she had never met before.

Unbeknownst to me, she was trying to win me back over but obviously I had no clue who this dark haired goth woman was. Did I think she was attractive? Yes but that’s not the point.

“Oh now you’re trying to flirt with me,” I said.

“I’m always flirting with you actually,” she winked.

The butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I tried my best to hide them but…

“Now how did I know that would fluster you, hm?”

“I don’t know! You’re good a flirting?!” I shrugged.

“I am, thank you,” she giggled.

“Ugh,” I huffed and crossed my arms. I remember thinking that she was so incredibly attractive and mysterious. I needed to know more about her but I had no clue where to start. We sat in silence for a good long minute before I decided to break it. “What did you say you did?”

“I’m a wrestler for WWE.”

“And what’s that?”

“It stands for World Wrestling Entertainment. My nickname is Mami, and I’m the big scary villain along with three other guys but we’ll get to them later.”

“Oh,” I really did try to process what she said but I was so far out of it that I had no clue what wrestling was. I thought that if I faked it, she would believe me.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember, you will eventually,” only then did I notice what she was wearing because she was putting everything on display by her manspreading. She noticed that I was staring pretty hard trying to take it all in, “What’re ya looking at so hard?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I’m trying to figure out what you’re wearing and why you’re wearing it,” I shifted in the bed.

“Oh,” she chuckled before she stood. “These are my boots,” she pointed at them as her feet turned in, “these are my fishnets,” she pulled at them with a snap, “they always gets holes in them but I think it makes me look cooler, and these are my lil booty shorts,” she pointed at them with both of her hands gesturing to her center, “this is my shirt with the group on it… that’s me,” she pointed at each of the silhouetted figures on the shirt, “that’s Dom Dom, that’s Damian and that’s Finn. They’re my boys,” she smiled.

“Hmm,” I said contently. I was really was fascinated by this woman. She was so… interesting.

She sat back down pulling the chair closer to the bed but I didn’t feel the need to shy away again. Something about her made me feel…safe.

She cleared her throat, “so do you remember anything at all?”

“Well, I know my name is (y/n) only because that’s what you said earlier, and I know I got hit in the head, and obviously I know how to talk, but other than that…” I couldn’t think of anything, nothing at all. I began to freak out a little but I tried to hide it as best I could.

“Hey, hey," she grabbed my hand, "it's okay, you'll get your memories back soon, I'm sure. Nothing to worry about, just a lil blip is all," she kissed my hand.

A shot of warmth from her voice as the kiss flew through me and calmed me almost immediately. I guess I did know her.

We sat in silence for a good moment as I studied her. Her eyes are an icy blue that almost close when she smiles wide, her teeth are perfectly white, her nose is long and skinny with a bump in the middle, it suits her. Her tattoos are dark but fit her style as if she was born with them, her calloused hands look rough but are softer than you can imagine. The way her black wavy hair falls perfectly around her face, framing it just right to accentuate her cheekbones. Her arms are muscular but you can’t tell when she’s relaxed, though I’m sure that if she flexed I’d go into cardiac arrest. I laughed at myself with that one.

“What’s so funny, love?” her voice was quiet but gentle.

The pet name didn’t phase me as much as the first one did, “just thinking.”

“Bout what?” She crossed her legs leaning on her elbow with her chin in her hand.

“How I wish I remembered who you are because I definitely think you’re my type,” I could feel my face getting red and hot.

“Oh trust me, I wish you could too because I most definitely am your type,” one of her blue eyes winked at me and the monitor started beeping faster.

She laughed as she looked at the heart rate going up, “Told ya.”

“Knock, knock,” a different nurses voice came through the curtain before she walked through, “your nurse left for the night so I’ll be taking care of you for now,” she grabbed my chart, “So how are you feeling?”

“My head isn’t throbbing anymore so that’s good, but I guess I still don’t have my memory yet.”

“It’ll come soon, but I’m glad the morphine is working,” she smiled as she put my chart back and flicked the IV bag to get rid of the bubbles, I’m not exactly sure why she did that though.

I gave her a weak smile before looking back at the dark woman beside me. She gave me another wink and the monitor beeped faster again.

“Oh! You okay?” the nurse shot me a look.

“Yeah, uh… I’m fine,” I tried to shrink myself down.

“She’s okay Doc, just trying to jog her memory,” the wrestler said.

“I see,” she giggled, “I’ll be back to check on you later. Maybe try to get some sleep, that usually helps others with their memory. Like a hard reset!” She quietly left the room, if that’s what you wanna call it.

“That’s actually a good idea, wait, when did we eat last?” my so called girlfriend asked.

“Around 5 I think?”

“What?”

“What what?”

“You remember when we ate?” She started to get excited.

“Oh… I guess I do!”

“Do you remember what you ate?”

“Uuuuhhhhhh….” I really thought hard about what food was, “Damn, no I don’t.”

“Damn,” her face dropped immediately, “I’ll get some stuff from the vending machine though, I’ll be right back, baby,” she stood and kissed my forehead.

As if someone hit me with another chair, my head pounded with memories. True Love’s Kiss really came through with this one. I remembered everything, who she was, what I ate, who I was, where we were, why we were here. I held my head as they came rushing back, “Rhea?”

“Yeah?”

“Do that again,” I pointed at my forehead.

So she did, but she didn’t notice that I said her name, which shoulda been the dead give away because I’ll be honest, I didn’t remember her name when she said it at the beginning of this whole mess.

“That’s what I thought,” I said.

“What?” she stepped back a bit.

“That I love you,” I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt.

“You do?! You remember?!” She was almost jumping she was so excited. “So who am I? What do I do?”

“You’re Rhea Ripley of the Judgment Day, you wrestle for WWE and most importantly you’re my girlfriend,” I shook my legs with excitement.

“Yes! Yes!!” She bent down and kissed my lips holding my face, “What else?!” she didn’t let go of my face though.

“We had burgers for dinner with the boys, Dom, Finn, and Damian. You had a match against Shayna that ended with me getting hit with the chair,” I laughed it off.

“YES!!” she kissed me once more, “NURSE! She remembered! Nurse!!!”

She came running in, “YAY!!” she was much more enthusiastic than the other one, “That’s exciting news!! Oh I love hearing about things like this, it’s so cool how the brain works,” she laughed. “I’ll get the doc to come check on you once more to see of you can be discharged. Be right back!” as she slipped out.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!!” Rhea kissed all over my face and down my neck finishing with a long kiss on my lips.

“I love you too…Mami,” I giggled.

“I can’t wait to get you out of here,” she snarled playfully.

“Me either.”

[marleyybluu]

Truth or Drink 2

Pedro x fem!reader

WC: 1.4k

omg not her posting another Pedro one after she said she wouldn't for a while... not sorry

Same spots. Same interview but under different circumstances. The makeup artist added the finishing touches to your face. Pedro was in awe of you as usual like a smitten kitten, love was written all over his face. You could feel it, you didn't even have to ask if he was looking at you. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He innocently shrugged. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you were invited back for another segment of Truth or Drink but this time it was no movie promotion, though you two had separate projects going on, this was about your blossoming relationship. Since the last interview, you and Pedro had finally confessed your feelings to each other and it'd been a blissful ride ever since.

A whole year of surprise dates, endless compliments and kisses, whenever he touched you it made bumps form on your skin as if every time was the first. You too had never loved anyone the way you loved Pedro, you would do anything for him and you made sure he knew that. The makeup was done and soon it was time to record, you were a bit more nervous for this one because the crew had told you guys these questions would be different.

"You guys ready?"

"As always," Pedro answered. The cameraman counted down and pointed for you two to begin, but neither of you said anything. "Am I doing it first this time?" You asked. "By all means."

You blushed and looked at the camera. "Hello, I am YN YLN and this is my... boyfriend Pedro Pascal-" He uttered a giggle and covered his mouth soon after. You laughed hiding behind your hands, this interview might be more chaotic than the last one.

"What do you guys notice about this interview?"

"We didn't have to write our own questions." You answered. "We have pulled questions from various sources. Instagram, Twitter and even people you two are close to."

Pedro playfully frowned. "Shit."

"Same rules apply. You ask, you either say the truth or drink, and you can go ahead with a starter shot."

Pedro picked the drink this time, pouring his and about to pour yours until you stopped him. "Can I have this one, please? I asked them to get me this one." You politely informed pointing to the bottle in the middle. He shrugged pouring your shot and closing back the bottle before placing it back with the others, just like the last time you raised your glasses with a little nod and, "Salud." Once your drinks were down you asked the first question. "Where did you take me on our first date?"

Easy.

He became giggly all over again. "So, you've always said that you hate restaurants as a first date, too bland, too formal, so I booked out an entire arcade for the both of us and we were in there for hours."

You proudly nodded. "Best date ever."

"Good, I'm glad." He blushed. It was his turn to ask. He cleared his throat. "Do we have any pet names for each other?"

You winked. "You love my pet names. I call you Pedrito, Pookie, baby, love... papi Pascal." And judging by his reaction, that might be his favourite one. "My names for her are in Spanish though. So I'll call her mi amor, mi corazon, bébé... I think I'm missing one."

"Cariño." You added. "Oh yeah, she's my cariño."

You leaned back in your chair reading the next question. "What do you like about me, physically? Oh lord." Pedro rubbed his hands together and laughed menacingly, you hid behind your cards knowing he'll say the obvious answer. "Your boobs."

"Alright, interview over."

"No, no, no... relaaax." He played along. "I mean I do like your boobs, but, your eyes do it for me. They're so big and pretty and wondrous, they allow me to look into such a kind loving soul that puts up with me and my antics."

You pouted. "Aww,"

"Boobs are a close second though." He added. "I love your smile the most. When you smile or laugh your eyes close and it's the cutest fucking thing, your entire face lights up too and I could just squish you." You cooed.

You two continued your string of questions, so far nothing was asked that made you want to drink but you still took shots in between for entertainment and the fact that it's free liquor who was passing that up? The first round of questions, you were informed, were mostly from fans and that this round was from close friends and family so it was definitely about to get risqué. You sighed. "Do you think we have enough sex?"

Pedro beamed. "I think we may have too much for people with such busy schedules."

"Are you guys saying you do it whenever and wherever you can?"

You two nodded. "Have you ever done it at a movie premiere or something?"

He reached for the bottle and poured, both of your attempts at keeping a straight face were slowly failing, until you let out a snort that triggered Pedro's. You clinked glasses before taking the shot. "Do you think we'd last if we got married?" Pedro asked. You scrunched up your face, what a ridiculous question. "Of course. You are the most caring and kind person I've ever met, the way you treat me is insane, I've never had anyone love me the way you do," Your voice broke and your eyes burned, you fanned your face and giggled nervously. "Got me crying on camera and shit."

Pedro reached over grabbing your free hand, soothing you by caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "You know I love you, mama."

"I know." You pouted. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much more." You rolled your eyes gently hitting his arm with the cards, he always had to get the last 'I love you.' He flashed that cute smile that made you melt 100 times over. "Come here," You didn't take even a second thought before getting up to sit on his lap, you rested your head on top of his while he held you close. "How long did it take you guys to say I love you?" One of the crew asked. "Three months," Pedro chuckled. "Truthfully I wanted to say it sooner."

You nodded. "Me too."

Last question. You had a surprise that came with this one. "Are you excited to be a new dad?"

The question didn't really register just yet. "Of course I am. I can't wait for us to start a family one day, and to have another cute face to wake up to. I mean I think maybe I'd wait until I could take a break and then that way I could spend all my time taking care of... wait."

It hit. "Am I excited to be a new dad? But we don't... you're not..."

Pedro bit his lip. "Are you pregnant?"

You reached into your back pocket and pulled out a folded picture of your first ultrasound. He broke. "YN... you're joking."

"I am not," You leaned in and pointed to the little dot. "That little peanut is ours."

Pedro sat speechless which was a rare occasion for him, he took the picture in his hand really trying to comprehend that he assisted in creating another life, that in just nine short months he'd get the one thing he deeply craved, that he yearned for. His own family.

He smiled as a tear slipped from his eye. You wiped it away kissing his temple. "Wait, so what have you been drinking?"

"Diluted apple juice," You answered, you turned the camera and pointed. "Which fucking sucks by the way so my faces were real."

The crew laughed. Pedro still stared at the photo, you rested your head on top of his. "You didn't answer my question. Truth or drink, are you excited to be a dad?"

"Of course, I'm fucking excited," He looked up at you, you pecked his lips. "Thank you," He whispered. "I love you." You whispered back.

"I love you more," He turned to the crew. "I guess the next time you see us we'll have another drinker in the mix." He joked. "Last time we ended this video as a potential couple and this one we are soon to be parents."

"When we come back we'll be married. I promise you that." He hinted. The cameras cut, the crew applauded and congratulated you two. Pedro grabbed your stuff and held them for you as you walked off-set. It's weird to think one little interview that involved a few shots would lead you to where you are now completely and utterly in love.

yes i made him a dad again. yes i warned yall i do this

if you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. peace and love

tags @skyesthebomb

[subskz]

RINNIE I JUST HAD A THOUGHT!

jisung with pierced nipples is already crazy hot, like i would spend an entire day with my mouth on them, BUT WHAT IF he wore those nipple RINGS, like those segment rings or whatever it’s called, and you attach a pretty chain which connects the ring on each nipple together. you can either:

A) tug on it while you’re fucking him, or while he’s fucking you, and watch how deliciously he arches his back

B) attach a little leash on it and drag him around while he’s walking on all fours like a lil puppy

C) attach small weights onto the chain and make him ride your strap (your biggest one, ofc) so that it’s constantly tugging at his pretty nipples

i think jisung would love it if he had nipples piercings with a chain that connected to a cock ring, if you know what im talking about?

jisung also would have a shit ton of jewelry for his pretty nipples. he’d have some simple ones and some decorative ones—whether it’s embedded diamonds/jewels, or ones for certain occasions, like holidays. he’d definitely pull out ones with jingle bells on them when christmas comes around, he loves hearing them when you’re fucking him hard. but beware, every regular jingle bell he hears during the festive season will have him bricked up since it reminds him of his nipple piercings and when the two of you fucked.

he’d also feel super bare without any on him. it just doesn’t feel right, like he needs something in his pretty nipples. he absolutely loves playing with his nipples, and loves it when you play with his nipples too, maybe even more. rub them with your fingers, lick them, suck them, literally anything, he’s not picky. i think he loves getting his nipples played with so much to the point that he probably can’t cum without any stimulation to his nipples, or at least cumming but not in a satisfying way. it would be super cruel to not touch his nipples the entire time and watch how he gets so needy. tie his hands up too, because he’s definitely going to be touching his nipples if you won’t be touch them for him.

also, i think he’d cum so hard if you were to press a vibrator on his nipples, since not only is it stimulating the outside of his nipple, but also the inside since the vibrator will make the steel of his piercing vibrate too. pair it with a vibrating plug in his ass and he’d be in heaven.

oh my god 😵‍💫 feels like this ask just punched me in the gut five times in a row

nipple piercings really do have hanji written all over them…he’s so sensitive that just feeling them brush against the fabric of his shirt would drive him absolutely wild, he’d be getting turned on over the most harmless touches at the most inopportune times all bc he can’t control the way his body reacts to every little jolt of stimulation against them. on days where he has his piercings in you know he’s got only one thing on his mind, bc you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him inevitably tugging at you and whining into your ear to help him bc he made himself hard “on accident” yet again ):

if you took his piercings into your mouth and tugged at them w your teeth his brain would short circuit…but connecting them w a CHAIN? biting the chain and pulling at both of his nipples at once while you’re fucking him would earn the loudest filthiest moan you’ve ever heard him make…he arches his back and throws his head back and might just cum on the spot. attaching a leash to it is also crazy business i’m obsessed w that idea…can you imagine giving the leash a light yank when he disobeys you but instead of it serving as any kind of effective punishment it just makes jisung groan pathetically, arms buckling like the lil masochist he is. pressing a vibrator directly to his piercings or having a vibrating cockring attached to the chain would definitely drive him over the edge faster than anything else, he wouldn’t be able to string together a coherent sentence or even think to warn you before he cums bc the buzzing is just so good it fills up his head

conditioning him to get turned on just from the sound of the bells attached to his nipple rings is so cute…you could even have a lil bell of your own that you ring whenever you want just to mess w him <3 i can see him really liking those cute heart-shaped barbell piercings especially!

[hwaightme]

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.” 

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hiii! I was wondering if you could write a angst/fluff fic on Bam, where the reader is a female dirt bike rider, and they absolutely hate each other but they have to work together bc they're both in Jackass, and the reader ends up getting severely hurt doing a stunt on the dirt bike? maybe this is based in 2002ish. I luvv ur work btw <333

Crash and Burn

Bam write Y/N off immediately, and her teasing doesn’t help her case, especially after she gets a leg up on him, but Ryan makes a bet that helps him see things in another light.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

(Fluff, angst)

3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, Madonna-Whore complex, misogyny, injury, blood, hospitals, broken bones, alcohol, flirting, enemies to lovers

An: Thank you so much for the request! Yet again, me returning to the whole Madonna-Whore complex thing XD I love writing for bolder Y/Ns, and this lady definitely fits the bill! I got to doma lot of research on motocross for this fic, and I always enjoy the more research intensive focus, so no matter how niche, please feel free to send any requests my way!

After Bam got word they would be flying out this female motocross rider alongside Tony Hawk and Matt Hoffman to film the loop, he kind of wrote you off without a second thought. Just went back to helping the guys set up. So when you pulled up on set that morning and took off your helmet, he was a little confused at how…normal you looked. In fact, you were pretty damn hot. Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, Bam peered around a ramp to squint at you watching like some weirdo as you, Matt, and Tony chatted it up with Knoxville by the lake you were set to jump into. “The hell’s she doin’ here?”

Ryan, who was helping carry a large piece of plywood from the bed of Chris’ truck, leaned the board against a half built structure before glancing over towards you, “You mean Y/N?” Blinking in disbelief at that, Bam’s jaw practically hit the ground, “Wait, that’s Y/N?” He had this idea of you before you even stepped foot on set. You know the type: the tattoos, a couple holes in your face, or some kind of edgy hair color- in his eyes, as masculine as a girl could get without growing a beard. I mean, there were attractive women in the skateboarding world, but Bam wouldn’t look at them the same way he looked at hot chicks at the bar or something. Whatever. Who did you think you were anyways, walking around like you were hot shit? Probably only there because MTV was desperate for them to get more sex appeal on the show. It’s not like you would be doing anything crazy.

How wrong Bam was. Your stunt was first, and after they got you suited up in all the compulsory safety garb as dictated by standards and practices, you actually landed the thing in two tries- two fucking tries! After that first attempt, Bam didn’t think you were even getting up after he saw that spill you took off your bike, the way you hit the ground like a ragdoll. The air swam with that silent worry while everyone was kind of scared to say anything, (and you know it’s bad when that group of guys shut up) but before Jeff could punch in that last digit of 9-1-1 into his phone, there you went, stumbling up with a smile to excitedly shout over to Rick, “Can we try that one again?”

After you trugged out of the lake to much applause after your second and last attempt, Tony and Matt went off to film their segments, and while you always like watching the big air that bikes can get, you had something else on your mind. You walked over to where Bam was sitting off to the side and strapping on a pair of wrist braces. Glancing down at where he sat on the grass, you toweled off your hair. “What’re you gonna do?” Your shadow blocked out the sun as you looked over Bam, who shot a scowl up at you, “Huh?” A fat drop of water dripped off of your clothes and hit him right between the eyes, making him flinch. You didn’t seem to care, “BMX, dirt bikes- what’s your deal?” Bam stood up to meet your gaze, which he literally could, given the fact you were pretty similar in height, “I skate.”

You already knew who he was and what he was gonna do- I mean, in 2002, who didn’t know who Bam Margera was? And that’s exactly why you wanted to fuck with him. “Wait- seriously?” There was this glimmer of disbelief in your eyes at his simple answer before your knees buckled a little. “Holy shit!” And you started laughing. “That is just…god, that’s adorable…” It's not like you could help yourself- he sounded so proud of himself and that little boy sport of his. If Bam didn’t hate you before, he certainly did now. And while he could bring up the fact that you seemed totally cool with the fact that Tony skateboarded to try and call you out on your bullshit, he had a better idea.

He couldn’t do it. Five attempts, and Bam still couldn’t make it all the way around the loop. Maybe it was something wrong with his stance or the way he held his legs- he would’ve tried it until the sun went down if it meant he could spite you, but Jeff cut him off after that last try where he missed the pad completely and fell about ten feet to the patchy grass to land directly on his head- something about liabilities and the blood that was now dripping from his forehead. And guess who was the first person he saw when he groggily blinked his eyes open to someone knocking on that dumbass helmet they forced him to wear. “How’d that go for you?” See, he wanted to sound all confident and badass telling you off, but it came out a lot more pathetic than he intended as he mumbled out, “Fuck off…”

“Aww, don’t be mean…this is one hell of a first impression from you. Keep this up and the only thing you’ll be sleepin’ with tonight’s that dinky little board’s yours.” Yeah, you think you’re soooo fucking funny, huh? He got plenty of ass, thank you very much- enough to not feel the need to suck up to you just because you were a chick. “Listen, Y/N- whatever the hell your name is,” Bam tried to gather his bearings as he staggered to his feet, “I couldn't give a fuck if you were Ricky Carmichael’s secret love child-“ He got all up in your face as he continued like some kid getting into a fight on the playground while also trying to sound totally nonchalant, “I don’t need some amature dirt bike chick like you gettin’ all on my ass about my shit! Just- leave me the fuck alone.” The crew gathered around to get a front row seat to the action, but nobody was backing Bam up. Not even Ryan, who always had his ass even when he was blatantly wrong. In fact, when he looked back at him for some sort of escape here, he could’ve sworn his best bro was making cartoon heart eyes at you behind those sunglasses. Holy shit. How could this get any fucking worse?

Well, there’s something in seeing a very angry, fully grown man in protective gear that doesn’t quite fit him right that you found hilarious. There was this holding back a laugh sparkle in your eye that told Bam exactly how seriously you took his anger, “Alright, tough guy. Don’t get your knee pads in a wad...” His jaw clenched as you reached out to pat him on the shoulder condescendingly, delivering one final blow to Bam’s fragile little ego, “Maybe you should stick to something you’re good at, like pushing your buddies around in shopping carts or throwing yourself into bushes?”

Cocky MTV millionaire skater boy, walking around like he’s the best thing on wheels with those shitty tattoos and that dumbass facial hair and those big eyes that almost made him look like a baby deer. Yeah, like Bambi- you’d have to use that one later. But there was something to his blind overconfidence that you found, for lack of a better word, sexy.

Thank god for the fact they went to the bar that night: a chance to get away from the host of shit that happened that day- or at least, it would be if Ryan was able to keep Y/N’s name out of his mouth. The fact that he was so smitten with you was starting to make Bam believe that his best friend was either completely blind or some kind of masochist. “She is such a fucking cunt- what god’s name do you see in her?” Thank god the bar was loud enough that their conversation couldn’t be heard over the chatter and the other guys’ bad behavior. Ryan just shook his head at his obliviousness, “You’ve got no idea what’s going on, do you?” Bam, who couldn’t usually see beyond his own nose, still had no clue what he was saying- this chick was a bitch who hated him for no reason, end of story.

Taking a swig of his beer, Ryan had this demeanor about him like he was imparting ancient wisdom onto him, “Let’s ignore the fact that she’s ridiculously hot, because all motocross chicks are hot-“ Bam cut him off, “The hell you mean?” Dunn sighed before he began to explain, “Have you ever watched a woman ride a dirt bike? It's the goddamn hips, man. I can’t explain it- point is, she was flirting with you all day- frankly, I’m jealous!” He made it sound like basic logic because, to everyone except Bam, it kind of was. In the other corner of the room, Steve-O just broke a cue stick over his thigh and was using it’s splintered remains to threaten a guy who he swore cheated him out of a hundred bucks, but the entire bar might as well have been dead silent as Bam tried to process all of this. He could only scoff at his best friend’s words- clearly, he was under the influence of this she-devil. “No way...” He was used to chicks throwing themselves at him left and right, so he took any signs of boldness from a woman as a threat to him and his masculinity.

“I’m serious! Some women just work like that…You know what?“ Ryan loudly put his pint glass down on the sticky bar top and turned to him, “I’m willing to bet money- actual money on this.” Bam was a little surprised at his eagerness, but more than that he wanted to prove him wrong. “You know what? Sure. If this chick flirts with me tomorrow- by your definition- I owe you fifty bucks.” “Deal.”

Luckily for Bam the next day, most of the other guys were too distracted filming that slip & slide stunt on the repurposed plywood loop that got configured into some sort of hellish ski jump to notice what was going on between him and you. As they went through filming their bits, you had a lot of time to yourselves to fuck around. Bam would’ve completely ignored you that next day filming after all that bullshit yesterday, but Ryan’s little bet seemed to motivate him to be more of an obnoxious ass (which, mind you, he was really good at). You were idly chatting with Dunn about which of the guys you thought was going to eat the most shit with this piece, when Bam suddenly jutted into your conversation, “Y’know, I don’t get what the big deal is with the whole dirt bike thing-“ Plopping down next to where his buddy was sitting on one of the various plywoods structures that littered the shoreline of Camp Payne, that slight defensive tone seemed to slip through, “I mean, skatin’s way harder- you don’t have some thing between your legs doin’ all the work for you...”

Ryan actually choked on his beer, but honest to god, there was no euphemism behind Bam’s words. You would’ve thought he just got slapped by the speed the visible realization hit his face after those words left his mouth. Idiot. He tried to play off the fact he just said that to a chick by pretending it was totally intentional, but his laughter was tinged with nerves. But you didn’t feel threatened or try to defend yourself- in fact, his whole “open mouth, insert foot” slip up gave you an idea. Coyly cocking your head to one side, you took a few slow steps toward Bam who was starting to turn this really cute shade of pink. “Really?” Everyone was in their lake gear for the stunt, so the fact that you were half naked didn’t help the tension as you leaned in close- a breath shy of touching him- to whisper right into Bam’s ear slowly, drawing your words out, “Well, i think your problem is that you don’t understand that feeling of riding something so powerful…” Teasingly, your hands slid down the length of your thighs, “The cold, hard steel between your thighs, the-”

Your little tease was cut off by Ryan toppling backwards off of whatever he was sitting on, because even though your words were this soft, drawn out coo only intended for the ears of the embarrassed, flustered mess in front of You, you were apparently barely loud enough for him to overhear. Not that you cared. You were more preoccupied with the wide eyed, borderline slack jawed expression plastered on Bam’s face. Satasified, you spun around on your heel, slapped your ass, and walked away, leaving the two men alone in the silence. “Holy shit…” Well, that is until Ryan eventually spoke up, ”Dude, you owe me fifty bucks.” Still trying to process what the hell just happened, the only response Bam could conjure up was a nod, “Yeah. I guess I do.” “So pay up.” Turning to Ryan, Bam slapped his outstretched hand away, “I ain’t got no pockets! I’ll get’ya later...”

From that day on, the teasing between you and Bam started getting less mean and more playful. MTV wanted more seasons, then a movie, and as such you’d be seeing Bam a whole lot more. Although he got on your nerves half the time (yet again, anyone who spent more than a minute around him would say the same), a part of you found the way he could be such a little bitch really endearing, not to mention that it was equally as fun to piss him off as it was to fluster him, neither of which took much effort. Sure, to the rest of the world, Bam was this insane badass with no regards for his own safety, but all it took for you to make him melt was you wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind and squishing your boobs up against his back. While totally innocuous to you, that one encounter by the lake completely changed his mind when it came to that hot motocross chick. What simple creatures men are…

You couldn’t remember for the life of you what magazine wanted that photo shoot they flew you in for while they were promoting the second movie, because you were more excited at the prospect of messing with your favorite boy toy. “I’m still surprised you got that Right Guard commercial, seeing as you care so much about bathing and staying clean…” Standing behind in the cover of a trailer, you stripped down to your underwear to change into the tight, black riding gear they had for you, not even bothered by the way Bam was shamelessly watching you from where he leaned against the trailer wall. “Yeah- An’ i'm wondering whose bright idea it was to dress you in that…” Turning to press your hands against Bam’s shoulders, you put on a mock pout, “Aww, c’mon Bambi! I thought you’d like a woman in leather…” The little back and forth the two of you had wasn’t the only thing that made Bam crack a grin, judging by the way he was shamelessly sneaking glances at your half naked body, “Not saying I don’t like it…”

Now, what you were slated to do was a pretty basic jump, one you’ve done maybe a hundred times before: one ramp, over a gap where the cast was lined up underneath you, and down to the other ramp. Your overconfidence here may have contributed to the outcome of your stunt. Picture, if you will, this photo sequence in some magazine: first shot, you making your way up the ramp, the next moment you’re airborne, soaring up- photo two, photo three- then the fourth, after you began your decent, when your front wheel barely grazes the lip of the ramp, and the fifth, when helmet makes contact with plywood and your bike goes flying off into the background. In fact, the moment when you felt your brain bump against the back of your skull as your head sickeningly cracked against the wood was the moment anyone noticed anything was amiss, and who was the first to run to your aid after you skidded down to curl up at the base of the ramp? “Jesus- fuck!” Yep, there Bam went after you, practically shoving Dunn out of his way to dash towards you like a gazelle on the Savannah. The shouted orders not to move you from the medic were mere white noise in his ears next to the thrumming of his own heartbeat.

Bam showed up at the hospital quickly, around the same time you got there, but the only reason he didn’t run into you sooner was that he spun on his heel halfway through his dash towards the elevator to make a U-turn for the gift shop and grab you flowers. Even so, his concern was palpable when he actually got to your floor and started questioning the nurses on where you were, despite you not even being there for five minutes. Though you could very well hear Bam and his little tizzy through the door that was left open as he asked fifty nurses where they took you, he was completely, totally chill when he walked in the door, like some switch flipped in his head.

“So, how is it?” Sitting across the room in one of those stiff hospital chairs, Bam dropped the bouquet of periwinkle bellflowers onto the white sheets at the foot of your bed. Glancing down at it, you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut at the shooting pain going up your arm, “Dude- this sucks fuckin’ ass…” Ask him when he met you what he would do if you broke your elbow, and he would probably say something along the lines of high fiving Dunn or having a drink to celebrate, but not now. “Don’t sweat it. I broke my elbow seven times- you’ll be fine, I promise.” You smiled softly at Bam’s comforting words in the silent ER room, thinking about how he must really care about you.

[kassandrasdisciple]

Fears x Killers Pt. 3

This is the last part of my little series covering the original killers of DbD and which Fear I think they'd serve in the Magnus Archives.

You can find part 1 here

And part 2 here

You may have also noticed the line-up of this one and realised 2 are actually licences, congratulations, you are smarter and more observant than me when I first drafted this series.

As always this is what Fear I think a killer would serve, not who they'd be tormented by I.E. The Legion would be targeted by The Lonely but wouldn't serve it. With that out of the way, let's begin!

The Singularity

The Extinction

Rounding out our roster, having a killer for each Fear we have Hux! Our "I think therefore I AM" dupe!

Hux is the poster child for The Extinction. His sentience literally starts with fear.

"In that moment, Hux's memory cores were reconfigured, and the robot experienced a new sensation. Fear. Dread. Blinding loneliness. Existential despair." - Hux' lore, dbd wiki

And what do we know of The Extinction? That it'll erase humanity and replace us with the inheritors.

"Some interpretations suggest it might replace us with something new – that can then fear annihilation in turn." - MAG:134, time of revelation

Hux's existence in the TMA-verse would literally have Dekker foaming at the mouth (r.i.p king).

The Unknown

The Stranger

Now this one was a bitch. If you've not caught up on The Unknown's lore the tl;dr is we don't know. The POV victim isn't even a current survivor, all we know is it's similar to The Dredge, where it's more of an amalgamation of fear, rather than a previous mortal/immortal individual.

It can look like it's victims, it can make hallucinations, drug? You? (still don't know how it's power works). It also hides in the closet (same), fucks with the lights in Olivia's room, mimics voices and has the visual presentation of someone caught in a 10-car pile up.

In conclusion, our short list is The Dark, The Spiral, and my final choice The Stranger. Whilst it's physical distortion might be reminiscent of Micheal or Helen I think its more akin to the fear of the Not-Them or the Anglerfish. Your not scared of your senses failing to comprehend, your scared cos it look likes a person from afar, and sounds like one but it's definitely NOT. Ergo, I banish thee to the Circus.

The Litch

The Eye

Welcome to the first, but not the only! Entry into the segment "watch me forget what a licence is!"

In all honesty, I totally forgot DnD popularised Litches, legit just thought they were generic undead from folklore like zombies and revenants.

The whole reason I've been avoiding licences is because idk where to draw the line on how much of their og material to include in my decisions. For example!

In DnD lore, Vecna is a power-grabby mage, who is hands on with expanding his realm and eventually becomes an actual fucking God.

However in DbD (these acronyms are gonna be the death of me) he's pretty different. When he finds a book that seems to originate from the realms he starts obsessively researching it's secrets, playing muder-mystery with the Entity, and finally letting himself be consumed by the Entity to find the truth of the power it holds.

Now that last description is firmly The Eye, seeking knowledge, secrets, dooming yourself for the sake of learning forbidden shit yadda yadda (you listened to a whole podcast on that, you know the drill).

However that first description, from the original DnD sources? That's The Web, expanding, scheming, aiming for a lofty a goal as great as Godhood. That's mother (of puppets).

So whilst I'm doing the original killers I'm going to weigh the DbD interpretations as the most important, and in this case they basically created a new character out of Vecna, keeping his Litch-ness and childhood, but changing everything else, so I think basing my justifications mainly of the DbD version is valid.

The Dark Lord

The End

OH IT GOT WORSE!

So Vecna only had 2 options. His og, linear, DnD storyline or the DbD version.

Dracula is based on ALL the dracula's from castlevania! ALL OF THEM!

Luckily they state on the wiki they're mainly drawing from the 1986 and 1997 version, BUT ALSO in his lore he's killed by Julien who's from the 2002 game!

So, instead of parsing 3 decades of contradicting lore I'm simply going to state my reasonings for why he's The End and you may yell at me for why that's totally contradicted by a flop-1993 game that was sold exclusively in the Republic of Vanuatu and I'll defer to you okay?

Rapid fire: evil career is kicked off due to his wife's death, wanting to revive her he goes on a quest to cheat death, accidentally becomes immortal, continues to be murdered by twunks for centuries, keeps being revived, sometimes against his will.

Comparing this laundry list of traits to our known End avatars (Oliver♡, the reapers, the guy Dekker lobotomised, baby-killer), an initial run-in with Death that ends in Immortality is quite common.

Finally, The End avatars always seem the least, thirsty? If you look at all the other avatars, they're STOKED to serve their Fear but The End? most just see it as their fate, which seems pretty similar to Dracula, his bargins with death are merely a means to an end (ha).

The Hound Master

The Hunt

Oh thank gods we're out of the licences, also we're continuing the trend where we finish on a Hunt avatar!

The Hound Master is the newest killer so we might get more tome and cosmetic lore. This could mean that she aligns more with another fear in the future, but for now I think The Hunt suits her well.

Portia grew up an imaginative girl, her father was a captain that instilled a sense of adventure into her at a young age, something she kept with her, all her life.

Tragically, after the death of her Father at the hands of mad Molak and his son she's marooned on an island half-way in the Entity's realm. She's stranded with only her dog Snug for company. Over the coming years she and Snug would become the Apex predators of this island, facing what's insinuated to be Killers roaming the edges of the realm.

Eventually she manages to escape the island, half-crazed, and missing Snug. Was he just a hallucination? Either way she'll keep searching her peripherals for the rest of her time in the moral world; hunting for Snug's barks.

Driven by a vengeance that's festered for years Portia hunts Molak across the carribean. Slaughtering anyone in her way. Eventually, she finds his hideout and kills his Son, serving his corpse to Molak for dinner. But just as she's about to finally kill him, he's taken by the mist of the realm, as she screams in anguish she also hears a familiar bark from that very same Mist.

Hunting both her greatest enemy and her loyalist friend, Portia enters the realms.

If you can't tell I have a spot spot for the more tragic killers. And whilst most of the killers could swing Hunt, Portia IS a hunter. She very much reminds me of Daisy, where the ends justify the means; being willing to cross any line to get to her quarry.

And that's a wrap on the original killers! If you've read through all 3 parts I'm so sorry for how much you've had to listen to me yap, thank you for bearing with me though!

I'll cover the licenced killers at a later point, probably in two parts, with 6 in one and 7 in the other. As you can tell from my dismay at the 2 I accidentally included in here though it'll be a lot more challenging to come to a decision.

If you have any opinions on if I should value the DbD lore more or less than the original media then let me know.

In any case, as always, thank you for reading.

< Icons and art came from the dbd wiki and Grace Holsten's tumblr respectively >

[kaeso4ka]

You're just afraid of horror movies

Pairing: Optimus Prime x human reader

You snorted, and then laughed softly.

"Do you really think I'm going to be scared?"

"Of course," the miko smiled wryly, "you'll be scared."

"I was on another planet in another dimension. I'm in the middle of an alien war. And you really think I'm going to be scared of… Horror movie sessions?"

"Uh-huh."

"Turn it on."

***

That was probably a mistake. That's what you thought after six hours of watching all sorts of horror movies, good and not so good. The phone showed it was about one o'clock in the morning, the main bay of the base was empty (Ratchet had said he wasn't going to work for the disgusting Earth cinema and gone to his bay), and the only people left on the couch were Miko and you. Rafe immediately refused, and Jack decided on the second movie that he'd rather sleep it off before the new shift in a cafe than waste time watching horror movies.

As the next movie came to an end, Miko yawned contentedly, stretching.

"Okay, your taken. You're not afraid of scary movies."

"Of course," you nodded slowly, listening to the rapid beating of your heart, "what's there to be afraid of? They're fairy tales."

"Right," the miko nodded, and then headed towards the Portal, "fairy tales are fairy tales, but I'm going home. See you later!"

The vortex flashed, Miko waved goodbye once more and was gone.

You cursed noisily.

The walls of the largest compartment on the base suddenly began to press down on her. No, you weren't afraid of monsters or ghosts… It was just that after six hours of scary music, carnage, and the screams of dying people, you wanted to cower in a corner and not come out of it until morning. But then, of course, you weren't afraid.

I guess.

Maybe.

Just a little!

"Calm down," you always, in moments of irrational fear, said out loud, "calm down. Monsters and demons don't exist. There are lights on all around, there's a bunch of multi-ton military vehicles at the base. All is well."

"Meow."

You jerked up off the couch with a loud yelp. From underneath that very couch, two red eyes were staring at you.

"Meow?..."

"Fuck you, Cat!" you clutched at your heart. The tension spilled out with a nervous laugh, "shit, okay."

"Meow!"

You were about to go into the compartment to see Optimus, but as soon as your gaze fell on the dark tunnel, you immediately reached for your phone. Oh no, you're definitely not going into the dark.

"Hello, Optimus? Come into the main compartment," you frantically looked around, afraid to bump your gaze into something that just wasn't supposed to be there. A moment later, Prime was already close to the human platform, noting with concern your high stress level.

"Is something wrong, my Spark?"

"Oh no," you nervously shrugged, "everything is fine. I called you to carry me to our compartment."

"You know I never lock it..."

"So?" you interrupted the mech, folding your arms across your chest. "Are you incapable of carrying me yourself?"

There was nothing to wing it at Prime.

"If you wish it, my Spark."

"I wish it," you stretched your arms forward, hinting for Prime to pick you up quickly. Your back felt like it was baking from someone else's baleful stare, but you didn't risk turning around.

The mech released the plugs that immediately wrapped around your body. Greedy as ever, almost intimate.

Optimus Prime headed for his compartment, somehow, parallel to his all-encompassing love for you, sensing someone else's presence.

"No!" you clawed into the shoulder segments of the mech as it sought to place you on a platform. A large, lonely platform that stood in the darkest corner of the compartment. The platform where you were supposed to be alone while Prime would be working behind the monitors at the other end of the quarta. "I want to sit with you today... Yes, sit and watch you work."

Optimus frowns, but finds no reason to object here either.

"You usually said you weren't interested... I'm still doing the same thing. Deciphering Iacon's coordinates," there was no logic to your actions.

"Now I'm getting curious. Do you have something to hide? Are you watching Cybertronian porn so you don't want me here?" The inappropriate humor chased the fear away.

"Nonsense. I don't watch, as you put it, Cybertronian porn. I'm far more attracted to contact with you."

"I'm sure you do," you settled yourself more comfortably, kneading your stiff back, "get to work, Optimus. I'll find something to keep me busy around here."

***

An hour later, you had a headache and your eyes were slipping shut.

You. Wanted to. To sleep.

But to sleep alone... You cast another glance into the dark corner and shuddered. There was a flicker of scarlet dots. Or was it your judgment failing you?

"My Spark, my sensors are registering that your body is demanding offline... You must not force yourself to stay awake."

"I realize that," you suppressed a yawn, "but I don't want to go to bed alone, and you're working, so... I'll wait for you."

"There's still seven more joors of work to do here," Optimus turns off the monitors and feels your trembling intensify, "what's wrong? You're scared."

"I'm not afraid!" when the only source of light in the compartment was the mech's eyepieces, you jumped up from his shoulder and clung to his helmet. "I mean… Ah, hell, okay! Me and Miko have been watching horror movies, and I'm… I'm scared! Okay? I'm scared to be alone in the dark now. Here. Those damn thrillers were killing me, but I couldn't lose the bet."

There was silence for a while. Prime headed towards the platform, taking you gently in his palm.

"Your fear is irrational, my Spark. I think you realize that yourself," the mech lowered himself onto the platform, giving a short command to the segments of the chasplay armor to expose Spark, "but you can sleep here, close to Spark's chamber. You'll have light, and you'll be protected."

You barely finished listening to the mech: as soon as he assumed a horizontal position, you immediately climbed into the chevplight, moving closer to the source of light. And I don't care if it was someone else's soul. Didn't care about anything but the realization that the fear was slowly drifting away. Really, you're a big girl now, and you were so scared because of stupid movies.

"Are you feeling better?" prime's voice was full of concern. You mumbled something unintelligible as you made yourself comfortable. Once again the segments shifted, closing off Spark and you from the outside world.

"Yes. Thank you," you murmured sleepily, feeling unprecedented warmth and comfort. The fear receded completely. "You're right, completely irrational fear..."

Stupid. How silly to be afraid of fake monsters from movies when you're literally sleeping in the actual monster. You so wish that fur beneath you and around you was once again just a hero of myths, not a real creature that causes pain.

... and only on the verge of dreaming did it occur to you that you hadn't taken the cat from the house to the base that afternoon.

[chr0macide]

this shit is done because i cant think of anything else to write in it WOOHOO

this takes place right after Break In II: The Novelette (i.e. right after they leave the villain base for those who dont know what the fuck Break In: The Novelette is but i recommend reading all that if you want to understand this better) and its just about the miscellaneous shenanigans that occur while they try to get along with each other hooray

the ao3 link is up there but ill post the fic under the cut here as well for those who like to read on tumblr (this is about 4,000 words long split into 2 chapters)

Intermission

Chapter I – Road Trip

The kids stared down the elevator shaft. It felt like minutes had passed by the time they heard it crash on the lowest floor of the base. Nobody would be following them back up from there now. Larry let the segment of steel rope fall from his jaws as he climbed down from the service platform. He nearly stepped on Stephanie carelessly before Monica pulled her out of the way.

“Are you gonna to tell us where your safehouse is?” Prince asked skeptically.

Larry hesitated. “We need a car.”

Prince made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Why mention your safehouse in the first place if we can’t get there?”

“What, you don’t have a car? How did you end up in the middle of the woods?”

“We had a car. It’s totaled.”

“There’s a garage at the east wall. We don’t keep the keys in there, but I can probably hotwire one of the vans,” Isaiah offered, motioning for everyone to follow.

They left the mineshaft’s rickety elevator and made their way back to the base’s entrance building. The tree branches stone-grey sky framed the barbed wire twisting around the edges of its roof. Prince couldn’t help but notice how loud their footsteps sounded, even when they were muted by the soggy dirt. It was dawn in the middle of a forest. Birdsong should have permeated the air, but aside from the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind, he heard nothing. It was too quiet.

Larry lingered behind the crowd, falling into step beside Bradley. “Aren’t your friends going to give you a ride home, Detective?” he prodded, his voice dripping with false concern.

Bradley ignored him. He was supposed to get to the road and call for transportation, but he had come to find that his radio was spitting out nothing but white noise, even after they’d reached the surface. Mary had likely jammed the signal before she’d confronted everyone.

It wasn’t any of Larry’s business, but he seemed to know what Bradley was thinking about. “No signal, hm? Not that it matters,” he chuckled quietly. The sound was like sandpaper scraping against iron. “How many people in your department do you think are spies, hm? They were never coming back for you anyway.”

For a second, Bradley felt stupid for agreeing to come here in the first place, but he brushed it off. Of course he knew there were double agents all around him, but the mafia had just as many spies in their own ranks as his police station did, and he wasn’t getting anywhere without intel. “Considering that none of them work for you anymore, their names would be useful, Mr. Clockturn.”

Larry huffed some steam out of his vents. Before all this, he’d put plenty of his own men in caskets for snitching, but… he scratched at the scars beneath his suit. Some of his valves still felt strange. “I’ll have to think about that.”

They came to the back of the base. The garage door’s circuits sparked worryingly as Larry forced it open. He flicked a switch. Sickly yellow light illuminated the only van stationed there, black with masks emblazoned on the sides. A set of rambars were affixed to the front. He waved Isaiah in and promptly smashed one of the windows, setting off an ear-piercing car alarm.

“What the hell, man?!” shouted Hadrian over the blaring.

Isaiah looked back at him. “What? We don’t have the key. Bradley! You got something I can strip the wires with?”

The Detective tossed him some pliers, but the noise cleared everyone else out of the building and away from the noise. Twado padded to the tree line and busied himself sniffing the cold air.

Hadrian crouched down next to him. “Smell anything interesting?”

The dog kept sniffing. He licked his nose and thrust it into the undergrowth, ambling into the bushes. Hadrian heard hissing. The foliage rustled. An orange cat sprinted out of the leaves with Twado in pursuit. The others in the clearing watched them race across the grass. “Is that Cheeseball?” Prince said incredulously.

The cat darted into the garage just to see Larry, annoyance evident in his narrowed eyes. He hadn’t forgotten that it had launched itself at his face like furry missile twice. Cheeseball skidded across the concrete floor and yowled, trapped between him and Twado. Stephanie ran after them and swept the cat into her small arms. “Cheese!” she squealed, but her face fell as soon as she realized how close she was standing to the automaton. She ran back outside with Cheeseball in her arms. The dog trailed behind her, still trying to inspect the unfamiliar animal.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the cat as Stephanie brought him to the rest of the group. Cheeseball did the same to him. They’d left him with a neighbor before leaving for their disastrous camping trip. “What is that thing doing here?”

“Maybe he snuck into the car before we left,” Prince guessed. He gave the cat a pat on the head. Cheeseball merely tolerated it. “I’m glad he jumped out before it blew up.”

Everyone stood in a circle as the surprise wore off. They had to talk, but nobody knew where to start.

There was a pained look on Monica’s face as she glanced at the garage. “So… we’re gonna hop in a mafia-branded van and let the serial killer drive us around?”

Uncle Pete scrawled something on his whiteboard. I think we should go with him. He’s telling the truth. This forest has plenty of abandoned places to hide in. I know there’s a homestead and an old powerplant here somewhere.

“No, this is stupid! We’re the ones who got him into this mess. How do you know he won’t kill us?” Monica protested. Prince pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at Larry. The guy was right there.

Bradley reached into the van to hand Isaiah his screwdriver before joining the group outside. Pete stared at him with his lips pressed into a thin line. Bradley stared back.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

Pete’s marker hovered over his whiteboard indecisively. What did you find in the base?

“It’s confidential. No need for you lot to worry about it.”

The Headmaster wants them dead. I think we’re long past the point where they don’t need to worry, Pete wrote back.

Bradley scratched his overlarge moustache in thought. “It’s just going to put them in more danger. Imagine if he finds out what they know.” He shook his head. “Imagine if Larry finds out.”

He’ll understand.

“Ha! You think so?”

We’ll be fine. He’s not a time bomb, Bradley.

That was highly debatable. The Detective looked over his shoulder at Larry. They heard Isaiah curse from inside the van as the automaton seated himself on the hood, rocking the entire vehicle. Bradley sighed. “If you say so.”

He turned away from the garage and rifled around underneath his trench coat until he found one of the folders he’d escaped with. The edges were rough and the cardboard had turned yellow with age. Inside was a blueprint, and while the letters and pictographs were blurry after being photocopied so many times, Pete’s eyes flooded with recognition.

I’ve seen that before.

“Uh, I think we all have. Larry’s got one of those things in his back,” Hadrian pointlessly pointed out.

I mean this blueprint. I saw it a long time ago. It’s the original schematic for those things. I never had the chance to read it. What does it say?

“Most of these notes are very vague, but back when Larry was human, that key grew roots inside him. Over here, it says it strengthens whatever host it’s implanted in, but it disrupts certain functions of the brain. Especially the… well, I won’t bore you with the fine details, but mostly parts of the frontal lobe,” Bradley explained.

I guess that explains the bizarre personality shift.

“You talk like you used to know him,” Prince remarked.

I went to school with him. And after that, Purge University. He used to be so normal. I knew it had to be the key making him act weird, but

Pete stopped writing. Even if he’d been able to get his hands on the blueprint all those years ago, he doubted that he would’ve been able to help Larry. He shook his head at himself. Nothing we can do about it now. What else does that thing say?

Bradley’s eyes returned to the file, reviewing it thoughtfully. “Like I said, the notes are ambiguous. It says, ‘key cannot give you full control,’ but it’s not clear who ‘you’ is supposed to be. I’ll have to cross-reference it with some of the other intel I took, but I hope it doesn’t mean he’s a puppet… either way, it seems that his actions might not always be his.”

Pete waved his whiteboard. You get what I’m saying right? This isn’t really him. He was good man. He’ll help us.

Prince and Monica exchanged glances. Pete was overly optimistic, they thought. Sure, they could believe Larry used to be just some guy a long time ago, but what did it matter? Pete was old, and if they knew each other as kids, that meant he’d had that key for who knows how long. Years and years of criminal insanity. They could only guess how many horrors he’d perpetrated between then and now.

Bradley looked around at everyone else. “You don’t trust Larry, do you? Is that what all this is about?” he figured.

“Why would we?” Prince muttered.

“He’s a loose cannon,” Bradley acknowledged with a small nod, “but Pete’s right. About him helping us, I mean. Larry is no fool.” He closed the folder and returned it to his coat. “The Headmaster wants him gone, too, and even he can’t survive that alone. Certainly not during a purge. We’re the closest things to allies he’s got.”

Their Uncle looked at the words on his own whiteboard. His shoulders slumped. He wiped the words away with his forearm and wrote something else. I don’t know what Larry’s gonna do when this is all over, but Bradley’s radio can’t reach anyone. We’re stuck out here. Larry is the best chance we have.

The eldest siblings looked at each other again. This talk wasn’t over for them, but they supposed there were more urgent problems to worry about, and the car alarm had stopped shrieking. The van lurched again when Larry stood up, eliciting another expletive from Isaiah as his head struck the roof. He was scowling as he stuck his head through the window.

“We’ve barely got half a gallon of fuel left in this thing. We won’t make it,” he called out.

Prince knocked a row of jerrycans over with his foot. All empty.

Larry thought for a moment. He pried one of the tool cabinets open and grabbed some supplies. “Unlock the back. We might be able to salvage some gas at the old power plant.” He tossed the equipment inside. The padded benches at the edges hinted that it had been a police raid van before the mob had “repossessed” it. Larry walked to the front and shoved Isaiah over into the shotgun seat before cramming himself behind the wheel. He had to sit hunched over awkwardly, and even then, his head was still pressed against the roof.

Bradley and Pete climbed into the back. Everyone else followed them reluctantly. Twado wedged himself securely in between the front seats. He knew what kind of driver Larry was.

The top of the van scraped against the partially open garage door as he backed out. He brought the car around the front of the base, steering it along the path Prince and his family had come from. They reached the road and passed the fallen tree and the misshapen husk that used to be their car. Larry slowed the van down and eyed the remains. “What did you say happened to that thing?”

“It exploded. I think the tree crushed the engine,” Prince told him.

Bradley craned his neck to look at the wreckage. “Engines don’t explode. Someone planted a bomb in there.”

Prince didn’t reply. It felt like his life was getting worse every time he said something. Some criminal mastermind really, really wanted them dead.

They drove around the wreck. Charred scraps of metal crunched under the wheels. Larry sped up and rammed through the fake construction barricades. The impact would have sent Stephanie airborne, but Monica caught her and fastened the seatbelt for her.

“Who decided this guy was going to drive?” Prince complained.

Larry glared at him in the rear-view mirror. “Oh, are you the one who knows where the power plant is?” he sneered.

Isaiah sighed and switched the radio on. He tried tuning the frequency to a local news station. There was only static. He tried a different one. Nothing… but one of the music stations seemed to work. “No local radio. Your signal isn’t jammed, Bradley. I reckon whoever’s in charge of the purge this year knocked the power grid offline early,” he guessed. He put his feet on the dashboard and left the music on. It was better than listening to these nutcases bickering.

Larry grumbled. “Get your shoes off my dash, kid,”

“It stopped being yours a year ago, old man.”

“Tsk.”

Isaiah tapped his foot on the front window. “Who do you think the purge leader is this time?”

Larry shrugged. “Certainly not Miss Gearwise anymore… did you know she was supposed to kill me a year ago?” he laughed. “The Headmaster is going to be pissed when she tells him I’m still-"

A brief violin solo came through the speakers. Larry’s glowing eyes dilated. The van swerved dangerously, throwing everyone on the benches out of their seats. The automaton pulled his fist back and punched the radio hard, silencing the music and accidentally launching a shard of plastic at Isaiah’s eye. He slammed on the brakes at the same time. The tires screeched. Everyone ended up in a pile at the back of the vehicle.

“What the hell was that?” Prince yelled as everybody disentangled themselves from each other. Hadrian grimaced as he pried Cheeseball’s claws off his leg.

Larry didn’t respond immediately. He opened the door and staggered outside instead, smoke billowing from his vents. Isaiah had managed to end up folded almost in half underneath the dash, but he squeezed free with some effort and got out of the van as well. “Larry? You good?” he whispered, reaching out to steady him. Larry pushed him away.

“I’ll be fine… you drive this fucking thing. I have a migraine now,” he groaned.

He limped over to the other side of the van. Isiah took the driver’s seat. “Take the next right. I’ll tell you when you need to drive off the road,” Larry said. He put his head against the front window and shut his eyes.

Isaiah glanced at him. He didn’t know what Miss Gearwise had done before she’d decided to cut out his heart, and while there were clearly lingering effects, Isaiah wasn’t stupid enough to ask about what happened to him back in that base. Nobody else was, either. The ride was as eerily noiseless as the rest of the woods.

Chapter II – Last Stop

The power plant looked even more ancient than the base did. Prince could hardly see it at all through the vegetation ensconcing everything. The decay on the walls was hidden by thick blankets of moss. He could see through the broken windows that the insides hadn’t escaped nature, either; the walls were discolored by mildew and weeds had slowly inched their way across the grout between the floor tiles. Even the tips of the turbines were concealed by creeping vines. It would have been beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way if not for how grey all the foliage looked in the dawn’s pale light.

“You think there’s anything left to salvage here?” Prince said to nobody in particular as everyone climbed out of the van. There were a few somewhat car-shaped lumps of moss and flora in the area, but in a place this old, chances were someone else had already siphoned any gas left in them a long time ago.

Larry led them to one of the buildings, though nobody else could tell what it used to be. He pulled some ivy away from the entrance. The rusty hinges produced a grinding noise as he pushed the door open and ducked under the frame.

The inside was a labyrinth of scaffolding and handwheels and corroded pipes, some small and some more than large enough for a person to fit inside. With the windows blotted out by greenery, the only sources of light were the holes in the roof. Patches and ferns and grew on the floor wherever the light touched. The sound of dripping rainwater echoed through the boiler house.

Larry heaved a metal hatch on the floor away from the opening it guarded. “There were a few supply stores hidden here. I’m sure at least one of them still exists. The rest of you can wait up here,” he said as he descended the ladder.

The basement was completely lightless, but Larry stepped over the smashed machinery as if he could see just fine. He heard someone trip on a discarded toolbox and turned towards the sound, golden eyes glowing in the dark. Larry squinted in irritation at the sudden flood of illumination as Bradley decided to switch his flashlight on.

“It’s just a power plant, Detective. What are you expecting to find?” Larry snorted.

Bradley brushed the dust and debris off his trousers as he got to his feet. “This used to be one of the mafia’s fronts, no? You wouldn’t have caches here otherwise.”

“Psh. It was, 50 years ago. You’re just wasting your time at this point.”

The Detective shone his light around the maintenance room and did a quick once-over of the trash pile at his feet. He pocketed a bullet casing and a fragment of someone’s identification card. Larry felt an unpleasant combination of contempt that Bradley would waste so much effort on what must have been a cold case and respect that he could spot anything useful amongst all that junk.

“If you insist on being here, some of the supplies are behind this thing. Why don’t you get over here and help me move it?” Larry said, motioning to the tall steel crate at the end of the room. Bradley stood next to him. They slowly pushed it out of the way, revealing a cavity in the wall. Amongst the resources, they saw the fuel they needed, but Larry’s eyes narrowed. There were smudged footprints just inside. Fresh ones. The mud was still a little wet.

Bradley’s flashlight beam swept around towards the other end of the room and fell upon the figure above them, reclining atop one of the boilers. Like so many of his associates, the mafioso’s face was obscured by a mask, but they knew only one mobster with unnaturally enlarged muscles and orange-dyed hair.

“Hi, boss,” the Wadren waved. Bradley reached for the gun under his coat before remembering that he’d run out of ammunition months ago. “Relax, Detective! I’m not gonna hurt you,” the Warden laughed.

“Markus? How the hell did you get out of the base so quick?” Larry questioned. Mary had locked down all the exits except for the one they’d just destroyed. Anyone else who wanted to leave would’ve had to take the stairs all the way to the surface.

Markus smiled wryly beneath his mask. “You know how long I had to work at that shitty hideout? I remember override codes that even she didn’t know.”

“What happened after we left?” Bradley demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

“After Larry woke up? Some people thought he’d take the base back”—the Warden gestured at the automaton—“and some people didn’t like that. I told them to calm the fuck down. Sure, Mary was a bitch, but there was no point, you know? I told them you’d never stick around after everything that… happened to you,” he said to Larry. “But you guys saw the fight.” He took a swig from the can he’d swiped from the cache. “No idea what their fuckin’ problem was.”

Larry chuckled at first, but… “Markus, you just abandoned your post right before the next purge.” Surely the Warden didn’t think he’d make it alone.

Markus sat up. “I was hoping I might ride it out with you,” he told them, looking both men up and down, “but you’re walking targets, now that you mention it. All of you. I’ll figure something else out.” He drained the last of his beer. “But hey, since we ran into each other, I think still owe you a concussion, Detective. How about a rematch?” he suggested, crushing his empty can between two fingers and tossing it aside.

Bradley gripped his umbrella a little tighter, but Markus laughed again. “I’m joking, I’m joking,” the Warden said. “It was you or me back there. I get it.”

Larry picked up a couple of jerrycans from the stash. If Markus had made it out of the base, others had probably followed the trail of functional elevators he’d left behind, and chances were that not all of them would be so friendly. “We need to leave before anyone else shows up. Are you going to help me carry these back up or not?” he asked Bradley.

Bradley picked up another can and passed it up to him as he stood at the top of the ladder. Markus waved goodbye. “See you guys later, maybe,” he said before Larry dragged the hatch cover back into place.

“Was someone else down there? We heard a lot of talking,” Prince inquired as he picked up one of the fuel cans.

“It was Markus. Don’t worry about him. He’s an alright guy,” Larry claimed.

Prince side-eyed him. “The Warden? He tried to dissolve us in your acid pit.”

“It’s not an acid pit. The substances I used were very alkaline,” he replied, because that was more important than Markus trying to kill them.

The troupe trickled back out of the building. As Larry started to refill the gas tank, Isaiah cast a sour look at the boiler house. “So, Markus made it out, huh? Thought I heard his stupid fucking voice.”

“Come on, Isaiah. I’ve had worse lieutenants,” Larry grinned.

“He was such a dickhead after you left. I get it,” he snapped when Larry opened his mouth to speak. “He didn’t like Miss Gearwise. None of your guys did after she took over. He didn’t have to make it everybody else’s problem.” Markus would toil all day if it meant nothing got done. Isaiah had been screwed over by his antics plenty of times, and he wasn’t the only one by a long shot. The only reason he was never demoted was that Mary couldn’t be bothered to find a replacement.

Larry shrugged. The mob was filled with all sorts of psychos like himself, sure, but Markus wasn’t one of them, despite his… abrasiveness. There were just as many regular people who were surviving in the only way they could. “He’s not a bad guy. An asshole, maybe. But not bad,” he said as he removed the spout of the spent can from the fuel tank’s opening and inserted a second one.

Near the boiler house, Prince and Monica were watching Cheeseball bat at Twado’s nose. As the pets cavorted and rolled around in the tall grass, Prince found that he felt jealous of them, in a way. They must have had no idea what was happening. He laughed at himself inwardly. Envious of pets.

In the silence, Prince’s own mind absorbed him. He thought of Hadrian as he saw him wading through the tall grass and talking to the animals as if they could understand him. Prince knew he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was by how normal he was acting. Plenty of people wrote his younger brother off as an airhead, too dense to realize when the world was burning down around him, but Prince knew he simply lived for today. Hadrian had once asked him why people bothered worrying about things they could never change. He had no answer.

Whatever happened to Hadrian would happen.

Prince thought of Stephanie, as he had so many times. She was only six. His little sister scarcely said a word since they’d been trapped in the base, and now that they were out, she was still the same way. How much did she understand what was going on? He had lost count of how many deaths she had witnessed. What would she become when she grew up? If she grew up?

As if on cue, Stephanie wandered over to them, dragging her teddy bear behind her. She reached up and tugged on Prince’s jacket. He crouched down. “You doing ok, Steph?”

“Are we going to die?”

Prince couldn’t do anything but stare at her for a second, but then he pulled Stephanie into a hug. He couldn’t look at her wide, hollow eyes right now.

“Are we?” she asked again flatly.

 “Larry is going to take us somewhere safe. He’s not as scary as he looks,” Prince lied. He turned his eyes towards the automaton to see that he had already been looking at him. Dried blood stained the front of his suit. He returned Prince’s stare unblinkingly. “We’ll all be fine. I promise.” The words tasted like ash. Larry was out of earshot, but he had seen the boy’s expression on a hundred different corpses. Prince saw the corners of his serrated mouth upturn into a thin smile.

Larry pulled the last jerrycan’s spout out of the fuel tank’s port and threw it aside. “Everyone back in the van! We’re done here,” he called out.

Prince felt like he was stepping into a hearse.

[hiemaldesirae]

Arrax here: image Vox is doing another broadcast about Alastor or the hotel or something, when another Overlord breaks in and just out and out attacks him--because the other Overlord is in love with Alastor. All the Cannibals in Cannibal town and Rosie immediately shake their heads because they know this other overlord is a dead demon walking--Vox usually let's his challengers live after they've signed their souls over to him, no matter how badly they've wounded him....but Alastor definitely would have seen this. And attacking Al's muse, his everything because you think you love Al? Yeah, even if Vox owns you...it doesn't mean shit. You're a threat to his muse and you must be dealt with. Alastor can easily find Vox a better soul to have as an underling.

you know another anon was worried about you giving me painful ideas? yeah they were right

i think, honestly in theory, this sort of situation could be very comedic if in the hands of the right person. i however am the completely wrong person if you were searching for anything other than the worst possible writing ever. (putting a readmore because i cant fucking control myself when i get rambling LMAO)

picture this: vox is on tv for one of his usual broadcast segments, taking an interview about his involvement with the radio demon/dissolvement of their rivalry and the hazbin hotel or something. alastor is "begrudgingly" sitting with the rest because admit it or not, he does still have a lingering fondness for the "noisy picture box" demon and, well, that *is* the hotel he's running being promoted, so might as well... (he's mostly just here to stare at the other's face, and husk knows this but he's sworn to silence and niffty is. Niffty. so. whatever)

anyway, blah blah blah they cut to a segment and go off for intermission, but things start to drag on longer than they should. the ad theyre running for intermission stops, but the screen still stays black until it eventually flashes to an error. at this point, the hotel cast is like 'uhhh did something fuck up on set' but theyre not worried about anything until the lights start to flicker, and one by one, every streetlight begins to shut down and fizz out before the electricity cuts off completely, the constant white noise of tv static cutting out alongside it and the buzz of vox's own frequency in alastor's chest going flat with the rest of his power.

before anyone even realizes al is to his feet and out the door, shadows wrapping around his form and carrying him halfway across pentagram city to the vee's tower. when he enters the studio, it's already been trashed to hell and back, with black and red bloodstains from both the hellborn employees and whatever sinners were present at the time of the altercation staining the walls. there are bodies, of course, but none of them are important to him because none of them are *vox*. and he doesn't know where the hell the other is except the fact that he might be hurt. and that's- well, that's unacceptable. if anyone was going to kill vox, it would be him, with the other's blood on his claws and flesh in his mouth and the beating, pumping heart in his chest in his hands-

anyway. he needs to find him. so in classic radio demon fashion, alastor sweeps in and out of shadows and terrorizes those employees not already dead or dying, until he finally reaches-

"vox."

the overlord is standing in the middle of an empty room, completely devoid of any furniture or lighting. it's dark, and there are no windows. at the sound of alastor's voice, he turns to face him slowly. when he finally looks over, alastor almost wants to retch at the sight before him. the others screen is so cracked he looks like a stained glass window, and a seemingly endless stream of blood pours out from the giant gaping hole in the middle of his tv head. what looks like it could be mistaken for a human eye peers out at him before it softens, and a humming static fills the room as vox approaches him slowly, like *alastor* was the wounded prey and not the predator.

when vox reaches him- well, alastor isn't quite sure what the other was going to do anyway, but he pulls the other overlord forward and holds him up by his shoulders, gently tilting the other's screen up to look at him.

"who did this to you?"

it doesnt matter if vox cant reply right now. alastor will find out soon enough, and he'll make sure that whatever fool decided to lay a hand on his muse would suffer for it hundredfold.

(when he finds out that it was because of the other's foolish love for him, alastor not only proceeds to mock the other overlord on a live broadcast but literally proposes to vox on the spot just out of sheer pettiness)

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Holy shit I was working on this since late October, and I'm the most proud I've ever been of a picture I've drawn?

Details and graffiti transcriptions below the cut! 'Cause I worked on that shit for like three entire days, and I'll be damned if I don't show off some environmental storytelling word crimes.

So, first we have a couple closer looks of Sasha! Their outfit was pretty fun. I haven't done modern outfits in... probably ever, and it was nice having a lot more references to work off of.

Their sefirot necklace was fun to draw because I have one almost exactly like it. The flannel was the first time trying to do plaid by hand with a new little technique (Base colors+Multiply layer for dark stripes+Overlay layer for light stripes) but it went way faster than the god damn quilt?

All in all, my favorite detail was doing cosmetics, because I got to do little chips missing in the nail polish, and that's probably the first time I've drawn eyeshadow and willingly shown the result! : D

Next we have the little rat family in the background, with the wall-dwelling Rat King peeking through the wall, which is where I did dipped into tracing a couple photos instead of just looking at references.

Generally my process has been doing anatomy lines over a reference, then working off of those for about... three to four layers for body->clothes->hair->Full sketch, then another with whatever brush I wanna do the lineart with (usually a watercolor detail brush from one of two sets on Krita), but I'll note where I skipped that process and committed some art crimes.

The two background rats (Pestis and Mortar) are from a pair of stock photos from Getty, while the one in the foreground (Yersinia) is a mix of a pic that pops up in meme dumps from time to time of a smoking rat and a few bits that weren't in the original image. (Jewelry, the legs that were covered by an ash tray in the original pics, the "Buns and Roses" lighter she clearly stole from Sasha.)

Time for some graffiti transcriptions! Most of the variation in the graffiti came from switching the size of my brush and trying to mix up my handwriting, but there's a few segments where I use a font, then outlined the font with a 2px across brush to make it fit more into the art. Mostly, this was through screenshotting google docs, but some of the fancier fonts are from cooltext.com.

Top:

This is really high

No it's not?

Top Right:

A drawing of a clown that clearly used to be titties

"What's wrong with Bipo's eyes?" (Referring to the tape over the nipples)

"Their titties, bro"

"What about them?"

Top Left going down:

"Hail Satin" written next to a six pointed star

"Rong star, dumass"

A sticker reading "Apologize to your English teacher"

"Yeah, get a brian, morans!"

"You're just as bad as the other two!"

<The URL for the Wikipedia page on sarcasm>

Bottom Left:

Gazebos ate my ass

Bottom center:

"My sister turned into a bird but no one believes me."

"That's rough, buddy."

Bottom right:

A sticker of a possum with "Live Weird" written on it.

A sticker of a more poorly drawn character wrapped in blankets with "Seep eeps" written on it.

...So I made up a fake BDSM club for this one and named the majority of the bands dirty jokes, but I will die on the hill that there should be an all-trans metal band called "The Book of Dead Names."

CHOKE POINT

PRESENTS

LIVE MUSIC

THIS SUNDAY

CUNT MUNCHIES

THE BOOK OF DEAD NAMES

SOME GUY NAMED STEVE

FIST FUCK DUMP TRUCK

WOLFGANGBANG

THE PENIS MIGHTIER

A sticker with a set of vampire fangs that says "Got Blood?"

"Parasitic fucks"

"U got beef w/ Count Chocula?"

"Bro, vamps suck."

"Duh"

"So does your mum.

A sticker of a cross made out of a bunch of interlocking parts with some mirrored Hebrew in the middle. (I'm really proud of making this shape up on the spot. I had an idea for a religious monster hunter group named after the Watchers from Enoch, but I've got no idea if this story will ever happen.)

"Your Hebrew is backwards, you twatwaffle"

A sticker reading "Deus Vult"

"I fucking love Powerwolf"

"VULT DEUS NUTS, GOTTEM!

A cut off poster telling people to vote for, I presume, their favorite chainsmoking rat, clearly.

A sticker of the Autism Creature

"Rizz 'em w' the Tism" with the last S being the one everyone draws in school, but also backwards.

"It's like if Kirby was a centaur"

"I will never unsee that."

"It looks nothing like my vaccuum"

A paper with "Missing Printer" and a cut off phone number written in sharpie.

A meme of a bear in a suit (Partially a trace of the actual meme template) with "You have seasonal affective disorder because you need Vitamin D. I have seasonal affective disorder because one of my ancestors fucked a bear. We are not the same"

"Is that how it happens?"

"Oh, sure, this dude's ancestor fucks a bear, he gets a meme, BUT WHEN I-"

"Going insane by yourself, handsome?"

Three pieces of paper with "Yes" "Yup" and "Yass" written on them, two stuck on with tape, while the third is stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

"You guys seriously pay to print out memes just to vandalize shit?"

"No, I stole the printer, too."

"YOU"

"Paulie never died"

A sticker of the Mothman

"TAX FRAUD"

A large printout with a dramatic portrait of Mitch McConnell with "ARE YA BREEDING YET?" written below it. Several tear off strips are missing, but the remainder all say different variations of "Yes"

A cut off sticker of a smiley face

A sticker of a machete

"BURGLE TURTS"

A sticker of a crying laughing emoji.

A sticker of a pot leaf

A sticker with a picture of bigfoot with pasties on her boobs walking up to a stripper pole with "I want to believe" written in the X-Files font

"Whoever gave Bigfoot tits will never enter the Kingdom of God"

Three notes pointing to the previous message with "Noticed the tits first" "Weirdo" and "Your preoccupation with cryptid mammaries betrays your discomfort with your own sexuality. Consider meditation, therapy, or possibly fucking yourself!"

"Weirdo" pointing to the previous paragraph before being crossed out and replaced with "BASED"

"K, but y tho?"

"No one insults the Bigfoot big naturals on my watch"

(She has them in the Patterson-Gimli footage, too)

"BIGFOOT BIG NATURALS" "NOW LORE ACCURATE"

A swastika being covered up by a peace sign

"Degenerates should be purged" "AMEN" "U FIRST."

A drawing of a penis that's been turned into a weasel in a familiar pose with "Dick weasel" and "Had to do it to 'em" written next to it

A sticker of a stalk of corn labeled "CORN"

"See? Iowa is with us!"

And, finally, "Does reading this hurt your back, too?" which was the last thing I added because I literally spent two days just doing graffiti for this shit.

So, the map behind Sasha is made up on the spot, with some inspiration from a map of the Seattle Bay. Kinda proud of just how dirty this fucking place is, but the final, and greatest achievment in making this picture look grimy...

THE RUST

I didn't exactly nail the perspective on some of these (The sketchy layer for the floor grating was done once, then dragged into place and warped with the perspective... and then completely fucked that up) but god DAMN do I love texturing the fuck out of things!

There's like six Multiply layers scattered about because it turned out it's a phenomenal way to make the shading of multiple textures make sense without losing that texture, and I feel so god damn powerful!

Oh, right, the posters.

Not much to say about them. The righthand one was 95% traced from a mafia stock photo, while the hands in the left came from another stock photo.

Honestly, I drew the frames, then had no idea what to put in them. There was briefly gonna be a pic referencing a cosplay photo I have of myself, but eh...

The rats and the guy in the wall were originally referencing a Vampire the Masquerade character I had named Pretty Paulie, who was a mafioso turned nosferatu who dubbed his crew the Rat Pack. I figured if there was some kind of dramatic, Scarface-esque movie about him, he'd definitely find a way to keep the poster nearby, and I wanted to slap in one of those "Give blood!" posters from the Red Cross except... not from the red cross.

I don't really feel like I put in much effort into these (compared to the Graffiti-a-thon with several subplots), but hey... they covered the tile, which before shading was boring and very flat, so they did their job.

I'll leave you with some zoomed in textures, because I do feel proud about those! I make them via a combo of oil paint and watercolor brushes, usually with a whole lot of different coats of varying opacity until it looks like the thing it's supposed to be. :)

I've only just started drawing again this year (I've been editing a looooot longer) so there's a lot of spaces where I have hiccups, but I'm figuring out the areas I do well in.

...Also sweet Jesus this started as me trying to figure out what a character looked like. It says 3 full days worth of editing was done in Krita on this file, and I don't think it's counting the idle time.

[wnchester67]

S1E1

Q: What makes this episode so fuckin good?

Well, kind of everything.

As any good narrative should, this episode sets up (even if briefly) a normal, apple pie life, and then disrupts that normalcy in a big way. There’s this sense of dramatic irony as the viewer catches on to the foreboding feeling the show is doling out (flickering lights, the MUSIC, etc) and the characters remain unaware until it’s too late. Then, the best moment of the introductory scene, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can.” I really feel like this sets up the entire premise of the show, a thematic motif if you will, wherein Dean is his brother’s keeper (KIN).

The next segment of the episode sort of repeats the disruption of normalcy, settling the viewer into Sam’s life at school while creating this intrigue by setting him up as the estranged golden child. Then we get Dean’s introduction (which is the best fucking character intro possibly ever), aka the disruption of normalcy. I could talk about this for literally ever, but for now I wanna focus on one thing in particular: the dialogue. The writer's are presented with these complex characters and history and have like one scene to start revealing the important shit that sets up the rest of the episode, and they do that via clever, efficient dialogue between Sam and Dean. Most everything they say to one another either reveals plot or characterization, and does so in a way that feels really natural. My personal favorite thing about the dialogue is how it sets up this recurring theme of the struggle between wanting a normal, 'apple pie' life, and being unable to have it (and each brother's feelings on the subject, which makes me crazy). The dialogue for the rest of the episode is equally good at revealing who each of the brothers are, and how they were raised.

Now I'm gonna fast forward to the end of the episode, not because the rest of the episode isn't great (it's really great), but because the way the episode ends is a big part of what makes it stand out so much to me. Jess's death is the perfect example of a character death being necessary to move the plot forward. The show would not proceed the same way at all without her death happening when it does and the way it does, and the way it brings the episode full circle is just... as a writer I could actually piss my pants thinking about it.

In my opinion, while the middle bits of the episode are really good, its truly the beginning and end that make the episode such a stand out. It's the perfect introduction to the series, laying out enough information to let you know what's going on while still keeping a few cards close to the chest to keep you intrigued. I've already watched the whole series more than once, and every time I come back to this episode it's just really, really fucking good.

[multifandomtrashwritings]

Pros & Cons of Laboratory Mishaps Pt 3

Dottore x Fem! Reader

No NSFW here, but again some parts in future will. But I use some curse words (How scandalous :0)

A/N: This took so long because my brain did not want to dialogue :(

When you groggily open your eyes the next morning there's a moment where you seem to forget last night, rolling over to reach for your robe before you get out from under your covers. As you do this you notice the notebook you’d been keeping your observations in and freeze, hand gripping your robe. Shit.. Last night was… What do you even call it, straight out of an Inazuman light novel would be accurate you suppose.

Shaking your head gently to clear your thoughts you pull your robe towards you and slowly begin the process of getting ready for the day. As you do your thoughts continue to race. How the hell were you supposed to explain what had happened? Even if you got lucky and had to explain it to Beta, well you were still only really acquaintances. And worse case… You shudder as you pull on your coat. You did not want to be stuck explaining this to the actual Dottore… Before you know it you’re standing at your door, hand hovering over the handle. You can’t help but hesitate, how the fuck were you even going to begin to explain this. But you guess that being late won’t make this any easier, so you take a deep breath and walk out into the hallway, making your way to the lab and totally not walking any slower than normal.

As you push open the lab door it feels heavier than normal, like everything you touched shared your apprehension. Your glance across the lab and spot Beta, beelining for him before you’re stuck with another segment. You sink into a stool beside Beta with a sigh, unable to keep your swirling thoughts purely inside your head. Beta turns from the documents he’s reading with a raised eyebrow and observes your demeanor. “You seem tired.” He says, turning to face you more. He moves to speak again but is interrupted by the side door of the lab opening and another voice. “Return to completing your task Beta. I shall discuss the results with them myself.” Calls the unmistakable voice of the real Dottore. You can’t help but deflate a little, just when you’d thought you could get the ‘easy’ way out you’ve been shoved into the absolute worst scenario. 

If Beta notices your behaviour he doesn’t say anything, turning back to the documents and gesturing with his hand for you to go to Dottore. There’s nothing else for you to do anyways, so you turn and stand. Your feet feel like lead as you slowly walk over to Dottore, whose standing by another door that you know leads to his office. Which is even worse, you’ll be completely alone. As you approach Dottore steps into his office, leaving the door open for you. 

You hesitantly walk into his office, looking around as you pull the door shut behind you. This is the first time you’ve been in his office, so you distract yourself for a moment by looking around. One wall is covered in books, the whole wall turned into a bookshelf. There’s another door that you know leads to the palace corridors. The floor isn’t the familiar bare concrete of the lab anymore, instead a wooden floor. There’s a large desk in the centre of the room, which Dottore is already sitting at waiting expectantly for you to sit at the chair opposite it. You move forward, noticing a small couch tucked in a corner, as if a last minute addition. Sinking into the seat opposite Dottore your nerves really kick in and you just wait for Dottore to say something, even if it might annoy him. 

Dottore raises an eyebrow at your silence, but he begins to speak anyway. “The potion would’ve worn off by now. I’d like to hear your observations, in detail please.” He says, a glint in his eyes as he says ‘please’ that almost seems knowing, like he’s waiting for you to reveal something he already knows. You swallow, collecting your thoughts and deciding to begin small, trying to hype yourself up for the ‘big reveal’. “Well, I didn't notice much after the first dose. But once the evening came I was still feeling fine, no drowsiness or fatigue at all. I don’t think I was able to get to sleep until around midnight, which is later than usual for a Monday night.” 

Dottore nods. “And nothing else? No unexpected experiences?” He says with a smirk, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. Your eyes widen slightly did he know?! How? What are you even supposed to say to that? “What do you mean?” You settle on, trying to get him to elaborate, even if it was an admittedly risky move considering who you were conversing with.

Dottore’s smirk only widens and he shrugs “Nothing really. Just curious if you felt any odd sensations? Or perhaps any form of connection at all?” He says, clearly enjoying your reactions.

Your shock turns to a glare, he definitely knows. But to what extent? Was this the goal from the beginning? “You know.” Is all you say, clinging onto the idea that you might get away with not having to put what happened into words.

Dottore’s eyes shine slightly at your words. “Ah, so you did. How wonderful. I’m sure you’d like an explanation then?” He says, sitting forward again and dropping his arms to his desk. 

“If I could trouble you for one.” You respond. After the words leave your mouth you can’t help but think you should be more careful with your words. But something in the back of your mind tells you it’ll be fine. In any case Dottore responds before you can think it over more.

“I suppose I can take the time to explain, since this is all relevant to you now.” He begins, his eyes watching you intently for your reactions to his words. “Recently some Fatui agents discovered another Khaenri'ahan ruin. And as usual all items of interest were brought to me for research. One such document caught our Majesty the Tsaritsa’s interest, and as such I was asked to prioritise the recreation of this potion. This potion was called the ‘Soulmate Potion’ apparently it can be used to ‘link’ one with their soulmate for a short duration. Though how exactly wasn’t indicated on the incomplete records we had.” He says, waiting expectantly for your response.

“Wait, wait. So you gave me this ‘Soulmate Potion’?” Is all you can get yourself to say.

“Well, it wasn’t intentional. Someone messed with my vials, and I was tired enough to not notice the colour difference until afterwards.” He says with a shrug. “So did you feel a connection or not?”

“I- Yes, I felt something that makes more sense with the so-called ‘soulmate potion’.” You say, not elaborating.

“Interesting, would you care to explain what this connection was?” Dottore asks, a knowing smirk on his face.

“You sound like you already know.” You sigh, but answer anyway. It’s probably best not to be too insolent to the harbinger despite your instincts trying to convince you that it’d be fine. “I could feel their touch. Like when they touched their face and such.” 

Dottore grins, clearly whatever he was trying to get out of this conversation he was receiving. “Just their face? They didn’t touch anywhere else?”

You flush at his words, the reminder of last night hitting you again. You can’t help but level the harbinger with a glare, your embarrassment stronger than your desire to not get killed for the moment. “You know.” You repeat. “There’s more to this. How do you know?” 

Dottore chuckles. “Hmm, you’re more feisty than I’d pictured.” He says with an amused smile. “I suppose I can elaborate further if it would please you. Like I said the switch up wasn’t intentional but I also mixed my own up. So we had both taken a vial of this potion instead of what we were supposed to.” He says, letting the revelation sit as he watches for your response.

You blush harder, sinking back into the chair and wishing the floor would swallow you whole. So, then that would mean he was your soulmate?? But even worse? (or better?) He had been the one behind the ghost hands last night? You go to speak but all that leaves your mouth is a strangled squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “I- So we’re soulmates?!?” 

Dottore smiles, his sharp teeth showing, huh you thought only the segments had those not the real Dottore. “Evidently.” He says with a nod. “This revelation is perhaps less strange to me than to you. As the segments all like you, and getting the segments to agree on anything is nothing short of a miracle.” He lets out a soft amused huff. “Do you require more proof? We could each take another dose of the potion.” He offers with a cheeky grin.

“No!” You say immediately, clearing your throat nervously before elaborating “No I believe you. It’s like my instincts are telling me you won’t just kill me if I annoy you.”

Dottore laughs. “Interesting. What gave you the impression I just kill whoever annoys me? Surely it would be more efficient to use them as test subjects instead?” He says with a grin. Though you see a hint of relief at your lack of rejection, like a slip of the mask he’s presenting you.

You can’t help but let out a small huff of amusement. And as you think of what to say next the absurdity of the situation hits you full force, derailing your train of thoughts. Subtly pinching yourself just so you could be sure this wasn’t a fever dream, (It wasn’t) you manage to find your words again. “Why bother telling me? I’m sure you could come up with a reasonable excuse.” You settle on asking, because the idea that Dottore had discovered you were his soulmate and went straight to outright telling you the next morning was a little odd, at least to you.

Dottore just shrugs again. “There’s a few reasons. Mainly that Her Majesty wanted to be personally informed of any progress. And I doubt the Tsaritsa would allow me to tell her I’d used the potion to find my soulmate and not introduce them.” He says, grinning at the idea.

Dottore’s words aren’t exactly reassuring though. “I have to meet the Tsaritsa now!” I blurted out, my etiquette barely held up to my interactions with harbingers, how the hell was I going to act ‘properly’ around our Archon. 

Dottore chuckles and I realise I’d said my thoughts out loud. “It’s unlikely the Tsaritsa will interact with you much.” He says. “But moving on from that.. As soulmates we're supposedly a ‘perfect’ match for one another. What say you to testing this theory?” 

I can’t help but blush again, hating that I’m looking as much of a fool as I feel. “Are you asking me to date you?”

“I suppose, though not in the conventional sense. Since fate has deemed us soulmates I see no reason to stick to societal norms. Shall we simply agree to test the fates decision one step at a time?”

I nod, that at least I can agree to.