#the parallel shots of their hands is breaking me

[flugame-mp3]

SEASON NINE FINALE WAS WILD. I HAVE MANY MANY THOUGHTS. WHAT JUST HAPPENED. A FUCKING ROLLER COASTER FOR SURE

[cupcakeeees]

“Steering Right Into Trouble”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: what could go wrong with an F1 driver by your side? It’s just driving.. right?

word count: 1k

The first time Lando offered to teach you how to drive, you thought he was joking.

“Trust me, you’re in good hands,” he’d grinned, keys dangling from his fingers. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Famous last words.

It started with you sitting stiffly in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel like your life depended on it. Lando sat beside you, far too relaxed for what was about to happen.

“Okay,” he began, his tone calm and reassuring. “Adjust your mirrors, check your seat position, and remember to breathe. It’s just a car..”.

You shot him a side-eye. He laughed.

“Alright, first thing, gently press the gas. Just a little. Remember, the car isn’t going to-”

The car lurched forward as your foot pressed harder than you intended. Lando’s hand shot out, grabbing the handbrake instinctively.

“Okay, not that much!” he yelped, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” you squeaked, your hands tightening around the wheel like it was your lifeline.

“It’s fine. Totally fine,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“That’s why I’m here, yeah? Just.. maybe try pressing the pedals like they’re made of glass, not concrete.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Lando, I’m so bad at this!”

“No, you’re not,” he said with a chuckle, his voice softer now as he gently tugged your hand off your face. “You’re just learning. Besides, I’ve got the handbrake. Worst-case scenario, we spin out in an empty parking lot. No big deal.”

Over the next hour, Lando swung between being the calm, collected professional driver and a man on the brink of a heart attack.

“Okay, now let’s try turning,” he said, resting one hand lightly on the wheel to demonstrate. “Slowly, just ease into it.”

You started the turn, but as the wheel slipped from your grasp slightly, you panicked. “It’s moving on its own!”

“Yeah, because that’s how physics works,” he said, laughing as he reached over to grab the wheel and guide it. “Just keep your hands steady. I’ve got it if anything happens.”

“You’re regretting this, aren’t you?” you muttered, cheeks burning.

“No, no!” he insisted, though the way he adjusted the wheel with one hand and clung to the door handle with the other told a different story. “This is great!”

After several missteps, and a very close call with a stray traffic cone, you finally managed a smooth lap around the parking lot. Lando clapped his hands.

He leaned closer, putting an encouraging hand on your thigh. “You’re doing better than you think.”

“Really?” the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Yeah,” flicking your nose playfully. “Now, want to try some parallel parking?”

Your groan echoed through the car, and he burst out laughing. “You really don’t want your car to survive today, do you?”

The peaceful atmosphere didn’t last long because the next disaster struck when you accidentally pressed the accelerator instead of the brake during a turn.

The car jerked forward, and Lando’s hand shot out to steady the wheel while his other hand reached for the handbrake.

“Brake!” he yelped

“I am!” your voice high-pitched with panic.

“Press harder!” he said, still clutching the wheel. “It’s not going to break, I promise - just PRESS IT!”

You managed to stop the car, both of you breathing heavily in the aftermath. Lando let out a shaky laugh, leaning back in his seat.

Despite your frustration, you couldn’t help but do the same, shaking your head at him. “Be honest. How bad am I?”

“Honestly?” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “Pretty terrible. But you’ve got potential.”

As the “lesson” drew to a close, the sun dipping low in the sky, you pulled the car to a stop and turned to him, your own smile faltering slightly. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” he repeated, his brows furrowing. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the keys from the ignition. “You’re lucky I didn’t crash your car.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t bail halfway through,” he shot back.

You were finally back in the passenger seat, where you belonged. Lando took over, effortlessly handling the wheel, every movement smooth and confident.

“See?” he teased, one hand lazily resting at the top of the steering wheel while he smirked at you. “This is how you’re supposed to do it.”

You shot him a glare, slouching in your seat exhausted. “Not everyone drives for a living, you know.”

He chuckled, eyes flicking toward you briefly, “You look a lot more comfortable here anyway,” he teased, tapping your seat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just.. you’re a pretty cute passenger princess. My passenger princess..”

You crossed your arms, trying to act unbothered while your cheeks betrayed you, burning bright pink even after all this time. “Oh, I see how it is, Norris! What? You didn’t like being my passenger princess?”

Lando only laughed quietly to himself, drumming his fingers against the wheel, as his other hand found yours across the console.

And so, the ride back felt easier than the whole lesson combined, even if your heart was racing faster than his car.

[five-rivers]

nervous

This fic is for the @infiniterealms remix event! Please enjoy!

.

“Stop it,” whispered Star, putting her foot on top of Paulina’s.  “If you were going to freak out this much, you should have stayed home.  Or at least not come to breakfast.”

“I don’t miss school.  Or breakfast.”  It was too important.  The time before class was when rumors and information about what happened outside of school came to light.  

Today, knowing the rumors would be vital.  

She picked at her nails.  They were new, the acrylics freshly applied, but they weren’t quite as even as they usually were.  Not up to her usual standards.  But she had to do it, just like she had to come in today.  

Star put her hands over Paulina’s.  They were shaking, too.  “It’s going to be fine,” she said.  “You just have to be, like, zen about it.”

“He didn’t even have anything on him.”

“I know.  But we’ll work something out. Just- Just stop talking about it.”

Paulina took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 

.

Star and Paulina watched Valerie stalk across the courtyard, head held high, lunch tray exactly parallel to the ground.  Despite not being in any sports, she moved with a tight, athletic grace.  She drew eyes.

“She’s been getting full of herself lately,” said Paulina.  “Like, she thinks she’s better than us.  We’ve got to do something.”

“Aw, Pauli,” said Star.  “Do we have to?”

“Like, yeah?  Unless we want to just, you know, give up.”

“Give up what?”

“Uh, being on top?  Duh.”

“I don’t know.”

“Listen, Star,” said Paulina, turning to face her.  “I know you used to like her, but you’ve got to get over it.  She’s the one who ditched us.  And no one ditches us.”

Star looked down at her lunch, then nodded.

“Anyway,” said Paulina, flipping her hair over her shoulder.  “I’ve got an idea.”

.

Paulina’s eyes drifted to where Valerie sat eating breakfast.  She was wearing long sleeves, pants, and a hoodie.  She hadn’t worn skirts or short sleeves since… 

It was whatever.  It wasn’t like Paulina cared.  She was only looking because sometimes Valerie talked to the loser trio.  

“We can check his locker,” Star was saying.  “We’ve got the key.  We just have to wait for a good time.  We can take one more day.”

Paulina nodded and smiled shallowly.  “Maybe.”  Her smile quickly fell away, but as more people entered the cafeteria she covered up her general… mood… by examining her nails and checking her reflection in her new makeup mirror.  

.

“That was great,” said Paulina.  “Did you see the look on her face?”

“Mhm,” said Star, smiling tightly.  

“It’ll keep her from looking down her nose at us,” said Paulina.  She flipped open her makeup mirror, to check and make sure her lipstick hadn’t smudged.  But what she saw wasn’t her face.  It was something terrible.  Something rotting and skull-like.  

She shrieked and dropped the mirror, breaking it.  

Suddenly, the hallway was empty and cold.

“Bullieeeeees…” groaned a sepulchral voice.  “Bullieeeeeeeeeeeeees…  You will regreeeeeeet…”

.

Paulina shivered.  

“You alright?” asked Kwan.

“Just a chill.”  She shot a smile at him.  “They’ve changed the air conditioner settings or something, it’s like it’s blowing on me.”

The others started joking about how underfunded and cheap the school was.  This allowed Paulina to turn her attention to the doors just as Sam Manson came in.  

Even under these circumstances, Paulina couldn’t help but curl her lip at Manson’s appearance.  Everything she wore was just so– so ugly.  Even the way she dyed her hair was crude.  The color was totally fake and flat.  Her skirt looked like someone had taken a pair of scissors and a spray can to it.  The less said about her grungy, safety-pinned jacket the better.  

But more than that, seeing Manson reminded Paulina of the last time she’d had the displeasure of speaking to her. 

.

It had been two days since they’d pranked Valerie, and those two days were the worst.  Everything that could go wrong, did.  She always had a backup outfit at school - no one was perfect, but she could look that way - but her spare skirt caught on the door of her locker and tore.  And then there were… things.  Things lurking in mirrors, or out of the corner of her eye.  The feeling of something just outside the door whenever she went to the school bathrooms… 

And Star was having some kind of problem with missing textbooks or whatever.  It wasn’t important.

But Paulina knew exactly how to deal with this.  Or, rather, exactly who could deal with this.  It was just a matter of getting in touch with her knight in shining armor.  

She knew just how to do it, though.  She’d done it before.  For one reason or another, Phantom always showed up most often around the loser trio.  Probably because they sucked so much that they just, like, attracted ghosts who wanted to kill them or something, and Phantom had to spend all his time protecting them instead of dating Paulina, like he deserved.  

Whatever it was, it meant that she could get a message to Phantom through them.

She waited for the right time to approach them - not because she cared about them, but because she could practically feel her reputation taking a hit just from being around them - and then put on her best smile and dragged Star along behind her.

“What do you want?” snarled Manson.

“Rude,” she said.  

Manson’s eyes narrowed.  “Get on with it.  We want to get to class.”

She tittered in a way that she knew irritated Manson.  “So, you guys see Phantom all the time, right?”

“N-not really,” said Fenton, not looking at her.

“As much as anyone,” said Manson.  

“Well, you see,” said Paulina, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, “I was wondering if you could give him a message from me?”

“You want to invite him to your birthday party through us again?”

“No,” said Paulina, rolling her eyes.  That hadn’t worked well enough for her to want Manson in her house ever again.  “It’s just, I’ve been having a bit of a ghost problem.”

“Me, too,” said Star, quickly.

Fenton looked up, brows pinched together.  “You have?”

“It’s Poindexter,” said Manson.  “You remember.  From what they did with Valerie.”

“Oh,” said Fenton, expression shuttering.  “Tuck, are you sure you have the right combination?”

“Dude, just use your key.  You have it, right?”

Fenton started to search his pockets and backpack.

“It isn’t just anything,” said Paulina, “it’s, like, a huge problem whenever I’m at school.”

“Then stay home,” said Manson.  “Or be less of a b–”

Fenton opened his locker with a bang, shoved back in the gadgets that tried to spill out, and started exchanging books.  

“Sorry,” said Manson, clearly feeling anything but.  “We’ve got class.”

.

Paulina growled a little inside.  If it hadn’t been for Manson, then it never would have gotten this far.  Phantom would have fixed everything.  

When Foley arrived, he looked…  Normal.  He clearly hadn’t heard anything.  He wasn’t upset enough.

Either way, he sat down next to Manson and they started talking.  

“Come on, Pauli, let’s go,” said Star, tugging Paulina’s arm.  

“Uh, what?”

“You said you’d help me do my hair before class,” lied Star.  

.

Paulina wasn’t the kind of person to give up, and she wasn’t going to let Manson get in the way of making this stupid ghost go away and bother someone who actually deserved it.  Like Lester, maybe.  He was so annoying, and he’d had the guts to ask her to the last dance.  So gross.  

So, she waited until Fenton was alone and cornered him.  

“Phantom and I don’t talk to each other,” he said, not looking directly at her, which was so annoying.  He was supposed to have a huge crush on her.  This was supposed to work.  “I can’t help you with that.”

“But he’s always around you.  I just need you to pass on one message.”

“I can’t help you,” repeated Danny.  “My parents are ghost hunters, Paulina, they chase after Phantom and shoot at him.  He doesn’t want to talk to me.  I’m pretty sure Phantom has some kind of truce with Sidney, anyway.”

“Who?”

“You know, the ghost that’s haunting you?  Sidney Poindexter?  You’ll be fine, you just have–”

“That gross nerd?”  Paulina needed to get rid of this ghost even more!  She shuddered.  

“Okay, fine,” said Star, who Paulina had almost forgotten was there, “so he doesn’t talk to you - like, who would–”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you’ve got, like, stuff from your parents, right?  Ghost hunting stuff.  You could give that to us for, like, protection.”

Fenton backed away.  “I really can’t.”

.

“Sorry,” said Star as they left the cafeteria.  “But this’ll probably be the best time, before classes start and while those two are still in the cafeteria.  You still have the keys?”

“Yeah,” said Paulina, touching her purse.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course I do.  I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” said Star.  She sped up, lengthening her stride.  “God, this would have been so much easier if he’d just been, like, a halfway decent person and helped us.”

One of the classroom doors next to them opened and Mr. Falluca walked out.  Paulina froze for a second, but Mr. Falluca wasn��t even looking at them, instead focused on the stack of papers in his hands. 

“Don’t just stand there looking guilty,” hissed Star.  “Come on, Pauli.  We have to keep going.”

Paulina swallowed and nodded.  

.

“Come on Fenton.”  This time, she’d caught him before school, when no one would see.  “How often do your parents check your stuff?  We won’t need it for long, you know?  If they notice, can’t you just say a ghost stole it?”

“Okay, how about this?  I don’t want to give you anything.”

“What?” demanded Paulina.  “Why not?”

“You know that I dated Valerie, right?”

“And then she dropped you like a bag of moldy potatoes,” said Paulina.  “Your point?”

“My point is that I still like her.  And what you did to her….  Look.  Just apologize to her.  Really apologize, like, make amends and stuff, and you’ll be fine, okay?”

.

The hallway Fenton’s locker was in was empty, although there were sounds coming from a few of the classrooms.  

“Okay,” said Star.  “Keys.”

Paulina nodded, then dug them out of her purse to hand to her.

“Keep an eye out.”  Star turned towards Fenton’s padlock.  It was one of those weird ones that had both a combination lock and a backup keyhole.  “God, why does he have so many keys?”

“I don’t know, just hurry, okay?”

“Yeah,” muttered Star.  “Don’t worry, everything will be over soon.”

.

“Hey!” shouted Star.  “Fenton!”

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder warily.  

“If you don’t help us,” said Star, out of breath, “then–” 

“Then we’ll tell everyone about your ghost detector,” finished Paulina.  They’d scraped together every rumor about Fenton they could to come up with this.

“My… what?” said Fenton, blankly.  

Paulina had to give him credit, he was a good liar.  “You don’t expect people to believe you go to the bathroom that much, do you?  And always right before a ghost attack?  We know your parents gave you something.  Help us, or we’ll tell everyone about it, and about how you’ve been keeping it to yourself so you can hide like a coward.”

“I– What?  I don’t– I don’t have anything like that!”

She took back what she said about him being good at lying.

“If I can notice it,” said Paulina, “other people will believe it.  You think you’re at the bottom of the social ladder now…” she trailed off, threateningly.  Maybe if she hadn’t been so stressed, she would have tried a bit more honey, but sometimes vinegar was all you had.

A number of complex expressions chased across Fenton’s face, but they ended with something hard.  

“No,” he said, and then he turned away and left.  

.

“Ha!  Got it.”  Star dropped the lock in her pocket before pulling open the locker. 

“What does he have?” asked Paulina, looking over her shoulder.  “He has to have some kind of, like, shield or something.”

“I don’t know,” said Star, pushing textbooks to the side.  “You’re seeing what I’m seeing.  Here.”  She pulled a backpack - not Fenton’s normal one - off the hook.  “See what you can find in here.”

She pulled open the zipper, and inside was… money?  A cheap flip phone?  Lipstick?  Two changes of clothes, one for a girl?

Paulina wondered what Fenton was into, but it didn’t matter now.  She unzipped the smaller pockets and started rifling through those.

.

“What now?” asked Star.  

It had been a few days since they’d last talked to Fenton, and, therefore, a few days since they’d spread around the rumor, but Fenton had been… unmoved.  

Which meant that Sidney Poindexter was still a problem.

With an act of will, Paulina smoothed out her expression.  “If we can’t get what we want by asking nicely, we’ll just take it.”

“But, like, how?  He’s not coming to us.”

“Not yet,” she said.  She thought about it.  “Mama always said, if a man’s hiding one thing, he’s hiding a bunch else, too.  We’ll slip him a note saying, like, if he doesn’t want his real secret to be spread around, he’ll show up.”

“And give us what we want?”

“No,” said Paulina.  “I don’t think that he’ll give once he’s seen us.  He’s got to carry his stuff on him, right?  So we’ll just take it then.”

“Beat up Fenton by ourselves?” asked Star, dubiously.  

“Or threaten him,” said Paulina.  “We both bring something to threaten him with, okay?”  Her Papa had a stun gun, and she was sure Star could scrounge up a baseball bat or something. 

And, besides, she wanted to get Fenton back.

.

“There’s nothing in here!” hissed Star, frustrated.  She slammed the locker closed, making Paulina jump.  “What the hell.”

Paulina grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the nearest bathroom.  “Can you not?”

“Can you not?  It’s your fault we’re even in this situation!”  

“My fault?  What about what you did?”

.

Fenton was already there, leaning against the guardrail, when they reached the bridge in the park.  During daylight, it was a popular spot for couples, but it was creepy and abandoned at night

“Oh, no, not this again.  Haven’t you had enough fun with your stupid ghost detector rumor?”

“It’s not about fun, Fenton,” said Paulina.  “Now, give it over.”

“Or what?”  He stood up and walked a few steps closer to them, a strange expression on his face.  “I don’t think you actually know anything, or you would’ve used it already.”

“Or this,” said Paulina, pulling out the stun gun.  

“What the–  Is that a taser?” asked Fenton, raising his hands and stepping back.  “Are– Are you robbing me?”  He glanced sideways at Star, apparently only then noticing her bat.  

“Consider a donation to a worthy cause,” said Paulina.  “Hand over your ghost stuff.”

“I don’t have any,” said Fenton.  

“When you’re out here in the middle of the night?” asked Paulina, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, you wouldn’t even be haunted if you–”

Paulina saw red and hit the trigger.  The electrodes flew from the end of the stun gun, right on target.  Fenton yelped and fell to the ground, seizing.  

It was… satisfying, for lack of a better word.  She’d just been so– So frustrated, lately.  All of her normal ways of blowing off steam at school had been blocked by that horrible ghost.  

She pulled the trigger again.  

But, before she could, Fenton had swiped away the electrodes, and now he was pulling himself up with the railing, hand over his face.  What Paulina could see of it though–

Star came in, swinging her bat.  She cracked Fenton right across the jaw and he tumbled over the railing and off the bridge.  There was a loud cracking sound.  Fenton hitting the pavement of the walkway below.  

There was no other sound.  

Paulina breathed in, breathed out.  

“What did you do that for?” she asked.  

“You didn’t see his face,” wailed Star.  “He looked like– like he was going to kill you.  I didn’t hit him that hard!”

Paulina shook her head and went down under the bridge.  Star followed close behind.  Fenton was… lying there.  Broken.  

But still breathing.  

“We’ve got to search him,” said Star.  

“Hm?”

“For his stuff.”

“Oh, right.”

“And then we’ve got to…”

“I know,” said Paulina.  Then, dreamlike, she asked, “Can I borrow your bat?”

.

“We both did things,” said Paulina, finally.  “The important thing is that we’re in this together, right?”  Her voice trembled.  “Right?”

Star nodded.  “Right.  So– So, we can, like, we have his house keys, too.”

“Yeah,” said Paulina.  The Fentons had to have something in their house, even if their kid was apparently a moron who went around with absolutely nothing.  

“And no one’s even noticed he’s gone yet,” continued Star.  “We’ve just…”  She stopped as she put her hand in her pocket.  “I’ve still got his stupid lock.”

“Who cares?”

“His friends will notice if it’s gone.  And we’ve got to get to class, anyway.”  Star seemed to be calming down again.  Good.  She was surprisingly useful in a… situation.

.

In Paulina’s trunk was a thick canvas tarp.

She didn’t know why, exactly.  It had come with the car.  

Star went over it, pulling off tags.

Paulina broke two nails getting it back to the trunk.  

They drove to the river.  

“They’ll assume it was a ghost,” said Star.  “Especially if they don’t find him.”

Paulina had just nodded.  

.

Paulina followed Star as they left the bathroom.  It was fine.  They were going to put the lock back on the locker and it would all be fine.  

But someone was standing in front of Fenton’s locker.  

They turned, slowly, as if they were a character in a lame horror movie.  But Paulina couldn’t move.  Couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t think.  

Fenton’s eyes met hers.  

[its-avalon-08]

so seb and y/n broke up after 2011, super messy break up, alot of tears, and they have never spoken after that. she switched jobs into mercedes. he has a panic attack and is gasping for breath and keeps asking for y/n. y/n comes running and seb breaks down sobbing. note the date is the same as the day they broke up. he confesses that he messed up and is so sorry. Thanks! love ur blog <333333333333333333

🍂🍂🍂🍂 one of my fav 🍂🍂🍂🍂

breathe baby breathe (sv5)

The air in the Red Bull garage hung heavy. The tension wasn't new - ever since 2010, ever since the spectacularly messy break-up that left a trail of shattered trophies and tear-stained pit walls, Seb and Y/N existed in an uneasy parallel universe within the F1 circus. He, a stoic German with haunted blue eyes, remained with Red Bull. She, a steely Brit with a heart encased in ice, had taken a high-profile switch to Mercedes.

Qualifying had been a disaster for Seb. A gearbox issue had left him stranded on track, his championship dreams spiraling down like a flaming meteor. Now, back in the garage, a cold sweat slicked his palms. His vision swam, the faces of mechanics blurring into an incomprehensible mess. His chest tightened, a cold vice squeezing the air from his lungs. He tried to take a breath, but it came out in a ragged gasp.

Panic clawed its way up his throat. This wasn't right. This wasn't just disappointment. His heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs, each beat a deafening boom in his head. The air, thick with the smell of burnt rubber and ozone, offered no solace. He fumbled for his water bottle, the plastic slick with sweat in his trembling hand.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He stumbled back, his vision going dark at the edges. A primal fear, a terror he hadn't felt since he was a child lost in the supermarket, seized him. A strangled cry escaped his lips – not a word, just a raw sound of terror.

Mark Webber, ever the teammate, noticed Seb's distress first. "Seb! You alright?" The concern in Mark's voice barely penetrated the fog of panic muddling Seb's thoughts. He needed Y/N. It was a nonsensical thought, a desperate plea from a drowning man clutching at a straw. But it was the only lifeline he could grasp.

"Y/N," he rasped, his voice a pathetic croak. Mark's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The name had never passed Seb's lips in all these years. But right now, reason had abandoned him.

Mark didn't hesitate. He knew the history, the bitter fallout, but in this moment, all he saw was a teammate in distress. "Y/N!" he bellowed, his voice cracking through the tense silence of the garage.

Y/N was huddled in the Mercedes garage, dissecting the telemetry data from Lewis's qualifying run. The news of Seb's car trouble had filtered through, a bittersweet pang twisting in her gut. She'd long buried the ghost of their relationship, or so she thought.

Mark's urgent yell shattered her focus. "Y/N!" It echoed through the corridor, laced with a raw panic that sent a jolt through her. Memories, both bitter and sweet, flooded her mind. Ignoring the bewildered stares of her colleagues, she surged towards Red Bull's garage, a primal fear urging her forward.

The sight that greeted her ripped the carefully constructed wall around her heart clean open. Seb, usually the epitome of stoicism, was a crumpled mess on the floor. His face, drained of color, was contorted in fear, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His normally steely blue eyes were wide and frantic, searching for something, someone.

The past dissolved. This wasn't about their break-up, not anymore. This was about a human being in distress. Ignoring the initial shock, she dropped to her knees beside him, her professional training kicking in. "Seb, hey, focus on me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. He didn't respond, his gaze flitting around the room like a trapped animal.

Panic threatened to engulf her again, but she forced it down. Taking a deep breath, she mirrored it, holding his hand and speaking slowly, deliberately. "breathe baby breathe for me Seb. In with me, slow and steady." He flinched at the touch of her hand, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, then quickly masked by raw fear.

He tried, or rather, his body tried. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. Seeing his plight, she knelt closer, gently pushing a stray strand of hair off his damp forehead. It was a simple gesture, born of instinct, and it seemed to anchor him.

"That's it," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "Slow breaths. You're alright, Seb. You're with me." As the words left her lips, a strangled sob ripped through him, shaking his entire frame. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill, but he squeezed his eyes shut, a desperate attempt to hold them back.

Y/N's heart ached. The sight of his vulnerability shattered the years of built-up resentment. Without a thought, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His trembling body crumpled against hers, the final dam breaking. Sob after wracking sob escaped his lips, raw and unfiltered.

He didn't care if she saw. In that moment, all he needed was a human anchor, a safe harbor in the storm of his panic. And for the first time in years, Y/N felt the familiar pull of protectiveness surge through her. The past was still there, a shadow lurking at the edges, but right now, all that mattered was calming the storm raging within him.

The tremors in Seb's body gradually subsided, his sobs muffled against her shoulder. His grip on her arms tightened, a silent plea for comfort. Y/N held him close, stroking his hair with a gentleness that surprised even her. The scent of his familiar racing cologne, a mix of leather and adrenaline, flooded her senses, a potent reminder of a past she couldn't fully outrun.

"Y/N," he finally rasped, his voice hoarse. Shame laced each word, a stark contrast to the bravado he usually wore. "I miss you. So damn much." The words hung heavy in the air, a confession ripped bare by his vulnerability.

A lump formed in Y/N's throat. Part of her wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the icy fortress she'd built around her heart. But the raw pain in his voice, the vulnerability etched on his face, held her captive.

"You messed up, Seb," she said, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question, but a simple statement, a truth they both acknowledged.

He flinched, a choked sob escaping his lips. "I know. I know, and I regret it every damn day. Even my parents yell about it. They keep saying I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me." His voice cracked, raw with self-loathing.

Y/N's breath hitched. She knew his parents adored her, a stark contrast to the strained relationship he had with his father at the time. The revelation stung, a reminder of what they'd lost.

A hesitant breath escaped her lips. "Seb," she started, unsure how to proceed.

He cut her off, a tremor running through his voice. "And the worst part? Even after all this time... I still love you, Y/N. Madly." He confessed the words in a rush, as if afraid to hold them back any longer.

Silence descended upon them, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, a soft, surprised sound escaped Y/N's lips.

"You still...?" She couldn't finish the question, the weight of his confession settling on her chest.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, a desperate plea for a flicker of reciprocation. "Every damn day," he whispered. "Even now, on our monthaversaries, I still go get your favorite pad thai."

The admission, a small, vulnerable detail from a past they both cherished, cracked the ice around Y/N's heart.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's lips, a flicker of disbelief coloring her voice. "Pad thai, huh? You never did learn to like that."

Seb chuckled, a wet, shaky sound. "No, I never did. But seeing you devour it with that look of pure joy... it was worth every forced bite." His gaze softened, lingering on her face for a beat too long.

The weight of his words, laced with a longing that mirrored her own, threatened to unravel the careful control she'd maintained. Taking a deep breath, she confessed, "You know, I used to stalk your social media, Seb. Every model the tabloids linked you with, I'd dissect their pictures online, a jealous wreck." Shame burned in her cheeks as she admitted the truth.

His eyes widened in surprise. "You... you did?"

"Don't judge," she countered, a hint of defiance lacing her voice. "We both have things we regret."

He shook his head, his expression softening. "Never. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I was a colossal idiot back then."

Y/N couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the sound surprisingly warm. "Maybe a little," she conceded. "But even after switching teams, a part of me still wants you to win every race, Seb. It's a terrible conflict of interest, I know."

He squeezed her hand, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "Really?"

"Don't get cocky," she teased, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "But seeing you on that podium, the pure joy on your face... it's hard to explain."

A comfortable silence settled between them, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged just moments before. Then, a mischievous thought struck Y/N.

"Speaking of confessions," she began, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Remember those chocolate chip cookies Mark always seems to have a stash of during race weekends?"

Seb's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of recognition dawning on his face. "Wait, you...?"

"Guilty as charged," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "I figured you still loved them, even after all these years."

Seb's lips curved into a genuine smile, the first one she'd seen in far too long. "You have no idea," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "They were... a ray of sunshine on some pretty dark days."

Their eyes met, a spark of something new igniting in the space between them. The past, with all its baggage, still loomed, but for the first time, they weren't facing it alone.

two days later

Two days had passed since their tearful encounter in the Red Bull garage. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, a constant undercurrent in the sterile environment of the Formula One paddock. Y/N sat hunched over her laptop in the Mercedes motorhome, the glow of the screen illuminating the dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had been a distant dream, replaced by the whirring of her mind replaying every stolen glance, every hesitant touch with Seb.

A soft knock startled her from her thoughts. Wiping the fatigue from her eyes, she called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sheepish Seb holding a familiar white paper bag. His hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," he mumbled, stepping inside hesitantly.

"Seb? What are you doing here?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with surprise.

He held up the bag, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. "Pad thai. Your favorite. I, uh, thought maybe you could use a break from all that data?"

A wave of warmth washed over Y/N. "You remembered," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the bag.

"How could I forget?" he replied, his voice softer than she'd heard in years. "It's become more than just a dish, Y/N. It's a reminder of everything we were, everything I messed up."

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers. The vulnerability in his gaze tugged at her heartstrings.

"Look," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I know this is crazy, showing up here unannounced after everything. But I can't stay silent anymore. These past few days have been torture. The thought of you... of losing you again..." He trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.

"Seb," Y/N started, her own voice trembling.

He held up a hand, silencing her. "No, let me finish. These past years have been a living hell without you. Every race win felt hollow, every victory parade a painful reminder of what I'd thrown away. My parents were right, you know. You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

He took another step closer, the air crackling with unspoken emotions between them. "Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I love you. I never stopped. And if there's even a sliver of a chance, I want you back. I want to rebuild what we had, stronger this time."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, blurring his image. She couldn't take his beautiful monologue any longer. With a strangled cry, she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. The pad thai forgotten, they fell into a desperate embrace.

"Seb," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "I love you, I love you, I love you," the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

He held her tighter, the sound of her choked sobs a balm to his tortured soul. "Never letting you go again," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with a promise they both desperately wanted to keep.

In the heart of the bustling Formula One paddock, amidst the roar of engines and the relentless pursuit of victory, they found solace in each other's arms. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in years, they weren't facing it alone. They had each other, a second chance at a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger, more resilient than ever before.

[greenfiend]

For those still in doubt that Will flayed/influenced Hopper in ST3…

So when someone flays another basically what happens is, as Mike states they “[take] over their mind” and “basically become him”.

Now, it’s very interesting how in ST3 we see Hopper act childish- but exclusively in ST3. The very same season Will desperately holds onto his childhood.

It’s suspiciously very meta for him to say lines like this. It’s intentional. The writers didn’t just forget how to write Hopper. We are supposed to notice this abrupt shift in his persona and overall demeanour.

As Will says, he likes to hide. Interestingly enough Will and him share that in common. Note the “only used me when he needed me”. Same is true for Will using Hopper. Hopper still has moments where he is his “normal” self.

Whenever Hopper is “serious”, it’s really him. Whenever he’s emotional and kid-like, he’s under Will’s influence.

The Clues

So, let’s start by going over some of the major clues, shall we?

Him saying this to a Byers of course. Interesting writing choice.

The original script tells us that Will wears colourful clothes. That’s his style and he stands out because of it. Now it seems to be Hopper’s style all of a sudden too. It’s even noted by officer Powell here that it’s surprising to see Hopper dress this way.

Play these transition scenes. The first one has Lucas asking Will for permission to take a shower, then we are shown Hopper showering. I suppose Will granted Hopper said permission. Then of course we have El asking “how can you tell when someone’s a host?” afterwards the first person we see is Hopper himself. A perfect example of a host. They answered her question!

We are often shown Hopper acting childish. Look at how he’s holding his pillow! We never saw him doing this in seasons prior. Then we have Murray outright calling him a “manbaby” and “children”.

When “Hopper” orders an alcoholic beverage he struggles with the pronunciation. Reminiscent of a young person attempting (but failing) to appear older and more mature.

We even are shown him being fed lines that came from a Byers.

Now for the major clue. Why oh why did they show Will while Mike explained that Hopper threatened him? Not just Will, but Will moving pieces on a board. He’s essentially controlling things! Bending to his will, if you will. I mean it makes sense. We know Will was very jealous of Mike and El and complained about them! Just like Hopper, he wants them to break up. Perhaps even more than Hopper actually does.

Then we have Mike referring to him as crazy! That’s their special word, so naturally “Hopper”/Will does not take this well. Look at his face! He looks betrayed.

The References

It’s extremely subtle, but we have another Byler/Jopper parallel here. Earlier in 3x01, we see Joyce holding Hopper’s left hand, very reminiscent of Mike holding Will’s right hand last season. Then we have Hopper communicating in Morse Code as he and Mike fight to lock/unlock the car door several times. Notice how we have a shot of his left hand doing the locking of the door? Same one Joyce held. I’ve tried to work out what he’s communicating but I’m falling short. If anyone wants to take a stab at it please let me know your findings!

Then we have the Back to the Future references. Again very subtle, but there nonetheless. As we know, Will is compared to Marty Mcfly a fair bit, ever since his very first appearance!

Do you recall the plot of Back to the Future? Marty travels to the past, accidentally changes some things, then has to bring his parents back together! Will does the same thing… through Hopper!

And just like Marty… things get a tad bit awkward…

Now keep in mind… these scenes all occur within the same episode. While trying to set up his mother and Hopper together through “flaying” Hopper, Will accidentally gets his mom interested in him (as Hopper). That is why he refers to Murray as “Freud” aka the Psychologist who created the theory of “the Oedipus Complex”. This is also why Robin drops that line about of the movie.

So… How?

If you recall back in ST2, Hopper is spat on by something and was trapped in the UD. Will is able to sense him and thus is connected to him. Hopper is a part of Will’s hive mind. I also believe they may be biologically father and son… but that’s for another post.

The Implications of All of This…

So what does this mean? I’m not fully sure, but it seems like Will has some abilities here. I have no idea if it’s future Will manipulating things, or present Will and I’m not so sure how aware he is of all of this.

But in regards to Mike… here are some funny implications…

ST3 shows us a Mike with a peculiar fascination with bears. Bears seem to be associated with Will and “bear” has a specific other definition…

Now the icing on the cake with this is the fact that Mike has made comments regarding Hopper’s weight multiple times! So, he’s well aware of Hopper’s “bear” status. Mike shows interest in bears because he’s interested in Will. Will essentially is a “bear” while he is puppeteering Hopper.

It’s also nice to know that Will actually did get that hug he yearned for from Mike. We just didn’t realize it. Mike and “Hopper” hugged a tad longer than normal too while Will was facing them of course.

To conclude, I know this theory sounds so silly and I sound insane, but I swear to you… this is real. I may be wrong about some aspects of this but I know Will influenced Hopper in some way. Remember though, it’s not a constant thing. Will only “used him when he needed to”. Will experienced being flayed in ST2, then he became the “flayer” in ST3.

If you have any questions or comments about this theory feel free to send me an ask! These things are fun to think and talk about.

[readychilledwine]

A Night to Celebrate

Rhysand Week Day Two - Carynthian

Summary - After shoving his biggest accomplishment in the face of all who didn't believe in him, Rhysand is just happy to celebrate with you

Warnings- alcohol use, parallel between real world issues people who are multiracial face, implied bi-Rhys

A/n- Happy @officialrhysandweek day 2! I touched on something slightly that I, as a parent of a multiracial child, have noticed already. I imagine being carnythian meant more than just a title to Rhysand when he earned it. I imagine it was a fairly big, "F you," to the full blooded Illyrian males who doubted him due to his half Illyrian status.

Also, I had to redraft this twice. Tumblr evidently didn't want me to post it. Perhaps this is a sign 🫠🤣

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Rita's was loud as Rhysand continued blowing his father's money. Shots here, shots there, another round here. He had even snuck Azriel and Cassian in so the males could experience Velaris for the first time.

You were keeping watch, ensuring your closest friend wasn't going to get caught by his father as he boasted his accomplishments to any female, and as he got more intoxicated male, who would listen. You rolled your eyes as the three illyrians took another shot before heading out to dance.

They deserved the happiness they had, the sense of pride and celebration rolling off of them in waves. They had accomplished a goal so few had, and you knew for Rhysand that this meant more than he would ever be able to fully tell his two brothers by choice.

Rhysand had always told you during lessons that he felt like he was stuck. Not Illyrian enough for most Illyrians. Not high fae enough for the prissy upper class. Just stuck. Carynthian was a status so rarely earned during the dreaded Blood Rite and such a high honor, for him as a half Illyrian male to have earned it, fairly and Azriel and Cassian? It was something no one could rip from him, a title no one could ever take away.

It was his crowning moment. His biggest accomplishment. You knew he'd be riding this high for hours to come just based on the way he kept coming over to you, hand resting on your hips as he grabbed his drink. "I wish you would dance with me," he shouted over the music.

"Can't watch for our fathers if I do!" But you wished you could. This was a big moment for him. For all three of them. It had been enough for you to sneak out the high window of your father's home to play look out, enough for you to have one drink with him and break rules of what was considered proper from High Born High Fae female.

He seemed upset by your response, "Are you not having fun? Y/n.." He yelled for Azriel and Cassian, grabbing the three of you and winnowing somewhere much chiller than you were used to.

“Where did you take me,” You pulled back enough to glare, but not enough to lose his body heat in the icy wind.

“Mother's cabin,” his words were slurred, tone nonchalant as Azriel tripped and hiccuped, opening the doorway. “We can party here. No worries about our dear old fathers.”

Unceremoniously, you found yourself tossed on the couch while the three of them continued drinking and yelling, dance moves that made you wonder if you needed to cut them off coming out. You now had your own wine, nursing it as you laughed with them.

They went down one by one, and true to legend, the biggest fell the hardest. Cassian had to be carried upstairs by his barely there brothers, laid in his bed as he continued slurring words of celebration in his sleep. Azriel went down an hour later, shadows having the decency to move him to his bed so he could rest comfortably.

It left you and Rhysand, the heir holding a hand you to and forcing you to come sit under the stars with him. “I did it,” he whispered.

“You did,” you responded. “Without using your magic. Without your wings. Without your father.”

“Fuck that guy,” a ghost of a smile came to his lips. “I can do anything.”

You immediately confirmed, “You can. Regardless of what anyone tells you. You are capable of all things you set your mind to. We all are. High fae, low fae, Illyrian, rich or poor. We are more than our status."

He laid back on the porch, eyes shut with full smile, “Careful, Darling, those words might go to my head." He took a deep breath, "None of these-” he paused as if looking for the right word. “These meat for brains assholes can take it from me. Or Azriel. Or Cassian.”

You pulled your knees to your chest and nodded. “They won't even be able to strip you of it when you become High Lord. High Lord and Carynthian. Two of the most powerful titles in the Night Court.”

“I can think of more powerful titles,” his hand ran ran up and down your spine. “And I'm feeling bold enough tonight to try to earn it too.”

You had gone still until him pulled you down to him by your hair, looking up at his slightly hazy eyes. “And what title is that?”

“Yours,” he said plainly. “I want to be yours.”

200 years later, he still was yours, sighing dramatically as he looked over papers. You knocked softly, carrying the son you two had welcomed just a few months ago, “Babe, you have less than an hour to get ready to go out with Azriel and Cassian.”

He glanced up at you, “What?”

“Don't tell me you forgot,” you bounced your child on your hip, reaching to take the report from him. “It's the anniversary of-”

“Oh! I have to go! Dad brain!” He ran out of the door smiling, leaving you and the baby stunned at the rate the new father left at.

He ran back in moments later, kissing you hard before finally picking up his son. “Daddy is going out tonight, okay buddy?” He carried him down the stairs, you following, watching as small hands touched Rhysand's face. “Let me tell you a story really quick, though. One about daddy, and Uncle Az, and Uncle Cass and this biiiiiiiiiig mountain where I earned my 3rd favorite title.”

Father. Mate. Carynthian. High Lord.

You knew the titles well. Knew the order of importance he gave them.

“Once upon a time, daddy was taken from his bed in the middle of the night..”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[ao3-shenanigans]

I have a confession, and a question. I have rewritten my longest fic to-date a total of six times and have an entire extended universe planned. The problem is, I only make progress if I'm writing it out by hand. The slower pace of writing with a pen or pencil forces me to pause and think far more often than typing and makes it much easier to deal with grammar and spelling errors down the road. It also has the great side effect of helping to keep Writer's Block from taking hold. How do you deal with writer's block?

Ah man, writers block hits me so hard!

Some tips and tricks I’ve heard that help:

1. Make a short-term outline

- maybe not the whole plot but rather a short scene or set of scenes. Ex:

(1) Character A picks a fight -> (2) Character A looses fight -> (3) Character B finds them and takes care of them

2. Make a list of things you would want to read in a fic

- be self indulgent! This is your fic after all!

- listing moments you’d like to have can sometimes get the creative flow excited again

Ex: Jon and Martin kiss, someone calls Elias a Saucy Minx and he has to put up with it, Sasha gets to stab Peter, Tim gets to have a sick day where people take care of him

3. Write scenes out of order!

- write that sappy epilogue first if you want!

- stab that sad little man! Figure out why it happened later!

4. Write a few sentences or scenes from a different perspective

- can be that of a different character, an animal watching, a passerby or even an inanimate object! 

5. Write with a friend! Co-authoring a fic or even parallel writing can help with motivation

6. Write a one shot while taking a break from Your main project!

- sometimes something short and sweet can get the dopamine flowing again

7. Write by hand!

- the old notebook trick!

- or even changing the font sometimes helps!

8. Don’t allow yourself to edit or fix typos!

- let yourself ramble on to the page for a bit! You can’t edit what’s not there!

9. Read someone else’s work!

- fanfic or traditionally published work! Mix it up!

10. Re-engage with the source material!

- remember your roots!

11. Change the weather!

- maybe the fight isn’t working in the rain, but how about sleet or snow? Searing desert heat?

12. Change the format of the fic

- try writing it in second person or as a screen play

13. Leave bits out

- start with only the dialogue or only the setting descriptions

14. Talk it through with a friend or fandom buddy!

- explain the story and ask them questions, brainstorm answers together

15. Remember that it doesn’t need to be perfect!

- getting fixated on plot holes or mischaracterization can be detrimental to enjoying the act of creation that writing is

- as fanfic readers, we genuinely don’t mind that much; its the whole “Holy shit two cakes!!” situation, the fact that you’re willing to share this thing you’ve written and labored over with us for free is a gift in and of itself

- have fun! Be silly! Don’t fret about it!

[octuscle]

Howdy, Support! I'm a 22yo twink working at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Only good part about my job is uh..."servicing" the passing truckers. One of 'em is a real beast of a man; late thirties, tall, burly and hairy, with a big, solid beer/roid gut that's always straining against his filthy tanktop. Everytime he stops by, we have a beer shotgun contest right in front of everyone. Loser blows the winner in the stalls. I normally enjoy losing (not that I have a choice), but this time, I want him to meet his match...literally! I want to drink him under the table, and with each beer I down, I want to feel my gut grow heavier and larger as my work clothes turn into a stained tanktop and I gradually transform into a hulking, hairy trucker that stinks of sweat, just like him. I've programmed all the relevant settings for height, muscle, hair, BO, attitude and clothing, but I just realized I don't know how to sync the transformation to an event trigger like shotgunning the beers, much less on how to make it gradual! Please help me, he's due today!

I love challenges… First of all, I'll add one more skill to your traits. "Stable up to 3.5 per mille". I don't know how much your crush can take. But now you've got a damn good chance of drinking the guy under the table. However, you should manage at least 2.0 per mille. Because your transformation will take place in parallel with your blood alcohol level. Linear, until you have reached 2.0 per mille. At 2.0 per mille, the transformation is complete.

It's around 8 p.m. when your buddy finally comes in the door. Like you said: a beast of a man. The fist bump he gives you almost breaks your forearm bones. Beast of a man? You're miles or 2.0 per mille away from that. You are cute. But a twink. Not a man.

The regulars know what to expect. They chant "Booze! Booze! Booze!" One of them shouts that you're in desperate need of a protein shot. The others roar. Your buddy orders 20 cans of beer. He shouts to his colleagues that there will definitely be some left for them. He looks at you, winks and licks his lips. He has no idea.

The first can of beer. It really hits you. 0.3 per mille. One seventh of your way gone in one go. You feel a bit dizzy. You've been king of the highway for two years now. Well, maybe prince of the highway. You haven't put much weight on your ribs yet. But the good food at the truck stops and the hard work loading your truck are already having a bit of an effect. Your arms are no longer as thin as twigs.

The second beer. It didn't go quite so quickly. You have to burp loudly. Your buddy follows your example. 0.56 per mille. You've been driving your 7.5-ton baby through the countryside for over three and a half years. Does you good. Not as skinny as you used to be. You look healthy. Maybe a little red in the face. Drunk.

After the third beer you have over 0.8 per mille. Another burp. You need a piss. You stand with your legs apart in front of the urinal to avoid peeing on your boots. You take out your cheesy beauty from your dirty jockstraps. And empty your bulging bladder. Wash your hands? That's for twinks. You simply wipe your hands on your dirty Wranglers.

Janet brings you some onion rings with your beer. Good idea. After the toilet break, you finish your fourth beer almost in one go. Your buddy has noticeable problems. Your blood alcohol level is over 1.0 per mille. This competition between you and your colleague has been going on for about seven years. In the trucker scene, your competitions are small highlights. As soon as it is clear when and where you will next get drunk under the table and then disappear to the stalls, new routes are planned. Service stations know that you'll bring in good sales and are keen to host the competition. There used to be a lot of betting on winning and losing. Your buddy has been unbeaten for seven years. There's not much betting anymore. The odds on you winning are huge. But nobody expects that anyway.

The next beer. At 1.26 per mille, you start to falter. Your buddy weighs a few more kilograms than your 100. Maybe you're already a little over 100 - you broke that magic barrier a few weeks ago on your 30th birthday. Eat, work hard and lift iron in the evening. That shapes your body. And beer. Lots of beer. To the delight of the audience, you interrupt your drinking contest for a short burping contest. The landlord actually has a device to measure the volume. You lose. That's clear. You lack the resonance body…

The next beer is a big miss for both you and your buddy. Your dirty tank tops are now wet from the beer. But that was a quick round of drinking, so it happens. You feel a bit dizzy. Your buddy is already looking extremely glassy-eyed. A murmur goes round the room. Should you really stand a chance?

After the seventh beer, you both have to go for a piss. Shit, why are you doing this to yourselves? So that one of you can blow the other? You do that as often as you can see each other anyway. And luckily your paths cross from time to time. "Dude, has your beast grown?" slurs your buddy as you stand swaying in front of the urinals and can no longer aim and hit the target very well. "You bet your life, get ready for a lot, bro," you slur back. "And now give me a kiss, I can't wait any longer."

You're too drunk to remember to turn your caps backwards. You push his cap off his head and it falls into a puddle of urine. Damn, it's seen worse. You stagger back to your beer cans. After the eighth beer, your first goal is achieved. 2.0 per mille blood alcohol. Spread over a proud 120 kilograms of your 35-year-old body. A passionate trucker for 13 years. Your 36-ton beast is basically your home and your family. Hehehe, there are a few other people in the family too. Mike here next to you, for example. You rip open the ninth can and empty it almost at record speed. Shit, you're going to be sick. Mike opens the can, takes a sip. And stumbles towards the toilet. He can't reach the toilet bowl. But at least he throws up in the sink.

When he comes back, he looks at you with glazed eyes. He falls to his knees in front of you to the loud roar of the audience and tries to open your trousers with his drunken head. You have to laugh. "Not here, not now, Buddie" You pull him up. Let him sober up a bit first. You should both enjoy the moment when he sucks you off for the first time!

[hivemuthur]

Wait Ten Seconds

Okay, a tiny little break from Viktor, as I present you a request for my awesome friend, @aristenfromwarsaw! Thank you for having faith in me to write this, heh. Also, this is my fav screenshot of Astarion and Aristen, her Durge, just look at them :')

spawn!Astarionxfemale!redeemed!DU (fandom: BG3), explicit!

word count: 2,5K

summary: set in act III, after defeating Cazador and Orin. Not specified, but I can imagine them having a date before the doomed day of confronting the absolute and chilling somewhere in Rivington, away from people and the rest of the team :')

author's note: so nervous about publishing this, that I forgot to mention the undeniable blessing by my smut fairy, @rennethen, thank you!

—

She was fidgeting, to the point of Astarion wincing as he brought the wine and plopped down next to her on the blanket. The closer they were to their final goal, the more layers were peeled back, revealing the truth underneath. And Aristen’s truth lay very close to Astarion’s. The parallels were almost uncanny—two powerful creatures, made and shaped by another, more powerful, to be stripped of will and judgment and commit crimes nearly beyond redemption. Both beautiful, nearly deadly so. Both now free, though at a horrific price that included a lot of death, and their friends close to bleeding out.

And Astarion knew. He knew what it was like to swat away that extended hand, the one that carried a promise of eternal power and greatness without limitations. He knew how hard it had been for him when he held his dagger over Cazador’s head, his eyes darting to all his friends, who froze in fear of what he was going to do next. Their questioning faces, minds grinding gears, silently pleading with him not to do it. So he didn’t. And a mixture of relief and grief washed over him as they walked back through the corridors of the musky dungeon, their shirts soaked in blood, grime, and the dusty remnants of undead bodies. The stench was unbearable, nearly as bad as in the temple of Bhaal.

But after that came true reprieve. And suddenly, the price of his freedom felt small. Who needed the sun when he could have her? So he confessed his love and giddiness, and Aristen accepted it—all of it. Living under the stars and figuring out what would come next. If, of course, they survived the Netherbrain.

She kept fisting the blanket and biting the inside of her cheek. So he waited ten seconds before being an absolute freak and licking her face to snap her out of it.

“Wha— Why are you being gross?” She blinked, wiping the spit off her face with the top of her hand. But there was a smile, and Astarion sighed, relieved that such a thing could still take place.

“Copper piece for your thoughts?” he asked, passing her a carafe of Amnian Dessert. She took it wordlessly, their fingers brushing, and Astarion winced at the warmth of her skin. She gulped down three sips and forced herself not to burp.

“I… I feel you already know what I’m thinking about,” she said, offering him a sad smile.

“Humour me. Consider me a half-wit that needs everything spelled out for him.” His hands travelled up her knees to her hips, pulling her to slot between his spread legs. Once a safe space was created between them, Astarion tilted the bottle to her lips, pouring some of the wine down her throat.

She chuckled and shot him a look. “You don’t have to get me drunk if you want something, you know that, right?”

A drop of red streaked from the corner of her mouth, sliding down the side of her throat, and Astarion kissed it away. He purred at the rhythm of her heart, beating for the both of them, before nuzzling his nose into the crook of her shoulder.

“Hmm, I know that. But for this particular something, I feel you might need some liquid courage,” he murmured, entwining his fingers at the small of her back. “What is bothering you, my love?”

“Sometimes… I pray for the Netherbrain to win, so I don’t have to… remember,” she whispered into the silver of his hair, the words bitter on her tongue.

Astarion shifted. His eyes shot up to meet hers, and his hands cupped her neck. Again, with the drumming of that heart. He pressed his thumbs into her larynx, gently, a warning. He gritted his teeth, words balancing on the scale in his head, and asked, “What is more? Love or self-loathing?”

“What?” she croaked, her brows furrowing.

“Which do you feel stronger? The love or the hate?” Astarion’s voice was firm, as though he needed to insist. “And why, of all people, would you be the one beyond redemption?” He waited another ten seconds. No response came, only blinking.

“You get to start over. To be the person you want to be—not what someone else made you to be,” he whispered, his tone dipping dangerously low. Not sultry. It was the same tone he used when he was being honest. The same tone he used when he tried to wince away from an attempt to bite her, all those months back. “As do I. And I want to start over with you. Do you?”

“Oh gods, you know I do,” Aristen breathed finally, her voice inevitably cracking, tears pushing their way through the corners of her eyes. “What if I am, though? Beyond redemption?”

“Am I?” As usual, a precise shot. A rogue instinct took over, and Astarion planted his trap skilfully. He intended to wait another ten seconds, but she was faster.

“No, of course not.” Her warm hands were on his cheeks so fast, thumbs rubbing into the hollows of them, and if Astarion could flush, he would have. He shifted closer, caging her in.

“Then why would you be?” Seeing a thought forming, words already dripping off her tongue, he placed his fingers on her lips. “I will talk, and you will listen. You're no monster. You’ve saved me more times than I can count—” a sound from between his fingers cut him off.

Astarion shifted again, letting a single "but" slip away from her. He wrapped one hand around her waist, while the free palm moved to cover her mouth completely. “You will listen to me now.”

He waited ten seconds, and Aristen nodded, her eyes glued to his. His hand slid to cup her neck instead, their foreheads touching. Cold breath fanned her face as he spoke.

“I come from a life I cannot remember, which in itself proves how unremarkable it was. That life ended, and another began, and that one I remember very well. I remember every torture, every rat I was given, every slap, and every lover I led to their death. And it’s all very harrowing—the way it reminds me I do have a soul,” he confessed on a fabricated breath.

“And then you come. And you undo it all, piece by painful piece. Two centuries of pure shit. In a span of time that is merely a glimpse compared to two hundred years, you manage to defy a god, defeat my jailor, and yet you sit here crying—I wish you would stop; it’s utterly distracting,” he murmured, wiping the tears from her cheek. She allowed a hiccupped chuckle to escape her throat.

“Nothing ever gets undone, not entirely. But we get to rebuild ourselves from the rubble. So I ask again—what is more?” Astarion waited one second. Less than one second.

“Love. Love is more,” she said, nodding, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gave him a kiss full of salt. “Love me,” she pleaded, her hands fisting the frills of his collar, fingers ghosting over the two puncture marks on his neck, and Astarion’s unfabricated breath hitched.

“I do. With all of my eternal undead heart, I do,” he murmured against her lips, his fangs dangerously close to the tender flesh of red, but he was careful. Mouths touched, his tongue doing most of the work—licking, fighting hers for dominance. His hands had already travelled under her skirts, working to rid her of an offensive pair of breeches. He swung her legs to one side to slide them off, fumbling at her ankles as she tried to help but only caused more trouble than if she hadn’t.

While Astarion fumbled with those, she began unlacing his trousers, her breath stuttering at the coolness of his skin. Every inch of Astarion was so beautiful and she had it all memorized so well, she didn’t have to look, but she did, always, nevertheless. And Astarion remembered her as well, but he wasn’t looking. Too busy leaving open-mouthed kisses all the way up her legs, one of his fangs catching on the lace of her skirts in a rush.

Aristen couldn’t help a chuckle, having done her part of undressing him as she pulled him closer by the laces of his pants, now hanging loosely from his fly.

“First she cries, then she laughs me out, the audacity,” he rasped, placing his hands on either side of her waist and meeting her in a kiss. Deep and unhurried, Astarion let his tongue slip between her lips once again, as his hands travelled up her ribcage to cup her breasts through the material

Aristen let out a gasp and quickly unbuttoned her shirt, welcoming his cool touch against the heat of a summer night. Astarion growled at the motion and splayed himself flat on top of her, hooking one of her legs with his knee. The kissing deepened, and soon his mouth travelled with no particular destination, sucking on the pulse point below her ear, ghosting over her collarbone and flicking at each of her nipples.

He pulled himself up to cage her in, gently tracing her jaw and cupping her cheek. Another kiss lasting ten seconds, all tongue and as little teeth as Astarion could do, emotion seeping from it. When his lips left hers, it was only so his mouth could travel to her jaw, throat and sternum. His hands cupped her breasts, and oh, the weight of them, the softness, felt so sweet against his cool skin.

Astarion was very good with both—the words and the body. It was all very much rehearsed and carefully constructed into a self, that would shield his other self from showing. But with Aristen, his other self was slowly crawling out, so he let it. He let himself be desperate and wanting, to meet her unsure, wounded self. As equals.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, causing her spine to arch into the touch. “So needy,” Astarion teased, spitting on one of her breasts to ease the friction and pressing his mouth to the other. The contrast between the callouses of his thumb and softness of his lips made parts of her clench on nothing. She tugged on his hair, scraping his scalp and Astarion hummed into her skin.

The hum evolved into a chuckle, once Aristen released a muffled whimper and it only got worse for her. His lips travelled to the other side, leaving her skin glistening with his spit and exposed. She could feel featherlight kisses being placed all the way from her nipple, down, down to her ribcage, stomach, hip bone, until his mouth reached the crease of her thigh. And there, Astarion waited ten seconds.

Mouth hovering over her core, breath fanning, nose smelling. Then, a kiss, and she gasped. And then, finally, his lips closed around her, tongue teasing, licking into her slit. A gentle suck, to make her breath stutter, only to release her with a wet pop and Aristen whined.

With a ghost of a smile, Astarion’s mouth went back to roam up and down her rib cage, hands trailed down her sides to rest in the creases of her thighs. He then pulled away to sit on the balls of his heels and seeing the look on her face, he just said, “Patience, my love.”

He picked up her leg by the foot and placed a soft kiss at the flat of her ankle. Then, an agonizing lick to her pulse point. And agonizing for both of them, Astarion could add. Then, hot fast kisses all the way down her calf, her thigh, to finally splay himself flat between her legs.

Their eyes locked as he gave her cunt a reverent kiss. Both obscene and loving, as he stared into her soul and Aristen chuckled, trying to chase the flush away from her cheeks.

He licked against her clit, and feeling her body jerk he splayed a flat palm on her stomach to pin her down, the other arm wrapped around her thigh. Working her slowly until her sweet scent filled his nostrils, Astarion slid his fingers down her belly and teased her entrance. Once inside, he curled them, and Aristen moaned, her neck tensing, throat exposed.

Feeling her closing in on her climax, he made a switch. Mouth travelled down to fuck her with his tongue, thumb spreading her slick around the clit. And if this was his last meal, he would die fed. He would also die deaf, as her thighs closed in around his ears, her body tensing and flexing, fingers curling in his hair desperately. Her heels dug into his shoulder blades, and she felt her soul leaving her body, travelling straight into Astarion’s mouth, her voice echoing in the night around them.

Astarion waited ten seconds, just to watch her. To watch her chest rising and falling, to watch her eyes gloss over him, over his cock hanging free, painfully hard. He gave himself a few slow strokes, spreading precum from the tip to the root. Then, he shifted to all fours, reaching out for her hand to guide it between his legs. A warm hand replaced the cold one as she rubbed his tip with her thumb before flicking her wrist down to a long stroke against his length.

“No one touches me like you touch me,” he murmured against her mouth. “Take me and keep me forever,” Astarion said, meaning Take me and love me forever.

“Only if you take me and keep me forever,” she replied, her voice already fucked-out, bedroom eyes staring back into his. With that answer, he removed her hand, kissed her knuckles in gratitude and placed his hips between her legs. He rubbed his cock against her wetness to coat himself in her slick before teasing the entrance. The first few thrusts were shallow and Astarion glued his eyes to her face, watching her mouth fall open wider and wider, before sinking fully inside.

Once buried up to the hilt, he begun to thrust slowly and deeply into her. His movements were unhurried, his pubic bone pressing on her clit, rebuilding the pressure within her. His arms wrapped around her, chests pressed together, mouths touching, exchanging breaths. Her legs encircled his waist to seal the bond. Rocking their bodies toward completion, Astarion whispered, “I love all of you.”

She mouthed his name back to him, voice lost in her throat, as her walls clenched around him, and they reached the peak together. Bodies shook, fingers dug into flesh. He spilled himself inside her, head falling into the crook of her neck. And Astarion waited ten seconds, and then another ten seconds, and another, before sleep took both of them over, entangled, connected by their cores, and their hearts.

[romchat]

The Double (Ep. 32): You reap what you sow

I'm always riveted when I watch a Shen Yurong scene because not only does Liang Yongqi have electrifying chemistry with the actresses around him but my goodness do I LOVE how the show's visual storytelling reinforces what a pitiful man he is.

Framing, Blocking, Lighting

For example, this episode makes fantastic use of doors and other forms of architectural framing to show Yurong's fundamental flaw: his cowardice.

At the beginning of the episode, we see Fangfei gaze at two doorways, one that could lead to her future (Duke Su) and the other a painful reminder of the trauma Yurong has caused her. It's only when she recalls Duke Su's reassurance ("A'Li, from today onwards, there's no need to be afraid of anyone") that she's able to step forward and face her memories.

But when Yurong enters the hall and offers to open the door for her, suggesting he knows her true identity, Fangfei side-steps him and their blocking slowly changes. Fangfei now faces the light, her back to the door of their past.

They've never been quite aligned as husband and wife, and in this moment the gulf between them is even clearer.

Unlike Fangfei, who fights for survival and will no longer compromise what she believes in, Yurong refuses to see that he has always had a choice to fight for his conscience, regardless of how difficult it might be. His constant need to pass blame instead of choosing the path he knows is right has left him a pitiful shell of the vibrant scholar he once was and so he remains shrouded in the darkness of the hall.

SIDE NOTE #1: I love the parallels between Fangfei's argument with Yurong ("So, in your opinion, the crimes of your mother and sister don't need to be atoned for, while my innocence and grievances don't need to be compensated") and Grandmother Jiang's admonishment of Minister Jiang ("Can you really let this go?...You haven't fulfilled your responsibilities as a father for all these years"). Both are men who have failed their families--my heart broke when Yurong distinguished between Fangfei and his "family"--by choosing who they decide to protect.

Camera Angles

Ok, this scene has GOT to be one of my favorites from the whole show and so much of that is due to the way it plays with camera angles and the visual language of power.

In cinematography, low-angle and high-angle shots are often paired to visually enhance the power imbalance between characters. Low-angle shots make the subject look more powerful and threatening while high-angle shots make the subject look weaker and more vulnerable.

But in this particular scene, that visual relationship is subverted.

The scene starts with Yurong taunting Princess Wanning.

He is at such a low point after being accused of assaulting Fangfei that he embraces the idea of banishment or death. He is shot at a high angle with the Princess looming over him as usual but it's clear that at this moment he has reclaimed some power now that his all-consuming despair has liberated him from his fear.

When she tries to attack him, he pushes her back and then gets up to bow mockingly. It is he who is now shot from a low angle, signifying his dominance.

But then Princess Wanning seductively leans back in the straw. As they trade barbs, she is shot from a high angle but it's clear there has been another shift in power:

Yurong: Your highness, you don't have to save me. You've fooled me for so long, I'm sure you're bored of it. Princess Wanning: I'm not bored. Shen Yurong, in this world, I'm the only one who can decide how you die. Your life is in my hands.

As noted by @dangermousie, Yurong's lack of self-interest just "makes her more interested again, because someone broken is not her thing but someone who she can potentially break more?" And we can see the fear creep over his face again once he realizes that.

Regardless of the temporary relief he might have felt challenging her, it was all an illusion, as demonstrated by the constantly shifting meaning of the scene's camera angles to maintain her power within the scene. He is completely trapped now.

SIDE NOTE #2: The fact that Princess Wanning always finds a way to make a crop out of anything even a piece of straw and bring a man to his knees (literally or metaphorically) cracks me up.

SIDE NOTE #3: This moment? Hot. Am eagerly waiting for the fanfic.

[bun-lapin]

Confessions

Summary: Idia confesses his love to you.

A/N: Third one shot finished! I was very sick with a summer cold while I wrote this so I hope everything makes sense. I also got very carried away with the banter and so I had to cut some dialogue to keep it to my desired work length. I hope someday I can share those deleted scenes with you all~!

Confessions series: Rook, Kalim, Idia, Floyd, Vil, Silver, Leona, Trey / AO3

Your steps hit the pale marble flooring with singular purpose. Their crisp echoes spin away from your feet, only to ricochet off of towering columns and scatter up towards a vaulted ceiling. The hallways of Ignihyde are empty and bright, lit up by informational monitors and the mysterious hum of technomancy. The air inside the dormitory is pleasantly cool and feels almost sterilized with its lack of scent. You stride past countless rooms, ignoring the few rare muffled conversations that seep out from under the occasional door.

You stop at a door identical to every other door you’ve passed so far. Reaching out, you briskly knock on the door and announce, “Idia! Open up! I’ve got an emergency!”

A few beats of silence tick by before you hear the sound of reluctant, shuffling feet moving towards you. The door slowly creaks open, just barely wide enough for a single, morose yellow eye and one half of a radiantly pale face to peer out at you.

Wordlessly, you hold up your smartphone for Idia to see. Its current state could be best described in just one word: annihilated.

Idia swings the door open completely and stares down at the remains of your phone in abject horror, sputtering, “What the-! How-? What were you trying to do?! Vaporize your phone or something?!”

Handing over your former communication device, you step into the room and tiredly reply, “Several crucial mistakes were made today. Can you fix it?”

Idia’s face breaks into a wide, smug grin. He closes the bedroom door with a prideful scoff and boasts, “Like that’s even a question. Can I fix it? That’s undeniable! Too EZ. I could fix something like this with both eyes closed and my hands behind my back!”

You make your way over towards a tall bookshelf on the far side of the room and grin back at him, “Well that’s good news for me then! I’ll be over here perusing your manga collection while you get to work.”

Idia sighs wearily as he sets himself down in front of a worktable covered in various tools and hardware. “So business as usual I guess,” he mutters gloomily but from the corner of your eye, you manage to catch sight of the smallest of smiles flashing across his face.

As Idia sets up the necessary materials and begins his assignment, you trace your finger down the length of the bookshelf, scanning titles and making future reading selections. An interestingly named one catches your eye and you carefully retrieve it from its place on the shelf. With today’s selection in hand, you amble over to Idia’s worktable, seat yourself in a comfortable chair next to his, and begin reading.

Several minutes of easy silence pass by, periodically punctuated by the ambient sounds of lightly clicking repair work and the soft turning of pages. The two of you continue your parallel activities in this way for a few more minutes before you suddenly hear a short, quiet laugh from Idia.

You glance up curiously from your reading and ask, “Something funny?”

Idia does not stop or look up from his task but he smiles softly. He admits in a slightly bemused voice, “I was just thinking that this feels nice. This familiar scene, with you reading next to me while I work on a project. I never thought I'd get so comfortable with you barging into my room whenever you wanted."

You raise your eyebrows playfully and ask in a gently teasing tone, “Oh? So does that mean you used to feel uncomfortable with my visits?”

Idia turns his head to face you with an exaggerated look of retroactive disbelief and exclaims, “Understatement of the century! I was definitely super uncomfortable with your interruptions in the beginning and I believe I distinctly remember telling you to never come back on several separate occasions.”

“Yeah but you let me back in every single time afterwards,” you quip back with a self-satisfied grin.

“Well, of course. You wanted to read my manga,” Idia states frankly as he turns back to his work. “I don’t lend out my books to people I don’t know super well. If I don’t know your reading style, then reading my books requires my direct supervision!”

“Well you know my reading style now,” you say gesturing broadly to the careful and considerate way you hold the book you are currently reading. “Do you trust me enough to lend me a book now?”

Idia seems to suddenly freeze at the sound of your last question. With a hand poised elegantly in the air, clutching a small tool, he would look every bit like a beautiful statue if it weren’t for the slight flickering movement of his soft blue hair. Turning with almost excruciating slowness, he takes the book from your hands in a gentle and deliberate action and grabs a nearby bookmark to place inside before finally closing and placing it face down on the table.

Idia turns his chair so that his body is completely facing you but his eyes are cast down and to the side, still on the book. A breath of silence passes between the two of you before he finally speaks in a carefully measured voice.

"I do trust you. I completely and utterly trust you. But I'll never lend you any of my books because I want you to keep reading them here next to me."

Idia turns his head and looks into your eyes. There’s still the ever present, tired hesitation weighing down his brows, but you see something else in his face, never seen before. In his bright yellow eyes shines a fiery determination, fueled by newly realized desire.

You gaze silently into Idia’s eyes, almost hypnotized. An eternity seems to pass by in seconds like this until Idia suddenly throws his pale, thin hands over his face. You blink rapidly in surprise at the abrupt end to the moment. With fingers pressed tightly against his face, Idia’s voice comes out muffled and anxious.

“I need to tell you something really important but it might be kinda cringe? And I don’t think I have the nerve to say it out loud with you looking at me so can you please close your eyes? And also can you promise not to laugh at anything I say?”

Even though Idia can’t see you with his hands completely covering his face, you smile softly at him and state in a reassuring voice, “I promise not to laugh and I’ll close my eyes.”

With your eyes closed tight, you listen to the faint rustling of his clothes as he hesitantly lowers his arms and you hear the slight creaking of his chair, as if he is leaning himself towards you. Suddenly, you feel an ambient warmth on the side of your face and realize Idia has moved in closer to whisper into your ear. A faint feeling like feather softness swipes over your cheek and you think it must be some of Idia’s hair, flickering luxuriously against your skin like incense smoke. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low murmur against your ear.

"When I leave my room, all the whispers I hear behind my back and the stares I see from the corner of my eye... It's like harsh noise and screeching static to me. It’s overwhelming,”

Idia’s voice drops even quieter and you can almost feel his soft breath on your face as he draws a little closer, "But when I'm with you everything goes quiet. When I'm with you I feel safe."

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is the sound of the two of you breathing. The soft sound of air falling up and down weaves over and onto itself almost like calming music. Then Idia lets out a shuddering sigh, the air from his lips brushing over your skin like cool silk, and the silence melts away under his low voice.

"I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Thinking about you. When I open my eyes in the morning, I immediately think of you. When I close my eyes at night, it's your face I see. I think what this all must mean, what I’ve just now realized, is that I love you."

Your eyes fly open in surprise and you whip your head to the side to look at Idia, acting purely on instinct. His face is so close to yours, the tip of his nose almost brushes against yours. His eyes grow wide and bright from shock but he doesn’t pull away from you. Idia opens his mouth but all that comes out is a kind of strangled gasp. You read the question he can’t seem to ask, written all over his pale and unquiet face.

“Do you love me too?”

[tacoma-narrows]

Between the Sea and the Sky!

Hi everybody! Meet the TWO new guys I made between last night and today! Their names are Tarmac (an Aeromorph dog) and Soda (a pooltoy fox), and they've filled a desire for these two specific kinds of OCs I've had in mind for MONTHS lol. They were super fun to design and draw and I'm super excited to do more with them soon!! This piece is relatively simple but more so serves as their introduction hehe

See more about them, including refs and some additional pieces/information below the cut :] (it kind of turns into a huge braindump lmao)

Tarmac is an aeromorph, although a bit more towards the furry side of things rather than the plane side lol. His design is influenced primarily by the Concorde and the Space Shuttle! I couldn't decide for the life of me which of those two things I wanted to use so I thought "why not use both?" and here we are lol. I'm super happy with his design, with the black/dark gray markings mean to emulate the look of the Space Shuttle's thermal insulation tiles and then I really like how the red and blue stand out against the gray. I really like his icon too! I wanted to make it look like a stylized depiction of a plane (mainly a Concorde hehe) breaking through the sound barrier with a sonic boon! In terms of personality, I don't have a whole lot in mind yet. Mostly that he'd be the brave, adventurous type and since he can fly both in the air and through space, he's gonna be friends with Astro too :3

Soda is a pooltoy fox! I have wanted to make a pooltoy OC FOREVER (blame my mutuals for always posting/reblogging so many cool pooltoy OCs hehe). I finally got brave enough to actually give it a shot, and I love how he came out! I was mainly just thinking about summery themes and as I was just trying out different colors and stuff, I thought about orange soda, and that's the direction I ended up going! He's got a big stupid tail [affectionate] and can have either rounded bappy hands or have actual fingers, you're free to stylize that either way! I've only ever drawn a pooltoy character once ever before, so this was something way out of my realm of familiarity, but I'm so happy with how he came out! He's so shaped I love him so much already <33

So those are my two new guys! Making two new OCs at the same time is already a rarity for me lol. The only time it's happened before was when I made Rye and Pumpernickel back in August of 2021. And then making these guys when I had only gotten Astro about two and a half weeks ago means this is an exceedingly rare event for me lmao. My friends know how infrequently I make/get new OCs, so this just goes to show how much these guys have been bouncing around in my brain lately lol.

They are definitely gonna have some sort of connection to each other, but I'm not sure how I wanna go about that yet. Since I made them back to back, they are already connected in my brain, but I'm not sure how I wanna express that in a meaningful way. I don't wanna make them siblings bc, well, they're obv very different from each other lol, but they're kinda parallels (with one being in the sky and the other being in the water yknow), so as of right now they're definitely good friends with each other. I might upgrade that to bfs at some point in the future, but we'll see how things go hehe.

Anyways huge braindump of a post lmao, thank u for reading if u did! I'd love to hear your thoughts on these guys since they're so different from all my other characters! Also if anyone may wanna do an art trade of either of these guys (or Astro as well! I'd like to get more art of him too!) let me know hehe

[skibasyndrome]

"Are you mad at me?" and Honesty

inspired by the awesome parallel @impossibleknots found between these two shots

and these tags by @darktwistedgenderplural I'd like to talk about this

For both of them, this line comes after a breaking point, when they realize that they just can't stay away from each other for any longer.

Wilhelm, after rejecting Simon out of some misplaced sense of duty and swallowing down his grief about it, literally breaks down on the football field and, fuelled by alcohol and drugs, for once manages to let his guard down.

"You think you know me, eh? You don't!", he yells, followed by "That's right, I do whatever I want!". And then, well, he does what he wants and calls up Simon. And he's finally honest with him. Granted, it's very much the drugs that help him let his guard down, but - in an effort to be less fake than everything that surrounds him - he tells Simon that he likes him. That's one of Wilhelm's first and most authentic verbal declarations of what he feels. And from then on, at least for now and at least in front of Simon, the floodgates are open and he's baring his soul: "Thank you for coming", "You're so beautiful", all his little love declarations, and then he's letting him in on his insecurities as well. "Are you mad at me?" and, after once again declaring that he's so glad Simon is here, "I don't want you to be mad".

It's one of those things he hasn't been allowed to voice or even show, we know this. When he's nervously biting his thumb in s1e1 his mother slaps away his hand, lest he be seen behaving unprincely, and he's thoroughly internalized keeping up the facade, like when we hear him blatantly lie to Simon about being happy to be at Hillerska. Everything and everyone being fake, that includes him, Wilhelm. (And we know that his journey in deconstructing this fakeness is only starting out)

But at least for the time being, he's able to stand by his feelings for Simon. He does still need his assurance that "it's okay" once he's confronted about his love declaration, but he still does admit to it. And that honesty is what leads to them making love for the first time.

Letting their guard down, fully committing to what they're feeling for each other. Honesty is what leads to this.

The second time, it's Simon's turn to bare his soul. Yes, Simon has been the one that has helped Wilhelm be more honest and more vocal about his own feelings, but Simon himself, while forthcoming about his love and the fact that he wants to be with Wilhelm, is still struggling himself, especially when it comes to voicing his not so pleasant feelings, like how heartbroken he's feeling for all of s2.

Even during their 'exchange' in class, it's still only about him slowly starting to see Wilhelm's side, and not about the uncomfortable and conflicting things Simon himself is feeling on the inside.

So when he worriedly texts Wilhelm "Are you mad at me?", that's him admitting that, yes, he's also very much still invested in this, in them and that that's scary, unnerving and that he's not sure how to read the situation. He's letting his insecurity show, something he very, very rarely does. Beautifully, he does it again later, now face to face with Wilhelm. After Wilhelm says that he's scared, Simon admits it, too, letting down his walls for Wilhelm to see that he's not as tough as he pretends to be AND he lets Wilhelm be the one to comfort him, reach out his hand and take him ino his arms.

So in one instance, we have Wilhelm finally letting his true feelings show, proving to Simon - who's been open about his attraction - that the feeling is mutual. And in the other we have Simon, who up until now has been trying to keep his conflicting feelings under wraps and his fear hidden, reassured and coaxed into admitting to them by Wilhelm openly saying that he also is scared and physically showing that he's there for him. Mutual honesty.

Two very different admissions and two very different subjects that they now finally managed to be honest about and every single time it brings them closer and, in both scenes, it repairs the trust that was broken by dishonesty before.

And what makes it even more beautiful to me is that, in addition to it being in a way a new beginning every single time, we know that both instances did have a lasting impact on both of them and their journey towards being more honest with each other. Yes, there are ups and downs and Wilhelm did lie to the world about the video after their first time, but he keeps on learning and the second time around, he is much more honest about his love for Simon. And we even see it bleed into the last episode with Simon now finally admitting to just how much he feels for Wilhelm and Wilhelm in turn finally taking back his initial lie in front of the whole world.

Their journey towards full honesty is still very rocky, but with every instance of them letting down their guards together, they grow closer and their ability to be authentically themselves not only together but also towards the world vastly improves.

[raayllum]

Do you think Callum will do dark magic again?

Oh yeah, not a doubt in my mind. This is for 3 main reasons:

1) You don't have a character say "But beware, if you ever do dark magic again, the darkness will overwhelm and corrupt you" and escalate the stakes of usage unless you're going to go there. It's kind of like how I know Callum is going to be possessed Again at one point (s7 dark my beloved) precisely because he's worried about it and more than that, that he's brought another character (Rayla) into the fold with a decision to make. No reason to have setup and then no payoff

2) Unless Callum does dark magic again, Aaravos can't possess him again. And as previously mentioned, Callum has to get possessed unless they want to throw away multiple episodes (4x04, 4x05, 4x07, 5x04, 5x08, all S6 + orb shots, 6x03) out the window. Ergo, he has to do dark magic again. Setup like this (i.e. Rayla as Callum's light being hinted at in framing in s2 and then much more overtly in s4 before being brought mostly home in s6) always comes back around in some manner, just gotta look for it

3) Viren parallels. Viren and Callum have always had oppositional (arc 1) and then mirrored (switching) foil arcs throughout the show (think Callum with wings vs Viren falling to his death in 3x09, or Viren swearing dark magic off in 5x09 and Callum having opened that door back up again an episode prior, etc). Viren, as stated, had sworn off dark magic saying he would never ever do it again, nor did he want to do it in 6x08 for a multitude of reasons.

However, someone he loved (Soren) as well as the extenuating circumstances caused him to use dark magic as a full on sacrifice that likewise only sacrificed himself. A couple episodes we had Callum 'fix' the hole dark magic had made inside him, but if he's following Viren's path, there's two likely angles: the first is that he, like Viren, will use dark magic even after trying so hard to rid himself of it (the mirrored arc). The second, overlapping angle is that Callum will refuse to sacrifice his heart (switching) because his heart is Rayla.

'I will think of you under every full moon. Please don’t let this hurt too much. But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always.' —Dear Callum

Kinda like how Aaravos demanded that Viren should make the sacrifice in 5x09, and Viren refused vs Rayla demanding that Callum should make the sacrifice in 6x03 (and Finnegrin a bit honestly) and Callum inevitably refusing cause Rayla can't permanently die lmao.

Other:

There's also the unsavoury implication that "restores bodies to spirits" spell Callum did in 5x09 has unique associations with the dark ritual spell Claudia did in killing Sir Sparklepuff that was undeniably dark magic usage.

The coin has been seemingly wiped clean now that Runaan is out (though maybe there's the symbol still on the other side?) but it does make me wonder of a potential plotline where Callum knew ahead of time, or belatedly, that this spell would require something adjacent to dark magic and he's done it, but the corruption Kosmo spoke of is gradual, making him more irritated, paranoid, etc. like the King of a 1000 Eyes that Amaya talked about. I think that'd be really interesting

The indirectness / the fact we'd only know it'd Happened retroactively makes me lean that we'll outright see another blatant usage in S7 since that's more Dramatic (which I've always been in favour of Callum viewing "I get possessed again bc I make a 'bad' choice and hand myself over to Aaravos" as a sacrifice of himself into "i'm already dead so kill me" territory). And if he breaks his promise to Rayla that he won't pick her over the greater good, then she can break her promise to him that she'll kill him (this is exactly beat for beat what I've wanted since s4 dropped and even before tbh)

TLDR; Absolutely Yes. S7 being Book Seven: Dark only adds to this and the stakes / set up are all there. I'm pumped

[lady-bluebird-luv]

It always struck me as odd that Helion didn’t seem surprised that Rhys and Feyre were mates. I wonder if he knew, or at least suspected, that their connection ran deeper than the bargain as far back as UtM. It may also explain why when Lucien went to Day seeking their help to break the bargain he was met with delays; Helion didn’t want to risk conflict with his neighbour and, if he truly is the LoA’s mate, probably saw one too many parallels between his situation and Rhys’.

Anon, this is us right now:

To add on to what you said, Helion knowing about (or at least suspecting) the mate bond early on also explains why he so quickly overshares about his super-secret, mega-risky affair in ACOWAR. He expects Rhys and Feyre to keep his secrets because he also kept theirs.

I'm actually writing a one-shot about this! I'm going to finish my exchange fic before I post anything new, but in the spirit of a (belated) WIP Wednesday, here's a snippet ;)

Helion helped himself to more brandy. “I see you inherited more from Rhys than immortal life.”  I blinked. “Excuse me?”  Helion waggled his index finger at us. “I know a daemati conversation when I see one. It’s considered rude, you know, to have conversations which exclude your company.” His eyes sparkled with mirth. Rhys slung an arm over the back of my chair. “Anything which Feyre did or did not receive was a gift, freely given.” “Just so,” Helion agreed. “A gift well-deserved. And not one I would have anything to say about to the others.”  Rhys didn’t remove his hand from behind me, and his warmth seeped through my dress where his arm brushed my shoulders. “Rhys has kept my secrets for a long time,” Helion told me. “It would be cruel of me to not extend the same courtesy.”  “It’s not much of a secret if everyone knows,” I said. Helion’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “Everyone knows?”  “That I’m here? Sure.” Helion smiled. “Ah. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  “Right.” I wasn’t sure whether I should be impressed or horrified that he was still coherent after making so much progress with the bottle. “I don’t suppose you’d tell which of your secrets are safe in the Night Court, would you?” “That would be me, probably,” a female said behind me.  

[clownprincehoeshi]

Twisted deception - Teaser

Synopsis: Betrayal and manipulation were always a constant in your life. Leading your family's legacy as a mafia boss is not an easy task and most of the times can lead to losing the ones you love most. You've always kept away from love, but even is this dark and unforgiving world it finds you. But it also breaks you.

Pairing: mafia boss Mingyu x mafia boss reader

doctor Seungcheol x mafia boss reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, mafia au, angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: mafia scenarios, death, gun mentions, blood, cheating, sex scenes, nudity... will post others along the way if needed

Status: ongoing

Started: july 23th 2024

Word count of the teaser: 1181

Information: So I wanted to do something different for this fic. I've decided to use a name instead of Y/N(RUA). For me, it gves more depth and dimension to the character and it helps with the wrting/reading process. It's a random name that I thought about randomly and it also starts with the letter of my own name. I don't know, I find it pretty, short and simple. I will start writing on the first chapter after I finish with Parallel Hearts story(about two more chapters to go). Not sure how many chapters this one will have, maybe 2 or 3. Sugestions and comments are welcomed.

Don't forget to support the writers by rebloging their works! Thank you!

Teaser

It was white before it was black. You blacked out and you don’t know why. It’s so cold and wet.

You feel like you’re floating and your ears are ringing loud. Am I dying, is this it?

The ringing starts to go down and you hear blasts, guns and screams. You hear a voice and you can’t understand what it says and who’s voice is it.

Have they kidnapped me? Are the Kim’s really this low to try to take me? Oh God, what are they going to do to me? I feel sick. I feel like throwing up.

“How is she? Is she breathing?”

“I don’t fucking know, let me get her in the car, faster”

Is it Jun? You feel tears burning your eyes and face. Why can’t I open my eyes?

What is that feeling on my leg, burning almost. I feel something running down to my toes.

“Shit, she’s bleeding bad, hurry, we need to get to Jin!”

“Fucking Kim, I want to stay behind and finish them all!”

“Noo, don’t be stupid, Hao! You might be the best assassin in the business, but you are one and they are many”

Oh, I am not caught by the Kim’s. Good, now I can rest a little.

You faint from all the blood loss from the wound on your leg and you’re finally in the car, Minghao quickly getting behind the wheel and driving off towards the hospital where your brother Jin was a doctor.

Next thing you remember is waking up in a hospital room, with Your bother and Jun net to your bed, discussing something.

Rua: Jin…

Jin: You’re awake! You scared me!

Rua: Sorry. Is everyone ok, Jun?

Jun: Two of our men got shot by the Kim’s and one died in the explosion

Rua: Fuck!

As you’re starting to blurt out shit about your rival clan, you try to get up and your legs are not working properly

Jin: Oh, come oon, are you ever going to stay put for 5 minutes? You’re not yet ready to go out there yet.

Rua: I will fucking end him! I’ll end Kim Mingyu with my own hands!

Jun: How did they find out we were meeting with the Min’s there?

Minghao’s voice feels like a whisper when he enters the room, unnoticed.

Minghao: Something’s not right. I saw none of the Min’s men there tonight.

Rua: I personally spoke to Yoongi on the phone.

Minghao: This was definitely a trap. But for who?

Rua: Hao, I need you to get to the bottom of this asap. I won’t let this go away.

Minghao nods and he leaves the room. You know he’ll find out, no matter what. He’s the best at what he does and you’re lucky you have him on your side. His father was your dad’s right hand and you two have been best friends since you were little. Of course he would be on your side.

Jin: Do you need me right now? I need to to check on some patients for now.

Rua: Thanks, Jini, if I need something I have Jun here with me.

Jun: And Seokmin is outside the door.

Jin: Well ok then, see you later. Don’t be an idiot and try to leave!

After one hour, you tried to get back to sleep but you couldn’t. All these thoughts were running trough your mind. Was it really Yoongi the one you talked to on the phone, was it a scam? Who is trying to kill you? Are the both clans working together? How are you going to proceed from now on?

You decide to get up and try to find Jin. He might be in his office. Outside your door are Jun and Dokyeom, eyes going wide when they see you.

Dokyeom: Boss, come on, get back to bed! You’re hurt.

Rua: I’m fine, I just need to find Jin.

Jun: I’m going with you.

Rua: Guys, it’s safe here. Take a break, ok? Eat something and get some rest in my room.

Jun: Here, take my gun, keep it under your robe.

Rua: Ok, if it makes you feel better.

Dokyeom: We don’t want to risk anything, especially after tonight. We could have lost you. We could have all died there.

Hearing that it makes your blood boil and the feeling of revenge grows bigger inside you. You’re no weak girl, you’ll show them all. You were born for this, trained for this life. Ever since you were 5 years old, your father took you under his wing and teached you everything he knew.

There was no other person in the world he trusted more. He could see your potential, how smart you were, how good you could read people and situations and how fast you were with actions and solutions.

Walking slowly down the hospital hallways, you feel a bit sleepy. Good, I’ll be able to sleep after I talk to my brother then. I thought I will stay awake all night.

Reaching a dead end, you can’t remember if Jin’s office was to the right or to the left. You stop. Someone is talking. You don’t turn the corner, don’t want to risk being see. Afterall, you don’t know who these men are.

None of them is Jin or anyone you know. You don’t recognise the voices. You keep quiet and at the same time you feel sleepier. What’s going on?

“She’s in room 79. Make it quick and clean. No witnesses.”

“Got it. Let’s move!”

They are walking towards you. Shit! You can’t run, your leg has stiches from that ugly cut on your thigh. Oh, the gun. As you try to get your gun from under your robe, you feel a firm pull. A hand grabbing your waist, pulling you into a door.

The room is dark. So dark that you are not sure your eyes are closed or opened. You feel pression over your mouth. A hand. A body behind you. Warm. You feel warm. And so sleepy. Damn, Jin must have put you on some strong pain killers.

You feel his breath right behind your ear, feel his hear beating on your back, his other hand wrapped tight around your waist.

You hear commotion outside, slaming. A shot. A second shot. Jun, Seokmin. They’ll be fine, they are smart and cautious. They’ll be fine.

“Shh, keep quiet a minute more. I’ll remove my hand, ok?”

You nod.

Rua: Who are you? Why did you pull me in here?

“I work here and I heard their conversation and needed to act fast. Sorry.”

Rua: I feel so dizzy. I’m not feeling well.

“What do you want to do now?”

“Just take me out of here. Anywhere. I need..”

And you passed out from the painkillers. As you’re getting deeper and deeper into sleep, you feel strongs hands lifting you up and carrying you away. You don’t know who this man is and where he’s taken you.

You’re so far gone that you didn’t even think he might be there to hurt you.