#yeah this is six chapters now

[amykiriwosdefenselawyer]

Is nobody gonna mention the first villain we see in the Mafia AU isn't Baal or Kiriwo but Maemaro, the sixth finger?

What a pleasant surprise!

Bro is GORGEOUS too like that design is just. Yes. Epic cowboy

More tags

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 3

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Summary: It's business as usual. At least it looks like it, and that has to count for something. The boys do a bit of arts and crafts. Krupp takes a step back.

A/N: literally the worst part of writing fic for CU is trying to think of pranks. they’re up there with choreographing fight scenes. also these next chapters were brought to you by: me referencing the movie’s art book i got as a gift. Locations And Fascinating Objects section my beloved…

this chapter's scene went through a lot of shuffling-- melvin was supposed to be in this one. but alas, once this was finalized he was pushed back into the next chapter. ideally. at the earliest. its been almost 4 years, i swear he actually has a part to play in this AU, he's technically part of the core secondary cast--

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Back in the present day, the boys snuck into the art room. Even now, there wasn’t a proper class for it in Jerome Horwitz, despite The Prank For Good. But because of it, Krupp never had the thought to put it under lock and key again. The doors still remained unlocked for any kid that needed it. And George and Harold had a big need. In fact, they had been caching away supplies when no one was looking.

Captain Underpants trailed behind them; he looked at the room and gave a small nod, murmuring something about being “back at the start”.

“What will we be doing this time, sidekicks?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh! I could try and ask for a carnival again–”

“NO!” both of them shouted. The hero jumped up in surprise and stayed in a low hover.

George was the quicker of the two to regain composure. “No, no– we’re doing something different.”

“Oh.”

Harold unpacked the contents of his bag. There was a ridiculous amount of flour and bottles around them, along with other plastic pails and shovels.

“Ooh, are we making a cake? Can I decorate it?” Captain asked.

George sighed. “It’s not for a cake.”

“Well, what is it for?” 

Harold dumped a bunch of flour and oil into the largest bucket with the glee reserved for children about to make a huge mixture of stuff. “Sand!”

When the hero continued to look baffled, George cut in. “With Krupp instating the grade-wide assignment gauntlet, we have to retaliate with the exact opposite of that.”

“…Recess?”

“Close!” Harold began to mix the concoction with a plastic shovel. “Summer vacation!”

“And we need to make a lot to really sell the beach vibe.”

“Oh…” Captain nodded with the confidence of someone who had no idea what that meant. He knelt down and gave a curious sniff at the flour sand, catching the faint whiff of some sort of cooking oil.  mix his own bucket the other boy handed to him.

To make a long story short, they managed to create enough of it to create a sizable layer in at least two classrooms. They hauled the first half of it to Guided’s classroom–or rather, Captain flew it over in record time. He began to push all the desks back and started to stack them high up against the edges of the wall. It reminded Harold of that one time he showed George a boardwalk on a faded postcard, tall buildings looming over sandy beaches.

“Why only two?” Captain asked as he stacked some of the desks on the teacher’s desk. “Why not make the whole school a beach?”

The boys perked up from their efforts to place the sand evenly across the classroom floor.

“‘Cause the first big tests are in Ms. Guided and Ribble’s classrooms,” Harold said.

“We’d have loved to do something big," George explained as he scattered the beach toys. "Really put the last big prank that happened here to shame–”

“But we had to improvise. Go for lots of smaller ones for the first part of this plan, you know?”

“First part?” Captain echoed. 

“Yeah!” Harold continued, ushering them all out of the room. Captain followed in a low hover, and George swept over the remaining footprints with a hand. Looking back at their work, it looked like no one was ever in the room.

“The first bit is to wear all the teachers and Krupp down. And then–”

“Bam.” he punched into his own open palm. “That’s where you come in!”

Captain tilted his head. “I thought this was where I came in?”

“What? No– I mean, we appreciate your help, but you have a bigger part to play here.”

“I do?” he asked.

“We figured you’d want to get back at Krupp, right?” George said. 

Captain was silent, his expression dumbfounded. 

“With enough pressure, he’ll back off from you and he’ll back off with all the sudden assignments!” Harold clarified. “It’ll be great.”

“We’re not sure how long he’s planning on making everyone miserable, but we’re planning for the long game.”

That seemed to make things more murky for him but the curiosity still remained. He tilted his head with furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out the connection between the two facts. “…How long, exactly?” 

“As long as it takes.” Harold gave him a good natured punch to the side. “Now come on, let’s get the other classroom set up.”

The boys grabbed his hands and led him back to the art room, chatting about what else they could do.

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

The school didn’t know what hit them. 

Later that day, the fourth graders enjoyed the slices of beaches in the pair of classrooms. They made their sandcastles and moats as the teachers tried– and failed– to get their papers from their desks buried under their own students’ desks. 

And on the day after that, there was the petting zoo in the math classrooms on the same day a calculator-less test on long division was meant to happen. It was no tiger, but the kids enjoyed petting the sheep. For extra salt in the wound, there were numbers drawn in bright colors on their wool. 

Corralling the animals out was one thing. Finding out they were only Sheeps #1-6 and 8 was another, leaving all the teachers to scramble to find the last sheep of the set for the past few hours.

Apparently, the third time wasn’t the charm as George and Harold were called into the principal’s office. When they walked in, he had never bothered to close one of the desk drawers, clearly embroiled in whatever work principals do. Krupp was faced away from them, yelling into the phone.

“How many times do I have to explain it to you, there probably isn’t a Sheep #7– are you falling asleep counting them?” He turned to face them and grimaced. “I’ll get back to you.” 

He hung up the phone, glaring at them as they took their respective seats. 

“Care to explain the last few days?”

Harold shifted in his seat as he gave a glance to the other boy. “We have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We were a bit too busy dealing with the sudden wave of assignments and tests to try anything,” George added with a shrug.

“Don’t play innocent with me. The gaps in my memory are extremely obvious.” He waggled an accusatory finger at them.

“Like we said, we were busy–”

“What– watching him get bit by sheep yesterday?!” He held up his other arm filled with band aids of various sizes.

George leaned over to the other boy and whispered, “Man, they can be really vicious, huh?” 

Krupp slammed his fists onto his desk. He opened his hands. Closed them. Before pushing himself off his seat to look down at them. “Whether you’ll actually admit it, I’ll cut to the chase. Stop whatever you’re trying to do.”

“If it was us, why would we? You started it.”

“Oh, hah–” He let out an incredulous, breathless laugh at that. “I started it? You’re one to talk after all you’ve done to me. You should be grateful I don’t just hold you back right now for that comment!”

Harold was unmoved. “Man, you got so much worse– I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Oh, I can do so much worse after your little breaking and entering stunt,” he shot back. “Invading my privacy, looking into things you shouldn’t–”

“So you admit you were talking to him.”

“Now I never said anything about talking, have I?”

George and Harold leveled a glare at him, refusing to give him any confirmation or satisfaction that he was right. “So that is why you cracked down on the entire fourth grade, huh?”

“Or maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m losing sleep over mysterious injuries!” The boys wanted to speak up, but he refused to give them that. “And– and, seeing the school be nearly destroyed multiple times a week.”

“Not like you really cared about the school before,” George grumbled.

Krupp spluttered furiously, turning a new shade of red in the process. “Says the children who keep on endangering it and wasting its resources!"

“We’re saving the school!”

“From problems you made up.” He slowly made his way around his desk to them. “Is that why you made me your little stooge? Were you just tired and wanted to feel important in your little superhero fantasy? Or was getting rid of me the main motivation here?”

George stood up from his chair. “Oh, if we could have, we would have!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it suddenly felt like the office had turned somewhat askew. Gone was the red in Krupp’s face and gone was the anger– if anything, he looked like he had been slapped in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. Nothing.

The boys were suddenly aware of the clock ticking, now that it was completely silent. George couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he said something that crossed some unseen line with his mom.

And just as quickly as the conversation was fishtailing out of what any of them were used to, the principal clambered for any sense of control.

“I’ll deal with the both of you later.” He put up a hand to rub his temples– and conveniently hid his eyes. “Get out.”

Harold blinked. “What–”

“NOW!” He whipped his arm to point at the door.

They stumbled out of their seats and ran without a second thought.

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

For the rest of the last class of the school day, Harold was sitting on pins and needles as he looked at the clock. While most kids looked at it expectantly for the final bell to ring, right now he was dreading it.  He figured George was doing the same.

Krupp getting the jump on them was a matter of when today , not if, especially when he was as mad as he was earlier.

Five minutes. He glanced to the front of the class. Even Rected was struggling with the new mandate to increase kids’ work. Which, he guessed, made sense– more work for them meant more stuff the teachers had to look at.

Two minutes.

Speaking of work, he was quickly scribbling out some ideas for the next issues. Though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to the other prank plans they had– he figured by the way Rected was pulling at his hair, they can bring Captain in for the cherry on top by the end of next week–

The speakers screeched to life. There was a beat of silence long enough for someone to ask if Krupp called an announcement on accident, until–

“Pop science fair, end of this week,” he said tersely. “Hope you can wow the teachers, since this is now a good chunk of your mark. How much? That’s the ‘pop’ part of that.”

The kids began to groan and slam their heads on their desks. Even more heads fell on their desks as another screech echoed through the school.

“You have George Beard and Harold Hutchins to thank for that. That will be all.”

The bell rang. One by one, everyone turned his direction, some shocked, others confused, many furious. Even Mr. Rected gave a baffled look.

After dodging the onslaught of kids ready to hound him or worse due to the announcement, he found George running down the hallway for similar reasons. At some point along the way, the other boy got their skateboards and helmets. With a frantic throw, they skateboarded out of the front yard and down the quickest route to their house.

“George?” Harold said, once they turned to their street. He had been eerily silent the whole time.

The other boy jumped off his own board and pulled his helmet off. He could see how much sweat was on his forehead now.

“Change of plans–” He stomped the end of the skateboard to make it stand before quickly grabbing it. “We’re taking stock of everything tonight.”

Harold stared at him. He knew why– he could still feel a flare of indignation from that announcement.

It was like George read his mind. “What Krupp said– those were fighting words. We’re going to move the Captain Plan up next.”

He gave a curt nod.

[pocketramblr]

do not think about evenly distributed chapter length, evenly distributed chapter length is the little death that brings about total writer's block, uneven length in chapters can't hurt you, do not think about evenly distri

[purble-gaymer]

mmm just wanted to say that i really love your writing and i'm really excited to see what you make in the future! your gsa stuff is so pleasant and angsty and i've really been enjoying wwtmk <3 that's not even getting into how much i liked the cannibalism fic.... now you'll be a part of me forever !! i'm such a sucker for that kind of thing.

actually, i was kind of wondering what you were plotting for the future so i could look forward to it! i've loved following your work so farrrr

waa hello thank you!! yknow i don't hear much about the beast in the walls but i really love that one so good to know! i can share some of my prospective calendar (though everything i say is subject to change)

once wwtmk is done, i probably won't be posting much for a bit. i might do something sword/blade/mk related for valentine's day if i can think of an idea before then. after that though, i have another little project focused on the knights at the time they first met. it's a continuation of a fateful encounter. at the moment it's sitting at about 23k, and i think i'm a little past halfway through it. ideally i'll start publishing it sometime in late february or march, but winter is usually the busiest and most stressful term so it'll be later rather than sooner. plus i'd like to have a majority of it written out first. i don't exactly have a surplus of time or energy this time of year so it'll be a while still.

most ship content will probably end up on my other pseud for the foreseeable future (excluding the potential valentine's thing) to avoid like...cluttering things, i guess? so for that there's always more knights, maybe metamorpho in a normal context, maybe arthur/nonsurat for the two people who care because i love them a lot. oh and also falspar and dragato doing whatever the hell they're doing because i would die for them.

absolutely there will be more gsa one-shots. i've had some ideas floating around but no energy to really get into them. plus my usual strategy for the gsa is to sit down and write for three straight hours because they sort of automatically put me in a flow state, and i can't do that at school cause i have other things to do. there might be some stuff about their history. i don't really know where to begin with all that, plus there's ocs i'd have to deal with, so we'll see. galacta knight related stuff is also a possibility, especially more about him and mk when they were working for nme. check out how much galactadad angst i can make

overall this year i wanna write more out of my comfort zone honestly. writing things like the beast in the walls or know your place was weird but it was also really really fun. so if i ever jump on any out-there ideas, i might actually do something with them. OH THIS INCLUDES AN ARTHUR AND MK BEING FAMILY THING I'VE BEEN SITTING ON. i completely forgot about that. i should polish it up and publish it for my birthday because it is so self-indulgent and silly. so that is now happening next week. metamorphosed one-shot is also happening later this week (tomorrow or thursday) because i'm normal about that au.

so that's a lot, and most of it is very up in the air because i'm always doing things...but you can 100% expect more knights content in the near future. wwtmk is like standing on the edge of a canyon peeking into my kirby interpretations. i have to write or i will explode

[griseldabanks]

COSMIC ECLIPSE

140 words exactly!

Now that the missile plan case was solved and they hadn't heard anything more from the bomber, maybe Sherlock would finally eat something. He still didn't trust Sherlock to cook anything without burning the house down—not that he would have trusted him with cooking even before he lost his eyesight.

Kick-in-the-Pants Writer's Game

[gristol-liker]

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: Psychonauts (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gristol Malik | Nick Johnsmith/Truman Zanotto Characters: Truman Zanotto, Gristol Malik | Nick Johnsmith Additional Tags: forget Enemies to Lovers, this is enemies and lovers, they hate each other so much Summary:

Truman and Gristol have a few encounters after work.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

covered in seasoning and cheese dust from various rice cake flavors

so like...... Due To Life Circumstances, Ren will not be able to edit for GOOMT for little while. i'm going to very much miss her and her quips and dragging me to hell and back in google docs every month and lulling me to sleep with her terrorized screams, but i'm sure she'll be back soon enough she cannot fucking quit me or goomt bc goomt is her controversial and illegitimate redheaded stepchild thrice removed. we know this and we love it

......... but you know what that also means.......? :)?

that means i'm on my own. i'm running sweaty and wild-eyed through slippery halls with a knife in one hand and scissors in the other and zero recollection of how to hold either of them safely. i will perform head-on collisions with each and every wall and corner i can find with such cringe and fervor that crash test dummies will be flopping miserably about during the walk flop of shame home. maybe you already knew - maybe you already saw it in ch 69. maybe you had an inkling in your subconscious that maybe, just perhaps, mayhaps it's a possibility, that Some Amount Of Shenanigans™️ are up.

well.

buckle up and pucker up, my lovely field of buttercups, cuz i'm driving with an expired license and we're going to McDonalds for a coffee and prolonged stay in the ball pit, mark my words

which is all to say, GOOMT ch70 soon :)

[terrainofheartfelt]

Six Sentence Sunday

an excerpt from the next chapter of for when my soul's too tired to speak, that I am trying to get up today. gods and back pain willing.

in my google doc i've been calling this chapter "let's have a kiki" aka: the gang smokes weed!

“Good man,” Jenny holds out a hand, and Nate places the lighter in it. “So, then, I’ll just get this rolling, because Eric is scared of lighting it himself.”

“Hey, hey,” Eric says solemnly, “I have been scarred, okay?”

“Wait –” Nate cocks his head, remembering, “do you mean that time with Serena’s hair?”

Blair gasps in recognition. “The Yankee Candle incident.” 

“And that relates to this – how?” Dan asks, bewildered.

“Because when you accidentally light your sister’s hair on fire,” Eric explains, “it’s only natural that starting fires makes you a little nervous.”

“Dan wouldn’t know,” Jenny says casually, pipe at her lips. “Because when he burned my hair in third grade it was absolutely on purpose.” “That is a lie!” Dan insists, waving a finger in the air.

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

sooo. . . I finished six of crows xd

everyone welcome the new blorbos :DDD

[aethersea]

also how's conman in a bottle going 👀

it has not gone anywhere in well over a week bUT here, for you!

The [magic crimes division] worked out of a double-walled complex within the grounds of the royal palace. It had only one entrance—well, two, but the second was supposed to be secret. Neal assumed there were at least a few more, somewhat better concealed.  The wide expanse of cobblestones between the two walls was lit day and night by specially enchanted lanterns whose light never flickered. Neal thought it was hilarious. Demons weren’t actually creatures of darkness. It wasn’t that much harder to turn into a discreet little dust cloud drifting on a breeze than it was to become a pool of shadow. He assumed—hoped, really, for the sake of Peter’s pride if nothing else—that there were other, actually useful detection spells embedded in the lanterns, or possibly in the cobblestones. He wondered if his footsteps were ringing a dozen bells in some little security room somewhere.

[hauntingblue]

I cant believe I am already on fem law... this happened like 2 days ago I cannot do it....

[vivwritesfics]

Little Terrors

Lando Norris wants to jump his wife's bones. She has to remind him of the consequences of unprotected sex

Dad!Lando

God, his wife looked so sexy. After three kids, she still had it. But that wasn't a surprise to him, he knew she was damn sexy, and she always would be.

Even when she wasn't trying.

No, she was just sitting on the bed, reading her book. (Faerie smut, she'd read chapter fifty-five to him and he'd been horrified. That was what his wife was into?)

Her old pyjamas, stretched out and slipping down her body, not hiding much at all, looked so damn sexy on her. It had him crawling across the bed towards her.

He pushed her book away and pressed tender kisses to her lips. "Can I?" He whispered, pawing at her pyjamas like a horny teenager.

She giggled at him and let him pull her pyjama top over her head. Immediately, he kissed down her chest, hips desperately grinding against the bed sheets. "Lan," she laughed, hands moving through his curls. "Go and get a condom."

He pulled away from her to search through his bedside table for the packet of condoms. The empty packet of condoms. "Shit," He mumbled as he sat back.

She took the box from his hands, checking to see if it really was empty. "Oh, baby," she mumbled as she tugged at his curls again. "We can get some and try again tomorrow night."

But then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Or we could just not use any protection," he suggested and attached his lips to her neck, trying to convince her.

The laugh that escaped her lips couldn't be considered pretty, but Lando still loved it. "Are you joking me?" She asked as she pushed him away. "You really want another child? Did you forget about the three devil spawns we already have?"

The Personal Massager

"Dad?"

Lando hummed as he drank his coffee. "What do you want, Wy?" He asked his six year old son and oldest child.

He sat back in his seat and turned his attention to Wyatt Norris. He had his dads same curls but, other than that, he was almost the spitting image of his mother.

He was damn cute and could probably get away with murder.

When Lando looked up and saw what Wyatt had in his hands, his face fell. "Do you think mum would mind if I borrowed her massager?" He asked so damn innocently.

Lando's face paled. "Yeah, Wy. She'd be very upset if you borrowed her massager," he said and tried to snatch it away from his son.

But Wyatt saw the way his father's expression changed. And now it was time for some fun.

He held it behind his back, away from his father. "Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't think she'll mind. Can you call her so I can ask her?"

"No, Wyatt! Give it here!" He tried again to reach for it, but Wyatt went running through the house. Forgetting his coffee, Lando chased after him.

It was all just fun and games to little Wyatt Norris. He didn't realise what he had in his hands, didn't know that he had to put it down! "Wyatt! Come back here!" His father roared as he chased him up the stairs.

Wyatt giggled as he tried to shut himself in his bedroom. But Lando caught the door and threw it open. Wyatt looked at his father, ready to laugh at him, but the look on his face had him falling quiet. His dad was the good cop, the one that didn't get angry. But, right now, Wyatt knew he was in for it.

"Give it," Lando said, holding out his hand.

Wyatt placed the... massager in his fathers hands and awaited his punishment. "Grounded," Lando said, immediately.

"Why?" He asked, but Lando didn't answer, didn't get stuck in that loop. One response to why, and it was all Lando was going to be hearing for the rest of the way.

The Paddock

Lando's little princess could do no wrong. She was the youngest of three, barely old enough to talk, but she already knew she had her father wrapped around her little finger.

Lando loved taking his kids to the track. His boys holding onto him in some way while he carried Arabella to the McLaren garage. His fellow drivers stopped the three of them to say hello to the boys and coo at just how cute Ari Norris was.

She really was cute, but that was what made her so damn dangerous.

For once, the boys were on their best behaviour as Lando took them into the McLaren garage. He almost couldn't believe it, but he stayed quiet. The moment he was to say something, they would have been running around, out of control.

He sat the boys in his drivers room with something to read while he carried Arabella around the garage on his hip.

"There she is," Oscar called as he grinned across the garage. Oscar Piastri loved Arabella Norris. But Arabella Norris did not love Oscar Piastri.

He cooed as he approached and Arabella giggled as she reached towards him. Acting as though she loved him. Nobody was ready for what was to come.

As soon as Ari was settled in her Uncle Oscar's arms, her face went red, screwed up, and she started screaming. Her cries were so damn loud, echoing through the garage.

It was an awful, horrible sound. Oscar's eyes went wide as he stared at the screaming child in his arms. "Lando!" He called, but not much could be heard over Ari's screaming.

But, the moment Lando heard his daughter screaming, he was making his way back across the garage. "C'mon, Ari," he mumbled as he took her and kissed the top of her head. "It's just your Uncle Osc." But there was no way she could hear him.

Sighing, Lando took her back to his drivers room. He bounced her until she calmed enough to fall asleep against him.

Arabella Norris wanted attention from her father and nobody else. The moment somebody that wasn't her father was holding her (with the occasional exception of her mother), she was screaming the house down for him.

The Broken Stuff

Hugo Norris was the clumsiest child in the world.

"Are you sure you've got it?" His mother asked as he began walking out of the kitchen with a glass of lemonade in his hands.

Hugo rolled his eyes. But the second he had done it, his face was flushing and he was full of regret. He should not have done that. "I got it, mama," he said and walked out of the kitchen.

For a little while, everything was fine. Mrs Norris listened out for the unmistakable sound of glass shattering as she cleaned up from lunch. But it never came, and she released a relieved breath.

But then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering. "Oops," came Hugo's voice. His mother didn't hear it, though. She grabbed the dustpan and brush and went rushing to the room her middle child had disappeared into.

"Oh, Hugo," she mumbled.

Hugo didn't even have socks on. Placing the dustpan and brush down, she grabbed her child and carried him out of the room, placing him in the hallway. "I'll get you another drink in a minute, Hugs," she said and sent him up to his room (he wasn't in trouble, she just needed a moment to clean up.)

While she cleared up the shattered glass, things were quiet. Wyatt was reading in his room, Arabella was down for a nap, and Hugo was waiting for her to bring him a drink in a plastic cup. She loved her clumsy child, even if he was a little exhausting sometimes.

She didn't hear the second crash over the sound of the hoover, collecting up the tiny bits of glass that she couldn't see with her naked eye. Didn't realise anything had been broken until she headed upstairs with another drink for Hugo.

One of Lando's trophies was in several pieces on the floor. "Oh, Hugo," she mumbled for the second time that day. She walked a little further down the hall and knocked on Hugo's door.

When she pushed the door open, Hugo was hiding beneath his blankets. "Baby," she said as she sat on the end of the bed and placed the water on his bedside table. "Tell me honestly, did you break your fathers trophy?"

He sniffled. "He's gonna be so mad," He cried.

She shook her head. "No, baby. He'll understand and we can always get it fixed. You know, your father used to break trophies back in the day."

Hugo pulled the blanket away from his head. "He did?"

She laughed and launched into the story.

Back to the bedroom

The Norris's laughed as they recounted the stories of their little terrors. "Okay," Lando said, tossing the empty box of condoms to the floor. "Maybe we could do with one more," he said as he rested his body on top of her own. "What do you say mamas? Wanna make another?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "One more couldn't hurt, I suppose," she giggled and kissed him.

That night, and every night for the next few weeks, was what led to her pregnancy. But it was expected and it was what they had wanted. Just one more baby.

Just. The. One.

At her twelve week scan, they found out they were having twins. Oh, she was going to kill her husband.

[pocketramblr]

WHAT

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Think Fast, You Only Get One Try - [Part 1]

♥ prev | next

♥ series masterlist | main masterlist

♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

♥ chapter one synopsis: after almost two months it was finally time to tell lando about your daughter.

♥ smau + written - fc: girls on pinterest - none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: thank you so much for almost 400 followers and 1k+ notes on the intro <3 i really hope this part 1 lives up to your expectations! The next parts will have more smau and will ideally be longer (I just had to get the plot rolling with this first chapter lol)

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˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

You knocked on Lando’s penthouse apartment door, knowing there was no going back now. Bless your sister for being able to find where he lives in just a couple of minutes on the internet.

The man who opened the door wasn’t Lando, but Max Fewtrell. His gaze narrowed.

“Who are you?”

“I’m not sure if you remember me... but I met you and Lando at a club in Melbourne last year.”

His eyes saccaded between you and the baby you were holding.

"Lando," he shouted from the doorway. "Stay here. I'll go get him."

Max made his way to one of Lando's rooms, where he was talking to Oscar.

"There's a woman here to see you," he paused. "With a baby. She said she knew you from Melbourne last year."

Lando got up quickly and made his way to the front door. Once he got there, he stared at you and your daughter.

You nodded. "Her name is Camila."

He held his arms out, silently asking to hold her. After you handed Camila to him, he gently rocked her in his arms.

"Come in."

-

You had a very long conversation on the couch with Lando as his two friends eavesdropped from the hallway. They didn't even bother going into another room and closing the door.

"I want to be a part of her life, if that's okay with you?"

You nodded. "Could you start tomorrow?"

"What?" Lando blinked at you.

"My sitter quit, and I have work tomorrow. I checked your race calendar; you just got back from Japan and don't have to go to Shanghai until next week."

"Yeah, but I still have sim and training and-"

"You better hope your physical therapist knows how to rock a baby to sleep then," you said sternly.

"I can help if you want," Oscar piped up. "With Max and I, I'm sure you'll be able to spend some time with your daughter."

You smiled at Oscar. "I'll be leaving you in charge."

That statement elicited an eye roll out of Lando.

He shifted his gaze from Camila to you. "Alright, yeah, I'll take care of her for the next few days."

"Thank you," you placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll drop her off tomorrow at 10?"

˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

-The Next Day-

liked by maxfewtrell, logansargeant, and 403,584 more

oscarpiastri babysitting duty

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user7 who's baby?

user3 oscar would be such a cute girl dad

lilyzniemer I agree

user1 🥹

user5 AWWW

user8 that should be me 😔

user2 holding your hand

user9 that should be me

user4 making you laugh

user12 you and lily are so cute :(

˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

-first is lando's phone, second is yours-

˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

-A Week Later-

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landonorris life lately

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user7 Shanghai is soooo pretty

user9 so glad china back on the calendar

oscarpiastri proof that instagram is fake

maxfewtrell he's forgetting about sm REALLY important in his "life lately"

user8 ???

user2 @/oscarpiastri @/maxfewtrell what do you know

˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖

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@littlegrapejuice, | @majx00, | @si1ver06

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE + SMAU ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( seventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , masturbation , angst , profanity , descriptions of violence , toji being a pathetic little sicko :D

୨୧˚ an; sorry this part is on the shorter side😅😅 it’s more of a filler chapter but i still like it!

It’s well past midnight when Toji slips his way back into his motel room. It’s dingy and drab, the once-white walls twinged a sickly yellowish tint from chain smoking guests. Ugly bedspread details different flowers that Toji couldn’t name, the same aged pattern clinging to the drapes that were pulled shut over the front window, never to be opened. It smells of heady sweat and open wounds, though maybe that’s just him. No, it definitely is him. He’s hyper aware of the grimy layer of filth that acts as a second layer of skin. It’s gritty and uncomfortable.

The bathroom cubicle is claustrophobic; if Toji were to stand in the center of the room, he could easily touch all four walls that boxed him in. He sits on the closed toilet seat lid, staring at his hands. They’re huge, intimidating. Trembling, spattered in blood that’s long since crusted into a dark concretion, cracking at the hinges of his fingers. His hands that took the lives of two innocent men just hours prior. Toji didn’t want to kill them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Oh, how they shrieked and hollered for their lives as he dragged them into that alley. They just kept fucking screaming. 

“Fuck…” The man sighs grimly, letting his head dip forward to rest in the cups of his filthy palms. His bangs feel matted and crunchy with remnants of sweat. Disgusting self-pity blooms at the base of his hollow chest, and suddenly Toji has the urge to ram his skull into the drywall. Or dislocate his finger. Or do anything to punish himself for that feeling of defeatism. The nerve to possess such a shameful victim mentality, as if he deserved sympathy. He’s a killer; the best he deserves is a fucking electric chair.

Toji showers. A long, scalding shower that singes him to the bone. Water stained red cascades down the rippling wall of muscles that was his body and swirls down the rusty drain. These post-slaughter showers used to be blank canvases of his life. Ones where Toji’s brain would shut off and try to forget the atrocities committed by his hand. He would scrub his flesh raw, scrub scrub scrub mindlessly until he ached all over. But now, he only thinks of one thing.

You.

Maybe it’s some sick coping mechanism, turning to thoughts of you in times like these. In a pathetic form of self comfort, he reminisces. Your hands holding his face, your know-it-all smile, your way with words. God, your fucking way with words. 

“My sweet boy,” Toji whispers under his breath, touching himself. As if he could replicate the delicate way in which you spoke to him. His eyes shut, desperately clinging onto the mental image of you beneath him in his bed. Your arms outstretched, reaching for him like you want him. Like you love him. “My sweet…” Toji tries to fade into the warmth of the spray, imagining it to be your body heat encapsulating him instead. But the water is far too hot, it hurts; you wouldn’t hurt him like this. He tries so damn hard to disassociate into the pleasure, as if his hand would magically dissolve into yours. Yeah, right. His hand is too big to ever compete with yours. Too fucking rough and gritty and mean.

The flat of his palm finds the greasy tiles of the shower wall. Toji fucks himself with all the roughness he deserves, lower lip staked between two rows of teeth to cease its quivering. He’s going to cum. Your face appears in his psyche once more, but this time, it’s from the first time you visited him in the hospital all those months ago. He can see the picture so vividly, it scares him: you seated at his bedside, poking and prodding over his obliques, muttering a stream of concerned questions. But you were never upset or angry. No, despite the worries, you were still smiling. At him. 

Fuck, he’s really going to cum.

Toji grits his teeth, climaxing with a harsh shudder and a broken gasp of your name on his lips. Small jolts force him into a twitchy state, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against the tiles beside his hand. Semen paints the wall below, too far to the left for the shower spray to rinse it off. He doesn’t bother to clean it off. He’s too repulsed by himself to do much of anything. 

The plasticky sheets stick to his skin. Sleeping in just a pair of boxers was probably a stupid idea, bed mites were a real cause for concern, or so Shiu had told him. But it’s hot. He’s hot. And restless. And uncomfortable. He always had trouble falling asleep in foreign beds. Lidded eyes peek over to the alarm clock perched on the side table, its cherry digits splaying 2:47am. You were asleep. 

He reaches for his phone anyway, wracked with guilt all the while. The tension in his thighs still persisted, still succumbed to the aftershocks of his orgasm he fucked himself to with your face in his mind. He’s fucking gross. This is gross.

She’s sleeping, jackass. Don’t wake her up because you’re lonely.

Be a fucking man and lick your own wounds. That’s what his father would say.

He texts you anyway.

He presses the call button. It only gets through half a ring before the line cuts on and he hears a groggy “hey” filter through the receiver. How long has it been since he’s heard your voice? Not that long, only three days and yet it feels like it's been three lifetimes. And that’s truly the moment when Toji knows you’ve fucked him for life, because when did he start thinking such sappy shit like that?

“Hi,” he answers, melting back into the stiff mattress. His gaze wanders along the waterlogged ceiling, tracing the abstract damp stains that have settled in its popcorn surface. He thinks offhandedly that one of them vaguely resembles a rabbit. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You already apologized, silly. I told you it’s okay.” There’s a pause. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

It’s nice to hear yours, too. “Go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, okay.” The sound of sheets stirring crackles, Toji assumes you’re tossing in bed. “You’re sleeping now, too, right?”

He paws at his stomach, the pads of his rough fingertips tracing the gutters of his abdominal plates before he sinks his blunt nails into his own flesh. “In a bit.”

“Soon. It’s late, Toji.” You order him to bed like a mother would her child.

He nods as if you could see the gesture. “Soon, then.”

You bid him a good night, turning once more into bed before settling back into the depths of the slumber Toji had interrupted. He clasps his cell between his ear and shoulder, basking in your gentle breaths. It’s the same sounds you made the night you fucked him. He slept upon your chest, head over your heart, listening to its beats. You drooled on his pillow, he gave a quiet scoff at the memory. Are you drooling now?

Toji never sleeps.

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[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Chapter Two (of four)

masterpost

Was this guy for real? Jason nearly decided not to get in out of suspicion. Danny was one of the very few loose ends in his crime yesterday. He sort of figured that eventually Batman would find the driver he’d used to get a duffle bag of heads to the police station. He stalled. It had seemed like an acceptable risk, since he hadn’t shown the guy his face. The only information that the police should have been able to get was where he’d left and that he’d used one of his victim’s phones to call for a ride.

And yet Danny was waiting patiently at the curb for the Red Hood to get in. Wasn’t he scared?

He had been all over the news yesterday. Danny had to know.

‘Either he’s dumb as a box or he is one of the chillest people I’ve ever even heard of.’

Morbid curiosity got him into the car. Danny locked the door as soon as the door was shut– but it was clearly routine. He’d done that yesterday, right. Jason waited a moment before he remembered that Danny wasn’t going to pull out until he had his seatbelt on. He let out a laugh and buckled up. It was pretty cute, actually.

Now that he wasn’t so distracted, maybe he could make small talk. Danny pulled them out into the sparse early morning traffic with an expression of determined focus.

Jason cleared his throat. “You moved to Gotham recently?” he started with. Danny didn’t have the local speaking pattern.

Danny nodded. “For school,” he shared easily. “I’m in the sciences program at Gotham U’s south campus.”

…So he wasn’t the world’s biggest dummy. Jason sat there and contemplated how catastrophically chill a body would have to be to chit chat with a man who had killed like 20 people yesterday that he knew of. Why wasn’t Danny scared? What was his damage? 

‘There’s something really wrong with him,’ Jason thought, with no small bit of admiration. Way too late he commented, “That’s cool, man.”

“Thanks.” Danny seemed unbothered by his long delay in conversation. “You know, I had to go to that same police station this morning.”

Jason tensed. Was Danny making some kind of threat?

“They got a whole shitton of muffins and six quiches delivered,” Danny went on. He appeared to feel no sense of danger in the car.

‘Is he… Did he decide to inform on the police to me?’ Jason’s eye twitched. ‘I already knew that I’d have ruined their whole month but… This is kinda satisfying to hear, actually.’ He made a listening sound to prompt Danny to continue. He couldn't lie; he was intrigued.

“Yeah, they looked like total shit.” Danny was so blithe about it that it became surreal and hilarious. “Exhausted. But that’s not my business.” He crinkled up his nose. “Do you know what they tipped me for that?” He didn’t wait for Jason to go on. “Two dollars.” He made a big gesture with his left hand that took it off the steering wheel despite the fact they were mid turn. “That’s ridiculous! I drove halfway across town, waited for the place to open, carried an absurd amount up those stairs, and for two dollars.” He blew a disrespectful raspberry.

“Fuck the police,” Jason said sympathetically. 

Aight. He saw how it was. He mentally tabulated what was in his wallet and allocated a cool thirty dollars to Danny as a tip. For an informant, that was as cheap as bagged rice. Helluva value. He leaned back in the seat and it squeaked under his weight. “How’s Gotham been treating you?”

“Fine, fine,” Danny said absently. He switched lanes a little too abruptly. “Not that different from home, honestly. I don’t know why people are so dramatic about it.” He floored it to squeak through a yellow light.

Jason had the dawning suspicion that Danny had been on his best driving behavior yesterday. But- “Where is home?” It was more morbid curiosity. He kind of regretted that he was nearly to his stop. 

“Amity Park. Illinois.”

Jason winced. “My condolences.”

Danny laughed, high and sort of eerie now that Jason was really listening to it. It sent an  electric zing up his spine. “That’s what they always say.” He seemed to find it really funny. Way funnier than it should have been.

‘...What are the odds that this guy is one of the weird mutants they make in Amity?’ Jason resisted the urge to ask prying questions. Talia had told him to stay the fuck out of that area so that she didn’t have to rescue him from a government black site. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t have the luxury of the time to go and investigate every cute boy with a nice laugh who wanted to be an informant to the Red Hood.

It was with extreme regret that Jason recognized his stop coming up. He let out a sigh. The voice scramblers in his hood turned it to static. He watched the curb approach with disappointment. Danny made to pull in next to a dark shop. Jason glanced into the windows and caught the reflection of the last person he wanted to see. 

“Batmobile.” He sat up straight, alarmed. It was parked out of sight in an alley. Shit. Shit, of course Batman had tracked back the delivery driver that had brought him to the police building. Fuck. How was he going to get away on foot-

Danny jerked back into the street and hit the pedal to the floor. The engine made a scream of machine fear but holy hell did it accelerate. Jason yelled too and grabbed onto the door handle. He aimed wide eyes at Danny, uncomprehending. 

“Fuck Batman!” Danny yelled out his open window, and they were off.

Holy shit. Holy shit!

The batmobile turned on, the normally silent engine’s purr rearing up to a threatening growl as Bruce veered out onto the street in pursuit.

Danny took them down an alley and Jason sharply readjusted his assessment of Danny’s intelligence. “We can’t fit!” He yelled, trying to pull the brake. If they had to stop in the alley it was all over, Batman would block them off.

Danny slapped his hand away and barreled-

Jason blinked as they raced down the impossibly narrow alleyway. He bit his lip. He looked at the car again, recalculating.

No. No, it definitely didn’t fit. He leaned a little away from the window, extremely uncomfortable. He looked at just the right time to see the passenger mirror collide with a dumpster and slide through undeterred.

Ah. Alright, then. He made a “Fair enough” face and turned around to see that the batmobile was lifting up and doing some weird transformers bullshit to fit down the alleyway. They were gaining ground from Batman. “Sorry I tried to touch the controls,” Jason said, a bit late. He glanced down and realized that his hand stung where Danny had slapped it. He pulled it to his chest and rubbed at it, frowning slightly.

“No worries,” Danny said tersely. He hit the breaks and raked the wheel car to make a fucking pinpoint turn without slowing. Just like that, they were out of Batman’s direct line of sight. A solid inch of the inside of the car overlapped with a folding chair outside someone’s home.

Jason eyed Danny judgmentally.

“Wow, that was a close fit,” Danny said, extremely unconvincing. “We are lucky, huh.” He aimed the car at a wall and somehow ramped up. 

‘I think I might be sick.’

Jason decided that the best thing for him to do right now was to close his eyes and say nothing at all. If Danny wanted plausible deniability for his mutant powers, that was whatever. 

‘How did Batman know where I was going?’ He worked through the problem. ‘Did he hack Danny’s account? If not, someone sold me out.’

Just like that, Jason had a list of people to visit for the day. “D’you think you could drop me off at C street instead?” He felt the uncomfortable swooping sensation in his stomach that indicated they’d made some kind of move that should not exist off of a rollercoaster.

“Yeah, of course, sorry about this.” Danny sounded a little breathless. “Ah- don’t look.” He cackled.

…’He’s dodging Batman for his benefit, not mine,’ the penny dropped. Jason laughed out loud and then leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Danny was the perfect man. They drove for a while in silence before Jason managed to collect himself. “No worries,” he said through tears. “Hey, no sweat if it’s no, but can I get your number?”

Danny paused.

Oh, fuck. Jason cringed. “I'll leave mine and you can call me if you ever need me,” he corrected hastily. “No pressure.” He scribbled it on the back of a loose receipt in Danny's cupholder and left it, mortified but also glad he shot his shot.