#Motor Control Card

[auto2mation1]

The MAK 9.01.7-93.11.00-02 Motor Control Card Rack by Auto2mation is a reliable and durable solution for managing complex motor control systems. Designed with modular control cards, it allows easy installation, maintenance, and expansion. This unit ensures efficient system integration, making it ideal for industrial automation environments. Its rugged construction supports high performance and long-term use in demanding conditions. With clear indicators and user-friendly operation, the rack enhances system monitoring and control. Whether for upgrades or new setups, the MAK Motor Control Card Rack delivers stability and flexibility. A trusted choice for automation professionals seeking performance and reliability.

[moonkissedmagic]

baby, you’re a star

pairing: agatha harkness x reader

synopsis: burlesque inspired one shot!

a/n: some of this veers from the film, but a lot of it is pulled from there so credit to the movie burlesque!!

word count: 13.4k

— — — — — — —

The town you grew up in smelled like motor oil and missed chances. There were a total of three traffic lights and a diner that hadn’t changed its menu since the '80s. 

It was the kind of place where people dreamed quietly, then buried those dreams under Sunday sermons and work shifts that bled from one into the next.

You sang in the school talent shows, under your breath waiting tables, in your bedroom with a brush for a microphone. You danced in the mirror, in the empty aisles of the grocery store, in the back row of church halls where no one bothered to look. 

You saved every tip from waitressing, every birthday dollar folded into cards with nonexistent affection, and when the day came, you bought a one way bus ticket to California. With no plan, you packed a too small suitcase that wouldn’t zip all the way, and didn’t look back.

L.A. was all heat and neon and chaos.

You found a shoebox apartment with thin walls and a leaky sink and told yourself it had character. You chased every casting call, lined up at auditions where everyone looked like magazine ads and designer desperation. 

Nobody wanted a small town sweetheart with a big voice. They wanted perfect. They wanted sex appeal. You had charm and determination, but it wasn’t quite enough.

You started rationing crackers and lying to your mom on the phone, saying everything was going great.

One night, after a particularly soul crushing rejection, you wandered with no destination in mind. It had been nearly an hour when you started to hear music. Muffled but magnetic. 

There was no sign, just a crimson painted door and the low pulse of bass behind smoked glass. It felt like the building itself was breathing.

You stepped inside.

L’Altra Luna.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with perfume and something electric. The lighting was low, hazy with atmosphere. On stage, a woman danced with the kind of control that made time slow. She was pure fire. Her body glided like water in motion, eyes glinting with challenge and seduction.

You didn’t breathe until the number ended. The lights cut and the room chattered.

A clink of glass drew your attention to the bar, where a woman poured drinks with grace that rivaled the dancer’s. Her name tag read Alice, her curls were pinned with a red bandana, and her eyes sparkled with something too knowing—like she’d seen this story play out before.

"First time?" she asked without looking up.  

You nodded, your voice a whisper. "Yeah."

She glanced at you. "Well, stick around. Show’s not over yet."

In less than ten minutes, you learned more than you had in weeks.

Lilia Calderu, the owner, ran things tight. A former star herself, she kept the place afloat with sheer will, sequins, and the loyalty of her girls.

The woman you’d seen onstage was Rio Vidal, the reigning queen of L’Altra Luna for years. And she knew it.

“I want to be up there,” you said, more to yourself than anyone else.

But Alice heard. She leaned on the bar, tilting her head at you. “Lilia’s not hiring,” she said flatly. “Especially not new blood.”

You turned to her, your voice quicker than your thoughts. “I’ll do anything.”

"That’s what they all say." She gave you a once over. "You from outta town?"

You nod shyly.

She picked up a rag and wiped down a glass, casual but curious. "Let me guess. Small place. Everyone thinks you're nuts for leaving."

You cracked a smile. “Not too far off.”

Alice smirked. “You got the look. Wide eyed and full of hope. That usually doesn’t last long around here.”

She looked away for a beat, like she was weighing something in her head. You held your breath waiting for her next words.

Then, kindly, “We’re full up on dancers, but I could use help running drinks. It’s heels every night, and you’ll be lucky if anyone remembers your name. You okay with that?”

“I’ll do anything,” you said, maybe too eagerly. “I just want to be here.”

She studied you one last time, then nodded once and reached beneath the bar. “Alright then, Dorothy. Let’s see how long you last in Oz.”

She slid you an apron that smelled faintly of sweat and spilled bourbon. “Don’t forget to smile. Even when it’s fake.”

The next night, you were in black shorts and fishnets, carrying a tray through velvet curtains, dodging wandering hands and whispers.

Lilia watched from her usual perch at the end of the bar, eyes like razors, drink untouched. She didn’t say a word to you for three nights.

On the fourth, as you passed her in the narrow hallway, she stopped abruptly and looked you up and down.

“Your posture’s garbage,” she said, flat as a cutting board.

She reached out, adjusting the straps of your top like you were a mannequin in a window. “And push up those boobs. You’ve got ‘em, might as well use ‘em.”

By the time you were able to process the words, she was already walking away.

You blinked, stunned, then gave a half laugh. 

That was the first crack in the glass.

— — — — —

You were mid shift, strutting between tables, rattling off drink orders in your head, when a voice cut through the noise like silk wrapped around a blade.

“Darling, could I steal you for a second?”

You turned.

She was stunning. Ridiculously so. Hair dark as ink, lips the color of deep wine, and a tailored jacket that definitely cost more than your rent.

She had the kind of poise that came from knowing exactly what rooms she owned, and how to make you feel lucky she even let you share the same air.

Her eyes dragged over you slowly, like she was already unwrapping something.

You swallowed hard, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. What can I get for you?”

A slow smirk pulled at her mouth. “Dirty martini. Three olives. He’ll have a bourbon, neat. She likes the pink bubbly crap. And bring another round in twenty minutes.”

You nodded, repeating it back to her, though you already knew you’d remember every word.

When she handed you her card, your fingers brushed. It was just a moment, but it sparked, sending a bolt of lighting down your spine

“Keep ‘em coming,” she said, voice low and smooth. “And don’t keep me waiting too long.”

You turned quickly, cheeks flushed, ducking your head as you made your way back to the bar. You passed Alice the card and started rattling off the order, but she cut you off before you could finish.

“—three olives. Bourbon, neat. Pink bubbly crap. Yeah, got it.” She was already moving.

You blinked. “She’s a regular?”

Alice snorted. “Something like that.”

You wordlessly raise an eyebrow in question.

She huffs. “Agatha Harkness. No one knows what she does—maybe real estate, maybe blackmail, maybe something worse. But she’s got money and a reputation.”

You glanced back toward the table. Agatha was leaning in close to the woman beside her, whispering something that made the whole table laugh.

“She’s been coming here for years,” Alice continued, pouring the drinks. “On and off with Rio for almost as long. Currently very off.”

You nodded slowly, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back to her. She chuckled, tilted her head just so, and even from across the room, you felt it. The pull.

Alice caught your expression and sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, no. Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” you said, trying and failing to play innocent.

“I see that look, and it’s a bad idea. Agatha is someone to stay away from.”

“I wasn’t—”

“She’s gorgeous, I get it. But trust me, okay? Agatha is bad enough, but Rio?” Alice gave a pointed look. “She will destroy you if she even thinks you’re playing with her toys.”

You shrugged, a little defensively. “Relax. She’s way out of my league anyway. I was just looking.”

“Try not to do that either,” Alice muttered. “For your own safety.”

You picked up the tray, balancing it with more ease than you felt. “Duly noted.”

“Good,” Alice quipped, then softened. “But for what it’s worth? You look like you belong here.”

You smiled and gave her a grateful nod, then disappeared back into the crowd. Your heels clicked and nerves buzzed, as something hot and dangerous simmered low in your stomach.

The cycle continued. Weeks of thankless shifts, aching feet, and stolen minutes behind velvet curtains where you mimicked the dancers in secret. 

You watched how they moved, how they commanded. The slow drag of a glove, the playful flick of a hip, you studied them all. The twirls. The tease. The confidence. You learned the weight of a glance, the power of a pause.

One night, after a double shift of hauling drinks and mopping up spilled champagne, you caught Lilia alone at her corner seat, tallying up ledgers with a half empty glass beside her.

You took a breath and stepped closer.

“I want to audition,” you said, voice quiet but firm.

She didn’t look up. “We’re not hiring.”

“You weren’t hiring when I asked to wait tables either.”

That earned a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—but no answer. Just the scratch of her pen and the soft clink of ice in her drink.

“I can dance,” you pressed, pulse pounding. “And I can sing. Really sing. If you just—”

She cut you off with a scoff, waving a hand. “We don’t do live vocals here, sweetheart. This place is about illusion. Fantasy. Nobody wants real.”

"Then let me show you I can be that." Your voice didn’t shake. You made sure of it.

That got her attention. Lilia looked up, finally meeting your gaze. Her eyes were perceptive and calculating, like she was measuring fabric she wasn’t quite sure how to tailor. “You don’t have the look.”

That stung more than you wanted it to. You bit your lip, trying not to flinch.

She sighed, softening. “You’re obviously beautiful, kid. But you’ve got this… untouched, innocent thing. Like the world hasn’t sunk its teeth into you yet.”

You swallowed. Her words felt almost like pity, and that made them harder to swallow.

“It works,” she said finally. “Just not for us.”

“Please,” you stepped closer. “Just one chance. Let me prove it to you. Let me surprise you.”

The pause that followed stretched long enough to make you think she’d say no again. Then, with a sigh, she clicked her pen shut and tossed it aside.

"Tomorrow after closing. You get one song. Five minutes. That’s it.”

You nodded, heart already racing. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

She waved you off, already reaching for her drink. But her eyes lingered a moment longer than they needed to.

You barely slept that night. You danced in front of your cracked mirror until your legs gave out. Rehearsing every breath, every curve of your hip, every flick of your wrist. 

The next night, as the last customer stumbled out and the lights dimmed to their after hours glow, you finally stepped onto the stage.

Alice leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, lips twitching with something like pride.

Next to her was someone you recognized from the shadows where the live band played, a young guy with soft curls and a quiet, curious look. His fingers moved like he was always playing invisible keys. You think his name was Billy. 

He was a few years younger than you and probably still had a fake ID in his wallet, but he could play like he was born with it in his blood.

Lilia took her seat in the front row, scotch in hand. Rio leaned in the side doorway, a shadow with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

The music started low and smoky, a steady beat that wrapped itself around your spine.

You moved like you were melting into it, one arm raised, hips gliding with calculated precision. Every breath was measured, every step a part of the story you were telling.

You danced like the stage had missed you. Like it had been waiting.

It wasn’t perfect. It was raw. Honest. You poured everything into each movement. Every rejection, every mile, every night you danced alone and dared to believe it meant something.

When the song ended, the silence was loud.

Alice let out a long whistle, raising her glass. Billy blinked like he’d forgotten to breathe, then whispered, “Holy shit.”

Rio didn’t clap. She drained the rest of her drink and walked away without a word.

Lilia stood, tapping her fingers thoughtfully.

“Well,” she said slowly, the corner of her mouth curving. “You weren’t wrong. You’re not what I expected.”

“But?” you asked, heartbeat still thudding.

She considered you for a moment. “That might not be a bad thing.”

And just like that, you were in. 

It started with background spots in group numbers, glitter corsets that scratched your ribs, lashes thick enough to shadow your whole face. You danced until you bled, until your breath came in heaves. 

You blended in, but soon enough, the audience began to take notice. So did the girls. So did Rio.

She made her displeasure known in backhanded compliments and sharp barbs. She stole your costume one night before curtain. Another time, she “accidentally” spilled her coffee on your makeup bag, ruining half of it. 

You tried to keep your head down. To stay in your lane, do the work, and avoid her whenever possible. But that Saturday, she pushed harder.

It was supposed to be a group number with you and three other girls. A crowd-pleaser track with tight choreography and easy charm.

You were halfway through the routine when everything stopped.

The music cut. Clean. Jarring. 

The lights still blazed down, hot on your skin. The audience still watched, waiting. But silence swallowed the stage. 

For a breath, you stood frozen, lungs tight, blood rushing in your ears.

Backstage, Rio leaned casually against the tech booth, just a little too close to the switches, her expression just a little too smug to be innocent.

Panic clawed at your chest.

Just as the curtain began to lower, just as the whole night teetered on the edge of ruin, you made a decision.

You opened your mouth and you sang.

No track. No mic. Just you.

Live and strong and raw.

Gasps rippled through the crowd like a fuse catching fire. Heads turned. Eyes locked on you as the sound of your voice rolled over them, rich and unmistakably real.

Lilia rushed to the booth. "Hold the curtain!" she barked. "Let her finish."

You did more than finish. You owned it.

Your voice wrapped around every light, every table, every breath held in awe. When the final note left your lips, bright and unyielding, the room erupted.

People were on their feet. Cheers shook the velvet seats. Somewhere in the blur, you caught sight of Lilia looking at you like she’d just struck gold.

Backstage, the energy was electric.

Lilia charged toward Jen, her second-in-command, with a spark in her eye.

“We’re building the show around her,” she said, already halfway into planning mode. “She sings. Live.”

Alice nearly tackled you in a hug. “Jesus, babe,” she said, practically glowing. “I felt that in my spine.”

Billy, still wide eyed, handed you a bottle of water like he wasn’t sure if you were real. “That was… insane,” he said, voice a high shrill. “I’ve got chills.”

You were still catching your breath when Rio appeared in the corner of your eye. She stepped forward, casual as ever, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her.

“Well,” she said coolly, lips twitching. “One of us has clearly underestimated the other.”

You met her gaze, heart thudding like a kick drum. “Clearly.”

For a moment, she just stood there, searching your face for something she’d missed. Then she smirked and turned on her heel.

But you’d felt it. The shift. The ground beneath you had changed.

You weren’t the waitress anymore. You weren’t just background.

You were the show. And the spotlight was finally yours.

Later, once the noise had quieted and the last of the congratulations faded out into the dressing room walls, Lilia gathered the staff to talk logistics. 

You nodded along, barely hearing the words. You were still buzzing on adrenaline, on pride, on the high of knowing you'd earned this moment.

Before the meeting ended, Lilia crossed the room and squeezed your arm, firm and meaningful. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said, a rare softness brushing her voice. “Big things ahead.”

You slipped out from backstage a little later, needing air, fingers still trembling from the rush.

The club had mostly cleared out, tables half empty, lights dimmed low. You were halfway out the door when a voice slipped through the haze.

“Well, aren’t you something.”

You’d know it anywhere by now. You didn’t have to look.

She stood just off to the side, martini glass in hand, lips curved with lazy confidence.

It wasn’t the words that got you. It was how she said them. Like a declaration. Like she wasn’t admiring you, she was staking a claim.

Her eyes trailed over you, lingering on the corset, the glitter on your skin, the pink still blooming on your cheeks.

But it wasn’t like the men at the tables, all greed and entitlement. Agatha’s gaze unraveled you. It was patient. Curious. Like she was flipping through pages you hadn’t written yet.

“I can’t believe Lilia’s been hiding you in the back all this time,” she drawled, low and smooth.

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying not to smile. “She didn’t know I could sing.”

She let out a hum, the kind that made your stomach flutter. “Well, now she does. And I’d bet she knows you’re way too good to be doing it here.”

You should’ve rolled your eyes. Laughed it off. But instead, your chest swelled, because it meant something—meant everything—coming from her.

You smiled, honest and unguarded for a second. “I like it here.”

Agatha tilted her head. Her gaze softened just enough to feel like a touch. “So do I.”

Your breath caught, just slightly. You weren’t used to being looked at like that. Not even after a performance. Not even under all that light.

For all your new boldness on stage, there was still a flicker of the girl who used to peek out from the wings and wonder if she’d ever get her turn.

But Agatha doesn’t seem to mind. She watches you like she wouldn’t want you any other way.

She stepped closer, just enough for the air to shift.

“How about a drink, hon?” she offered, voice still carrying that confident charm, just softer around the edges. An invitation.

You took a beat and studied her, considering your options and how exactly you should play it.

You let the silence stretch just long enough to be interesting. Then, slowly, your lips curled into a teasing smile. You leaned in just enough, eyes wide, voice light as a whisper but steady with purpose.

“You know where the bar is,” you breathed out, gaze flicking up to hers through your lashes. “Tell Alice I sent you.”

And before she could answer, you turned on your heel and walked away. Unhurried, deliberate, hips swaying with the confidence you just earned in sweat and spotlight.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel her watching.

Like the show was far from over.

— — — — —

After that, business picked up fast. Word got out that there was something new happening behind the curtains at L’Altra Luna.

One week you were singing to a half interested crowd, and the next, the leather booths were packed elbow to elbow.

The regulars returned with glinting eyes, and newcomers filled the seats night after night. Your name started appearing in whispers, in drink orders, on the lips of patrons walking out into the night still buzzing with the high of your voice.

But it wasn’t just busier. It was different. The energy shifted.

People came now not just to be seduced, but to feel something. Your voice did what lip syncing couldn’t. It breathed into the room, cracked it open, and made space for something real. 

When you danced, they watched. But when you sang, they leaned in. You gave them something they didn’t know they were missing.

It hadn’t been long before Lilia bumped your name to the top of the setlist and cleared out space in the costume closet for custom pieces—feathered, jewelled, tailored to your body like a second skin.

You learned to balance on stilettos you used to trip in. Learned to hold a note and a stare at the same time.

Alice offered you her spare room like it was already yours. “Don’t worry about rent until you’re sure you can swing it,” she said, tossing you a key. “But if you eat my cereal, I will kill you in your sleep.”

You became a unit. She’d make coffee, usually too strong, but always ready and waiting. You’d fix your lipstick in the hallway mirror, and together you’d strut through the backstage door like you owned the place.

Billy fit in seamlessly. He came over constantly, usually lugging around his keyboard or a box of records.

He had kind eyes and nimble fingers that could follow your changes on the fly. He became your go to for warm ups, for late night harmonizing sessions when you couldn’t sleep, for inside jokes whispered between sets. You adored him immediately.

Then came the first new number: "I Am a Good Girl."

The title alone drew a low murmur from the crowd. Curious, hungry, expectant. You could feel the energy in the air before the lights even dimmed.

The stage was set and the moment the music began, you were sprawled out on the chaise lounge, the soft pink glitter of your top catching the spotlight. You stayed there for a moment, languid, barely moving.

You let the tension hang in the air, making them wait for the drop. 

Then, with a smooth, calculated motion, you sat up, one hand running through your hair, eyes locked on the crowd. Each movement dripped with intention, a small spin on the edge of the chaise revealed a flash of your thigh.

The music curled around you like smoke—playful, suggestive, dipped in diamonds and flirtation. The first note melted off your tongue like it belonged there, syrupy sweet, laced with innuendo. 

You didn’t just sing it. You sold it. You became it.

You slipped off the stage and climbed onto the bar, heels steady and voice unwavering. The other dancers flanked you on either side, and together you moved in perfect rhythm.

It was indulgent. Wicked. Irresistible.

That untouched, innocent thing Lilia once called you out on? You wore it like a costume, knowing exactly what it looked like onstage, knowing how to turn it into power.

You embodied the song with a wink and a smirk, letting the contradiction work in your favor. They didn’t know whether to believe you or beg for more.

From her usual perch in the corner, Agatha watched. Eyes locked on you. Martini untouched.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t have to.

Her gaze never strayed. Not when the bass thumped through the floor. Not when the crowd erupted. Not even when Rio strutted past her in a costume that left almost nothing to the imagination.

You felt her stare like a weight sliding down your spine, pressing into the small of your back. It made you arch just a little more, lean into the tease, the slow burn. And in the mirror, through the haze of spotlight and shadow, you saw the moment she licked her lips.

Later that night, there was a package waiting in your dressing room.

Inside was a bottle of French perfume that made you feel expensive just opening it. A silk robe in your favorite color—how she knew, you couldn’t guess. A vintage Billie Holiday record with a handwritten note tucked in the sleeve: “Made me think of you. —AH.”

You didn’t respond. Not yet. But you didn’t stop thinking about her either.

And she never missed a show.

The more she watched, the more presents appeared. A pair of heels with a star stitched into the arch. Diamond drop earrings with no card. A clutch with its golden clasp shaped into the curve of your initials.

You teased her about it, scribbling thank you notes on the backs of cocktail napkins.

“You should stop spoiling me. I’m starting to like it.”

"You do know I’m not that easy, right?"

You passed them off to Alice, who delivered them with her usual flair. “Here,” she’d deadpan. “Try not to drool on it this time.”

“I don’t drool,” Agatha responded one night, eyes still locked on you as you passed through the lounge, glowing in success and adrenaline.

“No?” Alice raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You wore one of the gifts every night, but never all at once. It was your version of playing hard to get.

“You’ve got it so bad,” Alice teased over pad thai, fork waving in the air. “You try to act all cool, but you practically melt when she’s in the room.”

Billy snorted into his drink. “You blush like a schoolgirl, and I’ve seen Agatha look at you like she’s already decided you're hers."

You covered your face with a pillow, groaning. “I hate both of you.”

But the more you withheld, the more Agatha watched.

Meanwhile, Rio hated your guts.

Not that she said it outright, at least not where Lilia could hear, but it was there. It was in every glance, every sharp edge in her voice, every time she knocked over a tray of props and muttered “oops” without looking back.

She didn’t pull any more stunts like yanking your track mid performance. Not since Lilia made it crystal clear that you were now the club’s crown jewel. 

But the animosity didn’t cool, it simmered. She snapped at Lilia in rehearsals, stormed out of fittings, refused to be in the same numbers as you, and when you passed her in the hallway, she’d mumble things like “enjoy it while it lasts.”

You never took the bait. You were too busy becoming everything you’d ever wanted to be.

And Agatha?

She was still there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.

You told yourself you were resisting. Holding your ground. But there was something about her—an inevitability of some kind. A pull you didn’t know how to name, only that you felt it every time her eyes found you across a crowded room.

Eventually, you said yes.

Not because anything particular happened that night. There was no new grand gesture, no big moment. Just another evening of her watching you like art, complimenting without flattery, rewarding your brilliance without claiming it. She never pushed. Just stayed.

And somewhere between her patience and her persistence, you’d realized you didn’t want to resist anymore.

You were already waiting outside the club when she passed. Leaned against the brick wall, dress catching stray moonlight, breath curling soft in the air.

She stopped short when she saw you. Eyes trailing up your legs to your mouth like she was memorizing the shape of you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite view,” she murmured, low, but touched with surprise.

You tilted your head, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Took you long enough.”

Her mouth twitched, amused. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing.”

You stepped closer, the space between you electric.

“So,” you murmured, voice soft but sure, “where are you taking me?”

She smirked, slow and wicked. Then laced her fingers through yours and gave the gentlest tug.

“Come find out, superstar.”

She took you to a place that didn’t have a sign. Of course. Just a narrow door, a knowing nod from a man in a suit, and then candlelight.

She didn’t need a menu, ordering for both of you without hesitation. Then, she leaned back in her seat, giving you her full attention like you were the only person in the room.

“You’re very good at this,” you said, fingers lightly circling your wine glass.

Her brow lifted. “At what?” 

“This,” you gestured vaguely. “The charm. The mystery. Making me feel like the only thing that matters.”

“I just know how to pay attention.” Her gaze didn’t waver. 

You grinned teasingly. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?”

“I don’t watch things I don’t want.”

The pulse jumped in your throat. You took a slow sip of wine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound serious.”

Her smile curved, slow and dangerous. “I am serious.”

You talked about music, about childhood homes, about how you first fell in love with singing. She asked questions no one else ever had, and you answered without thinking.

At one point, you laughed at something she said—some dry, biting line about investors with too much ego and not enough brain—and the sound surprised you.

“You’re funny,” you commented, almost taken aback.

“I’m devastatingly funny,” she corrected. “You’re just too distracted to notice.”

You were. By her hands, her mouth, the way she never once reached for her phone. By the way her eyes never left you, not even when the waiter nervously interrupted to say, “I’m so sorry, but we actually closed twenty minutes ago.”

Agatha’s lips twitched, gaze narrowing. “Did you now?”

You saved him with a quiet smile and a slow drag of your fingertips across the back of her hand, light and reassuring. There’d be more time. You wanted more time.

She drove you home under a sky full of stars, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Grounding and possessive in a way that made you feel warm.

When she pulled up to the curb, she got out and opened your door like it was instinct. Like it had always been her job. 

She walked you to the front steps, then stopped, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite read. You turned to face her, your porch light casting her in soft amber and deep shadow.

There was a beat, a breath, and then she leaned in. Or maybe you did. It didn’t matter.

You kissed her like you’d been aching to, because you had. Her lips were soft, but the way she kissed back was commanding. Devouring. Like she’d waited long enough and had no intention of holding back now.

Her hands slid into your hair, then traced down your jaw to your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left.

Agatha tilted her head, her mouth hovering for a beat before she dragged her tongue across your bottom lip. You gasped, and that was all she needed.

She deepened the kiss immediately, tasting you with a greedy, hungry reverence. Her tongue slid against yours, slow and claiming, until your knees went loose beneath you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and a little dazed, she didn’t speak. Just let her thumb slide slowly across your mouth, her eyes dark with suggestion.

She leaned in again, eager to taste more—but you stopped her with a gentle hand pressed to her chest, holding her just a breath away. Her brows arched.

You smiled. Slow, sweet, and devastating.

The kind of smile that said you’ll get your chance, just not tonight.

She looked at you for a long beat and smirked. Not disappointed, but amused.

A little wrecked. A little hooked.

“Goodnight, Agatha,” you murmured, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “I had a great time.”

Turning and slipping inside, you leave her on your doorstep with her lips parted and pulse ticking, wanting more.

— — — — — —

Time began to slip past in a series of moments too golden to hold onto and too vivid to forget.

Your star kept rising. You sang every night like the world might end in the morning. Heels high, voice soaring, presence electric.

You mastered the tease, the burn of anticipation, the moment when the music dipped and you could feel the crowd leaning forward, holding their breath. You were the fantasy.

Agatha became your shadow, your spark. 

She tucked notes into your backstage mirror, either sealed with a trace of lipstick or the scent of her perfume. She bit her lip when you passed her by the bar. When your eyes met hers during a particularly sultry note, she’d raise her glass with the smallest smirk, like sharing a secret across the sea of velvet and light.

She took you out like she was trying to memorize you. There were long drives under city lights, champagne in crystal flutes, and late night conversations that bled into early mornings.

The world bent around her, but with you, she never showed off. She just showed up. Took your hand like it was second nature. Ordered for you with the kind of confidence that made you wonder if she somehow knew you better than you knew yourself.

But still, you hadn’t given in. Not all the way. Not yet.

And god, you loved it.

You could feel how much she wanted you, how close she was to losing control.

It was in the tight set of her jaw when you ran your hand down her chest and stopped just short of where she needed you. In the way her pupils blew wide when she had you pressed up against a wall backstage, licking into your mouth until your knees buckled. 

Her hands always found their way beneath your clothes. Palms hot against your skin, thumbs brushing the edge of your waistband, teasing but never crossing that final line.

She'd press you back onto the couch, straddle your lap, devour you deep and slow until your head spun. Her teeth grazed your neck with wicked purpose, fingers buried in your hair as if she couldn’t get close enough.

But she never asked for more. Never rushed, just waited. Controlled and relentless.

You were having so much fun watching her unravel one slow, aching moment at a time.

But even you had to admit it was getting harder.

Harder to pretend you didn’t crave her just as much. 

Harder to breathe when her mouth found that spot under your ear and she murmured something low and filthy, just to feel the way you trembled. 

Harder to walk away when her hands slid up your thighs and her mouth followed the curve of your collarbone like she was mapping it for later.

You’d wanted her from the beginning.

And now? Now you were seconds from falling apart.

And she knew it.

It was after one of your most provocative performances, "Express," when the tension finally cracked.

All hips and heat and thigh-high boots, your outfit was unforgettable—black and white bra, fishnets hugging your thighs, garter straps taut with every movement. Front and center were handprints, bold across your chest like a dare. 

The moment the beat dropped, you claimed the stage like it was yours.

Your voice rippled through the air, all velvet and fire, pulling the room in closer with every note. You hit each line like it meant something, like you could taste the want in the words.

You used the chair like it was an extension of your own body. You swung one leg over, grinding down, flipping it, then straddling it again, every shift dripping with intention.

One hand trailed up your own thigh while the other slid into your hair, curling at the nape as you rolled your hips in a slow, devastating circle. You spun around and bent over the back of the chair, casting a glance over your shoulder that made the entire front row exhale like they'd been punched in the gut.

And still, you sang. Breathless, taunting, perfectly in control.

You climbed down the stairs at the edge of the stage and prowled into the crowd like temptation in motion.

She was right where you knew she'd be, legs crossed, expression tight, a drink forgotten in her hand. Her eyes never left you. Not once.

You didn’t just look at her. You performed for her. You gave her everything.

You dropped to your knees as the next verse hit, crawling across the floor like a siren with every sway. Your gaze stayed locked on hers as you sang, your voice dripping honey and heat.

“I tease 'em 'til they're on the edge They scream and moan for more and more they beg I know it's me they come to see My pleasure brings them to their knees”

You could practically feel her restraint snap.

The way her hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles going white. The way her jaw clenched, every muscle in her body straining to stay composed. The way her chest rose and fell with every breath, the look in her eyes dark, ravenous, undone.

You just smiled. Slowly, deliberately, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip as your body swayed back into the light.

Because tonight, you’d pushed her past the point of patience.

And now, she was going to do something about it.

When the number ended in a whirlwind of bodies and breathless applause, you disappeared backstage, knowing she wouldn’t be far behind.

You didn’t have to wait long. She was already there, standing just outside your dressing room. She didn’t say anything at first, didn’t need to. The hunger in her eyes said it all. 

Without warning, she grabbed you, fingers digging in and yanking you into her, pinning you to the wall. Her lips found your throat, hot and desperate, hands roaming with urgency.

“You’re a menace,” she murmured against your pulse, her breath sending shivers down your spine. “And I can’t stay away.”

You grinned through the breathless gasp she pulled from you when her teeth grazed your earlobe. “Then don’t,” you managed, voice low and teasing.

That was all it took.

The ride back to her penthouse was a blur of hurried breaths and whispered promises falling from both your lips. The moment you crossed the threshold inside, she was on you.

Her hands tugged at your clothes, her mouth crashing into yours with reckless urgency. You didn’t stand a chance, not that you wanted to.

Her tongue slid against yours with more purpose, and when she caught your bottom lip between her teeth, you melted into her. You didn’t even notice the way your hips shifted, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Your legs brushed hers, and then her thigh pressed up between yours, steady and warm. The sudden pressure made your breath hitch. Tension coiled low in your belly, that tight pull of want you’d been trying to ignore for weeks rushed through you now, undeniable.

A low hum escaped her, soft but unmistakably pleased. You felt it vibrate through her chest and sink into your bones, igniting something deep inside you.

You kissed her harder, pulling her closer by the collar, fingers sliding up into her hair. She answered with a quiet moan and tightened her hold on you.

She pulled back enough to breathe, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. You chased her without thinking, a soft whine slipping from you before you could stop it. 

She laughed under her breath, eyes gleaming as she cupped your face in both hands.

“Such a needy little thing,” she purred, like it turned her on just how desperate you were for her.

You pouted up at her, still breathless, and she wasn’t much better off.

She leaned back in, kissing you again, slower this time. More deliberate. Like she was learning you by touch alone.

Her lips trailed lower, over your jaw, down your neck. She nipped at your skin, then soothed the sting with her tongue. A thrill rushed through you at the thought of being marked by her.

As if reading your mind, her fingers wound into your hair, tilting your head to the side as she bit down hard where your neck met your shoulder. You gasped, digging your fingers into her waist.

Then her mouth was back on yours, hot and messy, claiming you like there was no question who you belonged to.

“Bedroom,” she murmured, voice frayed at the edges, breath mixing with yours.

She walked you backward, her fingers sliding down your arm as she guided you. You both laughed when she bumped into the wall, giddy and breathless.

As soon as you reached the doorway, her hands dropped to the hem of your dress. “Can I?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

You nodded, lifting your arms and letting her pull it up over your head. Her eyes dragged over you in your lacy lingerie, and she let out a soft groan.

“God, look at you.”

Her touch shifted—still gentle, but reverent now—like she was afraid you’d disappear if she moved too fast.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmured, and then she was on you again—deep and consuming—like she wanted to taste every part of you at once.

Her fingers grazed your stomach, sending a wave of heat through you. You trembled under her touch, every stroke deliberate and slow, like she was memorizing you. The tension inside you tightened with every second, and her eyes darkened as she watched the effect she had on you.

You reached for her in return, dragging your hands across her body.

Your fingers found the buttons of her shirt, and you fumbled with them, but the fabric refused to cooperate. You felt your control slip with every passing second, and all you wanted was to feel her skin. To have her bare for you.

“Agatha…” you breathed out, lips still brushing hers, “take it off.”

Your voice was thin, wrecked with need. She looked at you, lips curling into a teasing smile.

“You take it off, baby. I’m busy,” she murmured, her voice low but edged. Hands still exploring, you could see the way she was watching you, eyes heavy lidded as your impatience built.

You let out a frustrated groan and grabbed at her shirt again, no longer bothering to be careful. Your grip tightened as you pulled harder than you meant to, until the fabric tore with a sharp rip, buttons scattering across the floor. 

Agatha froze for half a second. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, but then her eyes flicked to your face and narrowed with something hotter—darker. Her chest rose and fell fast, barely contained.

“Eager, are we?” she acknowledged, voice thick with anticipation.

Your hands were already sliding under the torn fabric, hungry for the warmth of her skin. “I need you,” you rasped, the words almost too exposed.

Her expression shifted, slow and feral, as her hands came to your waist, dragging you in.

“God, you’re perfect like this.”

Her voice was breathless, but sharp with approval. Her mouth crashed back into yours, a kiss that was all teeth and fire and possession.

Her ruined shirt slipped from her shoulders, forgotten. You were practically climbing into her, desperate for more, for all of her.

She was just as gone, hands roaming, pulling you closer like she wanted to disappear into you.

Then she pulled back just far enough to look you over again, her gaze heavy, lingering. “Get on the bed.”

The words knocked the breath from your lungs. You stumbled back until your legs hit the mattress, then climbed onto it, legs parting just enough to invite her in.

She watched you for a moment before walking over, unbuckling her belt. The sound was quiet but sharp in the stillness. 

She unzipped her pants slowly, pushing them down her legs. When she stepped out of them, you finally got a full look at her—long legs, intricate black lace barely hiding what you wanted most.

You could barely breathe.

She crawled onto the bed and moved toward you, hand skimming up the inside of your thigh. Every nerve of yours lit up.

“Please, Agatha. I want you,” you pleaded, breathy and desperate.

She stared at you with a hunger that was undeniable as her fingers traced the line of your collarbone. She leaned in, her voice rasping in your ear, “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

You clung to her like you might drift away without something to hold onto. Hands tangled in her hair, clutching at her neck, grabbing anywhere your fingers could reach just to stay grounded.

Every soft whimper you made only seemed to push her further, stoking something inside her.

The icy blue of her eyes had blackened, stormy now with hunger. In the low light, they burned as they locked onto yours. She paused for a breath, looming over you, taking you in while you looked up at her, wide eyed and waiting.

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours.

Your breath mingled in the sliver of space between you, hot and uneven, bodies radiating desire.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes raking over your flushed cheeks and parted lips. One hand cupped your jaw while the other slid around the back of your neck, grounding you.

You sighed softly, caught in the haze of her touch, until her hands drifted lower, fingers finding the clasp of your bra.

Your breath caught, nerves fluttering beneath your skin. She noticed and leaned in, her voice rough against your ear, warm enough to make your thighs clench.

“I want to see all of you, sweetheart.”

You nodded, breath shallow, mouth slack in surrender. Her hands moved with practiced ease, undoing the clasp in a single fluid motion. The straps slipped down your arms, and with trembling fingers, you pulled the bra away, exposing yourself to her fully.

Her eyes dropped instantly. She bit her lip as if she couldn't help it, then ran her tongue over it hungrily. There was barely a pause before she pushed you back onto the bed with sudden force, straddling your waist.

She hovered there, gaze raking over you, a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth.

“So fucking pretty…” she muttered, her fingers beginning to trace feather light lines across your skin.

She dragged her mouth down, breath hot against your exposed skin, before taking one of your nipples into her mouth. You gasped, sharp and needy, hips twitching beneath her as her tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, followed by a slow, deliberate scrape of her teeth.

The sound you made was somewhere between a moan and a plea, your hands flying to her hair, anchoring yourself to her.

It only spurred her on more.

She shifted to your other breast with the same urgency, tongue and lips moving in time with the ache rising in you. You were helpless beneath her, unraveling with every teasing stroke of her mouth, every low noise that vibrated against your skin.

Then, suddenly, Agatha pulled back. Still on top of you, she sat up, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and unhooked her own bra. You watched, completely mesmerized, as the straps slid down and the fabric fell away, revealing the full, soft curves of her chest.

Under the dim light, her skin seemed to glow—her elegant collarbones, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the swell of her breasts that left you aching to touch.

She leaned back down, her bare body flush against yours, and the moment your chests pressed together, you both gasped, pleasure sparking like static.

Your hands roamed up her back, urging her closer until there was nothing between you but skin and heat and need. Her body melted against yours, every curve pressing in invitation. 

She shifted again, just slightly—just enough to let you see the way her breasts settled into view, nipples hard and aching.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. Her body dared you.

You grabbed at her greedily, palms full of soft skin, your fingertips tingling with desperate want as you leaned in and flicked your tongue over one aching peak. 

The low, guttural moan she let out poured straight into your core, your body arching as you sucked and licked and took her into your mouth like you couldn’t get enough.

Her hands twisted into your hair, tight and possessive, and her voice dropped low and wicked.

“Such a good girl,” she purred, pulling your mouth back to hers, claiming your lips again in a kiss that spoke of her barely contained restraint.

That’s when things shifted. A crack in the air.  As if something inside Agatha snapped—broke open—and in its place rose something feral, something primal. You felt it like a spark under your skin and it made you tremble.

“You’re all mine, sweetheart,” she growled against your lips, no hesitation, no room for argument. “Mine.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, fingers splayed wide, claiming every inch of you as she went. She paused at the waistband of your underwear, eyes on yours, and then dipped down, two fingers gliding over the soaked fabric with a low moan that vibrated into your mouth.

“So pretty,” she murmured, voice soaked in lust, “so desperate. So wet for me.”

You bucked into her hand, unable to stop yourself, chasing the feeling, your hips squirming beneath her touch. “Please” is all that made it past your lips, shaky and raw.

She made a soft, carnal sound and ducked her head, her dark waves framing her flushed face. Her fingers continued to move through your slick folds, the lewd sounds filling the space between you. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the look in her eyes told you she was absolutely reveling in it.

Then she sunk her middle finger inside you.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, head dropping to the pillow as your mind went deliciously blank.

 “Agatha,” you whimpered, eyes rolling back, already lost.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, her voice velvety as she started to move, finger gliding in and out of you with deliberate slowness. “Just be a good girl and let me take care of you, okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from moaning, but it was no use. Her finger curled sharply inside you, hitting that spot, and the sound that ripped from you was anything but controlled. Her thumb finally pressed against your clit and everything inside you lit up at once. 

Your back arched and she slid in a second finger.

You gasped at the stretch, the delicious burn, the sudden sense of fullness that had your core pulsing around her.

She watched, enamored with the way your expression twisted in pleasure. Her fingers began to move again, hard and precise, dragging wet heat from you with every pump.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” she breathed, voice ragged with want. 

She leaned in to kiss you again, messy and deep, as she added a third finger. You gasped, your hips rolling up to meet her hand, grinding shamelessly.

“So wet for me, aren’t you, baby?” she whispered, smirking against your mouth as her pace increased. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge.

You couldn't even form words anymore, just sounds—helpless, desperate. Your hands reached for her blindly, clawing at her shoulders, latching onto anything you could hold as her fingers picked up speed, each motion dragging you closer to the edge.

She moaned at the way you pulsed around her.

“Please, Agatha, I’m so close—”

“Not yet,” she purred, trailing her lips down to your jaw, where her smirk grew wider.

She pulled her fingers out without warning and your body ached at the loss. “I want to see you come undone,” she said, low and dark, her breath hot against your neck.

Before you could answer, she was moving. Sliding down the bed, eyes devouring every inch of you as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of your underwear and peeled them slowly down your thighs.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” she whispered, as you instinctively reached up to her long unruly hair, pushing it out of her face and behind her ears.

Her hands guided your knees up, spreading you open for her as she kissed along your thighs, slow and possessive. You closed your eyes for just a second, but she noticed.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

You did, and she rewarded you.

Her lips trailed higher, hovering just over your dripping center. Blue eyes locked on yours as she licked one long, deliberate stroke from end to end. 

You groaned, deep and wrecked, and she grinned against you. You grinded into her mouth and she let out a sound like a growl.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

Whatever restraint she had was gone.

Agatha devoured you.

Her tongue and lips and fingers moved in tandem as she worked you over without mercy. She moaned into you as if she was starved, savoring every tremor, every broken cry. 

Your body clenched, begged. You arched, fists gripping the sheets, every nerve burning for her. “Please, please, please let me come—” you nearly sobbed.

She pressed harder, driving you closer to the edge with ruthless precision. “Come for me, sweetheart,” she urged, voice raw and commanding.

Her fingers curled up into your sweet spot, and her tongue didn't stop. The combined sensation had you unraveling.

“Good girl. That’s it. Come for me.”

Your body convulsed, crying out her name, trembling beneath her as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. Her fingers and mouth never faltered, pulling every last bit of your orgasm from you until you collapsed, boneless and dazed.

Even as your body quaked with aftershocks, she didn’t let go. Her touch lingered—lazy swirls and soft kisses—until you were gasping, overwhelmed and spent.

When you finally opened your eyes, she was watching you. Smirking. Proud.

She pressed a slow, claiming kiss to your collarbone, fingers drawing idle circles on your thigh. The heat in her touch promised she was nowhere near done with you yet.

You spent the night wrapped in her sheets, your body aching and pliant under her hands as she took you apart again and again.

When you got home the next morning, Alice was in the kitchen flipping pancakes and grinning like the devil.

“You look like someone who got thoroughly… appreciated,” she said smugly, tossing a glance over her shoulder with a wink.

You grabbed the nearest dish towel and whipped it at her.

Billy wandered in a minute later, rubbing sleep from his eyes and raising an eyebrow at the scene. He clocked the way you were practically glowing, hair tousled, shirt half buttoned like you’d dressed in a hurry.

He let out a slow laugh. “Let me guess. You finally gave in to Miss Dark and Mysterious?”

Alice shook her head with a smirk. “About damn time. Now tell her to quit scaring the regulars just for looking at you. It’s scarily effective and bad for business.”

You laughed, stealing a piece of her bacon while she shoved you away from the stove.

Billy was usually a little less obnoxious about it. When Agatha sent flowers to the green room or waited offstage with your coat, he’d nudge you and grin. 

“She’s got it bad,” he’d say. “Not that I blame her.” 

You’d hum in agreement, throat warm, heart fuller than you knew what to do with. Then you’d take the stage again, with a song that felt like hers.

One night, you spotted Agatha and Rio mid-argument just outside the club. The tension was sharp, voices low but biting. You approached slowly, your heels echoing against the concrete just as Rio’s gaze cut to you.

She gave you a once over, eyes lingering on your mouth, your walk, the confidence that had only grown since Agatha entered your life.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered, cool and dismissive. “She’ll eat you alive.”

Agatha didn’t even flinch. She turned to you, slow and sure, and her expression softened the moment she looked at you.

“She doesn’t know me,” she stated quietly, but with steel beneath it. “Not anymore.”

You lifted your chin towards the other dancer. “I’m not scared of you.”

Rio’s mouth twisted into something bitter. “Then you’re either brave,” she spat, “or really fucking stupid.”

With that, she walked away, heels sharp against the pavement.

Before the silence could sink its teeth in, Agatha reached for you. One hand at the small of your back, the other gently cradling your cheek. Her thumb brushed across your skin, and you leaned into her touch like it was instinct.

“She’s not worth your energy. Not even for a second.” she murmured. “She doesn’t know anything.”

Just like that, she pulled you back into the moment—warm, certain, and close enough that everything else fell away.

All you could think about was her hands. And how badly you wanted to kiss her. 

So you did.

Your setlist kept growing. Lilia had new routines waiting before the curtain even fell. The crowd leaned into every note like it might save them. But the real electricity wasn’t the applause.

It was her. Standing in the dark, watching you burn.

And every night, when the lights dimmed and the curtain fell, you knew exactly where you were going.

Into her arms. Into whatever came next.

The night you gave her a private performance started like a game.

Agatha had been waiting for you when you arrived at her penthouse, lounging in her favorite armchair with one leg crossed over the other. She wore a silk blouse and tailored slacks, the kind of effortless elegance that made it clear she owned the room. 

She looked completely at ease, but her eyes told another story. There was something more than desire behind them. Adoration. Reverence. Worship.

You’d gone out with some of the girls after the final set, but it wasn’t long before lingering thoughts and that magnetic pull brought you back to the older woman.

You didn’t need to say a word when you stepped inside. She was already looking at you, eyes tracing the curve of your figure as you closed the door, and locked it behind you.

The silence between you was thick, almost tangible, as if the entire room had been holding its breath. 

There was something about it. The stillness, the tension, the quiet way she waited for you. It was too tempting to pass up.

“Stay right there,” you coaxed, voice soft but commanding.

Her brows arched, intrigued, but she didn’t question you. She stayed exactly where she was, while her gaze followed your every move.

You swayed to the corner, dimmed the lights to a sultry haze, and turned on the speaker. The light, smoky pulse of music filled the space, slow and inviting. 

You moved deliberately, feeling the weight of her eyes on you. You peeled off your jacket first, then your top, every motion slow and teasing, letting her watch the way your body shifted.

You’d performed for countless people, but this? This was different. This was for her.

When you stepped out of your heels, the soft click of them meeting the floor seemed to echo louder than it should’ve. You let your hands trail down your body, savoring the way her eyes devoured each exposed inch of skin.

By the time you reached the last piece, the charge in the air was almost unbearable. You could feel it, the anticipation, the ache of restraint.

She was so still, so composed, but you could hear her breath quickening. You were close enough now to see her falter, to see the tightening of her fingers at her sides as she fought to stay contained.

You took a final step toward her, moving in close, straddling her lap without hesitation.

The coolness of her shirt against your bare skin sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your hands find her face, resting your forehead against hers with your lips just inches apart.

“You like the show?” you whispered, your voice deliberately hushed.

Her fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, as if she couldn’t wait another second.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she breathed, her voice rough with want.

You kissed her like a promise. She touched you like she believed it.

— — — — —

But not all good things can stay uncomplicated.

The first real sign of trouble came from Lilia.

You’d just come out of rehearsal when she called you into her office with a look that said this wasn’t a performance note.

Her lipstick was half faded, her posture tight, and the air smelled like perfume and panic. She didn’t offer you a seat.

“We’re down again,” she said quietly, spreading a stack of papers across her desk. “Tourists are thinning out. Liquor sales are holding, but rent’s gone up again, and we’re not booking private parties like we used to.”

You stared at the numbers, but they didn’t register. Just black ink on white paper and something cold settling behind your ribs. 

“What does that mean?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

Lilia exhaled through her nose, glanced at the ceiling like she might find a miracle up there, then looked you dead in the eyes. “It means if something doesn’t change soon, we’ve got three months. Maybe.”

The silence stretched between you, full of dread and unspoken realizations. From outside, you could hear the clinking of set pieces being moved and the sound of heels clicking across the floor. 

The world still turned like it didn’t know how close it was to ending.

Still, Lilia smoothed her skirt, stood a little taller, and smiled like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Go. Get your beauty rest. I’ll worry about this part.”

But you did worry.

You started to notice everything. Every slow night, every empty stool at the bar, every round that didn’t get refilled. 

You danced harder, sang more, took encore after encore just to keep the room alive a little longer. You even offered to take a pay cut. 

Lilia had shut that down immediately, her voice firm even as her hands trembled. “We’ll figure it out,” she said. But you weren’t so sure.

And then, you asked her if you could sing “Bound to You”.

You chose it because it wasn’t a tease, it was truth.

She studied you in silence, her eyes searching your face like she was reading between the lines of who you were and what you were becoming. Then, she gave a single, solemn nod.

That night, the lights dimmed like a curtain being drawn on the world, and the crowd fell still.

You stepped onto the stage in satin and shadows, a floor-length green dress clinging like a second skin. Your red lipstick was as bright as your bleeding heart, your hair was curled and pinned up, and a single white flower was tucked behind your ear.

You didn’t dance. You just stood there, bare in a way you’d never let yourself be before, and let the first note slide from your throat like a secret.

Your voice trembled, then steadied, rich with longing and devotion. It was the kind of sound that didn’t beg for attention, but earned it.

You sang like you meant every word. Because you did.

“I found someone I can trust And boy, I believe in us

Can’t you see that I’m bound in chains? I’ve finally found my way I am bound to you”

Agatha sat in the front row that night. Not hidden in her usual booth, but right in the open. She was staring up at you like she’d stopped breathing somewhere in the first verse.

You knew what you felt, and you weren’t hiding it anymore.

The song had always carried weight, ached with surrender, but something about your voice made it sacred. 

You weren’t just singing to her. You were giving her something. Laying your heart at her feet.

By the time the final note faded, the room was silent. Like they’d all been holding their breath right along with you. Then, the applause came, thunderous and full. But it sounded distant, like it belonged to a different time.

All you could hear was the beat of your own heart as you walked offstage, searching for her in the dark.

You didn’t have to look far.

She caught you in the hallway, grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward her like everything might shatter if she didn’t. Her eyes were wrecked, lips parted, and she yanked you into a storage room, slamming the door behind you.

She kissed you like the world was ending and you were the only thing left that mattered.

You spent the night tangled in her sheets. Your limbs wrapped around each other like ivy, her mouth pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, her voice a low murmur against your ear.

The air smelled like sandalwood and something sweeter now, something that belonged to the two of you.

Later, she pulled out an old camera. It was vintage, with worn leather around the edges, the kind that clicked and whirred with weight.

“Let me keep you like this,” she said softly, brushing your hair from your face.

She clicked the shutter, smiled down at the image she'd captured, and took another before you could think too much about it.

You hid your face in the pillows at first, laughing shyly, but then she started to slow down. She started carefully framing the shots, tucking a curl behind your ear and pulling the sheets just how she wanted them. 

The click of the camera became a rhythm, broken only by the sound of her breath catching.

It was intimate. Gentle. Real. A kind of quiet worship you hadn’t expected.

You smiled, fluttery and warm, as her eyes studied you like art, like a muse, like something she thought she’d never have.

You laughed again when she leaned down and hummed something sinful in your ear, her fingers teasing the sheet lower down your chest, her smirk full of heat and adoration.

“Just for me,” she whispered, eyes full of something rare. Maybe even love.

You reached up and tangled your fingers through her hair, pulling her in again. She kissed you, slow and aching, like she had all the time in the world to learn every inch of you.

Then, the front door opened.

The sound cracked the moment wide open. You sat up fast, the blanket clutched to your chest. Agatha froze at the edge of the bed, camera halfway to her face, her body still humming with the aftermath of affection.

A moment later, Rio stepped into the room like it was hers, like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Keys still dangling from her fingers, her eyes moved from you, flushed and tangled in the sheets, to Agatha, stunned and wearing nothing but a T-shirt.

“Well, this is cozy,” she said, voice laced with venom.

You blinked, heart pounding in your ears. “What—?”

Agatha was on her feet instantly. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rio?”

“I have a key,” Rio replied, like she was discussing the weather. Unbothered. Almost bored.

“Well, you shouldn’t have it anymore.” Agatha snapped, incredulous.

"You gave it to me," Rio bit back, then let her gaze flick to you, assessing as if she was seeing you for the first time. "Wow, she’s young."

Something inside you shriveled at her tone, the casual cruelty of it all. You pulled the sheet tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from the shame blooming across your skin.

Your face was still warm from Agatha’s kisses, but now it burned with something else. Embarrassment. Doubt.

“I should go,” you said quietly. Your voice barely made it past the lump in your throat. You shifted off the bed, eyes scanning the floor in search of your clothes.

“No,” Agatha replied quickly, moving in front of you and blocking your path before you could reach your dress. “Don’t. Please.”

You looked at her, torn between confusion and heartbreak. “What is this?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said, eyes frantic. Her voice was no longer smooth, no longer effortless.

“I know it looks bad, but she doesn’t live here. She barely ever did. She just… never gave back the key. I didn’t know she’d—I meant to—”

Rio scoffed from the doorway. “She meant to. Sure."

“Get the fuck out, Rio,” Agatha growled, something vicious flashing in her tone.

Rio just arched a brow, her mouth curling into a wicked little smirk. Then, with deliberate slowness, she unhooked the key from her ring and let it fall. It hit the hardwood with a sharp clatter that echoed through the room.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your newest little project,” she remarked coolly.

She gave you one last look, something between pity and poison, then turned and walked out. The door slammed behind her so hard it made the walls shake.

You flinched, taking a step back and folding your arms tight over your chest.

“Project?” you repeated, your voice cracking.

Agatha turned to you, panicked. “No. God, no. You are not—don’t let her twist this. What you and I have... it’s real. I never lied to you.”

You wanted to believe her. But your chest was too tight, and your skin felt too thin. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at once.

“Then why does she still have a key?” you asked, each word trembling. “Why did she just walk in here like it was nothing?”

Agatha reached for your face, gentle but desperate. Her eyes, always so confident, were brimming with fear now. 

“Because it is nothing,” she insisted, voice rough. “Because she is nothing. I didn’t think she’d come back. I swear I wasn’t hiding anything.”

You looked past her to the spot where Rio had stood, feeling overwhelmed. It was all there—the lingering tension, the messy history neither of them had explained, the camera still lying on the sheets like a reminder of what had just been.

“I just need to think,” you whispered. “I need to breathe.”

This time, Agatha didn’t try to stop you. She just watched as you dressed in silence and gathered your things. She followed you to the door, somehow looking both powerful and utterly lost.

“I meant it,” she said quietly. “Every word.”

You paused, your hand on the doorknob.

“I just don’t know what to believe right now.”

The door clicked shut behind you.

The next couple days were a blur of second guessing and silence. You didn’t know what to think. Were things between Agatha and Rio ever really over? The way Rio looked at her said no. The way Agatha watched you leave said yes.

Everything felt real with Agatha, but you can’t help but dwell on the fact that she’s done this all before—with Rio. You want to believe you’re special, that you mean something to her, but the doubt creeps in anyway.

How long had they been together? Why did she leave? Did she leave? Or was it Rio who called things off? You could’ve asked. You should have asked. But you hadn’t wanted to break the spell.

You tried to shut it out. You curled up on the couch with your thoughts, wrapping yourself in a blanket that didn’t smell like her. That’s where Alice found you a few days later.

“You’re a mess without her,” she declared. “Go talk to her. Or don’t. But don’t let Rio win by default.”

In the end, it was Agatha who showed up. 

The storm had rolled in sometime after midnight, with rain lashing at the windows and thunder cracking above the city.

You heard a frantic knock and opened the door to find her there—soaked, cheeks flushed, hair plastered to her skin. She blinked the rain from her lashes but didn’t step inside.

You pulled her in without a word, scrambling to find a towel, to help, to do something. She quickly caught your wrist and stilled you.

“Don’t,” she murmured, low and unsteady, but determined. “Just… listen.”

Her hand was warm despite the rain. Her eyes were searching your face with a desperation that made your heart ache. It takes a moment, but when she finally speaks up, she almost sounds fearful.

“You really think I’d sneak around with her? After everything?” Her voice cracked in disbelief. “You think I’d just let you walk away like this was all nothing?”

You couldn’t answer yet. Not with fear and pride knotted so tight around your ribs.

“I gave her that key years ago. I didn’t even know she still had it.” The words tumbled out now, soaked in truth. “If I’d thought she was ever planning on using it again, I would have taken it from her myself.” 

Her hands gripped yours, tight. 

“You scare the shit out of me, you know that? You walk into my life and suddenly I’m not just playing a game anymore. I care.” She paused, eyes locked on yours. “I care.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. And I sure as hell don’t want to lose you because of something I didn’t even do.”

You look at her, really look, and suddenly all the noise in your head goes quiet. There’s no hiding, no mask. Just the truth. Her feelings for you are right there, raw and unflinching.

And then—

A single tear slips down her cheek.

It stuns you.

Agatha Harkness doesn’t cry. You’ve seen her pissed off, guarded, cocky as hell—but never this. Never so undone. Never so vulnerable.

It says more than her words ever could.

You reach up slowly and cradle her face between your palms, your forehead pressing to hers like an answer. No, you hadn’t walked away for good. You’re still here. And that meant something.

You move to brush the tear away but her voice stops you, barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

You froze. Your eyes searched hers, waiting for the punchline, but there was none. She wasn’t joking. She was shaking.

And then you were crying, tears spilling over before you could stop them. Your breath caught in your chest and suddenly you were in her arms, wrapped around her like you never wanted to let go.

“I love you too,” you sobbed.

Relieved. Scared. But certain.

Neither of you were going anywhere.

Finally, that truth settled between you both, unshakable.

— — — — —

Unfortunately, the club didn’t heal just because you did.

The stage lights never looked the same after that conversation with Lilia. You tried to smile for the audience like nothing was wrong, but backstage, the tension was a living thing. 

Girls started whispering about side gigs and backup plans. Costumes weren’t getting replaced when they tore. The drinks got weaker. The smiles got thinner.

One night, you caught Alice and Billy hunched together at the vanity, shoulders tight.

“She’s not saying it,” Alice murmured, “but I think Lilia’s out of cash. We haven’t been paid in full for weeks. Just partials and promises.”

Billy lined his eyes with a practiced hand, his voice dry. “If something doesn’t change soon, we’re gonna be stripping on sidewalks and praying for tips.”

They looked at you then, and you saw the worry they couldn’t joke away anymore.

Agatha noticed, because of course she did. She saw through everything. 

One night, she pulled you into her car before you could even make it to your dressing room. The leather was still warm from the heat of the day, the scent of her cigarettes curling in the air between you.

“How bad is it?” she asked, her voice low.

You didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “Bad.”

“And Lilia hasn’t asked me for help?”

You shook your head. “She’s proud.”

“She’s foolish.” Agatha rolled her eyes.

“She built this place from nothing,” you said, watching headlights sweep past the windshield. “She doesn’t want to sell her soul to save it.”

Agatha turned to you, her voice quieter. “I could help her keep it.”

You gave her a look. “Not everything can be fixed with money.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “But some things can. I just… I don’t want you thinking I’m throwing cash at her to keep you around.”

That stopped you. You turned to her fully, and reached for her hand.

“I’m with you because I love you, Agatha. Not because of what you can give me.” You trace absentminded shapes across her palm in reassurance.

She smiled at that, something softening behind her eyes. “Then let me do this. For you, but also for the club. Because it’s apart of you now.”

Still, Lilia wouldn’t budge.

So, Agatha got creative.

She showed up one night carrying a sleek notepad and a pen that looked far too fancy for the occasion. Without a word, she sat down in the seat next to the owner and refused to move. Not during the set and not after. 

Lilia glared at her like she was ready to throw her out, but Agatha just sipped her drink like she had all the time in the world.

“What do you want?” The older woman snapped once the curtain closed.

“To help,” Agatha responded. “No strings. No debts.”

“And what do you get?”

“A thriving business. A seat at the bar. A reason to keep spending my nights here.”

Lilia narrowed her eyes. “You in love with her or something?” 

She tipped her chin toward the stage where you stood with Billy, laughing as he added rhinestones to your costume with a glue gun and a wink.

Agatha didn’t even blink. “Yeah. I am.”

That cracked something open. 

Lilia didn’t smile, didn’t soften, but the heat behind her stare dimmed just enough. Like some invisible test had been passed.

She exhaled slowly, muttered something about “damn fools and dangerous women,” and went back to her clipboard like Agatha wasn’t singlehandedly saving her club with her American Express.

Within a week, papers were signed behind closed doors. Agatha never took public credit, never bragged. But the changes came quickly, subtly. 

Costumes were replaced. Lighting was fixed. Drinks tasted like they were supposed to again. There were even plans for new marketing—tasteful flyers, a glossy website.

Everything had turned. Bit by bit, the place came back to life.

And then came the grand reopening.

There was a big number—original, bold, unforgettable. Billy wrote the lyrics late at night over wine and cheap indian food, while Alice had composed the arrangement between her own shifts at the bar. You were the heart of it, of course. 

The whole club came alive that night. The girls twirled like smoke and fire. Alice played like she was born to. Billy sang harmony alongside you, grinning like he knew you were going to change everything.

Rio didn’t show. 

Not for that, not when your face took over a billboard on Sunset Blvd, and not even when the club got featured in a magazine spread titled “Where Legends Begin.”

You still thought of her sometimes. 

What she meant. What she tried to break. What she warned you about.

How wrong she’d been.

Agatha didn’t eat you alive. She didn’t try to own you.

She loved you. Deep and full and real.

She still took your picture sometimes. In bed, on stage, in your garden she surprised you with. 

Her camera was full of your laughter, your tears, your triumphs.

You danced like the world was on fire. She waited like she would gladly burn for you.

And every night, when the curtain fell, you ran straight into her arms.

Into whatever came next.

[seat-safety-switch]

As you may be aware by now, I have a sort of disorder. This problem manifests primarily by getting bored with anything I'm doing, and then abandoning it in favour of making a gasoline-powered death machine in the garage. It's been an awkward problem in the past, because society simply does not acknowledge "fuck this dull shit" as being an actual disability, because of the toxic influence of Big Boring. Weddings, trips to the aquarium, birthday parties, arrests, and funerals have all been ruined by this impulse.

Lots of psychiatrists have thought that this may lie at the root of my anti-social behaviour. I drove through that shopping mall simply because I wanted to get back to wrenching, they think. That's a facile and, dare I say, convenient excuse for my actions. Makes me really wonder if the court is getting decent value out of ordering the appointment of these lazy simpletons.

In actual fact, driving through a shopping mall using a heavily-modified dune buggy requires intense focus and concentration. It was also not in any way "boring," which you can easily verify for yourself with a nearby commerce centre and any motorized vehicle. If I wanted to work on one of my shitboxes at the mall, I would simply do so in the parking lot like I usually do, pouring the waste oil and coolant into the decorative fountain inside the Abercrombie and/or Fitch.

That said, their strident denials of responsibility for my own actions have been very convenient. At the last session, they gave me a little card that I can flash, explaining to regular people that I have a problem and they should be nice to me. Then I can just walk away from an awkward social situation, and get started replacing a control arm or whatever the problem is this week. Believe you me, I busted that mother out immediately during the trial, and even the judge was a little bit jealous that I was getting out of that dull shit.

[pixierainbows]

Pixie really want this new video game Hello kitty island adventure . but . not “ out “ until March 25th . and . guardian Wizard say can get then . but Pixie want it now …

Time too complicated for Pixie , not understand how it possible time passes . when . today right now is all the time there is . and . Nothing else real .

Pixie have money card . but . still not can get new game now . to Pixie that mean never can get game because Pixie not can believe in future time . Pixie try but just not possible .

sad Pixie really really want not have many games can play Pixie . either too violent or too complex , need too much fine motor control , Pixie not like killing even in a game not real life is disturbing .

[autisticvelo]

id: a 5x5 bingo game labelled “higher support needs autism”, there are some orange details by the caption, as well as an orange arrow with text “@ autisticvelo” pointing towards the ‘t’ tumblr icon at the bottom. the squares are described from left to right, starting on the top row: ‘constant infantilisation’, ‘used to / does elope’, is / was in special education’, need(ed) 1:1 help in school’, restrictive & intense interests’. 2nd row: ‘on disability benefits’, ‘needs help with some or most / all iADLs’, ‘nonverbal / semiverbal (or long-term struggle with speech’, ‘developmental delays / abnormalities’, ‘has / needs a caregiver’. 3rd row: ‘violent meltdowns’, ‘needs help with some or most / all bADLs’, ‘free space (golden infinity sign)’, ‘comorbid physical disability’, ‘gets verbal shutdowns’. 4th row: ‘struggles with hygiene’, ‘assumed to be LSN’, ‘can’t live alone / requires great support’, ‘poor motor skills, ‘comorbid mental illness’. bottom row: ‘sensory seeking / avoidant’, ‘has ID / mild ID / BID’, uses AAC of some kind’, ‘poor saliva control / drools’, ‘won’t ever be independent’. end id

🧡 INFO:

• first point: if anything here is hard to read, let me know and i will simplify it for you, i do not mind.

• if you are able to, please copy the image description i’ve provided above into your post if you repost the bingo game to make it more accessible to visually impaired folks / screen reader users etc. !!

• this is made to include people who are somewhere between L-MSN and HSN, i’m hoping i’ve gotten some things right that many experience, but also remember that these might not be exclusive to HrSN autistic people but in combination with each other they are very common for HrSN autistics.

• if you have feedback on if i got something wrong, i’d like to know so i can learn more and do better next time!

• if a box kind of fits you, it’s okay to count it i think, example: if you are not nonverbal or semiverbal but struggle long term with speech, it’s okay to cross that one. i did add some notes in some boxes.

• i wasn’t completely sure on what terms to use for ID + mild ID and borderline ID, if anything is wrong, please tell me! i’m still trying to learn more so i can be inclusive.

• last point, if you struggle with image descriptions it is okay to tag me and i will write one for you! i am often able to write them even if words are hard and i don’t mind.

🧡 MINE:

id: the same bingo card as described above, with the following boxes coloured in orange (left to right, starting on the top row): ‘used to elope’, ‘need(ed) 1:1 help in school’, ‘restrictive and intense interests’. 2nd row: ‘on disability benefits’, ‘needs help with most/all iADLs’, ‘(or long-term struggle with speech)’, ‘developmental abnormalities’, ‘needs a caregiver’. 3rd row: ‘violent meltdowns’, ‘needs help with some bADLs’, ‘free space (golden infinity symbol)’, ‘comorbid physical disability’, ‘gets verbal shutdowns’. 4th row: ‘struggles with hygiene’, ‘assumed to be LSN’, ‘requires great support (context: living situation)’, ‘comorbid mental illness’. bottom row: ‘sensory avoidant’, ‘uses AAC of some kind’, ‘won’t ever be independent’. end id

[mooyuun]

Caleb's Timeline. 🍎

A timeline post, so I can write little things that I liked about the cards, and their order.

Past time.

Decoherence. (Limited Myth Cards 5). i put the myth here and at the Future time section, because i think that the story of Lads is using a timeloop. So explanation in the future time section.

Borrowed Promise. (4) he really likes to do things for her, comically thinking about him carrying all the bags with that super thigh grandma jacket.

Summer’s Echo. (4)

Verified Rumor. (4) “honey” other of my fav voicelines

Pathless Realm. (Anecdote) if for some kind of magic or whatever MC doesn’t like Caleb, maybe Timothy can keep him 😆 their interaction makes a good plot for a BL school life shounen ai.

Stage Observer. (4) cutest memory, Caleb + microphone + MC = Hey everybody! I’m so in love that I will add this minute of how I’m happy to have MC in my life”. Also Caleb brain freezing when MC kissed him. 😂

Rain’s Embrace. (Bond Story affinity 5) “I’m gonna open it~~~” best voice line for me.

Longtime Yesterday. (4) i like that Caleb friends are so cool with MC too, there is some occasions sprinkled in some cards where Caleb's friends helps him to take care of MC and I think is cool because they acknowledge the importance that MC has in his life.

Skyline. (4) love that they both get anxious by the thought of the other getting a gf/bf, also so sweet that Caleb supports all MC dreams and how he says that he will take the responsibility so she can keep focusing in her dream of being a hunter.

Serpent's Cast (World Underneath). Not technically the past or totally focused on Caleb, but some info is before the main story, we know that EVER was watching Caleb for a long time. Also cool to see how serious is Caleb about MC security and how scary his evol is vs Viper.

Present time.

Under Deepspace chp. 1 (main story)

Under Deepspace chp. 4 (main story) he kabooms, and is cool to see how in the next chapters she gets an unhealthy obsession of discovering the reason of explosion, but he kabooms.

Serpent's Cast. (World Underneath) now we know that Caleb wasn't supposed to recieve all the blast of the explosion it was destined to kill MC and Grandma and damage him so he could be kidnapped, but of course since MC is important to him he concentrated the blast to him with his powers leaving his necklace there :,(. Also Mc is the girl EVER is searching so... a fast thinking of Caleb to protect her, it makes me think that grandma and Caleb, both, knew that keeping MC alive is the priority in every scenario. Also confirmed him being the subject 002 and so sad to see how he resist the ship, only in the lab he resisted it 429 times...

All Homecoming Wings. (main story) Is curious that Caleb, for now, is the motor of the main story. The reason of why she goes to all the adventures with the guys and now the reason of her investigation towards the chip, the little kid and Ever.

Endless Summer. (5) Caleb pls kiss MC already, MC nobody thinks that you actually had something in your eye girl…

Exclusive Aftertaste. (5) I think they kissed here, Caleb kinda changes course before fading to white, but the apple sound at the end also makes me think that they didn’t

Lucid Dream. (Permanent Myth Cards 5) someone rescue Caleb, poor boy is controlled by Ever and his only defense for now is a black hole in his own brain. Also MC matches his vibe, both of them are super attached to each other. Also poor MC, sadly she doesn’t have the big picture and she doesn’t understand that exposing herself in skyhaven means a future of deaths and torture. She usually doesn’t have good plans and is too hot headed in some occasions, at the end, the boys had to help/intervene to save her from death sometimes.

Hidden Waves. (5) MC finally tells him that he’s not alone and both can fight together, it seems that Caleb is realizing that he doesn’t need to do things alone.

Longtime Moments. (4) Both fight together, I think Caleb understands more that he doesn’t need to do everything for himself 🥹

Painful Signal. (5) MC is so furious that she’s trembling, go girl defend your boy!! Also Caleb is the meme lord and Gideon I luv u, I’m sad that people went without you in Valentine’s Day XD

Intertwined Gold. (4) the card that everybody thinks about since they talk about a kiss that we don’t know if is a future card or a card where it was implied. I love too how both of them are domestic already and how Caleb is like “she’s not bullied in her work right? 🤨”

Deceptive Solitude. (4) is really cool to see that Caleb helped MC to learn about how to shoot, it makes more clear how supportive of her dreams he is bcs he also offered to pay for her expenses so she can focus in her dream job (skyline card) also "lil sharpshooter" another nickname to our collection hihihi. I think this card is here bcs their relationship is waaay better that the akward intoduction of him to her friends + more confidence of MC to look at him naked lol.

Floating Floraletter. (5) infold couldn’t let us have a full happy card, right? But I actually like this one a lot, Caleb laugh is always loved 🥰 and this card is so important in the advancement of their relationship!! Now both of them knows that they need to enjoy the time that they have together at their fullest, no more times for little dances, no time for doubt, specially because both of them are always at death's door. Also Caleb looks ethereal in the card. (Also the kiss can be seen without the leaves blocking it, because sometimes you can see it when replaying the kindle, the wind seems to be generated at the moment so it will variate the leaves movements, so a win for us Caleb girlies!). imo. I don’t think that this card is before intertwined gold bcs they’re still hiding it from friends of MC and doesn’t make sense with the motto of living their love in the now.

No-Return Night. (5 Birthday Card 1). Ultra accurate name bcs oh boy, not only they totally confirmed their new mentality from Floating Floraletter, but they also did the horizontal tango, the devils dance and they fog the windows like whaaaat. Also a visible kiss without need to open and close the card like it happened in Floraletter (no gacha this time lol). Also MC is a precious confident woman she was hungry so she eat it yeah, the taps on the sofa from Caleb tells me that he was waiting for her to move and omg she moved and they moved. Of course this card is the point of no-return 100% confirmed relationship, not doubt.

Future Time.

Decoherence. (Limited Myth Cards 5) my favorite myth now, painful (chapter 1 already made me cry), knowing that their forces can destroy and create... also the story paralels how their life with EVER could be, so is a great card if you want to know about MC. Caleb as always, will sacrifice himself in the now and in the future and both are fated to destroy each other if they choose each other. Also it seems that Caleb really saw Philos and he knows about earth so for now this myth stays at the end of the timeline. But also the start since time is a loop between Philos and Earth She really choosed Caleb instead of going to Earth :,)

AU - Alternative Universe.

Tainted Cuts (5). the bad ending destroyed me, all the bad ends of the boys kinda parallels how a possible bad ending would be in main story. So thinking about how MC waited for him is too sad. Also we have a nest/bird reference like it happened in past cards with the seagulls and how it seems that MC abandoned the nest/disappeared, so maybe a reference for a future card or myth. At the end, if you go for the good ending, is fluff. This AU with Caleb didn’t feel dangerous, he is so mentally restrained that MC was not afraid of him and when he actually bites her, he runs (imo he literally trows himself to danger so he can die, because he’s so scared that he hurt her that I think he preferred to die than to live with the knowledge that he almost kills her 🥲)

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

when u look at nonverbal nonspeaking people diagnose with severe/profound intellectual disability you see roughly 2 group people:

1. people who it misdiagnosis because severe global apraxia motor issues make it impossible/near impossible mouth speak (at all or reliably). n difficulty control movement from that mean usual method of teach usual AAC not meet needs, make usual neuropsych etc assessment results unreliable because so much of it depend on reliable motor control, n unreliable movements often fit people assumption about what ID look like. but ultimately it not a intellectual/cognitive problem (many of them typical or high intelligence), it a global motor problem n it a speech problem (which for them is motor problem) not language problem.

2. people whose severe profound ID correct diagnosis & they nonverbal minimally verbal because language problem (n possibly speak motor problem but you need language first before think about mouth speak) because cognitive intellectual problem.

both group definitely exist. have seen people say group 1 not exist they all fake or faked by hopeful caregivers n clinicians, only group 2 exist. have also seen people say group 2 not exist, what you think of group 2 is all actually group 1 all of them. n both of them wrong

but base on how group 1 talk about how entire life they been assumed be group 2, both look similar enough under how developmental disabilities currently be understand n treated by professionals

2 group have some distinct n contradictory needs. group 1 want inclusion programs not segregated programs want same hardness education as nondisabled peers want be talked to n treated as same as cognitively able peers bc they cognitively abled, not 1+1 drills or “how cook” at school because assumed not able understand academics. they want communication methods that actually work with body with motor.

but if give same thing to group 2 it unhelpful at best n harmful/more frustrating n so cause more “challenging behaviors” - be taught things they will never understand because that what severe profound ID means, n be constantly surround by complicated thing dont understand n expect to do complicated thing dont understand is frustrating n they no way communicate that other than behaviorally. they often medically complex in way only have limited amount time n energy n brain slots to learn so it better teach them stuff that they may actually realistically use, like very basic daily life skills. communication support for them look like language development support n maybe communicate basic wants n needs via picture cards, n some them may never progress beyond answer basic question like what want eat with 1 maybe 2 picture cards, not to mention long phrases grammar sentences. some may not understand high tech AAC well enough to use. it not judgement it just realistic life for many.

n if give those to group 1 people, which many group 1 people got, my god it endlessly frustrating too

but. don’t know how tell apart group 1 from 2 beyond group 1 people say they group 1 (which, many group 1 people at parts of life not able do that bc motor). motor tests depend on cognitive intellectual understanding instructions, n cognitive intellectual testing depend on motor. “listen” n “presume competence” all true but idk how give what each group need without accident put them in other group n so give them “support” they not need. am not going be single person solve this but all scenario come up in head feel always there at least one reason fail. always fear that.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[fanficsforfun]

Just another day (or not)

Pairing: Merle Dixon x female reader

Era: pre-apocalypse/no apocalypse AU

Word count: 4,9k

Warnings: shooting, nudity, mild language

Summary: Your boring day becomes a lot more interesting once you meet Merle. (Reader is mentioned to drive a car, having shot before, and not to know too many card games.)

Author's note: This is nothing but a fluff, which is something I have wanted to write for Merle for ages but haven't been able to

---

You were bored out of your mind. It was weekend, but you had nothing to do. Nothing. Just sitting around the house, trying to figure out some way to entertain yourself. Unfortunately, you had no success in that. You didn’t feel like reading, there wasn’t any interesting movies out there, household chores was the last thing you’d want to do. Eventually you grew tired of it, so you decided to go for a drive. It was better than nothing and besides, there was a nice weather.

You changed into clothes you’d dare wear outside the house, grabbed your keys and headed out. A gentle wind swept over your skin on your way to the car. You hopped in, started the engine and started driving. You had nowhere to go, so you drove around aimlessly. Just here and there, around the outskirts of the city, until you needed to take a toilet break. You spotted a gas station’s sign after having driven just a couple of minutes, so you headed there. It turned out not to be the neatest place. The asphalt in the parking lot had potholes, and the dirty white wall tiles of the building were cracked in places. The big windows hadn't been washed in ages, the colors were faded. Inside, it smelled like a mixture of coffee, fast food and motor oil. Not too bad, if not too good either. You could live with that.

After having taken care of your business, you figured you could take a coffee or something now that you were there already. It wasn’t like you’d need to be someplace else anyways. So you did just that. A coffee and a sandwich, seven dollars. Tolerable. You settled on a table by the window, slowly drinking your coffee and taking bites of the sandwich while looking outside. The air conditioner was humming in the background, and some of the other customers chatted with each other. It was all calm, with occasional drivers stopping to tank and then leaving. A passenger car. Another passenger car. A pickup truck. Yet another passenger car. Then a truck, but it didn’t come for the gas. The truck driver headed to the toilet, after which he bought a pack of cigarettes and left. Blaah. It must have been the most boring day of your life.

By the time the truck drove off the parking lot, you were nearly done with your snack. Just after a moment, however, the sound of a motorbike caught your attention. You couldn’t tell which kind it was, but that wasn’t that important. The driver though… he was something else. Or, well, he was just like any other guy around there, middle-aged, average height, fit but not in a way one would look if they hit the gym. He had short, brown hair and was wearing a pair of cargo pants, a white wife beater and a shabby jacket pulled over it. But still… He didn’t look half bad. Even if you shouldn't, you had followed his way over the parking lot to the door, and let your eyes wander over him when he entered and walked over to the counter. 

“Gimme a beer an’ a hot dog or somethin'”, he said to the guy at the counter. Then he turned around, leaning into the counter and glanced around the place. There were some truckers or whatever there, and you. And you had been staring him, the whole time. He didn’t seem to mind it though. He gave you a smirk and winked when you blushed at the embarrassment of getting caught like that. You quickly turned your gaze away and tried to keep your smile under control. Wow. The day had just become a whole lot more interesting!

The man eyed you with curiosity while waiting for his hot dog. It didn’t take that long, but it felt like eternity. You could feel his eyes on you, and you had to fight the urge to look back at him. He paid, grabbed his stuff and, to your surprise, walked over to your table.

“Hey there, sugar”, he smirked and sat across from you, placing the beer bottle on the table but keeping the hot dog in his hand.

You were taken aback by his boldness. The way he just casually sat there had surprised you, so your reply came late and a bit hesitant: “Um… hi.”

“You got a name?” He asked you while taking a bite of the hot dog.

You swallowed before introducing yourself. You didn’t quite dare to look at him openly since you had just been staring at him, so you only glanced at him bashfully. You were both flattered and baffled by his attention, and a bit cautious. Not that he’d seem dangerous though, just cocky. Acting like he'd own the whole damn town. He seemed to find your behavior merely amusing. Unlike you, he introduced himself confidently. Merle was his name.

“So… what’s the deal with ya? Seemed like ya couldn’t take yer eyes off me”, he teased.

“Um…”, you tried. You didn’t know how to answer. True, you had been staring at him, so there was no point in denying it but you weren’t the kind of person to go admit such a thing out loud. “I just… well.”

Merle laughed. “Mhm. My stunning demeanor got ya all mixed up, huh? Can’t even find words, can ya?”

“Pfft”, you huffed, but couldn’t help but smile. Cocky indeed. You had merely been curious. Merle grinned at you and took a sip of his beer. “What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this anyway? Don’t look like this is quite yer element.”

“I was just driving around, and wanted to take a break, that’s all”, you replied, playing with the plastic wrapping of your sandwich while your eyes flickered over him. This guy was a mystery. Yet you’d lie if you’d say you didn’t find him interesting.

“Drivin’ around, huh? Ya seen anything interestin’ out there?”

“Not really”, you shook your head. “Just the road. Cars. Buildings. Threes. Fields. That’s what it is here.”

“Mhm…” After a moment of silence, Merle asked: “How come yer alone? Surely a pretty thing like ya has some company. Friends, boyfriend, something…”

“I do have friends, yeah”, you replied. “No one just happens to be free today, or around.”

“That’s a shame. Such a lovely day and yer all alone in some shitty gas station.”

You shrugged, the look on your face somewhere between resigned and indifferent. The gesture, the little smile and slightly raised eyebrows, was an universal way to say ‘it is what it is’.

“Call it yer lucky day then. Ya got yerself great company right here”, Merle teased, opening his arms to draw attention to him.

You smiled and huffed softly. Okay. He wasn’t half bad. You’d accept his company, why not? So you two kept chatting, mostly just small talk. Who are you, what’s going on in your life, how the rise of the gas price sucks, etc. You even ended up complaining to him how you had nothing to do for the whole weekend and how bored you had been. That seemed to caught his attention.

“Ain't got nothin’ to do? That’s easy to fix."

"Yeah?" You asked.

“Yeah. Ya come with me and I promise ya won’t be bored no more.”

That you hadn’t expected. You looked surprised, your fingers stopping to play with the wrapping. For a moment you actually were left speechless. This dude really was forthcoming, wasn’t he?

“Don’t have to if ya don’t want to”, Merle said when he noticed your hesitation, but then added with a grin on his face. “I just figured, since yer free and seemed to be into me…”

“I, uh… Okay”, you made the decision on a whim. You didn’t have anything to do, so what the heck?

“That's my girl” He grinned. Then he stuffed the rest of his hot dog into his mouth, swung the beer down and then looked at you. “Alright. Let’s go have some fun.”

You stood up and followed him away from the table, dropping your trash in the trash bin on your way out. Your heart was beating fast, and your breaths had become heavier. You weren’t usually this daring, and quite frankly, you were wondering what on earth had gotten into you. Were you really leaving with some stranger??

“Ya wanna hop on or drive yerself?” Merle asked, spinning the keys of his bike around his finger.

You glanced at him. No helmet. Plus you didn’t even know him. Not really. Too risky, you decided, but out loud you said: “I'd rather drive.”

An amused expression spread on his face. “Don't trust me?" 

"I don't trust the traffic. And you don't even have a helmet! I mean, I'd rather keep my brain inside my skull, thank you very much."

That earned a grin from him. “Well, suit yerself.”

He got on his bike and waited until you got to your car. You drove towards him, and that's when he fired it up and drove slowly to the turnout, looking back to check if you were following. And you were.

You felt both nervous and excited over this. It wasn’t exactly your style to go along with a stranger like this, but he seemed okay. So you put the radio on and searched for a music channel, to set the mood, and to distract yourself in order to keep your nerves under control. You did know there were risks in trusting someone you didn’t know, but you had been so damn bored that you’d go with anything. Well, maybe not literally, but you really needed something to do. And besides, you had chatted with him for an hour or so before he asked you to go with him. That was long enough to figure if someone was to be trusted or not, you reasoned. He didn’t seem like trouble, after all, just bold and smug.

The drive wasn’t that long, and soon enough you found yourself from some kind of a leisure site. There was a corrugated iron shed with a table, some chairs and a grill. There also were parts of vehicles and perforated target marks all over the place, but by no means in a state of disarray. You could tell one area was for repair work, and another for shooting. And there was some guy working on his car. They greeted each other as Merle parked his bike on a spot that kinda looked like a space meant for that. Merle hopped off his bike, dropped his coat on the saddle and unbuckled one of the saddlebags to take with him. You parked your car next to his bike, killed the engine and got out. 

“Where are we?” You asked, looking around, cautiously glancing at the other guy there.

“This? Just a boys’ playground”, Merle laughed. Then he noticed your expression and added: “He’s my lil’ brother, don’t mind him.”

“Oh, okay”, you replied, and offered the other man a little smile. He replied with a little smile of his own, but seemed rather reserved. More interested in his own business than you. Not that you’d really mind.

“Ya ever shot?” Merle suddenly asked.

“A few times, yeah.”

“Well, look at that. Ya interested? Or we can just go swim, there’s a pond down there”, Merle suggested, nodding in the other direction from the target marks.

“What? Like, skinny dipping?” You asked, but then his first idea overrode the first one. “You got a gun?”

Merle said nothing, but opened the saddlebag and took out a 1911 pistol. You raised your eyebrows. Considering the surroundings, it shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still did.

“It’s alright, I ain't some murderer or somethin’”, he assured you in a teasing tone, and then added: “I've been in the army.”

You nodded. Okay, so he knew his way around guns. Good to know. “Well, okay. Shooting’s fine.”

“Alright…”, Merle said more to himself than you while walking over to the table, placing the gun and a box of ammo there, and then picking up some clear shooting targets. You followed him to the table and sat down on its edge, watching Merle putting the targets up. Then he got back to you.

“So… gun safety. Don’t point the gun at me. Or at my brother or yerself. It’s no toy, I don’t want anyone to die here. The safety’s on, but don’t trust it, okay? And keep yer finger off the trigger until yer ready to shoot”, Merle explained. Then he grabbed a pair of earmuffs and handed them over to you. “Might wanna put these on if ya don’t wanna go deaf.”

You nodded, and did just that. Merle loaded the gun and handed it over to you. You stood up and took it a bit hesitantly. It wasn’t your first time shooting, but you were by no means an experienced shooter. You swallowed and glanced over at Merle. He noticed your grip of the gun was a bit loose, and so he corrected you: “Grab it properly, would ya? No need to hold it like a damn lead crystal, it won’t break.”

A small smile crossed your face, and you took a better hold of the gun. 

“Okay.” Merle nodded towards the closest target. “Try that one.”

You walked closer, so that you were standing at the edge of the concrete floor of the shed. Merle followed right at your heels. The target was about 15 feet away. Not that far, but you weren’t too sure if you’d manage to hit it. You took a deep breath, and held the gun up with both of your hands.

“Remember to switch off the safety”, Merle reminded you. When you hesitated, he reached out and did it on your behalf. Then, without warning, his hand landed on your waist, firm and steady. You could feel the warmth through your shirt, and suddenly you were really aware of how close he was.

“Relax", he prompted. "Keep yer both eyes open. The gun is an extension of yer arm. It don't differ much from pointing with a finger. Just like you’d be pointing the target with yer finger, point it with the gun. It ain't that hard.”

You nodded, took another deep breath, and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked and the boom of the gunshot rippled over the landscape. You had reflexively squeezed your eyes shut, albeit just for a moment. When you opened them, you saw that you hadn't even hit the target.

Merle grinned when you lowered the gun. “Don't ya worry, honey. Aim a little lower, that’ll help counter the effect of recoil.”

“Okay”, you replied, and tried again. You held out your arms, did your best to aim better and fired the gun. This time a hole appeared in the edge of the target. A smile spread across your face as you turned towards Merle. “I did it!”

Merle quickly placed his free hand on yours to keep you from pointing the gun in the wrong direction, but grinned. “Hey, watch it! I was serious with not wantin' anyone to die here.”

“I... sorry”, you replied, blushing lightly. He had just warned you about being careful with the gun, and what you did? The opposite. You were half-surprised he didn’t take the gun away from you there and then.

“No need to get yer panties twisted. Just be careful, okay?” Merle brushed off your apology, and then added. “What are ya waitin’ for? Try again.”

You nodded and bit your lip as you got ready to shoot again. This time you managed to get a shot inside the circles, although you were still far away from the bull’s eye. You kept shooting for a few more rounds, but you didn't get particularly close to the black area, let alone the bull’s eye. And besides, your hands were starting to hurt. The gun wasn't exactly light, and the kick of the shots hurt your palms and wrists.

“Ya got enough of shooting?” Merle asked with an amused tone.

“Yeah”, you replied. When he reached out to take the gun from you, you massaged your palms. “Jeez, it hurts!”

Merle laughed. “Yer just sensitive.”

He then moved there where you had been standing before and aimed at the target further away, maybe at 35 feet. He casually fired the remaining bullets, which created a nice stack of holes at the centre. You went silent with astonishment, a surprised, admiring look on your face. 

“Damn”, you let out. 

Merle turned at you with a cocky grin on his face. “That was nothin’. I can hit the bull’s eye up at 75 feet.”

You shook your head in disbelief. 

“Wanna see?” 

“Yeah”, you were quick to agree. 

So Merle placed the gun back onto the table, grabbed a clean shooting target and went to put it up. It wasn’t quite 75 feet, more like 60, but the heck did you care. You wouldn’t even be able to hit the whole cardboard at that distance. He then came back, reloaded the magazine and went standing in the same place as before. He aimed carefully, and fired. A hole in the black spot in the middle of the target emerged. Merle fired two more times, all of them hitting the black area. You were in awe.

“There ya go”, he smirked. He left the gun at the table with safety on, went to grab the shooting target and brought it to you. One hit was right at the bull’s eye, the two others close to each other on the next circle. 

“Wow. Somebody can shoot”, you commented, giving him a smile.

“I’ve had some practice”, Merle replied. Then he continued: “Ya wanna watch me shoot some more or would ya rather we’d go swim?”

“Um…” The mere thought of being nude around such a new acquaintance made you nervous, but then again, it was warm weather, and taking a little dip would actually be nice. “Let’s go swim.”

“It’s gonna be a sundry though, we ain't got any towels or shit here.”

“I can live with that”, you replied. It wasn’t like it’d be the first time you had gone swimming extempore, with no swimsuit or towel. 

“Alright.” 

Merle put his gun and the ammo back in his saddlebag, and after that, led you down a narrow path through the trees to the pond. The sun peeked through the canopy, making the path be a play of light and shadows. It was quiet there, just the soft murmur of the trees and the singing of birds. Not even the sound of Merle's brother fiddling with his car reached the shore. The ground by the water was stamped hard between the pine trees, maybe by humans, or maybe it was just naturally like that. Near the water, there was a log one could sit on. Merle stopped by it and casually started stripping. You looked at him with a hint of surprise on your face. Well, he wasn’t a shy one.

“What?” He asked with amusement. “Haven’t ya ever seen a guy nude before?”

“Pfft”, you huffed. “Of course I have!”

“What’s with the look then?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing”, you shook your head with a smile. 

Merle laughed, seeming like it bothered him none that you were looking at him. You tried not to stare, of course, but you were curious. There were notable scars spotting his skin. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him. Were they war souvenirs, perhaps?

In no time he was nude, but you hadn't taken off anything yet.

“I didn’t figure ya were prude”, he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not”, you protested, but when Merle gave you a sceptical look, you sat down on the log to take off your shoes. Okay, let’s get it over with then. Unlike Merle, you turned your back towards him when you started to undress. Maybe he didn’t mind doing so in front of other people, but you weren’t as self-confident.

Once you got out of your clothes, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hide even some of your body. 

“Oh, come on! No need to be shy”, Merle said, his eyes traveling over you. 

“Hey..!” You warned, and so Merle’s gaze returned to your eyes, followed by an amused comment: “Oh? Ya like to admire me but don’t want me to return the favor?”

You rolled your eyes, and kept your arms wrapped around yourself when you walked to the water. The water felt cool against your skin, so you were slow moving in there. Merle watched you for a moment, before following you into the water. Not bothered by the temperature, he casually waded deeper.

“What’s the matter, girlie?” He teased. “Too cold for ya?”

“No, just takes a moment to get used to it.”

Merle grinned at that, having himself dove in the pond already. He was swimming in place, looking back at you. After a moment he called out: “Well? I’m waiting…”

“Give me a second, would you?” You asked, but your sentence ended in a shriek when Merle swam closer and splashed water on you. “Hey! That’s not funny!”

“Then why yer laughin’?” Merle questioned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“God..!” You let out, shivering, but since you were wet already, you took a deep breath and leaned forward before kicking yourself off the pond’s floor and swam. “Ew, it’s so cold!”

Merle only laughed at you. He didn’t think the water was cold, and even if he would have, it wouldn’t have bothered him. Not to mention that he would have acted all wimpy over it. He wasn’t like that.

“Oh, God”, you repeated, the cool water making your chest feel tight and skin tingle.

“Yer such a softie”, Merle teased.

“So what if I am?” You said back, with amusement in your voice.

Once you got used to the temperature, however, you dove as well. The cool water actually felt good against your bare skin, now that you had had time to adjust to it. When you came back to the surface, you flinched. Merle had kept some distance before, but now he was close. Really close. Not like, inappropriately close, but still.

“Jeez, Merle!” You let out.

“Oh no, did I scare ya?” Merle mocked you, but there was no mean edge in his voice. He was just messing around. 

“Yeah??”

Merle grinned, but backed off a bit. 

“I’m so sorry”, he continued to tease. “Didn’t think ya were such a scaredy cat.”

You shook your head and splashed water on him. “There you have your scaredy cat!”

“Oh, that means war!” 

Suddenly, there was a full-scale water war, coloured by squeals and laughter. You tried to protect yourself by turning your back towards Merle, but it didn’t do much, except maybe prevent some of the water going into your eyes. Not that you’d be totally helpless though. You swam a bit away from him, turned on your back and you kicked the water like you'd been swimming in your place. It caused a real water splash and earned a yelp from Merle. He did, however, manage to stop the attack by swimming towards you, ignoring the crash of water. You had to stop splashing and swim away so he couldn't grab you. You fled, giggling, and Merle never grabbed you.

Once you got out of the pond, your lips had already turned purple and you were trembling slightly. You tried your best to swipe the water off your skin in order to warm back up. 

“Hey, ya alright there, girlie?” Merle checked on you after having noticed your struggling.

“Yeah, yeah, just a bit cold.”

“That’s no good”, he stated. “Gotta get ya dried up.”

He then grabbed his shirt and used it like a towel to wipe off as much of the water as he could.

“Merle, what-”, you tried, but didn’t avoid the touch. After all, you knew very well the reason why one gets cold when coming out of the water is that the water evaporates from the skin and cools the body. The best solution to that problem is none other than drying, and using your hands wasn’t nearly as effective as the fabric was. And Merle knew that too.

“Can’t have ya freezing up, now can I?” He teased, running the makeshift towel over your arms.

“But… your shirt is getting wet!”

“So? It’ll dry.”

You huffed out a laugh. What could you have said to that? So you just let him finish drying you up. He was firm with it, and it would have been a lie to say that it didn’t actually feel quite nice.

“Alright, there we go…” Merle said, throwing the now damp shirt back to the log. “Better?”

“Mhm”, you hummed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Merle offered you a crooked smile and nodded towards your clothes. “Now get yer ass dressed before ya catch somethin’. Be damn shame if this trip left ya with pneumonia.”

"Oh, come on! I'm fine. It's warm out here", you huffed with a smile.

"Mhm, right. Yer lips have turned purple just for the hell of it then, eh?

You couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking your head. You knew he was right, even if he was exaggerating the risks. Besides, you weren't planning to spend the rest of the day nude anyway, so you weren't going to argue.

After you both had your clothes on (well, Merle didn’t put the damp shirt on, he just carried it in his hand), you walked back to the shed and sat by the table. Merle spread his shirt out to dry on the back of one of the chairs and then leaned back in his seat. You, on the other hand, sat cross-legged, one your hands on your ankle, the other sorting your hair.

“Yer hair is just fine”, Merle commented with a teasing tone. “No need to comb it like a monkey.”

You quickly dropped your hand in your lap, giving him a playfully offended look.

He smirked and then said: “Anyway. Ya wanna play cards?”

“Uh… I’m not the best at it. Only thing I really can play is like snap”, you confessed.

“Really?” Merle raised his brows. “The hell did ya do in yer freetime as a kid, then?”

“Things other than playing cards”, you shrugged.

“Jeez, girl!”

You gave him a sheepish glance, and he shook his head. “Nah, it’s alright. We can play snap.”

You smiled when he got the deck, shuffled it and shared them between the two of you.

“Ya sure ya remember the rules?” Merle couldn’t resist teasing you.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s simple. Cards are dealt face up on the table, but you're not allowed to look at your own cards beforehand. The idea is to slap the deck when two cards of the same value are placed there after one another. The winner is the player who gets all the cards to themselves.”

“Good. Now go ahead, ya start.”

You did, and after just a few deals there were two eights after one another. You quickly went to slap the deck, but Merle was faster. 

“Yer slow like damn snail, sugar”, he grinned, taking the cards to his pile. 

“You just got lucky”, you shot back.

Merle laughed. “We’ll see ‘bout that.”

It turned out he didn’t ‘just get lucky.’ He actually was fast. The first round he won easily, and bragged with it, but the next round he clearly went easy on you. He didn’t let you win, but he did intentionally let you have some snaps. You didn’t point it out, but it did make you happy. It would have been boring to play if he hadn’t given you some advantage.

The afternoon turned into evening playing cards and chatting. Merle’s brother eventually joined the two of you, and you guys grilled some sausages. He didn’t match his older brother’s energy, but was fine company after he got out of his shell a bit. As the evening cooled down, you ended up in Merle's lap with his jacket on. He of course made a big deal of it and teased the heck out of you, but also held you gently. His breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and his arms securely wrapped around you felt great. You could have stayed there forever.

Eventually, however, you figured it was best to go back home. Merle escorted you back to the gas station since you wouldn’t have been able to find your way back otherwise. Once there, he stopped by the driver’s side window. 

“So. Ya had fun?”

“I did”, you replied genuinely.

“Good.” After a beat, he added: “Next time yer bored, call me.”

You raised a brow. “You would do this again?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, smirking. “Ain't no way I'd leave it to just one night, not with a girl like you. I ain't that dumb.”

The comment made you blush lightly. You exchanged numbers, even if you felt a little funny. After a few more words, you both went on your ways. It was late and you were tired, but happy too. What had started as a mind-numbingly boring day had ended in a totally different spirit. 

[thatmadshifter11]

JJK OC IDEAS

Please help me decide what’s good and what I should and shouldn’t keep. New ideas are also welcome, I’m new to the jjk fandom.

Akatsuki Kiko Ayumu

Recently graduated from Tokyo Jujutsu High, Ayumu is a Special Grade Sorcerer who also happens to be a vessel to Sukuna’s daughter, Yamika. She is one of the only sorcerers who could rival Gojo and she could do it without Yamika. Her and Yamika have a sisterly, bff type bound. 

Ideas 1:

Cursed Technique 1: Hemokinesis (Blood Manipulation)

Allows her to control and weaponize her own blood.

Scarlet Needles: She hardens droplets into needles midair and controls them like remote weapons.

Blood Wreath: Wraps herself in flowing blood that acts as both armor and offense—cutting anything it touches.

Drawback: Overuse causes severe anemia, dizziness, or even temporary blindness.

**Cursed Technique 2: Foresight Weaving (Fortune Telling)

A ritual-based technique using charms, dice, cards, or bones. Grants glimpses of potential future moments within a short time frame (5–10 seconds ahead max).

Quick Glimpse: Reflexive use allows her to dodge or anticipate enemy attacks.

Reading of Death: If she completes a full ritual (30 seconds undisturbed), she can view someone’s most likely death scenario—and weaponize that psychological knowledge.

Limitation: Visions aren’t guaranteed and may show misleading or symbolic outcomes. Overuse can cause confusion, nosebleeds, and hallucinations.

**Cursed Technique 3: Veil Mirage (Illusions)

Creates realistic illusions within a radius, layered with cursed energy to fool all five senses.

Phantom Doubles: Projects false versions of herself during combat.

Memory Traps: Alters an opponent’s sense of surroundings, making them think they’re reliving past traumas or locations.

Counters: Can be broken by Domain techniques or anyone with sharp cursed sensory perception.

Cursed Technique 4: Mental Displacement

Disrupts the opponent’s thoughts by injecting cursed energy directly into their mind.

Mind Lag: Briefly causes confusion or stuns enemies mid-battle, disrupting their decision-making or motor control.

Curse Whisper: Allows her to "speak" inside someone's mind, seeding doubt, fear, or false commands.

High Risk: Requires eye contact or direct focus—if resisted, it can backfire and cause mental strain or backlash.

Domain Expansion: The Crimson Tarot

A ritual space in the form of a floating red-tinted realm surrounded by spinning tarot cards and dripping sigils.

In this Domain, she can trap an opponent inside a single tarot card vision—forcing them to experience a “fated” outcome based on one of her future readings.

She can manipulate blood and illusions freely within the domain.

If her fortune telling is accurate, her power is amplified drastically. If it’s wrong, she becomes vulnerable during the backlash.

Personality:

Outward: Calm, regal, poetic speaker, always observing

Inner Conflict: Fears she may become like the curses she manipulates—beautiful but false

Habits: Carries tarot cards, wears rings filled with stored blood, burns incense when preparing to read fate

Ideas 2

Akatsuki Kiko Ayumu – Cursed Techniques Overview

Cursed Energy Style:

Refined, ritualistic, and emotionally controlled. Ayumu’s cursed energy feels cold, fluid, and sharp—like blood ink being drawn across a ritual scroll. She rarely wastes movement and calculates everything like a long-term fortune.

1. Bloodcrafting (Shōketsu no Jutsu | 血結術式)

Category: Offensive / Trap-based Ayumu manipulates her own blood, infused with cursed energy, into weapons, sigils, or tools. She doesn’t need external blood sources—her body regenerates slowly, but overuse weakens her.

Key Applications:

Crimson Vines – Razor-thin blood threads that wrap around or slice enemies like barbed wire.

Blood Sigils – Draws temporary glyphs on surfaces or air. They activate when touched, causing explosions, illusions, or paralysis.

Bloodbound Tether – Links her body to someone else’s—if they injure her, they suffer a mirrored wound (short duration).

Limitations: If she loses too much blood, her control becomes unstable and vision begins to blur.

2. Fortune Threading (Enkaku no Unmei | 遠隔の運命)

Category: Support / Predictive Ayumu reads spiritual threads of fate using cursed tools—usually bone dice, inked cards, or red string. This isn’t absolute prediction, but a glimpse at high-probability outcomes.

Key Applications:

Thread Sight – In battle, she sees faint threads representing actions the enemy may take. Lets her dodge, counter, or feint accurately.

False Fate – Can implant a false prediction into the enemy’s mind. Makes them question their next move.

Death Thread Ritual – Requires 15 seconds of uninterrupted casting. If completed, she sees how someone is most likely to die—and can use that knowledge to psychologically manipulate them.

Limitations: Cannot predict random variables (like someone under mental manipulation or outside interference).

3. Red Veil Illusions (Aka no Gen'ei | 赤の幻影)

Category: Illusion / Disruption Ayumu casts layered, multi-sensory illusions by weaving cursed energy into the five senses. These are usually subtle and manipulative rather than flashy.

Key Applications:

Sensory Swap – Temporarily reverses left/right or up/down sensations in enemies, disorienting them.

Echohall – Creates a hallway or room that loops infinitely until the target realizes it’s an illusion.

Whisper Illusion – Implants a voice into someone’s mind, mimicking a loved one or past trauma to break their guard.

Limitations: Illusions don’t work on those with Domain Amplification or extremely high cursed energy perception.

4. Mind Bloom (Shinsō no Hana | 心層の華)

Category: Psychological / Mental Invasion Ayumu can touch a person's cursed energy field and implant a thought, emotion, or subtle memory distortion.

Key Applications:

Emotion Shift – Causes enemies to feel false emotions like regret, joy, guilt, or dread—useful for interrupting combat rhythm.

Mirror Thought – Briefly syncs with an enemy’s instinctive thought process, letting her copy their fighting rhythm.

Memory Sway – Makes someone believe she said or did something she never did (e.g., "I already placed a seal on you").

Limitations: Requires close proximity or physical connection. Drains her focus, leaving her vulnerable if used too long.

Synergy Between Techniques:

Ayumu often starts fights indirectly, using illusions or false emotions to unnerve or confuse.

She uses blood sigils to control space and fortune threading to decide when to strike.

When pressed, she switches to Crimson Vines and Mirror Thought to engage in direct combat, never without a layered mind game.

Her opponents rarely realize she’s already influenced them—until it’s too late.

Ayumu is a young sorcerer known for her quiet intensity, emotional depth, and resilient heart. She’s not the loudest or the flashiest, but when she moves—people watch. There’s something in the way she carries herself, like she’s walking a tightrope between light and shadow, grace and rage.

Ayumu isn’t just strong because of cursed techniques or battle skills—she’s strong because she’s endured, she’s chosen, and she keeps choosing the harder path.

Core Personality Traits:

1. Empathetic but Not Soft

Ayumu feels deeply—pain, joy, sorrow—but she’s not fragile.

She doesn’t believe in looking away from suffering; instead, she stares it down and learns from it.

People come to her when they need quiet understanding, not loud motivation.

“You don’t have to say it. I already know. And I’m still here.”

2. Morally Grey, But Self-Aware

Ayumu isn’t a goody-goody hero. She’s made ruthless choices when she had to—but she owns them.

She holds others accountable, but never pretends to be perfect herself.

Believes the ends can justify the means—but only if you don’t lose yourself in the process.

3. Independent but Not Distant

She doesn’t rely on others emotionally, but she doesn’t isolate either.

She values earned trust and mutual respect, not blind loyalty.

If you earn her friendship, it’s for life—but betray her, and you’ll never get back in.

4. Intellectually Sharp

Ayumu reads people well—picks up on microexpressions, tone shifts, lies.

She's strategic in battle, often reading the flow of cursed energy and intent before others do.

She’s also emotionally intelligent, which is part of why Yamika listens to her.

5. Quietly Rebellious

She doesn’t start fights with authority—but she never blindly obeys it.

If the higher-ups make a call she disagrees with, she’ll find her own way—even if it means going rogue.

She questions everything and often chooses compassion over command.

Motivations and Inner Conflict:

Her Main Drive:

To protect what matters without becoming what she hates.

Ayumu is always asking herself:

How far can I go before I become a monster?

What’s the point of saving others if I lose myself?

Can someone like me—who holds a curse inside—still do good in this world?

These questions keep her grounded. They’re what separate her from sorcerers who become twisted by the system—or by their own trauma.

Combat Style (Briefly, without techniques):

Fluid and fierce—Ayumu blends elegance with lethal efficiency.

Fights with a measured calm, striking only when necessary—but when she does, it’s devastating.

Uses misdirection, feints, and psychological tactics to unnerve enemies.

Relationships & Interactions:

With Yamika:

As we explored, Ayumu sees Yamika as a companion, not a curse. Their bond is her most dangerous and most meaningful connection.

With Mentors (Gojo, Nanami):

Gojo likes her for her unpredictability, and sees her as someone with the potential to “rewrite the rules.”

Nanami respects her quiet strength and often acts like a reluctant uncle figure—calm, firm, and protective.

With Allies:

Ayumu tends to draw in outcasts, broken people, or those who’ve been judged.

She listens. She validates. And she gives people the courage to be who they are.

Symbolism & Themes Around Her:

Ember imagery: She burns quietly—but she never goes out. Even when smothered, she glows in the dark, waiting for the moment to ignite.

Balance: She walks the line between curse and sorcerer, love and destruction, justice and vengeance.

Mirror and Shadow: She reflects the best in others—but carries the shadows they fear.

Yamika Sukuna

Curse Technique Ideas:

1. Blood Garden (血の苑 - Chi no Sono):

Grows blood-soaked flowers or thorns from surfaces (or bodies).

Each flower blooms by feeding off fear or pain.

They explode or entangle, depending on the user's mood.

2. Cursed Blossom Illusions:

She creates a beautiful illusionary realm full of deadly flora.

Victims experience a dream-like hallucination where time distorts and perception is warped.

Combines her illusion craft with Sukuna's psychological intimidation.

3. Inherited Malevolence (Technique passed down from Sukuna):

Can create small versions of Sukuna’s slashing attacks (Dismantle/Cleave), but in an artistic or graceful form—like ribbon slashes or blossom-shaped bursts.

Possibly has her own variation: “Petal Severance” – a slash that cuts not flesh, but “intention” (it stops cursed techniques or instincts briefly).

4. Heavenly Womb of Rot:

Symbolizing a cursed "birthright," she can implant seeds of decay inside people during battle, causing them to rot from the soul out unless they break her illusion.

This acts as both a trap and a slow-burn execution.

Her Domain Expansion could resemble a crimson garden of decay, where every bloom is a cursed wound.

Personality Overview:

Yamika is the embodiment of chaotic allure—a cursed beauty who thrives on attention, domination, and fear. She's a confident, flirtatious sadist who enjoys playing with her prey—mentally, emotionally, and sometimes romantically—before delivering a crushing blow. Her presence is both intoxicating and terrifying.

Flirtatious & Teasing:

Constantly flirts with enemies, allies, or even people she plans to kill. Her tone is silky, her smile wicked.

Uses pet names like “darling,” “sweet thing,” or “little plaything.”

Touches people without warning, trailing a finger along their jaw, or plucking lint from their shoulder—then laughing when they flinch.

Treats combat like foreplay: “Don’t go dying too quickly—I like them squirmy.”

Cocky & Confident:

Carries herself like a goddess among mortals—she fully believes she’s superior in blood, beauty, and brains.

Often mocks others for their “pathetic emotions” or “heroic complexes,” but she’s never overtly angry—just amused.

Loves being underestimated, only to make her opponent regret it.

Tends to speak as if victory is inevitable: “You already lost, darling. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

Twisted Sense of Love & Ownership:

Gets weirdly possessive over anyone who impresses her in battle or shows resistance to her charms—treats them like pets or potential “toys.”

Might “fall in love” with an enemy mid-fight, only to try and break them emotionally.

Will jokingly propose or flirt with someone she's torturing: “Marry me, won’t you? Or do I have to break your legs first?”

How She Views Sukuna:

Calls him “Daddy” in a teasing or sarcastic tone—she’s not afraid of him, but she does crave recognition.

Fluctuates between mocking Sukuna’s brutality and admiring it, saying things like: “Daddy could learn a thing or two from me. I kill with style.”

May be rebellious, but would never allow anyone else to insult him—only she gets to do that.

Voice & Mannerisms:

Speaks with a playful lilt, like she’s always on the verge of laughter.

Frequently licks her lips, tilts her head, or leans in far too close when talking.

Laughs when people scream—especially if they beg or confess.

When irritated, her voice gets calm and cold, which is more dangerous than when she’s smiling.

Yamika & Ayumu – Cursed Soul Sisters

Though Yamika is the daughter of Sukuna and a powerful curse in her own right, her relationship with her vessel, Ayumu, defies the typical parasitic dynamic seen in Jujutsu Kaisen. Instead of domination or hatred, the two share an unexpectedly strong, sister-like bond built on mutual respect, survival, and an eerie sense of loyalty.

How the Bond Formed:

When Yamika was sealed inside Ayumu, it wasn’t immediate chaos. Unlike Sukuna, Yamika didn’t try to overpower her host—she was curious. Intrigued by Ayumu’s fire, vulnerability, and values, Yamika watched quietly... and then started talking.

Over time, the two began to understand each other. Where most curses would try to erode a host’s will, Yamika found herself admiring Ayumu’s conviction—and even sharing some of it.

Shared Morals and Values:

Freedom & Autonomy: Both women value their freedom to make their own choices, and hate being used as pawns—whether by higher-ups, curses, or fate.

Selective Mercy: Though Yamika is a flirtatious killer, she doesn’t enjoy senseless violence. Like Ayumu, she believes that those who are truly innocent should be spared—though she’ll still tease them.

Hating Hypocrisy: They both loathe those who wear masks of justice but act out of selfishness. Whether it’s a corrupt sorcerer or a self-righteous exorcist, Yamika and Ayumu see right through it—and agree they deserve to be exposed or destroyed.

Value of Beauty and Identity: Ayumu takes pride in being herself, despite being judged. Yamika, though more chaotic, respects this deeply. She believes in being unapologetically who you are—even if the world fears you.

Their Sisterly Dynamic:

Protective of Each Other: Yamika doesn’t allow just anyone to harm Ayumu. If someone threatens her vessel, Yamika’s usual teasing tone vanishes—and something colder, older, and deadly takes its place. Ayumu, meanwhile, has grown to defend Yamika emotionally when others call her a monster.

Constant Bickering... Like Sisters: Ayumu rolls her eyes at Yamika’s flirtatious remarks or drama queen moments. Yamika pokes fun at Ayumu’s moral dilemmas or crushes. But beneath it all, there’s a fierce loyalty.

Late-Night Conversations in the Mindscape: When Ayumu can’t sleep, Yamika talks to her. They share memories, joke about people they hate, or argue about what “love” really means. Yamika sometimes sings in a soft voice, just to mess with Ayumu—or comfort her.

Blended Strengths: In battle, they’ve found ways to fight in sync—Ayumu with her martial arts and technique, Yamika lending cursed energy or manipulating the field with poetic precision. Their synergy is eerie... and powerful.

Shared Body, Shared Will – Yamika & Ayumu’s Synchronization

As their bond matured, Ayumu and Yamika developed a rare, almost seamless ability to cohabitate their body, going far beyond the typical vessel-curse dynamic. Unlike Sukuna and Yuji, who often clash violently over control, Yamika and Ayumu function more like two souls sharing a single body with fluidity and mutual understanding.

Body Sharing Dynamics:

1. Voluntary Switching:

Either one can take the lead depending on the situation.

Ayumu usually handles daily life, emotions, and personal interactions.

Yamika steps forward during battle, interrogation, or when Ayumu is in danger—or just when she’s bored and wants to "play."

The switch is smooth, instant, and often accompanied by visual cues—like a change in eye color, body language, or voice tone.

2. Co-Presence:

Even when one is in control, the other is fully aware, watching, and can comment or guide from within.

Their mental link allows them to have full conversations internally, whether arguing, joking, or strategizing.

It’s not uncommon for Ayumu to laugh at something Yamika says in her head, confusing those around her.

Moments of True Fusion:

In moments of deep emotional stress or combat intensity, their personalities can blend into one, creating a version of Ayumu that moves with Yamika’s confidence and cruelty, or a version of Yamika softened by Ayumu’s empathy.

This fusion isn’t just physical—it’s spiritual. They feel each other's pain, joy, and instinct.

“When I bleed, she burns. When she smiles, I breathe. We are two voices in one song.” – Ayumu

Unique Advantages of Their Bond:

Dual Processing: Yamika can warn Ayumu of danger mid-battle or point out emotional manipulation others might miss.

Emotional Anchoring: Ayumu keeps Yamika grounded when her bloodlust flares. Yamika, in turn, lends Ayumu strength when she’s emotionally overwhelmed.

False Vulnerability: Enemies who think they’re facing just Ayumu are often surprised when Yamika suddenly takes over mid-fight with a smirk and a chilling “My turn, sweetheart.”

Other People’s Reactions:

Sorcerers are deeply unsettled by how well they function together—some even fear Ayumu has been corrupted beyond saving.

Friends often can’t tell who they’re speaking to unless they look closely at her eyes or listen to the subtle change in her tone.

Enemies often think they’re hallucinating when Ayumu suddenly starts flirting like a predator—or when Yamika shows unexpected mercy.

The Sorcerers’ Perspective: Gojo & Nanami on Yamika and Ayumu

Gojo’s View – Amused Respect & Quiet Worry:

Gojo Satoru, with his sharp intuition and ability to see beyond the obvious, doesn’t believe for a second that Yamika behaves simply because of compatibility. He has a theory—one he sometimes shares half-jokingly but always with serious undertones:

“Yamika’s not the kind of curse who follows anyone. She’s not tame. She’s impressed. And she’s smart enough to know when she's outclassed—morally, at least.”

He believes Yamika stays in line because Ayumu doesn’t need her to be powerful. That terrifies most curses. But for Yamika? It intrigues her.

Gojo sees it as a balance of equals, not dominance.

“Ayumu can be ruthless all on her own. She chooses restraint. And Yamika? She's in awe of that kind of control—because she doesn’t have it herself.”

Gojo teases Ayumu about being the only person to ever “tame a curse by making it fall in love with her spine.”

Nanami’s View – Analytical & Protective:

Nanami is more reserved, but he’s observed Yamika’s behavior with Ayumu over time and drawn a strategic conclusion:

“This is not possession. This is partnership. And if anything… the curse follows the sorcerer’s lead.”

To Nanami, Yamika isn’t the threat people think she is—not because she lacks power, but because Ayumu’s will is stronger.

He’s watched Ayumu fight, bleed, and win without ever surrendering herself to Yamika’s influence, and in that strength, Yamika found something rare: respect.

“Curses obey power. Yamika obeys something greater: admiration. Ayumu’s self-mastery is the chain, and it’s one Yamika chooses not to break.”

Nanami worries, though—if Ayumu ever falters, emotionally or morally, Yamika might take the wheel… and never give it back.

Why Yamika “Behaves”:

Not fear. Not submission. But fascination.

Yamika is used to being feared, hated, or sealed. But Ayumu stood beside her, looked her in the eye, and never flinched.

That single act rewrote Yamika’s entire perspective.

“She doesn’t need me to win. She just lets me be part of it. How could I not adore her?”– Yamika, half-mocking, half-sincere

Yamika may flirt, tease, and provoke, but she’s genuinely impressed by Ayumu’s strength, restraint, and ability to lead a path of her own—without fully rejecting the curse that lives within her.

In Ayumu, Yamika sees not weakness—but a mirror of what she could be, if she had ever been human.

Ayumu’s Perspective on Yamika – A Curse, a Companion, a Reflection

Ayumu doesn’t view Yamika as just a curse lodged in her soul. She’s too perceptive, too emotionally grounded for that. While the world might call Yamika a monster, a demon, or a ticking time bomb, Ayumu sees something else—something far more nuanced and far more personal.

At First: Caution and Curiosity

When Yamika first awakened inside her, Ayumu was wary—but not afraid. She knew who Sukuna was, and the idea that his daughter now shared her body should have been a nightmare.

But Yamika didn’t strike immediately. She didn’t scream, claw, or try to rip control away.

She watched. She listened.

And Ayumu, ever-introspective, found herself doing the same.

What Ayumu Saw in Her:

1. A Mirror of Power—Untamed and Unrefined

Ayumu realized quickly: Yamika is powerful, yes—but that power lacks anchor or direction. It’s pure, raw, destructive instinct—but not without intelligence or emotion.

“She has the strength to destroy cities, but the heart of someone who’s never known love without fear.”

Ayumu doesn’t see a mindless curse. She sees potential. Someone who could be more if they just had someone to walk beside—rather than chain them down.

2. An Equal—Not a Tool or a Burden

Ayumu has always believed that people—even curses—deserve to choose who they want to be. And Yamika? For all her flirtation and violence, she chooses not to dominate Ayumu. She offers. Suggests. Even teases.

But never forces.

“She doesn’t need me. But she stays. That means something.”

Ayumu admires that. Deeply.

3. A Companion in Darkness

Ayumu has had her own brushes with pain, loneliness, and being misunderstood. While she keeps her heart warm, she knows what it’s like to carry something monstrous inside.

Yamika isn’t just a curse. She’s the voice in Ayumu’s mind that whispers strength when she’s weak, beauty when she feels broken, and fury when injustice burns too hot.

They don’t always agree—but Yamika never abandons her. And Ayumu would never abandon Yamika.

“If I can love the worst parts of myself... maybe she can learn to love herself too.”

Their Bond, From Ayumu’s Side:

Protective: Ayumu will argue with Yamika, but she won’t let others insult or dismiss her. Yamika may be a curse—but she’s hers.

Empathetic: Ayumu senses the pain behind Yamika’s smirks. She can feel it ripple through their shared soul. And in moments of silence, she offers gentle understanding, not judgment.

Grounded: Yamika tempts her toward darkness, toward revenge, toward indulgence. But Ayumu chooses her own way—and Yamika respects her more for it.

In Ayumu’s Words:

“Yamika is fire—beautiful, unpredictable, and dangerous. But fire isn’t evil. It just needs something strong enough to hold it. I don’t fear her. I see her. And I think… maybe she’s starting to see herself too.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for blowing up at my mom for getting pizza grease and sauce all over my w-2?

In some ways, my mom is like a giant toddler. She doesn't have any learning/neurological disabilities that might hinder her motor control. She's just, to put it bluntly, disgusting. Mainly in the way that much like a toddler, she always has some sort of sauce/grease/crumbs/etc on her face and hands and clothes. I try to keep an eye on her to tell her to wipe her face/hands, but I'm not with her 24/7 and she is a grown adult and I shouldn't have to monitor her to make sure she cleans herself. But since it's embarrassing and gross for me, I tell her whenever I notice she has a mess on her hands/face/shirt/etc.

I had an issue with receiving my w-2 from work. So I had to get onto my work account and find it myself to print it out.

So I went to staples to print it (I don't have a printer) and realized I accidentally printed out the wrong form. I went back in to print the correct paper and in the maybe 5 minutes max that I was in the store, my mom got pizza grease and sauce fingerprints all over the first paper. I got mad at her and she tried to grab the second paper I printed out and I told her she needed to wipe her fingers off and not to touch the paper at all. She pretended to wipe her hands and took the paper before I could stop her and when she handed the paper back to me, it ALSO had pizza grease and sauce all over it and now I have to hand a pizza-covered paper to a tax professional.

I was pissed and called her disgusting for not wiping her fingers off and why does she always fucking do this? She has ruined MANY, MANY important papers of mine because she doesn't wash her hands or make sure her hands are clean before handling paperwork. I have been forced to hand in medical papers and school papers with god knows what stains on them because she wouldn't leave my stuff alone. I had to print out several copies of my resume and hide them from her so I could have clean ones. Even "unimportant" papers that I still wanted to save, such as nice birthday cards from loved ones or yearbooks or letters end up covered in dirty fingerprints. If she borrows clothes from me, she always spills something on them.

It's also just generally embarrassing to be out in public with a grown adult who has perpetual cheeto fingers.

Literally as I'm typing this, she spilled 1/4 of a can of coke on her shirt and immediately afterwards got hoho crumbs on her mouth and shirt. It's revolting.

But now she's mad at me for yelling at her, which I probably shouldn't have done, but it can't unstain my paperwork. She refuses to pay for a replacement.

What are these acronyms?

[justforbooks]

Michael Madsen

American actor best known for playing heavies, including the ‘psycho’ Mr Blonde in Reservoir Dogs

The actor Michael Madsen, who has died aged 67 of a cardiac arrest, saw himself as a “throwback” to the era of noir heavies such as Robert Mitchum and Lee Marvin. But plying his jocular menace in the modern Hollywood era gave the actor expanded possibilities for movie violence that elevated him, at certain moments, to a timeless screen presence.

When he severed a policeman’s ear in Quentin Tarantino’s 1992 debut Reservoir Dogs, after sadistically bopping to the sounds of Stealers Wheel’s pop hit Stuck in the Middle With You, it became Madsen’s calling-card scene. He had originally auditioned for the part of Mr Pink, the role eventually played by Steve Buscemi, before the director realised his imposing qualities were perfect for the loose-cannon psychopath, Mr Blonde. “Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite?” Madsen taunts Harvey Keitel’s Mr White, sipping a soda.

This was Madsen’s breakthrough role, in which he incarnated Tarantino’s notions of freeze-dried cinematic cool; the start of a long association between actor and director. The pair fell out for a time after Madsen declined the role of Vincent Vega – the brother of his Reservoir Dogs character – in Pulp Fiction; he was contracted to the now forgotten 1994 western Wyatt Earp.

But after reconciling, Madsen went on to play notable parts in Kill Bill: Vols 1 & 2 (2003 and 2004), The Hateful Eight (2015) and Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019). He appreciated the director’s loyalty: “I would have been dead and buried long ago if it wasn’t for Quentin,” he told Deadline Hollywood.

With his rangy frame, dark Italianate looks and Eastwoodian squint, Madsen was an obvious casting choice for 1990s crime films, convincing as both detective – in the LAPD thriller Mulholland Falls (1996) – and felon –in the 1994 remake of Sam Peckinpah’s The Getaway and in the revisionist gangster film Donnie Brasco (1997).

Though his brooding aura could also be refashioned to romantic ends – as shown in another early role as Susan Sarandon’s boyfriend in Thelma & Louise (1991) – he was soon typecast as an American badass (also the title of a 2023 documentary retrospective dedicated to him). After his 90s breakthrough, quality control quickly dissipated; his filmography ballooned to more than 300 titles, most straight-to-video dreck with titles such as Piranhaconda, A Cold Day in Hell, and Garlic & Gunpowder.

In the scrabble for a pay-cheque, he rued the narrowing effects on his career. “They bought my name, and they bought my face to put on the DVD box with a gun,” he told the Independent. “What people don’t always understand is that I established a lifestyle for my family.”

Madsen was one of the dying breed of actors who brought blue-collar grit to the profession. Born in Chicago, he was one of three children of Elaine (nee Melson) and Calvin Madsen, growing up alongside his sisters, Cheryl and Virginia. His father was a second world war Navy veteran and firefighter; his mother worked in finance but, after divorcing “Cal” when Madsen was nine, later became a film producer. Raised by his father, who physically beat him, the wary youth had a delinquent adolescence, including jail terms for car theft, assault and burglary.

Later working as a mechanic at Joe Jacobs Chevrolet dealership, idolising the Nascar champion driver Richard Petty, Madsen was at first more enthused by motor racing than the arts. Watching Mitchum in the 1957 wartime romance Heaven Knows, Mr Allison altered his course. “When I saw that movie, I thought: ‘I could probably do that.’” Not long after having his first child, Jessica, with his girlfriend Dana Mechling, Madsen was stunned by a 1981 production of Of Mice and Men by the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago; the star John Malkovich encouraged him to enrol in scene-study classes.

Madsen later downplayed the importance of this tuition, even after appearing in another production of the same play as Carlson, the ranch hand who shoots a dog. This was his true education, he told the Independent: “That fucking dog was the best acting teacher I ever had. When I was really into my character, the dog would get scared and I’d have to drag it offstage before I fired the blank gun. But if I wasn’t into my performance, the dog would just be happy, and when I walked off it would follow me, which was just as upsetting for the audience.”

Aided by his more studious sister Virginia, who already had an agent and would later star in the 1992 horror classic Candyman as well as the 2004 wine-country drama Sideways, Madsen landed an early role in the techno-thriller WarGames (1983); he played an air-force officer with no compunction about pressing the nuclear button.

Still pumping gas at a Union 76 gas station in Beverly Hills for stars including Fred Astaire, Jack Lemmon and Warren Beatty, he subsisted largely on TV jobs for most of the 80s, including Miami Vice, Tour of Duty and Cagney & Lacey. Madsen married Cher’s half-sister Georganne LaPiere in 1984; they divorced four years later.

After scene-stealing first as the poet Tom Baker in Oliver Stone’s biopic The Doors, then in Reservoir Dogs, the actor could not convert the Tarantino cachet into leading-man status. He hovered on the fringes of the mainstream in films including Free Willy (1993); the sexed-up Alien rip-off Species (1995), as a black-ops mercenary; and another career high as a rising mafia capo in Donnie Brasco.

But whether because of Madsen’s renegade reputation, or his lesser bankability compared to the rising stars of the time, other roles eluded him. He was outflanked by Woody Harrelson for Natural Born Killers and Russell Crowe for LA Confidential.

During this period, from 1991 to 1995, he was married to the actor Jeannine Bisignano, with whom he had two sons, Christian and Max. In 1996 he married the actor DeAnna Morgan, while filming Donnie Brasco, and they went on to have three sons, Hudson, Kalvin and Luke.

Tarantino kept the faith, casting Madsen as the Stetson-hatted assassin Budd, who buries Uma Thurman alive in the Kill Bill films; then as the saloon-lurking, coffee-poisoning cowboy Joe Gage in The Hateful Eight. A rumoured Reservoir Dogs prequel, featuring Madsen and John Travolta as the Vega brothers, never transpired.

As Madsen upped his output to provide for his multiple families, averaging close to 10 movies a year by the 2010s, he also branched out into videogame voiceover work, including in Grand Theft Auto III and the Dishonored franchise.

The real Madsen had rough edges; he lived a turbulent life, even as a family man in middle age and beyond. With drink-driving arrests in 2012 and 2019, he struggled with alcoholism. But the tough exterior concealed an observant and tender psyche. Though he only fleetingly tapped into it on screen, he gave it fuller rein in several published collections of impressionistic poetry often written on the hoof during his travels; one on his own leg in the back of a New York taxi.

Madsen was devastated by the suicide in January 2022 of his son Hudson, a US army sergeant, at the age of 26; a month later, he was arrested for trespassing in Malibu. He reportedly assaulted his wife in August last year, though charges were later dropped; he filed for divorce in September.

Such full-tilt recklessness, for good and ill, had been his modus operandi since he first broke into Hollywood, as he later told Esquire: “In the early 90s I was constantly running a marathon, and although I won most of the races, I injured myself in the process.”

He is survived by DeAnna, his daughter Jessica, his sons Christian, Max, Kalvin and Luke, his stepson, Cody, his mother, Elaine, and his sisters, Cheryl and Virginia.

🔔 Michael Søren Madsen, actor, born 25 September 1957; died 3 July 2025

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[morgan-va]

Chapter 4: Unfolding Moments (Serial Designation N x Reader)

Masterlist

You finish the last bite of your sandwich, setting the plate aside with a soft clink. The checklist. You’d almost forgotten about it amid the bizarre whirlwind of the last twelve hours. It’s been sitting there, practically taunting you from the coffee table. With a resigned sigh, you wipe your hands and stand, already dreading what tasks corporate has deemed so vital for the “testing” process.

N perks up at your movement, his neon-white eyes gleaming. “Are we doing something fun now?” he asks, his voice brimming with excitement, as though you’re about to announce a surprise birthday party.

“Sure,” you reply dryly, picking up the folder and flipping it open. “If by fun you mean checking off a bunch of arbitrary boxes to keep Corporate happy.”

N clasps his hands together, visibly thrilled anyway. “That does sound fun!”

You glance at him, skeptical. “You’re just saying that because you have no idea what we’re about to do.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it!” he chirps.

You shake your head, muttering something about overly enthusiastic robots as you scan the first item on the list: “1. Test basic motor functions in a controlled environment.”

“Basic motor functions? Haven’t we already been through that?” you mutter, recalling N’s impromptu peanut-collecting session and his unfortunate encounter with the washing machine.

“Motor functions!” N repeats, hopping off his chair and striking a pose like he’s preparing for a gymnastics routine.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Okay, fine. Let’s head to the living room. Try not to break anything.”

“Got it, boss!” N salutes dramatically before bounding toward the living room, narrowly avoiding your coffee table.

You follow, already dreading what this day will entail. Basic motor functions, you think. How bad could it be?

You stand in the middle of the living room, checklist in hand, watching N practically vibrate with energy. He’s shifting from foot to foot, a big smile plastered across his face. You glance down at the list again, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to “test” a robot’s motor functions in your modest living space.

“Okay,” you start, scratching your head, “walk from here to… there.” You gesture toward the other side of the room, where your TV sits precariously on a secondhand stand. “And try not to knock anything over.”

N straightens up and gives you another crisp salute. “Affirmative! Walking test initiated!”

He takes a single step—graceful, confident, and precise. Then another. For a moment, you’re almost impressed. Maybe this won’t be so—

“Oops!” N yelps as his foot catches on the edge of the rug, sending him into an awkward, stumbling lurch. He flails wildly, arms windmilling to keep his balance, and somehow manages to stop just short of toppling into your TV stand.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch the screen wobble dangerously. “Careful!” you snap.

N freezes in place, arms still outstretched, and looks at you sheepishly. “Was that part of the test?”

“No,” you deadpan.

“Oh! Good! Then I passed!” he beams, turning around with such enthusiasm that the corner of the rug lifts under his foot, sending your coffee table’s leg into a slight wobble.

You sigh, muttering under your breath, “This is going to be a long day.”

You check the next item on the list: “2. Test dexterity with small objects.”

“Great,” you say aloud. “N, come here.”

He bounds over immediately, nearly skidding to a stop in front of you. “What’s next? Juggling? Origami? Ooooh, a puzzle?”

“Close,” you say, opening the nearby junk drawer and pulling out a handful of random odds and ends—rubber bands, paperclips, and an old deck of playing cards. You set them on the coffee table and step back. “See if you can pick these up without breaking anything.”

N crouches down, inspecting the objects like a scientist observing a groundbreaking discovery. “On it!”

His hands reach out with surprising delicacy, plucking a single rubber band from the pile. He stretches it between his fingers, nodding proudly. “Easy!”

You fold your arms, trying not to smirk. “Great. Now try the paperclip.”

N picks up the tiny metal object with a bit more fumbling but manages to hold it up triumphantly. “Still got it!”

This isn’t so bad, you think, starting to feel a bit more optimistic—

CRACK.

The sound jolts you, and you realize with horror that N has attempted to shuffle the deck of cards, bending them completely in half.

“Whoops,” he says sheepishly, holding up the mangled deck. “Was that… supposed to happen?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “No, N. No, it was not.”

“Got it! No bending the cards! I’m learning so much!”

You rub your temples, debating whether or not to just fake the results on the checklist. Corporate probably wouldn’t even notice, right?

You take one look at the mangled deck of cards in N’s hands and decide, for your own sanity, that it counts. Surely it does. He technically picked up the objects—just, well… creatively.

With a sigh, you grab the pen and check off “Test dexterity with small objects” on the list. “Yep, good enough,” you mutter.

N brightens immediately, his grin stretching impossibly wide. “Really? I passed? Awesome! What’s next?”

You glance down at the checklist, already dreading the answer. “3. Evaluate response time to basic commands.”

“Alright,” you say, stepping back. “This one should be easy. I’m going to give you some commands, and you just do them as quickly as you can. Got it?”

N salutes again, nearly clipping the lamp beside him. “Yes, boss! Ready when you are!”

You suppress a groan. “Okay, first: spin in a circle.”

N immediately whirls around like a top, a blur of black blazer and neon-white eyes. When he stops, he looks at you eagerly, swaying slightly from the momentum. “How was that?”

“Fine,” you say, marking it off. “Next: touch your toes.”

He bends over with all the flexibility of a coiled spring, his hand tapping the tips of his shoes with an audible clink.

“Alright,” you say, scribbling another check. “Jump.”

N crouches low before springing up with enough force to graze the ceiling. You wince at the faint thunk of his head making contact with the drywall, leaving a very noticeable dent.

“Oh no,” he says, holding his head and looking up at the damage. “Is your house okay?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, N. My house is fine,” you say dryly, though you mentally add ‘Except for the ceiling.’ You hastily mark off the test anyway, feeling your patience rapidly wearing thin.

N peers over your shoulder, his glowing eyes scanning the checklist. “What’s next? Ooooh, ‘Test vocal capabilities’? I’m great at that! Want me to sing? Or recite poetry? Oh! I could try impressions!”

“Please don’t,” you say quickly, the thought of hearing his impression of anything filling you with dread. “Let’s just… move on.”

N straightens up, ready for whatever comes next, while you glance at the remaining items on the list and hope it’s nothing that will result in more property damage—or stress eating the rest of your pizza later.

You scan the checklist again, bracing for whatever fresh nonsense JCJenson thought would be “standard testing protocol.” Your eyes land on the next item: “Assess problem-solving abilities.”

Well, that could mean just about anything. At this point, you figure it might be safest to give him something simple to do.

“Alright, N,” you say, closing the clipboard and setting it down. “Let’s see how good you are at problem-solving. I’m going to… uh…” You glance around the room, searching for inspiration, until your eyes land on the messy coffee table cluttered with books, remotes, and old takeout containers. “…get that table organized. Make it neat. Put everything where it belongs.”

N lights up like a Christmas tree, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m on it!”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed, fully expecting chaos. Instead, something remarkable happens.

N approaches the table with an air of focus you didn’t know he was capable of. He picks up a remote and sets it in a neat line alongside the others. Then, he arranges the books into a tidy stack by size, even adjusting their alignment to be perfectly straight. The takeout containers are next; he gathers them carefully, one by one, carrying them to the kitchen. When he returns, he wipes the table down with a precision that could rival a cleaning professional.

In less than five minutes, the table is spotless, the chaos replaced with perfect order.

You blink, genuinely stunned. “…Huh. That was actually—”

“Efficient?” N finishes for you, beaming proudly. “I know! I’ve always liked organizing stuff.  My last boss never let me do it because they said it was boring and not worth their time, but I think it’s fun!”

For a moment, you’re speechless. Then, you nod slowly. “Yeah, uh… great job, N. You’re… surprisingly good at that.”

He practically glows under the praise, his grin widening. “Thanks! What’s next? I’m ready for anything!”

You’re not sure if that’s reassuring or terrifying. But at least, for now, you’ve learned one valuable thing: N might be a chaotic mess at most tasks, but give him an organizational challenge, and he’s a downright savant.

You skim the checklist again, muttering under your breath as you look for something manageable. Your eyes land on “Evaluate manual responsiveness.”

“Alright, N,” you say, tossing the clipboard onto the counter. “This one’s simple. I’m going to… uh…” You look around for something to test him with. Your gaze settles on a loose cabinet door in the kitchen, its hinge barely hanging on. Perfect.

“We’ll fix this cabinet. You can hold the door steady while I reattach the hinge.”

N salutes with enthusiasm. “On it, boss!”

You grab a screwdriver and some spare screws from the junk drawer, kneeling in front of the cabinet. N crouches beside you, carefully holding the door in place as instructed.

“This’ll only take a second,” you mumble, lining up the first screw. You apply pressure to drive it in, but the screwdriver slips.

The sharp tip grazes your palm, and you hiss in pain, pulling your hand back to see a small but deep scratch already welling up with blood.

“Ah, great,” you mutter, clutching your hand. “That’s just—”

“Wait! Hold on!” N interrupts, his usual cheer replaced with an uncharacteristic note of urgency. “You’re hurt!”

Before you can even react, N springs into action. He gently takes your injured hand in his own, his grip steady but impossibly soft for someone with metal fingers. His glowing eyes focus on the wound with surprising seriousness.

“Uh, it’s fine, N,” you start to say, but he doesn’t listen.

“Don’t move!” he says, sounding uncharacteristically firm. “I’ll fix it!”

To your astonishment, he grabs a clean dish towel from the counter and carefully dabs at the blood, his movements meticulous and precise. He then folds the towel into a makeshift bandage, wrapping it snugly around your hand and securing it with a small knot.

“There!” N says, his usual brightness returning as he beams at you. “Good as new! Well, not really. I mean, you’re not new, but you’re good!”

You stare at your hand, the impromptu bandage shockingly well-done. “…Huh. Not bad, N. Thanks.”

His eyes glow a little brighter at the praise, and he tilts his head. “It’s my job to help! Are you okay now? Does it hurt? Do you want me to carry you to a human repair station?!”

You can’t help but snort at that. “No, N, I’ll live. But… you handled that really well. Good job.”

N practically bounces in place, his happiness radiating off him. “Yay! I’m glad I could help! What’s next? Or do you need a break? I could bring you something to drink—oh, or your armchair! Want me to carry it in here?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Calm down, hero. Let’s just finish this cabinet first.”

“Okay!” N chirps, eagerly holding the door steady again. As you cautiously return to the task, you can’t help but feel a tiny flicker of gratitude for your unlikely, overly enthusiastic helper.

With N’s help, the cabinet door is repaired without further incident. You tighten the last screw, testing the hinge with a cautious tug. It holds firmly.

“Well, that’s done,” you say, leaning back on your heels. “Good work, N. You’re surprisingly handy for a…” You pause, realizing you don’t have a tactful way to finish that sentence.

“For a robot?” N supplies cheerfully, tilting his head.

You shrug. “Yeah, sure. For a robot.”

N beams at the praise, his glowing eyes practically sparkling. “Thank you! Helping is what I do best!”

As you put the screwdriver back in the drawer, you glance at the checklist still sitting on the counter. One last task: “Evaluate general reliability and cooperation.”

You smirk. “Guess that’s an easy one. You haven’t burned the place down, so I’d call you reliable enough.”

“Yay! Passing grade!” N pumps a fist in the air, spinning in place like a child celebrating an A+ on their homework.

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head. “Alright, buddy. That’s it for the company-mandated nonsense. You’re off the hook.”

N stops spinning, looking at you curiously. “Does that mean I’m done helping?”

“Not unless you want to be,” you say with a shrug, surprising even yourself with the answer. “But for now, take a break or… whatever it is you do when you’re not working.”

N claps his hands together, his excitement barely contained. “I can do that! But if you need anything—anything at all—just let me know, okay?”

You nod, watching as he flits around the room, clearly unable to sit still even if he wanted to. Despite the earlier chaos, you can’t help but admit that having him around isn’t… terrible.

It’s weirdly nice, you think, settling into your armchair. The place feels a little less quiet with him here.

For the first time in a while, you let yourself relax, feeling a faint warmth toward your odd, overly helpful houseguest.

As you settle into your armchair, your gaze shifts to N, who stands in the middle of the room, his posture relaxed but slightly uncertain. He glances around, hands clasped behind his back, as though waiting for instructions or permission to do something. His eyes glow softly, scanning the room for any task he could take on.

You sigh, feeling a pang of something between guilt and annoyance. He’s been nothing but helpful, but now he looks… aimless. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself if he’s not actively working.

Pushing yourself out of the chair, you stride toward the bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room. Your fingers brush over a few dusty spines before pulling out an old favorite. It’s nothing too complex—an adventure novel with a solid mix of humor and drama. You glance at it, then at N, before making up your mind.

“Hey, N.”

He turns immediately, his eyes brightening. “Yes? What do you need?”

“Here.” You hold the book out toward him. “Figured you might want something to do.”

N steps closer, looking between you and the book. He reaches out, taking it with care, his metal fingers surprisingly gentle against the worn cover. “You’re… giving this to me?”

“You can borrow it,” you clarify, leaning back against the bookshelf. “It’s a good read. Figured you might enjoy it.”

N looks down at the book, running a thumb lightly over the textured surface. “Humans really do the most fascinating things. I’d love to give it a try.”

“Go ahead,” you say, gesturing to the couch. “Just, uh, don’t tear any pages. And don’t—actually, just be careful with it.”

He smiles, a small but genuine expression. “I will. Thank you.”

N moves to the couch, sitting with an air of quiet confidence. He flips the book open, his fingers deftly turning the pages as his glowing eyes scan the text. There’s no hesitation in his movements—just a steady rhythm as he dives into the story.

After a few moments of silence, he speaks, his tone thoughtful. “Books are interesting. They’re like… worlds you can hold in your hands.”

You blink, a little surprised at the insight. “Yeah. Guess that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s… nice,” he continues, his voice soft. “I think I like this. Thank you for trusting me with it.”

You nod, a faint warmth spreading in your chest. “Don’t mention it. It’s just a book.”

“It’s more than that,” he replies without looking up, completely immersed.

You watch him for a moment longer, then return to your chair, a strange sense of ease settling over the room. N isn’t just quiet—he’s composed, thoughtful in a way that makes his presence feel less like an intrusion and more like… something you don’t mind having around.

The soft rustle of pages fills the air as you relax back into your seat. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[seat-safety-switch]

Just like ducks, you can't trust a push scooter. Designed originally for proletarian aims, these overgrown skateboards are an accident waiting to happen. Despite their lack of control, missing suspension, and predilection for throwing you over the handlebars into a life-altering head injury, folks put a powerful electric motor on them. And then they started to get actually kinda good.

A few months ago, I was on the highway. I looked over, briefly, and noticed that the bicycle path running parallel to the highway had someone enjoying a push scooter. I thought nothing of it, until I looked over again, and noticed that the scooter was still keeping up with me. Clocking triple digits on a multi-use municipal pathway? Now that was something I had to see for myself.

After a visit to the library to use their internet access, I found out all about them. In case you're curious, the computer at my house comes with too many court-ordered restrictions, but those restrictions don't apply to my alter-ego, Manfred P. Guy-I-Found-The-Library-Card-Of-In-The-Trunk-Of-A-1996-Grand-Am-At-The-Junkyard. I think that last name is Polish, or something. Lots of consonants. Once I had absorbed all the information I could before the chief librarian chased me out for once again smearing Lucas Red & Tacky No. 2 machine grease onto the keyboard while typing, it was off to the local classifieds to get ahold of a death scoot of my very own.

Here's a fun fact about most cars: they have a lot of accessory belts. Those accessory belts can hold a lot of horsepower before they snap, well in excess of the amount that my wheezy economy slant-six can actually make. If you were to add, say, twelve or thirty scooters' worth of batteries and motors to that belt drive, why, you'd finally have enough power to get up Old Man Hill without having to downshift. Which is good, because usually I have to turn my car off for at least fifteen minutes before it will do that.

And there's more benefit, too: after washing the blood off, the remaining parts of the scooters are still useful as scooters. I ended up selling them to a bunch of electric-vehicle degenerates who were happy to add their own Wish.com battery packs and motors to turn them back into electric scooters. Now that's how we'll save the environment: recycling.

[darkpuppysuit]

🎀Tie up the ends of a Dream🎀

Pairing: CountryBoy!KimTaehyungxCurvy!Reader

Warnings: Domestic Abuse, cursing, smoking, fighting (verbal and physical) Mature themes, MDNI.

Words: 5.2k

A/N: I'm giving minor characters names. I'm sorry if you don't like that but it makes my brain do the burr if I don't. Also I hope you guys really like this because it's been stuck in my head all damn day lol. I'll probably write a part two for this considering where I left off....

Taehyung is a young man living in a trailer on a half acre of land the little old lady at the farm next door let him occupy for free until he got on his feet when she saw him in an alleyway practically begging on the streets.

He was small and skinny at the time, no meat on his bones, his cheeks looked a little sunken in too. So the old lady asked him if he wanted a job and a place to call home. Of course Taehyung accepted her offer with no hesitation, anything to get him out of the cold.

He started working the following spring when calf season started late March to early April. He helped Barbra by doing all of the manual labor for her. Scraping out the barn once or twice a day, he actually learned how to drive by taking hay out to the cows out in the field and when he turned sixteen the nice lady took him to get his drivers license and he passed, barely, but he passed and that was the end goal.

By the time Taehyung had turned eighteen Barbra had gifted him the old Ford truck her late husband had in the shed. She told him that if he could fix it and use his own money for the parts then he could have it and sure enough he did.

It took him a couple months of waking up early enough to get a head start on the daily chores he would do for Barb including feeding the chickens, leaving the egg collecting to her.

Once he was done which would normally be by eleven in the morning, he'd be back at his trailer working away at that truck of his until the light pole turned on, telling him it was time to go inside. 

He'd drag himself inside barely tripping over the lip of the door frame with his steel toe boots. Raking his fingers through his hair trying to tame the curls that were slowly getting out of control and grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge on a card table where a larger fridge should be.

Taehyung always kept his living space clean and tidy but there were times where he would get lazy from working on the truck that was proving to be more of a hassle than it was worth in his eyes. 

A few well worn jeans lay over the loveseat, many unmated socks sit in the corner of his old lazy chair waiting to be mated and put in his dresser.

The kitchen table was littered with instant dinners and random cheese stick wrappers, soda cans and, water bottles.

Taehyung needed to clean up as soon as possible but first he really needed a shower because he smelled more of burnt motor oil than man right now. 

Fast forward ten years and Taehyung is walking down the aisle of the church dressed in black, a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks. Barbra, the sweet lady who had given him a place to live and a paying job too, passed away sometime in the night. "At least she died peacefully and without regrets." Her daughter in law spoke at her funeral with that finishing line.

Taehyung thinks back for a moment and remembers one of their late night talks in the study as she was going through some papers Taehyung wasn't sure what they were at the time. "I regret not being able to give this cattle ranch to any of my kids. I just can't trust them to run it correctly, if at all." She murmured to herself as Taehyung was prattling off about the truck yet again. She did have at least one regret and she took it to her grave that day Taehyung had to help five other men put her in the ground.

A few weeks later Taehyung was standing on his small front porch smoking a cigarette. He has good enough sense not to smoke inside unless it was winter and even then he sat next to the window with it opened a little bit to let the smoke out.

He watched a large red truck roll down the dirt road with a trailer attached to the back with a bunch of furniture in it and behind the truck was a moving van. Both vehicles pulled into the loop driveway of Barb's old house which made him stand up straight. 

If there's people moving in that means he might lose his job working under the table including the trailer he had fixed himself so it was livable.

Hell, he might even lose the truck he finally got to start a couple months ago. There was every possibility Taehyung could think of and all he could think about was losing the one place he's ever truly known. 

Then she stepped out of the truck, well more like jumped down but, when she walked around to the trailer Taehyung's mind stopped for a moment.

The new ranch master was beautiful, her hair was bright and glossy. She was short and curvy just the way he liked his women, his breath hitched in his throat when she stepped on the truck's tire and threw her lovely legs over the side of the truck with a smile on her face. 

He needed to introduce himself, maybe make a good first impression maybe then, he could keep working here and stay in his trailer. He quickly put out his half cigarette and brushed his hands off on his jeans, his hands were clammy and he was nervous to say the least. There was a million ways this could go as he made his way over to the young woman who was now climbing down from the truck down to level ground again. 

He stands behind the woman as she takes her boot off, shaking a loose pebble out of it before putting it back on. "Uhm, hi... my name is-" The woman jumps two feet in the air clutching her chest as she whips around to the new voice behind her.

When she sees him she has to glance up to look him in the eye in order to talk to him. He was a tall man, he looked strong enough to handle hard labor, broad shoulders and big hands to boot. But he looked as if he was trying to curl in on himself, like he was almost scared? Shy perhaps?

The woman stares at him for a moment before her eyes light up and she quickly makes her way to the front of the truck pulling out some folders which the ranch hands information on them. "You're Taehyung right? Kim Taehyung?" The woman beams at him as she rounds the truck for a second time looking down at the folder in her arms.

"Y-yeah that's me." He stutters awkwardly shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets. "I'm Y/n O'Brian." She offers him her hand for a hand shake and Taehyung looks between her and her hand for a second before he takes her small hand in his with a small smirk on his lips. "Looks like you're one of the ranch hands who have been here the longest?" Y/n asks as he releases her hand with an awkward chuckle for holding it for so long. "Yeah the uh, bunks are in the back over there in the little yellow barn. I live in the trailer just across the way. Not too far- if you uh, ever need anything." Taehyung rubs the back of his head with a small smile on his lips making Y/n smile back at him.

"Thank yo-" Y/n is cut off by an arm draping over her shoulder giving it a tight squeeze making her wince a little bit. "That's good to know, ain't it honey?" The older looking man grits his teeth looking down at Y/n who puts on a fake smile and chuckles quietly to the man next to her.

He looks back at Taehyung, standing there with a grimace on his face. Extending his hand to the ranch hand with an ugly smirk on his face, they shake hands roughly. "Nice to meet you kid. My name is Joshua, just Josh is fine though. My wife and I hope nothing will go wrong while the ranch is under our care." He chuckles darkly when Taehyung removes his hand from his and takes a step back. "Yeah, let's hope not." He sneers back at him.

A few weeks pass and everything is as follows; Taehyung and the other ranch hands wake up a little before the sun starts rising in the sky. The cattle is moved from one field to another so they can continue grazing freely.

The horses who aren't being used by the cattle hands are put into the field with the cows so they can stretch their legs. A few horses are training for shows and contests in town and around the countryside.

The smaller animals such as the chickens and pigs were taken care of by the ranch master and in this case would be Josh but Y/n was awake anyways.

She wraps her robe around herself and ties it off at her middle, grabbing the old wicker basket at the back door and stepping out to take care of the chickens.

Y/n was quietly humming to herself as she picked at least two dozen or more eggs from the chicken coop. The chickens clucked around her feed waiting to be fed almost tripping her a few times when Taehyung comes riding in on one of the many horses.

He offers help every morning when he sees her half asleep and grumpy. His heart aches for her when he sees a new bruise or cut on her delicate skin, he wishes he could do something for her but he knows he can't do or say anything without potentially losing his job and place of living.

He's gone toe to toe with Josh before when Y/n went to her garden with a bruise under her right eye. Taehyung was pissed that her husband thought it was okay to hit her like that, his parents never laid a finger on each other before one day something changed and they started looking sick.

He never left them because they were his parents he loved them so much. When they stopped moving one day Taehyung had ran away to the next town over where Barbra found him a few days after he had made it to town. 

A few months would pass and Y/n, Taehyung and a few of the other ranch hands were becoming really good friends. They all went out for some drinks one Friday night, somehow Y/n had made it past her abusive husband to come out with them.

They played pool and darts most of the time while enjoying each others company. It was the first time Y/n felt free, more like herself than she had in years.

When one of her favorite songs came on over the speakers Y/n couldn't hold her excitement as she grabbed Taehyung by the hand, pulling him onto the dance floor with her. 

After Taehyung had started driving Y/n home in his truck because she had one too many drinks, she shuffled closer to him on the bench seat, nuzzling under his shoulder until he moved to wrap his arm around her.

Her cheeks were red and warm as she laid her head on his chest while he kept one hand on the wheel down the dirt road. She started playing with his hands, measuring her hand against his, tracing the lines on the joints of his fingers. Even ghosting her finger tips along the palm of his hand making Taehyung shiver under her gentle touch.

Especially when she drunkenly lays her hand on his thigh making him squirm in the bench seat next to her until he pulled into the driveway of his trailer.

The door was barely opened before Taehyung stumbled inside with Y/n's legs wrapped around his hips as he held her by the back of her thighs, holding them tightly with his large hands as they made out.

Both of them clumsily made it to his bedroom, Taehyung lays her on the bed gently, driven by the alcohol coursing through his system and the feelings he has for Y/n.

This beautiful woman who had captured his heart with her sweet accent alone. He kisses her feverishly but slowly trying to hold back as much as he could until she wanted more of him. 

She tugs on his plaid shirt a few times as Taehyung leaves a small mark just between the cleavage of her breast where it could be hidden easily. He feels her pull on him and quickly disposes of his shirt revealing himself to her.

She stares at him for a moment, admiring his hard muscles that twitched under her touch as he kneels on the bed between her legs. She slowly un-buckles his belt causing Taehyung to look down at what she was doing then back at her.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with." He coos, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear looking at her with all the love in the world. "I'm sure Tae, please? I need you. I want to feel safe again." She cries the alcohol in her system playing with her emotions. Taehyung coos at her again, giving her soft slow kisses all over her, making sure she knew she was meant to be loved just like this.

Taehyung didn't see Y/n much after that night, he would stay outside doing chores while also keeping an eye out for the ranch master's wife.

By Gods he hated admitting that someone got to marry that beautiful woman before he did, he would mentally kick himself over nothing every time he thought about it.

Taehyung couldn't do much about the abusive nature of her husband either, the few times that he had stepped in he either got a black eye or a few bruised ribs when he tried to defend her to him because obviously she had done nothing wrong in the first place. 

He almost lost his job three or four different times over the course of eight months but he made sure to tell Y/n that he was always there if she wanted to talk or just simply sit in silence for a while.

She would tell him the same thing every time too. "I'll be find don't worry about me. Too much of a hassle to deal with anyways." Without fail Taehyung would watch her silently from the other side of the fence during the work day and keep a closer eye on the house once the work day was over. 

Every so often by the light in the living room window he could see their shadows dancing around the curtain when Joshua would get angry with her for what he didn't know but Taehyung bets it has something to do with the food being too spicy or too bland.

The man was never happy with anything his wife did which made Taehyung's blood boil when he saw that Y/n was trying her best to please him.

The next day comes and goes by in a hurry as the evening sun sets against the horizon just beyond the pasture. Taehyung lights a cigarette and takes a seat in his little lawn chair facing the ranch house, the same little window like he had been staring through the last few weeks since the night Taehyung knew he crossed the line but it was a beautiful line to cross in the first place.

Tonight's fight was no different than all the others, Josh was waving his hands around, yelling and screaming so loud he could hear it from his trailer.

The only difference was he heard Y/n yelling back at him, making Taehyung stand pin straight taking a long drag off of his cigarette before throwing it to the side, leaning over the banister a cold expression on his face as he stares intently at the window. 

All of it happened so quickly Taehyung had barely processed what happened before he had jumped clear off his porch and ran to the ranch house.

He bangs on the door a few times before he slams his body weight against the frame, breaking it with two hits of his body. Once the door was down he ran through the kitchen and into the living room tackling Josh to the ground and wrestling him for the gun as Y/n sits shell shocked against the fridge, watching the two of them beat on each other.

Taehyung manages to throw the gun out of Josh's reach and against Y/n feet as she tries to shakily talk to the emergency operator on the other side of the phone.

Josh stands into the living room grabbing the old lamp Y/n's grandmother had given to her and smashes it over Taehyungs head making him fall to the ground.

He shakes his head trying to get his vision to focus when Y/n's raggedy husband grabs a fistful of Taehyung's curly hair and pulls him to his feet. 

"You think- just because you fucked my wife- that you can just barge in here unannounced?!" Josh screams in Taehyung's face as he huffs out a get fucked at him with a smirk on his face, spitting a mix of saliva and blood at his feet.

He punches the ranch hand in the gut and he doubles over onto the floor holding his stomach. Y/n looks at him worriedly her eyes as round as saucers, trying to hide the phone from sight.

She lifts her index finger to her lips to let Taehyung know to be quiet and that help was on the way. "I could beat on my wife all day. You're more fun-" Josh grabs him by the collar lifting him up to meet his gaze. "You actually fight back, gives me a challenge." He chuckles darkly pulling his large fist back to hit Taehyung's bloody face again when the click of a gun is heard behind him.

"Leave him alone Joshua- the cops are already on their way so stop this right now." Y/n orders her husband aiming the gun square at his head. Josh scoffs at her but gently puts Taehyung back onto his own two feet. "You won't do shit, if you were- you'd have done it already bitch." Josh makes his way towards her and she fires the gun into the ceiling without a second thought making the three of them flinch at the sudden change in volume.

"Stay back, I'll shoot you Joshua O'Brian I swear to any god that will listen. I will paint the walls with your brain, if you even have one." Y/n snarls at him when a wave of intense pain washes over her, Y/n goes down kneeling onto the floor holding her stomach.

Taehyung quickly makes his way over to Y/n cradling her in his arms. "The baby." Y/n gasps holding onto his forearms. "Baby? What baby? Y/n?" Taehyung asks frantically keeping the gun within his line of sight. "Yours- Our baby Tae. Fuck this hurts." She curses when Josh chuckles darkly at the pair of them on the floor.

"Bastard child." He scoffs wiping the blood off of his knuckles as sirens can be heard off in the distance and for once Josh actually looks scared. 

Two weeks pass after that night, Y/n had moved Taehyung into the ranch house with her because of the nightmares she would have. The first night it happened was the same night the police had taken Joshua away in the back of their cop car.

She woke up in the early hours of the morning and walked over to his trailer, looking like a kicked puppy when Taehyung sleepily answered the door and let her inside. The pair of them slept soundly for the first time in quite a long time.

The day after the court hearing and the divorce papers were signed Y/n steps outside of the courthouse taking a deep breath of fresh air, feeling truly free for the first time in years.

Taehyung walks up beside her and takes her hand in his, his other hand rubs on her stomach as he kneels down level with her stomach making Y/n giggle and smile down at him as he presses kisses along her stomach.

"I love you little one, I don't know if you're a boy or a girl but, either way. Your Daddy is so happy to have you." He whispers against her as the baby kicks Taehyung on the forehead making him take a second to process what just happened. He looks up at Y/n with tears welling in his eyes. "Did they just-" She giggles at him when he wraps his arms around her middle gently.

"Your daughter is quite the fighter." Y/n jokes as she pulls Taehyung back to his feet, brushing the loose dirt from the ranch off of his shoulders with a small smile on her lips.

Taehyung looks into her beautiful eyes, completely entranced by her beauty. "Just like her Mommy." He says leaning down for a kiss and their lips connect for the first time in months 

In the next month the baby had made her way into the world quietly, the only time she cried after Y/n had labored for thirteen hours in the hospital delivery room.

She had Taehyung's dark, curly hair and big brown eyes, she was small like her mother even her lips were tiny too. The sight of his two girls curled on the hospital bed as Y/n breast fed was the best thing he's seen for a very long time.

He was mesmerized by them especially Y/n, the same woman who he watched for nearly over a year be beaten the shit out of on a daily basis, who took every hit and every mentally abusive remark for who knows how much longer than he had seen.

She was indeed a strong woman and perfect role model for their daughter. Y/n looks to Taehyung who is lost in thought, staring intently at the two of them with that beautiful boxy smile on his lips when she catches his eye.

"Do you want to hold her?" She asks him and he hesitates for a moment, his daughter is so much smaller than him, he could hurt her if he wasn't careful. "I don't want to break her." His hands shake a little as he walks over to his girls. "You won't hurt her Tae. Just support Naomi's head and you'll be alright. Just like that, good job Dad." Y/n slowly helps Taehyung hold the baby correctly, cradling her in his arms.

She moves in her swaddle a little bit making the tiniest, cutest sound she could possibly make and Taehyung just stares at her in awe. Something so little could produce a smaller sound out of her lips. "She's beautiful. You did such an amazing job darlin'." Taehyung coos at Y/n who stands on the other side of their daughter stroking the tuft of curly hair on top of her head smiling happily. 

A year later Taehyung and Y/n are celebrating Naomi's first birthday with the ranch hands and a few other family members in attendance. "Hey sis? Could you hand me the cake cutter? Or a knife I don't care hand me something woman." She chuckles moving through the kitchen swiftly and smoothly like a ballerina performing on stage.

Y/n's father walks into the living room where Taehyung and Y/n's mother sit chatting away while the older kids ran between the kitchen and outside, playing in the sprinkler out in the yard.

"So, Taehyung is it?" Y/n's father accidently interrupts the light hearted conversation, making Taehyung stand and shake her fathers hand firmly. "Yes, I'm Taehyung s-sir." His eyes widen as he stutters, making him curl in on himself.

Her father just chuckles at the poor boy relaxing his posture a little bit, hoping to make the boy a little more comfortable with him. "Don't worry about that kid, you should've heard me the day I met Her mother's dad. Damn, you could see the sweat for miles when I stood on that front porch with flowers in my hand. I was nervous to say the least."

Taehyung takes a breath of relief nodding to her father when her mother confirms it for him by smiling and nodding her head. "Listen son, if you truly love my daughter unlike that no good son-" Y/n's mother coughs, staring him down before finishing for him.

"What he means sweetheart- if you want to marry our daughter, you have our permission to ask her." Taehyung swallows hard as his hands become clammy and he chuckles with Y/n's parents in the living room when the lady of the house comes into view. "Everything's ready! Tae could you go get Naomi? I think my sister has her outside in the sprinklers." 

Everyone gathers around the large dining table in the middle of the kitchen, Y/n let Naomi "open" her presents first so she didn't get cake on them. She got plenty of baby toys and more blankets and a few hand made wash cloths from the neighbor down the road.

A few more hours pass of Naomi opening her new toys and Dad putting a few of them together for her. One by one each family member left the house. Y/n said goodbye to her parents last because her mother had helped her clean up the mess when Taehyung and her father picked up the toys from the side yard. 

Taehyung waits until Naomi was sound asleep in her crib, thank god that child slept like a fucking rock too because if Taehyung was going to go through with this, the baby needed to be out like a light.

Y/n was getting ready for bed in their master bathroom when Taehyung comes up and hugs her from behind, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck and wrapping his arms around her middle, almost missing the baby bump she used to have.

"I love you, Y/n." He whispers into her ear making her shiver as his hot breath hits her cold skin fresh out of the shower. Taehyung and Y/n makes eye contact through the mirror in front of them and she can almost see the predatory glint in his eyes as his eyes scan her body only to meet her gaze again.

"I love the way you wake me up in the mornings. I love the way your night gowns give so much but leave just enough to the imagination. I love the way your hair blows in the wind when we sit outside together. I love our daughter we made together. I just- love you so much." Taehyung starts to tear up and Y/n coos at him lovingly. "I love you too, Tae. What's wrong baby? Did my dad say something?" His grip on her body tightens the slightest bit when she mentioned her father.

"N-no he didn't- I mean he did but- that's not the point. I'm trying to be romantic and you're ruining it." He playfully scoffs giving her ass a light slap and grabbing it making her squeal. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. Continue please?" She pouts into the mirror holding onto his forearms around her stomach. Taehyung takes a deep breath as he speaks again only a little irritated.

"You're as pretty as south Georgia peaches and as hot as any Tennessee June. Did you know that? Every time I look at you I fall more and more in love with everything you do. Even if the little things you do irritate me sometimes, like not believing me when I tell you you're beautiful." Taehyung pauses to place a few kisses along Y/n's jawline and neck, his hands roaming her body as he talks to her lovingly.

Y/n giggles against him and turns to face him when he pins her to the bathroom sink. "But I think the thing that's got me hooked on you the most is when you say you love me in that sweet, soft, slow, southern drawl of yours. It drives me crazy Y/n, sometimes I think you lay it on thick on purpose." He smirks down at her innocent eyes.

"I ain't got a clue what yer talkin' about sweetheart." Y/n looks around the room when Taehyung rolls his eyes back, tilting his head slightly with a low groan.

"That- That right there is what I'm talking about little lady. It's like you love driving me crazy just by speaking." He teases her, pulling her gown up just enough to reveal her thighs he's been thinking about all day, he couldn't wait to be between them. Taehyung dips down to her level locking eyes with her once again before his gaze drops down to her sweet lips.

"Say my name." He deadpans his eyes still locked on her lips, waiting patiently as he can for her to speak. Y/n stutters when he picks her up to sit her on the bathroom counter top next to the sink. "T-Taehyung." She says softly when one of his large hands smack the counter next to her hip, sliding to her hip giving it a squeeze as he closes his eyes.

"I love it when you say my name baby," He purrs in her ear making her shiver again when his hand ghosts over her stomach. He opens his eyes again pressing his lips to hers with fervor almost pushing her against the large mirror before picking her up again and taking her to the bed.

He lays her down gently like he had the first time they had been in this position but this time there were no repercussions of their actions.

They continue to kiss each other like it was the last time they're going to be able to. Y/n pulls him closer to her by the back of his neck giving the little hairs on the back of his neck a tug earning a soft moan from Taehyung. He angles himself to look at her, propping himself onto his hands on either side of her head as he hovers over her. 

"Marry me." 

Y/n takes a moment to look at the man hovering above her curvy frame. Did he- of course he did, every chance he got he would mess around with the idea.

Y/n never took any of it too seriously considering the hell she had just gotten out of just a little over a year ago. Y/n caresses his cheek softly looking up at him with stars in her eyes as the tears began to pool at the brim. "Yes. yes Taehyung I will marry you. Just please, don't hurt me." She pleads with him and he hushes her worries with a kiss that hopefully portrayed all of the emotions he had for her. He latches onto her neck leaving a good sized love bite on her neck before he kissed her cheek.

"I could never hurt the one person who has made me happier in the last two years, than I have been my entire life."

[sunrisespeedway]

The Wheel Of Fortune - Indianapolis Motor Speedway

Upright, the Wheel of Fortune can represent opportunity, luck, destiny, and life cycles. Reversed, it can mean disappointment, misfortune, and lack of control.

Remember; what goes up must also come back down.

This one is one of my favorites! It's always said that the Brickyard chooses the winner of the 500, and I think that goes pretty well with the idea of it being the Wheel of Fortune. Win or lose, it's up to the speedway.

The next card will likely be The Lovers :)