#so many lighting and transparency experiments in this one

[echo-bleu]

Voleuse d'étoile - Star Thief

Inprnt | Commissions

[norristeria]

Oddity¹ ! LN04

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x Oscar's PA! FemReader, Oscar Piastri x PA! FemReader ( platonic )

SUMMARY 𝄡 Though Oscar's teammate is the strangest man you've ever met, you cannot help but find this oddity charming.

IN THIS CHAPTER... Desperate for a job, you apply to be a personal assistant for a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports.�� It's harder than it looks, but only because your new employer is dead set on being a pain in the ass. And what's the deal with his new teammate?

TAGS 𝄡 Angst. Fluff.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 6k.

NOTE 𝄡 Everyone loved the pairing, so I wrote the series⏤it's as simple as that. What do we think? Not much Lando in this chapter but Oscar and Reader's subplot has my entire heart! I tweaked the chronology a bit because I can. ( not edited. if you see a typo⏤no, you didn't. ) <33

For a better experience, read this story in light mode! ( use of black writing on transparent background )

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

━━━━ ❦ Chapter II.

‘Mark Webber’ sounded like an important name, enough to have its gold plaque hanging on a solid oak door.

The man who opened it matched that image—serene and proud, the kind of man that had known glory, however small, in the past. Mark Webber's charisma was undeniable, yes, but the expectation that lit up his face as he extended a hand toward you, the need for recognition clearly visible in his eyes, made him so painfully human that your shoulders relaxed.

He may have been the manager of your future client—a ‘one-of-a-kind young talent in motorsports' according to the job description—but he was still a man, and you knew how to deal with those. Had been doing it for years during your bachelor’s degree and, later on, your master’s in business administration and management. Those so-called “sons of” or “self-made men” proliferated in Harvard, waiting for one thing only: for you to recognize them without ever needing to introduce themselves.

But because you desperately needed this job and hadn’t gone through three interviews for nothing, you swallowed your pride, smiled, and extended your hand.

“Mr. Webber, it’s an honour to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss L/N. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m afraid time is not on our side right now. I do hope you had a moment to look over the contract HR sent you.”

He led you to his office, cluttered with paperwork. You winced at the chaos, resisting the urge to bring order to the madness. Instead, you sat down, crossed your legs, and pulled the employment contract from your folder.

Your very own Holy Grail.

“Here’s my copy. Initialled and signed.”

You had shed a few tears as you slid the pen across the page—a strange blend of relief and frustration. One of those emotions only fate itself could concoct. Because you had not planned this. Not at all. For years, you had envisioned yourself as a talent agent, maybe a manager at a publicly traded company—but certainly not the personal assistant to one Oscar Piastri, whose name you hadn’t even known three weeks earlier.

When life gives you lemons, learn to make lemonade or suffer their bitterness, your grandmother used to say.

You had chosen your side quickly, picked the lemons yourself, pressed them, sweetened the juice, and learned to savour the taste. You who had never liked citrus fruits had now convinced yourself to see in that pale yellow flesh a sign of future success, of stability.

How many lemon trees would you need to harvest before your parents got used to the sourness?

Watching their prodigy of a daughter become a ‘rich man’s servant’, after paying for five years at Harvard, was a truth they struggled to swallow—a sourness lodged in the throat, leaving behind the bitter tang of defeat.

When you had graduated summa cum laude, your parents had imagined you’d be drowning in job offers. But reality hit hard. Brutally hard. Intelligence alone wasn’t enough. The world’s best companies didn’t hire without connections, and you had none.

The first disillusionment in life stings like nothing else.

So, you had to swallow your pride, lower your standards, and look elsewhere. Anything, really—anything but unemployment and long days spent contemplating the wreckage of your ambitions.

Anything but failure.

The job description had arrived in your inbox amid hundreds of others. That night, you had drunk two glasses of red wine—maybe more—your cheeks streaked with mascara and the remnants of your frustration. You had received two rejections that very morning. Overqualified, they had said.

Bullshit, you replied. They just didn’t want to pay you what your degrees were worth.

For months now, you had been suffering—stuck in this purgatory. Too qualified for some roles, not enough for others. The adjectives varied, but the outcome remained the same. You barely needed to read the emails anymore. You knew the words by heart.

After reviewing your profile, and despite its many strengths, we have decided not to move forward with your application.

It was with those words echoing in your mind that you clicked on the job offer. Personal Assistant. Your eyes widened at the jaw-dropping salary and the list of benefits.

“What the actual fuck?” you mumbled.

Suddenly sobered, you sat up straight and read the required qualifications eagerly, a flicker of hope warming your chest for the first time in weeks. The words were generic—experience, organisation, management, flexibility—but you welcomed their familiarity.

Your internship with one of New York’s top CEOs—the one your classmates had mocked, claiming “it wasn’t a real internship with real responsibilities”—was finally proving useful.

You took another long sip of wine and hastily drafted a cover letter, attached your resumé, and submitted them via the designated portal.

The next day, you received an email with an interview date.

A month later, you found yourself in the heart of London, ready to sign your first real contract—no matter what your parents thought on the matter.

You blinked away the sound of their voices. You wouldn’t let a few bitter scraps of lemon zest ruin what was beginning to look like a stroke of fate. Instead, you watched Mr. Webber sign the contract. With each initial written on the paper, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

That’s it, you thought. I have a job.

Yes, being a personal assistant wasn’t the career you had dreamt of; yes, you were overqualified—but it was still a job. And a well-paid one. Probably better than a quarter of your former classmates now working as marketing consultants.

Mark Webber capped his pen and smiled at you.

“Well then, welcome aboard.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh of pure relief that shook your shoulders as you tucked the signed contract back into the folder.

Webber rummaged through the chaos on his desk and pulled from its depths a rectangular white box, which he slid across to you. A brand-new iPhone 14.

“Here’s your work phone. I’ve already inserted the SIM card. I don’t know if you’ve worked with this kind of setup before, but it’s a bit different from a regular iPhone—more secure, more restricted. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important part: HR should send you an email within the next couple of days with information you need to have, including Oscar’s number.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough. I’d like the two of you to feel comfortable around each other as soon as possible. It’s his first season as a full-time driver and his first time working with a personal assistant. I want everything to go smoothly.”

“Naturally.”

Mark Webber sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on you. You held his gaze. He smiled.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you. I had it the moment I saw your CV.”

“I won’t let you down,” you promised.

Just like Mark—who had insisted you call him that—had said, the meeting with Oscar came swiftly. An email arrived in your inbox four days after your interviews, listing a time and an address.

Six days later, as winter tightened its grip on England with sharp winds and grey skies, you wandered through the deserted streets of Hertford for several minutes before stumbling upon a building that looked quintessentially British—red brick walls, single-hung white windows—the kind your grandparents had once lived in. It was unremarkable, to the point that you wondered if you had typed in the wrong address in Maps. Didn’t Formula 1 drivers earn outrageous salaries?

A gust of wind stung your cheeks. You pulled your coat tighter around you and pressed the doorbell labeled “O. Piastri.” The ink on the name was nearly washed away, chased by the rain and all the other pleasantries of English weather. Mother Nature herself seemed determined to guard his anonymity.

“You can come up. Third floor, last door on the left.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the intercom, as though his client had no voice of his own. Your mind wandered: would he sound the same, or had his years in England worn away his accent, like the ink on his doorbell?

Apartment 3B’s door appeared sooner than you expected, leaving you no time to steel yourself. This was a decisive moment. If Oscar Piastri didn’t like you—if he deemed you unfit for any reason—they would terminate your probationary period, and you would be cast back into the labyrinth of professional limbo.

I just need him to like me. Simple enough, right?

As you adjusted the collar of your sweater, the door opened to reveal Mark. He greeted you with a nod and stepped aside. You didn’t spare a glance for the apartment. Instead, your eyes fell immediately on the young man seated at the table. Your gazes locked.

You gulped.

You had read Oscar Piastri’s Wikipedia page, of course. Before you became an assistant, you had been a student, and if there was one thing you had mastered during that time, it was research. You had stuck only to the facts, never clicking on the suggested videos or press interviews—resolute in forming your own impression.

“Hello. I’m Y/N, pleased to meet you.”

“Oscar.”

Your handshake offered little reassurance, nor did the driver’s impassive expression. You swallowed again and instinctively hugged your notebook to your chest before taking a seat opposite him.

You listened half-heartedly as Mark launched into a stream of benign, reassuring remarks—an overview of your role you had already read over multiple times. Realizing you wouldn’t need to speak, you let yourself drift from the monologue and instead studied the boy you would be working for, scanning his impassive face for any hint on your potential dynamic.

Like many, you had seen The Devil Wears Prada, and while you were aware you weren’t going to work for Vogue, Formula 1 seemed every bit as cutthroat as the fashion world—catfights and sabotage didn’t seem far-fetched in a microcosm so thoroughly built by and for men.

“So, that’s everything,” Mark concluded. “Any questions?”

Oscar shook his head. You mirrored the gesture.

You both shook hands again, before you left Hertford with a new file in your handbag and a knot in your stomach.

December faded; January dawned, bringing with it a new year and its obligations. You moved to Hertford, into a small townhouse not far from Oscar’s apartment, though you never found the courage to cross the neighborhood that separated you.

Instead, you improvised a home office on your dining table, where you set up your laptop and phone—devices you would stare at for hours, waiting for the screen to light up, though it never did despite the messages you had sent Oscar.

Would you like me to order a coffee for your video call with Zak Brown?

Do you need anything specific before your trip to Monaco?

When are you planning to leave for Australia? I’ll book the tickets.

You always left your ringer on, even through the night. Just in case he calls, you told yourself. But it never came. No calls. No messages. No requests. Just silence—heavy—and that infuriating “seen” icon.

At least Mark had the decency to keep you in the loop regarding Oscar’s upcoming obligations. The driver himself had all but vanished. His absence brewed a storm of emotions in you.

First doubt. Then anger.

Did Oscar think you incompetent? Did he consider himself above you?

You lasted a week before you snapped. One week of avoidance. One week of “seen.” One week of voicemails.

You retreated from your desk to your bed, turned off your ringer, and replaced calls and messages with emails—though those, too, went unanswered.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: London–Australia Flight / Dec 14, 10:30

Dear Oscar,

Please find attached your outbound ticket to Melbourne, departing from London Gatwick on Dec 14 at 10:30 AM. A taxi has been booked to pick you up at 7:00 AM.

Let me know your preferred return date, and I’ll handle the booking promptly.

P.S. Don’t forget your Zoom meeting with Mr. Ellis Woodward from McLaren HR on Dec 18 at 9:30 AM London time (6:30 PM Melbourne time). Here's once again the link: https://zoom.us/j/814553

Wishing you happy holidays.

Kind regards, Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Flight_OPiastri_LGWMEL_1412.pdf]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Offlane B.V. Meeting

Oscar,

Offlane would like to schedule a video call to discuss your website’s new branding. Mark emphasized that it should be handled before the New Year. Please let me know your availability.

Attached are the proposed designs for your review.

Regards,

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: OSCARPIASTRI_FINAL_1224.zip]

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Schedule & Meeting Change / Dec 30–Jan 5

Please find attached your schedule for the week. I’ve managed to free up Dec 31 to Jan 2.

Note that your meeting with Thomas Rogers from McLaren’s comms department has been moved from 7:30 PM to 8:30 PM (Melbourne time).

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

[Attachment: Schedule_OP_06120125.pdf]

“I don’t understand why you hired me if Oscar flat-out refuses my help," you said one day, matter-of-factly. “He won’t even answer my emails.”

On your MacBook screen, Mark sighed. The sound crackled harshly in your ears. You grimaced, but quickly composed yourself, afraid he’d take the gesture personally, before turning the volume down and glancing around.

You had chosen this café for its peace. The barista was humming a familiar tune as he prepared lattes, and the only other customer was far too engrossed in her novel to care about you.

You found comfort in this silence. It was unlike the one at home—less oppressive, more soothing.

Your latte, sweetened with vanilla syrup, was going cold. Yet even masked by sugar, you couldn’t get rid of the bitterness that had seeped into all your meals.

Lately, the lemons life gave you were either underripe or rotten. Oscar Piastri had spoiled the lemonade recipe you had spent years perfecting. You had forgotten its tangy sweetness and were now biting into the bitter rind of failure.

“Oscar is... a guarded young man,” Mark replied after a suffocating pause. “That mess with Alpine and his contract didn’t help. From his perspective, you could betray him just like they did. McLaren are the only one he trusts right now. I think that’s why he’s counting on their PR assistant for now.”

You frowned. The statement stung more than you cared to admit. Mark must have sensed it, because he quickly added: “But don’t worry—I’ll speak to him. Things will improve. Whether he likes it or not, he needs an assistant. I’ve made that clear. Everything’s about to speed up come late January, and I want him focused on racing.”

“Then why didn’t you ask McLaren to hire someone if he trusts them so much?” you asked, your tongue thick with resentment.

“Because a contract is just that. A contract. It expires and no one knows what tomorrow will bring. I want him to trust someone outside of that system. And if that means we pay your salary ourselves, so be it. It’s worth it. Loyalty is rare in this sport. I want to give it a chance to bloom without any influence.”

You nodded, but a lump had settled in your throat. Guilt. On your parents’ advice, you had begun quietly looking for other jobs.

You can’t go on like this, they’d told you. You deserve respect. And painful as it was to admit—they were right.

“I understand,” you finally said. “And I understand his trust issues. God knows I’ve been betrayed more than once during internships. I don’t blame him for that. But I’d appreciate it if he at least acknowledged my emails.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Mark repeated. “In the meantime, keep doing your job. I see every email you send, and I want to commend you—not just for your efficiency and initiative, but for your professionalism despite Oscar’s behaviour. Your efforts are not in vain.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded. It was hard to accept praise when the one person you were meant to work for gave you no recognition at all.

“I have to go. McLaren call in five minutes. Keep it up—I’ll handle Oscar.”

Your tired and discouraged face stared back at you on the black screen. You sighed, took a sip of cold coffee, and began typing a new email.

From: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > To: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: Quad Lock

Oscar,

As Mark and your new McLaren PR assistant may have informed you, Quad Lock (an Australian brand for sports phone mounts) is interested in sponsoring you in 2023.

They’re only available on Thursday, January 16 at 10:30 AM, but you’re scheduled for a padel session then. Would you prefer I reschedule, or can you make yourself available?

Y/N L/N y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com

That evening, you nearly choked on your red wine when your phone buzzed. You immediately recognized the sound—your inbox—and tapped the notification with a trembling finger.

"What the fuck?"

From: Oscar PIASTRI < oscar.piastri@mclaren.uk > To: Y/N L/N < y/n.l/n@oscarpiastri.com > CC: Mark WEBBER < mark.webber@oscarpiastri.com > Subject: RE: Quad Lock

Jan 16 works. Cancel padel.

Oscar

You ended up staring at the screen for far too long. Since when did a simple email affect you so deeply? You had studied at Harvard, for God’s sake. Interned at prestigious firms. Yet here you were—shaken by a curt reply from a bull-headed driver.

If your parents could see you now, they’d sigh.

You typed a reply, erased it, retyped the same one, changed a word, fixed a typo, then—uncertain—rewrote it altogether.

Then deleted it again.

And finally typed: “Thanks, I’ll inform them.”

You tossed your phone across the bed and drained your wine in one big gulp.

You didn’t know what to make of the sudden shift, but one thing was certain: you could count on Mark. And there was nothing more reassuring than not feeling alone in your corner.

You longed for the sense of excitement that had animated you when you had signed your contract in this very office, just a few weeks ago. The golden plaque on the door still bore Mark’s name but it no longer gleamed as it had that first day. It appeared dull now—faded, even.

He had summoned you to discuss Oscar’s upcoming first days with McLaren, and the logistical arrangements it would require.

Upon your arrival, the secretary had promptly informed you that the Australian would be running late. Something about a meeting “too important to be cut short.”

So, you had sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and begun flipping through your notebook to review the brief Mark had sent two days prior. But muffled voices soon broke your concentration.

You looked up. The office door stood slightly ajar.

You immediately recognized Mark’s voice. Another, deeper and more assertive, kept interrupting him.

Oscar.

Eyes wide, you gently closed your notebook and placed it on the seat beside you before moving closer to the door.

“This can’t go on,” said Mark. “Besides your blatant lack of professionalism, you're making things harder for yourself on purpose.”

“I don’t need an assistant.”

They’re talking about me, you realized.

You swallowed hard and leaned in.

“And I’m telling you that you do. You’re stepping into the big leagues, Oscar. That means four times the responsibilities, four times the meetings. Your little Google Calendar might’ve worked in F2 and in 2022, but that’s no longer the case. You need someone.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here to help you negotiate contracts, not book your flights or your hair appointments. I have enough on my plate as it is, and you do too. You’re literally starting at McLaren in two weeks!”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But why Y/N?”

 “Why not?”

“I’ve read her résumé. She doesn’t belong here,” he spat.

You recoiled. The words stung, not just because of what he said, but how he said it. You had expected indifference from Oscar, but never cruelty.

“You can complain all you want,” Mark replied coolly. “It won’t change a damn thing. She is your assistant—and given the excellent work she’s done despite your shitty attitude, she will remain as such. So get used to seeing her around.”

“Whatever,” Oscar muttered.

Silence followed, then soft but steady footsteps.

Your stomach twisted. You scrambled back to your seat, notebook now trembling in your damp hands. Your heartbeat was so loud you could feel it pounding in your temples.

Oscar soon appeared in the doorway. His dark eyes immediately found yours. You froze, gaze fixed on a blurry sentence, your heart in your throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stop. His stare scorched the right side of your face. Your cheeks burned—whether from fury or adrenaline, you couldn’t say. Perhaps both.

After what felt like an eternity, the driver turned and walked away. Without a word. As always.

He didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face, you thought.

Something inside you cracked at that realization—the last stronghold of patience, the final tower of understanding.

Rage surged through your veins and turned your chest into a battlefield. Amid the carnage, a voice pierced your armour. You looked up and saw Mark, one hand on the door handle.

“Are you coming?”

You followed him into the office mechanically, sat down in the leather chair, opened your notebook, nodded silently at every sentence he spoke, scribbled down notes you knew you would never read, and asked no questions.

More than once, Mark raised an eyebrow at your uncharacteristic silence, but you deliberately ignored his questioning glances.

Gone was the eager assistant, determined to prove herself, always anticipating her client’s needs. In her place sat a woman with furrowed brows and brisk, sharp movements—hardened by a fresh wave of anger.

One of the first management courses you had taken at Harvard had introduced the idea of professional archetypes. Who was motivated by emotion? Rewards? Everyone prided themselves for their individuality, their uniqueness, but, at the end, we all fell a category. And you knew you thrived for acknowledgment—something Oscar had never given you. Not once.

And that hurt.

So no, you didn’t feel guilty for not listening during the meeting. Mark continued with his verbose explanations, but you knew the spiel…

Oscar’s debut at McLaren was fast approaching. It would be a critical moment—for him, for Mark, for you.

And yet, despite knowing all that, you couldn’t bring herself to care.

She doesn’t belong here.

At the memory of those words, you tightened your grip on your pen.

“Y/N,” Mark said eventually, his tone tentative. “About Oscar… I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”

You stifled a bitter laugh and nodded. He eventually dismissed you, realizing you had nothing further to say, and you didn’t hesitate to walk out—slamming the door behind you, decorum be damned.

Once home, you glanced at your makeshift desk on the dining table, then at your work phone—silent, as always.

That was the final straw—the dark screen.

On impulse, you reached out to your cousin, a doctor.

One of your professors had once spoken at length about the value of networking and connections. You finally understood the importance of those when, thirty minutes later, a five-day medical leave form landed in your inbox.

You forwarded it to Mark, turned off your phone, and threw it into a drawer.

If Oscar didn’t need you, then he could handle his McLaren debut on his own.

During the first two days, you didn’t leave your bed. You stayed under the covers and ignored the world outside—though the latter seemed determined not to ignore you. Your parents kept sending you links to job offers, and Mark had started calling your personal number.

On the third day, someone knocked.

Oscar.

The moment you saw him standing there, you didn’t think—you tried to slam the door in his face. But the driver was faster—damn reflexes—and caught it with one hand.

“We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please.”

That one word made you falter.

“I know you took medical leave,” he continued. “Mark told me. I also know you’re not really sick and it’s because of me.”

That caught your attention. Oscar took advantage of the hesitation and slipped through the gap. You protested, pushed against his chest to get him out, but you were no match to his strength.

Soon, Oscar Piastri was standing in your apartment.

The sight was so surreal you blinked, convinced you were hallucinating. But no, he was real and had just turned your worst nightmare into reality.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said. “I was an asshole.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Understatement of the fucking year.”

Oscar took your hand and held it in his.

Your eyes widened.

“I thought I didn’t need an assistant, but I was wrong.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling away.

“Oh, right. So what? You had some epiphany while I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“I missed three meetings with McLaren and was late to two others because I didn’t get your reminder emails.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mark didn’t send anything?”

It was surprising, given how insistent he’d been about professionalism before Oscar’s debut.

“He said it was to ‘help me realize how much I fucked up.’”

You stifled a smile as a warm wave washed over you—part pride, part relief. Mark had stood up for you. Your heart felt just a little lighter.

You looked up at Oscar.

But then a memory—sharp and cold—soured the moment.

“You said I didn’t belong there,” you whispered.

You hated yourself for voicing it, for letting the insecurity slip through. The same one your parents had spent years nurturing.

A heavy silence followed.

“You heard us,” he simply said. “Mark and me. The other day.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer. Oscar ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You don’t belong here. That’s true.”

You opened your mouth in disbelief.

“Did you read your résumé?” he went on, undeterred.

“What kind of stupid question is–”

“Because I did,” he cut you off. “And you’re overqualified. You graduated from Harvard, for fuck’s sake! You deserve so much more than being my personal assistant.”

For the first time, you were speechless.

“But I guess I’m selfish,” he sighed. “I still think you deserve better, but now that I know how much I need you, I don’t want you to leave.”

He stepped closer.

“So please, forgive me. I’ll give you a raise—just name your price. But don’t quit.”

You hesitated, frozen in the middle of your living room, facing a visibly nervous Oscar. Were you making a mistake? Giving in too easily? What if this was just a momentary change of heart? What if, in three weeks’ time, everything went back to how it was?

As if reading your thoughts, Oscar took another step and rushed to reassure you.

“I’ll try harder. I’ll communicate better. I’ll learn to trust you.”

“And reply to my emails?”

He smiled, and the sight of those bunny teeth softened something in your chest.

“That too.”

You had come to love this job in the past weeks. It quenched your thirst of order and precision. And, Oscar aside, it was relatively simple.

The salary didn’t hurt either.

“You have no self-respect, woman,” you muttered under your breath before taking a deep breath and speaking aloud. “Fine.”

You said it quickly, as if speaking too slowly would give regret the time to catch up.

Maybe forgiving him wasn’t the best decision. Maybe your first impression hadn’t been good either.

Maybe you had both made mistakes.

“What?”

“I said, fine.”

Oscar looked as though he wanted to hug you—you saw it in the way his muscles tensed—but he thought better of it and rested a hand on your shoulder instead.

“Thank you.”

Yoy offered him a small smile and straightened up. Oscar’s hand fell back to his side.

“Well… Let’s start over, shall we?”

You held out a hand.

“Hello, I’m Y/N. I’ll be your personal assistant. If you need anything, I’m here.”

Oscar took it and gave it a gentle shake.

“Hi, I’m Oscar and I won’t screw up this time.”

Woking was a rather dreary town, you concluded as you watched its brick buildings pass by through the window of Oscar’s car. A typical English town, with uniform neighbourhoods and a colour palette of browns and whites.

“Feeling nervous?” you asked, glancing at Oscar’s hands, clenched so tightly around the steering wheel they were turning white.

“Yes."

“Good. It would’ve been strange if you weren’t. It means you care.“"”

He sighed and turned down the radio.

“Mark warned me they’d drown me with information. I’m worried I won’t remember anything and that I’ll come across as a rookie.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Just try to remember the essentials, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you replied, giving your black notebook a shake.

The movement caught Oscar’s attention, and he glanced away from the road for a second. He hummed in acknowledgment, and silence settled once again over the car.

There remained in your interactions traces of your chaotic beginnings. The team-building week Mark had forced you into, squeezed into the slim window of time leading up to today, had helped, but one didn’t simply erase a month of mutual silence with the wave of a wand.

Both of you had promised Oscar’s manager to try. You had sealed the pact without hesitation—anything was preferable to playing yet another damned escape room.

Oscar eventually gestured toward the notebook with a nod.

“You’ll need an orange one.”

You clutched it to your chest with a grimace. Loose pages and stray Post-its crinkled against your wool winter coat. It was an organized chaos of contracts and printed emails—a reflection of the turbulent start to Oscar’s F1 career, and their own beginnings.

“It’s not even full yet! And I don’t like orange.”

“A sticker, then.”

You pursed your lips.

“I suppose. But only if I get to pick the design.”

‘It has to be related to the team or me, though.”

“It is related to you. It contains your entire life for the next eight months.”

Oscar cut the conversation short when he took a sharp turn.

“Look—we’re here.”

You blinked at the building.

What kind of Avengers shit is this?

The building looked like it had been plucked straight from the future and placed with uncanny precision beside the lake. Everything about it exuded innovation and ambition—the kind of place you had imagined yourself working for after graduating.

Today, you were entering it as a mere personal assistant.

A part of you felt bitter at the thought, but you quickly buried the feeling when Oscar opened his door and offered you a hand.

Mark was already waiting at the entrance, flanked by a man you recognized as Zak Brown, and another with tanned skin and graying hair.

“Andrea Stella, the team principal,” Oscar murmured in your ear, seeing your confused expression.

Zak and Andrea greeted you politely—nothing more—before turning their full attention to Oscar. Mark, on the other hand, walked over to you with a sly smile on his thin lips.

“You managed the drive without killing each other? I’m impressed.”

As if he hadn’t just forced the two of you into a three-hour tug-of-war last Wednesday…

You all entered the building together. You were left speechless by the modern architecture and followed the group of men on autopilot. Very quickly, Oscar began meeting the team—one person after another. The receptionists. The mechanics. The engineers. The technicians. The designers. You jotted down as much as you could in your little notebook, but even you soon felt overwhelmed, your wrist aching.

“Of course you know Cecilia, your PR assistant,” announced Zak Brown as they entered the office area.

That was enough to catch your attention. You snapped your head up so fast your neck cracked. You couldn’t help narrowing your eyes, givng a once-over to the woman who’d had such a good job back in November. Beside you, Mark stifled a laugh.

“Careful—you almost look jealous.”

“I don’t care.”

But you couldn’t hide your satisfied smile as you observed the interaction between the two—cordial and awkward.

Take that, Cecilia.

“Ah!” Zak exclaimed. “Just the man we were looking for! Lando, come meet your new teammate.”

You rose onto your toes to catch sight of the newcomer.

Of course, you knew who Lando Norris was. A McLaren driver since 2019 and now Oscar’s teammate. Nothing more—just the essentials. That was enough. Memorizing the information Mark and Oscar fed you already took up a quarter of your time; you didn’t have room for another driver.

He shook hands with everyone with the ease of someone familiar in his environment. There was no hesitation in his movements, just a quiet confidence.

“Nice to meet you, Oscar.”

“Likewise.”

The Australian stepped aside, revealing you behind him. Your eyes met. Lando’s widened.

“And this is—”

But before Oscar could introduce you, Lando stumbled and fell at your feet.

You blinked. Then rushed to help him. Your knees hit the smooth floor, but you had no time to feel the pain; your hand quickly found the Brit’s shoulder.

“My God! Are you alright?”

Lando sprang back up and recoiled from your touch as though burned, his face flushed crimson.

“Y-yes,” he stammered, eyes fixed on the floor.

He mumbled words you didn’t catch—something about an engineer and a meeting—then spun around and disappeared down the corridor.

You blinked once, twice, then shook your head and hurried to rejoin the group for the rest of the tour, which lasted another two long hours.

“Lando…” you began once you and Oscar were back in the car.

“What about him?”

“He’s a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

Oscar shot you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. Already, the McLaren Technology Centre was nothing more than a vague grey blur in the rearview mirror. The engine roared, churning your stomach—or perhaps that was the regret creeping onto your tongue.

You and Oscar weren’t yet close enough for you to speak so freely. What would he think of you, openly criticizing his future teammate?

“I suppose,” he admitted, to your utmost relief. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk with him yet. We’re planning to meet up before the first tests. He mentioned something about padel.”

You pulled your notebook from your bag and uncapped your fountain pen, glad for the change in topic.

“Do you already have a date in mind?”

Oscar rolled his eyes.

[deesseshesca]

PAC: How do y’all feel about each other sexual energy ? (18+)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~3 )

Haven't slept since last night...

Hello Chérie d'Amour !

How y'all doing ? Hope those last few days have been treating u better than me. When it comes to me is time for me to take a real break. I'm going to be inactive for a month. I am so sorry for my single babe since birth, it was finally your turn to thrive but don't worry, I try to create some good juicy content before I leave for a moment. All readings will be on sale up until this weekend because of recession. I feel like you guys need to catch a break but keep in mind you will only receive the product in May 2025. In April everything will to back to regular prices. That being said, I hope April brings you nothing but success.

MUCH LOVE,

SHESCA.

PILE 1 

YOU : You feel that he has experiences and you are one on his list of potential lovers. I am not going to lie before I even get further, this does not feel like romantic love. It could be platonic love with sex (FWB or sexual arrangement) at least from your side. I don't know if that's how y’all relationships begin or how it was always supposed to be. Ahhh… now lets go. You can sense the deep desire he has for you. Maybe he has prey eyes when he lays them on you. May have possessive  mannerism  with you. Also may tell you to go around and tell others you are his because he hates the thought that anyone can even think they have a chance with you. I just heard: “ You are too pretty for your own good”. You do applaud the fact that he never cares and always show you off no matter the circumstance. Not the type to be disrespectful. May actually be quite the feminist not the performative kind. You may never think he cares so much for women rights because he dont look like it. May have a darker or alternative aesthetic. If not then has the aesthetic of somebody that dont care for women rights : pick up car, bible verse tatted, country accent and love hunting. Actually very emotionally available yet avoidant. Which mean he can express himself and can be transparent with his feelings. Probably dealt with his childhood trauma, not the type to ghost after fucking you. Actually take care of you and give some aftercare. Asking you if you are "ok", before the act and after. Clean you up and tell you he leaves before doing it so you dont wake up feeling funny. Would hate for you to feel use. Avoidant because he can't see himself being in a relationship because he dont think he deserves it. You can feel all this by the way he treats you right but can't seem to give you the title you desire. Want you to be his, act like you are his and don't mess with other people, yet don't want to ask you out properly. You can feel like his manifesting you. What I mean by that, is that you are going to see him grow. From running from you, to trying, to loving you and appreciating you. He wants you, you can see it in his eyes, his actions and his words. You feel like one of most prize objects in his life, he treats you as such and you know that you are all he wants.  Also he has a big dick. To my virgin babe don't worry, he is no monster. Will probably do a lot of foreplay and y'all may also have many nights that all you do is oral sex prepping for the big gun. If you are a virgin, he is very scared of hurting you. 

HIM : 

Before anything : I hear and see you caressing his cheek while saying: “My baby, my baby…” with a sad tone. 

They fucking love is crazy. At first I was unsure and I would be the first to tell you to run the fuck away from something, y’all know me. I don't play those games. 

HE FUCKING LOVES EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ! The way you look, the color of your hair, your hairstyle, if is curly or not, the color of your eyes, the way it light up, the shape of your face, the face you make when he fuck you, he loves you body, every inch. Clothes or nah, he is fucking turn on all the time when it comes to you. The style you have, nails or nah, lashes or nah, makeup or nah, shave or nah. He loves the sound of your voice, the moan you make when he's thrusting deep into you, the way you talk dirty and the way you tease him with nudes, the way  you end up play hard to get it just for the fuck of it. The reality is you guys meet when he just came out of the dark night of the soul. He just fought suicidal thought maybe even survive an attempt. He may be clean from self harm tendency or his sober from substances. He’s still in woods but his not dancing with the devil no more. You are going to force your way into his life. He is a loner and he dont like to mingle but you are coming in with your zest for life … LOL ! What you don't know is that you are the sun of his life. Just by existing you bring him all the joy, life never thought worth giving him. Don't get me wrong it aint co-dependent. He doesn't live because of you. Nah he lived so he could found you. Going back to him, he is too fucking tired to start fighting his avoidant issue but without realizing it he will be growing with you. You are going to enter his life when he is in the 8 cup era( me : surprise the card did not come up) , like he let go of something but he is not yet sure of the next path but knows he must leave so he did. Your warmth  ( dang all I wanted was the sex … here I am in love reading) is something he yearns for. He will often hit you  up, so he can spend your work break with you in his car so you guys can cuddle. He will hit up after work so he can see you. He will beg to see you. Not for sex just to sleep. If he has night terror, you make them stop. Don't worry you ain't got no super power, it's just because he feels safe in your embrace. In my visions regarding your couple, he is always sleeping. Damn y’all fav spot is your bedroom. Lol … babe don't take it personally but he see you as a liability. No job asking for princess treatment just eating and using all his money. He would love how wet you get. You are going to make him feel like his dick has super power in the bedroom because he can make you squirt. To my virgin no worries is actually bound to happen since he's big and you go that WAP. You guys may develop a size kink together. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time (Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 2

YOU : You feel as tho he has a breeding kink. He loves nutting in you or loves seeing his cum on your tits, your butt, stomach or your face. A fan of facial. You may have a very pretty face, a bit childish, don't worry he aint a pedophile. You have a round face, very chubby cheek, and round deer eyes, may have a rather coquette or very feminine aesthetic. I am seeing light makeup, you may like to get doll up before y’all fuck. Don't act all innocent; you enjoy seeing the aftermath of y’all encounter. You get all doll up, so you can see the wig lifting (if you wear one), your makeup mush, you lips red, the hickeys on your body  or even like seeing your clothes tear down on the floor after the act is over (me: you guys are literally the representation of the quote : I love pink, violence and sex). You know he has a good sex reputation. He may have been a player until he decided to settle with you. You knew it and he never tried to hide it. If you guys do end up break up, he is forever going to be the best sex you ever had. The man knows what the fuck he is doing. You are not here for the sex tho. He knows it. You are here because he get you. Maybe people around expected you to act a certain way, you may attend private school, may be the oldest sibling in your family, may hold a job with power, whatever the situation is, you are held to a higher standard than the rest. Some of you may be the daughter of a pastor or religious important figure. With him, you get open up and even do stuff that would not be allowed by people around you. Having sex may be forbidden in your family before marriage. You may also smoke with him and drink 2. You guys talk to each other about hardship and he just gets it. The thing is pile 2, is like you guys are living in a golden cage. You have gone through so much trauma but you can't talk about it because there's almost a policy of : “ you hear nothing, see nothing and speak of nothing” in y’all family. I’m hearing the song of Pretty Little Liars. They have a darker aesthetic and they are more of a loner so you would think they are the one with the destructive habits but is all you. Now that I’m thinking about it, you may be the only one smoking and drinking when y'all are together and he just makes sure you don't go overboard. You may actually be the one asking him to go this hard in the bedroom. What's funny (not really), you don't feel like he loves you for you. You think, I am writing black on white, you think he only loves you for your tight pussy. You know I dont stand for BS so imma be very honest babes. He aint the problem. Y’all seriously hate yourself very deeply. It's really sad. I did not say I pity you but it breaks my heart, sensing the depth in which you hate your own gut. You see him as an enemie. Almost as a war weapon … I aint playing Chérie d’Amour. You make me think of the way Katniss thought of Peeta in the book of Hunger Games (the first ones). In reality, you don't think no one could ever love you. 

PS : You also feel like he is very emotional. Is easy for him to cry and he doesn't hide himself when he does so. He would cry a front of a kid show or while listening to the news. He may actually stay from the news because he easily absorbs emotions around that. A truth empath … LOL ! He is very loving in the way he dirty speak, I am hearing: “ Look at me …”, “ Is ok I’m here …”, “ You are doing amazing love …” 

HIM: 

I ain't going to lie, this is toxic. Not the yelling, verbally or physically abusive type of toxic. No breaking each other's spirit . Is more the type he wants to save you from you  and you are incapable to stop destroying yourself. Don't get him wrong, he ain't got no savior complex but he sees so much potential in you… yet all you see is his flaws and nothing is really changing your mind. If he is the one reading … RUN ! But since is you, there's nothing I can do but watch. Congrats you have manifested your first relationship  ( I swear I mean it with no sarcasm). There's a lot of lessons here. This may be your wake up call because you are the one closest on in this PAC getting in a relationship. May even happening this Aries season. Is not a matter of “if” but a matter of “when”. 

He feel like you have a facade because he can sense all you truly crave is softeness. You don't actually want this hardcore sex, you want something softer. Otherwise you will want to be degrated, the fact that you prefer him talking in a softer tone, caressing you and holding you when the act is done shows your true intention. You hide behind that tough cover. In front of people you play the perfect innocent daughter while in front of him you play this though women that nothing sacred anymore. He can also feel that you are disgusted by the fact that you do desire love and affection. He doesn't want you just for your tight pussy. He love the depth you have and the beauty you hold. You are a very pretty babe in his eyes, the prettiest woman he ever laid his gaze  upon. Also he’s in love with the poetic tone you give to your pain. You could quite literally love writing  poems or being a writer in your free time. You may play an instrument or love singing. He enjoys listening to you talking about philosophy for hours even tho he doesn't always agree with you. For him, you guys together are the embodiment of the song : Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey. He feels like you are wasting your time with him. You deserve so much more than him. He ain't going nowhere. He feels like you only want him close to you just so you can hurt him. You wish you could destroy people around you but instead you keep hurting his love with fake promises and treating him like he is replaceable. He won't leave because he actually enjoys this arrangement.  If it is the only way for him to have you then that is how it must be. He may have a Mars in Scorpio or in Pisces. 

PS : Now I understand, he aint innocent either. While you destroy yourself with hate, substance and sex. He destroys himself by finding people he knows are going to hurt him. Is more than the victim complex, is the martyr. If he aint in pain then he ain't living. Right now in the spiritual world you are like falling stars colliding into each other and nobody is stopping you because there's life changing lessons that must happen. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 3 

YOU: You are extremely grateful for all his exes. You thank them for the way they tame his masculinity and raise him to be an amazing bf. You are grateful for his sisters for showing what is it to actually deal a real women. Most importantly his mom for making him a gentleman. You feel like he loves trying new stuff in the bedroom and dont mind doing it in places that are not traditional. Everytime he grabs you, you don't know in which position you are going to be. He may love going round after rounds with no break ( me : Shit that a whole workout). May be the type to start making out in the car in broad day light with the windows down because he never gave a fuck. Will probably introduce you to sex toys, nothing crazy ladies. He ain't your BDSM type at all but his masculinity never was scared of a pink dildo or a rose toy ( amen to that !). You feel like he has multiple options. You see people flirting with him in front of you like you don't exist. You may keep your relationship private because when you post him, people add him with no shame. Also you applaud the effort he put in the bedroom. He put in the work. Coming in with new techniques  like the pillow or the bear hug. There's something about the way his hip moves, like he is going to hit your g-spot like nobody damn business. Over and over again at that. 

PS : Your first relationship may be an interracial one. For him, you're the first woman of that race he actually dated, not that he found you kind ugly, he just never had a chance to date one of y’all. Also don't worry, no fetishes, purely in love with learning your culture with respect. 

HIM :He feels like you have no idea of your sexual needs. Don't get him wrong,  he knows you are a virgin so you don't know how to move but the problem is that you don't seem to even know what you want. It's almost like you have literally no idea what sex is. Like a new concept falling from the sky. You are acting like you are a pre-teen who just now learned about sex. On the other hand he enjoys the way you are spontaneous many claim to be but they are not. There's a difference between being spontaneous and adventurous and people don't seem to know it. He loves the way you are down for anything at any moment. Which he always craved and missed in his last relationship. Going back to what I wrote, he feels like you are like a doll with no opinion. You just go with whatever he says with no real back bone. You don't tell him if you like what he just did. You don't show different emotions depending on different position or touch. You are just here looking at him nodding. He enjoys your moans but would prefer if you could appreciate him more in the bedroom. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't expect you to have the vocabulary of a porn star but tell him he's doing a good job. Telling him is hitting the right spot, telling him he's handsome and telling him you have been craving him. At the end of the day he aint stress because he is sure y’all are going to figure it out. It's just the beginning of your sexual journey and he knows with time and patience you are going to open up to him. 

PS: He knows you are nervous. The first time y’all are going to do it, you may actually be anxious. I see you looking around nervous and having jabbing movements. You will open up about the fact that you are not sure you can satisfy him. What you don't realize is just the thought of you, turning him on sooooo bad. He can't sleep without taking a cold shower because he is always sexually frustrated when it comes to you. You are literally his dream girl. Trust me babe, no need to worry, you are his female fantasy. 

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

PILE 4 

YOU : You love the fact that he makes you feel wanted. You feel like you are the object of his desire. He makes you feel like he can't make a move without you in his life. Without you his life ain't complete. He makes you feel super sexy, always begging you for a pic of you. Not caring if it is a selfie, a nude or even just an OOTD. I see you taking a bunch of pictures that you keep in a folder for when he is needy of your presence but can't be near. Also you can sense how he gets no pleasure being in the dominant role of the relationship. For some of y’all, he will take the lead in public. For the other in this pile, he will be walking around unafraid to show how much of a simp he is.For the first type, he may be very tall and loves going to the gym. He cares for the finer things in life, I see luxurious cars and watches. He may work a white collar job and hold a title of power ranging from manager to CEO. Not the time to talk a lot, have a rather deep voice and have a mug face normally. While for the other he’s a student, shorter, may be older than you but have a baby  face. The first one would be the type to text you that he is waiting at your door, giving you unexpected surprise and making sure everyone knows you are taken because he is possessive. While the other may be the type to follow you around, be down with all your sidequest, take your picture like one of your fans and always have this fool expression on his face when it comes to you. You may tell him what to do but he will always pay for everything and give you the princess treatment. They both have something in common, they love to be dominated. Love it when you play with them. Edge theme, tell them “no” just to hear them whine, don't worry it won't be on your first time but will love it when you use toys on them 2. Will love it even more if you bound them in beautiful pink ribbons. Loves when you challenge them not to make a single noise or they wont get to fuck you tonight. They make you feel love. There's not a single doubt in your mind and others that he loves you. By the way he acts, speaks about you when you ain't there or even takes care of you like  you are the most delicate being on this planet. Whether it be with letters, text you poem, buy flowers or when he travels and always comes back with something that reminds them of you. The way they refuse to end FaceTime because they want to sleep and wake up to you. Scream to any women approaching  them that their fucking taken may wear a fake marriage ring to seal the deal because the mere fact that other women may flirt with them piss them off. 

PS : The biggest munch alive. Will literally cry if you don't let them taste your delicious pussy. 

HIM:He knows you are very strict, you don't play mind games. Your standard are high and you don't mind cutting a man off mid date, mid convo or even relationship if you don't feel respected. At the same time he knows your love can never go bad. You are not really the type to talk about the feelings, you are more the type to show it in your actions. The fact that you bake  for him, your eyes light up when you look at him, your voice softens when you speak to him or even the way your body relaxes when you touch him. On the other hand, he still can sense a blockage in you. It's like you are always waiting for him to fail. You never allow yourself to enjoy the bliss of this relationship. Waiting for him to become abusive, waiting for him to start yelling, waiting for him to start breaking shit around or even start cheating. Just so you can say : “ I knew it ! You can't trust this man, frl, frl.” The issue with this way of thinking is undervaluing the efforts put in by your partner and he also makes him feel like he is constantly passing a test. That may be a big red flag for him that he will consider the worthiness in longevity in your relationship. I see him entering the relationship knowing he found the one. I also sense he can let go, if he ever feels like he can't give you what you truly desire.

PREVIOUS READING

2. PAC (FREE ) : PAC : Your first & maybe only love reaction to seeing you naked for the first time(Babe gather your coins because there's no more free content in the future, xoxo.)

[alfheimr]

My Favorite Cheap Art Trick: Gradient Maps and Blending Modes

i get questions on occasion regarding my coloring process, so i thought i would do a bit of a write up on my "secret technique." i don't think it really is that much of a secret, but i hope it can be helpful to someone. to that end:

this is one of my favorite tags ive ever gotten on my art. i think of it often. the pieces in question are all monochrome - sort of.

the left version is the final version, the right version is technically the original. in the final version, to me, the blues are pretty stark, while the greens and magentas are less so. there is some color theory thing going on here that i dont have a good cerebral understanding of and i wont pretend otherwise. i think i watched a youtube video on it once but it went in one ear and out the other. i just pick whatever colors look nicest based on whatever vibe im going for.

this one is more subtle, i think. can you tell the difference? there's nothing wrong with 100% greyscale art, but i like the depth that adding just a hint of color can bring.

i'll note that the examples i'll be using in this post all began as purely greyscale, but this is a process i use for just about every piece of art i make, including the full color ones. i'll use the recent mithrun art i made to demonstrate. additionally, i use clip studio paint, but the general concept should be transferable to other art programs.

for fun let's just start with Making The Picture. i've been thinking of making this writeup for a while and had it in mind while drawing this piece. beyond that, i didn't really have much of a plan for this outside of "mithrun looks down and hair goes woosh." i also really like all of the vertical lines in the canary uniform so i wanted to include those too but like. gone a little hog wild. that is the extent of my "concept." i do not remember why i had the thought of integrating a shattered mirror type of theme. i think i wanted to distract a bit from the awkward pose and cover it up some LOL but anyway. this lack of planning or thought will come into play later.

note 1: the textured marker brush i specifically use is the "bordered light marker" from daub. it is one of my favorite brushes in the history of forever and the daub mega brush pack is one of the best purchases ive ever made. highly recommend!!!

note 2: "what do you mean by exclusion and difference?" they are layer blending modes and not important to the overall lesson of this post but for transparency i wanted to say how i got these "effects." anyway!

with the background figured out, this is the point at which i generally merge all of my layers, duplicate said merged layer, and Then i begin experimenting with gradient maps. what are gradient maps?

the basic gist is that gradient maps replace the colors of an image based on their value.

so, with this particular gradient map, black will be replaced with that orangey red tone, white will be replaced with the seafoamy green tone, etc. this particular gradient map i'm using as an example is very bright and saturated, but the colors can be literally anything.

these two sets are the ones i use most. they can be downloaded for free here and here if you have csp. there are many gradient map sets out there. and you can make your own!

you can apply a gradient map directly onto a specific layer in csp by going to edit>tonal correction>gradient map. to apply one indirectly, you can use a correction layer through layer>new correction layer>gradient map. honestly, correction layers are probably the better way to go, because you can adjust your gradient map whenever you want after creating the layer, whereas if you directly apply a gradient map to a layer thats like. it. it's done. if you want to make changes to the applied gradient map, you have to undo it and then reapply it. i don't use correction layers because i am old and stuck in my ways, but it's good to know what your options are.

this is what a correction layer looks like. it sits on top and applies the gradient map to the layers underneath it, so you can also change the layers beneath however and whenever you want. you can adjust the gradient map by double clicking the layer. there are also correction layers for tone curves, brightness/contrast, etc. many such useful things in this program.

let's see how mithrun looks when we apply that first gradient map we looked at.

gadzooks. apologies for eyestrain. we have turned mithrun into a neon hellscape, which might work for some pieces, but not this one. we can fix that by changing the layer blending mode, aka this laundry list of words:

some of them are self explanatory, like darken and lighten, while some of them i genuinely don't understand how they are meant to work and couldn't explain them to you, even if i do use them. i'm sure someone out there has written out an explanation for each and every one of them, but i've learned primarily by clicking on them to see what they do.

for the topic of this post, the blending mode of interest is soft light. so let's take hotline miamithrun and change the layer blending mode to soft light.

here it is at 100% opacity. this is the point at which i'd like to explain why i like using textured brushes so much - it makes it very easy to get subtle color variation when i use this Secret Technique. look at the striation in the upper right background! so tasty. however, to me, these colors are still a bit "much." so let's lower the opacity.

i think thats a lot nicer to look at, personally, but i dont really like these colors together. how about we try some other ones?

i like both of these a lot more. the palettes give the piece different vibes, at which point i have to ask myself: What Are The Vibes, Actually? well, to be honest i didn't really have a great answer because again, i didn't plan this out very much at all. however. i knew in my heart that there was too much color contrast going on and it was detracting from the two other contrasts in here: the light and dark values and the sharp and soft shapes. i wanted mithrun's head to be the main focal point. for a different illustration, colors like this might work great, but this is not that hypothetical illustration, so let's bring the opacity down again.

yippee!! that's getting closer to what my heart wants. for fun, let's see what this looks like if we change the blending mode to color.

i do like how these look but in the end they do not align with my heart. oh well. fun to experiment with though! good to keep in mind for a different piece, maybe! i often change blending modes just to see what happens, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. i very much cannot stress enough that much of my artistic process is clicking buttons i only sort of understand. for fun.

i ended up choosing the gradient map on the right because i liked that it was close to the actual canary uniform colors (sorta). it's at an even lower opacity though because there was Still too much color for my dear heart.

the actual process for this looks like me setting my merged layer to soft light at around 20% opacity and then clicking every single gradient map in my collection and seeing which one Works. sometimes i will do this multiple times and have multiple soft light and/or color layers combined.

typically at this point i merge everything again and do minor contrast adjustments using tone curves, which is another tool i find very fun to play around with. then for this piece in particular i did some finishing touches and decided that the white border was distracting so i cropped it. and then it's done!!! yay!!!!!

this process is a very simple and "fast" way to add more depth and visual interest to a piece without being overbearing. well, it's fast if you aren't indecisive like me, or if you are better at planning.

let's do another comparison. personally i feel that the hint of color on the left version makes mithrun look just a bit more unwell (this is a positive thing) and it makes the contrast on his arm a lot more pleasing to look at. someone who understands color theory better than i do might have more to say on the specifics, but that's honestly all i got.

just dont look at my layers too hard. ok?

[blackcat-star]

Lost Spirit.

Sung Jinwoo x Ghost!reader.

✭ Chapter 1: First meet.

___________________

Jinwoo sat leaning against the old tree in the deserted park. It was pitch black. People had already gone to bed after working all day since most homes had their lights turned off.

The only light came from the street lamps' yellow glow and the faint moonlight.

Why did Jinwoo show up here during this late time?

He had just finished a dungeon raid that the system had assigned him. He didn't want to go out at such a late hour, but he needed to get stronger, he needed to earn money to live, he needed to seize every opportunity he could find. It was all for money. He had a mother and a younger sister to take care of.

Ever since his father disappeared, everything had been disrupted. He had suddenly become the pillar of the family.

Jinwoo sighed. He hid his face by placing his hands over his head. He had many wounds on his hands with bandages covering them and bleeding from several areas. But he didn't seem to care about it anymore. In a while, he would receive the system's reward, and then his body would be healed as before.

He should probably go home. But for some reason, he didn't want to go home today. It was strange.

He had been walking unconsciously on the dark road, and then stopped at a park near the edge of the city.

There was a feeling of something stuck in his chest that made him uncomfortable. He punched the tree to release it and then lay down on the park bench., one hand raised to cover his eyes.

A gentle wind blew by, the leaves rustled. Everything was so quiet.

"So rude, didn't your mom tell you that waking a person up is rude!?" A voice suddenly rang out above his head.

Jinwoo immediately sat up, warily looking towards the direction the voice came from.

On the branch of an ancient tree, a person was sitting on the tree, both hands holding onto the branch, legs swinging.

That person was transparent, his figure was as faint as smoke, his eyes were curious, but for some reason he felt sadness in their eyes.

"Who are you!?" He asked cautiously.

Your eyes widened, looking around and then back at him, pointing at yourselves.

"Are you asking me?"

"Other than you and me, who else is here?"

You were even more surprised. "You saw me!?"

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes in suspicion "Of course...? Why can't I see you? I'm not blind."

Your eyes sparkled "Finally someone can see me!" You clapped your hands "Wonderful, I've been so lonely! Finally someone can see me!"

"Wait! What do you mean?"

You flew down and stood next to where he was sitting. "Don't you recognize me? I'm not human anymore."

"Does that mean you're dead?"

"Something like that. I prefer not to express myself in this manner. The way I describe my experience is that I changed from being seen to being unseen."

Jinwoo's face was blank. 

His instincts told him that this was not a dangerous creature, but his mind was still tense.

He summoned his dagger and pointed it at you.

"Tell me, who are you!? What is your purpose? Or what do you want from me!"

"Hey, rude. I haven't done anything to you yet." You pouted. "You came to disturb my sleep first!"

"What?"

"You suddenly punched the tree, it woke me up!"

He slowly lowered the dagger. "I apologize for my mistake."

"Since you were the first to discover me, I'll forgive you." You took a seat next to Jinwoo but he shifted away from you.

You ask "Why you stay away from me. I didn't do anything to you."

"I don't believe you."

"What!? I'm 100% harmless."

You became irritated when Jinwoo showed his disbelief.

"If we become friends you will put more trust in me."

Jinwoo stared at the ground while moving to a greater distance from you.

"I do not want to make friends with spirits."

You whined, "Please, I'm lonely. I have been alone for many days now."

You ask him to please become friends since you feel lonely.

"Why don't you go find someone else!"

"I want to too. But I don't understand why I can't get more than 1 meter away from this tree."

A trapped soul? Jinwoo rarely believed in ghosts, but after the dungeons appeared, the world began to act abnormally. Especially situations like this that couldn't be explained by common sense.

"I can't leave this place," You continued, your voice as light as the wind, your eyes suddenly darkening. "No matter how hard I try, I just end up back at this tree."

Jinwoo frowned. Why? He was curious about this.

He suddenly thought, if he was the only one who could see you, maybe fate had arranged this and wanted him to do something.

"...What can I help you?"

You were silent for a long time, then whispered softly. "I want to know why I died... I don't remember why I'm here. I just know that I'm dead."

You suddenly looked straight into his eyes, your gaze sincere "Can you help me find clues about them?"

Jinwoo hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Okay.."

You smiled happily. The wind blew your hair, the moonlight reflected on your cheeks, making your face seem to glow, your smile also became brighter and purer. For a moment, that smile made Jinwoo let go of all his guard, relaxing his shoulders.

"I'm Y/n. Just Y/n. I don't remember my last name, or who I was before. I only remember this name, I think it's my name. Nice to meet you!"

"...Sung Jinwoo."

________________________

To be continue....

_________________________

Chapter 2 »

[reasonsforhope]

"Chicago’s 82-story Aqua Tower appears to flutter with the wind. Its unusual, undulating facade has made it one of the most unique features of Chicago’s skyline, distinct from the many right-angled glass towers that surround it.

In designing it, the architect Jeanne Gang thought not only about how humans would see it, dancing against the sky, but also how it would look to the birds who fly past. The irregularity of the building’s face allows birds to see it more clearly and avoid fatal collisions. “It’s kind of designed to work for both humans and birds,” she said.

As many as 1 billion birds in the US die in building collisions each year. And Chicago, which sits along the Mississippi Flyway, one of the four major north-south migration routes, is among the riskiest places for birds. This year, at least 1,000 birds died in one day from colliding with a single glass-covered building. In New York, which lies along the Atlantic Flyway, hundreds of species traverse the skyline and tens of thousands die each year.

As awareness grows of the dangers posed by glistening towers and bright lights, architects are starting to reimagine city skylines to design buildings that are both aesthetically daring and bird-safe.

Pictured: Chicago's Aqua Tower was designed with birds in mind.

Some are experimenting with new types of patterned or coated glass that birds can see. Others are rethinking glass towers entirely, experimenting with exteriors that use wood, concrete or steel rods. Blurring lines between the indoors and outdoors, some architects are creating green roofs and facades, inviting birds to nest within the building.

“Many people think about bird-friendly design as yet another limitation on buildings, yet another requirement,” said Dan Piselli, director of sustainability at the New York-based architecture firm FXCollaborative. “But there are so many design-forward buildings that perfectly exemplify that this doesn’t have to limit your design, your freedom.”

How modern buildings put birds in danger

For Deborah Laurel, principal in the firm Prendergast Laurel Architects, the realization came a couple of decades ago. She was up for an award for her firm’s renovation of the Staten Island Children’s Museum when the museum’s director mentioned to her that a number of birds had been crashing into the new addition. “I was horrified,” she said.

She embarked on a frenzy of research to learn more about bird collisions. After several years of investigation, she found there was little in the way of practical tips for architects, and she teamed up with the conservation group NYC Audubon, to develop a bird-safe building guide.

The issue, she discovered, was that technological and architectural advancements over the last half-century had in some ways transformed New York City – and most other US skylines and suburbs – into death traps for birds...

At certain times of day, tall glass towers almost blend into the sky. At other times, windows appear so pristinely clear that they are imperceptible to birds, who might try to fly though them. During the day, trees and greenery reflected on shiny building facades can trick birds, whereas at night, brightly lit buildings can confuse and bewilder them...

Pictured: A green roof on the Javits Convention Center serves as a sanctuary for birds.

The changes that could save avian lives

About a decade ago, Piselli’s firm worked on a half-billion-dollar renovation of New York’s Jacob K Javits Convention Center, a gleaming glass-clad space frame structure that was killing 4,000-5,000 birds a year. “The building was this black Death Star in the urban landscape,” Piselli said.

To make it more bird friendly, FXCollaborative (which was then called FXFowle) reduced the amount of glass and replaced the rest of it with fritted glass, which has a ceramic pattern baked into it. Tiny, textured dots on the glass are barely perceptible to people – but birds can see them. The fritted glass can also help reduce heat from the sun, keeping the building cooler and lowering air conditioning costs. “This became kind of the poster child for bird-friendly design in the last decade,” Piselli said.

The renovation also included a green roof, monitored by the NYC Audubon. The roof now serves as a sanctuary for several species of birds, including a colony of herring gulls. Living roofs have since become popular in New York and other major cities, in an inversion of the decades-long practice of fortifying buildings with anti-bird spikes. In the Netherlands, the facade of the World Wildlife Fund headquarters, a futuristic structure that looks like an undulating blob of mercury, contains nest boxes and spaces for birds and bats to live.

The use of fritted glass has also become more common as a way to save the birds and energy.

Earlier this year, Azadeh Omidfar Sawyer, an assistant professor in building technology in the Carnegie Mellon School of Architecture, working with student researchers, used open-source software to help designers create bespoke, bird-friendly glass patterns. A book of 50 patterns that Sawyer published recently includes intricate geometric lattices and abstract arrays of lines and blobs. “Any architect can pick up this book and choose a pattern they like, or they can customize it,” she said.

Pictured: The fritted glass used in Studio Gang’s expansion of Kresge College at the University of California, Santa Cruz, depicts the animals in the local ecosystem.

Builders have also been experimenting with UV-printed patterns, which are invisible to humans but perceptible to most birds. At night, conservationists and architects are encouraging buildings turn off lights, especially during migration season, when the bright glow of a city skyline can disorient birds.

And architects are increasingly integrating screens or grates that provide shade as well as visibility for birds. The 52-floor New York Times building, for example, uses fritted glass clad with ceramic rods. The spacing between the rods increases toward the top of the building, to give the impression that the building is dissolving into the sky.

Gang’s work has incorporated structures that can also serve as blinds for birders, or perches from which to observe nature. A theater she designed in Glencoe, Illinois, for example, is surrounded by a walking path made of a wood lattice, where visitors can feel like they’re up in the canopy of trees.

Pictured: The Writers Theatre, designed by Studio Gang, includes a walking path encased in wood lattice.

Rejecting the idea of the iridescent, entirely mirrored-glass building, “where you can’t tell the difference between the habitat and the sky”, Gang aims for the opposite. “I always tried to make the buildings more visible with light and shadow and geometry, to have more of a solid presence,” she said.

Gang has been experimenting with adding bird feeders around her own home in an effort to reduce collisions with windows, and she encourages other homeowners to do the same.

“I’ve found that birds slow down and stop at feeders instead of trying to fly through the glass,” she said.

While high-rise buildings and massive urban projects receive the most attention, homes and low-rise buildings account for most bird collision deaths. “The huge challenge is that glass is everywhere.” said Christine Sheppard, who directs the glass collisions program at the American Bird Conservancy (ABC). “It’s hard to know what I know and not cringe when I look at it.”

Tips for improving your own home include using stained glass or patterned decals that can help birds see a window, she said. ABC has compiled a list of window treatments and materials, ranked by how bird-safe they are.

Whether they’re large or small, the challenge of designing buildings that are safe for birds can be “liberating”, said Gang, who has become an avid birdwatcher and now carries a pair of binoculars on her morning jogs. “It gives you another dimension to try to imagine.”"

-via The Guardian, December 27, 2023

[lou-struck]

For Little You

Keigo Takami x reader

W.C: 1.9k

~ For the first time in his life, Keigo gets to feel like a kid in a candy store. 

"Are you sureeee you don't wanna split this soft pretzel with me?" Keigo asks with a teasing smile as he holds out the last little piece of the snack he got when you first got to the mall. Outings like this, where the two of you can walk hand in hand, going about your day as if you were normal civilians, are rare. Usually, you would've been stopped by Keigo's numerous fans due to his eye-catchingly glorious red wings, but thanks to a nasty run-in with a villain, he has only a few feathers hidden under his jacket. 

"Nope, that's all you," you say. All he had been talking about leading up to your mall expedition was getting his hands on a soft pretzel. 

"Suit yourself." he humms tossing the last piece of the pastry into his mouth. Now, with his hands free, they sneak through the open space to latch onto yours as you continue walking. A soft smile on his face as you continue having a peaceful day off. 

"Hey, what's that place over there? "you point at the giant teal and gold striped columns of a shop you certainly haven't seen before.

"Isn't that where the exotic rock shop was?"  He comments, taking a sip from the thick straw of his bubble tea. "What was it called? Something like Rocks and Roads?"

"Your guess is better than mine, I never went in there," you say. "Did you ever go in there?" 

"I have a few times, "he admits with a chuckle. "One of the sidekicks who worked at my agency a few years back was able to eat rocks and crystals and things like that and make armor out of it. So I got them for a Secret Santa year and got them a really cool one."

"Oh, are you talking about Rock Muncher?" you say, enthusiastically recalling the Geo Hero. "Whatever happened to her?"

"Got a new cushy job overseas and transferred, but I heard she is doing really well over there." 

"Wow, that's great." you smile as you get a closer look at the new store. "It looks like they replaced the Rock store with a candy store."

"A candy store?" Keigo parrots, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. As much as he tries to hide it, Keigo has a wicked sweet tooth, one that he rarely has the chance to indulge in due to his strict upbringing at the hands of the hero's commission.

"Wanna check it out?" you ask hopefully; you could definitely have a sweet treat right about now, and judging by the way Keigo's eyes scan the decorative gummy bear statue in the shop's window, he is too.

"Am I that transparent?" he chuckles as you tug on his hand, guiding him into what many people call heaven.

The smell of chocolate wraps around you in a loving embrace as you step into the warmly lit store.  Large plastic containers of different types of sweets line the shop's walls like wallpaper. "Wow, I have never seen so many different types of candy before." You exclaim, fascinated by the variety.

"I-it's unreal," Keigo says, a slight waiver of a motion in his tone; you turn to look at him but are unable to catch his eye. His gaze fixated on a mother and her child picking out sweets from the largest display case by the cash register.

"What ones do you think we should bring home?" the mother asks her starry-eyed child.

"All of them…" they murmur dazedly, unable to stare at any one treat for too long. Although their interaction is cute, there is a distant look of sorrow in your boyfriend's eyes, and you realize that this may be a new experience for him.

Keigo never had the kind of childhood that most children had, even before he started training under the hero commission. You have a feeling that he never got the opportunity to pick out treats at the candy store. 

"Maybe we should get a few things," you say giving his hand a squeeze to let you know that you are still with him and those bad memories are things of the past.

"We should?"

"Yes. for uhhh quality control," you say jokingly. "It's our responsibility to test out some of the products and make sure nothing is poisonous."

"Can't argue with that logic," he laughs, grabbing two large baskets and handing one to you. "Let's go crazy then."

"You don't have to tell me twice," you laugh, your hands tingle in anticipation as you wonder which mouthwatering corner of the shop you should start filling your basket in. 

~

You aren't sure when you lost Keigo among the sugary aisles, but you first noticed his absence when you found a large gummy snake; you held it up like a goofball and turned to show him, only to realize that he was no longer following behind you. 

Knowing he would never just abandon you, you continue your browsing, becoming fascinated by just how many types of candy exist in the world. 

Some treats you remember vaguely from your childhood, but the wrapping has changed a bit over the years, and some seem to be from completely different countries.  But where they come from doesn't matter; they all find their way into your basket.

The weight of your basket grows heavier by the second, but that doesn't deter you from wandering through the store aimlessly. The smell of freshly made fudge hits the back of your throat, and you make a mental note to consider flossing your teeth when you get home. 

At an endcap across from the drink fridge, you stumble across a brightly colored display of chocolate bars; each one is wrapped in a different colored wrapping; upon closer inspection, you realize that all the different colors are used to represent the wide variety of flavors. 

Minty green for Chocolate Chip Mint.

Purple for Ube. 

Gold for Fried Chicken

Black for Dark Chocolate Raspberry…

You pause and slowly backtrack. To get a closer look at the golden wrapping of the Fried Chicken flavored milk chocolate bar. 

'How does that even work?' you murmur to yourself. 'Was the chocolate mixed with chicken broth or something?"

You curiously pick up the packaging just to see what exactly is in the chocolate to make it chicken flavored and can't find anything. 

An unnerving shiver shoots down your spine as you set the bar down in favor of some candy that does not represent a dinner entree. 

The next thing you know, your basket has miraculously filled with not only your favorite sweets but tons of things you want to try out, as well as some things that you know Keigo likes. 

Holding the full basket is painful and you have to put all your focus on not dropping it to the floor. A bead of sweat drips down your brow as you trudge over to the cash register, only to accidentally bump into someone. Apologies are already flying off your tongue as you lock eyes with Keigo. 

His is even more full than yours is. A big smile is on his face as he takes in both you and your basket. He must've really needed this sugary retail therapy, and although you know that no amount of money can undo the pitfalls of his childhood, getting to share these sweet, special moments with you is more than worth it.

"It looks like we did some damage," he says, taking your too-heavy basket from you with ease. You smile at him gratefully and look down at your stinging,  slightly indented palms. 

"We sure did. But do you think we have enough?" you tease as Keigo sets both containers on the countertop with a thud. 

"Barely, but I think we will manage." he grins, taking out his credit card and handing it to the cashier, who is looking at Keigo suspiciously. You have to hold in a laugh; it's the same look of muddled recognition he gets while in public without his big red wings. Apparently, most people can't seem to put their finger on what about him is so familiar without them. 

After paying way too much for basically a year's supply of candy, the two of you drag your enormous, triple-lined shopping bags out the doors and into the bustling mall.

You do well for a while but once you reach a less busy area of the mall, you become aware of just how heavy your load is.  Your muscles ache as you try to keep up with Keigo's chipper steps. And you have to stop to readjust your hold.

When he notices that you are no longer walking alongside him, he pauses and turns back to look at you confusedly. "What's the matter Angel? Is your bag too heavy for you?"

You look at the four bags he is carrying and then back at the one he gave you. "No." You lie casually, setting the bag on a wooden bench for support. "I was just thinking that we should each try something before we get home."

"To lighten the load?" he teases, joining you over on the bench. 

"Fine, maybe the bags are a little heavy." you relent, "but I still want to try something."

"Works for me. There is something I really want to test out." he laughs, reaching across your lap and digging into the bag you have been hauling. He pulls out a familiar-looking paper-wrapped chocolate bar, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. 

"Really Kei? Out of everything we just bought from freaking candy palooza, you choose the Fried Chicken chocolate bar?"

"I sure did," he grins, unwrapping the chocolate right in front of you. "C'm on. Aren't you at least a little curious about what it would taste like?

"Curious, yes. But I'd rather eat something that tastes like fruit, not poultry," you comment, selecting some sour cherry gummies from your bag instead. 

"More for me then," he laughs, holding out his bar towards you; now unwrapped, your nose picks up the slight aroma of chicken and honey flavorings. "Cheers."

You bump his chocolate bar with your little candy packet and take a bite. The sweet, sour taste of the gummy explodes over your tongue and crackles pleasantly against your taste buds. The addicting taste has you immediately reaching for another coin-sized gummy. 

You notice Keigo has fallen silent and you look over to him. His expression is unreadable as he stares down at his chocolate bar with a furrowed brow.

"What's the matter, Kei?" you ask. "Does it taste bad?"

"No, it's just interesting," he says back finally. "I think I like it."

You are dumbfounded, shook, stunned.  "You do?"

"Yeah, want to try a little bit?" he waves the bar in front of you again, and you catch a glimpse of little golden specks in the chocolate. 

"Fine, just a little piece," you say, reaching for the bar. 

"Ah ah ah," he pulls the bar away and presses his lips to yours. The taste of honey, and savory chocolate still dancing on his lips as he kisses you. 

After indulging in your oxygen like its candy, he pulls away and gives you a coy little grin. "Now that wasn't so bad, now was it y/n."

"Hmmm, I don't know," you respond, your lips curving up into a syrupy sweet little smirk. I think I'll need to have another taste just to be sure."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear @anjodedesgostoeerros

[just-null]

PET AU?????!!!! Oh mighty cult leader please give us, your greatful pitful annons, your divine words and opinions (I would cuddle the heck out of all of themm!!!)

As you wish, my beloved cult member!!

this is more of an explanation of the universe than headcanons. Those will be next, but I hope it's still interesting!! This will be tagged under "null kny pet au" to not be confused with anyone else's version

Long story short— reincarnation is a thing here! Bad people turn into animals and go through an endless cycle over and over until they've truly repented for their misdeeds.

To make things interesting, I bent the rules of how things usually work! This is my version of a pet au, and of course, is still yandere because your cult leader is an addict. I'M SORRY IF YOU WERE EXPECTING FLUFF.... THATS LATER. TRUST!!!!!!!!!

[CW! dark themes, alluding to past trauma and "self exit," self destructive behaviors(?), sedation and drugs, dehumanization(?), yandere obsessive goodness]

The pet aspect of this au!

Demons are hybrids who're likely to restart their cycle, giving them their nickname of lost souls. Human characters are hybrids at the pinnacle of rehabilitation, referred to as guiding souls. And you, who's nearby their hybrid shelter. Either working in it or being in its vicinity.

Guiding souls are allowed to be housed by responsible candidates, but it's unlikely for lost souls. Either way the problem is they turn everyone away except you.

Both guiding souls and lost souls have a deep rooted affection towards you. You definitely don't remember it, but they've been with you for many, many, MANY life times, always restarting and eagerly awaiting for stage three and four of the cycle to find you again.

Lower and Upper moons + Muzan have reincarnated more times than you can fathom, yet they can remember most of them. Their psyche is fragile and incredibly hostile towards almost anybody. Not recommended for new staff or housing candidates.

Slayers + Ubuyashiki reincarnated more than average. They committed sins they're ashamed of and show great promise for change. They're practically regular model citizens, except for the occasional outburst. Very well liked by staff and potential housing candidates!!

Guiding souls and lost souls are separated in the shelter but are occasionally allowed to roam and interact with each other. They bicker at best and get into full fist fights at worst. It's highly recommended to be gentle but firm with both. Only guiding and lost souls have both seen and experienced the worst of what life can offer, and staff don't want to cause a frenzy by startling them.

———

They're not always transparent with their thoughts. It's more than likely that they don't tell you about their experiences as most would rather focus on their life now rather than how it used to be or what's coming next. Some will tell you if asked, others will dance around it, and others initially refuse.

Still, they'll go through the agony and pain of life after miserable life again and again if it meant being blessed by your light in one of them.

If they're able to have feelings this intense for one being, lost souls refuse to see themselves in the wrong. Feelings like this should be praised. They should be considered good in the eyes of the divine, shouldn't it? What if the universe is wrong for once, huh?! They've lied, cheated, stole, hurt, even killed all to be able to get to you sooner. To feel you again! Their feelings for you are so pure, there's no way it could possibly be another reason to restart!! Even if it was, does it really matter?! What the universe dictates is irrelevant anyway, you're their choice and always will be. So long as you have a soul that continues to shine brightly, they'll find their way towards you when the cycle restarts. Guiding souls are.. anxious. They want to do good by you, want to be seen with love like they've achieved before, want to get to know every version of you and fall in love with every iteration. The finish line is RIGHT there, they know this, it's always been so close, and they'll be able to live by your side as equals.. But they know if they complete the cycle, complete stage four, become fully reborn, they won't remember you. After so many horrible lives lived, they finally understood what it meant to be remorseful about what led them into this mess. Saying that, they can't bring themselves to let go of you. What's the point in living a peaceful existence when there will always be a part of them missing? That's why they "personally restart" their cycle, uncaring that they're so close to forgiveness.

Not every life was kind on them. Silver lining, at least they know they have a new body without the physical scars of their experiences anymore, and of course, you! Though.. even you were harsh sometimes, but they'd rather pull all their teeth out than leave your side. Preferably, they hope you'll throw them a bone and be cordial at least, but if you want to beat, scream, or drive them away, they'll always come back. No matter what you do, they'll forever be loyal to you and you only.

If this is what it takes, they'll love you over and over in this never ending torturous loop until time ends, so until then, spare them a glance, yeah? You don't know how much they've missed you..

—————

Unnecessarily detailed lore:

SHORT STORY LONG, reincarnation is real here, and it's commonly known that when bad people die, their soul is reborn into an animal. Bad meaning murder, assault, ruining someone's life, intense crimes like that. It can be avoided if the soul had no other choice or feels deep remorse prior to their human life ending.

Failure to meet those requirements begins "the cycle." Each lifetime is a show of dedication to turn back into a full human. A step towards forgiveness from the world they wronged. Souls will retain the excruciating memory of their lives before, only given the mercy of forgetting and keeping the wisdom they earned once they're reborn into a full blooded human.

Animals who're just animals exist, but it's extremely difficult to tell who's a soul under trial and who's not.

It starts off simple, an insect. Depending on how bad the soul was, they'll be something that has a difficult life, like those moths that starve to death upon entering adulthood. Souls will always progress to the next stage after this one, temporarily forgetting about their previous lives.

The next life is exactly the same, but souls regain the ability to remember all their past lives again.

Next is a land mammal or aquatic creature, something easier than before, but still not strong enough to cause havoc. They have a little more intelligence than before.

Then souls become half human, half animal, or more commonly known, hybrids. They might as well be human with animal characteristics, but due to societal interference and their history, they're regarded as subhuman. Like pets.

Lastly, they are fully human, where they get to keep their appreciation for life and forget the past.

The real test is during stage four. If the soul proves to have learned nothing from their previous lives, they'll restart the cycle from the beginning and try again. Ending their life will not count and only restart the cycle. They must die of natural causes.

Extra notes:

There are souls who've restarted numerous times that when they reach stage four again, they're very fragile or aggressive. Due to this, humans adapted to shelter them and help give them another chance at life. It's not uncommon for these souls to try and use their memories to give themselves an upper hand in their next life, forcing humans to give them less autonomy. The more aggressive a soul the more humans will have to use force to keep them down such as sedation, muzzling, restraints. It's often used for lost and guiding souls out of any other type of hybrid but used as a last resort. Risks like these are one of the main reason why hybrids aren't allowed on the streets without supervision or an owner. Souls under trial can get attached to one another, familial wise, platonically, or romantically. As a twisted sense of both mercy and punishment, the world allows them to be reborn together. The cruel part comes when the older of the pair is the first to be reborn, leaving the younger to follow when it's their time. At least they know that the world will allow them to find each other once again in the next life. Sometimes, souls under trial try finding the human soul they've grown attached to in stages three and four, in this case, you. Because of the never ending cycle of punishment, they crave your hold, your care, your love. You. They want to get back to you as soon as possible, and if that means coming to you as a small animal first, then so be it. Some have probably done that numerous times before.

Truly, reincarnated souls who've grown attached to someone are dangerous both to others and themselves. They'll do anything for their human and let their human do anything them.

The current life cycle where this au takes place is one of the best life times they've all had. So yes, cuddling them is like winning the jackpot!

[zwelcii]

love me anyway | peter hayes

peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, hiding the truth of your candor-born honesty that seeped through every gesture and expression. you could never quite hide the truth seeping behind the way you smiled, another layer of your candor-born honesty peeking out from under every facade you put on. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, very words you breathed. 

he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the way you carried all of it so transparently, even when you tried to hide.

he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.

but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant factor in your life. he was the one unchanging thread that connected you to both your past and present. you tried to forget your life from before, how things were. but it was hard to admit that the only person you could blame was yourself for wanting to leave.

"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.

"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truth you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor.

"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”

you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to. that undeniable truth seeped through the cracks of your words, finding its way into the spaces you desperately tried to guard. still, from across the room, he stared with that familiar passion.

christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.

"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with such practiced ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.

you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.

you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.

the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.

then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.

"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.

your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.

“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.

you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.

before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.

to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.

it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.

you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”

peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”

the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea. 

christina said that that was when you started staring. 

you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.

he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.

christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."

"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."

you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near. 

glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will. 

you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.

you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.

but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.

regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.

… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.

in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air. 

though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”

“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to. 

even you knew you were lying. 

without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.

as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.

you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty. 

your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.

as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.

“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”

you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”

“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.

you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.

at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him. 

and after all that time, he was right.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.

“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.

he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”

threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3

[purplekissinger]

I am the pretty thing that lives in the castle

And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you - haunt me, then!  Emily Bronte, ‘Wuthering Heights’.

Y/N became a ghost instead of Myrtle. She couldn't care less about Tom. He wishes he could say the same. Wordcount: 3k.

At their first meeting, Tom even shrieked a little (as he later justified, solely because Y/N took him by surprise). He crept towards the sinks that bathed in the bluish light of the moon, and did not at all expect that someone would jump at him from the ceiling with a  “Boo!”

“Boo,” Y/N said reluctantly and passed through him like a light bluish cloud. Tom closed his eyes, but didn’t feel anything.

“Good evening to you too,” he said, looking at her cautiously. Y/N floated up to the ceiling and was now studying the stucco, running her ghostly finger absentmindedly over the frozen gargoyle masks. “What's new?”

“As you may guess, absolutely nothing,” Y/N responded, “but I like that you’re trying to be polite. It's nice.”

“Do you feel ‘nice’?”

“Not really. I'm using words that I learned in life, but they don't quite describe my experience because I've never experienced anything like this before. I'd rather you be polite than rude, and that's my new “nice.”

Tom looked at her, a luminous spot against the black wall, which trembled slightly, like the wings of a strange butterfly. Y/N died wearing a thin shirt, but there was no longer any way she could be cold or get sick.

“If I didn’t know you were a Ravenclaw, I would have guessed by now,” he said.

“I was different when I was alive,” Y/N said judiciously. “More lively”

“You sure were”.

“No, I mean it. I can't explain it enough for you to understand, but this experience is...changing. Everything becomes so transparent, unreal. If I were the same, I would have already cried barrels of tears and flooded the toilet”.

“There is someone who is eager to do that for you,” Tom said gloomily. “Myrtle has been whining all day long, telling everyone what a wonderful friend you were.”

“Me?”  Y/N sounded surprised. “I can’t remember that we were friends. However, I did stand up for her a couple of times…”

Tom kept silent a little longer, angrily tapping his fingers on the broken edge of the sink. When falling, already dead, Y/N hit her head here. They didn't fix the sink, instead, they put a lock on the toilet door, but Tom sneaked in almost every evening.

“Is that why you’re not angry at me for killing you?” he finally asked.

“Well, technically you didn’t kill me. You just released a basilisk, which also didn't do anything against its nature, so it's kind of like an accident. Although I can understand why you didn’t tell anyone about it all,” Y/N said. “No, that’s not the reason why”.

“You are very understanding,” said Tom. “Is it okay if I stay here a little longer? I need to prepare an essay on the history of magic, and tomorrow is the final match between the badgers and Slytherin. All of Hogwarts is shaking”.

“Make yourself at home,” Y/N said indifferently.

She went down to the Chamber of Secrets with him when the time came to seal it. Hovering silently two steps behind him, she looked at the tunnels and rusty gratings that were many, many centuries old, and for the first time something like curiosity was reflected on her transparent face. For some reason this made Tom feel almost happy. Y/N’s curiosity became almost human when, rustling its scales, a huge snake slowly crawled out of the black hole in the wall and surrounded them with a ring, and put its terrible head so as to get a better look at the guests, and hissed in greeting.

“I've read that those who speak Parseltongue can look a basilisk in the eyes and survive,” said Tom, looking down, “but I don’t want to test that.”

Y/N  looked fearlessly with her dead eyes straight into the face of the creature.

“Yes, the cost of a mistake would be very high,” she said. “What is your pet's name?”

“Susie,” Tom said quietly. “It's a girl”.

Y/N smiled weakly.

“Hello, Susie,” she said. Susie let out a squeal that sounded more like a laugh. “Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, this is not for long, because we have come to seal the Chamber of Secrets forever.”

“For a while,” Tom corrected her. “Susie, I'll be back, I promise. I don't know when, but I'll be back”.

He closed his eyes and stretched his hands forward. The basilisk poked its terrible mouth into his chest, and Tom hugged her. 

***

When Tom returned to school the next year, no one noticed anything, and he even began to think that the ritual did not work, but as soon as he crossed the threshold of the toilet on the third floor, a quiet exclamation was heard from under the ceiling:

“Oh! Tom, what happened to you?”

Like a feather or a petal, Y/N slowly descended towards him. Tom looked at her and thought that flying suited her well.

“Is it that noticeable?” he asked suspiciously.

“You have become very small,” Y/N said, flying around him. “Like this,” and made a small circle with her hands. “Where did half of you go?”.

This is how he learned that ghosts see the effects of Horcruxes.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. “Who was it?”

And Tom told her. About everything, about how he found out who the Gaunts were, about how he found his uncle, about the Riddles, about how scary it was to look at his father’s corpse, because he was so very alike him, about how he made a Horcrux right there while the bodies were still warm. It was easy for him, he wanted to talk, to free himself from every detail, take it out of his head, let Y/N look, discuss, judge.

She was in no hurry to judge. She just said:

“This could backfire on you.”

“How?” Tom suddenly felt offended. He just now realized that he would like her to admire what a cool magician he is, and maybe even clap her hands.

“I know more than you,” she said vaguely. “Not everything, perhaps, but more. Yes, I’m still on the threshold, but from where I’m standing, it’s clear that you acted very rashly.”

“What do you mean by ‘still’?"

She didn't answer.

All autumn, winter and summer he went to visit Y/N, even leaving textbooks in a niche by the window. It was quiet and somehow very cozy there, the light from the window was so gentle, and on sunny days the stained glass windows seemed to light up with colored lights. Y/N was silent for the most part, but seeing her figure out of the corner of his eye and hearing her thoughtful humming under her breath was... nice. This was his new “nice”, because something inside of him began to change inexplicably, irreversibly and horribly.

In winter, he asked her to come to the Yule Ball, and she agreed, and she blew out all the candles and ruined the chandelier. Oh, the chaos!.. And in the spring they celebrated Y/N’s first Deathday Party. For this occasion Tom stole a lemon pie from the kitchen, but Y/N politely thanked him and said that she couldn’t eat that. She fluttered back and forth, he chewed on the pie, they argued about the technique of using Fiendfyre, and it was a nice evening.

“I won’t come back here in the fall,” Tom said suddenly, because in fact that’s all he’s been thinking about for the last few days.

“I know,” Y/N said. “You are in seventh year. I can count to seven”.

“But I’ll come back someday,” he said stubbornly. “I just don’t know when”.

“I think I’ve already heard this once”.

“I’ll come back for Susie too, don’t you worry.”

“And what will we do then, riddle me this?”

“Seize the Ministry of Magic,” he blurted out. “Y/N, I'll miss you. Will you miss me?”

“I would like to tell you something nice in response, but I’ll tell the truth. Maybe I won't be here soon.”

He suddenly felt very hot. Then terribly cold.

“What do you mean you won’t be here? Where are you going to go?” Tom asked in an unnaturally high voice. “Aren’t you here forever?”

“Not really,” Y/N answered evasively. “You see, when I died, I was not at all ready for this”.

“Can anyone possibly be ready for this?”

“You must be ready, Tom. Now I know that. I was confused and made... the wrong choice. Stuck on the threshold. Didn't go any further. But I can step forward at any moment, I just need to think it over carefully and make a decision”.

“Can’t you step back?” Tom asked. He did not put hope into these words, but it sounded nevertheless.

“No,” Y/N answered simply. “I died, Tom”.

He rested his hand on his cheek and watched her spin, arms outstretched, right up to the ceiling, the invisible wind blowing her hair. He said:

“I regret that I didn’t know you when you were alive. I think we could become friends.”

“We could,” Y/N agreed. “But for this to happen you shouldn’t have killed me”.

Tom jumped up sharply and, his burning face hid in his hands, quickly walked out of the room. The door slammed so loudly that the noise echoed throughout the entire corridor.

***

Tom did not soon cross this threshold again.

He walked from Dumbledore's office after the first unsuccessful job interview in his life, he wanted to get out of the castle as quickly as possible so as not to endure this humiliation anymore, but his feet themselves led him to the third floor.

“You have become even smaller,” said a familiar voice, which he had only dreamed about in the morning. Loud, distant, but somehow comforting. “You're barely visible”.

Tom was silent. He looked and still did not believe that he was seeing her again. Finally he grinned and stepped forward.

“But you’re still the same,” he said.

“The same, but not quite,” Y/N objected, going down to meet him. “I thought a lot and almost decided to take a step further”.

“But not yet?”

“Not yet. This is a complex process, and it doesn't get any easier now that I have all the time in the world”.

“What exactly are you doing?” Tom asked, leaning against the wall. A forgotten feeling of comfort covered him in a cool wave. He felt like he wanted to stay.

“I’m thinking,” Y/N said. “A lot”.

“Don’t you need to, I don’t know, take revenge on your murderer?” he asked and realized that it sounded like a request. Lord Voldemort had a lot of requests that day.

“No, thanks,” said Y/N. She looked him up and down with a curious look and added: “It seems to me that there’s not much left of him anyway.”

Tom tiredly sank to the floor and tucked his legs under him. He wanted to talk to her again and again, so that she would answer sharply, but always to the point. He wanted her to scream at him, to rush to claw his eyes out, he wanted her to thirst for revenge.

“I sometimes saw you in my dreams,” he said. “Like we’re friends or something.”

“I have nothing to do with this,” Y/N said. “Have you made any living friends over the years?”

“Wait for me,” Lord Voldemort said without listening to her. He wanted it to sound like an order, but it turned out to be the third request.  “Y/N, I figured out how to defeat death.”

“Sure you did”.

“I am not lying. I really fought it all this time and almost won”.

“I wish you would know how stupid you look now.”

“Are you going to listen or not?! I tell you, wait, I will bring you back, I will fix everything, you will be alive again, I will get you out…”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Lord Voldemort's promise?”

She smiled. Unable to look at her, Tom stormed out.

***

The third time he returned to the castle was on May 2, 1998. He walked along the empty corridors of the third floor, and his steps echoed loudly. He was going to congratulate Y/N on her yet another Deathday. In his hands was not a lemon pie, but an Elder Wand.

The door to the girls' toilet was blown off its hinges by the explosion. He crossed the threshold and saw that the stained glass windows were broken, and golden dawn rays were pouring into the room. For a second it seemed to him that the place was empty, that he was late.

“Oh, Merlin!” a familiar laugh rang out. “What's happened to you, Tom? You have become so very small, smaller than a mouse!”

She came down from the ceiling as before, but for the first time he saw her in the pink rays of the sun, and she seemed almost alive. For the first time he saw her almost alive.

“Come with me, Y/N”, he said softly. His hand trembled a little, grasping his wand. “I will bring you back to life. I will give you back everything and  even more. Soon I will have the Resurrection Stone, and you will live again”.

She laughed even louder, twirled as if in a dance, and he felt uneasy.

“Stupid, stupid Tom,” Y/N said. “Still don’t get this, do you? Everyone gets smarter over the years, but you seem to only get dumber”.

And no Avada Kedavra could shut her up.

“But I'm glad you came. Really, I am. I wanted to say goodbye to you, Tom. I'm finally making that step”.

“No,” Lord Voldemort said in a changed voice. “Don’t. Don’t you dare”.

“Or else what?”

“Don't do this”, when was the last time he begged for something, pleaded? Was it with her?! “Stay. Stay, Y/N. I told you, I'll bring you back!”

“You forgot the magic word”. Y/N giggled. She sank to the floor and looked at him cheerfully and seriously at the same time. “I feel sorry for you, Tom”.

He had heard it once before, but coming from her it sounded and felt like “Crucio.”

“I have to go, really. There's no time to chat. I’ll tell you one more thing. Soon you will be offered a choice one last time, so please, please, don’t be stubborn. Can you do this for me?”

Tom looked at her desperately, afraid to blink, and still missed the moment when Y/N melted into the air.

***

The empty platform shines white, as if it were covered with snow. There are no trains here. No people, too. The bench blackens on the platform like a wound. A faint whimper came from under the bench.

A girl is walking along the platform.

She is wearing a thin shirt, but there is no way that she could be cold. The blue tie is fluttering in the invisible wind. She hurries to the bench, bends down, carefully takes out the bundle of robes from there, and opens it, and smiles a little and carefully presses it to her chest.

[thesunshinebunny]

Hey, can you do TWST form leaders crushing on/having a s/o with fairy wings please? (Fem or Gender Neutral)

Yes, yes, yes, I know, I'm super late. A lot of things happened and a lot more is still happening, but finally…FINALLY, I'm writing for you again. I hope that, after so much time, this hc is to your liking. Have a nice night.

Riddle

Throughout his childhood, Riddle didn't have the chance to meet many people, much less people with animal features Meeting Chanyan and being in Night Raven for two years, his perspective on human features changed completely.

And at no time did anything racist cross his mind.

Even so, seeing you in your ceremonial robe, with large holes in the back, instead of the hood and pants that he was so used to seeing, was a complete surprise.

If by chance you were to be chosen for Heartslabyul, Riddle would personally take care of arranging your room to your needs, including your uniform. Unfortunately it wast'n the case, for you being sent to Ramshackle, but that virtue of yours wouldn't be monopolized by dust and dirt.

Your visits to his dorm never go unnoticed. The sunlight coming into contact with your wings always creates a beautiful rainbow, even light effects, on the walls or around you.

It's like you have a multi-colored halo following you around wherever you go.

The animals also, for some reason, love to be on your lap. Your sensitive hands, your wings moving in the air, coiled in warm sunlight…

Riddle was fascinated.

You really did look like a fairy… a beautiful garden fairy, straight out of a fairy tale.

And then we can see Riddle's heart start to beat even faster, making his cheeks blush in the process.

Leona

A person with animal features…what a suprise. Although it was unusual to find someone with wings instead of ears and a tail; he also assumed that you were one of that species of bird.

It wasn't until he saw you in the botanical garden, next to a small fountain, surrounded by multiple flowers and plants, that he could see your wings more closely.

They had no feathers, they were transparent.

Anyway… an anomaly or something like that. Nothing that would prevent him from taking his daily nap.

But that was the problem, he couldn't, since the light that filtered through the glass of the botanical garden made your wings radiate and reflected those same rays, causing some to hit his eyes.

It wasn't until he opened his eyes furiously that Leona saw a multicolored aura on your back, accompanied by small flashes of light, as if it were stardust.

“An angel"... was what escaped from his lips, agape, seeing you turn towards him, letting your hair delicately run along the profile of your neck, and a smile formed on your face to greet him.

Leona from now on likes to take his naps with you, allowing himself to be lulled by your non-stop chatter about your land, while he watches your wings flutter delicately, even fragilely.

He is extremely protective of you, not allowing you to visit his dorm since he doesn't trust the strength, or in this case, kindness of his dorm mates… It isn't a dorm that is characterized by being precisely gentle and soft in its touch.

But Leona is. And he loves to feel and run through the multiple bifurcations that your wings have on the tips of his fingers. He loves to feel the small breeze the small movement of your wings generates when you are resting.

And above all, he loves to see your wings relaxed on your bare back first thing in the morning.

Azul

What a beautiful and peculiar sight, something new to investigate. Even manipulate. It's not every day you see a fairy at school.

Let's agree that Azul was one of the few people who remembered that Malleus was half fairy, and that… after countless failed attempts to ask and experience his race, your figure appearing through the doors of the Monstro Lounge was like a sign directly from heaven.

Obviously you weren't there for Azul, no. You had entered simply and plainly to see the multiple aquatic creatures that had been mentioned to you on the surface, but you were unable to see them from so close. So, what better place to have an excursion to the sea than the very dorm that housed those very creatures.

Azul, seeing he was being ignored over a common fish, was about to kick you out of the lounge, with the excuse of “no drink, no show”

And he was close, ohhh, he was so close…but when his eyes saw your transparent wings and the way the water distorted even more over them, how your wings generated small rays of sunlight that created paths for the fish and other creatures…he was simply enchanted.

VIP access for the rest of the year.

Azul is always inventing some excuses to go see you. “I brought you a potions book, maybe they will help you for the next exam.” “Jade baked a couple of cookies and asked me to bring them to you.” “I saw you liked a creature from our fish tank, so I brought it to you in a medium-sized one so you can admire it as long as you want.”

“I want to draw your wings” It wasn't the excuse he had planned for this day. His mouth betrayed him when he saw you in a dress characteristic of your lands. You looked so… beautiful.

“Sure, let me open the window to let in some light and sit on the couch.”

He nearly had a heart attack when you sat so delicately on the tangled couch, your ensemble lighting up the whole room.

Gods, Azul was in love with that light you emanated.

Kalim

“When you fly, do you loose fairy dust?” was the first thing Kalim said when he saw you in the ceremonial robe in front of the mirror.

He was ready to take you to Scarabia immediately and leave you under the sun to admire those huge, shiny wings. His disappointment was no less when he heard you're going to Ramshackle.

But that didn't stop him from visiting you, he even spent hours in your dorm next to you, admiring and tracing lines on your wings, tickling you and laughing under your breath.

One day Jamil had to come and take him out by the ears since he was neglecting his duty as dorm leader.

Kalim walked out the door with a face of a wet dog, he even almost started crying. Being away from your wings, from you, broke his heart.

He always found a way to sit next to you in class, he even went into classes that didn't apply to him, just to see you. And obviously he got a hard time from the teachers.

One night, Kalim invited you to a party at his dorm, preparing a grand banquet, a grand decoration, asking his dorm mates to wear their best robes.

And speaking of clothes, Kalim even prepared a change of clothes for you, if you were comfortable with that, obviously. He wasn't going to force you to wear something you felt uncomfortable or unpleasant in.

His face lit up when you told him it was no problem, that you loved to wear multiple and colorful clothes. The bigger your closet, the better.

And his face lit up even more when he saw you descending the stairs in his traditional red and white hindu outfit, adorned with the finest rubies and gold medallions. A bit ostentatious for your taste, but of an exquisite and soft finesse.

But the greatest ornament you wore was not the jewelry, nor the small and half headband that circled from the middle of your forehead back; but your smile. That ear-to-ear smile that he loved to admire so much.

The intention of the evening was to get you dancing, to make you spin to the tune of cheerful music, even to chat for hours. But Kalim was only interested in one thing. And that was the way the starting of your wings was delicately embraced by the soft fabric of the sari.

Vil

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the most beautiful creature in the school?”

It was no surprise for Vil to see his reflection on his huge magic mirror, he was still the most beautiful person in the school…but he was disappointed to know that the same mirror had ignored his question. He didn’t ask about person, but about creature.

Now, don’t get me wrong, your own being was that of a person of flesh and blood, but your structure had a beastly part…like the Savannahclaw motto.

Vil was disappointed not to see your image in the mirror’s reflection.

Yes, Vil was enchanted by the beauty and brightness that characterized fairies, features he had never seen, and that you, who possessed the brightest and most beautiful wings that he had seen in his short life, were in this school specifically for villains…well, it was an opportunity he wasn't going to waste.

Whenever he could, he left his duties as dorm leader to see your profile in the corridors or sitting in the gardens. He admired the silhouette of your back, perfectly upright to support the weight of the wings, although to the naked eye, they gave the sensation of being made of paper, breakable and fragile paper.

Vil fantasized day and night being able to touch them, feel them with the tips of his fingers. He wished with a fierce intensity to be the owner of the laughter and small sounds that would surely be caused by the caresses he oh so deliciously wanted to give you. So much desire happened, without warning.

And from that day on, Vil only had eyes for you, for your figure, for your eyes, for your smile, for your light.

Yes, Vil was initially obsessed with the beauty of your fairy side, but now, deeper in their relationship, Vil was in love with your own beauty.

The way your back curved to change your top garment, the way your hair seemed like a continuation of those transparent wings. The way your figure fit so well with his when taking pictures, as your smile was the most striking thing in the shot.

The way the violet color reflected on the bifurcations of your wings and when the morning light hit them, it generated a beautiful and delicate violet ray.

Vil had never loved the uniform's violet color so much until you tried it on and wished with all his inner fire that you had been assigned to Pomefiore.

Idia

He saw you in flying class, without a broom, and yet you were flying with a grace that even the best flying wizard had.

And not to mention the little sparkles that floated around you as your wings fluttered. He was so mesmerized that he almost knocked over a tree.

Despite his reserved nature, Idia was irresistibly drawn to you. There was something about the way your wings unfolded, as if they were an extension of your own essence, that aroused in him a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

One day, after a long period of observation from a distance, which lasted for months, Idia decided to make an effort to get closer. He decided to approach the botanical garden, your little space of rest and relaxation to start a first conversation. Finding you lying on the grass, with your back to him, Idia couldn't help but blush.

There was something about the combination of natural elements and magic that felt like an extension of your personal charm. He blushed so much that he had to close his eyes to calm his poor, mortal heart, which was pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest.

Then he opened them again, you were floating above him, head down, letting your hair float in a strange way and your eyes were at the same height as his.

Idia realized that there was something more than fascination in his heart. Every time you laughed or moved your wings, he felt a spark in his chest, a warmth that couldn't be explained only by his fascination to that same sparkle your own wings gave off. It was something deeper, something that had slowly begun to blossom inside him.

From that day on, Idia began to look for excuses to spend time by your side, not only in the gardens, but also in the most common corners of the school.

He looked for you at your dorm, he took you to his. You showed him how wonderful nature could be on your lap, he showed you how peaceful time could be in a glimpse of the underworld.

Even at your side, he could feel like an eternal spring was lodged in his heart, waiting to receive the rays of your smile every day.

Malleus

Malleus, seeing you for the first time, a new student with fairy wings, someone of his own race, was captivated not only by your ethereal beauty, but also by the sense of ancient magic that emanated from you. To him, those wings represented a connection to the ancient myths, legends, and cultures he had studied so much for centuries.

Every time he saw you running through the grey halls of the school, his heart beat with a mix of intrigue and admiration, an unusual curiosity he had never felt before.

Malleus began leaving small gifts in the garden. Enchanted flowers and jewels that seemed to resonate with a soft glow, as if they were meant to be worn by you.

He felt an enormous sense of protection towards you. He saw you as tiny, fragile. He always made sure, from a distance, that you were safe. Even if it earned a reprimand from Lilia “you seem like a pretty shady stalker”

In your presence he often found himself in a state of silent admiration, caught up in the contemplation of your elegance and natural magic.

Malleus took any opportunity to be near you, even in everyday situations like walks around campus or visits to the library. Just being by your side was more than enough to melt his heart of stone.

Sometimes, at night and with the brightness of the stars as the only things present, Malleus surprised you with little surprises: an enchanted melody that only you could hear or a series of handwritten notes, full of sincere and tender confessions. A real Don Juan.

It wasn’t until the evening of a school festival that Malleus gathered the courage to ask for your hand…for a dance together under the moonlight. And dance, you danced, until the music stopped, until all you could hear were their moderately agitated breathing, until the light of dawn began to shine and welcome a new day.

Both of you danced until a bright, multi-colored aura surrounded you.

[o0cosmic-whorror0o]

Old, perverted eldritch horror creepily leers at, gropes, and then tentacles petite, unconscious angel. {18+} They/He eldritch nightmare, He/Him angelic ingenu. The term 'boy' is used to refer to the angel, but he is an adult. The story is from the Olde One's perspective, and they are many thousands of years old, so they think of him with words denoting youth, as he himself is only one or two centuries old. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Doll Maker ebbed out from under the bed like pooling ink, swirling, shadowy tendrils slithering up over the sheets as their form solidified to loom over the bed, peering down at their sleeping groom.

The boy’s pale pink hair fell all around him, framing his petite figure, which was wrapped in sumptuous silks so fine they were transparent, and his smooth chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, but almost laboriously intense pattern which quickly captured the Doll Maker’s leering gaze. Through the silk of Prince Edward’s nightgown, the Doll Maker could see the light fluttering of the long lashes on the closed eyelids of all six eyes on Edward’s chest as they tickled the paper-white skin, which was currently graced around the delicate collarbones by a tinge of rosy pink. The Doll Maker carefully hooked a claw under one of the sleeves of the nightgown and dragged it down a bit so that he could trace his fingers over his slumbering prize’s collarbones, and the boy shuddered in his sleep at the Doll Maker’s touch. They moved their eyes up along his modestly covered throat, fantasizing briefly of the wedding night, when they would finally be able to peel that covering away and smother his neck with kisses and bite him until it would surely be unbearable to put the covering back on for a day or three, then further to his pink little mouth.

It occurred to them that the thoughts they so relished of defiling his virginal throat both externally with their teeth and internally with other things were rather disgraceful, and they exhaled in repulsion for the bubbling shame that was tainting their enjoyment of this otherwise deeply satisfying moment.

For thousands of years, they had continued to drag themself through miserable existence across an increasingly less and less vast seeming cosmos on the distant, glimmering promise of this one, perfect toy, and now that he was theirs, they couldn’t help but feel sick at their own urges and the decisions that had led them to this moment and created a being like Prince Edward Roosevelt Jekyll III, Coveted third Sun of the Lost City of Carcosa. What loathsome degenerate could possibly exploit a singular opportunity to bend the cosmos to their whims to have a PERSON tailored to their desires? And for the result to be -

But that was unthinkable. They were beyond even Everything and Nothing. Gods were like fat spiders to them, and regular people barely even flies in magnitude, but it was unthinkable. Edward was perfect, sacred, and incapable of disappointing in their eyes. Any temptation to infer what it might say about them that the exact incarnation of their yearning, capable of satisfying all of their emotional, physical, and visual wants better than anything they could even imagine on their own looked and behaved the way Edward did, and that he had such alarming life experiences to shape him to be so exact was to be indulged later, and there were no harsh words justifiable to describe him with. Ever.

He was so exquisite in his unconscious state that it made their chest ache. They hadn’t felt so connected to this person-shaped flesh-vessel they maneuvered around the world of actual people that they could experience sensations so viscerally in so long that most continents in their world of origin were arranged differently, or had been entirely subsumed by the sea, since last it had occurred.

They melted half-literally over Edward and let their hands wander indulgently over his slim waist, marvelously wide hips, and thighs, squeezing handfuls of tender flesh lightly and nuzzling his cheek without removing their mask. As he had taken medicine to induce this sleep, it was heavy, and he did not wake, though he did moan and whine softly in a way between fear and pleasure, and his breathing became still harder. “Perfect~ Perfect~ Oh, my sweet, so perfect~ I am anew each time I see you. I had gotten so very old waiting, so very tired, hopeless, but you fill me with energy, joy, and warmth each time you are in my presence, you blessed little thing!” they uttered against the silky feathers of Edward’s headwings.

They couldn’t resist, and they knew he wouldn’t mind when he found out. He was their special toy, made just for them, after all. Thin tendrils of shadow wriggled up over the sheets in the same fashion the rest of their form had, and the Doll Maker pulled the obstructing fabric off of their cherished plaything, granting the slimy appendages a freedom which they swiftly abused, worming their way into the prince’s nightgown through all available openings to coat him in their glistening ink as they caressed him. They started as slowly as they could bear to, letting their disembodied tentacles rub against his chest and thighs and wrapping more of them around all six of the white feathered wings on his back, staining the feathers as they did. They twitched, and so did most of their disembodied appendages. He was so warm all over, and he looked so innocent. They wanted to squeeze him until he was all bruises, and force some of their tentacles into him so deeply they would pierce all the way through to the other end, even to snap those luxurious wings of his one by one and to hear what lurid noises he would surely make, but they knew they could not damage him like that right now, not until he was awake and able to prepare for it. They had to leave no marks that would linger past early morning, and that made them hiss in frustration.

The tendrils wrapped around Edward’s thighs, squeezing a bit aggressively, and moving up to slip beneath his panties. The boy whimpered again, and this melted the Doll Maker’s heart, so they loosened their grip on his poor legs a tad. He was already covered in dark ooze, the sight one the Doll Maker saw often, but would never tire of. As they admired the way his skin turned faintly pinker and noticeably heated up in reaction to the ooze, they pulled the drawstrings on his panties undone, and passed a small knife to one of the tentacles, which ran the edge over the smooth skin between their groom’s legs until it found the most tender, yielding spot. It paused for another moment so that one of the other tendrils could rub itself against the coveted space between the supple thighs and enjoy the feeling of his pulse through it, before sinking the blade inside, a rush of hot ichor following as it was withdrawn. They pressed the tips of two tentacles against this fresh, slick entrance with a reverent greed, forcing both inside, one after the other, slowly enough to drive them up a wall for their groom’s sake. No matter how much restraint it took, they could not have him awaken tearfully to find his innards properly ripped asunder.

Bit by agonizing bit, the tentacles sank deeper inside of the sleeping angel prince’s body, until at last, they pressed as far up into his core as they could. The things wiggled and writhed against his plush walls as they attempted to coil there so that they might draw more of themselves inside. He was tight to the point that it made it difficult, squeezing around the Doll Maker’s slippery appendages deliciously in a way that briefly made their eyes roll up as they ravished him. “Oh, my sweet boy~ So good, so pure and small, perhaps I should only ever touch you while you cannot know what is happening? Your innocence is indelible, but what a pretty notion, for you never to learn of or understand any of the things this old lecher you shall wed forces on that body,” they thought aloud, several more tentacles ensnaring Edward’s figure to pin his arms above him and massage at his divine hips. One started rubbing at the sticky mess of glossy, pink blood and squirming shadow between his legs, and managed to drive its way inside to join the other two, stretching him out so much that the bulge of the three brutal instruments could be seen in his midsection. This stirred him enough to try to turn over, panting, and making one last helpless whimper before giving up when he was unable to do so. He instinctually tried to spread his legs a tad wider, an impulse the Doll Maker obliged, guiding his legs farther apart and rewarding these subconscious efforts to alleviate the fullness the boy was struggling with by beginning to make the tentacles move in and out roughly, cramming them just a bit deeper inside than before and sliding two more between his rosy lips to defile his throat as well.

They knew they could not leave marks, but as the night progressed, their abuse became vigorous, forcefully and thoroughly fucking their prize’s dripping, inviting form into utter disarray for hours and hours, dragging him into every position practically imaginable and enjoying the debaucherous view from every angle. By the time they were finished, and they finally withdrew their last tentacle from him, he was bloated with their aphrodisiac fluids, and they healed his entrance closed before much of it had time to spill out so he would remain that way until he was next opened. They admired the view of their handiwork for a while, before taking his limp shape into their arms and carrying him off to bathe him.

They tended to him lovingly until he was all clean and dry, dressing him in something pretty and leaving him in a chair so that they could change his bedsheets, before tucking him back in.

They stroked his hair a bit, then sank back down beneath the bed to await the rising of the twin suns and, likewise, their good angel.

[noise-vs-signal]

Eternity

1. Simultaneity: All-at-Once Presence

Eternity does not simply “last forever”; it is the whole of reality in a single, undivided act. Plotinus calls it life that is together and complete. Augustine coins 'totum simul' - “the whole in a single glance.” Nothing is earlier or later; everything is co-present.

2. Immutability: Beyond Change, Not Opposed to It

Because change presupposes “before” and “after,” Eternity is described as changeless. Yet this is not inertness; it is perfect actuality—a fullness so complete it has nothing left to become.

3. Causality Without Sequence: Source at Every Point

In Platonic and many mystical traditions, Eternity is the fountainhead from which temporal events stream. It does not push causes forward in a line; rather, it grounds every moment at once, the way geometric axioms ground every theorem instantaneously.

4. Unity and Non-Division

Eternity is often equated with absolute unity. Distinctions—here/there, subject/object—arise only when the eternal is refracted through time, space, and conceptual thought.

5. Necessity and Non-Contingency

What is eternal is necessary: it cannot be otherwise. Contingency belongs to the temporal domain, where potentials vie for actualization. In Boethius’ phrase, Eternity is “the whole, perfect, and simultaneous possession of endless life.”

6. Intelligibility & Luminosity

To Plato and the Neoplatonists, Eternity coincides with the realm of ideas or forms—pure intelligibility. Mystics add that it is self-luminous awareness: it knows itself without mediation.

7. Infinite Fertility

Paradoxically, although complete in itself, Eternity is described as infinitely generative: every possible world, story, and motion “lives” there as a potency ready to appear in time—much as every circle, triangle, and fractal lies implicit within Euclid’s first definitions.

8. Timeless Duration vs. Timeless Instant

Some accounts picture Eternity as an endless “now” (a duration without boundaries); others as a dimensionless flash (an instant so saturated it cannot be subdivided). Both metaphors gesture at the same reality from different angles.

9. A-Temporal Ethics: the Good Itself

For Plato the supreme Form is the Good, identical with the eternal. That which participates more fully in Eternity manifests greater coherence, beauty, and worth; evil appears as a privation—dislocated from the One.

10. Ontological Transparency

Eternity is said to be diaphanous—not another “thing” alongside things, but the very is-ness in which all things appear. In Vedāntic terms: sat-cit-ānanda (being-consciousness-bliss); in Kabbalah: Ein Sof (Limitless).

Eternity and Time

"Time (Chronos) is the moving image of Eternity (Aion)" - Plato.

Time imitates eternal being by translating the all-at-once wholeness of Aion into the serial unfolding of “now…now…now…”.

Eternity is beyond the categories of motion and rest that only make sense within time. Motion requires change of place or state from one moment to the next—and “moments” are precisely what eternity lacks.

Stillness here means completion, not stasis.

Time is real as an image is real: derivative yet meaningful. Its purpose is to let finite creatures participate, step by step, in what the divine realm possesses all at once.

Meditations

"Eternity is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere, and whose circumference is nowhere.”

Imagine a sphere whose surface is everywhere present but nowhere crossed.

Move along it and you experience paths, sequences, distances. Grasp it mathematically and the whole sphere is simultaneously available—every latitude and longitude at once.

The voyager’s journey (time) and the geometer’s comprehension (eternity) coexist, correlated yet never collapsing into each other.

"Eternity is an unbounded radiance that is everywhere present yet nowhere localised, the seamless source in which all times and places arise."

Metaphors

Cinematic film vs. projector light

The individual frames are like temporal instants; their rapid succession creates the moving picture we call time.

The steady beam of light that makes the whole film visible corresponds to eternity: undivided, luminous, not itself flickering, yet enabling every frame.

Number line vs. “whole number”

You can traverse the number line step by step (temporal sequence), or you can grasp “the concept of number” in a single act of understanding (eternal apprehension).

The concept is neither moving nor still; it grounds all possible movements of counting.

Music in score vs. music in performance

On the page the entire symphony is simultaneously present to the composer’s mind; in the concert hall it unspools moment by moment.

The score’s ideal form isn’t frozen; it is a timeless potency capable of being rendered in countless temporal performances.

Eternity is the adamantine light that contains every moment in one changeless, radiant Now.

[infinityroom]

Seconding the thank you!! I hope everything goes well with your projects!

What was the plan for the second Grian?

Were there any characters you had planned to introduce that didn't appear yet?

Were the endermites ultimately good or bad or neither?

Is there an explanation of how the room worked or what it was or how it got there or was there anyone behind it intentionally etc?

Was there an ending planned and what was it?

I love this story, and the format is so cool, secrets hidden in transparent images and galactic to be translated, and I love your art style!! Even though it won't continue, I'm so glad I found this!!

I hope all goes well too! Thank you for following the story! I'm gonna try to make as much sense as possible, but i might end up rabling, I had many things planned. -Elytra Grian was the character you were influencing the most because he was alone with only you to interact with at the beginning. There was a pattern with the Grian's, since he always was the one to make the room there were always a few more of him running around (the reason why I compared him to fireflies in that post I once made comparing all the characters to mobs, there's many of him but you wouldn't see them in the bright light of the room). If he was alone his main goal would always be "find help and get out", if he was with someone his main goal would always be "I need to fix this, I need to get my friends out of here". You can see that way of thinking in our "main" Grian. But Elytra Grian, thanks to the interactions with the asks and then Tango, was gonna behave a lot more like a cornered animal at that point, he wouldn't trust help from anyone, he would only attempt to follow the endermite because it promised an exit.

In my endless attempt to make this a multimedia experience the next main interaction with Elytra Grian would have been a small game. (Let me take the chance to thank my beloved @redstone-sun for Grian's sprite, they are amazing and I love them dearly and I'm so sad you all weren't able to play with their beautiful sprite)

With the game format you would have been fully in Grian's pov instead of interacting with him, being able to fully understand the endermite. Grian would answer the asks questions and speak with the endermite, Cassiopea. (All the endermites are named btw, Tango named each one. The plot relevant ones are Missy, the ear one. Yellow, the one Mumbo has. and Cassiopea.) The game would have had a fixed ending because I was planning on recording gameplay of it for people who wouldn't be able to play it for any reason and I didn't want people to miss out on the main story, but there would have been extra hidden bits for people who could play. Stories Cassiopea could share about previous events in the room and interaction with another Grian, one that had been stuck in the room for so long he'd been left mostly invisible and not really remembering anything anymore (a firefly that you can't see in the light).

The game would have ended with Elytra Grian entering his "egg arc" I like to call it. But I got explain the endermites for that.

-The Endermites are not malicious, but they are creatures born inside the room and become parasites to it to survive. When someone got bit by the endermite they entered their "egg arc" They could either become a parasite to the room or the endermite's meal they would steal from the room. The main requirement I had for that was, whether or not they listened to what the endermite said. Mumbo didn't listen, he shoved his endermite into a chest and pretended it didn't exist. Cassiopea would refer to him as "an egg that refused to hatch" (The reason why one of the old drawings of him had a cracked circle around him, it's his busted egg) . Tango did more than listen, he clung to the endermites with such desperation he became endermite number one. The various sets of powers Tango has are a mix of effects from being an endermite and being in the room for so long, turning invisible is something the room does, and being an endermite lets him control it and not disappear completely. Otherwise, he would just disappear at some point.

-I was never planning on fully explaining the room, but there was no one behind it. It was just an empty, hungry, space somewhere. Creating it left an echo of you behind, It slowly made the echo disappear, starting from the items, that's why having more items was good, there was more before it got to you. There were various effects to being digested by the room, again the most noticeable one would have been Grian since there were many of him, his disappearance would always begin with him being less scared, one of the last things that remain to him is always positive feelings. (The invisible Grian that Elytra Grian could meet in the game would be announced by Grian's actual laughter, I had a clip of it for that reason) Impulse meanwhile, in this story he was part wither! So the room digesting him was slowly taking away the human parts of him, leaving more and more wither. The two heads you guys could see were his wither heads starting to show up. They were gonna be two characters on their own almost, one interested in impulses' own survival, the other interested in actually harming anyone in sight.

-You would have meet the Iskalls soon, aka the meeting fanatics.

There used to be more iskalls, 2 more actually, created by iskall filming his fake meeting in Sahara. I decided to explain that as him entering the room multiple times to record the various bits. Unfortunately they died by False's hands at some point. Along them a Grian and Mumbo also died, by Tango's hand instead, making the remaining Iskalls decide to hide away inside the "walls". The walls were just a separate room they created with all the resources they had, they were just about to build the main building of sahara so they entered the room with full inventories, lots shulkers of bone blocks and many other things among them a few maps of the room to disguise the exterior of it. The room ended up being a meeting room, because "as long as they don't leave the meeting they are safe". They obviously do not like neither False or Tango, but while False actively would hunt them down, Tango doesn't want to bother them. He's already hurt them enough.

There was supposed to be an event before meeting them when reaching the walls. Grian and Mumbo would find "the cemetery" they made left for the other iskalls, Grian and Mumbo. Said cemetery would simply be 2 pickaxes, a sword and a trident left in the ground. The trident being named "Fork of Friendship" would let Grian know that there was another Mumbo at some point. Mumbo wouldn't realize, because he ended up in the room before ever receiving the fork of friendship. The cemetery would then be part of the banner for the blog, just for the extra pain.

-You already kinda met False, but you were gonna see the full mess she is. Absolutely feral, traumatized creature she is.

She had the misfortune of meeting Tango at a really bad time. She ended up almost being completely eaten by the endermites on the spot. The effects of the room plus what happened convinced her that her only way out was to win the war, because that's what it is, is it not? just part of that war? everything will be fine just as long as she wins! Tango feels bad for what he did to her. They are complicated.

She was going to completely break down at the sight of impulse and cling to him for dear life. He would be the only one she recognized as an ally for the first time in years. - For the ending, I'm not sure. I needed to see where you guys would take them. But I would have done my best to get some peace for the characters. They all deserved somewhere soft to land.

[zerogate]

The Seer is one who, ceasing to imagine what he hopes or fears he may be, has the courage to look at what he is. After all, in so far as mystical experience is healthily genuine, it is only superior realism concerning our nature. No wonder, then, that mystics tend to make use of the Mandala—the symbol which is also a map. Tantric kyilkhors or meditation diagrams, the Golden Flower of the Taoists, the elaborate emanation systems of Neoplatonism, Dante’s Mystic Rose, and St. Teresa’s Interior Castle, are instances.

The last of these is particularly interesting. St. Teresa pictures the soul as formed of a single diamond or perfectly transparent crystal, but containing many mansions, with God’s dwelling at the centre. Ordinarily, we live in the outer court, unhappily ignorant of what lies within. But when, by prayer and meditation, we turn our attention towards the centre, we find our interior castle to be immense. As we progress through its concentric mansions, a delicious sense of interior recollection comes over us; our breath seems to cease; we seem quite bodiless. At length we know a self-forgetfulness so complete that we seem not to exist at all: there remains only the empyrean heaven, a dazzling cloud of light, in the very centre of our souls.

No doubt the Saint intended this to be taken as a parable, a picture in space of spiritual things which are out of space. She and her nuns would scarcely have welcomed the suggestion that these concentric courtyards or mansions are located precisely out there in the regions where we are more or less human, and their centre is located precisely here at the spot where we cease to be anything at all, and Reality shines alone and unhindered. Nevertheless the Interior Castle is effective as a religious symbol because it is also (in spite of its designer’s conscious intentions) a diagram of what we are in cold fact, visibly, in this very room and at this very moment.

Whether we move into the next room, or go out for a walk, or shoot off to the Moon, we take this Castle with us everywhere. Its outer courts are always ranged about us over there, region by region, and we are always safe here at the bright Centre.

-- Douglas Harding, Zen Experience: A Western Approach

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Maybe it is time to say something after yesterday evening, @consultjohnwatson. As you all know I am not a man of many words when it concerns sentiment. I despise having to voice anything of such nature, I rather show my appreciation for someone through my actions. I thought my previous actions had clearly represented what I feel, already years ago. But maybe it wasn't clear enough. So expressing any of the following goes against my usual modus operandi, but maybe it is necessary, so I am going to attempt something I never did before. I assumed I had taught you enough about the science of deduction to see and observe. To see what the true meanings behind people’s actions are, what their motivations and intentions are. You are the one of us who is better at such things, better at recognising other people’s emotions, better at interpreting sentiment and determining whether people partake in flirting. So I had believed you would understand my endeavours, sooner or later. But maybe you are not as observant about sentiment when it concerns myself, after all I am not the most emotive and transparent person. Perhaps I will have to be more verbal and clear instead of relying on subtext or your deductions to convey the message. 

I struggle to comprehend and categorise emotional experiences, especially when I don’t have any other data to compare it to. I have never experienced anything akin to ‘love’ before, thus I can not determine whether any new experience would be regarded as such an emotion. I am uncomprehending in the face of the loving, I don’t know how to assess any of such feelings. So I can not say that I am in love, simply because I do not know love. And I think you know that it’s already something special that I am willing to admit that I do not know something.  All I know is that you are the most important person in my life, John. That I appreciate you more than anyone else, I never cared about a fellow human as much as I care about you. That you made me experience a range of emotions that I have never felt before, and you probably made me a better human. You helped me understand things that I would have otherwise never understood, I do value your input, John. I don’t want to contemplate where I would be without you if I had never met you, I probably wouldn’t be here at all anymore. 

What I am trying to say is, be patient with me. Even if I am unable to properly comprehend sentiment, would you be willing to help me understand and find out? Would you be willing to figure it out together? To be my conductor of light?