#((posting this outright because i meant to get to it last night but was having Computer Program Problems unrelated to writing LMAO))

[ladyseidr]

@mute-call ( plotted starter! )

A bulb in the sign above the diner flickered in the dulling light of early evening. Michael was sitting on the curb across from the restaurant, heels scraping against the pavement and forearms rested over knees. He was was supposed to be inside watching his younger siblings, what with his father's inability to focus on them or maintain a marriage.

Steven's presence was a good excuse to escape. ( Not that he had been particularly present for either sibling prior to Steven showing up. )

"We should get out of here before someone notices I'm missing." Either out of Henry's actual concern for Elizabeth and Evan or because his father had some new, exciting design to show him. "Come on." He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his jeans. He offered a hand to help Steven up, sullen expression finally lightening into something that held a smile. "Come up with something for us to do, I'm out of ideas." His time with his other friends was often reckless and fast-paced, but he could admit ( if only to himself ) that he enjoyed slowing down and enjoying his time spent with Steven.

"Not the arcade, though. I'm sick of arcade games." His choice of distraction during long days at Fredbear's Family Diner. "Think fast—" and here he flashed Steven a grin, "—or I'll come up with something." Something stupidly risky, most likely.

[changbunnies]

Slow Bloom (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Changbin x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot <3 a tiny bit of angst during the build up but it doesn't last long at all!

♡ Word Count: 8.5k

♡ Summary: In which a misunderstanding while cuddling leads to discovering exactly how Changbin feels about you.

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but i may have written bin a bit subby lol oops, references to porn watching, kinda pervy bin?, his lack of experience is not outright stated to the reader as it is implied that they already know, nipple play, thigh grinding / humping, fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: so quite a few ppl showed interest in an inexperienced binnie fic after i posted my inexperienced chan fic and i am here to deliver <3 this was also the perfect break from the longer, more plot heavy fics i've been working on as this took a lot less mental effort :') i hope you enjoy this while waiting for those!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There aren't many things in life that make Changbin nervous. 

He navigates the world with security and confidence, sure of himself and in the actions he takes. He can speak in tense or awkward situations with relative ease, nerves never eat him up in social settings, and he's never afraid to speak his mind or do what he wishes to. 

But then there's you. You, while laying in bed next to him with an arm draped over his body and one of your legs tucked between his, make him extremely, effortlessly nervous.

It wasn't always this way; at least, not as far as he can remember. You've been friends since forever, and closeness such as this is par for the course. He's used to impromptu sleepovers, to you making yourself comfy in his space, tossing your belongings to the floor without a care before you take over his bed. 

He's used to cuddling while watching tv, to squeezing each other into tight hugs, to limbs tangled under blankets. He's used to the lingering smell of your shampoo mixed with perfume, used to the feeling of your breath tickling his skin when you pull him close, to the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. 

He's used to it, and it doesn't affect him; or so he thought.

Somewhere along the line, something within him shifted. Whether the reason lies with you or with himself, he doesn't entirely know. What he does know is that he no longer sees you the same way he did when you were growing up together. And it wasn't until that shift occurred that he realized maybe "your friend" isn't the only thing he wants to be. 

Maybe it's a natural, gradual progression from where you both began, a shift in desire brought on by new maturity and life experience. Maybe you've been this radiant and beautiful since the very first day you met, but he was too young and oblivious to realize it then. 

Maybe it's because of that strange, sharp and twisting feeling in his gut every time he sees you with a new partner. If it wasn't for you showing interest in other people, would he have ever realized at all that what he feels for you transcends what he feels in his other friendships? 

While he loves his other friends, he doesn't get jealous when they bring a new partner around, or talk about their love life to him. He doesn't spend every night lying awake thinking about them, nor does he wonder what it'd be like to kiss them. He doesn't dream about seeing their bare skin, or about touching them, about them touching him.

He doesn't imagine their tongue lavishing over him, or of returning the favor to them. He doesn't fantasize about them in dirty, naughty scenarios, during his private moments in bed or in the shower. You occupy his every thought, to the point that even while watching porn he has to close his eyes and imagine it's you making those sounds instead, replacing the scene before him with a mental image of you and him together. 

That's what makes Changbin especially nervous right now. You're cuddled up to him, as you always are when you spend the night at his place, but he can't get his brain to please shut the fuck up and stop pushing him to the brink of embarrassing himself. 

He needs to stop thinking about the placement of your hand on his stomach, just above his waistband. He can't linger on the fact that your tits are pressed against him while you hug him, or about how pleasant the soft, content sighs that leave you sound to his ears.

If he thinks about any of it, he'll get hard– and that'll easily be the most mortifying moment of his life, because you would definitely notice with the way your leg is snaked between his and resting between his thighs. It's moments like this when he misses the days of innocence– when cuddling with you like this didn't feel quite so intimate.

He makes a conscious effort to focus harder on the tv in front of you both, playing some sitcom he has long since stopped paying attention to. He guesses the jokes are landing if your occasional giggles are any sign, but if you asked his opinion on anything going on he wouldn't be able to answer. Changbin has never been the type of person who was easily able to divide his attention, but God, does he fucking try.

Because if you realize he's getting hard, and you feel it, there are very few scenarios he can imagine where you're okay with it. And if you decide to question him on it, he'd be done for-–because there's no way he'd be able to outright deny his attraction to you. Playing it off would feel too much like lying, and this is not the kind of scenario he imagines when he thinks about the way he'll admit his feelings to you.

You've noticed since the beginning that his body has been tense; you've been cuddling since you were young, and you're more than familiar with how he feels when he's relaxed. It's almost amazing how someone so muscular can still feel so soft when their body is at rest– and right now you can't help but notice that he feels very far from soft. 

You tried to ignore it and focus on the show you're watching, and it worked for some time, but the longer he stays tense the more you can't help but wonder if you've been bothering him lately. It's become a growing pattern– you touch Changbin, in some ways small and menial like a passing tap to his arm as you slip past him in the kitchen, or large, in which you hug him tight and envelop him with your entire body.

Either way, the reaction is the same; he instantly tenses. You're not sure if he intends to do so, or if it's an unconscious reaction he doesn't even realize he's doing, but it hasn't gone unnoticed by you. The two of you have always been a match when it comes to being clingy and affectionate, but maybe that isn't the kind of attention he wants to get from you anymore. 

Are you being overbearing? Did you unintentionally do something wrong? Maybe he wants to distance himself from you but is just either too nice or too scared to say it out loud and hurt your feelings. 

When you tilt your head to look at him, his cheeks are pinker than they were just moments ago, with his gaze fixed solely on the tv. You're sure he can feel you looking at him, but he doesn't turn his head to meet your eyes. You want to believe he's just really engrossed in the show, but you can't help but doubt it. You know him, and you're certain that for whatever reason, he's avoiding your gaze. 

"Am I bothering you?" you ask abruptly, and perhaps a bit more vulnerable than you would've liked. Not that you can help it, really; you just really care about Changbin, and you can't stand not knowing if you've done something to upset him or make him want to separate himself from you. You have to know, because you can't stand it any longer. 

"What? No, I– what?" Changbin finally looks at you, furrowed brows peeking out between strands of his long, messy curls. You didn't expect him to be so surprised by your question; admittedly, it is sudden, but this has been building for weeks hasn't it? You thought he'd be relieved that you're bringing it up first so that he doesn't have to.

You've never been happier to be wrong, or to see such genuine confusion on his face. Thank God. "Sorry, I just.. You've been acting different lately, and I thought that maybe it was because I did something wrong," you explain, following it with a small, awkward laugh.

Really, you're relieved; at the same time however, you do feel a bit embarrassed and silly to have been questioning what's been happening with him now that he's so clearly taken aback. You jumped to conclusions and got a bit ahead of yourself, it’s true– but.. If that’s not it, then what is it?

Surely there’s a reason– his behavior wouldn’t have changed if everything is really the same as it's always been. If nothing's wrong, why does he tense up every time you try to act affectionate with him? Why does he hesitate to meet your gaze when he never had a problem doing so before? Why does it always feel like he's putting distance between you? 

Changbin swallows, you notice– a nervous response that you guess is from putting him on the spot. Because if it's not what you've been thinking, you need to be provided with another explanation– an explanation that only he can offer you. He needs to clear up this misunderstanding if he doesn't want you to wrongfully think you've done wrong by him, but what can he say that also omits the truth he isn't ready to admit? 

His cheeks grow pinker, and you can tell he's struggling to find words– something you'd typically never expect to see in your charismatic best friend. You've untangled yourself from him enough to lift yourself up, weight propped up by your elbow while you look directly in his eyes. He's slightly beneath you at this angle, eyes having to travel up to meet your own, and again he swallows. 

He's so fucked. There's nothing he can say right now other than "I really fucking like you and being this close to you all the time is making me crazy."

But he can't actually say that. Changbin wants his confession to come with a grand, romantic gesture. He wants to say the sweetest, more perfect words he can come up with. He wants to be a man of action, someone as cool as they are sincere, someone who can make you swoon with suave, but genuine effort. Admitting his feelings to you now, like this, would be the furthest thing from charming, or cool, or perfect. 

As if all of that wasn't enough, now he has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander down to look at your chest– because he's been chubbing up since the moment you started cuddling, and if he catches a glimpse of your cleavage now, he's done for. It feels vaguely pathetic to be this affected by you when you don't even realize you're doing it to him. 

Changbin's eyes act against the purposeful efforts of his brain and travel to your chest, met overtly with the sight of your breasts pressed together. Fuck. He looks back up to your face quickly, hoping you haven't noticed where his eyes wandered. He wishes he could reach between your bodies and discreetly adjust his pants to hide his growing erection, but he can't, and God help him, you're going to notice any second now. 

And you're looking at him so sweetly and earnestly, patient and caring, totally unaware of what you're doing to him and what his actual struggle is. He wants to clear everything up, doesn't want you to feel like the fault of what he's going through lies with you, he wants to answer every question you have, he really does– but he's found himself in a vicious cycle. 

Trying not to think about the position you're both in, of how pretty you are looking down at him, or of your chest that he can't seem to ignore despite how badly he needs to focus on anything else just makes him dwell on it even more. The more he tries not to, the more space it takes up in his mind, until it's entirely clouded, preventing him from conjuring a thought worthy of being spoken to you. 

Fuck thinking of an excuse or explanation, he can't think of anything other than your tits being so close to his face. He wants nothing more than to kiss them, to feel your fingers running through his hair as he sticks his tongue out to lick your nipples, has thought about squeezing them between his palms so many times. 

So can he offer you a reasonable enough excuse that hides the truth of the matter? Absolutely fucking not– not when all he can think about is how you'd feel and taste. "Changbin?" your questioning voice snaps him out of it, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights behind his thick rimmed glasses. 

He looks guilty, face entirely flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. And you're convinced now that he was trying to spare your feelings, and was stuck on finding the right way to break it to you. He didn't know what to say, and was trying so desperately to think of something that wouldn't crush you.

He can see the hurt wash over you, and he opens his mouth, ready to blurt out anything in a futile attempt at damage control, but you're already speaking before he even gets the chance to try. "You don't have to spare my feelings, you can be honest, just tell me–" you say as you start to push yourself away from him, very clearly misunderstanding the situation that's been unfolding. 

Before he can even begin to figure out if he should be relieved or devastated by your incorrect assumptions hiding what he feels, the process of moving your leg from between his causes him to let out a gasp that takes you both by surprise. You feel it– his semi-hard erection brushes against your leg as you attempt to move it out from between his thighs. 

"Oh," is suddenly all you can manage to say. Is Changbin attracted to you..? Is that why for months he's slowly but surely become so different in your presence? When you look back to him, he's covered his face with his hands over his glasses, his pouty bottom lip quivering in what you can only assume to be mortification over his body betraying him. 

The question now is, is this simply a physical reaction to being close or something more than that? Would it happen to him no matter who was pressed against him, or is it you in particular that causes his body to react this way? You won't know until he tells you, but you hope more than anything he wants you as much as you've always wanted him.

The idea that he may view you romantically is not something you ever allowed yourself to consider a possibility, but oh, how you've wanted it. Changbin has always been perfect to you; a gentleman in all aspects, attentive, considerate, thoughtful, your very best friend. You always thought you'd be lucky if someone like him were to love you, and you always held your partners to the standard he showed you. 

You thought that even if you couldn't have Changbin, you could at least have someone like him; and while no one ever made you feel the way he does, disappointing you in one way or another, you still tried. Perhaps it was unfair, as no one can compare to Changbin, but if he wants you then you'll take him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Even when it wasn't entirely conscious to you, your heart has always belonged to him. 

He flinches when you call his name again; your tone is soft, but he's still afraid to meet your gaze and discover what kind of expression is on your face. He thinks he'll die if he sees anything even remotely resembling disgust or anger. He cares about you so much, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if you lost your trust in him because of this. 

You reach for his hands, and despite his nerves threatening to eat him alive for perhaps the first time in his life, he lets you take his hands away from his face. The apprehension in his eyes is clear, though there's a flash of relief when he can see that you're not upset with him. "I'm sorry, really," he blurts out quickly, feeling like he should apologize even if you aren't going to chastise him for getting hard simply from being close to you. 

“Does this happen a lot when we..?” you ask, watching as his blush spreads down his neck while he hesitantly nods. You’ve never seen him so red and shy before– and honestly, you like it. You’ve always considered Changbin to be cute, but this is cute on an entirely different level; you hope this won’t be the only time you get to see him this way. But before that can happen, you have a more pressing question to ask him.

"Do you want me to help you?" is the next question to leave you, and fucking hell, does that send him reeling. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re even asking him so casually. And while it isn’t the way he pictured something happening between you after his many months of pining, he could never say no to you– he's been obsessively thinking about you all this time, how could he say anything but yes?

Still, he hesitates regardless; not because he's unsure about continuing, or because he doesn't want to, but because what if it means different things for the two of you? For Changbin, it'd be everything. You're the only person he's ever liked this much, he might even be in love with you, and he doesn't think he'd be able to recover from having a casual fling with you. He'd never be able to go back to before and pretend he doesn't feel as much for you as he does.

"If you say no, we can pretend this never happened," you assure him when you see the nervous hesitance in his eyes. It's not what you'd want to hear, but he deserves to be offered an out if he needs it; because as much as you want him, you don't want him to feel stuck and uncomfortable. And then you continue, hoping more than anything that he shares the sentiment of your next words, "But I think you should know, I really like you, Binnie. And I'll be really happy if you say yes." 

With your admission, all his doubts and fears are cleared in an instant. Really, that's all he needed to hear to be sure what he plans to say next is the right thing to say to you. It's not how he ever intended to ask you this question, but he’d never dream of passing up the opportunity presented to him– the opportunity to be yours, and for you to be his in turn. "If I say yes, will you be my girlfriend?"

He’s smiling, sweet and cute as he asks, and it makes you smile too– because this is much more like the Changbin you know and love. He giggles when you accept, and as the word "boyfriend" leaves you in reference to him, absolutely giddy to finally be yours. Maybe this is better than the way he always pictured it would happen; because this is more organically you, what is more natural to your dynamic and the care you have for each other.

Leaning down, you softly press your lips to his, and even just a gesture so small is enough to spread goosebumps over his skin. It's so soft, slow, every sensation lingering even as you pull away to take a breath before kissing him again. No kiss he's ever had before compares to how it feels to kiss you; he doesn't think he's ever felt as positively electric as he does right now.

Is it normal for every touch of your lips to make him tremble so much? And his heart is already beating so fast, thumping loudly against his chest with each additional kiss and tracing touch of your fingers over his body. Down his arms, over his chest, underneath his shirt and across his stomach– all of it adds to the sparks in his veins. 

His hands explore you too– eager, and a bit clumsy, but you find his enthusiasm infectious. He's so perfectly warm and soft, and you can't resist the urge to squeeze him in your hands– his soft tummy, his love handles, his defined pecs; you squeeze everywhere your hands can reach. Changbin lets out a soft, surprised squeak the first time, but he quickly grows used to it, and finds himself mimicking the way you touch him. 

He starts with the leg not tucked between his thighs, hand trailing up and down the length of it before he squeezes. Then he moves on to your hips before traveling to your backside, then your waist, and finally your breasts. Even just feeling them over your clothes excites him beyond words, eager and happy to be touching you like he's dreamed of so many times before.

He likes the pleased hums and sighs you let out almost more than he likes the act of squeezing you in his palms, each sound just as pretty and soft as you are. He shivers when he feels your tongue swipe across his bottom lip, and he eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue slipping inside his mouth and swirling around his own makes him practically vibrate with desire for more.

Changbin follows you when you start to pull away from the kiss, eyes remaining closed for several seconds before he finally opens them to look at you. His pretty lips, still wet and parted, turn into a pout when you've gone further than he can still reach. His pout vanishes, however, when you start to pull up your shirt, and it makes you giggle; he really is just so cute. 

You weren't wearing a bra beneath your shirt– you never do when you're relaxing before going to bed, even at Changbin's place. You always felt comfortable enough around him that you didn't feel like you had to sacrifice your comfort during your sleepovers, assured in the fact that he'd always be respectful towards you even if he happened to notice.

And while you're comfortable and confident, there's still a certain tinge of nervousness that bubbles up in the back of your mind that comes from being exposed to his eyes now. Tits are pretty– doesn't matter who they're on, or what shape they're in, they always look good; but it's almost funny how simply showing them to the person you like so much makes you nervous regardless of this fact.

You're not ashamed to say you've slept with a lot of people, and that a majority of said people have seen you completely bare– but there's none you've ever liked quite as much or in the same way that you like Changbin. It makes it more intimate somehow, so real, and you suppose that's the part that makes you nervous.

But oh, how his gaze fills your stomach with butterflies– because you don't think anyone's ever looked at you the way he is right now, with eyes sparkling in awe as he takes the sight of you in. He looks at you with pure wonder and adoration, in a way that is as sweet as it is full of lust and desire.

In his eyes, you may as well be one of the 7 wonders of the world– something worthy of reverence and worship. He'd do it if you'd let him– worship you until the sky itself falls and everything around the two of you crumbles. He'll show you in any way he can, with every kiss and every touch, that you always have been and always will be the only one for him.

"Can– Can I touch them? Please?" he asks, polite, sweet, and full of hope that you won't deny him. It's a little funny, considering how just moments ago he was touching you all over– but it's sweet too, how considerate he's trying to be now that you're bare before him despite how eager and worked up he is.

And really, you'd never dream of denying him anything– but you do have a request of your own to make too. "If you take your shirt off for me first," you tell him, fingers ghosting over his torso, "I want to touch you too, want to see every inch of you."

"Oh," he blinks, his cock that has been semi-hard for the better part of an hour stiffening more as it twitches in response to your words. "Yeah– yeah, of course, want you to touch me too," he finally breathes, wasting no time in lifting his back off the bed to pull his shirt up and over his head.

You giggle at the urgency in which he gets his shirt off, and he smiles back at you when he falls back against the bed. He knows he's eager and excitable, and he has no shame in showing it– he's wanted you way too much and for way too long to act like this is just a typical Saturday night for him.

Even if he makes a fool of himself, he'll be happy and it'll be worth it– because it's you he's doing it for, doing it with, and that's all he's ever needed. "You're so cute, Binnie," you tell him, and he smiles brighter, cutely scrunching his nose that way you love so much, and does whenever he's truly happy.

His hands reach for you first, cupping your breasts with an adorable pout of concentration and determination on his face. He's careful with his squeezes, well aware of how strong his grip can be and not wanting at all to hurt you. He rubs over your nipples with his thumbs, and then between his fingers, licking his lips as he watches them get hard enough to gently roll them.

He looks to you for approval, blinking up at you with hope for praise and affirmation that you like it, that he's doing it right. It makes you want to coo at him– but you resist, and simply reach your hand to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb as you instruct him to keep going. He all but melts into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm and closing his eyes for just a moment to relish in it before he continues.

Changbin sticks his tongue out next, watching you carefully as he brings it to one of your pebbled nipples. You meet him halfway so he doesn't have to strain his neck from lifting it off the pillow, leaning closer to his face as you move your hand to thread your fingers through his curls.

His eyes stay on you as he alternates between where he licks, one of his hands always playing with the nipple that his mouth isn't giving attention to. The moan you let out when he sucks one into his mouth makes his cock throb, and truly, he's never felt as blessed as he does right now, with one of his many fantasies finally becoming a reality.

Still, he's thirsty for more– he wants to feel you everywhere, to hear your pretty voice sing him praises, to become so absorbed in each other's pleasure that everything else in the world fall away. He wants to envelop you with his body, he wants your touch to consume him, he wants you to both be equally messy and dirty and engrossed in bliss.

"Touch me now, please, anywhere, want you to," he pleads after releasing your nipple from his mouth with a small pop. His face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, dark eyes soft and pleading behind his glasses, lips wet and hair a mess– you don't think you've ever seen anything more perfect and alluring than this.

It makes you want to dote on him, and you'll do just that– especially if it's something he wants as badly as you. "Anything for you," you oblige, giving him a quick, sweet peck to the top of his head before your hands are once again traveling over his body. You scoot down just enough to be able to reach his neck, pressing kisses beneath his ear before trailing them down.

Changbin intended to keep playing with your chest as you touched him, but he quickly loses focus, sucking in a breath and eyes fluttering closed as your tongue presses against his sweet spot. It's almost overwhelming for him– your hands squeezing the thick muscle of his arms and pecs while you tongue dotes on him, body squirming when your teeth lightly graze over the sensitive skin near his pulse point.

Similar to when you first squeezed him in your hands earlier, another squeak of surprise escapes him when you brush your thumbs over his exposed nipples– you guess no one's ever done that to him before. You hesitate a moment before repeating the action, wanting first to make sure it's something he's open to experiencing again. He's biting his lip and looking at you not with apprehension like you half expected to see, but curiosity and excitement.

So you do it again, and he gasps, back arching off the bed as his teeth sink further into his bottom lip. Fuck, he never thought he'd be so sensitive there– and he whines from deep in his throat when you comment on it. "You're so sensitive, Bin," you whisper in near awe, and he's half tempted to cover his mouth with his hand to suppress the moan you threaten to bring out of him with your soft fingers.

His cock is the hardest he thinks it's possibly ever been. You can feel it prodding against your thigh, and poor Changbin, he's so worked up and eager for stimulation that he can't help but grind it against you as you continue to rub his nipples between your fingers. In a different scenario, it'd be the bed or his own hand he'd be helplessly rutting against– but your thigh is all he has access to.

It makes him feel positively dirty, naughty, but he can't stop– even when the friction from the fabric of his clothes overwhelms him, his hips don't stop moving against you. You look down between your bodies, watch the wet patch on his pants grow as he continues to rut against your thigh.

You want to take one of his nipples into your mouth, but you don't want him to lose the friction against you– so you bend carefully, conscious of keeping your leg pressed against him between his thighs as you wrap your lips around the nipple easiest for you to reach. He whimpers– a high pitched sound you never expected to hear from him as you swirl your tongue around his hardened nipple.

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh my god–" Changbin whines, bringing up his hands to once again cover his heated face. It's so embarrassing– how good it feels, how loud he's being, how he just can't seem to stop himself from seeking the delicious friction your thigh provides him. Overwhelming too, how close he is to cumming already, his body taut and high strung.

His hips begin to stutter, sweat steadily building on his brow, his stomach clenching as he tries his best to hold back the inevitable. "Are you close, Binnie? Gonna cum just like this?" you release his nipple from your mouth to ask him sweetly. Against your expectations, he quickly shakes his head– as if fighting against himself before he lowers his hands and looks at you with glassy eyes.

"Don't– don't want to," he tells you after another obscene whine, "wanna fuck you first, don't wanna cum until I fuck you." The way he looks at you as he says it makes your heart jolt and stomach twist. Messy hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, pouty bottom lip swollen and red, eyes pleading and desperate.

God, he's fucking cute– positively delectable. You'll have to save eating him for next time, though; right now, you just want to give him everything he asks for. "You want to fuck me?" you ask him, reaching your hand down to dip under the waistband of his pants and underwear. It's sticky and wet, pre-cum smeared all over the inside of the fabric.

He keens, nodding eagerly as he squirms beneath the touch of your soft, warm hand. It's such a contrast from the prior sensation, but just as equally overwhelming. You stroke him slowly; just enough to keep him worked up, but not enough to make him cum. His eyes are fluttering closed, hands twisting the sheets beneath him, hips jolting up to meet your strokes.

"You're so thick, Binnie," you tell him, and he throbs from the compliment, whining almost helplessly. It's true too– you're not just saying it to make him feel good. It's not the longest you've ever held, but it's definitely the thickest– you can't even wrap your hand entirely around it. "Think you can help me get ready to take it?" you ask, needing to suppress the urge to giggle when he enthusiastically nods.

"Anything! I'll do anything for you, anything you need," he babbles, and you thank him with a sweet kiss that he happily returns. He whines when you stop touching him and pry yourself away, hips chasing your touch even though he's the one who wanted you to stop– his body just can't help it.

He watches breathlessly as you stand from the bed, sliding your thumbs into the waistband of your pajamas and slowly pulling them down along with your panties. He decides to follow your lead, scrambling to lift himself from the bed and pull the rest of his clothes off in one quick motion.

Both bare, you take a moment to stare at one another. You get a better view of Changbin's drooling cock, while he finally gets a glimpse at your pussy– and fuck, is it the prettiest thing he's ever seen. How did he get so fucking lucky?

You come back to the bed, and instead of letting you crawl back on top of him, Changbin gently guides you to the side of him and onto your back. You spread your legs for him once you're comfortable, and he props himself up on his elbow, looking down at your body, so gorgeous and perfect.

He isn't well practiced, so he mimics the actions taken in one of his favorite, more intimate porn videos. He starts with kissing you, slow but messy, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His hand travels down the length of your torso, and he can't help but gasp and break away from the kiss when he reaches your core, and your arousal coats his fingers.

"Oh my god, do you– do you always get this wet?" he asks, almost mesmerized by how effortlessly his fingers glide between your folds. "Only for you," you answer; you don't know if he believes it, but it's true. The only other times you've ever gotten this soaked were in the privacy of your bedroom, when you touched yourself with Changbin's image at the forefront of your imagination.

He continues to rub his fingers up and down between your folds until his fingers are completely coated, and only then does he finally ask, "Can I.. is- is it okay to put my fingers inside?" He blushes when you smile at him and nod, spreading your legs further apart while telling him exactly what he wants to hear. "Yeah, please, I want you to."

He presses the tips of his fingers to your hole before he slowly pushes one inside, watching in breathlessly awe as it disappears inside your warm, wet heat. You're so slick that it slides in and out easily, and soon enough you're instructing him to add another, and then one more, to which he easily obliges.

He can't decide where he wants to look more; between your legs, where his fingers thrust steadily in and out of you, or to your face, beautifully contorted in pleasure– so he ends up alternating between both. "Is this– is it good for you?" he asks the next time he looks at your face, desperate to perform well for you.

If there's anything he can do better, anything he needs to do differently, he needs to know– he'll follow any instruction you give him in a heartbeat. "Your fingers– when they're all the way inside, can you curl them for me, please?" you ask, and he's immediately doing exactly as you tell him, curling his fingers right against your sweet spot.

"Like this?" he asks, sliding his fingers out and quickly pushing them back inside, curling them to hit your spot, and then pulling them back out to repeat the motion. You let out whines and breathless moans, voice quickly growing shakier and shakier as you try to keep talking him through it.

"Y-Yeah, just like that, keep– keep going just like that," you tell him, voice unsteady between your whimpers and moans, but it's easily the prettiest sounds Changbin's ever heard– he just knows he'll become addicted to them.

He's addicted to everything about you, really– all of it is so captivating. The sounds you cry out, as well as the ones coming from between your legs as his fingers thrust in and out of you. He's mesmerized by how your thighs tremble and twitch when he picks up his pace, by the rapid rise and fall of your chest, by the way your eyes roll back as he drives you closer to sweet release.

"Bin, Binnie– 'm so close, just need– need a little more," you tell him between quick, shaky breaths. "Tell me," Changbin requests, slowing down the motion of his fingers just enough for you to be able to speak with more ease, "tell me what you need."

"Here, touch me here," you instruct, reaching your hand down to point him to your puffy, neglected clit. "With your thumb," you add after you show him, and he nods, pressing his thumb to your clit as he resumes the previous, quick motion of his fingers inside you.

He can feel you clench tighter around his fingers, while the sounds that escape you soon pick up in volume. Your thighs squeeze together and limit the motion of his hand, so he sticks to simply curling his fingers while rubbing your clit with his thumb. It only takes a few more strokes of his thumb to have your back arching off the bed, his name coming out in a choked sob.

Changbin doesn't slip his fingers out of you right away, instead keeping them inside until your breathing starts to steady and your thighs relax. "Was it.. did I do okay?" he asks after you've caught your breath, and God, the way you smile at him– he's sure he's never seen anything more radiant.

"You were perfect," you answer, leaning up to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a kiss. "So perfect, felt so good," you continue between pressing kisses to his lips, "want you now." A shiver is sent straight down his spine; is this finally, really going to happen after so many nights spent hoping for it? “Do you have protection?” you ask after pulling away, and he pouts as he considers it.

He did have some, but.. how long has it been since the last time he had sex? He’s not confident he even remembers where he put them last; it hasn’t really been something pressing on his mind considering he discovered casual flings weren’t really his thing, and he thought the only person he wanted to have sex with, you, was unavailable.

“Uh, I think so! ..maybe?” he mumbles as he crawls over to his nightstand and starts haphazardly shoving things aside while searching through it. You giggle as you sit up and crawl over yourself, deciding to help him look for one in his messy drawer. “Ah, there’s one!” you point to where you see the corner of a packet sticking out from under the book you’re pretty sure he’s been reading on and off for like, 6 months now. 

“Thank God,” you hear him mutter under his breath as he lifts the book up to grab it, and you giggle again; you don’t think there’ll ever be a time you don’t find him endlessly adorable. It wouldn't have been a big deal if he didn’t have one, of course, as you usually carried around spares in your bag, but there was something really endearing about his urgency to find one.

He’s pretty sure that the condoms expiration date hasn’t passed, but he still checks first regardless– better to be safe than sorry, and all. “All good?” you ask as you watch him check it over, and smile when he crawls back to you and plants a giddy kiss to your lips.

“Yep! All good,” he smiles, settling himself between your legs after you rest back against the bed. He’s honestly pretty nervous, but his joy to be with someone he loves so much does wonders for distracting his brain from the fear of not performing to some imaginary standard of perfection in bed.

Changbin stops when it’s time to open the condom, staring at it for a moment as if considering what to do. You’re about to ask him if he needs help, but he ends up speaking again before you can. “Uh, I know tearing it open with my teeth is sexy or whatever, but I think I’d fuck it up so I’m not gonna do that,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. Your silly boy. 

“Don’t worry, you’re already plenty sexy without doing stuff like that,” you tell him. “Am I?” he asks, another cute smile spreading on his lips when you nod, and confirm that he’s very sexy. Cute too, you tell him, easily the cutest person in the whole world. And his eyes crinkle and nose scrunches in the way you love again as he giggles. 

What amazing duality your boyfriend has; so strong and intimidating in physique, but with the softest, sweetest personality you’ve ever known anyone to have. He’s so perfect. 

He rips open the packet with his hands, and the condom slips from his fingers when he first pulls it out, but he thankfully manages to catch it before it falls on you, or the bed. "My bad," he says with a shy, slightly awkward laugh; maybe he's more nervous than he initially thought.

He's suddenly extremely conscious of how fast his heart is beating, and of the tremble in his hands. "Want me to help?" you ask, smiling at him sweetly when he timidly nods. "Ah, yeah, if you don't mind," he mutters, and you quickly sit back up, placing your hands over his.

"Keep this one here," you instruct as you bring his hand to the base of his cock to hold in place and keep still. "And then we're gonna roll it down, like this," you guide the hand holding the condom to the tip of his cock, helping him spread it smoothly down his length with your fingers atop his.

If it were anyone else, he might feel embarrassed or a little ashamed over needing help, and for needing to be guided like this with something he feels most guys his age already have perfected. But with you, it just feels sweet and intimate; he can tell there's no judgment, and you're not going to make fun of him for not quite knowing how best to do things.

He's safe with you. And he's glad that out of all the billions of people in the world that he could've met, befriended, and then fallen in love with, that it was you.

You lay back against the bed after Changbin thanks you for your help with a kiss, but you notice he still looks nervous, so you hold up your hand to offer it to him. He smiles as he takes it in his, and you give him a reassuring squeeze after he intertwines his fingers with yours. He uses his other hand to align himself with your hole, and takes a breath before starting to finally push himself inside.

You both squeeze each other’s hand; Changbin because fuck, it already feels so good even with just the tip inside, and you because even with 3 of his fingers prepping you for his cock, it’s still a stretch. He’s pushing inside slowly, and it’s thankfully to both your benefit– because he’d definitely cum if he didn’t, and you’re sure there’d be a sting if he pushed it all in at once.

He whimpers as he bottoms out, his hand still squeezing yours as he tries desperately to ground himself. “God, you feel so good, can’t– can’t believe how tight you are, oh my god,” he whines, absolutely sure that if it wasn’t for the condom he would’ve cum from the very moment he felt your walls squeezing around him.

“You’re big,” you reply breathlessly, reaching your free hand up to the back of his neck to pull him down, closer to you, “so fucking big, feel so full.” “Fuck, don’t say that, I’ll cum–” he groans, and you can feel his cock twitch and throb, as if it to confirm to you he means it. A kiss is the only apology you offer now that his lips are in reach of yours, and he lets go of your hand to prop himself up on his elbows.

He rests his forehead against yours when he pulls away, and slowly, he starts to pull out. “Gonna– gonna fuck you now,” he breathes, pulling out almost completely before slowly pushing back inside, “gonna, oh– fuck, gonna make you feel good too, promise.” You bite your lip, muffling a whine as he continues to build his slow, but steady pace. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked slowly by anyone, but fuck, it feels good.

You hold his face in your hands, kissing him deep and messy, with your tongue shoved as far into his mouth as it’ll go. You’re both panting by the time one of you pulls away, and oh, when he looks at you– his heart feels like it could stop right then and there. You’re so beautiful, he’s so in love with you, and the way you look at him so full of tenderness and adoration makes his head spin. 

He buries his head into your neck as he starts to fuck you faster, genuinely afraid that he’ll cry if he looks in your eyes any longer. You wrap your arms around him, clinging to his body as you start to roll your hips to meet his thrusts and help him to hit your spot. He moans your name, one of his hands snaking underneath your body to pull you even closer.

You’re pressed to him, chest to chest, bodies hot and sweaty. His face feels unbearably hot, and when he lifts his face from your neck, the lenses of his glasses have almost completely fogged over. “Bin, oh my goodness,” you giggle as you reach up to take his glasses off for him, and he giggles too, though it’s quickly cut off by another moan. 

It’s easy to tell that he’s getting close, and it really comes as no surprise– he’s been so hard for so long now, and he purposely staved off his orgasm just for this moment. His thrusts become more desperate, the throbbing of his cock more constant as he squeezes and holds you tighter. His pace isn’t perfect and his thrusts aren’t precise enough, he knows, but he hopes he’s still doing well enough to at least uphold his promise to make you feel just as good as he does. 

He can feel you trying to snake your dominant hand between your bodies, and he pulls away from you enough to make it easier for you once he realizes what you’re trying to do. He tries to watch, but the very moment your fingers start to rub your clit, you clench around him and it makes his eyes roll back as he moans. 

Changbin whimpers when you moan his name, hips stuttering and thrusts becoming erratic. “C-Close, oh my god, ‘m so close,” he whines, begrudgingly letting you go so he can dig his fingers into the mattress instead so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you. His knuckles quickly turn white, and though it makes him emotional to do, he looks you in the eye.

It’s now that it really sets in just how much Changbin cares about you. There’s no one else he’d ever do this with, no one in the world he wants more than he wants you, and you can see it in the way he looks down at you. His furrowed brows and watery eyes, his bottom lip that trembles, the desperate, almost pathetic cries of your name. He lets you see his most vulnerable self, because he trusts you and loves you. 

You reach to his face, cupping his face in your hand to guide him down to you. He thinks you’re going to kiss him, and you are close enough to, as he's able to feel your breath against his lips. But you don’t– instead you whisper words that make his world tilt on its axis, a loud, desperate moan escaping from deep in his chest as he cums.

"I love you.”

He fills the condom with long, thick and sticky spurts, his entire body trembling. In turn, it only takes a few more strokes of your fingers to cum again, your eyes rolling back as the white hot pleasure licks over every inch of your skin. Changbin collapses first, careful to fall in a way that won’t completely smother you beneath him. 

He pulls out slowly after he catches his breath, and then carefully removes the condom from his softening length. He leans over your body to toss it in the trash bin near his bed before he falls back down next to you, and wraps an arm around you to pull you closer. You end up in the same cuddling position you were in at the start of the night, with Changbin half on his back, and you with an arm thrown over his body and leg tucked between his.

You’re naked this time, there’s an “Are you still there?” pop up on the tv that’s since gone ignored, and you told Changbin you love him. So it’s better, he thinks; everything about where you are now is better. “I love you too,” he finally says, and you giggle, scooching up so you can kiss him. “Took you long enough to say it back,” you say, and he giggles too, happy beyond words to finally have everything he’s ever wished for.

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety

[flyingcakeee]

Fic based off the tags in this post by @lil-shiro 🫶

Noise is loud. The feelings are loud. The judgment is loud. The anger spewed from angry mouths is loud. Everything is loud. Logan doesn't like loud.

No other omega or anyone had loud constantly in their ears, the internet said nothing but the loud refused to let the internet dictate it.

Logan tried wearing airpods to block out the loud, but he didn't want to ignore anyone and look like a dick. After a while, even his airpods and headphones became loud. Logan tried to use the car as peace, but unable to control it 100% of the time meant it became loud too fast. Somewhere between Saudi Arabia and China, Logan found that making a nest and nesting in said nest was loud, it wasn't supposed to be loud but it was. Now, Logan was coming to the Netherlands for the Dutch Grand Prix unable to escape from the noise, the noise which took over his life.

In Silverstone after a large amount of cars were damaged, Logan found quiet, he scored a point. But that loud bit and nipped until it was entirely present, screaming into Logan’s ears and planting itself in his brain. He couldn't escape. Not at night or in a bath. Not with his trainer or another driver. It wasn't possible, loud was always with him.

Now, Logan was sitting in the FIA garage, pushed up in a corner on his own doing, watching the other drivers chat as they got ready for the parade. They were all loud, Logan couldn't escape. There was a slight comfort in this loud, they all seemed to try and give him some comfort, yet none can take the loud away; it was never enough.

When he noticed the other drivers start getting pushed towards the door, he stood him and joined them, now having to pick a group to stand by or if he was to stand alone. Logan chose the latter. All piled onto a truck bed where only maybe 5 or 7 of them would be interviewed, yet it was rarely Logan and he knew it wouldn't be him. He looked over the guardrail, occasionally waving to fans and occasionally drinking whatever drink Elias gave him, mostly just staring.

Would Zandvoort treat him better this week than last year? He's already not crashed in qualifying but he qualified P11, just missing Q3 by .018 seconds. Maybe he'll finish the race .1 behind P10, just missing a point. Like he was destined to fail, to be surrounded by the noise again. He couldn't escape the noise, it haunted him.

A hand grasped on Logan’s shoulder, leaning down next to him was Lance.

“How are you doing?” he asked, turning his body to face Logan.

“Thought you'd be with Esteban,” Logan murmured instead of answering the question, looking for the tall Frenchman, spotting him next to Oscar and Fernando.

“No, I'm here to check on you. You doing ‘right?”

“Fine,” Logan dismissed the Canadian. He never got a break from the noise during summer break, the noise didn't know what the word ‘break’ meant apparently. “Don't worry ‘bout me; I ain't nothin to worry ‘bout.”

“We omegas stick together,” Lance responded, making it all well known he wasn't leaving Logan alone, adding to the noise. “You're uncomfortable, why? You've been since Japan.

So that's when it started, Japan. The noise made it so Logan couldn't nest since Japan and the lack of nesting caused discomfort for radiate off of him since then.

“Haven't found time to nest,” Logan partially lied, because while it wasn't the time, he hasn't nested for months. “The team has been putting me in the sim a lot.”

“Do you want to nest?”

“Kinda, but it's not a worry right now,” Logan said, never once taking his eyes on the blur of the moving grandstands, or rather, the grandstands that blurred since the truck was moving. “I can do it during winter.”

“You can wait that long?” Lance questioned, uncertainties dripping off his body into his scent enough that Logan could smell it. “Are you sure? You can nest with me after this, if you'd want.”

Part of Logan wanted to take it, another part didn't. The omega of him wanted nothing to nest and he was outright being invited to, the ‘normal’ part of him wanted to shoo Lance away so he could fight the noise.

“You wouldn't mind?” Logan asked, finally turning his eyes to look at Lance, trying to read every little bit of his expression, and his expression was promising.

“Not one bit. We're almost done, come follow me,” he replied, leaning into Logan ever so slightly, but enough that the noise felt odd. Logan couldn't figure out what happened to the noise, but he wasn't complaining.

“Thank you,” he whispered, giving Lance a small yet genuine smile to show his appreciation. In return, Logan got a much larger smile, one where Lance's eyes crinkled and his teeth made a smallest of appearances, one Logan found himself loving very much.

Logan didn't know why he accepted, he could wait until after Abu Dhabi when he was out of his seat, when he had all the time in the world to get rid of the noise, but something said to follow Lance and follow Lance did Logan.

His mom would be disappointed. Conservative, ignorant of certain things, would disapprove of Logan nesting with an omega, especially one unmated. To her, that meant helping for heats and unless you were mated, heats were to be spent alone. Since that day she said that, Logan refused to ever nest with Kyle again.

His father would have disowned him. Just like his mother, he's conservative but thinks nesting is only for children. Logan would hate to be married to his dad and lose the ability to nest for the rest of time, but then again, he hasn't nested in months. To him, if Logan had nested again any day after he was 15, he would never be mated ever and that was why many omegas were unmated. Since that day, Logan had to rebuild his nesting habits, only to just lose them again.

His brother would be sad. Dalton was always supportive, trying to give Logan that helping hand. He didn't like his omega, his girlfriend he had yet to mate, nesting with anyone but him though, but maybe that was genes or instinct. To him, nesting should only be your partner. Logan refused to nest with anyone after that, until now apparently.

He barely knew Lance it felt like, yet still he blindly followed the Canadian to what his omega brain screamed was freedom and comfort to his ‘normal’ brain which screamed back that it was a trap and death.

Lance had only spoken to him once more during this season, back in Spain. The Canadian told Logan to keep his head up, to keep pushing. He said for Logan to stop beating himself down and to talk to others, that they were there for him.

They were there for him.

Suddenly, while on the walk, he noticed Max giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder and when entering the Aston hospitality behind Lance, Fernando said something along the lines of “you're going to be okay kid, Lance is a nice guy” but the loud told Logan he couldn't properly hear. Maybe other drivers tried to talk to him and the loud prevented anything.

Logan hated the loud, but he heard Lance fine and Fernando just somewhat. Lance stopped the loud, maybe, and that's why he followed.

Logan only came back to his somewhat impaired senses when Lance was manhandling him to join him in the nest, pulling Logan down to sit beside him. Logan let it happen, finding himself curled against an upright Lance who had his arm wrapped around Logan’s shoulder, a gentle rub on his shoulder accompanying it.

Soon enough, Logan was curled into Lance’s arms, both laying down in the nest, the loud subdued and the quiet taking its place. He found that Lance was warm, comfortable. Logan found comfort in nesting, in Lance. Lance was comfort, comfort meant Lance.

After maybe an hour or just short of it, Logan and Lance had to get ready for the race, do their warm up laps, anthem, and carry on. Truthfully, Logan did not want to leave Lance, did not want to leave the nest, didn't want Lance to leave the nest, but alas, the world has its decisions and Logan must adhere to said decisions.

When Logan was back in his driver's room, the loud didn't return. It didn't make its appearance when he was in the car nor when he had finished the race, just P11 despite nearly retiring if it weren't for the red flag. The loud didn't come back, was not there to haunt him.

Not until Baku where the loud returned and so did Logan in Lance’s nest, ceasing that pesky loud. Quiet, clear, Logan had his senses back. On top of that, he had another point to his name and a man he could curl into when the loud got too overwhelming when he let it sit for some time. If you asked Logan if he would ever find himself with another omega as if they were destined to be mates a year ago, he would have laughed awkwardly and brought up his parents' morals.

Logan had found comfort. Comfort’s name was Lance.

Curling into Lance’s nest in Singapore, Logan had found that he very much enjoyed the Canadian, not just his presence but him in his entirety. Lance always welcomed Logan with an open arm, pulling him in tight to minimize the space between them, even occasionally scenting Logan if he wasn't too tired. On the days Lance didn't scent Logan, Logan scented him instead, wrapping tired limbs around even more tired limbs, curled in a nest of the two’s belongings and a lingering sense of protection, of relief.

Loud never returned when Logan saw Lance, loud was forgettable and Logan was forgetting it. Lance stopped inviting Logan into the nest, it was clearly obvious that Logan was always going to be invited no matter what. No matter the day, the time, the weather, Lance and Logan could be found either in the car or in the nest together, smelling like each other and usually sleeping peacefully. During the nights, when both were at the track or in England for team duties, they found each other wrapped around one another.

Logan spent his next heat with Lance, the older omega giving comfort Logan didn't know he needed. Lance spent his next heat with Logan, finding himself wanting to keep the younger omega close to him no matter the circumstances.

There was no loud, only love between the two omegas. That night in Abu Dhabi, Logan kissed Lance good night, sleeping until they had to be at the track for race day. And Lance, Lance reciprocated and kissed Logan good morning.

Comfort was each other, curled into the arms of one another. Logan was Lance’s comfort, Lance was Logan's.

Tag list of hot babes who wanted to be tagged: @nautical-nasa @i-am-church-the-cat @f1xwers

[normal-internet-user]

As promised, pumpkin pie! (/p) Here's my two cents for our favorite kiddo reader. The heir of Apocalypse!Peepaw Leo. The edgelord (and rightfully so!) turned dork nugget and their kooky adventures because I say so >:3

– ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ Adopted Reader Fluff!!! My serve!! (probs a smidgen of angst bc this one specific scenario has been rotating in my head & i definitely meant to include it in the headcanons last night but, as previously mentioned, my eyes felt like they were gonna fall out 🥴) ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

p.s , I am also listening to the Goofy Movie soundtrack, specifically Stand Out + I 2 I which are my faves!!! Tevin Campbell did not have to go that hard. Highly recommend.

💌🧚‍♀️💗🌨🥡🍥

Even More Reader Post-Movie Headcanons!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Okay so

I really wanna start out with the scenario that I am positively aching to show you bc I really wanna know what you think, ANDDD I think it weaves in so well with the repairing (or rather, building) of Reader and Leo’s relationship in this timeline!

But, we’ll get there. 😉

After the events of the movie, everything is still raw. Not only are we recovering from a literal war, but all the issues that come with coping with a timeline that we aren’t used to – a timeline we’ve only heard nostalgic regalings of from Papa, lullabies and tall tales and stories meant to keep up some sort of hope and light in the midst of the darkness they lived in day by day, as well as in the mystic projections of Uncle Michelangelo 

. . . but now?

Seeing it in all its prime and modern-day glory?

It’s so, so beautiful.

Reader can’t and would never deny that. 

It’s vibrant. It’s colorful. It’s free. It’s such a far cry from the blood-red skies and dilapidated wastelands they grew up with. The ruins were their "sunny skies and rolling fields" so to speak.

Now that they are here. In the flesh? 

It’s. A lot to handle. 

Reader is wrecked, for sure. 

Casey is too! He’s just better at handling– hiding? Coping.

He’s more open and excited and gentle and polite and cheerful and.

We learn a lot from him as time goes on.

#caseythenationaltreasure

I like to imagine that Casey is a really big help in Reader’s journey to peace; not only within and with themself, but with the people around them too.

Eventually, 

Sure, it’s still a bit awkward with everyone; you guys are kids from the future stuck in a different timeline - with the people who raised you and they're the same age as y'all! What more could you DO to them? (/lh)

Ah. But they’ve got their family. and it’s no joke that they’re a big help!!

Mikey is in his Prime as Doctor Feelings and scheduled regular sessions with Reader bc his EQ is very sharp, as we all know, and he notices just how bad Reader wants to come to terms with everything, and he wants to help. He does help. A lot.

Donnie is ever the 'tism with the emotional constipation (/aff) but he helps and provides in his own little special Donnie ways!

Even if he may not outright say it all the time, he cares and loves his family so so much and he'd do anything for them.

He sets Reader up with some fun and unique techno-cool gifts that help them with things they don't speak up about;

– – like upgrading their mask to have a panoramic-projection so they can put a whole visual to the audio recordings and playbacks stashed in the device memory (only if they want tho! he won't touch it otherwise :'3)

He pretends like he's not hanging on to Reader's every little word when they do engage in casual conversation [which becomes more and more frequent as time goes by!] under the guise of typing on his phone or smth,

and takes those tidbits to create something so heartwarmingly thoughtful and faceted that we may as well just take a big ole stamp that says "You're Not Fooling Anyone With That Bad Boy Persona" and bash it on that forehead of his. JSJSJ (lovingly ofc :*)

Speaking of panorama-projectors, I can see him making it to interchangeable sceneries!

I'm talking about galaxies and solar systems (feeds into Reader's crow tendencies *sniff sniff* soooo many shiny thingssss)

Deep-sea oceans like Ariel's cove-esque or Pandora's sea settings from Avatar

Or even peaceful golden hills and orchards, just them and the big blue sky, the sound of the breeze dancing and larks singing in their ears.

... whatever they want, Don makes it happen.

He definitely takes Mikey's artsy avenues and teams up with him so they can surprise the Future Kids together!

– – 🩵🩶 Casey and Reader fall asleep curled up together in a pillow fort with the projector playing, and it's the best sleep they've gotten since the sleepovers with their Papa.

made myself cry thinkin' that up *sobs*

And isn't Uncle / Big Bro Raphie such a sweetheart during it all? He's the rock of the family, but he's learning to let the family in a lot more. He's learning to not be so "overbearing", especially with his Protective Instincts flying off the handle since the battle. Sure he can be heavy-handed, but he just wants to keep his family safe. And he always has! He always will. He heals to a comfortable place with time, and while he'll always be everyone's rock, you all are there for him too.

Family is stronger together, and-

You all reassure him of that.

In quiet moments, rare moments when it's just him and Reader – they tell him just that. Their hand is comically small on his forearm, but their eyes are earnest; they stare up at him with a sparkle of admiration. They'd only heard stories regaled fondly by their surviving family members, often accompanied them when they visited his shell on the wall lit by candles.

– meeting their uncle, so young but endlessly strong, is a fickle kind of honor. But still an honor.

(and Raphie may or may not have cried whenever Reader gets him right in the feels hurk-)

Reader and Casey get spoiled rotten (i.e: given the basic necessities to which they did not have access to in their timeline sjjsshahahd) by their family nonetheless!!

UGhhghghh imagine it with me, Normie!

Bubble baths! Warm, cozy clothes! Books that weren't rotting, charred, or furled at the edges! Taking them to comic book stores! Convenience stores! The park! The WATERPARK! The mall!! Introducing them to music and headphones/earbuds to match! Conventions and cons! Amusement parks! Ice cream parlors! Casual strolls throughout New York and doing all these things!

Oh and don't get me started on the adventures they get into in The Hidden City!! :DDD

....

seriously, don't–

foreshadowing -thickens-

*ahem*

In all honesty, the whole clan becomes clingy with each other post-Invasion. That goes w/o saying.

Even Case and Reader, despite the initial tension, have little to no qualms with being pulled into Turtle Piles, nor all the casual affection that comes with healing and growing together!!

It's odd but sweet :')

—Casey and Reader eventually grow out of always seeing the guys as uncles/aunties/parental figures (save for Splints + Draxy + etc.), it becomes more sibling-like in a way!

But they'll always be just as close.

They were just that in their timeline.

But that timeline is lost.

And scary as it may be, they're building themselves a new life. A better life. It's what Papa would have wanted.

So. Why not do just that? :')

>> fam that gets traumatized together STAYS together (/gen)😤

Tragedy brings them closer in ways they didn't think it would.

the awkwardness between reader & leo melts into something more mellow, and we owe a big part of that to Casey!

He's their bridge. Seeing as he's closer to Leo at the given time, he hangs out with his sibbie and Leo at the same time so that they can hang together too. >:3c

Such a genius boy ueueu.

— and before they know it, Reader and Lee-Lee are actually bonding really well. It takes time, and there are withdrawals and setbacks along the way, but it is those obstacles that pave the way for something strong. Something true, honorable, pure, and real.

The reader knows — you know, glory do you know ... that this may not be your Papa.

But maybe...

Maybe that's okay.

You had him. You had Casey. You had your family, the ones once lost to fates beyond your control, and now here you were.

You had all won.

And if that in of itself wasn't something to celebrate with every breath you took,

—you would have given up on that war all that time ago.

Reader and Leo come to a mutual ground with one another.

Let's come to a place where they're more than civil with each other; Leo adores casual affection, and Reader does too— they just weren't willing to give way for such in the beginning.

But it's not unusual to see Leo and them curled up next to each other. Most of the time, Casey's with them too! But in the rare times he isn't, Reader and Leo are comfortable and just doing their own thing.

Like they'll be reading a book, or playing on a handheld device (game, Switch, phone, etc. they're amazed by present-day technology) and Lee's got a comic book,

or he's resting his head close to theirs while he guides them through what they may be doing on their fun little screen.

Leo finds a comfort in you, and you find a comfort in him— once you both let each other in.

All the time it took was worth it :')

I can see them being the most annoyingly caustic yet affectionate besties SNSNJJSJSJ biiig "only I get to make fun of them >:(" energy

or a complete opposite:

once we get past all the vitriol, they're so soft for each other hhhh-

Like Reader becomes fairly protective over him; handles him gently with small smiles and murmured words, helps him out and gives the best muscle massages or is quick to redress and assist when he's smarting from his wounds, knows him well enough to comfort him through panic attacks, indulges in his stupid jokes and puns bc he raised them, hello.

They bounce off each other for hours—

the rest of the guys have resorted to begging, multiple times jsjsj.

and Leo, by this time he knows how much Reader meant- means to him, but he doesn't try to take their Papa's place; he's not scared of them, he does learn to love them /p, and tries to translate that in the most respectful yet straightforward way possible,

and that helped their growing relationship a lot!

He rough-houses (gently) and spars with them, teases them just enough to see their flustered expression, annoys them affectionately — but is the first to come to their defense when someone else gets too cozy.

A lot like a best friend or a sibling.

... He also cuddles and slings his arm around their shoulders and gives the best bear hugs (when they want/need). He reads to them- either one of his comics or one of their acquired books- when they can't sleep or just needs something to hear other than the overbearing voices in their head. He always eats with them, introducing them to new foods he thinks they'd like and giving them the bigger portion (when they get used to stomaching it ofc). Holds their hand. Protects them from the small things and encourages them with the big things, because he knows they can handle it and they just need that little nudge. And to know that someone is right behind them the whole time.

All that good stuff.

(and Casey is so jazzed two of his favorite people are getting along so well aaaa!!)

—hey or maybe it's a healthy mix of both!! ♡₊˚ yeahhhhh.

big BIG ride-or-die energy. I like to imagine that (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

At the end of the day, they'd die for each other all over again. It gets to THAT point.

Both figuratively and literally.

One milestone in their bond took place and in a way nobody really saw coming—

They were in the Hidden City, stopping by Señor Hueso's for some good grub,

but Leo's leg was pinching a bit more today, and Reader felt a migraine coming on; they wanted to get back home for Mikey's Miracle Migraine Tea, maybe a scalp massage if they pulled the puppy eyes the aforementioned taught them in the future (they don't need to. he'd do it at the drop of a hat. they just like to be eggstra 💅🏼),

so they're both kinda rushing this little outing. Reader's a touch grouchy and their notorious RBF makes a whole comeback, but Leo knows them well enough to know it's not directed at him. He feels for ya, and he sticks close as you both wait for your pickup order to come through.

Then, out of nowhere, some gigantuan yokai comes skulking over.

Reader notices immediately, having folded to lay their head on the cool countertop at the pickup counter; Leo was rubbing up and down their back in comforting circles, smiling down at them with warm, sympathetic eyes as he tries to distract them from their discomfort. He was too focused on them to notice.

and when they spot the glint in the yokai's eyes, they can practically smell the sinister intention as they stride over to them. They're looking for something they had no business to.

Reader tenses, hackles raised and fingers twitching where they gripped the forearms of their hoodie, and their eyes gleam as they peek out from under their hood.

Leo, who thinks they're about to be sick, frets and gently maneuvers them to sit on a nearby stool; he doesn't see the yokai until he's being clapped on the shoulder - the one that's sore, conveniently so - and nearly jumps out of his skin when he whirls on them.

This yokai - stocky, menacing, and a sadistic air about them, simply chuckles and cocks their head at the duo. They're wearing a server's uniform. Reader and Leo both realize it at once-- Reader with dread and Leo with (miscalculated) relief: they're an employee.

Anyways, Leo is put-off by this sudden intrusion of personal space and onslaught of bad vibes, but he's the Face Man and naturally a people person, so he greets them casually and asks if he can help them.

Alongside the incessant ringing in their ears that's their warning before disaster, alarm bells started going off in their head.

They can't really discern what Leo and this bum are saying at this point - everything was fuzzy and garbled like they were underwater; even from their vulnerability sprawled out over the countertop, Reader can tell from their body language that the convo is going in a very wrong direction,

especially when Leo is suddenly shoved back- too hard- and lands in a graceless heap on the floor behind them.

Your mind goes blank. A mindset that was wired into your being from birth – one you haven't had to enter for a while – burns your mind and chest and the alarm bells are deafening, even more so than the sudden uproar of commotion happening vaguely around you.

You're not focused on them. You become laser-focused on the yokai behind you, and between one breath and the next, you're out of your seat and tackling the yokai with a snarl, and you're beating the ever-loving spirits out of them.

You don't stop. You grab at fur and a muzzle, probably a tusk, but you don't care. You don't care, you don't care, you don't care–

– – you're relentless.

All that was in your head was blaring red letters: Protect. Family. Leo. Hurt. Still recovering. Threat. Protect.

Strike.

White-hot rage is pumping through your veins and powering your every strike.

You have them by the nape and slam the yokai's face into the ground muzzle/snout-first; you throw punch after elbow after backhand after punch, even as you feel bone and tendon cracking rather explicitly beneath your knuckles,

and when you're kicked off, rather weakly all things considered–

it doesn't deter you at all.

You use the airborne energy to bounce right back off the countertop (it would ache and bruise like heck later),

rip the stool that you were occupying just moments earlier, clean off its hinges,

and start wailing in on the no-good lowlife bully that thought it beneficial to try your brother.

–– it doesn't stop until the very seat of the stool cracks to shrapnel, the center rolling away like a hubcap, and you're gripping the bar in your hands, heaving like you just ran a marathon.

When the yokai unfolds their arms from shielding their head to peek at you, scrambling to stand, shaking and wide-eyed, your gaze is ferocious.

The skeleton of the once-seat in your hand gets thrown right at their face with a ridiculous strength, and if their muzzle/snout wasn't broken before, it was shattered now.

The yokai shrieks in pain and goes right back down as red iron seeps from their nose, mouth, through their fingers, writhing on the floor-

and you stomp forwards, plant your foot steady in the center of their chest, and press in close until you can see their pupils trembling; that's when you finally speak your first words of the evening:

"Don't you ever come near my brother again. If I see your sorry shank even breathe in his general direction? That stool? The end will find itself shoved right up your pathetic excuse of a voice box. You'd like that, yeah?"

Terrified head shakes and an even more terrified wheeze in response,

"You listen and you listen real good, geezer. I will find you, and a simple warning like this will be the least of your troubles. A warning in which I'm letting you off with, seeing as you're clearly mistaken in your endeavors. Even think of touching Leo, and you deal with this except a thousand times over. It won't be just me. Okay?"

your poorly concealed sadism makes a minor appearance in the sudden change of pitch in your voice and the smarmy grin that stretches your dry lips as you quirk your head and eyebrows in question; when the yokai does nothing but give an immediate jerky nod, you gently pat the side of their face, satisfied.

–which was a lull into a false sense of security, because you shifted your entire body weight and last bit of strength to shove their face back down as you stood up, ignoring their yowl of agony as you did so.

meanwhile everyone in the restaurant be like:🧍

when you came to, everything crashed into you at once: nausea rolled in violent waves in your stomach, the migraine came thrumming full-force, and your ribs creaked as you stumbled over to a shellshocked Leo.

You pulled him up on shaky legs, but much like every patron in the joint, his eyes were trained on the yokai you just obliterated, still writhing on the ground.

Eventually, Senor comes rushing out and, taking in the damage of the scene, demands an explanation. Reader is all-too glad to give it to him, eyes glazed over and voice a lot more calmer than the actual predator they previously were

But once they do, his eyes look over both of them and soften, especially when he takes in how Leo is visibly shaking and Readie looks like they're milliseconds away from passing out.

They get out of there, food in tow, Leo still extremely shell-shocked and Reader worse for wear at what just transpired.

Blue barely manages a portal home- but they do, and when they're safe in the familiarity of the Lair, they both metaphorically collapse.

The night ends with the perturbed fretting of the Clan, but it all boils down to one thing for sure.

Leo has Reader's hand in his, Reader is gripping with the same intensity, and they refuse to be separated for the next few days thereafter.

Anata wa hitori janai.

That is the Hamato way.

oh and that employee never showed up to the restaurant again :D sorry not sorry for using them as collateral for my bebes

more tidbits that came to mind when typing that storm up:

reader's a bad mofo . didn't ya know they were the scourge of the apocalypse? they were clandestinely feared by the kraang. leo kept them under wraps bc he knew how powerful they were. (/j) reader: they protecc, they attacc, but most of all, they gone need ice for they bacc SNRRRTTT

☁️🖇️🥛

HOOOWEEEEE, THAT'LL DO IT– ˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ I hope you do read all this, sugarcube!! I got kind of carried away, ahaha ^^;; I'm sowwwyyyy!~ But i AM excited to hear your thoughts, whenever that may be! <333

I'm mostly glad I finally got the well-awaited scenario in there!! Basically, Leo has a no-no moment with some lowkey bully and Reader completely overcompensates, even thought they're BOTH still tender from war, yet they go batty-bonkers over his oppression! >:( Don't touch their family!!! The scenario was inspired by a ficlet I read a while ago with Leo in the same situation, but Reader was in Donnie's place :''))) I'll have to find it for ya if you haven't read it yet-

aaa after this, i think i can chill without so much heaviness!! i need to indulge in some crack! some fluff! somethin' now that we've explored the reader and leo's dynamic!! they're the sillies ever and we need more!!

muwah! Hasta la vista, baeby! I'll be back!~ /p

Aaaa goodnight now XD! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ Love ya loads, toots!! Enjoy the nomz, haha!🍓❣🍰💌🧸

Ok. First of all, and most importantly, I FREAKIN LOVE THE GOOFY MOVIE IT'S LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAVS EVER- AFTER TODAY IS MY FUCKING JAM-

ALSO ON THE OPEN ROAD??? HEHEH

Ahem.

Now that that's out of my system, let the headcanons begin...

READER'S HEALING PROCESS POST-MOVIE

....................................

Post-movie, after everything calms down, and everyone's just trying to heal,

You definitly open up a bit more.

You'll apologize to everyone for how you acted before,

For being so hostile towards them.

Casey will 100% nudge Leo and you into hanging out together.

It was hard to do since you avoided Leo like the plauge, and he kinda thought you hated him or something.

Casey manages to kill the awkwardness, and now you and Leo go EVERYWHERE together.

Besties for realzies.

Donnie will try to be subtle with his gifting,

Spoiler: he isn't.

Most of the time he'll just leave whatever it is on Reader's bed for them to find with a small note.

He's dissmissive when you thank him too,

"Don't worry about." "It's no big deal."

The projector is now your most prized possesion aside from your mask.

I feel like you always had trouble sleeping in the dark,

In the future it would have been hard to have any kind of nightlight.

Limited resources and all.

So Uncle Michelangelo would fill your and Casey's room with little glowing lights.

Think Gaurdians of The Galaxy when Groot saves everyone, the little balls of light?

So thats what you usually project into the room.

And obviously you and Casey will have the occasional stargazing night.

Meeting Raph for you was pretty much the equivilent of Casey fan-girling over Leonardo.

The stories Papa told you about him made Raph sound like some kind of super hero.

So when you met him, you had to physically try to keep your rbf on, and not freak out.

You think he's so freakin' cool-

Omg if you show even the slightest signs of discomfort or sadness Mikey is on that crap.

Here comes Dr. Feelings, tell him what's wrong.

No family of his is going to be sad for long.

He'll 100% do his best to make you and Casey feel more at home in your new timeline.

Sometimes you'll turn the tables and now you're Dr. Feelings.

He doesn't like it, but he knows mental health is important, so he deals and ya'll have therapy sessions with eachother.

You not so subtly try to spend lots of time with Splinter as well.

You didn't have very much time with your Grandpa before the end of the world took him as well,

But now he's here, and you can tell that he did not change one bit with time.

His younger counter-part is exactly the same as the one you knew in the future.

You do the same thing with Draxxum as well and omfg he is so weirded out.

Like, why does this teenager want to willingly spend time with me? Did Mikey put you up to this? WHAT IS GOING ON-

But nope.

You just missed your weird alchemist Gramps.

April takes you for walks around the city, kinda showing you and Casey what it looks like when it isn't in complete ruins.

She shows you all the cool things it has to offer, and you even come back to the Lair with some shiny things you find on the ground!

You lost your old collection when you left your old timeline, so now you have to start your hoard all over :(

It's ok though, people drop tons of shiny things down water ways and sewer drains.

You and Leo will wander around the tunnels and look for your shinies.

It's a bonding experience, and he teases you about it.

Great gallileo the back and forths between you are so horrible.

They last almost all day, and when ever one of you starts one evryone groans out loud.

The only two people who can get you two to drop it and leave eachother alone are Casey and Raph, but Casey rarely does anything to stop it-

Once you and Leo get close he is such a little terd-

Teasing, and picking and poking.

Big brother energy for realzies.

He'll wake you up by playing California Girls really loud in your ear, and then giggle about it all day, while you try not to strangle him.

If he ever overexerts himself, god help him escape the scolding-

EVERYONE is on his shell about it.

But ESPECIALLY you.

It's even worse when you get upset at him, because after everyome else is done scolding him, they'll move on.

But you? You are so petty about it.

You scold him for hours,

Then you'll just kinda... sit there, silently glaring off into space.

It makes him feel so bad for worrying Reader, that he doesn't overwork himself more than like- five times before guilt makes him just chill tf out and heal.

That scenario you wrote, where Reader absolutely rocks that yokai's shit for messing with Leo?

(Wonderfully written by the way, truely a masterpiece)

First of all total fuck around 'n find out energy.

Second of all, I'm in LOVE with the idea of Reader going absolutely feral on the battle field.

In the future, EVERY fight was life or death, and I think Reader may need to learn that here, in this timeline, not every fight requires you to freakin' wreck the opponent.

Raph kinda has that talk with them after Senor told him how they messed that employee up.

Not every fight requires your 100%.

Then he'll totally congradulate you for destroying that jerk that hurt Leo.

Reader gets a reward cookie.

....................................

Apologies this took so long to answer my dear (/p).

But here it is!! That scenario at Runof The Mill- *chefs kiss*

Beautiful. Amazingly written. I LIVE for feral reader.

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

Just so y'all know, I'm pouring some of my soul out in this post. It gets emotional-please mind the gaslighting tw <3 There's no pressure to read this, I just feel this needs to be said and hopefully will help someone out there.

In case this helps someone, the reason I say "Telling witchlings/baby witches that negative entities will pretend to be deities, or that they can't trust their deities is damaging" is because it damaged my craft directly. Not only as a witchling, but even now.

When I first started it was because I hid that I was working with Persephone from everyone except close friends, because I was scared I would be judged. Persephone came to me, and I had no reason to ignore the call. There was no questioning whether it was truly a goddess that had stepped into my head when I woke up from the fever dream (affectionate) that she sent me with the name "Persephone" blaring in my head.

Even now, Loki spent a solid chunk last night, late as hell, sitting with me while I spiraled. And it was a bad spiral, at least by my standards. I'm really good at gaslighting myself, not-so-fun fact, and I saw something talking about people convincing themselves that deities were around when really it was just their own imagination. I understand that that post might be helpful to some, so if anyone knows what post I'm talking about PLEASE do not attack them. And if you happen to have posted that, PLEASE do not continue reading this post and please don't feel bad. I don't remember if it was in my following or for you or your tags- but that's not the point.

The point is, of course my brain decided that today was the day to fuck me up! Yayyyyy. /s I had already been, due to some recent information I got about where my deity work will be going (that's a separate post) questioning the validity of my craft. Who the HELL am I to do that sort of work? Why me? I'm just some dude. I'm not even "just some dude" I'm some dude who actively struggles to do just about anything in life. Y'all I was having A TimeTM and seeing that post was the final straw.

So I sat there, cards in hand, completely unable to get any direct communication from Loki because my head was too loud and I was questioning whether or not they were even real at all. And I've gone from "trickster energy = asshole who laughs at others" to trusting Loki with all I have so quickly, because they sat with me. I could feel them even if I couldn't "hear" them. Card after card telling me I'm supported, I'm on the right path, what I've been told I'm meant to do is my path and not some "'chosen one' bullshit" as I remember wording it. Nothing but love and support. I pulled The Fool twice, which just felt like a nudge of "Hey, I really am here." (For those of you who may not know, The Fool is associated with Loki!)

This is.... a vulnerable thing to put in a tumblr post, but I leave it here anyway. I did get one thing from him, as I was going to bed. I thanked them for staying, even when I was too stressed and overwhelmed to hear them. And somewhere in the back of my mind, very firmly, I get; "I will ALWAYS be here." Long pause at the implication, because I know that deities often come and go just like people. "Always?" "Mhm." cue the clear image of them grinning.

So, apparently, Loki is here to stay with me for good. I'm so grateful to have them in my life.

But this is what I mean when I say it's bad to scare the witchlings. That post scared me, outright triggered me, and I've been around witchcraft my whole life and actively practicing for four years. Please stop telling people they're "just imagining" their deities.

[inmateofthemind]

Have Some TWST Fan Lore Part 1: The Arcane Exchange

First of all, credit to @cyanide-latte for coming up with the event name because it just sounds so lovely, doesn't it?

Now, the Arcane Exchange itself is a fairly straightforward "what it says on the tin situation"; it's Twisted Wonderland's version of a student exchange program.

For approximately three months a year (my friends & I are currently working off the idea that this begins very shortly after the end of Book 4's events), students from various arcane academies will host each other and participate in certain events meant to strengthen the bond between the schools without it necessarily having to be competitive. After all, one of the last events that happens before the students are sent back to their respective schools is the National Arcane Academy Culture Fair that mainly works as an expo/convention (aside from the SDC, but you know).

There's a fairly substantial number of students from each school that get selected to participate, and then those various groups are semi-randomly split up amongst the other academies. (i.e Night Raven will host only some of the students from the other academies. Meanwhile, the NRC students going abroad for the exchange will be separated among the other schools).

In the case of Night Raven specifically, all visiting students are distributed amongst the seven dorms in a shared learning experience 'like a great big sleepover'. This is met with mixed results most times, but nothing too crazy since there are enough empty beds based on the number of NRC students having gone off to the other academies.

Speaking of, lets get into the schools involved in the Arcane Exchange!

Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy are the obvious picks, but that's also a rather obvious recipe for disaster due to their long-established rivalry...if left on their own, at least. Hence the inclusion of other schools to act as a kind of buffer that actually tends to work due to the neutrality of the other two schools.

Noble Bell College does participate(probably the least since they seem to be the smallest school in both scope & population), and the group of myself, Cy, @ramshacklerumble, and @simons-twsted-children have even recently discussed an interesting debate on whether Noble Bell is co-ed. This is important due to the final participant of the Arcane Exchange.

Corlux Key Seminary(CKS), a paramilitary arcane institution of my own creation that will be discussed in more detail in a later post. Corlux is explicitly co-ed in both students and staff; the gender distribution is almost perfectly split down the middle if not outright in favor of the female-identifying population. Despite this progressiveness, however, the Arcane Exchange a bit of an interesting sticking point for CKS (& NBC to a certain extent). While the male students can be assigned to whatever institution they like, the female students of both schools are only ever exchanged with each other. In regard to any potential PR nightmare an incident occurring on campus could cause, this makes sense. Doesn't mean it's not a bit sexist though.

The Arcane Exchange is a fairly standard practice that has even fostered some grand shows of academic comradery, though there have been some....memorable moments over the years as well. For instance, the Arcane Exchange that happened the year before TWST canon starts was Not Fun for NRC as hosts because both the RSA & CKS kids were terrible. As in 'it was considered the 'trial by fire' for both Riddle as a freshman-year Housewarden & the OctoTrio as the staff of the newly-opened Mostro Lounge' kind of terrible. As such, none of the Housewardens are particularly excited when the meeting before the start of the canon-year's exchange approaches. And they're about to feel a lot more ill-at-ease when Crowley rather casually drops this little bombshell;

For the first time since the start of this most noble tradition, Night Raven College will be opening its doors to a selection of female students from Corlux as a kind of experiment of 'broadening horizons & relations' between the academies. If this particular Aracne Exchange proves to be successful (meaning nobody does anything to 'embarrass' NRC and/or CKS), then there's the chance of expanding the openings for female students to participate at RSA's end of the Exchange as well as Noble Bell being able to similarly 'branch out' as it were.

Now that begs the question; is Crowley really about to let a relatively small group of girls onto an all-boys campus & just have them shack-up in the dorms? "NO! Absolutely not; I would never do anything so foolish and dangerous to those promising young pupils! As a matter of fact, I have arranged for all of the female participants to have accommodations all to themselves for their comfort and safety. Oh how generous I am; it's almost unnerving!" Now if only Crowley had thought to mention to the host of those accommodations that they're about to find themselves with a LOT more roommates than the usual weasel.

Apologies to one Gia Yugo...

NOT! This is going to be fun~ >:)

Taglist: @cyanide-latte @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @ramshacklerumble (let me know if you also want to be tagged)

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

o yea. i saw u reblogged rock & midnight. how r they in ur rewrite ? :3

Glad you asked!

For simple fun things, Midnight is huge because I like the giant badgers. Rock is also gay.

I'll put Midnight in the second post. You've hit Lore Jackpot.

For the more complex things... Let's start with Rock. A bit of Rock's dialog from PO3 intrigued me and I never quite let it go.

I know it was probably meant as a "ooughh immortality is awful" line but... What if it isn't?

What if he actually was cursed? Why else would a being that feels like this... Feel like this? This isn't an emotionless immortal creature rejecting Jayfeather out of coldness, this is a repressed, traumatized creature rejecting Jayfeather because he is seeing a newborn baby and a rotten corpse at the same time. He doesn't have access to Starclan, he cannot stay friends with Jayfeather after he inevitably dies. It'll only hurt. Also, there are heavy implications if not outright statements that Rock used to be a normal cat! He's even mentioned in Night Whispers to be scarred. (Look I know that the 2007 book that mentions 3 tribes and mentions that Rock's kin used to live around the lake isn't canon anymore but... Who cares. Its better worldbuilding than what we've got now.)

So... What could cause immortality like this?

I began to brainstorm, and decided it was a real tragedy. Something awful happened, something a certain young tom should have learned a lesson from... And didn't.

It was a gloomy day around the lakeside when a young couple, a gray and white tom named Rock who to swim and his new mate, a pure brown tom named Bug who loved to try herbs on wounds, to heal them. The two had been racing each other down the lakeside, laughing and playing, rushing through the autumn leaves and exploding out of the piles the had accumulated.

Bug, the more adventurous of the 2, had found a small opening. The scent of running water had made his curiosity burn. Rock nervously followed him, reminding him that they needed to get home at some point soon. Rock's mother, Falcon, had recently had 3 kits, and he needed to go and watch over them for her and his father, so they could hunt together.

Bug urged him on. "Come on Rocky!" He mewed, his eyes widening when it echoed. "This place is too cool to not explore a LITTLE! What if we can't find it again? Besides, we can bring back something for them all when we leave."

Rock couldn't argue with that! He leapt down after Bug, their tails twined together as they looked around. Rock's thick, fluffy fur was keeping him warm, though Bug, with his short fur, needed to huddle against his mate to keep warmer in the cold tunnels.

The tunnels did not seem to run deep, but soon enough Rock and Bug found themselves navigating using only their whiskers and tentative pawsteps. The tunnel took a sharp turn suddenly, enough that Rock nearly bumped his nose into the wall!

Bug laughed, and the wonderful, soft sound echoed. But... Soon after, another sound would very faintly echo through the tunnels.

Thunder.

"Oh, jeez, I didn't know it would rain. We should probably get back now."

How easy that sounded... The two toms rushed through the tunnels, their hearts beginning to pound as water filled the narrow rocky halls, Rock himself slipped over his own paws, landing into the water, the freezing water soaking into his thick fur immediately and chilling him to the bone.

"Rocky!" Bug had cried, but the water was picking up speed, dragging Rock down, deeper into the tunnel. Above, a hole in the ground had worn away, pouring more rainwater into the tunnels and providing a light.

The last thing Bug saw of Rock was his eyes glazed with terror as he slid away into the darkness, crying out for Bug...

Bug had kept going, managing to find another tunnel that lead straight outside into... Bright sunlight? Bug was soaked to bone, he had heard the crashing thunder just seconds ago...

Falcon stood outside the tunnel entrance, a deep glare on her face. "Where have you been?! It's been 2 days! And where is Rock?!"

"B... Bug? ... Where's Rock...?"

A few days later, Bug gathered himself, and would fling himself into the tunnels once more, the floor of them was as dry and bare as bleached bone. Not a single sign of the rain that had washed his lover away...

Bug searched, deeper and deeper, down the tunnel he could have sworn did not stretch that long.... Into a coldness that he swears he could feel in his very soul.

Down, at the very bottom chamber, lit by a shimmering white mossy rock, is Rock's body. His fur isn't soft anymore, it's cold and wet. His eyes, unblinking, stare into nothing. Bug begins to weep as the mossy rock that isn't a mossy rock sits up, striding over.

"I am sorry for your loss." A large, fluffy, pure white molly speaks. Her glossy fur shimmers, and her eyes, black as night, give nothing away. "It was his time."

"What do you mean 'it was his time'? He had a family! He has little siblings! His mother and father are broken hearted!"

"Everything has a time. It cannot be rewritten. Your time will come. Everything that has happened, is happening, will happen." She spoke without tone, her hollow voice echoing through the chamber. “I am time's keeper. The god of time. I have seen all that there is and has been and was. All is as it should be, as it ever was, as it always will be. Move forward, like time has, and you will be happy once more.”

Bug unsheathes his claws, he stares down at Rock, his sweet Rock, who had never harmed another cat in his life, had only ever been kind... Why him? Why not some other awful cat to drown this way in this awful place? "No." Is all he says, as he leaps at the ethereal molly, slashing her throat. Sparkling blue blood covers Bug, the molly doesn't even so much as flinch.

"You will regret this, little one. Time needs a keeper. It will never be your time. You cannot change what has been written."

The god of Time dies, and Bug finds himself lifted into the air. All at once he sees what has been, could be, should be, will be, and is. His fur begins to streak gray from the stress and strain, his eyes turning pure white. He rushes to Rock, crying out softly for him to wake up, that he has power over time, there must be a way to fix this... To turn back time....

But the molly had told him already. He is the god of Time, not its warden.

He repeats his beloved's name to not lose his mind. He cannot leave the tunnels. Time stretches on and he realizes what the old god had meant. He ages, seasons pass. Heat and ice and rain and young cats and sticks and crying parents and terrible storms and so, so much emptiness.

He repeats Rock's name to remember it. His lover's bones long since crumbled to dust and to nothing. Over and over, and over.

Without seeing him, a tiny gray tabby picks up the stick he guards, the very last one. He senses the cat in front of him, and says hello without fear. The kitten, Jaykitpawfeather states his current name, not yet aware of how it will change. He asks for the name of the god of Time.

In an old, creaking voice, he stammers out the only name he can remember.

[xxnashiraxx]

OC Deep Dive: Ofelia

Thank you so much for the tag @khywren !! ❤️❤️ I always love getting a chance to talk more about Ofelia. ❤️

What Common/Uncommon Fear Do They Have?

A common fear for her would be heights- if she's far enough away from the edge, she can come to enjoy the view, but if she's up high for a not-so-good reason, it's enough to make her pass out.

An uncommon fear of hers would probably be driving. She'd seen a lot of crashes and even been in one as a teen, so she's not so keen on getting behind the wheel. :(

Do They Have Any Pet Peeves?

Ofelia hates mumbling- she hates having to ask someone to repeat themselves (unless they're visibly distressed) and she likes quick answers. If she has to ask someone something and wait for the seconds to drag on before the person answers her, she gets really crabby. I feel like these mostly fall into the category of feeling ignored or dismissed.

What Three Items Can You Find in Their Bedroom?

A fan to circulate the air and help make white noise, a candle to keep the room smelling nice and comforting, and a fluffy robe- it's her guilty pleasure to put it on in the morning and drink a hot cup of joe and try to enjoy as much of the early hours before the rest of the world wakes up as possible.

On a Scale of 1-10, How High is Their Pain Tolerance?

Unfortunately, pretty high. I'd say a solid 8.5 - 9. She's experienced a lot of abuse in her life. 💔

Do They Go Into Fight or Flight Mode When Under Pressure?

She definitely goes into fight mode. Being an orphan, she had to learn to get tough or the consequences weren't going to be very good for her otherwise. She doesn't hesitate to stand up for others, and will throw hands to prove it.

Do They Come From a Big Family/Are They a Family Person?

Ofelia is an orphan, sadly. Her first parents died when she was a child, and she unfortunately didn't encounter any good replacements during the rest of her adolescence. She struggles a lot with relationships because of it, somewhat afraid that they'll all go away eventually.

She's too fresh into her adventure on Faerun, but she hopes she can at least call her companions friends soon. ❤️

What Animal Represents Them Best?

For it's nomadic and stubborn nature, as well as it's unbreakable will to keep going for the person who gains it's trust, I'd have to say a wild horse. ❤️ She'd drive herself into the ground if it meant giving her all to the person who needs it from her, often at her own expense.

What is a Smell They Dislike?

Funnily enough, blood! At least in large quantities- she's okay if it's a small amount. When it comes to a lot of it, it can make her ill and reminds her of some of the darkest moments in her life.

Have They Broken Any Bones?

She fell off her bike when she was a kid and broke her left wrist, got a fractured rib from a school fight when she was 14, and unfortunately suffered some broken fingers from her last foster sibling (the shittiest one from her flashbacks, yes).

How Would a Stranger Likely Describe Them?

Astarion doesn't outright describe her in chapter 2, but he makes some observations. She's viewed as closed off and quiet at first glance, and if you make a bad first impression, she'll find something to make fun of you for so she can make you crack. She's funny that way.

Are They a Night Owl, or a Morning Bird?

Definitely a morning bird! She likes the night enough, but a quiet morning all to herself is her own personal heaven.

What's a Flavor They Hate and a Flavor They Love?

Love: Cherries, Cheese, Chiles, and Onions.

Hate: Pineapple, Sour Things, String Beans

Do They Have Any Hobbies?

Ofelia's top hobby is music- singing, playing various instruments (though guitar remains her favorite) as well as journalling and writing music. She also sketches and draws in her spare time!

I'm hoping to make a diary entry and post it here someday soon of what her little sketches and things look like as she continues her adventure. 😊

Boom, Suprise Birthday Party! How Do They React to Suprise?

Oh, she'd be over the moon.

She doesn't even know what day she was born on, and after her first parents, no one ever celebrated her birthday again. She'd be in tears, making a fool out of herself telling everyone how much she loves them, even guests that she doesn't know.

Do They Like to Wear Jewelry?

Oh yes. Aside from her nose and eyebrow piercings, she loves to wear earrings, rings, chokers, necklaces, bracelets- all of it! As long is it follows a dark, more gothic theme, she'll be wearing it.

Do They Have Neat or Messy Handwriting?

Bad almost all the time. She thinks faster than she can get her thoughts on paper, so it often looks huried and with a few things scratched out due to misspelling.

What Are the Two Emotions They Feel the Most?

I'd say stress/anxiety and a strong determination to be annoying. She loves to poke fun, it's her love language, but she'll never be needlessly mean. A few comparisons to a feral cat and some hissing impressions and Astarion is ready to stab her.

Do They Have a Favorite Fabric?

Probably cotton or silk- something light like the former and smooth like the latter.

What Kind of Accent Do They Have?

Southern Californian - it's where she spent almost the first decade of her life. Basically, it's the most generic American accent you can think of, though I'm forced to burden her with a British accent in the game 💔

This was so fun! Thanks again!! I'd love to get to know all your characters like this, below!

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae @inkymoonbunny @ladyduellist @justabiteofspite @verbenaa @elinorbard ❤️🩷

[spaceorphan18]

I just need to get some feeling things off my chest - because it's in my thoughts and I feel like I'm stuck unless I express it - you know?

Anyway, I'm putting it all under a cut because A) It's XMen 97 speculation and might be spoilery? there are no spoilers but I don't want to run anyone else's fun, B) I'll be talking about Beau DeMayo, and C) lord help me, I'm bringing up Rogneto

Okay - I want to talk about this first. I read this last night and it made me throw up in my mouth a little. And my ultimate first reaction was that I was glad he was fired.

Honestly, I've been worried that we're headed on an AoA direction for a while now, and even though I actually am fine with the AoA comics, I just do not want it here. The thing, though, is that AoA was always meant to be undone - so if he had had his way and this was Season 3 out of 5, the idea of that doesn't bother me so much.

Granted (logically) - the fact that he's outright saying this when he's been so cryptic about everything else means that it wasn't ever on the table. Still - the guy is just a hardcore Magneto fan. I wouldn't be surprised if the (one) reason the triangle thing even happened is that he does/did like the idea of Rogneto.

Ultimately, to each their own - ship what you like. But doesn't mean I would enjoy that scenario.

x

Then there's this.

There's another post where he talks about using a Star Trek Next Gen episode for homework. And it's one where they're stuck in a time loop.

And it had me thinking that Rogue will get a chance to go back in time and at least tell Remy how she feels. She'll get some closure. Which is -- good for her, and I want her to not be in pain anymore.

But kinda sucks, because closure is closure, you know? And maybe dead is dead?

x

It's so funny because emotionally - my senses tell me that Gambit's story really is done. And that just makes me so sad to think about. They really did the thing and the door is closed and what next, we all move on and be happy? *sigh*

But then there's the logical part of me that kicks in. The one who has been to dark places with fandoms (and even this one) before. The one who knows that even Jean and Morph have been dead before and have come back. The one who knows that every time a comic book writer ends their tenure on a book there's always something the next writer will inevitably retcon.

There's no way - with all the experiences I've had with these mediums that Gambit stays dead. It's still a comic book world. And dead is dead just doesn't happen.

x

Also, in the while I'm thinking about it category -

Last week ole Beau teased a 'I can feel you' hint. I really think this was referring to when Rogue wakes up from her coma. She was dreaming that she could feel Remy. I'm kind of surprised I haven't seen that speculation though.

x

So, idk - I try not to spend a whole lot of time on Twitter, and this guy is ultimately fired and doesn't control direction on the show. And there's still the comics where everything is actually going pretty well. So. I really should be normal about a cartoon.

OOff.

x

ETA: I forgot I was going to mention the Grant Morrison influence.

If you pick up any trade of Morrison's run, he shares his outline of his original plans for New X-Men, and one of them was that he'd kill off Gambit to further Rogue's story. Now - Marvel was like, nope, Claremont wants to use them, so Morrison was denied. (And thank god, Claremont's XTreme run had some of the best Rogue/Gambit stuff in years.)

But I can't help but think that DeMayo may have been playing a little from that playbook. New X-Men has definitely been an influence on the show - from E is for Extinction to the psychic affair between Scott/Jean/Maddie. It wouldn't put it past me that the original Morrison outline that mentions killing Gambit off wasn't a least a little bit of an influence.

[peaches2217]

In my own Marioverse, Bowser kidnapping Peach doesn't actually happen very often. Like, at all.

In fact, it only happens twice.

There’s animosity between him and Peach, absolutely, but he usually terrorizes her by way of sending troops to wreak havoc against her citizens. That's not ideal of course, but it’s just part of life; every Toad knows what to do at the first sign of trouble (read: run home screaming), there’s defenses and preventative measures alike in place, it's easy to counter and unsurprising before too long. Unpleasant, but not even particularly disruptful at this point.

And then one night, the princess vanishes, and all that’s left is a letter on her bed in harsh handwriting: Bowser’s bored of his own games and wants control of the Mushroom Kingdom, and until he gets it, Peach will remain his prisoner.

At this point, Mario is a member of her guard (how exactly that happens I haven't decided yet, so for now I default to this brilliant work by the supremely talented @bacidipesca and inspired by the also supremely talented @elitadream), as well as one of her closest friends. He's earned a reputation for his courage, strength, and selflessness, but no one at this point's actually expecting him to drop everything and go charging into Bowser's home territory to save her.

Mario is also a hothead with chronic hero syndrome. It's not just that he's hopelessly smitten close with her. Peach took him and Luigi in after they found themselves stranded in a strange world, giving them kindness, security, a place to call home. She's had Mario's undying loyalty from the moment they first met. Of course he's going to save her.

His actions are a shock to pretty much everyone, especially Bowser. He was expecting either the reluctant but unconditional surrender of her nation or an army, one of the two, not some guy with a funny accent who comes up to the princess' shoulder — who is both significantly faster and somehow almost as strong as him. The surprise works in Mario's favor, and he's able to free Peach and bring her back home not even two full days after her kidnapping, and he's battered and a little singed, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

I wanna go into more depth about the events between Kidnappings 1 and 2 in another post because this is already getting waaaaaay longer than I meant for it to, so to keep it short! Mario gets promoted to Peach's primary bodyguard, and all the extra time together means they go from best friends quietly crushing on each other to best friends in desperate, burning, all-consuming love with one another. So when Bowser kidnaps her once more, it's a hell of a lot more personal.

And Bowser's not underestimating Mario this time around; he's put a shocking amount of effort into ramping up his defenses and keeping Peach's exact location and state of well-being hidden. Mario won't be able to waltz in and carry her out. He makes one wrong move and he's dead. And now Bowser's threatening to outright kill Peach if his demands aren't met, so he's on borrowed time.

It's a very long three months. While Toadsworth spearheads efforts to string Bowser along, walking a fine line between not giving into his threats but also keeping him unsuspicious, Mario trains himself half to death, because he is going to face Bowser, and he is going to kill the bastard, and he is going to bring Peach home safely. He probably would train himself to death if not for Luigi dragging him inside and forcing him to eat and sleep every so often. He doesn't know if Peach is safe or comfortable or even alive, and he won't (willfully) rest until that changes.

The time and resources it takes just reaching Bowser saps most of his energy. The fight nearly kills him. He uses the last of his strength to pry the bars of Peach's cell open and then collapses from a combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and shock. If not for her healing powers, he would've died there on the dungeon floor.

He didn't kill Bowser. He didn't have time. But Bowser received a thrashing pretty damn proportionate to the one he gave Mario. He's oddly quiet from that point on, and no one in the Mushroom Kingdom complains. There's still an ever-lingering fear that he might come back, he might target them once more, he might succeed at what he attempted twice... but the truth is, so long as Mario's alive, he's not getting anywhere NEAR Princess Peach, much less the Mushroom Kingdom.

Bowser may be egotistical and a little dense, but he's not stupid, and he doesn't have a death wish. There's other conquests to be had, conquests against enemies that won't fight back (or at least won't miserably kick his ass).

[who-is-page]

Got some interesting asks last night; not gonna publish them as the person who sent me them asked me not to--they were a system who just wanted to vent out some frustrations and I respect that!--but the TL;DR summary is that they were frustrated that "syscourse" even at its theoretical best, even when all the people involved are 'pro-all systems' or label themselves 'endo-friendly spaces,' is something that's still often used as a cudgel to hurt others. And you know-- I'm honestly pretty damn inclined to agree. Syscoursers from a subcultural stance often can't separate themselves in diction and approach from its hyper-aggressive roots, and any attempt at discussion without meticulously unpacking that history falls flat. From a perspective more familiar to most of my followers, it would be like if therians ran around calling themselves "grillers" without disentangling the digital hazing history that went alongside the term and drove so many people away. It's a lack of introspection and an inability to reckon with the iron-spiked, saw-bladed foundations all the way down.

And seeing self-described syscoursers on one specific post essentially try to spin their unsuccessful, grayrocked attempt at confrontation and dogpiling as them being censored and silenced just proves this point to me further, since they're simultaneously claiming to at the same time be in favor of supporting discussion and education while having started off initially so aggressive and seemingly bad-faith. You can't set a bridge on fire and then howl fury when other people refuse to cross it, especially not when you've specifically positioned yourself in the scenario as an individual who intends to foster helpful conversations. You can't come in swinging and then complain that they started it and you only wanted to help! And if they hadn't positioned themselves in that way, jumping up on the pedestal to claim that they only want to have civil conversations and surely others who deny them that are censoring them and bad/wrong/etc WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY looking to be picking a fight rather than a genuine civil conversation, then this would be a different discussion to have-- but, well. I'd be lying if I said it didn't remind me of certain anti-otherkin tactics I'd seen in the past, with people batting their eyelashes and assuring otherkin that they weren't sealioning, it was all just innocent questions about such a stupid identity-- oh sorry, did they say stupid? They meant "interesting," teehee, don't mind them. They're just here to listen and be logical. """Logic""" which usually involves punching down in a way that isn't logical and is more just an excuse to be an asshole and tear into someone.

There's a reason I don't posit myself as someone who intends to always single-handedly foster perfectly civil, moderated, respectful discussions in my discourse posts in the same way, say, Rani (a-dragons-explanation) does. Because I know that when I get pissed, I bite! I'm cognizant of that fact, that I don't have perfect self-restraint and sometimes I come across way harsher than is necessary (even on occasions where harshness might theoretically be warranted, because deserved is not the same as necessary). And I am also aware that discourse is a separate animal from discussion, in the same way grilling is different from an AMA. Sure, they might be technically synonymous on a dictionary level, but in practice they are vastly different. And that applies here, too, even though I've seen syscoursers claiming that they are the exact same.

But this is getting away from me. -chinhands- I guess that I'm disappointed but ultimately not surprised that syscourse is fundamentally nonproductive, and that it too often devolves into dehumanizing others, either through outright arguments around personhood or just through preemptively making people out to be significantly more malicious than they actually are, because within the subculture due to a variety of factors, malice and cruelty is assumed to inherently be much more common than ignorance. And people are also much less forgiving of the latter, even if they claim otherwise. But seeing this happen has given me some perspective on things in the subcultures I frequent and in my own tendencies with some topics, and is making me rethink the ways I communicate with others and what the intended goals of those communications with larger audiences are versus how it can go off the rails, which I think is really helpful, even if it's coming inadvertently from such a noxious source.

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

no tags today; I'm late to the party!

from the next chapter of stars through our fingers like grains of sand

It was a sunny afternoon in Akila City, and for once Sam didn’t even mind coming back to the old hometown. Despite the events of the previous day, he was in a great mood. He glanced over at the ship tech’s office; Cait was deep in conversation with the ship tech. She was wearing her deputy uniform today—tan wasn’t a big improvement on the monochromes, and he still wanted to see her in something more vibrant—but she was here on official business, and if nothing else, it meant she’d have no trouble with security. He leaned against the entrance to the city and set himself to wait. The delay didn’t bother him; wasn’t like he was short of things to chew on.

Last night, for example. It’d been a revelation in more ways than one. The more disturbing parts—well, he and Cait were united in an unspoken agreement to let those lie for a time. They’d follow up on them in the future; whether Cait was able to realize it right now or not, she needed answers. And to get those, they needed to see if it was possible to fix some of that damaged wiring in her head.

He knew exactly what she’d been put through. There were a few places in Neon that specialized in short-term “treatment” for Aurora addicts; they kept their prices lower than a dose of Junk Flush and made their money on volume and desperation. The more reputable places made it clear that it was a psychological patch only, and tried to encourage follow-up with Reliant or another medical practice to deal with the physical effects—the Rangers had put him through one of those when Lillian had recruited him. That, too, was a topic he resolved to set aside for later.

Not too much later, though. Cait wasn’t the only one whose past cast a long shadow. He could have said ‘no’ to tagging along when she did Ranger work, but he’d promised to watch her back, and a Coe kept his promises—it was one of the few things he and Jacob had ever agreed on. Wasn’t her fault it was dredging up old business and old memories. He just needed to get ahead of his past before he ended up under it.

Because last night had told him something else: that whatever feelings he might be developing for Cait, seemed she was starting to incline the same way. He let out a soft chuckle. Handsome. He wouldn’t mind hearing her admit that again, no sir. Maybe next time she’d be a little less flustered—though she’d been a damned adorable sight, tongue-tied and stammering, until she realized he was teasing her and gave as good as she’d gotten.

Sam tilted his hat against Cheyenne’s brightness—the old girl was at the peak of her brightness today—just in time for a shadow to fall across his face. “You look any more pensive and steam’s going to come out of your ears,” Cait said with a smile. “Dare I ask?”

“Little of this, little of that,” he said easily. “Everything okay?”

“Not entirely,” she replied, “but it can wait until we see Ranger Hadid.” He joined her as she headed for the opposite gate. They’d been back to Akila City a few times without incident, but a faint tightness in her shoulders suggested that she was still a little wary.

Time for a distraction. “I wonder why Solomon named this place Akila,” Sam mused as the guard waved them through. “You’d think I’d know the answer to that, but I don’t.” It was one of those questions that nagged at him now and again, and he’d never found a good answer for it.

“He never said outright in anything I’ve read,” Cait said, sounding a little hesitant, “but there’s clues there.”

Sam paused, then reached out to guide her out of the way of the people following them, ending up in the shadow of the Hitching Post. “Okay, you’re gonna need to unpack that one.” A blush crept up her face, and he was hard put not to laugh. Cait was one of those people that blushed from the neck up (maybe even lower, but a gentleman didn’t look—unless invited), and it was utterly endearing. He was hard put to understand why she was blushing this time—and then it hit him. Cait hadn’t ever needed to ask about Solomon’s background. The few times it had come up, she’d seemed pretty damned well versed in it, in fact. “You’ve read his bio,” he stated.

“Um.” She was looking everywhere except him—and the damned statue. “The 2240 bio is slander, the 2272 is hagiography; Solomon Coe: A Man and his Times is really good, but that’s because it was published in 2301 after his autobio The Stars My Destination came out in the early ‘90s and the author obviously used it as a primary source.”

Sam stared at her in disbelief. “You’ve read all of those?” He hadn’t read all of those—but then, he hadn’t had to, not with Solomon’s notes and recordings so easily to hand. And even then, he hadn’t paid attention to the boring parts of government; he’d been laser-focused on the exploration. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You made your opinion pretty damned clear when we first started out,” she whispered. “And after. And I like you for you, not because I think you’re Solomon-lite.” She ran a hand through her hair, disordering the curls. “Sure, he was a hero of mine when I was young, up there with Glenn and Gagarin and Armstrong and Chen, and I admire the man for most of what he accomplished… but he was far from perfect.”

He laughed, a little uncomfortably. “What, and I am?” He shook his head ruefully. “No, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.”

She looked at him, finally, her eyes shadowed. “Not perfect, no, but in a lot of ways, you’re a better person than he was. A better father, for sure.”

Sam didn’t think anything she could have said could have warmed his heart more than that. “I sure hope so. If I get anything in my life right, that’s what I’d like it to be.” He reached out and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I appreciate you being so considerate, though.” She was smiling when he let her go—and that gave him a warm tingle all the way down to his toes. “But you were saying?”

“Um.” She seemed a little shaken for a moment; she must’ve been worried about his reaction. Took her a moment to settle herself. “Akila. Right. Sam,” she cocked her head inquiringly, “what’s the Freestar emblem?”

“An eagle,” he said promptly, wondering where she was going with that. “No surprise there, that was Solomon’s favorite bird. Said it reminded him of freedom.”

“The spelling’s different, but ‘Aquila’ is the Latin for eagle,” Cait said.

Sam felt a smile cross his face. “I never thought of that,” he said, making sure she heard the admiration in his voice. “You’re smart enough to give Sarah a run for her money, you know that? Remind me to buy you dinner when we get done with this.”

Her smile faltered. “That’s—I appreciate the offer, but—” Her face started to pale and her eyes fell away from his, but she set her jaw and muttered, “Chocolate’s not the only food I have problems with. Restaurants can be iffy.”

“Well, damn,” he said, keeping his voice light—though he wanted to lay some serious harm on the ones who had done such a number on her. “Looks like I’ll just have to get creative.”

She gave him a penetrating look. For a moment he thought she’d seen right through him. Finally, the smile returned, an impish little dimple at the corner of her mouth. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Sam was more than happy to play at words with Cait. “Darlin’,” he said with a grin, “Threat or promise, a Coe always follows through on his word.”

[inseparableduo]

Alright, so! I have come to the realization I have never made one big comprehensive post on twins parents, so let's fix that. First off, if you were to ask twins what they knew about their parents, it wouldn't exactly be accurate. All they really know is that their mom died before they were born which is a lie and that both of their parents were rather young.

Under the cut because this is very long!

First off, their names are Eric Milioli and Angèle Simoneaux. Their father was from Italy when he meet their mother while studying abroad. The two were quickly interested in each other but, the relationship was never met to be serious. Just a fling, never meant to last longer than the school year.

The two were using contraceptives but, she got pregnant anyway. She was only 15 when she got pregnant and 16 when she had them. She tried to keep this as a secret for as long as she could. She had just started to build here career as a model and knew if she came out about her pregnancy it would set her back or flat out ruin her career. She was originally going to terminate her pregnancy but, her parents found out and stopped her.

Her parents, of course, weren't happy with the situation but, wanted her to 'own up' to it and take responsibilities for her actions. During the entire pregnancy, she was severely depressed and unhappy. To make matters worse, Angèle's parents pressured them to get married, and eventually they caved.

Their dad on the other hand had just turned 18 a little after meet their mom. Eric came from a well off family and was pretty much set to have a comfortable life. When Angèle first broke the news to him, he was in a state of disbelief and shock. When he eventually accepted the news he tried to stay positive about it for her sake seeing how much it was taking a toll on her but, he was just as scared and angry too.

He went along with the marriage with no complaints and did his best to do anything he possibly could to accommodate her. Even though his life was crumbling around him too he understood she had it much worse, having to drop out of school, quitting her job, being completely bedridden, and being much younger than him, he felt like he had no right to complain. Even though his parents completely disowned him off after this incident, and he was left with the burden of needing to support all 4 of them with some help from his in-laws.

Angèle brought up the topic of giving the twins up for adoption many times, but Eric always quickly shut her down. They were too far in to just 'give up' now. In the end, she never bonded with the twins and just saw them more like parasites. Not once did she think positively of them. So, when they were finally weened off of breastfeeding, she left. In the middle of the night, she packed her things and left everyone behind, only keeping in contact with her parents before going off to restart her life. She refused to stay and live the life she was forced into. She wanted her old life back.

Eric did his best to keep things afloat after this. Too prideful and really having no one to help him out, he did everything on his own. He tried to stay positive at first as he did love twins but, over time, the love quickly turned to hate and resentment, and he started to neglect them. This only got worse when their mother finally got back in contact with him, so he could sign divorce papers, as she was planning to get remarried. She had completely started over her life, while his was still stuck in the same place. Worse even.

When the twins were only 3 this is when he started to outright abuse them. He never signed the divorce papers but, it didn't matter as later that year she would be murdered anyway. The twins were only 6 when he sold them to an occult. Staging it as a kidnapping.

What is their dad up to now? After selling the twins to the cult, he had enough money to restart his life. He filled the twins as missing and after a couple of years got them a grave, got back in touch with his family who were now sympathetic for him. Never speaks of the twins anymore, and as far as others know, he never had any kids in the first place nor does he want any. He now works with his family and is back to his more rich lifestyle. He doesn't think of the twins or Angèle anymore. Hasn't in years.

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 27: Scars

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: flirtation, emotional whump

Words: 3000

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Another late night in the safehouse. The four walls buzzed with quiet activity as everyone tried to embrace the illusion of safety long enough to get a few hours of rest. How that looked was different for everyone.

Some played video games together, embracing the adrenaline of a danger that could be turned off with the flick of a switch. Others curled up in bed for some much-needed sleep. Maybe with a teddy bear or a special blanket they had never given up when they passed out of childhood. Maybe with a weapon hidden under their pillow.

Others planned the next mission. Because there was always a next mission. The Psi Enhancement Research Initiative never slept, so neither could they. PERI had every advantage—numbers, government funding, the weight of decades of operation. Every day, they abducted more Enhanced children to exploit their psi abilities. Every day, more doomed babies were born into their breeding programs, destined for a life as exploited living weapons in PERI’s black-ops program, or briefer and more painful lives as test subjects in their lab. Every day, PERI tracked down more people like them—Enhanced adults with the audacity to want to live in freedom, and maybe even be open about their abilities one day—and brought them to the labs or killed them outright.

They were just one small group against all of that. There were more groups out there like theirs, or so they suspected, but they had never been able to make contact. So they saved who they could, and mourned the rest. There was always more of the latter than the former. There was nothing they could do about that.

Nothing except plan the next mission.

But not everyone spent the late nights doing the responsible thing—whether that meant planning, or sleeping, or even working off some adrenaline in a safe way. Some people hung around in the kitchen until the first glimmers of sunrise appeared over the horizon, flirting over drinks.

Jackson’s drink of choice was whiskey. He preferred good whiskey, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had it. The cheap stuff would do in a pinch. The kitchen was fresh out of clean glasses—he wasn’t the only one who liked to relax with a drink—and he hadn’t been in the mood for doing dishes. So he sipped his drink from a chipped I Love My Golden Retriever mug.

He sat at the counter, because that made him feel like he could get up at any time. Sitting at the table was as good as saying he was settling in for a long night of drinking. The counter was more temporary. It meant hanging around just long enough to finish his drink, then go to bed without pouring another. Or that was what he told himself.

But he told himself the same thing three drinks ago.

He wasn’t the only one sitting at the counter tonight. The new girl, Amber, was drinking whiskey out of a wine glass. He couldn’t decide whether that was classy or trashy. The part that bothered him more was that it was his whiskey. Okay, so he’d never officially claimed it, because that would be as good as admitting he liked it a little too much. But however much she drank would mean less waiting for him tomorrow night. Or tonight, depending on how late he stayed up.

She was sitting too close. And she kept sneaking glances over at him, like she was just waiting for him to meet her eyes and strike up a conversation. He recognized the look in her eyes, and the electricity that seemed to vibrate in the air around her with every shift of her legs. If he did meet her eyes and strike up that conversation, he wouldn’t have to go to bed alone tonight.

It wasn’t like him to turn down an opportunity like that. He wasn’t sure what caused his slight frisson of misgiving. Maybe it was that everything about her screamed young. She wasn’t really all that young, not in terms of her actual age—she was twenty-five at least, probably closer to thirty. But the new recruit had a certain softness about her, like she’d come out of an easy life and didn’t know yet what she had gotten herself into.

Or maybe he was just in the mood to spend the night alone with his drink.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” She broke the silence. When he looked up at her, the smile on her face was unambiguously flirtatious.

He shrugged. “It’s late.” And then, because he didn’t want to come across like a surly jerk, he gave her a slight smile of his own. “Big raid coming up tomorrow. I’ve been running through the plan in my head.”

It was a lie. He already knew the plan backward and forward. Thinking it through yet again wouldn’t help him at this point. Neither would the whiskey, probably, but he wouldn’t sleep if he went to bed now anyway.

A troubled look passed across her face, briefly dimming her flirtatious smile. “It’ll be my first mission,” she said.

Oh, right. Jackson had forgotten they were bringing the newbie along on this one. He hoped her telekinesis would be useful enough to outweigh her lack of experience.

He hoped it was enough to keep her alive.

“You’ve been on a lot of missions like this, haven’t you?” Her eyes went to the scar that traveled up his arm and under his sleeve. Then to his neck, where another jagged scar stopped just short of his carotid.

He gave another shrug. “A few.” He’d been at this for more than a decade now. Practically all his adult life. As far as he was concerned, he’d earned this whiskey.

He took another drink.

Her hand came up, brushed the scar on his neck. A shiver came over him—half apprehension, half something warmer and more pleasurable.

When he didn’t pull away, her smile gained confidence. She stroked the scar tissue lightly with one finger. “How did you get this?”

“Someone tried to cut me a new smile.” She looked like she was waiting for more, so with a sigh, he gave it to her. “We were trying to rescue a bunch of kids from a PERI lab. One of them didn’t much want to be rescued. Guess it made sense—it was the only world he’d ever known. But he caught me off guard. He grabbed my knife—with his mind, from ten feet away.”

Her eyes went wide. “Did you still rescue him?”

“One of the others shot him full of sedative so we could have a more reasonable conversation when he woke up. I concentrated on the guards trying to keep us from getting him out.” He pointed to a spot just below his ribs, under his shirt. “I’ve got another scar there from that.”

“I bet you gave worse than you got.” Her eyes moved to the spot where he was pointing. They filled with a hungry intensity, as if she thought she could see clear through the fabric of his shirt she stared hard enough.

Oh.

So that was where his misgivings had come from.

He knew that look, and what came with it. And it wasn’t anything felt like dealing with tonight.

He gently lowered her hand from his neck. Her skin was warm and soft. A moment ago, he might have been tempted.

“It’s a bad memory,” he said. “And one best left forgotten.”

She didn’t take the hint. “You don’t have to be shy. You can brag if you want.”

“Bragging’s not my style.” He lifted the chipped mug to his lips and took a longer drink.

“But you’ve been fighting PERI for so much longer than I have,” she said. “And without being Enhanced yourself. You must be awfully good at what you do to go up against operatives with powers on a regular basis.”

“Everyone’s got their own gifts. Mine are more mundane than is the norm around here, that’s all.” His voice was brusque. He looked at his drink, not at her.

“I want to hear your stories,” she insisted. “Maybe it’ll help me prepare for tomorrow.”

She still wasn’t getting the hint. He wondered just how much she’d had to drink already.

She rested her hand on his. “Maybe later,” she said, her voice lowering to a soft purr, “you can even show me more of your scars.”

He jerked away without meaning to. She jumped at the sudden movement. Her eyes were wide and hurt.

Maybe if he hadn’t had so much to drink, he would have found it in him to be tactful. Maybe if he’d been a little less tired. Maybe if he’d been in a better mood.

Probably not. He’d never been known for his tact.

“You don’t want me.” He met the hurt in her eyes with a level gaze. “You think you do, but you don’t. What you like is the image. The scars, and everything you think goes with them. Not the person underneath.”

The hurt on her face transmuted to blurry, drunken anger. “I can’t get to know the person underneath if you won’t give me the chance. That’s all I want—to get to know you.” Her hand crept toward his again.

He tucked his hand away on his lap. “Tell me something—why did you join up with us?”

“Why do you think? Because PERI tried to abduct me and take me away to one of their labs.”

“You could have gone into hiding. Most people in your position do. And don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like much of a fighter.”

From the look in her eyes, she most definitely had taken it the wrong way. On a different night, he might have cared.

“I want to fight,” she said. “I want to make a difference.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Do you want a fight—the reality of it? Do you want to walk into that building tomorrow knowing you might never make it out? Or do you just like the romantic image of it all, same as you like my scars?”

Her eyes went hard and cold. He hadn’t thought someone as soft as her was capable of look like that. Maybe he’d gone too far. But he’d seen too many kids like her. He’d buried too many of them in unmarked graves.

Too many of them had put their hands on his scars, only to pull away from him like he was poison when they saw the man underneath.

He thought maybe he should apologize. The memory of all those hands, and all those graves, stopped him.

Her hands went to the bottom of her shirt. She tugged the fabric upward. He groaned internally. Was she even drunker than he’d thought? Was she about to strip naked and try to get him into bed that way, even now that he’d insulted her?

He placed a gentle hand on her wrist. “Don’t.”

She shook away his touch with surprising strength. She tugged her shirt up, but stopped just under her bra. Then she pointed to a thick, jagged line of scar tissue across her abdomen.

“You’re not the only one with scars,” she said.

“I thought this was your first mission.”

“It is. This is from a mugging. It was before my Enhanced gene activated, or I might have been able to do something.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “I gave him everything he wanted. And he hurt me anyway. He laughed while he did it.”

She let her shirt fall. “I understand scars,” she said. “I’d like to have a few that mean something.”

“I didn’t tell you the rest of that story,” he said, pointing to his neck. “We didn’t get those kids out. The guards killed them rather than let us have them. That one who attacked me? If he hadn’t been out cold, he might have been able to stop them.”

She was silent for a long time. Her eyes stayed locked on his neck, as if the scar there were a puzzle and she thought she could solve it.

“But you tried to save them,” she finally said. “That’s what matters. You’re out there doing something. No hero wins every time.”

“There’s no such thing as heroes,” he said brusquely. “If you think otherwise, you’re still seeing the image instead of the reality. You should walk away now, before you get yourself into something you’re not ready for.”

He didn’t know whether he was talking about the mission or the hint of attraction that still lingered in her eyes.

She opened her mouth, reaching for him again. He spoke before she could. “Big day tomorrow.” He pushed himself up roughly from his stool. “I’m headed to bed.”

He hurried from the room before she could suggest joining him.

Later, lying under the covers, he stared up at the ceiling and saw the hurt in her eyes all over again. Maybe he could have handled that better. Scratch that—he could definitely have handled that better. If he’d been just a little nicer, maybe he could have persuaded her to walk away. He could have convinced her that heroism wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

But then, if he’d been just a little nicer, maybe she could have held on to at least one of the others before her instead of driving them all away. Maybe he could have taught them enough to keep them alive. Maybe he would have had to dig fewer graves.

He hoped she wouldn’t end up in one of those graves. And if she did—and she probably would—he hoped it wouldn’t be his fault.

* * *

Jackson thought about that conversation a lot, in the years that followed. And about his wish.

He should have known better than to make a wish. Even when they came true, there was always a nasty bite to it.

The mission went off almost without a hitch. The previous night’s whiskey, and the lack of sleep, didn’t hurt him any—he was used to fighting under those conditions. They got five kids out, plus a bunch of research data to pass on to their scientist contacts. Only minor injuries… and one member of their group captured.

Amber.

He had hoped she wouldn’t end up in an unmarked grave. But a grave would have been kinder.

Years passed. He picked up new scars. He never figured out how to be nicer about steering away the people who liked the look of them a bit too much. So he learned to be harsher instead. Whenever he was tempted, he thought about Amber. He thought about the look on her face on the morning of the mission, like she’d had something to prove. Something to prove to him.

Some of those newbies ended up in the ground. He was used to it by now.

None of his missions made him feel any more like a hero. Not even the successes. But he never stopped fighting. He figured he’d be at this until it killed him.

Until then, he’d keep picking up scars. Looking more and more intriguing on the outside. Growing more and more poisonous underneath.

Five years later, they raided a PERI facility and rescued a bunch of telekinetics from a lab. All adults. All either quivering wrecks or hard-eyed and silent—there was no middle ground.

One of them was Amber.

He didn’t recognize her at first. She didn’t look young anymore. She had aged more than the five years that had passed. And she was one of the hard-eyed ones, which he wouldn’t have expected.

She had scars of her own now. Needle marks in her arms from PERI’s experimental drugs. Symmetrical scalpel marks on her arms and legs and trunk, precise and symmetrical, from all the times they’d cut her open.

He didn’t ask for details. She didn’t provide them.

She gave no sign of recognizing him. Not there in the facility, and not later, when she was recuperating in the safe house. He didn’t tell her who he was. For all he knew, maybe she didn’t even remember him.

He hoped she didn’t.

If she did, maybe she’d blame him for not trying harder. Or for making her feel like she had something to prove. Maybe she’d be right.

He didn’t spend late nights in the kitchen with a mug of whiskey these days. He was older now, and his body was less forgiving. These days, he was asleep by ten more often than not.

But one night, a week or so after the rescue, he couldn’t sleep. So he succumbed to old habits and headed for the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway. Amber was there at the counter. Someone else was with her. A new kid. Mathias, Jackson thought his name was. He had stopped keeping track of the newbies. Made it harder to get attached.

She was sipping at a drink—whiskey from a wineglass again. Mathias was leaning in close, paying more attention to her than to his own drink. She glanced at him from time to time, but mostly she stared into her glass.

He touched her arm, just under the crook of the elbow, where a scalpel had opened the skin years before. “Where did you get this one?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away. She looked up—and met Jackson’s eyes over Mathias’s head. From the lack of surprise on her face, she had already known he was there.

She winked. A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Not the old flirtatious smile. This was something harder and more cynical.

So she remembered after all.

Then she turned back to Mathias, as if that short moment had never happened. She gently lifted his hand away from her arm and set it back down on the counter.

He smiled and faded into the shadows of the hallway. Maybe when she had dismissed the newbie, they would finally finish that drink together.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

[noxexistant]

Do you have any snippets of any wip that you’re writing atm?

oh anon, this is literally my favourite thing to be asked, i love getting to post writing without finishing it. anon, i am kissing you on the forehead.

here are some opening passages from some of my current wips <3 hopefully they will suffice

—

Oscar wakes up to quiet, ragged breathing.

“What?” he croaks, before any part of his brain has really caught up. Instinct, muscle memory. “Wha’s wrong, Mo? C’mere.”

Morris doesn’t, so Oscar forces himself somewhat upright, haphazardly kicking the too-thick hotel comforter off of him as he does, squinting through the darkness. He searches for Morris in the room - he’s not in his bed beside Oscar’s - and finds him huddled and pacing near the door to the bathroom. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, rocking, and Oscar can see he’s maybe trying to do a breathing exercise. It’s clearly not working. He’s tapping out the rhythm against his arm, the count of four for box breathing, but he’s counting it fast and sloppy - more a restless, uneven taptaptaptap than a loose count of four seconds.

“What happened?” Oscar asks, as gently as he can when his voice sounds like sandpaper. “D’you have a bad dream? Mo, c’mere.”

—

Morris is fighting tonight.

Tommy Boy only knows because he’s heard whispers. Apparently, Morris and Oscar had had some big blow-up argument about it last night, which a few of the boys loitering outside the warehouse after all the fights had long ended had overheard. Oscar don’t like Morris fighting, usually don’t let him at all, so Tommy’d outright doubt Morris getting into the ring - if it weren’t for the fact he knows damn well that Morris can’t be talked down from nothing he’s set his mind to. And Oscar might be a stubborn bastard even worse than Morris, and overprotective as all hell, but he’s also a pushover for his little brother. It ain’t often that Morris kicks up a fuss for nothing, but, when he does, he gets his way; so, if he’s wanting to fight, he’ll be fighting.

—

Oscar’s got a job today.

He’d only told Morris yesterday, but had sworn when he’d said it that he’d only just found out - ‘cause he usually tells Morris about stuff like that as early as possible, to try and avoid Morris freaking out about it.

Uncle had just sprung it on him that morning, Oscar’d said, told him he had to go…somewhere, Morris can’t remember where, but it ain’t nowhere close. Nowhere outside of the city, but nowhere near Manhattan neither. There’s probably someone to soak, almost definitely some money to take for Uncle’s benefit, so Oscar’s getting sent over to do the dirty work - and Morris ain’t being sent with him because Uncle don’t much like the two of them together anymore. He’d told Morris that he was needed at the gates, had to keep things running ‘cause Oscar’d be missing, but Morris knows that ain’t true because Uncle always says he’s useless at the gates.

Honestly, Morris hadn’t really understood what the big deal was, why both Os and Uncle were being so weird, until Oscar’d looked worried and crouched closer and explained slow that going so far meant he’d be gone all day. From before morning sales to late at night, probably, so he’d miss afternoon sales too, and dinner, and bedtime, not just one sale like he does sometimes.

Uncle had threatened to throw his half-full coffee cup at Morris then, because he’d suddenly found himself unable to breathe and Uncle hates the sound of his choking sort of wheezing when he can’t get air into his lungs.

[davyjoneslockr]

👻 🎁 😎 answer me boy

(For this ask game)

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

I have. Too many headcanons. I don't know which is the *wildest* per se. I think the one that deviates from/elaborates on canon the most is probably Mista's backstory. Like the one where he's Hol Horse's son and raised by nuns.

If we're talking wild as in silly though. I have a lot of those. For the main boys I write: Mista is in a perpetual state of Hot Girl Summer post-VA and has basically the same music taste as me (i.e. shit your grandparents listen to), Fugo is a massive Weezer stan and forces himself to look at pictures of women so he can pretend he's straight for like 30 minutes to get the "authentic experience" while listening to Pinkerton, and Giorno uses Gold Experience to create Secret Special Stand Testosterone for himself.

Now that I think of it. One oddly specific one that came up in multiple fics is Fugo singing in the shower. Idk why that happened, but it's silly and cute so it's part of my belief system now.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

I have a couple excerpts I can share!! (Maybe sharing them will force me to finish these fics lol)

From a yet-to-be-titled Fugio thing:

"March fifth. Meaning he’s been nineteen years old for a month, and something with Giorno Giovanna for six, plus a week and two days.

He says six months, though it could’ve been longer, in hindsight, because the night it became undeniable – the night that they had narrowly escaped a fight on enemy turf with their lives, and, as soon as they’d stumbled into some dark alley, without even catching his breath, Giorno kissed him – stands forever at the forefront of his mind, like a wound eternally fresh, bleeding.

And he says something, because that wasn’t the last time. Their hands would intertwine, and they’d fall into each other’s arms, and Giorno’s lips would be on his, and they would never speak of it. Perpetual movements. A Newton’s cradle.

It’s something. Something intangible, nameless. He’s not in a position to give it a name. He’s an object at rest until Giorno, ever in motion, bids him otherwise.

And yet.

And yet."

And from a Trish-centric post-canon everyone lives AU thing that I kinda abandoned for a while, but am now realizing I don't hate as much as I thought I did (tentatively titled Walk Backwards):

"Really, she’s only half-conscious of where her footsteps are propelling her, with only the occasional sound of  movement, voices, something to guide her. Her stand phases just outside her body. Not yet.

And as she rounds a corner, a voice plays in her ears. Muted, washed-out, like she’d heard it then, floating on the brink of consciousness.

'All this for someone you just met? We don’t even know what kind of music she likes!'

As the noises grow closer, and sweat beads at her temple, she takes a deep breath and calls her stand forward.

If her instincts are correct – and even if they aren’t…

It’s a thought she’s spent countless nights poring over: what it meant for all of them to move forward, for him to stay back. In spite of it all, she’s come to a selfish conclusion.

Maybe it’s true, what he said – it’s foolish to risk one’s own life for that of a stranger.

But to outright refuse to help another, regardless, is a coward’s move.

And Trish Una is no coward."

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

Depends on the mood I'm in, but my favorites tend to be like. Canon but slightly to the left. Everyone lives AUs and "What If?" plotlines and fics that fill in gaps between canon scenes. They're my favorite to write, too. I think it's sorta the best of both worlds - the aspects I love about canon, but more fleshed-out and still allowing room for lots of creativity. Just. Playing with canon is a lot of fun I think. That being said, I'll never turn down a good angsty canon-compliant fic or fun AU :] A good fic's a good fic.