#Backward facing step simulation

[pucksandpower]

Moments of Glory

Oscar Piastri x Brown!Reader

Summary: notoriously calm and collected Oscar meets his match in the outgoing and extroverted daughter of his boss

Note: this is not the maiden win any of us wanted for Oscar but that doesn’t make it any less deserved — McLaren’s ability to jumble strategy should not take away from his amazing drive

The McLaren Technology Centre hums with energy as Oscar steps through the sliding glass doors, his eyes wide with wonder. It’s his first visit since signing with the team, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on him. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

As he walks further into the lobby, a burst of laughter catches his attention. Oscar turns to see a group of people gathered near the reception desk, centered around a vivacious young woman with a contagious smile. Your presence seems to light up the entire room.

“And then I told him, ‘Dad, if you don’t make some cuter merch, I’m going to have to support a different team!’” You exclaim, causing another round of laughter from the group.

Oscar finds himself drawn towards the commotion, his feet moving of their own accord. As he approaches, you notice him and your eyes lock. For a moment, the world seems to stand still.

“Well, hello there, stranger!” You call out, breaking the spell. “You must be our new golden boy. I’m Y/N Brown, resident troublemaker and daughter of the big boss.”

Oscar feels his cheeks flush as he stammers, “H-Hi, I’m Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

You grin, stepping closer. “I know who you are, silly. I’ve been watching your career for years. Welcome to the family!”

Before Oscar can respond, you’ve wrapped him in a warm hug. He stiffens for a moment, unused to such casual physical contact, but then relaxes into the embrace.

As you pull away, you wink at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “I, uh ... I don’t ...”

You laugh, patting his shoulder. “Relax, I’m just teasing. Come on, let me show you around. I bet I know this place better than any of the official tour guides.”

As you lead Oscar through the facility, he finds himself captivated by your energy and enthusiasm. You point out various areas of interest, peppering your tour with amusing anecdotes and insider information.

“And this,” you say, gesturing dramatically to a seemingly ordinary hallway, “is where Lando once tried to skateboard down the stairs. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well.”

Oscar chuckles, finding himself more at ease. “I can’t imagine that went over well with management.”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Oh, Dad was furious. But between you and me, I think he was more upset that Lando didn’t invite him to join in.”

As you continue the tour, Oscar finds himself opening up more. “So, how long have you been involved with McLaren?” He asks.

You grin, twirling around to face him as you walk backward. “Oh, pretty much since Dad got hired to run it back in 2016. But I’ve been working here officially for about two years now, in PR and social media.”

Oscar nods, impressed. “That must be exciting, being so close to the action.”

“It has its moments,” you agree. “But enough about me. Tell me, Oscar Piastri, what makes you tick? What drives you to risk life and limb hurtling around tracks at breakneck speeds?”

Oscar pauses, considering his words carefully. “I guess ... it’s the thrill of pushing myself to the limit. The constant challenge of improving, of finding that extra tenth of a second. And the teamwork aspect, knowing that every person plays a crucial role in our success.”

You smile softly, a hint of admiration in your eyes. “That’s beautiful, Oscar. I can see why Dad was so keen on signing you.”

As you reach the simulator room, Oscar’s eyes light up with excitement. You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

“Want to give it a go?” You ask, gesturing towards the state-of-the-art equipment.

Oscar nods eagerly. “Can I? I mean, I don’t want to overstep ...”

You wave off his concerns. “Please, you’re part of the team now. Besides, I want to see what you can do.”

As Oscar settles into the simulator, you lean against the doorframe, watching him with interest. He takes a deep breath, centering himself before starting the virtual lap.

You observe silently, impressed by his focus and skill. As he completes the lap, you let out a low whistle. “Not bad, Piastri. Not bad at all.”

Oscar grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “Thanks. It feels good to get a feel for the car, even if it’s just a simulation.”

You step closer, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “Want to make it interesting? I bet I can beat your time.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a hint of competitiveness creeping into his voice. “Oh really? You’re on.”

For the next hour, you and Oscar take turns in the simulator, trading friendly jabs and encouragement. To Oscar’s surprise, you prove to be a formidable opponent, matching him lap for lap.

As you finish your final run, you jump up with a whoop of victory. “Ha! Beat you by two-tenths!”

Oscar shakes his head, laughing. “I can’t believe it. Where did you learn to drive like that?”

You shrug, a hint of vulnerability showing through your confident exterior. “Growing up around racing, I guess. But I never had the nerve to pursue it professionally. Too much pressure.”

Oscar nods understandingly. “I can’t blame you. It’s not an easy path.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the hum of the equipment. Oscar finds himself studying your face, noticing the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and how animated you become when talking about something you love.

You catch him staring and smirk. “See something you like, Piastri?”

Oscar blushes furiously, stammering, “I, uh ... I was just ... you’re really ...”

You laugh, but there’s a softness to it. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “Listen, Y/N ... I know we just met, but I was wondering if maybe ... I mean, if you’re not busy ... would you like to ...”

Before he can finish, an alarm on your phone goes off. You check it and grimace. “Shoot, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. Rain check on whatever you were about to say?”

Oscar nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, of course. No problem.”

You start to leave but pause at the doorway. Turning back, you say, “Hey, Oscar? For what it’s worth, I hope you were about to ask me out. Because I’d say yes.”

With a wink and a wave, you’re gone, leaving Oscar standing in the simulator room, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling in his stomach. He takes a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face as he realizes that his journey with McLaren might be even more exciting than he initially thought.

***

The hot Qatar air shimmers around Oscar as he stands before the camera, sweat glistening on his brow. His race suit clings to his body, still damp from the grueling sprint race he’s just won. The interviewer leans in with her microphone.

“Oscar, what an incredible performance today! How does it feel to secure your first sprint victory in Formula 1?”

Oscar’s eyes shine with a mix of exhaustion and elation. “It’s ... it’s honestly surreal,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. “The team did an amazing job with the car, and everything just clicked out there. I can’t quite believe it yet.”

The interviewer nods encouragingly. “You showed remarkable pace throughout the race. Was there any point where you felt particularly challenged?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say a word, a blur of motion catches his peripheral vision. Suddenly, you crash into him at full speed, nearly knocking both of you off balance.

“You did it! You actually did it!” You squeal, throwing your arms around Oscar’s neck and peppering his sweaty face with kisses.

Oscar’s eyes widen in shock, his cheeks flushing a deep red that has nothing to do with the desert heat. “Y/N! What are you-”

But you’re not listening. You’re too busy showering him with affection, right there in front of the rolling cameras and the stunned interviewer. “I’m so proud of you, you beautiful, talented man!” You exclaim between kisses.

The interviewer clears her throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “I ... um, it seems we have an unexpected guest. Miss, could you perhaps-”

You turn to face the camera, your arm still draped around Oscar’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just here to celebrate with the star of the show.” You plant another kiss on Oscar’s cheek for emphasis.

Oscar, for his part, looks like he’s torn between embarrassment and delight. He awkwardly pats your back, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “I’m sorry about this,” he says to the interviewer. “This is Y/N, she’s ... well, she’s ...”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you announce proudly, beaming at the camera. “And the daughter of the CEO, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that this guy” — you ruffle Oscar’s hair — “just drove the race of his life!”

The interviewer, recovering from her initial shock, decides to roll with the unexpected turn of events. “Well, Y/N, since you’re here, what did you think of Oscar’s performance today?”

You launch into an enthusiastic analysis, gesticulating wildly. “It was absolutely brilliant! The way he managed those tires in the closing laps, fending off Verstappen ... I was on the edge of my seat the whole time!”

Oscar watches you with a mixture of amusement and affection. When you pause for breath, he gently interjects, “I think you might be a bit biased, love.”

You turn to him, eyes sparkling. “Biased? Me? Never! I’ll have you know I’m a highly objective observer of the sport.”

The interviewer, sensing an opportunity for a more personal angle, asks, “Oscar, how does it feel to have such passionate support from your girlfriend?”

Oscar’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s ... it’s incredible, honestly. Y/N’s been my biggest cheerleader since day one. Even on the tough days, she always believes in me.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, momentarily subdued by the sincerity in his voice. “That’s because I know how amazing you are, even when you don’t see it yourself.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly charmed by the display. “It’s wonderful to see such support. Y/N, did you have any doubts during the race?”

You straighten up, your energy returning full force. “Doubts? About Oscar? Never! Although,” you add with a mischievous grin, “I did consider commandeering a golf cart and driving onto the track myself when Verstappen started closing that gap in the final laps.”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m glad you restrained yourself. I don’t think that would’ve gone over well with the stewards.”

“Oh please,” you scoff playfully. “I would’ve told them I was delivering a vital message about tire strategy. They would’ve believed me.”

The interviewer laughs along with you. “I have to say, this is one of the most entertaining post-race interviews I’ve ever conducted. Oscar, how do you keep up with such a vibrant personality?”

Oscar grins, his earlier embarrassment fading. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out. Y/N keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You beam at him, then stage-whisper to the interviewer, “He loves it, really. I add much-needed excitement to his life.”

“As if driving a Formula 1 car at over 300 kilometers per hour isn’t exciting enough,” Oscar retorts good-naturedly.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Details, details. Now, are we done here? Because I have plans for celebrating this victory, and they involve a lot less talking and a lot more-”

Oscar quickly cuts you off, his cheeks reddening again. “And on that note, I think we should wrap this up. Thank you for the interview,” he says to the journalist, who’s trying hard to stifle her laughter.

As Oscar begins to lead you away, the interviewer calls out one last question. “Oscar, any final words for your fans watching at home?”

Oscar pauses, considering for a moment. “Just ... thank you for all the support. It means the world to me. And to the team, of course. We couldn’t do this without you all.”

You can’t resist adding your own message. “And remember, kids: if you work hard and believe in yourself, one day you too could have an incredibly attractive partner tackling you with kisses on live television!”

With that, you pull Oscar away from the cameras, both of you laughing as you disappear into the paddock.

Once you’re out of sight of the media, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I can’t believe you did that,” he says, shaking his head.

You grin unrepentantly. “Oh come on, it was fun! And admit it, you loved it.”

Oscar tries to maintain a stern face, but his lips twitch upwards. “It was certainly ... unexpected.”

“Unexpected is my middle name,” you declare proudly.

“I thought your middle name was Trouble,” Oscar quips.

You gasp in mock offense. “Oscar Piastri, are you sassing me? I’ll have you know that Trouble is my first name. Y/N is just a cover.”

Oscar laughs, pulling you close despite the sweat still clinging to his race suit. “Well, Trouble, what do you say we get out of here and start that celebration you were talking about?”

Your eyes light up. “Now you’re talking! But first ...” You lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe I was interrupted earlier when I was showering the race winner with well-deserved affection.”

Oscar’s breath catches as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s far more heated than the ones shared on camera. When you finally pull apart, you’re both a little breathless.

“Wow,” Oscar murmurs. “If that’s how you react to a sprint win, I can’t wait to see what happens when I win a Grand Prix.”

You wink at him. “Keep driving like that, and you’ll find out soon enough. Now come on, hero. Let’s go find somewhere more private before my dad shows up and ruins all our fun.”

As if on cue, Zak’s voice echoes down the paddock. “Oscar! There you are! Hell of a drive out there, kid!”

You groan dramatically. “Speak of the devil. Quick, hide me in your helmet!”

Oscar chuckles, keeping an arm around your waist as Zak approaches. “I don’t think you’d fit, babe. Besides, I’m pretty sure he already knows you’re here. The whole world probably knows after that interview.”

You shrug, unabashed. “What can I say? When I’m proud of my man, I want everyone to know it.”

Zak reaches you, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “That was some fantastic racing out there, Oscar. You should be proud.”

Oscar nods, a shy smile on his face. “Thank you. The car felt great, and the team’s strategy was spot on.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Always so modest. Dad, tell him how amazing he was!”

Zak laughs. “I think you’ve done enough of that for all of us, sweetheart. I saw that interview, by the way. Quite a show you two put on.”

You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was merely congratulating our star driver on his well-deserved victory.”

“Uh-huh,” Zak says, clearly not buying it. “Well, try to keep the congratulations a bit more PG in the future, alright? We do have sponsors to think about.”

Oscar looks mortified, but you just grin. “No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself to just one tackle per race weekend.”

Zak shakes his head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face. “What am I going to do with you two? Oscar, I hope you know what you’ve signed up for with this one.”

Oscar glances at you, his expression softening. “I think I have a pretty good idea. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You feel your heart swell at his words. “Aww, babe. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Well, second sweetest. The sweetest was when you told me my driving in the simulator was ‘not bad.’”

Oscar groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope!” you say cheerfully. “I plan to remind you of it at least once a week for the rest of our lives.”

Zak watches your banter with amusement. “Alright, you two. Oscar, the team wants to debrief before you head out. Y/N, try not to cause any international incidents while I’m gone, okay?”

You salute dramatically. “Yes, sir, Team Principal, sir! I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior.”

As Zak walks away, shaking his head and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “God help us all,” you turn back to Oscar.

“So, hotshot,” you say, running a finger down his chest. “How long do you think this debrief will take? Because I have some very important plans that involve you, me, and a bottle of champagne I may or may not have ‘borrowed’ from the hospitality area.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Borrowed, huh? You know, as a representative of the team, I should probably discourage such behavior.”

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing his ear. “And as my boyfriend, what do you think?”

Oscar’s arms tighten around you. “I think,” he murmurs, “that I’m the luckiest guy in the world. And that I’ll try to make this the quickest debrief in F1 history.”

You pull back with a triumphant grin. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go, be brilliant, and hurry back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

As Oscar jogs off towards the team garage, you watch him go with a soft smile. Your eyes linger on the PIASTRI emblazoned across his back, and you feel a surge of pride and affection.

“That’s my guy,” you murmur to yourself. “My brilliant, amazing, race-winning guy.”

And as you head off to prepare for your celebration, you can’t help but think that while Oscar might have won the sprint race today, you’re the one who truly hit the jackpot.

***

The Hungaroring erupts in cheers as Oscar crosses the finish line, securing his maiden Grand Prix victory. The McLaren garage explodes with jubilation, team members hugging each other and pumping their fists in the air.

As Oscar completes his cool-down lap, his voice crackles over the team radio, breathless with excitement. “We did it! We actually did it! Thank you, thank you to everyone. I can’t believe it!”

His race engineer responds, emotion evident in his voice. “Fantastic job, Oscar. You drove brilliantly. Enjoy this moment, mate. You’ve earned it.”

Meanwhile, in the paddock, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. You’ve been pacing back and forth, unable to contain your energy as you watched the final laps unfold on the screens. As soon as Oscar crosses the line, you sprint towards parc fermé, determined to be there when he gets out of the car.

You weave through the crowd, your McLaren bomber jacket with Oscar’s number emblazoned across the back drawing curious glances. As you reach the barriers, you see Oscar’s car pull up, the Australian already unclipping his helmet.

“Oscar!” You shout, waving frantically. “Over here!”

Oscar’s eyes scan the crowd, lighting up when he spots you. He clambers out of the car, his legs a bit shaky from the adrenaline and physical exertion. As he makes his way towards you, his gaze locks onto the jacket you’re wearing, and his steps falter.

You notice his reaction and grin mischievously, doing a little twirl to show off the jacket. “Like what you see, champ?”

Oscar’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape. “That’s ... wow. Is that my number?”

You nod, beaming. “Sure is. Thought I’d support my favorite driver in style. Although,” you add with a wink, “I have to say, it will look much better on the ground next to your bed.”

Oscar’s face flushes red, and he glances around nervously. “Y/N! We’re in public!”

You laugh, reaching out to ruffle his sweat-damp hair. “Oh, relax. Everyone’s too busy celebrating your win to pay attention to us. Speaking of which ...” You grab the front of his race suit and pull him close, planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

When you finally break apart, Oscar looks dazed but happy. “I could get used to that kind of celebration,” he murmurs.

“Well, keep winning races like that, and you’ll have plenty more where that came from,” you tease. “Now go, do your podium thing. I’ll be waiting to continue this ... discussion ... later.”

As Oscar heads off for the podium ceremony, you turn to make your way back to the paddock. That’s when you spot Lando chatting with some engineers. Your eyes narrow as you remember how a McLaren strategy mistake had allowed Lando to undercut Oscar, nearly costing him the win. Even though it wasn’t really Lando’s fault, you can’t help feeling annoyed at him.

You’re about to march over and give Lando a piece of your mind when you spot something that makes you pause — Fernando Alonso’s unattended scooter, parked just a few feet away. A mischievous grin spreads across your face as an idea forms.

Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, you casually stroll over to the scooter and hop on. You rev the engine, drawing Lando’s attention.

“Hey, Y/N!” Lando calls out, waving. “Congrats on Oscar’s win! Some race, huh?”

You smile sweetly, maneuvering the scooter towards him. “Oh, it sure was, Lando. Especially that bit where you refused to give the lead back to Oscar until the last minute. That was ... interesting.”

Lando’s smile falters slightly. “Come on. You know it wasn’t my fault. The team made the strategy call.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, inching the scooter closer. “I just thought I’d give you a little reminder about team spirit and timeliness.”

Before Lando can react, you accelerate the scooter, aiming straight for his foot. There’s a yelp of pain as the wheel rolls over Lando’s toes, followed by a string of colorful expletives.

“Oops!” You exclaim with faux innocence. “So sorry, Lando. These things are just so hard to control, you know?”

Lando hops on one foot, glaring at you. “What the hell? That bloody hurt!”

You shrug, still perched on the scooter. “Funny, that’s probably how Oscar felt when you wouldn’t let him by. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

As Lando opens his mouth to retort, a stern voice cuts through the air. “Y/N Brown! What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

You wince, recognizing your father’s voice. Zak strides towards you, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“Hi, Dad,” you say sheepishly. “I was just ... congratulating Lando on his race?”

Zak pinches the bridge of his nose. “By running over his foot with Alonso’s scooter? Jesus, Y/N. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

You hop off the scooter, trying your best to look contrite. “In my defense, it was a very gentle running over. Barely a love tap, really.”

Lando snorts, still rubbing his foot. “Love tap my arse. I think you broke my toe!”

Zak sighs heavily. “Lando, go get that checked out by the medics. Y/N, you’re coming with me. We need to have a serious talk about appropriate behavior in the paddock.”

As your father leads you away, you can’t help but call back over your shoulder, “Hey Lando! Next time, maybe think about giving the position back sooner, yeah?”

Zak groans. “Y/N, please. You know Lando was put in a tough spot. You’re not helping your case here.”

You follow your father to a quiet corner of the McLaren garage, trying to suppress your grin. Despite the impending lecture, you can’t bring yourself to regret your actions. Nobody messes with your Oscar and gets away with it.

Zak turns to face you, his expression serious. “Y/N, I know you’re excited about Oscar’s win, and believe me, I am too. But you can’t go around assaulting our drivers, even if it’s just with a scooter.”

You nod, attempting to look suitably chastised. “I know. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

Zak raises an eyebrow. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

Before you can respond, there’s a commotion at the garage entrance. Oscar bursts in, his face flushed with excitement.

“Y/N!” He calls out, spotting you. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You turn to him, your face lighting up. “Oscar! Congrats, babe! I know I already said it, but you were amazing out there!”

Oscar sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around. As he sets you down, his eyes once again lock onto your jacket. “God, you look incredible in that,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You smirk, running a hand down his chest. “Oh yeah? Maybe I should wear it more often then.”

Zak clears his throat loudly, reminding you both of his presence. “While I’m thrilled about the win, could you two maybe tone down the PDA a notch? We are still in a professional environment.”

Oscar steps back, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, come on, Dad. Let the man celebrate! It’s his first win, after all.”

Zak sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Fine, fine. But try to keep it family-friendly, alright? And Y/N, we’re not done talking about the scooter incident.”

Oscar looks between you and your father, confusion evident on his face. “Scooter incident?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little misunderstanding with Lando. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s brow furrows. “What kind of misunderstanding involves a scooter?”

Before you can answer, Lando limps into the garage, his foot wrapped in a bandage. “The kind where your girlfriend tries to maim me, apparently,” he grumbles.

Oscar’s eyes widen. “Y/N, you didn’t ...”

You shrug, trying to look innocent. “It was an accident! Besides, he had it coming after that stunt he pulled during the race.”

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, looking exasperated but also slightly amused. “Y/N, you can’t just go around running people over because you’re unhappy with their racing.”

“Watch me,” you mutter under your breath.

Zak throws his hands up in defeat. “I give up. Oscar, congratulations again on the win. Y/N, try not to cause any more chaos for at least the next hour, okay? I need to go do damage control with the press.”

As your father walks away, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of fondness and exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

You grin, stepping closer to him. “I have a few ideas. Most of them involve you, me, and licking champagne off each other’s skin.”

Oscar’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening. “Y/N,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “What do you say we get out of here, champ? I think it’s time for your real celebration.”

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs your hand, leading you towards the exit. As you pass Lando, you call out, “No hard feelings, right, Lando? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before playing dirty on track.”

Lando rolls his eyes but can’t help cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep her on a leash, will you, Oscar?”

Oscar chuckles. “I don’t think anyone could keep Y/N on a leash if they tried.”

As you leave the garage, the sounds of celebration still echoing through the paddock, you can’t help but feel on top of the world. Oscar’s first win, your successful (if slightly unorthodox) defense of his honor, and the promise of a private celebration to come — it’s been a perfect day.

You squeeze Oscar’s hand, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So, hero, ready to show me just how much you like this jacket?”

Oscar grins, pulling you closer. “More than ready. But maybe we should wait until we’re somewhere more private. I don’t fancy giving the entire paddock a show.”

You laugh, the sound bright and carefree. “Spoilsport. But fine, I suppose I can be patient. For now.”

As you walk hand in hand towards the team motorhome, you can’t help but think that while Oscar may have won the race today, you’re both winners in the game of love. And that’s the best victory of all.

[cafterdark]

I don't think y'all truly grasp what fucking a god would be like.

Not only are they beings who can shape reality like clay, but they have such a massively different conception of time, morality, and existence that they become alien to you

For example, let's say you are a normal guy:

One moment you're looking at yourself in the mirror, the next in a quiet field. Before you even have a chance to react, a voice rips through your tissue paper body. It is multilayered, unable to stick to one voice, but is it smooth and alluring and almost feminine.

"I have chosen thee to be my temple." The voice says.

"W...who are you?" You stutter out.

The voice doesn't answer. For a moment you wonder if you've gone insane, then she begins. A thousand hands of light touch you, some delicate and precise, some wild and rough. They grab and grope and tear and claw and brush and pinch and slap all over, all at once. One hand grabs your short hair and forces you to look up in the air and she says:

"Let me show you your purpose."

You are launched in time to a temple, backwards or forwards, you don't know. It is lit by candles, showing that you're at the feet of a massive marble statue of a nude woman. The hands force you to your knees, all while feeling up your boiling body. You look up and only catch a glimpse of her beautiful thighs before you're unstuck in time again.

You feel yourself dragged back to reality. You're in a woman's body, being fucked by two other women in a dingy hotel. One hold the leash to a collar around your neck, the other holding your legs as she fucks you with her dick. The hands are still there and guide you, teasing each moans from your throat and buck of your hips. You've never felt this good ever as you start ascending the mountain of arousal. The collar chokes you enough for a momentary blackout

You're back in the temple, still looking up. You catch a glimpse of her hips, grabbable, with curves in just the right spots. You blink in awe and find yourself in another woman's body, actually no, a robot woman's body. You're connected to a machine made of tech so powerful you can't comprehend by series of wires and plugs throughout your body. A woman, dressed in lab wear smiles, kisses you, and starts the machine. You feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. The woman's smile widens, then a notification appears on your HUD

Sensitivity increased 150%

A soft glide teaches down your back and you feel your entire body kicks in response. You ascend further up, climbing step after step towards orgasm. Each touch the machine simulates makes you skip ten steps. The woman's laughs at you makes you skip more. The heat is unbearable, your fans spinning at Max speed, their noise filling the background. You get a warning notification about overheating and you're back at the temple.

The hands keep your arousal steady as the hand tilts your head further up still. You're enraptured by the most perfect pair of tits you have ever seen. The last bit of thought you we're holding onto is wiped away by their glory. But before you can properly worship them, you're thrown back in time.

You're in another temple, hazy and thick with the perfume of incense. You're in a priestess' body slick with oil, prepared to worship your goddess with your other priestesses. You look around and see the rest of your order staring at you and approach. After a long moment, you realize that you're the offering. The other women attack you with kisses and teeth and hands and nails in just the right spots. Each blow brings you closer to the peak. They pin you down and begin fucking you with their trained tongues and you blank out. You're so close now you can see the peak. You pray to just be allowed to reach it.

You're set back to the temple again and with one swift yank of your long hair, brings your eyes to the statues face.

It's you.

You don't know how you know. It looks nothing like you, but it's you. And you're gorgeous you can feel the orgasm coming, it's so so so so close now. The world stops, your body freezes.

You find yourself stuck one step before the peak, staring at your beautiful features and unable to do anything about it. You're stuck there for a long time. An hour? A year? A Millennia? A second? You don't know. But by the end, you're asking Her to let you cum. She responds:

"Do you know your purpose?"

"Yes... Goddess," you pant out. "As your temple... Where your followers... Worship you"

"Good Girl" She says.

Those two words bring you over the edge and you find yourself cumming harder than you've ever done before. Each convulsion rips away a part of your past life, what you ate for breakfast, your job, your hobbies, your name. If you could think through the tsunami of pleasure, you wouldn't care. Goddess will provide, she always will. But for now, you are drowning in devotional ecstasy.

After an eternity, you finally feel the afterglow bleed in. The hands let go and you collapse to the floor, letting the darkness consume you.

You wake up on the bathroom floor and groan. Was it really just a dream? You get up and look in the mirror and see you. Not the fake you that you wore before, but the you Goddess crafted, her masterpiece. You smile and dance in your body, that statue turned flesh, and laugh a beautiful laugh to celebrate and thank Her.

"You know your purpose and are trained in it," She says in the back of your mind. "Begin."

"Yes Goddess"

You leave the bathroom and begin your new life. After all, what's a god without her temple?

[ghoularaki]

Can I ask for your event, 🥺👉👈, Xavier in the parlor, please 🥺👉👈

NOW ENTERING HEART'S DESIRE MOTEL

cw: possessive/jealous xavier, cunnilingus, marking

Xavier pulled you into the room with a firm grip on your wrist. Not enough to be bruising, but you wouldn’t be able to pull from his hold anytime soon. Shifting his grasp on you to your lower back, he pushed your further into the room and you ungracefully stumbled on your heels. Behind you, Xavier locked the door.

Turning to him with your hands on your hips, you glared up at him, “What exactly are you doing? You can’t barge into any room without permission…” You trailed off as Xavier started to approach you.

He didn’t respond to your nagging as he sauntered over to you with intent. Instinctively, each stride he took, you stepped backwards. A darkness over took his usually bright eyes.

“Anytime I take you anymore,” He came closer, “it seems everyone wants to take you from me.”

His voice dripped with jealousy. Not once did he stop his prowl to you. Keeping your gaze at him you didn’t notice the couch was behind you until the back of your knees hit the edge. Unable to go anywhere else you fell onto the soft couch. He did not stop until he completely crowded you against the plush velvet. Both arms caged you.

Xavier’s fingers dug in backing as he continued, “You’re mine.”

You gaped up at him, “Xavier, I was literally just talking to a work-”

“It seems I have to make sure you know that, too.”

His eyes trailed down along with his right hand that crept from the couch to brush against your cheek. Those slender fingers traced the line of your jaw and down the front of your fragile throat. They followed how your throat bobbled when you nervously gulped.

To your surprise, Xavier slipped down on his knees. You stared down in shock as he shift his hold to your thighs and parted them. He slid further between your spread legs. Catching the hem of your dress, he lifted it up until your lacy panties were exposed.

Boldly, he leaned forward and kissed your clit over the flimsy fabric. Your thighs jumped at the faint simulation. Xavier chuckled and blew air on your pussy.

“So sensitive.”

“Shut up,” You pouted.

He only smiled. Turning his head, he nuzzled into your soft thigh. Gentle kisses were scattered against the warm skin. Mouthing back up to your pussy, Xavier sucked your clit, not caring the fabric was still in the way. Your hips bucked up, impatient.

Knowing exactly what you needed, his deft fingers hooked around the band. You tilted your hips upwards to help him relieve you of the barrier. He slipped on foot and then the other from the holes. Coyly with no regard you were watching, he pocketed your panties.

“Hey!”

Xavier gave you sly look and then brought his head down. Going straight to work, he licked from your hole up to your clit. Cupping his rosy lips around the bud, he sucked.

“Ah!” You moaned.

His fingers dug into plush of your thighs. Releasing you, he sloppily made out with your cunt. His thumbs parted your labia to give him better excess. Dragging his tongue, he thrusted the muscle in and out. He moaned into you when you clenched. The vibrations only made you shake more.

Going back to your clit, one hand left your thigh and went to your hole. With no resistance, two fingers slipped inside. Wetness dripped down, a dark patch forming under your bum. Xavier used the slick to easily thrust into your pussy while it coated his lower face.

Him scissoring his digits had you frantically grip your dress and then his hair. At the pull, Xavier moaned again.

“Please, please!” You begged, falling completely and utterly apart for him.

Xavier kept his pace but sucked harder on your clit. He knew your body like it was his own. You were his favorite puzzle he has solved over and over.

Pulling off with a pop, he looked up, “Come on, pretty girl, you can do it.”

Your chest heaved as he picked up the pace. Tilting his head, he sucked and bit into the meat of your thigh. Little love bites were planted all over the skin. About to come apart, you squirmed and whined.

A cry erupted from your throat as he bit further down on your thigh to hold you down. Angling the pads of his fingers, he rubbed right against the spongy spot deep with in you. You moaned out again, louder than intended as you came all over the couch and his fingers.

As wetness flowed from you, Xavier suctioned his lips onto your pussy once more. He suckled you while you came down from your high. Whining, you pushed away his head. Pulling away, you whimpered again when his fingers departed from your spasming hole.

Helping to stabilize you, he rubbed his warm palms up and down your thighs. You looked at him blearily, floaty.

“You don’t need anyone but me, right?”

Not really paying attention, you nodded, “Uh huh.”

Satsified, Xavier kissed your thigh, a smug smile present on his glossy lips.

[ryanmarshallryan]

Experimental Vore Study - another gay vore story by Ryan Marshall

Theo often wondered how or why he had developed his vore fetish. He was happy experiencing it but always thought it would be interesting to better understand what in his brain decided that getting swallowed whole was equal to prime sensual elation.

The perfect opportunity arose when he was referred to join a well paid scientific study relating to understanding the brain patterns of those experiencing sensual arousal in relation to various fetishes. After filling out some forms to verify he’d be a good candidate, and sending some of his self written vore stories for context of his fetish, he was invited to participate officially.

The first time Theo visited the facility for research testing, his experience focused on doing scans of his brain activity and other vitals while talking about his vore fetish, reading vore stories, and viewing photos and drawings depicting vore.

Theo expected to do a bit more of the same thing on his second time visiting, but was surprised when he was called into a new area. An attendant put a couple monitors on his body, but Theo wasn’t really paying attention to what they were doing as he could hear odd sounds coming from nearby. In one direction down a hallway he could hear what sounded like a whip, in another direction there were strange crunching noises. He thought he even heard sensual moaning. Were they having research participants arouse themselves or something?

Theo was so focused, trying to figure out what he was hearing he didn’t notice the head researcher standing in front of him, beaconing him to follow.

They entered a large brightly lit, entirely unfurnished room.

“We’ve been processing all of the tests we’ve run analyzing your brain and are ready to move on to the next phase of testing,” the researcher began, “Theo, I’d like you to meet your results,” he said, shifting his gaze over Theo’s shoulder.

Theo turned around to see an incredibly large and handsome man. The tall man had a wide face and square jawline, framed by his medium-short black hair, and adorned with bushy eye-brows, a stylish goatee and a remarkably large mouth. His shoulders relaxed backward, with his gargantuan gut ballooning out in front of him, looking as though it could fit a yoga ball if stretched out a bit. He had thick thighs, and Theo could tell by the black hairs sticking out between his shirt buttons that the man was also well covered in hair.

“Oh wow, you’re hot,” Theo whispered to himself, then realizing he had been staring at an unfamiliar man’s body for far too long, tried to catch himself, “Sorry, hi - I’m Theo, what is your name?”

Theo reached his hand forward and the man grasped it firmly and pulled Theo in incredibly close, reaching his other hand around Theo’s shoulder and whispering in his ear “I’m your fantasy.” The man smelled amazing too, as though he were wearing Theo’s favorite citrusy body spray.

Theo, though aroused, pushed backward and stumbled a few steps towards the head researcher. He looked back and forth and processed, saying “What do you mean meet my results?”

The researcher gestured towards the big handsome man in front of them and explained “We have developed a method of simulating a person’s sexual fantasies to see it play out in real time.”

“You hired an actor, to seduce me?” Theo looked puzzled from the big man to the researcher.

“I’m not an actor, I’m your sensual desires brought to life,” the man said.

“He’s not a real human, he’s a synthetic recreation imitating one’s behavior and body form, but with unique abilities to stimulate your specific sensual desires,” the researcher continued, as though this made all the sense in the world.

Theo looked again at the big man, “Well whoever you are, what’s your name?”

The big man smiled and pondered for a moment, “Let’s see… as I’ve gone back through your memories and feelings, there are so many names to choose from. Perhaps that gainer you dated a few years back? Or hmm… no what about that vore pred you used to roleplay with online? No… might as well be something generic then…. What about Brian?”

Theo stared at the big man, or Brian, in confusion. Had the researcher hired an actor and shared lots of personal data with him?

Brian, as if reading Theo’s mind continued, “Let me introduce myself beyond just a name. I, Brian, just started existing a couple days ago. I’m loaded with information about your interests and sensual desires, and that helps me better help play out your fantasies in reality. I thought maybe we could start with a feeding session, and then I’ll swallow you down for real.”

“Swallow me down for real? I’m sorry I don’t know if I’m comfortable roleplaying with a random actor I just met, I usually like to roleplay with people who are into vore aswell -” Theo started saying.

“Oh, don’t worry, He is literally created for your pleasure. So eating you is perhaps his only interest right now,” the researcher began, “he’s basically a not-human man-eating garbage disposal, who is only hungry for you.”

“Excuse me” Brian began, somewhat offended, “I am more than just a human garbage disposal… I also have a really cute butt!”

It was true, Brian did have an incredibly aesthetically pleasing butt.

“I can see our boy, Theo, here isn’t believing that I’m really what I say I am, so how about a demonstration,” Brian remarked. As Brian began walking forward, Theo reflexively moved out of the way, not sure if this strange man was about to attempt to eat him. But to Theo’s surprise, Theo was never the intended target.

Brian took the clipboard out of the researcher's hand and tossed it to the side, “You won’t need that where you’re going.” The researcher’s eyes widened as Brian lifted him off his feet and pulled him towards his now gaping maw. Brian didn’t waste any time with the stunned researcher, lubricating the researcher’s face with saliva, and swallowing hard, pulling the researcher’s entire upper body into his throat in mere moments. Theo, as shocked as the researcher, reflexively reached out his arms as if to help the researcher, and then noticed he was getting a bit hard.

Brian swallowed again and again, and the researcher fairly quickly got sucked down his throat. Brian’s shirt buttons were exploding off his shirt one by one and landing across the room. Theo watched as Brian swiftly untied the researcher’s shoes and ripped them off. Theo blinked and the researcher was entirely out of view. Brian’s stomach was indeed massive, that fleshy yoga ball was stretched and taught.

Brian gave a great big belch and turned to Theo, “Now what do you say? I’m still pretty hungry. Maybe you could feed me some snacks from that buffet over there.” Brian turned and gestured behind him. Theo glanced and noticed that the once empty room now had an entire table adorned with steaming hot dinners, drinks that looked remarkably like gainer shakes, chocolates and sweets, and more.

“How did that get there?” Theo exclaimed, “And how did you - ? Is the researcher all right?”

Brian approached Theo and patted his meaty hand on Theo’s back, “I told you, I am equipped to provide anything that will aid to your sexual fantasy, like food for you to feed me.” Brian guided Theo towards the table as Theo processed what just happened.

“You just summoned a table of food out of thin air? And the researcher -” Theo continued, stopping in his tracks to turn and face Brian, placing both hands on either side of Brian’s gut and jiggling it. Brian’s gut, or more likely the researcher, responded with wiggling and muffled noises of confusion.

“Well obviously. I’m hungry. I wanted food. Food appears. There you go - and don’t worry about my old creator, he’ll be fat - I mean fine… he’ll be fine,” Brian explained with a warm smile, interrupted by a belch in Theo’s face that warmed his whole body.

“So you’re magic or something?”

“Magic is only science not yet understood by the masses, is it not?”

There was a moment of silence and awe as Theo stared at Brian, his squirming belly full of another human being, and the table of food.

Brian handed Theo a plate, “I may provide the experience for the ultimate fantasy, mate, but you gotta participate for this to work. C’mon fill ‘er up and get this food in my belly!”

Theo took the plate and turned to the food, continuing to stare in mild confusion. Brian shook him out of his daze, literally by gut checking Theo, bouncing his belly against his side and knocking him off balance for a moment, “C’mon then, or I’ll have to skip the feeding session and eat you right now.”

Theo caught his balance and began piling food onto a plate, mashed potatoes, baked chicken, penne and turkey meatballs, and assorted cheeses. “You can’t eat me! Not - well, I mean it’d be hot for sure - but it’s a fantasy - like what are the mechanics of this, like is the researcher being digested?”

Brian slid his warm hands onto Theo’s side and pushed his belly up into Theo’s back a bit, dropping his voice low to say “Only if you want me too… I know the stories you’ve written…” Brian’s mouth was so close to Theo’s ear now, Theo could feel his hot breath down his neck and shivered, feeling like in a split second he could be gliding down that gullet if he wasn’t careful. “You want me to digest you, don’t you, Theo.”

“I never said that,” Theo turned abruptly, reaching up and pulling slightly on Brian’s goatee for him to open his mouth, and using the other hand to tilt the plate piled with a feast inside. “Start with this before you try to eat me. We’ve got to discuss things first. Sure I’ve written lots of vore stories with digestion… but I’m always around to write another one, so maybe I’m into reformation? I don’t know - but in the real world I’d probably like something safer. You know? Like maybe you should fill up on bread before I go in to neutralize stomach acid and let me out later?”

Brian swallowed the pile of food in his maw, and smiled, “Fill up on bread before you go in? Sounds like you know you’re going in then… how about… I'll fill up on you first!” Brian knocked the plate out of Theo’s hand, grabbed his shirt, rent it open, and leaned forward to give a great long lick with his tongue from Theo’s belly button up to his face.

“Oh my!” Theo exclaimed, shivering again in arousal, as Brian was undoing both of their belts, and pulling their shirts off.

Brian pushed Theo up against the table with his belly, mashing Theo against some warm gravy and mashed potatoes that were now stuck to his back. Theo felt the massive weight of the man pinning him and knew he had to think quick to delay Brian, who had shoved Theo’s face in between his nipples and was scooping mashed potatoes of Theo’s back and eating them and moaning.

“Yurgh knor whergh aia wangh!” Theo shouted.

Brian pulled back abruptly and playfully, “You want me to eat you right now and digest you into belly fat? That’s what I thought I heard - all right, in you go!” Brian said all of this very fast, while putting a hand on the back of Theo’s head and shoving it into his mouth against his tongue.

Putting swiftly lifted a finger into the air in front of Brian’s field of view, and waved it scoldingly at Brian.

“All right, all right, you’ve got my attention,” Brian said reluctantly, folding his arms and resting them with a “hmph” onto his belly shelf, which squirmed, gurgled loudly and kicked at him.

“Okay so you know my favorite vore fantasies then? Well you’re missing two very important factors. You think you’re all that, Mr. Omniscient Vore Genie? You’re not even arousing me correctly,” Theo taunted.

Brian melted into a sarcastic smile, but focused eyes rapt with attention and hears ready for feedback.

“One. I’m more of a fan of one on one, usually romantic vore. Maybe I’m selfish, but I want the whole house to myself if you know what I mean. Plus I don’t think the researcher really wanted to be in there and you know consent is the sexiest.”

Brian sighed knowingly, “All right, I suppose I could let him go… After all, you are the reason for my existence, Theo. I suppose I have a soft spot for you.” Brian poked his belly slowly showing how soft his belly fat was. He waited, intently watching Theo for a reaction.

“Nice pun, but I’mma need you to actually let him go please… before he digests,” Theo stated, seriously.

“Anything to get you in here, Theo,” Brian replied, lifting his fingers up and snapping forcefully into the air. Theo blinked and noticed Brian’s belly almost deflated a bit, and behind Brian, back by the door, the researcher appeared out of thin air on the ground, soaked in saliva and remnants of some of the food Brian had just eaten.

The researcher stood up abruptly, then slipped on some mashed potato. Brian turned around and snapped his fingers again. Just like magic, the door to the room swung open and the researcher was blown out into the hallway like he had been struck by a sudden gust of wind. The door swung closed and locked itself.

Brian turned back to Theo, as his gut rumbled in protest at how suddenly empty it felt. Brian looked back and forth between Theo and his growling belly, “C’mon man, how can you deny such a mournful cry from such a beautiful belly? Don’t you have any empathy for it? All my stomach wants is to knead your soft skin, warm you up in it’s fleshy hot tub, squeeze and embrace your sexy curves, and brutally digest you and melt you into belly fat. Is that so much to ask?”

Theo lifted his eyebrows. “... Yes.”

“Okay…” Brian said with a downward inflection signaling disappointment, strolling over to the table lined with food. He began grabbing handfuls of cheese and crackers and throwing them back into his mouth and swallowing them all whole, “If you’re sure…” He picked up a large casserole dish and proceeded to drop the entirety of it’s contents down his throat without even motioning a swallow. “I guess I’ll just have to fill the void in my stomach with normal, boring food…” He started juggling buttered corn cobs, then one by one tossing them down his gullet, sliding easily into his belly, “Since you’re too afraid to live out your ultimate vore fantasy,” with this final verbal jab at Theo he picked up a comically large spread of pizza, rolled it into a ball and shoved it into his mouth, choked a bit, then pushed it in with his hand. Theo watched the large pizza ball distend Brian’s neck and chest until resting, gurgling and stewing inside Brian’s massive paunch.

Brian turned to Theo, getting close and belched in his face once more, this time leaving his mouth wide open for Theo to see inside. It was impressive not seeing a single piece of food left inside his mouth.

“You still haven’t cracked the code to eating me yet,” Theo said, placing one hand on his hip, and the other, tauntingly prodding the giant’s belly in front of him.

Brian rolled his eyes, then did a funny motion like he was a robot malfunctioning. “Does not compute! Does not compute!” he said in a funny, droning voice. He switched back to normal “Only joking, I’m not a robot… I’m not a human either though. Well you know, actually I suppose you don’t, but ugh come on!” Brian in his frustration picked up a pitcher of gainer shake and chugged the whole thing in one gulp. He picked up a box of melted ice cream and chugged that as well.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t figured it out. What’s my favorite food? What’s my favorite roleplay fantasy?” Theo urged Brian on. Brian looked stumped. His stomach seemed to lurch and groan more than normal, almost as if his stomach knew before he did.

“Oh come on, I only know everything about you, how am I supposed to know what you -” Brian paused and Theo could’ve sworn a literal light bulb seemed to go off in the back of Brian’s throat. “Ice cream.”

“Now you’re getting somewhere.”

“You love ice cream. And you love to imagine a pred covering you in ice cream, warming you with their tongue as they taste you and can’t get enough so they eat you!” Brian fist pumped into the air, lunged forward and pulled Theo into a great embrace and began dancing around the room with him chanting and repeating in a low sing-song voice “Covered in ice cream, I’m gonna eat you, this ain’t a vore dream, you’re nothing but food!”

They tripped over themselves, laughing as Brian fell onto his back and Theo flopped onto his belly and jostled around on top for a few moments.

“Well, I’m not just food, but I appreciate the flirtatious sentiment,” Theo mentioned.

“So you ready?” Brian said, raising his eyebrows in excited hopefulness. Theo smirked and nodded.

Theo was still laying on top of Brian’s belling and smiling at his face, so he was quite surprised when Brian reached his arm out and grabbed a tub of cookie dough ice cream out of no where.

“Where did that come from?” Theo asked in awe.

“Doesn’t matter where it came from, only matters where it’s going. Where you are going,” Brian said licking some ice cream off his fingers, then grabbing a chilly handful and dropping it on Theo’s skin.

Theo rolled off Brian as he shivered with the funny sensation of the cold ice cream on his skin.

“Oh no! Are you cold? Let me fix that for you,” Brian said playfully, licking up ice cream off of Theo’s chest, while simultaneously scooping more ice cream onto all parts of Theo’s body. Theo laughed as he got tickled, and moaned at moments of sensual pleasure. Brian licked all the way down to Theo’s toes, and remarked “You know, this ice cream tastes good, but you taste better.” Brian slipped Theo’s toes in his mouth and sucked them into his throat, moaning to show agreeable taste.

Theo continued to laugh, as Brian worked his way up Theo’s legs moaning and groaning in hunger and approval like he was eating for the first time in a week. As Brian got to Theo’s hard on, he put extra pressure to knead the member with his throat, and squeeze Theo’s balls tightly in his esophagus. Brian reached his hands forward and massaged Theo’s chest and nipples, working his hands down to grab Theo’s hands and slide them into his mouth alongside Theo’s waist.

“What is happening?” Theo remarked in awe and ecstasy as he felt himself reaching climax elation. Theo’s body writhed and relaxed as Brian pulled his entire torso into his maw. Theo felt his feet plunge into a whole stew of partially digested buffet foods, and kicked around, surprised at how roomy everything was inside. Brian jerked his head back a bit to coax Theo’s shoulders past his jaw, then paused for a moment, tasting Theo’s neck and looking one last time into Theo’s eyes. Brian smiled with his eyes and did one final swallow, sending Theo completely into his fleshy dome of dinner soup.

Theo panted and felt around his surroundings, feeling the clammy walls of Brian’s stomach, growling and creaking as it reacted to his touch. He felt a sudden jostle and knew Brian had slapped his gut and was now rubbing and caressing it from the outside. Theo could see a faintly dark outline of Brian’s massive hands rubbing back and forth against the red tinted light faintly emitting through Brian’s many layers of stomach muscle and fat.

Brian jostled his belly, and Theo rolled around inside, getting comfortable and feeling the stomach walls tighten and release around him, like a strange fleshy hug. So this is what vore really felt like. He could feel his skin tingling a little bit, but with all of the other food inside the gut, the stomach acid was quite diluted and he felt fine.

“Brian! So what happens next? Are you gonna snap me out of here before I get digested? Like the researcher guy? Or have you decided to turn me into belly fat?” Theo called from within.

“What do you think? This is your fantasy experience, remember?” Brian replied, giving a great big belch and throwing his arms around his belly and hugging Theo tightly, “I’m made for your fantasy, bud.”

“I’m thinking…”

[tsukiimonster]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sylus is just something else. His intensity, his eyes, his whole face would be enough to wake you from simulated reality (think Matrix).

𝐚/𝐧: Just a short drabble. I don't think I could flesh this out into a full story (no plans to as of right now), but who knows!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 581

[𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐨𝟑]

She catches glimpses of him. In the corner of her eye. He hides in the periphery of her world. When she's alone. When she's in a crowded place. When she's tired or sad. When she's angry or excited. Day or night.

When she dreams, she sees him. Blurry, unfocused, but she knows it's him. A crown of silver, a flash of crimson, sharp edges.

He became a reassuring presence that was always there even if she can never see him clearly.

One night she's dreaming. She stands in the ruins of a once great city. It is dark. Black clouds paint the sky above.

There's something in front of her. It looks like some kind of pod.

She can't stop her feet from taking her closer. Each step brings a growing sense of unease. Panic begins to claw in the pit of her stomach. The top of the mechanism is clear glass, and as she peers over the edge,, she sees it is filled with some sort of liquid.

There's someone inside. Limbs floating weightless. Pale skin bare. Her body looks weak. Thinner than it should be.

There's a rumbling beginning to shake the ground beneath her as her eyes travel over the body.

It's her.

She is inside the pod. Eyes are closed and there is some sort of respirator attached to her mouth and nose, but it is unmistakably her.

"You shouldn't be here." A deep voice speaks over the rumbling.

She looks up.

Across from her stands a man. He's tall, his broad shoulders give him a menacing silhouette. But his eyes...

She knows those eyes. Knows the crimson shining back at her in the darkness.

She inhales a sharp gasp as she takes in his features, that until now have been hidden behind the blurred filter of dreams and mystery.

His silver hair is a bold contrast to his eyes. Straight nose framed by cheekbones that could have been carved from marble. Wide lips set in a grim line. The sharp line of his jaw leading into a pointed chin.

He continues watching her, his eyes never leaving her, "Not yet."

The rumbling is louder now. Shaking the crumbled buildings surrounding them. The edges of her vision are shifting, the world around her beginning to stretch and dissipate.

A jolt of panic prickles beneath her skin.

She needs to stay with him.

She doesn't understand.

She hears faint pounding against glass. Looking, she meets her own eyes.

The her inside the pod is pounding her fist against the glass. Her eyes are wide, pupils constricted.

The glass is beginning to crack. Tiny hairline fissures spreading over its surface.

The rumbling is so loud now it is drowning out everything.

She feels her body being pulled backwards, fiber by fiber, atom by atom.

"Wait!" She reaches towards the man.

His lips move once more, but she can't hear the words. Then everything goes black.

I will be here.

She wakes with a panicked gasp. Like she had been holding her breath for too long. Her heart hammers in her chest and she is covered in a sheen of sweat.

She's in her room. In her bed. The faintest light of dawn coloring the windows in purple morning light.

She falls back against the pillows, a hand pressed against her chest as she tries to regain control of her breathing,

Her forearm covers her face as her heartbeat finally begins to slow.

It was just a dream... Right?

[jenosonlywife23]

Hey! Can you do one where the reader (also a singer) is Max Verstappen’s sister and she’s dating Jeno, and Max invites him to one of his races and spend time showing him the car and the paddock…. Knowing Max is Jeno’s fav it’d be a cute interaction between them🫶🏼 thanku❤️

𝑭𝒂𝒏 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆

a/n: Happy Jeno day💌. Hope you like it.

Jeno still couldn’t believe it.

He was standing in the paddock on a real F1 race weekend—engine roars in the distance, rubber scent thick in the air, headphones slung around his neck—and Max Verstappen, his ultimate favorite driver, was right beside him, talking like this was just a casual catch-up.

All because of you.

You were leaning against the pit wall in a Red Bull cap (worn backwards, of course), sipping iced coffee like it wasn’t a big deal that your boyfriend was visibly short-circuiting beside your world-champion brother.

Jeno glanced at you with a helpless grin, trying not to freak out every time Max said something like, “You actually feel the downforce pull you down when you take this corner flat out.”

“Right,” Jeno nodded, doing his best to sound like he was absorbing the info and not just trying to keep from squealing.

You nearly burst out laughing.

He was so cute.

All black tee and soft messy hair, trying to stay cool, but you could see right through it. You caught his eye just as Max turned away to check his tablet, and you gave Jeno a slow, teasing wink.

His cheeks went pink.

“I might be dreaming,” he muttered, pulling you in by the waist once Max walked off for a briefing. “I think I high-fived Max Verstappen. I think I’m about to cry.”

“You better not,” you teased, pressing your lips to his cheek. “We’ve got too many hot photos to take later.”

“I’d cry attractively.”

You snorted. “Okay, fanboy.”

He grinned, burying his nose into your shoulder. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You pulled back to look at him properly. “Wait ‘til you see what happens after the race.”

The look in your eyes made him choke.

You walked hand in hand through the paddock, Jeno soaking in every second. The tour was insane—behind the scenes of pit strategy, simulator rooms, team trailers—and Max even let him step up to the car while mechanics explained the steering wheel.

“He was talking about tire strategies like I actually understood,” Jeno whispered to you like it was top-secret. “I was just nodding. I think I blacked out.”

“You looked hot doing it,” you said, slinging his lanyard around his neck again. “Your fanboy brain might’ve shorted, but you still managed to smirk for the camera.”

Max found you again just before the drivers were called in. “Let me borrow your boyfriend for a sec.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t scare him too much.”

“No promises.”

Jeno followed Max toward the garage. You stayed behind, but you could see the two talking—Max’s arms crossed, Jeno listening carefully, nodding with that serious look he only got when he was really dialed in. Whatever was said ended with Max clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a look that said you’ve got my respect.

When Jeno came back, he kissed your forehead like he was trying to ground himself. “I just had a one-on-one with your brother. I feel like I passed a boss level.”

“You did,” you smiled, brushing a hair off his face. “And now I’m gonna ruin you.”

“…What?”

That night, back at the hotel, the quiet hum of the city buzzed just outside your balcony—but all Jeno could focus on was you.

You were perched on the edge of the bed in his oversized Red Bull hoodie, bare legs tucked under you, flipping through the behind-the-scenes photos you’d taken.

“You looked hot standing next to the car,” you murmured without looking up.

Jeno scoffed, walking out of the bathroom shirtless, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. “You’re the one who wore a backwards cap and ruined my life.”

You looked up slowly, smirk tugging at your lips. “That bad?”

He walked over and pushed you gently back onto the pillows, caging you in with his arms. “That good.”

You tangled your fingers in his still-damp hair, voice dropping. “You’ve been patient all day.”

“You whispered something filthy to me in public. While your brother was meters away.”

You smiled sweetly. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

His mouth met yours before you finished the sentence—hot and unrelenting, all tongue and teeth and restraint finally snapping. You barely registered how he stripped your hoodie off in one swift motion, hands skating down your sides like he knew every inch by memory.

“Say it again,” he whispered, lips against your jaw.

You did.

And he lost it.

The next morning, you showed up to the track wearing his hoodie, lips still slightly swollen, hair tied back in the cutest messy ponytail.

Max raised an eyebrow as you arrived holding Jeno’s hand. “If I see you guys making out behind the pit wall, I’m pulling your paddock passes.”

You just grinned. “Love you too, Maxie.”

Jeno didn’t even try to hide how smug he looked—his two favorite people in the same world now, like the universe finally aligned.

He might’ve come here as a fan of Max Verstappen.

But now?

He was hopelessly obsessed with Max Verstappen’s sister.

And she was even faster at stealing his heart than any car on the grid.

[starman-john-tracy]

Kill Switch [RP]

@iam-themechanic:

The Mechanic makes a hum of acknowledgement to John's original reason for approaching him, signalling that he's both heard and understood. There have been various simulations produced as he slowly remembers the original build of the T-Drive. John, ever patient, has graciously modelled each iteration for him. He watches as the other man moves about, looking for the offered goods. He hears the smack of elbow against the desk, noticing John's slight wince. He doesn't bring the mishap to attention, choosing, instead, to look away and act as though he didn't see it. A silent agreement to not mention things. Besides, he's more than aware how unsettling it is to have someone watching your every move. The fact that he's The Mechanic probably makes it all the more hair-raising. When John suddenly steps into his space, far closer than he'd been before, The Mechanic instinctively sways backwards to look up at him. There are freckles dotted about his face. Interesting. He'd not noticed them before, likely because he'd rarely seen John in person. The world spins before his eyes before they finally focus on what's being offered. That drink is shockingly blue. Logically, he knows he shouldn't be wary of John's offerings. If the family wanted to be rid of him, they'd wait until after they brought their beloved Jeff Tracy home. However, old habits born from experience die hard, and he eyes the offerings a moment longer than necessary before reaching out to accept them. He might have nearly destroyed a few Thunderbirds and almost killed one of his brothers, but The Mechanic likes to think himself as a decent guest. "You don't need to test it." He states, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like an exhausted sigh. "Thanks, though." There's a power imbalance between them, and it's not the one The Mechanic is used to. Before, he was the one who held all the cards. Without the mask, the armour, he's laid bare before the spaceman. He's vulnerable. It's somewhat unsettling. He tries not to think about it as he swallows the aspirin and chases it with the electrolyte drink. Tries not to notice the way John's eyes track his every move. Cool and calculated. He takes another sip for good measure before placing the drink to the side. To physically return from space must mean there's been a development with the modelled simulations. "What needed looking at?" His head pounds, and the world won't stop spinning around him. If he were of a weaker will, he would have collapsed by now, or worse, re-examined the meagre lunch he'd allowed himself. But, as he is all too aware of, there simply isn't time for him to be weak. Besides, he doesn't know if he can call the Tracy family allies yet, so the less mentally frail he appears, the better.

It seems like John isn't used to it either. The spaceman crosses then uncrosses both arms, then lowers himself into Brains' chair. Whether it's an intentional move to make himself less tall and threatening, or if the man just needed to sit, it's unclear.

John doesn't know to compare, but without his own protective layer of International Rescue blue, he feels equally vulnerable. He's acutely aware that the Mechanic is far bigger and stronger than he is. That, if the guy wanted, he could probably kill John with his bare hands.

The trust goes both ways.

"Are you up for it?" John runs his fingers feather light along Brains' desk toward the holographic array, but he squints at the other man like he's trying to work out just how bad that headache might be. If there's one person who knows what pushing through a migraine and working anyway looks like, it's John Tracy. "You might want to head to bed if your head really hurts."

Something in him whispers what if it's the Hood, trying to take control, and his fingers tighten on the projector. He flicks it on - blinding blue and red.

Virgil’s the one of them the most adept at the mechanics, but the complicated physics of how they launch an amalgamation of Tdrive powered Thunderbirds into the Oort cloud has John's coding all over it. The simulation he's put together involves the complicated cooperation of systems involved in their plan to affix the five Thunderbirds together. It's a mammoth project and John's not confident he's thought of everything - even with Brains' mathematics printed on the back of his eyelids from staring too long - and he really could use someone else's input on the numbers.

[terresdebrume]

for the prompts - "i'm not worth saving. please." and/or "a few more steps. we're nearly there. i've got you" for a ship/ships of your choice?

Hey friend! Thanks for the prompt :D Sorry it took a bit, you know how it is with work^^" Still, I hope this AU without a cause will satisfy! Prompt list here, if anyone wants to send me another one!

Edwin huffs as he leans backwards, suspending his entire weight at the end of Charles' arm and still not managing to move him more than a couple of inches. He pauses, heaving for breath, and watches as Charles heaves himself up the last few steps with a painful-sounding mechanical whir.

"Come now Charles," he pants, forbidding himself from sitting down. "We only have a few steps left."

"I can't," Charles says.

His words comes out flat, mechanical. His voice modulator must have given up somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and now. His chest is rising and falling too fast, cooling circuits working overtime, but the audible sound his systems make tells Edwin it isn't quite working. Charles must be approaching overheating, and there is nothing Edwin can do about it here, in the hallway to the agency.

"Charles, please," Edwin begs, but Charles shakes his head.

"I can't," he repeats. "My left knee's piston is malfunctioning."

Edwin inhales, sharp and loud, and ignores the beeping in his systems that say his shell is too warm. They found spare parts for his cooling system last month: he can handle a little heat, but Charles--

"Charles, you must keep going, you can't--we have to plug you in!"

It took a lot of time, and even more money--although they are lucky Crystal never asked them what it was for--but they finally got their systems up to a point where they can handle one of them, at least for a time. Charles' software isn't as solid as Edwin's, but ROWLAND persocons had a reputation of hardiness for a reason. They have the memory banks required, and more than enough compatibility coding between the two of them to keep Charles safe until they can find him a new chassis, but none of that will matter if they can't get him connected before he shuts down.

"You should leave me here," he says, Edwin gasps.

"Do not say that," he warns.

"You should," Charles insists, eyes closing. "I'm not worth saving."

"Do not say that!" Edwin all but shouts, not caring about the time, or the human neighbors whose suspicions they've been trying not to arouse. "I forbid it, Charles!"

"Look at me!" Charles exclaims.

Edwin, electrical core on overdrive, looks down at Charles. Some of the hair is missing from his skull, burned away in the accident that nearly tore Edwin's head off a few years back. There is a long streak under his eyes where the synthetic skin peeled away, revealing the gray of his chassis, and the open jacket he wears fails to conceal the three large dents in his chassis, left there by the older ROWLAND model he used to live with. He looks resigned and, impossible as it should be, exhausted.

Even so, even pulling up the necessary softwares to run a simulation of existence without Charles prompts half a dozen alerts in Edwin's system, and he shudders. Crouching down, he puts a hand to the side of Charles' face.

"I am looking at you," he says, voice modulator struggling to keep his tone even through the shiver of his cooling system going overdrive.

"I'm old," Charles says, bitter. "I can't even move. Even if we do preserve me: I won't even have a body. I'm an industrial unit--what good am I if I can't even move around?"

"Charles," Edwin says, surprised to get an alert from the hardware around his throat, "please stop. You haven't been a dockhand in decades--"

"But I am!" Charles cries, or must try to. "That's why I'm the brawn, isn't it? Stronger chassis, longer batteries, building routines--that's what I'm for! What am I if I can't do what I'm for?"

"You're my friend!" Edwin says, fiercely, bringing his face closer to Charles. "You're the man who got me out of the scrapyard I'd been stuck in for seventy years! You're the one who made me look human enough to go out again!"

"Yeah, and now I'm the one who looks like a rogue!" Charles retorts, closing his eyes in distress. "If anyone from Endless Co. sees me, they'll do more than scrape us--"

"That will not happen--no!" Edwin insists, louder, when Charles looks like he is about to protest again, "That will not happen! I will never let it happen. You are my friend! You are my confident, and my companion, and you must stop talking about yourself like you are a glorified forklift!"

"That's what I was programmed for!"

"And I was supposed to be a sex unit!" Edwin breathes harshly in the stunned silence, gathering himself closer to Charles, until he can curl up around him and touch their forehead together. "I don't care chat they made you for," he whispers. "You're the one who decided to download all those fighting programs. You're the one who saved me. You're the one who came up with the name of the Agency. I don't care that they think we're not alive, Charles, I know they're wrong. You and I, we're alive in all the ways that matter, and I--"

Edwin stops talking. His voice modulator refuses to add even one word, some previously unnoticed subroutine cutting off his access to his dictionary. Fantom code, perhaps: a glitch. Or maybe the people who programmed his model line back at Payne Industries wanted to make sure they couldn't evoke certain feelings. Either way, Edwin's voice absolutely refuses to shape the words he is thinking, and so he does the only thing he can possibly do in this situation: he leans forward and presses his lips to Charles'.

Charles twitches under him, unnatural and poorly coordinated, but when Edwin pulls away to look at him, he is met with eyes filled with wonder, and joy, and that same word Edwin's core software won't let him say.

"Oh," Charles says, and brings a hand up to touch Edwin's cheek.

"Yes," Edwin replies, arch and haughty, "oh. Now, if you would please help me. It's only a few more steps."

[luna-wing-cns274]

Hachiko wears a full flight suit, complete with anti-g pressure sacs on the abdomen and legs. The suit is customized for her non-human physiology, accommodating her tail and digitigrade legs. She waves to the camera.

< Hey, all. In solidarity with human pilots, today I’m going to try something which will probably be very unpleasant.

Though I’m pretty familiar with the effects on a casket, I have no idea how it feels to pull gees in an organic body. So, with the magic of full-body somatosensory simulation, I’m going to change that. >

From empty space, a fighter pilot’s seat appears, and Hachiko straps herself in.

< How do these buckles go…? Yeah, I think that’s right.

Okay, step one. This is a little something I dug up off the Omni. Can’t speak to how realistic it is, but according to a few human testers, it shouldn't be too far off. >

[ meatmode.sim ENABLED ]

“Ohh, wow.”

Hachi flexes her fingers, presses one palm against her lower jaw. Methodically, she begins feeling over the shape of her skull.

“Feel really heavy. I’ve got bones? Real ones, I mean. Skin feels loose. Feel really, really warm…my fur. There’s something wrong with my chest. Pressure. Muscles—”

Abruptly, she sucks in a deep breath. Chest heaving, she repeats the cycle several times.

“—yeah. Oh, yeah. That. There’s my diaphragm. I, uh. Wait.”

She claps a hand over her breast, squinting.

“…squirming? There’s something in there. Now that I’m keyed in, I can feel it. Rhythm.

Oh my God, that’s my heart.”

Her voice trails off as she sits and feels it. Another few moments, and she breathes again. Slower this time; her control is better.

“Okay. This is already really uncomfortable. But we’re gonna push it.

Queuing first test. Let’s start nice and low; six G for…ten seconds. That ought to be manageable. Acceleration in 3, 2, 1—woh”

Hachi’s body goes rigid, the cartilage of her ears snapping backwards. Straining hard, she clenches the muscles in her legs and abdomen. Her g-suit reacts to the force, applying pressure. Grunting with exertion, she holds out for a few moments before her eyelid starts to droop.

Her head lolls forward.

After another few seconds, the force on her body visibly abates. Even so, it takes time for her to emerge from syncope. A thin noise warbles from her throat.

“…tail. My tail. It feels like someone just tried to rip my tail off. My stomach—”

A look of surprise and horror crosses Hachi’s face. Weakly, she turns, grimaces, and retches. There’s nothing for her to vomit, but she dry heaves violently. The tissue of her exposed gums is pale, almost white.

She slumps back against the headrest, hyperventilating, mouth agape. It looks as though she might pass out again. Gradually, though, she steadies her breathing, and color begins to return to her tissues as normal blood flow is restored.

“Ohhh,” she says, drawing the word out into a thin croak. “That sucks. Yeah, that sucks.”

Shaking her head, she groans. “That’s only six? My heart’s trying to burst out of my chest. This body isn’t. It’s not in bad shape, either. That just fucking sucks. How do y’all…?”

[ meatmode.sim DISABLED ]

All at once, Hachi relaxes. Her eye opens fully, and the drowsy quality of her voice disappears.

< Yeah. I’m gonna call it there, at least for a second. Oh, man. >

[changbinqueencard]

Cooking Contest>>Hyunjin

It started with spaghetti.

Literally: sugar spaghetti.

Hyunjin had spent the night at home alone and half-heartedly motivated after seeing a five-minute cooking video. He styled his hair up like a pro chef, listened to classical music for ambiance (aka fake Gordon Ramsay energy), and whispered things like "Yes, chef," in the mirror.

He boiled water, added way too many noodles, and sprinkled what he thought was salt confidently.

Spoiler alert: It was sugar.

By the time Y/N got home, the apartment smelled… sweet?

Hyunjin spun around dramatically, ladle in hand, apron on backwards, and a proud smile on his face. “You’re just in time for my debut dish.”

Y/N blinked at the plate he slid across the table. “…Is that dessert?”

“Spaghetti,” he said proudly. “Hyunjin-style.”

They chomped down, expecting death. But somehow… it wasn't awful. It was like someone tried to make dinner but accidentally invented a new food style. It was sweet and salty and… confusing. Like spaghetti in a fever dream.

Y/N laughed so hard they nearly choked. "Alright, alright, I'm signing you up for the neighborhood cooking competition."

"What?!"

"Just for the laughs. Come on, imagine this. You and your sugar noodles on national television."

"Absolutely not—"

He made it through round one.

No one understood how. The judges called his dish "an abstract deconstruction of a childhood memory" and gave him a standing ovation. One of them cried. It was probably the raw onion garnish, but still. He advanced to the next round.

Hyunjin lost it.

He begged Y/N to pull him out, but they just cheered him on, fully invested in the chaos. “You’ve already committed culinary crimes. Finish the job.”

So now—somehow—he was in the finals.

And he still didn’t know how to make rice.

---

Hyunjin stared at the timer ticking down on the big LED screen. Fifteen minutes left.

Around him, the other competitors were moving like a pro—flipping, slicing, searing. He was holding a spoon like a bizarre utensil. 

"Chef Hyunjin, what is it that you're making today?" the host said, bursting forth like a kitchen demon. 

Hyunjin plastered on a grin. "Oh, yes. A dish from my family. Very mysterious. Much. uh. emotion."

He spun around to his station, which looked like a tornado of food had swept through it. There were three pans on the stove, crackling. He had no clue what was in any of them.

Y/N sat in the audience, trying not to allow out shouts of laughter. Hyunjin shot them a look.

Then came the curse of all quizzes:

"And what kind of rice will be served with your dish?"

Hyunjin flabbergasted. "Rice?

The host nodded. "Yes. We understand you're doing a fusion dish based on rice."

".Right," Hyunjin answered slowly. "Of course. I love rice. Massive fan. Eat it daily.".

He turned to the rice cooker like it had personally wronged him. He’d watched *exactly* one rice tutorial on YouTube and remembered *none* of it. So he pressed random buttons, added some broth (was it beef? who knows), a questionable amount of soy sauce, and—for flair—a slab of butter.

The rice cooker beeped angrily.

Hyunjin pretended it was applause.

“Smoked rice,” he muttered. “We’re getting fancy today.”

---

Ten minutes left.

His rice cooker steamed like a dragon, but he did not care. He added sauce to his unknown meat, sprinkled on a garnish from someone else's table, and used a "rustic" plating style, which literally consisted of making it look somewhat sloppy on purpose. 

Time was up.

He stepped back, wiping away simulated sweat and executing a theatrical bow to the judges as if on Broadway. The audience politely clapped. Y/N double-thumbed him up with a "you're doing great sweetie" look.

The judges hesitantly bit down.

Silence.

And then the head judge: "This is… bold."

Another judge nodded. "I don't know what I was expecting. But I wasn't expecting this. And for some reason, I'm alright with that."

"The rice," said the third judge slowly, "is an emotional journey."

Hyunjin blinked. "Wait… do you like it?"

The head judge smiled. "We don't just like it. We love it."

Hyunjin looked like he'd just passed out. "I—what?"

"You've won," the host exclaimed dramatically. "Chef Hyunjin, you are this season's Cooking Champion!"

Y/N screamed.

Hyunjin dropped his ladle.

"…I need to lie down."

[ltash]

"Dauntless" Ep-15 "The test"

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

Ghost felt the simulation drug take hold, pulling him under like a current he couldn’t fight. The moment his eyes closed, he was somewhere else, Berlin, the train tunnel.

The air was thick with smoke and the metallic scent of blood. He could hear gunfire echoing off the tiled walls, the sharp pop of bullets ricocheting off steel beams. His boots crunched against broken glass as he walked along the tracks, gripping his rifle tightly.

Up ahead, Captain Price and Soap were working frantically to diffuse the bomb planted by Makarov’s men. The red countdown on the device blinked ominously.

"Ghost, cover us!" Soap barked, his voice edged with urgency.

Ghost turned, firing at the Konnis swarming the tunnel. His bullets found their targets, soldiers dropping one by one, their bodies crumpling against the cold concrete. But then,

A gunshot rang out.

Ghost snapped his head toward the source just in time to see Soap stumble back, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers.

"Johnny!" Price shouted, turning to help.

But he didn’t get the chance.

A shadow moved, Makarov. He emerged from the darkness with the slow, calculated steps of a predator. His gun was raised, and before Price could react, Makarov kicked him hard in the chest. Price went sprawling onto the ground, his weapon skidding across the floor.

Now, Makarov stood over him, gun aimed at Price’s head.

"Price!" Ghost roared, raising his rifle.

But before he could fire, Soap moved.

Despite his injury, he threw himself between them, tackling Makarov. They struggled, wrestling for control of the gun.

A shot rang out,

Ghost’s heart clenched,

But then,

Everything froze.

The gunfire, the screams, the flickering lights, time itself stopped.

Soap was mid-motion, his face twisted in determination. Makarov’s finger was still on the trigger. The Konnis stood frozen, some mid-fall, others mid-attack. Even the smoke in the air had ceased swirling.

It was as if the world had shattered into a painting.

Ghost staggered backward, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"This isn’t real," he muttered, gripping his head.

His voice echoed unnaturally in the stillness.

"It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real," he repeated, forcing himself to steady his breathing.

The edges of the tunnel began to crack, thin fractures splitting across the scene like glass. The frozen figures distorted, warping into shadows.

Then,

Everything collapsed.

The world around him shattered into darkness.

And Ghost jolted awake, gasping for breath, his body drenched in sweat.

Ghost's breathing was still uneven as he sat up, his pulse hammering against his skull. His fingers twitched slightly as he clenched them into fists, grounding himself in reality. The simulation was over, but the weight of it still clung to him like a second skin.

Across from him, Four stood with his arms crossed, watching him carefully, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"One minute," Four finally said, his voice laced with something between curiosity and suspicion. "You were only under for just one minute."

Ghost exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders. "What does that even mean?" he asked, his tone edged with irritation.

Four didn’t look away. "It means nobody, no one, has ever done that before in Dauntless. Not even her." He tilted his head toward the screen that monitored the simulations. "She was the fastest up until now, but you just broke her record."

Ghost met Four’s eyes, his expression unreadable beneath the skull-patterned mask.

"Your aptitude test results," Four pressed, his voice lowering slightly. "What were they?"

Ghost didn’t hesitate. "Dauntless."

Four’s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Bullshit."

Ghost tilted his head slightly. "Then believe whatever you want, Four." His tone was casual, dismissive even, but his muscles were tense beneath his jacket.

Four studied him for a long moment before glancing at the screen again. The numbers flashing there, his ridiculously short time, were impossible to ignore. His fingers twitched against his biceps as he crossed them tighter.

"Even she wasn’t Abnegation," Four muttered, almost to himself. "And she keeps telling people that’s what she got." His gaze flickered back to Ghost. "I know you two are hiding something. Because Dauntless don’t act like this in simulations. Not naturally."

Ghost stayed silent, his jaw tightening.

Four sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. There was a flicker of something else in his expression, not just suspicion, but understanding. He knew something, maybe not everything, but enough to piece together that Ghost and Y/N were different.

"They’re going to find out soon," Four warned, his voice quieter this time. "So you two better be careful, okay?"

Ghost held his gaze for a beat longer before nodding once. It wasn’t an admission, but it was enough.

Four exhaled sharply, shaking his head before turning away. Ghost watched him go, the weight of the conversation settling in his chest like a stone.

[decks-writing-blog]

Campfire Fest Day Four: Simulation

For @outerwilds-events Campfire Fest!

~

Auri’s first time in the room had been after the dam had broke, sending a tidal wave of water to wipe out the town, flooding this chamber in the process. The dried out alien husks, bound to their wooden beds, had been unsettling in the dark waters. Now though, with the green light dancing across their still forms, they were downright creepy. Not enough to drown out how cool discovering new intelligent aliens – even if they did all seem to be dead �� was but Auri had been sitting with that excitement for a while now.

The Nomai bones had never felt creepy, just sad. Something about these bodies being partially preserved though made gazing at them feel entirely different. It probably didn’t help that the room was small, dark, and with Auri standing right in front of the green flame, those empty eye sockets might as well have been looking at them.

How the fuck were they supposed to fall asleep with those things looking down at them like that? They went around to stand on the other side of the flame. … That meant the bodies were directly behind them now though. They couldn’t literally feel their dead gaze boring down on them but knowing it was there sent a chill down their spine. And what if there was some more quantum stuff going on here? Probably not but… they turned around anyway.

Stepping backward and around the fire, they examined the corpses. … Nothing had changed. The bodies were all exactly the same as far as they could tell. Good. Even if the bodies had had quantum properties they wouldn’t have been dangerous but still, it wouldn’t have been fun if they were. Quantum rocks were cool – except when they intersected with the ship, resulting in various degrees of destruction and sometimes death – creepy partially preserved corpses in a dark room with unnatural green lighting not so much.

Auri was just stalling at this point though, weren’t they? If the projection from the thing in the lab was to be believed something would happen if they fell asleep facing the green flame with the artifact in hand. Standing around and letting themself get creeped out wasn’t going to help with that experiment.

So, closing their eyes, they took a slow deep breath before letting it out just as slowly and then another and another, centering themself. Gabbro had taught them how to do that. Naturally they weren’t as good at it as Gabbro was but anything to soothe themself was better than nothing. They were going to have to tell them about this room later and what, if anything, happened upon the conclusion of their experiment.

Upon opening their eyes again, they avoided looking at the corpses as they bent down to place the artifact on the ground for now. Their hands free, they freed themself of their suit’s equipment, placing it on the ground to serve as a back rest as they lowered themself to sit cross-legged in front of the fire. Next, they reached up to undo their helmet’s seal – they could never sleep with it on. Upon twisting it off, they placed it to the side. The air smelled of stale death and old wood. Not surprising but certainly unpleasant. … Probably the place would catch fire easy. They’d have to be careful with the jet pack.

They leaned over and grabbed the artifact. Holding it by the handle with one hand, they placed it in their lap as they set their gaze into the fire. It didn’t dance the same way the campfires did. Nor was it as warm on their face. Not that it was cold, just that its heat wasn’t nearly as intense. Maybe that was just an illusion though born from its light being a cooler colour. Regardless, it wasn’t as inviting.

It was still pretty though and fascinating. How did the aliens get that colour? And presumably it had been going for a while, still running just like everything else aboard this grand vessel even after everyone had died. How’d they do that? And why? Presumably something to do with whatever Auri was trying to accomplish right now except for the fact that they were thinking too much to drift off. They should really stop.

Shaking those thoughts away, they went back to focusing on their breathing as they watched the light’s subtle dance. Sleep never came easy this early in the loop, they started with a full night’s rest after all. But the trip here did take a while. All they had to do was let that time lay on the body and help sweep them away.

~

They woke to the same sight they’d fallen asleep to; the strange green fire. Nothing had happened. Damn. Had they done something wrong? Or had they misunderstood what the projection had shown them? Maybe the artifact they’d found was faulty? Too old, perhaps.

Lifting it up for a better look, they froze. There was a green fire inside it now. The same as the one in front of them and more importantly just like the projection had shown. Something had happened after all. That’s what they got for jumping to conclusions before looking at all the data.

With a delighted giggle, they jumped up to their feet, eager to explore more. That delighted giggle died in their throat though as they looked around the room. The bodies were gone. It was the same room, including alcoves in the walls to house the wooden death beds. But each and everyone of them was empty. … Moved? By themself or some other force?

Auri reached for suit’s controller handle to turn on the flashlight for more light – as if that would even help find the missing bodies. They’d taken it off and put it on floor directly behind themself. Turning around, they… didn’t pick anything up because their stuff was just as gone as the bodies. Not only that though but the entire suit was missing. They could still feel it encasing most of their body but… distantly? Like they were wearing the ghost of it. Visually they were wearing the clothes they slept in.

Patting a hand down their front was a weird experience. There should’ve been more separation between their hand and chest but despite the ghostly suit encasing them, they felt the cloth of their thin shirt and their chest underneath it. Weird.

Looking back up, they looked around again. This was either a strange dream born of falling asleep under the watchful eyes of the corpse jury or this was what was supposed to happen. It was strange alien technology. Like the projection devices but more intense. Not just a memory/video of someone else doing something but a full simulation of the world. … Or maybe Auri had just come across too many science fiction stories featuring simulated worlds and they were jumping to conclusions based off very little evidence. It could just be a fucked up dream.

Further investigation was required! New aliens and new alien technology, the likes of which no Hearthian had never imagined to be possible, this place was awesome… and a little bit scary. In a way that only made it more exciting though.

[tgrailwar-zero]

Can we sense anything else about the Barrier?

You thought about it.

The barrier. That cold, clinical magic. Not an ounce waste, not an bit spent without reason.

A spark-- a memory--

A dark room.

A dark room, the walls dented and damaged. A man stood across from you.

???: "Impressive testing results, Thymomorphos. Just a week ago, you could barely fight with a low-ranking Cyber Frame. You're growing more accustomed to the base settings of your new body."

You recognized his voice.

ARCHIMEDES.

Different from the simulated one, though it was hard to tell how.

The simulated one seemed both more synthetic, and yet more emotional.

This one seemed more human, yet that made the lack of emotion in his tone all the more apparent.

The words were mostly static in your ears. You didn't feel much except for rage, and his voice drew it out of you. Any sort of life did. Hatred. Rage. Regret. A swirling, violent mass of negativity. You slammed your arms forwards, aiming to attack the man. Senselessly- mostly because he was present and able to attack. Swiftly, they came down--

A wall. A barrier.

You slammed against it, and the force was thrown back into you, sending you flying backwards. You stumbled to get your bearings as the researcher before you gently raised an eyebrow. You see he waved his arms, code and data floating before him before he typed something in.

A note.

ARCHIMEDES: "...I understand."

He said behind the barrier, with a muted, indifferent tone.

ARCHIMEDES: "You want to get to your work as soon as possible. I admire your enthusiasm, but you have to be patient. You need direction. Phenomena like yourselves would obliterate everything in this building in the state you're currently in, including me. Just rest."

The door to the room opened, as a woman stepped inside. A lithe, muscular frame and an air of intimidation radiated off of her. You saw the researcher, ARCHIMEDES, smile wryly as she approached you- calmly lowering the barrier.

DEADLY WOMAN: "…This is your destroyer, Wizard?"

She asked, her voice dry and emotionless. You could feel her eyes boring down into you, making you feel the need to decline your head to avoid her gaze.

Instinct told you better than to attack her. She wasn't like the researcher who would simply defend himself and then move on.

She would kill you.

ARCHIMEDES: "They are. The Institute's finest. I know you want to join them in their campaign, but this is a mission that requires subtlety. Any Divine Spirit has a built-in response that can sense you from a mile away. Don't worry, I'll give you plenty of 'toys' to play with while they do their job."

DEADLY WOMAN: "…"

ARCHIMEDES: "You're not impressed? No, I do suppose they look different than your average warrior, but I assure you that they have an aptitude for slaughter. They're my experiment, after all. Besides- they know the consequences for failure, as I know the consequences for failing you. The chain of command is well understood--"

She held up a hand to stop him.

DEADLY WOMAN: "Send them to the training room you made. Promptly. If they are so impressive, then they can withstand my blade."

ARCHIMEDES: "...Of course."

The stone-faced woman turned on her heels and walked away, leaving you and ARCHIMEDES alone. He sighed, lightly rubbing his temples.

ARCHIMEDES: "…There goes weeks of work… I'll have to commission another doll body. How irritating."

ARCHIMEDES: "My apologies, Thymomorphos."

He said, with a tone and a smile that didn't seem or sound sorry in the slightest.

ARCHIMEDES: "The Great King desires blood to satiate her boredom, and you're the freshest around."

...Yeah, that barrier seemed familiar.

[finniestoncrane]

Reenactment

BTAA!Scarecrow x Female!Reader, word count: 1k commission: jonathan crane and reader engage in some 'reenactment@ fun. thank you @zlzhrz for this amazing prompt idea!! also sorry i wrote too much, it was hard to stop lmao 🎃🧡 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: simulated threat, knife play if you really squint

Rounding the corner through the lounge, you made a jump for the bottom step, missing it completely in your haste to get away. Your palms struck the carpet hard, grazed and burned from the swift swipe of friction. A pain that made you wince, but that you were grateful hadn’t been inflicted on your face. Body taking the brunt of the remaining shock of the fall, you picked yourself up quickly, scrambling, crawling out of desperation as you tried to make your way up the rest of the stairs to the second floor of the familiar dwelling. Your heart was pounding, lungs struggling to keep up with the demand that the excitement, the fear, and the adrenaline, were placing on them.

And waiting behind you, patiently, in complete contrast, was your pursuer. Lurking there at the bottom of the staircase. Watching you try to get away, a satisfied grin spread over his lips as he let you regain your narrow head start. Even that gesture felt cruel though, because both of you knew he was going to catch you. That was how it would go.

But then what happened? At the top of the stairs, you paused to collect your thoughts, taking a quick glance to your left, then to your right, trying to remember where the master bedroom was. That was where you needed to go. Your body had already started turning to the right, muscle memory working overtime as your brain panicked, pulling you to the safety of the bedroom at the end of the short hall, where you could lock the door and wait.

Staggering, falling theatrically against the walls in true final girl fashion, you made it to the bedroom just in time to see him appearing at the top of the stairs. You rushed into the room before he could round the corner, stumbling backwards as you slammed the door shut. When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your body slipped back, landing on it completely. Sprawled there, you stared at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath and to think of the next steps, when you realised your fatal error.

You had forgotten to lock the door. And now, the handle was being teased down slowly, springing back up when it started to give, allowing you enough time to make a snap decision. There was no time to fumble with the lock. Instead, you opted to toss yourself into the large closet across from you. A stupid mistake, you thought, but you still sat as still as possible. Hands clasped over your mouth. Breath shuddering, somehow unbearably loud in your ears. Eyes wide. Listening to the door creak open slowly.

“I know you’re in here. How stupid do you think I am? Oh.”

You screwed your eyes shut at the disappointed tone, trying to stifle the whimper on your breath, trying to remember if you should be whimpering or not. Luckily, you were quickly put out of your misery as the closet door was pulled open, and you were face to face with the consequences of your panic induced stupidity.

Long, slender fingers reached up to pull back the gimmicky mask that covered his face. Underneath, the familiar pointed features and thick framed glasses settled you, but not enough. Because he avoided eye contact as he spoke, instead examining the scene you had created.

“Ah. I see. Forgot to lock the door, so you decided to hide in the closet. It’s a sensible move, a good move, actually, for a standard slasher. But sweetheart, darling, light of my life! You know you’re supposed to be on the bed right now, awaiting my arrival, ready to strangle you to death right there.”

With a dismayed look, he gestured to the bed dramatically.

“You’re a terrible victim.”

He was smiling, and you knew he was joking, but the words still hurt. You had ruined his big moment. Weeks of planning, of discussing, of studying and re-watching that movie over and over and over and over again until you considered asking him to strangle you for real, just so you didn’t have to watch it yet again. And you had spoiled it.

“I panicked, Jonathan. You play a very convincing killer.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his knife, unsheathing it and pressing the pointed tip of the blade against his fingertip, twisting it back and forth and digging it into his calloused skin.

“It’s all about the experience you have behind the role. Takes one to know one, as they say.”

Quicker than you could comprehend in order to defend yourself, Jonathan’s hand was pressed under your chin, his fingers around your throat, flexing and tightening as he brought the knife up to your face. Leaning in, excruciatingly slowly, he finally rested his forehead against yours, pouting his lips to kiss the tip of your nose before he slammed the knife into the wall beside your head. You jumped, a loud squeal shrieking out and dwindling to a nervous laugh as Jonathan smiled down at you.

“Jonathan, I-”

A wave of inspiration came over you. You might not be able to help him recreate his fantasies this evening, but you could certainly give him a show.

“D-doctor Crane… you’re scaring me.”

You parted your lips, dramatically panting, letting your chest heave exaggeratedly in a way that caught his eye. As his mind filled with salacious thoughts at the shifting of your breasts, you could see a more genuine smile cross over his face.

“That’s always the intention, you poor, defenceless creature.”

The fingers that constricted your breathing were suddenly loose around your neck, falling delicately to your collarbone and then down your sternum, deigning to allow you the satisfaction of drifting over the pillowed flesh of your breasts before he hooked them under the first button of the shirt you wore.

“So… shall we write our own sordid little ending to this particular horror?”

You nodded, trying to remain as seductive as possible but knowing the excitement behind your eyes betrayed your attempt to remain cool.

“Very well then. Get on the bed and start begging for your life. We’ll see how generous this monster is feeling.”

With no further instruction needed, you bounced up from the floor and towards the bed, where you sat on the edge of the mattress, pretending to nervously await his next instruction.

“Beg.”

So wrapped up in glee, you’d forgotten already what he’d asked you to do. So you made a big show of it.

“Please Doctor Crane. I’m frightened for my life. Please, please, tell me what you want! What do you want!?”

Jonathan stepped to the edge of the bed, easing himself onto it with one knee shifting between your legs. He slid up the sheet between you, his knee pressed against your now aching cunt, relishing the heat there against his skin, evident even through your underwear and his pant leg.

In a swift motion, he had both hands on your hips and had laid you down flat, his knee still pushed up to you, his other leg holding your thigh to his. You were pinned to him, to the bed. And thought you imagined you could put up a fight to get loose, you absolutely didn’t want to. You were waiting dutifully to hear what your ‘captor’ would demand from you.

“I want you to scream. I want you to beg for mercy. And I want you to be truly terrified. Most importantly though, for the rest of this endeavour…”

He paused, whether for dramatic effect or out of nerves you couldn’t be sure, but you pushed him to continue.

“Yes, Doctor Crane. Anything, please. I’ll do anything you want. I just want to live.”

He smirked, eyes narrowed in a cruel gaze as he lifted your wrists above your head, pinning them there with one hand. The other drifted down your front, fingers teasing over your nipples through your shirt before reaching to the front of his pants where he palmed his obvious erection.

“I want you to call me Scarecrow. I’m afraid that the Doctor isn’t quite threatening enough for the way I want this scene to go.”

[littlemissvenom0]

Cato x Reader "What the hell did you just do?" Pt4

I woke up to warmth.

For a moment, I forgot where I was, lost in the feeling of safety. Cato’s arm was wrapped tightly around my waist, his body pressed against mine, steady and solid. It was rare for him to be this still—Cato was always moving, fighting, training, thinking.

But here, next to me, he was calm.

I shifted slightly, ready to get up, but his arm tightened around me, pulling me back down.

A sleepy grumble rumbled against my ear. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I exhaled a soft laugh. “Training starts soon. We need to get ready.”

He made a sound of protest and buried his face in my shoulder. “Five more minutes.”

I rolled my eyes. “We don’t have five more minutes.”

He sighed dramatically, but still didn’t move. “Remember when we were kids, and we didn’t have to do all this?” His voice was softer now, laced with something unspoken.

I smiled. “Yeah. I remember.”

There were a lot of memories—sneaking into the woods behind District Two’s training center, daring each other to climb the tallest trees, throwing rocks at random targets just for fun. We had been reckless, competitive, inseparable. And then, of course, there was Clove. The three of us were a unit.

“We used to get in so much trouble,” I whispered, thinking of all the times we got caught by our trainers for breaking the rules.

Cato chuckled. “Remember when we stole that knife from the armory and Clove almost took my eye out trying to show off?”

I laughed. “I’ve never seen you run so fast in my life.”

He grinned. “That was the day I realized you were just as insane as she was.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Please, I’ve always been better than you both.”

His grip around me loosened slightly, but his voice was quieter when he spoke next. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

I felt something tighten in my chest. “Cato…”

He shook his head, forcing a smirk. “Never mind. Go, before the trainers drag you out of bed themselves.”

I hesitated for a moment, staring at him, trying to decipher what he really meant. But instead of pushing, I gave him a soft smile, slipped out of his grip, and got ready.

The Training Center

Dressed in fitted black training gear, I entered the gym. The moment I stepped inside, I felt eyes on me.

The other tributes were already there, testing weapons, stretching, sizing each other up. I didn’t bother warming up. I didn’t need to.

Instead, I made my way toward the simulation room.

Most tributes used it sparingly, testing one or two weapons to see what they were good at. But I didn’t need to test. I knew what I was good at.

Everything.

I selected every weapon category and stepped inside.

The first weapon appeared—a spear. It felt light in my hand, an extension of my body rather than an object. The simulation men materialized, advancing toward me.

I moved instantly.

Spinning, dodging, striking—every movement precise. The spear cut through the air like it belonged there. My opponents fell one by one, and I didn’t stop.

Then came the daggers.

Clove and I had trained with them for years, so they felt familiar, comfortable. My hands moved on their own, muscle memory taking over. The simulation launched arrows at me, and I dodged effortlessly—dropping into the splits, flipping backward, gliding across the floor like I was untouchable.

Then the bow. Then the swords.

Every strike landed. Every arrow hit its mark. Every movement was flawless.

I didn’t realize the crowd forming outside the simulation room.

By the time I finished, the entire training center was watching.

A loud clap snapped me out of it.

Then another.

Then another.

I turned, heart hammering in my chest, and saw nearly every tribute standing there—watching me. Clapping for me.

I hated it.

Without a word, I spun on my heel and stormed out.

But I wasn’t alone.

A presence followed close behind, and I already knew who it was.

District 6.

“You’re incredible,” he said, catching up beside me. “I mean, I knew you were good, but that? That was insane.”

I stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “What exactly do you think you’re achieving by doing this?”

He blinked, confused. “What?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You just put a target on your back.”

He tilted his head, smirking slightly. “Oh? Are you planning to kill me?”

I gave him a sweet, fake smile. “Oh, no, not me.” I nodded toward the other side of the room, where I could feel his gaze burning into my back. “Him.”

Cato stood with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching us like a predator ready to pounce.

District 6 swallowed hard. “Right. Well. I’ll, uh… see you later.”

I smirked as he walked away, practically feeling the anger radiating off Cato.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

Cato was already waiting when I stepped onto the mat.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, stretching slightly.

His smirk was confident. “Think you can handle me?”

I grinned. “I know I can.”

The second the match started, I moved.

Being small had its advantages—I was quicker, more flexible, and could dodge his attacks with ease. He lunged, and I ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Thud.

The watching tributes let out a whoa as Cato hit the mat.

He got up instantly, eyes sharp with determination. But no matter what he did, I countered. He swung, I ducked. He lunged, I flipped over him. He grabbed my wrist, I twisted out of his grip and slammed him down again.

Over and over, until finally—he lay on his back, groaning.

“I hate you,” he muttered, breathless.

I grinned down at him. “Call it quits?”

He let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah, yeah. I call it.”

The Night Before Evaluations

After showering, I walked into Cato’s room and flopped onto his bed. We were watching a movie, though neither of us were really paying attention.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object.

A tiny stick figure, made from dried flowers and twigs.

I frowned. “What is that?”

He turned it over in his fingers. “My little sibling made it for me when I was younger. Said it was you.”

My chest ached.

“They always said you were my lucky charm,” he murmured.

I swallowed thickly, reaching out to grab his hand. “Then I’ll be your lucky charm in the arena. I’ll make sure you win.”

His face darkened. “It won’t be me who wins, you know that.”

I blinked, heart sinking.

Then he forced a smirk. “Because obviously, you’re more skilled.”

I let go of his hand, feeling something tighten in my throat. I had hoped—just for a second—that maybe he would tell me how he really felt.

But maybe he didn’t feel the way I did.

I swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “Goodnight, Cato.”

I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before slipping out of the room.

And for the first time since training started, I felt alone.

[croissantlover24]

Writing idea:

Spaniard has a body in this idea.

Moon getting upset with Spaniard for not going along with a current plan Moon has, since Spaniard thinks the plan isn’t a good idea and needs to be thought over again.

Spaniard tries to explain, to get Moon to rethink things, while Moon is just getting more mad since the tool he made won’t listen to him, especially after getting a body.

While all of this is happening, Sun and Earth are trying to get Moon to calm down at least a little. Sun is trying to tell Moon that it’s ok, while Earth is trying to get Moon to see where Spaniard is coming from.

Then, as Spaniard tries to get Moon to understand, Moon yells at him.

Sun and Earth watch as Moon says something along the lines of, “You’re my creation! I’m your creator! You will obey me!”

Spaniard looks genuinely nervous and goes quiet. Sun and Earth go quiet too. All three of them look at Moon.

After a beat of silence, Earth asks Moon to please go calm down.

Moon looks at her for a second and huffs, then glares at Spaniard before just walking off to calm down.

Once Moon leaves, Earth goes to see if Spaniard is ok. Spaniard hugs her back when she hugs him. He stands there, not realizing that he’s shaking.

(I love this idea so much; I know I say that a lot but this might be my favorite)

Spaniard listened when Moon shared his plan. He analyzed each word he was told and created a mental simulation to imitate the context. He ran Moon’s idea through an algorithm. He tried everything to make it possible.

It just wouldn’t work, and he told the lunar animatronic such. He had been getting more comfortable around his creator ever since he got a body, but just in case, he knew Earth and Sun were nearby, cleaning the daycare. He offered Moon alternatives and other ideas.

Moon didn’t like that.

“What do you mean, it wouldn’t work?” Moon hissed, mildly vexed.

“It’s success is unlikely, so—“

“No,” Moon interrupted, “I looked through it. It’ll work.”

“I put it through a simulation and—“

“You know those simulations aren’t accurate!!”

Spaniard flinched at that. He didn’t understand why Moon was so mad at him suddenly. Sure, their conditions weren’t the best, but he’s seen his creator last longer under worse conditions.

But then again, maybe it’s that the advice is coming from Spaniard that made him so angry.

Earth looked over and called, “Moon, relax. Spaniard may have a good idea.”

Moon scoffed but didn’t reply to his sister. He gazed at the computer, his glare a thousand knives aimed at Spaniard’s soul.

“The algorithm said—“

“I DON’T CARE WHAT THE ALGORITHM SAID!!!” the lunar animatronic screamed.

Sun and Earth walked over now, begging Moon to calm down. The computer took several steps backwards, afraid of his creator.

The nighttime animatronic ignored his siblings and advanced upon his mistake. “You are my creation,” he growled lowly in that kill code voice the computer (and Sun) was so used to, “understand? I created you, you mistake. You. Will listen. To ME!!!”

Spaniard squirmed uncomfortably beneath Moon’s outrage, feeling like his skin was crawling with bugs. He shivered, his fear apparent on his face.

“Moon,” Earth called, disappointment seeping into her tone, “leave. Go calm down elsewhere.”

Moon rolled his eyes but did so after glaring at the computer one last time.

Spaniard visibly relaxed when the lunar animatronic was gone. His shivering subsided, his panicked “heart” finally ceasing its race.

Sun shifted in the background awkwardly as a layer of silence settled between the three.

Earth embraced Spaniard, the computer hesitantly returning it. “Are you alright?” she asked, genuine concern seeping into her voice.

“I’m fine,” the computer replied in the monotone tone he used to use before his sentience. Earth frowned but stayed quiet. She grabbed Sun’s arm. “Come, Sun, let’s give him some space.”

The computer watched them leave, hearing Sun mutter something about Moon sounding just like the Creator.

Spaniard sank into a chair with a shaky sigh. He never felt safe around Moon—that was true—but he thought they were making progress. He thought his creator may finally consider him family soon.

His dreams all shattered above him, weighing him down with the burden of knowing he was nothing but a disobedient tool to Moon. He knew that was true, because he was cycling through the cameras and saw his creator saying just that.

“Never should’ve given him a body,” Moon murmured bitterly. “He never listens…. Useless…” The lunar animatronic cursed beneath his breath.

Spaniard listened to the slander against himself for some time before sighing and closing the cameras.

His eyes began to leak.

What was this?

Water ran down his face. His throat felt tight.

Was he crying?

It certainly seemed so.

Spaniard sat with his knees up, silently bawling. Of course Moon hated him. Of course his creator would never like him. Of course, of course, of course…

He was pathetic to think otherwise.