#and get to be part of each other's communities

[hellyeahscarleteen]

NEW: A Letter To The Trans Teen Thinking About Giving Up

The SCOTUS decision on U.S. v. Skrmetti was devastating. This decision does massive harm just by existing, and will absolutely do harm to many young #trans people in the United States. But please don't interpret this decision as a death sentence, or believe anyone who tells you that without the government's support, you or all young trans people in the United States will die. As Andy Izerson explains in this deeply caring and thoughtful letter for trans teens, trans people have always existed and survived without the government's help, and you can exist and survive yourself now without it if you must (you shouldn't have to, but you can), because we always have each other. "I really wish that the circumstances were different and I was writing you this letter to say, “Great news friend! The supreme court gave us a break today!��� or to say, “Guess what, here’s how to run your endocrine system on manual without having to ask anybody’s permission!” or to say, “The state has given up on trying to destroy us!” From the bottom⁠ of my heart, I’m so sorry that this sucks so bad. I wouldn’t blame you if you feel scared, because I’m scared, too. But listen: there’s a story of the future that has you in it. That story has some scary parts and some parts that hurt, but it also has some beautiful parts. There’s a future you who is surrounded by meaning and connection and beauty, and who has people around them that will catch them when they stumble and hug them when they get up. There’s a future you who doesn’t depend on the state for anything because they are seen and held and loved by community, who can reach out their own hand to the next generations of queer and trans people and pass along some of this stuff to them, just like I’m passing⁠ it to you now. There’s a future you who is living a life that’s cooler than you can even imagine in the present, and who doesn’t feel the way you feel in the wake of this decision. And I am determined to meet that person and high five them." You'll find the letter here:

And don't forget: we're some of that community you can always reach out to for help and support <3

[artsy-hobbitses]

First of all I definitely have to thank @elfdragon12 for selling me on the G1 humans and the potential they have for good storytelling!

So here are Spartacus 'Spike' Witwicki, Carlita 'Carly' Castellano and Charles 'Chip' Chase as they appear in TTB! Spike mainly works off-base with his father Stanislaw 'Sparkplug' Witwicki as mechanics on Autobot missions, while Carly and Chip are mainly on-base working in R&D and tech respectively. Witwicky is a name that exists IRL, and it's specifically an Americanised version of Witwicki, which is Polish, so Spike is a second-generation immigrant to the US with Polish---specifically as a member of the Lipka Tatar minority---ties through Stanislaw, and Turkish ties through his mother. Lipka Tatars are predominantly also Muslims who usually keep to a Polish naming convention/don't usually sport Arabic names, so Spike here also joins the the rising ranks of Muslims on the Autobot side!

Mexican-Italian Carly is a bottle blond who goes back to her original brown tresses near the end of the war. She runs on coffee and Monster Energy, and is what one might call a Type A personality. And for good reason—she’s a scholarship kid from an impoverished barrio, the first to ever get into MIT, and she’s determined to make a name for herself to bring back support and funding for her community so other kids like her have that opportunity too. She was a student in Dr. Harding’s lecture classes, and interned under Harding before graduation—the two still keep in contact with each other across the Atlantic. And Chip. We gotta talk about Chip (and the other two) under the cut.

Chip got the bad end of the deal here and his background is as messed up as his general health is on any given day. Energon hotspots exist in TTB and they’re still being studied and often irradiate local wildlife and extremely unlucky scientists conducting field research; one of them was Chip’s mother, while she was very early into her pregnancy (she believed she was properly kitted out, but this hotspot was more potent than the others).

He grew up sickly, but still relatively active and as Spike’s childhood friend, would still be able to play football with Spike. Spike and Chip’s relationship was extremely tight when they were children (Spike protected Chip from bullies and played with him since other boys avoided involving him in their games as he had problems keeping up due to his health issues, while Chip would help Spike with schoolwork and stood up for him if someone decided it’s pick-on-the-immigrant-kid day). It was to the point that, when Sparkplug was imprisoned for a short stint after being charged with inciting a riot (he was spearheading a workers' protest), Chip's residence was a second home to Spike, while his mother picked up extra shifts to make ends meet. However, when Chip was around 10, the radiation flared up/became aggressive in both him and his mother, and while his mother's condition deteriorated faster than his, it still wreaked havoc on his body and caused paraplegia through spinal metastasis. When his mother died, he had no blood family willing to take him in (as a child born out of wedlock who was piling up medical bills and was not expected to see his 18th birthday). The Witwickis, who saw him as family now, wanted to adopt him but could not pay for the care he needed as lower class blue collar immigrants.... at which point Zeta Prime stepped in as a benefactor who wanted to sponsor the child prodigy. This however, meant Chip had to be moved to New York, ostensibly for better treatment, and he and Spike last saw each other as children when they were 12.

They’d promise to write to each other, but Spike never received anything from Chip no matter how many letters he sent (Zeta had been intercepting them since he wanted Chip to be fully dependent on him/cut all ties to his past, and to focus on his tutelage under Dr Alcazar) The two reunited as adults when Spike and Sparkplug were enlisted as part of the team working on a top secret government project (Metroplex) on which Chip was the lead programmer and Carly was head of the R&D division. Chip however, started having doubts about Zeta Prime's motives for Metroplex's creation, and feeling both helpless and terrified for what he'd gotten himself into, confided his concerns to Spike that what they were building was not a space research titan, but a weapon and the US' largest mobile base capable of levelling small countries--which is exactly what Zeta plans to do with it. Carly eavesdrops, and is drawn into the situation.

All three of them struggled with breaking off their relationship with Zeta Prime, whose project brought the, together:

Chip knows that going against Zeta means he likely loses all access to the medical aid and experimental treatments keeping him alive. (He is lucky that he kept notes and an extensive medical record of himself, and that them fleeing across the Atlantic brought them right to Ratchet and Co.),

Spike knows going against Zeta means burning the olive branch of government acceptance Zeta held out to his father and their diaspora after their lifelong struggle to get the same compensation for their work as native-born workers, and better/safer projects.,

Carly knows going against Zeta means a stain on her record as a ‘model minority’ , and it will destroy Zeta’s promise of a scholarship fund for her community as well as government goodwill for them.

All three decide that they have to take a stand against him regardless, and they managed to sabotage Zeta’s control over Metroplex and allowed Metro to escape into the Pacific. Fleeing Zeta’s wrath across the Atlantic put them on the collision course with the Autobots via an SOS signal from Prowl which Chip decoded and answered, and this set have been stalwart allies since Chip still has a close relationship with Prowl here over many similar aspects of their life, quiet companionship and a love for strategy games. He is also rebuilding the relationship he had with Spike and Sparkplug, and Spike and Chip see each other more as brothers than friends these days.

[d1xonss]

hiii i’m a new reader of urs but let me just say i loveeeee ur work anyway i have a request if you’re taking any.. i neeeed a lil angsty fluffy moment of daryl x reader finding each other again after everything that happened with terminus and the whole prison debacle. just a lil idea i got while reading one of your works!! thank you!!

Finding You

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst

✧ Word Count : 1.5k

AN ~ @kcundercover4 Hi angel, thank you for the request and the very kind words. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to writing this, I've been in a bit of a funk when it came to creating new ideas. But rest assured, I'm slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoy! xoxox

When the prison fell, there was nothing left. Nothing but crumbling cement, dented fences, and whatever rotting bodies the dead decided to leave behind. The fire that was set took care of the rest, burning down the place you had once felt comfortable enough to call home. In an instant, everything was gone. And the ones from the community who made it out alive, had nearly nothing left to show for it.

Daryl felt nothing. No sadness, no hint of anger, just…nothing. It was a strange feeling that settled in his chest, a kind of emptiness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A feeling that couldn’t be described. The best way he himself could picture it was like he was on some kind of drug, one that could numb his limbs and his mind, leaving him feeling oddly tired. Like he didn’t have the energy to get up and keep moving. Although he managed to escape with Beth who wanted nothing more than to get up and go, to try and find their people that she was certain were out there, he couldn’t.

He didn’t see much of a point in caring anymore. Whether everyone else really had managed to escape the brutal chaos, or they bit the bullet, it didn’t matter. Neither of them would catch a glimpse of their family ever again. And he’d much rather swallow down the tough pill now rather than hold out hope, only to be even more devastated in the end. He wouldn’t find Rick, or Carol, or…you.

That was a whole other pill he had yet to get down.

Daryl wasn’t one for openly expressing how he felt, but those who knew him well, knew his feelings ran deep. And the things he felt for you…he could hardly put them into words. It was like his whole life he had never known love until you suddenly walked into it, always looking at him in a way that made him feel truly seen. He didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was thinking. He didn’t have to hide his eyes behind his hair in fear you would see a flicker of vulnerability. He didn’t have to put up a front that he was fine…because deep down he knew that you could see when he wasn’t. He loved you. But now as he sat here alone and clueless, not knowing what had happened to you, it was slowly tearing him apart.

Throughout the following days, Daryl wasn’t too keen on talking. He wasn’t much for eating either. Just a dead man walking. The only thing going through his mind was surviving to see another day and to protect the only person he seemed to have left. But the most painful part of it all was every time he looked at Beth, he saw you. Her kindness resembled your own, along with the light she held behind her eyes that could only be described as hope. The same kind of hope you always possessed. It was somewhat of a bittersweet feeling that was for certain, finding himself to be pathetic that he missed you so terribly, he was starting to pick apart someone else in hopes it would somehow bring him back to you. It wasn’t fair; none of it was.

Though just when Beth began to find a crack in Daryl’s armor, getting him to finally begin to bring down his walls…he lost her too. He wasn’t even sure how it happened. One minute they were escaping the small herd of walkers that had somehow gotten into the funeral home, and the next he was watching some car speed down the road with her inside. Driving further and further away with no kind of indication of where they were going or what they planned to do with her. The familiar feeling of grief wasn’t lost on him, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The only way he was able to see it, was that he failed to save someone else. And when he attempted to find her, he only ran into more trouble.

There were the claimers, a group of men that turned out to not be men at all. Instead they were disgusting monsters that just preyed on fear. Then there was Terminus, a seemingly bright light at the end of the tunnel that led him back to his family, only to be revealed they were cannibals. Leading them like lambs to the slaughter. 

By the end of it all the group was exhausted and defeated, having to literally fight for their lives to make it out of there and now watching it burn to the ground as an end result. Carol’s unexpected arrival had saved them all. But what came next, no one could’ve predicted. The woman led them back to a small cabin hidden within the trees, only for the door to open to reveal Tyreese holding Judith securely in his arms. Both Rick and Sasha took off in a sprint when they recognized their loved ones, reuniting with them in hugs and tears whilst the rest stood back and watched.

But the wind was suddenly knocked out of Daryl when he caught sight of who stepped out of the cabin next, the harsh blow was enough to nearly bring him down to his knees. It was you.

Your eyes widened greatly when you spotted him from across the way, seeing him safe and unharmed despite the horrible things you heard about the community they walked into. You had been worried to the point of feeling nauseous ever since Carol had left to save them, but now seeing that he was alive, the relief that washed over you was unimaginable.

With a breath you immediately began to rush over to where he stood, watching as he stayed frozen in place and just stared. As if he were scared to move, or even attempt to touch you in fear that you would vanish into thin air the moment he accepted this moment was real. He couldn’t deny the sudden racing of his heart as you got closer and closer, the anticipation almost beginning to be too much for him to handle. And then you touched him, tentatively brushing the hair away from his forehead as you had done a thousand times before. The familiar need to see his eyes.

That’s what ultimately caused him to crumble.

His body all but melted at the feel of your soft fingertips dancing against his rough skin, a shuttering and emotional breath leaving his lips as he leaned his head down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Making himself smaller. Your hand instantly moved up to cradle the back of his head, keeping him steady while he practically leaned his whole body weight onto you. His legs suddenly felt like jelly, like he could no longer support himself and needed you to help with the heavy burden he carried. Every emotion he had kept buried deep down was now unleashed all at once.

You felt his hands come up to hesitantly hold onto your waist, his fingers curling around the fabric of your clothes in a way to somehow keep him grounded. His breathing grew more ragged as he kept his face tucked away and hidden from view, his nose brushing along your pulse to feel you were alive, to breathe you in. The emptiness he felt was unexpectedly being replaced with a sudden ache, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was a reminder of the longing and sadness he had felt all those weeks you were apart, the utter heartbreak he wouldn’t dare let anyone see.

His lips pressed a kiss against your skin, the action being so soft and delicate like he feared of leaving even the tiniest mark on you. He couldn’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through on your own, and he wanted to make it known that he wasn’t planning on letting anything hurt you again. A silent vow only you would be able to receive. 

After a few moments of holding him you gently pulled back ever so slightly to really look at him, your heart sinking when you noticed the black eye and scrapes along his face. But those hardly mattered to him, not really. Not when the only pain he could focus on was losing you.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, your tone no louder than a whisper.

When he heard you speak he could hardly find the strength to respond. Your soft spoken voice that he was convinced he would only hear in his dreams, now seemed to echo throughout his mind. Soothed his weary soul. His eyes glistened with tears as he simply looked at you, his lip quivering as he desperately tried to hold back the intense emotions he was feeling. As for your question, all he could do was nod his head. His real answer being far too complicated for even him to process. 

He saw the sadness etched on your face before you wrapped your arms tightly around him again, not willing to let go so easily this time. And it was clear the both of you found what you had been desperately missing.

~ Thanks for reading!

[elizabethemerald]

Danny changed from his Ghost form to human, allowing invisibility to fall off him like a coat dropped in the doorway after a long day. He had kept an invisible eye on the conflict between the Bats and the inmates of Arkham. While Jazz had many opinions on the Asylum and how those who were sent there were treated, Danny knew that a riot or breakout at the Asylum would only mean danger spilling out into the rest of the city. 

He had caught and knocked out a few of the inmates, including some weirdo with a knife and a bunch of tally marks all over his body. He kept himself invisible and carefully knocked each of them out in one blow so they wouldn’t even know that they weren’t downed by one of the Bats. He wanted to do more, but he absolutely couldn’t be caught there. 

The last thing he wanted was to intervene and land on the radar of Batman. Batman was part of the Justice League. The GIW had already contacted the League to request aid in his capture. Tucker had seen the files before Danny had fled, his wounds barely stapled closed from his time with them. The last thing Danny had been able to do before losing contact was to send a duplicate flying north, to lead the agents away from his friends and Jazz. 

He knew they were being watched, their every communication was monitored. If he made contact in any way, they could all get dragged away to the GIW’s “labs.” He couldn’t risk it. As soon as his duplicate had left, he hugged his friends goodbye one last time and Danny had hitchhiked his way to Gotham City. 

Gotham had a couple of benefits even with the presence of the Bats. One: no one would notice the presence of one more homeless teen on the streets. Two: the city was cursed from the sewers to the skyscrapers and that would help delay the GIW if they searched the city for him. Three, and worst: so many people died in the city that the streets were thick with ectoplasm, rank ectoplasm, that stank of fear and pain, but ectoplasm enough for a halfa to heal even the worst injuries. 

And by all the Ancients, Danny had the worst fucking injuries. Tucker and Sam had managed to staple his chest closed, in between Tucker throwing up and Sam swearing a blue storm. He didn’t actually have half the things that were supposed to go inside his chest, but if being a halfa had any benefit it allowed him to survive horrific injuries. He had only managed to regrow the bones in his hand by spending two nights in a cemetery on the way to Gotham. 

The fourth reason he had come to Gotham was he hoped to be able to meet his sister somewhere in the city. Not Jazz, she was safe at her college where she pretended to be desperately searching for him so no one would suspect her. Not Ellie either, Danny’s clone had disappeared into the Paris catacombs and had promised to stay there until it was safe. The GIW didn’t currently have authority outside the United States, but the Justice League did, and neither of them were going to risk her getting mistaken for Danny and getting captured by them. 

No, the sister that apparently lived in Gotham was a girl named Stephanie. That realization had been one of a number of unpleasant realizations. Apparently Danny was adopted. Jazz had known, because she had been there when they picked him up from the foster home, though she was still surprised that the Fentons had been allowed to adopt at all. His birth mother had died shortly after he was born, but she had at least been able to put down his information on his birth certificate, including the name of his birth father, Arthur Brown. 

Researching his father was immediately disappointing. Arthur Brown was a criminal who tried to place himself as equal to Batman. Jazz called it an incredible act of ego and sign of the fragility of Arthur’s sense of self, that he had to challenge someone who was known to be one of the smartest heroes. Arthur had been arrested and as far as Danny could tell was still in prison. 

However, other than making Danny a bastard and abandoning his birth mother, Arthur apparently had done one other thing, he had a daughter, Stephanie Brown. The last Danny had looked into her, a couple of years ago, she was hoping to move out from the dark shadow of her father and become a nursing student. Danny definitely didn’t bring up that he felt insecure considering both his blood and adopted sisters were so smart and going into such complicated fields, but somehow Jazz was still able to guess and gave him a whole lecture on self-worth. 

Danny doesn’t really care that much about the differences between an adopted family and a blood family. While it had been an unpleasant discovery, he was happy once he came to terms with it. He and Jazz would both love to meet Stephanie and get to know her for herself, not simply because of a blood tie. They had held off at first so they didn’t expose her to the chaos that was the elder Fentons, especially if they thought a ghost was around. Then after Danny’s accident he was so busy with the ghost fights and ghost hunters he couldn’t. 

Now however, Danny needed to meet her. He needed to form a relationship with her. Not strictly because of their blood relation, but because he was a ghost without a Fraid. Specifically a heavily injured ghost who had to abandon his Fraid to keep them safe. Frostbite had stressed how important it was that a young ghost like Phantom have a Fraid, a family, chosen or otherwise, around them. Part of a ghost’s image of themselves, their very form was shaped by their relationships with others. Without those bonds he may not be able to heal, or if he faces too much stress, he might discorporate and face his true and final death. 

Ectoplasm and Fraid bonds didn’t care for laws or blood anymore than Danny did. He didn’t have a bond with the parents who raised him at all. That had been severed with the same knife they had used to cut into his arms to examine his tendons when they captured him, though it had been frail and struggling long before that. With Tucker, Sam and Jazz so far away, he needed someone to make new bonds with, and hopefully Stephanie would be willing to at least meet him. 

Danny shook his head free of his hopes as he slipped out of an alley and onto a Gotham street on the opposite side of the city. With the return of his human body returned the ache and pain from his injuries, and the weight of his now full back-pack. That nice guy at the store had been strangely willing to spend a bunch of money on some random nobody. He definitely had money, but he didn’t seem as big of a fruit-loop as Vlad, so Danny was willing to trust him a little. 

“Hey punk!” 

He had food a plenty, ectoplasm thrumming through his veins trying to patch his wounds back together, and apparently Tim had even hidden some cash among the purchases. Danny was feeling pretty good. He was still sad that Tim wasn’t able to live his truth like Danny was, but now it seemed to be the perfect time to start the search for Stephanie. He thought maybe he could find some information on her in the library. 

“I’m talking to you, you twerp!” 

Danny side-stepped someone in his way, as he walked with his hood down to keep some of the heavy rain out of his eyes. If he couldn’t find anything at the library maybe he could inquire at one of the local colleges? If he learned one thing from Jazz’s endless lectures it was that community college was the way to go if you wanted to avoid as many loans as possible, and if Stephanie was paying her way through college while their father was in prison, she would definitely want to save money. 

“You fucking fucker.”

He gasped as a knife slid between his ribs. He reacted on instinct, a punch flying out with all his ghostly strength, as images of labs and his parents hovering over him, their own knives in their hands flashed through his mind. 

Danny eventually was able to take a shaky breath to see some thug with a black skull on his jacket crumpled against a heavily dented car. He couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. But when he looked down he could see the handle of a knife sticking out of his side. He wheezed, and stayed on his feet by sheer force of will. 

“Fuck.” 

.

Leslie Tompkins ran one of the best no-questions-asked clinics in Gotham. Part of the reason hers was the best was simply due to funding. Her clinic received frequent “anonymous” donations, which usually just happened to follow after she had performed necessary medical treatments to one of the Bats. The other part came down to protection. Between the Bats, the Red Hood Gang and the Gotham Goonion, there were a lot of people invested in keeping her doors open, no one who messed with her or her clinic would be able to stay out of the hospital for more than a week. That is if they weren’t sent straight to the morgue. 

She had earned that respect by treating everyone who walked into her clinic equally. Rogue or Bat, goon or cop, random citizen or outsider, everyone received care in her clinic if they needed it. She had stitched up a cut from a Batarang on the Joker’s hand just a few months ago. Then when he tried to poison her for daring to see him so vulnerable, Harley Quin broke both of his hands, fortunately not undoing Leslie’s hard work. She was quite familiar with Harley having to patch her up numerous times after “lover’s quarrels" between the two before they eventually broke up for good.

When a teenager with a knife stuck in his ribs stumbled in she braced herself and brought him back, ready to continue not asking any questions, and just treating the injury. She immediately wanted to go against her reputation and start asking questions when she saw the vivisection scar that stretched up the boy’s torso, neatly bisecting his top surgery scars. That desire became even stronger when he told her not to worry about his probable punctured lung because he didn’t have most of the organs on that side yet. She ground her teeth and focused on making her stitches as neat as possible. 

“Would you at least like me to remove the staples and put in neater stitches?” She ground the question out. 

He looked down at the messy staples, then looked up at her with stars in his eyes. 

“You can do that? We tried the best we could, but we didn’t have anything else that would work.” 

Leslie gave him a quick nod and tied off the first set of stitches. Why did this kid seem so familiar to her? Sure he looked like any of the Waynes, though only Timothy was as deathly pale, but there was something else. Something about him. 

“I hadn’t even heard this guy coming. I guess that’s what I get for not paying attention in a city like Gotham. My friends always said my situational awareness would get me killed again, and I guess they were right! It’s like I’ve met the nicest people in Gotham like this guy who gave me money and food earlier and now I’ve met the meanest people.” 

Danny was apparently someone who talked to distract himself from the pain. At least with how lively he was talking whatever meta abilities he had probably included a healing factor. Thank god. 

“Like who just stabs a guy! Like I’m here looking for my sister, trying to find a library, and he just ups and stabs me. Oh well. Things were looking a little too bright, so I guess with my luck I was due. At least I was able to keep my organs this time.” 

Leslie breathed through her confusion and rage. What the fuck had this kid been through already? Jesus fucking christ. She kept up her work, allowing Danny’s chatter to wash over her. He had told her that anesthetic didn’t work on him, which unfortunately made sense. Considering she only had a small supply of meta strength medication on hand, he had insisted he didn’t want her to waste any on him. 

When she had finally completed the last stitch on the massive injury on his chest, which was already healed significantly, she sat back, washed her hands and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There was a bottle of vodka in the drawer of her desk that she had been given as payment for treating one of Penguin’s goons and it was calling her name. 

“Tell me buddy. What name would you like to put on the paperwork?” As a clinic she had to at least pretend to keep records even if she promptly burned them. 

“Danny…uh…” He looked aside and down for a moment before looking at her again. “Brown! Danny Brown.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, then she wrote the name down on her paper. 

“Just a word of advice, Danny, you have got to learn to lie better if you want to make it in this town. Though kudos on the generic last name, no one will be able to find dirt on a name like that.” 

“It’s not a lie! It’s… new.” He paused. “I’m looking for my sister, and her last name is Brown, and hopefully she wouldn’t mind if I use it too.” 

“Alright then, Danny Brown. Try not to get stabbed again. But if you do, my door is open.” Leslie said as she signed off the sheet and put it into the burn pile. The encampment on fourth could use some material to keep them warm with all the rain. 

“Thanks doc! See ya!” Danny smiled as he skipped out the door. 

Leslie flinched and raced after him, but Danny had already disappeared into the rain. That smile. A thousand small details suddenly cascaded through her mind. That smile that was so familiar, the shape of his face, the texture of his hair, the blue of his eyes. He was looking for a sister. He wanted to borrow her last name. 

She could remember the moment perfectly when Stephanie Brown had been the one bleeding in her clinic. She had volunteered in the clinic before Gotham descended into that massive gang war. Leslie could perfectly remember the way she would smile as she walked out the door. And she could perfectly remember the moment when Stephanie’s heart stopped on her table.

Brothers, Aisle Six

Danny was having a terrible day, or more like a terrible week. His parents had discovered that he was Phantom, and had immediately attacked him. The only reason he had managed to get away through the portal was Jazz holding them back as she shouted at him to run.

Once in the ghost zone Clockwork was instantly by his side leading him to Far Frozen to help with his injuries. Once the worst of it was over Clockwork told him that to help keep him safe he was sending Danny far away from Amity; to Gotham. Whether he agreed or not didn't seem to matter as in a blink of an eye Danny finds himself standing in an alleyway with nothing more than what he already had.

The next few days were hard, and Danny was really trying not to let that get him down too much. So it only makes sense that the universe would take that as a challenge to do worse by raining.

When walking aimlessly in the grocery store to escape the rain he was absent mindlessly picking things up, reading them, and putting them down. That seemed to be a problem for some people though as in the next moment an older woman is grabbing his arm, and demanding him to put back what he was going to steal and asking where his parents are.

The woman doesn't even give him a chance to respond though before she is shouting at and pulling Danny towards an older teen (Tim) who is also standing in the aisle and now staring at them with wide eyes as they approach.

"You need to keep a better track of your little brother! I caught him trying to steal while you were over here looking at your phone!"

The older teen makes eye contact with those words. Now, Danny will admit that while this guy and him did look oddly a-like they weren't brothers, or at least he hoped that was the case. He would know if he was adopted right? Probably.

"Yes," Tim reaches out and pulls Danny out of the woman's grasp; tucking Danny into his side, "I'll make sure to do that thank you."

The woman obviously wants to continue talking, but before she can Tim is already walking away from her with Danny right next to him.

Danny is so thankful that Tim was willing to not correct the woman that he doesn't even notice when Tim plucks a couple hairs from him.

[spaceyaemonds]

don’t start!!!!! Co-parenting means you’re both like (lowkey unhealthily) so involved in eachothers lives, and even though it took some time-due to how the relationship ended-you’re both so flirty so naturally that stare Michael would give you when you start dating a total “square” over those slutty little glasses and that earring 🤤. but your dating the “square” because Michael (highkey) left some scars, so picture Robby from New Girl - but more dorky like takes baby aspirin as a preventative measure- also the name was a coincidence

hi friend!!!

ahhh i have so so much to say on this!!

post referenced

like, they obviously still love each other, very deeply, and despite the relationship not working out. i also think, despite all the work and effort they put in to being able to co-parent successfully, she still gets extremely frustrated with him (like when he goes a day or two without calling, missing t-ball games, etc.). but i completely agree that they (especially him!) are so SO flirty with one another!

omg michael lowkey gets pissed when she starts dating😭😭 i’m calling her bf dylan. he’s closer in age to you than robby is (all my readers for the most part are mid-late 20’s because i am in my mid 20’s) but robby thinks he’s so lame. like man has model trains and like bird watching or something like that. but, he’s nice to her, communicates better than any man she’s ever met, never has her second guessing any feelings, cares about her son, puts her first, etc. and honestly i like to think michael fully understands that, so despite his making fun, deep down it comes from a lot of insecurity and jealousy.

i do think also, that despite her strong feelings for her boyfriend, robby will always be the person she goes to first for nearly everything. i think it eventually does cause a lot of issues in her relationship. like maybe they get engaged but aren’t quite living together fully, and something in the house breaks, and out of habit she calls robby, who obviously shows up. and like her boyfriend gets extremely upset, wondering why she wouldn’t call him first, and she honestly doesn’t know.

[pittsick]

ALL EYES ON YOU.

summary: Rafe and you are in a non-exclusive relationship, yes—but Rafe’s favorite secret? Watching you get fucked by someone else. When you ask JJ Maybank to be that someone, the night turns into slow, messy, voyeuristic heat none of you forget.

pairing: rafe cameron x afab!reader x jj maybank.

cw: +18. mdni. 3.1k words. cuckolding (rafe). voyeurism. exhibitionism. cowgirl position. unprotected piv. fingering. nipple play. messy makeout. multiple rounds. mmf threesome dynamic. jerking off. slow sex. multiple orgasms. dirty talk (encouragement, praise, a bit of degrading language). open relationship. healthy communication. emotional vulnerability. intimacy beyond sex (aftercare, water, cuddling, affirming each other).

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @museboos, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @yardofbrunettes, @hangels, @sweetheartfaist, @lacelottie

You’re the kind of girl that takes her time.

That’s something Rafe likes about you, even if you’re not his girl. Not really. Never officially. You belong to yourself—he knows that, respects it. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get off on watching you enjoy yourself when you’re supposed to be with him. Especially like this.

Especially when JJ Maybank’s standing at the edge of Rafe’s bed, hoodie half-off his frame, looking at you like he’s not sure this is real. Like this is just a fucked-up joke again.

“You’re serious?” JJ’s voice is rough, thick with disbelief. “Like… you really want me to fuck you?”

You’re kneeling on the bed, one palm pressed behind you for balance, the other tracing a teasing little line over the curve of your inner thigh. Just above the waistband of your panties. Your dress is already pooled around your waist with your bra still on. Eyes bright, skin warm under the soft yellow lighting.

You glance toward the armchair across the room.

Rafe is sunk deep into it, legs spread wide, one arm slung lazy over the side, the other bringing a blunt to his lips. Smoke curls in the air as he exhales. His gaze is molten, all heat and calculation.

“She asked you a question,” Rafe mutters, voice smooth. “And I said yes.”

JJ’s brows twitch. “Didn’t know you were into that shit, Cameron.”

“I’m into her,” Rafe says. Then grins. “And watching her get ruined.”

You laugh—slow and sweet like molasses—as you hook your fingers into your panties and start sliding them down your legs.

“C’mon, JJ. You’re not scared, are you?”

JJ blinks like he’s snapping out of a dream. “Fuck no.”

He shrugs off the hoodie, steps out of his shoes but slowly. Because he’d hate to appear too eager. There’s a slow moment where you’re both just looking at each other—your bare thighs parting on the expensive duvet, his knuckles twitching at his sides.

“You can touch me,” you murmur. “If you wanna make me feel good, you should.”

Rafe shifts in his seat as JJ climbs onto the bed.

He doesn’t say anything—just watches, the blunt glows again between his fingers.

JJ’s hands are rougher than Rafe’s. Less manicured. He cups your jaw, leans in, kisses you like he’s been holding it in forever. There’s no hesitation, no easing in. He groans into your mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down with you.

Rafe is exhaling slow.

The way your mouth moves against JJ’s—sloppy, wet, hungry—has him tightening his grip on the armrest. You make the messiest noises when you’re turned on, and you know exactly how close Rafe is watching.

You tilt your head and let JJ lick into you, your hips grinding slow against his thigh as he presses between your legs. “You’re fuckin’ soaked already,” JJ mumbles, breath hitching against your neck.

“She gets off on being watched,” Rafe supplies lazily. “Especially when it’s me.”

JJ lifts his head. “That true?”

You hum, guiding his hand down between your thighs. “Guess you’ll see.”

He touches you like he means it. Like he wants you to feel everything. One finger—then two—sliding through your folds, circling your clit in lazy, slick motions. Your back arches. Rafe grunts low as you roll your hips into JJ’s hand, your body greedy for more.

“Shit,” JJ mutters. “You’re unreal.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah? Sure you like it already.”

You pull your dress over your head, toss it somewhere to the side before unclasping your bra. Your bare chest is on full display now—nipples perked and aching. JJ ducks down to mouth at one, tongue flicking over the bud, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Fuck—JJ—”

Rafe’s watching everything. Silent now. Just the sound of his slow inhale, the drag of his fist over denim. You turn your head toward him while JJ licks across your chest. “You like this?” you whisper to Rafe, voice thick with arousal. “You like watching someone else play with what’s not even yours?”

Rafe groans around the blunt. “You’re so fuckin’ dirty.”

One finger, two fingers rubbing against your entrance before they slip into you and JJ curses under his breath at how warm you are on his digits. You can’t help but smile at this.

JJ lets you guide him back with a kiss, your mouths hot and sloppy again. His fingers fuck into you with a wet rhythm, curling just right. Your thighs tremble and you moan directly into his mouth. You almost forget about everything else. 

Rafe’s hand is palming over his jeans now, not even trying to hide it. His eyes burn into your body to search for every little reaction you have. A shiver, a tremble, a curse escaping your lips. 

You reach for JJ’s waistband, pop the button. He lets you pull his cock free, already hard and flushed at the tip. You don’t compare but he’s different from Rafe and that’s something you appreciate in silence.

“Lay back,” you command softly.

JJ does.

You swing a leg over him, settling on top. One hand on his chest for balance, the other wrapping around his length. He twitches in your grip when you rub his tip with your thumb. You can feel his hips jerking up, almost as if to feel you more, to have more.

“Fuck—go slow,” JJ mutters. “Don’t wanna bust already.” You laugh again, grinding your slick folds over the head of his cock, your hips grinding down. You can feel it against your clit, just the right amount that makes you wish you could go harder. But you want to make it last.

“You gonna let me ride you while he watches?” you whisper, voice saccharine. “While Rafe jerks off in the chair?”

JJ swears under his breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that.” It’s not even about being watched anymore; it’s about you. Rafe’s eyes lowers to the movement, licking his lips that are starting to get dry from the blunt he is smoking.

Your hand moves to grab his length again to angle it toward your folds and you finally  sink down, slow, taking every inch. Both men groan at the same time.

You’ve never felt so full—so seen.

Rafe’s hand is in his pants now, working his cock as you start to ride. Slow at first, letting yourself stretch and adjust, your hips rising and falling. JJ is gripping your thighs like he’s barely holding it together.

“Holy fuck, God—”

You roll your hips just right. The rhythm starts to build. A deep grind. Sensual. Meant for being watched. Not too much but just enough for JJ to feel it.

And Rafe—he’s transfixed.

Eyes locked on the way you bounce in JJ’s lap, how your tits move with each thrust. His palm drags slowly over his cock, blunt smoldering in the ashtray now. His thumb rubs over the head of his flushed cock, lips parted that almost want to let moans out.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” Rafe murmurs, barely audible.

JJ leans up to catch your nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard as you rock forward. You gasp, thread your fingers into his hair. The friction is building—your clit grinding against his pelvis, his cock hitting all the right spots when you clench around him.

“Touch yourself,” you tell Rafe, turning your head to look at him. He’s already doing it, but your voice makes him squeeze tighter, stroke faster, head rolling to show his throat. “Look at me,” you pant. “Look what you’re missing.”

Rafe groans through his teeth. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease.”

You smirk because it’s true; and yet, you know he loves it. This is what Rafe likes, this is what Rafe wants. But the pleasure’s mounting now—JJ’s thrusting up to meet you, hands guiding your hips down on his cock, your nails raking down his chest and tugging on his hair.

“Gonna come,” you whisper, dazed. “Fuck—Rafe—I’m gonna come on his cock.” You say when JJ’s tip hits the spongy spot inside you multiple times, angling in the perfect way to make you see stars and white clouds. It makes your bouncing frantic, uncoordinated.

Rafe’s mouth drops open, his fist moving fast now.

JJ grips your hips. “Come for me, babe. Show him how good I make you feel.”

It hits like a wave—sharp, sweet, overwhelming. You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, body tightening around JJ’s cock. Your thighs quake. Your breath shatters. Your eyes close tightly. Your body almost falls over while JJ keeps his hands on your hips.

And Rafe?

He’s moaning as he comes in his own hand, eyes locked on you, lips parted in awe. It’s perhaps the best alone orgasm he ever had, he can’t even deny that. His hand is coated in sperm, sticky and he’s breathless.

You collapse forward on JJ’s chest finally, shivering.

JJ’s still hard.

“Still need me to finish,” he mutters, breathless, brushing your hair away from your face to look at you. He talks in a way that is more a question – “Can I keep going?” You shift, slow, grinding into him again.

“I’ve got more in me.”

Rafe watches round two with his hands still in his jeans and his cock starting to get hard again. Watches as JJ flip you over, stretch you out beneath him. Watches as you beg for more—messy kisses, spit-slick nipples, teeth dragging over your throat.

He lights another blunt, his eyes don't miss a second.

JJ’s panting above you, skin damp and flushed, his cock still buried deep inside you as you both come down from that last high; even though you were the only one having an orgasm yet. You’re stretched and soaked and sensitive, your lips swollen from all the kissing and teeth.

You lie there for a second, catching your breath, watching the ceiling swirl above you from the afterglow. You feel JJ’s hand smooth over your waist like you’re fragile.

And then you hear Rafe shift.

His boots land heavy on the rug as he stands from the chair, a soft creak of the frame left behind. You blink over at him just as he approaches the bed, blunt smoldering between two fingers.

“Was gonna just watch,” Rafe says, voice low, hoarse from smoke and restraint. “But you looked too fuckin’ pretty not to touch.” You can hear the honesty in his voice.

You smile, dazed, wrecked. “Did I?”

He sits on the edge of the mattress beside you, one knee pressing into the soft comforter, eyes flicking over your chest, your neck, your spit-slick lips. His gaze is softer now—still hot, but reverent like he never saw someone as beautiful and free as you.

JJ slows his movements above you, cock still sheathed inside as he rests on his elbows. “You want me to stop?” He asks both you and Rafe. But Rafe shakes his head. “Nah. Keep going.” Then glances down at you. “You okay, baby?”

You nod slowly. “I want it slower.”

JJ leans down, presses a soft kiss to your jaw. “I got you.”

He starts to move again—this time with purpose, control. Long, deep strokes. Each thrust makes you gasp, moan, whimper. It’s different now. Less frenzied. Like he’s taking all his time with you. Like you’re something he’s savoring.

Rafe leans in. His blunt rests in the ashtray nearby, fingers now free to trail up your ribs, slow and careful. He bends down and kisses your collarbone, open-mouthed and lingering before this lips press open-mouth kisses against your chest.

Your breath hitches. “Fuck,” you whisper.

JJ groans into your throat. “She’s so tight still.”

“She’s perfect,” Rafe murmurs, kissing his way up. “A fucking dream.”

When Rafe finally kisses you, it’s slow—slow enough to make you dizzy again. His mouth tastes like smoke and lust and something only you ever get from him. His tongue moves with yours in lazy circles, lips slanting over yours like he’s trying to memorize every sound you make. And you’re making a lot of them.

Because JJ is still fucking you through it all—sliding in deep, pressing his hips against yours until your clit catches just right on each thrust. You moan into Rafe’s mouth, and Rafe moans back, like it’s his cock inside you.

“That’s it,” Rafe whispers, brushing hair from your face. “You’re taking it so good.”

JJ growls. “If only you could feel how she squeezes when you talk like that.”

“I feel everything,” Rafe says, watching your face. “She lets me see it all.”

You whimper as JJ rolls his hips again—deeper this time. Your thighs twitch, toes curling in the sheets. One of Rafe’s hands finds your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple in lazy circles. He leans down and licks it, then sucks slow until your hips jerk against JJ’s. “I’m gonna come,” you whisper.

JJ picks up the pace just slightly. “Give it to me.”

Rafe’s kissing you again, hand cupping your jaw while the other tweaks your nipple just right. He breathes into your mouth:

“Come on, baby. Let him feel it.”

You shatter at his words.

Your orgasm builds slowly but crashes hard—every nerve lit, your body trembling beneath JJ, wrapped up in Rafe’s mouth and voice and smell. You’re crying out, babbling something neither of them can understand, and they don’t need to. You can’t help but clench around JJ’s cock, muscles twitching, back arching.

JJ grits his teeth. “Fuck—I’m close—”

Rafe grabs your hand and brings it between JJ’s thighs. “Finish him, baby, come on.”

You stroke JJ as pulls out of your warmth, your palm wet from your own slick and his precum. It doesn’t take long. JJ groans loud, hips stuttering, face buried in your shoulder as he spills on your stomach, painting it white; his cock pulsing with each wave.

When it’s over, everything goes still.

You’re caught between two bodies—Rafe leaning in to kiss your temple, and JJ pulls aways from you gently, your thighs still quivering from the orgasm you had. There’s a moment where no one says anything. Just breathing. Just the quiet. Then Rafe murmurs, low: “You’re gonna ruin me, baby.”

You smile, boneless. “You already let me.”

JJ’s already off the bed, tugging his boxers back up, shirt forgotten somewhere on the floor. He’s not sure if he should stay naked, even after that. His hair’s a mess, lips swollen, chest flushed red. But his eyes keep coming back to you—wrecked and still spread out on Rafe’s sheets like a fever dream.

“You okay?” he asks gently, voice more careful than before. “I didn’t push too far?”

Rafe moves away from the bed when you talk to JJ about how you feel, his brain already thinking about how to make you relax now. “No, you didn’t, I’m alright.” You tell the boy, smiling as rafe comes back with a warm damp cloth and starts to clean you up with gentle touches. “Yeah, she’s alright. Aren’t you, baby?” He says.

You nod, slow and soft, fingers curled loosely into the sheets. “I feel floaty,” you admit. JJ gives a breathy little laugh. “Yeah, no shit. You look floaty.”

“I’m serious,” you murmur, voice barely there. “That was... I’ve never felt anything like that before.” Rafe presses the cloth a little gentler, wiping away JJ’s spend on your stomach and your slick, like it’s something sacred. He kisses your inner thigh when he finishes. Then your hip. Then your stomach.

“I’ll get you water,” he says, standing again and disappearing into the hallway.

You’re left with JJ, the room dim and humming with the weight of what just happened. JJ rubs the back of his neck and sits at the foot of the bed, glancing back at you when you sit up and grabs an oversized shirt Rafe keeps under his pillow. “So,” he starts, a little sheepish. “That was kinda crazy, huh?”

You smile at him, slow and warm, covered again. “You didn’t expect it?”

JJ huffs. “Thought it was a trap at first. You call me up, say you want me to fuck you, tell me Rafe’s gonna watch—I figured it was some messed-up Cameron mind game.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know that now,” he says. Then his voice softens. “You weren’t fucking around. You meant it. Every second.”

“I did.” He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time—past all the teasing, past the way you ride and moan and beg to be seen. He sees you now. Honest. Spent. Glowing. Probably just how Rafe sees you.

“It was good?” JJ asks, quieter.

You reach down and touch his hand. “It was incredible.” Rafe returns with two glasses of water and a hoodie he tosses over your shoulders. He presses one glass into your hands and brushes your hair back with careful fingers while he gives the other to JJ.

“Drink up for me, baby.” He tells you.

You do. JJ steadies you with one arm while Rafe helps you sip the water. Your throat’s dry from all the moaning and panting. Every swallow helps ground you. “You’re quiet,” you say to Rafe between sips.

He sits beside you now, one leg pulled up onto the mattress, watching you like you’re made of glass and fire both. “Just letting you breathe.”

JJ raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for the cuddly type, Cameron.” Rafe smirks. “Only for her.”

You snort. “You love it.”

“I love seeing you like that,” Rafe murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. “Watching you take him… fuck, baby, you were so beautiful.” JJ whistles low. “You ever get jealous?” Rafe shrugs. “Used to. Not anymore.”

JJ blinks. “Really?”

“She doesn’t belong to me,” Rafe says simply. “She chooses me. That’s better than owning.” You meet his eyes then—open, raw. “You’ve always let me be free.”

“And I always will.”

JJ’s looking between the two of you now, lips quirking. “You guys are weird.”

“Jealous?” you tease, nudging him with your foot. “A little,” he admits. “But… I get it.”

“You okay?” you ask him. “I don’t want this to mess anything up.” JJ leans back on his elbows. “Honestly? I think that was the most honest sex I’ve had in a long time.”

You tilt your head. “Because Rafe was watching?” 

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Because I didn’t have to pretend. You wanted it. He wanted it. Nobody was hiding anything.” There’s a long pause—comfortable. Then you say, softly, “I don’t know what this is. But I know I liked it.”

JJ smiles. “Me too.”

Rafe nods, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into his chest before covering you with the blanket of his bed. “We can talk more about what it means. Later. But don’t expect this to happen all the time, Maybank.”

You exhale into his shirt, heart beating calm now. JJ lies back beside you and shrugs to Rafe, his fingers brushing yours under the blanket.

And for the first time that night, you’re not just being watched.

You’re being held.

[dmitriene]

Hello! First of all, I wanna say, I'm a huge fan of your work. You have a beautiful writing style. Keep rocking it!

I just wanted to request something. I know it's not a character you usually write about, but can you try to write for Nikto please? Maybe a darker theme, as it suits the character better. Totally fine if you don't want to. Have a great day 🌸

i hope you would enjoy this work, i tried my best while writing about nikto for the first time!

cw: smut as always, mentions of nikto's disorder, sensitive descriptions.

nikto is a wolf, a predator, and what can be worser than an unhinged animal, completely fucked in the head, servicing on the battlefield after surviving something most people can barely comprehend, lurking out in the wild with teeth bared and ready to snap around something plump and malleable.

people talk, whisper, gasp, bypassing him, like rabbits through the bushes with soft paws, just so as not to fall under the chilling gaze of his heavy eyes, the only part that is seen from his entire face, because what he hides behind a mask is not for someone else's gaze, not for a tender stomach, or the bilious disgust will be instant.

nikto barely remember what it's like to be okay to communicate with others, after what he's been through, after his face has gone so disfigured to a state where even dogs won't bite, after he's started experiencing memory loss, whispering under his breath, feeling lost and a stranger, stuck in that derealization bubble, only he has become a companion to himself, and the voices in his head, all different, but equally buzzing, annoying.

you're not unlike any women he met through his whole life, and ain't that funny, how comically different you are, as if that's a trap, or, perhaps, another unfunny joke of his fucked head, of all the suddenly thrilling, barking voices inside, all those personalities, that claw and rip through to get on the surface so they could eat you alive, scare away until you're running and shrieking, just as any pretty doll he met before, but you don't.

nikto is surprised, or intrigued, he doesn't knows, the only thing he's sure about is that the thing that possesses his body, many of them, want to have you in every way, with your flesh between his teeth, with your cunt against his torn, ugly face, with his cock battering your insides while you moan, and jerk, and ask for more, hiccuping his name like something worth even being voiced out, and that's makes him crazy, because you give in to his deranged desires.

your pretty face ain't twists into a grimace at the sight of his own, there's no crease in between your eyebrow, not a single curl to your alluringly sweet lips, you trace your fingertips against the tissued, disfigured pieces of skin as if he's a porcelain, as if you can hurt him more than he is already, even though he can't feel anything no more, but your touch seem to bring out a rush of unfamiliar tingles, so warm, so tender, a feeling he nuzzles in like a dog he is.

when he snarls, more at the rattle in his head and ears than on you, you don't back off, don't tug your hand away, don't start trembling like a tiny, laughable prey, you only lean closer, cup each side of his face, uneven beneath your purely unstained palms, and initiate closer contact, until your warm breath ghosts over his ear, until you soothe, cooing at him as if he's a baby boy, a novel experience, as the voices shut down, his head no longer pounding as if ready to crack, everything around going quiet, while you stay.

nikto get's to kiss, nikto get's to grope, nikto get's to drool in every crook of your body while you scratch at the nape of his neck and look at him as if he hung the stars and moon up in the sky, you're strange, but he's stranger, so he takes what he can, what he deserved, your beckoning touches and your pitching, melodious voice and beautifully arching body, as he devours you and splits apart, always with permission.

he get's to fuck, an act he never even committed before, a connection that zaps up his spine with burning electricity, when the head of his cock, girthy and so big against your tiny hole, pushes in slow inside your completely drenched cunt, warm, rippling walls welcoming him inside, better than coming home, accommodating to the stretch carefully, steadily, even though his whole body trembles, drool dripping onto your bouncing tits, his face halfway buried in.

your legs spread wide, fragile ankles hooking over his lower back, the feeling grounding him, unexpectedly, and then you whimper and loop your clawing hands around his straining neck, and nikto's lean body starts sagging down, pining you, while thrusting with vigor, edging himself deeper, all the way in the clutches of your slippery cunt, bottoming out and snapping forward, chasing the warmth that suffuses his body, chasing the point where he'd pump you full and dripping of him.

so he could make you proud, so you'll stroke your hands along his back and look into his drooping baby blue eyes with a fondness that lights your whole face like a sun, rocking him to sleep with lulling, whispering syllables, letting him rest, sweaty, dirty, cum coated just as you, squishing you down into the rough mattress, and still, nonetheless, you kiss him all over and tell that you love, and nikto accepts, like a tamed thing, not a beast.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ild-rllrcstr]

Offline, Online part 1

Lando Norris X You / slow burn / 3.1K

part 2 (coming soon)

Summary Online, you know him as your constant racing rival and friend who talks about everything. Unawareingly, offline, he's Lando Norris, the charming, frustrating driver you’re assigned to style, who somehow makes every workday a challenge. At work, you don’t like him. He doesn’t take you seriously. But behind the screens, you both vent about each other without knowing who’s who. Slowly, late-night races and shared secrets start to blur the lines between friendship and something more. As reality and virtual worlds collide, feelings sneak up when you least expect them.

Warnings swearing A/N Had this idea for a while, just was trying to figure out how I can make it work, that's why it's taking me a while, hope you like this!

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Growing up with two older brothers obsessed with cars, your childhood was shaped by the sound of engines and the thrill of competition. Your favourite family pastime? Sim racing. From clunky old Nintendos and chaotic rounds of Mario Kart, to the sleek playseats that came later, your childhood home even had a room dedicated just for it. Glowing screens, the occasional shouting match, it was your version of bonding.

Now that all three of you have moved out, the playseat came with you. It sits proudly in the corner of your apartment, slightly scratched, a little worn, but updates throughout the years have made it special, it’s yours. Whenever life lets you breathe between lectures, meetings, or deadlines, you’re in that seat, headset on, world off. It’s the only place where your brain quiets down.

Every vacation, like a sacred ritual, your family meets for real karting. Nothing fancy, just cracked helmets, adrenaline, and way too much post-race trash talk over greasy burgers. 

That same energy followed you online. What started as a few family Discord races evolved into a tiny, anonymous sim racing community, just a handful of players, most of whom you've never met, but know like clockwork. You race together. Chat late at night. Share playlists. Sometimes vent. No real names. No real identities. Just usernames, shared laps, and the comforting hum of familiarity.

Hanging behind your name on the ranking is always @mclateagain4, You don’t know who he is, not really.

His voice always crackles through your headset most nights like static and safety, confident, teasing. Always one second behind you, always threatening to beat your lap. 

He’s funny, in that low-effort way that feels real. He never pushes. But when he really talks, there’s a weight to it. Like someone who spends too much time pretending he’s fine. But lately, you're starting to think about him more than you used to.

Not in a crushy, hearts-in-your-eyes kind of way, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. It's just... he’s always there. Same time. Same lobby. Same teasing drawl and last-minute overtakes. You’ve started noticing things. You noticed the way his voice softens when he’s tired, how he breathes heavier when he’s frustrated. He somehow always knows when you’ve had a rough day, even when you say nothing. It should be weird. But it’s not.

You don’t even know his real name. He only ever said to call him “Late.”Just Late.

Which you did, until one night, maybe out of tiredness, maybe just to see how he’d react, you called him Lando.

There was a pause. Then a low laugh.

“Do I really sound that much like him?”

“Exactly like him,” you replied, with a small smirk he couldn’t see.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess. He’s kinda hot.”

You snorted. “Your favourite driver is going to get all flushed if he hears that.”

“Well, I think he’ll graciously accept that compliment.”

And that was that. A joke. A deflection. But still… something lingered.

Even your brothers brought it up once or twice, half-serious, half-mocking.

“If that is Lando, you could technically say you beat a Formula 1 driver three nights in a row.”

“If that is Lando,” you rolled your eyes, “he should be embarrassed.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You weren’t supposed to care.

This was a job, just another freelance gig. High-profile of the year, sure, but temporary. You’d worked events before, styled minor names, built up your portfolio. This was no different.

Except, it was.

Because the second you saw his name on the call sheet, your stomach flipped. Lando Norris. The same driver whose race wins you’d cheered, whose Monaco onboard laps you’d rewatched more times than you’d admit. He was a big part of your journey watching F1. But now, none of that mattered.

Because now, you were here to work.

You remind yourself of that as you step into the studio with your clipboard in hand. Your job? Coordinate styling for an event he’s part of for the quarter of the year. Keep everything on schedule. Be precise. Be professional.

No fangirling. No mistakes. You kept it professional. That’s what mattered.

But he showed up twenty minutes late, hoodie half-zipped, sunglasses on indoors, and laughing at something on his phone. He apparently overslept.

Even if he acted like it was no big deal. Like everyone would wait. Like time bent for him.

You’d worked with big names before. Actors. Models. Musicians. But something about Lando Norris, the real, in-person version of him, rubbed you the wrong way.

It wasn’t his fault, really. Not completely. He was polite enough. He said “Good morning” to everyone when he walked in. Smiled when the assistant handed him water. Made a joke to the lighting guy that had everyone laughing.

Everyone but you.

Because this wasn’t a joke. You were here to make sure he looked camera-ready. That the angles matched, the pieces sat right, and the vision stayed intact. That meant time. Precision. Focus.

And Lando, apparently, focus was not his best strength outside of that car.

He slouched during fittings, fidgeted during test shots, messed with his hair between takes. When you gently asked him to sit up straighter or stop undoing buttons, he just grinned, like it was a game.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t complain. Just kept your head down and finished the job.

"All good?” he asked once, noticing your silence while you fixed a collar.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re on track.”

He nodded, but something in his expression flickered, like he noticed your tone and wasn’t sure how to read it. You didn’t clarify. You weren’t here to make friends. Just clothes fit.

That night, you finally kicked off your shoes, sit onto your race seat, and threw your headset on like it was armour.

Late was already in the lobby. His little car was idling on the screen like always.

"You sound tense today." He heard your sigh.

"I had the longest day with the most unbothered human alive."

You hit the track. The familiar hum of engines instantly started quieting your thoughts. But not enough.

"What happened?" He asked, the both of you warming up for the game.

You sighed again, "I’m on a new project working with this guy today, he was the main person for a campaign. Shows up late, makes jokes like it’s a school play, just seemed to be very unserious."

"So… like, main character syndrome?"

"Exactly. I get it, he’s the star. But damn, the world doesn’t gravitate around you."

"Maybe he was nervous and covering it," he laughed a bit.

"If nervous looks like flirting with the interns and ignoring directions, then sure. Olympic-level nerves."

He laughed in that quiet way of his, like he didn’t want to admit he found it as funny.

"Sounds like he brought the whole circus with him."

"You’d think. But honestly, I think he just… performs too much. It’s like no one’s ever told him he doesn’t have to be “on” all the time."

"Huh." You could almost hear him thinking on the other end of the headset.

"Funny. I had the opposite kind of day. Worked with someone who made it feel like I was talking to my grade 3 literature teacher every single time."

You blinked at his description.

"I’m assuming you didn’t like your grade 3 literature teacher very much."

He chuckled. "Yeah. She hated me like I was stupid or something. The person today was just like that, ice cold. Super tight up. Like, painfully professional."

"Maybe she didn’t want to blur lines."

"Sure. But I wasn’t asking her to braid friendship bracelets. I just try to make a good atmosphere at work, and she looked like I kicked her cat."

"Maybe you’re not as funny as you think you are."

"Ouch, but you love my jokes."

"I do." You laughed for real this time, and he did too, like some weird balance had been restored.

You both raced in near silence for a while after that. Just engine sounds, key clicks, and the occasional breath shared through static.

He beat your lap time. You called him a menace. He called you a tyrant.

You didn’t say anything about how your chest felt lighter.

Neither of you knew you’d spent the whole day silently bristling at each other… only to find comfort in each other later, under different names, different masks.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next shoot was scheduled for Friday.

You’d already blocked it out on your calendar, triple-checked call times, and re-reviewed Lando’s sizing notes, though he probably wouldn’t wear half the things on the rack. You made your peace with that. It’s how the work is.

What you hadn’t made peace with was the fact that your stomach still flipped when his name showed up in your inbox. That same twist of nerves. Not from awe anymore, no, that had been crushed beneath a stack of moodboards and missed cues. Now, it was just tension.

You kept your head down all day.

You’d learned that trick early on. When things fall apart, stay quiet, stay useful. Control what you can.

Still, it didn’t stop the sting when the creative director barked that your notes were confusing, while it was obvious that he didn’t read any of your notes. Someone messed up the order of looks, but you took the blame. It didn’t stop the embarrassment when Lando, in front of half the team, cracked a joke about how tightly you clung to the schedule like it was life support.

You didn’t respond. Just gave a clipped nod, pretended your throat didn’t feel tight.

It wasn’t his fault. Not directly. He didn’t know what kind of morning you’d had. Didn’t know about the last-minute changes that no one told you about. Didn’t know that your work, your planning, your precision, was the only thing keeping the entire shoot from unravelling. And maybe that was the point.

He didn’t see you. Not really.

Later, you overheard him laughing with the photographer. Something about “people who take things way too seriously.” You didn’t stick around long enough to hear the punchline.

You left quietly without saying goodbye.

That night, your fingers hovered over your keyboard for a long moment before you typed.

You: Longest. Day. Ever.

"That bad?" His voice went through your headset like soothing

"Have you ever have one of those days where nothing technically explodes, but it still feels like you got run over emotionally?"

"Like a passive-aggressive train? Yeah."

You hesitated. Then just… let it spill.

"I got snapped at in front of a whole team for something that wasn’t my fault. Got told I was too ‘rigid’ when I was the only one holding things together. The person I was working with basically made me the punchline of the day."

There was a pause from him. "That sucks. I’m sorry."

"Yeah, well. That’s what I get for trying to be good at what I do."

"They sound like a bunch of arses."

"I don’t think they meant to be. He was just… doing his thing. Being chill. Everyone else liked him. I just… I don’t know. It made me feel small. And stupid in front of everybody."

There was a longer pause this time.

"That’s the worst. When someone makes you feel invisible but doesn’t even realise it."

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just let his words sit there, heavier than you expected.

"I kinda feel that, had a crap day too." it was his turn to sigh.

"Yeah?"

"Worked with someone who I’m pretty sure hated my entire existence. Like, I was annoying just by breathing. Kept things cold, clipped. Acted like I was wasting their time just by showing up."

You blinked. Sat up straighter.

"That person sounds like an ass too."

"Maybe. Or maybe I was just too much. That happens sometimes." It was rare for you to hear the inconfidence in his voice.

You stared at the screen. 

"You’re not too much."

"You don’t even know me."

"For the times that we’ve raced together, I know how you race. I know how you talk when you’re tired. I know how you listen. I know you never miss when someone’s off. That’s not 'too much.' That’s human."

It took him a while to reply.

"Thanks. That means more than you think."

And something shifted after that.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next time Lando had a shooting, he was fitting with the director, laughing about lightening and something that has nothing to do with you. You were just arranging the space, folding pieces that had just come back from set, when the project manager approached.

“What happened with Lando’s jacket?” she snapped, not even lowering her voice. “That collar looked ridiculous in the wide shots.”

Your heart sank.

You had adjusted that collar three times. Each time, he’d shifted, moved, joked, then finally waved off the last touch-up before cameras rolled. But you didn’t say that.

You just stood there, mouth opening, then closing. Heat crawled up your neck.

“Seriously, wake up,” the manager added, already walking away.

You turned back to the rack slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. You stayed there longer than you needed to, pretending to refold a sleeve.

Lando was half-turned, frozen mid-step, having returned to grab his water bottle from the table. Watching the whole thing from the corner of the room. His face wasn’t playful anymore.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not then. But he saw.

Later that night.

He hadn’t brought up the moment, didn’t mention the manager, didn’t say your name. But something in the way he spoke was different, more hesitant.

"Have you ever felt like… You missed something important? Like, you saw it too late?"

You blinked.

"All the time. Why?"

"Just wondering."

You didn’t push. Instead, you let the silence settle. And in the quiet, you started drifting further into something fragile. Not a fall. Just… a shift in gravity.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The event for one of the campaigns was running late.

The sun was brutal, the lighting was acting up, and the team was running on three cups of coffee and nerves. You were adjusting wardrobe pieces under the canopy tent, double-checking changes for the next setup. Nothing was sitting quite right on the new looks, and with how behind they were, everyone was snapping.

“I told you this was supposed to be a navy tone!” one of the creative leads barked, tossing a fabric swatch onto the table where you were laying out backup pieces.

You inhaled through your nose. Slowly.

“That's the navy one we talked about,” you said, as calmly as you could. “Lighting’s off because of the clouds, but under studio…”

“Don’t give me excuses, just get it fixed.”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it.

Lando had been off to the side, chatting with the photographer and sipping his iced drink. But the moment the words were thrown in your direction, you saw him pause. Look over. Then, surprisingly, walk over.

He didn’t make a big scene of it.

He just stepped beside you, picked up the swatch, and said, “This is the exact one we agreed on in pre-prod. I remember it. You even showed me. Let me try it on, it seems fine…” He smoothly put the watch on. “It’s perfect, see, right guys?” He looked around, asking, and people just nodded along.

You turned to him, caught off guard. You hadn’t even thought he’d noticed that moment, and barely anyone else had paid attention during those early meetings.

The creative lead faltered. “Well, we’re going with that then.”

“Maybe we can adjust the lighting before we blame the clothes,” Lando replied smoothly, his tone light but edged.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

He looked back at you, and for a split second, there was something different in his eyes. Not just amusement. Not just surface charm. It felt like recognition.

“I’m ready, let’s try it,” he said, and walked off toward the camera again, unfazed.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know what to say. You just turned back to your rack, fingers suddenly a little shakier than before.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The late-night sim racing banter stayed. The usual trash talk and late-night race sessions didn’t stop. But somewhere between lap times and playlists, the space between you and Late started to feel… tender.

He sent you a song once and said it reminded him of your voice. You saved it. You started typing longer messages, shared pictures of your setup, and a photo of your karting helmet. He told you once he liked hearing your laugh in his headset. You never said it out loud, but you started smiling more around him.

You weren’t falling. Not really. You were just leaning, ever so slightly, toward someone you didn’t even know. Or thought you didn’t.

Which is why it stung a little too much when one night, somewhere between qualifying heats and midnight, he asked "Can I ask you something a bit random?"

"Sure, we already know how weird you are, don’t think I’ll be any more surprised."

You both chuckled.

"Is it weird to be attracted to someone you don’t really know that well?"

Your pulse jumped. "I think it can be. Why?"

"Just… there’s this girl. I think I misunderstood her. I think the more I pay attention, I’m starting to understand why she did the things the way she did."

You stared at the screen for too long. Long enough that he sent a follow-up.

"Sorry. That was probably weird."

"No, not weird. Just… is that the girl at work?"

"Ehhh… yeah."

You swallowed. You stared at the message so long, your screen dimmed.

Of course it was someone else.

Of course this was just banter to him. Jokes and playlists and soft 2 AM confessions, just part of the game. You thought maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something quieter and slower and real. Like every other time in your life, you thought something good was going on, well, it’s not.

But apparently, he had someone in real life. Someone he was trying to understand. It just further frustrates you that the person happened to be the person he’s been complaining about. And you supported him, you always support each other.

You took a breath. Decided to go with something sarcastic, something defensive.

" I think it’s not weird at all. If you’re starting to understand her, that’s probably a good thing."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Sometimes people don’t show who they are right away. Doesn’t mean they’re not worth trying to know."

There was a pause, he was letting your words sink into his mind..

"I knew you’d say something smart like that."

"Someone’s gotta balance out your dumb."

He laughed, his usual, low one that always made you smile. But tonight, you didn’t. Not quite.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[seefaofthemist]

So I'm currently in Season 3 of Sg1 and I have been hit with another difference between Sg1 and Atlantis.

The SGC is a job. Atlantis is home.

Don't get me wrong, the sg1 team is pack bonded and absolutely feral about each other. They are family. They are friends. They are also coworkers. They commute to the sgc. They have houses and apartments and lives outside of the stargate program. (Well, some of them do.) They get paid, go on vacations, and get benefits. In the end, this is a job. A job you love, with people you would die for, at a place that could be a second home, but a job.

Atlantis is a home first and a job second. They live there. They fall asleep to the sound of waves lapping against the piers of Atlantis. They go for runs in the catwalks. There's a chess club, a mensa chapter, an outdoors club, they go fishing and play volleyball together. They go for dates in the cafeteria, have Atlantis movie nights, and meet up for breakfast. They're a tight knit community.

The SGC is also a military base and it shows, it's barren and impersonal, there are a few exceptions to this, like Daniel having a picture of Sha're on his desk, but for the most part there's little to no personalization. Even the lighting is often very sterile and military. Again, there's exceptions, like the often warm and yellow lighting used in Daniel's office, but the hallways are all extremely sterile. (There's something to be said for the way that Daniel is most often the one breaking up the uniform and military vibes of the base, but that's another post)

Atlantis, on the other hand, is heavily personalized. They hang posters on their walls, they have golf clubs, art supplies, and remote control cars. There's dirty clothes on the floor of their quarters, a mini fridge tucked into the corner, and books left open on their beds. There's something so familiar and comfortable about Atlantis. A sense of belonging that doesn't come across as much as in Sg1.

Honestly, I think it comes back to how militarized the SGC is and how civilian Atlantis is. The vibe is less found family military heroes and more Atlantis is a home to the lost and the broken.

[hiddenhornsclub]

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢!𝙱𝚎𝚘𝚖𝚐𝚢𝚞 𝚡 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚢'𝚜 𝙿𝚒𝚡𝚒𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠: 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢, 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 5,500 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝, 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎!𝚝𝚡𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚟, 𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛: 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

The whistling wind runs down the spine of the arctic forest. Dusting of snow swirls up, dancing amongst its thick blanket below. Tall pine trees that hold few life forms, every once in a while, shake off the powder as if exhausted from the sky's recent downfall. Here, lonely frost fairies live miles away from each other, hibernating, waiting until Jack Frost calls them to the human world. To do their duty and welcome the months of chilly gloom for humankind to endure. 

Along a snowy trail, the trees become scattered as they get closer to the divide—a small stone bridge, perfect for a singular fairy to be able to cross beyond the winter realm. Where the snow-covered ground turns into fresh dirt, and the unique snowflakes melt into raindrops best to water the plants.

“The Seasonal Divide” is what the fairies called it. Where one side held the cold and quiet fairies, and the other side had evergreen trees, covering the bustling of many busy fairies, constantly providing little things, such as painted butterfly wings, fertile plants, or lost keys for humans to find.

Sunlight bouncing off a rushing river, melted from the winter realm you call home, where snow fairies, ice fairies, and frost fairies like you dwell. The sudden glint pierces your vision, sharp and startling, a definite way to wake you up from a winter’s nap. You shake the frost that builds up in your white hair during your slumber, then stretch your crystallized body. In a snow-covered pine tree close to the border between the warm seasonal realm and the winter realm, there was a burrow where you lived. It was dark yet warm inside, with little wooden furniture, ice-stained glass windows, and an eye-catching icicle chandelier proudly made by you. A quaint living space, however, the best part of your home in the burrow was that it was a few flaps of your wings to the seasonal divide. You never dare step foot past the line that separates the warm fairies from the cold ones, yet you live close to fairy-watch.

All fairies are born the same, it's just how the magical wind takes their baby pappus, which chooses your destined type of fairy to become. A lot land in the thick forest, creating many woodland fairies. Some fall into rivers or lakes, creating water fairies. Very few land in fire or on the winter side, making those fairies rare, different. 

Cold fairies' personalities mimic their nature, being reserved, detached, and unreadable. It is an isolated community; only one season is used for humans, so the population is staggered. You couldn’t deny that stereotype as it is true. Leaving the family at an early age, living alone, and having no neighbors for miles. This is why you liked being next to the divide, watching the change of culture of diverse fairies, judging their weird ways of soaking in the sun, making plants grow instead of wilt, and using materials that aren’t ice to build things.

There was one fairy in particular that you found brought the most value to your boring life. A male fairy of light, always seen bathed in the soft gold of the sun, with a signature halo glow of the rare fire fairies. His earthy brown hair is long and tousled, falling in soft layers that catch streaks of light, giving it a windswept, ethereal quality. His deep hazel eyes are large and expressive, always carrying a distant gaze, and long lashes that bat on his sunburnt cheeks.

You often see this fairy with his friends, quickly learning that his name is Beomgyu. Chatterboxes are always calling for his attention or yelling at him for some mischievous thing he has done. At first, you thought he was a nuisance, that is, until you found the fire fairy away from the town closest to the divide, alone without a group; it was just him at the shore of the running river that divided the two seasons.

For the first time, you saw Beomgyu quiet and peaceful, sitting on the pebbles that would be considered tiny for humans, his feet so close to the river’s water. Yellow pollen drifts gently around him, some crumbs nestled in his hair, others clinging to the silk of his sweater. His expression is almost dreamy—eyes distant, lips slightly parted as if lost in thought or drawn toward something unseen. The tranquility of it all felt familiar to you, something you’ve experienced on your side of the stream. You never wanted to step foot past the line that separates the warm fairies from the cold ones, until that very moment.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♡⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The blazing sun cast its heat down over the meadow, pouring out like liquid fire. Even in the winter realm, the sun was affecting it as the layers of snow became thinner, melting into the dirt below. Icicles that hung above your burrow dripped onto your head as you looked outside, noticing the change of weather. Looking beyond the divide, past the tall grass into the village, you watch as the tinkering fairies and the ones with technology specialties make-shift leaf fans. Blowing a soft breeze onto the glowing skin and glinting sweat-kissed wings of fairies. What was once a bustling town now turned languid, its fluttering slowed by the weight of the heat.

The air felt thick with sun, and some sought shade beneath curling shards of grass or dipped into cool flower basins. A flutter of fairies floats close to the divide, their laughter softer, more breathless. That’s when you notice Beomgyu within the group, you quickly fly behind a tree close to the change of season. To no surprise, you could tell the fire fairy basked in the summer’s sun; he looked more confident, alive, and burning bright.

“We should go across.” A fairy said with the slightest smug undertone. “I bet we’d cool down immediately.” The same fairy continues.

Others laughed, some hummed in amusement. However, Beomgyu, with big eyes, looked out into the winter realm, as if he were distracted. The quietness interrupted by drops of water from the trees allured him so much that he didn’t pay attention to half of his friend group trying to cross. You watch one nature fairy barely stepping a foot into the snow before screeching at the cold burn, and then a music fairy brought their full body into the snow, watching as their tan skin quickly turned pale and wings frosting at the tips. The fairies' clumsy attempts at being frost fairies made you giggle, but it abruptly stops when you see Beomgyu take his turn. 

The sunlight seems to glow brighter as he takes a deep breath, with a mischievous grin, Beomgyu steps through. The chill breeze nipped at his nose, instantly causing him to shiver. He held out his hand, palm out facing the sun, as small golden sparks engulfed into a small flame. A chuckle comes from deep in his chest, prideful of his creation, and that the cold didn’t seem to bother him.

“See?” he called out to his friends behind him, his voice cracking in the cold. “Told you I could handle it.”

But instead of cheers, their faces twisted into horror—eyes wide, mouths parted. Confused, Beomgyu’s grin faltered.

“What?” he laughed, tilting his head, the flame dancing brighter.

Then he felt it.

A quiet shift in the air, as light flurries of snow dance along his shoulders. He turned, and there you were. A frost fairy, something Beomgyu or any other fairy has never seen before. Still as the ice, eyes like quiet winter storms. Your lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Beomgyu froze, his big brown eyes flitted up, down—capturing the curl of your white hair, the icy shimmer of your wings, the soft glow around you like moonlight on snow. His flame dimmed, his chest tightened as feelings erupted, feelings he felt couldn’t be shared.

A step back, then another. Behind him, his friends began to flee, their panic breaking the silence like cracking ice. Beomgyu hesitated for one heartbeat longer—eyes locked with yours—then turned sharply and flew after them, the cold chasing his warmth, leaving you alone beneath the hot summer’s sun.

You sat in the snow long after the others had gone; the divide felt even more apparent after what had happened. The snow kept its silent watch while the warmer side’s grass swayed golden and green beneath the touch of the setting sun.

The sun buried itself lower as the sky went from amber to dark. You were just about to retreat into the silver trees when a flicker of orange glinted through the tall grass across the divide.

Then came a voice, “Hey…”

You looked up.

Beomgyu stood there, a soft flame circling in his palms like a nervous habit. “I’m sorry for running away earlier,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I realized that was… rude.”

You stared at him, face unmoving. “It was,” you said coolly, your voice crisp.

He winced—visibly—and pouted. “Okay, yeah. I deserve that.” He took a careful step closer but stayed on his side, right at the edge of the invisible line. “We just… we’ve always heard things about the ice fairies.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah, yeah, that we’re cold-hearted, rude, intolerable creatures,” you snapped, voice sharper than you'd meant it to be. Then you caught yourself, lips pressing into a thin line, realizing you'd just proven the rumors.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened, his fire dimming a little. “But none of us stop and get to know you better,” he said gently.

The wind carried a hush over the field between you. Your heart thudded once in your chest, the snow beneath you softening. You always knew that the fire fairy was different, but this was especially unique. You were dizzy from the thought that he was willing to get to know you. A small smile creeps onto your face as you nod.

Beomgyu cautiously settles across from you at the edge of the divide—still on his side, but close enough that the glow of his flame illuminates onto you. His wings flutter as he fully digests the beauty that you are. The two of you talk, first shy, then with surprising ease. He jokes clumsily; you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth curls, giving away your fondness for his jokes.

You ask about his fire, and he asks about your snow. You both admit the rumors you've heard, but also how little either side truly knows the other. His laugh is warm, yours soft like snowfall, and slowly, the distance between you feels less like a boundary and more like a bridge.

As stars begin to blink overhead, there's a quiet moment between words. You glance up and catch him already watching you, something in his eyes flickers with unspoken thoughts. Neither of you says it, but in the hush of that night, it’s clear: a friendship is forming—fragile and new—carrying with it the faintest promise of something deeper, something quietly blooming like warmth beneath frost.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♡⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Days passed, and every few nights, you met Beomgyu at the divide. Sometimes you'd talk. Sometimes you'd sit in silence, your fingers nearly brushing but never quite daring. The border between snow and sun had become your hidden world.

Then one evening, as you wait for another secret meeting with the fire fairy, you notice a change in the sky. The warm seasonal realm dimmed beneath a rolling cloud of rain. You hesitated as droplets trickled closer to you, tapping against the icy trees behind you. Rain, rare in your realm, was heavy on the warm side now, cool and silvery. Across the way, Beomgyu stood alone, his sunny halo around him was dim; it was intriguing to see the raindrops turn into steam as they bounced on his shoulders.

“What’s this all about?” you asked, stunned.

“Well, I’ve always wanted you to cross over,” he looks around, admiring the thick fog turning mauve as the sun sets behind it, “So I got my buddy, Yeonjun, to make it as cold as possible this side.”

You stepped closer to the edge, eyeing the water with suspicion. “Doesn’t rain weaken your wings?”

Beomgyu shrugs, “Yeah… I’m fine walking, and everyone’s inside, no one will see you.”

The bare stone bridge stretched before you, and the damp scent engulfed the air. You looked at it, then at him—his hand half-extended, his usual confidence flickering like a nervous flame. You reached for him instinctively, but he faltered.

“I—I shouldn’t,” he muttered, pulling back slightly. “I might… burn you.”

You blinked, accepting his personal space, and with that, you stepped onto the bridge.

Raindrops landed on your cheeks like faint kisses. They were warmer than snow, strange and soft. Your wings drooped slightly, getting used to the weight of the rain, different from snow flurries. Only water and frost fairies’ wings can withstand this type of weather.

You turned to him, “This feels like like a dream.”

Beomgyu brightened as he laughed. “Wait till you see the village!”

As you followed him past the tall grass that usually hid the rest of the realm from the divide, your breath caught. The village was mystically gloomy in the rain—glowing fireflies sat along mossy stones lining narrow footpaths, mushroom houses wedged between shopping outlets built into giant tree trunks with wildflowers blooming from the bark. 

You walked slowly, taking in the colors, the movement, the hidden warmth in everything. Even though the village was quiet from the rain, it was more lively than your everyday winter realm. You notice a few fairies walking without a care in the rain, going from one building to the other. Then your eye catches a familiar fae across the muddy path.

“Is that the girl who always flirts with you?” you said quietly, nodding toward a soft-looking fairy arranging petals beneath an awning.

Beomgyu glanced at her, then at you. “Yeah. She’s great. But she’s not…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence. You didn’t notice his gaze lingering or the frustrated sigh he let out.

Suddenly, a handsome fairy, dark hair slick from the rain, covered in ​​water lily clothing, swoops down towards you.

“Who’s that?” You gasp.

“Yeonjun, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks, noticing the worrisome look on the water fairy.

Yeonjun’s wings flutter rapidly, keeping him from staying in one place. “Sorry, I gotta help someone across the river, apparently someone ruined a beaver dam–this should hold a while longer!” he said, gesturing lazily to the sky before zooming away.

But within moments, the clouds above began to break. You blinked up, the cool raindrops fading as the air increasingly became warm and humid. Your wings twitched in alarm—he’d left too soon.

“Gyu—” you sigh, wings too weak to keep your body afloat.

He was already reaching for you. “Hold on,” he said quickly, voice sharper now. “We have to go.”

He grabbed your hand, this time with no hesitation, and pulled you gently but urgently through the tall grass, back toward the divide. As the clouds separate and the last bit of sun breaks through, Beomgyu’s internal fire sparked to life, causing it to burn you as you stumbled back into the winter realm. You wince, holding your arm, breath sharp in your lungs, wings quivering.

Beomgyu gasps, lips quivering, realizing what he had done to you. He stood away from you on his side of the divide. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, breathless. “I think… I like it there.”

He smiled again, slower this time, something deeper behind his eyes. “So do I,” he said. “Especially when you’re in it.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♡⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After that night, something shifts between you and Beomgyu. You begin to find traces of him near the divide—dried sunflowers pressed into burnt leaves, smooth stones that somehow still hold a whisper of warmth, and folded bits of bark scrawled with his clumsy doodles: two stick-fairies dancing under stars, wings bigger than their bodies.

One day, you catch him in the act. He's crouched near the log bridge, trying to wedge a little copper charm between the roots.

“You’re terrible at sneaking,” you say, arms crossed.

Beomgyu’s wings straighten, startled, then he grins sheepishly. “I was hoping you'd think it just magically appeared.”

You roll your eyes—but your smile lingers. You both stay at the divide, talking, watching the clouds form various shapes.

Beomgyu’s voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “Hey, if you ever need warmth,” he says, “you can do this.”

You watch him zoom in the air, gathering dried grass and twigs within the dirt. Coming back with arms full, he steps into the snow with no hesitation.

“Uh- what do you think you’re doing?” You ask, eyes widen, instantly watching his body to see if the change of climate would affect him, like it did to you, but there’s no change.

“I’m going to teach you how to build a fire!” He says with pure excitement. 

He shows you how to rub sticks together in quick, circular motions, until smoke forms. It takes a few tries, but soon a soft warmth flickers at your fingertips—just enough to ignite the dried grass and melt a patch of snow.

Your eyes widen. “That’s… kind of amazing.”

“I’m kind of amazing,” he says, smug.

You hit him lightly on the arm.

Another day comes around, Beomgyu gathers tea leaves from the vendors of the summer realm’s village and brings them to your frost-bound clearing. You pick up fallen sticks from the heavy snow-covered trees and prepare a small fire like how Beomgyu taught you. 

Shape a small hollow of ice with your hands, fill it with water, and chill it with a snap of your fingers.

You sit on a thick blanket woven from frostmoss and fire-fluff—some strange hybrid of your two worlds. Filling an acorn cupule with snow, which instantly melts from the fire. Beomgyu hovers close, adding the fragrant leaves. His warm aura seeping onto you, looking up at his cheeks flushed but smiling. Both of you watch with fascination as the leaves swirl, changing the clear water into a purple liquid.

Creating ice cups from your palm, then scooping the drink into it, “iced tea,” you say proudly.

Beomgyu’s eyes are big and bright, glowing wings flutter in delight, instantly grabbing a cup. He sips it with approval. “I’ve never had anything this good.”

You raise a brow. “You say that every time I make something.”

“Yeah, and I mean it every time.”

Sipping your drinks, sitting in your respective realms, yet close enough that your little fingertips touch at the divide. A normal occurrence for both of you, a slight relief stems from Beomgyu knowing he didn’t have to be his fiery, outgoing self the way he was with the other fairies; instead, he felt calm and relaxed with you.

 “Have you ever…” Beomgyu hesitates, swirling the tea in his cup, “Been to the human world?”

You nod, “During the winter months. Jack Frost calls for us, and we go. I’ve flown through cities, dusting snow on roofs, creating icicles, icing their roads.”

Beomgyu places his cup down, his hands distracted by the texture of the blanket. “I’ve heard a few stories about the human world. I’ve never gone, fire fairies cause too many fires there, so I’m needed here.”

You frown, knowing how curious the fairy is, “What have you heard?”

“Taehyun, he’s a technology fairy, said they have handheld boxes that tell them so much about their world. Kai, a music fairy, has mentioned that they like music just as much as we do.”

“It’s true,” you add, your mind starts to think as you admire the soft fairy in front of you, “they have this thing. It's a way to show affection. I think you’d like it.”

He tilts his head. “Show me.”

You hesitate, leaning your head to cross the divide, then gently press your lips to his cheek.

He blinks. “That’s it?”

You shake your head with a small smile. “There’s another way. More… intimate.”

He watches you closely, eyes darker now, curious.

You lean in again, slower this time, your hand brushing his cheek, and press your lips to his—warm meeting cool. His breath catches. The sun hits you as you melt into him, then he kisses you back.

Tentatively at first, then deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through every motion. Your pale lips turn pink as they burn from his heated embrace. It was getting too hot to handle, so you pulled away, much to the fire fairy’s dismay.

Beomgyu's chest rises and falls quickly, as if he had flown miles. His long hair was a mess, lips were still puckered. “That was…” he breathes, his eyes half-lidded. “That was good.”

You laugh, and he grins, dazed.

“Show me again?”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♡⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The next day, it was decided by you two that it was Beomgyu's turn to explore the winter realm.

 He steps into the realm for the first time without hesitation. Frost twinkles along the edges of his hair, his boots crunch softly against the snow-covered moss, and the trees—tall, silent, crystal-laced—stand like ancient guardians watching him pass.

You trail beside him, glancing over in awe. “I still can’t believe you’re able to withstand the cold.”

He shrugs casually, but the way he keeps glancing at your face says he’s enjoying your surprise. “Maybe I’m built different,” he says with a grin. “Or maybe you’re worth freezing for.”

Your face warms, which in your realm is saying something. “No other fire fairy has ever even tried to explore this deep. Most of them wouldn’t last a minute.”

“I know,” he says, quieter now. “That’s why I wanted to.”

The words settle between you like snowfall—gentle, quiet, but deeply felt.

Then he turns to you, smiling a little wider, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Touch me.”

Your eyebrow lifts, your cheeks suddenly pink. “Beomgyu—”

He smiles, innocent, unknowing. Still flustered, you reach out and take his hand.

You gasp. “They’re… warm but not burning.”

“Controlled fire,” he says proudly, wiggling his fingers in yours. “I’ve been practicing since the accident. For you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just hold his hand tighter. The two of you walk in silence through the white-blanketed forest. Snow falls in slow, quiet spirals around you. Now and then, Beomgyu stops to admire the way the ice clings to branches like spun sugar. Eventually, you arrive at your home along the river next to the stone bridge of the divide. An old, hollowed-out tree shaped by time now resembles you.

He steps inside, eyes wide. “Whoa… this is like a snow globe made a home and filled it with weird, beautiful trinkets.”

You smile, watching him as he runs his fingers over a shelf of ice-glass animals, dried crystal-blue leaves, and moonstones. His eyes follow medullary rays of the wood until he finds your bed. A pile of pansy petals lies like a comforter crumpled over arctic fur. Everything smells faintly of lavender and fresh snow.

Without even asking, Beomgyu flutters up above the cushion and free-falls onto it with a soft thud. “This is nice.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your slippers before crawling in beside him. He immediately wraps himself around you like a lazy flame curling into the cold. He lies behind you, his chest pressed against your back, one arm draped gently around your waist. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, fingers splayed in a protective hold, fingers drawing soft shapes against your belly.

But slowly, you feel his warmth start to dim.

“Gyu?” you whisper.

He exhales through a trembling laugh. “Okay, yeah… I think the cold’s catching up to me.”

You sit up slightly. “Do you need to go?”

He shakes his head and pulls you closer. “No. I just… need your help warming up.”

You can feel his core flame flickering low, but still alive. He shifts beneath the comforter, pressing closer to yours. His warmth pressed against every part of you, his legs tangling with yours, skin hot against your cool thigh. You gasp when his slightest shift grinds against your ass.

Lying there, heart racing, “Gyu, what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, but it seems like it's helping.” The fire fairy’s hands grip your waist tightly, holding you still, as he moves against you.

Holding back whimpers, you shove your face into your pillow. You feel hotter again, something the environment cannot control. Then Beomgyu’s hand cups your face, having it turn towards him, pursuing a passionate kiss.

“You know– humans do this thing other than kissing, I’ve seen it while frosting window panes.”

“Is it like kissing?” Beomgyu asks desperately, loving this new act.

“Much more intimate–”

Beomgyu furrows his eyebrows, “H-how?” His face always had a pink blush dusted on his tan skin, but knowing there were ways to get closer had him turning red.

You twist your torso, keeping his body close to your backside. Your freezing hand runs down where his silk shirt crops above his pants. 

“Can I touch all of you, in intimate ways?”

“Yes,” Beomgyu says breathlessly.

You smirk at him, his bangs covering his eyes and face, yet you can still see the desperation in his complexion. Slipping under his pants, your hands feel him up. It was different for you, there’s so much you can creep on humans doing the act while doing work. You’ve saw little of what a dick looks like since it was usually stuff into someone else.

You’ve dreamt of what dick would feel like, touching it with your hands and the sensation of having it stuffing you. Sex is not well known in fairy culture, as they do not reproduce by the act. But now that you’re laying by the fairy of your dreams, and having the honor to stroke his cock, you were in paradise.

Fat, veiny, throbbing in your hands. He was extremely warm under your touch, but you didn’t care if it burned. Beomgyu sang out beautiful moans into your ears, twitching and thrusting from the feeling of ice pleasuring him. You notice every time you twist your palm on his tip, his small wings flutter fast, telling you that it was enjoyable.

“Are you warming up, Gyu?” You giggle, already knowing what this is doing to him.

He bites his plush lip, nodding his head, giving a pathetic, “uh-huh.”

The fairy breathing picks up, his dick twitches in your hand. A whine pulls out of him, his head landing on your shoulder, lips grazing your neck. Cum spirts out coating his pants then dripping on your hand.

The heat radiating off of him was becoming too much to bear for you. You decide it's best to shimmy your dress off, trying to let the winter air cool you down. Pulling back the pansey petals, you notice his hand close to your cunt.

“What–” Beomgyu catches his breath, “What just happened to me?”

“I don’t know, but did it feel good? You seem warm again.”

“Yeah,” He whispers into your ear, leaning onto you, getting back to your spooning position. Your wings flat against you, tickling his chest.

Beomgyu’s body heat is close to scorching, and he starts to notice your breathless body squirming. It wasn’t long before his erection came back, causing a whimper to slip through his puffy pink lips. Grinding against your little red bum, he then feels a pool of wetness between your legs.

It was cold, just as if ice was melting under a hot sun. In this case, you were melting from your very own sun. Beomgyu’s dick slips in between the plush of your legs which equally feels as immaculate as your hands. Thrusting his cock against you, hitting a spot that had a moan drawn out from you.

A pleasurable button between your legs was repeatedly pushing you off the edge. Getting a taste of what the fairy behind you must be feeling. Even though choked moans filled the dusty burrow, both of you were becoming more desperate.

“Gyu-ah,” Breathlessly calling the fairy’s name. “W-why don’t you put it in?”

Beomgyu slows his movements, a little stutter in his thrust tells you that he was confused by what you said. You stretch your neck to look at him, the fairy has this euphoric glow, his long brown hair stuck to his sweaty skin. Reaching out to tuck a piece of his hair behind his cherry red pointed ears. 

His wings flutter at the attention, picking up a little confidence to ask, “Put it in where?”

You hum, realizing that the fairy has never seen the things you’ve seen. All the times of flying by windows during the dead of night, fascinated by all the things humans can do with their anatomy. In the dead of night in the winter realm at the very spot you’re at right now, you’ve curiously explored yourself to see what you could do with yourself. Eventually becoming experienced enough to know where exactly his dick should go.

Your little hand finds the fairy’s firey red dick again. He groans in your ear as your chilled flesh makes him shiver. Slowly, you guide him through your seeping hole. 

A loud whimper hits your ears, and he winces, feeling your tightness clamp onto him. Looking at the beautiful creature behind you, you see Beomgyu’s mouth wide open and eyes scrunched together in pure ecstasy. Steam evaporating from your body, getting hotter and hotter. 

Once you two get used to the sweet feeling of sex, you feel his fingers start to trace delicate paths on your frost-kissed skin, saying, “Am I burning you?”

You smile, shaking your head no. He sighs into your touch, placing a small kiss on your bare shoulder. His hands start to explore as his hips move, gripping the swell of your ass trailing fire along your spine.

Then his hand splayed flat against your stomach, fingertips searing and slow. Holding you close as he sped up his movements. You shivered—not from cold, but from the way he held you like something fragile. Like touching you too much would ruin you, yet not touching you at all would ruin him.

Engulfed in Beomgyu’s warmth, you try to move your hips, chasing your climax. His warm lips kiss along your neck, down to your back, lightly pecking your wings. Each time he did so was a drastic temperature change on your skin, from cool to hot. The sensation of slick heat increases your sensitivity, cutely gasping as you milk his dick. The air felt heavy and hard to breathe in, especially when Beomgyu rams into you hard, knocking your breath away. He begins to hit that sweet spot, tying the knot in your stomach tighter.

Suddenly, you feel a burn against your jaw, soon realizing it was the fairy’s hand turning your head towards him. Hot breath fanning over your freezing face, you kiss as you both release. His cum was warm and filled you to the brim, completely satisfying both of your fantasies.

Outside, the frost trees sparkled under a moon-silvered sky, snowflakes drifting lazily like drowsy stars. Inside, the burrow was quiet but full—of warmth, of breath, of the slow, steady thrum of something sacred.

Beomgyu lay beside you, still catching his breath, the fire in his skin dimmed to a low, golden ember. “I think… I like it here.” His hand rested over your heart, fingers gently brushing your skin in slow, grounding circles.

You smiled, gripping his hand tightly. “So do I,” you say. “Especially when you’re in it.”

Your wings, still damp and glittering with melted frost, twitched sleepily behind you. His eyes were soft now, too—drooped with exhaustion but fluttering just slightly when you leaned in to kiss his forehead.

He shifted to tuck your head beneath his chin, wrapping the pansy quilt around you both. You felt the hum of his magic—warm, steady, like a candle lit just for you. He smelled faintly of pine ash and melted honey.

“I’ll keep it low,” he murmured. “Just enough to keep you warm, not enough to melt your walls.”

You chuckled softly, fingertips tracing the outline of his ribs. “You’re not melting anything. I let you stay.”

“Oh, I know,” he grinned, eyes fluttering closed. “Still… thank you.”

You reached behind you, fumbling for a small crystal vial on your nightstand. Unscrewing the cork, you let a few drops of moonpetal oil fall onto your palm—cool, calming, and lightly shimmering. You rubbed your hands together, then began gently massaging his shoulders, letting your frost soothe where tiny flames abruted during sex, and burned his soft skin.

Beomgyu groaned softly, melting under your touch. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, eyes heavy with sleep and wonder.

“I’m balancing the elements,” you whispered, a playful glint in your eye.

He pulled you close again, burying his face in your neck, breath warm and even.

You stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in soft fur, surrounded by the hush of snow and magic, with fire and frost gently tangled beneath the covers.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♡⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Taglist: @i-am-not-dal, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @lovesickchoi

@silvergyus, @taegimood, @napofamoon, @hyukalyptus

[tknoorgnicintrfc]

🌲 How has your numbers of parts changed over time?

when i discovered us i initially described myself and two others; we were in regular communication with another one but didn't realize she's one of us until about a week in; three more persons have made appearances later, so far

🌻 Favorite quote from a part.

"am I recipromantic or am I just an aromantic people pleaser?"

🌾 Any songs you relate to DID / OSDD?

Finder by Bladee

🌙 Share a special relationship between parts.

i fw Ymir heavy and River had been my friend at my most lonely

🌊 Any inside jokes in your system?

not really

🌺 Describe one part of your inner world.

we don't have one

�� Can you change your inner world and access it freely?

see above

🐛 Which part made a lot of progress?

Vic, she has become more ready to take responsibility for the system

🍂 Did a fusion happen in your system?

i wish

☀️ How do you all prefer to communicate?

we have a file on our computer and we talk when co-fronting

🌱 How open are you about your DID / OSDD?

open to people we care about and feel safe around, i also came out on my private socials

🌄 Did you ever went through phases of denial?

not me, even tho i was in a state of disbelief; one of us rly wanted to bury it for some time tho

🗻 How much does your inner world feel like home?

we don't have one

🍁 How do your parts get their names?

two of them are names we were using before, one comes from an anime character, one is an older name that member was using before we realized they are a real person, two others simply induced themselves

river identities with the river running through our city, but she doesn't think of herself as non-human, she used to present herself to be as the voice of god and then various other spiritual beings, this is the echo of us trying to conceptualize our coexistence without understanding

🌈 Are there any parts who view themselves as something other than human? Or who have supernatural powers?

when i split off i identified myself as a glitched out subprocess, it felt very real back then but i'm a human nevertheless

🦔 Are there any parts of you that you miss?

me and ymir are encouraging kaj to hang out with us more; i miss him even tho i never actually knew him well

👥 Is there a person you all can be yourselves around?

not yet

🦚 How covered/overt is your DID/OSDD?

throughout life we were mostly masking by splitting contexts between us and when that failed and we were fronting in "not ours" context people would tell us things like "you're not you" or "it's like i'm talking to a different person"

now we're trying to be more overt and build friendships (and hopefully a relationship one day) together, with people who can treat our separatedness with respect

❔ What are you afraid of as a consequence of being a member of a system / being plural?

i'm afraid of never being able to feel the intimacy of a friendship or a relationship that's deeply personal and doesn't involve other people

i'm afraid of us hurting each other within the system

i'm afraid of being unreliable to the people i care about

DID / OSDD ask game

🌲 How has your numbers of parts changed over time?

🌻 Favorite quote from a part.

🌾 Any songs you relate to DID / OSDD?

🌙 Share a special relationship between parts.

🌊 Any inside jokes in your system?

🌺 Describe one part of your inner world.

🌍 Can you change your inner world and access it freely?

🐛 Which part made a lot of progress?

🍂 Did a fusion happen in your system?

☀️ How do you all prefer to communicate?

🌱 How open are you about your DID / OSDD?

🌄 Did you ever went through phases of denial?

🗻 How much does your inner world feel like home?

🍁 How do your parts get their names?

🌈 Are there any parts who view themselves as something other than human? Or who have supernatural powers?

🦔 Are there any parts of you that you miss?

👥 Is there a person you all can be yourselves around?

🦚 Ho covered / overt is your DID / OSDD?

❔ (ask any other question)

[suzukiblu]

okay so i was kinda confused about the apiary thing and saw the powerpoint and fell into a rabbit hole and i now i wanna know are lois and bruce both have the queen role in clarks head

So Bruce is DEFINITELY a Queen in Clark's bee-brain, yes, Bruce is the QUEENEST of queens. Probably in Clark's brain he is the JL's or Gotham's queen. LOIS, however, he probably thinks of in the role of either an Arcadia or an Ivanhoe, because he thinks of her as an investigator--i.e., a hunter/gatherer of necessary resources ( a.k.a. information ) for the community that is Metropolis, so that Metropolis is operating with all the relevant information as often as possible--OR as someone who is defending Metropolis by exposing the truth of things, and therefore a warrior/worker who is part of the mechanisms of keeping corruption and crime at bay. Maaaaaybe he could parse her as a Kloka because investigation to article COULD be seen as a "resource management" thing, but I feel like Arcadia or Ivanhoe are likelier.

Not that Clark KNOWS any of these words, but yeah. Like, those are just the things he is feeling on an instinctive level, basically.

I kinda think Clark parses his "hive" as being Metropolis, and therefore himself and Lois and Jon as members of that specific hive. Smallville is the hive he came from originally and is still very attached to and cares about but couldn't have been what he's SUPPOSED to be in, and Gotham is a hive of its own.

Just while he does not consider himself or Lois as Metropolis's queen, he DEFINITELY considers BRUCE as Gotham's.

. . . come to think, probably part of Clark thinks of LEX as being Metropolis's queen and he is SO TETCHY about how BAD he thinks Lex is at it, and that is probably a not-insignificant part of why they both get under each other's skin so much, hahahaha.

Lex: how DARE people think Superman is more important to Metropolis/the world/humanity than ME, I am SO much more important than Superman, he is an INTERLOPER here ANYWAY. Clark: YOU ARE LITERALLY IN CHARGE OF THIS WHOLE DAMN PLACE, OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU SO INSECURE ABOUT IT, I'M JUST HERE TO HELP OUT. you know what, I am not even gonna GIVE you a baby, you don't DESERVE a baby from me!! you can have a baby when you get OVER yourself, MAYBE. Lois, taking more notes in red pen: uh-huh, honey. wanna expand on that thought process, maybe? Clark: /TEN-HOUR RANT/ Lois: . . . I think I'm gonna need a bigger notepad.

But yeah, Clark both considers Metropolis one giant hive and therefore a place with MANY smaller groups/factions/sectors having kids for the hive to thrive via, and he is also really, REALLY a Wife Guy for whom "acts of service" are SO very much his love language, so Lois is not a queen in his brain but he very much DID still want to get her a baby, haha. The reason he's so extra about getting specifically BRUCE a baby is that it's been, like, a decade-plus of Bruce repeatedly getting babies from OTHER PEOPLE and not asking HIM for any, but Lois married him and was in the process at least TALKING to him about the possibility of them having kids someday and therefore letting off some of his weird-about-it steam, because in his mind she was asking him FOR a kid and telling him what kind of kid she'd like. And then they had Jon, and she LOVES Jon, so Clark's all good there; Clark's the BEST . . . thing-he-doesn't-know there is!! THE BEST. HE LOVES HIS WIFE SO MUCH YOU GUYS, SHE'S SO GOOD AT COMMUNICATING WHAT SHE WANTS IN A BABY.

Meanwhile, BRUCE'S communication skills . . .

Bruce: I work alone and I want no dependents or significant others or partners or children in my life ever. I will deign to allow an occasional co-worker once a blue moon and that is it. Clark, Sad Bee Eyes but probably also currently parsing Bruce as Ivanhoe anyway: okay . . . I guess . . . . . . if you're super super SUPER sure . . . Bruce: I'm sure, yes. Bruce, five minutes later, holding a tiny acrobat made of rage and vengeance who is trying to gnaw his arm off so he can go murder a grown man in cold blood: I only met Dick Grayson five minutes ago but if anything ever happens to him I'm killing everyone in this reality and then myself. Clark: . . . so like HE'S-- Bruce: my ward and partner. that's all. he kept trying to go out on his own, so I'm just keeping him from getting himself killed running off after mobsters and giving him an outlet for his grief and anger that he can direct into something productive while also being mentored and protected by a more experienced vigilante. Clark, his bee-brain reorienting and thinking "wait, Godiva?? is this Godiva, maybe??": . . . okay, I GUESS that makes-- Bruce, five minutes later, holding a grumbly homeless preteen who he may or may not have technically kidnapped off the street: I only met Jason Todd five minutes ago but if anything ever happens to him I'm going to have a major shift in my crimefighting methods and paranoia levels and my ethics in regards to how I treat my partners and allies and maybe try to commit a murder you'll have to personally prevent me from committing and never ever ever EVER go to therapy about it. Clark: . . . . . . . . . Bruce: also I adopted him. he likes reading and cooking and one time he hit me in the gut with a tire iron. it bruised. :) Clark, with AGONIZED BUZZING all up in his bee-brain: OH COME ON--

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Victorian gothic inspired! Yandere Duke husband! x fem reader!

The moors are quiet as always. Walking along them every night, letting your heavy skirt get caught on the nettles and Heather that populate the floor. Staying out as the last breath of the sun begins to paint the sky the same colour as the flowers you've trampled over, until the servants come searching for you. Lamps in hand. Perhaps if you stay out too late your husband will forbid these evening walks of yours. The only point in your day when the silence is anything but oppressive.

There is a list of what he has seemingly forbidden without him ever needing to say anything, a servant will mumble it is not encouraged when you make your requests. Pets are not encouraged, visits are not encouraged, parties are not encouraged. Even fraternising with them is not encouraged. So far it seems that the only thing he approves of is isolation. You trample another flower before making your way back. The only other times you leave the manor is every Sunday, taking the coach ride up to the church, sitting together in his family pew as the reverend drones, bonnet obscuring the faces in your peripheral vision. He doesn't linger after the service, instead you two return home to a meal. Again in silence.

You're starting to wonder if you remember his voice.

Your return to the manor is met with a change from walking clothes to evening gown. You two have meals together. Something he insists upon, no tray taken up to your room, you must dress for dinner and take it properly across from him as portraits of his ancestors stare down at you.

You linger in the bedroom, staring at the unsent letter on your desk. It's been only a few months, and while the North is so far from your family home further south, surely they would have gotten your letters by now? But maybe they just expect you to be busy now, a new wife in her new home. Children of course should be your task but when the only thing he touches you with is his cold gaze it seems that task too is something you just fail in. With a sigh you make your way to his office, where you would haunt the empty doorway, quietly requesting a stamp from his desk once he acknowledges your presence.

Today marks a change in routine, he is absent. you hesitate, are you even allowed inside without him to tell you? But, he never denies your request for a stamp so surely you would not be in trouble for simply taking one for yourself? Right? Perhaps there is that part of you, the curious one not yet strangled by the silence of the manor, that wants to explore something you never had express permission to enter. His desk is neat, made of a dark stained wood, papers organised clearly. Something about investments into train companies, skipping through the words you notice one company that father invested in has gone bankrupt. Your heart falls into your throat, how selfish to wonder why no one has written to you when clearly everyone back home is dealing with this catastrophe, here you are safe in your stone manor. Married to a titled man who's wealth will never disappear, what happened to your gratefulness?

You shake your head to dispel the thought, turning to open the desk drawers instead, one jams under the weight of its contents, pulling and pulling until you're thrown back from the impact of opening it, toppling some things out of place. There are no stamps here- instead the drawer is full of letters. Perhaps twenty? Each one has been opened and discarded by his hands. Each letter addressed to you. Each letter is filled with pleas for you to write back. Growing more and more desperate as father all but demands that you stop ignoring him and tell your husband to use his wealth to get your family out from the mess they have found themselves in. There is only one deviation: an unsent letter by your husband to your father. demanding him to cease contacting you, saying that you have no wish to communicate ever again to your family, and that you are happy here. The coldness in his written words seem to prickle your fingers as you ask yourself why would he do all this?

The clock strikes and you panic, you're meant to be at the table right now waiting for him. You shut the drawer before practically running down to the dining room. He appears a few minutes after you, taking his seat as the meal begins.In front of you he is handsome, tall and with Byronic features, dark hair curling past his ears. He brings to mind a wolfhound, meanwhile you're a mouse.

Partly through he speaks, his low voice scraping the air.

“You went through my desk didn't you dear?”

The term feels misplaced, foreign from his lips, his eyes squint as you stay silent not knowing how to respond.

“Please do not give me the annoyance of a lie, your fingers are stained with ink and you are the only other one who would do such a thing.”

An eyebrow is raised by him with the expectation of an answer, he receives a shameful nod and mumbled response.

“Why did you hide their letters from me?”

He sighs as though the answer should be obvious, grip tightening on his wine glass.

“It would do you no good.”

“How do you know that?” You look up at him, finding a small scrap of bravely somewhere within you. “Why must you be the one deciding on everything for me when you do not even speak with me, let alone touch me. You have no right to decide what is best for my sake without even communicating with me like a proper husband.”

Your chest heaves from your quiet outburst, possibly the most words you've ever spoken to him. His face doesn't change only the glass in his hand shatters from how firm he grips it, shards falling into his soup and embedding themselves in his hand, unreacting to the pain.

“I am your husband. It is my right to care for you, to ensure that you're sensitivities do not cause you harm.” His gaze stakes you to the chair as he picks the glass from his hand. “You request a pet for company, I refuse in case you become attached and the creature flees or dies and you end up distraught. Your family cares nothing for your well being, your father expects you to still be his daughter when you are my wife, demanding you give him my wealth to pull him out from the pit he dug himself into. That is not your responsibility.” He stands up slowly making his way to you

“I have to admit that perhaps I have not been clear enough to you, that is my fault and it must be rectified.”

He takes ahold of your face, the cut hand smearing his blood onto you'd cheek as he holds your face so tightly there will no doubt be marks once he finally lets go. His mouth twists itself to something resemble a smile but those eyes stay exactly as empty as they've always been.

“let me reiterate,” his mouth grazes your ear.

“You are my responsibility and my property, it is my duty to take care of you. If you cannot understand that it is a problem I must solve, without any outside interference.”

He leans down to press a kiss with a tenderness so unfamiliar from him that you feel the bile rise in your throat. When he pulls away to look at your face, you finally realise what was so repulsive in that gaze of his, which never disappears when he looks at you. Love

[imitationgame77]

ART's social skills

ART in any format is absolute shit at talking to other bots, says Murderbot in System Collapse.

Is that so? How does it talk to other bots/systems?

[ART meeting systems]

ShuttleSecSys tried to analyze ART and almost got itself deleted. I took over ShuttleSecSys, turned off the alarms, and deleted the entire trip out of its memory.

(Artifical Condition)

The SecSystem tried to block ART and I quickly put up a wall and deleted its memory of the contact. (ART really did not care to be challenged by other resident systems and I didn’t want the friendly SecSystem deleted.)

(Network Effect)

Okayyy, that was a rather aggressive response. But then, unlike SecUnits who are designed to interact with systems, ART is not built to be compatible with other systems. No matter how politely ART approaches them, they are not likely to appreciate its presence.

[ART interacting with other bots]

Plus ART, who was already cozying up to said bot pilot and would be keeping an eye on the shuttle during the brief trip. (ART’s idea of “cozying” being somewhat overbearing, I had already had to intervene once to assure the bot pilot that the big mean transport had promised not to hurt it.)

(Artificial Condition)

Size-wise, it's like a rhino trying to be friendly with a rabbit. Whatever it does might come across as overbearing.

A message came back: I could help you learn about it, if you’re interested. ART said, Stop talking to it. I think it’s just bored, I said. I don’t give a shit, ART said.

(System Collapse)

Holism is like your old classmate from primary school days that you never particularly got on that well, comes along, spots that you have made a best friend at university, and tries to ask out this said-friend while you are sitting together. A bit insensitive!

[ART introducing itself to SecUnits]

When it met Murderbot:

Then, through my feed, something said, You were lucky. I sat up. It was so unexpected, I had an adrenaline release from my organic parts.

[...]

It said, You’re a rogue SecUnit, a bot/human construct, with a scrambled governor module. It poked me through the feed and I flinched. It said, Do not attempt to hack my systems, and for .00001 of a second it dropped its wall.

(Artificial Condition)

When it met Three:

Contact requested: transport designated Perihelion, registered Pansystem University of—

Response, Transport: Who the fuck are you?

This is nonstandard communication. The contact is a transport bot pilot, but transport bot pilots can’t/don’t communicate this way.

(Network Effect)

Transport, on private channel: If you even think about harming them, I will disassemble you and peel away your organic parts piece by piece before destroying your consciousness. Do we understand each other?

(Network Effect)

ART is ... being very pragmatic there. It's not threatening. It's telling them how it's not a good idea to even think about destructive behaviour. (Though it could have been a little more tactful.)

Still, poor Three. It must have been terrifying.

[ART to non-crew humans]

Target Three, sarcastically: “If the ship speaks, why didn’t it come in person?”

Perihelion’s drone: You don’t want to meet me in person.

The Targets react with astonishment and some dismay.

(Network Effect)

What do they expect. They had kidnapped its best friend.

The first thing the new Barish-Estranza explorer had done was power up to ART and try to intimidate it/us. [...]

ART had dropped its main weapon port and transmitted, Targeting lock acquired.

The explorer had replied something to the effect that they didn’t mean to be intimidating and was the widdle academic transport crew scared, but in corporate speak, and ART had replied, It’s so easy for ships to disappear out here.

There was a pause, indicating a scramble to adjust operational parameters, then they made the mistake of trying to intimidate back with something like Oh yeah well you’ll get damaged, too, and I am not exactly an expert on nonfictional human interactions but that just obviously wasn’t going to cut it.

ART transmitted, You can make this complicated situation simple for me. Which I can tell you was not any kind of posturing, it 100 percent meant that.

Barish-Estranza must have picked up on that subtext because they backed down and now they think ART is a human commanding officer who’s a giant asshole.)

(System Collapse)

They (Barish-Estranza) started it /shrug

This shuttle wasn’t armed, and a quick look through their security archive said nobody had planted any explosives or anything. She was bluffing.

ART-drone said, “I wouldn’t recommend it. I lack a sense of proportional response. I don’t advise engaging with me on any level.”

(System Collapse)

Again, ART is stating facts.

ART doesn't do smarmy corporate talk. It speaks its mind, calls spade a spade, like a Yorkshire person. Don't harm or steal its humans or its SecUnit bestie then you'd be safe.

Does it have good social skills?

I refrain from answering that question. It certainly gives extra purpose for Murderbot to stay with it. (To be the social facilitator for bot / system interactions.)

[nohoperadio]

A thing I've learned from searching my place of work on youtube to try to find little shots of myself in the background of people doing "here's where I went shopping" videos and the like (but I'm never there...) is that there's a whole little community of beautifully autistic people who are very enthusiastic about lifts (what you might call elevators perhaps) and they go to different public buildings and film themselves riding up and down the lifts and they say who the manufacturer of the lift is and sometimes they know what year it was installed and some of the specs or whatever. But most of each video is just silence, just riding up and down in silence, because the lift generally takes more time to go up and down than they have things to say about it. Sometimes there's someone else in the lift and the silence (or non-silence if they choose to keep talking anyway) feels a bit uncomfortable but I guess that's part of the grind right. There's a fair few of these people, I've looked up other places and they seem to be all over the country just documenting the various lifts, and even though these videos never get above the double-digits views range (I mean, obviously) they often upload surprisingly regularly, and often the same person will do multiple videos of the same lift on different days, like a few weeks apart. Apparently the lift in our store is pretty well respected, it's considered a "good" lift, I don't know what the criteria are, I guess it's pretty old is one factor. Anyway I just wanted you to know that there's people out there doing life better than you.

[gaylilgremlin]

I do not get the transmasc vs transfem fights the slightest

We are a community, all trans and nonbinary people included and we cannot make this a race about who is the most opressed

And if we actually want to find out who is the "most" opressed that is just gonna turn into once again creating a false binary which divides us

Every single trans person is opressed in this system, each of us in different ways, there are transfems who have experienced more opression than me, there are transfems who have experienced less. I as a trans men will fight for both of them because they are my sisters and all of them deserve happiness, and they will do the same for me

And also, splitting this whole fight to transfem and transmasc is fucked up from the start. We are supposed to abolish the gender binary not make a new one. Nonbinary people shouldn't be erased from trans circles. No one should be erased from trans circles

We are more hated now than ever, we should help each other and listen to the other's pain and opression

Go out to your local lgbt communities and if you don't see someone at the table invite them, don't assume the worst, take part in activism and see people as individuals not as groups

This is our only way to change anything