#but it may... take a while. or forever. hard to write some specifics

[fallenwhumpee]

Worth it.

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, magic whump, hypothermia, stranger caretaker, hallucination(?)

Leader always believed that their worth was defined by the people willing to help them when they were in their lowest. They always believed having people back them up was the real tresure.

Judging themselves by their own thoughts, Leader was worthless.

Trembling in the water, Leader tried to stay still. They were floating on their back, their blood oozing around and their thoughts as blurry as their vision. They had no strength to get themselves to the shore. Hell, they had no idea where the shore was.

Leader should have been panicking by now. But there was no point in trashing. Waste of their precious time and strength. They were probably not going to make it, and they could only hope the blood loss would rock them to sleep before hypothermia could.

When they eliminated panic, only an odd feeling left. The magic showed them another death. A lot more merciful one. A good ending, at least, even if getting there was torture.

Leader didn't think magic could be mistaken, or the future could be changed. They didn't think they would be dropped off in the middle of water just because of fear, after being ambushed by their own. If they had only listened Leader... that future could happen.

But maybe it wasn't the magic that showed Leader those. Maybe it was just what they wanted to see, and the truth just came to spit on their face. There was no way that they could explain how they didn't break any rules yet cast such powerful spell after fighting all day.

Leader felt their will crumbe as if it was frozen with the cold and someone was hammering it. Not for the first time, they felt the line between dark magic and the forbidden magic blur into each other. Sure, Leader was willing to sacrifice their emotions or give up some of their strength, but they weren't desperate enough to sacrifice something else.

Why not just give in? They could save themselves.

Leader trembled again, pushing the poisonous thought away. They didn't want to become a mindless puppet, and they were stronger than the temptation.

But did it really matter? When they were slowly fading away?

Leader breathed, their lungs screaking for some air. Those were dangerous thoughts, and they didn't belong to Leader.

A cough shook their body. They had to turn to expell some of the water from their lungs. Their head was barely above the water as they coughed their lungs out, their control over their body slipping.

Leader forced themselves to turn on their back again, not able to keep themselves afloat. They ignored how much water they swallowed in the progress and how it made their stomsch turn. They were too drained to care about it.

Leader’s vision blurred, the sky above merging with the depths below. The cold seeped deeper into their bones, numbing their limbs until they could barely tell where the water ended and their body began. They tried to take another breath, but their chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot through their ribs. The taste of salt and iron filled their mouth, darkness taking over their other senses momentarily.

A wave rolled over them, pulling them underwater for a brief, terrifying moment. When they resurfaced, Leader’s body barely responded to their will. Their wet clothes were sticking on them, the howling wind freezing their skin through the thick and wet layers.

They were so, so tired.

Deprived of their magic and strength, they didn't want anything else than closing their eyes. They doubted they would wake up, but at least they weren't in pain. Breathing slowly, they let their thoughts focused on only one thing.

Cold.

All they could feel eas cold. Reasonably, Leader thought. But it didn’t feel right. They had passed the point they were supposed to feel cold. They tried to move, but they didn't feel the swaying feeling of the waves. They were... still. Their back ached on the solid ground, their heavy body slumped on the floor.

Barely able to crack their eyes, Leader met with darkness. Soon, it became a thick, suffocating sight, as if it was wrapped against their throat and pressing their chest. Were they sinking? Was all of this just a last cry of help from their body to wake up their mind?

"You suffered too much," a voice whispered, gentle and soft. Leader struggled as they tried to remember if they had ever heard that voice before, but their mind failed to progress.

Slowly, it got easier to think. They could feel warmth embracing them, giving them a break from the constant shivering.

"You know you don't have to," the warmth burned their cheeks, the voice feeling closer to their ear. "You have the strength to make it stop."

Leader wanted to argue, but their body wouldn’t move, their voice trapped in their throat. The heat held them captive, and all they could do was listen as they felt their skin burn.

"You tried so hard," the voice murmured. "To be strong, to lead, to protect. Only to die alone, bleeding and broken. The people you cared never cared about you. But I won't let this injustice go on any longer."

Leader clenched their fists, nails digging into their palms as they struggled against the crushing weight on their chest. "No," they managed to whisper, the word barely audible. There was nothing to do within their strength to save themselves.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to move again. "No," they muttered again. They tried to open their eyes. Their body seized with pain as they found themselves on a softer ground, the world spinning around them. They were still cold and hot at the same time, still weak, but they were alive. Every part of them hurt, from the deep wound at their side to the biting cold that clung to their skin. The remnants of the dream (hallucination? nightmare? they weren't sure) clung to them, and for a moment, they almost wished they had given in—at least then, they wouldn’t be in this agony.

It took several long moments before Leader realized they weren’t alone. Someone must have pulled them from the water and wrapped them in a blanket. Not that they weren't grateful, but it did very little to chase away the cold.

Blinking through their blurry vision, Leader noticed a figure kneeling beside them.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest. They flinched away from the person, their body too weak to do much more than that.

The figure said something softly, holding up their hands to show they meant no harm. Leader didn't understand one word from the stranger, and even though the gesture was clear, Leader wasn't buying it.

Leader tried to push themselves up to get away or at least seem intimidating, but their limbs were uncooperative, trembling violently with the effort. They barely managed to prop themselves up on one elbow before collapsing back, their breath coming in ragged gasps as a coughing fit took over.

The figure panicked, helping Leader back down with more words Leader couldn’t understand.

Leader’s vision swam as they stared up at the stranger, every instinct telling them not to trust, not to let their guard down. But they were too weak to fight, too drained to argue or make a point. They gritted their teed with frustration as they realized just how helpless they were.

The stranger mumbled, their voice soothing, almost hypnotic in its calmness. A magic circle with light colors glowed over them, but Leader couldn't summon the strength to break through it.

Leader’s eyes fluttered closed despite their efforts to stay awake, exhaustion - or the spell, they couldn’t tell - winning over. The last thing they felt before sleep claimed them was the gentle touch of the stranger’s hand on their forehead, cool and reassuring over their warm skin, even if it failed to ease the alarms taking over their fading consciousness.

Leader drifted in and out for a frustratingly long time, their mind a haze of pain and fevered dreams. The warmth that surrounded them was a far cry from the icy grip of the lake, but it was no less disorienting. Every breath was a struggle, their chest tight and burning, each inhale rattling painfully in their lungs.

But alongside that pain was something else—something softer, warmer. A hand, perhaps, carefully dabbing at their forehead with a damp cloth, or the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket tucked securely around them.

When they finally managed to crack their eyes open, Leader found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. A fire crackled softly somewhere nearby, filling the air with warmth and the faint smell of burning wood. For a moment, Leader wondered if their mind finally pitied them and gave a calm dream, but the pain in their chest and the wet, rasping cough wasn't something they could make up.

The stranger was sitting on a stool beside the bed, busy with something Leader couldn’t see. When they noticed Leader’s eyes on them, they turned, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Leader tried to sit up, but their body refused to cooperate, a wave of dizziness forcing them to stay down. The stranger made a soft sound—something between a shushing noise and a hum—before gently pressing Leader back against the pillow.

The stranger patted the bed with a frown, pressing their hand to Leader's forehead.

Leader whined, frustration bubbling up inside them. They needed to know where they were, who this person was, and most importantly, why they had saved them. But when they tried to speak, their throat burned, and all that came out was a hoarse, unintelligible croak. They couldn't even raise their hand to push the stranger away.

The stranger sat next to them. They gestured to themselves, placing a hand on their chest. “Caretaker,” they said slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to make it easier for Leader to grasp.

“Caretaker…” Leader murmured, the name foreign on their tongue. They tried to repeat the gesture, but their hand barely lifted from the bed before falling back, too weak to complete the motion. Caretaker smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness, and placed their hand over Leader’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there was silence. Leader’s eyes drifted shut again, but they fought to keep them open, determined not to slip back into the void. Caretaker seemed to notice and began speaking softly, their voice low and melodic, though Leader couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; the sound was comforting, a lifeline in Leader’s confusion and pain.

Leader tried to get a hold of themselves, and they did, even though they noticed Caretaker was gone by the time they regained awareness. Leader felt the loneliness crush them again, the emotions they supressed for the sake of staying calm surfacing. But they couldn't have that. They weren't ready to deal with any of those. So, they did the only thing they knew with those. Used them to cast a spell.

They knew how pathetic it sounded, but they were desperate to save their team, and it left them absolutely drained. Now they were feeling even worse. They had to relieve some of the pain to keep their sanity.

Leader weakly moved their hand to their chest, curling their fingers. They murmured the spell and let the dark circles surround their body like a blanket, their pain fading to the depts of their mind temporarily just like their feelings.

Leader flinched when they heard a gasp, the spell breaking with their concentration. Usually, such things wouldn't affect them, but they were too weak to keep the spell under check without focusing on it.

Leader turned their head to where the sound came, only to see Caretaker frozen in their place. Then suddenly, Caretaker began checking their plants with panic.

"Hey," Leader rasped. They tried again when Caretaker ignored them, but a coughing fit took over. Caretaker hesitantly came over, unsure if they want to help.

Leader pointed the plant in the corner, and weakly made a gesture like pulling it before shaking their head, hoping it meant no for Caretaker too. Then they pointed themselves and made a pulling motion towards up, magical energy forming for a moment before disappearing as Leader felt their strength fail.

Caretaker checked that plant. Leader knew what the other person thought, but they also believed they proved it wrong. Leader wasn't pulling life force from other things, which was the core of forbidden spells. There was nothing to be afraid of as long as Leader had their self-control.

Caretaker came back after making sure the plant was untouched. They took a paper and a pen, scribbling something. Leader recognised the basic healing spell, of course. The source came from the caster's magical energy, which Leader lacked. It was the reason of their lean towards dark magic— they used their emotions to make up their shortcomings.

Caretaker put the pen to Leader's hand. Leader wrote their own slowly, their hand trembling. Only a few symbols were different, but it must have satisfied Caretaker because Leader could see the relief in the other's eyes.

Leader closed their eyes as Caretaker looked at the spell more carefully. They were lucky that the magic came from the same runes. It proved Leader innocent.

With an excited smile, Caretaker tore the paper from Leader's hand— it didn't require much strength. They scribbled some spells and circled some symbols.

Safe, sleep, heal.

Caretaker looked at them proudly. Leader would laugh at the solution to their lack of communication if they had the energy. But they also knew if they laughed, they would start crying.

Did Leader deserve this? From a stranger? Perhaps not. But fate - and the stranger - decided they were worth it.

[rotagnus]

love messages for you --<3

-------------------------

wowww i personally have been having a confusing time in my love life and since i have a bunch of free time on my hands, i decided to do a reading to clear things up for not just me, but you guys too. i hope you enjoy <3 drink some tea/water, and take care of yourself.

six piles because i think the more specific you are in such readings, the better it is. this is my favorite reading i've done so far eeeee i'm so excited!

keep in mind love readings talk about all kinds of love!!

there's a poll at the bottom about what kind of readings you guys prefer! i would appreciate it if you voted 😊

pile 1.

the hermit; 10 of swords.

a cycle is ending for you guys. you've been in isolation for a while, and things have been going wrong for what seems to be forever. you're tired, and at this point, you're convinced that nobody can love you right except perhaps yourself. you've been working on your self-love, and valuing yourself at all moments of your life. you have this thing where you separate yourself, but you are your whole life, not moments. you are your whole life, not moments. read that as many times as you have to. you've been quiet, learning, and you've gained intense knowledge from this time within. you're probably not looking for love, not outright chasing it, but there's a pair of eyes on you. apples can be significant for someone specific here. you've been noticing how certain types of people reappear in your life to teach you lessons, and you're used to people leaving--however, some people are forever. don't worry. you're not always going to be subject to lessons--you are here to grow in strength, but that doesn't mean you can't have a little love while you're at it. you have had a feeling your whole life of not being seen, but the truth is that one day, someone will see you. but before that, you must see yourself. as i've said, someone already sees you. but you won't see nor understand that you are seen unless you do the work and look at yourself and who you really are. this pile has a big fear of being seen, and seeing themselves--you must work through this in order to get what you won't. this may sound rough, but the universe won't give you jackshit until you do the work.

signs: glasses. runways. budgies. oranges. pink roses. science/biology. white rabbits. ancestry. makeup blush.

song: anything -- adrianne lenker.

pile 2.

page of swords; 5 of pentacles.

you're a very sweet person, pile 2. you're bubbly and have rose-colored glasses, probably a very musical vision of how life goes. you're not necessarily a new soul, but you choose to be optimistic and hopeful regardless of the troubles you've been through. right now, you're in a state of frustration though--maybe you like someone and you're not quite sure how they feel for you, or your current relationship isn't going well, or someone's giving you mixed signals. i understand that you seek answers. you're a very answer/solution oriented person, and it frustrates you when you're in this purgatory. anora may be significant--(this movie is really good, i don't know why i feel it's important but it is). some of you may be struggling with financial aspects of your life, or you do work that's hard on your soul. however, my advice to your love life is to look within. yeah, it sounds cheesy, and probably not the answer you expected. but talk it out with someone. type it out, write it out, just so you know what you're dealing with. this person will stay as long as they must--if they're the right person, they're not going to leave. the right person is the right person for a reason. lean on your people, lean on your friends. everything's going to be alright. seek knowledge--you have everything you need to know. some of you may be very physically apt--good at yoga, dancing, weight-lifting, a certain sport. my random advice to you is to train this part of you. i'm not sure why, but i think that it could heal a part of you that's been aching. if you don't have any physical hobbies, i highly recommend you get some. for this specific pile, it is special.

signs: slavic languages/countries. short hair. connection to God. opposites attract. 19. silver rings. cookies. red hearts. braille. stuffed animals.

song: rinsed -- dean blunt.

pile 3.

7 of cups; 9 of swords; 6 of swords.

wow i had to pull 3 cards for you, pile 3. and we've got 9 and 6 of swords, so the number 3 may be significant. right now, you may have a roster or simply many options that you're torn apart on. you're not sure what you want, what you need, what you deserve...you're lost.stuck, similarly to pile 2. however, do not fear; your situation is not as dire as theirs. you're on a journey, and the sky is clearing up; you'll figure out what the right thing is, for most of you a person. you're a baddie but you struggle with your self-image, not just how you look (although i assure you, that you have a glow everyone sees) but also who you are as a person. you judge your morals and you judge your personality and baby, you've got to stop worrying. you have a lot of repetitive thoughts that you can't turn off. i highly recommend this pile to meditate, or do yoga--please, for the love of all things good. do something to clear this situation up. the answer you're seeking is coming, but you've been having this sense of things not being real or things being too real, but it's coming. it's going to come regardless of if you want it or not. so right now, focus on working on yourself. eat good food. learn a new recipe. paint. have a self-care day. it's gonna come to you. i promise.

signs: deer. night. cars. chest/breast area. tea. radio. statues. song lyrics. 8. union. unique features.

song: i want you to love me -- fiona apple.

pile 4.

5 of cups; page of cups.

oh my goodness baby. you've got to pat yourself on the back. something very, very painful has happened to you recently. an earth-shattering event. a lot of grief is going on; maybe you feel like a part of yourself has died, maybe you've lost someone, maybe your faith. you're a very good, very pure person--you desire growth, and despite everything, you keep your head up. you have a wonderful heart, and you're sensitive but also brave. nature is significant to this pile--specifically water. it means change. lately, you've been experiencing a lot of synchronicities, let me guess. repetitive signs that mean something to you, but you don't want to overthink it. guess what? you're not. it's the truth. you have this tendency to doubt yourself, even though you've been right, like, a hundred percent of the time before. i assure you that the most valuable tool you have is your gut. it doesn't lie, not to you. it protects you, and i highly recommend that you please, PUH LEASE, listen to it. someone's coming towards you--for most, a friend that can turn out to be a lover. a pillar of support. i don't think most of you know this person as of now. they're very bright, and they contrast you; you guys are the sun and the moon. right now, you have to lay your burdens out in front of you, and let go, just for a moment. let yourself weep. let yourself feel everything. know that someone is coming to help you, but also know that you have the power to do it yourself. you're not weak. but that doesn't mean you have to do it all alone.

signs: not feeling heard. iris by pastel ghost. getting what you want. kitties/leopards. brazilian music. the present; the now. beautiful nails. pinterest. lotus flowers. fish.

song: easy lovers -- piero piccioni.

pile 5.

8 of pentacles; the world; the lovers.

i had to draw three cards for this pile, too, because y'all are confused and that confused me! do you guys even know anything right now? so many changes are on the horizon for you, and even now, your life is in a major shift. crows, ravens, and felines are significant. you guys are embracing a darker energy right now. shadow work is being done, and the universe sees how far you've gotten. soon, you'll be holding fruit in both your palms--you want growth and you're not taking no for an answer, and as a reward, the universe will give you good things. you'll have everything you want, the whole world in your hands. but you have to make sure you don't settle. focus on the journey--it is just as sweet as the ending. many of you have a mentality of if it's not happening now, it won't happen ever. that's not true...you guys do know that, right? these major changes haven't showed you their tails, and you're pulling at 'em, trying to see the ending. you're not meant to know everything, my dear impatient pile. everything is up to you; it's a big maybe. what you want you will get, but be warned--make wise choices. don't sacrifice your morals, faith, and desires just to settle. i think this card is focusing on growing existing connections...maybe situationships, or you like a friend. stop searching for endings, this journey is the most important thing right now. it's going to be a fond memory for you later on, and your damn lesson is to learn how to be patient and take baby steps and enjoy the now instead of racing to the future. you guys rush wayyyy too much. you gotta take a breath and relax. being fast isn't always a good thing. right now, be slow, even if it makes you mad. find other things to do in your time instead of catastrophizing; also, stop having a doom complex. this isn't gonna end in disaster ;). poetry/writing may be significant for you guys. a lot of you dealt with a very hard childhood; many may have been parentified or the older sibling, carrying the whole family on their back. many people have this stigma that they're never going to be loved and that nobody would try to do anything for them. this is wrong, and you're gonna be proven wrong, dear. i promise you, you'll be fine--but for now, keep walking your path and taking your sweet time. change is near--kiss its hand when it arrives.

signs: leap of faith. kelp, seaweed. health. love is everywhere. dyed hair. real listening. 3. young love. the stars. morning light through curtains. sunrises.

song: love songs -- clairo.

pile 6.

8 of cups; the magician.

you guys are soooooo tired with bs. you're a clever cookie, and you know that you gotta leave. i know some of you guys are against it, and you wanna stay with this person/in this situation just a little bit longer, but the truth is you have to snap out of it. you already know this isn't good for you, and it just feels plain wrong, so you have to leave. let yourself feel upset, but know that you must go. acknowledge your thoughts--speaking to the moon may be significant for some of you. you're destined for greatness, and everybody knows it but you. you must let go and know, trust that better things are coming because they ARE. you're kinda blind, no offense, because you don't see that your manifestations are rightttt in front of you. but in order to get them, you have to leave this situation. you're the creator of your story. your intuition is always on point. you may listen to subliminals, just an inkling. and also, if you don't do any manifestation things, look in your life and see that you have everything you've wanted...although it may have come out skewed. manifest. think of what you want. tread carefully. you'll be okay. but you have to leave. you've been taught your whole life that you have to stay...because of blood, because of loyalty, and ever since you were young you held your chin up and stayed, endured, learned, but in the end, you still stayed. i know that it's hard unworking this pattern, baby; maybe you've worked on it in other lives, but the most important thing right now is to know that you can leave. you have the power. i wish you luck and if i could, i'd hug you right now. love is coming, but only if you walk towards it.

signs: mother. rest and recover. horses. medicine. lying down. the color pink. fields. duos/pairs. thunder/storms.

song: love me not -- ravyn lenae.

wow guys. that felt oddly relieving to write!! i hope you guys enjoy it as it's my most specific reading yet. i was wondering if you guys preferred my readings w three cards that are in depth, or these kind?

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Have His Cake And Eat It Too

Male Serial Killer Yandere x Gender Neutral Immortal Reader (CW: Noncon, blood, violence, murder, death, cannibalism and reader forced into cannibalism, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, cursed immortal reader) Word Count: 500 (This is really bloody and dark compared to what I normally write, but it is also a drabble and does not contain the usual level of detail my other fics do, if you have played boyfriend to death and its sequel you may recognize some similarities between those characters and my Serial Killer Yandere, he is a bit of a mix between Strade, Ren, and Lawrence, though I still feel he is unique.)

Imagine there is a serial killer loose in your area. He finds people that meet his criteria, the specific personality and aesthetic that he desires in a partner, and he falls head over heels in love with them. He kidnaps them, doting on them, feeding them, clothing them, bathing them. But his love for them grows and grows. Serial Killer Yandere rapes them, forcing himself inside so he can feel them surround his cock. Serial Killer Yandere starts to cut them more and more, enjoying the sight of beautiful red blood on their otherwise flawless skin. But Serial Killer Yandere needs them to be a part of them. Serial Killer Yandere needs to be closer to them. Serial Killer Yandere really can’t help it, his love is just so strong. Serial Killer Yandere cuts them open and grips their heart, feeling it beat in his hand as they slowly bleed out. He consumes it, he held their very life in his hands and made it a part of him. But now he is alone again and needs a new darling. Serial Killer Yandere meets you for a date. You are exactly what he wants, even better than the ones that came before you. He kidnaps you like all the others after drugging your drink. You wake up with a chain on your ankle, dressed in delicate clothing. He dotes on you. He bathes you. He feeds you. He soothes you. He fucks you so hard just to see those beautiful tears stream down your face, the prettiest tears he has ever seen. Serial Killer Yandere loves you more and more, very quickly. Serial Killer Yandere can’t help himself, he knows he will miss you but he must be closer. His hand is in your chest, gripping your heart. Your blood leaves you as everything fades. You die. While you are dying he has never felt more in love, but once you are gone the familiar emptiness is quick to fill him. But you are not like the others. You don’t stay dead. In the morning when he comes to take care of your corpse and appreciate your beauty one last time before burying you with all the rest of his loves he sees that you are fine. You aren’t human. Not anymore. You were cursed to never be allowed to die hundreds of years ago. Serial Killer Yandere is shocked. He thinks he is losing it. Serial Killer Yandere kills you over and over, taking your heart for himself each time. You’re always back the next morning. Serial Killer Yandere becomes thrilled. Serial Killer Yandere force feeds you your own heart and shares it with you sometimes the day after he has killed you again. The curse transfers to him, and he discovers after dying due to an accident one day that he is unable to die permanently. Now Serial Killer Yandere can have his cake and eat it too~ Forever <3

[keehomania]

Girl I've read ur recent work and u write for mark soooo well omds likeee 😫😫 LIKE SOME OF THEM REALLY GOT ME LIKE DAYUMMM THAT HAPPENED?? but anyways, may I please req a mark smut oneshot but he's hitting it from the back infront of the mirror 🫶 oddly specific but ykkk 🤭💗

PRACTICE — MARK LEE (마크아) (DRABBLE)

✧°, 18+

the rhythm of the music pulsed through you, each beat sending a ripple of energy that moved your body like an extension of the sound itself. every click, every snap, every bend of your joints matched the tempo flawlessly. you moved effortlessly, gliding through the practice room as if the floor was an ocean and you, the tide, crashing and retreating with perfect fluidity. your legs carried you across the glossy surface, only for you to slide down with your hips, feeling the friction against the ground as if the music itself was guiding you lower, pulling you into the depths of your own expression.

this was how you preferred it. alone, without the prying eyes of an audience, no need for applause or recognition. just you, the music, and the space to let it all pour out, unfiltered. in these moments, you felt free — more so than anywhere else. every emotion, every thought, channeled through your body as it moved to the rhythm that only you could hear. but peace never lasted forever.

your ears caught a sound—a click that didn’t belong to the music. it was subtle, but it jarred your senses, breaking the delicate trance you had been in. you didn’t need to turn around to know what it was. your eyes shifted upwards, catching the reflection in the wide mirror that lined the walls. there he was. leaning against the doorframe, his figure half-shadowed by the dim light filtering through the hall. his eyes were locked onto you, dark and intense, watching your every move as if he had been there for a while. how long had he been standing there? the thought sent a wave of heat to your cheeks, and not from the workout.

rising from the floor, you felt a sudden rush of embarrassment flood your chest, your breath still heavy from exertion. you hadn’t expected an audience, especially not your boyfriend. the vulnerability of being caught in such a raw, unguarded state sent a shiver down your spine. “you should try knocking,” you joked, your voice trembling with a nervous laugh as you tugged at the hem of your shorts, adjusting them in a futile attempt to regain composure. but mark didn’t respond, didn’t even crack a smile. his gaze remained steady, a quiet hunger in his eyes, the kind you’d never seen before. it wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper, something that sent your heartbeat skittering beneath your ribcage.

“mark?” you called, hoping to snap him out of whatever trance he seemed to be in. but again, silence. he pushed off the doorframe and started towards you, his movements slow, deliberate, the air between you charged with an intensity that made your skin prickle. had he been disappointed? did he expect more? the doubt clawed at the edges of your mind, but the way he was looking at you told a different story. his silence wasn't disdain—it was something else entirely. he closed the distance between you with a quiet, predatory grace, his eyes roaming over your flushed skin, taking in the way your shorts clung low on your hips, exposing the hem of your panties, how your shirt stuck to your sweat-slicked skin.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding louder than the dying music in the background. “please, say something,” you tried again, your voice soft, almost pleading. but before you could finish, he was there, just inches away, his presence overwhelming, his gaze smoldering. it silenced you, that look. a heat bloomed across your skin, his nearness amplifying the tension between you.

“you did so good,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry purr that sent a tremor down your spine. his fingertips grazed your cheek, tucking away the damp strands of hair that clung to your face, his touch light, but charged with unspoken intent. you tried to laugh it off, even as the butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncontrollably. “nothing special,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just practice.”

his eyes darkened at that, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. he hated when you said things like that, hated how blind you were to your own brilliance. “have you seen yourself?” he asked, his tone sharp, though not unkind. the mirrors surrounded you, reflecting every angle, but somehow, you always seemed oblivious to what he saw. what everyone saw. you blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his stare, his words echoing in your mind. prove it? what did he mean by that? the question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unanswered, until it was replaced by something else—something far more tangible.

your knees gave way before you could even process what was happening, your body responding to the soft, unexpected pressure of his lips on yours. it was sudden, startling even, but the moment his mouth touched yours, all your questions dissolved into nothing. you knew better than to resist, better than to pull away. mark had always had this effect on you—the ability to unravel you, to strip away the composure you wore like armor, leaving you exposed in a way that was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

his lips moved against yours with a practiced ease, a perfect synchronization that felt almost too natural, too right. He tasted you slowly, deliberately, savoring the salt of your sweat, the rawness of the moment. and that’s how he liked you — raw. no filters, no performances, no masks. you didn’t have to pretend around him, didn’t have to put on a show like you did for the others. for mark, you were enough just like this, messy, sweaty, stripped of all pretense. that’s when he wanted you most—when you were vulnerable, laid bare to your very core.

the aftershocks of your embarrassment still pulsed through you, a hum of unease that made your heart race. but he thrived on that, thrived on seeing you in this state. his fingers brushed your jaw, the touch gentle, almost soothing, but there was something darker beneath it. something that made your stomach flip, a wave of heat crashing over you as his lips moved with more urgency, his tongue pressing insistently at your lower lip. it wasn’t a request—it was a demand. a demand you surrendered to without hesitation, parting your lips for him, giving him what he wanted. he devoured you.

the kiss deepened, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, slow and deliberate. you felt his warmth, his breath mixing with yours as his hand tilted your chin up, angling you just how he wanted. your knees threatened to buckle again as his tongue slid over your teeth, tangling with yours, coaxing a soft gasp from your lips. the sound only seemed to spur him on, his movements growing bolder, more possessive, as if he wanted to claim every part of you.

you let him. you let him take what he needed, let him devour you in the way only he knew how. saliva pooled between your lips, spilling out in messy streams as he finally pulled away, breathless and satisfied, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. his thumb brushed the corner of your lips, wiping away the remnants of your shared kiss, his eyes dark and heavy with want. “you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, his voice low, thick with desire.

of course, you knew. anyone would know. you didn’t have to hear it to understand the effect you had on him. it was clear, undeniable, from the way his body responded to yours, the way his breath hitched and his hands lingered, unwilling to let go. you felt it, too—the hard press of his dick against your bare thigh, showibg just how much power you held over him. even though he was clothed, you could feel him, feel the subtle way he rutted against you, seeking some kind of relief. it was subtle, but not enough to escape your notice. you never missed a beat—not when you danced, and certainly not now.

his hand traveled down your neck, tracing the line of your collarbone before dipping into the neckline of your shirt. his touch was feather-light, teasing, and it had you squirming. his thumb brushed against the swell of your breast, and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “what are you playing at, mark?” you whispered, the words thick and heavy with anticipation. you knew what he wanted—what he always wanted—but you liked hearing him say it. you liked the power that came with making him admit it.

mark’s smirk grew, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. “i wanna watch you cum,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very air around you. it was so blunt, so raw, that it stole your breath away. your cheeks flushed, and you felt the heat pool between your legs, your body already responding to his words. “want you to watch yourself cum,” he continued, his hand cupping your breast fully, squeezing it gently. “want you to see what i do to you, what only i can do to you.” his hand never left your tits, even as he flipped you over. it didn’t take much manpower to turn you onto your knees, your eyes now locked on your fucked-out reflection.

you whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut as his thumb circled your hardened nipple. his other hand slid down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts, hinting at what was to come. the thought was overwhelming, but you didn’t dare stop him. instead, you leaned into his touch, letting his fingers play with the sensitive peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until you couldn’t take it anymore. “yeah,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “yeah, i want that, too.”

his hand slid lower, his fingertips dancing over the fabric of your panties, feeling the wetness that had soaked through. the pressure grew, the anticipation a coil tightening in your belly. and when he finally dipped his fingers beneath the elastic, touching you, you thought you might shatter right then and there. his touch was electric, sending sparks shooting through your body as he began to stroke your clit, slow and methodical. “keep your eyes open,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “i wanna see your face when you come for me, baby. i wanna see every second of it, every twitch, every drop i coax out of you.”

his voice was a command, and your body obeyed. your eyes snapped open, meeting his in the mirror. his gaze was unwavering, a promise of what was to come, and you couldn’t look away. you watched as he worked you, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that had you gasping for air, your thighs trembling as they slid past your sticky folds. you felt the heat building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. and when it did, it was like nothing you had ever felt before.

you threw your head back, a silent scream escaping your lips as the orgasm washed over you, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to drench every nerve ending. your body arched, your back bowing, as he continued to work you through it, his strokes never faltering. you felt your muscles clench around his fingers, desperate for more, even as your legs gave out and you collapsed against him. he held you up, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. he was needy, desperate for the way your swollen lips parted for him, the way your eyes glazed with tears at the feeling of his mere fingers fucking you open for him.

his touch was like fire, searing and intense, leaving no part of you untouched. your chest heaved with every breath, your eyes wide with shock and desire. and there you were, in the reflection, a picture of pure carnality—messy, wanton, and utterly exposed. your cheeks burned with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment, but the thrill of it only served to make the moment more potent.

mark’s hand slid from your jaw, leaving it to hang slack as he stepped away from you, his eyes still glued to your reflection. your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breaths shallow and uneven as you watched him move behind you. you felt the cool air kiss your skin as he slid your panties down your legs, your knees shaking as they made contact with the floor. the sensation of being so bare, so open, was almost too much to handle.

his breath was hot against the back of your neck as he whispered, “now, watch me fuck you. i want you to see just how much i own you, how much you crave this, how much you need me to fill you up and make you scream my name. don’t look away, baby. not even for a second. this is just for us.” and with that, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock nudging against your wetness. your eyes remained locked on the mirror as he pushed inside you, inch by inch, filling you to the brim.

you watched as his muscles tensed, his face a mask of concentration and desire. his eyes never left yours in the reflection, holding you captive with a gaze that seemed to strip away every last shred of your modesty. the sensation was almost too much to handle—his cock stretching you open, the sound of your wetness, the feeling of his hands digging into your hips as he pulled you back onto him, harder, deeper. your eyes glazed over, the world around you narrowing to just the two of you and the rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

his thrusts grew more forceful, his hips slapping against your ass with a steady, punishing beat that had you gasping for air. your palms were flat on the mirror, slick with sweat, your body trembling with each impact. your cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, your mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure. you could feel another orgasm building, the pressure building like a storm in your core. his hands spread your ass apart, his thumb digging into the tight hole as he leaned over to spit. his thumb spread his spit all over your clenching hole as he eased it into you, but his eyes never left the mirror. your eyes searched his in the mirror, pleading for relief, for the sweet release that hovered just out of reach as the sting from your ass being coaxed open mingled with the pleasure of him splitting your pussy in half.

mark’s grip tightened on your hips, his movements growing more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants. “you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort. “so wet, so perfect for me. tell me how much you love it, baby. tell me how much you want me to fill you up, to make you cry.” his words were a dark symphony, a sweet torment that had your body singing in response. you felt your voice crack as you whispered, “yes, yes, i love it, i need it, please don’t stop, mark, please—”

his eyes never left yours, the intensity in them making your knees wobble. he leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he murmured, “you’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you? just like a good girl. i wanna feel it, wanna see it in those pretty eyes of yours. cum for me, baby, come on.” with the tip of his throbbing cock inside you, it was too much to resist. the coil of pleasure grew tighter, your muscles clenching around him, your body begging for more.

you watched in the mirror as he picked up the pace, his strokes growing deeper, more deliberate. every thrust sent a shock of pleasure through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the palms of your hands. your breasts bounced with the force of his movements, your nipples hard and sensitive. mark’s hand slid around your body, his fingers finding your clit, playing with the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly as he drove into you from behind, hips snapping against your the flesh of your ass, every movement catching light in the mirror.

you bit your lip to keep from crying out, the need to watch him fuck you too strong to break eye contact. your cheeks were stained with a deep blush, your eyes wide with lust and a hint of desperation. your breath came in pants, hitching in your throat with every thrust. his hand on your jaw was a constant reminder of his control, his dominance, and it only served to fuel the fire building inside you.

suddenly, the dam broke, and you were cumming, hard, the orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire. your eyes squeezed shut despite your best efforts, your body convulsing with pleasure as he pounded into you. you felt his grip tighten, his own release following close behind. the sound of his grunt, the feel of his hot breath on your neck, sent shivers down your spine. when he was finished, he pulled out slowly, the wet squelch of his sticky cum making you whine.

his hand remained on your jaw, keeping your head tilted up, your eyes on the mirror. he stepped back, letting you collapse onto the floor, your legs giving out beneath you. you were a mess—sweat-drenched, hair a tangled mess, and your makeup smeared. but in that moment, you had never felt more beautiful, more wanted, more alive.

✧

a/n: thank you for requesting, u seem like such a sweetheart! i hope this was okay!!

[mediocre-shark-tales]

My Chosen Family is My Forever Family

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Yes this has two titles, I couldn't pick one cause both are perfect. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as I thought it was time for a break from most of the extremely heavy angst style writing and topics. Story Y/n needs a break too right? So enjoy this extra sweet fluffy chapter! (Also I know I said in the update that none of the romance will be described to be a specific driver - but some driver interactions may seem romantic within specific chapters - if its not the driver you want y/n to fall for then pretend the interaction is in a more platonic light than potentially romantic one)

I had fully expected the first week of my mandatory break to be soul-crushingly boring. And not just the kind of “bored scrolling on your phone in bed” boring—no, this was a special kind of frustration. The kind that claws at your skin and makes your chest ache because you know there’s work to be done, training to be completed, sim sessions to suffer through, and races to be run… but you’re stuck. Grounded. Benched.

The doctors told me I’d only miss one race this season, which—on paper—should have brought me some peace. But it didn’t. Because every second I wasn’t behind a wheel felt like I was being peeled away from everything I loved. I couldn’t even enjoy the distractions I normally turned to in moments like this. Reading was hard with my dominant arm injured, playing any of my instruments or sim work was out of the question, and even cooking—something I did just to feel normal—was off the table unless I wanted to risk re-tearing the stitches, popping my shoulder back out before the tendons have healed back over it, or even just put too much stress on the forearm fracture.

I hated it.

I hated relying on others. I hated how slow everything suddenly felt, like the world had pressed pause for me and only me, while everyone else got to keep going. I hated the silence of my apartment. The empty hours. The ache that wasn't just physical but emotional—rooted in the idea that I wasn't useful, wasn’t doing anything. That somehow, this forced pause was proof I wasn’t strong enough to keep up.

And so, when I sent a simple message to the group chat I had with the boys—just something like “If anyone’s around this week, I could use a hand, I guess…”—I didn’t expect anything to really come from it. I’d barely hit send before the notifications started flooding in.

Within an hour, they’d sent me a color-coded schedule. One of them would be with me every day—just to hang out, help when needed, or keep me company. And if by some miracle none of them were available, Nico, my ever-patient manager, would step in for the day.

At first, I dreaded it. I assumed they’d hover, fuss, and treat me like I was made of glass. I thought being babied would make everything feel worse—like I was confirming all the fears that I’d become too fragile to be the version of myself I’d worked so hard to be.

But they surprised me.

They didn’t force help on me. They didn’t smother me in pity. Instead, they came over like it was just another afternoon, acting like nothing had changed unless I asked them to. And somehow, that was what I needed more than anything. It didn’t feel like they were coming to take care of me—it felt like they just wanted to be with me.

And in those moments, I didn’t feel broken anymore.

Each of them brought something different to the table—something comforting, something uniquely them. Little acts of care that didn’t feel overwhelming or patronizing, but thoughtful, effortless, and real.

I didn’t expect to enjoy any of it. But I did.

And now, thinking back on each day of this first week, I can’t help but smile. Because each of the boys gave me a piece of myself back without even realizing it.

Charles was the first one, naturally. He had insisted, texting the group chat three times the night before to make sure no one else would try to swap with him. “I’m going first. Non-negotiable.” It made me laugh more than I had in days, and honestly, knowing it would be him kind of made everything feel… easier. Charles had a calm about him—gentle, warm, grounding. Like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding until you let it out.

He showed up right on time, two coffees in hand and a paper bag from my favorite bakery tucked under one arm. “For the champion in recovery,” he said with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss the top of my head before I could even mutter a sarcastic thank you.

From the start, the day felt weirdly domestic in a way that both comforted and unnerved me. Charles moved through my apartment like he’d lived here his whole life—kicking off his shoes by the door, putting the pastries on a plate instead of leaving them in the bag, and checking in on me constantly with soft touches and even softer words.

“Need anything? A pillow? Blanket? Another croissant?”

At some point, I was seated on the couch, cradling the warm mug between my legs while he shuffled through my bathroom cabinet in search of my brush.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I called, already dreading the answer.

“I know,” he answered simply. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

I heard him walking back before I saw him—his footsteps light but purposeful. When he rounded the corner, brush in hand and a scrunchie looped around his fingers, I gave him my best unimpressed glare.

“You’ve planned this.”

“I might have practiced,” he admitted, crouching beside the couch with a playful grin. “Carlos has long hair too, you know.”

“You practiced brushing Carlos’ hair?”

He winked. “That’s not important.”

I rolled my eyes but turned around, letting him settle onto the couch behind me. My injured arm stayed close to my chest, and I winced slightly trying to shift, but Charles noticed instantly. His hand came to my good shoulder with a tenderness that stole the air from my lungs.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

His fingers threaded into my hair, separating gentle sections before beginning to brush. His touch was delicate, each stroke deliberate and slow, like he was afraid of hurting me or pulling too hard. The brush moved through the tangles patiently, occasionally catching on a stubborn knot, but Charles never tugged. Instead, he used his fingers to work them out, fingertips grazing my scalp just enough to make my eyes flutter shut.

“Feels nice, hmm?” he teased quietly, clearly noticing how still I had gone, how I was just breathing and existing beneath his touch.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because it felt too nice. Too comforting. Too intimate.

And then he laughed—soft and warm, the kind of laugh that made you want to curl up inside it.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” he said. “Then I’ll have to carry you to bed, and you know I’ll complain the whole time about my back.” I turned just enough to shoot him a crooked smirk. “You act like I don’t know you’d gladly carry me anywhere.”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us settled—quiet, safe.

He finished brushing with a final little tug and then gently pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with the scrunchie. His fingers lingered just a second too long against the back of my neck, and I swear I felt the warmth of his breath before he leaned back. “There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

Later, while I was napping with my legs stretched across his lap and his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on my shin, I realized something.

He never once treated me like I was broken. Not even for a second. He just made sure I didn’t have to do it all alone. And that meant more than I could ever put into words.

The second morning of recovery started a little differently.

I didn’t wake up to pain, or to the dull frustration of being limited by my injuries. No. I woke up to the faint clatter of pans and the unmistakable scent of something warm and buttery drifting in from the kitchen. My brow furrowed as I blinked awake, arm still tucked securely in its sling, a blanket half-hanging off the bed. It took me a few seconds to remember that no—I hadn’t left the stove on. I hadn’t even cooked in days. I mean, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Oscar.

Of course.

I should’ve expected it. He had the spare key from a couple months ago when I struggled with my panic attacks the most and he’d insisted on “emergency access” in case. Plus, the boys had agreed on him hanging out with me today.

I pushed myself up slowly, groaning at the dull ache in my side. My ribs still hated me for breathing too hard, and my forearm protested every time I shifted. I considered calling out to him, but the sounds in the kitchen only got louder—along with what I assumed was him humming softly to himself.

Padding out of the bedroom with one socked foot and the other dragging a blanket behind me, I turned the corner to find Oscar in the middle of what I could only describe as controlled chaos.

The counters were littered with ingredients—half-used eggshells in a bowl, pancake mix in a measuring cup, a bottle of orange juice open and half-poured into a glass, and Oscar standing in the center of it all, wearing one of my aprons like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t heard me yet. I watched him lean down to check the skillet, spatula in hand, eyes narrowed in pure concentration. He flipped a pancake with the kind of careful deliberation usually reserved for high-speed turns on a track.

And the best part?

Nothing was burnt.

Yet.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed—a soft, surprised burst of sound that startled him just enough to make him jump and spin toward me.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet!” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did,” I smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarm.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted a light pink as he returned to the stove. “You’re hilarious. I’m actually doing fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re doing great,” I teased, eyes twinkling. “Even if it looks like a tornado hit my kitchen.”

He gestured dramatically with the spatula. “A small price to pay for gourmet breakfast.”

I walked over slowly, settling into one of the barstools with a wince as I adjusted my arm. Oscar glanced over immediately, eyes scanning me like he could somehow absorb the pain for me if he just stared long enough.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t even think about helping. You just sit there and look pretty, alright?”

I blinked.

The words were said with a teasing lilt, but his eyes held something quieter. Something real. Something sincere and steady.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now, pouring the last of the batter into the pan. “Let me take care of you today.”

I didn’t argue.

Because the truth was, Oscar was one of those people who didn’t need to be loud to make you feel safe. He didn’t hover. He didn’t pity. He just existed beside you, making space for you to breathe without asking anything in return.

Once the pancakes were done, he plated them carefully—fruit on the side, syrup in a little ramekin like he’d seen me do once. Then he brought the plate over like it was a five-star meal, setting it down in front of me with a proud grin.

“You made this?” I asked, trying not to look too impressed.

“Every last slightly-lopsided pancake,” he replied.

I took a bite. It was fluffy, warm, and surprisingly good. My eyes flicked up to his and I nodded once. “Not bad, Piastri.”

“I’ll take that as a Michelin star.”

Later, after we’d eaten and he’d forced me onto the couch with a blanket and another coffee, I caught him washing dishes without being asked, sleeves rolled up, humming again under his breath. Oscar made even the dull ache of healing feel a little bit sweeter.

On the third day, Max arrived like a storm disguised as calm.

No dramatic entrance. No teasing comments or sarcastic remarks like I half-expected. Just a knock on the door, a quiet “It’s me,” and then the gentle thud of his backpack hitting the floor as he stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times before.

I hadn’t realized how much my body had begun to ache from sitting awkwardly all morning until Max gently guided me back to the couch, fixed the pillows behind me, and placed a blanket over my lap—tucking it in with a care that didn’t match the usual intense persona he carried on race weekends.

“What?” I asked, arching a brow as he stood above me with crossed arms, eyes scanning me like he was memorizing a damage report.

He shrugged. “You look tired. And grumpy. That’s my job, not yours.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Have you taken your meds yet?”

I blinked.

Shit.

He sighed, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen once before showing it to me. “I set alarms. You’re officially on the Max Verstappen Recovery Program.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, eyes widening slightly.

“Nope.” His voice was steady, almost playful, but there was something under it. Something fierce and unwavering. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out the familiar orange bottle, the one I always seemed to forget in my frustration with being… well, this version of me.

The version that needed help just to function.

“I was gonna take them—”

“Sure you were,” Max said, cutting me off with the smallest quirk of a smile.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, expression softening as he crouched in front of me. His fingers reached up, slow and careful, and tilted my chin gently so I had no choice but to look at him.

His blue eyes—always sharp, always focused—held something different now. Something quiet. Protective. Real.

“No excuses,” he murmured. “You don’t take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

The pill bottle was pressed into my hand, and for a second, I just sat there, stunned into stillness by the tenderness in his voice.

This was Max. Max who never sugar coated. Max who rarely let emotion crack through the armor of being a two-time world champion. And yet here he was, setting alarms to make sure I didn’t forget my meds. Holding my gaze like the sky might fall if I didn’t take care of myself. Acting like my well-being was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

I swallowed the pills without another word.

“Good girl,” he said softly, before standing and ruffling my hair in the most annoyingly affectionate way possible.

“You’re lucky I can’t punch you right now,” I muttered.

“You’re lucky I know that.”

Later, he sat beside me, our legs tucked under the same blanket as we watched mindless TV. He kept half his focus on the screen and the other half on me, occasionally checking the time or asking if I needed anything. Not hovering—but always there.

Not once did he make me feel like a burden.

Just someone worth showing up for.

And in the safety of that simple, quiet evening, I let myself lean just a little into him—into the warmth, the presence, and the overwhelming peace of being taken care of by someone who rarely let the world see how much he actually cared.

—

The knock on the door came earlier than expected, just as I was halfway through the frustrating, one-handed battle of pulling on my hoodie. The pain in my shoulder had flared up again, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but I wasn’t about to call for help—not yet. I was stubborn, if nothing else.

“Don’t rush,” Franco’s voice called from the other side of the door, light and teasing. “I come in peace. And with croissants.”

I smiled despite myself.

By the time I shuffled to the door and opened it, he stood there grinning, one brow raised and a paper bag balanced in one hand. His hair was a little windswept, sunglasses still on, as if he’d sprinted over without a second thought.

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping in. “I hear we have a mission today.”

I sighed and tilted my head. “Please don’t tell me Nico sent you with a checklist.”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, setting the croissants on the counter and pulling off his sunglasses. “He wants people to see you. Remind the world that ‘Ghost’ is still very much alive and kicking.”

“Barely kicking,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrapped arm.

Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Barely is still enough.”

He was already moving toward the hallway, grabbing the gear bag I hadn’t even asked him to bring and pulling out my helmet. He held it like it was something sacred, brushing his fingers along the top before turning toward me.

“C’mere,” he said softly. “Let me help.”

I hesitated, but he gave me that warm, patient look—the one that always made me feel safe, even when everything else was chaos. So I stepped forward, and he carefully guided the helmet on, making sure nothing tugged too hard against my injury. His fingers brushed my skin as he adjusted the padding, gentle and deliberate, and I caught the way his eyes softened when he saw me wince.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just hate feeling like this.”

His hand paused against the side of my jaw, thumb grazing lightly before he pulled back. “You’re allowed to hate it. Just don’t let it convince you that you’re weak.”

Once I was dressed—slowly, awkwardly, with Franco helping me get the shoulder support back on without making a production of it—we headed out to the team headquarters. Just like Nico wanted, everyone got a chance to see that “Ghost” was up, alive, and recovering. Franco stayed by my side the entire time, making it seem natural, like he was just there because he wanted to be. Though I am sure he did want to be with me, just not here where I could easily mess something up in my healing. 

He didn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. He let me lean on him if I needed to, but never hovered or made me feel helpless. Just present. Grounding.

After enough smiling and pretending to be perfectly fine for the cameras and the team, we ducked out early. “You’ve earned the rest of the day off,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder as we got into his car. “What’s next? Grocery run?”

“God, yes. If I eat another instant noodle cup I might scream.”

We wandered the aisles like two university students who barely knew how to shop for real food. He made fun of my oddly specific snack preferences, and I teased him for the fact that he apparently can’t function without a very particular kind of olive oil.

When we got home, we cooked together—well, I supervised while Franco did most of the cooking, reading the instructions with exaggerated concentration. He looked so serious trying to make the sauce just right, even though it was something so simple. I sat at the counter, legs swinging slightly, letting the domesticity of it all sink in.

The soft sound of the simmering pan, Franco humming under his breath, the occasional “Try this and tell me if it’s too salty”—it was the kind of quiet intimacy I didn’t realize I’d been craving. It wasn’t about being cared for, it was just… being with someone who wanted to care.

By the time dinner was done, my arm was aching again and I was half-asleep at the table. Franco cleaned up without asking, humming that same soft tune he’d had going all day.

Before leaving, he leaned down and gently bumped his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow’s Lando's shift, but text me if you need anything. Or if you just want more pasta.”

I didn’t say anything until after the door clicked shut and the apartment returned to stillness.

Then I whispered it to the empty space he left behind: “Thank you.”

And I meant it more than he would ever know.

I had barely rolled out of bed when my phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Lando. Not a text. Not a “hey, you up?” warning. Just a full-blown, front-camera assault first thing in the morning. I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and accepted the call.

Lando’s face filled the screen instantly—grinning, eyes bright, clearly way too awake for how early it was. “Good morning, sunshine!”

“You are way too chipper for this hour,” I groaned, flopping back into the pillows.

“I’ve got a surprise,” he said, practically bouncing in place. “Nico gave the okay. I got you cleared for something fun today.”

I blinked. “Cleared for what?”

“Quadrant. Video shoot. You and me. Karting track. But—” he raised a finger, “—don’t freak out. You’re not racing. You’re coaching. Like a proper boss. You get to wear your helmet and everything. Total mystery. Maximum ‘Ghost’ vibes.”

My heart fluttered at the thought. It wasn’t racing, not exactly. But it was a toe back in the world I loved. A toe that wouldn’t risk undoing the progress I’d made. A smile crept onto my face despite the dull ache in my shoulder.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

“I knew you’d say yes!” Lando grinned like he’d just won a bet with himself. “Be ready in an hour. I’m picking you up.”

Exactly sixty-two minutes later, Lando was in my apartment—letting himself in with the spare key Oscar had reluctantly given him, armed with a large quadrant hoodie and one of my helmets already polished and tucked under his arm.

“You’re a menace,” I told him as he helped me pull on the hoodie. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m your menace today,” he shot back, grinning as he gently fixed the collar so it wouldn’t irritate the sling. Then, softer, more sincere: “You look badass. Even with one arm fully out of commission and the other only half as bad.”

He helped me with the helmet, adjusting the straps like he’d done it a hundred times. His fingers were careful, brushing under my jaw as he worked.

“There,” he said when he was done, stepping back to admire his work. “Ghost is back.”

The shoot was at a private karting track, nothing too intense, but buzzing with energy. Lando had already worked it out with the Quadrant team: he and I would each coach one half of the group for the day. It wasn’t about speed or competition—it was about chaos, laughter, and low-stakes fun. And somehow, even though I wasn’t driving, it felt like coming home.

Lando stuck close to me but never hovered. He made it look natural, like we were just teammates riffing off each other—his chaotic jokes balancing my deadpan commentary. He made sure I had a stool to sit on whenever I needed, slipped water bottles into my hand without saying a word, and every once in a while, he’d shoot me a look across the track—a grin that asked you okay? without needing the words.

And every time, I’d nod. Because I was.

One of my favorite moments was when a member of his team spun out dramatically and Lando nearly lost his mind laughing. I leaned into his shoulder, laughing just as hard, and he slung his arm around me without hesitation. It was instinctual. Natural. Like it had always been this way.

By the end of the shoot, we were both exhausted but glowing. He helped me out of my helmet and immediately fluffed my hair like a brat.

“You were incredible today,” he said softly, his voice almost lost beneath the fading roar of the track. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, cheeks warm. “It felt good. To just... be seen again. Even if no one really saw me.”

“But I did,” he said, eyes soft. “And you were you. All day.”

We rode home with the windows down, wind tangling our hair, laughter still lingering in the car like an afterglow.

That night, as I lay in bed with the ache in my shoulder reminding me I still had a ways to go, I smiled. Because today, I wasn’t just recovering. I was living. And Lando made sure I didn’t forget what that felt like.

—

When the knock came at the door, I knew it was Ollie before I even peeked through the peephole. There was something about his timing, always perfect without trying. He knew when to give space, and when to break the silence.

I opened the door and he immediately grinned, holding up a bag of pastries like some sort of peace offering.

“I bring sugar and distraction,” he said.

I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “That’s my favorite combo.”

He kicked off his shoes at the door and wandered inside like he’d done it a hundred times—which, honestly, he had. My apartment didn’t look like much now that I was practically living on the couch full-time, but it was still my space. My comfort zone. And today, it felt better with him in it.

“I figured we could start looking at places,” he said, setting the pastries on the coffee table and flopping down onto the rug like it was his natural habitat. “Kimi already sent me a voice memo from a mountain he hiked up at 6 a.m. to tell us how much he wants to freeze to death next week.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, easing onto the couch with a soft wince. “If he tries to make me hike, I swear I’ll fake a rib puncture.”

Ollie snorted. “I’m already making the executive decision to veto snow.”

He leaned back on one arm, looking up at me with that lopsided smirk of his, and for a moment, I forgot about the weight in my chest. About the way healing felt more like surviving these days. About how this break was supposed to be a rest, but mostly felt like punishment.

But then we passed the hallway later on our way to grab my laptop, and it all came crashing back. He stopped. I didn’t have to look to know why.

The display shelf by the hallway had always been a quiet little timeline of my career—my first F4 helmet, the one I won my first karting championship in, and a couple others from standout races. But now… now there was another.

My most recent one.

The one from the crash.

Still blackened at the edges. Still scarred by fire and dirt and desperation. I hadn’t touched it since it was returned to me. I didn’t know why I left it there—maybe to remind myself I survived. Maybe because I hadn’t figured out how to hide it.

Ollie stood frozen, staring at it like it had personally insulted him.

I turned to say something, anything to break the tension, but then he spoke—and it hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You kept it like that?” His voice was quiet. Unsteady.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I... I guess I couldn’t bring myself to clean it. It feels like—like proof that I got out, you know? That I made it.”

He didn’t look at me. “I thought you didn’t.” My breath caught.

His hands were balled into fists again, just like they had been in the medical room.

“You were moving,” he said, voice raw. “I saw you crawling out. I kept telling myself, she’s out, she’s out—she’s gonna be okay. And then it exploded again. I only saw it in my mirrors. Just... flames. You disappeared. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t know if you were—”

His voice cracked. I stepped forward, gently placing my good hand on his arm. “Ollie.”

“I couldn’t do anything,” he whispered. “I just kept driving and praying they’d pull you out in time.”

“You don’t have to carry that,” I murmured. “You didn’t leave me. You were racing. You didn’t abandon me.”

He finally turned to look at me, and there it was again—that same look from the hospital. Like part of him still hadn’t let go of the moment he thought I was gone. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I made it. And you’re here, too.”

He didn’t say anything, just let me pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, holding tight but not too tight, like he didn’t want to cause more damage.

We stood there for a long moment, the silence more healing than any words could’ve been.

When we pulled apart, his eyes were a little glassy, but his voice had steadied. “Okay. No more crash talk for today. We’ve got a vacation to plan.”

“Finally,” I said with a smile, wiping at my cheek. “Something that doesn’t involve ice packs or medical tape.”

Back in the living room, I curled up on the couch with a blanket, and Ollie sat on the floor beside me, laptop open between us. He pulled up a tab with about ten bookmarks already waiting.

“I did some scouting. Don’t worry, I filtered out anything colder than 10 degrees.”

I laughed. “You’re a saint.”

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “First up: this little seaside villa in Cinque Terre. Gorgeous view, private terrace, walking distance to gelato.”

“Sold.”

“Wait, wait—next one’s even better,” he said, scrolling to a cozy mountain cabin in Switzerland. “Fireplace. Hot tub. Comes with a dog named Muffin, apparently.”

I gasped. “Muffin??”

He grinned. “Now you’re invested.”

We kept flipping through options, laughing and bickering like we weren’t two people who’d almost lost each other. At some point, we ended up side by side on the couch, sharing a pastry and debating which place had the better vibe for “healing, but make it cute.”

By the end of it, we had a list narrowed down and a tentative plan to leave in three days with Kimi.

And for the first time since the crash, I felt something like normal again. Not just alive—but living.

—

I didn’t realize how nice it would be to have Kimi around until he showed up with an armful of empty duffel bags and a determined look in his eyes.

“No offense,” he said, stepping inside and immediately kicking the door shut with his heel, “but your packing system is a crime. This time, we’re doing it properly.”

I blinked at him, leaning against the doorway of my bedroom in an oversized hoodie and a sling. “Hi to you, too.”

“Hi,” he replied, grinning in that boyish way that made it hard to stay annoyed. “Now sit down and point at things. I’ll do the rest.”

And he did.

Without hesitation, Kimi opened drawers, folded clothes, sorted toiletries, and somehow managed to get all my essentials into a suitcase in a way that looked almost... aesthetic? I couldn’t decide if he was just naturally organized or if he’d learned how to be useful from traveling nonstop with F2. Either way, he didn’t need to be asked. He just did things. Quiet, capable, and oddly comforting.

“You’re scarily efficient,” I said as he zipped up the second bag.

He shrugged. “You need comfy clothes, beach things, and at least one outfit in case we go somewhere nice. Everything else is overthinking.”

“I am overthinking,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to mine, teasing. “You always do.”

That made me roll my eyes and throw a sock at his head. He caught it without looking, like some kind of casual ninja, and smirked. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

“Sure. Also, you’re lucky I can’t throw properly right now.”

“I’m lucky either way,” he said quietly, almost too casually—but the way he said it made me freeze for half a second. I opened my mouth, ready with a sarcastic reply, but he was already standing, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing had happened.

“Alright,” he said. “We need food before I start unpacking things out of boredom.”

We ended up ordering our usual takeout from the Chinese place two blocks down. Kimi set up camp on the couch while I shuffled over with the food, and even though I knew I looked like a gremlin in sweatpants and messy hair, he didn’t blink. Just scooted over, fluffed the pillow next to him, and patted it.

“C’mon, your side of the couch looks lonely.”

I plopped down and groaned dramatically as I got comfortable, which earned me a quiet laugh from him.

“You’re so needy,” I joked.

“You love it,” he shot back, unbothered. Then he handed me my drink without even looking. Like he knew exactly which one was mine.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, trading bites and throwing in the occasional “this is so good” or “okay that chili sauce is illegal.” After eating, Kimi picked up the controllers and waved mine in front of my face.

“I updated your save file. You’re welcome.”

“You what?”

“You were stuck on that one level. I fixed it.”

“Are you trying to one-up Oscar’s breakfast day?” I asked.

“No,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m trying to make sure you never get rid of me.”

Again, the words landed softer than they should have, sitting somewhere in the back of my mind like a puzzle piece I hadn’t quite figured out.

The night went on like that—lazy and warm and full of inside jokes. We played a few rounds of our favorite co-op game, him carrying us through the boss fights and me screaming every time we nearly died. When the controller finally dropped out of my hand and I leaned my head against the couch in defeat, he just chuckled and tugged a blanket over both of us.

“Movie time,” he said, already scrolling through the streaming options. “You get first pick. But choose wisely, because I will complain the entire time if it sucks.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me heal, not raising my blood pressure.”

“Stress builds character,” he deadpanned.

I laughed, sinking deeper into the couch. We eventually settled on an old comfort film, and somewhere between the opening credits and the halfway point, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Kimi didn’t say anything when I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. He just shifted slightly so I could fit better and kept watching, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

He smelled like clean laundry and citrus shampoo and something that was just Kimi—familiar, steady, safe.

As I started drifting off, I heard him say something under his breath.

“Might be my favorite day of break so far.”

I didn’t say anything.

But I smiled.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think that we are getting book 8 that will focus on Grim since we almost are on the end of book 7? And how do you feel if that what happened and we get book 8 that focus on Grim and Yuu like why are they here all of that? Do you want to see a specific thing that wasn't mentioned in the main story?

Last question how do you feel about twst ending? Would you stay in the fandom or find another interest? I'm not ready for that like if twst ended I will move to twst fanfics 🥲

But to be honest with how they are using the 3D animation as inspiration too now for the new events I have hope that even if the main story ended we will still have plenty of new events coming plus we have the anime coming too and manga chapters still going. I don't want this fandom to die as soon as main story end.

Honestly I don't mind if the game kept going forever 😂 not necessarily the main story but with events and talk about the world.

Imagine something like twst: The New NRC Generation like they did with many animes XD

Okay I talked so much sorry for the rambling.

As I have stated in the FAQ section of my pinned post (I kindly ask that people check that first before sending asks because I have been asked some variant of “what do you think about a potential book 8”/“how do you want book 7 to end” dozens of times; I don’t answer them because the answer is already out there but overlooked, but I feel bad for ignoring so many people 😅):

"I want to actually see Yuu going home and the current students moving on to the next year of schooling. We could focus on how the guys have grown and are growing, how these more mature versions of the characters interact with the incoming freshmen/first years, or the long-term consequences of their OBs (particularly Malleus's, which probably caused an international crisis). It would also be cool to learn more about RSA students after book 7, but I don’t want them to rehash the OB formula."

"As for a potential book 8, I don’t know if there’s enough evidence for it? Book 7 is cramming a lot in right now so it’s possible that all the loose ends will be tied up there. Book 8 also implies a strong focus on Ramhackle, which… I know we love Yuusonas and all, but the game cannot canonically fill in their backstory a ton or it will ruin player self-inserting/projection. That means we’d have to rely on Grim and Grim alone to be the emotional crux that somehow transcends even Malleus’s chapter. I think that’d be hard to pull off, especially since we'd be expecting book 8 to be even LONGER than the 290+ book 7 is. If there's a book 8 at all, it might have to be closer to prologue length...? Because even if they push the Mickey stuff and revealing Crowley's motives to a theoretical book 8, I can't imagine this would take up more parts than book 7 already has 💦"

Secondly, I don’t think “Twst ending” is… the best phrasing? It’s not like the game is going to shut down as soon as book 7 finishes. Live service games close when they’re no longer financially viable, not because they finished a main story arc. Several of these kinds of games continue the main story into a new arc—and while we don’t have any official confirmation of this for Twst, it would be just silly for a money and merch machine to be shut down for an arbitrary reason. If it's not broken, then don't axe it. I would be genuinely shocked if Twst just left the main story untouched after book 7, though it may take some time before new main story stuff comes out, as the writers would have to... you know, write. Running the servers based on events alone, especially when we are not guaranteed new story events every month, doesn't sound sustainable in the long term. There's still going to be new Twst stuff coming out for a long time between the manga, anime, and light novels too. That's at least a good couple of years.

dyugaoydaswqyb Anyway, I'll be staying in the fandom even once book 7 finished; it's very near and dear to my heart ^^ Like I said, I think Twst will probably continue its service for a while. And it's not like you can only have one interest at a time, right??

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Please give me yandere scaramouche with spouse gn reader. Honestly it's been a while since I read any fan fic about yandere scaramouche haha,

Just some headcanons because writing is hard

Cw: yandere(kinda light??? But also not so caution)

It's amazing that he even considers marriage with someone since it's a pretty mortal thing to do. He definitely marries someone to keep others from them and to keep them by his side until he finds a way to bind them to him more permanently once he asends to god hood.

Very few know he has a spouse cause while he wants them at his side 24/7 he also doesn't want the presences of others to poison them or try to take them from him. So the only ones that know about his spouse are his most trustworthy fatui that he has guard them when he cannot be by their side and possibly other Harbingers who have caught sight of them once or twice.

His spouse would live a fairly isolated life, probably in some remote village somewhere where the most danger is perhaps a stray fox and most of the population is either too old or far too young to even be considered a threat. So they can be free to wander around talk with people and play, just live a pretty normal mortal life.

Sure this seems strange especially since he's allowing them to live a normal life but its not normal its just normal to them and thats just how he want it. All of their actions are reported to him daily from who they talk to, where they went, what they ate, how long they slept, everything.

But while he wants them to enjoy this normal life of theirs he also wants them to want more specifically of him. Want him to come by more, stay longer, spoil them with affection, just more more more. He wants them to long for him in his absence so that when the day comes and he's ready to become a God they'll come with him and agree to become his for eternity.

Anyone that flirts with them or any danger that comes by is dealt with swiftly. People go missing, bodies are never found, and rumors may start but it's better to have rumors of a vengeful spirit haunting his spouse or something than someone flirting with his spouse. It may isolate them a bit more but it all works in his favor in the end.

When hes able to get some time away and spend some time with them he's cooking their meals, telling them fabricated tales of his life away from them, being affectionate, and giving them whatever they desire. He gets high off his spouse asking things of him regardless of if it's something material like a new outfit or physical like a kiss, it feeds into his desire to be needed but also treated as someone powerful because he can provide them with anything they want like a God would.

His spouse would be aware of his harshness so it's not seen as something shocking if he snaps at a stranger that approaches them. He's pretty likeable despite that so besides them making a comment that he should be a little nicer they won't find his behavior as alarming or odd. Of course they aren't aware of him killing people or ordering others to kill for him and he plans to keep it that way.

I'd see that the only way for him to snap at his spouse and go full on yandere never letting them leave or killing them himself is if they say they don't love him. Like that would literally break him cause this is someone who promised to love him forever and for them to take that from him would be devastating.

As plans for his ascension get closer and closer to being finished he gets a little deranged as the excitement for what's to come gets closer and closer which might worry his spouse. But he'll assure them he's fine and that he's only this way because he's planning a trip for them. They have to be there for his ascension so he will bring them to Sumeru to witness this moment.

At this point if they weren't already aware he was a yandere they may know now but it'll be too late for them to run away.

[marchofmistria]

Hello! I love your headcanons and writing a lot! Thanks for the food

If possible, I'll like to request some headcanons for Balor and a reader that has a pretty obvious crush on him.

Thanks in advance! <3

Hey there, thank you for sending! :)

Balor is not unaccustomed to flirting. He's a handsome man, well-traveled, and a purveyor of expensive goods. He's met many people, so to speak.

But something about your particular attention to him really makes him flustered. And that fact alone scares him.

He does a lot of self-analysis to try and understand what about you makes you special to him, and why your flirting makes his heart race. He's met many attractive people in his life, sure, but you're so much more than just another pretty face to him.

From the first moment he met you on your entrance into Mistria, and he held your hand as you jumped over the broken bridge into the small village, he couldn't get you out of his mind.

From his first impression, you were definitely beautiful. As he got to know you more, he saw you as particularly clever and helpful with his business. You understood him and his line of work.

He's not sure, maybe it has to do with the fact that he's grown surprisingly attached to this village. But he suspects you play no small role in that feeling.

He can tell you like him too. Each day, you make a point to stop by his cart and chat with him. At first, it's mostly about business. But as time passes, you make an effort to learn more about the mysterious merchant and remember each detail of each story he tells you.

He really starts to feel your affections towards him each time you take effort to bring him a beautiful gem or rare archeological find. At first he thanks you, saying it'll be a good sell in the Capital.

But then you emphasize that it's for him, not to be sold. You know that, aside from his work, he truly appreciates the beauty and rarity of such things. He's touched by the thought you put into it.

Even more so when you remember his brief mention of his favorite food, curry, and make an effort to bring it to him as often as possible.

He knew that he loved you on the day you invited him over to the farm for dinner. You told him that you and Reina had worked together on a new curry recipe, and hoped that he liked it.

While you may have tried to brush off any hints suggesting that this was made for him, claiming that you and Reina were simply practicing cooking, he could tell that you didn't offer this meal to him thoughtlessly.

It's the most delicious and comforting thing he'd remembered having since his childhood. Comforting food like this was hard to come by when you lived your life on the road.

Charming and charismatic as he is, he finds it truly difficult to express in words what this gesture meant to him. Really, what all of these thoughtful and kind gestures mean to him.

He begins to associate you with the feeling of home. He hasn't known that feeling in a while.

He goes to great lengths to try and repay you for your kindness. He knows that he's already gained your affection and doesn't need to try to win you over, but he wants to give you even a small piece of the feeling you've given him.

He first brings you rare and expensive gifts he comes into possession of over the course of his travels outside of Mistria. Some of these things, you know well, he could have easily sold for a pretty penny in the Capital. But he chooses to give them to you.

As he gets to know you more, he moves away from gifts he knows would be liked by anyone to gifts specific to your interests and tastes.

He knows how carefully you listen to all his stories, and makes great effort to do the same for you. He even goes so far as to keep notes of the things you've mentioned you liked. He'll bring them for you any chance he gets.

His favorite thing in the world is spending late nights with you at the Inn, swapping stories and laughs well into the night. He feels like he can talk to you forever, and it feels wonderful to have a caring someone to share his thoughts and feelings with.

Another thing he needs to get used to is the trouble he has flirting with you at first. Although you unabashedly like Balor and don't try to hide it, Balor has to fight through some embarrassment to show his feelings back. Something he's not used to.

This is a shock to a man whose whole life was spent charming everyone he meets. He's never been a stranger to grand displays of affection, but with you he takes a different approach. With you, he wants to cultivate intimacy.

He gets shy when you clearly indicate how much you like him, but always wants you to know that the feeling is mutual and he wants your relationship to progress further.

Because of this, it doesn't take long at all for you two to become an official couple. Even long into your relationship, when Balor has vowed to make Mistria (and you specifically) his permanent home, he never stops making sure you feel loved by him. He tells you and shows you every single day.

[bigcowboydyke]

about your disability pride month post: is there anything important/significant you think people should take notes on when writing a character with an upper arm prosthetic? (like starting from the elbow if i phrased correctly)?

Yeah! I think the biggest is that you ought to consider first, esp if its an OC, your reasoning for making the character disabled- you wanna make sure you're not fetishizing or exploiting their disability to prop up abled characters. I've got a list of questions for authors to ask themselves along those lines that I can post or dm

Secondly, you have to consider what level of realism you wanna go with. If you have a character where, in universe, the prosthesis functions in exactly the way an arm does, you could just go with that if you want - it's the path of least resistance, right? BUT you ought to consider that most prostheses in media exist in that way AT THE EXPENSE of good representation of disability. Erasing disability or "curing" it with magical prostheses IS a form of ableism that is so pervasive it just goes unnoticed by most. I believe personally that disabled bodies are worth portraying well even when the creators of the source material did not do that. SO if you want to go with real well thought our representation, here are some common things I think authors and artists often miss (specifically as it pertains to upper limb prostheses):

1) I already said this, but seriously, I cannot emphasize enough that upper limb prosthetics ain't cheap and are usually uncomfortable. Your character, if they are poor, or even like middle class, won't have access to multiple high tech popular mechanics cover story type robo arms. Even if they did ...

2) Not all limb different folks use prosthetics! I personally have used multiple and I disliked them. I tried very hard to learn, but there are multiple requirements to be able to use each model and sometimes, a lot of times actually, limb different people - especially people without a hand or an arm function Better without prosthetics. Be aware in your art that limb different people are Whole. How you ask can somebody without an arm, say, do all that stuff?

3) Consider the idea of adaptation in your writing and art instead of relying only on magicking disability away with prosthetics. Disabled People live in a world full of barriers and tend to be Very creative about navigating it, adapting to our environment through just being a little clever about how we do things is the biggest way i see other people with upper limb differences interact with the world. There are three main ways that we go about this without prosthetics: Using adaptive equipment, Finding an alternate method, or as a last resort, asking for help.

Example 1: I have like 1.5 arms ok so obviously only 1 hand, and I need to clip my fingernails every once in a while. The obvious solution to me, while it may seem gross, is just to bite them off. Bad habit, but efficient. I could use those horrible little nail clippers, with my remaining stump and a little finagling but it takes forever. I could also get some adaptive nail clippers - they make great big handled ones for ppl that can't grab the little ones. Or, I could ask my partner to trim them, but I'm usually too proud to do that. Let disabled people have their flaws too lol!

Example 2: I love to rock climb. This is where adaptive equipment comes in. I could slip off a rock climbing wall pretty easily right? So bouldering (rock climbing without harnesses) is totally inaccessible to me. But if I go to a gym that has harnesses, then that's fine - they catch me if I fall and that's adaptive for me.

Adaptive equipment comes in many shapes and sizes and can be regular items repurposed.

3. If after all that you Must create art or write about an OC or preexisting character that uses upper limb prosthetics, consider that in general, limb different people's prosthetics are not equivalent to having two arms. Prosthetics are only practical for limb different people if they enhance your life or are useful in some way, however, getting one high tech enough to do that is unlikely because they are expensive. There are different groups, clinics, and charities that make lower cost options but they tend to be much lower tech than is depicted (and often are clunky). My first prosthetic was a long flat piece of metal, similar to a doctors tongue depressor, attached to a plaster cuff velcroed around my stump. The idea was that since I had a little bit of stump poking out, I could pin objects against the metal and it would work like a crab's pincers. It was okay, but I did accidentally smack many. Many. Things with it, including my own face and since it was metal, that was unpleasant. Obviously hindered more than helped. Also it did not look even remotely like a hand.

4. Which prosthetics you can get generally depend on what you got on you. Literally. Bodily. With upper limb prostheses, If you don't have an elbow or wrist, your options are almost exclusively limited to the pricier electric options that are both super futuristic, unavailable to many, and also like new car priced. Many of the manual, non-electric models depend on the ability to flex a wrist or elbow, so if you have those things are a little more accessible overall. It also matters whether you are born limb different like me, or if you are an amputee. Amputees are more likely to be candidates for prostheses than people like me because they have all those preexisting muscles and nerves for prosthetics that are higher tech and require surgical attachment Also prosthetics might be an easier learning curve, and more useful for somebody who has been abled bodied than it would be for somebody who never had that limb in the first place.

5. This is a little thing and ... Not to get too medical with it ( and neither should yall) but limb different people often have physical changes associated with lack of or loss of limb. If you do not have a limb, you are not going to be developing the muscles that are surrounding it in the way an a nondisabled person would. Again for example I have 1.5ish arms which means I've got plenty of stump on my "affected" limb. Even when I did Varsity sports and everything, I was never able to get beefy on that side. It is a pet peeve of mine that many people do not seem to get this - Most art I see of vash the stampede has him with two super beefy shoulders and like yeah i get it that's hot, but if hes got roughly the same amount of stump as me, he probably shouldn'tlook like that. Another thing in this vein is chronic pain is associated with limb loss and limb difference- I have it and its reasonable that any prosthetic user or nonprosthetic using limb different person is more likely to have it. Again these are little things but if you're looking to do good representation you need to consider that limb difference is not just a cool little stylistic choice to make a character look tough or what have you - limb loss and limb difference mean that that character will not only think differently than abled bodied people, but move differently, pose differently, have different routines and preferences than are ever represented in most media. Disability is not a style, and it's not a diagnosis, it's an identity. It's important above all to be respectful of that by letting go of centering able-bodied expectations and aesthetic in your art and writing. Hard to do but i believe in y'all!

Hope that helps! I've also got a bunch of links to go along with these points, if you want them lmk! I'm always happy to take asks about this stuff!

Tl;dr please consider making characters that don't use prosthetics, or don't use them excessively because it's more realistic, better representation, and makes me, a disabled dyke on the internet, really happy.

Lastly if y'all liked my advice and appreciate my time you are always welcome to tip me for it - my c*sh*pp is $neptunedrive

[howlingday]

(Side A)

DON'T FUCK YOUR SISTER!

SHE'S YOUR SISTER!

Now, you may discover that you, or your sister, are actually adopted. You might even be stepsiblings! Neither of you may be blood related to one another, or if you are, you are actually cousins. In these circumstances...

STILL DON'T HAVE SEX WITH HER, YOU DEGENERATE GARBAGE HUMAN BEING!

MONTY! H! OUM! WE LITERALLY JUST COVERED ALMOST A DOZEN GIRLS AND EACH OF THEM ARE A BETTER OPTION BECAUSE THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL AND NOT RELATED TO YOU! SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that you have identified your harem, you can properly plan your escape. Assuming you aren't dead or in jail, there are one of two ways this can end.

Either the system maintains equilibrium and you maintain a status quo of hijinks surrounded by girls who won't have sex with you, or you can fucking pick one and spend the rest of your life with her.

After all, everyone knows 100% of relationships in high school last forever because they are the strongest bonds anyone can ever have, never once failing in terms of romance.

It is highly advised you pursue the latter option because the longer you maintain a harem increases your chances of death by yandere.

To escape, you must pick a girl. This will be hard for you. If making up your mind wasn't difficult, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

But I promise you this; realizing you have feelings for someone and then telling them how you feel IS NOT FUCKING ROCKET SCIENCE. People literally do it ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Some people even do it MULTIPLE TIMES IN ONE DAY. But their lives are complicated, and if you don't want your life to be complicated, you need to STOP WASTING EVERYONE'S FUCKING TIME AND MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MIND FOR ONCE! If you need help, just remember...

...the Deredere girl is usually the best girl.

Once you've accomplished your Herculean task of deciding which girl you're most attracted to, your next step is to CONFESS your feelings to her. Because if you wait for her to do it, trust me, you're going to be waiting for a while.

This will not go smoothly, so when you make your confession, you'll want to make a few backups.

WRITE DOWN YOUR FEELINGS: EXACTLY how you feel as clearly and plainly as possible in an impossible to misunderstand language.

BE CLEAR IN WHO IS FOR/FROM: SIGN YOUR NAME and explicitly state who specifically this letter is addressed to.

TAKE A PICTURE: WITH YOUR PHONE and make digital and physical copies.

GET A TATTOO: AND DOGTAGS, both with the message etched IN A PLACE WITH NO LEWD CONNOTATION AT ALL!

It might sound excessive, but it's honestly still not enough for you. When you confess, another girl will likely interrupt with or without the intention to trip you up and misinterpret your message for someone else. Thankfully, you've already slipped your note into her personal locker in the event of such an emergency, and when her locker is destroyed or launched far away, you, being prepared, have already texted the message to her as well. The image might be corrupted, which is where the dogtags come in. And... Well, I think you get the idea.

It is important to get your message delivered and understood by her without you misinterpreting her answer as a rejection. Otherwise, you could find yourself in an increasingly wacky set of hijinks as the harem system maintains the status quo for at least another 12 episodes unless you lock that down.

If you have made these attempts and still been rejected, then you clearly haven't weathered the harem system long enough. Pick a different girl and try again in another three-to-four weeks. In the meantime, while you are weathering this storm, remember your ABCDs...

Awareness, Balance, Clenched fists, and

DON'T FUCK YOUR SISTER

This message was sponsored and paid for by her holiness

POPE RUBY II

[rosiesdisneydrama]

GF X SKY: Ford's Notes on Stan

AN: Felt like writing something where Stanley was, somehow, an incarnate of a spirit from the game Sky. Because I wanted to play with crossovers and see how some of the characters would/could have grown over time. Plus, I just like Sky and the spirits from it.

Stan is, rather specifically, the Cackling Cannoneer from the Season of Abyss and I tried to hint at that with his appearance in this. He’s styled himself and his clothing to match how he sees himself, but he’s also still Stan as his core. It’s fun to consider what details, big and small, Stan being a Sky spirit would have changed. And even the things he himself would have done differently with those underlying character traits and notes that get added in.

Ford doesn’t know about Stan being the Cackling Cannoneer at this part in the story. It’ll come out eventually, and there'll be a lot of good family bonding from that. (Probably. It might take a bit for things to get sorted out.)

I also wanted to try rewriting Ford’s journal entries about his return with those details affecting how/what happened to bring him back. I leaned into how the entries were written in Journal 3 when I first started writing this, but then I split off from it since it looked odd without the accompanying art that Ford would put into the journal.

Against all odds, I’m Back.

I never thought, in a thousand years, that I would be holding this book again. The weight of it in my hands and the smell of the parchment whisks my mind back to the tragic accident that forever changed my life.

Though I was not present to record it when it first happened, 30 years ago I got into a fight with my brother and was knocked through my own interdimensional portal into a universe beyond my imagination.

The last three decades have been frightening, exciting, cruel, and strange, and as I find myself back in my old study, writing in my old journal, it is hard to shake the feeling that I have awoken from a bizarre 30-year dream…

How is it that I am back? It turns out that despite my warnings and the possibility of global catastrophe, Stanley managed to re-activate the portal and bring me back to my home dimension. While his intentions may have been pure, he was just as careless in bringing me back as he’d been knocking me through in the first place. He destroyed the portal in the process and nearly risked endangering the entire fabric of reality!

It is only by the barest chances that he’s avoided people outside of the house from realizing what he was doing. His lack of forethought is just the kind of thing I should have known to expect from him.

But I should not dwell on the past for long. There will be time enough to ruminate on my years spent traveling through the dimensional rifts and the strange things I saw there.

First, I must focus on the present and the problems created by the man who is responsible for my latest twist of fate…

My Brother Stanley Hero or Idiot?

When I first saw him, I had assumed I had once again found myself in an alternate, parallel dimension. Gone was the stubborn messy-haired, frostbitten vagabond who had pushed me into the portal many years earlier, replaced by a wrinkled old mariner with my father’s face, a patched-up set of overalls, and more tattoos than a man his age should have.

I’d spent years contemplating what I might do if I saw Stanley again. Would I even be able to look him in the eye after what he did? Would I apologize for shutting him out of my life?

As it turned out, instinct took over and I punched him in the face.

I feel kind of bad about that…

1 Face- Inherited Dad’s nose and Mom’s untrustworthy tongue. For some reason, he’s tattooed his FACE! A few simple, blue triangles over his right brow, but it’s the PRINCIPLE of the thing! (We are both well into our 50s, we’re too old for such sharp-lined tattoos.)

2 Build- I have kept an extensive exercise and diet regime over the past 30 years. Stanley hasn’t been as rigorous but seems to be somewhat in shape.

3 Clothes- Stanley dresses as though he’s a fisherman on their day off. An old jumpsuit tucked into thick boots and worn over an aged-looking shirt. While all sensible dress, it’s not what one should wear in a lab environment! However, the strange symbol on the front of his jumpsuit looks familiar…

4 Hair- Despite his years and wrinkles, Stanley has chosen to keep the right half of his head SHAVEN with even more tattoos there. The left half of his head, by contrast, is unshaven and reveals that his hair has gone fully white in the years since I had seen him last. He keeps it all wrapped up in three long, thick braids that he’s tied off with dark brown cords rather than normal hair ties. They may even be leather cords, but I haven’t examined them closely enough to tell.

5 Machinery- Stanley’s work on the portal is sloppy, at best. And that is if I’m being kind about it. Some parts were properly welded in place, but others were messily attached with bolts and screws that didn’t belong or anchored with metal cables. Some parts were even attached with DUCK TAPE of all things!

I have no idea what the purpose of the strange paintings, symbols, and plants that had been in the basement as well, buried beneath the rubble of the destroyed portal.

Yes, despite the years and wrinkles, Stanley seems to be the same irresponsible miscreant I remember from our shared childhood. Most unbelievable: his first thought upon seeing me again was to expect a thank you- a THANK YOU- after destroying my life!

He’s apparently spent the past 30 years impersonating me (likely to escape the law or some band of criminals he’s made enemies of) and he’s completely changed the nature of my labs and what the town thinks of them.

Once a haven for my work, the secluded cabin I built with my grant money has been transformed by Stanley into a fake cryptozoology museum. My brother re-dubbed my labs as the “Mystery Shack” and has filled it with fantastical, completely fabricated creatures for tourists and locals alike to come and gawk at.

My inventing room? Now a hall of false taxidermies of made-up creatures. Why on earth would he decide to call a strange, stone creature with juts of red crystal sticking out of it a “Shattering Crab”? It makes no sense!

My thinking parlor? Now little more than a tacky “man cave” for lazing in front of the television when the “Shack” was closed. Stanley has been using my T. Rex skull as a coffee table. A coffee table!

Not even my storage room was spared from Stanley’s absurdity, having been turned into a “gift shop” more cluttered than Pines Pawns had ever been. Many of the items relate back to the creatures of the museum, a few even appearing as soft toys for children.

Though, with great reluctance, I must applaud my brother’s handy work on these creatures. Despite the subpar materials he’d used to craft them, Stanley seems to have put genuine effort into creating each one. Many of them have small placards and posters near them depicting cleverly conceived speculative biology and behavior. If I did not know better, I would potentially mistake them for REAL creatures and not simply flights of fancy.

His elaborate tales of the creatures only add to the air of plausibility behind them, in addition to highlighting his skills at spinning a yarn for gullible tourists.

I had always known that Stanley loved the ocean when we were children, but he seems to have taken many of the animals of the seas and created a fantastical version of them to put on display. At least there are SOME things he’s willing to put in the work and research for. They are surprisingly grounded for what I would normally expect of him.

It would be impressive, entertaining even, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s taken over MY labs to do it.

I feel like a ghost wandering through a parody of their own home. I can see enough of what used to be to know where I am, but it has all been CHANGED.

I intended to make it clear to Stanley that I WOULD be taking my home back, but he shut down the conversation the moment I started to speak about it. And, as much as I detest it, he did have a good reason for not having the conversation at that time.

It seems the children staying at the house are here because of marital in-fighting between their parents. In-fighting that has been growing increasingly toxic between our nephew and niece-in-law and has started to affect the twins as well. Things have been said when they should not have and the children have overheard it. He wants the two to believe that the house is both safe AND stable for as long as they’re here.

We’re both prone to losing our tempers with each other and it’s very likely our argument will get very loud and harsh once we start. As such, Stanley doesn’t want to have a conversation about what will happen now that I’ve returned unless he is SURE the children won’t overhear us speaking. A noble intention that I find myself willing to go along with for now.

It is frustrating to be forced to hold my tongue but he has made his stance clear. So I am not being left much choice in the matter anyway.

Stanley has asked his employees to take the children to town tomorrow so that we will have the building to ourselves. An ideal opportunity for us to have a private conversation about what is going to change now.

It should be a simple matter. Nothing for me to worry about.

AN: Ford is showing his age/upbringing with his opinions on tattoos even if he doesn’t know it. In the 70s and 80s, tattoos on the face or hands were usually associated with criminals. So he’s seeing the ones Stan has and assuming he has them for his own criminal activities or as some kind of Subversive movement he’s part of.

He’s wrong, but he doesn’t know that yet. Because he’s only JUST come back and hasn’t actually sat down to talk with Stan yet about what’s happened while he was gone. He does, subtly, bring up the crispness of the edges and deepness of the colors in this journal entry, though.

IRL tattoos fade as the person with them gets older and it takes active maintenance to keep tattoo lines sharp and to prevent them from fading. After all, human skin sheds/changes over time so tattoos lose their clean lines and their colors will fade and become harder to see. Because of that, tattoos need to be retouched and maintained over time to keep them in good condition.

(I know this because, despite not having any myself, my childhood babysitter DID have some. He explained it to me when I mentioned how faded one of his had gotten and that he planned to get it touched up soon.)

Ford’s own tattoos are almost gone by this point in the story because he REFUSED to care for them after Bill had gotten them. No going out to get them retouched or making them more prominent/defined. The fact that Stan’s have such neat lines and vibrant colors means he’s taken time to ensure that they have them and Ford thinks that means they’re either A) Proud of whatever he did that they symbolize or B) Still being Rebellious despite no longer being a teenager.

AKA He’s either a Criminal or refusing to Grow Up and be an Adult and that’s coloring Ford’s opinions on his brother. The half-shaved head also plays into his idea that Stanley is “immature” since men their age Don’t Do That.

[laniemae]

Per protocol it’s chapter 5 theory and analysis time. To get things out and clear, I’m genuinely so lost we’ve got no evidence everything’s up to speculation there’s been a chapter wide note mystery which may or may not be the same person who killed Hayashi plus I’m tweaking over that the blackened is probably going to win this case. I’ll see through some of my thoughts on specific things about this case and try to deduce from there, but I don’t have a clear view of the big picture.

So first off and the most important question; is the person who was writing the notes and setting the traps the same person who killed Hayashi? At first it definitely seems like the two are connected. Hayashi was being led all around the school by the note writer and the pool has been a previous place for traps and notes. But I’ve been thinking that it really feels more like this trapper was writing these notes to incite a murder rather than cause one to end the killing game, pitting up Tamba and Hiroaki against each other and sending Hayashi on a wild goose chase. So it’d feel strange to take the shot and kill Hayashi when lots of what they’ve done could’ve been risky for them in a murder.

Although one interesting bit I want to note is figuring out how Hayashi got to the pool anyway, it feels like she was lured there but if the culprit is not the note writer how would they have done so? I feel like at some point with the notes the actual killer intersected it to lure Hayashi in their own direction, as there’s a point where they switch from referring to her as “Hayashi” to “Mai”, I don’t know how much this could mean and if it’s even important, but it’s something I wanted to take note of.

So who was the note writer and sabotager anyway? From what I’ve seen with people’s theories and my own I feel like it’s most likely Ken. This is mainly going off of who done it, Hayashi, Tamba, Hiroaki and Wada couldn’t have done it from how we’ve seen their witness beforehand. Yanagi was very sick for a period of time which would make it very hard for him to set up that stuff, and Ojima was blind drunk when the second and third notes were placed. Hasegawa is the only person who doesn’t have a solid reasoning for any of this. Of course I’m simplifying it as there’s a lot more that also goes into play but if I said so I’d be here forever. So basically he’s the only person with a full time frame to do that sort of stuff, and likely had the planning to do so.

But then Ken got locked in the medbay overnight with Yanagi so it’s very unlikely he could’ve done it. To be fair ruling them out immediately like that feels a bit too simple, and the pool and the medbay are right next to each other, but I still feel unlikely that he committed the murder while in that state. This also means that I don’t think Ken sealed off the medbay door. There’s been a theory going on around this and I feel like it’s explain some things. Perhaps someone got a defence game perk of being able to unlock and lock doors at will just by talking to monomoko, and got Ken and Yanagi to go to the medbay and lock them there.

But Hayashi was the one who sent them down to the medbay right, so she locked them in there? To me I feel like a perk has to make the most sense for this as monomoko was able to unlock the door after the investigation. But then why would Hayashi lock them in the medbay? I’m not too sure, but people have been thinking it may relate to her figuring out that Hasegawa is the note culprit and wanting to proceed without getting sabotaged, purposely sent him off and trapped him. Yanagi also got trapped as well which kinda throws a wrench into this but I don’t know.

This theory would also explain why the pool door was unlocked during the night. With her perk, Hayashi could’ve freely entered any unlocked rooms. But to me it feels odd how she’d be in the pool anyway because the killer wouldn’t know this, and if they’re luring her around why ask for her to come to the pool at night? It feels weird if they just so happened to see her entering the pool for whatever reason at night and rushed at her with a sword. There’s also the theory that Hayashi got into the pool from someone throwing her off the balcony which I could definitely see makes sense. But then that’s confusing to how the pool door on the basement floor was unlocked in the first place. I genuinely have no idea about this one.

I’ve also heard a theory going around about a secret crawl space tunnel which either Hayashi or the culprit used, and perhaps somehow that got them to the pool. I’m not the most bought on this but crawlspace has been mentioned before in the series so that could be some sort of Chekhov’s gun perhaps. I do want to point out the dead space on the maps, where in places where there should be rooms it’s completely blank, that perhaps someone could’ve utilised those inaccessible blank rooms? I don’t know how to explain this properly but we haven’t seen too much evidence on the crawlspace theory so I’ll just shelve it for now.

So about the whole missing arsenal stuff, it could mean a lot of different things but I’m not too sure that it was the killer’s doing. If feel like it’d be completely unnecessary for the killer to completely enter out the entire arsenal just to conceal the murder weapon in this case. If anything it was likely Hayashi herself being instructed to by the notes. I’m really not sure where they could’ve ended up though, like it surely wouldn’t be hard to miss a pile of guns but with the halved investigation time it could be literally anywhere the students didn’t search. It does feel kinda weird why the culprit could’ve instructed her to do that, perhaps so they could steal a weapon from the stash? But there was nothing preventing them from going into the arsenal beforehand. Maybe as well Hayashi could’ve done this on her own will and deliberately hidden the weapons to make it much harder for someone to kill. So then how did the killer get the sword? And as well what the heck was going on with Wada temporarily entering and leaving the arsenal? I’m really not sure of that.

So going onto Wada, there’s a lot I want to talk about him in this case. First off his security camera perk. It’s strange how quite a lot of the footage couldn’t be accessed and the pool camera was completely gone. Although there is the chance this could’ve been monomoko’s doing to insure a fair game for the blackened. There is an interesting possibility on this if Wada is the killer though. Someone pointed out that if he has gotten his camera perk he should’ve known about the download times so it feels kinda odd that he seemed surprised when it started to download during the investigation but I’m not too sure about that. It would make sense if as the culprit, he proceeded to mess with the cams himself to remove evidence. And perhaps used that to figure out who the note writer was and intercept their plan. A few things would make sense with this angle but I’m not sure we have too much proof on this.

There’s also how Wada was in the basement before the BDA anyway. As his loyalty game punishment was being barred from that floor. So by the rules he should’ve not been in the basement when he discovered Hayashi’s body alongside Ojima. Ojima likely was unaware of this rule as he was dissociating for a lot of the loyalty game. But it feels odd for Wada to intentionally go into the basement and point out the open door if he’s the killer, as that’d make him seem very suspicious of how he could go there. There’s also the chance that Wada could’ve just forgot about his punishment (especially with him starving himself that can affect memory), and the rules allowed him to go into the basement as someone had already died at that point. But I’m not sure if it only is lifted after someone is killed or the BDA goes off.

So to go to the whole confusion about the bomb traps I want to talk about that next. There were bombs planted at the doors to the engineering lab, drama room, and art room. Hiroaki appears to have noticed something in common about those rooms which I haven’t figured out yet. Ojima mentioned that if those rooms were trapped they should search them extra carefully, but nobody found anything really of interest in those rooms. So like why were they trapped in the first place? Was it just to keep them off investigating, and who did it in the first place? I’m also thinking this could’ve been Hayashi’s doing to catch the note writer, but it feels weird potentially endangering innocent people like that and if at night she already presumably caught the culprit, so I’m not too sure about that. Plus either the note writer or the killer has used a bomb as a trap in the library so perhaps that could be testing to this. But the bombs aren’t lethal and aside from deterring the investigation I’m really not sure why they’d be there.

So I’ll go onto suspect lists now, due to the nature of this case and stuff I’m gonna order them in their student number because it’s hard to tell who can and can not be ruled out due to lack of evidence.

Wada: He’s definitely the most suspicious to me. A lot could line up with him being the killer, how he was able to go down to the basement, and using the security cameras to his advantage and messing with him to hide evidence. It’d also somewhat explain why he went to the arsenal, but that feels weird because apparently he didn’t take anything and why didn’t he just delete the footage of him doing something suspicious like that? His punishment also wouldn’t have been lifted until Hayashi actually died so that would’ve meant he killed her on the balcony and threw her into the pool. Which would be incredibly difficult with his strength but maybe possible if he had a tool. But the drop from the balcony theory makes the basement pool door being open very strange. Wada has the most reasons to suspect him, but also a lot of things don’t line up properly.

Ojima: Ojima goes into my initial process of elimination theory I hadn’t mentioned but will bring up now. It basically goes that Tamba couldn’t do it because her leg is broken, Wada couldn’t do it because he wasn’t allowed in the basement, and Yanagi and Ken couldn’t do it because they were locked in the medbay. Leaving only Ojima and Hiroaki with the opportunity. Of course, this theory is way too simple and anything could change it but it’s something to take note of. Especially with how it seems Hiroaki suspects Ojima in the investigation likely from that. But to me it feels very strange for Ojima to kill in a likely premeditated way like this. We’ve seen after the incident where he was zoned out and grabbed Ken’s arm he was incredibly distraught about committing an act of violence like that, even with how minor it was. And continued to be so and being very scared of hurting Hiroaki. It just feels difficult for Ojima to actively plan out to kill Hayashi and violently like that with a sword if he reacts that extremely to the idea of committing a violent act like that, and how he wouldn’t be zoned out for who knows how long after that. Perhaps he could have the opportunity to do so, but I feel as his mental state would make it very hard for him. I could imagine him being suspected and end up believing he did it while dissociating.

Hiroaki: Again with the process of elimination theory Hiroaki is suspicious and could have an opportunity to kill. But like Ojima I’m less sure about him due to his mental state as well. He had just pushed Tamba down the stairs and broken her leg, and was going on about how he just doesn’t care anymore. For the state Hiroaki was in it feels weird for him to suddenly change around and plan a murder to escape like that.

Tamba: I’m very sure Tamba didn’t do it because it’d be incredibly hard to get around like this and do the feats that the killer had to do with a broken leg and crutches. Simple answer but it’s a very clear ruling for me.

Hasegawa: Hasegawa is a strange one as he’s been suspected by the fandom a lot, I do believe that he is the note writer, but from what we know it’s hard to think of him as the culprit. If the theory that Hayashi locked him and Yanagi in the medbay it’d be incredibly difficult to be able to get out of the medbay and kill Hayashi, especially without Yanagi noticing.

Yanagi: I genuinely can’t see Yanagi killing Hayashi like at all, of course there’s the whole being trapped in the medbay thing but also from how much he loves her there’s really no way.

So I guess that’s my theory for this? It’s a lot more disorganised than my others and I can’t properly do a wrap up of how I think it went because I really do not no to this has been my thoughts and speculations on things we already know. So again I think it’s most likely that Ken wrote the notes and Wada killed Hayashi, but especially on the Wada killing Hayashi side there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense but it’s harder to see anyone else doing it.

[nothingenoughao3]

huge fan of Dreams in the Necromancer House! Phenomenal in general, but to be specific, I was very impressed with the pacing and structure of the fic. apologies if you’ve talked about this before, but how DO you structure your longer works? is there a specific outlining process you rely on? I ask because, while I technically *understand* the three act structure, I don’t like “get it.” I can feel when something is paced well but I don’t understand why or how, if that makes sense (and of course as a disclaimer I do understand that there are only guidelines, not hard and fast rules). Anyway, just super interested in your process and would love hear anything you have to say about it! ❤️

Well, first off, thank you for reading that whole damn story! I'm grateful to hear that you enjoyed it, and are curious about how it came to be.

I'd like to note, for people who read this and are not you, that I don't do Read More cuts anymore. I lost a ton of writing on my former blog because the name changed and the Read More links all broke forever. There may be spoilers for "Dreams in the Necromancer House" in this post, although not for the ending! Please keep in mind before you interact with this post! I am immune to spoiler damage but not everyone has this super power.

I had a specific split genre of story in mind. Pacing is strongly affected by what kind of story it is. What's acceptable levels of character-building in a drama will come across as unbearable time-wasting bullshit in a thriller. You can not explain the intricacies of the plot in some styles of horror, and it's more effective that way, but you generally must take the time to explain these things in a mystery, and so on.

"Dreams" is a cosmic horror/romance. Cosmic horror as a genre is driven by plot and relies on extremely vivid world-building (which is why so many of Lovecraft's narrators don't have names--they aren't necessary!). Romance as a genre is driven by character and relies on extremely vivid descriptors of those characters and their immediate physical reality (their bodies, their homes, etc). These seem like they'd contradict each other, but they augment each other if handled correctly.

So, chapter 9 is structured like this:

Dan talks to Matthews and pulls the Moby-Dick prank. Plot-driven, but with a bit of comedy to lighten the overall tone of the story, which has gotten pretty dark.

Matthews consults with Asenath, Derby and Clarke. Entirely plot-driven scene meant to remind the audience of the stakes.

Dan and Herbert get ready for the party, and The Shaving Scene plays out. Character-driven scene, light on plot and heavy on romantic elements.

Dan realizes why Herbert's sneaking off during the parties. Seems like it's plot-driven, but the emphasis on physicality, location descriptors, and the like reveal that this is another character-driven tangent.

Breaking it down like this, we can see that 1 and 2 are cosmic horror-themed, and 3 and 4 are romance-themed. The first half of the chapter provides the reader with a ton of necessary information while sprinkling in Danbert-flavored treats as a reward. The second half is more explicitly about Dan and Herbert's relationship, while continuing to establish what little set-up is still needed for the big opener of the next chapter.

The Shaving Scene is extremely light on plot, and it would be cut from the story if it were a pure cosmic horror tale. But for this kind of split genre, the scene was vital. It gives readers a chance to get to know Herbert and Dan a little better, fall more in love with them (if that's even possible), and incidentally, because it's NOT plot-related, it builds anticipation for the next big plot point at the party. If I've done it right, readers are constantly aware that Dan and Herbert are preparing to go to the party/revelry, that this is a Big Deal, and the reader's going to be worried despite the flirting that things are going to go Very Badly For Them. Then, as Scene 4 plays out, the reader's tricked into thinking the Very Bad Thing is just another relationship misunderstanding--only for Dan's "... oh, boy" to confirm that the Very Bad Things are going to be Very Much Part Of The Plot.

I think readers are smart and can pick up on cues, even if those cues are sometimes absorbed subconsciously (I've done this myself!). I feel like when I'm writing a scene where Dan's cooking food and there's a lot of descriptions of the incidentals in the kitchen, how the weather's been, how heavily he's been smoking, that readers will learn at a certain point that these are cues for "This is a romantic/character-driven part of the story". And if the scene begins with, or features, a ton of flashbacks and history that give it a broader scope that spans decades, then this is probably a cosmic horror scene. (Note that a LOT of Armitage and Asenath's scenes take this approach, and that gives them a different feel from how Dan and Herbert's romantic scenes are framed.)

Also, it was necessary to ease folks into this kind of structure. I feel like the opening four chapters were pretty much about establishing the world I wanted the characters to inhabit--introducing many of the important new cast members, establishing a timeline, bringing in elements that seem small but become hugely important later, etc. At that point, the romantic elements were very light and suggestive and past-tense. The first sex scene in ch. 4 was, primarily, there to let everyone know that yes this is going to be One Of Those Fics where they do in fact bang, they just aren't right now. And it ends with Dan having the same kind of emotional response I wanted from the reader: wistful and sad that they aren't together anymore, unsure of how it's going to be fixed.

(Not to get too parenthetical, but there are many meta-jokes like this in my writing. Like, uh. You know how Dan sometimes is like "I'd rather think about X than Y?" He's leaning on the fourth wall and acknowledging that the story is about to switch from cosmic horror to romance, or vice versa. Now you know.)

After those first few chapters, though, you can pick the story apart and see how romance starts to intrude more on the cosmic horror structure. Ch. 5 is primarily about The Plot, but then there's that bit with Herbert and Dan arguing about the chores and the cat. Ch. 6 opens with Dan talking about Herbert and their dynamic, has a bit about the plot again, and then veers into a long flashback regarding their breakup sex. The end scene with Armitage is comparatively brief. Ch. 7 has some plot elements, but we're getting into heavily character- and relationship-driven subplots interacting with the main plot.

At that point, building suspense becomes easier! If I want to delay the discovery of some element of the mystery, I can throw Herbert and Dan into an argument. And if I want to stop them from getting along too well just yet, I can throw more cosmic trauma their way. And if the story goes full throttle on cosmic horror (like in chs. 10 and 14), then I can throw in elements that raise the stakes by reminding people of the romance--Dan praying to Herbert for help, Herbert admitting that Dan is the cause of all of his insomnia. Those reminders hit so much harder when they're a surprise raising-of-the-stakes.

Now, you may be like "But how do you know when to switch around the structure?" and the answer is vibes.

More specifically, this is why I think writers tell other aspiring writers that they must read stuff in the genre they want to write. Do that and you'll pick up on the vibes of the genre: how much space you're expected to take up on characters, world, plot, theme, and so forth. I can generally rattle off how one should structure a lot of the fiction I'm interested in writing because I read a ton of that shit.

And if you don't have the time for that, I strongly recommend watching movies in the genre you want to write. For example, "Re-Animator" is almost perfectly divided into thirds. The first 35 minutes are character- and world-building and establishing of initial stakes; the middle 40 minutes dramatically raise the stakes and line up all the previously-established elements; and the last 30 minutes is all climax, all the time. The end of the film feels inevitable as it plays out, especially the last scene: there is no other way it could have gone, because nothing has been wasted--everything the movie put down in the beginning, it picked up in the end. That's good stuff, even if we like to laugh at the goofy shit, like Jeff Combs wearing a cat backpack.

The first things I wrote to completion were not short stories or novels, but plays--so I'd also suggest that you could consider a different act structure entirely for your stories, if the three-act structure doesn't feel intuitive for you. The five-act structure worked well enough for Shakespeare. Ancient Greek plays didn't really have acts. You just wrote another play if you wanted to continue the story over another 24 hours! Stuff like the three-act structure are tools, and if the tool doesn't work for you, there are other one available.

I have talked in another ask about how I do outlines and research and references. I relied on the structure of a lot of movies, TV shows, short stories (many of which were not Lovecraft), and board games to inform "Dreams", so for me, drawing pacing ideas from other storytelling styles has worked out pretty well.

It's very late where I am and I'm not entirely sure I've answered your question, and I'm sorry about that. If you have any other questions or need me to clarify something, feel free to send another ask! I appreciate you letting me know that "Dreams" meant something to you.

[omorimodreverie]

Reverie Devlog - 2024 July - CHAPTER 4

Overview

It has been a while since the last update since before the release of Reverie Chapter 3, so we finally are making an update on what happened in the past 3-4 months.

What’s with the Inactivity?

First, let’s get the reasons for our inactivity (at least to public) out of the way:

Chapter 3 released around April-May, so that period would be redundant to cover in a Dev Log in that time period.

Around the same period, some people have had high school finals (like in my case, Stahl writing here), or college exams. 

Despite that, there has been steady work done in the background by others in the team. The past few weeks have also picked up in activity as well, so things are moving in a positive direction.

Chapter 4 Info

Area

As it’s no longer a much secret since it's been speculated since forever ago: Chapter 4 takes place in dreamworld. The next area involves 1 major area, Sweetheart’s Castle; and 2 minor optional areas, Pyrefly Forest and Metro Depths. This info is relevant to development, as it changes the development process quite significantly.

The obvious benefit is that many assets can be reused and modified, especially for the castle. What will be done with it though, we’ll leave up to speculation. This applies to tilesets, maps, and even some sprites like enemies, leading to far less workload than Chapter 3 had demanded with the real world.

Gameplay

Gameplay wise, this will be where the “mid game” should start ramping up, so difficulty would start spiking here as well compared to base game. Normal mode would still be accessible for most players, but Hard mode would get more aggressive in terms of mechanics, and start to really pose a challenge. Regardless of mode, both would really push for players to learn emotion mechanics properly (I mean seriously, some people still played the entire mod without using emotions at all???).

For a rough overview for what’s coming gameplay wise:

Enemies throw ailments far more often

Some enemies nullify, absorb, or repel specific emotion damage innately

Charge skills and Telegraphed heavy attacks appear more often

Troops tend to appear in larger sizes

Considering feedback received from Chapter 2, it won’t be as tedious as Cattail fields, where enemy encounters tend to be spongy and slow-paced: leading to the next point;

Battles are generally more dynamic, going in a more aggressive direction: enemies are easier to kill, but so are you.

Area conditions that spice up the initial battle a bit

Progress

As of now, Chapter 4 is going relatively fine. There is a temporary knock down in activity from external factors, but we’re still able to keep a steady pace, which is what really matters in the long run. For easy viewing, the progress will be split into sectors:

Writing is going steady, it isn’t as difficult as the real world which has higher stakes, but it still matters to write in character. 

Pixel art side of things is also going well. There is far less work needed in terms of pixel art, due to less of both sprites and maps. Basically, anything now is relatively easier than CH3.

Drawn art also is going fine, the majority of spriteworks are already done. As mentioned before in CH3 dev logs, half of the sprites were done before CH3 even started, so this is not new information.

Music is also similar to Drawn art in progress, the majority of songs having been completed beforehand. Though one major difference is that a decent amount of those assets became “outdated”, so we might need to work on replacing or recomposing. This also happened in the art side, but just not to the same degree.

And finally in RPGMaker work itself, there is also some progress made, though less than others as this would be the final step after all assets are completed. The work here so far is mostly implementing all the assets and organizing files. On top of that, we have also started working on cutscenes as well as enemies.

Final Notes

Overall, progress is going steady, despite earlier difficulties in terms of activity. All sectors are progressing in some form, which is a nice change of pace compared to CH3’s very lopsided work allocation.

Thanks for reading this far, here's a preview of some work done so far!

[avrelia]

there are a lot of complains in the fandom that Mai and Ty Lee (but, of course, mostly Mai) were not redeemed enough by the end of Avatar the Last Airbender – to take their place among the good guys, that is. And that Mai doesn’t deserve to be Zuko’s love interest because she is not properly redeemed.

And sure, there are different ways of looking at the redemption and we talk about it so much it almost loses its meaning. Is it a point after which a character is considered “a good guy” and get a new set of rules, a white hat, and a certificate? Is it a process that never ends? Is it a precise payment for each of the crimes and misdemeanors committed prior to redemption?

Let’s look at Zuko – his redemption is, after all, exemplary. He grew up as a prince of the Fire Nation, with all the general propaganda the Fire Nation spread around its citizens and more specific royal prejudices deeply entrenched in him. So deep, in fact, that for three years being away from the Fire Nation and the royal court, under the tutelage of the supposedly redeemed uncle Iroh no real world exposure could make a dent in his beliefs about the Fire Nation, his father and himself. It was only the after being forced to live among and talk to actual people, Zuko’s beliefs started to shake loose. And sure, we know that he is trying his best, but he is not seventeen years old yet, and his development is far from over, and while I don’t believe he’ll seriously backslide, I do think there are going to be some bumps and bad turns on the road ahead of him, since it is in the human nature (and I do like to pretend that he is an actual – though fictional – person, and not just lines and blobs of color meant to teach us about proper behavior).

Back to Mai and Ty Lee. They have also grown up with all the Fire Nation propaganda poured into their ears from the birth, And even if they didn’t have the royal upbringing, their families were rich and powerful enough to have them socializing with the royal kids.

Most of you probably didn’t grow up with that much propaganda. I did. I grew up in the Soviet Union, being a young teenager when it broke down. There were things most people didn’t question, because they were so foundational to our life, things that people didn’t really believe, but it was easier and safer to pretend, thing people were starting to question, because they just didn’t feel right… it was the end of the Soviet era, door were opening up, but people didn’t just drop and discard their worldviews immediately. In fact, you could see, how well Russia is dealing with its past now, thirty-plus years after.

So, I think, it is not a bad writing, but an actually pretty good writing that Zuko didn’t start questioning his worldview until much later, and that Mai didn’t start questioning it until she is forced by Zuko’s actions. Dropping the beliefs you held since forever is pretty hard, actually, and it makes sense, that both Mai and Ty Lee change sides for people they care about, not for ideas, even the good ones.

Are they fully redeemed but that one action? Probably not, and here we are going back to the definition of redemption, but they are only in the beginning of their path, and they made more steps on that path than Zuko at their age, heh.

[cabezadeperro]

Hello. (!!!!!!!) I am marathoning your Jango-long-works because I keep on turning the (stunning) way you write this man in my mind like a rotisserie chicken strapped to a wind turbine. I’m just, like. what is this guy’s deal?? Because I adore (adoreeeeeee), the way you write him as he’s like. Inescapable. (In the sense that im reading ‘ships in the night’ and I love how we’re getting a glimpse into his days pre-bounty hunter, pre-new-lungs, pre-‘my rage has simmered down’). Like, his line about: “Jango finished the job because that's why he’s being paid to do—and he has very little now, but his honor is one of those things.” I want to put it under a microscope because, why is he clinging to this job when surely he could have looked for allies? I feel like he feels such an overwhelming sense of. Guilt? Grief? Responsibility? For how Galidraan went, and he does use ‘selfish’ to refer to himself, could that mean he can’t relate or engage with that Mandalorian, even if their goals partially align, because that will be further defeat and he can’t take it. In short, (and thank you for your patience with my rambling! Feel free to reply or not, public or private is fine) the way he Will fulfill a contract but No he is not your mandalor (or he doesn’t even feel particularly patriotic) is such an odd thing that is deeply compelling and I admire (and it’s maddening) how the narrative (your writing style) is not out to Deus Ex Machina him to get himself fixed. I really love how you show the broken/competent/grim parts of him while also keeping him unapologetically himself (but maybe I am still firmly stuck in that harrowing scene he has with the Goran about Arla, that I’m realising now I’m unconsciously putting next to ‘ships in the night’ even if their timelines differ).

Anyway!! I realise I should close an ask with an actual ‘?’, so: did you have any goals when you set out to write ‘ships in the night’ and ‘Arla and Jango revenge road trip’, and if yes, is there any ‘director’s cut comment’ that you’d like to share?? 🤩🤩🤩

HIIII

i was going to answer privately, but when you do that the ask disappears into the ether forever, and i wanted to have some way to save this skdghkgh

thank you so much for reading and for reaching out!! it makes me very happy that you want to talk about those two fics specifically--i'm pretty proud about them and not that many people have read them dfdsfkj (understandable! they're very niche and no one owns me anything lol).

under the cut because this got Long lol

wecome to the "rotating jango fett like a rotisserie chicken" club. it's hard work but someone has to do it. he's my little meow meow and lives rent free in my brain etc etc. i think he's such an interesting character and has so much potential in the little we see him both in the movies and in other materials (like the comics or the videogame), and i don't want to judge other people's versions of the character but i feel like sometimes the fandom doesn't do him justice. he's just so Interesting, i want to study him like the bug. he's key for The Star War but at the same time he's kind of like illegible--kind of like a blank space but not. we know what he did, we know what happened to him, but we don't actually know any of his whys, and i find that fascinating.

his character as it first appears in the prequels is also very interesting. i love how still and quiet and bland and polite he is! he's just some guy (tm), nothing to see here.

iirc ships in the night was actually written as part of an event. it was a gift for a friend, and that meant that i knew i could get more personal with where i took the story. i thought that it would be interesting to explore his character when he was no longer jango fett, mand'alor, but he also wasn't jango fett, bounty hunter yet. your 20s are a Weird time, and i think that in his case they had to be even weirder. it may be because i personally just got "finished" with mine (i wrote those fics right before turning 30 lol), but i find that decade very interesting. there's a lot of change, a lot of shedding layers of dead skin and old personalities and trying out things and messing up and becoming one thing or another, and in jango's case (someone who's severely traumatised, who's lost and lost and lost, who hasn't actually had the time or the space to grieve properly) those years would be even more key for who he became afterwards. he's very raw. he's very scared and still grieving. but there's also this--coldness about him, this ability to intellectualise and dissect and actively ignore his sense of right and wrong until it scabs over and he can forget he ever had one. he's very young and very clever and completely ruthless, and he has nothing to lose anymore.

also, we don't actually know that much about what happened to him between escaping the spice freighter and doing that job for dooku. a decade goes by, and he becomes the Best Bounty Hunter In The Galaxy TM, and we just have no idea of what actually happens to him, or what he does.

that was also my thought process behind monsterkilling i believe? (sorry, it's been a while lol). i just wanted to write something about jango and arla, about arla finding out what happened to him and just deciding to find jango. i think i didn't quite do her justice, but i wanted to explore what would happen if the fact that she needs to take care of her little brother would make it through the trauma and the programming. they're both incredibly messed up and they don't really know each other anymore, and at the same time they're the only ones left. (also: arla's song in that fic is apple tree by marika hackman, and the last scene with the quince tree and the tombs is directly inspired by the song.)

so yeah. with both fics i think i wanted to explore ideas of growing up, change, vulnerability, grief and trauma. i wanted to write about connecting to people despite yourself, about hurting them and getting hurt in turn, and about taking in both the hurt you give and the hurt you receive and deciding what to do with all of it.

anyway! this is a lot! thank you for everything, for your comments as well ❤️❤️❤️ they made me very happy!!!!