#i was considering switching gears to traditional for them

[troutpaws]

thought i’d share my fishtober list!! realized i hadn’t yet. it’s subject to change, and i probably won’t stick to the order, but i tried to get a good lot of cool fish. it stops at 25 because i still have to pick some some ocean fish for a saltwater week :-)

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 6

tw: explicit content. 9k+ words. Satoru/Reader. female!omega!reader, alpha!gojo. mutual pining, light angst, YEARNING, so much yearning, PIV, heat/rut sex, minor breeding kink, choking, reader and gojo are switches, gojo is kind of a masochist. intense bickering. you and gojo are both pathetically whipped and in love, and i do mean pathetic

Prompt: Mating cycles are as violent as they are horny, intent to kill is high.

It took some convincing to get you a position as a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High School – plenty of traditional fools in charge who thought omegas were better as childbearers than sorcerers.

But you got there. After ten years teaching in public schools, teaching at Tokyo Jujutsu High was what you'd always wanted: small classes with dedicated students who you could form real bonds with.

As a sorcerer, you had the potential to become a special grade – but your true passion was teaching, and it was a far better use of your talents to help the newest sorcerers improve.

Other teachers weren’t quite as gifted in the art of passing on knowledge. Like the special grade sorcerer no one ever shut up about, Satoru Gojo.

He was seven years younger than you – practically a student himself. But somehow, here he was, a teacher alongside you. Nepotism, maybe, combined with how obviously alpha he was – freakishly tall, well-built, and unnervingly confident, used to getting his way.

You’re not certain of his credentials as a teacher. If he has any at all.

If you were forced to guess, you’d assume Gojo had at least a PhD in pissing you the fuck off.

“Awh, c’mon now,” He’d snickered at your implication. “Like it’s hard?”

You could kill him. Actually, cross that out – you will kill him, just as soon as you’re finished riding his stupid big, fat knot to absolute oblivion.

Alphas, for all their pride, are even dumber and hornier than omegas in heat once their rut kicks into high gear and they lock their knot into someone.

You’ll choke him out then, you plan – if that doesn’t just make him roll all six eyes in exaggerated pleasure.

Gojo’s just that kind of complete and utter brat. Even if he is an alpha.

Constantly stalking you from behind, ready to throw his arms around your shoulders in some lazy half-embrace. Lording his stupid height over you, his seemingly endless youthful energy.

“Hey~” He’d drawl, leaning into you, knowing exactly how much the action exposed his scent, “How’s it going with the students? Teach ‘em any new tricks?”

You weren’t some early-twenties dewy-eyed omega; his scent didn’t have any more effect on you than a nice cologne would have. “Yes, I think today went well. They’re bright kids, I’m proud of them.”

“Oho! We should celebrate your success!” Not pleased with your response, he’d squeezed your shoulders close, enough that you couldn’t walk away. “Drinks on me! Let’s head out~”

“Hitting on older women?” You’d returned, shrugging him off so you could walk away, “What, have you successfully repulsed every potential mate of your own age group? Quite a feat, even for you, Gojo.”

“Awh, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to show my support! I know ladies your age tend to get a lot of flak these days, especially from the higher-ups…”

It had been a pretty low blow from him, considering how much he disliked the higher-ups and tradition as a whole. Looking back, that was probably him getting desperate for some kind of reaction.

Like a fool, you’d given it to him.

Spinning, whipping around to tuck your finger beneath his chin, just tickling at his neck, inches from his scent glands.

“Ladies my age don’t go for boys like you, Satoru-kun,” you purr, snatching his chin and pulling his pretty face closer to yours, “And I’ll have you know, I have no interest one-night stands.”

He grins that awful, gorgeous grin with those pretty sparkling eyes. “Now when did I say I wanted anything like that? You’ve got a dirty mind there. I just wanted to get drinks.”

“When did I say you did?” You hold his gaze like you would the leash of a particularly disobedient dog. “I was just letting you know. But since you just want to get some celebratory drinks, I’ll ask Shoko and Nanami to come along.”

Heh. Transparent disappointment flashes across his face, like he’s bitten into a lemon, but he’s quick to brighten up.

“My mistake, I got a little too excited~” He follows alongside you with his stupidly long stride, hands in his pockets, “I was just soooo~ happy to hear you don’t do one-night stands. I’d get super jealous!”

This he says, right after taunting you for suggesting he wanted one? What a little shit.

“Do you also recall the part where I said I wasn’t interested in little boys?” You mutter, texting Shoko and Nanami about the meetup.

You can still feel his presence behind you. Pheromones drifting through your awareness. Gojo’s got such a weird scent for an alpha. Artificial and sour and sweet. Blue raspberry. Electric, just a whiff of it tingles. You lick your lips.

“Yeah, I heard you. Good to know my darling kohai Nanami is safe from your clutches~” He sings.

Fucking insufferable.

-

The thing about alphas was that they got aggressive when their ruts came around.

From experience you’d known his limitless could be turned on and off at will, and he could allow his scent to drift through it.

Not only was Gojo nearing his rut, he wanted you to know that he was nearing his rut. The air is oozing with his stinging, cloying scent that makes your mouth water. You have to swallow your spit a few times.

So when Gojo insisted that you spar with him, you just knew it was going to fucking suck.

He was going to use it to force unnecessary contact, shove his scent in your face, taunt and tease you while he physically prevented you from leaving.

Then, the million dollar question. Why the fuck did you ever agree to it?

Deep down, you tell yourself it’s to shut his stupid ass up. Because it’ll make for good practice, and that’s not even a lie. Or even just because he’s got a pretty face, and you want eye candy.

You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the heat you know you’re just on the verge of.

Nothing to do with the rut that has him smelling absolutely delectable.

The adrenaline that bursts through your veins as he races towards you is purely from the thrill of combat.

The exhilaration of watching his strike swing through empty air, the slight shock on his face; that’s because you’re proud of your skills.

You’re not panting, teeth bared in an awful grin, arms tightening back to grab him and hold him down, make him yours yours all yours – this is a combat stance.

Not that you wanted to fight him that badly in the first place. Feel his strikes against yours, touch that infinity for yourself. See what he’s offering, that he likes to throw it in your face so much.

It’s not any of that, and you whip out a denial for each thought as it rises like you dodge Gojo’s strikes with increasing desperation. Fast. Fast, so fast, like a blink. Here one moment, there the next.

Focus. On him. White hair, black tracksuit, that little flash of blue you’d see anywhere. You pin your senses on him, on the scent that dances in the air, tempting you. Put every fiber of your being into matching his strikes, which come faster, and faster, until eventually even you can’t dodge them.

White hair. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Pretty, pale face. Pressure down against you, breath, scent, hot in your face. Focus, focus.

Anything to take your attention from the way your thighs want to clench together when he pins you down, nose brushing against yours.

Close enough no infinity could stop you if you wanted to lean forward into the neck showing under his collar and bi-

“You goin’ easy on me?” He practically purrs in your ear. Infuriating.

So you let yourself purr back. Take in his pheromones for just a second, lean into it, relaxing underneath him as you let off an answering scent, laced with the arousal you’re already feeling. Tongue darting between your lips for a moment as you let your eyes linger on his pretty mouth, pretty face.

Gojo’s eyes dilate as your lashes flutter, tilting your lips to –

SLAM

“No,” You sing to his crumpled form, hunched over from the blow to his middle, “I think you’re easy, Gojo. Come back when you’re not a horny little beast about to rut.”

A breathy chuckle comes from him as he situates himself to sit back on his heels, catching his breath.

Unnerving. Everything about this bastard is unnerving. The way he looks up at you, face flushed, grinning with delight – you know for a fact your strike hit hard enough to bruise. Maybe he could heal it, but he was still winded from the impact. It had to hurt, still.

Instead, those too-blue eyes seem to glow at you.

“Easy, huh?” He says, and you pretend he said it to himself. “Actually, I’m pretty hard.”

(You try very hard to pretend you didn’t hear that. To pretend you couldn’t smell it the moment you struck him.)

He licks his lips, taking in a deep breath, like he caught the scent of something he can’t let escape him. Eyes staring after you.

You walk away, before he can catch on to how slick you’ve become, just with this little interaction. What are you, a teenager? Maybe you’re close to your heat, but not that close.

Gojo lets you walk.

You think he knows.

(He definitely knows.)

-

He loves to taunt you. Alphas love posturing, looking for fights, as soon as their ruts come around. But an omega nearing their heat would snap at anything that so much as breathed wrong. Ready to see everything as a threat, demanding and critical even of those closest to them.

Both secondary genders had… attitude problems during their mating cycles that led to them lashing out. But due to stereotypes, alphas were seen as being dominant and argumentative, whereas omegas were seen as…

“Awh, needy, are we? Must be your heat coming up, huh?”

“Still hitting on older women? Your rut must really have you acting like an animal. Why don’t you do us all a favor and find someone to fuck it out with?” God, just talking about it is fucking annoying.

“Not very mature of you to say, ma’am!” The look you gave him must have spoken volumes, because he immediately responded, “It’s okay, I know how it is. You don’t have to be so shy about admitting it! What omega wouldn’t want a strong, handsome alpha like me to take care of them~?”

“Kill yourself.”

Satoru Gojo had pried words from your mouth you would otherwise be horrified by. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The worst of it was he would try to pamper you, just like he claimed you must have needed.

And the worst of that part was that it fucking worked.

He knew all your favorite drinks, snacks, meals. Had things delivered to your desk when even his own moronic self could understand you did not want to see him – always with traces of his scent lingering on the gift.

Papers to grade? Coffee from your favorite café, just the way you liked it.

Indoor from a long training session? Something iced and fruity to sip on.

Back from a stressful mission? A dessert so delectable you double-check to see if Gojo hadn’t already taken a bite out of it himself.

“A little pick me up after all your hard work~ The students always talk about how much they love you. Trying to steal my thunder, huh? Good job, sensei!”

The words are irrationally pleasing to read. And he smells good, it always smells too fucking good, refreshing at the first hint and then invigorating the next. Sweet and sour, just like the bastard himself.

There’s little bits. A ribbon, a traditional little lunch wrapped in a handkerchief, one time he even just shamelessly sets his coat down next to a drink with another note.

“By the way, my favorite jacket got stained while getting you this. Since it’s your fault, you can dry clean it for me, right? Make sure to give it back, I’d miss it so much!”

Awful. Awful terrible man. Giving you every excuse in the book to hoard his scent and pretend you hadn’t. You could be throwing these away, for all he knows. Out of pure spite.

(He knows. He must know that you can’t throw them away, your instincts scream at you, your heat aches and burns. Each little article you get to squirrel away allows you another night of easier rest. He knows it. You know he does.)

It’s infuriating. It’s absolutely fucking infuriating because you know Gojo doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just using this to get to you. Doesn’t want anything more than to fuck the closest and most convenient hole because his rut is coming up. He isn’t pursuing a relationship with you, this isn’t courting, just teasing.

It’d amuse him, too, after. To tease you about it, probably try some weird shit in the classrooms or on missions – he’s got that air about him. Slutty. Down for anything.

It’s infuriating and it’s fucking hot. And devastating, because you meant it when you said you don’t really do one-night stands.

He’s just so unreasonably pretty that you’d thought about it when you met him. The attraction is there, on both ends, but the more you’ve gotten to know him the more certain you are that it’s a bad idea.

Gojo’s a menace already, and as fun as it was to taunt him, having sex with him would just give him more ammunition. He made everything weird.

All the teasing, the uncomfortable chemistry, the not-courting shit, and you’re in heat. Sure, you’d had casual sex before, but during your heat? Fuck that shit.

Because unfortunately, Gojo is right. You get needy.

Not because you’re an omega. It’s because you’re you.

When you spend your heat with a partner it’s like you can’t stop everything from spilling out.

The desire to know and be known in your entirety. To feel and touch and cherish every inch laid bare, to gift yourself like a sacrament to someone who you know will worship you –

See? Unbearably romantic. And you love it, you eat that shit up. It’s deep in you, a wanting you don’t even wish to deny.

The thought of waking up to an empty bed during your heat drove you mad with loathing and heartbreak. Seeing the person you’d allowed to have you in your heat touching someone else? You’d be out for blood.

Alphas get territorial. If an alpha sees someone with their partner, they’re liable to rip the interloper to shreds.

Omegas get possessive. An omega wouldn’t care about someone coveting what's theirs, but they’ll rip that partner to shreds if they suspect they have eyes for another.

It’s funny, how all that nurturing and devotion can turn so easily into equal parts cruelty and violence. To love deeply is to hate deeply, and adoration is so intrinsic to your being that you can’t help but fall hard whenever desire takes you.

You’re a needy little monster, craving love, gentleness, affection. You wouldn’t survive whatever he did after, you might not even survive baring yourself to him, letting the extent of your desire be known.

Gojo would rip your poor, tender, beating heart from your chest. Chew it up and spit it out like trash.

And he’s so, so pretty, and he smells so good, and you love the excitement of your back and forth – you adore him, this Satoru Gojo. You want him so bad you can taste it. But Gojo doesn’t feel it like you do, like a need deep in his bones that aches all the way to his dreams.

You’re seven years his senior, have no exceptional qualities, and he’s got all the options in the world. Gojo’s still so young. There’s no reason for him to want to be tied to you. If he fantasizes at all, it’s about fucking you, knotting you, not of your teeth on his neck or his own on yours.

And you shouldn’t even entertain the idea of him fantasizing about you. You shouldn’t entertain any of these thoughts, because for all the violence your love can inflict on him, Gojo is the one who would emerge unscathed. You’d be left in tatters, and he wouldn’t even have the decency not to step all over them.

You can’t sleep with him. You’ll die, you’ll surely die, it’ll absolutely feel like you’re dying to see that pretty face smile sarcastically, or sneer and turn away. You’ll awaken without his warmth beside you and it’ll feel like your heart is missing from your chest and you’ll have to be reminded of that every time you see him because you work with that fucking nuisance. At your job.

You can’t do it. You can’t. Off limits, no way.

But you’re (regrettably, unfortunately, miserably) needy when you’re in heat. And Gojo is a horny little beast in his rut.

And he knows, he knows he fucking knows. He’s there whenever you turn a corner, walk up to a vending machine, sit down to grade papers. He’s got that awful million watt smile that lights up his entire stupid pretty face when he flirts with you, trades barbs back and forth.

He’s touchy, too touchy, gets too close. Asks to spar with you again and again until you say yes. Leaves you more treats, more drinks, more little gifts the whole while.

Your hands get dry because your heat wakes you up in the middle of the night, you have to touch yourself constantly. Gojo brings you lotion that smells like raspberries (like him).

You’re not entirely sure he hasn’t fucked around and filled the bottle with lotion that’s also laced with his cum. You use it anyways. His reaction makes it obvious that he can tell you have, and he’s pleased by it.

You hate him. You hate him, and you want him. You want him so fucking bad.

You can’t do this. You can’t do it.

Gojo looks at you like he wants to eat you. Like he’s tracking every little twitch, every movement, like a predator and his prey. Like he’s waiting for you to bolt off so he can give chase.

You can’t do this.

You’re not fucking prey. You’ll bite him back, doesn’t this stupid man know?

And he spars with you again and you’re left breathless from dodging him –

(you refuse to be touched by someone who is himself untouchable)

And he smells so so so good up close when he finally tackles you, seizes you, locks your arms up from behind you –

(you love to be held, you dream of being held, in the depths of your heat it’s not being filled that comforts you it’s the thought of pressure like a vice grasping you so close, unwilling to let go)

And his face is so devastatingly beautiful up close, those terrible, magnificent eyes like a sea of stars, staring at you like he’s enraptured –

(god, he’s so pretty, just looking at him has a little dose of glee shooting through you)

And his lips taste as good as he smells –

(sweet and sour, can it really be that bad if the sting is all washed away with the tingle of sugary, electric tang on your tongue)

And he holds you so so tight so close so warm –

(you’re pulsing, aching, throbbing, and you’re so fucking tired of your own fingers and he’s grinding against you so good)

And then you’re in your room, at your door, inches away from your nest with all the shameful little bits and pieces of his scent you’ve stolen away.

(you can’t do this. this man will kill you. he will be the death of you.)

Teeth on your collarbone, huge hands clawing at your shirt, pulling it up. You look down at him, meet his fevered eyes and lust-filled gaze.

His breaths ghost over the skin he’s left wet with kisses and nips. Hungry, so hungry for you. So pretty. You grasp his pretty face with both hands and pull him up into a kiss that’s more teeth than lips.

(You’ll go out fighting.)

When his tongue darts into your mouth you nearly moan at the taste of him. Gojo groans, and he does it openly, hands wide over your ass and clenching at it. You close your teeth against his tongue, not hard, not biting. Just to feel it. Measuring the give.

Gojo nicks himself on your teeth to pull away, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Knew you wanted me.”  He pants, licking over your lips, “Wanted this. Could smell you.” Lick, lick. “Taste you.”

Fuck. His eyes are wild and eager and you can smell his arousal already dripping free from him. Slotting one of your legs between his lets you press up and confirm his hardness. He moans at it, purposefully loud.

Massive. He’s massive, hard, and aching for you, so much he nearly howls at the pressure. Clawing your clothes off of you. You’re no better, yanking off his jacket, tugging his shirt up – and he lets you – tossing them into your bed.

“Look at you,” Kiss, kiss, he steals the words between presses of his mouth on your skin, like he has to breathe you and not the air, “Look at that sweet little nest. Helped you with it, didn’t I? Aren’t I just the greatest alpha?”

It’s hard, so fucking hard, to ignore how delight laces through your chest at his words. This nest, this place where you’ve languished for too long already in your heat, now an alpha (your alpha) is here and happy to fill it up (fill you up), curl up in it with you.

“You’re talking too much,” is all you dare to let yourself voice.

You seize his pants and underwear by the waistband, dragging them down his hips. Gojo stumbles, undignified, towards you, but even then, he’s tall enough to press you to fall back into the strategic mess of blankets, pillows, and your hoarded pieces of his offerings.

He’s still grinning as he pins you down. Arms on either side of you. Tall, so tall, so much larger than you. Larger than life. Your beautiful, ferocious alpha, all hard and excited just for you.

“Too bad. I love talking.” Gojo’s eyes stay trained on yours as he mouths over a breast, sucking as much of it as he can into his mouth.

“No, really? Would never have guessed.” the grumble escapes you, and he giggles.

He watches you still, tense, and try not to lean into the sensation as he plays at your nipple with his tongue, teeth. Pulls away with a pop.

You hear him kicking off what remains of his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to look down.

“I can smell your slick from here,” A hand tracing up the inside of your thigh, “Mouthwatering.”

So wet you can almost feel yourself gushing. His hands are inches away from it. Heavy, warm form bearing down on you as he moves to suck at your other breast. Teasing fingers where your leg joins to your body.

“Is that all your mouth’s good for?”

His laughter had been far too mocking to be endearing, just like his grip on your hips had been just a bit tighter than pleasant, his grin wide enough to be smug instead of sweet.

Wretched and traitorous, your heart lurches at his beautiful face, anyways.

“If you wanted me to show you,” Those blue, blue eyes never leave yours as he trails his face down your body, “You could’ve just asked, babe.”

Your hand finds its way into his hair, which is naturally as soft and pleasant to the touch as you’d dreamed it was. You clench tightly and he rumbles in approval.

“Like it rough, do you, omega?” His breathes, right over your drooling cunt. “Me, too.”

“You’d be so fucking hot,” You pant, “If you kept your damn mouth closed.”

When he laughs again, it feels a little better, but he’s always got to dig in. Pressing kisses to your clit that leave you fighting the urge to kick your legs.

“I’m always hot, baby,” God, it feels so sinful, so good, to have his exhalation ghosting over your slickness, “You’re just all antsy ‘cause of your heat. Let me make you cum, calm you down.”

This has the opposite effect of calming you down and he knew it would. Probably expected you to wrap your legs around his waist while he buried his face in your cunt, digging your heels hard into his sides, like spurs.

“Would be the first useful thing your mouth has done all year.” Gojo snickers against you and it’s annoying how good it feels.

And then he closes his lips around your clit, tongue tracing swiftly all over it, and you couldn’t stop squirming if you tried. Can’t stop the noises that come out of your mouth, spilling out, overflowing, like how the slick just pours from your clenching hole.

He fingers into you, two at once, and it’s embarrassing how little you feel it at all. Two, in and out, then a third, stretching inside you. Spreading them apart inside you. Making these awful wet noises – it doesn’t help that Gojo likes to smack his lips while he eats.

“Tasty. So wet. Did you stretch yourself for me?” He asks between laps at your clit, pressing himself closer to you while you whimper and teeter on the edge, “Got some knot toys to prep?”

“Fuck – Gojo!” Even when you’re trying to snap at him, he makes it fucking impossible, suckling at your clit before you can get the words out.

You cum with a light, airy cry. Short, shallow gasps as your other hand darts down to grasp his shoulder. Clinging.

“I will, I will,” Gojo takes a deep breath, over the wetness of you, making you shiver.

Eyes like blue flame look up at you. Sinful tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. Licking sticky lips. “Must’ve been hard, all that time you spent waiting. Don’t you worry, I’ve got a nice big knot ready just for you.”

And god, it’s fucking terrible, how you have to suppress a shiver of delight at his words, as he crawls up your body to be eye-level with you. His cock rubs along your sex, wetting itself so easily it should be embarrassing.

It is big. It’s so big and the knot swelling at the base of it is even better, thick and pulsing and throbbing.

Your stupid horny omega brain wails at the prospect of finally, finally being filled up by something hot and pulsing and living. Strong enough to hold you down and breed you. He’d give you the prettiest kids.

Oh god, oh fuck. Omega brain is seizing the steering wheel right now and you’re fucking terrified of where it’ll take you. You have no idea what you’re going to do when he knots you.

And he WILL fucking knot you if you have to mount and ride him yourself.

He’s grinning. Your instinct screams at you to bite. “I could smell it on you just now, you know. You want me to knot you soooo bad.”

You return his smile with bared teeth, “You want to knot me so bad, Gojo.” You’re still oversensitive when you grind your cunt against him but it’s worth it to see his stupid jaw drop open, “It makes you look fucking stupid.”

Pretty, pretty. He’s so pretty you could cry, and his cock is twitching against you, wet and burning and ready.

“Shut up,” Gojo breathes, close enough for you to smell his tingling scent on his breath, “And take it.”

A snarl builds in your throat, climbs on your lips – only to be knocked away thoroughly by the feeling of his fat head nudging, hot and swollen at your entrance. You’re so slick it feels almost gummy against you.

He drives himself in and you bite back a scream. Instead you let your hands claw down his back, and when they’re far enough down you just reach up to his shoulders again and dig your nails in harder.

The scrape at your fingertips, the way the smooth flesh of his back yields to yours – rough and savage enough to leave his eyes wide and gleaming.

His cock driving into you is like velvet, warm and wet and welcoming, filling an ache that makes you want to cry out.

There’s a stretch, because he’s big, of course he’s fucking huge but it’s the delicious type of stretch, a tight pinch that makes you shudder and clench and pull a moan or two out of him in return.

“See?” He nips at the underside of your jaw. Close, too close, inches away from your scenting glands, licking like he wants a taste, “Just needed some cock to calm you down. Poor – poor little omega, your heat must have been really bad, huh?”

You want to kill him. You want him to fill you up up UP more and more of his cock drives into you, it’s like it’s fucking endless, his knot urges forward at your entrance and the stretch –

“This – hhgh – coming from the beast in rut,” You snarl through strangled moans, “Who’s been throwing himself at me like an animal?”

Your hand in his hair trails down, over the back of his neck, and his whole body jerks at the touch. You’re no better, straining beneath him, talking out loud so you don’t lose your mind as his knot slides home.

“Did you think of me while you fucked your hand, Gojo?”  Dangerous territory. Dangerous thoughts. “Did you think about what I’d do to you? About me putting you on your ass while sparring because my scent turned you into a slut?”

He groans, long and laborious. You feel his knot lock in, his head thrown back (neck bared, pretty, pale, so empty and open) as he whines out his release.

It spurts inside you, hot and swelling and heady enough to bring you to a second release as his pelvis grinds against your clit.

“So what if I did?” There’s a challenge in his eyes, bright and sky blue and heart-rendingly beautiful in his blissed out state.

Something churns in your chest, something feral and wanting and you should know better but you can’t stop it now –

“Always think of me,” the demand leaves your lips before you can think of it, “You’ll always think of me when you touch yourself now, Gojo, you won’t be able to cum without it.” Before you know it, you’re purring, both from the afterglow and the words you’ve spoken with such misplaced confidence.

He thrusts lightly into you, a short useless movement which just makes you both more aware of his fat, swollen knot as it pumps his cum into you. Gojo purrs back at you, a warm rumble you can feel all throughout his form pressed against yours. His face against your chest, rubbing it – scenting you.

Your arms curl around him. Hold him close. “Never think of anyone else. Only me.”

The only response is louder purring. It’s painfully pleasant, comfortable, with the length of him pressed against you, his knot buried inside of you.

His eyes are half-lidded, dragging his parted lips over your skin. It’s too lazy and slow to be called a kiss, but the intimacy of It burns a trail across your skin. He licks at your neck in broad strokes and you mindlessly loll your head to the side, baring it for him.

Both of you content in the silence, sated by your climaxes. The first of many. A lull where you lie locked together so perfectly, enjoying the sinful trickles of his cum filling you up while his knot slowly deflates.

Naturally, Gojo can only let a good thing last so long.

“Never think of anyone else, huh?” His voice is unbearably smug, and smooth, and all things lovely. “Possessive and needy. What were you going to do if I hadn’t pounced on you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, disgruntled, “Next time you made an ass of yourself while sparring I would’ve just bitten you.”

A laugh; breathless and light. “I thought you didn’t like younger men?”

“A knot is a knot.” You clench around him a bit, just to drive your point home. It makes him spurt a little more into you, scalding hot. He hisses, face flushing.

He’s pretty like this. Then again, he’s always pretty.

“Yeah?” He leans in with glittering eyes, already recovered. “Bet you like my knot best. Bet you won’t want any other after this.”

You already don’t. You love the feel of him inside you, how he fits like a glove, how his knot fills you to bursting. It’s still inside you and you already want to feel it again. You already want him to be yours. All yours, only yours and yours forever.

But this is your asshole coworker who bickers with you, not your fucking boyfriend.

“I want another alpharight now,” You roll your eyes, like saying it would make it real, “A quieter one.”

“Heh.” His smile is as loud as his eyes. “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t let me so much as lick you if you weren’t already thirsting your brains out for me.”

God, are you that transparent? Or can he see through lies with the six eyes, too?

You push yourself upwards – not easy because Gojo’s laid his uselessly long torso against your chest – and the knot’s still mostly lodged in you but there’s enough give for you to push him back until you’re sitting on his lap.

Gojo is leaned against you, resting his body weight against you as he purrs like a careless, cuddly cat.

He doesn’t even flinch when you cup his face between your hands. Lazy, relaxed, content inside you.

“You have a lot of cheek for a brat who got hard after I knocked the wind out of him.” You tilt your head to the side. “Or maybe that’s what you’re hoping for on round two?”

And oh god. This guy can’t be for real. His knot has barely gone down enough to pull out and you feel him twitch inside you, hardening again. You pull him out with a twist of your hips and he actually whines.

He licks his lips. “What do you think?”

His cock flops against you again, hard, ready to go. You let out an incredulous laugh. “I called you a horny beast, I didn’t think you were actually some kind of – breeding whore.”

“Mmmh,” Large hands dart to hold your ass, pulling you closer, “Maybe I am. You’ll let me fuck you, though, so I must be doing something right.”

As dirty talk goes, you could do way better. But it looks like Gojo is just that easy – his scent deepens with excitement, electric on your tongue.

Mouthwatering. Stinging. It reaches deeper into you than you’d like, pulls out an answering tug of longing that spills over your lips before you can stop it.

Hands on his shoulders, over those pretty collarbones, shoving him back. It’s so easy; he falls back for you without resistance. Staring up at you through lowered lashes like an actual seductress.

Satoru Gojo is heartrendingly beautiful, above you or beneath you. It drives you mad.

“Tell me,” You want you want you want, “Tell me how badly you want to fuck me.” Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you’re mine and you’ll never be anyone else’s.

“You said it yourself,” Gojo breathes, “I’m a whore, yeah? A beast in rut, throwing myself at you.”

“Why me?” Tell me I’m the only one who could ever satisfy you. He might be a dumb horny whore of an alpha, but your omega brain is equally delirious for feeding into this delusion. Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me.

His smile is lazy, eyes glimmering, and you get a terrible intuition that he knows exactly what you’re asking, exactly what you want. And he’s not going to give it to you.

“Knew you could keep up.” He answers with a distinct ring of mockery. Fucking brat.

Wrong answer. Wrong. Answer.

Your hands jump to his throat. Squeezing instinctively. Like you can rip the words out of him, the voice that lights every fiber of your being on fire, in all the worst ways. And his neck feels so perfect under your hands. Like it was always meant to be there.

"Wanna bite?" He mouths, somehow smirking at you before his mouth drops into an "O" – you’re grinding against him, hard and careless of his overstimulation.

Those pretty blue irises shrink and dilate wide, shimmering with tears. His face is so pale, lashes such a pretty white that the red on his cheeks stands out all the more painfully. A moan of pleasure ripples under your fingertips, squandered in your grasp.

God, he really is a whore, isn’t he? So eager in front of you, dick out, lashes fluttering, throwing himself at you. Teasing you with his scent, his little gifts. Letting you see him like this. How could he let you see him like this, if he didn’t want to be yours?

Would he be so pathetic and needy for anyone? It sends rage through you, white-hot and yearning. All you can see is him, him, Gojo in all his debauched glory beneath you.

Ruin him. Ruin him for anyone else. Yours, yours, all yours. So much that he can never think of anyone else, like you can only think of him.

You squeeze harder, like you can pull his treacherous, perfect voice out if you can just press hard enough into his singing pulse. Close, close, so fucking close, the pull inside you draws you over his cock, up and down, rubbing against your throbbing clit.

His cock twitches in time with it as you grind away. Blood rushing in your ears, pounding. You’re close. He’s close. He’s going to cum. He’s going to cum outside of you.

Just as Gojo’s eyes squeeze shut, his cock jumping against you – you pull your cunt off, leaving no more stimulation. You don’t release your hold on his throat, hips guided purely by instinct, slotting him against your entrance.

“Don’t you dare,” You hiss, feeling his pulse flutter, “You don’t cum unless you’re inside me. Never.”

Eyes shooting wide to look up at you. His lips part, desperate, passionate, heavy with words that he doesn’t have the air for.

You don’t want to hear it. He’s said enough.

You ride him like you hate him - to be fair, you kind of do.

Slamming down on his dick, just short of his knot. Hunched over him so you can still choke him while you fuck him, see his stupid face contort in shock and bliss as his cock is suddenly enveloped.

His sweet-sour scent practically stings your tongue, heavy with arousal, with lust, with want –

He fills you up so fucking good, he’s infuriating, he’s huge, he’s perfect and why isn’t he yours? Everything inside you screams and all you know is the stretch in your core, the burning need.

So close so close you're almost THERE –

Panting, gasping, you bear yourself down on his knot with a wail, squeezing his neck like a stress toy. It makes him pulse and throb inside you.

Fuck fuck FUCK -

The STRETCH, it fucking burns, Gojo is writhing underneath you. It's like he's bigger than he was last time.

His hands aren’t at his throat but on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, adding to all the weight that pulls you against him. Tight, hot, so, so fucking big.

“My knot,” You pant, half-feral with desire, “This is my fucking knot, Gojo, my dick, you don't put this in anyone else, do you hear me, ALPHA?"

There’s a rumble in his neck where he might be trying to answer you, but you ignore it in favor of bearing down on him. It's like all your breath leaves you in one big gasp, a whine escaping you as you finally pop the knot in.

You squeeze yourself, impossible, tight, feeling your whole cunt scream with the effort, the delicious stretch of a muscle pushed to its limit. You have him, you have him, you have him in you, all yours. Your core finally surges towards release at the feeling of being filled.

And then you look down at what you’ve captured, your alpha, teary-eyed, red-faced, eyes glazed over in bliss as his lips part to take a breath he can’t manage.

Cock burning inside you, hips bucking up, hands clutching you like a lifeline. Hands so uselessly large that his thumb can reach to roll over your clit.

All at once, you let go. Climax overwhelming you both, his first gasping breath painted with the sudden release.

You want to see his face while you do it, collapsing forward as your breath is stolen from you in waves of white-hot pleasure. Gojo lets out a high pitched noise that he probably shouldn’t be capable of, choking, crying.

“F-fuck,” He half-chokes, half-sobs, racing to clutch you to his chest.

You’ve never seen him so uncomposed, so helpless, your name on his lips, the six eyes blown wide and unseeing. Heat floods your insides as he releases, knot swelling impossibly larger. A squeak escapes you, and you press the side of your face into his toned chest as he holds you close.

You’re smaller than him – most people would be. It’s funny, feeling smaller in his arms. All the fight and fervor trickles away, slowly, like it’s making room for his cum.

Something terribly dark and feral inside you wants to rut against him and make him whimper more, now that he could hear it, but you don’t have the strength.

“Surprised you didn’t bite me,” He muses while he traces mindless patterns over your bare back.

“For what conceivable reason would I have bitten you during that?” His chest is warm, so warm. You’re not paying much attention to what you’re saying, just lazily snapping back at him for stating the obvious. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I literally choked you.”

“Hell yeah you did.” He rubs his cheek against your hair. “It was super hot. Do it again.”

Idiot. You try to ignore the hunger his words ignite inside you, the stupid glee you get from the thought that he likes it just as much as you do. “What, do you want me to bite you?”

“As hot as it would have been to see you take what you want,” God, his grin is just so annoying, and it makes your heart skip a beat, to see that fire in his eyes, “You’d probably feel all bad about it later or some crap. Like you trapped me or something. Which would be super hot, by the way. You have my permission to trap me at any time, especially if I’m sticking my dick in you.”

“Well, now I don’t want you at all,” You lie, blatantly, like a liar.

Satoru snickers, which really isn’t good for your heart. “What, because I’m such a kinky whore, you think I’ve been all used up already? Should I give myself some bruises and hickey sometime to really sell the fantasy?”

That gets an eye roll. “I didn’t degrade you enough while we were fucking, is that it? Had to pick up some slack yourself?”

“Heheh. You sure liked calling me a whore and a slut.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “What can I say, I’m just that good a lay. Always give the lady what she wants.”

“Sure.” And yet you still don’t have what you want from him.

“You’re the only person I’ve fucked like this, you know.” He says, more softly than he should.

It’s just so unfair. How he makes your heart stumble. How his little admission sends a trill of hope through you.

“Fucked how? During your rut?” He didn’t seem like the type to grin and bear the suffering.

“You know,” He shuffles again, “Like this. For fun.”

“What, I’m the only person you’ve let call you a whore? Choke you? Be more specific, Gojo,” The name tastes bitter in your mouth, “All the other times you just had to lie back and think of England?”

“Well, you’re the first person who’s fucked me that also called me Gojo, for one.”

He really has to ruin everything. “Just shut up. Nothing you say makes me feel better.”

Arms wrap tighter around your waist. “I mean it, though. I was looking forward to this. I never look forward to it. Letting down my technique, fucking some omega until I knotted them.”

You want to bite him, take a chunk out. Pull his hair and rip some of it out of his stupid empty skull. “Gojo –”

“No, listen.” And that’s a tone you haven’t heard before – low, commanding, an alpha’s demand. He hadn’t spoken to you like that once.

“I used to hate it, dread it. The long wait for my knot to go down before I could finally just leave and put everything back up again. Being stuck with some stranger in such an intimate position, feeling them touch me, it was the worst. The absolute fucking worst.”

He nuzzles his head into your neck, like he’s basking in your scent. “This, though? This is the best. I want to do this for every rut, forever.”

Another skipped beat, and that’s it. Your foolish, graceless heart can only drag you through so much humiliation and pining before you rip it out and stomp on it yourself.

“So what?” You lower your voice in return, hard and cutting, “Who says I want to spend all your ruts with you, Gojo?”

“Thought you didn’t do one-night stands.” He smirks at you. You want to punch him.

“What did you think this was?” Did he think you were pining for a relationship while he was just fucking it out? Sure, you were pathetic enough to want it, but you weren’t pathetic enough to expect it. Not on your fucking life.

But then.

There’s the answer, the “A public service for needy omegas~” or some other witty retort. You can already hear his voice ringing in your ears, playful and taunting.

But the sound doesn’t come. Nothing comes at all. Complete silence.

Gojo’s lean, muscled form has stiffened, now rigid against you where it had been relaxed. You can feel his hesitance rippling through the air. His scent is more sour than sweet. Spoiled.

“I thought… you wanted me.” You’ve never heard him sound so uncertain, so afraid. You’ve never heard Gojo sound afraid, period. “I was courting you, and you accepted my gifts, so I – ”

“When were you courting me?” You snap, even though you make the connection instantly. He had given you gifts. He’d spend time with you, given you something with his scent. Paid attention to your needs.

“This whole time?” He sounds like he’s starting to panic, now, “What did you think was happening? We’ve been flirting literally since the day I met you! I might not be the most traditional guy, but I got the important parts down!”

It doesn’t sound real, for Gojo to be freaking out like this. He turns you around so you can see his blue eyes, wide and wild with frustration, “Why did you think I gave you things with my scent and spent every spare hour in close quarters with you?”

“Because they were always accompanied with snarky remarks? Because you taunt me at every opportunity?” You say it straight to his face. “We literally insult each other every time we meet.”

“You like it, you tease me back!” He grouses, “You’re super into that, you fucked me anyways!”

“Yeah. I thought that was all you wanted.” You swallow. “You’re supposed to ask someone to court them, Gojo.”

“Of course you wanted me to court you. You seduced me when I pinned you down and then knocked me on my ass!”

You’re upset with him and all, but he’s just got this infuriating ability to make you laugh no matter what. “Most people would take that as a no.”

He’s smiling back. Beaming. His scent is clean, like just hearing you laugh made it all better, “But your answer isn’t a no. You li~ke~ me.”

“Not so much right now.” You look away. “So, what? I’m just a fool for not knowing what you wanted, when you never even told me?”

“I thought it was obvious.” You can hear the frown in his voice. “You’re a pretty proud person. What did you think I was doing when I gave you all those gifts?”

“You literally told me I was being needy. I figured you were mocking me.”

“But then why did you accept them?” His tone, laced with something awful in his scent, brings your gaze back to his face.

He looks kind of… heartbroken.

You can’t look at him long. “Because… I am needy.”

His arms reach up from your waist, cradling your back, pulling you against him. Chin tucked where your shoulder meets your neck. Face buried in your scent glands, just where he’d put a bite. If he – if he wanted you.

“When you finally admitted it, I thought I’d feel glad.” He sounds like he’s complaining, but your neck is wet. “You just have to steal away all my victories, huh? Can’t even let me win this one.”

Why is he acting so pathetic, like a wounded puppy, when you’re the one who admitted to being down so bad you’d accept even mockery from the person you wanted to get with?

And then he sniffles, like some teenage girl who just got dumped. “I thought you knew I liked you. I thought we were having fun. Teasing each other.”

“It was fun, that’s why I did it. I just…” You swallow. “I didn’t think it would mean anything more for you. You know by now that I – I like you a lot. Way more than normal. There is nothing normal about how much I want you. I didn’t think you wanted me the same way.”

“That’s literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard. You didn’t know I wanted you back?” There’s more wetness on your neck, but this is warm. The familiar touch of his tongue dragging over your scent glands.

Gojo takes a shuddering breath, and it occurs to you that he must be taking in your scent. “How could you even think that?”

“Why are you so upset?” His whining brings you back to life, just a little. Enough to be angry. “For – for fuck’s sake already, Gojo. Say it in as many words. I told you, the whole reason I thought so was because you never told me what you meant outright.”

Another sniffle. “You’re so mean. You know what courting is. You just like bullying me.”

His sniveling revitalizes you further. It’s easier, knowing he can be pitiful for you, too. “Say it, Gojo, or you’ll be just another notch in my belt.”

“And call me Satoru! How are we supposed to date if you don’t even call me by name?!”

“We’re not dating. Say it, say it right now,” You’re getting sick of his crap, “Or I will rip your dick off.”

You can hear it, again. Is that a promise? Just wait until I’m hard to do it.

And you can see it, actually, how it physically pains him not to say it.

Gojo says your full name, out loud, and you’re helpless at the sound. “I have romantic feelings for you. I would like to court you with the intention of marriage. Mating. Whatever.”

He just can’t let you win one, can he? And yet, you’ve never heard a better sound. It feels like a massive burden has been lifted from your shoulders. Your chest.

“Two full sentences of formality,” You muse, “Impressive.”

“Right?” He preens, “Lots of things about me are impressive. You’ll see while we’re courting.”

“You never fail to impress me with how much of a dumbass you can be, Gojo.”

“Satoru. And that’s not a yes. Hurry up and say yes! I know you wanted to bite me back there, you’re totally crappy at hiding it.”

You sigh. “I did. But you didn’t want to bite me, did you?”

A pause. You’re suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close his face is to your neck.

“I always want to bite you. Ever since I met you. Smelled you.” His tongue runs along your throat, so hot it almost feels like it burns. “You can’t tell because you’ve never seen a version of me that doesn’t want to sink my teeth into your neck.”

You swallow, and he purrs, kissing over your pulse.

“It’s okay, though. I can be generous.” And his voice is back to being annoying again. “Even when you’re so demanding. I can only jerk off to you, I can only stick my dick in you – gosh, you said not to cum unless I was inside you, right? You really signed yourself up for – ”

“Oh, fuck off, Gojo – ” You interrupt yourself, “ – Satoru. Are you sure you want to… I mean. I’m older than you, you know? By a lot. I don’t have some kind of pedigree, and – well, I mean. You know.”

You flush despite yourself, “I’m… demanding, I guess. I like to bully you, if you want put it that way.” He laughs. “I’m sure you have better prospects.”  

“Yeah,” A hand reaches up to stroke your hair. He pulls you so your face is pressed into his chest, so you can hear him purr for you. Loudly, now. “That’s why I’m courting you, first. Until you’re sure you’re my best prospect. Then I’ll mark you. Then you can mark me, and not even feel a little bit bad about it, after.”

It’s scary, you think, as the darkness creeps into your vision – just how accurate his prediction of you was. “You don’t think I’m… too needy?”

“I love that you’re too needy.” A kiss to the top of your head, “You look at me like I’m the thing you want the most you want in the whole world. Makes me crazy, how much you want me. I want you to bite me. Eat me whole. I want to open up my chest and shove you inside.”

A breath leaves you, mostly because he’s holding you too tightly. Just tight enough. “So you like that I’m obsessed with you. But do you like me?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, rubbing his cheek into your hair affectionately, “So much it’s kind of scary. You’re all I can think about most of the time. I would look forward to slipping you a little present all day. Then I’d get hard after watching you open it, and I’d have to rub one out. You have no idea how happy it makes me, just being near you.”

You’re quiet for a bit. All you can hear is his gentle purring, rumbling through his body and yours.

One of your hands finds one of his. “…you’ll be mine? My one and only? You won’t ever want anyone else?”

He squeezes. “Just you. You should be more worried about becoming my one and only. If I can’t jerk off or fuck anyone else, that’s all gonna be on you, baby.”

“I’m not particularly worried,” You yawn, “If you get to be too much, I’ll just choke you out again or something.”

You feel him start to twitch inside you, knot still stuck in your entrance – no way. He can’t be hard this soon, not when he hasn’t even finished –

“Hehe. Shouldn’t have said that unless you wanted to go again~!”

“Satoru!!”

[deepermadness]

I do wonder sometimes how much bigger Destiny, as a franchise, would have been if it had been something closer to a traditional RPG. Don't get me wrong, it's been a HUGE success for Bungie over the years, but it's not quite as memorable as say, The Witcher or Baldur's Gate, or Dragon Age, you know?

And I feel it's a bit of a shame. The concepts in the game, and its story, have been incredible over the last decade. The setting is wondrous, letting you explore so much of the solar system. The way you can get random drops for your armour and weapons, and how those weapons work! You literally wield space magic!

But because it's a live-service game, which has to update weekly, you can't keep rolling with the story. The side-quests are time-gated, sometimes being inaccessible for months. Many items are hard to farm because you only get one chance a week. And the gameplay loop is different because there's always a constant push to give players something new regularly, rather than allow them to complete it at their own pace. This is particularly notable because it affects how the story has played out and where it has gone over the years. Bungie did try a more linear game when Destiny 2 launched with items that no longer had RNG attached to them, but this was so negatively received that Bungie switched back to random rolls on gear in a patch soon afterwards.

So what would have been different if it had been more like a traditional RPG? Well, for one, you could follow a much wider story with branching paths. The way you pick up materials, and how they are used, can be greatly expanded upon. The way the overworld changes can be more dramatic as you wouldn't have to consider running missions again for bonus weekly content.

But perhaps the most crucial difference is that you don't have to worry about old and new players mixing in the same way. This has always been an issue for games that play like Destiny does, where you have the "canon" story that you loosely follow, and the gameplay loop that you have to stick to much more rigidly to progress. Destiny was never lacking in things to do per se, however what you can do is very limited so as not to allow players to pull ahead indefinitely. You reach the cap with each expansion quite quickly, and you maximise any skill trees so fast that the first campaign is the only thing that gets affected by it being incomplete.

There's always been this disconnect between players having the same origin in the Cosmodrome, and going through the core of the story. Yet, you play as both "THE Guardian" and just a regular guardian at the same time. You get stuck in this endless scenario of being the hero of all Destiny, but also just some random person who happens to be there at the same time. This is especially jarring as this occurs for players starting ten years ago, as well as players starting today. This doesn't mean that a more traditional Destiny game would have to be single player, however it would likely have to be stricter on how much a level would make in terms of power. Perhaps the game could keep a party system, similar to JRPGs, but you could substitute your player character into a role as you see fit? Or maybe even have a single player and co-op campaign to choose from?

But there is one other thing to consider. Gameplay length. Destiny has built up a huge story over the last decade. Such a story would be spread across multiple games in a more normal series. Would it work as well, as a scope? The main advantage of the world is that it keeps everything active all at once, barring sunsetting (the rotating out of activities). Could a franchise spanning multiple games and even multiple console generations keep all of its content accessible across all of these platforms? How would they do it? Would any of you like to play a Destiny game that played differently? What would you change?

[bigskydreaming]

Pulling the old 'Percy Jackson-esque story about Irish mythology & foster kids (Irish gods had a long tradition of fostering, foster connections were more important in those myths than most biological ones even)' story out of storage for no particular reason but mostly to inspire me to work more on it this week.

*****

Santiago Garcia was twelve when he discovered his foster mom was a goddess.

At first, there was nothing particularly momentous about the day. If there had been he probably would have at least dressed up a little. Well. Okay, probably not. But he definitely wouldn't have answered the front door.

"Hello there," said the old dude on the other side, wearing a painfully fake smile that just screamed Stranger Danger. "I'm looking for your mother. Is she home?"

Santi squinted up at him and took an extra long slurp of Caprisun as he debated his answer. "Well, my mom's dead, so you're either not looking for her or you really suck at finding cemeteries."

"Fair enough," Old McWeirdo said with a laugh. The kind fake mall Santas laughed, for the whopping top dollar of fifteen bucks an hour, while badly hiding their resentment for the kids who didn't ask to be the reason they were barely making minimum wage while wearing itchy fake beards. It was around this point that Santi decided he officially didn't like this guy. At least now Brigitte couldn't say he wasn't giving people enough of a chance: he gave the dude a whole ten seconds.

"Is the owner of this house home then?"

Santi gave the matter another solid Caprisun slurp of consideration, and shrugged. "Lemme get her."

He moved to step back from the door, but when the trying-too-hard-to-be-friendly neighborhood creeper moved forward at the same time, he switched gears and shoved a foot against the back of the door to keep it from swinging open any wider.

"Sorry mister," he said with a painfully fake smile of his own. "I'm not supposed to let strangers in the house. Pervs and ax murderers and all that. Y'know how it is."

Enjoying the mild moment of surprise lifting the dude's snowy eyebrows halfway up his forehead, Santiago leaned backwards into the hall just far enough to yell down the length of it: "Brigitte! There's a weird old guy at the door for you!"

Then he settled in to wait, beaming innocently at the guy now eyeing him with an appraising gleam in one rheumy eye. "Smart lad. Commendable instincts."

"Cool. Didn't ask."

"Santi, what have I told you about answering the door - " came Brigitte's aggrieved rant from behind him as she emerged into the hall via the kitchen. But she cut off before she even got close to working up a good steam and Santi twisted to watch her come to a stop just behind him. Her usual smile was swapped out for a frown - one that skipped him over entirely, and framed their 'guest' squarely centered in its bullseye. She wiped her hands dry with a dish towel before slinging it over one shoulder and brushing her red hair out of her eyes with the back of her other arm.

"Uncle Auggie," she said after moment. "It's been an age."

Santi frowned then himself. He may've only been living with her for all of six months, but he'd been pretty sure he knew all of her moods by now. This edge to her words though? It was one hundred percent new. To him at least. But apparently not to the cautionary tale on the stairs, considering his smile didn't so much as flicker at the less than warm welcome.

Not phased in the least, Allegedly-Uncle-Auggie just kept smiling that dumb smile that usually only ever meant one of two things: either no one was home behind it, or someone was home but someone was a liar. Santi did not like that smile. He did not trust that smile. He subtly sidled back a step and allowed Brigitte to slip between them. He would of course, later deny upon pain of death that he felt in any way in need of his thirty-something year old foster mom's protection or some ridiculous nonsense like that, but like. That was Later's problem.

"You know how it is when I get carried away with my studies. I lock myself in my room with my books and by the time I look up again, its been another ten years or more. Everything's gone and changed when I wasn't looking."

He nodded down at where one of Brigitte's hands had found its way to one of Santiago's shoulders, without either of them noticing. "But then of course, some things, it seems, never change at all."

This close to her side, Santi felt more than heard Brigitte suck in a sharp breath, disguising it behind a more even, more deliberate inhalation the second she came aware of it herself. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and then said: "Santi, could you please go to your room? I need a minute with my uncle."

Later, he would wonder what possessed him to say the following, like he was some kind of idiot. He was not normally any kind of idiot. Really, he wasn't.

"Wait, he's seriously your uncle? I thought you said you didn't have any family."

"I lied," Brigitte said evenly, still not tearing her eyes away from their visitor. Whose smile, in turn, still had not wavered even a centimeter. Ugh. So creepy.

"You always were as creative with the truth as with everything else," Uncle Awful - sorry, Auggie - said with what was probably supposed to sound like affection maybe?

"This isn't a scheduled reunion, Uncle," she said. "Let's not reminisce."

"Right. Leaving. Got it," Santi muttered under his breath. The frost from that cold front paradoxically lit a fire to his movements and he turned to head up the stairs to his room. "Guess I'll leave you two alone then. But only cuz I'm gonna go figure out what you owe me now for lying to me and stuff, cuz like, 'we gotta have trust Santi,' remember?"

"Excellent use of leverage," Uncle Auggie called after him, leaning into the doorway to shoot him a conspiratorial wink that he most definitely did not order. On account of how they were not now (or likely to ever be) conspiring. He had standards. Probably. He'd never had to use them for this particular scenario before but he was pretty sure he could find them if he looked and this guy would not be making the list.

Brigitte's hand slammed into the side of the door, creating a barrier between their line of sight.

"He doesn't need your approval."

"Daaaaaang," Santi whispered to himself then, and he took the stairs two at a time.

Once up the stairs and around the corner though, Santi stopped and huddled against the wall, listening to the movements from below. Look, clearly weirdness was happening, and as a resident of this house, especially a newish resident who was still undecided as to whether or not he even liked it here….he had a right - no, a mandate - to figure out just what that weirdness was. And more importantly: if it was the kinda weirdness he wanted any part of. And since apparently he couldn't trust Brigitte to not just like, lie to him....he had no choice but to snoop.

His logic here was sound, okay? He'd definitely thought this through.

Pressing his ear up against the wall at the top of the landing, he strained to listen to the hushed voices going at it back and forth down below. That part didn't really work. It was a lot of stairs, and its not like he had super hearing. So, when the little he could hear - and also the shadows on the wall - all added up to Brigitte surprisingly not kicking The Uncle Nobody Thought Was Worth Mentioning (And Probably For A Reason) to the curb?! And instead letting him into the house, where their footsteps then headed off down the hall towards the small study where she usually graded her students' homework and stuff? Well really, at that point he was left with no choice but to sneak back down the stairs and edge as quietly as he could towards the study and the angry noises coming from inside.

If you're gonna do a thing, you might as well do it to the best of your ability or else why're you even doing it at all? That's just commitment, and like, commitment's a good thing, obviously. Everyone knows that.

Again, no matter what anyone might claim later, every single part of this had been very intelligently thought through. Well reasoned from every angle.

In fact, Santi was leaning towards rating his decision making thus far as stellar.

And if later, looking back on this moment with future friends only to have them use it as an example of how 'hubris' was not just a thing to be wary of when dealing with Greek gods, well. Nobody said they were going to be good friends.

But of course, all of that was also Later's problem. We're getting a bit ahead of ourselves, and today would have more than enough problems to keep Santiago Garcia busy for quite some time.

[mariacallous]

thinking about the effect of music at the two events

because the music of the late 60s and the 90s (at least the kind of music largely represented both Woodstocks) were deeply alienated and frustrated with society

however the answer and reaction of the 60s was to "dropout" disengage with society at large and not respond to it in traditional ways. Go live in a van and smoke weed because the only way to win against the soul crushing war machine was to not fight at all

the 90s answer was... break some shit. So like the "corner culture" coming into the 99 event was rougher and more geared up, and then you have these fans of frustration, alienation and a chaotic violent counter-punch bought face to face with the beast the monster at the heart of their alienation from society, ultra-capitalism the exploitation and commercialization of them and the music they love, and then you cook their brains in 100 degree heat on the black top, refuse them water, food, a place to pee, treat them like animals and exploit them over and over and over

yeah they're lucky the kids didn't kill them.

To quote Icona Pop:

You're on a different road, I'm in the Milky Way You want me down on Earth, but I am up in space You're so damn hard to please, we gotta kill this switch You're from the '70s, but I'm a '90s bitch

Honestly, as a 90s kid, I will always go with "fight back" (or even "break some shit") as opposed to "drop out and don't even bother".

And considering the number of attendees, and the destruction and havoc they wreaked as it is, I'm genuinely surprised more shit didn't go down.

[pinchraccoon]

Cuphead Mini-Review

Recently on my stream as per the request of my chatters, I played Cuphead on my stream. I'd played it a bit before, and reached maybe halfway through the game, but this time I intended to hunker down and play the whole game.

For those unfamiliar, Cuphead is a 2d platformer primarily focused on boss battles inspired by 1920-30s rubberhose cartoons and movie tropes that are confidently considered "retro." Players can expect difficult but fair gameplay across the board, and hand-drawn animation with a whole lot of style and soul for the whole game.

I can confidently say that Cuphead is a very good game, but you've heard that before. Cuphead features tight, polished gameplay, extremely strong visual and audio design, and every character has a ton of design origins to dissect and reasons for the attacks they make. I had a lot of fun looking at every boss and figuring out what each of their attacks were references to and I really think that visuals and stylistic choices are Cupheads greatest strong suits. My favorite boss in the game is Cala Maria, for the reasons above. (also she's a pretty lady and I'm a little bit of a hopeless gay)

There isn't a lot to say about Cuphead that hasn't already been said, especially considering that I didn't play the DLC content added last year. If it seems that I rag on the game a bit from here forward, I assure you it's because I love this game, and not because I feel that it's a game-breaking experience.

Roughly halfway through Cuphead I reached a boss named Grim Matchstick, who has something of a reputation among players for being a skill gate, I have no issue with the bosses' design, I'd like to clarify, instead I have an issue with how the game around him and how that game provides you tools to potentially deal with him.

In Cuphead, the player has access to six different types of primary fire, of which the player can have two equipped at once. These are unlocked by purchasing them from a vendor, who takes a currency that is only found, and is finite, within levels known as 'Run n' Gun' levels.

These, unlike the rest of the games, are somewhat traditional difficult platforming levels, and frequently intend to prey on player's bad habits and frustrations. They are without a doubt the hardest part of the game, no boss gave me quite the same amount of trouble as the RNG's did on average.

My issue with the RNG's aren't that they frustrated with their difficulty, but instead that the coins found within them are finite, and that the rewards for doing them can be wasted on any given fight.

What can make Matchstick difficult is that he is best challenged using very specific gear, and without that gear, which becomes missable, the fights become significantly harder because you lacked the foresight to look ahead to bosses you'll fight before you have the opportunity to earn more coins and buy more types of shots.

This is my only issue with Cuphead, and I found that the RNG's insistence on existing makes the game such that certain challenges become far harder in ways that aren't your fault.

I feel that the game might be better without these levels, and while their inclusion does provide a degree of gameplay variety, the purpose that they serve I feel is an overall negative toward the game in general. I would much rather have had 6 more bosses in exchange for the 6 Run and Gun levels, but I've seen other opinions. I am not a game developer, of course, this was just my impression.

Overall though, Cuphead is a fun and interesting experience that I would recommend to anyone looking for a challenge. If you have the option though, don't buy it on the Switch, it's perfectly passable, but higher framerate and shorter load times will certainly be felt if you play on PC or other more powerful consoles.

[pannimanagementteam]

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However, implementing a completely personalized solution is also not one of the best strategy.Ultimately you want a stability of both built-in functionalities specific to your corporation and trade, and suppleness via customization. Another apparent, however harmful, technique of comparability is the value. Certainly, the value is essential in making a decision but all the time be careful. Low prices may be attractive however could also be the result of low-ball figures or an initial low cost, which implies you might find yourself paying extra down the street. High prices are usually a safer wager in terms of performance and conservatism, however you could be paying greater than you need to. ERP solutions within the similar tier will have comparable worth factors so as an alternative, the artwork is finding a steadiness between low and high and understanding what the suitable price relies in the marketplace.

We would like to evaluate your software to see if you’re the right fit or discover you an alternate opportunity. I do not like the fact that you can not change the colour or measurement of the font. I just bought new glasses, I can see my residence pc and laptop computer information at house. I can see my e mail and other screens at work, nonetheless, since Process Pro is such a light-weight font and you can't change the scale, I wrestle to see the display screen once I am trying to search for info. I like that it's construct specifically for Process Manufacturing.

[devtrust]

Xbox one chat problems

Xbox one chat problems drivers#

Xbox one chat problems Patch#

Xbox one chat problems series#

Xbox one chat problems download#

If you see the error message "LC-202," that means there's a problem on Blizzard's side and you are going to have to wait for them to hotfix it. Matchmaking and "other social" services are screwed up, but Blizzard is looking into it. If all of this fails, email Blizzard your voice logs at also an issue affecting Xbox One and PlayStation 4 users who can't find a game or log in.

Xbox one chat problems drivers#

Keep your drivers up-to-date, including the ones for your headset.

Make sure your Firewall and router aren't blocking anything.

Make sure Team Voice Chat and Group Voice Chat are set to "On" or "Auto Join.".

Disable any overlay programs like Discord, Overwolf, etc.

How to Fix Overwatch Voice Chat Issues: Troubleshooting Tips for Group Chat Problems

Xbox one chat problems series#

In the meantime, the company has released a series of steps you can try to repair the problem yourself. Blizzard is aware of the issue and currently working on a fix. According to Reddit users, there's a glitch in voice chat in Competitive Play on PC. For example, one user may be playing Dead Rising 3 and will be greeted with an invite into Battlefield 4 Team Deathmatch where the rest of the party members are playing.Overwatch voice chat is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Users trying to play different games may be greeted by constant invites into one or more games. The new Xbox One Party system is geared towards SmartMatch and group gaming. Users favoring traditional 360-type party chat might want to use Skype. There should be an option to "quit." When the app is closed, party chat should turn on without issue. To close Battlefield 4 (or any app), go to the home screen (Xbox One Button), highlight the app (usually in the main window), and press the menu button (former start button).

Xbox one chat problems Patch#

Until a patch is sent, the current work around is to turn on party chat before running Battlefield 4, or, if Battlefield 4 is currently running, to close it down. There is a known issue with Battlefield 4 where users are unable to turn party chat on while Battlefield 4 is running. Within the party window, you should see various options including "Turn Party Chat On." Basically, the new party system will allow you to party up with your friends for joining games, but by default, the game chat is turned on and party chat is turned off. You can either go to the party app from the home screen, say "Xbox Go To Party", or snap the party (say "Xbox Snap Party"). If this not an option, you have to consider which device to keep, since you can't use them both, at the same time.įor other NAT-related connection issues, check: PARTY CHAT IS TURNED OFF You can contact your ISP for help with this and make your router operate as a standard modem. Im convinced there is a setting somewhere im missing. The way to fix this is to switch the router to Bridge mode. The NAT is open, mic is open, chat is on, I have went through all these settings trying to trouble shoot it with the help of some youtube help videos. You need to only have one router/NAT that connects directly to your console and the gateway. If you've got a router connected to a gateway that's also a combined modem/router (eg: Netgear CGD24G), you may run into connection issues since both devices run NAT. Depending on your version/network, now either access Advanced and Select iPv6, then flag "Allow Teredo Tunnels" - or click the Network tab, then Network Options and check "Allow Teredo tunnels." This should solve your connection issue. If this step did not fix your issue, in the Airport Admin/Utility, click on your base station/router and then edit. Install it if a newer version is available.Ģ. Access your Airport software, command-click on the device and check for the latest Firmware. To make your Xbox One work with your AirPort, Time Capsule, or AirPort Extreme, take these steps:ġ. Many users are encountering this issue specifically with Apple Airport wireless routers. If your wireless is connected and your NAT Type displays Strict, this is the cause of your connection trouble. On the Network settings screen, under Current Network Status, check what NAT type you've got. Unlike Xbox 360, Xbox One requires your NAT (Network Address Translation) Type to be set to Open. However, everything works fine on Xbox 360. To get chat audio through your headset on Xbox One, you need to first make sure that your headset is plugged into the controller and that the controller is.

Xbox one chat problems download#

Issue: I am able to connect to Xbox Live, download games, accept friend requests and message them, but I am unable to connect with others to play online or hear or talk to others in party chat.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Made For You | Chapter 8

Summary: Dean and Sam like what they have together, and if screwing your brother screws with the universe’s “grand plan” while they’re at it, then even better. Neither of them has ever cared much for tradition or fate, but it turns out there are some destinies you can’t escape. Sometimes, someone is just made for you. 

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: Incest Tags: AU, Time Jump, Omegaverse, Alpha!Dean, Omega!Reader, flirty Dean, anxiety attack, age difference, taboo relationship, scent attraction, innocent reader, Virgin!Reader, romantic reader, true mates, unexpected heat Word Count: 3k Created For: @spnabobingo - True Mates

Series Masterlist

Dean’s POV

Dean is pretty sure that that omega –Y/N– isn’t going to call him. She doesn’t seem the type, considering how jittery she’d been when she was standing in front of him. It’s a shame, really. She’s exactly what Dean’s been craving; some fresh meat to sink his teeth into and corrupt until she was cum-drunk on his knot. But apparently, the bartender, Jo, had given him a bad tip, because Y/N had practically sprinted away from him when he made his advances. The memory makes his spine prickle uncomfortably, and he wonders when he got so sensitive that being rejected by some barfly actually stings his ego. 

Is he getting too old to be hitting on girls like that? He’s never had age be an issue for him before, Dean knows he’s still good-looking, even with the few extra wrinkles around his eyes. And usually, chicks dig the age difference; they want an older man with experience, and he wants some sweet young thing who’s amenable to being taught exactly how he likes it. Secretly, he’s always hoped that if he keeps hitting on girls that look like they could be in college, one of these days he’ll run into a virgin. But meeting an omega virgin is rare these days, since sex outside marriage has become less and less taboo, and unless you meet the omega before they go into their first heat and then position yourself nearby until they do, there’s not much chance of finding anyone that’s truly unspoiled. 

Bitterly, Dean drains his beer and looks around the Roadhouse, scoping out the other patrons for any other prospects. To his disappointment, there is a sum total of zero. Switching gears to look for the bartender instead, Dean sweeps his eyes back towards the kitchen and watches Jo emerging with a tray of chicken wings that she drops on the end of a pool table for the players to pick at between shots. He raises his empty glass and waves it a bit to catch her attention, and the blonde turns in his direction, a big smirk spreading across her face as she nods to indicate she’s seen him but holds up a finger to ask for a minute. 

Dean nods back courteously and settles on his stool again with a bit of unease. What had she been smirking about? Was sending Y/N his way just a prank Jo was playing to embarrass him for making a pass at her first? Well, that’s just mean, Dean rolls his eyes as he decides that must be it. He hadn’t meant anything by it; there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little company every now and then. He’d given up the idea of relationships a long time ago, that would never be in the cards for him. Not after– 

Dean blinks sharply and shakes his head to dislodge that train of thought. He hasn’t thought about Sam in fuck knows how long. Why on earth is his little brother’s face popping into his memory now, of all fucking times? 

“Want a refill, handsome?” Jo asks, popping up from behind the bar and cracking through Dean’s now stony exterior. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks,” Dean grunts, pushing the empty glass her way and eyeing the bartender suspiciously as she pulls him a new beer. 

Jo isn’t looking at him, but he can still see the smirk on her face, and it sets him on edge. She hands back the glass a moment later, still trying and failing to hide the smug smile on her face, and Dean’s spine rankles. 

“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t kno–” Dean breaks off. He was planning to tell her to shove her smug face back into her own business and leave him alone, but a chime on his phone makes him pause and look down. It’s a text from a number he doesn’t recognise, and he curiously swipes it open.

Hi Dean, if you’re still interested I’m free after my shift tonight, but I don’t finish until 11 – Y/N 

Dean blinks at his phone in surprise. Huh. He never in a million years would have thought Y/N would text him, but he’s not sorry that she has. 

“Dean?” Jo’s question brings Dean’s attention back and he looks up in confusion to see her staring at him expectantly. “Did you need something else?” she prompts him, raising her brows slightly and cocking her head to the side. 

“Uh, n-no,” Dean shakes his head, his earlier grudge against the bartender now entirely forgotten. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks, sweetheart,” he raises his fresh drink in gratitude and takes a healthy glug, smacking his lips and sighing deeply. 

“Alright, well, holler if you change your mind,” Jo pats the bar as she walks off, that same devious little smirk back on her lips, but Dean doesn’t give a damn about whatever self-satisfaction she’s getting out of playing matchmaker with her customers, because it looks like he’s getting laid tonight. He grabs his phone again and composes a reply to Y/N, not wanting to leave her hanging in suspense too long. 

Dean: Hey Y/N, definitely still interested 😊11 sounds great

Y/N: Okay cool 😊 Y/N: If the place empties out before that then I can close up earlier, I feel bad making you wait around so long 

Dean: Don’t worry about that sweetheart, I’d wait til dawn if you asked me to

Dean hits send before he even really comprehends what he’s just typed. He has no idea what made him say that. For one thing, it was corny as hell, but for another, that was a bit intense for someone he’d only met for a few minutes not even an hour ago. God, she probably thinks he’s some weird desperate freak. What if he’s scared her off again? 

And apparently, he is a weird, desperate freak, because the thought of not seeing Y/N again tonight makes his chest tighten in discomfort and his skin feel wrong, like there’s something trying to separate it from his flesh, pushing air into the undetectably small spaces between each cell and making space for… something. Fuck knows what. He’s never felt like this before. Dean looks suspiciously at his beer for a moment, brings it to his nose, and sniffs, concentrating, but there’s nothing detectably wrong with it; no scent of roofies or other herbal additives that might send his hormones into a frenzy. 

Dean checks his phone again and sees that Y/N has read the message but hasn’t texted back. Fuck, she definitely thinks I’m a freak. He scrubs a hand over his stubble in lamentation and sucks up his pride, sending another message. 

Dean: That was really fucking cheesy, can we pretend you never saw that and go back to you thinking I’m cool and mysterious? 

He waits anxiously as the tiny dots that indicate Y/N is typing a reply appear on his screen, taking another drink in an effort to rein in his nerves. Why the fuck does this chick have him so on edge? 

Y/N: When did I ever say I think you’re cool? 

Dean’s heart sinks for a split second until her second message pops up. 

Y/N: 😜

His heart swells in his chest, like it’s soaking up warmth from some internal sun. 

Dean: Okay, I see how it is

Dean: Anywhere around here actually open for a drink past 11? 

He adds the next message as an afterthought, wondering if he should be finding somewhere to take Y/N out for drinks, or if this is more of a ‘bottle of whiskey in his motel room’ kind of drink. Either option was just fine for him, although he doesn’t even have a motel room yet; he should probably fix that. 

Y/N: Well, if we stay at the Roadhouse I can get us the drinks for free? 

Dean: Well you’re definitely the cooler one between the pair of us now 

Dean texts back with a smile on his face. It feels good to flirt a little like this, shake out the cobwebs a bit. His past few hookups were all too drunken and desperate to include any of this kind of foreplay. He misses the anticipation of it, having to work for it just a little bit. It makes the reward so much sweeter, and he has a feeling Y/N is going to taste sweeter than anyone he’s been with in a long while. 

Your POV

You come back from your break completely giddy, but also massively panicking. You haven’t been on a date in over a year, and you’ve never been on a date with someone who might be your true mate before. Looking back on your past relationships now, you can see the differences in your feelings for those boys over the way you’re feeling now. Those emotions had all been in your head, they were thoughts; you could trace their origin, they had reason and motivation, there was some semblance of logic, even to the ones that had turned out to be illogical. What you’re feeling now is nothing like that. 

There’s no rhyme or reason, no clear trajectory of thought. You couldn’t explain what you’re thinking or feeling to somebody else because you don’t even understand it yourself. It’s innate, whatever this pull you’re feeling is, it’s a part of you. The desire bursting into tiny flames at the head of each individual nerve in your body is woven into the very fabric of your being. It’s feelings, not thoughts that can be spelled out with words, meaningless letters on a page that have no connection to you once you’ve written them out. No, this feeling is a part of you –just like your true mate is a part of you– the same blood whirring around two separate bodies, singing out from one to the other, automatic and uncontrollable. 

Back in the kitchen, even through all the greasy scents of truck stop cooking and Ash’s more recreational activities, you can smell Dean. You’d be able to pick him out from a crowd of thousands, you’re certain of it. Now you’ve caught his scent you’ll look for it in every part of your life – for the rest of your life. Even now, standing here waiting for Ash to finish readying the next order, you feel your body drifting towards the door in an unconscious desire to be nearer to Dean. To your alpha. You shudder at the thought. 

Dean is your Alpha. You’re his Omega. You aren’t just you anymore, you’re part of something. You shake yourself out of your reverie when Ash rings the bell to signal the order’s up, and force your brain to step in and give your daydreams a reality check. You might be entirely certain about what’s just happened, but you have no idea how Dean feels. Does he feel the same helpless pull towards you and your scent that you do towards him and his? Does he even believe in true mates? Not everybody does, after all. In this day and age, the concept is becoming more and more like a fairytale to most people. What if Dean thinks you’re just some silly child who believes in fantasies and nonsense? What if he doesn’t want a true mate who’s probably half his age? Fuck why is this the first time you’re even considering that?

You console yourself with the fact that he is at the very least interested in fucking you, despite the obvious age difference. But fucking someone and falling in love are wildly different, and you’re not naive enough to think that the age gap won’t be a factor if you pursue this relationship. For one thing, what one earth will your dad think of you? Dean is easily the same age as him, and your dad has always been the overprotective type. What if he pulls out the gun you know he still sleeps with under his pillow and shoots first, asks questions later. And fuck, does Dean even know about the supernatural? How in fucking hell are you supposed to explain that the majority of your closest friends hunt monsters when they’re not at their day jobs. 

Your head is spinning, thoughts dancing visibly in front of your eyes until they’re replaced with the image of Dean, blurry, and waving a hand in your face. You blink rapidly as your eyes try to focus on him, and you realise that while you’d been lost in your mental spiral, you’d carried your tray of food out to the dining room, delivered it to the table, and begun to make your way back to the kitchen, entirely on autopilot. You aren’t sure how you ended up on the floor with your back against the leg of a pool table though. And that’s where you are now, your knees curled up into your chest, and Dean crouching down in front of you, hand gently covering the top of your shoulder and shaking you a little, trying to call your attention back to him. 

“Y/N? Y/N!” Dean’s voice barks a little more sharply and he snaps in front of your face a few times. “Y/N, you with me? C’mon, look at me sweetheart,” he pleads, his eyes swimming with worry. His scent is different too, tinged with something bitter, and it makes you frown. You don’t like that smell. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, surprised at how scratchy your throat feels, and you don’t think Dean heard you, so you try again. “Sorry,” you rasp, forcing your eyes to focus on his face, but that’s a mistake, because this up close Dean is so overwhelmingly gorgeous you become speechless again. 

“Are you alright sweetheart? What happened?” Dean asks, hand still on your shoulder, now massaging it gently, and you find the contact is really helping to soothe you and focus your thoughts so you can answer him. 

“I-I don’t know,” you mumble, trying to figure it out. You’d just been thinking so loudly, it had blocked out everything else around you. It had happened before, but not for a few years. The last time was in high school, during your senior exams – and you understand what happened now, it was an anxiety attack. God this is fucking embarrassing. “I uh, I’m fine, it just happens sometimes,” you try to excuse it, but Dean doesn’t look like he believes you. 

“Do you think you can stand up?” he asks cautiously, and you nod. Dean pushes himself out of his squat with a groan, then offers you his hand, pulling you up like you weigh nothing at all, and you accidentally fling yourself into his chest with the momentum you hadn’t been expecting. “Woah, easy there tiger,” Dean laughs, catching you in his arms as you try to steady yourself by locking your hands in his t-shirt, very firmly under the flannel that he’s currently wearing over that one, thin layer of cotton. “At least buy me that free drink first, huh?” he grins, winking at you teasingly, and you feel every inch of your skin burn in a confusing heat – an annoying combination of intense embarrassment and even more intense arousal. With horror, you realise that you can feel something wet between your legs. 

Fucking hell, he’s barely touched you and you’re already leaking. Maybe that Cosmo article wasn’t too far off, after all. It feels like you’re…. Oh shit. You’re going into heat. Fuck. You breathe out unsteadily, burying your face into Dean’s chest and feeling your heart flutter against your ribs. 

“Alpha,” you whimper, trying to suppress your words, not wanting Dean to hear you embarrassing yourself like this. 

“Y/N?” Dean forces you away from his body, holding you at arms’ length so he can look you in the eye, and you shiver when you’re no longer burrowing into his warm scent, despite the fact that you feel like boiling water is beginning to drip through your veins. Dean studies you seriously, and you feel your lips tremble the longer he stares at you, internally begging him to feel what you’re feeling. 

“Omega?” he whispers the question, trying out the word on his lips for the first time, and you nod furiously, tears welling up in your eyes at hearing the term of possession from him for the first time. 

“Please,” you gasp, the word breaking free from your lips in a rush. 

“Okay, okay, shh,” Dean pulls you back into him, cradling you against his chest and wrapping his arms firmly around your back, rubbing his heavy hands up and down to try to dissipate some of your shiverings. “Where can I take you, sweetheart? Gotta get you somewhere… a little more private,” he hesitates over the words, like he’s choosing them carefully. 

“Behind the bar,” you jerk your head to indicate the direction, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Rooms to stay, for… you know, in case,” you explain sheepishly, and Dean nods his understanding, not at all abashed at the idea of taking you to a back room where probably dozens of couples have mated before you. You used to hate the idea of ending up in a position so desperate that you’d need to use one of those rooms, but now you’re eternally fucking grateful for their existence. 

“Right, let’s get you to bed, omega.” The alpha ducks suddenly and sweeps an arm under your knees, catching his other behind your back and lifting you up bridal style, marching you to the door behind the bar without any further delay, and he chooses the first door he sees, kicking it shut behind him and settling you on the bed before leaving briefly and locking it behind the pair of you. 

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78

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[ravelights]

So a while back I wrote a snippet about Forced Villain Izuku receiving a villain costume; because he had been getting too reckless and almost blowing everyone cover:

https://ravelights.tumblr.com/post/676258980879892480

Since the whole snippet was about Izuku getting a villain costume I thought it be fair to show the whole costume. And the result is that it's actually not that complicated...or really "villainous" in the traditional sense. In reality it was more the weight of the meaning behind it then the actual look of the costume, that made Izuku reject it.

I do know that there will be a similar moment in We tried the world, so I can set aside some time to explain it before it's introduced in like two chapters.

Considering that I doubt the LoV would have spent a ton of money on getting Izuku a high end costume, and the fact that they are on the run, Lady Nagant and other's would basically cobbled one together that would suit Izuku skill set and quirk.

Something like a simple assassin outfit/a blackbody suit with a harness for pouches would have done the job. I head-canon that Izuku wouldn't like how tight it was, so he ask for a hoodie or something to put on top of it and that's where the white collar shirt came from, the gloves where also his request.

The only real high end technology is the bracelet's and the collar. Those bracelets would have switched into the compression gear (or at least a knock off of it) that Melissa designed for Izuku; which we've see in recent chapters.

As for the collar's purpose... spoilers.

The real kicker of the costume would be his face mask which I don't have the skills to draw, but @redoaktreehill did an amazing drawing that was like the design I was thinking of here: https://redoaktreehill.tumblr.com/post/663767701964111872

Also yes Izuku doesn't have his iconic red shoes, considering he didn't have them in prison, but they would still be red.

Overall, it was mostly for the Lov's / PLA piece of mind, so that they could better control the unstoppable ball of chaos that is Izuku Midoriya.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 12 - ao3 -

The dinner lasted until late, late enough that Lan Qiren had to make his excuses and even then only just barely got back to his room in time to fall asleep at the appropriate hour; he didn’t even have enough time to do more than remove his shoes and outer layer before his eyes had closed.

Surprisingly, unlike most social dinners in Lan Qiren’s memory, it hadn’t been awful. Most of that had been thanks to Lao Nie, whose exuberance, as he’d suspected, could carry just about any social interaction to victory. After exhausting himself in thinking of ever more increasingly ridiculous toasts and forcing Wen Ruohan to drink them – they’d switched to wine at some point, although to Lan Qiren’s relief neither offered him any – Lao Nie had turned the subject to the type of music appropriate to be played at a wedding feast, and his opinions on music were, as always, so horrifically wrong that even Lan Qiren had been lured into arguing with him.

At some point, the conversation had shifted to the subject of marriage and weddings more generally, though to Lan Qiren’s relief both men clearly considered him too young to have thoughts about his own future in that regard the way his teachers might have. Instead, they’d spoken about the origins of various wedding traditions – there were some that Lan Qiren had thought were set in stone and handed down from ancient times which Wen Ruohan could recall having seen invented within his lifetime, which was a fascinating advantage of age that Lan Qiren had not previously considered.

It was equally interesting to see Wen Ruohan at his most charming. It was not a mask that the sect leader bothered putting on very often, as far as Lan Qiren knew, and it was a mask, one that was a little loose around the edges – even Lan Qiren could tell. Wen Ruohan would say the right words a beat too late, with his eyes a little too focused and his smile a little too sharp to be believed; his quips were a little too cutting and his suggestions just a little beyond the boundaries of common decency, his cruelty and indifference leaking out around the edges of even a casual chat with people he considered friends.

But at the same time, it was difficult to deny that he was brilliant. Regardless of whether he’d obtained his superior cultivation through dark and dirty means or not, he’d been the master of his sect and about a third of the cultivation world for at least a generation already, and no one managed that without being extremely clever and more than a little ruthless.

It made for interesting conversation, if one beset with a constant feeling of danger…

“I hope you enjoyed the bed.”

Lan Qiren nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, spinning around to stare at Wen Ruohan standing just within the doorway to Lan Qiren's room – he hadn’t heard him open the door, nor close it behind him. The other man was in his wedding finery, the brilliant fiery red of his sect turned to joyous purpose, and yet there was something sinister in his self-assured smile.

“The – bed?” Lan Qiren repeated blankly, and glanced at it. “It was…fine?”

“You complained, last time,” Wen Ruohan said, continuing to stroll into the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too hard, I believe you said…I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Lan Qiren vaguely recalled having said something along those lines and blushed in shame. “It’s fine,” he said. “I slept deeply and well. Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Wen Ruohan said. “You and I are brothers, are we not? My every thought should be of you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

Before he could say anything, though, Wen Ruohan clicked his tongue lightly and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. “Your Lan sect’s formal clothing is truly a masterpiece of the embroidered arts,” he said. “A brilliant sight – especially all in white.”

Lan Qiren lowered his head, embarrassed again. If pressed, he would argue that his clothing was a little more silver than pure white, so he wasn’t actually dressed in mourning colors, but it couldn’t be denied that he was much closer than most, making it a little inappropriate for a wedding. Unfortunately, he only owned the one set of formal clothes, and there hadn’t been time to commission another; there was nothing for it.

“I like it,” Wen Ruohan said unexpectedly, his hands settling on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, smoothing out the fabric. Lan Qiren looked up and was caught by that intense red gaze. “My sect colors are red and white, after all – just like the two of us. A matched set.”

His hands burned too hot on Lan Qiren’s shoulders.

“White is a traditional color for the Lan sect as well,” Lan Qiren said, and his voice only quavered a little bit. “Anyway, it’s…mostly grey.”

“White,” Wen Ruohan disagreed. “As pristine as a pearl resting in the palm of your hand.”

His thumbs pressed lightly just by Lan Qiren’s collarbone. There were acupoints there, he thought, although he was having trouble recalling which ones or what they did.

“Yes, a pearl is truly the most apt comparison,” Wen Ruohan mused. “Simple and natural, yet shining with its own luster – I’d thought rubies, to make you fit to my taste, but perhaps pearls will suit you better.”

“I have no need for jewels,” Lan Qiren said, a little alarmed. Had Wen Ruohan really drunk so much the night before that he was still intoxicated, confusing his new sworn brother and his new bride?

“And yet I may wish to give them to you,” Wen Ruohan said. “Surely you won’t deny me – after all, I need to repay you for the charming gift you gave to me.”

Lan Qiren had a sinking feeling.

“Uh,” he said. “You saw it? Already?”

He’d searched the room briefly earlier that morning for the personal gift he’d bought for Wen Ruohan, intending on packaging the bowls away in his return clothing – why hadn’t it occurred to him to simply give it away to one of his fellow disciples, or even to trade or sell it? That way he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself by giving such a simple gift amidst all the opulent luxury of the Nightless City.

It seemed, however, that it was too late for that.

“Oh yes,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused. “A set of drinking bowls, painted with a flowing border reminiscent of vermilion birds – made by your own hand?”

“I only applied the glaze,” Lan Qiren said hastily. “There was another gift, too –”

“I have dozens of golden crowns of better make and greater utility,” Wen Ruohan said dismissively. “Such a heavy thing. If you told me that you’d picked it yourself, I wouldn’t believe you.”

“No, I did pick –”

“Without constraint? Or from a selection of predetermined choices, each one deemed ‘appropriate’?”

Lan Qiren fell silent.

“Do not tell lies,” Wen Ruohan said, rolling the familiar rule in his mouth as if tasting a wine of fine vintage. “Yes, the guan is a very appropriate gift, neither too distant nor too familiar, too rich or too restrained, perfectly reasonable yet conveying nothing, giving nothing away...I’m quite certain your brother picked it out. But you were the one who picked the bowls, weren’t you? Did you pay for them yourself?”

Lan Qiren felt certain that the conversation was leading to some sort of trap, but he didn’t know what, or how, or how to evade it. “I did,” he admitted. “With my sect allowance.”

“How many months’ worth did it cost you?”

Lan Qiren thought back, calculating. “About three?”

He’d thought to get something nice enough that he wouldn’t lose face in giving it, though naturally he’d underestimated the luxury of the Nightless City. Still, it wasn’t as though he needed the money for much, anyway. The sect supplied him with basic clothing and gear, equipment to tend to his sword and musical instruments, and even access to books; he did not buy himself too many luxuries beyond that. Other than the fees he paid for various sect purposes, it was really only the occasional trinket that caught his eye or rare books on foreign musical techniques that he purchased with his own money.

It wasn’t anything like a sacrifice, not really, but Wen Ruohan still looked pleased about it, smug and satisfied as a cat right after the hunt.

“Three months’ worth,” he murmured, and his hands which were somehow still on Lan Qiren’s shoulders slid inexorably inwards to rest on the sides of his throat. “Even assuming you were extraordinarily parsimonious, little Lan, you could only save a third at a time; that’s nine months of your life that you spent for me. Nearly a twentieth of all the months you’ve lived so far.”

What a strange way to calculate time.

It wasn’t even right, since Lan Qiren had turned seventeen in the interval and that made the interval closer to a twenty-fifth than a twentieth, but also – who thought like that, treating time like a percentage, as if it could be measured and spent like coin? Perhaps it was simply that Wen Ruohan was so old already…and perhaps that, in turn, was why he looked at him so strangely, so unnervingly –

Lan Qiren swallowed, decided he didn’t need his pride more than he needed to get away, and ducked out of Wen Ruohan’s loose grip.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready or something?” he asked, turning and pretending to fuss with his robes to avoid making eye contact. “It’s the morning of your wedding.”

“Indeed it is,” Wen Ruohan said from behind him. He was standing too close: Lan Qiren could feel his breath on the back of his head. “Tell me, little Lan – little brother. What do you think of my marriage?”

Lan Qiren hesitated.

“The truth, if you will,” Wen Ruohan added. “I would hate for the purity of our relationship to be tainted by misdirection, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to lie.”

His voice was mild and even, almost sweet, and Lan Qiren was abruptly convinced that it was far more threatening than any of Lao Nie’s rages or his brother’s ice-cold sarcasms.

“I think you made it up to distract people from swearing brotherhood with me,” he said, turning back to face his fears and sworn brother, and felt his face go red as he realized how self-involved that made him sound. But it was what he thought, and Wen Ruohan had asked him not to lie. “You made a mistake, underestimated people’s reactions, and Lao Nie yelled at you because it was affecting your reputation and mine, so you came up with a better story and made everyone else believe it.”

Wen Ruohan hummed. “What an interesting theory. You don’t think the engagement was merely kept private before being revealed at an appropriate time?”

“No.” Lan Qiren shrugged. “If I’m wrong, of course, I’m wrong. But you asked what I thought.”

“Is that why you got me a gift?” Lan Qiren, surprised, glanced at Wen Ruohan, who was still smiling. “To thank me for clearing up the mess I made of your reputation?”

“I got you a gift because you’re my sworn brother, and you’re getting married,” Lan Qiren said, bemused. “What does my reputation have to do with anything? You’re not the one making everyone gossip, and even if you were, you cleaning up something you did is only what you should do. I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

This time, Wen Ruohan gave a little huff of amusement, and he sounded almost surprised. “Charmingly blunt.”

“You told me not to lie or misdirect!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, feeling betrayed.

Now Wen Ruohan was chuckling in earnest. “Ah, little Lan,” he said. “Someone is going to get you into trouble one day, and it may very well be me…you’re right, you know.”

“What?”

“About the wedding,” he said lazily, and put a hand on top of Lan Qiren’s head. “Both in terms of motivation and timing. You’re entirely right, except for one part.”

“What part?”

His fingers tightened, the too-sharp nails digging into Lan Qiren’s scalp and pulling at his hair until his head was forced back to look up at Wen Ruohan.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Wen Ruohan said. His eyes were boring into Lan Qiren’s own, the pressure of his will strong, as insistent as his voice. “You were not a mistake, little Lan. You’re mine.”

“Of course I am,” Lan Qiren said, suddenly irritated for no reason he could tell. “Your sworn brother. Doesn’t the whole world know it by now?”

“Mm. I suppose they do.”

“And on that note,” Lan Qiren said, “what are the terms, anyway? I never got to see them.”

“The – terms?”

“Of our brotherhood! My brother confiscated the paper you gave me before I could look it over, and naturally I don’t remember, so you have to give me another copy. I think I’m entitled to one, since I’m a part of it, and presumably you did the drafting. Was it one of the classical oaths? Which clauses were included? Provisions? Curses? Was there any consideration of – stop laughing!”

Wen Ruohan had released Lan Qiren’s hair in order to brace himself on the wall, he was laughing so hard. Laughing with big laughs that came up from his belly and stuck in his throat, and no matter what Lan Qiren said he didn’t say one single thing in response. Lan Qiren eventually gave up with a huff and stormed out.

Let the irritating bastard be late to his own wedding, for all he cared.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls. 

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods. 

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires. 

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past. 

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him. 

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places. 

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease. 

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone. 

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely. 

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-" 

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue. 

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you. 

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?" 

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium. 

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back. 

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..." 

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. 

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy. 

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

[earthnashes]

Super Mario: headcanon brainstorms

HEYOOOO Ya’ll! Sorry for the slow posting as of late; outside of Patreon content I’ve been really hitting an artblock ;w; I think I’m starting to break through it though and with it comes some new ideas. Specifically, for Super Mario headcanons, which is something I’m consistently asked about. I think it’ll do me some good to switch gears for a bit too, so that I”m not focus near exclusively on LoZ anymore.

SO I figured I could share some of the base ideas and thoughts I had for the new headcanon/au to at least get myself started; a lot of this is brainstorming so subject to change, but it’s a start nonetheless! uwu Basic idea for the AU is to focus more on Modern Fantasy and Slice-of-Life, so instead of a huge grand adventure it’s more about the everyday lives of the characters and how I interpret that. owo THAT SAID, have some quick headcanon bunnies:

-The Mario crew and the Koopa Clan are basically frenemies with a friendly rivalry goin’ on. None of the plots Bowser pulls is out of any real malice and is more treated like a super intense game of “King of the Castle”l; it’s to a point where it’s basically tradition! Everyone in the Mushroom and Koopa Kingdoms are in on it.

-Bowsette is Bowser’s younger sister and, technically, co-ruler of Koopa Kingdom. However, I’d like to think that she overall hates the idea of being involved with politics and has gone off to do her own thing, much to the chargin of both her parents and the frustration of her older brother. Debating on the idea that she’s a part of a super small traveling band, trying to make it big on her own terms but thus far not really having much luck. She always phones in big bro to “borrow” from the family private treasury on promises she’ll pay back. Bowser knows she won’t but supports her anyway.

-Peach is the youngest rulers amongst the current Kingdom Leaders, having been unofficially crowned queen as a teenager (she’s currently late 20s). This is due to her father being unfit to rule in his current condition, and while he is still King his daughter has effectively taken on all of his duties. Why he is unfit to rule is something I’ve yet to decide.

-Luigi and Mario will keep their sidejobs as plumbers but they both have a secondary occupation! Mario is the acting bodyguard to Princess Peach and her best friend; he’s so good at his job due to his unassuming appearance. Luigi on the other hand owns his own bakery! He and his Yoshi companion Peppers (a red yoshi to mirror Mario’s green Yoshi friend) specialize in sweets, especially cookies, but they also bake fresh bread and bagels. uwu

-Pauline is the president of Metro Kingdom instead of the Mayor. I’d imagine Metro Kingdom is very different from any other kingdom due to it relying on popular vote over monarchy, with Pauline as the most recent leader of the Kingdom. She’d be highly popular amongst the citizens of the Kingdom and is damn good at her job. She also isn’t native to Metro Kingdom; I think I like the idea of her being originally from wherever Mario and Luigi are from before she ultimately moved to Metro Kingdom. They’re old buddies. owo

-I’m thinkin’ the Yoshi are sorta-kinda like Pokemon in terms of their role in society? They’re intelligent and in the wilds have their own basic societal structure, but in the Kingdoms (particularly Mushroom Kingdom) they are companions to the residents. A common misconception outside of the Mushroom Kingdom is that they’re pets; they are nothing of the sort.

-The Koopalings are not Bowser’s biological children but he has adopted them as his own kids. Toying with the idea that they’re teenagers and they maybe met Bowser through either a job ad during one of his bouts with the Mario crew, or perhaps he hired them all to babysit Junior (yes, all of them; Bowser is a very protective father) and it just snowballed from there. We’ll see!

-Rosalina is a goddess who makes her home amongst the stars and the Luma. She’s also pretty close to Peach; I love the idea of them having a older sibling/younger sibling vibe. I don’t think they’d be blood-related although that might change, but right now i’m trying to consider how they met... maybe Peach wished on a star when she was young, and Rosalina herself showed up? hmmmmm....

---------

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND that’s all for now folks! I think I’ve made a pretty good starting point for myself so let’s see where this takes us! owo Art will be made soon; right now I’m workin’ out a style that’ll fit the tone I want. In the meantime, feel more than free to ask any questions or comments ya might have, and thank ya for taking a read! uwu

[ateezmakemeweep]

ateez x reader; christmas drabbles

word count: ~500 each  

fluff

kim hongjoong - making cookies

the small apartment smelt of balsam and sugar cookies, soft pajamas covering your legs as you watched your boyfriend peek inside the oven for the third time in ten minutes.

it’d become somewhat of a christmas night tradition, spending the day with your families exchanging gifts, eating a big dinner and playing a card game that almost always turned into light-hearted arguments. 

but then at night, you’d leave before dessert and make your own at home. change into warm clothes, light a festive candle and enjoy the comfort and warmth of just each other. 

even if it meant yelling at hongjoong for opening the oven and delaying the cookies even more. 

“they’re gonna take longer if you keep opening it!” you whine to him from the couch, watching him turn around with a guilty expression on his face. 

you can’t help but smile, completely changing your tone as you reach your arms out to him needily. you giggle when he abandons the kitchen almost immediately, promptly collapsing on top of your lazy form. 

“i’m just excited,” he mumbles, a child-like tone in his voice that’s a bit uncharacteristic for your boyfriend. it makes you smile happily though, linking your arms around his neck.

he leans down for quick, chaste kiss, the lingering taste of wine and cookie dough on his lips. you pull away before he can deepen it, not wanting to risk burning the cookies since you put the whole batch in.

you meet his gaze and feel your breath catch in your throat at the way he’s looking at you, breath catching in your throat at the soft, fondness in them.

“i like coming home with you. it’s my favorite part of christmas, i think,” he mumbles quietly, like he doesn’t wanna risk anyone else hearing these words but you.

but it’s just you and him here. it always is on christmas night.

“what about the cookies?” you tease, fighting back the happy tears threatening to burn your eyes; because even though hongjoong is sweet, he’ll absolutely laugh at you if you start getting teary eyed from his softly spoken confessions. 

“they’re good too, i guess.”

your loud giggle fills the apartment when he places tiny, little pecks on your neck, feeling his smile on your skin before the dinging of the oven causing an excited gasp to leave your mouth. 

“they’re done but they still need to air co-”

your boyfriend was up and over to pull the cookies out before you could stop him, cringing at the way he slides the baking sheet on the cutting board without oven mitts. 

“would you be careful,” you yelp, bumping your hip into his so you could close the oven with the proper protective gear. 

your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your dramatics, taking you by the waist and plopping you up on the counter when you’re done. you let out a surprised squeal and smile when you’re face to face, bending down ever so slightly to peck his lips again. 

your mouths meet in a kiss that has hongjoong pulling you off the counter to hold you against it, your legs wrapped around tightly around his waist. 

you kiss and giggle into each other’s mouths for the perfect amount of time for the cookies to finish, pulling away quickly to grab one and shove it in your boyfriend’s face. 

he narrows his eyes but chews it regardless, munching on the soft chocolatey taste before feeding you one. 

you don’t even make it back to the living room before they’re all gone, deciding to make a batch of brownies next because “we need a snack for the movie.”

park seonghwa - christmas morning 

most mornings, you woke to an empty bed and the blaring of your alarm.

it was especially sad because no matter what your boyfriend’s schedule was, he always made sure to be home before you went to bed.

it’s why waking up without him was always that much harder, the bed cold and apartment feeling empty - this morning, however, was different in the best kind of way. 

you woke to the feel of soft pecks on your face, your eyes fluttering open in confusion when a deep chuckle tickled your skin. 

“good morning, baby. merry christmas.”

it took you a few seconds to remember what today was and why seonghwa was home. 

you can’t remember the last time he woke you up like this (apart from the two days a few weeks ago when he took off because you had a bad stomach virus). 

but right now, you’re just so overwhelmed with happiness. a smile brightening your tired face as you throw your arms around his neck and push your face into him. 

his arms come up to wrap you in a hug, a chuckle leaving his mouth again as he presses his lips to your skin. 

“i wish i could wake up to you more,” he mumbled sweetly in your ear, caught off by your reaction but also feeling his heart soar; he loves when your clingy like this, especially when you’re sleepy in bed.

“merry christmas, seonghwa,” your scratchy, morning voice mumbles softly, a smile on his face as he presses one last kiss to your lips. 

“hi, my love. you want any breakfast yet?”

you only mumble in protest, shaking your head as you push your face further into him. you feel him laugh against your head and hide your pout into his pajama shirt.

you two don’t have to go out until three p.m. so seonghwa’s quick to crawl back under the covers, settling you against him as your head becomes completely buried in his warm chest. 

he fears for a moment that you can’t breathe like this but then feels your soft breaths against him, his hand running up and down your back gently. 

it’s how he stays for the next hour and a half, switching between watching you sleep and closing his eyes. 

he never falls asleep but he’s completely at ease, warm and relaxed in bed with the knowledge that you’re safe and comfortable right beside him. 

and when you finally wake for real this time, a tiny yawn leaving your mouth as you turn in his hold, you give him the same bright smile you did when you were half asleep. 

“seonghwa,” you say happily, surprised to see him still right beside you. “you’re home.”

“of course i’m home, baby,” he says, a part of his chest hurting at the surprise on your face; after today, he’s gonna try and make it a personal mission to wake up with you more - even if it means asking to go into the studio a few hours later one or two days a week.

your next words get cut off by the growling of your stomach, an embarrassed flush crossing your cheeks that causes him to peck a kiss on both. 

“let me make you something, love.”

before you can even protest, he scoops you up and into his arms. he ignores your loud squeals and giggles as he walks into the living room, right past the presents under the tree and into the kitchen.

he places you on the counter and taps your nose lightly, watching with a small smile as you sit crossed-legged and help him pour messy pancake batter into a pan. 

it’s a lousy attempt at making the snowman pancakes you saw a video of a few days ago but they still taste good, especially because seonghwa feeds each and every one to you. 

jeong yunho - secret santa

while you were grateful for the $20 budget your friend-group’s secret santa implemented, you always had a tough time putting a cute gift together; you didn’t want it to be cheesy but you also didn’t wanna go over budget and make anyone feel bad. 

but you can even admit secretly that when you picked yunho’s name from the hat a month ago, you were heavily considering going all out. 

you had a crush on your friend for as long as you could remember, his sweet smile and bubbly spirit easily making you fall for him. 

he was like that with everyone, gave everyone soft looks and always genuinely cared for them, but it didn’t stop your silly self from falling. 

from having such an all-consuming, heart-pounding crush on him that picking out a gift for him seemed damn near impossible. 

“i’m not gonna give him my confession as a gift, are you crazy!” you squeal at your friend, embarrassed and horrified by the idea alone. “that’s so embarrassing and cheesy.”

“okay but it’s not just your confession, it’s an ornament too! and i already told you that he likes you back so it won’t be embarrassing!”

and you don’t know what the hell you were thinking, allowing your friend to drag you to the mall and pick out a cute merry christmas ornament with two pictures of you and yunho in the red and green balls. 

the first was from your first day of a college together, yunho looking as handsome as ever in a maroon sweater and bubbly smile. the second was from this past summer, when you and all your friends went on vacation to the beach.

you had accidentally matched in yellow bathing suits and were all but forced to take a picture together, your friend snapping a candid one of you both laughing in embarrassment together. 

anyone with eyes could see your gazes held such soft affection and love but both of you were too blind to see it. it’d be a christmas miracle, really, if the two of you would finally get your feelings out in the open. 

the night of secret santa came and you were absolutely terrified, shakily handing yunho your gift and watching his smile light up when he sees you had him this whole time. 

he loved the present and thanked you with a tight hug, his warm, broad chest causing your heart to flutter; but you were nervous for nothing because he didn’t flip the ornament over to reveal your hand-written “i like you.” 

not until two nights later, when you opened your apartment door to see him standing there with a wide smile and pink flush on his cheeks. 

“hey, yunho. what are you doing he-”

he cut you off with a rushed, “i like you, too,” taking in your wide-eyed expression before bending down to crash his lips against yours.

kang yeosang - ugly sweater party

the last place you wanted to be was this ugly sweater party. 

it wasn’t that you didn’t have any christmas spirit, you loved christmas and it was your favorite holiday, but the day had been unkind to you. 

tragedy after tragedy that felt you feeling like the grinch during this holiday season.

you were able to fake it for a little bit, sing along to christmas karaoke, pose for pictures in your ugly sweater, and even participate in a cookie decorating contest. 

but by the middle of the night, when the eggnog had gotten to everyone else, you were done. 

your bad day had caught up to you and you found solace in your friend’s tiny balcony, snow on the ground and the cold chill in the air not even enough to keep you away. 

you heard the door squeak open and expected your friend’s drunken voice to greet you but, instead, you heard someone very different. 

a deep, unfamiliar voice that sent chills up your spine. 

“oh. sorry. i didn’t know anyone else was out here.”

you turn around to see a boy with a not-so-ugly, ugly christmas sweater and pink hair. it’s then that you recognize him as your friend’s co-worker who won the cookie decorating contest earlier, his face as beautiful as it seems kind. 

the shy, sheepish look he throws your way is enough to soften even your grinch-like spirit tonight. 

“it’s okay.”

you know he doesn’t move for a few seconds because you don’t hear the snow crunching underneath his boots. 

but once he finally does, he sits on the other side of the balcony, dusting off one of the chairs and hissing through his teeth at the cold. 

“should’ve worn gloves,” he mumbles, almost to himself even though you let out a small chuckle.

“or maybe you shouldn’t have touched the snow with your bare hands.” 

when there’s a few beats of silence in the air, you think he took offense to your joking comment and quickly look up. there’s an amused look in his eyes and a smirk quirking at his lips, a deep chuckle that sends butterflies through your stomach finally leaving his mouth. 

“that’s very true.”

you smile at the boy and try not to feel too giddy when he smiles back, roaming his face a little bit before you decide to speak again.

“you won the cookie decorating contest, didn’t you?” 

“i did,” he smiles, a mock look of pride in his face as he nods his head. “you had the gingerbread men, right? with the wonky arms and crooked smile?”

an uncontrollable laugh bubbles out of your mouth at his retort, your hand flying to your face so you can cover your mouth - they really were wonky arms.

“yes. yes i did.”

your laughs linger for a few more seconds, yours more high-pitch and breathy while his are deep and full. 

it’s exactly what you needed tonight, a laugh to dwell all the stresses that come with end of the year shopping and last minute work projects. 

“i’m sure they were still good,” he says, a soft sweetness in his tone that makes you smirk. 

“i wouldn’t know, i didn’t get a chance to try them,” you say with a smirk.

because wonky or not, crooked smiles or not, you know they were good. the only thing you’re capable of baking is gingerbread cookies. 

“maybe because i had four of them.”

another laugh leaves your mouth and yeosang finds himself smiling again, your tongue peeking out to lick at your dry, cold lips.

“well, i’m sad to say i didn’t get to try your award winning cookies.”

a smirk crosses his face as he looks you over, slight nerves coursing through him before he decides to say fuck it and allows the next words to leave his mouth. 

“maybe one day you can,” he says lowly, a teasing softness in his eyes when he scoots closer to your chair and holds out his cold hand. “i’m yeosang.”

choi san - snowed in

when the forecast for tuesday night called for 24 inches snow, no one took it seriously. 

of course, there was a rush of people in the grocery stores taking precautions - buying bread and milk and all the necessities in the event that the weatherman was actually correct. 

but they never seemed to be right. 

only half of that usually falls, if it doesn’t turn to rain and slush by the end of then night - this time, however, they were right. 

you and san woke on wednesday morning to a blanket of snow and flakes falling from the sky, your blonde, sleepy boyfriend crawling back into bed and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“san, you have work,” you mumbled sleepily, whining to him despite the way you turned over and buried yourself in his chest; he was just so warm and comfortable, his scent surrounding you in a way you always loved. 

“no, i don’t. it snowed,” he tells you quietly, his eyes closed and lips brushing against your head. “a lot actually.”

the feeling of happiness and relief that ran through you was almost concerning, knowing that for all day and night, you got to be here with him. sleep in and dedicate your day to laying around, eating and watching tv. 

you opened your eyes to ask san which series he wanted to start today to already see him fast asleep again, breathing softly with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

you smiled at the sight and moved closer to him, hearing a content sigh leave him before your own eyes grew heavy and you were back to sleep. 

the second time san woke, it was to the smell of waffles and syrup. 

padding his way into the kitchen to see you moving happily, plopping the cooked dough on two plates as you hum and move your body side to side. 

he leaned his head against the wall and held back a laugh, bit down on his lip and smiled at the sight of you cooking and dancing so happily. 

“did you make some for me, too?”

you jumped at the sound of his voice, your screeched “jesus christ!” making a loud laugh escape him. 

he quickly made his way over to you, hugging you from behind and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he mumbled good morning to you. 

“you weren’t kidding about the snow,” you tell him, craning your neck back to look at him all wide-eyed and surprised. “there’s so much!”

“i know, right,” he says, opening his mouth with a pleading look in his eye; you roll your own but can’t resist popping a piece of waffle in his mouth, making sure to douse it in syrup first.

he hums happily at the taste before detaching himself from you, helping you clean up and finish the waffles before ushering you both away from the kitchen. 

you don’t leave your spot from the couch all day, only ever leaving for pee breaks or to refill your hot chocolate mugs. 

your body rested atop his, your head on his chest and legs between his as you listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat. 

the fireplace was crackling and your favorite christmas candle was burning, the freezing storm outside a stark contrast to the warmth inside your apartment. 

“are you falling asleep?” you hear san mumble, your heavy eyes shooting open at the teasing in his voice. 

“no,” you whine guiltily, a pout on your lips that he can’t help but kiss.

but he also can’t help when, a few moments later, he laughs upon noticing your breaths turned even and body relaxed against his. 

he takes the blanket from the back of the couch and places it on your sleeping form gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he also succumbs to a mid-afternoon nap.

song mingi - christmas eve date

“maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“we already paid for it, baby.”

“do we really wanna crack our heads open the night before christ-”

your boyfriend tugged on your hand and brought you onto the ice despite your protests, your hand tightly grabbing onto his. 

“mingi!” 

his deep chuckle echoes through the cold air, steadying your shaky legs as you two begin to navigate on the ice. 

you and mingi spent this christmas eve finishing the last bits of shopping for tomorrow, dragging him from store to store for the perfect gift for his mother.

your day was packed full of visiting both your families tomorrow, the first big holiday since you guys started dating before going to his friend’s for a christmas slumber party.

your boyfriend took one look at the ice skating rink after hours of shopping and waiting on line and knew you guys had to try it; you, however, were much more hesitant.

“i’m scared.”

“don’t be, baby, c’mon,” his deep voice whines, pulling you closer and holding onto your cold hand tighter. “i’m not gonna let you fall.”

“i think i’m more concerned about you falling,” you admit quietly, mingi rolling his eyes before he lets go of you.

you stutter on the unfamiliar ground beneath you, arms flailing and voice squealing. you’re almost positive you’re about to fall back on your ass before he loops his arm around your waist, losing his balance for a second before stabilizing.  

he can only smirk at the look on your face, eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed red as he raises his eyebrow at you. 

“me falling?” he asks sarcastically, a scoff leaving your mouth as you stick your tongue out at him.

the more time you spent on the ice, the more you got comfortable. 

you never let go of mingi’s hand but he also never tried to let go of yours, both of you skating around the rink and laughing when a certain little boy kept looping you guys.

“i swear the little shit’s doing it on purpose,” mingi growled lowly, your arm knocking into him as you suppressed the urge to laugh; it took the kid doing it three more times before almost knocking into you that mingi told him he was on the naughty list and wasn’t getting presents tomorrow.

“you can’t just say that to little kids, mingi,” you chastise as you both take off your skates an hour later, your toes aching and hands freezing. 

“he was being a showoff and almost hit you.”

you roll your eyes before throwing him a blank look, the soft look in his eye one you can’t stay mad at long - especially when he drags you off to the hot chocolate stand a block over.

you two ended the night with mugs of hot chocolate and a gingerbread cookie to share, mingi feeding you every bite before wiping the crumbs from your cold lips. 

“let’s get you home now before you freeze, baby.”

jung wooyoung - first christmas

you weren’t sure what to expect for your first christmas with wooyoung.

your first valentine’s day had been surprisingly romantic, a home-cooked meal from wooyoung that resulted in you realizing your boyfriend had talent that rivaled a professional chefs. 

your first birthday celebration with him was just as fun as it was embarrassing, him serenading you at the restaurant along with the staff and making your cheeks turn pink.

your first thanksgiving was spent with his friends who you’d grown to love, watching as him and san battled over who got to break the wishbone with seonghwa. 

something they all had in common that, while wooyoung was always sweet and loving and kind, they were extremely chaotic. something almost always happened that created some sort of disturbance in the holiday. 

he hadn’t known you were allergic to tomatoes, so the sauce he made on valentine’s day made your lips blow up. 

he’d knocked over his soda when they placed your birthday cake down at the restaurant, promptly soaking the table cloth and you.

him and san couldn’t agree on the wishbone so they both broke it into several pieces, at least ten minutes of the meal spent picking shards of bone off the floor so no one stepped on it.

that’s why you were surprised when christmas morning was... peaceful.

he woke you with a kiss on the lips and a lowly mumbled, “merry christmas, love,” the two of you lounging around in bed for so long, you were almost late for an early dinner at his parent’s house. 

wooyoung at his childhood home showed you a nice side to the boy and it was one that you loved a lot; it was every bit as loud and crazy as the other holidays you’d had with him.

him and his mom’s identical laugh and his younger siblings and cousins running around like crazy. the food nearly went up into flames because wooyoung forgot to take it out of the oven and to top it all of, you both forgot the gifts at home. 

but it was still one of the best christmases you’ve ever had.

looking up at wooyoung as you both sat on the couch and smiling softly at him, kissing his cheek as he tightened his arm around you and hummed contently against your head.

“how was your christmas, baby?” he whispered in your ear, a smile lighting up your face as you met his gaze.

“it was perfect... thanks to you,” you mumble shyly, a smirk crossing his lips as he swallows down a wise-ass remark and, instead, pecks your cheek sweetly.

choi jongho - gingerbread house

you hadn’t met to start it as a competition - the deal at the store was simply buy one gingerbread house kit, get one free.

but when jongho saw them both sitting on the kitchen table a few days before christmas, he had challenged you and you couldn’t refuse. 

it’s why you’re both currently in the predicament you’re in, sat at opposite ends of the table with christmas music on and a merry cookie candle burning to get you in the competitive christmas spirit. 

“oh... wow. interesting use of the jelly beans,” you say to jongho, peeking at his house and feeling dread pool in the pit of your stomach - how did he get them in such a perfectly straight line? 

“too bad they’re the most disgusting candy in there.”

jongho let out a scoff as he eyed your house, holding back a laugh at the icing lining the roof of your house. 

“interesting pattern on your roof. were you going for the runny look?”

your mouth dropped open and you did what any mature person would do in a gingerbread house competition - taking the nearest bag of candy and flinging it at your boyfriend’s head. 

a look of shock and mock anger crossed his face before he shook his head. 

your eyes widened when you saw him rise from his seat and you immediately took off, trying to run into the living room before he quickly caught you around the waist.

you giggled and flailed in his hold as he demanded an apology from you, demanded for you to tell him that his use of jelly beans was smart and that they weren’t a disgusting addition to his house.

even though you have a distaste for them, you love your boyfriend, so you rose up on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“you did a good job. i did better but you did good, too.”

“we’re not even done so i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you were able to last at the table for 30 more minutes before a quarrel broke out again, this time your bag of candy bouncing off his gingerbread roof. 

your mouth dropped open when it messed up his icing and he could tell by the way your face paled that you thought you really messed up now; it’s why he simply plucked the tiny part of his own chimney off and took a bite out of it, a loud laugh leaving you as you ran over to plop down on his lap.

you opened your mouth awaitingly and he narrowed his eyes in mock thought, placing the cookie in your mouth when you whined a tiny “please,” that made a smile light up his face. 

despite the hard work and fleeting motivation, neither of you had any issue taking your houses apart to eat them and all of the candy - minus the jelly beans that jongho made sure to set aside for himself.

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @chrryhwa @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo @nlost21 @toffee-hwa @hyunjeansuniverse @cherryeonii​ 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Written In Stone

I wanted to write more of this today, but I have been so busy it just isnt going to work, so hopefully it will be good where I left off

The GA Rapid Response Scientific Unit landed planetside at 0800 hours Earth time. They were at least ten miles away from the nearest anomaly: what the scientific nerd people had deemed those strange alien settlements before they had learned that they were settlements at all. Admiral Vir --piloting the craft as was his want -- felt the smooth metal of the landing struts ease against the unbroken metallic surface that was the ground. The ship roared and likely echoed like a thunderclap outside as he eased the ship down into position and then cut the engine listening to the soft pop and whirr as the hot metal began to cool. Inside his helmet, he could hear his own breath sharp and focused inside the enclosed space.

Behind him in the craft, the scientists were unbuckling themselves from their seats and stewing gear on the uniforms, the small Tesraki looking like children when compared to their much taller human counterparts. Outside the window a thick red mist had settled over them, momentarily blown away by the power of the engine, only to come descending slowly down from above to settle back over them with the most insidious slowness.The first wave of scientists moved towards the airlock, and he let them go ahead with a group of marines, waiting for the last person to exit before finally following after.

The door cracked open before him with a sharp hiss, as red mist spilled into the room and he stepped outside his footsteps echoing loudly on the smooth metal of the planet’s surface. 

The scientists had already gotten to work hauling the cargo from the storage units on the side of the ships, and dragging long crates onto hoering trollies. The sound they made in the immense space was deafening, a ruckus clattering that echoed up all around them.

It put his teeth on edge to hear that sort of noise in such a space,.

It felt, wrong somehow, and he wasn’t even really sure why.

Like screaming in a cathedral during service. Granted, some people might have found that sot of thin funny, but he sure didn’t, to him it seemed as if they were befowling some sort of sacred space by simply being there, and the least they coil do after that was to at least be quiet. The Tesraki, and the Vrul didn’t seem to notice the strange atmosphere around tem, but by looking at the other humans, he could tell he wasn’t the only one who could feel it.

He watched them shift nervously on their feet as great wafts of red cloud billowed in around them.

So it wasn’t just him?

Or maybe it was everything that had happened the night before.

Either way he felt as if their alien counterparts weren’t exercising nearly enough caution. He paused a moment at that thought thinking how odd it was for him, as a human of all things, to be thinking that. Usually it was the other way around, but somehow, now, based on a lack of that inherent sense of pending doom, the Aliens were moving without due caution.

Soon enough the screeching of their metal tools and boxes being dragged over the ground was just too much for him to handle, and he stepped forward, “I think it might be best if we kept the noise to a minimum.” His voice was tinny over the comms, and even through the visors of the suits he could see the aliens staring at him in confusion.

“What do you mean, Admiral.”

He sighed searching for words to define a meaning he couldn't quite understand evanescent like smoke, it seemed to fade every time he tried to grasp at it.

He turned to look at Krill, who had paused to watch him, shrewdly through the visor of his helmet. He wasn’t much of a traditional scientist, but he had insisted on coming along as the crew medic in case something happened. 

He switched his comm over so only Krll could hear

“I don’t know krill, Something just feels off here, like we are being watched, and I get the feeling that the noise…. Well the noise is only attracting attention.”

Krill paused for a long moment, And Adam stared at him pleadingly through his visor, though he knew the little alien couldn’t see his face, all around him the other aliens were looking on in concern not sure what was happening. He would have explained it to them, but knew --unlike Krill-- they weren’ likely to understand.”

Krill nodded and turned to the others, “Keep as quiet as you can.”

They nodded in confusion, but     the noise from then on was greatly reduced, though every slight scrape put his teeth on edge.

He spent most of his time halfway in between the marines and the Scientific crew, making himself useful wherever he could find use, either carrying things or anxiously watching out into the mist with his rifle cradled in both arms. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, he wished that Sunny was there to watch his back. He felt horribly exposed in the mist, and knew that if she had been here he would have felt more confident.

Despite being surrounded by marines, he would have traded them for Sunny any day of the week.

Well, he would have preferred having all of them all at once, but rarely does one get what tey want.

With the scientific tools placed on the hovercart, Adam, lifted the ground Radar he had pilfered from one of the boxes, turning it on and pointing it in the direction of tier final destination. The Radar made a light clicking noise almost like a geiger counter, but he could tell from its alerts that they weren’t yet close to anything substantial.

He set the frequency of his actual geiger counter to a different sort of clicking noise

There was some radiation here, and while the suit protected him from cosmic rays on a regular basis, he would till rather know what kind of environment he was getting himself into. He adjusted the machine, and maverick watched him from some interest, where she stood to the side of the group, the smallest human, but still taller than all of the Tesraki there.

“Since when did you know how to work all the sciency shit.”

“Since I took the time to learn.”

“I thought you were a flight jock, not a science nerd.”

“Why not be both.” he muttered, kicking on the anti grav fields around his boots, and skating around to the other side of the hover car. He liked moving like this, it was nearing complete silence. Clearly Ramirez enjoyed it as well, considering the man couldn’t help from doing little spins and pirouettes like he was back on ice again.

As long as he was quiet about it, Adam could hardly complain, and took his position near the front side of the hovercade rifle still cradled in a sling before his chest, hand resting lightly on the grip. His finger stroked the trigger guard but never the trigger, and he kept his eyes out on the red mist before tem.

From there they began to move, about twenty strong, most of the aliens riding on the hover cart, while the humans scared along beside reaching speeds that seemed to make the aliens nervous. Krill held onto the back of Adam’s suit floating around behind him like some sort of demented baloon. Adam would have laughed if he wasn’t so on edge, especially with the way the other vrul looked at him with such concern and confusion.

Eventually his radar clicking began to speed up, and he looked down at the detector to find a small cluster of those monoliths appearing on the horizon. They were close, at least close enough that the curvature of the planet was no longer getting in their way. The red mist still obscured their vision mostly, but he kept them going, stopping only as the  first hulking shadow came into sight, or not stopping but slowing down, knowing that the structure was large enough that it would probably be a while before they actually reached it.

They Stopped about 100 yards away close enough to notice a large pile of rubble at the center of the little cluster of monoliths. There were no floating monoliths here, and the strange metallic grating noise that had followed him on his first trip to this planet was now all but silent. 

They unloaded the tools onto smaller hover wagens, one to every scientist.

Adam was handed a couple of tools they thought he could handle, mostly busy work to do the things that the scientists didn’t want to do but still needed to do to cover all their bases. He didn’t mind. He liked having something to do, and he supposed this was the best place to learn: the bottom.

He moved with them across the billowing landscape, which was marginally less foggy now, giving them a view of the entire monolith structure.

Something seemed…. Strangely familiar about it, though he couldn’t have said what. It had nothing to do with his last visit, but something…. Deeper. At any moment he expected a voice to ring out through the echoing and billowing darkness, but none came.

Instead, a beam of light passed over them from the distant Sun, and a waft of blue fog rolled in from the left, darkening things as soon as they seemed to have lightened

The scientists fanned out to either side, and Adam made his way down the middle, towards the large pile of rubble. The marines fanned out with the scientists, one marine to every nerd. He was surprised to find he had his own marine, and looked back over his shoulder to find Ramirez’s familiar space suit following him at a distance, nervously glancing around at the towering black structures that dominated the landscape.

Adam could hardly blame him. He felt the same way.

Together they walked forward to the pile of rubble. It was most just the same black material that happened to make up the rest of the structures, and, carefully, he stepped off the metal and into the rubble, using the instruments to examine the rock, running his machine over, and then under and then over. It whirred, but didn’t make the noise he was looking for. He examined the rock closely, noticing the even grain of the broken pieces, and bagging one for a sample.

Perhaps he was biased, but it certainly didn’t look natural.

Then again there were plenty of minerals that grew in ways that didn't seem natural, so maybe he was just kidding himself. Ramirez hovered at his back nervously shifting from foot to foot and staring around at the sky and rolling mist.

“I don’t like this.” he muttered 

“That makes you and everyone human here.” He responded, running the machine over the rock as he climbed a little further up, or maybe it was metal…. Or somewhere in between? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t rock just like…. Fancy metal.

He sighed, some scientist he was, not even really sure what the difference was between rock and metal other than metal was…. Stronger or some shit, or rock was made up of a bunch of different metals and non metals while metal was….. Just what it was.

He made it to the top of the rock lost in his thoughts when there was a sudden whirring from the machine.

He looked down in shock and surprise only to find his machine resting right over something…. Something that certainly was not natural. He forze and stared.

Looked away and then looked back….. Back at the strange markings on the rock. 

Strange markings that could be mistaken as nothing else, other than writing.

“Find something?” Ramirez radioed in, but Adam didn’t answer staring at te strange script before him.

He rubbed his eyes, looked away, and then turned back, rubbing them again.

He felt…. Very strange, and the letters seemed to spin before him morphing and warping even as he looked.

His eyes ran along the line of text.

And so with knowledge they did pass away.

He blinked again staring at the letters that made…. No objective sense but, yet, every time he looked at them he read the same line, no…. It wasn’t really reading though was it. Every time he looked at those words, he UNDERSTOD what they were saying.

He shook himself. No, he was just crazy, and hi mind was playing tricks on him.

“Ramirez, come here.” he ordered.

He heard the slight rattling ehind him as Ramirez clambered up the rock andpaused over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that.”

“Writing of some kind. What do you make of it.”

He stared at Ramirez very intently for a few seconds as the other man took a look, “Gibberish to me, some kind of alien language?”

Adam cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah, I…. Guess.” e turned to his comm to transm.

“I have something.”

“What did you find.”

“Some kind of…. Weird alien writing, I don’t know. Better send someone over.”

It wasn’t long until one of the scientists jogged over followed by maverick. The two of them climbed up onto the pile of rock, and the alien knelt before it in surprise and great interest eyes scanning over the text, “I think you have found something, Admiral.”

As he watched, Adam saw Maverick press a hand to the outside of her helmet.

He opened the cop to her.

“Mav?”

“Yeah boss?”

“Are you seeing….”

“And so with knowledge hey did pass away?”

“Shit.”

“You see it too?”

“Yeh.”

“And Ramirez.”

“Just sees scribbles.”

The two of them stood there staring at each other awkwardly. Green mist rolled in from the lef and it was very suddenly that Adam felt, a strange sensation rising up inside him, a sensation that maverick seemed to feel as well as she stood and the two of them turned towards the pile of rubble. The scientist and Ramirez called out in surprise as Adam and Maverick pushed past them, and began frantically digging through the rubble with their hands.

They flipped over large blocks of stone grabbing the pieces with strange writing and dragging them down from the rubble and onto the ground where they began to arrange them. The other scientists began running over as the commotion started.

A few of the marines tried to pull Maverick and Adam back, some of them pausing to stare at the strange alien letters only to suddenly turn and join their companions while others stood there in confusion unsure of what was going on.

By the end Adam knelt at the bottom of the rubble with maverick behind him and a few of the marines ranged around.

Together they read.

“And so with knowledge they did pass away

And pillars of stone were left by them

And light came before them 

And the host surrounded them 

Until they were brought up

And none were left save pillars of stone

Woah be unto those who find this stone and read” 

[twstarchives]

Star Send-Off Garments・Voice Lines

● Event: Wish Upon A Star (August 28 - Sept 14, 2020) ● Exclusive Cards: Deuce, Ortho, Idia, Trey

Ortho’s outfit is called “Stargazer Gear,” instead of “Star Send-Off Garments” like the others.

Trey Clover - R

Unlock Card “I feel tense wearing the Star Send-Off garments. I suppose this is the ‘weight’ a traditional costume carries.”

Groovy “Nothing’s wrong with having a realistic wish.”

Home Setting “They’re so fluttery... These clothes don’t feel that secure.”

Home Transitions “I once used my allowance to buy my little brother a ticket to a magift game so he could live out his wish of seeing one live.”

“You think this school has too many traditional events? Haha, don’t say that. This school has been around for a very long time, so it makes sense.”

“Next, you do a... there. I can’t get lazy with practicing. I haven’t danced in front of an audience since elementary school.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “A Stargazer, huh? Since they picked me to be one, I guess... I just have to do it.”

Home Taps “I never thought I’d get picked to be a Stargazer. The Headmaster said it’s based off astrology, but... is there really no other reason?”

“It’s really hard using an oven in the hot weather. I wish all the desserts for our tea parties could be ice cream...”

“They say the puppet boy’s nose would grow every time he told a lie. You’d be in trouble if you had that kind of curse on you, wouldn’t you?”

“Ortho is so honest and loveable. But then there comes a time where he’ll switch into trying to fire his laser beam...”

“Are you looking at my tassels? They’re supposed to look like shooting stars if you do the Star Send-Off dance correctly.”

Idia Shroud - SR

Unlock Card “Right, and now we’ll officially get to be the laughing stocks of the whole school. Good job everyone.”

Groovy “Wishing upon a star, huh...? I don’t believe my dream would come true anyway.”

Home Setting “This looks like something a loud person would wear... This is torture.”

Home Transitions “My wish is to vanish from this event along with the stardust... I’m kidding; I’m going. I swear I’m really doing it!”

“I’ve made wishes on stars with Ortho before, for things like having all the candy I want, or playing games as much as I want. How innocent this humble otaku was back then!”

“Sir Trey is so calm and mature. Well, sure he looks like that, but I dunno what he’s thinking deep down.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’m a... Stargazer...? Nonononono! Absolutely not, please!”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Could you take my place for me? I'm sure even someone of your caliber could handle banging a drum! ...Huh? ...Are you mad?”

Home Taps “There’s no way a wooden puppet could turn into a real human. Miracles only happen in fairy-tales for plot convenience.”

“S-Stop looking so curiously at me... I mean, I know these stick out compared to my usual clothes, but still.”

“Look at this traditional costume. It’s got all kinds of stars all over it! You can see how people in the old days were drawn so badly to space.”

“So, collecting Wishing Stars... Having to talk to everyone has been an impossible mission from the start. I’m tired.”

“Hey, you know... If you have enough time to keep annoying me, maybe you should be a Stargazer in my place.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Hah? You want to post a picture of me looking like this on Magicam? It’ll just be sad without anyone reacting to it, so forget it.”

Ortho Shroud - SR

Unlock Card “I am calculating the optimal route for increasing the possibility of our wishes coming true.”

Groovy “Above the clouds, at the ends of the universe... I can fly anywhere at all!”

Home Setting “Now initiating preparations to break through the atmosphere.”

Home Transitions “You know, Big Brother and I used to count stars together in the past! Should I tell you how many stars there are?”

“I heard the puppet who came to life went on a big adventure that led him all the way to a whale’s stomach. I wish I had an attachment that would let me go underwater~”

“The number of trials you do is important when analyzing data. Deuce Spade told me it’s important to always think about your wishes too!”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Part change complete. I will now begin to operate from my attachment designed for breaking through the atmosphere, the Stargazer Gear.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “I wonder what everyone wished for… Would your wish be to go back to your original world?”

Home Taps “The Stargazer Gear was created with powerful heat-resistant material, so I’m able to get past the atmosphere without damaging my body.”

“It’s too bad Big Brother didn’t have one of the dancing roles. He’s always yelling and dancing around his room while looking at his tablet!”

“In the past, the alignment of the stars was considered very significant. Is that kind of like what they call horoscopes nowadays?”

“This gear is decorated with lots of stars! It looks just like everyone’s Star Send-Off garments, doesn’t it?”

“Request approved. Now launching a beam to obliterate space debris. 5... 4... 3... Hehe, just kidding!”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I might even be able to take you to the ends of the night sky! Don’t be shy! Ah... But it might be too dangerous for living people.”

Deuce Spade - SSR

Unlock Card “Wish upon a star... And trust that your dream will someday come true.”

“I’m going to try my hardest at every event we have. ‘Cause I’m striving to be an honors student!”

Groovy “Since I was given the important role of being a Stargazer, I have to take the responsibility to carry this out!”

Home Setting “Shah! I’m gonna make the Star Send-Off a success!”

Home Transitions “The puppet boy got himself into a horrible mess when he tried skipping school. Maybe you should tell this folk tale to Grim.”

“The Star Send-Off garments aren’t embarrassing to me, but I have one problem with them. The ends... are so easy to step on. It’s dangerous.”

“I keep stumbling over my feet when I practice the dance! And here I thought I had good reflexes...”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Have you been collecting Wishing Stars over there? Come let me know if you ever run into trouble.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “My dreams for the future... I’m definitely going to make them come true someday. So when that happens, come celebrate with me!”

Home Taps “Shroud’s vocabulary is full of words I’ve never heard before. Are they all technical PC terms?”

“I used to make wishes with my mom when I was in elementary school. This brings me back.”

“I heard my birthday is the luckiest day of the year this year. That’s why they gave me fancier accessories than my seniors.”

“All stars look the same to me, so I’m bad at astrology... What? ‘I’m also bad at all my other subjects’? Kgh...”

“Don’t come near me! ...When I was practicing my dance just now, I accidentally hit Clover and knocked him over...”

Home Tap (Groovy) “It's just childish to think that working hard is something to be ashamed of. If anyone tries to make fun of you for it, don’t listen to them.”

Duo Magic Deuce: Let’s actually start going now, Shroud! Idia: You don’t have to tell me, Deuce. I was already planning on it!