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switchypanic · 2 months

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Wishful Thinking || A 'Hazbin Hotel' Tickle Fic (100 Follower Special)

Summary: Vox's obsession with Alastor is no secret, but the true extent and nature of said obsession is an entirely different story. As his thoughts grow increasingly consumed by his rival, Vox finds it harder and harder to think about anything else, ultimately coming to a head with a very interesting discovery.

Content Warnings: Canon-typical language, brief mild violence, use of restraints, a lil' bit of blackmail, and Vox being a thirsty bitch for Alastor (because we love a good dose of one-sided attraction). Also, not really a warning, but any scenes that take place in somebody's head are in blue and italics (you'll see what I mean as you read).

Word Count: 3,669 words.

Vox couldn't fucking stand Alastor.

His stupid smile, his stupid voice, those stupid powers that allowed him to crush anyone in his way like an insect. The man was infuriating, always acting so calm and in control, even after Vox managed to get the drop on him that fateful day seven years ago. It was like nothing could touch him in any MEANINGFUL way, a fact that frustrated Vox to no end.

Yes, Alastor was nothing but a big pain in the ass, constantly doing anything in his power to screw with Vox, oftentimes broadcasting it for the entirety of Pride to witness.

Worst of all was the way that he infiltrated Vox's processor, filling his head with fantasies he had no way of controlling without shutting himself down completely. And it wasn't even intentional! That bastard had no idea what he was doing, or if he did, he gave no indication of it! No, he just kept on smiling that stupid grin, making those passive aggressive remarks, acting like he wasn't the thing consuming Vox's mind nearly twenty-four hours a day.

Vox watched the surveillance footage captured earlier that morning, feeling his breath hitch at the staticky image being displayed. He could just barely make out Alastor's form through the distortion (another thing that Vox hated about him; the bastard made it damn near impossible to get a clear image of him), standing outside the doors of little Princess Morningstar's hotel discussing something unintelligible with that winged cat sinner who often hung around him.

Through the grainy audio, he could just make out Alastor barking out a laugh, the sound itself laced with static and radio interference. The deer demon's shoulders shook, his ears pinning back slightly as he chortled, his companion letting out an irritated huff in response.

How many times had Vox watched the clip now? He had honestly lost count. He didn't know why he kept returning to that particular moment of footage; nothing particularly useful or interesting was occurring. Just a regular conversation, from what he could tell. There was just...something in the other overlord's moment of mirth that captured his full attention, setting something ablaze within the TV demon.

More; he wanted to hear more.

The lights flickered, the sound of screeching radio filling the air, accompanied by something entirely different.

Giggling, pure and hysterical.

Alastor lurched forwards, hands latched onto Vox's wrists as he tried to lean forward and away from the other demon, who held him firmly against his chest. "Rehehehehelease me at ohohohohonce!" The usually composed overlord was a mess, face tinted a bright shade of red, eyes crinkled with mirth as another wave of snickers shook his frame. "Shihihihihihihit!"

Vox chuckled, leaning forward to croon into Alastor's ear, which immediately flicked at the feeling of the other's warm breath. "What's the matter, old man? Too ticklish?" He sang, smirk widening. "What would the public think, knowing the famed Radio Demon is so...sensitive..." He growled the last part, low and teasing, resulting in a shriek of microphone feedback from Alastor. "Perhaps I should turn on some of my cameras, hm? I doubt you could focus on messing with them while your giggling so hard. I could let all of Hell know just how much of a ticklish little-"

Vox blinked, pulled from his daydream by a raised brow from Velvette. "Vox, are you listening to me? This is important shit! I need to make sure you're on top of the advertisements for my new collection if we are going to see any substantial sales!"

Vox cleared his throat, trying to urge his screen to COOL THE FUCK DOWN before his flusteredness became obvious. "Apologies, I seem to have gotten distracted. You were saying, my sweet?"

Vox chuckled, watching his rival's squirming form, bound to the chair with the purest grade of angelic steel money could buy.

Only the best for this occasion.

"Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in!" Vox laughed, walking in circles around Alastor, taking in every detail of the scene before him. He was going to relish thing; savor it. He had waited so long to have the other at his mercy, and now he was going to take his sweet time and ENJOY the fruits of his labor. "You've lost your touch, old timer! It was far too easy to catch you in my little trap."

Alastor's eyes narrowed, grin tightening in a clear show of displeasure. "You would do well to remember who you are speaking to." He retorted, chin raising defiantly as Vox finally stopped in front of him.

"Oho, I remember good and well. I'm talking to the prick who has done nothing but make my life harder ever since he arrived here, and I'm going to see to it you feel every second of what's coming next." He leaned forward, locking eyes with the other overlord as he gave a grin of his own, his far more devious. "Little buck."

Vox's hand's shot out, latching onto Alastor's ribcage and beginning to claw at the boney torso. Alastor's breath hitched, his eyes widening with alarm. His grin became more strained as he jerked forward, trying to curl inwards on himself. His breathing became sporadic, lips sealed shot as a wobbly, genuine smile began to curl at the corners of his mouth. "F-Fuhuhuck!"

The TV demon laughed lowly. "Trying to hold out, are we? We'll see how long that lasts..."

Vox awoke with a start, his screen turning on as he bolted up in bed. His eyes were wide, immediately flicking over to Valentino, who lay beside him. Thankfully, the moth was still sound asleep, snoring loudly without a care in the world. Vox sighed, running a hand across his face and feeling the heat of a blush under his palm.

Damn it, this was starting to get out of control!

Vox was going mad! No matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts, they always returned back to those deep, hidden desires playing out over and over in his processor. He found himself constantly thinking about Alastor's smile, his laugh, the prospect of taking him down with a few well placed squeezes or prods. To make matters worse, Vox was having a hard time FUNCTIONING at work because of this, and he could tell the other Vees were starting to catch on that something was up.

The TV demon rung his hands together, pacing back and forth in his private office. He had to find a solution FAST or he was royally screwed!

'Damn you, Alastor!’ Vox thought, a small growl slipping out as he rubbed his forehead, flopping into his chair and turning to face one of the many spying monitors plastered to the wall. "Pull up what we have on the Hazbin Hotel." He grumbled, giving in to his urge to spy on his rival once more. Inside, he secretly hoped to catch another fleeting moment of mirth from Alastor, even if it was just a chuckle.

Three monitors came to life, showing the hotel from various angles, with one focused directly on the front entrance. Aside from his...ongoing interest in the Radio Demon, Vox liked to keep tabs on who was going in and out of the hotel, just to make sure the princess wasn't gaining any more powerful allies he needed to know about. The scene was serene, or at least as serene as a live feed of Hell COULD be, nothing out of place. It seemed luck wasn't on Vox's side, as Alastor was nowhere to be seen. The TV host felt his eye twitch in irritation, disappointment stirring within him.

"You motherfucker! This is a brand new suit!" Vox yelled angrily as Alastor dodged another of his attempts to strike him.

The Radio Demon let out an amused chuckle (though unfortunately not the kind of laugh Vox had been secretly craving), one flick of his microphone sending three tentacles darting at Vox from different directions, which the other barely managed to avoid. "Really? Could have fooled me with how tacky and outdated it looks." The redhead retorted smugly.

"Oh, fuck you! I'll wipe that shit-eating grin off your face!" Vox retorted, giving up on using his powers in favor of lunging for the deer demon himself.

Alastor took a step back, Vox's claws just barely grazing the sides of his neck. The radio host opened his mouth, as if to make another snide remark, but whatever he said died in his throat and was replaced by a startled crack of microphone feedback. The two demons froze, eyes widened as they stared at each other wordless for a moment.

"What the fuck was-" Vox started, but in the blink of an eye, Alastor was gone and their fight was seemingly over.

"I mean, seriously?! What the fuck WAS that?!" Vox asked himself, finding himself pacing around his private surveillance room once more. "He never runs from a fight with me! Shit, he only ran from Adam because he was about to fucking die! He was nowhere near that point today!"

Did Vox somehow managed to hurt him? No, he had thrown far worse at the Radio Demon before without leaving so much as a scratch. He had BARELY touched him, and even with his claws, it couldn't have possibly hurt. So what...

The TV demon stopped, eyes shooting wide open as his breath quickened. No...no fucking way...

Alastor was ticklish. Not just in Vox's mind's eye, not just in his secret fantasies. He was actually, tangibly ticklish, and going from the reaction one brief touch had garnered, horrifically so.

Vox's processor raced at the prospect. He had been daydreaming about turning the other overlord into a cackling puddle, wheezing for mercy through a cracked voice, but he had never actually imagined it was possible! Vox got the feeling this discover was only going to make his daydreaming problem worse, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Alastor was TICKLISH...

'There has to be some way I can...some trick I can pull to...' Vox's mind raced, barely able to finish a sentence. He HAD to have the other now, even if just for a brief instance. Vox NEEDED to feel that high of reducing his mortal enemy to giggling shambles; to know what it felt like to be the one to finally BREAK the feared Radio Demon. But how?

Obviously the heat of battle wasn't the best place, though it would ensure a public audience to witness his victory. He doubted Alastor would agree to a private meeting, especially after their most recent fight. And there was CERTAINLY no way Vox was going to lower himself enough to go crawling to Princess Morningstar's little hotel. No, Vox was going to have to come up with another solution.

"Something on your mind?" A voice purred from behind him, low and dangerous. Vox yelped, whipping around with widened eyes. From one of the darkened corners of the room, Alastor seeped out of the shadows, grin ever present but appearing more strained than usual. Vox felt a nervous lump form in his throat.

"What the fuck?! How did you even get in here?!" He yelled, immediately moving to hit the alarm button on his control console, only to find his wrist being suddenly restrained by a shadowy tentacle sprouting from the floor.

"Ah, ah!" Alastor tutted, taking a few steps forward. "None of that. I just want to talk." He cocked his head to the side. "And as for how I got in, let's just say your security is shockingly terrible for a demon of your status."

Vox's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick." He growled, attempting to put on a brave face and save a bit of his pride.

"Kill you? Why, I'm planning to do no such thing, at least not today! After all, to defeat one's rival in such a disgraceful, sneaky manner would not be becoming of either of us, would it?" Alastor chuckled, moving closer to Vox as another tentacle grabbed ahold of his other wrist, keeping the TV demon rooted firmly in place. A flash of green magic briefly passed over Alastor's eyes as he chuckled. "Though it would be quite easy for me to do so with you sooo defenseless."

Vox's brows furrowed in confusion. "Then why the hell are you here?"

"Like I said, I just want to talk." Alastor leaned forward, maintain eye contact with the shorter demon. "To ensure that you keep your trap shut about matters which do not concern you."

"What are you going on about?" Vox sighed, clearly irritated by the other's continued vagueness. He continued to stare at the other demon, who merely continued to watch him wordlessly, before it dawned on him. "You're worried I'm gonna tell somebody you're fucking ticklish?"

Alastor's eye gave the slightest twitch. "Sensitive." He corrected.

"I'm pretty sure you're ticklish." Vox retorted, taking some delight in his rival's clear displeasure. "And what makes you think holding me hostage in my own office would stop me from mentioning it during my next broadcast? You can't keep me like this forever."

The sound of microphone feedback briefly overtook the air around him, making Vox wince at the volume and pitch. "No, I can't keep you here indefinitely, but I can provide you with a little incentive to keep your trap shut." One of the tentacles coiled further down Vox's arm, the end gently brushing over the trapped overlord's armpit. Vox tensed, breath hitching as his eyes grew wide as saucers. "You see, don't think I haven't noticed your own sensitivity, Vox. In fact, I've known about it for some time."

Shit.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! Get the fuck away from me!" Vox stammered, eyes locked onto the other's devious smirk.

"Oh, come now, don't be shy! It's not as if it was especially hard to find out about! We have fought so often, categorizing your little weak points was easy enough to accomplish!" Alastor took a step closer as the shadowy tentacle began to stroke Vox's armpit more firmly, slowly moving up and down in an agonizingly teasy motion. "I will admit, it took me some time to figure out why you often flinched at the slightest of touches during battle. However, all it took was witnessing one little tickle fight at the hotel to make everything fall into place."

Another of Alastor's tentacle slipped up, beginning to tweak at Vox's side, causing him to bite down on his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back snickers. "Those weren't the reactions of a man barely avoiding a fatal blow, those were the reactions of a man trying oh so hard to keep from giggling."

Vox felt his screen heating more and more by the second, both from embarrassment and the effort to keep his laughter bottled up. What the fuck was happening?! How was this real life?! The TV demon lurched forward, straining against the restrains as a particularly well-placed prod to his hipbone pulled a soft snort out of him. "Shuhuhut the fuck up!"

"Being stubborn, are we? I expected nothing less." Alastor chuckled, clearly amused. "Perhaps I should take a page from Angel Dust's playbook then, hm?" The other overlord suddenly materialized behind Vox, melting from the shadows and resting a clawed hand on the back of Vox's head. His grip tightened, pulling Vox's head backwards as he crooned into his ear. "Coochie coochie coo..."

Vox just about short circuited at that, the sound of loud television static filling the air. As Alastor's free hand suddenly dug into his stomach, he couldn't hold back any longer, bursting into a wave of panicked giggles. "Ohohohoho shihihihihihit!" The flood gates had opened, and Vox had no hope of closing them again, no matter how hard he tried.

"Lovely." Alastor seemed quite pleased with himself, clawed fingers scribbling across his rival's exposed midriff as the tentacles (thankfully) stopped their own attacks, now focusing on holding the TV demon nice and still.

"Fuhuhuhuhuck you! Lehehehehet mehehehe go!" Vox tried to sound threatening, he really did, but that was impossible when every word was laced with titters. He squirmed desperately, attempting to curl inwards and protect his sensitive torso, but the restraints held firm. His voice raised in pitch as Alastor zeroed in on his upper stomach, just below the ribs, refusing to acknowledge the borderline squeal he made.

"And why would I do that? I have you right where I want you; nice and helpless..." There was a low growl to Alastor's words, both threatening and teasing in the most awful of ways, sending Vox further spiraling into flusteredness. His claws began to slowly inch upwards, like a spider slowly climbing towards prey trapped in its web. "From what I have gathered, your ribs seem to be an area you're quite desperate to defend during our little fights. I wonder why that could be, hm?"

The TV host began shaking his head furiously. "Dooohohon't yohohohou fucking dahahahahare! I'll kihihihihihihill you!" He snorted, the sound of television static increasing ever so slightly.

"Oops, too late!" Alastor's claws dug in, beginning to rake across Vox's rib cage slowly, moving up to just below the armpits before cascading back down to just above the stomach.

Vox screeched, thrashing becoming downright desperate as he threw his head back with laughter. "NOHOHOHOHOHOOO! OHOHOHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAD, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!" His cooling systems had kicked in, the fans whirling loudly as they attempted to cool down his quickly heating form. "NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHERE!"

Alastor chuckled devilishly. "Why Vox, you should know better! Everyone knows that saying "not there" only makes the attack want to exploit that spot even more." He hummed, mockingly pretending to think. "Perhaps you DID know, and you're just enjoying this so much you want me to keep going? Is that it?"

The other overlord let out a startled squeal at the feeling of something fiddling with his antenna; when had ANOTHER tentacle popped up?!

Vox face felt like it was on fire from the teasing, his laughter pitching up with flustered desperation. "SHUHUHUHUT THE FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK UP! THAHAHAHAT'S NOHOHOHOHOT TRUE!" He denied vehemently, knees starting to go weak. After a moment, his legs gave out, but instead of slumping to the floor, Vox found himself being held up by Alastor's sentient shadow. The creature's grin widened, becoming downright feral as it let out an amused cackle at his plight.

"Whatever you say, old pal! Now, if you REALLY want this to stop, you will agree to keep what you discovered today between us alone." Alastor rested his chin on Vox's shoulder, the touch shooting a bigger shock through his nervous system than any tickling ever could. "Do we have a deal?"

Vox's processor was racing a thousand miles a minute. Fuck, why was this actually fucking fun?! What was wrong with him?! He knew he should have hated it; the powerlessness, the teasing, the terror of being so utterly defenseless in front of his greatest rival. Yet...he didn't hate it, a fact he found more flustering than any tease Alastor could have pulled out of his ass.

No, Vox did NOT want it to stop.

Still, if Vox DIDN'T give in, it would only confirm the assumption deer demon had so accurately deduced, and he wasn't sure his heart would be able to take the cruel, crooning teases Alastor would no doubt come up with upon such a revelation. When weighing the humiliation of yielding to Alastor to the humiliation of admitting that he was ENJOYING getting tickled to the brink of his sanity, Vox would take the former any day.

"FIHIHIHIHINE, HOHOHOHOHOLY SHIHIHIHIHIT! DEAL, DEHEHEHEHEEEEAL!" He screeched, a little wheeze slipping out as one of the tentacles tugged on his sensitive antenna. "JUHUHUST STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP, YOU BAHAHAHAHASTARD!"

As soon as those words were uttered, all touch disappeared, and Alastor reappeared a few feet in front of Vox. The overlord collapsed against his surveillance console, panting as his fans worked overtime to cool his body down. He shook with residual titters, his sharp-toothed grin nearly slipping his screen in two.

"There, was that so hard?" Alastor purred, sharing a smug grin with his shadow. "Now, I expect you to hold to our deal, otherwise I will have to take this little audio recording and make it the center of my next broadcast!" The deer demon twirled his cane, gazing at it and humming as Vox's eyes shot open.

"What now?"

Alastor scoffed. "Oh, please! Did you really think I would take you on your word alone that you would stay silent? I knew you would not make a soul deal with me over it, so I took matters into my own hands." The other sinner explained. "See, my microphone was recording our little interaction the whole time, minus the parts about my own...shortcomings. Think of it as insurance; it will not be released to the public as long as you behave yourself!"

Vox's face exploded into a bright blush blush. "Wait, that wasn't part of the fucking-"

"Oops, I'm afraid I have another engagement to attend to! Until we meet again!" Alastor cut him off, melting back into the shadows and disappearing from sight before Vox could finish his sentence. The TV host growled, flopping into his chair. His claws dug into the armrests, slicing into the slight padding. That prick! He couldn't just-

The overlord sighed in defeat after a moment, eyes closing as his breathing slowly returned to normal and his fans kicked off. He could still feel those claws scratching at his ribs, setting his nervous system alight with ticklish fire. He could still hear that voice, singing those awful, teasing words into his ear. He could still feel his limbs strain against the tentacle's hold, preventing him from squirming away no matter how hard he tried. Vox swallowed, feeling his blush returning full force.

He might have a different daydream to worry about now...

#brief ticklish!alastor #ticklish!vox #hazbin hotel tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickles #tickle fic #sfw tickles #sfw tickling #sfw tickling community #tickling community #sfw twords #sfw tword community #tword community #switchy writes tickles

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lilybug-02 · 5 months

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Happy 2 Year Anniversary to The Chara Timeline ✨

I FINALLY made drawing references for you guys, yippie!✨

It’s wild how long I’ve been working on this comic without reference sheets. I’m never that consistent with my art style, so I figured it was a waste of time 🫥💀😔 this is my first full comic okay…

Thoughts and Feelings About the Comic Below ❤️💖💕💞

Wow. It’s been 2 years??? I thought I would be done with this comic in 2 months! I don’t know whether to feel worried or accomplished!!

(With months between each update, I understand why it’s been 2 years. I’m a slow writer and artist and well- many things have come up in my life that had to come first, like my sisters wedding! 💞 and college 😅)

I want to thank my family and friends (WHO DO NOT READ THIS COMIC- THANK GOD) 💕 AND I want to THANK YOU! The readers! 💐💐

You guys are relentless! I’m as impatient as traffic and yet you guys wait for weeks or months at a time for like 4 pages?! You guys don’t even complain!!! I truly want to thank you all for that ❤️ it helps me so much. Being busy and getting burnt out are common and it helps me feel relaxed that i'm not on a timer. Literally tho- you guys keep this comic chugging I swear. Tysm 💐

Unorganized rambling about the comic ahead :) ⭐️🔥

—

My feelings with this comic are actually so complicated. On one hand I hate looking at my older art because GOD IT LOOKS SO OFF I want to stab it, and then on the other hand I am so so proud of myself for even continuing it this far. Ngl the weird route has been one of my favorite parts of this comic. It took me FOREVER to figure out an ending, but damn do I still get chills >:) hehe.

I’m still miffed that I named this project “Deltarune: The Chara Timeline” I could have gone for something so much COOLER. Doesn’t help I use like 7 different titles for it either. We got Deltarune the Chara timeline, Deltarune chara timeline, THE Chara timeline, chara timeline, Ct??? Man,,, I’m crazy. I take after my family so hard. We have 3 names for each of our dogs 💀.

Comic/Animation Tip i have learned. It is VERY GOOD to make the character relatively simple in design. Shape language is also super important, ((but I never really got around to doing that before I was half way through the comic, woops.)) These things can make ur process go by so much faster. This whole comic has been a HUGE learning curve. LIKE OH MY GOD. I had to learn how to draw backgrounds, write dialogue, plan a story, learn how to draw fast and draw noses (which god damn I really still can’t). And I had to learn how the heck to squeeze art into a tiny page and make it not look grainy. It's intense!

Anyways.... this has been such an awesome opportunity! Thanks Toby Fox!

I totally ran out of “art time” for my iPad and wanted to finish this today. So it’s a bit rushed. I’ll add weapons and possibly the other characters later :)

Oh shi- I forgot to add this grainy image of the next few pages lmao

#chara is literally built like a rectangle. idk why ive never noticed that #a thick greenbean #and Asriel is kinda half and half when it comes to standing on his toes or regular foot. He has a more top heavy approach to his balance #bread #undertale #deltarune chara timeline #my art #chara #asriel #character sheets #character references #art #deltarune #happy 2 year anniversary!!!!#college chara #college asriel #darkworld

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oletus-writer · 6 months

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Hunter Norton Headcanons

Warnings: includes nsfw

Sfw

He does have some feeling in his rocks - obviously, his hand has some sort of nervous system for it to function - and a lot of it is held together by some sort of magnetic system (as well as magic). His legs are partially made of flesh as well, but the flesh of his torso ends at the shoulders.

His left eye is some sort of light, and he still does have an eyelid, but he can’t turn it off without closing the eye.

As he doesn’t have a proper stomach, he doesn’t have a digestive system, so whatever he eats eventually passes and has no nutritional value - he isn’t really in need of nutrients. The energy he uses, like many of the undead residents, comes directly from the manor.

His hugs aren’t particularly pleasant; it’s all scraping rock and an awkward coolness. It’s worse if he has to bend down significantly, as his back would still hurt and his knees, wherever they are, would protest, even though he doesn’t have much of a joint. His large, boulder-ous hand would wrap around your back, and he wouldn’t be very much aware of how much strength he’s exerting.

Nsfw

Seeing as his stomach and legs are made of stone, his dick might as well be. Unlike the rest of him, it’s one smooth long stone, and can have an erection. It’s not soft, and it’s hard to manipulate it, but is a bit more sensitive than the rest of him.

It’s also hard to tell if he has the space on his pectorals to have normal flesh nipples, but if he doesn’t, they’re made of stone. Sure, nipples serve no purpose on a man aside from sexual stimulation, which is exactly why he has them.

His cum is black and salty, a bit grainy, and there’s not a lot that comes out. It reminds one of the waters in the caves, but thicker and smoother.

You can definitely use his stomach hole as whatever you please; although his feeling is limited, he never expected to have a cock/dildo/vibrator stuffed in there and to be completely at your mercy. (It was brought to my attention his hole it too big and I respond with: double penetration)

#identity v #identity v x reader #idv x reader #idv #idv norton x reader #idv norton #idv norton x male reader #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader

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cochart · 2 months

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So here is some extra blurb about my shuake comic Orion which I posted recently because I’m feeling chatty.

They’re mostly random facts about Betelgeuse and Rigel.

-Betelgeuse is a red supergiant and Rigel is a blue supergiant.

-Typically, the brightest star in a constellation is named the alpha star via Bayer designation. But in Orion, Beta Orionis (Rigel) is almost always brighter than Alpha Orionis (Betelgeuse). There are some speculations as to why. The simpler explanation is that Bayer simply designated Betelgeuse which is in the top left corner of the constellation alpha since the two stars are similarly bright. The other suggestion is that Betelgeuse was indeed brighter than Rigel at the time of Bayer’s observation since Betelgeuse is a variable star.

-Rigel is both younger and more stable than Betelgeuse haha.

-Rigel is also four times hotter than Betelgeuse.

-Though they’re both supergiants, Betelgeuse is much, much larger than Rigel.

———

Anyway, I thought the two stars had some parallels with Joker and Akechi. While Joker’s signature color is red in game, I thought Rigel kind of fits him because there are actually many scenes that feature blue as a key color for him like when he first activates Arsene or has a vision in the beginning of the game.

That Betelgeuse is older (lol) and more unstable (lol) also fits Goro.

Also, here’s my personal photo of Orion I took with my phone like last week. I jacked up the contrast a little, but overall it’s a very visible constellation. You can see both Betelgeuse and Rigel here.

You can also see the reddish tint of Betelgeuse even though the photo’s pretty grainy. It was pretty visible with naked eye too. You can definitely tell that it’s reddish. When I took this photo, I thought Betelgeuse actually looked brighter than Rigel perhaps because red is more visible to human eye.

Anyway, I hope my comic and post makes you look at Orion differently too lol

#shuake #p5r #goro akechi #ren amamiya

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caesium-55 · 15 days

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—everything is orange. [ i ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

author's note: i wont take tags for this im sorry 😭 also, i changed the faceclaim

masterlist.

The room is dimly lit. You didn't like dim lighting. It reminds you of your childhood bedroom. A barely functioning lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, your mother never bothering to change it. You were too short to change it yourself. You asked your neighbor once to do it for you but he had asked for a night with you in exchange so you kicked him out of the house before he could change the light bulb. You chose to study under the sucky light which became the reason behind your poor eyesight today.

You sit on a chair across Atty. Kim Jin Hwang, HAN entertainment's legal representative and one of the best lawyers Seoul has to offer, with a table dividing the two of you. He’s a man in his fifties, quite close to the age of retirement. He’s a veteran and despite his age, his mind is still sharp.

You refrain yourself from tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. Anxiety does not look good on you and you refuse to show people that you're anxious. Anxiety is weakness so you keep your posture straight and make sure to keep eye contact with Atty. Kim. If you look away first, you're a coward.

“Tell me honestly. Is this you in the pictures?” Atty. Kim Jin Hwang points at the pictures sprawled across the table. They’re blurry and grainy and incredibly zoomed in. You can't even tell it was you from some angles. You look quite different from the person that you were when you were sixteen. HAN Entertainment is particularly fond of investing in their idol’s plastic surgeries and while they only fixed your crooked teeth, removed the hump on your nose bridge, altered your uneven ears, bleached your skin, and plucked your brows—which are quite minor changes—you still hold very little resemblance to the teenage you.

You grew up well. Thankfully, you inherited only the best parts of your parents. Or at least, the best parts of your Mom. You have no idea what your father looked like, only knowing that he was from Brazil or some country in South America.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, not bothering to lie. What is the point of lying anyway? People have been calling you all sorts of malicious names across different social media platforms and you’re sure Atty. Kim has seen some of them. There’s no point lying to his face and saving your image anymore. Might as well admit that you are exactly the kind of person they’ve been yapping about. An illegal driver. A criminal.

“Why did you do it?” Atty. Kim asks and truthfully, you did not expect the question. You expected the what and how and where and when but never the why question. You fall into a thoughtful pause.

“I was sixteen,” you shrug your shoulders, almost uncaringly so. “I wanted to leave home as early as I could and to do that, I needed money. Nobody wanted to accept student part-timers and I tried doing stuff like tutoring and doing other people’s assignments but it wasn't enough. I have a friend who joins street races. He’s not a good driver but he’s got a good car. He really wants to win so he cheated and let me drive his car on the condition that if I win, he’ll split me the winner’s money. I did it. I won races in that car, acting as if he was the one driving it.”

Atty. Kim gives you a long look. You don’t know what it means.

“Alright,” Atty. Kimlifts his chin and rises from his chair. “That concludes our meeting. In the meantime, you lay low. We’ll handle everything.”

You nod, “Okay.”

True to Atty. Kim’s words, HAN entertainment handled everything. They released a statement that you watched one race because you were sixteen and clueless and didn't know you were getting yourself involved in an illegal activity. It helped that you drove under a different name so people were easily convinced of this lie. You knew your friend—the owner of the car— wouldn't even reveal that it was you who’d driven the car. His ego would be bruised once the people discovered that he cheated on the street races and a sixteen-year-old girl with no license and no personal car outperformed him.

Additionally, HAN announced that you were to depart your group—ORACLE—which absolutely destroyed you because ORACLE had been the place where you felt like you belonged. ORACLE had been your goal. You worked yourself to the bone to the point of collapse because you wanted to be in ORACLE and wanted to remain in ORACLE.

Nevertheless, you accepted your fate easily. There was no point destroying the other members because of your fault alone.

Your members cried for a whole week after the announcement was made public through HAN Entertainment’s official social media platforms and you spent every single day you could still spend inside the dorm reassuring them, telling them that you’d still be there for them, that you’d be standing behind them in each step to their success. You loved your girls so much. You wouldn't even choose to leave them. If only fate was a bit kinder to you. If only life was less brutal.

Furthermore, HAN made you publish a handwritten apology letter. You couldn't remember what you wrote anymore but you did remember how heavy the pen felt, how your hands trembled as you wrote each sentence, how writing the damn letter took three hours because you kept breaking down midway. They announced your hiatus promptly after. They used the term indefinite hiatus but it might as well be retirement.

You can't believe that you suffered through sixteen years under the same roof as your incredibly abusive mother, left home with only a backpack and a paper bag of cash just as you hit eighteen years old, worked your way in the harsh world by juggling three part-time jobs and a scholarship-shouldered university education until a scout noticed you, undergone the rigorous and borderline suicidal training of a KPop idol to-be, and sacrificed everything you had—mental stability, blood, sweat, and tears—just so you could pass every monthly evaluation and become your company’s darling, only to have everything disappear because someone found pictures of you predebut in an illegal street racing event. Fuck.

You were fucking sixteen at that time! You didn't know any better. You only wanted money. You didn't have a license. Getting one is too expensive. You borrowed a car from a friend. It's an unregistered car. You drove the car. You won races. You stopped when you turned eighteen. That was it.

Knetz decided to crucify you for a sin born out of your desperation when you were sixteen. When a dog was hungry, it ate whatever was thrown its way, uncaring if the food thrown at it was good or not because its primary instinct was only to cure its hunger. It was not as if you sexually assaulted someone. It was not as if you bullied someone and involved yourself in school violence. It was not as if you drank alcohol and drove or even involved yourself in gambling. Sure, street racing was illegal but you never even hurt someone! You never even crashed into someone mid-race.

You’re sure you’re going to leave the company and you won't fight their decision if they want you to do so. People spit out their gum when they lose their flavor. That's also what the industry did. You saw it happen too many times to too many idols. They collect pretty faces, push them to their limits until they could be loved by the public and once the public decides they’re not worth loving anymore, they’d spit them out. You are a gum in this story.

You feel like you’re eighteen again. You want to run away from home all over again. You ran away from the house you were born in once and now, you’re going to run away from the house you worked hard to live in. You want to pack your bags and board the next plane to another country even before the light of the rising sun touches the ground. That gnawing feeling of not belonging to a place that’s supposed to be home kept tormenting the cracks of your heart and the only way to seemingly get rid of it albeit only temporarily is to pick up on your feet and run away, never to leave anything behind you. Not ghosts, not traces, not memories—nothing.

But HAN entertainment won't let you. Yoon PD-nim knocked on your door, a contract in hand. He offered you an apartment to live in, a salary, a place in the company, and told you to keep creating songs. HAN Entertainment knew your talent in song making and producing was partly behind the success of ORACLE, their rising girl group. You were too useful to get rid of easily.

And like that, you spent the last two years making music for every kpop group under HAN Entertainment. You mostly made B-sides for the junior girl groups, AURORA and PRIZMA, and the title tracks for boy groups, HIRA and 1THEBOY. You worked for soloist, Ciel, once for his last comeback before his mandatory military service and worked on half a mini-album’s worth of songs for ORACLE every comeback. Thankfully, the songs gained positive feedback from the general public. That was your ticket to keep staying in HAN entertainment as a ghost producer and ghost song-writer.

Two years. You rotted in your apartment and the studio. This felt no different than the time you lived under your parents’ roof. You felt like a ghost, present but also not quite there. It's quite fitting, you think. You're a ghost producer and a ghost song-writer.

This was not a life worth living but you’d rather a life not worth living than have nothing at all.

You empty your fifth cup of coffee for the day—an unhealthy brew of Americano with five shots of espresso—before standing up from the ergonomic chair where you’ve glued your ass on in the last two to three business hours. The demo for Sunset Paradise is almost finished. There are still a few parts that need major adjustments and refinement but you’re confident that you’ll be done by midnight.

Manager-nim enters the studio just as you reach the door. You jump, almost kicking the indoor potted plant inconveniently positioned near the door. The caffeine made you extra jumpy today. Once you get over your tiny shock, you bow your head in greeting. Manager-nim mirrors your actions.

“You're still working?” he asks.

“You're still bald?”

Manager-nim rolls his eyes at you, smiling. You chuckle.

Manager-nim, or rather, Song Dan, is ORACLE’s manager. He is a middle-aged man who only came up to your shoulders. He’s shaped like a square with round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He treated you and the other members of ORACLE as if you were his daughters.

“I’m going to go get coffee. You can sit here for a while,” you invite, gesturing to the tiny cream couch. You use your feet to nudge the potted plant and clear Manager-nim’s path.

“No coffee,” Manager-nim stops you, taking a seat. “That's enough coffee for you today. Sit down here. We need to talk.”

“You can't kick me out. I won't give you Ciel’s first post-military mini album and ORACLE’s summer title track if you do.”

Manager-nim’s eyebrows draw together, a vertical wrinkle appearing between them, “What? No. We're not kicking you out.”

Your shoulders sag, relieved.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single.”

At that, your entire body stiffens, eyes going wide as saucers. You let out a noise in disbelief.

“You're joking.”

Manager-nim’s face doesn't shift in the slightest.

“You're actually serious,” you rub your chin with your hand.

What is Yoon PD-nim trying to pull now? Two years have passed since you’ve disappeared from the limelight. You're certain that you're not returning to the world of flashing lights and stage performance anymore and you’ve already accepted that your career has ended.

“Why?” your voice slightly wavers as you ask. Manager-nim sighs heavily, patting the vacant space beside him.

“Take a seat. We’re going to be talking for a while.”

The girl in the mirror stares back at you. She looks exhausted. She has deep bags underneath her eyes. Her shoulders are bony. They look like they're about to pierce through her pale skin. Her lips, which should be a nice shade of pink, are pale. Her eyes hold emptiness.

You pull your gaze away from your reflection and direct it to the bathroom sink, where a hair brush sits on the white tiles quietly. Fallen hair gathers up in its numerous sharp teeth. At this rate, you’re going to end up like Manager-nim—bald.

You can't go bald. You have a weirdly shaped head.

“Yoon PD-nim wants you to release a single but before the release, he needs you to be in a PR relationship with someone.”

You hiss loudly, slapping a hand on your temple. God, you want to act like Manager-nim never said that. You don't want to remember it.

You? A PR relationship? With someone you don't know? How atrocious. You didn't even need to hear Manager-nim out until the end. You are out. You do not vibe with romantic relationships. They make your skin crawl.

“Listen, [Name]. This might be your only chance to come back again.”

“What if I don't want to come back again?”

“Then why are you still here? Why are you still making music? You're good at leaving so why didn't you?”

The public still terrifies you but you will never tell that to anyone. You can’t even go out and buy groceries without trembling. So many eyes. So many judging eyes. They're all waiting to destroy you again with their stupid eyes and stupid mouths with sharp teeth. A stupid PR relationship won't save you.

But what if it will?

You hold the edges of the sink and lean the majority of your weight against it. Your knuckles slowly turn white. Your knees feel weak. You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

Why are you still here? A voice in your head asks.

I just want to be home. You reply.

Do it. This is your ticket to go home. It says.

You open your eyes and gaze into the mirror.

Do you want to be home?

More than anything.

With a nod, you push yourself away from the sink and exit the bathroom.

Yoon Sang Hyuk, CEO of HAN Entertainment—the black marble desk name plate indicates; the text an intimidating shade of gold. The owner of the name sits behind the table, his legs crossed over the other. His face is sealed with a neutral expression. Suddenly, a satisfied smile works its way across his face and you swear the wrinkles that permeated his entire face doubled in amount.

“I knew you still had it in you,” he says calmly. “That's good.”

“Thank you,” you say, your tone coming out bland.

“I’ll give you a manager and you are to leave for Singapore tomorrow.”

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Oh and [Name]?”

“Yes, Yoon PD-nim?”

“I know you're smart and you're hardworking and you're strong,” he begins. “I am confident you’ll do well so when you fly out there, don't be intimidated by any of them. You're as powerful as them. Remember the reason why you're there in the first place and do what you think is best.”

“You're putting a lot of trust in me,” you observe.

It's questionable; the amount of trust he’s giving you. You already expected that Yoon PD-nim would send out an entire escort team just to make sure that you're not going to mess up again and get yourself involved in a PR nightmare incident. Who knows? Maybe someone will dig up pics of you copying homework from your seatmate in middle school and crucify you for being an academic cheater while you're out there holding hands with your fake boyfriend.

“I know you won't make the same mistake twice.”

You finally catch the underlying message behind his seemingly harmless words.

Focus on coming back and don't make another mistake.

You nod, “Yes, Yoon PD-nim.”

“Lando Kinder Norris,” you read the name on the folder, brows furrowing. That's a rather unique middle name. “British-Belgian. Born November 13, 1999—”

It's good that your fake boyfriend and you were born in the same year. You're not very fond of age gaps.

“—in Bristol, England. Currently racing for McLaren. Car number 4. First entry is the Australian Grand Prix.”

Below is a series of long paragraphs detailing his racing history that you’re definitely not reading. Shoving the folder aside, you lean back into the seat and cross your arms over your chest. Your eyes flutter close. Jinnie, a HAN entertainment manager who looks like she’s half white and half Asian, gives you a judging look from her seat.

“You should read it,” she advises.

“No,” you say.

“I spent hours compiling that information,” Jinnie frowns.

“You compiled the wrong info,” you tell her, not even bothering to glance towards her. “Nobody will believe we’re real if I only know the things written in Wikipedia. You should have asked his PR team how he likes his coffee, if he prefers brunch dates or dinner dates, if he likes staying in or going out, if he likes the sunny weather or the rain, if he’d rather get food delivery or cook, if he’d like to hold hands and walk side by side or walk ahead of you so he can act like your guard dog. Those things.”

To be loved is to be known.

“You speak as if you have romantic experience.”

“Do poets have to experience the things they write poetry about?” you retort. “Immanuel Kant believed that everything depended on how individuals interpret and respond to his environment based on their personal opinions and feelings. I don't need to experience it to know.”

Recurring observations are your common source of knowledge. Reading is another.

And besides, this isn't your first PR relationship. You like to think that you know exactly what you're doing.

“Tell me something that's not written in the folder, Jinnie-ssi,” you open your eyes and tilt your head so you can lock eyes with her. “For example, why does a distinguished racer need a fake relationship? I can’t be the only one benefiting from this agreement.”

Jinnie purses her lips, “I don't know much.”

“But you know something,” you rest your chin on the palm of your hand. “Tell me.”

“There have been rumors that Lando Norris got a girl pregnant. The woman marched into Woking and demanded to see him. Apparently, he got her pregnant when they slept together in a bar,” Jinnie shakes her head. “It's a messy ordeal but McLaren recently proved that Lando wasn't the father. Too bad though, the public isn't believing them.”

“And they think giving him a girlfriend would somehow make the public love him?”

“They need to show the world that their boy isn't an asshole,” Jinnie says. “That he’s a loving, loyal partner. That he isn't capable of committing fuckboy crimes because he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.”

You snort. McLaren really decided that you’ll be the best girlfriend? How did they even know your existence? The KPop community and the F1 community are worlds far away from each other. It's easier for them to choose a supermodel, an American actress, or even a pop star. But no, they really decided that a washed-up KPop idol is a good girlfriend for their star boy. You can think of a few reasons why they chose you.

“Are you sure he really isn't the father?” you ask. Companies can ignore morality for the sake of protecting their golden images. HAN Entertainment is no different. For all you know, you’re going to be fake dating an asshole who made a woman pregnant and refused to take responsibility. He’d be no different from your father who left your pregnant mother.

“Beats me.”

An hour later, the plane lands in the most expensive city in the world, Singapore.

You have three choices: a VAQUERA blue devil sweatshirt, Motel Rock chute trousers, and a Adidas forum low shoes combo, or a varsity baseball jacket, Bonbom rhee cargo pants, and a Curetty C round toe mary janes combo. You went with the varsity jacket-cargo pants-mary janes combo. You put on a bonnet to finish the look. When Jinnie enters the hotel room and sees what you're wearing, she immediately says:

“No. You're definitely not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with this?” you ask, looking down at your fit. This is what you usually wear. They're comfortable and acubi fashion is a trend nowadays.

“You're a WAG now. Dress like it.”

Your eyebrow arches.

“WAG?”

“Wife and girlfriend,” Jinnie replies. Your confusion isn't absolved, not even the slightest. Your mouth pulls to the side.

“And how does this correlate to my fashion sense? Do race car drivers control their girlfriend’s fashion style?” you genuinely question.

“No,” Jinnie says. “But they’d prefer it if you dress in something befitting for a WAG, you know? Elegance? Classic timely looks?”

You put a finger up, “No.”

Jinnie huffs, “I’m not taking a no for an answer. Wear a satin dress. Wear cotton trousers and silk blouses. Look like you're from an old money family, not some hip hop dancer from the streets. You're no longer your own person, you are an extension of Lando Norris. You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk a certain way. Your goal is to make Lando Norris look good.”

You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek, annoyed. Your jaw is tense.

“And when Lando Norris looks good, you’ll look good. Good enough that the public will love you again to support your new song. Do you understand?”

She's right.

You hate that she's right.

No matter how bitter the truth tastes, you are irrelevant and Lando Norris is your ticket to going back. In any other world, you will never ever allow yourself to become a jewelry for a man to wear. So you grit your teeth, keep the ugly prideful monster within you at bay, and clench your fists. You have nothing and when you have nothing, you need to be resourceful and make use of the people who have the things to push you to the top again.

You let out a sigh, “Jinnie, choose my outfit for me.”

Jinnie nods and leaves the room immediately.

It's three days before the Singapore FP1 2023. Jinnie drives you to meet Lando in his hotel. They organized a lunch gathering with you, Jinnie, Lando, and the other McLaren PR representatives who are responsible for this entire PR scam.

You're wearing a Versace tweed cardigan and a boucle tweed skirt paired with high heel leather boots and Greca goddess large shoulder bag. All black in color. Jinnie is the one who styled your hair. She insisted on it actually, claiming that your beach waves hair isn't doing it. She flat ironed the hell out of your hair so now, it's straight as a pole. She also sprayed your bangs with strong hold hairspray to keep them in place.

The outside world is nothing but a blur of high-rise buildings and cement pavements as the car runs. You're picking on your nails. They're clean but bare of manicures. Your two pinky nails are a bit too short. You tried to stop yourself from biting them in the airport but you can’t resist.

Two years is a long time. A bit too long in your opinion. You don't remember the things you learned in your etiquette classes anymore—how to stand in the public, how to walk, how to pose in front of the cameras, how to smile, how to greet people, how to look completely in your element despite being anxious of having a thousand eyes staring at you, how to act as if you're not crumbling at the pressure of looking good for everyone. That's the only way they’ll love you. If you look good in their eyes.

“We’re here.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

Jinnie points outside the car window. The car stopped and you didn't notice.

“Sorry,” you mutter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You let out a breath, roll your shoulders back, and push the door open. Your entire face relaxes and you smile politely at the valet when Jinnie hands him the keys of the car. You ignore the starstruck expression on his face as you gesture to Jinnie to lead the way, following after her but not before saying your thanks to the valet. You're polite. You're trained to be.

You keep your shoulders square and your walk confident as you enter the hotel lobby. There aren’t a lot of people inside. There's a family of four in a corner, a group of elderly people sitting in the waiting area, and a group of posh friends chatting near the front desk. You can see a few heads turning in your peripheral vision. You can't blame them. You can be stunning if you try to be.

Your heart begins to ram violently against your rib cage. A million butterflies infest your intestines. Your ankles feel like it’ll snap in half a few minutes later. Your mind chants: DID THEY NOTICE HOW SCARED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE HOW TERRIFIED I AM? DID THEY NOTICE? DID THEY?

You want your ball cap and your sunglasses and your face mask. You want to hide your face.

You have to control your breathing as subtly as you can but you continue walking as if you're the prettiest yet the most down-to-earth creature to ever grace the planet. You fix your hair again once Jinnie and you stop in front of the elevator. Jinnie presses a button and you wait. While waiting, you twist the sole of your boot against the floor. It's better than tapping it against the floor. The elevator dings and the two of you enter the empty box.

When the doors close, your knees give out. You slam your hands against the stainless steel walls to stop yourself from dropping to your knees on the floor. Jinnie’s hands wrap around your waist, supporting as you pull yourself up. Her face contorts in worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You nod quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lay your palm against your chest, right above your drumming heart. “Thanks.”

You straighten up, tugging the hem of your Versace tweed outfit to smoothen the creases and fixing your hair again. You clear your throat. The elevator dings and the doors open. You step out and your mask slides in place.

Jinnie leads you to a private dining hall. In the middle of a hall is a table occupied by five people wearing tacky orange-black polo shirts. You recognize one of them to be your fake boyfriend, Lando Norris.

Jinnie had already shown you what he looked like in her tablet and a few printed pictures but the pictures didn't do him justice. He looks extra charming personally.

He's still not your type.

The entire group rises to a stand just as you and Jinnie reach the table. You give a ninety degree bow, hands flat on the collar of your top so you won't accidentally give the McLaren people a view of your chest. (It's not like they have something to see anyway. Your chest is flatter than a rice field.) The edges of your lips curl upwards in a polite smile. You see Lando, your supposed fake boyfriend, try to imitate the bow, although he doesn't go as deep as you did. Your head tilts slightly at his action.

Jinnie is the first one who speaks, stretching a hand in front of her to shake hands with the McLaren team. She introduces herself in fluent English, “I’m Jinnie Jo of HAN Entertainment. It's a pleasure to meet you. This is [Name].”

They each introduce themselves one by one. Nicole, Greg, Kyla, and Louis. You try to memorize their faces and their names, drilling it into your brain so you won't forget. You're going to be working closely with them after all.

“Hi,” you greet them. You also shake hands with each of them. It feels weird, shaking hands as greetings. You are more accustomed to bowing.

“Wow, Jinnie, your accent is good,” Kyla compliments your manager.

“Thank you,” Jinnie smiles pleasantly. “I was born in Chicago. English is my first language.”

“How about her? Does she speak English?” Louis inquires. He's giving you a funny look. You ignore it.

“She does,” you smile at him pleasantly. “I’m very fluent. You don't have to worry.”

Risha, the Canadian member of ORACLE, was the one who helped you master English. You even have a Canadian accent when you speak English because of her. Additionally, you also took language classes when you were a trainee—Japanese, Chinese, English, and you even requested Portuguese, Spanish, French, and Korean sign language. You dabbled a bit on Tagalog, too, because you know how large the ORACLE fanbase is in the Philippines. You continued taking the classes up even after debut, even after all the members of the group had stopped, because you wanted to master the languages for the fans, to be able to hold conversations with them, to connect with them. You only stopped going to the classes after leaving the group two years ago. It's nice to see that your English skills are still in perfect shape.

“Please take a seat,” Nicole invites. You and Jinnie sit down. You place your bag on the empty chair beside you and when you pull your gaze up, you coincidentally meet Lando’s eyes. They're blue and green with flecks of hazel dusted in the middle. It's the first time you've seen someone with eyes wielding three different colors. They're stunning.

You smile at him. He smiles back and then averts his gaze. You turn to Nicole, who’s sitting beside you.

“Now,” she says, putting two folders on the table. She slides them towards you and Jinnie. Jinnie picks them up. You don't. Instead, you stare at them.

“What are these?” you question, slowly bringing your eyes up and meeting Nicole’s gaze.

“Contracts,” she answers.

“Contracts?” you echo, picking the folder up and opening it. You take your sweet time reading from top to bottom, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“You don't have to read it all. It's all just formalities. Just sign it,” Louis inputs. “Reading can be hard for you since it's not your first language—”

“I read just fine,” you interrupt, not glancing up as your eyes thoughtfully scan through the words printed on the paper. “Thank you for the concern but this is a contract that involves me and my future. I wish to know what I’m agreeing to.”

Louis wisely keeps his mouth shut. You put your hand on your mouth so you can discreetly smirk.

When you finish reading, you slowly set the folder back on the table. You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek as you tap your finger on the wooden surface of the table.

“This is unfairly written, don't you agree?” you ask. “You're putting rather lots of demands on me but so little on him.”

From beside you, Jinnie thins her lips. You know she's also thinking the same thing. Fucking HAN Entertainment. They didn't even make sure that the contents of the contracts are not disadvantageous towards you. You are disappointed but not surprised. They really just sent you to be devoured by wolves and demanded you to not make a mistake.

McLaren also thinks they can just choose a washed-up KPop idol to cosplay as their golden boy’s trophy girlfriend and make her do all their demands with little benefits and zero complaint. They deliberately chose someone who still holds popularity but little power. Someone who needs them as badly as they need her. They chose you.

Assholes. The two of them.

“What do you want him to do anyway?” Louis sneers. His face is beginning to look a little too annoying. “He's busy building his career. All you have to do is support him and make sure everyone knows it because you have none. That's all. Or is that a little hard for you?”

Louis is getting this all wrong. Jinnie told you that you're going to fix his reputation for him so his career wouldn't be ruined. In exchange, he gives you publicity so you could bring your career back from ruination. This is not a parasitic relationship where only their side gets the benefits. How could you even work on that comeback of yours if you're going to be glued by his side?

Your jaw ticks with restraint yet you choose to smile, “He’s not the only one building his career.”

You pick up the folder and toss it to Jinnie, who catches it skillfully.

“Throw that away. We're flying home. I don't need a PR relationship to promote my single that much.”

Satisfaction fills you when their faces grow alarmed.

Ha.

“Wait,” Kyla stands and she shoots a dirty glance towards Louis. Your eyebrows scrunch a little. “The contracts are open to revisions.”

You clap your hands together, smiling widely.

“Perfect. Jinnie, hand me a pen.”

The team leaves you and Lando alone in the hall to eat, to give you both a chance to get to know each other.

You allow your eyes to scan the hall. It has a bright spacious ambiance. The windows are stretched from the floor to the ceiling, allowing as much natural light inside. Singapore looks absolutely breathtaking down below. The flooring is made out of natural pine and a crystal chandelier hangs atop the table where you and Lando ate. You keep thinking: what if it'll fall? You shake the thought out of your head and put a fork full of pasta into your mouth.

“Is the pasta good?” Lando asks. You nod, humming and smiling. You don't like it one bit. You're also mildly allergic to shellfish. You're definitely going to get a bad case of rash later. You hope Jinnie is prepared with a medicine kit. You forgot to bring yours.

You wipe your mouth with your table napkin, announcing, “I’m full.”

You have only eaten half the plate.

“Oh you have a…” Lando points at the corner of his lips. You wipe the same area in your face. “No, the other side.”

You wipe the other side, “Is it gone?”

“Allow me,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning across the table to thumb the stain.

“Is it gone?” you ask again. Lando nods.

“Yeah, it is.”

He goes back to his seat.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You're already doing great with the whole fake boyfriend act.”

A flustered smile splits Lando’s face, shaking his head.

“I try.”

“By the way,” you begin, leaning a little forward. “Did they also give you a folder with my information?”

Lando nods, “Yeah.”

“Did they also suck?”

He purses his lips.

“Well….” he drawls.

“You can tell me if it sucks. The one my manager gave me looks like it's copy-pasted from Wikipedia.”

Lando chuckles.

“I mean, your biography is very…detailed? Too detailed, I think. I didn't remember most of them, sorry. I only remember a few of them. Like your birthday. January 1, 2000.”

“1999.”

“Pardon?”

You wave your hand in a theatrical flourish, “I was born in 1999. The company manipulated my public information.”

Lando’s brows raise in surprise.

“They do that?”

“You’ll be surprised,” you lean back into your chair.

“But why?”

“So every member in ORACLE can be born in 2000. I don't know,” you shrug your shoulders.

“That seems like an unnecessary change.”

“It is,” you agree. “But HAN wants everything to be perfect. They see a flaw. They fix it to their liking immediately.”

“What are the other things that are a scam in your biography?”

“Scam is a big word,” you tell him, amused. “But I’ll tell you. In exchange, tell me about yourself. Not the info I can read in Wikipedia. In order to make this work, I have to know you.”

To be loved is to be known.

“Alright,” Lando says. “We can take turns asking each other questions.”

“Cool,” you bring a glass of water towards your lips, taking a sip. “I’ll start. How do you like your coffee?”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #kpop idol! reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 imagines #fanfic

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nat-ter · 2 months

Text

lois lane thinks bruce wayne doesn't deserve clark kent whose smallville heart is too pure for a tainted gothamite like wayne. not to mention clark is a literal superhero and the only good thing bruce wayne ever did is keeping the gotham's newspapers alive by being a right asshole of a billionaire. and a playboy. and an airhead who's also a playboy and who's also a drunkard who doesn't understand the meaning of public decency.

lois just manages to talk clark out of his ridiculous crush on wayne when clark kent, literal ball of sunshine, immediately decides to go and fall for tall, dark and broody, the gotham's so called dark knight himself. which isn't really a step up from bruce wayne. but at least batman's a hero. or a vigilante. depends on one's perception. all in all, lois is not amused.

she doesn't like bruce wayne because he's too showy and fake and she knows he's hiding something under that billion dollar smile and glittering bodyfit suit. and she doesn't trust batman because he's too secretive and cold and dangerous and she knows he must have already planned hundred ways to kill superman. see, she knows a little something about batman and it's that he has trust issues bigger than bruce wayne's ego.

but if she were to choose between batman and bruce wayne— better that clark pines after someone who probably will crush his heart right away with a few carefully worded sentence meant to strike right at the heart instead of bruce wayne who undoubtedly will use clark for one crazy night of fun and then leave him heartbroken with empty hope that will lead to nothing. because it's better to be let down from the start than being led on. because clark doesn't deserve to be a mere notch on bruce wayne's very wide, very much public bedpost.

that's why— after a weekend of clark eating a tube of ice cream on lois' couch while lois tells him all the cons of crushing on bruce wayne— when clark excitedly tells her that he's ready to get back on dating while he dopily stares at a grainy picture of batman on his computer screen, lois doesn't immediately go on a rant about how much of a stupid idea it is to try and court batman of all people. yes court because clark is old fashioned like that.

she has already crushed clark's spirit once, she leaves the honour to batman now. at least batman won't lead clark on and will be straightforward with his rejection. or superman. whichever identity clark chooses to see batman as.

oh boy is she wrong.

#superbat #ive been going on and on about batkids' opinions on superbat #i just want to include lois #superbat fic idea #is it too obvious that i like identity porn?#i hope it's not #*looks sideways*#lois lane #get ready for the classic:#lois and clark dated but they broke up but they still stayed best friends #bcus they are great as a couple and they are even better as best friends #also couples can totally be best friends too #im sorry im ranting #all im saying is i like clois just fine #as far as canon relationship goes #these two rock

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jellyluvr · 11 months

Text

Fantasies within tapes 2

- Peter maximoff x fem reader ⋆ ˚

So sorry for the wait!! I know some people probably want the part two so here it is.

Also, do you guys want long fics or short fics? Medium? Lmk ♡

Warnings: heavy smut?, peter being silly, oral sex, and fem reader!

Summary: the video was stuck on your mind and you couldn't help but want to watch it again..

It had been a few days since the porn incident. I mean, it wasn't like you had only been thinking of it... but you have. It had been all you could think of. Why did Peter even watch porn? Why did he have such a weird porno...?

So yes, you did go back down into his basement for a look-see. Peter wouldn't know.. he was upstairs, probably eating cheetos and coke.

You took each step down the stairs carefully. You were afraid you'd get caught.. that same anxious feeling filling your stomach. It felt like you could throw it up. But, you continued down the stairs until you saw the obnoxious colors of his room.

Muttering something to yourself, you sat back down on the carpeted floor just where you had been last time. "Oh fuck.." you mumbled. This isn't the best idea. Maybe you should just look for a magazine..? This was all so frustrating and scary. You wanted to see the tape again. It was practically the only source of dirty things you had. Plus, you didn't like the magazines. Grainy sex tapes were an upgrade.. but definitely not the best.

Scooting up on the carpet, your bare thighs rubbing against it, you grabbed the box full of the tapes.

And sure enough the neon yellow tape was in the corner. Just how you had left it. You put your hand in the box and grabbed it, pausing while you stared for a moment.

Maybe you shouldn't do this. Maybe this is a horrible idea, and Peter's gonna figure out you were looking at his porn.

But, you pushed the thoughts away and huffed as you put the tape in the cassette deck. Cussing to yourself you pressed play.

You felt your mind roam of the possibilities. What if he catches you? What if he gets really mad? What if..?

But, the screen flashed to same scene as last time. The woman gripped the sheets in fists, her body moving with the man's. He pounded into her, her moans quite loud.

You couldn't help but feel heat rise to your face while you watched. You liked it. You liked watching this girl get her guts rearranged. You were a virgin, a very horny one. A very bold one, too. Your thighs pushed together, the heat overwhelming your cunt.

You let out a soft moan while you watched this poor girl get ravaged in the white silk bed. You almost felt desensitized...

"I didn't know you liked porn too?" A familiar voice said, not far behind you. Your head darted into the direction, and sure enough, it was peter. He had a huge grin while he continued to eat his bag of cheetos, his fingertips getting coated in the orange goodness.

You didn't know what to do. He had caught you.. and you were just sitting there, flustered as ever.

"Don't ah.. worry 'bout it." He said while his eyes went down to his bag while he looked for a cheeto. He seemed so nonchalant. So calm..

"I'm uhm.." Your mouth was a little open while the girl kept moaning in the background. You just stared for a while. You didn't know what to say. How the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

"Yknow, that's pretty bad. You shouldn't be doing things without permission. And you had to have snooped to find that. Reallllll bad..." he chuckled, huffs of air escaping his mouth while he looked at you. You were bright red. You didn't know what to even think. Was he mad? What was he gonna do? Should you say something..?

But, those thoughts slipped away while your cunt reminded you of the unbearable heat is was trapped in. You were drenched in your arousal. You could feel it, and you knew exactly what it was. The wonderful, powerful ache above your wet folds.

"Mmm.." You sighed, trying to cope with the neediness of your pussy. You didn't even realize that peter was still there. Before you even knew it, the cheeto bag was gone, and he was a bit closer behind you.

"What was that?" His head turned slightly while he licked his fingers, cleaning them of the orange gunk. He still had that slight smirk. That know-it-all type one.

"Nothin'." You responded quickly. Maybe he was angry? You couldn't tell. You were too enveloped in your aches that you didn't even register the bulge in his pants. The very obvious bulge.

Then, the moans and slosh sounds in the background stopped. Peter had disappeared for a second, but in the blink of an eye, he was back in the same spot. The room was filled with silence and very thick sexual tension.

"What were you doin'? Yknow, the porn n all.." He chuckled a bit but he was completely serious.

"Uhm..." You began to talk, but you didn't know what you say, really. You were too afraid peter would be angry. But now, as your eyes shifted down, peters bulge was very obvious in his stupid, kind of cute leather pants.

Peter noticed how your eyes shifted, and his smirk grew a little before in the blink of an eye. You were on the bed. And before you could even do anything, peters hand slipped down your shorts, into your panties, and right above your slick heat.

You whimpered at the sudden touch, but you didn't try to move away. Peter looked up at you, realizing how wet you were from seeing that video.

"Oh- wow.. you really liked that.." he snickered, a few huffs of air coming from his nose.

You were just on the bed, your legs open and peters hand in between them. You didn't even know how to process what was happening.. your best friend was touching you? You just couldn't register it, and again, peter quickly threw your shorts off, leaving you in your drenched panties.

"Ooo momma.." he looked down at your panties and the undeniable heat coming from them. Why did he have to make this so embarrassing.. so awkward...

"Uhm.. Peter could you -" his head was in between your thighs instantly. Your panties were somewhere in the room and you gasped at the sudden pressure there.

Peter made a soft hum noise while his tongue slipped through your wet folds and lapped at your clit. He looked up at you, his eyes full of lust.

"Mm~!" You squeaked, squirming a bit. He was going too quick. Your body didn't know what to do, so you grabbed onto his silver straight hair and held onto it for whatever closure that didn't exist.

You moaned more as peter continued to move his tongue in such ways, but he lowered his head, his big nose pushing against your clit and his tongue licking at your wet entrance.

He slurped and sucked on your cunt while you whined. "Ooh- fuck!" Your body shook with the pleasure that followed, your eyes rolling back into your head. Peter moved his tongue up and down on your entrance while he shook his head, his nose overstimulating you.

"Peter!" You squeaked, your breathing picking up. You squeezed your fists into his hair while he moved, and finally, you came. All over his mouth and tongue. Your hips buckled and pushed into his face a last time before he removed his head from your thighs.

"You look so pretty like that.." he purred, his hand moving up to wipe his mouth.

You shook with the coldness hitting your hot, sticky mess between your thighs. And your legs went open, your head resting against the mattress while you looked up at the orange arch over peters bed. Your breath quivered while you shut your eyes.

"Don't snoop next time, princess." Peter got up from the bed before kissing your inner thigh and leaving swiftly.

Peter definitely wasn't mad.

───────────────────────────────

Sorry for the shortness again!! :(

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python333 · 2 months

Note

since i just woke up from one and came here to seek comfort and get it out of my head,i had the idea of "why not ask them if they'd like to write such a thing?" So here i am.

The main thing is reader having a really grotesque, explicit and horrific nightmare (that's how most of mine are) could be getting tortured,put in a meat grinder,you get it,work your magic and write as you wish haha.And after they wake up with a heavy and tight chest, horrified naturally,it being out of their control,could you have the 141 members comfort us? Perhaps one way of getting most of their reactions would be setting up a scenario where they had to camp and sleep in the same place, something of the sorts,so yeah.

Honestly still not over the nightmare yet that shit was horrific haha,but yeah,hope this'll be a nice writing for you,if you wish to do so.Take great care of yourself dear,and take as many breaks as you need<3

how the sausage gets made — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have a very graphic nightmare, the 141 comforts you!!!

relationships platonic! 141 & gn! reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 3.2k

warnings nightmare about getting put through a meat grinder (not too graphic, but the imagery is still there), usage of [c/n] (code name/call sign), 2nd person pov (you/yours/youself)

note hi!! this is actually right up my alley, i really enjoyed writing this!! :D hopefully this somewhat comforts you/helps you get over the nightmare, and hopefully this was horrific enough for you!! ALSO i have a discord server now!! enjoy :3

You’re in some sort of freezer, it seems.

Your vision is a bit blurred at the edges, and your head feels awfully heavy, making it hard to keep upright on your neck. Your shoulders feel tight and tense, as though the muscles in them were physically bundled and tied into tight knots. Though, they aren’t tense in the way they typically are. Somewhere in the back of your mind—as your gaze wanders around the blue-tinted room you lay in—you can recall times after sparring sessions with a few of your teammates when your shoulders felt tight, and it was nothing like this. Those times, you could feel the knots as though they grew roots from your shoulders to your wrists. Unlike now, your shoulders feel lighter than those times.

Those times. You aren’t sure what “those times” refers to. All you can see and think about is the light blue tiling of the ceiling above you. It’s strange; you’ve only seen tiling like that on dingy bathroom floors in the public gym you used to go to. It’s never been on the ceiling like that. Huh.

You can’t really feel your hands, which is even stranger. You know where they are—they’re right at your sides, laying on the stingingly cold concrete floor of whatever room you’re in—and can hear the echoing taps they give whenever you lift and hit them lightly against the floor, but yet they feel numb. You move one of them, not nearly as off-put by the numbness as you should be, and lift it up and over your face. It looks normal. No, yeah, that’s my hand alright. Don’t know what I expected.

You put the hand back on the ground and using both hands you push yourself up from the floor, letting out a small grunt as you do. It takes an uncanny amount of force to push yourself upwards, but you manage to do so anyway, and you finally have a look at the room around you. You look ahead of you. Blue tarp. It’s shiny and almost looks woven, and if you squint your eyes enough, it looks grainy. You look to your left. More blue tarp. It’s of the same quality, the same quantity, and is in all aspects the exact same as the other blue tarp. You make a quick prediction before looking to your right, and, lo and behold, another blue tarp. How shocking.

It looks the same as the other two. Frowning, you look behind you, and surprisingly you are not met with yet another blue tarp. This time, there’s a large, shiny, stainless steel machine behind you. It’s a good ten feet away, about the same distance away as the tarps, and for some reason it beckons to you. Like Princess Aurora to her spinning wheel, you find the strength to push yourself up to your feet completely, and immediately you begin walking towards the metal machine without much resistance.

It doesn’t really hit you that you have no idea what this machine is or what it does. You don’t think you’ve seen anything like it. As you get closer, you can see a few items strung from the ceiling past the machine; weird plastic-clear looking tubes that are linked together in the same way clowns at parties twist balloons, and there’s iron-cast skillets hung on the ceiling from invisible hooks. Huh. Weird. Despite the oddities of the items strung from the ceiling, you keep walking towards the machine.

When you get even closer, the machine becomes less blurred and comes more into focus. It looks completely untouched. There’s a large funnel at the top, one that requires a ladder to get to—conveniently, there’s a ladder set up on and welded to the machine itself—and beneath that is a horizontal tube that tapers off into a smaller, funnel-like shape at the end with a much smaller opening. You tilt your head curiously at the machine. It’s so shiny. Though, the longer you stare at it, the grainier it gets.

Suddenly, cutting through your thoughts, you feel a harsh push at your back that almost has you knocking into the machine. Before you can even turn around to see who felt that they had the audacity to push you so harshly, that same entity that pushed you quickly lifted you into the air. Whatever they’re using to hold you up feels like absolutely nothing—as if they were just gathering enough air molecules to swoop you up.

“H—” You try to protest, but your throat doesn’t work. Before you can say anything, it just gives out, and leaves you wheezing for a moment before trying again only to discover that, to your horror, you cannot talk.

Your throat seems to close up every time you try to say anything. All that comes out are breathy wheezes and coughs that leave a strangely bad pain in your chest. As you try to stop your coughing, whatever is picking you up quickly dumps you into the large funnel on top of the machine. It’s cold and bites at your skin unforgivingly, making you hiss in discomfort. You don’t even clock how the cold is irritating your skin, despite you being fully clothed and none of your bare skin being exposed to the metal of the machine.

You try to move your hands to the sides of the funnel to push yourself up, but you move at a painfully slow speed, and can’t do anything but stand still. Like a mannequin, you’re forced into a standing position and can’t do anything but stand in the funnel. You look down, and you’re standing on what seems to be some sort of cylinder. The bottom of the funnel ends around your mid-calf.

Oddly, this reminds you of those nightmares you used to have when you were younger, where you were running from something or someone but moved too slow to get away.

Suddenly, the cylinder begins to move.

It spirals in place, making you quickly lose your balance and soon you’ve fallen in a lying position on the cylinder as it turns. It starts at a slow pace but starts to speed up, in time with your panic. You try to scramble to your feet but your limbs don’t allow it, keeping you stuck in place, the cylinder starting to turn even faster.

You’re uncomfortably folded and pushed through the small ending of the funnel as the cylinder keeps moving, and once you’re through, you start to hear a strange whirring.

It’s loud and sounds like some sort of shitty metal fan. It clangs against the sides of whatever tube you’re in and occasionally makes a horrible screeching noise that, if you could, you would cover your ears to escape. You turn your head to the side ever-so-slightly and see the “metal fan” itself—four sharp blades that spin clockwise, with a weird hole-filled circle behind them. You furrow—or, well, try to at least—your eyebrows at the sight.

The fuck is that? You don’t realize you’re getting closer to it.

The cylinder is now turning at an exceptionally fast pace, and only when you’re a few feet from the blades do you realize just how close you are to them.

“Wait—” You finally find your voice, though it sounds far away and is muddy in your ears, “Stop, stop—”

You’re not sure what else to say. You can’t tell if you’re begging, commanding, demanding, or anything of the sort. All you know is that the cylinder is going faster and faster, at an almost punishing pace that leaves you wondering what you could’ve done to deserve whatever the hell is happening to you. The blades emit an ungodly screech each time they get caught on a bump on the insides of the tube, and as you get even closer you can spot bright orange rust on the blades.

The texture is enough to make you gag. You’re getting closer, and closer, and soon you’re barely a foot away from it. The screeching and the whirring is so loud. You can’t hear anything else—or, wouldn’t be able to hear anything else, if there was anything else to be heard.

You can barely continue your train of thought before you feel a sharp, cold rush through your ankle.

You hadn’t been paying enough attention. You didn’t realize how close your feet had gotten to the blades.

The sound it had made when it was cut off was sickening. A loud pop, the same kind of pop that sounds when you break open the tab of a can. You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out, and suddenly the rest of your leg is getting shredded by those same blades, and dear God, it’s so cold. It feels like dry ice cutting right through your calves, making its way up to your knees, soon to your thighs, much faster than you can process.

Your thoughts come in small fleets that go as soon as they come and you’re never able to continue or dwell on a single one, always getting interrupted by the white-cold pain that literally cuts through your upper thighs. You can’t feel anything from the waist down. You can’t feel your legs, your feet, and you’re losing feeling in your hips—

Your hands desperately grasp at the cylinder, and you’re not sure what you’re doing but you’re trying to do something, anything, as long as it delays the inevitable shredding of your torso and head. But it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Whatever you had intended to do doesn’t work, and soon there’s a sharp cold pain that cuts into your ribcage, and suddenly you can’t even feel your stomach.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can recognize the small sobs that escape you.

Your chest is the next to go, and soon it’s your shoulders, and even though they’re not gone yet your hands have already gone numb, and you’re bracing yourself for the sharp-cold pain to reach your neck when suddenly—

You wake up, body immediately getting into an upright sitting position and your chest heaving as sweat drips down your forehead. The sweat is cold and your breathing is loud in your ears, your ears which are filled with ringing, the sound of just anything enough to make your breath hitch and a sob crawl into your throat. With open-mouthed pants, you blink rapidly at the space in front of you, before quickly raising your hands to your face and letting out a loud, shaky sigh when you can actually feel the air moving through your fingers.

They aren’t numb. You plant them on the ground and just feel around, the rough fabric of your tent gliding under your hands. You shake your head vigorously, letting out another relieved sigh when you find that it’s still attached to your neck and hasn’t been sliced through. You move your legs and they’re still attached to your body. Everything is still on you. You’re in the same clothes you went to sleep in. You have all of your body parts. You are in one piece. Nothing is missing. You’re fine.

Despite repeating to yourself that everything’s okay—you’re physically together, you’re in a tent in the middle of the fucking woods and the worst thing that could happen to you is getting jumped by a bear in your sleep—nothing feels okay. There’s still the phantom feeling of getting put through a meat grinder that keeps a perpetual tremble in your bones, that keeps you unknowing of how to act like you’re in one piece. Not act. You are in one piece. But you aren’t. You swear, even though it was just some stupid dream, that it felt real enough to have actually happened.

“[c/n]?” Soap’s tired voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Right. We’re sharing a tent. You quickly whip your head to look at him, chest still rising up and down rapidly as your unstable breathing continues. You don’t say anything, simply staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are ye alright?” He frowns, quickly growing more awake the more concerned he gets, “Whit’s wrong?”

Maybe you’re in some form of shock, but you find yourself staying silent out of the fear of something happening. You’re not sure what that ‘something’ is, but it’s there, and it’s holding you back from even attempting to speak. Your breath hitches and your throat stings.

“Hey, uh,” Soap pushes himself up with a grunt and walks over a short few steps to you, kneeling down once he’s beside you, “Jist breathe, everything’s gonnae be alright.”

You know he’s not exactly the best at comforting people. He’s always been better with more technical things, and would much rather help you with math homework or something over trying to comfort you after something traumatic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—of course he does, and he wishes he was much better than he is now at it—but he can never manage to find the right words.

He puts a tentative hand on your shoulder and you stare at it as it reaches you, flinching back immediately when you can actually feel his hand over your shirt. He pulls his hand back instantly, expression growing even more concerned.

“Do ye wannae tell me whit happened?” Soap whisper-asks. When you quickly shake your head ‘no’, Soap thinks for a moment before offering, “Do ye want me tae get onyone else?”

You think about his words for a moment before nodding. He sighs.

“Who?”

Your gaze flickers from the exit of the tent before going back to Soap.

“… Cap’n Price,” You quietly decide. Soap nods and reluctantly gets up, making his way out of the tent.

A few minutes later, you hear Soap walk back into the tent as well as another set of feet that trail right behind him. You look up and over at the entrance of the tent and see your Captain. His eyes are immediately on you, and as soon as he sees the mystified look in your eyes, he’s quick to make his way to you and kneel down beside you.

He doesn’t know what to say for a moment, you can tell. He instinctively brings a hand up to put on your shoulder like he typically would in situations like these, but something causes him to bring his hand back down and away from you. Maybe Soap told him how you reacted earlier? You brush off the thought for now, more focused on whatever Price is trying to do.

The reason you wanted him here instead of the others was mainly because you felt the least embarrassed around him. Which was weird, considering that he’s of the highest rank compared to you and the others, but still—you can’t imagine him judging you, not even for the most outrageous things. Maybe he’d have a small fit over you saying “soccer” instead of “football”, but otherwise, you can’t think of a world where he judges you for something like having a nightmare.

And sure, the others have them too and probably wouldn’t judge you either, but still. Price will probably always be your first option for situations like these.

“Soap hadn’t told me what happened, yet,” Price says softly, “D’you mind filling me in?”

If this were anyone else, you’d be fighting the urge to jump off a cliff, but because it’s not, you simply answer, “Nightmare.”

Your voice is a little clearer now, much to your relief, but it still carries that rasp from earlier. It doesn’t pain you to talk, but it does shock you that you even can, considering that you could barely form a whisper in your nightmare. And yes, that’s a silly thought, knowing that all of that was a nightmare, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“A nightmare, alright,” Price hums, before suggesting, “My tent’s bigger than yours, y’know. You wanna bring your sleeping bag over there, so we’re all together? Power in numbers, yeah?”

You nod mindlessly, agreeing with anything Price says. He smiles at you and hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder, doing it slowly enough that you have plenty of time to let him know if it’s not okay, but you allow it. Price shoots a look at Soap and the latter nods, confirming whatever Price’s silent look asked him.

“Alright,” Price gives your shoulder one last squeeze before standing up, waiting for you to stand up as well. Once you do, he starts to walk out of the tent, expecting you to walk after him. Surprisingly, Soap gets up as well, sleeping bag and pillow in hand. Huh. Maybe that’s what he was confirming. You quickly pick up your sleeping bag and pillow, movements a little more stilted than usual as you didn’t expect to actually be able to move as quickly as you can now, and follow Price out of your tent.

You shiver as you walk out into the cold outside of the woods, and are quick to walk to the much bigger tent across from yours.

When you enter the tent, Gaz remains asleep while Ghost almost immediately wakes up. It’s uncanny, the speed at which his eyes open and dart to your figure—as if he was never asleep in the first place. You push those thoughts aside and wait for Price to walk in.

“Wh’t’s goin’ on?” Ghost asks sleepily, his British accent making his slurred words nearly impossible to decipher.

“They’re stayin’ in here for the rest of the night,” Price answers for you, nodding over to you as he refers to you.

Ghost looks over at you and you can sense his raised eyebrow despite not being able to see it. You look to Price to explain your situation for you again, and once he sees you look at him, he explains, “Nightmare.”

Ghost blinks before nodding understandably. Almost immediately, he conks out and goes right back to sleeping like the dead, making Price snort. Price turns to you, and gestures towards the empty spot next to Gaz, the spot conveniently empty and just perfectly sized for your sleeping bag. You walk over there as quietly as you can, shuffling around Ghost’s and Price’s sleeping bags, and gently lay your sleeping bag down next to Gaz’s.

You set down your pillow inside of the sleeping bag and kneel down as quietly as you can, a soft rustling sounding from your sleeping bag as you settle in. You turn on your side and let out a quiet sigh, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You’ve turned towards Gaz, and he’s turned towards you, and you look over his sleeping face for a moment before deciding to catch up on your own rest.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes, you watch his open.

“...” He stares at you for a moment, before he sleepily whispers, “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“… Y’good?” He asks, looking at your still-glassy eyes and very-clearly-worn-out expression.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You answer, trying to offer a tiny bit of reassurance.

“Alright,” Gaz hums, accepting your answer easily, and closing his eyes once again.

A small smile graces your lips. You’re all used to going to sleep easily, of course, on missions like these—you kind of need to be, given that you’re all military. It took you a bit, but you eventually got used to it, and gained that skill just a few months after joining the task force.

Speaking of which, you find yourself drifting off to sleep not long after Gaz closes his eyes again, and soon enough, you’ve already fallen asleep—this time, without nightmares or dreams.

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the-colourful-witch · 1 month

Text

The All the Young Dudes book covers project

I've been working on this fun project in my time off from social media. It consists of three illustrations to use as book covers for All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89 on Ao3. This book has been the foundation of my involvement in the fandom. It's the first fic I read about the Marauders and I loved it so much! I laughed, and I cried, it was a real rollercoaster. After making the cover for A Brief History of Dragons by Eyra, I caught the bug and started thinking of more covers to illustrate. I loved working on the first cover, but I didn't love doing it on my tablet. At heart, I am a traditional illustrator and for this kind of illustration, I felt paper might work better. So I got to work. I knew I wanted to make three covers. From what I've seen online most people bind their own copies of All the Young Dudes in three parts: Year 1-4, Year 5-7 and Until the End. Therefore, I made three covers. I have not yet digitalized these illustrations, but I'll turn them into downloadable covers for binders to use for their book projects. I am working on binding my own physical copies of AtYD too :) It's fun! Right, to the covers. There's so much to say!

Book One

This is the start of Remus' life at Hogwarts and his friendship with the other Marauders. I wanted it to feel a bit like reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone for the first time. It's the realisation that magic is real, it's that first spark you get when picking up a book you instantly connect with. That was the feeling I wanted to incorporate in this first cover. There are a bunch of little easter eggs for the story and I hope you'll pick them all out. Let me know in the comments what you think they are. Also, for this project, I studied the language of flowers. I am not sure if all my information is correct, but in this one, I put dandelions in the top corners. Dandelions represent new beginnings :)

Book Two

The second half of the Marauders' time at Hogwarts. This part is all about love and loyalty; something I liked a lot! It's also the time when the Marauders complete their animagus transformations. The animals had to be on the cover! That, I knew for sure. I went for a forest theme for this second cover, because of all the mischief the Marauders got up to in the Forbidden Forest during full moons. I used flower language here as well. For every Marauder I picked a flower I felt represented who they are. For Peter, at the top, I chose Bleeding Heart and Belladonna. Both of them represent betrayal and death. Nice and cheery :) For Sirius, on the Right, I chose Bluebell, which represents loyalty. For Remus, on the Left, I chose Acacia, which represents secret love or forbidden love, because he's hiding his sexuality for most of the book. But it's a love flower and in his core Remus is caring and loving, despite his rough edges. For James, on the bottom, I chose violets. And violets represent love at first sight. I know we all know why <3 I like this cover a lot. The picture is a bit grainy, but like I said, I'm still working on digitalising.

Book Three

Last but certainly not least. This book is about war, love and loss. It was definitely the most challenging piece out of the three, but worth the trouble. On this cover, I put Hogwarts at the top, because that's where it all started and where it ends. On the bottom, there's a prophecy, which is about Harry and Voldemort. There are a few gravestones at the bottom. Very cheerful, I know, but if you pay attention, you see a Deathly Hallows on one of them. On the sides are my favourite parts. I like the lily flower in the arms of death, because it's obvious, but also beautiful. I like the Death Eater on the other side because it's spooky. The snakes represent rebirth and Slytherin House, which is important to the story of the Second Wizarding War, connecting good and evil. Once again I put all the flowers in this piece, scattering them around because they're all interwoven in each other's stories. Finally, I want to say something about the three central images. In the first we see Remus as a child. He's alone and scared of the big scary wolf. The three images are a timeline. It represents Remus' relationship with the wolf in him. At first, he despises it and is scared of it. And finally, he stands with it, not quite embracing it, but he's not scared anymore. In the middle, I wanted to show Remus with his friends, because they banished his fear whenever they were together. With his friends, the wolf didn't control Remus and he could control the wolf. I hope it's all clear. I loved working on these pieces and I hope you like them too!

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colourstreakgryffin · 7 months

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omg I will feel so bad for the slayer that harms the love clone reader so badly that she trapped under rubble, Wisteria posion and torn Kimono and everything and just as soon as the slayer about to decapitate her she starts to throw a tantrum and be convinced she was just spreading 'love' so she obviously calls for Zohakuten to help her. May you please write that as a story please? Love your work. Also it like when Nezuko burned Daki but much worse for reader cause her face was literally torn apart. Also she calls the slayers bullies

Hehe! Okay, one more thing on Love Clone reader! As sad as this is for our innocent Dokusha, I do like this idea! @aliorailrow, here you gooo!

Zohakuten- The Victim

Wriggling and struggling under the overwhelming weight atop of your bloody back, your rose pink kanji-marked eyes glassed over slightly as your passionate heart cracked in rejection. Your pale, almost undead skin was coursing with a shot of deadly wisteria poison and your gorgeous eccentric kimono was torn apart into shreds, much like your pretty face in which dripped blood all over the grainy floor

The very strong slayer stood before you, scanning over their work. They were able to singlehandedly seperate you, one of the many emotion clones of the Upper Moon 4 and trap you under a huge pile of building rubber and paralyse you with poison so you’re too immobilised to be able to fight back. Your innocent and emotional nature gave the slayer a huge boost as you barely wanted to attack them back

The slayer rose their malicious Nichirin Katana, setting off your final protective moments. “I just wanted to spread love! You’re a awful, mean person! You bully, how dare you try ruin my love! Why can’t I give you love!” You roar out heartbroken and bewildered by this slayer’s unreasonable hostility. You were truly convinced that you had done nothing wrong as you wanted to spread your love out for the human and your clone brothers

But this truly vile human attacked you, cornered you and crushed you like some helpless prey to it’s predator. The same slayer rose up their weapon and swung down very speedy as they were prepared to kill one of the Upper Moon 4’s clones, in horror and with nothing left to use your own seperate abilities as the wind in your lungs kept getting knocked out over and over. Even though you were upset and horrified with the potential you’ll die, you still felt love for the human…

“ONII-SAN, HELP ME!” You screamed out as loud as you could in a split-second, tears dripping down your mutilated cheeks. This roar of desperation echoed through the dark forest and triggered Sekido to immediately stuff his palm into the faces of his clone brothers; Karaku, Urogi and Aizetsu, absorbing them in a fast pace. Thankfully, the four entities managed to transform into Zohakuten, just in time to summon the pair of mighty solid wooden dragons into deflecting the slayer’s attack by burrowing through the very ground and break their katana into two

The two gigantic, semi-sentient dragons destroyed the rumble effortlessly pinning you down into grinded dust and carried you over to plop down weakly behind the familiar hatred clone. Zohakuten’s outraged eyes averted from the stunned, surprised human onto you, that boiling hatred faded into concern as he leant down to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, he was so worried about you and a powerful deep rage built up even more

“Don’t worry now, my precious little sister. I’ll take care of this bully, just stand behind me and I will protect you, like I always do”

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stealingyourbones · 2 years

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I have a really upsetting fic idea. ALSO TW for Suicide Attempt (but it's not actually a suicide but the Young Just Us and Batfam don't know that) sooooo, if you uhm don't feel up to checking on this, you can just ignore it!!!!!!!! Please!

After saving Bruce from the timestream, Tim is slowly becoming distant from the Batfamily. They notice, but no one had the courage (except Alfred because he's just awesome like that) to reach out, using having to deal with other things first as an excuse. Besides, Tim looked fine. He even said that he was hanging out with someone in his civilian life, and he looked hapoy about it.

Kon tries to reach out, even Bart tries to have a conversation with Tim. Cassie invites Tim on outings. Tim was... not behaving weirdly, but he was making death jokes more often. They thought it was Jason's influence. But the death jokes also become a bit more worrying, a bit more gorey. They tell him so, asking if he's doing okay, if he needs to talk to someone. Tim smiles at them and hugs them, telling them hoe thankful he was to have them and that he's never been happier. Of course, that causes alarm bells to ring in their minds.

Kon tries to tell Dick about this. He was brushed off. He tried to tell Steph. She said she'll check up on him regularly but also says that Tim was fine. Kon even tries to reach out to Jason. JASON! And HE seems to be the only one concerned! Jason says he'll talk to Tim, and talk to Alfred because Jason isn't as emotionally equipped for all this but he does want the Little Bird to be okay.

And then, one day, Kon hears Tim's heartbeat stop. He flies out of the Kents' house while sobbing, a small resignation in his chest but also denial because he knew, HE KNEW, that with how Tim was behaving, there was a chance that Tim might... Might...

He goes to Tim's Nest near Crime Alley, but he couldn't find him there. He goes to Tim's other safehouses, goes to high places, explores alleys, but he couldn't find Tim anywhere.

As long as there wasn't a body, Kon wasn't going to lose hope that Tim might be alive.

So, finally, he gives up, calls for Bart and Cassie for help, and then goes to the Wayne Manor to talk to Alfred. The old butler invited Kon in, and Kon began telling him everything thatvwas going on, his fears of Tim being dead, and his hope that Tim might still be alive. That maybe he was in some place where his super hearing couldn't hear through, or his supervision couldn't see.

Batman and Robin (Kon was a bit bitter for Tim), enters the kitchen, and Alfred relays everything Kon has told him.

No expression was on Damian's face, but Bruce absolutely crumples.

"He's not dead," said Bruce, clenching his fists and stomping away, probably to the batcave. "He couldn't be!"

But the Batcomputer couldn't track Tim's vitals.

But it did track where he had last been. Tim was at the top of Wayne Tower, standing at the very ledge. Bruce tried to look for video feeds. And when he found some, he began raging and cursing the security guards most likely sleeping on the job. Tim would never drug someone to his benefit. Lies and deception? Yes. And, he had always been sneaky.

Bruce played the video, and he could see and watch Tim... Talking? He was talking to himself, but the video feed was too grainy. Bruce knows that the security cameras were state of the art, always constantly upgraded to make sure he would get quality videos to look through. Did Tim know this? Why didn't the security guards report this?

But Bruce didn't have time to think of other things anymore, because Tim was falling.

"No..."

Tim didn't look scared, he looked excited for some reason, even through the grainy quality. He was laughing, he didn't have any gear on him, he was nearing the ground.

And the video feed cuts there, turning black. Alfred was in the background, walking up to Bruce's chair with a hand on his chest, having just finished a call with various batfamily members to check on the scene while he and Bruce and the young Kon watched Tim dive off the roof.

Bruce was searching for more feeds, but it was just the same. Oracle says that everything in WE during that time of Tim's fall turned off. But that's not what Bruce wanted to know. He couldn't bring his hands to see the next part after the blackout. He couldn't move his shaking hands to press play after the blackout.

"Bruce," Kon spoke softly. "I didn't see any blood around WE. This was minutes after I couldn't hear his heartbeat."

"B," Dick's voice echoed throughout the cave. "There's nothing here. I can't find Tim anywhere."

Where could Tim have gone?

a few months ago, days after returning from the time stream...

There was this interesting guy, you see. He was looking around with a Camera in his hand, taking pictures of Gotham's buildings/architecture.

Except, he was taking the pictures... Wrong. "How can you expect to take good pictures like that?" asked Tim, because he's an asshole like that.

The guy turns to him, raising a brow. Then, he chuckled holding the camera out. "How do you take them, then?"

Tim took the camera, made a grand show of how to position himself, how to adjust the lenses, and then took a picture of the man who might be a bit younger than him from how youthful he looked, which was accentuated from the orange sunset behind him shining like a halo behind his head, the gotham architectures looking like arches welcoming the man into the city, gargoyle statues paused in their roars, cars lined up in a solemn procession, and people faced towards Danny almost in an excited bow. Tim didn't know how he managed to capture such good timing for all this, but this has to be one of his best captures yet.

He hands the camera back proudly, and the man whistles appreciatively. "You're right, you do have the right to insult me, oh great photographer."

Tim blushes. "Can you send me a copy of that picture?" he asks instead of retorting. Then, he opens his wallet to bring out his business card, writing at the back with the pen he brought out to write one of his active emails (and phone number).

"I'm Tim, by the way," he said.

The man took the card, chuckling when he found Tim's initials for his last name. "Timothy Jackson D.W.?"

Tim shrugged. This man doesn't seem to know him, and he's not gonna change that.

"Well, D.W.," said the man, holding a hand out, "I'm Daniel William F."

Tim raised a brow. "Shall I call you First D.W.?"

"Please, call me Danny."

Tim smirked. "Only if you call me, Tim."

Danny smirked back. "Nah. Last D.W. kinda fits you."

"It's a mouthful, moreso than Timothy."

"It drives you crazy, I think it's worth it."

It all felt surreal. He was bantering easily with a... Well, he wasn't a stranger anymore. But, it felt nice.

More banters and conversations ended up with Tim inviting him for coffee, and then the two of them having a caffeine drinking contest (much to the horror of many staff and patrons), and then to Tim asking when Danny was free, landing another outing together, and they meet, and then there's another outing, and another, and another, and...

Tim had never felt so happy. So calm. So peaceful. Danny felt the same.

And then, Danny said, "I have a secret I want to share... I mean, since we're far away from what makes this dangerous, I just thought that I should come clean with you before I ask if we could... Y'know... Take this relationship to the next level?"

Tim trusts Danny. So, he readies himself to listen. And he listens to Danny's story.

He lives in a whole other dimension, where he fights ghosts on a daily basis as a ghost himself. That he came visiting other dimensions as a way to cope and escape his life in the other world sometimes. He has a family and friends, he's scared of his parents but he loves them, he went through various heartbreaks, but still managed to push through.

"If you want to run away, you can," he said.

But Tim hugs him, hugs him and kisses him. Danny kisses back.

"I love you," he said.

They kiss some more.

But you see...

When Danny said that he wanted to go bring Tim to meet his sister, Tim, in his sleep-deprived mind that makes the most horrible and dumbest choices known to man, blurted out that he wanted to sky dive from the roof of WE, and then fall into the portal and into Danny's bed. It sounded great, it sounded fun. Danny was all for it, as long as Danny is holding on to Tim while they fell. But keeping up invisibilIty while also trying to keep a portal open sucks so much power, so, Tim tells him not to bother with Tim. This was such a horrible idea, Danny made sure to keep up the ghostly interference with the cameras. He'll make sure to return Tim by morning, and he really cannot have people noticing Tim about to fall to his death.

Danny's aura lulls some people still within WE to sleep. And then, they jump.

The portal shuts all electricity off in WE, which awakens a whole bunch of people, but not fast enough to see a portal momentarily open and close.

Danny and Tim were laughing as they land on Danny's bed. It was still day time in Danny's world, so he and Tim naps for a little while.

Then, when Tim is more rested and more rational, they meet Jazz.

But it's when he's drinking coffee does Tim's eyes snap open.

"KON HAS SUPERHEARING!"

"Who?"

And that's how Danny found out Tim's secret identity.

[The portal caused WE to lose electricity because Danny was using a whole bunch of energy trying to keep Tim alive, trying to protect Tim from turning liminal, half-ghost, and whatever else could happen from being even slightly affected by the ghost zone]

Danny didn't have enough energy to return Tim, so now Tim was inwardly panicking what will happen once he returns.

But then, Dani suggests to just let Tim be liminal, that way Tim doesn't need to explain. He can just say that he couldn't remember, and his heartbeat won't even be telling them anything because it'll be slowed.

Tim could see the logic-not-logic of it. Except, he feels bad--nope, no he doesn't. The less people knows about other worlds, the better. Bruce just got back, Tim has added some stress towards him for being an idiot and doing that stunt, and he might as well just...

"Will it hurt?"

"Well, since you're being infected, it's like catching a stomach bug. So, you'll probably be miserably out of it for a week or two."

A day before Danny and Tim heads back, Tim gets the authentic experience of eating the Fenton's infected by ectoplasm food. Usually, you'd avoid it. But, well, Tim needed to do this no matter hoe much Danny says that he literally didn't need to do that, oh ancients, babe.

But, Danny's friends are liminal, Jazz is liminal, the Fenton parents are liminal eithout even knowing it.

Tim wants this.

And Tim eats.

It's only when Danny has laid Tim in his bed does Tim finally starts feeling the effects. His body starts sweating, and his head starts feeling foggy. His stomach wasn't aching, but it felt really numb.

Danny, invisible, shushes quietly into Tim's ear. And then disappears when Tim's door opens.

"TIM! Oh god, ALFRED! TIM'S HERE!"

Bruce? Why does Bruce sound like that?

They bring Tim into the medbay, taking blood samples to check if he's really Tim.

And he is.

But then they see something in his blood.

"It's... similar to the Lazarus..."

Tim will take the knowledge about this to his grave... Afterlife... When he fades...

Because Jason will definitely kill him for being stupid. Tim was feeling stupid.

And he was crying.

"It's okay, Tim..."

He doesn't deserve that kind voice. Tim feels like a fake. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have.

Because he's only going to get worse from here. Jason and Damian would be able to tell how Tim's body was dying, or better yet, getting closer with death.

But Tim won't be dying once the transition is done.

He'll be liminal. He'll be in the middle.

And he was so stupid about it, and none of his family members will know about it and--

"You don't have to tell them about my world, Tim," said Danny. "I'll tell them that I had you swallow some of this... Lazarus water or whatever."

"I did it willingly," whispered Tim, knowing that Damian could hear him either way, evem if he couldn't hear Danny. "I willingly ate it. It's not your fault. Let me own up to it..."

Damian thinks Tim was talking to him.

He relays the message to the others.

Aaaaaaand I'm now out of ideas of what else could happen. I just wanted some Tim Drake whump-not-whump. What Tim did was not cool, not his best ideas, and was probably out of character, and if someone could do this better (more heartwrenching and angsty), PLEASE. DO IT. I just want the Batfam and Tim to suffer.

I-

Anon this is a masterpiece holy shit. Like truly and genuinely this is incredible.

I can’t add anything onto this cause I know if I start writing I simply won’t stop and my carpal tunnel will not vibe with that.

If anyone else wants to add onto this I beg of you to do so because the angst potential is just so positively delicious.

#dpxdc #bones replies #anon #long post #Danny phantom #dude I’m honored to have this in my inbox this is so cool

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