#1683 words

[mywritersmind]

TELL ME IF YOU HATE ME - KA12

summary : kimi has a crush and a shit way of dealing with it, you think he hates you.

listen up : not proof read lolz! requests are open!!

word count : 1683

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The cars zoom past me as I press my finger down and a series of clicks sounds from my camera. I smile, holding my camera up and making sure I got the shot I wanted.

I did.

I see a flash of red by the garage which makes me breathe out, Ollie just crashed and I know it freaked him out. I put my eye to my camera again, zooming in so I can see if he’s okay.

He is.

I snap some far photos of the garages, passing Ferrari, then McLaren, and right as I'm about to skip over Mercedes, something catches my eye.

Lewis isn’t the one who gets out of his car, but a smaller boy with a mess of brown curls. He claps one of the pit crew members on the back and smiles. As he turns to face the track, I get a full view of his face.

Kimi Antonelli.

I had forgotten about the boy who’s driving with Mercedes next year. Ollie was talking my ear off about it last week but still… I guess I was so focused on shooting the cars that I didn’t realize who was in it.

I snap a photo of him, the light hitting his face perfectly as he takes a deep breath.

I’ve never met him, but I was forced to follow Prema by Ollie so I know he fits into Ollie’s odd life perfectly.

I walk back into the ferrari garage, smiling at my boss who takes my camera from me. I’m doing an internship, specifically with Ferrari's media team. Once they found out I like photography, they let me have a camera and media access.

I smile at Ollie who shoots me a thumbs up, letting me know he’s okay. I end up eating alone while scrolling on my phone, some people walk past but because free practice 2 is happened, most people are watching.

I take a bite of my salad and scroll once more. I get a weird feeling after my third bite, and when I look up, it’s the last thing I expect.

Kimis there.

He’s still in his race suit, his hair messy and a water bottle in his hand. His eyes get big when I turn to him. I’m about to raise my hand to wave but he spins around and bolts in the other direction.

I laugh out loud but when I look around, no one’s there to have seen it.

That was… weird.

⋆༺

“Hey, Y/n!” Ollie yells to me across the paddock, he’s standing with Kimi and Jack Doohan. I smile and wave, saying goodbye to who I was speaking with, and flipping my hair over my shoulder before making my way over to them.

“Hey! Happy Quali day!” I smile at them, especially Jack because I haven’t seen him all weekend.

“What are you up to today?” The australian asks me, his hands in his pockets.

“Taking pictures mostly, trying to get a bad one of Charles, and watching Quali. How about you guys?” I turn pointedly towards Ollie and Kimi but the Italian has his eyes pointed elsewhere and his mouth shut.

“Kimi and I.” Ollie grips Kimis shoulder and practically forces him to look at me, he smiles softly but looks back at Ollie as he talks, “are doing the same! Minus the photos and stuff. Wanna grab lunch with us later?”

I nod, pulling out my phone as I get a call, “Shit, i’m so late! See you guys later!”

⋆༺

Quali is fun and the Mexican fans are absolutely exhilarating. After getting caught up with photos, I finally met Ollie and Kimi in the Ferrari hospitality.

Except there’s no Kimi.

I raise a brow as we sit down, “Does Kimi not like me?”

Ollie moves his food around, “Uh… I don’t think so. Why?”

I shrug, “I just get the feeling he doesn’t really enjoy my company. Which hasn’t been much around him.”

Ollie frowns, “No! He just had to shoot something for Mercedes. He wanted to come.”

⋆༺

You know those times where you wish you could go back in time just five seconds? That’s how I feel right now.

“No!” I yell as Kimi turns the corner with four coffees in his hands and runs directly into me. “Fuck!” I back away from him, shaking off my hands instantly.

“Ah!” He does the same, looking up at me slowly, “I am so sorry…” This is the first time he speaks to me? Seriously!?

I take a breath, trying to gain control of my mind that’s screaming. I peel off my sweater, luckily my shirt underneath is untouched.

“I- Shit.” I groan and wipe my arms off with my sweater, “What are you, an errand boy!? I thought I was the one with an internship.” He laughs at this, then slaps his hand over his mouth.

“I’m genuinely so sorry.” He shakes his head, everything on me now smelling like coffee. I look at his shirt which is partly splashed.

“It’s not fine but It wasn’t on purpose.” I shrug, just staring down at the coffee cups.

“I’m such an idiot.” He groans, “Look, I’ll buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”

I smile slightly, crossing my arms, “Coffee in Ferrari hospitality is free. I’m assuming it’s the same for Mercedes.” He shakes his head, looking horrified.

“That shit is gross. I know a place.”

The ‘Place’ in question is in the general admission area. He pulls on my ferrari hat for extra security and grabs our coffees quickly.

“I actually can’t believe you’re wearing red.” We walk the back way, laughing. Maybe he doesn’t hate me? Or maybe he does and the coffee was all apart of some scheme.

He side eyes me, “Neither can I.” He pulls it off of his head, “Toto would kill me.”

Ollie finds us the second we step foot in the paddock, “Hey! Don’t tell me you became friends without me! Do not forget that I started this!”

“Yeah ok, Ol- I’ll give you friendship creds.” I pat his shoulder as he frowns.

⋆༺

It’s dark by the time I head out of the paddock, yawning, I notice Kimi on his phone. “Hey!” I say, smiling as he looks up at me.

Except his face does that weird thing again.

His cheeks go red and he looks like he’s forcing a smile. “Hi.” He says softly.

“Good day?” He nods, looking back at his phone and clearing his throat.

“Yeah.” He keeps it quick before walking away, “Bye.”

“Bye…?” Okay. So I don’t think I'm going crazy now because that was one weird ass conversation. If you can even call it that.

⋆༺

I wake up on race day and do my morning ritual, scrolling on instagram. I don’t go through all of my notifications often, but today something caught my eye.

Liked by Kimi Antonelli

The post is laughable, it’s from two years ago, Ollie and I were celebrating our birthdays since they fall on the same day.

Weird, Again.

I get ready and head out even though that stupid like is on my mind the whole time.

As if the universe is sending a message, I walk into the paddock at the same time as Kimi. He’s talking to his team member in fast italian and I ignore the fact that it’s 100% hot and focus on the fact that he 100% ignored me!

I call Ollie immediately, “Your friend hates me.”

I hear him laugh on the other side of the phone, “Kimi?”

“See! You already know who I'm talking about!” I groan as I enter Ferrari hospitality.

“Y/n. I think you just make him nervous.”

I stop dead in my tracks, “What?”

“Look, I absolutely love you. But you have a total resting bitch face!” I scoff at him even though I know it’s true, “He sees you taking photos a lot and even though I try to get him to talk to you, he’s like scared or some shit. I think he thinks you’re pretty too.”

I hang up.

⋆༺

I watch from the garage, spirits are high but I find myself distracted as Kimis face comes up on the screen.

Why is he so cute?

I bite my lip and think. I want him to like me. I want him to be friends with me like how he is with Ollie! So why can’t he see that? I mean, there’s a possibility he just doesn’t like me.

In that case, that’s fine! I just want to know.

My thoughts are how I find myself cornering him with my arms crossed and my actual bitch face on.

“Um… yes?” He looks scared.

“Do you not like me, or something?” He frowns, “I mean- If you don’t, that’s fine! But I don’t fuck with people who aren’t honest. Because I know i’m not completely likable to everyone and genuinely I don’t care if you don’t like me but I sorta hope you do because Ollie is my friend and Ollie is your friend and he wants us to be friends!” I take a breath.

Kimi just blinks, “I do like you.”

I roll my eyes.

“I just… felt embarrassed.” I raise a brow. Embarrassed? “I dumped coffee on you! And then I liked that post which had Ollie telling me to stop screaming into my pillow.” I laugh at that. “I just… I'm not good with pretty girls.”

That has me frozen.

“And you’re like scary pretty.”

I laugh, smiling, “You’re totally boosting my ego right now.” He just called me pretty.

He rolls his eyes, standing up straighter, “I’m sorry for being awkward.”

I sigh dramatically, “It’s fine.” I flip my hair over my shoulder, smirking, “My good looks just stuns people sometimes-”

He pushes my shoulder, “Oh fuck off!” I laugh with him, his cheeks red again, “Can I make it up to you?”

I bite my lip, hiding my smile, “Pick me up at 8.”

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1683

Chapter 36:

Lilia placed the card in the middle, at the space of the Traveler; the card representing her in this passage. "Impathetic, intuitive, inner voice to be trusted."

"Yes, you're a mensch, Lilia" Agatha commented, observing the sword filled ceiling that was still coming down; alas at a slower pace than before but it did not seem it would stop anytime soon. "

But let's say we place a card."

"No sword." You commented next, realizing that at least nothing was flying towards you; which never expected to count it as a relief in your prolonged life.

"If she got the card right, why doesn't the ceiling stop?" Jen questioned, her worry growing the closer the ceiling was coming down; the closer those swords were to her and the rest of you.

Lilia pulled the next card. "Three of Pentacles. Collaboration, Community, I needed you... my coven, " Immediately, she got a flash of the list she wrote for Agatha.

The names she had listed as the coven members Agatha needed.

Lilia Calderu

Jennifer Kale

Agatha Harkness

Alice Wu...

A black heart...

And no other name...

As she focused on the present, she came to realize that your name was never on the list. Before she could question it, before she could try to figure it out; her hand went for the next card.

"The Path Behind... The Knight of Wands. Full of fire. Fights bravely." She announced loudly as she placed the card down, getting momentarily flash of Alice's sacrifice in saving Agatha from the vengeful spirit of her evil mother.

Billy, the taller of the group and also the one with those huge black horns on his head; was the first who had to bend and try to avoid his impalement.

"We're running out of time." He exclaimed.

Lilia pulled the next card. "The Path Ahead...High Priestess. Immense spiritual power, unable or unwilling to use it." As she placed the card at its respective place on the spread, she got flames of her first meeting with Jen; the background of a banner the same as her card.

"Don't stop, Lilia!" Jen, the main subject of this momentarily memory, encouraged the older witch; with whom she had surprisingly bonded during their little time in the tunnels.

"Obstacles..." Lilia pulled the next card, but as she did, an extra card left the deck and slowly levitated towards the floor. She noticed, but her mind quickly focused on the card in her hands. "Three of Swords. Heartbreak, sorrow, grief." She remembered the moment Teen almost died; a devastated Agatha holding his head; three branches behind her crossing her the same way they crossed the card.

"Agatha!" You called and pulled her lower, forcing her to bend since, for a moment, had forgotten she had thay ridiculous pointy hat on top of her head.

Lilia heard the cries of worry but remained focused, close in finishing the spread. "The Windfall...Tower reversed. Disaster, destruction, sudden upheaval, but reversed, it means miraculous transformation." A quick flash of the Barmichva of Willliam and the shot of the tower reversed in her glass sphere. And with shaky hands, she pulled the last card. "And finally, the Destination..."

The sight of the card, so familiar and yet so haunting, made her gasp. She remembered the tunnels, the Ouija Board spelling a certain word... she remembered the summoning, she remembered the day she found her own maestro's body... and the figure standing behind it.

And she remembered the ways a certain Green Witch looked at you... the familiarity that seemed to exist... and the polarity represented.

"....death..." Lilia exclaimed and managed to place the card down, stopping the sword inches from harming her and her coven.

With the spread done, the ceiling started to go up again, and you could not help but chuckle faintly in relief; your hand holding Agatha's tightly for a moment longer.

"Lilia, you did it. You saved us." Jen exclaimed, almost feeling the need to hide the coocky old witch with troublesome powers.

However, it was you who had noticed that look on her face; one of shock and slight fear.

"What happened?" You asked, feeling she saw something that startled her enough and most likely concerned all of you as a group.

"Rio... she's Death." Lilia explained, still trying to process everything.

"She's what?" Jen questioned, ensuring she had heard right the first time.

"The original Green Witch."

You pressed your lips to form a thin line as the cat got out of the bag. Though in your and Rio's defence, no one ever denied that Rio was not death.

Simply, no one asked or made the connection; utill now that was.

"Is it true?" Billy asked next as everyone looked at Agatha.

"What can I say? I like the bad boys." She answered them without a moment of hesitation or shame, clearly not minding that she was romantically evolved with the Grimm Reaper.

At her words, you could not help but clear your throat and even pull your hand away from hers; clearly not liking her answer.

It was your turn to feel jealous, and you did not hide it from her or anyone. You had been very patient and understanding, but you were not going to stand around and be insulted like that.

You were before Rio. You were before anyone else...

Agatha frowned at your move, clearly not liking your response. However, she saw the way you crossed your arms halfway, fingers too close and pointing at your shoulder. She saw the look you were giving her; she could not help but roll her eyes at the unnecessary drama.

Honestly, you and Rio had that so much in common. It was becoming both tiresome and slightly worrisome.

"Fine, fine," she exclaimed. "I ike the bad boys and white witches with questionable parenthood backgrounds"

You parted our lips at her answer, clearly not approving of how openly she called you out. It definitely did not help as you could feel Jen's intense gaze on you, holding more suspicion than ever before.

Was this woman ever going to at least stop suspecting you would murder her in her sleep?

Before the topic could be changed to you and what Agatha said; Billy noticed something on the floor close to the table.

"Hey, Lilia; you missed a card," he pointed out and picked it up.

Lilia was reminded how that card was pulled along with the Three of Swords but had fallen to the side. Usually, in tarot, a card falling during shuffling was chosen, but during a spread... it depended.

She took the card from him and slowly lifted it up to her gaze, obscuring you from her vision from it.

"Two of swords..." Lilia recognised the upright card. "Stalemate, divided loyalty, caught in the middle... balance, equally matched..." she lowered the card slowly.

Exactly parallel to the figurine, you stood, and that act seemed to trigger one last memory flash to divination witch.

She remembered the meeting at Agatha's House, how you had your hands folded in a similar way as the crescent moon of a tapestry was in your background.

And here you stood now, in the exact same position. Your hands crossed, your clothes purely white, and that fancy headpiece threatening to fall forward and cover your eyes.

Lilia blinked as she recalled your name not existing on the list and your peculiar connection to both Rio and Agatha.

"Does this mean something? Flying off?" Billy asked.

Lilia kept staring at you in a way that made you feel as if she was looking through you; unfolding all of your locked secrets.

"It's a card that does and does not belong in the spread," she explained, finally adverting her gaze towards the boy. "It does and does not belong in the Obstacles, an unstable presence that can or can not affect the passage of the traveller"

"Helpful," Jen commented.

Suddenly, the grimm and spooky talk was interested by the familiar hissing sound that only Salem Seven could produce.

"We have to go, now!" You exclaimed, earning nods and huma from the others.

"Into the Iron Maiden, quickly!" Lilia instructed, only now making you realize that there were steps and a secret passage behind the now open iron Maiden.

One by one, Lilia ensured her coven went through.

First, if was Billy, and she gave him his little spellbook; which she had found in the tunnels.

Then it was Agatha, who seemed to understand why Lilia was waiting for them to enter. Yet despite everything, Lilia had one last piece of advice left; one that confused Agatha at that moment but would soon be the one thing saving her life.

You were third, Jen even pushing you to go ahead of her; something that surprised you. Jen had always been the first to leave, putting herself first and above all the others.

As you were about to enter, Lilia grabbed your hand; fingers wrapping tightly around the wrist with the moon brithmark.

"Stop holding back." she looked you dead in the eyes. "Face your fear."

Last was Jen, who got some wise words from Lilia as well; making her feel hopeful that her ending in this road would be better than her past the last 100 years.

Just like that, just like the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz; Lilia played her part.

She gave the scarecrow the brains. She gave Dorothy advice to help finish. To the Lion, she reminded it of the bravery it always looked for... and for the tinman; she restored the missing heart.

A soft smile played on her lips, hands holding the two doors of the Iron Maiden. She looked at her coven, eyes getting misty with tears. "I loved being a witch."

And with those words, she closed the doors and locked them; leaving herself into the room, ready to face the Salem Seven and end them.

Ready to truly save her coven this time. Even at the cost of her own life. She was ready.

As the Ballad said...

I hold Death's hand in mine

Chapter 37

[fatehbaz]

Work acquaintance, ostensibly as a joke about me and my interests, asked if I had any educational reading recommendations about "Santa's sleigh"

So, to pass the time, I thought we'd have a dialogue about the history of urban vehicularization, pedestrian encounters with vehicles, and control of space and mobility, through the "vehicle" (pun intended) of a case study of carriages and sleighs in eighteenth-century Amsterdam.

---

And none of this is to be taken seriously, I'm just saying words recreationally. But Amsterdam is important in the history of urban space. It was the site of early speed limit regulations for vehicles: In 1681, a bylaw limited vehicle speed to walking pace (stapvoets), and a 1696 deposition describes the servants of a sheriff stopping a driver for driving too fast. By the 1770s, the sleigh-man's guild had 285 sleigh-men active year-round, not counting unregistered personal sleighs, or those who used sleighs over snow in winter. The (colonialism-fueled) expansion of the city's infrastructure (in the context of maritime trade and East India Company profits) allowed sudden, dramatic architectural expansion, though there was uneven adoption of new transportation methods of wheeled vehicles in newly-built edges of the urban area (where textile factories were situated) while maintaining the architecture of the dense streets of the medieval city core, so that sleighs and carriages existed side-by-side in a way that was distinct from the streets of Paris and London.

In 1790, visiting German scientist Georg Forster described Amsterdam as such: "The whole day long, a continuous thunderous roaring dominates. The manifold carriages of mayors, councilors, state officials, directors of the East India Company, physicians and the lavishly rich, the unremitting transport of goods [...] obstruct the way of passage and cause a constant yelling and rumbling [...]."

But history scholar Bob Pierik (in an article that opens with Forster's lamentation) describes how Amsterdam was an early site of "vehicularization" and related street regulations, and he finds this notable and worth considering because it anticipated and predated the more famous and more widely discussed urban regulations and policing of properly-industrialized nineteenth-century London, which allows us to perhaps rethink the historiography and "teleological narrative" of modernity.

Since vehicles, pedestrians, and their attendant regulations were experimented with in the Dutch metropole decades before the mechanized transportation and "politics of paving" in Victorian Britain, there were what Pierik calls "multiple modernities" existing simultaneously in the streets of early modern Amsterdam (a "proper metropolis" at that time).

---

Evidently, "sleighs had been an important part of street life in Amsterdam long before coaches and chaises." Indeed, Pierik invokes the observation of English author Samuel Ireland from 1789, describing a visit to Amsterdam: "[C]arriages with wheels, except for the use of the nobility and gentry, were not suffered here for many years […]. A sleigh, as the Dutch term it (the French a traineau or pot de chambre) is now in use: it is the body of a coach, without wheels […]."

And guess what? They dragged those sleighs over pavement. No wheels, but only "an oily cloth (a smeerlap) was used to smoothen the passage."

A piece of rhyming graffiti, written on a wagon, and collected by Hieronymus Sweerts between 1683 and 1690, reads:

Who drives fast make a quick start

But easily loses their horse and cart

Careful and sen-

Sible is a good carriage man.

(For all excerpts and arguments here, by the way, see: Bob Pierik. "Coaches, Sleighs, and Speed in the Street: "Vehicularization" in Early Modern Amsterdam." Journal of Urban History, Volume 50, Issue 4. First published online 2 September 2022.)

Along with sleighs for transporting goods and products, there were sleighs for personal transport: a toeslee (closed sleigh) and koetsslee (coach sleigh).

---

And what of the pedestrian? Early on, at least in the Netherlands, vehicles were perceived as dangerous to pedestrians, and it could apparently be seen as arrogant to flaunt aristocratic wealth by gallavanting around in an expensive personal carriage in the city center, and so regulations and public opinion seem to indicate that pedestrian right-of-way was prioritized. An Amsterdam bylaw from 1528 indicated that drivers of sleighs could not sit upon their vehicle but had to walk beside it, because:

"[D]riving caused great disorder, often mixed with malice, as people, specifically women and children, are at great danger of being driven over."

An important city bylaw in 1634 banned the use of coaches within city walls. But the prohibition was gradually loosened, such that conflict between coach-drivers and pedestrians was frequently mentioned in depositions. But by the 1730s, something had changed. In Pierik's words:

[Quote.] Pedestrians now shared space with vehicles and had a new responsibility to protect themselves […]. [T]he language used in Bicker’s chronicle is very telling: In 1734, exactly a century after the vehicle ban, he wrote of a coachman who “had the misfortune of driving over a poor woman who died shortly thereafter.” Here, rather than the “women and children first” rhetoric that we have seen in the sixteenth-century regulations on the sleigh-men in the previous section, the coachman was also presented as a victim, and the right of the coach’s presence on the streets remained undisputed. Similarly, in 1746, Bicker Raije wrote of a nine- or ten-year-old boy who was “negligently watching around him” moments before he was killed by a sleigh horse. [End quote.]

The trend continued, and in the nineteenth century, British authorities would notoriously enact sweeping policies to control mobility in and access to urban space, in ways that prioritized "economic" activity while reinforcing class hierarchies. In fact, Pierik sees this vehicularization of the early modern city as "at once a civilizing and a colonizing project" in the same vein as what Koslofsky described as "nocturnalization," or the way in which, in London and Paris, "the elites of the court and the city colonized the urban night" with their affordance of transportation and a mobility not always shared with those lower in the hierarchies.

We are, of course, reminded of another aristocratic figure who, traveling through the night, engaged in this civilizing mission of nocturnalization and colonized public space with their vehicle. Someone who, like the early modern vehicle regulations of Amsterdam, is associated with Dutch tradition. Someone whose persona is closely connected to mobility, even hyper-mobility, drawn forth by their sleigh:

Santa Claus.

[tomorrowusa]

Sadly, a majority of Americans are almost completely ignorant about Eastern Europe. They probably don't know the difference between Budapest and Bucharest. (Spoiler: They are capitals of two non-Slavic countries in the region)

When Russia illegally annexed Crimea in 2014, Americans were surveyed on the location of Ukraine on an unlabeled map. Just 16% got it right. This map shows one dot for each response.

Yes, a couple of people thought Ukraine was in Memphis. Not sure what's up with those many folks who thought it is in Greenland. Maybe that's why Trump tried to buy it from Denmark.

In history in US classrooms almost nothing is mentioned about Eastern Europe that happened before the 20th century. This short list of items is typical.

A few (usually exotic) personalities like Ivan the Terrible, Vlad the Impaler, and Peter the Great.

Copernicus (real name: Mikołaj Kopernik) sorting out the Solar System. And that is actually more science than history.

The Siege of Vienna (1683). Vienna is not exactly in Eastern Europe but the siege was lifted by Polish King Jan III Sobieski.

A passing reference to Tsar Aleksandr II freeing the serfs – but only because it happened within two years of the Emancipation Proclamation.

So if you know almost nothing about the location and history of a country, you certainly won't understand its importance to international peace and security.

And that's the case with Ukraine which Putin sees simply as a piece in his country collection in his effort to restore the decrepit Soviet Union in all but name.

As Brendan Simms writes in his linked article up top...

It is worth reminding ourselves what is at stake. If Putin is not defeated and forced to withdraw from Ukraine, this will endanger much more than just the viability of that country. It will enable the Russians to reconstitute their forces facing the Baltic states and Finland, constituting a threat that we will have to face without support from Kyiv. The Ukrainians are thus fighting not only for their own sovereignty but our security as well. Their army is one of the best guarantors we have against future Russian aggression. All they ask is our help. We should give them what they need.

About those so called "red lines" we hear about from tankies and Trumpsters – those lines apparently don't really exist.

Robyn Dixon and Catherine Belton at the Washington Post write:

Ukraine’s resistance to Russia’s invasion keeps crossing President Vladimir Putin’s red lines. Kyiv’s lightning incursion into Kursk in western Russia this month slashed through the reddest line of all — a direct ground assault on Russia — yet Putin’s response has so far been strikingly passive and muted, in sharp contrast to his rhetoric earlier in the war. On day one of the invasion in February 2022, Putin warned that any country that stood in Russia’s way would face consequences “such as you have never seen in your entire history,” a threat that seemed directed at countries that might arm Ukraine. If Russia’s territorial integrity were threatened, “we will certainly use all the means at our disposal to protect Russia and our people. It’s not a bluff,” he said a few months later in September. “The citizens of Russia can be sure that the territorial integrity of our Motherland, our independence and freedom will be ensured — I emphasize this again — with all the means at our disposal,” making a clear reference to Russia’s nuclear weapons.

In other words, Putin has been bullshitting.

Ukraine’s Kursk incursion “proved the Russians are bluffing,” said Oleksandr Danylyuk, a former Ukrainian intelligence and defense official, now an associate fellow with the Royal United Services Institute, a think tank in London. “It shuts down all of the voices of the pseudo experts … the anti-escalation guys.”

Vladimir Putin can bluff only so much before people see that he's full of shit.💩 We're already past that point. His imperialist fantasies make him think that he's back in the Soviet Union and all he has to do is say something bellicose to get whatever he wants.

There are now Ukrainian troops on Russia's soil and over 133,000 refugees fanning out from the area telling other Russians of what's really going on near the border without censorship from Russian state media. The weaker Putin looks inside Russia, the sooner his invasion will end.

As I've said before, give Ukraine whatever weapons it wants – except nukes. Ukraine is doing NATO an enormous favor by keeping Putin at bay.

[blahblahwritings]

O Captain, My Captain.

A/N: It sure has been a while. I'm non-binary now. Feel like compared to those fic writers that disappear for years and come back saying 'sorry I was in prison' that coming out as NB isn't all that big. This is a request from anonymous:

'Can you please do a Captain Flint X Reader where he spent the night with the reader on his ship(If you can add smut, that'll be great!! But If you're not comfy with it I understand!! <333) and when he's having a meeting with his crew the reader just woke up and is trying to find him, so she's just wearing a translucent robe and when she opened the door with Flint and His crew she was embarrassed and Flint's crew was all flustered and stuff.

IDK IF THIS MADE ANY SENSE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! IF YOURE ABLE TO MAKE THIS, THANK YOU SO MUCH!! MWA 💋

I love Captain Flint ;>'

Sorry its so short. I am well out of practice.

Words: 1683

Warnings: Smut. Porn. Lemon. Whatever you want to call it.

His hands were warm, leaving trails of lightning in their wake as they roamed the expanse of your bare skin. He grabbed and pulled at your soft flesh as his tongue swirled around your clit expertly. The sounds he was pulling from you were filth as he moved to tease your entrance with a single digit. Slowly, torturously so, he slid inside your cunt with ease. You groaned and bucked your hips, a wordless demand for more. He chuckled lowly at your impatience and placed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs.

"So needy." He growled, the sound low in his throat. He added another finger, stretching you just a little further as he began pumping them in and out of you. Your breathy moans were music to his ears and his cock twitched at the sound but despite his wavering self-control, he remained focussed on the task at hand. Moving his mouth back to your clit, he sucked the bud into his mouth and gently licked it with small flicks of his wicked tongue. Your back arched as he curled his fingers, stroking that spot inside you just right. For a moment, among all the sensations, your eyes scrunched closed and you swore you could see stars. He didn't stop but he didn't speed up his movements either leaving you just short of that tantalising peak.

"Ple-Please, Captain. I need more. I need-" Before you finished that sentence his pace quickened, knowing exactly what you needed. His tongue firmly lapped at you applying just the right amount of pressure. His fingers curled upwards and thrust in and out at a ruinous pace which your breathing quickly matched. You gasped, a hand coming to grip his hair. Time stood still, the feeling of your climax washing over you in powerful waves. His pace never slowed, his mouth continuing its patterns pushing you deeper into the pleasure. He moaned, the vibrations sending little shockwaves through you. Your back arched and his eyes found yours as you convulsed. The bastard smirked, knowing he was the only one that could bring you to the brink so violently. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he began to slow, bringing you back to reality with gentle touches to your body, the soft flesh tingling with the aftermath. Your eyelids grew heavy as he cleaned you up lazily with his mouth but you wanted to make him feel the way you did. You moved a hand to grab his thick cock as he crawled his way over you.

"You're tired." He blinked at you, eyes much softer than they were before. "You don't have to return the favour." You smiled, appreciating the gesture, but despite your tiredness, if you didn't have him right now you might just explode. Grabbing him tightly, you stroked up and down his length, brushing your thumb over the tip as you squeezed. His eyes rolled back and he sucked a breath in through his teeth as you undid the last of his self-control. The darkness in his eyes pinned you in place, the softness replaced with a charged gaze. "You're sure?" His voice was clipped. A nod from you was all it took as he grabbed your hands roughly and pinned them above you with a single hand, the other gripped your jaw as he kissed you. It was desperate and you could taste yourself on his lips, tongue darting out as you moaned wantonly into his mouth. He lined himself up and slammed into you, filling you up in one thrust. You gasped loudly, throwing your head back at the sudden intrusion. Leaving you no time to process, he started bucking his hips into you, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your whines filling the Captain's quarters. He moved his mouth to your neck to suck bruises into your skin, biting down hard as the speed and harshness of his thrusts increased.

You could feel him letting go of all control, for once letting himself drown in you, not fearing if he would break you. His thrusts became brutal, his cock slamming ruthlessly into just the right spot over and over again. "Touch yourself." He growled into your ear, releasing your hands. You obeyed him, fingers deftly circling your own clit as he watched, sweat beading on his forehead. "Thats it. You take me so well." The praise made waves of hot pleasure run through you as he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder pushing him even deeper and you let out an involuntary scream as your vision turned white. A hand came to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds as he fucked you into the bed. You came. Violently. Your whole body shook and you couldn't suck in breath fast enough as his thrusts became sloppy. You dragged your nails down his back. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, the exquisite pain of your scratches, your screams against his palm, all of it brought him over the edge with his own guttural moans. You felt him twitching inside you as you came down from your high. Your breaths were fast and you continued to shake lightly as he pulled out of your still sensitive cunt, falling into the bed beside you. A few moments pass, both of you catching your breath before he pulls you into his chest.

The exhaustion chased away the remaining pulses of your orgasm as you bury your face into his neck. He kisses your forehead and pulls back to look at you, checking to see that you were alright. "Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

-----

Sounds of the seagulls screeching outside the ship ripped you from your peaceful slumber. You let out a moan as you stretched, your body aching deliciously after last nights events. They came flooding back to you as you smiled blissfully to yourself, rolling over to find… nothing. You awoke alone. The bed was cold meaning he must've left long before you woke. You sat up, the pang of hurt making your chest tight. The cabin was empty. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood, quickly realising that the next few days may be a little sore. A white robe hung from one of the hooks near the door and you quickly threw it on to search for your Captain. The crew were on shore leave and shouldn't be back until the early afternoon. So where was he?

Pulling open the door, you tiptoed through the short wooden halls in search of some fruit for breakfast. The smell of the sea mixed with gunpowder as you passed storage barrels and cannons. The ship was empty as expected. Turning a corner, you could hear someone behind the door to the small dining area. Thinking it was Flint, you threw open the door, ready to give him a piece of your mind. Something about leaving a lady in his bed to wake alone and how he should make it up to you in some way. Yes, that would do nicely.

Those thoughts stopped as soon as the door opened. He wasn't alone. The crew were here. All of them.

The heads of every man on the ship turned to look at the intrusion, each of them at the table with their Captain stood at the head. They stared at you and suddenly you were acutely aware of the translucent white robe you had thrown on in a hurry to see him. Billy is the first to avert his eyes, face going bright red. Gates opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly shuts it as he looks between James and you. The air turns hot around you. Or is that your face? Looking into his eyes you quickly slam the door, embarrassed at the thought of those men seeing you almost naked. You hear him grumble something to the crew like 'You act as though you have never seen a woman before' as footsteps approach. You begin to turn and leave, deciding to return to his quarters and pretend that it did not just happen. Maybe if you were quiet and still enough, you would cease to exist, the wooden floors of the ship opening up to eat you whole. Or you could throw yourself off the side and just take a big gulp of the sea-

The door opens and closes, Flint coming to stand beside you. Your cheeks are bright red, your arms trying to cover your body. You look up at him, barely meeting his ocean coloured eyes. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you. Its like a blanket on you because of the size. It is warm and smells just like him bringing some comfort.

"I am SO sorry. I didn't mean to intrude, I didn't think the crew would be back until the afternoon and-" You start babbling, feeling absolutely ridiculous. "Its half past two" He cut you off. You blink up at him. Your brows furrow as you stare at his clothed chest, thoughts flooding your skull. You had slept through the morning. What time HAD you gone to bed? It must've been late by the time you fell asleep. That's why he wasn't there when you woke. He had let you rest. A hand tilts your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His eyes look your body up and down, undressing you even though you wore so little. He wets his lips. "There isn't any need to apologise, I think that given the marks on your neck they know who you belong to." He looks away for a moment. "If not, what I'm about to do to you will ensure they get the message." He smirks, eyes returning to bore into your own. Your mouth suddenly runs dry, which is odd given that his words had the complete opposite effect between your thighs. Unable to form words, you simply nodded up at him earning a hungry kiss as he pulled you towards the captains quarters.

[hearted-anon]

A knight's foolish play

Words: 1683 Note: For @a-wild-seungberry T/w: Use of tools, yes Lee: Know Ler: Hannie

Lee Know has once said on a fancall, he was not a princess, but a queen. A sign of royalty that he wore high above his head, even if it sometimes crumbled with his kind and playful demeanour. Regardless so, his chin was high in the clouds, his eyes sharp with an intelligence that none of his peasants would question, lest they wanted to be put on the stake.

"Minho-hyung, I didn't know you were this great at acting!" Han called out beside him, his smile wide with his cheeks puffed up. Of course, Minho wasn't actually a cruel ruler, but under his watchful gaze of acting, the cat wasn't hesitant to have your blood served as fine wine in a golden goblet of what remained of you to drink for supper if he could.

"It's king Minho to you, Han Jisung." Lee Know hisses out coldly, pointing the end of his metallic blade at the younger's throat, where his adam apple popped up. The quokka's eyes widened in amazement and admiration, wondering how he manages to keep up the cold personality. Meanwhile, as much as Lino enjoyed being pampered and spoon fed on a sliver platter, he felt incredibly guilty for treating his members like peasants, nothing but rats to stomp on and a rug to walk upon to his throne.

However, with being an idol comes with great responsibility, even if it meant he had to act as if he was going to slice those that dared to defy his order, those that dared to duel with his sliver blade would fall spell to his iron grip, head severed onto a plate for his next meal.

"I mean...King Minho, we still have a small break before your next scene, would you like me to be my accompany to your room?" Jisung giggles softly, kneeling down before royalty himself with a shy smile. Minho's heart fluttered in embarrassment, knowing that outside of their acting they were good friends, yet Jisung insisted on treating him this way. With a soft chuckle, Lee Know lifts his blade to tilt the younger's head towards his piercing gaze, one that froze anyone that came in its path.

Still, the quokka held his ground, gripping the fabric of his tights in his hands, crumpling it slightly in all his hidden anxiety. To the 'king', he was nothing but a lowly knight, a servant to his call with a duty to serve and protect his majesty.

"Come then, let us trek the halls of my castle, Knight Jisung." Minho caves in, sheathing his blade into its respective scabbard, his cape draping across the floor to guide the knight along its path, his intentions clouded by the thick fabric of his clothes along with the golden crown that strode in path with him.

Jisung followed behind with a twinkle in his eyes, squealing when his blade almost fell out at the speed he ran towards his majesty. He waddled timidly beside him, Minho really did look intimidating, with narrowed slits of his eyes glaring at anyone that came to block his path, his cape covering his shoulders and down his back to symbolise his pride and confidence, and the crown that was atop his head, worn proudly by his owner.

"Sweet cheeks, why the long face? Y'know it's just acting..." And just like that, 'King Minho' was no longer present, replaced with the Lino the members knew and loved. His face softened into a downturned smile, keeping up his code of conduct in chivalry despite the acting having already ceased. Jisung just stared with wide eyes, his brown eyes reflecting his passion to stick to his role, the armour that his wore was his vow to protect the older no matter what may come between them.

Minho let out a hearty laugh under his breath, creaking open the door to his room. The younger took hesitant steps into the room, both of them absorbed into their roles. Escaping the mundane walls of dancing their life away to songs on a stage that encapsulated everything but the singers themselves, another ruthless night onto their bodies.

"Majesty first." Jisung hums with a bow, making the 'King' smile as he waltzes in. He tosses his cape on the floor, settling the shiny crown that he was reluctant to tear from his head, but placed it onto the night stand before tossing himself onto the bed. He was very much tired, exhausted from having to maintain his icy and blood lusting demeanour in front of the camera, he could sometimes see true fear in the member's eyes as they quake beneath him, making the cat kneel and beg for forgiveness afterwards, even if assured it was alright.

"You tired, my majesty, you need a massage from your peasant knight?" Minho grumbled at the use of royalty terms, he hated it. In his eyes, Jisung was more royalty to him than himself, and so were the members. When the knight felt the awkward tension that spread throughout the room, he was quick to settle down his scabbard onto the rug carefully, afraid to damage any fabric of hair that was held dearly by the 'king'.

Hands wrapped around the cat's waist gently, hoisting him up from his previous position of suffocating himself in dozens of pillows that costed millions, at least in the set it did. The cat shrieked and hissed, squirming under the knight's hold until eventually melting into a puddle when his head was settle onto the younger's lap, letting a hint of a smile on his face graze him.

"Would you like to indulge in some banter?" Jisung smiled innocently down at Lee Know, who gazed back up in confusion. It was only until hands landed under his arms to his armpits did the majesty fall prey to such childish things.

"N-No! I don't wish to- WAHAHAIT! PLEHEHEHEASE JISUNG!" Minho shrieked when the fingers got to work in scratching his blunt nails over the surface of his armpits, at least the fabric of his costume made it more bearable. Too bad, as when he felt the thick buttons of his shirt unbutton he was doomed.

"Your majesty! You didn't tell me you looked so defined with muscle!" The quokka pretended to be in awe as he looked upon Minho's bare waist, his thighs trapping his arms that once had freedom now no more. The older turned a bright red, getting oh so flustered at the use of still being treated like royalty even after the set, and boy was Jisung having a field day with this information.

"Nohoho don't! Plehehehase- ACK!" The cat squealed when he felt something cold placed onto his waist, eyes widening in horror when he realised it was body oil. He tugged at his arms under Han's thighs, shaking his head with giggles when it was rubbed all over his waist and spine.

"My majesty deserves only the best of massages in the kingdom." The knight mutters with a smile, pressing a tiny kiss to the cat's forehead to soothe him for what was to come. Minho simply shook with giggles, shrieking when fingertips traced along his sides, a mess before it begun.

"I ahaham nohot a king! Stahahap saying thaHAHAHT! JISUHUHUNG!" Minho howled with laughter when fingers rubbed at clawed at his ribs, the oil just making his skin all the more easy to move around, and slide right in between the crevices. The younger hummed an acknowledgement through the laughter, smiling down at the cruel 'king' torn apart at his fingertips.

"Yes you are! And I treat royalty with the utmost respect, excuse me." Jisung tutted, pretending to be offended that Lino dared speak himself so lowly. As punishment, a finger plunged into his navel, the other kneading into his waistline. Minho threw his head back in hysterics, crinkling his eyes with witch-like cackles he was sure the entire castle could hear.

The older thrashed and squirmed, the oil right in his navel making it unbearable as the finger swirled and scratched gently, making him go hazy with laughter, while the kneading on his v-line made him feel like he was going to ascend with crazy laughter.

"ARGHAHAHAAHAH! STAP! PLEEHEHEASE MAHAHAKE IT STOP!" Minho screeches with hysterics, his ears burning with blush from how badly he was being torn apart by something as simple as tickling, torn to pieces while he had beheaded several peasants that defied his rule. His grown hair sprawled across the younger's thighs messily, too much squirming to be kept neat and tidy.

"You're so cute, we should do this more often." The quokka mumbles with a giggle of his own, earning a very strong opinion and shout of no in return, making him smile. He loved when the older let loose like this, laughing so carefree without thinking twice of whom he affected, he wished things remained like that every time.

"NOHOHOHO! NO MORE! AHAHAH-!" Eventually, the older's laughter cut off into silent cries of mirth, kicking out his legs as he tried everything in his power to squirm away from the agile fingers that glided across his torso torturously gently, sending him into quiet, ticklish agony as tears streamed down hs face.

Alas, everything has to come to an end, Jisung pulling his fingers away to properly massage the oil in, earning a lot of giggling and protesting. He still held the rouge cat down, just in case its claws would extend for a hunt of revenge, something he often worried about whenever he messed about in playful banter.

Pulling him into a tight hug, the younger embraces the older in safe, warm cuddle, buttoning back up his cloak when he felt Minho shiver and shudder. They both definitely didn't fall asleep in a tranquil of peace, and both definitely weren't cooed over and nagged by the members for missing their shoot, with cuddles.

The knight was definitely 'burnt at the stake' the next day by his majesty. Worth it though, says Knight Jisung as he screamed out another squeal of desperation when his majesty finds his ribs interesting.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Eco

Chapter Eleven

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Bobby, Bela, Dick Roman and Kobe Bryant mentioned (look, he wasn't supposed to be here but I did my research and well, he had to be), Anael, faceless paps

Word Count: 1683 with pictures

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, tour planning, brunch and shopping with Bela, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

“Okay, well the official schedule from the touring company arrived, so I have maybe a week to set up the promo interviews before they announce it publicly,” you said over the phone.

“Yeah, with Crowley it’s probably gonna be sooner. Annie’s gotta find someone to step in for the whole year with this so she’s already interviewing. Let me know if you need anything, because I’m just sitting on my hands until we’re actually rolling out,” Bobby replied solemnly.

The give me something to do, please, was implied.

“Check with Benny and his boys, I know the label is supplying some guys too, but I trust you to secure the crew and security schedules,” you said as you made another note on your ever increasing list of to do’s.

Two months may have seemed like a long time, but it was the shortest turn around you’d had for a tour since taking over as publicist for Phantom Traveler and you’d be damned if you fucked it up.

“With the holidays coming up, we’ll be in a pinch to get everything nailed down. But all the commotion with Bela and everything, people will be chomping at the bit to get actual news,” you added, staring unfocused at your computer monitor.

“And he’s got that interview coming up you said, just Dean for that one?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I really hope Meg doesn’t eat him alive. But it’s his chance to give his side of things and for people to see where his head is at now.”

“The sassy little brunette, right?”

“The very one.”

“Is it going to be a tit-for-tat thing? Is Cas gonna be next for a tell-all?”

“Bobby, I don’t think Cas would do an interview and talk bad about Dean even if they paid him. He’s moved on.”

“If you say so, Dean didn’t exactly play nice.”

“He must have had hundreds of offers for the dirt since leaving the band. And everything I hear about him now is just about the kid he’s working with and how they’re creating something unique.”

“I just know how that reporter liked him— the last time.”

“I’m sure she’s going in with the bias against Dean here. Time will tell if she can be swayed,” you admitted. “Plus, Dean won't be alone. We made sure there'll be a few of us there to make it easier.”

“To keep him from making a damned fool of himself you mean.”

“Basically.”

Bobby sat on the other end of the line with his gruff silence before continuing, “you going home for Christmas?”

“Yeah, got the usual stuff with my folks for Christmas Eve then I’m helping Ellen on Christmas day. I’m flying so I won’t be gone more than a few days. Probably end up spending half of it at airports with my luck.”

“Okay, just checkin’.”

“You guys have any plans?”

“Just service on the night before and maybe something with Annie’s cousins. Might just be a train of open houses.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I’d enjoy myself.”

You laughed and wrapped it up with a promise to touch base before you left town. The next two days were a whirlwind of emails and phone calls. You put off confirming brunch with Bela for Sunday, but relented from guilt, as she now had regular visits from paparazzi outside her townhouse due to her and Dean’s night club-hopping. You finished up your Saturday errands and plopped yourself onto your stationary bike in a last ditch effort to fend off your restlessness until it was a reasonable enough time to crash.

God, your life was so exciting.

Bela poured you another glass from the endless pitcher of mimosas. “Anyway, I guess Dean got us tickets to the Lakers’ game tomorrow night, like I actually care about baseball.”

“Basketball,” you corrected, taking a sip.

“Exactly,” Bela smirked.

“How good are the tickets? He doesn’t really follow it either,” you continued, worried they’d be in an embarrassing section.

“I think he said something about getting the label’s box for the game?” She tried to play innocent.

You almost spit out your drink. “The entire box?”

“It’s not floor seats’ exposure, but it will be worth it at least. I think he said he called in a favor with Dick?”

“Dick Roman is giving Dean access to his exclusive luxury box at the Staples Center?” You were floored, you opened your phone and googled who they were playing. “Holy fuck, they’re retiring Kobe’s number tomorrow. It’s going to be insane. There’s no way that box isn’t gonna be packed, but at least you can bump elbows with the uppity ups.”

“Kobe Bryant, yeah? He was quite prolific,” Bela seemed pleased. 

“Uh, yeah, played his whole career here,” you added, but put your phone away. Unwilling to text Dean a ‘wtf’ text while you still had another hour of drinks and foodstuffs to get through. “What are you going to wear?”

Bela slid her most compelling face on. “I was hoping we could find something together. It’s been ages since we drunk shopped. Plus, it’s the holidays so I will need to be a bit tipsy if I want to deal with the crowds.”

You had literally nothing left to buy for Christmas, but drunk shopping was a time-honored tradition between the two of you. Plus, it was fun watching Bela work her magic and pull a stunning outfit together out of seemingly discordant pieces.

“Three stores and I’m getting my own ride home, missy,” you warned with a firm pointer finger.

“Of course!” Bela chuckled and tucked into her eggs, eyes flitting back to you with conspiratorial delight.

You finished off your mimosa and finally saw to your french toast.

Bela’s driver took you to all of her favorite haunts and naturally she weaseled her way in to see the best stylists, at least those who were actually on hand on the Sunday afternoon before Christmas. At Sister Jo’s boutique, the owner herself greeted Bela with a double cheek kiss and hug. 

“What are you doing here? Wait, don’t tell me, you need an outfit asap because your little rocker boy toy needs arm candy,” the woman, who was actually named Anael, teased.

“You know me too well,” Bela replied. “This is my dear friend, Y/N, and we’re a bit on the tilt from brunch, but I simply had to come see you. I need something casual and sexy. It’s for a basketball game.”

You waved as she nodded in your direction, not wanting to break the momentum.

Anael frowned and looked Bela over, with much consideration. Then she hummed before asking, “how do you feel about hats?”

Nearly two hours and a top off on champagne later (to keep your buzzes going), you and Bela walked out of the shop with a bag each and a receipt ensuring Bela would be back in the morning for the alterations on the remaining garments.  

“Well, I’d say that was a successful outing,” Bela said with pride, the pink in her cheeks the only hint of her lingering inebriation.

“I’d say,” you agreed, opening the back door of her pre-ordered ride. “I still can’t believe they had something that would work for me for New Year’s.”

Bela waited on the curb until she could slide in the other side, but continued your trail of thought. “Anael is good people, if she likes something, she carries it. Doesn’t matter the size or price, she is all about how an outfit makes you feel,” Bela explained.

“Well, it worked, because I just spent more on myself than I have the entire year because of how good it felt on, so I get it,” you said, patting the bag at your feet.

Bela confirmed your address with the driver and then hers, thanking them for going out of their way in a way that she wasn’t actually apologizing for being a burden.

“You got eyes on you lady,” the driver warned, pointing towards the corner where a camera lens was trained on the car.

“Ignore them, they’ll find someone else before they follow us very far,” Bela promised and you could see her almost glaring at the rearview mirror for the driver to get the lead out.

You sat on the couch in your robe and sleep pants, hair still wet and wrapped on top of your head. You had crashed for a late afternoon nap after shopping and had rebounded with a blissfully long shower and skincare treatment. Now you watched mind numbing television and plotted out your schedule for the coming week. Even though it was cut short with holiday travels, it was full-to-bursting with things to get done.

You sighed and dragged out your suitcase from under your bed, dropped it on the couch and unzipped it to start packing. At least you could watch something while you organized. 

Just after ten your phone buzzed with a text message. You ignored it for a minute until you could find the remote beneath your pile of socks and paused your Lord of the Rings rewatch.

You stared at the conversation with the movie still paused, dumbfounded. One, that Dean sent you a goodnight text of all things and secondly that he was going to willingly give Bela his phone to post on social media about them. Because it’s not official until they’re both posting each other, or so they say. This was going to be big for the fan girls. You already knew Becky would be emailing you the second she saw it. But as far as fanclub presidents went, she wasn’t the worst. Then again, she would be more than a little bitter if Sam and Madison were the ones flaunting their relationship.

You put a reminder in your calendar to cover an extra sweep of SM while you were waiting out Dean’s interview Tuesday morning and then you tossed your phone back amongst your clothes. You were done for the night and so you shoved your half-packed suitcase on the floor and restarted the movie.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Twelve: Hook

[oldiesstationlover11607]

hello thereee👋👋

I absolutely love the daughter fic so here's my idea for the next part!

So clancy, torchie and reader have a meeting to start a plan about the while doing that thing and clancy and reader have this kind of connection while making the plan. like having the same idea, finishing each other's sentence and that kind of things. the torchbearer notices, gets kinda (maybe really 🫣) jealous and talks about it out loud? like if asking them "what's going on between you two?"

and well, the rest of it its up to you

i think i plan on making more requests so may i have 🐹?

thats all so byebye!

Daughter Part 5 - Torchbearer + Clancy + Nico!Daughter

Warnings: Dema related stuff

Word Count: 1683

We had to make a plan. We all knew it. The little scrap piece of paper that was shoved into my tent early in the morning had described the meeting we were meant to have. Late at night, after everyone but Clancy, The Torchbearer, and I had gone to bed, we were to meet in the forest, away from camp. I could hear the crickets chirping as my feet crunched down on the dry grass. It wasn’t a long walk from camp, but with the moon shining above me, I could tell I was a long way from home.

“Ash.” The Torchbearer.

I jumped, his voice breaking the silence of nature.

“Torchbearer.” I took a deep breath before turning around to face him.

“You look tired,” he spoke, moving closer to me. His presence was softer than usual, like he was trying to be gentler than he had been before. A subtle apology.

“I am tired.”

“You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders. I see it.” His eyes scanned my face for a reaction. I didn’t know what to give him.

Before I could respond, another voice cut through the woods. “You’re not starting without me, are you?”

Clancy emerged from the shadows, brushing a hand over his shaved head. He was grinning, but his eyes flicked between us, assessing. “I’d hate to miss the opening act.”

“No one’s started anything,” The Torchbearer replied sharply. He moved a step closer to me, but I shifted slightly toward Clancy, unsure why the air felt suddenly tense.

“Good,” Clancy said, flashing me a smile. “You’re the one who called us here. What’s the first move?”

Torchbearer nodded. “We need to figure out how to get into the compound without setting off alarms.” 

I knew what he was talking about. “If we—”

“—loop through the south side and disable the secondary sensors,” Clancy finished.

“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “But we’d need to time it with their shift change.”

“Right. They switch out every three hours, but the 2 a.m. window is the quietest,” Clancy said.

I glanced up at him, a spark of shared understanding lighting between us. “That’s what I was thinking.”

The Torchbearer cleared his throat loudly. “And what about the patrols on the north perimeter? You’re acting like they don’t exist.”

“They do,” Clancy said, his grin unfaltering, “but they’re predictable. If we follow their patterns—”

“—and keep our movement slow, we can slip past them.” My words came out instinctively, syncing with Clancy’s train of thought.

The Torchbearer’s jaw tightened. “What’s going on between you two?”

“What?” I blinked, looking at him in confusion.

“You’re finishing each other’s sentences like you’ve rehearsed this,” he said, his tone cool but edged with something unmistakable—jealousy. His gaze bounced between Clancy and me, landing on me. “Is there something I should know?”

Clancy leaned back, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. “Why, Torchbearer? Feeling left out?”

“Don’t push it,” The Torchbearer snapped, his usual composure slipping. He turned back to me, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Ash?” I didn’t know why he kept using my old name. It was weirdly comforting. 

“There’s nothing going on,” I said quickly, though I could feel heat rising in my face. “We just… think alike sometimes. That’s all.”

“Think alike?” The Torchbearer repeated, his eyes narrowing.

“Exactly,” Clancy said, smirking. “It’s like magic. Great minds, you know?”

The Torchbearer didn’t look amused. In fact, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the tension in his shoulders was palpable.

“Let’s focus,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back. “We need this plan to work.”

The Torchbearer’s eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he sighed and nodded. “Fine. Let’s finish this.”

We settled into the details. The compound’s layout was daunting, with overlapping patrols and reinforced checkpoints. It was clear that the Bishops had anticipated any attempt to infiltrate the walls. We worked through possibilities, refining strategies and eliminating risks until we had something resembling a plan. All the while, Clancy and I fell into an unspoken rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other, completing thoughts, and sketching out maneuvers. The Torchbearer remained quiet, his watchful gaze fixed on us like he was trying to decipher a code.

Hours later, we wrapped up. The moon hung low, and the first hints of dawn began to tint the horizon. Clancy stretched, yawning loudly. “Well, that was productive. I’ll head back first. Don’t want anyone getting suspicious.” He gave me a quick wink, then disappeared into the trees before either of us could respond.

The Torchbearer exhaled, his frustration slipping through. “He’s reckless.”

“He’s clever,” I countered.

“Cleverness gets you killed.” His voice was firm, but his expression softened as he looked at me. “I’m only saying this because I don’t want you getting hurt. You’re too important to risk for someone like Clancy.”

I frowned, unsure how to respond. “It’s not about him. It’s about all of us. You know that.”

“I know,” he said quietly. His hand brushed against mine, and for a moment, I thought he might say more. But instead, he stepped back. “We should head back.”

By the time we returned to camp, the sun was rising, and the others were beginning to stir. Clancy’s absence didn’t register at first. It wasn’t until the breakfast fire was lit, and he still hadn’t appeared, that unease began to settle in. The Torchbearer stood apart from the group, his arms crossed as he scanned the edge of the woods.

“He’s late,” I said, stepping up beside him.

“Or he’s caught.” The Torchbearer’s voice was grim.

I shook my head. “Clancy’s too careful for that.”

“Is he?” He turned to face me, his expression hard. “You don’t know what the Bishops are capable of. I do.”

“You think I don’t know what the Bishops are capable of? Torchbearer, you’re joking.”

As if on cue, a faint sound drifted from the forest—a low, rhythmic thudding. The camp fell silent as we strained to listen. The sound grew louder, resolving into the heavy march of boots. Then came the voices—harsh commands barked in unison. My stomach twisted as figures emerged from the trees. Bishops. Their crimson robes glowed in the light of their lanterns, and in their midst, bound and struggling, was Clancy.

“No,” I breathed, my heart pounding.

Clancy’s face was bruised, but his eyes blazed with defiance. As the Bishops dragged him past the camp’s edge. 

The Torchbearer’s arm shot out, barring my way before I could take even a step forward. His grip was iron as he pulled me back.

“Let me go!” I screamed, my voice raw, the edges of panic scraping against my throat. My feet kicked against the dirt, desperate to chase after Clancy. “They’ll kill him!”

“And if you run after him, they’ll kill you too!” The Torchbearer’s voice was firm, but his grip tightened as I thrashed against him. “Ash, stop!”

“I can’t just leave him!” I cried, my vision blurring with tears. My whole body trembled, caught between desperation and fury. I clawed at his arms, trying to break free, but he held me fast, his strength unyielding.

“Look at them!” he snapped, forcing me to still. “They’re armed, they’re organized, and they’re looking for you. You’ll only make it worse!”

“Worse?” I spat the word, my voice shaking. “They’re dragging him to his death! We can’t just stand here!”

His face twisted in frustration, and for a moment, I saw something raw and painful in his eyes. “We don’t have the numbers. We don’t have the weapons. Running in there now is suicide—and it won’t save him.”

I shook my head, refusing to listen. The distant sound of Clancy’s struggle cut through the air, tearing at me. “I can’t do nothing. I can’t leave him!”

“You’re not leaving him,” The Torchbearer said fiercely, his face inches from mine now. “But if you go down there, we lose you too. I can’t—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. “I can’t let that happen.”

The weight of his words hit me like a punch to the chest, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm inside me. I sagged against his hold, tears streaming silently down my cheeks as the Bishops and Clancy disappeared into the shadows. His defiance had stayed until the end, but now even that was swallowed by the forest.

“Please,” I whispered, barely able to form the word. “Please, we have to do something.”

“We will,” The Torchbearer promised, his voice low and steady. “But not now. Not like this.”

He guided me back to camp, his arm firm around my shoulders, shielding me from the curious stares of the others. I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder, hoping against hope to see Clancy breaking free, to hear his laugh cutting through the dread. But the forest remained silent.

When we reached the campfire, the weight of the night settled over me. The Torchbearer guided me to a seat, crouching in front of me. “Listen to me,” he said softly, his hands resting on my knees to ground me. “We’ll get him back.”

“How?” My voice was hollow.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “But we can’t rush in blind. If we’re going to save him, we need a plan. A real one this time.”

I didn’t respond. The idea of waiting, of planning, felt unbearable. Every second wasted felt like another second Clancy was slipping further away.

The others gathered slowly, sensing the tension but staying quiet. I stared into the fire, my mind racing. Clancy had been the glue in our fractured group, the one who kept us laughing even when the world pressed its weight onto our shoulders. We couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose him.

Somewhere in the distance, the Bishops were taking him deeper into the compound, where they’d try to break him. But I knew Clancy—knew his spirit wouldn’t shatter easily. That spark of defiance they’d dragged into the forest? It was still burning. And no matter how long it took, I’d make sure it burned free again.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[scotianostra]

James Renwick, the Covenanting minister, issued his declaration on May 28, 1685.

I said before how much I dislike covering The Killing Times, it is one of the most troubled periods of Scottish History, I am beginning to understand it the more I read it and although I am not a religious man I have to respect the men and women who died for the sake of theirs on all sides, James Renwick was one such man, this is an abridged version of his story

James Renwick had been 18 years old when he saw Donald Cargill executed in 1681. By this time, the Covenanters were meeting together as societies for fellowship, but after Cargill’s death they had no ministers. Cargill’s death made Renwick determined to join these United Societies, and in 1682 they sent him to Holland to train to become a minister. Renwick was ordained as a minister in Holland in 1683, came back to Scotland and began preaching. He spent the next six years preaching and trying not to be caught. In one year, he baptised 600 children.

From 1682 onwards, the persecution against the Covenanters became worse than ever. Claverhouse was sent to fine and arrest Covenanters. By now, Covenanters were being executed just because of their religious beliefs. In 1684, Renwick and the United Societies wrote an Apologetical Declaration which said that they would punish anyone who continued to persecute them. From then on, anyone could be shot on the spot by the government if they wouldn’t take an oath to say that this declaration was wrong. In 1685, Charles II died and his Roman Catholic brother, James VII (known as James II in England) became king. Renwick and the Covenanters wrote a second Sanquhar Declaration in which they rejected James’ right to be king. James had already been persecuting the Covenanters before he became king and had been one of those excommunicated by Donald Cargill. As soon as he came to the throne, James began to take away the laws stopping Catholics from meeting to worship. He offered four indulgences, which many of the Presbyterians accepted. The Covenanters continued to refuse them however. Now, anyone who went to a conventicle could be killed. The years from 1685 to 1688 were known as the Killing Times, during which a couple of hundred Covenanters, young and old, were either shot in the fields without a trial or executed after having had a trial. Those who died included John Brown, The Two Margarets and George Wood.

Renwick kept on preaching but was finally caught in January 1688. When the captain of the troops that caught him saw how young he was, he said: “What! Is this the boy Renwick that the nation has been so much troubled with?”

On the day of his execution, some people tried to get Renwick to pray for the king. But he replied, “I am within a little while to appear before Him who is King of kings, and Lord of lords, who shall pour shame, contempt, and confusion upon all the kings of the earth who have not ruled for him”.

His last words were, “Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit, for thou hast redeemed me, Lord God of truth.” He was then hanged in the Grassmarket in Edinburgh – the last Covenanter martyr to be publicly executed. The date was 17 February 1688 – 3 days after his twenty-sixth birthday.

[anas-aspiration]

Run

warnings: violence-weapons- angst

summary: the w people attack Alexandria, y /n and carl already fighting are forced to huddle together and get over it xoxo. 1683 words

Its a semi cloudy day, perfect for relaxing inside and doing nothing. It was also turning out great. You woke up, got dressed, remembered you have snacks downstairs, and started cleaning up. When you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth you hear your bedroom door open. Peaking out you see its carl, not surprised, since you guys go back and forth “sharing rooms”

"Oh good your up. Did you finish the spare shampoo I had under the sink?"

You covered your mouth trying to be polite and not laugh at his sternness "Uh yeah sorry I can ask Daryl to put that on the list. You'll get it by tomorrow."

He furrowed his brow "K."

"Whats your problem its just shampoo."

"God my problem is you. "

You were taken aback at how fast he snapped back at you. He didn’t usually act like an asshole but you knew he would eventually get out of his little mood swing. Internally you decided to help him get out of it faster by arguing.

You rolled your eyes "oh please elaborate! Because I'm sorry your having a bad morning but that has hardly anything to do with me."

"you're useless. Your ass doesn't do anything except hang around your little friends and eat shit. What good are you?"

Turning from the mirror to him you mustered up the meanest look you could. Then popped the tooth brush out of your mouth and rinsed preparing to go off on him. Who does he think he is calling you useless? He was just your 'bff' yesterday and now he's acting like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"First I am not useless. Do you even think before you speak because that doesn't make sense at all considering I am the one changing Judith's diapers, cleaning both your room, hers, and mine every week, and on top of that cooking your meals, so please come get me when your attitude is looking up. Cause I don't know who put you in this mood but its your job to get out of it."

You walked past him scoffing. Downstairs you grabbed your walkman, a bag of grapes, rollerskates and walked out the door.

You had been rolling around the neighborhood for a little while, enjoying the fresh air and exercise. Eventually, you came across a bench and decided to take a rest. As you sat down, you reached into your bag and pulled out a handful of juicy grapes. As you savored the sweet flavor, your mind wandered to thoughts of Deana and her parties. You realized that you could really use some fun right now, and hoped that Deana would throw another one soon. In the meantime, you decided to listen to some music on your Walkman. You scrolled through your playlist and selected "Rehab" by Lana Del Rey, letting the cute melody wash over you as you enjoyed a moment of peaceful solitude on the bench.

You sat there soaking in your thoughts mindlessly eating your grapes. You started noticing small things that you didn't notice before like how lifeless everything looked when it wasn't sunny. It made you think of Winter which was coming close. The thought of Christmas warmed your heart, but made you wonder how different it would be celebrating during the end of the world. Surely parents want their kids to have something like that. You definitely would even at your age.

Or maybe-

"HELP"

You quickly jerked out of your train of thought at the sound. Was someone hurt? Looking around you didn't see anything. But something told you to get somewhere safe. You stood up gathering your things shaking, when you started hearing more screams. Startled you just grabbed your roller skates and ran in the direction of your house. As you turned a corner you saw the mayhem. People cut into pieces and random people running around with machetes and other weapons. Now officially scared out of your mind you sprinted as fast as you could.

Morgan was in shackles, people being sliced, beaten. You caught a glimpse of someone with a 'W' on their forehead. The group Rick and morgan were murmuring about got inside the walls and are killing everyone. As you neared the house you heard someone laughing close behind you.

fuck.

"No no no no" You Turned your head to see who it was and you almost started crying. A big, probably three hundred pound, man was running behind you with a spear. You picked up the pace still a block away from the house.

You looked to your right hoping Rick or someone was gonna shoot him but instead you saw a handgun laying on the sidewalk. You bolted to it and immediately picked it up and blindly fired two shots in his direction.

One hit his arm holding the spear. You went to shoot again but *click*. You panicked then he charged at you then you fell back. Now your heart was beating faster than ever hoping you didn't just get yourself killed. He was on top of you and you stupidly threw a punch but it hit him. Blood trickled down his cheek and landed on you. He hissed at the pain, not from your power, but from the four cheap and prickly rings you had on. Before he turned back to hit back you pulled out your knife from your boot about to pierce his neck when a shot sounded. You winced then realized Carl had shot him.

You quickly wiggled from underneath him as you had tried earlier then stood up and wiped the blood off your jaw, still in shock.

"I had it."

"Barely." He said in a cocky manner, but with some sympathy in his voice. "Are you okay?''

"um.........Yeah i'm okay." You said

Now you were feeling faintish after only having grapes as a meal for the day and all the stress you had just been through. It seemed he had noticed this too because he grabbed your hand and started guiding you through the chaos back home.

A couple of hours passed, you were boiling noodles for a classic spaghetti in the kitchen. It felt strange casually cooking a meal after what happened. But there seemed to not be any right way to deal with the fact that you almost become road kill.

Carl was upstairs probably putting Judith to sleep and getting into his pajamas. Your feet began to tingle, a sign they were falling asleep so you decided to stroll over to the counter and sit there after turning the simmer down. You ran your soft hands through your hair then slowly rubbed your temples. You heard him come downstairs.

"Hey y/ n"

You looked up "Hey Carl, whats up?"

"Nothin, just uh put Judith down. Are you doing alright?"

"Yeah i'm as good as I can be at the moment. I just have a raging headache. Also- where did the others go?"

"Oh they were helping people clean up, now their at Deana's." He paused "But I just wanted to talk to you about this morning.. Im sorry for being um rude. I didn't mean what I said obviously I was just well.. I don't know. I'm also sorry because its my fault you were out there when the people attacked anyway. Do you forgive me?"

"Yes I forgive you" you said slightly giggling "I can't stay mad at you for long but thank you for also saving my life. Even if it was your fault I was out there you could have chose not to save me, your best friend, but you did."

He smiled at the way you punctuated best friend "yeah" He sat in the chair next to you staring at his hands as if he was thinking about saying something.

As you rose to attend to the food, he said, "Best friend huh?" to which you simply replied, "Yep haha". However, the conversation took an unexpected turn when he asked, "Have you ever thought of like... being more?"

You stood frozen for a second, before realizing he was probably watching you from behind.

You had considered this possibility before, but you didn't want to complicate things by bringing it up. The thought of him rejecting you made you feel uneasy, wondering if he would be scrutinizing your every move after. You tried to shake off the feeling, but it lingered in the back of your mind every time you saw him, thought about it, hell even dreamt about him. You thought it was time to confront him about it, or at least bring it up in conversation. You didn't want to be paranoid, but you also didn't want to ignore your instincts.

"hmm well" you said teasing him a little "what do you mean?"

"I'm just being dumb or whatever"

"No, your not, tell me" You said turning around and smiling. This gave him hope that you would feel the same.

"It's just, I woke up in a bad mood cause I overheard you with your friends last night talking about me. You said I come on too strong and It's obvious who I like and-"

"Oh my god no carl" you interupted " I wasn't talking about you I was talking about Abraham and Sasha. I love them both but it's so funny watching their little friends to lovers trope"

He laughed "ohhh, my bad um" "Well sorry for that too. But what I'm trying to say is I like you. I thought you didn't like me back so I got mad but- It's okay if you don't like me back I just needed to tell you because I couldn't hold on to that secret anymore." he said nervously running his hand through his hair.

You smiled and looked at him. You felt like everything that you didn't expect to happen today was happening at the strangest times.

"That- well I like you too. I was too scared to tell you because I was afraid you didn't feel the same way"

"Really?"

You nodded.

He stood up and walked over to your spot grabbing the warm wooden spoon from your hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

pt2??

A/N! :

HEY!! first post on this acc lmaoo. I posted this on watt pad originally like a month ago along with two other imagines (if you wanna check them out: leinsburg666) I wont be posting them here bc personally i think they are booty and i wrote them two months ago I’m obviously a new person duhh. but anyways i’m gonna write some more like this and PLEASE leave requests like good lord i will probably reply to all of them since i’m not sure a lot of people will see this bc the carl/reader fandom died in like 2018. hope this was enjoyable thoo 🩷

[a-sterling-rose]

Desiree Redesign

Front View:

Back View:

Yay, I finally finished my Desiree redesign. I leaned more into her humanity instead of her genie status, but I did want to give the same cuff imagery by putting the design along her dress’ wrist. 

My main goal for my Desiree is to be able to actually pin-point where she originates. I chose to make her Palestinian as I wanted to use some embroidery patterns that are iconic from the culture. I will admit my ignorance when it comes to Palestinian history, but I believe I would have my Desiree to be alive during the Early Ottoman Ruling of Palestine, which would be around 1683 AD.

I want to visually show Desiree’s rebellious nature in her outfit. Her dress isn’t as long as her tail makes it out to be. Her veil does cover her hair, but you can still clearly see it because of how loose her veil is. Despite everything that has happened, Desiree still loves her culture.

I changed her OG color scheme(blue and purple) to red and purple as a visual hint as to what her personality/ultimate goal is.

For those who are curious:

My Desiree’s ultimate goal is to gain enough power to grant her own wish. Despite the front she puts up, Desiree doesn’t fully understand how her powers work, thus uses humans as test subjects to see what can/can’t be done with particular word choices. 

What is Desiree’s wish?

Well, I actually don’t want to change much of Desiree’s origins. Mainly, I want to make her an authentic depiction of a harem girl. However, my Desiree wasn’t apart of the Sultan’s harem, but his wife’s.

Harem’s of influential women were usually personal servants/ under personal protection. However, a romantic relationship developed between Desiree and the wife(I swear I will give this woman a proper name along with her own redesign someday).

Desiree was transparent about she wanted: To run away together to a place where they can exist in peace. She was always the optimist of the two, the dreamer who would pray to the stars for a day their plan could become real. You can only imagine what Desiree felt when the Wife suddenly banished her without even saying goodbye.

And thus Desiree’s story continues on like her OG counterpart. She manifests a ghostly form that can grant wishes, adopting the perception of being a genie as a way seem more legitimate. 

She powers is manipulate ectoplasam to take properly take form(to explain how Danny is able to suck these ‘wishes’ into the thermos). Desiree can’t manipulate time, but she can manipulate memories to make it seem like she truly did. 

My Desiree wants to wish to meet the Wife again. It seems no matter how Desiree tricks humans into helping her, she can’t seem to find the Wife.

[narcolini]

coping mechanisms

angel reyes x gn!reader (& bonus coco), angst, 1683 words

no warnings, just men being dumb and fighty

for day 21 of whumpril: ‘it’s just a scratch’

tagging: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas​ (let me know if u wanna be tagged for angel fics)

Angel’s been like this since EZ’s arrest. Desperate for distraction. He’d been bothering the guys at first, tagging along on every job he could, calling round for drinks when they didn’t want guests. You could only keep him busy for so long too, because you always had to go to work eventually. No matter how much of yourself you gave in the time in between, it wasn’t enough. He was driving himself mad with it, really, the pursuit of an occupied mind. When no-one was there to help, he drank instead, but his wallet complained as much as his head did on that one.

And then he’d started fixing up his bike.

New parts, new paint. He stays out all day, polishing it, tweaking it. Riding out until it’s dirty and doing it all over again.

He’s at it now, in the lot, down on one knee to add shine to the front wheel arch. You’re watching him from the porch of the clubhouse, forearms on the wooden railing. You try to be a part of what helps. Offer him every escape you can think of: movies, dinner, sex. But he just goes right back to the bike afterwards. It’s the only thing that keeps his mind from running away with him. The repetition, you suppose, the little tasks, over and over again. He can’t think about EZ’s sentencing while he’s doing it. It’s just polish, and detailing, and the instant gratification of doing something practical with his hands.

There’s no waiting for someone else’s decision with the bike, the control is all his.

‘You want a beer, Ange?’ you shout.

His head shakes from across the yard. ‘Nah, you’re good.’

You’d expected as much, but offering a drink every now and then is all you can do when he’s like this. You were trying to be patient. Supportive.

‘I wanna go eat soon,’ you tell him, which he nods to. ‘In like thirty minutes?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

He hasn’t looked up from the bike once, is just raising his voice so it carries instead.

You sigh, relaxing into the support in front of you. EZ’s trial can’t come soon enough. You need your boyfriend back. Need a decision, a sentence, so he can stop avoiding what’s coming and deal with it instead. The longer he goes like this, the harder it’ll be when it happens and EZ goes in for good. He won’t even talk about it. Acts like he doesn’t have a brother at all, and if you bring it up, then, well. It’s worse than letting him spending hours and hours waxing the leather of his seat cushion.

There’s another bike pulling up now, Coco on his own, rolling into the space beside Angel’s. You can see right away that he’s got the angle wrong, probably from squinting into the sun. He goes wonky, then straightens, too close to where Angel’s working. You can’t be sure, but it almost looks like he’s made contact. Bike to bike.

‘Ey, ey, yo!’ Angel’s standing, tossing his cloth onto the seat. ‘Watch your fucking bars, homie.’

Coco’s engine cuts off. ‘Relax, bro,’ he says, craning to look between the two machines. He pushes his own bike back, walking it with his boots, before kicking down his stand. ‘It ain’t that serious.’

But Angel’s bent again, inspecting the paintwork of his own. ‘You fucked up my bike,’ he snaps, finger swiping along the mark he’s found.

‘What?’ Coco dismounts, hair swinging as he walks to stand beside him. When he’s there, looking at what Angel’s looking at, he laughs. ‘C’mon bro, that shit’s barely visible.’ He pushes Angel’s shoulder dismissively, grinning like they’re in on a joke. ‘The fuck is wrong with you?’

But Angel isn’t laughing. ‘The fuck is wrong with you?’ he snaps back, shoving Coco harder than he had done in the first place, away from him and into the handlebars of his own bike.

You straighten. Even from here you can see that they aren’t joking, can recognise the tension stretching between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades. He’s pissed, and he means it.

Coco laughs again as you take to the stairs, path set toward them. He’s not cocky with it now, but nervous, laughing from the shock of Angel’s reaction. ‘Yo, chill,’ he says, ‘it’s not that deep, Angel.’

‘Me chill?’ Angel’s hand flies out, gesturing to the bike. ‘You’re out here damaging my shit cause you can’t fucking ride, asshole.’

You’re a step away now, close enough to exchange a look with Coco, a what the fuck is going on, look. He’s got a right to be annoyed, sure, but this? This is beyond rationale. You and Coco both know that, but only one of you is patient enough to realise it’s not really Coco he has an issue with. Or the bike. It’s not really that at all.

Coco scoffs, righting himself, and setting his kutte straight over his chest. ‘You need to get a life, homie,’ he says, making your stomach sink. He shouldn’t take this route. He shouldn’t say anything at all.

‘Let’s bring it down a notch, yeah?’ You stop in front of them, looking between the two.

‘Ever since EZ was arrested this is all you fucking care about,’ Coco continues, ‘it’s fucking sad, man.’

Angel tuts, face tilting to the ground for a minute. You can see his jaw working, can imagine his molars clenching and unclenching.

‘He’s done for, bro, making your bike all nice and shit isn’t gonna—’

Angel swings at him, too clumsy to make contact with his fist—Coco flinching back in just the right moment—but his elbow catches his nose on the way back, and then it’s happening so fast that you lose track. Coco rushes him, taking them both back into Angel’s bike, swearing and grunting and grappling like children. Like boys in the mud of the school yard.

‘Fucking stop!’ you shout, hooking a hand around Coco’s shoulder because he’s closest, and yanking him as hard as you can.

It isn’t easy, and you’re ashamed to admit that you might’ve pulled his hair, just slightly, to get him to release, but eventually he lets you, and you drag him away from the stupid fucking fight.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you guys?’ you pant, pushing Coco behind you. When you turn to throw the question at Angel, he bumps into you, all momentum. He hadn’t realised that you’d gotten in between them yet. ‘Hey.’ You shove him back, two palms to his chest. ‘You’re acting like children.’

‘He started on me, man,’ Coco whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘You gave me a fucking nose bleed, asshole.’

Angel’s panting, chest lifting up and down wildly. ‘Yeah. Eye for an eye, fuckwad.’

You tut. ‘Angel.’ He’s embarrassing you. You’re actually itching under the skin with it.

Coco’s shaking his head, looking at the red on his hands, before putting them back to slow the flow of it. ‘You’re fucking crazy, homie,’ he says, tracking backwards toward clubhouse. ‘Stay the fuck away from me.’

‘Likewise, bro,’ Angel quips back, saying it over your head, all attitude and childish bitterness.

‘Will you fucking act like an adult, Angel?’ You’re staring at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. ‘It’s just a scratch. An accident.’ You’re close enough to see the mark for what it is now, and honestly, it’ll probably buff out. It’s probably just a streak of rubber over anything else. ‘Are you even seeing yourself right now?’

He scoffs, turning away from you to grab the cloth from his seat. ‘I don’t need shit from you too, y’know.’

‘You threw a punch over a scratch, Angel!’

He sours, grumbling, ‘You heard what he said about EZ.’

Yeah, the truth. He said what everyone else, besides Angel, has already accepted. ‘Really?’ you ask, head shaking. ‘You’re gonna lash out at literally everyone that talks about it?’

You watch him run the cloth through his hands, once, twice, waiting for a reply that never comes. You expected him to have a moment of realisation, to meet his stubbornness head on and accept that it isn’t fucking working. For him, for anyone. But he just stands there, waiting for you to leave.

‘You know what, Angel?’

‘What?’ His head twitches toward you, too sharp for your liking. It just adds fuel to the simmer.

‘I have been so patient, and understanding, letting you do your fucking…’ You wave toward his bike, toward him. His avoidance. ‘But you really need to sort your shit, and fast,’ you tell him. He needs to act like the older brother for once.

His head goes back, with a sigh bigger than he has any right to. ‘He scratched my fucking—’

‘The bike is not the fucking point, is it?’ you snap, cutting him off before he can complain any further. ‘You’re going to have to deal with this, okay, I know it sucks, but you can’t just keep yourself busy and never address the giant fucking elephant in the room.’

He’ll go crazy. You will too. Like a stone tied around your middle, thrown off the bridge with him.

‘EZ is likely to go down.’ Your voice catches, forcing you to swallow. ‘For a serious amount of time, and you need to deal with that, Ange.’

No more distractions, no more snapping at everyone that mentions it. Just him, and the real fucking reality that he’s trying to avoid. Your stare at him, waiting still. He says nothing. He can’t even bring himself to match your gaze.

But that’s fine. If that’s how he wants to be, then fine. You aren’t going to helicopter over his neuroticism anymore. You huff, turning on the balls of your feet.

‘What, you not even gonna let me defend myself?’ he scoffs, trying to sound arrogant and failing, too delayed to have any real impact. He’s only saying it now because it looks like you’ve won. 

‘No,’ you reply, eyes set on the door of the clubhouse. ‘I’m going to see if you broke his fucking nose.’

[dhr-ao3]

Fated

Fated https://ift.tt/NLmxo2V by Jmmae “From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life” - William Shakespeare Born to this fate. A story written in the stars. Words: 1683, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Consigned to Fate Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Flashbacks via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/jsDSECf October 14, 2024 at 07:12AM

[06wastherealsa3allalong]

Summary: Infinite, clinging on to his memory of a red wolf who captivated him, has been working to find him since he awoke from being trapped in the Phantom Ruby. But one thing threatens to get in his way: the Metal Virus.

Word Count: 1683

A secret santa fic for @dreaminginmysoup! :D

[ao3feed-johnnylawrence]

what a wonderful feeling

by jbbarnes_107 not?-really-a-songfic for the red means i love you and lawrusso ofc i basically rewrote karate kid from a johnny-ish pov with mild sadism its good i promise some of the lines just hit right Words: 1683, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Karate Kid (Movies), Cobra Kai (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Daniel LaRusso, Johnny Lawrence, Bobby Brown (Karate Kid), Johnny Lawrence's Friends (Karate Kid), Johnny Lawrence's Friends (Karate Kid Movies), Original Cobra Kai Students, John Kreese Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Daniel LaRusso & Original Cobra Kai Students, Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence's Friends, Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Song: The Red Means I Love You (Madds Buckley), How Do I Tag, Help, Idiots in Love, Teenage Daniel LaRusso/Teenage Johnny Lawrence, Johnny Lawrence is Bad at Feelings, Johnny Lawrence Being an Idiot, Johnny Lawrence Tries, POV Johnny Lawrence, Kinda, Rick Riordan Style 3rd-person POV, Hurt Daniel LaRusso, lawrusso, Artist Johnny Lawrence, Songfic, Light Sadism via https://ift.tt/yrQ8NtR

[mariacallous]

If you did a culinary DNA search on baba au rhum, you’d find that this fancy French cake’s ancestral line has the same humble roots as the homey babka. 

It all started with the inspired tinkering of an exiled Polish king. No one knows exactly what happened, of course, but it seems that Stanislaus I, twice deposed in 18th-century Poland, moved to his country estate in France, where he loved to cook and held court in the chateau kitchen. There, he baked a gugelhopf, a yeast cake invented by Viennese bakers to celebrate the victory of the Austrians over the Turks in 1683. Gugelhopf is rich and regal-looking. It’s usually baked in a tall, fluted pan called a Turk’s head mold because of its resemblance to an Ottoman sultan’s turban. 

The cake came out too dry, so the ex-king soaked it in wine and decided to call it baba (grandma), because it reminded him of the welcoming confections of everyone’s baba back in the old country. In fact, besides for the shape and some chopped-up dried or candied fruit, gugelhopf and baba are essentially the same. 

As is babka, which is among the most beloved of Jewish comfort foods. But while babas are large cakes and were mostly saved for special occasions such as Easter, babkas, though similarly egg-rich and yeasty, were smaller and regularly baked by Jewish balaboostas. Babka means “little grandma,” and in most Eastern European Jewish households, they were not only smaller but plainer, too, as dried fruit, raisins, and spices were costly. Babkas were more like little loaf-pan versions of Stanislaus’ gugelhopf. 

The ex-king was so pleased with his invention that he served it in dramatic fashion to his guests at a party one night. He poured some alcohol over his gugelhopf, set it aflame, and carried it into the dark ballroom, thrilling the crowd. He called the cake Ali Baba — a play on the word baba, but also a tribute to a character in The Thousand and One Nights. 

The story and recipe might have ended there, except that the Stanislaus’ daughter eventually married French king Louis XV and gave the recipe to Nicolas Stohrer, her pastry chef, who revised it to include raisins, candied fruit, and a soak with rum. And thus, baba au rhum was invented. 

Over the years, baba au rhum and babka went on to produce more progeny. Parisian pastry chefs, reluctant to be outdone by a Polish pretender, created several versions, changing spices, shapes, and alcohol soaks. More than a century later, when baba au rhum had already become a classic, a pastry chef named Auguste Julien decided to bake baba in a plain ring mold and substituted kirschwasser (German cherry brandy) for the rum. He glazed the cake with melted apricot preserves and served it with a mound of whipped cream in the center. The cake, named savarin to honor Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, French author of The Physiology of Taste, is considered one of the most elegant pastries ever created.

And the homey babka? Less stylish to be sure, but most beloved by Jews and non-Jews alike, and reinvented with ever-more variations. For most babka-lovers, the basic question is: cinnamon or chocolate? But these days there are recipes galore and this “grandma loaf” is stuffed with chocolate, nuts, marzipan, fresh and dried fruit, preserves, and sprinkled with streusel in top. 

And so the baba, a simple old recipe, stands proud today, centuries on. We take pleasure in the numerous varieties that have sprung from it — fancy offerings in elegant pastry shops, humble cakes from neighborhood bakeries, and fragrant loaves baked in our own ovens. Because a great recipe will always stand the test of time.