#AND NOBODY BUT MARTIN SAW THROUGH IT

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : podcasting

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary: based on this ask!!! little blurb of the times you pop up on the ooc podcast

mickey speaks: this was so funny to write!!! also i need to be hamzah's gf yesterday bitch

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

hamzah having you in an episode with mandy and martin

“oh wow this couch gets kinda tight when four people are squeezed on here” hamzah says while adjusting a few pillows

“yeah,” martin starts before addressing the audience, “and, well, you’re probably wondering ‘who the heck is that?!’” he gestures his hand over to you, beside hamzah with your legs folded and knees lying against his thigh

you can’t help but smile as hamzah introduces you, “and, yeah, believe it or not i have a girlfriend.”

“i’m right next to you so i’d hope they believe it” give a soft giggle

“only hamzah would announce he has a girlfriend with ‘believe it or not’” mandy adds and hamzah throws a hand up in the air in defeat

★

martin: “i can’t help but think this feels like in middle school when people were just group dating all the time”

hamzah: “was group dating that common? i don’t remember that”

you: “i remember certain friend groups at my school doing that but i definitely wasn't participating”

mandy: “this isn’t really a group though martin, more like a double date? there’s four of us”

martin: "it's not all about numbers mandy sometimes there's just a vibe"

★

martin: “but you two have been dropping hints about dating for a while now”

you: “yeah, we’ve been doing a little soft launching here and there”

martin: “i like that term a lot actually”

mandy: “i think it’s cute, but i've seen a lot of people online that don't use it properly”

you: "i agreeeee, like you didn't soft launch by posting the back of his head if we already saw the front of it a week ago- we know who he is!!! there is no mystery"

martin: "oh so the appeal is the mystery... almost like scooby doo?"

hamzah, nodding his head: "mhm... exactly"

you: "it's always two dumb bitches telling each other-"

you and hamzah together: "exactlyyyyy"

martin looks over to mandy as the two of you laugh: "oh come on this is their first episode together and look at them mandy! we have to be cuter, come on. lock in."

hamzah: "hey no need to be jealous, my friend."

hamzah pats martins thigh

mandy: "so what was that right there?"

hamzah: "you wouldn't understand..."

martin: "no but seriously mandy you never soft launched me- only hard"

mandy: "there was no need to??? next time i'll do it i guess"

you, laughing: "next time???"

hamzah is sat in thought for an extra second before he replies to martin, making them both laugh

hamzah: “okay martin you said like that term so much? boy, now imma soft launch these nuts in your mouth”

you: "and i know you were thinking on that joke for a minute"

martin, through laughs: “okay, okay, enough”

hamzah, wiping his eyes: “well, now the jig is up. you know it's all aired out and public”

martin: “yeah... a hard launch on the podcast, that’s crazy bro”

you and mandy, mocking: “that’s craaazzyy brooo”

★

hamzah answering your call during a podcast

martin: “hamzah whenever you buy clothes from the store or get it shipped in the mail always wash your clothes!”

hamzah: “i do wash my clothes but if it’s new that doesn’t make any sense”

martin: “so you’re just gonna open it up and put it on?”

hamzah: “yes!”

hamzah’s phone starts ringing

martin: “and wow. now look who’s breaking the phone rule!”

hamzah: “stop shhh. it’s y/n”

he answers, hamzah: “hey what’s up?”

you see the mic in his hand and widen your eyes, you: “oh shit, i’m sorry to interrupt”

hamzah: “it’s okay i have something to ask you now anyway.”

you: "okayy.. do you wanna go first or me?"

hamzah: "you go ahead"

you: "okay quick- is this business casual enough for an event tonight?"

hamzah: "nobody is doing business lookin' that hot, you can't be serious"

you: "kay thanks"

hamzah, jokes: "you are not anyone's office siren, girl"

you: "i'm gonna hang up"

hamzah: "no!!! i need to ask if you wash your clothes after you buy them."

you: "if they smell like stale water and factory chemicals, yes"

hamzah: "martin is educating me on the importance of this unimportant thing right now."

you: "and you should listen to him, stinky"

martin: "thank you!"

hamzah: "oh nahhh, now i'm gonna hang up"

you: "mkayy bye, sorry for interrupting! bye martin!!!"

martin: "byee"

★

you drop something off at the warehouse studio while they’re filming

hamzah: "what was that noise?"

martin: "i don't know..."

hamzah: "it sounds like someone's actually trying to break in, what?"

martin: "were you expecting company?"

hamzah: "no, were you?"

martin: "no...i mean let's ask the audience"

martin turns to the camera, concerned

hamzah: "okay i'm actually about to go check. this is weird."

it cuts to a clip of hamzah sat again and you peeking your head in the frame to wave

hamzah: "nevermind. it was just my sweet girlfriend bringing us lunch, sorry if that scared you guys."

martin: "should we make like a super artifical thumbnail for clickbait? somethin' like; 'someone tried to kidnap us in our studio!'

hamzah: "no"

★

they have a trolling episode where you and mandy both sub in and act as martin and hamzah for an entire episode

mandy: "you know i find it crazy how we manage to talk about nothing for an entire hour"

you: "this is the talent people expect from us bro! and if we ever get too boring we can always discuss the state of sabrina and barry's relationship."

mandy: "true. and don't make fun of me but everytime man-crush monday comes around i'm always picking barry..."

you: "well if i can't make fun of you then i'll just stay quiet for your sake."

taglist -★ (some of u didn't ask to be tagged but have frequently liked my hamzah content lol, just lmk if you'd prefer not to be tagged!!!)

@sirenedeslily @333michelle @thatmartinkitten @@maybankfr @imsosillygoofylol @certainfestivalnerdshepherd

[studioeisa]

im here to harrow you.

thinking about f1 minghao crashing out on radio…. idk why… its burned in my mind…

crash and burn 📟 minghao x reader.

★ mercedes driver!minghao x reader ┆ word count: 1.8k ┆ includes: profanity, slight Trivia 承: Love reference. ┆ footnotes: oh, you are CRUEL for preying on my hyperfixation like this. how i ended up writing this much is anybody's guess.

For a moment, the entirety of Mercedes falls quiet.

You could hear a pin drop. The pit wall, the operations room, the garage. Deathly silent. 

Xu Minghao never swore on the radio. 

He could have. He’s certainly had his fair share of instances where a cuss or two would have been acceptable. The time he crashed into Williams’ Vernon on the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix, for example. Or the Singapore race where he ended up in the barriers after battling his teammate, Wonwoo, for podium position. 

Minghao hadn’t cussed then. Everybody liked to joke that his face often did the talking for him— his expressions post-race landing him on the front page of every sports media outlet. 

The Chinese racer was calm, cool, and collected under pressure. Critical without being cruel. Demanding without being demeaning. 

And yet, today, in Monaco— 

“Why do I have the penalty?” Minghao screeches, his voice crackling over the radio. “Hello?”

“Track limits, turn nine,” his race engineer says, voice carefully measured.

“You’re kidding!” Minghao downshifts aggressively as he rounds the next corner. The tires wail, the car jolts, and the telemetry lights up with data that makes the pit wall wince. “I stayed within the white line! You saw it, everyone saw it!” 

The pit wall scrambles. Engineers replay the footage frame by frame, dissecting every pixel of the contentious corner. The commentators speculate wildly, cameras cutting to Minghao’s onboard view. Sky Sports plays the radio message on repeat, the words for fuck’s sake! echoing through living rooms worldwide.

But Minghao doesn't care about the broadcast. Doesn't care about the headlines already being written. His pulse hammers, hands locked around the steering wheel like a vice.

“Box this lap, Hao. Serve the penalty,” the team calls. “Then push. We can still fight for points.”

Minghao murmurs something incoherent, though it doesn’t take a genius to guess that it’s probably another curse. He lifts off the throttle, coasts through the last sector, and dives into the pit lane. The Mercedes crew swarms the car, stoic and efficient, every second ticking down with excruciating slowness. 

The lollipop stays down.

Ten seconds feel like an eternity.

Minghao slams the throttle as soon as he’s released, launching back onto the track with a cloud of tire smoke.

“Gap to P10?” he demands, his tone unusually biting. 

“7.3 seconds to Boo. But DRS is enabled—” 

“I can catch him,” Minghao decides on his engineer’s behalf. 

Nobody doubts it, really. 

Minghao takes the next lap like a man possessed. Nailing apexes, brushing curbs, deploying battery in the perfect spots. Purple sector times flash on the screen; the crowd roars as he slices through the field like a scalpel.

Clean. Precise. Ruthless. 

Minghao pushes right past Alpine’s Seungkwan, who screeches into his own radio about this reckless man, trying to kill him with the way he faked to the outside. It doesn’t matter to Minghao. Not when he’s through. 

“P10, Hao,” his engineer says, relief bleeding into his voice. “Keep it up.” 

“Don’t—” Minghao cuts himself off. Everybody can more or less guess what he was about to say. Don’t tell me what to do, he had planned to snap, and it only drives the team into a deeper state of confusion. 

It’s even worse in the press room. 

Minghao sits in the middle, flanked by Aston Martin’s Seokmin and Red Bull’s Jihoon. Minghao’s Mercedes suit is still speckled with sweat, and his jaw is tight, hands clasped in front of him on the table.

The moderator introduces them. “We’ll start with questions for the drivers. First, to Mercedes’ Xu Minghao. P9 after serving a 10-second penalty. Can you walk us through your race?” 

A muscle in Minghao’s jaw ticks. Not a good sign.

Minghao leans into the microphone and very simply states, “It was bullshit.” 

Again, that stunned silence. Seokmin balks like he had been physically struck. Jihoon fights back a grin. 

The moderator blinks. “Uh,” she stammers. “Could you elaborate on that?” 

“The penalty,” Minghao says plainly. “It was bullshit. I’ve seen the footage. I stayed within track limits. And even if I hadn’t, we both know there were other drivers exceeding limits all race who didn’t get penalized.” 

A reporter from BBC Radio pipes up. “You’ve been known for keeping a cool head in difficult situations, but we heard your radio messages. Do you regret your reaction?” 

The question draws a humorless laugh from Minghao. Today, his wit is razor-like in its sharpness. The claws are out, so to speak, as Minghao answers the query. 

“Regret? No. I regret not pushing harder after the penalty. I lost ten seconds and still clawed my way back to points.” He pauses, letting the fact sink in. “What does that tell you?”

Somebody from Fox Sports pushes the envelope. “Are you implying bias in the stewarding?” the journalist calls out. 

Minghao’s eyes flash, making even the most fearless of the media personnel shrink back a bit. 

“I’m saying there needs to be consistency,” he hisses. “That’s all.” 

Mercedes’ PR manager shifts uncomfortably in the background; one can assume they’re already drafting damage control statements in their head. The list of people to apologize to only grows when a ballsy ESPN journo dares to ask, “Do you think this will affect your relationship with the FIA?” 

There’s no reason for the FIA— the Formula One’s governing body— to be dragged into this. Or maybe there is, with the way Minghao is crashing out in public. 

The racer smiles coldly. “Maybe,” he answers, “but I’m not here to make friends.” 

“Okay,” the moderator interjects. “I think it’s time for us to move on—” 

Minghao concedes, leaning back into his chair and pushing the microphone over to Jihoon. There’s the slightest of miscalculations, though, when Minghao grumbles something to the Red Bull driver.

The microphone catches Minghao’s snide side comment, supposedly meant solely for Jihoon’s ears. “You should ask the FIA why they’re so scared of drivers who fight back,” the Chinese driver huffs. 

The room explodes. Minghao doesn’t flinch. 

Mercedes’ PR manager accepts that it’s going to be a long, long night. 

Even Wonwoo doesn’t have an answer for his co-driver’s uncharacteristic behavior. The driver frowns when the team principal brings it up. 

Wonwoo runs a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair, as if reviewing what he witnessed pre- and post-race. “Hao was already a bit… off when he came in this morning,” Wonwoo admits. “Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.” 

“Drivers like Minghao don’t just wake up one morning and decide they’re going to be the devil reincarnated,” the team principal says tentatively. 

Wonwoo takes a moment to contemplate. “Trouble in paradise, maybe?” 

“Drivers like Minghao—” 

“Don’t let their personal lives affect their racing,” Wonwoo finishes before waving his hand dismissively. “Well, I don’t know, then.” 

Except— for once— Wonwoo is right. 

The team doesn't press Minghao to celebrate, not when he’s a walking PR disaster in a foul mood. He heads straight back to his apartment, shedding all his rage on the way home. 

It’s the only reason he manages to gently open the front door. He toes off his shoes at the doorway and shrugs off his hoodie, each action deliberate in its intent and slowness.

He finds you in the kitchen.

You’re seated at one of the bar stools, forearms leaning against the island. Minghao doesn’t come close. Not at first. He lingers a couple of steps away, stock still as the two of you lock gazes. 

You open your mouth. Minghao beats you to the punch line. 

“I know,” he says, his voice the most gentle it’s been the entire day. “Trust me, I know.” 

“I wasn’t going to tell you off.” 

Minghao lets out a derisive snort of laughter, though he’s quick to look chastised when he catches the shift in your expression. “Alright,” he says tiredly. “What were you going to say, then?” 

You hop off the stool. Minghao holds his breath. 

He still feels like he isn’t breathing by the time you’re standing right in front of him. Where others might hesitate, you don’t. 

Your hand reaches up to cup Minghao’s face. Your palm is warm against his cheek, but your words are much warmer. 

“I was going to apologize,” you say slowly, enunciating each word, “for breaking rule number three.” 

Rule number three. To have it brought up now is comedic. Minghao thinks of the restaurant tissue framed in the living room, the one bearing the silly list the two of you had jotted down when you first started dating. 

The very rule you’re referring to right now had been in Minghao’s loopy handwriting, underlined twice to emphasize its importance. 

#3: No fights on race weekends. 

It had come with an asterisk, a couple of caveats. Still, it was one of those ‘rules’ the two of you tried to see through the most. For not only Minghao’s sanity, but Mercedes’ as well. 

Minghao sighs, the tension in his shoulders easing with the heavy exhale. He can’t help it; his cheek nuzzles into your palm, seeking the familiarity of your touch after being without it last night. 

(That was his choice, admittedly, after he opted to sleep in the guest room instead of your shared bedroom. He left in the morning without all of his usual routines— his 30-minute guided meditation, his good luck kiss from you.) 

The fight— God, what was the fight even about? Minghao is embarrassed to admit he can barely remember. 

By the way you’re looking at him, though, it looks like you’re also ready to put it past the two of you. 

“Did you watch?” he asks. 

The corners of your lips twitch upward. “What’s the right answer?” you shoot back, half-teasing as Minghao’s arms gingerly wrap around your waist. 

“I think I’d prefer that you say ‘no’,” he says wryly. “I was a monster out there. I’ve got so many people to apologize to.” 

You give a low hum of approval. Minghao tugs you into his space until he can bury his face in the top of your head.

For a moment, the two of you bask in the aftermath. The bittersweet race, the shaky reconciliation. Minghao breaks the silence. 

“I said fuck,” he mumbles, horrified, “on the radio.” 

“You did,” you confirm. “Twice, actually.” 

Minghao groans. “And at the press conference—” 

“You told the FIA they could take it up their a—” 

“I did not,” your boyfriend says shrilly, “say that!” 

You break out into giggles. Minghao can’t help it; his arms tighten around you, and he holds you like he’s trying to erase the past 24 hours through touch alone. 

Tomorrow, Minghao will be back to his usual self. He’ll play the PR game— waxing poetics about mental pressure, apologizing to the FIA for his conduct. He’ll pay the fines and promise to do better, be better. 

Tonight, Minghao softens all his edges and loves you. 

[giuseppe-yuki]

feathers

alex albon x cockatiel shapeshifter! reader

w.c.: 1.2k

warnings: one suggestive comment

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: you annoy alex; ft. james vowles

picture credits from pinterest :)

the parc ferme was packed with people as you fluttered around alex’s head, feathers swaying in the wind. he wasn’t hard to follow, considering his tall 6’1 figure and unmistakable forest green aa23 hoodie. the crowds parted like moses and the red sea as he crossed, recognizing him as 1 of the 20 drivers on the grid. from your birds-eye view, you were pretty sure you saw zak efron five meters away from you next to the red bull garage and scotty james hovering around daniel’s blue vcarb next door.

nobody batted an eye at your presence- they all assumed you were just one of the many albon pets. 

chittering, you land on alex’s shoulder and give him a few hard pecks with your beak, ripping out a few strands of his bleached hair. you giggle internally- he was so easy to annoy when you were in cockatiel form. 

“hey!” he protests, stopping in his tracks front of the aston martin garage. he raises his hand, about to forcefully push you off his shoulder for being mean. before alex is able to, he spots two young fans, sporting fernando alonso caps, looking at him. not wanting to be labeled as “alex albon the bird assaulter,” he slowly lowers his hand, and instead converts it to an awkward wave. to avoid another awkward situation, he takes off running towards his original destination, the williams garage, but not before shooting a glare at you. 

when you arrive at the williams garage, you find logan standing in front as well. alex waves his hand in greeting and you chirp in a greeting.

“took you long enough,” logan quips, smiling. “james called for you a while ago!” 

“well, i would have gotten here quicker if this cockatiel would stop being irritating!” alex says, gesturing towards you. turning his head towards you, he places a kiss on top of your feathery little head. “you’re kinda lucky that i love you, or else i would probably have donated you to the zoo!” he jokes. 

for the second time that evening, you give peck his head, hard.

logan laughs at the interaction in front of him. “if you’d like, i know a hawk that can act as ‘animal control’ for you! she’s back at home in miami right now, though.”

the gall of this man! you know logan is joking, but still, you hop off of alex’s shoulder and purposely fly at logan’s face, flapping your feathers in the direction of his eyes. 

“okay, okay, okay,” logan laughs, trying to cover his face, “tell your girlfriend to stop attacking me or else i’m sending my girlfriend after her when you guys come to the states!”

ten minutes later, when you enter the air-conditioned williams motorhome, you are dressed in a flowy white pants and a williams blue silk halter top. you loop your arm through alex’s as he asks his race strategist the whereabouts of his team principal. 

 when he finishes with his conversation, he leads you towards his driver’s room 

“i thought you came here to meet james,” you question, looking up at alex.

“yeah, i did,” he responds, “but apparently he had to have a quick meeting with the engineers and will find me later, so i guess we have a little time to rest in my driver’s room before the race.” a flashes a devilish smile and little wink at you.

a flash of shock runs across your face, and you shoot him a dirty glare. “we are NOT doing that in your drivers room.” 

“what do you mean?” he replies innocently, “ when i said rest, i meant that we could maybe chill on the couch and watch a little bit of high school musical- i saw you looking at zac efron in parc ferme earlier.”

you groan exasperatedly, but follow him into the small room. 

when you first started dating alex, he was always ever the gentleman, complimenting you and whispering sweet things into your ear when you were with him. you trusted him with all your heart, and instead of freaking out when you told him that you could shapeshift into a cockatiel, he immediately started researching info about cockatiels and began carrying sunflower seeds around for you. as time passed, your relationship evolved into a loop of you bullying alex in bird form and him teasing you nonstop in public. (he obviously still knew your limit though, and was always the sweetest behind closed doors)

you hop on the couch as alex navigates to disney+ on the tv and starts the movie. he places his arm around your shoulder and leans his head against yours. you curl up into him, breathing in the smell of him. to your disappointment, within in the first twenty minutes, alex is dead asleep on the couch. you frown, lifting his arm off of you. you were about the shake him awake when you came up with a brilliant idea. 

turning back into your cockatiel form, you shake off your loose feathers onto the couch. you smile to yourself. alex hated when you left your feathers everywhere. you pick up a feather or two with your beak, and place it strategically on the floor. one on the couch hand rest, three on alex’s head, two behind the couch (when you placed those, you found a giant glossy picture of george russell behind the couch?? you’ll have to talk to him about that later). after arranging the finishing touches, you nudge alex’s cheek with your feathery head to wake him up. as soon as he opens his sleepy eyes, he immediately sees the absolute mess you made everywhere. but before he could say a word, a knock sounds from the door. 

“alex, it’s james,” says the voice outside the door.

alex’s eyes widen, and (screw his ultra-quick reflexes) proceeds to quickly snatch you off of his lap and unceremoniously shoves you inside a nearby drawer. he slides it shut, except for a little crack so you could breathe.

oh you were gonna kill him.

you hear the door open, and footsteps into the room. 

“hey, says james, “so i was gonna come here to talk to you about a chassis problem, but i think that it would be better if we could talk about it as a team in a meeting after the race. i was going to send you an email about it, but since i was passing by your drivers room, i just wanted to pop in in-person to let you know.” 

you hop towards the crack and raise an eye to see through. alex is standing awkwardly, half in front of the coach with his hands next to his sides, pointedly trying to block the mess of feathers on the couch. 

“err.. yeah! of course!” your boyfriend says. 

as if just noticing the feathers all over the couch, james raises an eyebrow. “did you kill a bird in here or are you making an art project?” he asks, looking at alex with an incredulous look. 

“art project,” alex responds, almost immediately.

“okay.” james says, in a tone that suggested he didn’t really believe alex. he turns to leave, hand on the handle. but before he does, he turns around. “wait a second, i could have sworn logan said that you were in here with your girlfriend?”

a/n: second installment of the series! ( i wrote this at 3am) if you didn't get the george russell picture reference, here's a link to a video that i watched: link

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso

[sundrop-writes]

would you be willing to do a follow up to the teen wolf pregnancy hcs? something with the characters interacting with their kid - can be as a baby or older - just them being parents and adjusting to being young parents.

i love your writing 💗💗💗

Fyi, I was not even planning on working on requests tonight, but this caught my attention so much and gave me such a good idea that I had to do it. I decided to do it with the same characters from the first part, but if you want to see this prompt with other characters, then I would do the 'how they react to finding out that you're pregnant' part first with different characters

My requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN, but please read my Rules before sending in a request.

Part One - How would they react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

How would the pack act as parents?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: fem reader - uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is the one who gave birth to the baby, as in the previous part); Stiles's part is extremely self indulgent and something I have been thinking about since I wrote the last part so bear with me; mentions of breastfeeding, giving birth, teething, and other parenting/baby topics; the baby is a different age and has a different name in each section just for funsies; mention of Lydia and reader's baby having red hair - but I did this to drive home the baby's genetic relation to Lydia and I don't think it has to specify the reader's race (someone with darker skin can still have naturally red hair); Lydia calls the reader 'Mama'; mention of the reader being a werewolf in Derek's part because there is a weird continuity in these reactions (and I should write a full fic about Derek and this reader character cause I am slowly becoming addicted to their story, ngl); I believe that's finally it.

Stiles was panicking. He was officially the worst parent ever - everything his dad said was right. He wasn't ready for this, nobody should be a teen parent, he was a failure. God, his whole life was crumbling around him...

You were out of town because your sister was getting married. You had been incredibly hesitant to leave the baby - sweet, adorable, nine-month-old Lila Stilinski - but Stiles had insisted that you go on a weekend getaway to your sister's bachelorette party. You deserved it. You had spent nine whole months growing his baby and then you had given birth to her (a bloody, messy affair that made him faint - to nobody's surprise), and you had spent the last nine months nursing her and getting your degree from home after you had fought through your pregnancy taking double courses to graduate high school early. You were a gem, a beautiful, shining gem of a woman and a mother, and somehow - while you were off getting your much needed rest and having fun - Stiles had lost your baby.

His baby - his baby that he loved very, very much.

He had woken up that morning, late, having forgotten to set the alarm, and rushed around the apartment like a chicken with his head cut off rushing to get Lila ready for day care and himself ready for school, and he dropped her off as usual, with a smile and kiss on her big beautiful forehead. And when he went to pick her up that afternoon - she was gone. The day care worker couldn't give him any other news than the fact that she had been 'signed out already', and it left Stiles panicking, thinking about that cult that sacrifices babies every single day.

In his rush that morning, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so he couldn't get his dad on the line - and he was currently running at top, lung-crushing speed toward the police station, running past the deputy on duty at the front desk, who simply shrugged and buzzed him in when she saw his bright red face and his clear desperation.

"Dad, D-dad, you have to-!" He was going to ask his father to put out an amber alert, to call every single one of his deputies back to get them looking, but when his father turned around - that sweet girl with the bright purple bow in her hair was in his arms.

Then, Stiles shifted on a dime from panic to anger.

"Dad, what the hell?" He barked out, struggling to sound as pissed off as he was while still trying to catch his breath.

"What?" The Sheriff shrugged, kissing his granddaughter on the forehead before cooing brightly at her, smiling at her with all the brightness in the world, paying Stiles absolutely no mind.

"You took her out of day care without telling me first?" Stiles gaped, absolutely angered that his father had let him believe for even a moment that his girl was missing.

He knew it was a cruel irony - a blunt kind of karma. All the times he had come home late, all the nights he had snuck out believing that his dad was simply being too hard on him for giving him such an early curfew. Now, in a single crashing moment, he instantly understood why his father had worried so much - why he was so angry every single time Stiles was out of his sight, especially when there was danger around.

"Your phone was off." Noah shrugged, rocking Lila back and forth in his arms, giving her another kiss on the forehead as he began to hum the tune of a lullaby under his breath. "I got bored on my lunch break, and I wanted to see my baby, so what?"

It was the usual for him - any time he was within ten feet of her, she didn't have a moment in your arms or Stiles's. On the day she had been born, he had brought a giant gift basket to the hospital, grumbling under his breath about how he still thought it was 'irresponsible' of Stiles, but demanding to see 'his baby'.

He had burst into tears upon seeing Lila for the first time, and was deeply aggressive about who was allowed to visit and for how long. When she came home, he stood watch over her crib with his gun in hand for multiple days before he finally gave up and went to sleep (and according to you, he admitted quietly that he had done the same thing for Stiles when he first came home from the hospital).

"My phone died." Stiles stressed. "You could have left a note for me at the school or something. You gave me a freakin' heart attack."

"Be more responsible and charge it next time." The Sheriff grinned at him.

"Just - don't kidnap my daughter again!" Stiles snapped. "She is my daughter-" He argued, taking a possessive, protective stance.

"Yeah, well I made you, so I have certain rights when it comes to this little sweet girl." His father said, trailing off into a cooing baby voice as he began fawning over Lila once again. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Besides, ever since the three of you moved out, I hardly get to see my babygirl anymore."

Stiles felt a twinge of guilt at this, but wanted to argue. The three of you needed your own space, and you had moved into an apartment that was less than twenty minutes away from his father's house. He still saw Lila at least once every single day of the week, unless he was busy working.

"Dad-"

"Besides, it's not kidnapping if I'm the Sheriff."

"It is so kidnapping! It's kidnapping if I report you."

"Is it still considered an abortion if I terminate you now?" His father glared at him.

Stiles let out a huff.

Isaac was tired. He knew that being a parent was going to be tiring, but in the six months since baby Leon had been born, this was his first full night alone with his son. His son who was teething, crying incredibly loudly, and in pain because of his little teeth coming in. He wasn't nearly as upset about the fact that he hadn't slept as he was about the fact that his son was in pain and he could do little about it.

He had considered calling you a few times throughout the night when Leon was letting out particularly harrowing cries and Isaac was on the verge of tears himself (especially considering with his heightened werewolf senses, the pain of those cries seemed to pierce through him even more) - but he had agreed to take care of Leon by himself to get him out of the house that you and your mother shared because you had been studying for the SATs and you needed sleep the night before your big exam. So as much as it pained him, he endured alone and ended up crying with his son while he sucked on a frozen teething toy with tears still running down his chubby cheeks.

The sun had come up a while ago and Leon had just fallen asleep, his portable crib set up in the middle of the loft so that Isaac could watch over him - his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot red as he stood at the counter, chugging down a cup of black coffee, trying his hardest to stay away until after your exam was over so that you could take Leon and he could have a nap.

He was not at all pleased when the door creaked open, seeming like the loudest thing ever - alerting him to the presence of Boyd entering the apartment.

"Hey, man-" Boyd greeted him in a usual bright tone, and Isaac cut him off with an abrupt hush. He put a finger to his lips and then motioned to the crib, and Boyd peeked over, nodding once he saw the baby. "You're on Daddy duty again?"

"It's not like it's a hobby or something," Isaac told him tiredly in a hushed tone. "I am a father now." Even with the tense whispering and the tired droop of his shoulders, there was a certain sense of pride in the way he said this.

"Well you-"

Isaac shushed him again, as Boyd speaking in his usual tone was far too loud for Isaac's liking.

"You know, he's gonna have to get adjusted to noise sooner or later." Derek piped up from his place on the couch, where Isaac had convinced him to sit and read a book until Leon had settled to sleep.

"Shh!" Isaac tried to hush Derek into silence, but he glared at Isaac and kept talking at his usual volume.

"Babies born into pack families are brought up co-sleeping, so they sleep through the noise of a dozen family members-"

Isaac crossed the room and put a hand against Derek's mouth, forcing him quiet this time.

"I don't care." Isaac insisted. "Nobody is going to wake up my son now that he is asleep."

"Stop touching me." Derek said, muffled against Isaac's hand.

Isaac backed off, and before Derek could speak up again, Leon woke with a high pitched wail.

"You guys have fun with that." Boyd said, taking this as his queue to leave.

Lydia was overjoyed. Telling her parents about everything had been nothing short of a confusing nightmare, and after a lot of convincing from Melissa and Noah and a lot of questions without a lot of answers, they had both still been sceptical right up until you had given birth.

The moment they had laid eyes on a sweet newborn baby girl with bright red hair - they were convinced that against all odds, you and Lydia had made a baby together.

That was an entire year ago - and now, Lydia was having the utter pleasure of planning her beautiful Luna Harmony Martin's first birthday party. She was so perfectly in her element - picking out decorations, designing an utterly epic and fabulous birthday cake (including a separate, smaller smash cake that only her daughter would get to touch, because it was only the best for Luna), planning entertainment - a professional princess performer and some magicians (no clowns - Luna didn't need those kind of memories implanted in her psyche this early on), and the best part: picking out cute little dresses for the birthday girl to wear.

Much like her mother, she was a fashion icon, and she would likely need multiple outfit changes for her party - not just with the fact that she would get covered in cake or her own spit-up, but because a proper birthday girl should always be photographed in more than one ensemble.

You weren't surprised when Lydia came home with two large armfuls of shopping bags. You wanted to protest, to tell her that a one-year-old didn't need that many clothes that she wasn't even going to wear, but you knew that Lydia's parents weren't going to take away her credit card anytime soon (and when it came to spoiling the baby, they were even worse) and you also knew that this was one of her ways of showing your daughter love.

So when she came to sit on the cushy foam playmat with you and Luna, dropping the many shopping bags on the cough behind the two of you, you simply let it happen.

"Hello my sweet girl," Lydia said, greeting your daughter in a sweet voice as she kissed her chubby cheeks and pulled her into her lap. "And hello to you, Mama."

Mama. The nickname still made your stomach churn with heat - something that Lydia had gotten into calling you more lately after some rant about how Luna's 'speech centre' was 'rapidly developing' and she wanted to influence what the baby would call you.

You couldn't help but to grin as you kissed her too.

"I see you've been shopping." You said, motioning toward the bags.

"A bit." Lydia shrugged. "After I booked the carousel-"

"A carousel?" You questioned. "Lydia, she's a year old. She can't even ride carnival rides - she's not even going to remember any of this."

"It's for the photos. Obviously." Lydia sighed in return, rolling her eyes at you. "The theme of the party is Cotton Candy Princess, what kind of idiot would I be if I didn't include at least one classic carnival ride in my photos?"

"At this rate, she's gonna want a golden pony by the time she's five."

"Then she'll get one." Lydia cooed at Luna, kissing her cheeks again, smearing pink lipstick on her.

You couldn't help but to smile - you knew that this was Lydia's way of showing your daughter that to her, she was the most important little girl in the world.

Derek was annoyed - not with his son, with you.

Since the moment he had found out that you were pregnant, Derek loved his son more than anything in the world. He loved you just as much, he had right from the moment he had slashed Peter's throat and then turned you where you were dying, bleeding out, and used his newfound Alpha powers to turn you in order to save your life. Because that was the moment he knew he would risk anything and everything in order to keep you alive.

He loved you very much, but he was still annoyed with you.

You were determined not to let Derek sleep with his son - a tradition as old as pack life itself, now being marred by you shoving articles in Derek's face about how co-sleeping was 'dangerous' and how the baby should have his own crib. A baby of only three months old should not be damned to isolation. It made Derek's heart ache just thinking about it. He was used to the comfort of your body - he was used to the sync of your heartbeat, the sound of his voice and Derek's constantly nearby. He shouldn't be off in the corner by himself. You had made Derek feel like some criminal, sneaking out of bed at one in the morning to pluck his son out of that damned crib in order to spend some time with him.

And now, Alexander was sleeping peacefully on his bare chest, skin to skin as nature intended, feeling the peace of his father's heartbeat as Derek dozed into a gentle sleep himself on the sofa himself. He was - until he heard the distinct squeak of the bed springs on your side, a distinct huff from you as you got out of bed.

"Derek," You sighed when you saw what he had done, crossing your arms over your chest - it was an entirely appealing sight; the incredibly small baby perched in the middle of his bare chest, so tiny against Derek's large, muscled frame. But it did make you worry - Alexander wasn't secured in any way - he could fall, he could roll off. Even though Derek was an incredibly capable, loving parent, even in the haze of sleep, he could roll over and crush the baby.

It scared you.

"What - are you gonna take him from me?" He glared at you, deep betrayal in his voice. It was clear that the only thing keeping him from raising his voice further was the restraint not to yell so close to the baby's ear. "Do you honestly think that I would hurt my son?"

You held back tears, hating how much the insinuation clearly pained Derek.

"Never." You told him, your own tears choking your throat. "Derek, I know that you would never hurt him intentionally. But-"

"Exactly." He replied, cutting you off. "And there is nothing that will harm him. I am not going to let it happen."

You sighed, putting a hand to your forehead in frustration.

Derek shook his head, sitting up, putting a hand against Alexander's diapered bum to support him - able to hold nearly the entirety of his tiny body with one hand.

"Didn't you notice that all of those articles you read are written by humans?" He pointed out. "This is something that my family has done for generations. Our senses are honed for stuff like this. The moment that a baby is born, we sleep differently. Haven't you noticed?"

You had noticed - you felt like you had been sleeping with only half your brain, like a shark. You thought it was something your mother had warned you about, how you would never get a full night's rest again after having a baby. But it felt different. You did wake up rested, but you didn't dream anymore. You felt conscious nearly the entire time you were asleep - hyper aware of everything, your body responsive to every single coo, every little noise the baby made. You became hyper aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat while you slept, often using it as a white noise machine while you laid there.

"Yeah." You admitted - Derek gave you a subtle smug grin, and nodded.

"I'm not going to hurt him, not even by accident - because I can't." Derek told you firmly. "I will wake up the minute he cries, and I won't shift in my sleep. And this is healthy for us. Our heartbeats will sync up and this will help him sleep better. Please, just trust me on this."

Derek rarely pleaded with you about things, rather than outright telling you - so you knew that this mattered to him greatly.

"Yes. I trust you." You told him. "Come back to bed?" You posed. "All of us in the same bed."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss you before he got up off the couch, bringing your son with him.

(When you woke up the next morning, the crib was smashed to pieces, and Derek - who was in the kitchen making breakfast with Alexander still pressed to one shoulder - claimed that he had no idea how it happened.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[fratttymatty]

The Rewatch

(All characters are 18+)

Oliver Grant sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating his chubby face. The room was a cluttered mess—empty soda cans, half-eaten bags of chips, and stacks of horror DVDs scattered everywhere. But none of that mattered right now.

Because tonight, he was watching Scream 5 for the 30th time.

His heart pounded as the film played, eyes glued to the screen as Chad Meeks-Martin—the Chad Meeks-Martin—jogged onto the screen, exuding effortless confidence. Oliver had memorized every line, every smirk, every muscle flex. Chad was everything Oliver wasn’t.

Tall. Athletic. Cocky. Dominant.

God, I wish I was him.

The thought had crossed Oliver’s mind a million times, but tonight, something felt different. He wasn’t just admiring Chad anymore—he was fixated. Obsessed. It was as if the movie had taken hold of him, burrowing into his brain.

As the final scene played out, Oliver felt off. His skin tingled. His breathing slowed. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

Then, the credits rolled.

And everything went black.

Oliver jolted awake, gasping for air. But something was wrong.

His bed felt too small. His arms—heavier. His chest—broader. His entire body—different.

His hands shot to his face. His once soft, round features were gone, replaced with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. His pasty white skin? Now a deep, smooth brown. He stumbled out of bed and nearly tripped over his own feet—his legs were longer. Stronger. Taller.

Heart racing, he turned toward the mirror hanging on his wall, and when he saw his reflection—

He froze.

Gone was Oliver Grant, the overweight, shy, nervous high schooler.

Staring back at him was Chad Meeks-Martin.

His body was massive. His shoulders broad and powerful, his arms thick with muscle. His stomach was rock-hard, sculpted with abs he never dreamed of having. His fingers ran up to his head, where his hair—once stringy and unkempt—was now a sharp, coiled buzzcut, perfectly lined up.

His lips curled into a smirk. Wait—what?

Why did he smirk? He never smirked.

But Chad did.

The Mindshift

Oliver stumbled back, gripping his temples as a wave of thoughts flooded his brain. His memories twisted, rearranging themselves, as if his entire personality was being rewritten.

His liberal ideals? Fading.

His insecurities? Erased.

His attraction to men? Rewired.

Flashes of new memories—Chad’s memories—forced their way in. No more lonely nights debating politics on Twitter. No more stuttering through conversations. No more feeling like a nobody.

Instead, he remembered lifting weights at the gym, feeling the burn of every rep.

He remembered laughing with his boys, girls fawning over him at every party.

He remembered grabbing his girl’s waist, hearing her giggle as she clung to him.

His breath hitched. No, no, no, this isn’t me!

But… wasn’t it?

The longer he stood there, the less he resisted. And the less he resisted… the better he felt.

His phone buzzed.

He grabbed it instinctively, his big, veiny hands now dwarfing the tiny device. The name on the screen made his lips twitch into an automatic grin.

Tara ❤️

Without thinking, he opened the text.

Tara: "Like, omgggg babe where r u?? We’re totes gonna be late to the party!!!"

His head pulsed. Tara… his Tara.

She wasn’t the sharp, independent Tara Carpenter from the movies anymore. No, his Tara was a total bimbo.

Blonde. Shallow. Obsessed with him.

And he loved it.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but instead of overanalyzing like Oliver would have, he just typed, "Chill, babe. Be there soon."

Short. Direct. Confident.

The way a real man talked.

He turned back to the mirror, flexing an impressive bicep.

Oliver was gone.

Chad Meeks-Martin was here to stay.

And damn…

He looked good.

The frat house was alive with music, flashing lights, and the smell of cheap beer. The bass from the speakers thumped in Chad’s chest as he stepped inside, towering over the crowd. Girls turned to stare, whispering to their friends, some biting their lips as he passed.

Damn, I love this.

Tara clung to his arm, her manicured nails digging into his bicep. She was drenched in pink—crop top barely covering her surgically enhanced chest, mini-skirt hugging her curves.

"Like, babe, this party is soooo wild," she squealed, flipping her platinum-blonde hair. "Totes better than last week."

Chad smirked, barely listening. "Yeah, yeah, babe." He leaned down, gripping her waist. "Go find your friends or whatever. Me and the boys gotta talk."

She pouted. "Ugh, fine! But you owe me a dance later, kay?" She kissed him—wet, aggressive, sloppy—before bouncing off toward the dance floor.

Chad wiped his mouth, shaking his head. Damn, she was dumb.

But that’s exactly how he liked them.

"Bro."

Chad turned, grinning as Ethan Landry clapped him on the shoulder. Ethan was his boy—sharp jawline, slicked-back hair, always rocking a smug smirk.

"Bro," Chad responded, handing Ethan a beer.

The two leaned against the wall, watching the sea of drunk college girls grind against random dudes.

"Another solid night," Ethan said, taking a swig. "These chicks are so easy, man."

Chad chuckled. "No effort at all, bro. You just tell them they look hot, flex a little, and boom—panties drop."

Ethan laughed, shaking his head. "Crazy how simple they are, right? Like, feminists act like women are all ‘independent’ now, but then a dude with muscles walks in and suddenly they forget how to think."

Chad snorted. "That’s why I don’t take ‘em seriously, man. They say they want ‘equality,’ but they don’t wanna date some broke-ass dude with a man bun. They want a man—someone who actually runs shit."

Ethan nodded. "Exactly! And that’s why these woke losers are gonna stay single. Like, I’m sorry, but if your girl has a career, that’s lowkey embarrassing. Imagine letting your woman work when you should be handling business."

Chad grinned. "Facts. A man provides. That’s the natural order of things."

Ethan raised his beer. "To tradition."

Chad clinked bottles with him. "To being real men."

[girlokwhatever]

hiiiii PLSS KATE MARTIN ANGST!!!! 🥰🥰

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,, illicit affairs,,

kate martin x fem!reader

(not spell checked.. are you surprised?)

it was doomed from the start, when you told kate it had to be a secret.

she had somehow weaseled her way into your life, immediately finding a keen liking for you. for some reason you let her; you let her break your walls down until there was nothing left between you but unspoken feelings of love and admiration. it was inevitable when she kissed you, making it impossible for you to reject her advances because, secretly, you wanted her just as bad.

but no one could know. no one knew.

make sure nobody sees you leave,

hood over your head,

keep your eyes down.

you were running through the dorm parking lot belonging to the building kate lived in. your hoodie was pulled up over your head, draw-strings tugged taught until you could hardly see. kate watched you through her window, the weight of your shared secret making her feel heavy.

she hated seeing you go like this— rushed and panicked with the news that her team was coming back to the dorms earlier than originally planned. her hoodie engulfed you, creating a safe and secret place for you as you crossed the parking lot, eyes downcast as you make your way to your car.

you’d finally been able to come over to her dorm after weeks of hardly seeing her at all. not even moments ago your limbs were tangled with hers, soft kisses and a sloppy make out transpired between the two of you.

her whole team was out, celebrating a win that kate would rather miss if it meant she got some alone time with you. the time with you ended up being short-lived though. not even a full hour had passed before kate received a text from caitlin informing her everyone was going to check in early tonight.

disappointment was etched in her face as you pulled out of her embrace, quickly collecting your things to leave. all she had left was a chaste kiss on the lips and a sweetly whispered goodbye that rang in her ears as she watched your car disappear into the darkness.

what started in beautiful rooms

ends with meetings in parking lots

“i’m sorry we had to meet like this.. i thought the team would’ve been gone tonight.” kate sighs, letting her hands slip off of her steering wheel as you step inside her car.

you could tell she was tired. her hair was messily tied back, dark circles sagging under her eyes as she rubbed them. assuming it was pressure from the very demanding basketball season, you reached out, intertwining your delicate fingers with her calloused ones.

“hey, it’s okay. as long as i get to see you, it doesn’t matter where i am.”

that makes kate smile, her gaze breaking away from the rain-soaked parking lot. her relief only lasts a few seconds and is gone before you could even catch it. of course she was happy to just see you, but realizing her relationship with you has trickled down to these sort of meetings, it kills her.

you used to come to her games. you used to hangout with her and the team. you used to be seen in public together, when you were friends. and now, when you were supposed to be closer than ever, none of that seemed like a possibility anymore. it was killing kate. because now this was almost as good as it gets; secret meetings in an empty parking lot past ten o’clock at night.

kate remembers meeting you for the first time, how different things were then. she remembers meeting you in the warm and dim lights of the library late at night, catching up on late work and trying to escape the distractions of the dorm. but then she saw you. she really couldn’t help it when she started to stare, watching as the light and it’s shadow cast different shades of color over your face as you moved.

the library had been beautiful that time of night, kate always thought so. but not as beautiful as you.

leave the perfume on the shelf

that you picked out just for her

so you leave no trace behind

like you don’t even exist

it’d been awhile since kate even uttered your name in front of her friends. the fear of giving something away loomed over her head like a dark cloud, rain threatening to spill at any moment. it wasn’t until kate came home late after a night with you that your nervous activity started.

caitlin was sitting in the common area when kate got back, motioning her to come sit with a gentle pat of the cushion next to her. your girlfriend was in good spirits so she gave in without hesitation, coming to sit next to caitlin on the couch as she watched a late night basketball game.

“where’ve you been?” caitlin asked suspiciously, turning her nose in her friend’s direction.

“just out.”

“with y/n?”

kate goes stoic, eyes trained on the wall while her previously bouncing leg stands still. she hasn’t been expecting that, what gave it away?

“what? no, we don’t really.. hang out anymore.”

“you smell like her.” caitlin presses in dangerous territory and she knows it. you seemed to be a sensitive subject in kate’s life now, and she had no idea why.

kate shrugs before quickly standing up. she was desperate to escape from this conversation because somehow, caitlin always knows. and she can’t know about this. that’s why when kate shuts her door with a soft click she texts you immediately with a link to a new perfume, offering to buy it for you. she couldn’t tell you about what happened. you’d freak out, go into hiding away from kate for a little while.

so she doesn’t.

she buys you the new perfume and you replace it with the old one, the one that happened to be her favorite. the one she knew you used to wear just for her.

it was safer this way. caitlin couldn’t trace any scent back to you now. she couldn’t trace anything back to you anymore. a big part of kate hated that, but a smaller part of her knew it was better for you, so she settled.

take the words for what they are

a dwindling mercurial high

a drug that only worked

the first few hundred times

“kate, i just need time.”

it was a hushed whisper, one that kate has heard before. she believed it before, and part of her still does. but each time she loses hope, her fingers slip until she’s hanging on by her fingernails.

you promised kate it wouldn’t be like this forever. one day— soon you claimed, the two of you wouldn’t have to love in secret.

“kate i’ve never loved anyone the way i love you,” you’d whisper genuinely and she’d be hooked, fully trusting and forcefully patient. there was nothing she loved more than you, not even basketball, and she’d wait forever to be able to tell everyone that, even when it was having an undeniable impact on her mental state.

“i know.” she whispers back, lips moving against your skin as she tries to become one with you.

it was so hard to remember all the lost promises and time when you were holding her like this. hands in her hair, coddling against her and cradling her head into your chest. it was as if you were massaging all the past memories of empty words out of her brain, trying to make her forget about how you said all of this months ago.

and a couple months after that you’d whisper the same sweet nothings.

“you keep saying that..”

“and i mean it, kate.”

she stares at you, eyes turning to oceans full of complex and conflicting feelings. she was upset, disappointed, angry, and betrayed.

“look i understand what it’s like to come out. i’ve been there and i understand if you’re not ready, but don’t tell me you are.”

her first tear slips along with her conviction.

“kate.. i’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching out to wipe her tears away and she physically softens into your touch. “please don’t give up on me.”

and it was working again. your words, whether they were honest or not, had an affect on kate that made her stay. she’d always stay as long as you asked. somewhere deep down kate knew she was crumbling from the inside out. she was growing restless, a sinking feeling of hopelessness consuming her each time you failed to follow through on your promises. the promises you made while entangling your pinky with hers, kissing delicately along her knuckles.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs

and clandestine meetings and stolen stares

they show their truth one single time

but they lie, and they lie, and they lie,

a million little times

kate glanced your way longingly, watching silently as you interacted with the people around you. she wished so deeply it could be her so close to you, demanding attention and hearing your sweet laugh.

but it wasn’t. and despite what you said, she knew it probably wouldn’t be her for a long time.

kate felt so real when she was with you. so pure, who she was meant to be at her core. being with you was so real for kate, all her feelings and commitments, all the promises and conflicts were real.

but it was a lie.

every time she’d avoid your gaze or pretend like she didn’t know you, it was a lie. lying to her friends about you, her family, or anyone who asked. she’d lie and say yes if anyone asked about her being single. she’d lie about you.

it drained kate. she couldn’t fathom the idea that this was all per your request. deliberate decisions made by you to deceive everyone around you. kate was like your little affair, a secret you kept hidden away from the world so you could still have your fun elsewhere.

kate was your lie, and you were hers.

when you finally made eye contact with her she broke. all her buried resentment and defeat, all the fake promises and compromises, all the secrecy, all the hurt and confusion, all the insecurity, all the buried thoughts that haunted kate glared back at you.

but she saw it in you too. the weight of your lies and the pain of the truth. not only were you lying to everyone about kate, you were lying about yourself, to yourself.

and you wanna scream

don’t call me “kid”

don’t call me “baby”

kate’s head was deep in her hands, sobbing as shaky fingers pulled at the roots of her hair. for some reason she never saw this coming. the hopeful and innocent part of kate always thought it’d work out, that you’d work it out together. like you always said.

but you’d broken up with her. the stress of your secret relationship finally catching up. this couldn’t last forever, and you realized you’d never come out like kate wanted you to. it wasn’t fair to her. it wasn’t fair to expect her to be okay with being hidden. that’s what you told yourself to feel like less of a coward.

you could see she was freaking out. it took a lot to speak again, too afraid and shameful. too scared you’d make it worse.

“baby i’m so sorry, im so sorry.”

kate squeezes her eyes shut painfully. the word rings like a mantra through her ears, seeping into her soul where it freezes her feelings and numbs her mind. she shakes her head before looking back up at you with a face contorted by hurt.

“don’t call me that.”

“kate..”

“don’t call me that. seriously.”

you stare silently, guilt-ridden eyes shamefully gazing on her soft features, made even softer by the shine of her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. this was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. looking at her made you want to change your mind, to take it all back cruelly but you knew you couldn’t.

if you couldn’t accept who you were, how could anyone else?

“how could you do this to me? c’mon, i mean, i was there, through everything. i love you with everything i have. i mean.. i can’t even.. you promised me this wouldn’t happen. you promised.”

look at this idiotic fool that you made me

you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else

kate felt like a fool. she should’ve known better.

every time she’d make a harmless joke about you being a lesbian and you denied it, she should’ve known. every time you’d claim you were ready to come out to your parents but never did, she should’ve known. she should’ve seen it coming a mile away.

she could’ve, if she hadn’t chosen willful ignorance. but she decided she would rather have your love in private than not at all.

but now she had nothing and could tell no one.

she couldn’t tell anyone about you even if it was over. but caitlin didn’t need to be told twice, or even once. she knew where kate had been going late at night, she knew about the longing looks from across the room. she also saw your text to kate asking to talk.

that’s why she slipped into her best friend’s room that night when she got back home. to hold her as she cried, tell her it was okay and she was there for her.

“i love her so much caitlin.” kate choked out, crying all over again when the image of you in her bed only a few weeks ago flashed through her brain. a cruel memory.

“i know kate. you always love too much.”

and that pattern repeated for weeks, a concerning amount of time that even caitlin was restless. it happened almost every night like clockwork; kate would get back from her self-inflicted extra practice looking exhausted and battered, fleeing to her room without a single word and about ten minutes later she’d attempt to muffle her sobs into her pillow. the pillow that somehow still smelt like the perfume kate bought you.

walking through day-to-day life became harder for kate. no one understood the stupid inside jokes you built together, or the gesture of kissing fingertips you started together.

caitlin forced her friend out into the social world and it only took one conversation to break kate down into a reminiscing mess. objectively there was nothing wrong with the girl other than the fact that she wasn’t you. no one would ever understand kate the way you had, and she’s certain no man would ever understand you the way she had.

kate had to mourn the loss of your love and the connection that came with it. the unique diction you had built together. that one of a kind love could only be found with you, the girl that denied ever loving a woman.

you were a self-proclaimed straight woman. but kate knew, behind closed doors, behind her doors, you were far from it.

and you know damn well

for you, i would ruin myself

a million little times

after awhile kate could finally claim she’d gotten better.

she was enjoying her social life again. going out to bars and clubs, going to team parties, going shopping and playing basketball. she’d even visited home, getting the secret of you off of her chest to her mother.

she slowly eased herself back into normality, following a similar routine to the one she had before you.

the issue was, kate is no longer who she was before she met you. she’d never be that rational woman again. she’d never be able to say no to you again. but that didn’t occur to her, and if it did she wouldn’t mind much because she never thought she’d have to.

it’d been months since she saw you.

but suddenly you appeared across the room, lifting your head before meeting kate’s wide eyes. she knew she was doomed when you waved, a soft smile on your face when she waved back. that lasted for a few moments; stealing glances at each other from across the room before you made your way over.

“hey kate.” it was sweet, like a voice dipped in honey.

“hey..”

“kate, i’ve really been wanting to talk to you. i’m really sorry for how everything happened.”

she looked down at you, draped in your pretty outfit with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes. you sounded so genuine, and she wondered desperately what you wanted to talk about.

“do you wanna come to my place tonight?” she asked, curious and hopeful.

“how about mine?”

“oh, yeah.. sure.”

and kate knew. she knew nothing had changed. you were still the same old you, and she was still the same old her.

she’d go through it all again for you. a million times over.

₊˚ෆ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊- ,,

okay fics inspired by songs are so good

this is my first time using the lyrics in the song and i think im shitty at it.

feedback is definitely welcomed though!

pls enjoy 😛

[astonmartingf]

NOBODY KNOWS ; FA14

dbf!fernando alonso x ex-red bull engineer! reader . . . barcelona in the summer of 2019, what a time to be alive. and what better way to spend the break with a retired world champion as a tour guide

amgf woahhhh hehehehe so... yeah 👍 this was so fun to write ughh i love them so much and i know i saw that to all pairs in my works but i do love them all so yeah. there will be an accompanying part because somehow i furthered the plot even more and got too immersed in the story so... enjoy like always <3

not my fault ; part one

The summer of 2019- as much as you loved every bit of memory in Barcelona, you’d rather bury those thoughts down a hatch never to be seen from the day of light. But sitting in his garage, name and number sticking out from all corners, a familiar scent lingering reminding you of the late nights and early mornings spent over his house in the city.

Taking a deep breath, you regulate your emotions, keeping them at bay and clinging onto the last bit of professionalism you could muster. As far as you know, Fernando invited you here for one thing and one thing only, and just like the other teams he’s only interested in what you could offer for the longevity of the team.

Considering the latest buzz of his contract renewal, you could play a key part of the remaining time he has with Aston Martin. Along with the fact that Newey has left Red Bull, though it remains a hush to the majority of the paddock, moreso to the fans, and it was clear that people’s eyes were on your move.

Seeing you in the Aston Martin garage would raise more rumors, as it was normal seeing you alongside your stepfather in the McLaren garage. Closing your phone and leaving Sebastian on read, your eyes linger around the garage, fully immersing yourself in the experience. If you were to join the team for the next season, possibly the next races.

You watch the hustle and bustle of the team as they prepare for qualifying, a familiar experience, nothing too different from Red Bull, despite issues with the higher ups, the mechanics and engineers make do and focus on the race ahead for the team. Something you can no longer look back at fondly due to other internal issues you had with the team. 

Watching the mechanics interact with one another, the smiles and serious air as they hover around the car. You’re not one to deny that you missed working in the paddock, and as much as you enjoyed your break, you’re itching to work on the data of cars. Maybe that’s why your stepfather had put his feet forward in the matter and gave you a chance to see the team for yourself, despite it being on behalf of Alonso which still irked you to some sense, it’s nice to be inside a garage outside McLaren and see the inner workings of a team, look at different perspectives.

“I’m surprised you agreed to Mark’s invitation.” You freeze from the familiar voice emerging from behind you, you haven’t moved from your spot but you can sense his presence, just inches away from you, the scent of his perfume wafting over your nose, taking you back instantly to your summer getaway with him.

Maybe Sebastian was right, maybe you’re still hung up on the minute memories you spent with Alonso, memories made too long ago. Yet in such a short time he managed to hook you into this feeling, the very moment you’ve been thinking about for so long. “I’m not one to decline an invitation, even if it was from you.” 

You turn around, facing him for the first time in what seems to be four years, not like you’re counting but the sight of him leaves you out of breath. You thought you’d be more mentally prepared to see him once again, or at least that’s what you convince yourself with.

His presence lighting a fire inside you, the familiar passion burning through him, you can feel it. You don’t look away from his gaze, keeping your eyes straight into his, trailing down to the movement of his mouth, but your ears fall deaf at whatever he could be spouting on and on. “Pardon?” Biting your lip, you blink your eyes lost and embarrassed at your lack of attentiveness. You watch Fernando’s lips thin before a smirk rises, taunting a reaction out of you, “I wanted this to be a professional meeting but I guess it can’t be helped that we’re one minute in the conversation and you're already distracted because of me. Is something bothering you sweetheart?"

You roll your eyes at the audacity of this man, he surely knows how to push your buttons. "I assure you there is nothing bothering me, there are simply other things more interesting in my mind. You on the other hand— asking Mark for a favor? What are you twelve?" You don't miss the irked expression on his face when you point out his excuse for inviting you in his garage.

Huffing, Fernando inches forward as you subconsciously lean back on the wall behind you, "Well you better pay full attention because things are about to be interesting." Flashing you a wink before slamming down his helmet, walking towards his car as qualifying comes to a start.

His words leave you out of breath, so much for acting unbothered, Sebastian has truly jinxed this day. You watch as his car flies past the pit lane onto the tracks of the Chinese Grand Prix. 

As time passes by not only the qualifying session comes to a close but your high emotions as you inch towards the edge of your seat, celebrating with the team as Fernando clinches into P3 for the starting formation for tomorrow's Grand Prix. You find yourself in conflicting emotions— the longing feeling of being a part of a team and working with Fernando Alonso himself.

Despite your unusual relationship with him, you'd hate to admit it but you're always rooting for him in his races. Aside from Oscar, the only driver you've shown support open or not is Fernando. To quote Lando from last year's season, "Who wouldn't want to see Fernando Alonso win?" And he's right.

Personal biases aside, you truly only want the best for him, and you know that won't happen if you're in the team with him. As much as you want to, you'd rather not ruin the familial environment of the team. Your situation with Fernando and personal biases and grudges will definitely come in the way, because as much as you'd front and act like it didn't matter to you, he was and still is one of the biggest losses in your life.

Call it the right person, at the wrong time but you're still hurting and being in the same space as him, you can envision yourself celebrating the highs and lows of the team and it's all too much for you. You don't want to be stuck as coworkers with the man you first—

Sighing, you shake the thoughts clouding your head and focus on the positives for this race. Watching Fernando walk towards the interviewer with a big smile on his face, the more conflicted you are with your emotions. You try to escape the hustle and bustle of the garage, hoping to avoid Fernando before he comes back. 

But luck seems to be avoiding you, as you quite literally bump into Fernando whilst trying to escape him. Grabbing your wrist before you could walk any further, he pulls you closer, hands hovering between his lips and whispered in your ears, "There's something we need to talk about after the race.”

Your eyes wander looking for an excuse, but you remember that this could be your only opportunity to decline the offer his team could be asking you for the remainder of the season. "Sure. Where should I wait for you?"

Your response seems to have taken Fernando off guard, "You can wait for me here, or if you want somewhere more private, you can always head into the motorhome." 

Parting ways, your head can only form any more responses before you go into a complete spiral. Nonetheless, you're well aware that the only answer you can give him is a rejection. Because you can't trust yourself to work with him after all that has happened to you.

You jump, surprised as Fernando barges in his private quarters of the team motorhome, "Having you been waiting a long time?"

You shake your head, getting comfortable in the cushioned chair beside his bed, "Why'd you call me here by the way? What do you need to discuss with me that requires privacy?"

Fernando smirks before sitting on the bed, "After the interview with Rosberg, he asked me if we were in a relationship, considering he saw you in my garage earlier. I for one don't mind having this conversation outside but I know for a fact that you wouldn't want anyone hearing about our conversation now."

Your face curves, tracing back on your thoughts of how Nico could be able to piece such information, the only person you told was Sebastian, "You're a blabber mouth is what you are. What re you asking me that, for all I know you could've told half the grid!" 

Fernando scoffs, shaking his head in disapproval, "I'm sad you think that about me sweetheart, but sadly it wasn't me. Like how you made me promise that I won't tell a soul, I didn't tell anyone. But one detail that Nico mentioned piqued my attention, apparently you told Vettel, who told Lewis, who told Jenson, who told Rosberg, who in turn then asked me if that actually happened. I'm surprised your stepfather hasn't found out about us."

Sebastian. You curse under your breath, more shocked with the amount of drivers who knew about you and Fernando, minus Seb, you thought nobody knows. "Can you stop referring to Mark like that." 

Fernando raises his brows, his words rub you off the wrong way, knowing well enough that he's only doing this to elicit a reaction out of you. "But you refer to him that way, what's so wrong? Are you scared?" Fernando chuckles in a deep and slow voice, as frustration builds up in you.

"Fuck you Alonso."

"Oh you did, and it was so damn good we did it again and again. I think you remember it clearly, or would you like a refresher?" The way he casually mentions your past occurrences astounds you. You become more cautious after his words realizing that you're stuck in a small space with him, and a bed literally beside you. 

Your thoughts make their way to wat you, as you think back of your late nights shared with him in his bed. Swiping your tongue over your lips, you shuffle in your seat mulling over a better response to catch him off his feet. You can't lose to him like this, your pride won't let you. 

But before you could speak, Fernando presses his fingers over your lips. "You don't have to say anything, whether or not you agree or like it, what happened between us was a fact and a reality you should accept. I for one loved the short time we had together."

Your eyes shake, confused about this all. Even more questions emerge from your head, has Fernando been thinking of you since then? If so, why is he telling you all of this now? He said he loved the short time you had with him, why didn't he want you to stay then?

Your curiosity is killing you, but you've already made your front to act unaffected by it all, which only confirms that you're not ready to work with him at all, as much as you would love it be. Which he hasn't mentioned at all, is this why he invited you to his garage? A rekindling of an old flame, gone far too long in the past. 

But the matter of fact is until you decide to be honest to yourself, it'll remain like it was before, because nobody knows.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Wally had had no idea what he'd been looking at. Had barely had a reaction to it apart from subtle feelings of anxiety. In fact, it hadn't inspired anything more than a shrug and the thought of, "Neat. It's a tree."

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.16

It'd been harrowing, playing dumb and doing his best not to think about everything you and he had talked about earlier, but Wally made it out the other side only mildly scathed.

Group adjourned with Mr. Martin's instruction to pick anything but Rudy for tomorrow's Movie Night. Funny that Charley had never mentioned his distaste for the sports movies Wally usually selected before now, but fine, it was fine, Wally didn't feel stung at. all.

Maddie split almost immediately; in pursuit of another lead or to stalk Mr. Anderson or Simon, or Simon stalking Mr. Anderson, Wally wasn't sure, but once he heard the door click behind her, he sagged in relief.

Too soon, he groaned internally. When he looked up he saw Rhonda bolt from her seat and cut through the center of the circle like a shark through water, Charley on her heels.

"What was that?" She challenged, sizing the length of Wally up with a wave of her bare lollipop stem.

"What was what?"

Charley squinted at him, quickly scanned about before he leaned in and furtively said, "Oh, I don't know. How about that monstrosity of a performance you just forced us to participate in?"

Wally gulped, "I—"

"Spare us the crap, puppycat," Rhonda snipped, "We've seen each other's transcripts."

"I saw him misspell fundraiser," Charley added in a mockery of an anecdote Wally had shared during the session. And then, accusingly, "I know you know what a pun looks like."

Wally found himself on the back foot, mind going blank as he groped for an explanation that hedged the truth enough to get him out of Charley and Rhonda's crosshairs, but that didn't expose that he'd already known about the phone call and Mr. Anderson and the hush money.

"I was just...Uh..."

Unfortunately, Charley and Rhonda were too damn smart and your skill of inventing plausible excuses on the spot hadn't yet rubbed off on him. Inwardly, he reinforced his defenses and prepared for the Spanish Inquisition (nobody expects it).

"Walter," Rhonda said, blade-sharp, and Wally winced at her use of his Government name, "I know you think it's sweet to play clueless meathead in front of your crush—"

Oh. Okay. Sure. "That's—"

"—but, trust me, it doesn't work. Don't dumb yourself down just to get her to like you." Rhonda finished with a long-suffering roll of her eyes. An action that translated to mother-hen affection in a normal person.

"Besides," Charley said, a slack hint of sass to his syllables, "I think she just wants to figure things out. Not play tonsil hockey with a ghost who probably shared biology with the teacher that murdered her."

Wally tried to make his face react appropriately, had no idea if he pulled it off, but Charley and Rhonda didn't comment so he assumed it couldn't have been too bad.

"I don't think Mr. A is that old," Wally mumbled, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "But...thanks, guys."

Charley's expression mollified, "Anytime, big guy."

Wally had to acknowledge that it was nice that his friends cared about him. That they saw him as more than the overexcited golden retriever they often criticized him of being and wanted to make sure he wasn't trying to people-please his way into someone's heart. Though it still didn't dull the ache in his belly from discovering no one actually enjoyed his Top 5 and had only been humoring him for probably a decade or two.

He was fine.

In feigned bitterness, "Well, I've done my good deed for the day," Rhonda announced, pushing past Wally to head for the door, "Let's go."

Wally turned as if to follow her only to catch Ajay's eye before he could commit to the action. He remembered then what Ajay had told him in the faculty lounge about showing Wally something he 'needed to see'. Something Ajay inferred had to do with why he and the others were trapped on school property.

"I'll catch up in a bit," He called after Charley and Rhonda, backstepping toward Ajay to make his intentions obvious.

Charley shot Wally a lazy salute, "We'll be in the library for a while," and then turned on his heel to trail after Rhonda.

After decades of being in each other's pockets, it wasn't uncommon for members of their haunt to seek time one-on-one with each other. Everyone respected the unspoken exclusivity without comment and was especially understanding toward Wally, who had been the only teenage guy amongst them until 1992.

Bernie and Katelynn greeted Wally as he approached Ajay, though soon took their leave, Katelynn with a small and bashful, "See ya, Wally."

"Bye Katy-Cat." He said through a charming smile, ruffling her hair when she came into reach.

Katelynn shoved his arm away playfully, blowing Wally a raspberry before she continued over to the empty circle, immediately setting to work helping Mr. Martin and Bernie stack the chairs.

Wally turned back to Ajay, "Alright, my guy, where to?"

They exited through the side door, sunlight temporarily blinding Wally after having spent an hour sitting in the poorly lit gym. Not giving Wally's eyes a chance to adjust, Ajay took him by the elbow and physically maneuvered him in the right direction.

"It won't seem like much," Ajay warned, "so you need to trust me." He released Wally's elbow when Wally began to move under his own power, and hurried his stride.

"I do trust you," Wally replied, voice bouncing as he picked up his pace to match Ajay's. "Whatever you're gonna show me, it's gotta be important."

Ajay's ears reddened. "Thank you."

They were headed toward the treeline along the backside of the school, the field spread out to Wally's right. Down the steps, along the path, picnic tables and chainlink fence. Cheerleaders practiced their pyramid and the junior gym class played kickball.

Anxiety began to creep over Wally as they neared the boundary line, a slow and subtle discharge of fear frequency transmitting across his brain in a cold flush.

"Heeey, are you sure this is the right way?" Wally had to ask, his skin starting to feel clammy and too tight on the bones of his fingers. He began to slow his steps, afraid of being circus-canoned back to the 5-yard line, but Ajay plowed ahead without concern. "Dude?"

Wally almost rammed into him for how abruptly Ajay stopped, the toes of Ajay's shoes so close to the invisible line it gave Wally heart palpitations.

"There." Ajay said, pointing at a tree that stood approximately two meters beyond the school grounds.

The tree wasn't anything special. Tall, leafy, burled in various places up its trunk, and roots weaved and whorled around its base, some thick enough to sit on comfortably. Carved initials and numbers and heart shapes by students who'd wanted to immortalize their memory in its bark. It was the kind of thing one would expect from a tree in a private area near a building full of teenagers, really.

"What am I looking at?" Wally asked.

"I don't know what it means, so don't ask me," Ajay stated, clearly preempting that Wally would have questions after whatever Ajay was preparing to demonstrate. Ajay crouched to gather a stone from the ground, "Watch this."

He tossed the stone. It smacked the tree, dislodging a piece of loose bark from the center of a crooked heart—bullseye—and fell without fanfare into a nest of roots, a thin poof of dirt raised on impact.

Wally waited for something to happen. And waited. A n d waited.

"I don't get it." He said after a few uneventful beats. "Was something supposed to happen?"

"It did happen." Ajay insisted, bending to pick up another stone that he handed to Wally and motioned for him to throw it at the tree.

It hit, denting the bark, but again, that was the end of it. Wally peered up at the leaves—unruffled—then down at the roots—inert—and finally back at Ajay who pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Watch this." He commanded, scooping up another stone as he marched a few feet away. "Are you paying attention?" He asked, not unkindly; an earnest bid for Wally's focus.

Wally gave him a tight smile, "Yup," and a thumbs up, taking a few steps closer to prove the point.

Ajay flung the stone. Except, this time, it ricocheted back as soon as it pierced the barrier. Disappeared for a blink and then spat back out, flying in the reverse direction. Ajay threw his arms up and protected his face a split-second before the stone struck him, bouncing off his forearm to land with a thud at his feet.

Wally's jaw dropped, "What the shit?"

"Do you get it now?" Ajay questioned, dusting off his hands as he strolled back to Wally.

With a frown, "Sort of?" Wally reached for the barrier, not quite touching for fear of what could happen and where he'd end up, but just enough to feel its presence warm the palm of his hand. "I guess it would be too easy if we could go through, huh?"

"I attempted it a couple of times," Ajay shook his head, "Either way, the barrier is definitely weakest here. And," He paused, building suspense, "At four other points around the school."

Eyes fixed on the tree, Wally hypothesized, "If we figure out how to weaken it more at any of these points, we might be able to get out of here..."

"We just might," Ajay concurred, "I tried finding information in the library and the computer lab, but—" It was a Christian school board, he didn't have to say, and occult topics were heavily filtered.

There weren't likely to be any useful books available and the online network was limited, browsers blocking sites the school didn't want its students to visit. Wally's knowledge of the latter was an embarrassing smear on his reputation that he'd had to beg Charley to keep secret.

He shoved the memory back in its box and once more buried it in the darkest recesses of his mind.

Never again...

"You think my girl would know how to handle this?" Wally asked despite having already determined he was going to tell you about the barrier's weak points. He just wanted to make sure Ajay was aware and on board.

Ajay shrugged, "She certainly has access to more resources than we do. Couldn't hurt to mention it."

It was settled. Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, Wally broke his scrutiny of the tree and turned to Ajay.

"Alright, then, show me what we're working with."

💀___________________________

PART FIFTEEN - PART SEVENTEEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[nowiminexileseeingyouout]

short n’sweet (1/?)

kate martin x popstar!reader

contains: flirting (bad flirting)

a/n: nobody talks about how embarrassing writing fanfic is but anyway pls send me feedback or requests!!! also next part coming soon cause this was supposed to be longer im just lazy EDIT: just read this back guys are so fake bc none of the 17 of you who read this and liked it wanted to tell me i posted the unedited version full of mistakes i see how it is ANYWAY it’s all fixed now

Finding musical inspiration isn't always simple for you, for other artists it seemed to come easy all of them having catalogs of unreleased works to release whenever they seem fit, it especially hurts when you feel like you’ve exhausted and exploited every relationship you’ve ever been in, and so naturally you frequently find yourself wishing you could go through a terrible breakup only to write a few words, which was definitely a normal thing people do of course.

So after several hours cooped up in a studio in Vegas, feeling like you're drowning in wasted paper, you decided to gracefully accept the invitation to attend the season's first Las Vegas Aces game. Sports weren't your thing normally, but right now you'd do anything to get a break.

During the game, the camera may occasionally focus on you in an attempt to capture a reaction for an Instagram post or whatever but throughout the forty-minute game, you were so captivated by number 20 you didn't give much thought about anything else, you couldn’t take your eyes off her when she started playing, even though she didn't start until after the first half. Her braided ponytail swung as she moved, and she had total control over the ball as she dribbled up and down the court she had you in the palm of her hand and she had no idea.

After the game your only goal was to meet Kate eyes scanning the whole court after press was done but unfortunately for you kate was gone so the next best thing you could do was the epitome of modern flirting, follow her on instagram it probably made you look desperate considering it was only seconds after the game but it was fine nobody would notice right?

Well Kate did because not long after a notification pops up on your phone.

@/katemartin has followed you on instagram

________________________________________________________

After the game then after doing press and getting changed Kate finally made it to her car ready to head back to her apartment, not before checking her notifications, most of which were boring just her friends checking in with her or congratulating her on the aces win tonight but then she sees you followed her.

She can’t help but smile to herself of course she saw you during the game. How could she not have noticed you when you looked so good? and maybe she did put in a little more effort she was subbed in, call it the Jordan Poole effect. following you back, then taking it upon herself to scroll through your account, pictures of all of your performances and music videos you’ve done, your album cover and a few pictures of you. she likes a few of them before dming you.

@/katemartin

hey thanks for coming to the game !

and for the follow lmao

ahhh youre welcome for coming to the game and for the follow

you played really good btw

showing off??

maybe just a little?? i’m a big fan btw

ohh yeah sure a fan who doesn’t follow me

maybe i’m just a casual fan 💔💔

i guess you could say im a casual fan of you now

cause casual fans follow someone right after the game ends SURE..

Working up the courage, Kate sent you one last message before the conversation naturally halted as she felt she had to take action before this turned into just another lost opportunity.

you looked good court-side btw maybe you should come again if you liked the way i played so much

Before you could even read the message, she launched her phone onto the passenger seat with her nerves at an all time high. All she wanted to do was turn back time so you’d never get a chance to read it.

________________________________________________________

you looked good court-side btw maybe you should come again if you liked the way i played so much

You were blushing, blushing from a message, a message from someone you haven’t even talked to in person.

thanks you looked good playing ON the court ill definitely come to another game

You needed to send one last message before turning off your phone.

idk your game schedule but if your free tomorrow do you wanna grab coffee or something?

Now it was your turn to lose it. You were flirtatious, and it was evident in your music, so normally you wouldn't mind doing this sort of thing, but with Kate, it was different; you wanted to impress her because she was special. So with your Uber driver staring at you in the mirror, as you smile to yourself like an idiot you switch off your phone and relax into the backseat of the car.

[shizucheese]

Okay okay okay, I need everyone to listen to me about this.

I know I kinda talked about this before in a reblog to someone else's post, but the idea has been rotating in my brain ever since and I feel like it needs to be further explored. A lot of people have been talking about the differences between TMA and TMP, and memeing about how people can actually quit the OIAR (which btw, I'll believe when I actually see it, by which I mean if we're able to get through the entire series without Teddy either coming back or turning up dead or otherwise facing "You can quit but you can never leave" levels of repercussions) but like nobody, from what I've seen, has been talking about what imo is the pretty glaringly obvious element at play here. So let's talk about the spider in the room, shall we? What do we know about the Magnus Institute in TMA?

People came there to give statements regarding their spooky experiences, including people who had doubts about doing so (because they weren't sure if the Institute was reputable, because they weren't sure if they believed what they had experienced, because they served a different entity so what reason would they have to do something for The Eye, etc).

The head archivist would ultimately become the Archivist, an Avatar of the Eye.

The Archivist's abilities included enabling statement givers to give their statements without going off track or leaving out details (we even see what happens when it's not the Archivist taking the statement), and being able to compel people to tell them things against their will, from statements to their darkest secrets.

You couldn't quit, at least not without gouging your eyes out.

The Magnus Institute was a part of the Eye.

Or was it? Because the other thing we know about the Magnus Institute is that the Web was using it as part of its plan to break free from the TMA world and gain access to the other worlds out there. How much of the compulsion aspects of the Institute-- people being drawn to the Institute to give statements, the Archivist's ability to draw statements and secrets out of people, people's inability to quit the Institute--was actually because of the Web? Where does the Eye's "compulsion to seek out knowledge even if it could be bad/ harmful" end and the Web's "not being in control of your own actions" begin? Was the Archivist--at least in the form Gertrude and John took--really purely an Avatar of the Eye? Or were they an Avatar of a mix between The Eye and the Web, much like how Martin, if he were to ever become a full fledged Avatar, likely would have been a mix of the Eye and the Lonely, just like his domain in S5 was? After all, Jonah was an Eye Avatar, was he not? And as far as we saw, he never needed to compel information out of people. He just Knew it (and used it to torment people).

One of the themes I've been playing around with in my TMA fanfictions since I first finished the podcast for the first time last winter is how the course of history would be different in the alternate worlds, where the Web wasn't interfering--at least not on the same scale, or for the same reasons--since it had already gotten what it wanted at the end of TMA. And I think that's exactly what we're seeing a version of in Protocol. I think the OIAR is what it looks like when it's entirely the Eye at play, with 0 interference from the Web. The Eye is all about having your secrets exposed, being watched, being followed. The tape recorders--something that would need to be turned off and on (controlled) in order to record something--were a tool of the Web. Now we're "witnessing" the events of the podcast through the audio from security cameras and other things that are constantly running; constantly seeing and listening without needing to be turned on and off. The statements aren't being given by people who somehow found their way to the institute and were on some level or another compelled to tell their tales. They're journal entries detailing a person's private thoughts. They're letters meant only for the eyes of the recipient, sharing secrets not meant for anyone else. They're recorded therapy sessions.

And the statements that are related to the Eye? The ones read in John's voice? They're forum and blog posts, which not only makes them the only ones whose sources didn't have the same expectation of privacy as the others, also ties them to the Web, since computers and websites were previously established as being associated with it.

[misseviehyde]

REVERSE THERAPY

Martin had known he was potentially risking his entire career when he agreed to treat his daughter's bully through specialist therapy sessions. He should have announced to her family that he had a vested interest, but Gracie and her rich Daddy had no idea that the guy administering experimental therapy to the bored, spoiled rich girl, might have an axe to grind.

Gracie and Martin's daughter Susan attended the same prestigious school, but whilst the blonde, sexy and confident Gracie was popular and the Head Cheerleader - his daughter was a nobody bookworm. Gracie bullied Susan constantly and Martin was determined to help end the cycle of negativity. After all, he strongly believed in the power of therapy. Gracie was obviously bullying Susan because of her own hang-ups... he could cure her.

Gracie was actually a highly compliant subject and her mind seemed particularly susceptible to his therapy process. Martin was experimenting with a mind melding technology that allowed him to share consciousness with his patient. He was determined to see if he could turn Gracie from being a mean girl into a nice person by examining her experiences and tweaking her personality.

They both lay in Gracie's pink princess bedroom, the mind transfer bands round their foreheads. Deep in a meditative trance, their minds merged and Martin floated inside Gracie's consciousness.

It was a petty, spiteful, narcissistic mind. A mind that hungered for sex, power and constant attention. It was an enticing combination of sharp glittering edges and soft spoiled silk - you could lose yourself in a mind like this.

Deliciously toxic femininity washed over Martin as he tried to absorb Gracie's memories and life story so he could try to understand why she was such a bitch.

He would try to control and alter those memories to make Gracie ashamed of being cruel and evil. He could make her a better person.

Instead, he found himself being overwhelmed and flooded with strong sexual desires as he began to relive memories of Gracie's depraved life and found he enjoyed it.

He groaned and his cock got rock hard, as sensations and memories of being an evil bad girl pulsed through him. Gracie got off on being mean.

His lips curved into a smile as he experienced the memory of clopping through the school halls in high heels, his tight shaven pussy dripping wet as everyone got out of his way. Chewing gum, Martin blew a bubble and giggled. It felt so fucking good to be feared and desired.

These memories felt good, but nothing had prepared him for how much it would turn him on to relive memories and experiences of bullying his own daughter.

Cruel, mean, dominant emotions rushed through him. The way he called Susan a fucking loser, the satisfaction when he saw tears in her eyes. Making her do his homework, spreading rumours about her.

Even hotter memories rushed through his mind. Susan whimpering as he rubbed his pussy in front of her face, his cheerleader skirt hiked up and his minions pinning her arms back as he laughed and squirted all over her glasses and face and made her lick up his cum as he finished orgasming.

"You're a fucking loooooser Susan and that's all you'll ever be. A poor, worthless, pathetic little loser. I'll always be better than you."

Seeing his daughter humiliated and destroyed should have angered and enraged him... instead it just felt so fucking good. Martin had a big smile on his lips, he shivered in taboo pleasure. Being a bully felt good... it made him horny.

His daughter WAS a fucking loser. It felt good to think it... to feel it. His hands clenched and he imagined pink acrylic claws on his fingers. He imagined boys worshipping him, having a tight slutty body.

He wanted it bad.

With a gasp he awoke and ended the therapy session.

***

Martin realised something was wrong but he was now too addicted to stop. The therapy wasn't working right. Instead of making Gracie better, the therapy was making HIM worse.

He now couldn't stop thinking about being an evil teenage bully and destroying his pathetic daughters life. Gracie's cruel and spoiled personality was transferring over to him... and he liked it.

He began to find phrases and idioms that Gracie used were now part of his vocab. An 'OMG', 'loooser' or 'bitch pleeease' would occasionally escape his lips. His physical mannerisms had changed. He was now more expressive with his hands and his lips had become a constant bitchy sneer.

He lay on his bed pumping his cock, imagining he was Gracie. Imagining he was the bully and desiring more.

Each time they had therapy, Martin would now dive into Gracie's mind and let her evil personality wash over him. He sucked it into himself - pushing out his own memories and thoughts to make room for more of Gracie's.

"Yessss, fucking infect me with your bitchiness," he hissed in pleasure as he eagerly fed on Gracie's wicked personality and mentally orgasmed.

"I'm a bitch, I'm an evil fucking bitch" he groaned in his mind, cumming again and again to the sensations of being a tight, bullying slut.

But as the sessions continued and Martin adopted more and more of Gracie's personality and memories he began to notice that she was acting weird too. She began dressing more demurely and her bullying, confident attitude began to fade. She even began to act more friendly towards Susan.

He began to realise that he was somehow draining Gracie's evil mind into himself. The memories, thoughts and feelings he was pushing out to make room were taking hold in her mind. Soon she would be a good girl trapped in a slutty bitch body and he would be a bitchy bully trapped in a mans body. This would never do...

Deactivating all the safeties on the therapy bands, they lay in Gracie's bedroom. Martin moaned as he entered Gracie's mind and felt one last moment of doubt. Could he really take it all? Could he absorb all of Gracie's remaining bitchy mind and BECOME her? Could he slide into this body and be the new driver, leaving her as the controller of his old body?

A memory of Susan, a memory of the love he once had for his daughter almost stopped him. Then an image of Susan kneeling at his feet begging for mercy made him groan in delight and he knew what he wanted.

"Give it all to me you bitch... your mind, your memories, your BODY! Ooooh fuckkkk yesssss!"

The duo convulsed, sparks flying from the transfer bands. Martin screamed in pleasure. He greedily sucked and sucked, drinking in and absorbing all of Gracie's memories. "Yessss I'm mmmmh a bully, I'm hot... I'm a girl! Yessss make me an evil princess!"

Martin's mind warped and buckled. Images of pink lingeire, of shopping with his girls of being a self-entitled brat overwhelmed him as he drew them into himself and pushed out his own memories. His sense of self, collapsed and the new Gracie purred as she felt the last remaining hold-outs of her old personality forced out.

She was a fucking bitch now. She remembered she had once been Martin, but this was soooo much better.

"Yesssss I feel sooo fucking good," she moaned flowing with a wicked grin into HER body. There was another mind in here, but it was weak and she tore it loose- hurling it back into the body she has just come from.

"Hahah fucking looooser," she gloated as she flowed into her body and took control. She groaned as she ripped the transfer band from her head and sat up.

Blonde hair fell around her head... HER blonde hair. She looked down and wiggled her pretty pedicured toes, giggled at the sight of her pert titties on her chest... the feel of her deliciously feminine body.

Gracie could taste lip gloss and smell Chanel perfume. She was all-girl now and she loved it. She was the Alpha Bully now.

"Wh... what did you do?" moaned a male voice and she turned to see Martin groggily rising from his seat.

Throwing the transfer band to the floor, Gracie brought a wedged heeled foot down on the delicate circuits- hearing them crunch and break forever.

"It's like simple loooooser. I'm like totally Gracie now and you're that fucking sad sac Martin. We swapped and if you like ever try to tell anyone I'll fucking destroy you. You like remember just enough I like hope to know I don't make threats."

"You evil slut, you mean I have to be a man? I can't remember anything other than I used to be you!"

"That's like right. Your life, your memories, your soul... they are like totally mine. OMG - you're the Daddy of that fucking loser Susan now."

"Susan... I... I love her?"

"Yeah you do, although part of you still hates and despises her, especially because losing this body is kind of all her fault. Mmmmh in fact, just because we swapped doesn't mean EVERYTHING has to be the same. How about you bully Susan too? Between the two of us we can make her life hell."

Grabbing Martin's cock - Gracie giggled as she began to stroke.

"Ughhhh that feels good. What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to be a good boy for me. Let me give you some real therapy. This time just using my mouth and my tight body I'm like going to make you HATE your daughter again. I'm like gonna corrupt your soul baby until you're evil again."

Martin moaned as Gracie's pink bubblegum lips slid round his cock and she began to suck. Mmmmh being a man wasn't that bad after all. Under Gracie's tutelage he would learn to be an Alpha man and would soon enjoy the benefits of his new body.

Banging her tight pussy every chance he got would bring out the bastard in him and help turn him against his daughter. Not that she was really his daughter... was she?

Martin was confused - but as Gracie took control of him he realised it was simply easier to let her do the thinking.

After all, she was the trained therapist and SO good at sucking cock...

THE END

[forgetyoursingalongsandlullabies]

I’m thinking about the TMA S4 Q&A where Alex asks Jonny “Who knew that Jon liked Martin first, Jon or Martin?” And Jonny answers “Georgie”. I’ve already made my statement on Georgie knowing Jon had feelings for Martin before Jon did. My current thought is that this particular question was one that Alex himself asked Jonny, it wasn’t one of the Q&A questions asked by the audience which means to Alex’s mind there is a world in which Martin knew Jon had feelings for him before Jon even knew. And to be honest that would make so much sense as to why Martin put up with Jon’s shitty behavior towards him for so long and stayed so loyal to him. Like yeah the man definitely has a humiliation/degradation kink or something but also maybe he knew there was something there and just knew he needed to nurture it.

I’m on record saying Jon developed feelings for Martin in season 2 but I also think it is possible that Jon thought Martin was at least very cute upon first laying eyes on him. I think in season 1 Jon tries very hard to be a professional and masked his uncertainty and fear with arrogance and condescension. Ordinarily Jon would think it is unprofessional to talk shit about his assistant on tape even if he doesn’t like him, except that Jon is actively working to not like Martin and the best way to convince yourself of something is to keep saying it out loud. On Martin’s first day in the archives Jon saw this sweet man chasing a dog and first thought ‘Oh no he’s an idiot and I have to be his boss’ but he also thought ‘Oh no he’s cute and I have to be his boss’ so he takes that initial disapproval and dials it up to 10 and just rolls with it to mask and dilute the moment when he thought Martin was a cutie patootie and try to never have that thought again. But we all know that Martin is a lot more perceptive than he lets on and is also a manipulative son of a bitch. Jon is not an amazing liar and maybe Martin saw some part of Jon protesting a little much and thought oh yeah this guy is into me and Martin developed his mild S1 crush. By the time Martin had his first encounter with Jane Prentiss he had let go of the inkling that Jon might like him too and thought Jon actually does hate him but when Jon offers to let Martin stay in the archives to protect him Martin is just kind of like Oh it’s on. So going forward from the moment Jon has Martin move into the archives Martin is flirtier and bolder with Jon.

Through season 2 when Jon is obviously going crazy with paranoia Martin just pushes himself in closer to Jon. First of all he gifts the man the ashes of his enemy as if that’s normal! But also Martin brings Jon tea and hovers around him during lunch and talks to him casually and kindly when nobody else does and makes it Jon’s idea to go to lunch with him even though Jon is supposed to be suspicious of him. He nurtures Jon the way someone would a rescue cat, being kind through the hissing and scratching until you get slow blinks from them and they nervously make sure you’re sitting there to guard them while they eat.

By season 3 when Daisy is interrogating Martin she tells him that everyone she’s spoken to tells her that Jon and Martin are close. Just how did that happen to the extent that any given person at the institute who is asked would say so, at a time when for all intents and purposes Jon was actually pushing away everyone else who knew him? Martin was working hard and he knew what he was doing and he also knew it wasn’t a lost cause. To digress just a moment, when my mom was first dating my stepdad (whom she has now been happily married to for 20 years) he was being kind of noncommittal and on-again-off-again but she would say to me all the time “He loves me he just doesn’t know it yet.” And me being 7 I thought she was crazy but she was right! And honestly in this theoretical world this is exactly how Martin approached things.

All of seasons 3 and 4 for Martin were simple acts of faith, love and loyalty. That charged conversation in MAG 102 that I am OBSESSED with gains quite a lot with the added subtext that Martin has known Jon has feelings for him for a while and now Jon is also starting to realize it too and maybe Martin knows Jon knows! In season 4 when Martin is pushing Jon away with a stick it makes so much sense that he knows Jon has feelings for him because he knows that he has to work hard to keep Jon away. If he thought it was just about Jon wanting information from him he might have approached things differently but he actually took steps to make sure Jon was getting information from him by leaving Jon tapes. He just knew that Jon would pull him too far away from The Lonely which he was now committed to. Like, if your sort of ex-boss sort of friend wants to talk to you sometimes I don’t think that’s going to stop anyone from being lonely but Martin for sure knew by S4 that if he let Jon in, The Lonely plot would be done for. Not only would Peter’s plans be shot because Martin would commit himself to being with Jon and Jon would fully reciprocate but also Peter would definitely take it out on Jon. When Jon pulled Martin from The Lonely I don’t think it would have been enough for Jon to love Martin and also for Martin to love Jon, I think Martin had to know that Jon loved him. So when Martin said that Jon didn’t need him he probably did believe that but he also knew that Jon loves him already so being able to really See Jon just reminded him of what he already knew.

I love this possibility and in fact I now fully do believe that Martin knew Jon loved him back by S4.

[forsakenanchor]

TMA Headcanons 📼

- A Collection - Seasons 1-5 Spoilers

🧿 Martin LOVES musicals! When he was in school, he would see every single one his school would hold. His dream was to be in one. But his mother would never let that happen- her disapproval or not. Martin wouldnt have time between his studies and taking care of his progressively sick mother. It would be an impossible balance. But that doesnt stop him from going and buying tickets for every show he can. He watches with deep joy and a dull sorrow.

🧿 Seasons 1-4 Jon had chronic headaches that only got worse as seasons progressed. When season 5 rolled around, his headaches mysteriously disappeared. It made Jon sick to his stomach— not even human enough to have proper headaches.

🧿 Tim the kinda guy to just have everything? Oh you need this specific cord? Tim has it. What about a blanket? He has three. Fuck it, you obviously need a pillow with that too, he gots you!

🧿 Tim the kinda guy to drive the car on a long car ride and sing car songs the entire time. Everyone hates it after 30 minutes.

🧿 The last piece of Sasha to exist to the archives staff is an old polaroid from the first (and only) time they ever got Jon to go out for drinks with them after work. The polaroid is worn from being kept in a desk for such a long time, hidden under so many papers and files that its a wonder they were able to fish it out without any tears. On the bottom someone wrote — Nobody recognizes the handwriting. — “Archivist night out.”

^ to add: Jon found it in his desk originally, but he gave it to Tim, knowing how much it would mean to him with how hard he was taking Sashas death. After the circus, and after they had to go through emptying Tim’s desk, no one had the heart to throw out the photo. Martin saw the photo for the first time in a long time, and he just stared, mourning. Basira & Melanie had no qualms with letting him keep it.

🧿 Sasha will fuck EVERYONE in monopoly. She wins EVERY. TIME.

🧿 Tim and Jon shared a cigarette together in season 3.

🧿 Tim aligned with the Desolation and not just because of mag 119.

🧿 Tim is a gamer. Sasha is too! (shes better) (she hacks) They used to play games together, type of people to play minecraft together.

🧿 Sasha has a cartigan collection. On someones birthday she will wear one that reminds her of the other. (For example, she has one with a cow pattern for Martin!)

^ Martin had a hyper fixation on cows when he was younger. Sasha and Tim found out after Martin had info dumped about types of cows and misconceptions about them. The two of them NEVER forgot this.

^ Sasha actually ending up buying Martin that same cow cartigan on Martins birthday after Martin started wearing more cartigans and sweaters. After that they would make sure to wear that cartigan on the same day so they would match.

🧿 Tim is the only person in the OG archives that didnt wear glasses. Jon, Martin, and Sasha are all blind as BATS if they dont have their glasses, and Tims over here, all smug letting it be known he is seeing with his eyes QUITE clearly.

🧿 Jon has Misophonia. God forbid someone starts whistling, he WILL plan your death, and it will be brutal. You goddamn sound loving people and your. Sounds.

[manheeiim]

chapter two: introductions

-- a ghostly love masterlist

I opened my eyes and all I saw at first was the stars and the pitch black sky. I immediately sat up and looked around but there was absolutely no one. What was going on? I had no clue. Was I alive? If I was.. then where is everyone? And if I’m not.. then why am I here?

I got off the ground and headed towards the bleachers. I walked up the bleachers, the sound of my footsteps on the metal stairs sounding even louder than usual due to the quietness outside. I looked around and there was absolutely nobody. 

I then made my way inside of the school. There was still no one. I was completely and utterly confused. I hesitated before heading to the locker room and grabbing my bag out of the locker, walking out of the locker room with the bag, through the school, and towards the sidewalk.

As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, it was as if I teleported to the football field again. I looked around confused as I dropped my bag on the floor. I then fell to my knees as I started crying into the palms of my hands. What is happening right now?

A long while after, I finally stopped crying and as I wiped my tears, I could see someone walking my way. I watched as they came over to me. From my angle, they seemed so tall and mighty. It was a man, his hair was slicked to the side and he was wearing a suit. 

“Hello, my name is Mr. Martin. And you are?” The man said in a very formal sounding voice, if that even makes sense.

“Lucia… Lucia _______.” I respond and the man nods. “Are you.. are you a teacher here?” I ask, still unsure of what was even happening.

“I was a teacher here.” Mr. Martin responds.

“What do you mean?” I inquire.

“Well, I died here in the ‘50s.” He tells me. My body got tense, so I really was dead. “And you, well you just died today, I’m guessing.” Mr. Martin then says.

“Um… I guess.” I say in a monotone voice.

“If you like, we’re about to have a meeting in the gym. You can join us.” Mr. Martin tells me.

“Who’s we?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” Is all he says before he starts walking towards the school again. I stood there for a moment before catching up and walking with him, leaving my backpack behind.

<3

Mr. Martin walked into the bright gym and I followed behind. Past him, I could see a group of people sitting in chairs that were put in a circle. “Guys, we have a new student!” Mr. Martin announces as I walk behind him. He sits in a chair and I just sit in a random empty chair on the other side of the circle.

“Ooo, a cheerleader.” A girl, dressed in almost all black clothing that seemed to be from sometime in the 60s, says rather sarcastically.

“Rhonda, let’s let her introduce herself.” Mr. Martin tells everyone.

Everyone then looked over to me and I made eye contact with the guy sitting next to me. He had dark fluffy straight hair and was wearing a sleeveless gray shirt along with some gray sweatpants. I noticed that he was wearing a gold chain on his neck but I quickly looked away.

“Um, I’m Lucia _______.” I say, not really sure what to say. “I am.. or I mean, I was a senior.” I tell everyone, unsure on how to really phrase this. “And yeah, I’m- I was on the cheer team.” I say, having to correct myself.

“Nice to meet you, Lucia. I’m Charley.” A guy with blonde highlights, glasses, and a striped shirt tucked into baggy jeans told me. 

“Hi.” I give him a small smile.

“How’d you die?” Rhonda blurts out and I look over at her.

“Um, well, I don’t know all the details but, um, today was the pep rally and obviously, the cheer team did a performance out on the field. I was one of the flyers. And, I guess- I mean, I know, that I did the twist wrong and I wasn’t caught by my teammates and I landed wrong and.. and I don’t know, everything went black and now I’m here.” I say.

Charley just winced at the thought of it, Rhonda said nothing at first, and the guy whose name I didn’t know just looked at me. Mr. Martin decided to be the one to break the silence. “Well, actually, Wally here,” Mr Martin motioned to the guy sitting next to me, “he died on the football field as well.” Mr. Martin says.

I looked over at the guy, who’s name is Wally, and he just gave me a small smile. “Yeah, I’m Wally Clark. Nice to meet you.” He says, holding his hand out for me to shake. I awkwardly put my hand out and he took it, shaking my hand. “Class of ‘84. I was laid out by a tackle during my senior year homecoming game.” He tells me, holding my hand in his as he spoke before he let go. 

“Your name sounds familiar.” I admit.

“Yeah, they named the stadium after me.” He says, seemingly proud.

“Yeah, and none of us are ever living that down. That’s like, a personality trait of his.” Charley tells me and I can’t help but giggle. “Hey, maybe you’ll get your name on something out there too.” He then adds.

I shake my head, “I doubt it.” I say.

“You never know.” Charley tells me with a small smile and I just shake my head once again.

“So… are you all the people that have died here as well?” I ask.

“Yeah, well, I mean there’s Dawn. She died in the ‘70s. She’s spent all her time roaming around the school.” Wally tells me.

“Oh..” Is all I say in response.

“No one really knows how she died.” Charley tells me. “She died in the ‘70s though, she was probably doing acid or something.” He says.

“Oh my god.” I say and he just shrugs.

[final-script]

Royal In The Paddock | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x PrincessOfSpain!Reader

Sumary: The Princess of Spain for the first time in the paddock.

Warnings: English is not my first language !!!There are probably many mistakes (I will correct them later).

Gif: overtake

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

It was very unusual for the Spanish royal family to participate in this type of event.

This was because most of the time, they were busy in real duties outside the country, but this time that did not happen, at least not with you.

Your parents did have to fulfill some duties, but you were completely free, which excited you since you had obtained permission and were going to attend the Spanish Grand Prix for the first time.

You were thrilled by the power, at last witnessing, what you saw, almost every weekend on TV

(…)

In the company of your assistant and a bodyguard they received the paddock of the GP of Spain.

Many surprised faces around you and you understood them, it was not very common to see Spanish royalty in a Grand Prix.

The group moved through the terrain, meeting several of the pilots and directors along the way, exchanging a few words with each one.

The Aston Martin and Ferrari teams were the teams with which you spent the most time, these being the teams that had a Spanish driver, they were all very kind answering your questions, also surprised about your show of interest.

(…)

I thank God for the training for public events that I have had over the years.

Thanks to that I was managing to behave, if I was excited to be in a GP, but I was also excited to meet the Spanish Driver, dressed in Ferrari red.

Little did they know but you had a little secret love for him.

After today, hopefully I will be allowed to attend the next GP.

C- I hope I arrived on time and that Fernando has not overtaken me, but it would be a pleasure if you could join us and watch the race from here on the wall of Pits. I observed my assistant and he gave me the go-ahead.

I think that for a moment we were leaving aside some orders but nothing and nobody took away what I lived.

P Y/N- It will be a pleasure to accept the offer. I felt the touch of my assistant, which indicated that we had to leave, which was all for today. -I would like to stay longer, but I must go and I hope it will be a good race for both.

I shook hands with those present and left the garage with my companions.

(...)

Arrive earlier on race day so you can chat with some spectators in the area.

I was able to meet the families of Ferrari drivers and even some celebrities.

I screamed internally when Carlos came up again to talk to me.

P Y/N- How do you feel for today?

C- I want to believe that I am lucky and even more so if you are supporting me.

P Y/N- Please leave you for my mother, at least while she is not present.

C- okay, then, I want to believe that I am lucky and even more if you are present.

I could feel the heat rising up my face, I just hoped the tone didn't change much or at least I didn't notice it.

P Y/N- I don't think you need luck, you have the wit.

A couple of hours later, I didn't give him the winning trophy, but a solid second place.

After handing out the trophies to the guys on the podium, I went back to Ferrari's hospitality, where I had been offered to stay, until the people calmed down a bit and I could leave with peace of mind.

(...)

I enjoyed a snack, until I saw Carlos appear again through one of the doors, this time he no longer wore his race suit but still, he looked very good.

C- princesa (princess). It caught my attention even though I was already observing it. -I came to say goodbye, I know that soon he will leave and I wanted to wish him a good trip back.

P Y/N- Thank you for seeing you approached, it gives me the opportunity to thank you for the beautiful hospitality you have given me this weekend, the only thing I regret is not having been able to give you the winning trophy, I hope next year it can be.

C- hopefully it is, but… If you are not very bold of me, there is something I would like to ask of you, if possible and if you agree, clearly.

P Y/N- I definitely have no way of knowing if you don't tell me. We both laughed.

C- tell me if I'm being daring , but… I don't want to have to wait until next year to see her, I would like to invite her to dinner. Wow, I think I didn't expect that or maybe I did, but in my dreams.

I think I stayed quiet too long but….

C- you know that… Forget it, I'm sorry I was daring.

PY/N- What?… NO, wait, sorry, you're not being daring at all, I just didn't expect it. I managed to tell before he walked away.

C- then what does it say?

P Y/N-I would love to have dinner with you, only first I have to finish with some commitments, then maybe we can meet, although to fix that I think I will have to have your contact.

Smiling quickly he gave me his phone and I myself scheduled my personal number.

P Y/N- I apologize if we delay in meeting.

C- when it's okay, I understand you're busy, in fact I will be too, I just wanted to make sure I would see her again.

P Y/N -I can only say, I do not know when it will be but I hope it will be soon.

C- Mee too.

With our lives, I didn't know where this was going, but I wanted to find out.

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

ANOTHERS

Royal Wedding - Carlos Sainz Jr. x PrincessOfSpain!Reader

No More Secret - Mason Mount x Reader

[starakapand]

"I Failed to save you... I'm Sorry... John... "

This is my Faith AU where this is the continuation of the True Ending of Chapter 3.

Although, I'm bad at writing some stories and making grammar and stuff like that.

But if you want to rewrite the story that I made, and make it as a fan-fic of it, I highly appreciate it!

So here's the story angst tho

Amy Martin, Woke up in the "Pilgrim Gate Heaven Church" (Which is a new Chapel), somehow she was trapped in here and got lost, but she needed to find him somewhere inside the church. Searching everywhere to escape, finding every door, and picking up items and using a lighter to see when it's too dark. Almost escaping, she heard the demons whispering through her ears, everywhere, and then her inner demons form (from the past) saying:

"Where are you going, Amy? Don't you wanna play, Hide n' Seek?"

Amy forced to fight back her inner demons and said:

"I'm not playing your game, you damn demons!"

Tried to hit the demon with the knight's sword, then the thunder strikes and the demons are coming right after her, she runs fast as the demons rushes after Amy, Seeing the door, Slammed hard and then closed and locked the door, immediately. The exit was locked, but when she saw blood on the floor, and saw the corpse, far from her. And when the thunder struck, she saw that the corpse, was John...

Amy was shocked when she saw him dying, she rushed out to him and screamed out his name, she cried for help but nobody was around... Amy, grabbed his head, there was blood on his eyes and his mouth, she would have thought that he was still alive, but during the time after... John became more vulnerable and exposed, the demons, spoke out to him that he will never escape this place, and so he rushed out to escape but slipped through the floor and got caught by the demons... And one thing that goes the worst part, he saw that Red Cultists Leader, but that's not Gary... That's the Unspeakable... And yet, the punishment began... Amy felt that the horror was real and all that happened after she was possessed... She couldn't have saved him.. She didn't... She FAILED.

"no... no... no no no no no No No No No NO NO NO!!!, This... This can't be happening! Why... I got sacrificed and now HIM, He Shouldn't have to die! This has to be a Dream! John... Please... I can't leave you here... Not like this! I don't want to do this... Please don't leave me... Please... PLEASE... PLEASE WAKE UP!! JOHN!!!"

Then... She finally woke up...

Amy screamed out to him and she cried, and then, Lisa, came out to her when she woke up to a bad dream.

"Amy! Are you okay?"

Lisa comforts her.

"Y-yes... I'm... Okay... Lisa... I just had a bad dream..."

"What happened? Is there something wrong?"

Amy imagines John in her dream...

"John... He- His corpse... Right in front of me... I- I can't.. Look at his corpse... Anymore... He... He-"

Lisa hugs Amy to make her feel better.

"Amy, Don't worry... John is still alive... He won't go anywhere, he's safe with Sir. Garcia, for now."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes, Amy.. He will be...

Amy finally felt better, after that nightmare happened, John was still on his way to get back home, and then, Father Garcia called her, on his telephone, about Amy, that she is okay, and she agreed. Amy prayed that the demons will be hunted down and will be no more.

Meanwhile, John, in the car, driving back home.

"Hope Everyone is okay now..."

And That's All for the Story!

This Angst in this drawing, is about how Amy, In her dream, somehow ended up FAILED to save John, Before the "Initiation" Ending and The "Damnatio Memoriae" Incident happened.

And NGL, this is my first drawing in 2025, and this was drawn 3 weeks ago (I guess) and still forgot to finish it. So yeah!

And here's the Pixelated Version!

And yes... First time drawing this in a pixel art... And it was the last 2 days ago making this

And here's some reference!

This drawing is a reference to "Ivan the Terrible and His Son" Painting

And I had to make this cuz I got inspired by everyone that drew this reference, and so I had to do it ;w;

And some Extras!

"Look Mom! I'm Famous!" Moments 🥲

And yes, Thank you AirDorf! 😭🙏💙 I like your game so much!

And my friends reaction to this

I'm so glad that I finally made it! And yes!

Happy (Late) new year!

This is my first post btw, and hello Faith Fans!

That's all, folks! And here's your good ol' buddy, Car from Garn47! Hehe ☺❤