#Got a grandpa vest

[a-timely-problem]

love that the second hand shops here are all lead by queer people. The younger ones are nice but I talked to an elder butch today and I think that I am her biggest fan

[lavenite]

moved countries and the first thing i did was go to the bookstore and pick up a few things hehe

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Eight

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Ben (Soldier Boy)

Warnings: Language, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, angst, dashed dreams, mental breakdown.

W/C: 1,628

You were mad, upset, disappointed, frustrated by the lot of them. Ben sometimes acted like a child, which was ridiculous for a guy older than your grandpa. Dean and Beau had messed up, but for some damn reason, they wouldn’t apologise. They both got along like a house on fire, and you felt like you'd be constantly telling them to take Ben along with whatever the Hell they were up to, like a mother to her older sons. It was stupid and ridiculous. You weren’t a mother to any of them, and you’d be damned if you were gonna act like it.

The store was bustling, and people got in your way as you searched for Ben. He could be anywhere, which was sure. He could have even left. The thought filled with dread and panic, and hoping against all the odds, you rushed around the store like a headless chicken.

A blur of forest green caught your eye as you returned to the store’s clothing section. You'd recognise his Kevlar vested back anywhere and rushed over. He stood drinking whiskey and staring at baby clothes. Oh, fuck. Something about his demeanour put a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Ben?”

You reached out and touched his wrist. He didn’t pull away. He took another swig. You were gonna have to pay for that. Was he drunk? You didn’t know, but he probably was well on his way.

“I wanted kids. Not a lot, just a few. Two or three rugrats to call my own. I woulda raised ‘em right, too. Turns out that little shithead, Homelander, is mine, but he ain’t really, is he? He’s just a load of spunk I splurted into a test tube. An experiment. If he really was my kid, he wouldn’t be a needy little pussy crying for everyone’s attention. I mean, he wears a cape, for Christ’s sake. A fucking disappointment.”

“Ben.” You tugged his wrist gently to get him out of this kind of stupor he was in.

“I deserve some respect. I deserve to have a kid that’s not a fucking disgrace. I deserve fucking loyalty,”

He turned to you.

“And you let those doppelganger dipshits take the piss outta me. You didn’t do anything.”

The sudden turn of blame gave you whiplash.

“I—I didn’t. I didn’t know, Ben. You know that. We were together.”

He aggressively pointed a finger at your chest, disgust evident on his face.

“Fuck you, Y/N. You were more disappointed with them. I saw it in your face. It’s only cause you wanna get pounded into the next life by that floppy-haired sheriff and that hair-brained hunter. And fuck you for expecting me to react the way I did.”

His attack left you speechless, almost gasping for breath. Your mouth opened and closed multiple times, floundering to grasp words. Anything.

“You’re weak and pathetic, and I can see why your husband left you.”

You winced, physically afflicted by his cutting tongue. Emotion expanded in your chest as if the wind was knocked out. Tears stung the corners of your eyes, threatening to escape. You couldn’t cry. Not now. It meant he had won, but fuck you were struggling to keep it together. He had struck a raw nerve.

“Fuck you,” The words came shuddering out. “You don’t know anything about me.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling as though not enough went to your lungs. He stood there and took another swig from the bottle, a grimace on his lips as he stared you out.

“Trouble in paradise?”

That voice, that all too familiar smarmy voice. Your knees almost buckled, and the tears almost spilt over, but you remained strong. Oh, fuck. Things were about to go from bad to worse. You shuddered in another breath and tried to control the emotions rampaging inside.

Your ex, Mark, stood, shopping basket in hand. The worst thing was that he looked absolutely dashing as usual. Blonde hair combed and coiffed, immaculate blue eyes that always made your heart race. Or used to. Now, they made you avert your gaze. He reminded you of an assholish Chris Evans.

Seeing him brought up resentment, sadness, shame, hurt, and many other emotions. Your chest tightened. You didn’t need this now. Not when you were already feeling kicked down.

“You’re crazier than I thought. Getting your…uh boyfriend to dress up as that guy from that TV show.”

Damn it. Damn it. Damn, it! Ben wasn’t your new boyfriend, but Mark didn’t know that, and before you could tell him, he spoke again.

“Do you just date doppelgangers now?”

“No…”

God, he made you feel so inferior.

“Turns her on to no end when I do.”

Your neck swivelled so fast to Ben, who was now playing the perfect boyfriend. All charm, smirking, with no sign of the anger and hurt he had displayed a moment ago towards you.

He stepped closer, touched your shoulder, and squeezed gently.

Mark leant on one side, cocking his head.

“Hang on, your mother never said you were dating anyone. In fact, I know because she keeps wanting to set you up with Cole.”

Your jaw tensed. Mark still kept in contact with your mother. Figures. The two always got along, and when you told your mother of your divorce, she was more broken up about him not being her son-in-law than your broken relationship with Mark.

“I don’t talk to her that often.” You said in a clipped tone.

“You should. She and your dad—”

“Not my dad.” You interjected.

The sharp bite of your nails dug into the skin of your palms as you felt the anger bottle and build.

“They want you over for dinner. And why don’t you bring your new guy.”

“What a great idea!” Ben cut in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. He honestly had some nerve.

“I’ll let her know.”

Mark pulled out his phone, and you watched his thumbs fly across the on-screen keyboard, typing a message to your mother.

“She and your dad will be so excited.”

“Hey! Fuck nugget! Didn't you hear her say he wasn't her dad!"

Mark jumped as Ben barked at him. A slight smile curved your lips at seeing Mark lose that unflappableness, even just for a second.

“Darling, did you get the baby grows?”

A female voice trilled down the aisle. Mark turned, and so did you. The slight smile left your face. The anger dissipated. A heaviness slowly took over your whole body.

The woman walking towards Mark was heavily pregnant.

Your ears rang, your head tingled, and dizziness had you closing your eyes, trying to regain your balance and equilibrium. You didn’t hear Mark as he introduced his girlfriend. When you opened your eyes, she was smiling, radiant, a picture of perfect health. Of course, it hadn’t bypassed you that she was younger than you. No, everything about her and their relationship was a massive punch to the gut, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way she protectively rested her hand on her belly.

Fuck. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Thank God Ben had his arm around you because you felt like at any moment your knees would buckle and you’d crumble to the floor. If that happened, you knew you’d lose any ounce of emotional strength and break down crying.

A pair of fingers snapping in your face got your attention. They were Ben’s. You pushed his hand away and began focusing on your breathing. In. Then out. Fuck. You couldn’t do this.

“Hey, is there any chance you still have those baby clothes? I mean…you won’t be needing them.”

Wooooow.

You stared at Mark, brows pinching together. He had returned back to his usual smug self. What right did he have to ask of that? They were a gift. A visual reminder of a rapidly dwindling dream. And it hit you. He implied that you were too old to even get pregnant. Which wasn’t true. At least, you hoped.

He had shattered your dreams of having a baby. Tore the carpet right up from under your feet. He hadn’t wanted a baby with you, but rather with someone else. Pain lashed across your chest, and you turned away from them. Beau and Dean stood from afar with the cart, watching. How much had they seen? Had they even heard?

You pushed yourself free of Ben’s grip. Nausea churned like a nasty swirling vortex in your stomach. Head ringing, heart racing, you forced yourself out. Time slowed, and every step felt like you were wading in sludge.

The automatic doors finally opened, and you rushed out, stumbling, shaking. You tripped and fell, bashing your knee on the bench. You howled like a baby before retching into the bin.

A hand touched your shoulder quickly. You swatted it away before it returned again, this time to remain. A low, soothing voice filtered past the ringing. Your hair was gently pulled back, fingers massaging your head as you coughed and spluttered up bile.

Shaking, you curled, hands balled to your ears. The pain in your chest wouldn’t go away, the tears wouldn’t stop, and you didn’t think you could stop them either. Big, heavy, ugly, full chest heaving sobs wracked your body.

Arms wrapped around you, pulling you into them, tight, shielding you from the nosy crowds. A hand curled around the back of your head, pushing you into a strong chest. You gripped the soft material of their jacket with all the strength you had. That same deep, soothing voice filtered into your ears.

Ben was right. You were weak. You were pathetic.

You weren’t good enough to make a baby with. You weren’t young enough. You just weren’t enough.

Tags: @yvonneeeee, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelica, @k-slla, @deans-spinster-witch, @ashdoctor, @eretsupremacy89, @fanfic-n-tabulous, @deans-number-one-fan, @afro-hispwriter, @justjensenandhisalteregos, @tiredstrangerr, @zemosdarling228.

[villainology]

i feel like a kid running around with their drawing to show everyone else in the room bc i've already told like 2 other blogs about this scenario i had while i was trying to sleep but can you IMAGINE being a family friend of the sawyers? maybe your grandparents knew theirs before times were tough and cannibalism became their means of survival, and your family's died off and left you the little farmhouse and patch of land a few miles outside of the sawyers' boundaries. drayton's clarified you're off-limits (through some honorary family-friend ideals, or as not to upset grandpa 'cause your folks were always kind to them) and you're none the wiser to their true savagery they get up to (you can hear a scream once or twice, when you drive your dad's old beat up truck near their land sometimes, but you always think they've got really rowdy and funny sounding goats). but you've inherited your family's farmhouse and poor little you just doesn't know anything about farming and fixing up the house! no matter how hard you try, nothing grows, so one uneventful day you drop off some seeds as a gift for drayton since, well, they're not getting any use with you, and you mention a problem that needs fixing. maybe it's a rusty shed door you can't get open, or a busted roof. either way, drayton's always liked to keep up apparances and you haven't had a chance to meet the new additions of the family, so drayton sends johnny back with you (after giving him thorough lecturing about how no, you are NOT a potential victim, you're just a little oblivious, and plus johnny's the most... convincingly normal one out of all of them, arguably) to fix something up for you as thanks for the seeds. so now there's a sweaty, attractive, pretty charming (and maybe a little subtly condescending) guy fixing up something because you hadn't the slightest clue how to fix it, so you might as well make him some lemonade or tea and thank him! and, well, johnny might think you're amusing. pretty sweet, pretty cute, pretty *airheaded*. drayton said you were off-limits for anything violent, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't test any other limits, right?

aaaah~ no bc wait I think you’re onto something here!! you got me thinking so many filthy thots rn, so I made a lil drabble, hope that’s okay w you? 😭❤️ sjdbdjdndnfnf I hope it’s written okay, I wrote this half asleep in bed but I couldn’t stop thinking abt it!

warnings — slight dub-con, light smut, Johnny being Johnny!

“Here you go, Mr Johnny,” you smiled up the ladder toward him as you walked out with two glasses of lemonade in hand, “where’d ya want it?”

“Just set it down on the table there.” His voice was stern, a tad hint of annoyance laced into it, not that you noticed.

Johnny stood at the top of the ladder, nail in mouth as he hammered another into roof of your porch, closing off the gap which would hopefully stop the rattling noise anytime there was a gust of wind. He slipped the hammer and last few nails into his work belt before looking down at you stood below him, so innocently sipping through the curly straw in your lemonade glass.

The Texan heat wasn’t good for much, but the way it made a light coat of sweat glisten on your body as the sun began to set was enough to make him appreciate the summer weather. Your denim shorts just a little too high up and your white vest top just a little too low, but from where he was stood he got to have the perfect angle down your shirt, and you were none the wiser.

Johnny carefully came down the ladder before picking his glass up off the table, his eyes never once leaving your body. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, you really were oblivious, so innocent and air-headed that he wondered how you survived off by yourself all these years before coming back to the farmlands.

The way Drayton sent him out here with you alone, like sending a lamb off to the slaughter — an adorable, pretty little lamb making lemonade for a starving lion. Johnny wondered to himself what you’d think if you found out what they were really like, just how savage and dangerous they were, would you run scared from him, give him chase to hunt you down on acres of land?

“Sorry about you having to come out here, I’ve clearly got a lot to learn about all this type of stuff, huh?” You laughed as you gestured toward the house and the land surrounding it.

Johnny was snapped from his thoughts, a fake little smile crossing his face as he nodded, “don’t sweat it, darlin’, friends helping out friends, ain’t that right?”

He knew that Drayton said you weren’t to be a victim, that you weren’t some prey to be chased and hunted down, butchered just for the hell of it, but what about anything else? After all, this was Drayton’s way of saying thanks to you, but what did Johnny get out of this? Where was his thank you for fixing up your roof free of charge? If you weren’t going to be Johnny’s victim then he’d sure as hell find away for you to give him thanks.

“Say,” he placed his half empty glass down on the table beside him, “you moved back up here all alone, not got a boyfriend following you here?”

“Oh, heh, no. Haven’t had one of those in a long while, Mr Johnny.”

“Huh, well that’s just peachy, darlin’.”

He walked from the table and closer to you, his hand stroking up and down your arm as he worked his way behind you, his warm body pressing up against yours as he leaned down to your ear, “how about a thank you for all my hard work, hm?”

His hand snaked its way around your waist and played with the button of your shorts, his lips grazing across the delicate skin of your neck, gently kisses to distract you from what his hands were doing. Truth be told you didn’t want him to stop, and he could tell. The way you let him unbutton your pants without a fight, his fingers working their way between your legs and tracing a line back and forth against your clothed cunt.

“Mr Johnny, I don’t think—”

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t gotta think,” his free hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head to the side so he could more easily bite and suck at your skin, “just gotta do whatever I tell you to do.”

After all, Drayton said you couldn’t be slaughtered like he did the others, but he didn’t say anything about Johnny not being able to fuck you til’ you couldn’t walk no more.

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Leather Bar Swap 2

I still couldn't believe that I was in a different body! I wish it was a hotter guy, but I'm sure someone would be into me! Thankfully being an old guy didn't stop my dick from staying hard, as I could feel it rubbing against my leather pants…even if I couldn't see it past my enormous belly.

I opened the door to find a couple of guys walking down the hallway, chatting, and laughing. I thought they were a little drunk. One of them rushed over to me with an ecstatic look on his face.

“Hey there daddy! Up for some fun?” He poked my belly. “You a sub or dom? I'm ready for some kinky action!”

“Oh I don't know actually.” My voice was so deep and gravelly, that for a sec I didn't realize I was the one talking. “I'm kinda new at th-”

“All good! All good! Plenty of guys yeah? Seeya round!” He then took off down the hallway and into a room with the other guys. I was still excited, but a little discouraged that I didn't have much experience with kinky sex. I guess I looked like someone who did though. 

I made my way down the hallways and found that all the closed doors had a lot of noise coming from inside so I guess that meant they didn't want any more guys. I noticed one door was open a bit so I took a deep breath and walked inside. In a cool looking room with white walls was a young guy; he was about my age or so! He was wearing a really cool leather vest, breeches, and arm guards.

“Well hey there old man,” he said real smooth. He must've noticed that I seemed uncomfortable because he walked up to me and ditched the sexy tone.

“You're definitely not that old are you? What's your REAL age?”

“21,” I said hesitantly. He smiled and started laughing.

“We got a fucking 21 year old looking like his own grandpa here!” I kinda laughed along, trying not to make it awkward.

“It's alright man! Neither of us are the right age physically. I'm 47!” He said with a face that looked more like 20. “But that's what Swap Night is all about! Having fun with your new bodies!”

“You know…” He put his hand on my belly and started rubbing it. “I bet you were a twink before right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So having all this weight on you must be so different right?” He began unbuttoning my shirt very slowly. My dick was getting hard once again and his smile widened when he noticed.

“Hey, you like that huh?

“Mmm” I let out a bit of a deep moaning sound.

“Then I guess you wouldn't mind if…” He dramatically ripped my shirt open, unbuttoning everything at once. “...we see what's underneath!”

“He grabbed me by the tie and pulled me closer until I was face to face with him. He was so hot! I wondered who the real owner of his body was. Since he was closer to my age, maybe we could be friends.

He then pulled me in for a kiss, shoving his tongue into my mouth. It tickled as my mustache rubbed against his face. I wasn't much of a kisser but I tried copying him by using my tongue. As we made out, I could feel him stripping the rest of my shirt off, and undoing my tie. He threw both of them to the side. He stopped kissing and moved towards my chest. Suddenly I felt a weird sensation on one of my nipples, as if it was being pulled very hard, but yet didn't hurt. I looked down to see the guy biting on a nipple piercing…wait piercings! I had piercings!

“Woah,” I said out loud. He looked me in the eye and read my mind once again.

“Just noticed you have your nipples pierced didn't you? They're really sensitive aren't they? I have mine pierced…well not in this body anyway. I loved having mine sucked and bitten…” He looked down at his chest and pinched his nipples. “...but these just aren't sensitive enough.”

“Yeah that makes sense.”

“You on the other hand…” He started up again, biting the piercing, and again I felt the weird sensation. It was incredible! They were so sensitive that I swore I was about to cum right there. But I held it in as he rubbed my belly again. 

“That's a really nice ball belly you got there, old man.” Something about being called an old man was turning me on even more and just like before, he noticed.

“Yeah…you like being called that huh? A fat old man.”

As he licked all around my belly, his hands made their way underneath. Taking my belt off and unbuttoning my pants, he started licking from the top, downwards until he got to my dick. He squeezed it with his right hand and began sucking as he rubbed my belly some more with his left. 

I really didn't want to cum right then but I couldn't hold it in anymore! As he sucked, I came in his mouth, which seemed to take him by surprise. After a minute of catching my breath, he broke the silence.

“Well then daddy. I hope you had a good time.”

“Aw I wish this would last longer.”

“Well…we still have a few hours until midnight. Why don't you see what some other guys are doing? Maybe you'll find your own body.” The idea of seeing or even fucking my own body sounded kinda creepy, but also intriguing. I didn't know what to think!

“Yeah I guess. What about you? Don't you want to cum?”

“Hey I think just looking at my sexy self in the mirror is enough to make me cum. Unless you wanna jerk me off?”

“I'd love to,” I said with a sexy smirk, as the old man in the nearby mirror copied me.

[patched-up-pants]

My main vest, and an absolute piece of shit to work on, especially the Siouxsie eyes. The base is an old waistcoat my grandpa used to wear way back, while all the handmade patches were painted on top of scrap fabric, mainly from pants and one jacket. Some newer ones got stenciled (like Nausea or Bauhaus), while the older ones were free-handed (DnD or the paw). There's even one I embroidered.

I didn't have a particular plan while making it, as such there are a bunch of unrelated topics; the usual band and political patches, as well as book, manga, and 'pop'-culture related ones. And while I am more proud of some patches (Pidżama Porno) over others (the circular one on the front), the whole project can definitely be called one hell of an achievement, or at least that's what me thinks.

[callsign-venus]

For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw | Part III

Part I | Series Masterlist

Summary: It's time for Bradley to meet the family. Good luck :)

Word count: 5k

a/n: I started writing this in winter, and now summer is literally coming up on my ass lol. Shoutout to the southern hemisphere, this fic is in season there. But seriously, regardless of where you are in the world, hope y'all enjoy x

As your family barreled down the cabin stairs, you turned to Bradley. You weren’t sure you got the reassurance you needed when he looked up from fixing his hair in the rearview mirror, winked, and said, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”

You rolled your eyes and swung open the car door. As soon as your feet hit the ground, Tommy nearly tackled you into the snow.

Your brother was somehow still growing. Much to your annoyance, he was even taller than when you saw him last. Still, he smelled like your parents’ house, and being in his arms was like sneaking a slice of your childhood from behind the universe’s back.

When Tommy finally let you go, you didn’t have a moment to breathe before Georgia crushed you in another hug. You had forgotten how nice it was to be in the arms of the woman you would one day call your sister-in-law. Her reddish, curly hair tickled your cheek and her words warmed your core as she whispered in her gentle manner, “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Nora and Sabrine were waiting for their turn to greet you, Nora somewhat less patiently. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, sending her thick braid slapping against her puffy green vest. Sabrine was a stiller picture. She wore a soft smile, but her wide brown eyes narrowed, and she raised protective hand over her baby bump when she caught sight of the stranger unfurling himself from the passenger seat. 

“Oh, guys,” you said. Your nerves were singing as you put the plan into place, no matter how much you practiced (which you were realizing wasn’t nearly enough). “I’d like everyone to meet my boyfriend, Bradley.”

Tommy cocked his head. “Boyfriend? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Nora took a step back, trying to fit you and Bradley together in a single picture. Sabrine’a gaze stayed hard.

From the porch, your Aunt Marnie called out, “Who’s the handsome gentleman in the driveway?”

You worried your fingers, shifted from foot to foot. It was impossible to force words through your teeth as your family looked at you for an answer.

Bradley saved the already sinking ship by rounding the car and slipping a hand around your waist, which made it as hard for you to stand as it was for you to talk. He stuck out his hand toward Tommy. “Nice to see you again.”

Tommy took his hand but looked at you with one eyebrow raised.

Though you were struggling to balance on two wobbly legs, Bradley’s hand on your waist was strangely comforting. He was the other half of this insane plan, after all. With his support, your words finally tumbled out of you.

“Surprise! I didn’t want to mention it until I knew I was sure but…” You rested a shaky hand on Bradley’s chest. “I’m sure.”

Your words thickened the mountain air as Tommy, Nora, and Sabrine tried to make sense of your surprise. Thank god for Georgia, who nearly tackled Bradley in a giant hug. Her decision swayed the others, who closed around him and welcomed him into the family by giving him too little personal space and too many questions to answer.

At least he handled it well enough that everyone’s attention was drawn to him, and you could slip away to unload the trunk.

Graciously, Bradley carried your luggage up to the cabin. Tommy, Georgia, and Nora swarmed him like summer bugs to a campfire. Even Sabrine softened and asked about your flight. You’d never brought anyone home, and you could safely assume they hadn’t expected you to bring a giant naval aviator to Grandma and Grandpa’s 60th wedding anniversary. You smiled, though the mountain air left you a bit breathless.

Auntie Marnie held the door open as you all piled into the cabin. The fire was flickering in the living room, chasing off the cold that trailed you inside. Hugs from everyone chased off the numbness of your skin. There was Grandma Sybil, who eyed Bradley with such suspicion that you were sure your ruse had been found out already. Grandpa Thomas, who tussled your hair and smelled just a little bit like cigarettes. Sabrine’s husband Matt gave you a ginger hug that couldn’t belie how new he was to the family. Owen and Addison gave you one big hug (they almost always move as a single unit).

Your parents saw Bradely (he was hard to miss), but they stayed focused on you.

“My baby.” Your mom’s voice coated you like a warm honey, though her words struck a chill through you. “How are you? Why didn’t you tell us about Bradley?”

“Umm…” Maybe it was more than just the thin mountain air leaving you breathless. “I just wanted to be sure before I told you all.”

It sounded more convincing outside, with the ancient pines to bear witness. In the living room crammed with people, your lie was somehow much less believable. Your mother’s eyes were cold as they searched yours, but they broke away when your dad enveloped you in a hug.

“Missed you, kiddo.” He kissed the crown of your head.

“Missed you too, Dad.”

But even if your surprise was on shaky ground thanks to Grandma Sybil and your mom, yours was not the only surprise. You were shocked — and grateful — to find that while Nora and Madison had summited K2, they had most recently embarked on a new kind of adventure.

His name was Henry, he had curly brown hair, and he was 3 years old. Grandpa Thomas had pulled out you and your cousins’ old toys, and Henry was playing contently on the bearskin rug with a Tickle Me Elmo and a smattering of Polly Pockets, some of the dresses bearing permanent teeth imprints. 

In the current of people, you found yourself reaching for Bradley like he was a rock you could cling to in the storm. Like he was really your boyfriend. For his part, he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go, not when your dad clapped him on the shoulder and said “I trust you’re taking good care of her” and not when your mom locked eyes with him and only smiled.

You jumped in, despite the nervousness bubbling in your throat. “He’s taking good care of me, Mom and Dad. I’m very happy.”

“And I’m happy whenever she’s happy.” Bradley sealed the deal with a wink that left you studying the floor.

Auntie Elaine walked into the room like a force of nature, her cheeks permanently red, maybe from the freezing Alaskan winds. She clapped once, commanding everyone’s attention like you all were her sled dogs. “Come on, people, stop swarming the two. I’m sure they want to go upstairs and get settled.”

The knot of people around you loosened. You mouthed her a thank you, and she gave you a nod with the barest hint of a smile.

Bradley carried all your luggage up the staircase. Two flights up to your little attic room. It smelled like the vanilla cupcake body mist you wore every day as a teen — and it probably always would. The steeply slanted roof cut into the room, making it seem even smaller than it already was.

Bradley dropped the bags with several resounding thumps. Instead of his attention falling to the window which offered a glimpse of the lake, his eyes were on the full sized bed shoved into the corner of the room, the ceiling hanging low over it.

You rubbed the back of your neck. Your grandma had crocheted the pink, red, and blue afghan that dressed up the bed, somehow making it look smaller and more juvenile.

Fuck. It wasn’t like you could offer Bradley the couch if you were to be the perfect couple. “I forgot about this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” Bradley chuckled. “Well, do you think they bought it?”

“I think so?” The room was so small you could hear the rhythm of his breathing. “I’m so happy Nora and Madison surprised everyone with Henry, though. Hopefully that means the heat will be off us.”

“Everyone is very interested in our dating life. Well, Georgia and your Auntie Marnie, at least. I told them we’ve been dating for five months, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You ran a hand over the solid oak dresser, your fingertips collecting powdered sugar dust. “They’ll probably want to know everything. It’s ok if there are some small discrepancies, as long as we look the part.”

His eyes finally ripped away from the bed. He took in the Raggedy Anne doll on your nightstand, the one Grandpa Thomas brought to the hospital when you were born. Your high school copy of Frankenstein laid open next to it, its worn pages exhausted by silly teenaged annotations. The bikini you wore last summer — bright red and studded with white polka dots — hung from the back of an old rocking chair. It clashed absurdly with the gleaming snow that frosted the pines outside. You fumbled to stuff it in the first dresser drawer you managed to fling open.

You were soaked into every part of this bedroom — from the shag rug to the yellow-wood walls. Bradley standing in it (his hair skimming the slanted ceiling) made you feel naked.

He tapped a plastic orange frame perched on your dresser. It was a picture taken from the lakeshore of you and Nat on a paddleboard almost a decade ago. Not five seconds after Tommy had snapped the photo, the two of you had plunged into the lake. But that was something you’d tell Bradley if you’d invited him into your room because you loved him, not because you were tricking your family into thinking you’d finally found someone. 

So instead you said, “Are you ready to face my family again?”

“Am I ever?”

He held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. Your fingers were a bit sweaty, but he gave you a reassuring squeeze as you two descended the stairs, the clamor of your family growing louder with each step. Your mind was dizzy trying to comprehend that Bradley Bradshaw was meeting your family. You’d daydreamed about this more often than you would ever admit. You just wished it was real.

You had to give him credit; he played the role of your secret-almost-but-not-quite-long-term boyfriend very well. He talked easily with your dad about the NBA playoffs. He withstood the questions Tommy lobbed at him about flying planes. He played dominos with you and your aunts. He helped Sabrine in the kitchen until he snuck too much cookie dough and she shooed him out. He made your heart flutter when he got on the floor and played trains with Henry.

“Choo choo!” He said as he pushed a bright red engine with a mismatched purple caboose down the wooden tracks on the living room floor.

Henry giggled and ran a yellow engine up Bradley’s leg.

You hid your smile with a sip of cocoa, but Bradley caught sight of you across the room and beckoned you to join. You sat next to him, a little farther than an actual girlfriend would. He closed the gap by circling an arm around you. You almost didn’t flush at his touch after spending nearly the whole day at his side. Almost.

Nora and Madison were watching the three of you from the love seat, Madison’s legs flopped over Nora’s, comfy silence stretched over them like a quilt. Your heart quickened at the sight of actual love. Bradley’s arm suddenly felt foreign against you.

Before your thoughts spiraled too far, Henry offered you a passenger car to play with. You set it on the tracks, but he shook his head.

“Like this.” He ran his train down Bradley’s leg.

“Hey,” Bradley said through a giant grin. “My legs aren’t train tracks!”

But your little cousin had given you clear instructions, and you followed them. A warmth rippled through you as the wheels of the toy train car gilded smoothly over Bradley’s sweatpants. He'd been comfortable touching you since the moment you’d met on a particularly rowdy night at the Hard Deck (because any friend of Nat’s was a friend of his). During that first bear hug, some part of him must have broken off and lodged in your heart, and you’d spent so long trying to pry it out or ignore it that it felt nice to actually indulge it. It wasn’t so much a splinter anymore as it was a shard of heat warming you from the inside. For the weekend, at least.

Someone stepped between you and the fire, blocking the heat. You looked up. Grandma Sybil was studying the two of you from behind her wire rimmed glasses.

“Dear,” her voice was clear like someone fifty years younger than herself, “why don’t you and Bradley come sit on the couch with me? I’d love the company.”

You tensed. You couldn’t remember if you warned Bradley enough about Grandma Sybil. You’d seen her question so many significant others, but that had never concerned you. Now it was Bradley’s turn, and he wasn’t even your significant other. But your grandma had already turned and was walking to her recliner, expecting you both to follow, so you let Bradley help you to your feet.

The two of you dropped awkwardly onto the couch. There was enough room between the two of you that you might have looked like strangers if not for the hand holding. With the fire and the oven on, it was really hot. And Grandma Sybil looked mightily unimpressed with the couple before her.

You scooted closer to Bradley, and he nearly pulled you into his lap. He gave you a look like Am I doing this right? The knots in your stomach knotted into more knots, but your grandmother held your full attention. She was the matriarch, and her judgment in your favor was crucial to keep up the ruse.

“Tell me,” she sat down on her recliner with a bit of effort, “Bradford –”

“Bradley,” you interjected on his behalf.

She waved you off. “What do you like about our granddaughter so much?”

You felt his breath catch a little. You clutched his hand in a death grip.

“She’s kind.” Bradley’s voice was steady. “She loves her family. I know she’ll always be there for me if I’m there for her. And when I first saw her, she took my breath away.”

Your heart swelled in spite of yourself, but Grandma Sybil seemed unconvinced, so you pipped in. “He’s a sweetheart, Grandma. He flies planes for the navy.”

She readjusted her glasses but didn’t say anything.

“He’s Nat’s friend.” You tried again.

“Oh, Natasha.” Grandma Sybil finally smiled. “What a great girl. How is she?”

“She’s doing good.” It was easier to speak now. “She wishes she could be here, but she had work. She’s very in demand.”

Grandma Sybil looked pointedly at Bradley. “And how do you know Natasha?”

“Grandma, I just told you; he flies planes for the navy.”

“It’s ok.” Bradley rested his free hand on your arm. He was getting good at this. “I work with Nat a lot. She’s the perfect person to have with me in the sky.”

Grandma Sybil adjusted her glasses as if she was seeing Bradley in a new light. “Well, if Nat thinks you’re a good fit for our granddaughter –”

“She does,” you said.

“– then welcome to the family.”

She struggled out of the recliner and took Bradley’s face between her hands. She gave him a kiss on each cheek, then did the same for you.

“I knew you’d like him,” you told her. “He’s a catch, huh?”

She ignored you and stared into his eyes. “You be good to her, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley channeled his inner military man and straightened like a flagpole.

Even if he didn’t realize, he was being good to you. Only an insane person, or a really good friend, would try to help someone trick their family this way. You felt bad he had go through all the pains of meeting his girlfriend’s family without the girlfriend, but he smiled down at you with his big brown eyes, still holding your hand, and you felt as if – just maybe – there was some piece of you lodged in his heart.

Before you could properly chase that thought out of your head, Henry started crying. Nora and Madison rushed from their spot on the love seat to soothe him. Their attempts weren’t really working, and his cries mixed with the clinking of dominoes and the clattering of pots and pains threatened to raise a headache in you.

Your eyes fell to the hot tub on the porch.

“Hey Bradley?” You asked under the current of noise.

“Yes?” Did you imagine the twitch of his upper lip? Had your grandmother actually rattled him?

It was ok, though, because you had the perfect relaxing antidote to his troubles.

“Join me in the hot tub?”

You hadn’t known if Bradley would bring his swimsuit that he practically lived in during San Diego summers, but he confessed he had because he heard Lake more than Tahoe. It wasn’t like it was freezing in San Diego, he argued.

You suppressed your laugh up in your stuffy attic room as he stood with the Hawiian print swim trunks in hand.

“What?” He said. “I’m using them, aren’t I?”

“I guess. In a 102 degree hot tub, though, not the lake.” You were pulling your bikini out of the drawer you’d crammed it in earlier.

You both stood, pink shag rug between you, holding onto your swimsuits and staring at each other.

“What are we waiting for?” Bradley grinned. “We’ve been dating for five months.”

You stared at him.

“I’m teasing.” That’s what he said, but in the same breath he pulled his hoodie and shirt off with one swift motion.

Jesus Christ, you forgot how good he looked without a shirt. Your lungs absolutely refused to fill with enough oxygen.

“Hey.” His expression softened toward you, the playfulness traded for something more reassuring. “I won’t look if you promise not to look.”

“Promise.” The word hung limp in the air as you both turned your backs and shimmied into your swimsuits. You stared out your tiny window as you pulled on the bikini bottoms, watching the snow glare in the sunlight and trying to keep your mind from the fact that you and Bradley were basically naked in your old bedroom.

“You ready?” He asked.

You were fumbling with the tie of your bikini top. “Just a sec.”

The seconds passed like drops of snow melt. You counted every one. As more and more slipped by, the clumsier your fingers became.

“Bradley, are you looking?”

“No, ma’am.”

You sucked in a deep breath, “I can’t get this top tied. Can you help?”

“’Course.” He passed over your rug and took the strings from your hands. His fingers were warm as they grazed your back. “Is this too tight?”

“No, that’s perfect.” You were lightheaded with his body so close to yours, his breath tickling the bare skin of your shoulders, his beachy scent cutting through the lingering smell of your teenage body spray. With a shock, you remembered your manners. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He patted your shoulder. “Now, I think there’s a hot tub somewhere around here, and it’s got our name on it.”

The freezing air stabbed your bare skin as you and Bradley ran out the front door and across the porch to the hot tub. You both practically dove into it, letting the warm water bring feeling back to your skin.

“Can they see us?” Bradley nodded towards the cabin windows from the opposite side of the tub.

“Most definitely.” If you stole a glance, you could see at least five of your family members watching you two from in front of the fireplace. “Are we selling it?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. We look like strangers. Could you get any farther from me?”

“Sorry. We’ve only been together every minute since 6:15 this morning.”

His expression flickered, but before you could figure out with what, it flattened into a smile again. “Well, do you want to convince your family or not?”

“I do.”

He opened his arms. “Then get over here.”

You swam over to his waiting arms and settled practically in his lap.

“What are we doing?” You asked, laying your head against his chest, careful to not lean too much of your weight onto him. Careful not to let your heart beat out of your chest.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m having a great time in Tahoe.”

“Sorry about my grandmother.” You drifted your hand along the surface of the water.

“She just wants to know you’re ok. And I was more than happy to reassure her.”

You opened your mouth – to say you weren’t ok, look at what you were doing – but heavy steps along the deck stopped you. You turned to see Tommy and Georgia in swimsuits made of the same matching green gingham fabric.

“Mind if we join?” Your brother asked, but he was already climbing over the side of the tub.

“Sure,” you answered, though you knew he wasn’t actually asking for permission.

Georgia slipped in after Tommy. She smiled with a hint of apology in her green eyes. “Thanks.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Tommy and Georgia sat across from you, fitting against one another like puzzle pieces. He draped an easy arm over her shoulder, and she entwined her fingers with his without thinking. No asking for permission. No awkwardness here. You suddenly felt very aware of Bradley’s hard body against yours.

Slowly, conversation eased around you all. Tommy and Georgia talked about school – over on the east coast – where he was studying accounting and she was studying biochemistry. Bradley talked about working as a pilot, deployments on aircraft carriers, and the general tomfoolery he and the Daggers got up to. Tommy said Sabrine was upset that her child wouldn’t be the first grandchild after Henry. Georgia said your grandparents were upset because Owen and Addison were leaving tonight. Something about having to miss the anniversary dinner because it’s her mom’s birthday, and they’re celebrating in the Bahamas.

You spoke a little, but mostly you basked in the soft silence the conversation afforded you, counted icicles hanging from the eaves, and tried not to think so hard about relaxing into Bradley’s body. If Tommy and Georgia couldn’t be fooled, it was hopeless.

“So…” Tommy gestured with his and Georgia’s hand at the two of you. “Who said I love you first?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice came out cold and sharp like the icicles above without you meaning to.

Bradley put a reassuring hand on your thigh. You hadn’t meant to get defense, and your brother raised his eyebrows at you.

Georgia kicked a foot out of the water, showing off her pink toenails. “They say you can tell a lot about a couple based on who said I love you first and when.”

“Who says that?” Your voice was softer.

“We do.” She and Tommy said in sync.

“Well,” Bradley started before you could say anything and make it worse. “I did. We were at our usual bar. I was a little drunk, and she just looked so stunning I couldn’t help myself, so –”

“It was charming,” you said. “He played our song on the piano. It was so romantic.”

He nodded. “A little embarrassing too. All our friends were there.”

“It was sweet, though.” You kicked him lightly under the jets. You were supposed to be the perfect couple, why was he trying to play up his embarrassment of an event that never actually happened?

“Charmingly, embarrassingly sweet.” He settled on the story and you nodded along.

Georgia asked, “What’s your song?”

“Oh, umm, what’s it called, sweetie? It’s…” You looked at Bradley, suddenly blanking on every song title ever.

Bradley looked up, the gears in his brain so obviously turning you didn’t think Georgia or even Tommy would buy your relationship. Finally, he snapped his fingers. “It’s called Great Balls of Fire.”

Ok, so he had blanked on every song title as well if the only one he could pull out of his ass was the one he played every weekend night at the Hard Deck. At least you were equally hopeless at thinking on the fly.

Tommy and Georgia nodded slowly. When it was clear neither of you had anything else to add, Georgia asked, “How long were you dating?”

“Three months,” you said at the same time Bradley said, “One month.”

Confusion spread across their faces like frost over a window.

“Well, it’s kind of funny…” You trailed off when you couldn’t think of a kind of funny explanation.

“We’d known each other for three months,” Bradley picked up your slack. “But had only been official for one. But we’ve been in love from the moment we laid eyes on each other, so the math gets complicated.”

He squeezed your thigh, and the condensation of your breaths mingled in the late afternoon sun. Panic prickled your skin. If only he’d known how true his words rang, if only for you.

Luckily, Tommy and Georgia began talking about how they met in high school algebra class, and the conversation steered safely away from the topic of your relationship.

When the sun set, everyone jumped out of the hot tub and raced back into the warmth of the cabin. You and Bradley took turns warming up in the shower and had your fill of the pizza Grandpa Thomas ordered.

Owen and Addison left the cabin with giant suitcases and sheepish smiles. Grandma Sybil’s anger burned brightly as they walked out the door. She launched into a diatribe about ungrateful grandkids. Funnily enough, her audience was made of her grandkids who had cared enough to stay. You swapped we'll-talk-about-this-later glances with your cousins. After a few awkward minutes, Grandpa Thomas ushered her to bed.

Everyone was quick to say their goodnights after that. You and Bradley headed up to your room. Only to be greeted by the problem of your full-sized bed.

“I could sleep on the floor,” you offered, unable to bear his silence.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I can do that.”

You bit your lip. You didn’t want to sleep on the floor, but Bradley had already done so much for you. He withstood Grandma Sybil, lied in front of your whole family, and the fact that he was even in Tahoe to begin with was still blowing your mind. You could take the floor for him.

“Seriously, get comfy in bed.” You pulled down the afghan and the comforter and fluffed the pillow a little. “I’ll grab some extra blankets.”

You slipped out the door before he could protest. You snuck down to the second floor where the linen closet was, just outside your parents’ room. You twisted the knob carefully so as not to alert them, but the closet door whined open anyway. You gathered whatever sheets and blankets were on top and shut it quickly but quietly.

Just when you thought you were in the clear, your mother opened her bedroom door. “Honey, it’s late. What do you need?”

You both glanced down at the abundance of quilts and sheets bundled in your arms. You had to think of an explanation, quick.

“Well, Bradley gets very cold at night. And it’s drafty up there.”

Your mom crossed her arms over her chest. “You used to complain all the time about how stuffy it was in your room.”

“That’s true.” You laughed and couldn’t meet her eyes. “I guess I run colder now than I used to.”

She looked at you over the frames of her reading glasses.

“Well, goodnight, Mom.” You turned to run back up the stairs.

“Honey?”

You swore silently but turned around.

“Is everything ok?” She asked. “You’ve been acting a little strange ever since you got here.”

“Oh, nothing’s the matter. I’m fine. I’m fine. Just, work’s been crazy, and with Bradley meeting the family, it’s been really stressful.”

“Ok.” Her face, which you’d known your whole life, was unreadable. “Let me know if I can do anything for you. I love you.”

“Love you too. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When you were little, Sabrine would tease you by telling you the cabin was haunted. With the way you raced back to your room, it might have well been.

Bradley – damn him – was lying on your rug by the time you got back.

“I told you to take the bed.” You dumped the blankets onto the ground.

“I know.” He sat up and started grabbing the discarded blankets. “But I’m a gentleman. Take the bed.”

You were beyond tired. It had been a long day, and Bradley was already cocooning himself in blankets on the floor. An argument now would just draw out the inevitable.

You sighed. “I’m giving you the bed tomorrow night.”

“Whatever helps you sleep better,” he mumbled.

You turned off the lamp. It was as stuffy as it always was in your room, but you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Sometime in the night, you woke to a shadow looming over you in the moonlight. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, thinking you were seeing things, but the shadow only solidified as your vision adapted to the low light. It was a tall, Bradley-looking shadow.

“Move over.” His voice was gruff with sleep.

You scooted toward the opposite edge of the bed, too tired to complain or ask questions. Your ancient bedframe squeaked as you shifted, practically screamed when Bradley sank onto your mattress.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled as a way of an explanation, but you were too sleepy to need one.

Your bed kept squeaking and groaning as the two tried to settle in without bothering the other. There was a small tug-of-war with the blankets. You lost because really, there was no way to win against Bradley in feats of strength.

You smiled to yourself in the darkness. Bradley Bradshaw was in your bed. He wasn’t touching you, and he stole most of your blankets, but he was in your bed.

His snoring filled the room as you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Taglist:

@djs8891 @avengersfan25 @cornishkat @julielightwood @makingpeoplelaughsince1995 @abitdemented @darksparklesficrecs @igotmajordaddyissues @cupofchamomileeee @imaginationlover101 @simpfictionalcharacters @pizzapie349 @imaginecrushes @trashlandqueen @hookslove1592 @diorrfairy @allepaula @deakyjoe @the-chaotic-cow

[hellowhisperingstars]

Ghost!Eddie for funsies.

Echoes of You Masterlist

It's been five years since you lost Eddie in the Upside Down. You brought your little girl into the world only nine months after that whole event. You never got the chance to tell Eddie you were pregnant. She looks just like him. Big brown eyes, unruly curls, and a smile that knocks you out whenever she flashes it at you.

He would have loved her.

She's always been a special kid, not like El special, but a different kind of special. One that most people wouldn't understand. Weird things would happen around her.

Toys moved when neither of you touched them, the radio would turn on when no one was near it, you've caught her talking to someone you couldn't see so many times it became normal, and more then once you would walk back into the kitchen of your trailer to find all the cabinet doors and drawers open. That always scared you.

"Maisie," You called as you stood in the kitchen looking at the open kitchen. "Maisie!"

"Yeah, Mommy?" She asked in her cute little voice as she ran into the room. She had been coloring on the coffee table that Wayne had bought for you when you got the place.

"Were you looking for something baby?"

"No," She said shaking her head. "My friend was."

"Oh," You said as you moved into the kitchen to start closing up shop as you called it. "Did they find what they were looking for?"

"Did you?" She asked as she looked up at the open space next to her. "He said no... He wants to know if you got the Garfield mug from Grampa Wayne."

That stopped you in your tracks. Looking over your shoulder at her you took a deep breath. That was Eddie's favorite mug. "No baby. Grandpa still has that."

The two, or three, of you were quiet for a while kinda just looking at each other. "He says you should bring it here so he could use it."

Your heart was beating out of your chest. A chill ran up your spine. Eddie? "Baby... What does your friend look like?"

She blinked for a moment before she looked up at her friend. Her face scrunched up as she thought. "He's tall, his hair is fuzzy like mine, and he's wearing a green - a squishy green vest."

"Did he tell you his name?" You choked out.

"Eddie." She said looking up at him. "But said I could call him Teddy cause that's what you called him."

Your knees felt weak. Your throat dry as you tried to swallow the scream that got stuck in your throat. You tried to blink away the tears that started to form in your eyes. He was here. Eddie was here. He was still with you.

"He says you're still the prettiest girl he's ever seen." She whispered in that loud way kids do.

You giggled a little as you slowly sunk to the ground. Taking a moment to collect yourself you wiped at your eyes. "Did I ever tell you that your daddy's name was Eddie?"

She shook her head as she looked between the two of you, well you and the space next to her, and when you opened your arms for her she ran into them.

"Let me tell you about the time your daddy played the most metal concert in the world." Kissing her hair you looked up at the spot she was standing just seconds ago. You could almost see him sitting there watching you with that goofy smile you loved so much.

Part 2

[canonically47]

got back into sanders sides & decided to doodle designs for all of the guys!!! i may make some proper art and color it as well sometime.. sometime......

please click for better quality, its there i promise lol

thomas @thatsthat24 please put logan in a grandpa vest & give patton a dad flannel in season 3 ... listen to my prayers and my life shall be yours or however the meme goes 🙏 (love you thomas thanks for this great series 🫶🏼)

[milevenstancyendgame]

Mike's Outfit Rating S2

✨Find S1 here.

It's hard to determine the colours and details of this outfit, because it's night time, but at least we get these two hilarious screencaps:

Nancy's face is everything in this scene (love her wallpaper btw).😆

Also, Mike's face.😂

Any way. We start with what looks like black trousers and a black jacket, but if you zoom in on the bike photo, the trousers have a brown sheen, and zooming in on the photo above, the jacket looks more like dark blue with a velvety brown collar.😳

Very interesting.🤔 Would have loved to see that in better light. The shirt is light grey with red, white, and probably dark blue stripes.

We hate to say it, but that shirt is awful.😒 BUT I like the dark brown and velvety collar.🤎 So have

2 out of 5 ⭐⭐ (I'm less generous this season, sorry bestie)

Definitely got the Ernie vibes this season.🤓 These might actually be the same brown trousers as in outfit nr. 1, this time with a dark blue shirt with red, white, and green stripes, plus our old friend! The blue hoodie.😱

Mike, you should know my opinion on blue by now.😮‍💨 Especially dark blue. It's only

1 out of 5 ⭐ 😔

The expressions sure are gold!😆 Now this is THE Special™ Outfit of the season.✨ Iconic.👌We love the cosplay, we love that logo with the ghostie and bright red.👻🚫 We love that it's not blue.🙏 Overalls aren't very stylish though. And beige...😬😬😬 And that proton pack is a fashion nightmare.💅 What a mix. Let's say halfway happy at

3 out of 5 ⭐⭐⭐

Have a photo dump of this one, because it's my favourite from the season - which doesn't mean much.😐 The full body shot is the best:

Inquisitive Wheeler!🧐

Man, he really loves those brown trousers.😂 I'm still not sure if they're corduroy or not, it's hard to tell. Also hard to tell if the sweaters base colour is beige or grey. But it has a wild palette of yellow, brown, green, and blue patterns on it.🤯 Certified Grandpa Sweater©.👴🏻 The collar of the shirt beneath seems to be dark green. It better be.🤨

Any way, love the old-fashioned energy, the amount of not-primary colours, especially the green.😌♏ We rise again to

3 out of 5 ⭐⭐⭐

And it's already time for our finale outfit.😭

Bestie had the good idea to change trousers before tracking vines, fighting demodogs, and setting tunnels on fire.👏 But guess who's back? The dark blue sweater.😬 And yet ANOTHER grey striped shirt.😮 Indeed, it's not the same as from the first outfit, this one has yellow and dark blue stripes. Seriously Mike, how many of those do you own??👹💀

Also:

THAT blanket with THAT outfit?😱

What can I say.😶 The only thing I like is the dark green trousers, but they clash with the hoodie of doom.😬 It's back to

1 out of 5 ⭐

Shout out for the apocalyptic vibes of this though:

They all deserve to be shown.😂👌Love how everyone's "WTF" in the last picture, but Mike's gone back into 😍 mode.🤭

Ah yes. The Snow Ball.❄️ Such a beautiful, heart-warming ending.💖 But not fashion-wise.😐

I don't even know what to say about those colour combinations. Why would you do that to a child.

The colour of the trousers is impossible to say. It might actually be black. But it goes downhill from there.🫠 Light blue button-up with red tie?🙊 Plus GREY sweater vest??🙉 With YELLOW and BROWN and WHITE and BLACK stripes??🙈 PLUS LIGHT BROWN VELVETY JACKET???😵‍💫😵🤯🤢

The funeral outfit was decent, what happened?😫 Unforgiveable.😤 This is it. The moment I hand out

0 of 5 stars 💀💀💀

Now I understand why s2 was my least favourite season.🫡

Besties. I'm so glad s3 is next. So so glad.🥲

[munsonkitten]

excerpt from ch9 of you make me feel like i am whole again on AO3

It’s only a couple days until Christmas and Eddie doesn’t have anything for anyone. Wayne doesn’t expect anything, but Eddie still tries every year to get him a mug or a hat to add to his collections. It’s easy stuff, but Eddie’s terrified of going out now.

He feels like he’s gained twenty pounds in the last week, which he knows isn’t true, but he still feels that way. Everything he tries, he’s too aware of the bump beneath his clothes, and Steve’s stopped telling him it isn’t noticeable.

It’s during his panic about gifts when Jeff calls. Jeff, who is home from school on winter break and wants to get the band together like old times, who wants to practice and maybe see if they can get a show at the Hideout some night, and Eddie… Eddie accepts.

Like a fucking idiot.

So now he’s still panicking about gifts, but he’s even more panicked as he shuts his guitar in her case and changes his shirt six times, and then his pants. He puts on a pair of Steve’s in the end, just barely fitting because Eddie’s filling out all the space Steve’s ass usually takes up, and —

And that’s how Steve finds him.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Steve’s standing there in Eddie’s bedroom doorway with his Family Video vest draped over one arm and a paper bag held in the other.

“Band practice,” Eddie squeaks, covering his face with his hands because he has no idea why he agreed to it in the first place. “I’m freaking out, man.”

“Weren’t you going to tell them, anyway?” Steve asks.

He crosses the room and sets the paper bag down on Eddie’s desk. He digs in it for a second before pulling out what appears to be black denim. He pulls the tag off and tosses it toward Eddie.

A new pair of jeans.

Eddie could cry.

He goes over and kisses Steve, dropping the jeans to the floor so he can wrap his arms around his neck. Steve’s arms circle around his waist and pull him in close. They hold each other for a second because even this small gesture reminds Eddie how much he loves Steve.

“Will you come with me?” Eddie asks.

“Of course,” Steve whispers, pressing another kiss to Eddie’s lips.

And just like that, Eddie isn’t so panicked anymore. Because Steve is going to be there, and his band already knows he’s gay, so maybe they’ll be okay with the rest of it, and it’ll all be fine.

“I got some things,” Steve says, dropping his arms away from Eddie’s waist and stepping away.

He goes back to the bag on the desk and starts pulling things out of it.

A mug. He passes it over to Eddie, who reads it as Steve talks.

“I know, uh,” Steve says. “The baby isn’t here yet, but I mean, it’s Christmas soon, and I figure, you know, might as well just get it now, and—”

Eddie does start crying, then, because Steve got Wayne a World’s Best Grandpa mug and he’s so fucking emotional these days it’s not even funny, so who can really blame him for the waterworks right now.

Steve wipes Eddie’s tears away with gentle thumbs on his cheeks.

“Is it okay?” Steve asks softly.

Eddie sniffles and nods. “He’ll love it.”

Read on AO3

[goatskickin]

💞 A bit of something to share with you this Valentine’s Day! 💞 Let’s celebrate winter with some lovely coat and outerwear options!

First is something simple: ambodycouture, but made top only, for adults AND elders. 

I honestly can’t believe no one has done this. But maybe I’m the only one that likes this 2000′s furry vest + sweater combo.

Comes in the original 3 colors but also 2 new ones. 

This is a *NEW* mesh! And the meshes and textures are not linked, so you can toss one or the other if you’d like.  Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

Graydragonfly recolored efbodyturtleneckscarf over a decade (!) ago at TSR. And just recently, I got the mod that allows for Separates for All, so I had a little copy-paste opportunity on my hands. Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear. The top-only sweater and scarf mesh for elder female is by Skell.

Comes in 8 colors!

The skirt counterpart is just as adorable! The bottom only mesh is by Bloom. Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear. 

Also comes in 8 colors.

This was a no-brainer for me: my retextures of the Seasons trench coat, on @julietoon​‘s top only version.

Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

I’ve always loved the shape of these cropped jackets from Bon Voyage, and I wanted to have a handful of tops that looked distinctly different from each other.

Each one has a different button, and some have sweaters underneath too. All texture credit goes to All About Style and Fashion Twist.  For adult and elder; both meshes are by Skell.

Categorized for Everyday and Formal.

Did you think I’d forget about grandpa? No sir! A snuggly turtleneck sweater for your pops.

Mesh is by Skell.  Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

This last one I am going to talk about a little more, because after the cropped jackets, these might be my favorite. They are ‘fun coats’ - for AF and EF! From left to right:

Ziva - a long patterned trench coat with boots and a turtleneck. The coat texture is AAS and Maxis, and the turtleneck is FashionTwist. 

Aisyt - a recolor of one of my own meshes, SuperSpy WinterSolider. AAS had this brilliantly bright red coat texture that I was looking to work with forever, so I made use of it here! And so I could distinguish it from the other recolors I’ve made, this is a zippy coat instead of a button up one like the original texture intends. Also, has a little striped turtleneck and leather pants as well, for extra pizazz.

Ohshun - a luxe fur coat over a checked skirt! This is a rare upload of mine where the AF and EF share the same mesh. Usually I don’t do that but in this case, the mesh is bulky enough that I do not mind. Textures are AAS, Maxis, FashionTwist. Mesh is by Cocomama.

Riva - @brandinotbroke​‘s 4t2 conversion of Discover University Fleece Jacket & Nifty Knitting Boots - with a beautiful AAS pattern on the coat! The boots have been edited a tiny bit as well. Prende - a belted trench featuring a print from an animal of unknown origin. This one has shiny leather pants too, for fabulousness. The AF mesh is by Cocomama, and the elder conversion is by me.

💕 Download -  Happy Valentines Day - love, Goat  💕

[technovillain]

Shooting you with my beams i gotta know. Do you think sam and dogens parents were like. Good parents? What are they like. What’s their current relationship with their kids like

HIIII HIIII HELLO!!!!

I thinkkkk they were the best they could be despite it all. Like I said in last post, I think they were very chill parents to Sam when she was growing up. They lived their life in a work-focused but ultimately really relaxed way. Since they didn't really have to worry about paying rent, probably lol... Sam grew up lonely but really loved by her parents. She was given a lot of freedom to just sort of roam about. Geffrey was always a bit cautious about this, but Mallory insisted it was good for her brain development. "She's gotta go out and figure things out on her own sometimes!" She says, when Sam is 6. Okay yeah, but she's going to be very weird. Give that kid a brother! Okay, well she's still very weird.

Dogen's whole head-exploding-thing kind of changed things in regard to how the parenting was going. Right after it happened, the parents got into contact with Compton immediately, sending him into another big wave of anxiety and panic. I think Compton's little hat is some sort of thing to keep him from his unwanted blastokinesis coming through, and Compton helped make sure that Dogen kept his hat on at all times. As we can see it seems to work pretty well (except you know. he'll blow up some squirrels if it gets knocked crooked) Witnessing their baby blowing up someone's head accidentally was kind of traumatizing and it took them a few years to not treat him like a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse toddling around their house. Understandably. But still, they would never abandon their child. Mallory would change diapers with oven mitts, a lead vest, and a football helmet on. For a while they would give him whatever he wanted, afraid of what would happen if he cried. So really he didn't live that bad of a life.

As Dogen got a little older, Mallory got more and more insistent that he wear his hat, and she had to start to sort of explain why. That's why when asked by Raz if he explodes heads, Dogen says "No. Well, once, kinda..." I don't think he knows the extent of what happened. I don't think he's allowed to know that. But not knowing the extent of it kind of makes him a little bit more angsty about it, makes him just a little more dangerous. Whoops.

I think their current relationship is pretty good, just weird. After Sam got kicked in the head by a goat and suddenly "came to" her psychic powers, the parents realized their family was weirder than they could really understand, so they were forced to get into contact with weird Grandpa Compton and get the kids hooked up to the weird psychic organization. Sigh...but they'd support their kids all the way. Sam's been doing school at the Motherlobe for a couple of years now, and Dogen was sent off to camp this summer. He isn't happy about it, but his parents see he needs more outside exposure so he isn't too sheltered, that would probably just make him worse. And the Psychonauts organization all vouch for his safety at Whispering Rock.

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 04

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess?  Word Count: ~12K

As soon as we arrived in Verona, regret and shame hit me right in the gut. Seeing my grandpa's unsteady gait as he rushed to meet Rio, the tears in his eyes, and the quivering voice with which he whispered "my grandson works at Ferrari" made me realise the magnitude of his achievement.

"My grandson works at Ferrari." My brother works at Ferrari .

The words rang like a church bell in my head the whole week. Mixed feelings fighting inside— the fear of being alone, the disappointment to have it all hidden from me and the regret of having said such harsh things to the person I love and admire most in the world.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d tried to apologize, Rio would refuse to talk with me outside any mandatory meeting.

I’d messed up. There was no doubt about it. And I needed to do something about it.

But there were two races left to win and a championship to grab and if I wanted my name on that trophy, I needed to completely focus on racing. So, no matter how much shame and guilt weighed on my lungs, I needed to ignore everything going on outside the track.

That included my brother. That included Carlos, who had tried to call me twice during the week. That also included my dad and his constant talks about contracts and the promises for next season.

I forced myself to put a tampon over these feelings, stopping myself from even talking about them. And the worse thing about the roof of an empty hotel room is the fact that late at night it can become a mirror; Each night I was faced with myself, and the effects of all that had happened in the last weeks.

Regret and anxiety. Pressure and fear;

The weight of all these emotions and the expectations people around me held for that weekend weighed heavily on me. When I stepped onto the track on that Saturday for the first race of the weekend, the air was heavy and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Passion fighting head to head with the anxiety. The emotions inside burst with the same intensity as the ones on the grandstands.

Imola’s grid was full, but my eyes couldn’t focus on the dozens of cars aligned on the track, not even on the black and red Ferrari parked in front of me, at the first mark of the grid.

The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced before.

The noise was constant, a low rumble that rose and fell with the action on the track. And now, they were silent, observing us. I had watched them the day before, I’d felt their passion at the end of the qualifying session in the morning, from where I’d gotten my sixth pole position of the season. Each time a car drove by, the crowd erupted in joy, a sea of red and yellow taking over the grandstands. It was an incredible sight and sound, either standing on the track or inside the car.

I had never felt that kind of energy; such an electric atmosphere, the crowd burning with anticipation.

The passion .

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.

“10 minutes.” Rocco’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing next to me, headphones over his head. “They need you back in the car.”

Right . I just nodded. My mind was focused on just one goal: to be the first car to reach the finish line, whatever the cost. And, by starting in pole position, it didn’t seem like a hard challenge.

It was a hot day in northern Italy. The tarmac was hot under my feet and the air was hard to breathe in. I could feel the sweat forming in my temples and my chest, even before having my suit on. I had it hanging down my waist, a cold vest around my torso, trying to stay cool amid the heat wave happening throughout Europe.

As I approached the car, I felt the adrenaline taking over.

Rio was standing next to the door, already opened to welcome me. My helmet, mainly black with red and yellow stripes framing the vizor, was resting on top of the Ferrari 488 EVO. I got my balaclava and suit on, feeling his gaze burning on my skin. Before entering the car, I dared to look at him.

My eyes travelled up and looked into his.

A dreamer's gaze. Hopeful smile and deep green eyes, always looking beyond the horizon that lay ahead of him. The gleam. A deep, calming voice that inspires confidence. He had always been like this. Strong-willed, driven by ambition, by the paths he waves for himself, by the paths he chooses for himself; never turning back, never giving into somebody else’s dreams, no matter what obstacle he encountered along the way.

A dreamer, not a planner.

And there I was, blaming him and someone else for making it real.

Carlos’ meddling was more about not postponing the step Rio was meant to take, rather than coming up with one for him.

We were doing well in the Challenge, but as I looked around where I was standing, I knew we had done everything we had and could do here. We both knew it was time for a new future, time to take the step. And even if I was not ready for it, he was. I knew he was. He knew it too. And his apologetic look, as I got ready for what would be, possibly, the first of our last races together, told me everything I was trying to ignore.

There was a lot at stake. Even more than just a championship.

This was for Rio, too. For his future.

“You’ve done it loads of times,” he straightened my suit, tucking my braided hair snugly between the black and red suit and the dark fireproofs. “You’ve got this.”

Rio left me after a short hug. I looked around at the dozens of people walking around the grid, their hurried footsteps and the voices that overlapped each other creating a murmur that screamed louder than my thoughts. I remained silent, straightening the balaclava lines around my eyes and nose as I watched the other pilots.

“Ready?” Pietro’s voice made me turn to the car. The old mechanic stood with my helmet in his hand. “You seem tired, Evita.”

“Tough weekend,” I said, taking the helmet he extended in my direction.

He scrunched his nose. “Not ideal,” he said before patting my shoulder. “But I know you’ll get around when you get inside.”

I nodded, sliding the helmet over my head. “We won’t disappoint you today, don’t worry,” I reassured the old man, before completely lowering the helmet around my head.

The second I slid into the cockpit, I felt my heart rate picking up and the heat becoming almost unbearable, as the height of the expectations slowly took over my mind and manifested themselves on my body. While the mechanic made sure I was secure and all the seat belts were adjusted, I focused on the track ahead. No car in sight.

Yet.

They would come.

I waited for the sign, my hands resting on the wheel. My door was still open.

Silence fell on the track.

The calm before the storm.

Pietro leaned inside and my hand left the wheel to hold his. The old man squished it, looking into my eyes. He was a bit older than my father; he carried his age on his grey hair and moustache, and around the lines near his eyes, where the skin wrinkled when he smiled. I closed my vizor with one hand and squished his with the other.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina ,” he said, still holding my hand in his. It was a promise he always made and one he always fulfilled. I’ll wait for you at the finish line.

And then the door was closed.

Looking at my rearview mirror, I could see the last of the personnel leaving the track with urgency as the engines started to roar. Pietro was among them, now joining Rocco, waiting on the other side of the pit wall.

The storm was arriving.

Gradually, the grunt of the engines took over the circuit. My car awakened around me, vibrating, singing in my ears. A perfect melody. My lips were taken over by a smile as my hands settled on the steering wheel.

The race began on the formation lap, with Pulcini’s not-so-subtle taunts. I could see the black and yellow car appear in the peripheral field at every turn, remembering he was there. He would be there at the start, posing a threat to my much-envied position.

Besides my car and the nineteen turns ahead, Andreas Pulcini was my only worry. My direct competitor for the championship. We had a comfortable margin between us but I knew a bad race could switch things around. If he knew how to push my nerves on and off track, I knew how to retribute.

Each time he tried to poke at me and threaten my position, I returned the favour by playing my part in that mental game that began even before the lights went off. I was the one who held the power. The one in control. And that fed my ego.

As always in the Ferrari Challenge, it was a rolling start. I had the power to control the rhythm. I stepped on the brake as I entered the last turn. The Safety Car was no longer in sight. My eyes were focused on the lights. The cars were slowing down around me. Slow, slow, slow.

At any moment those lights would go off. The red would cease.

And then, the whole grid would step on the accelerator.

And at that moment, it was only me and the car, the embodiment of power and speed. The second the lights went off, I pressed the accelerator. My car lurched forward easily, cutting through the main straight, side to side with the blue car.

First turn, Pulcini was closing in dangerously, Fox just tenths behind him.

The car was handling them beautifully. I was flying. As I got to Tamburello, I had them behind, fighting each other. I could see them in my rearview mirror, but my focus was on the road ahead.

Each turn, each straight, a dance.

Grande macchina! Adrenaline was taking over. My blood was rushing through me quickly, energy building up in my body. My eyes followed the curves, the car drawing the correct lines. A comfortable margin grew between me and Pulcini. I was in the right headspace, my car was behaving beautifully. Everything seemed to be working as planned.

“Car stopped at turn 12.” I heard it on the radio. “Be careful.”

“Safety Car?”

“Yes,” the answer came quickly. “You know what to do.”

As I went through Aqua Minarelli, I saw a purple and yellow car over the grass; no signs of impact.

“Is she okay?” I asked after not seeing the driver next to the Ferrari.

“Driver’s okay.”

A Safety Car could be both salvation and doom and at that moment, it was a threat to my lead. I had to stay calm. The distance that had grown between me and Pulcinni was beginning to shrink. The three laps we spent behind the Safety Car were enough to turn the seconds I had managed to win over both Pulcini and Fox into tenths.

“Safety car in this lap.” I heard and looking in my mirror I could see them at my heels, so close.

As the green flags were waved and the race restarted, the engines roared louder. As I got to the main straight, while trying to keep away from my two competitors, I felt the car struggling.

“Something’s off. Losing power.”

“We’ll take a look after the race,” the answer came quickly.

Pulcini was right behind me, taking advantage of my power loss. If you can’t be fast, be smart. I remembered my Sainz Sr’s old advice. I took a deep breath. Turn by turn, that’s the plan. Despite the power loss, the car was behaving beautifully. As we got to Tamburello, I could feel Pulcini’s car close to mine but I held my line and came out ahead.

“Brava, Eva!” I heard on the radio. “Keep going.”

I couldn’t pull away from him.

He was smart and fast. I kept defending as best as I could, but it became harder every time he tried to get past me. The second time we went through the main straight we were side to side. My heart was in my throat as I saw the other car right behind him.

Fuck no .

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

As we entered Turn 1, he was still there. I refused to give up the fight. There was no way I would let him go away and take the lead from me. I knew him, I knew exactly how he would try to overtake and all I could do it take it difficult for him. Block his moves and think ahead. I braked as late as I possibly could and, as expected, he did the same. What I didn’t expect was to be pushed off track.

“Stronzo! Imbelice!” I yelled to the silence, feeling the car spin on the grass, after a strong impact on my rear.

There was no friction as the car turned on the grass. I prayed to not make contact with the barrier or another car. My head was bobbing in my seat, preventing me from having a clear view of the circuit. The cars passing by me just looked like blurs.

My chances would be gone if I didn't finish that race.

“Are you okay?”

As soon as I regained control, I accelerated. The car was back on track. Pulcini was not behind me, I couldn’t see him in the mirrors.

“Fine. Position?”

“P4. Fox is P1. Pulcini next.” No. Fuck, no. These men won’t take the win away from me. “Just bring it home, Eva. We have tomorrow.”

Andreas was ahead? Fuck no.

“That fuc— Ah!” I stopped myself from cursing in my engineer's ears. I repeatedly slammed my clenched fist into the steering wheel, immediately grunting in pain. What a fucking disaster.

“Pulcini is 0.7 ahead,” I heard Dante’s voice on the radio, a few laps later. “Fox, 3.5.”

“Copy that,” I just said, my focus on the car ahead. He was faster, I knew it, but he was losing time just like me. Although my car wasn’t okay, neither was his. We were in the same position. It was a fair fight.

“Krogen behind,” a pause, “she’s faster than you.”

No, no, no.

I was shaking my head, even though he couldn’t see me. I could see the pink car in my rearview window. I was ahead, the margin was not too short but it was enough to make me worry.

I knew what I had to do, I was trying to do it but the car was not responding.

Besides, I had Pulcini less than a second away. I needed to focus on him, attack him and move forward and not let him escape while I was busy defending from Krogen. The main straight was the longest part of the track and the perfect place to regain my position but when I got there Pulcini was too far ahead to reach. I needed another lap.

“Time left?” I asked on the radio.

“Five minutes, plus one lap.”

Okay. That could be three laps, four maybe. I could do it.

I had absolutely no chance to overtake him that lap. My car didn't cooperate and I felt like I was fighting the tide. I felt my blood boiling with frustration, especially seeing Pulcini so easily evade my attempts to overtake him.

“Krogen is half a second behind,” I heard again. “Pulcini, 1.3”

Fucking hell.

I was trying, really fucking trying, but the car was unresponsive. I was pushing to the limit, but it just wouldn’t go any faster. I was shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, fears and doubts. I was trying to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast.

I had been so focused on Pulcini and Fox that I had neglected Krogen. And she was taking full advantage of it. She was right there. She was coming too fast.

“What is happening with the car? Do I have damage?”

“We believe so,” Fuck . What a shitshow. “Bring it home. The fight’s tomorrow.”

Fuck that.

My eyes were on the mirrors. Krogen was close, way too close for comfort. And Gostner, in the blue and white car, was right behind. I needed to defend like hell if I wanted a chance at winning the championship that day, in front of that amazing crowd.

But as we got to the last turn and faced the straight ahead, I came to the realization: there was nothing else to do.

Even though I exited the corner better, my car just couldn’t keep up with her speed. She overtook me in the straight. Gostner was very close to doing the same.

“Last lap.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I screamed in the silence of the car, my screams being muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine.

Gostner became my challenge. He was young, with little experience. That was my salvation. The lack of experience and confidence made it easier for me to hold him behind in the last lap remaining.

I crossed the finish line in P4, 0.4 seconds behind Krogen. 0.4 seconds away from my championship. It was not lost, but, at that moment, the disappointment rushed over me, taking me whole.

There was a dark haze floating around my mind when I parked the car on the pit lane, vision blurred by tick tears, weighted by anger. Pietro was there to unleash me from the seatbelts, as he promised. I didn’t take off my helmet or even raised my vizor.

“I’m sorry, donnina ,” he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Behind the tick layer of tears, I could see Fox celebrating his win. I would congratulate him on it, but right now I felt as like being crushed by the weight of the world. I raised my vizor to clean the tears and the sweat forming around my eyes. And then, feeling like I would explode if I continued sitting there, I got out of the car.

My helmet shielded me from the chaotic atmosphere that had settled in the pit lane. People would move out of the way as I crossed through the crowd, walking towards the garage. I left my helmet on one of the counters and desperately tried to get rid of the balaclava. Lungs aching for a breath of fresh hair. Pressure grew on my chest. A cloud blinded me.

I grabbed a bottle of water and left.

Some strands of hair were sticking to my face as I walked aimlessly around the paddock, the sweat pooling on my temples and cheeks, as I tried to find a safe place to be left alone with the ticking bomb my mind had become.

I ended up sitting on the floor, my back against the wall of a truck, hiding from the curious looks that shamelessly followed me. I was still shaking when I sat down, feeling like I was going to vomit. So much was happening inside. I willed myself to take deep breaths.

Each second of the desired silence and quietness was making me overthink every lap of the race and each decision that led me to my result. The voice of the inner impostor was taking control of my own mind. I felt powerless. The pressure in my chest increased as my rib cage seemed to shrink around my heart and lungs, working faster and faster.

My arms were shaking.

I felt my muscles tense and darkness took over my vision.

Without feeling it, I was rocking my body back and forth, with the palms of my hands resting on my chest. Trembling, I brought my fingers to the zipper of the suit, opening it up, and then to the collar of the fireproof, pulling the fabric down. I wasn’t breathing. I was slipping into some sort of deep panic.

I was crumbling under the pressure and frustration, the fear and insecurity. I had been reckless and immature. I didn’t read the race well. I underestimated a driver and suffered the consequences. I ignored my team, which was waiting for me at the pit lane.

I opened the water bottle. My dry lips, relentlessly wrapped along the bottle, drinking the cool water with desperation, trying to escape that living nightmare. I poured water into my hands and splashed the cold liquid over my face. I leaned my head against the wall, my hands at the side of my body, touching the hot tar where I was sitting.

I can smell burnt rubber. I can see the flag that the wind waves. I can hear the crowd. I can feel the heat of the tar on my fingertips. I can feel the cold drops of water running down my neck. I can see the pigeon crossing the sky. I can smell the fuel. I can feel the texture of my suit. I can hear the giggle of a child. I can hear the engines. I can smell the sweat. I can taste it on my lips.

                                                        *  

I don't know how much time it took until I felt grounded enough to get back to the garage. Head down, suit secured around my waist, and my hair up in a ponytail, I made my way back under the curious eyes of a couple of people in the paddock. A couple of feet ahead, Pulcini stood next to Krogen. His lips turned into a small smile, and his hand went up in the air, waving in my direction. His long dark hair was still wet from the champagne. I waved back at him and before he could catch me to exchange some words (and probably apologize for whatever had happened in the race), I rushed to the garage.

Rio was in the middle of the mechanics, all of them hunched over the hood of the car. Their heads turned to me when I entered, and slowly each one of them went back to work, except for my brother, whose eyes lingered on mine for one more second.

“Is it too bad?” I asked, and like my voice was a trigger to his action, his head went back down.

The air in the garage grew tense. Immature. I just turned my head to Pietro, standing next to him, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us.

“We can fix it, don’t worry,” Pietro said, patting my brother’s back as he stood up straight. I walked over to them, stopping on the other side of the car. In between us, the car, Rio had his hands dirty with dust and oil.

“Sure we can. What can I do?”

“Nothing, Eva. Go back to the hotel and get some rest,” replied my brother.

Pietro brought his heavy hand to my shoulder. “You can help me once we start working in the rear, donninna .” I nodded. “Now, go eat something. Rest.”

Once again, I nodded before walking to the back of the garage where a small workbench and a couple of tools were. I sat down, my attention on my brother and the group of mechanics. Their hands moved with the precision of a machine. A couple of movements, a couple of voices and sounds echoed throughout the garage as if it would be the one thing that would guide me out of the miasma.

“She’s okay,” I heard my father’s voice. My head turned to the door, watching him walk through, with the phone glued to his cheek. “I’ll go check on her.” He was talking to my mother, perhaps.

Pietro was back with the group, my dad was still on the phone. My head dropped down, tired and disappointed. I was tired. So tired. My body and mind. My hands were still shaking, and I felt like they were feeding on the last bit of energy my body still retained. I had been doing just fine up until this week. In a week, my mind had collapsed. I’d failed.

“Good job out there,” my dad’s voice pulled my attention, as he sat down next to me. “You did your best. It was not enough today, but it’s your best. I’m proud.”

I simply nodded. My rib cage tightened around my chest again, with all the restlessness coming back around to hit me as my eyes met my father’s. The dark haze floating around us prevented me from seeing the pride in his eyes. There was none. He handed me a protein bar and went back to his phone.

“I am sorry, papa, ” I muttered, as I took a bite. He looked back at me. “The way I acted at the end of the race, on the radio, and…” I sighed. “The dinner, the other night. The way things have been these last days too.”

“Eva,” my dad said as he shook his head. “It’s passion. You’re passionate. I would be worried if you didn’t get frustrated.” A faint smile. “We have tomorrow.”

He was avoiding it, as he always did with all the sensitive aspects within our family. It was what frustrated me the most about him: his neutral and always perfect facade. I had never watched him cry, or be actually angry. At that moment, I wanted him to correspond to my feelings, to feel the same emotions in their enormity as I did. I wanted to see a bit of me in him, to feel understood.

That could possibly make it easier to understand his vision for me.

“I just…” I just can’t trust myself to take another step and this just proved it. I can’t do it alone. I just know I’ll fail. I know I’m not capable. I need you. I need Rio. I can’t do it alone. I can't be alone . My mind was still racing, leading me down agonizing paths. “I’m just so frustrated,” I said.

That wasn’t half of what I was thinking.

“I know,” he said. That wasn’t half of what he was thinking too. His hand caressed my hair; my mind eased at his touch.  “Nothing is lost.”

                                                        *  

I spent the final hours of the afternoon in the garage.

The race ended around 4 pm, and from there until sunset we stayed working, completely oblivious to the reality outside our garage, only the roar of the engines reminding us of the other races happening just a few meters away.

With the garage doors down, with only the too-bright white lights coming from the ceiling and some lanterns scattered around us, we joined forces to understand what was wrong with the car and get it ready for qualifying, happening at 9 am of the next day.

There was a problem with the engine, alongside the damage in the rear, caused by the impact with Andreas. The team divided itself into two groups; I stayed with Pietro and Eddie, his son. The boy, three years younger than me, was sitting on the floor next to his dad, lying under the car. At Pietro’s command, he would pass him the tools.

The scenery took me back to my early years as a driver.

Everything I had learned, I had learned like this - kneeling on the floor of the garage, or leaning over the hood of a car, with Pietro’s voice narrating whatever he was doing. We had met years ago when Rio joined the team. At that time, he was meant to be the driver. He gave up the wheel when he decided to go to college, after a year of competing in the Challenge as an amateur.

I was still wearing the racing suit. My red knee pads had oil stains on them and my suit probably had them too, but I couldn’t perceive the stains on the dark fabric. The fireproof was sticking to my skin, leaving me uncomfortable. I needed a shower and a good night of sleep.

The old man’s head slid from under the car.

“You can go now,” he said, cleaning his thin and agile fingers from the black substance, with a yellow cloth that was beginning to take on the same hue as his fingers. “It’s done. I just need the guys to check a few values and we’ll be done for the day.”

“I won’t leave until you do,” I insisted. If they were working to fix my car, especially because of damage coming from an impact, it was my duty to be there with them.

"You're not going to sleep here, are you?" the old man raised one of his thick grey eyebrows.

"I said what I said,” I shrugged as I stood up, my legs and back struggling to fight gravity.

"Eva, go. We won't be here for much longer and you need to rest." Rest, a shower, a meal , I thought. "You've had a tough day. Rest. You need it for tomorrow."

Tomorrow . I wanted to postpone tomorrow. Delay as much as possible the night, and consequently the morning.

I went around the car, wiping my hands on my tights. The car was looking good. No visible damage in the back, at least. Over my shoulder, the old man watched me, with an arched eyebrow.

“Eva…”

"Okay, I'll go," I gave in. "But please, call me as soon as you're done."

Pietro called me not even an hour later. I heard the muffled ringing coming from the bedroom as I was leaving the shower. The phone was still inside my backpack. I hadn’t paid attention to it the whole day.

Our brief talk didn’t take more than three minutes. Everything was okay.

I sat on the bed in front of the window. A tiny breeze entered the room to kiss my skin, not yet totally dry. A dusty orange lustre was breaching in through the curtain. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost 9.30 pm. Dinner would be served in half an hour.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, a wall of notifications stared back at me. They were mainly messages from friends and family, especially from Marjorie, who had to stay in Spain with the twins. I read them without much care, just taking the time to hear the audio message she had sent last: the delicious confusing mumble of my nieces, wishing me good luck for the next day.

And then, messages from Carlos. Plural.

“I’m so sorry.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Call me if you need.”

And a couple of hours later:

“I know you are winning this tomorrow. Can’t wait for it.”

And half an hour later:

“I was serious. Call me if you need.”

"Anytime you need.”

I couldn't help but crack a smile. This was what I had been missing for so long, what I had silently asked for and never received. These seconds that he never managed to dedicate to me. But at the same time, so many questions, and so little trust.

“disappointed. stupid mistakes."

"i could have avoided all of this.”

“It happens. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”

“You are still leading the championship. You still have tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Looking at the mirror at the side of the bed, I barely recognized the reflection. The image in the mirror looked back at me with a tiredness that matched my own. My eyes, usually so full of life and light, were now dull and sunken in, the skin around them darker than usual. The long blonde hair on my back was still wet. My face was free of makeup, revealing the cracks of my so imperfect facade.

I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders drop as the tension left my body. So, so many mistakes that could have been avoided.

Looking at the messages one more time, I felt a warmth in my chest.

“not that easy. you know that.”

“I do. I’ve been there. What’s done is done. You can’t change it.”

“Amaze us tomorrow. Read the race. See the lines. You have it in yourself.”

At least he understood.

I put on a black tank top and some washed boyfriend jeans and left the room with my hair still wet since I was feeling so tired I couldn't bother to style it. I felt like I was in a daze — tired, emotionally and physically. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the race.

The phone vibrated in my hand when I stepped outside the elevator.

“Maybe I can call you later?”

“please do.”

I felt the void in my chest deflating. I looked at the phone for a second longer, taking in a small victory, before taking the last steps to reach the dining hall. Tables and chairs were scattered around the dimly lit room. Groups of people, some of them familiar faces, were chatting and enjoying their meals. It wasn't until I saw the food that I understood how famished I was.

My mom and dad chose a table in one of the corners of the room beside a large painting of a 248 F1 crossing the finish line at Imola. On the corner of the painting it was written “Michael Schumacher, 2006”. I greeted them with a small nod of my head and a tired smile as I took my seat. Rio was not at the table.

“Where’s Rio?” I asked as I reached for the napkin.

“He’s already eaten,” my mom answered with a tone that I knew meant she disapproved of his decision.

“Did you watch the race?” my dad asked. Eyes on his plate.

“I didn’t have the chance yet,” neither I wanted to , I desired to add. My mom filled my cup with water and raised a hand to call the waitress. “I just got back from the track. I was helping with the car.”

“I see,” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses. I knew that look. “Make sure to watch it before bed.”

He was not asking anything wrong of me, but there was nothing to learn from the race. I knew exactly where my mistakes were made and why I had made them. Figuring out the reasons behind my bad judgements was something I had to reflect on, but I wouldn’t solve this by watching the race.

I resorted to nodding in silence and playing with the cutlery. For my dinner, I picked the first option from the menu and ate in complete silence. My parents seemed to be lost in their thoughts, just sharing casual words about the food trying to make the dinner less uncomfortable. It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and the awful things I had felt right after that were making me doubt my capacity to battle the next day.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced as I got up from the table. I kissed the top of my mom’s head and lightly stroked her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at the track.”

“Get some rest, my love,” she said. My dad didn’t speak a word.

Walking away from the dining hall and looking outside to the big golf course extending past the back of the hotel, I felt tempted to go for a walk. Just the thought of it made me feel even more tired than before.

Bed it is , I thought.

The light from the laptop screen was too bright for my eyes. The roar of the engines and the fast voice of the commentator were too much for my head. I felt it implode as I tried to focus on the race. I turned off the volume. There was nothing but the hum of my breath and the laptop fan whirling.

I kept reviewing the same moment. The impact at Turn 1. The car spinning in the grass. I watched the slow-motion replays and the onboard cam and I went back to the restart to watch it over again. And again.

Anger swelled up inside of me. I was frozen in front of my screen, sitting in bed, watching my own race over and over again, looking for answers that weren’t there. I was torturing myself with the thoughts of what could have happened if I didn’t regain control of the car.

Where would I be if the car had ended up in the barrier? Or at the middle of the track? How many drivers would I take with me?

And I felt it again. That pressure on my chest, the void in my lungs, as if those thoughts were taking the life out of me. My mind was racing as fast as my heart, weaving horrible scenarios, and poisoning me with a reality that was just another mistake away.

Before completely losing control of my own body and emotions, I got up from bed and walked to the window. The feeling of the carpet under my feet was enough to ground me in my current reality and as I parted the curtain to look outside, I felt peace taking over.

The empty golf course stretched across my vision until it was taken over by darkness. I looked through the darkness at the tiny dots in the clear sky, way more numerous than the ones I could see in Madrid.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”

As I inhaled deeply, I felt the pressure on my chest release its grip. The darkness in front of me started to take shape. The golf course, the trees and an artificial lake in the distance. The moon was bright enough to cast a pale light over everything.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me. Carlos. Our photo.

“Hi,” I walked back to the window.

“I’m glad you picked up,” a tired voice emerged on the other side. “I tried calling you a couple of times.”

“Sorry, I was…,” I looked for the right words; anything else than almost having a panic attack for the second time today would work. “Watching the race.”

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was clear. I pictured him in his room, about to go to bed, with the same worries as me, not knowing what to expect from the race he would have to battle in.

“To be honest,” a sigh. I sat on the floor, my bare tights touching the comfortable creme carpet. “I’m tired of being asked the same thing over and over again.”

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” a lie. I could still feel my restless fingers shaking from the anxiety. “I’m just— you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

“Three, I guess?”

“Don’t you already know what you did wrong?” a pause, my eyebrows frowning as confusion took over me. “I’ve watched you race before; You’re methodical. I know you are fully aware of the reasons behind the incident today,” another pause, not big enough to make me feel the need to fill the silence. “Don’t make yourself go through it again. Sometimes it’s not worth it to watch a race.”

“That surprises me,” actually, a lot of what he said surprised me.

I didn’t want to mention Rio’s new job or the fact that my heart had skipped a beat when he said that he had watched me race. Hearing it from his mouth was way different from hearing it from his mother’s.

“I would think an F1 driver would encourage me to watch and rewatch it,” I continued.

“I want you to win and to be better, but not at the price of your mental health. You need to be in a good headspace tomorrow.”

Tomorrow . I closed my eyes for a second. Focused on the deep tone of his voice in my ear, the warmth of his words, loaded with genuine care and understanding. He understood. He had his fair share of bad races and disappointments.

“How did quali go?” I asked, remembering that I didn’t have the chance to look at his results. For a second, I felt bad.

“George snatched pole within a very tiny margin, at the very last second,” Oh . His tone had said more than his words. He was pissed .

“Ouch,” he chuckled on the other side. “Did you get frustrated?”

“Of course,” a chuckle again, this one way more sarcastic than the previous. “I still am.”

“And how do you overcome that?”

“By remembering that there is always tomorrow,” a brief moment of silence. “Just focus on the next one. That's what life taught me. That’s how I do it.”

His words resonated with me. There’s always tomorrow. I repeated them in my mind.

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“For what?”

“Texting me. Calling me,” I looked over at my reflection in the dark window, the shadow of a lonely girl. “Even before everything the other day. For being here,” sometimes it feels lonely, I wanted to add.

“That’s what friends are for.” Friends . A brief moment of silence. I couldn’t find the right words, I couldn’t feel the right feelings either. “Will you watch it again or are you ready to get some sleep?”

“Just once more, I think.”

“I can do it with you. I know Imola and it wasn’t very kind to me this year as well.”

“I think that could help.”

“Alright,” I heard some noise, “Give me five minutes. I need to grab my laptop. Should we do this over the phone or… video?”

I looked at the window again. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the oversized t-shirt. Then I thought of him and the way his gaze grows more powerful when he’s focused on something or the very unique way the corners of his mouth twitch when he speaks. I didn’t want to have him as a distraction.

“Phone, if you don’t mind.”

And he hung up, just to call me again a few minutes later when I was sitting in bed with my laptop open in front of me. The recording was paused on the frame of my back as I walked away from the car at the end of the race. We analysed the race lap by lap and we also talked about the track, examining the curves I wasn’t taking so perfectly. Carlos explained to me his methods, tricks and tips to defend and attack in particular corners. Time flew by.

“Any questions before going to bed?”

I laughed at his tone, leaning against the headboard. “You’re taking this way too seriously, professor .”

“Well, I want you to win.”

“I know, I know.” I closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, softly. “I’ll need to get ready tomorrow. There’s no such thing as just being ready.”

"I know," I replied. “Do you… fear it, sometimes? Racing?”

The flames from Austria came to my mind. I would fear it. I would hate the thought of having to be back in the car a few days after and race like nothing had happened. Perhaps he thought about that too, because he stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Racing itself, or the results? Or the danger?”

"Everything," I replied after a few seconds. "The unpredictability of it all. There’s this thing my mind does,” I admitted. “I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.”

“I think we all do it sometimes.”

“And how do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

“I don’t,” he said, with a small laugh. “I go in with the same headspace I have every time, I put my helmet on and I try to concentrate on the race. In the car, it’s just me and the machine. My mind is blank. If my car is not my safe space, I know something is wrong and I need to do something about it.” A pause. “You can think about the race in your mind, imagine the most important corners and how you’d attack them. Beforehand, you can think about it all the time, but at the moment, while you’re racing, you can’t think too much. It’s a matter of removing unnecessary things from your mind and trying to focus on what you need to do. If you’re second doubting yourself, things won’t go well.”

“How are you so confident in the car? In life.”

“I guess it’s just experience,” he replied. “Seeing the amount of times that things went wrong and being able to learn from them. We are constantly learning, every time we drive. I know you learned something new today.”

“I did.”

“What was on your mind?”

“So many things I can’t tell you what they were,” I dragged my hand over my face. “Rio moving, this incredible pressure, the talks about next year… you .”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You,” I replied, a little absent. “The issue is not with racing. I’m happy when I’m in the car. It’s just… everything happening around me right now. I need a break.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve…” he paused, probably unsure of his words.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt you. At all.” He paused again. “And here I am, calling on the night before a race, once again.”

“Well, I won the race last time, let’s see if the same happens again tomorrow.”

“That’s all I can wish for,” a laugh against the phone. “Go sleep, now. Goodnight, Eva.”

“Goodnight,” I said almost in a murmur. “Good luck out there too, Sainz.”

“We talk tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.

                                                        *  

Rio joined me and Rocco for a workout the next morning. Just like in the previous days, we didn’t exchange more words than the ones the activity obliged. The cold air of the morning invigorated me and by the time we had finished, I felt ready to take on the world.

Qualifying went smoothly. Another pole position. Andreas would start the race in fourth place, which gave me an advantage that I gladly welcomed.

By the time the race start procedure began, the sun was high in the sky and the air was still and dry. The asphalt was sizzling under my boots. There was no breeze entering the car when Pietro leaned in to say his goodbyes.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina. ” This time I squished his hand with more strength. It was all or nothing.

I had a chance to redeem myself and make history for this sport. That could be a greedy way of thinking, but I wanted that trophy as much as I wanted to have my name connected to the Challenge and Ferrari for years to come. That could be the last chance if I was to part with the category and chase other aims.

The start of the race was uneventful. Lap after lap, I kept my position. I was in control, completely dominating the race. I had them at my back during the whole race. In front of me were just the support of the crown, the red and yellow flags, and the prancing horse; all weaving in the grandstands.

A hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The noise of the machines and the ecstasy of the crown echoed around the circuit as I left the car. I climbed to the top, my arms raised in the air, my clenched fist pointing to the sky, as my team celebrated around me. What a beautiful feeling.

No mistakes, no fears. No doubts. No more uncertainties.

I had done it.

My chest got lighter and lighter as the ecstasy took over my body and mind and the chants of my team set the rhythm of the celebrations. I jumped down and immediately was taken in a hug. I could feel the patting on the helmet. I could hear and feel them singing and jumping around me. I lifted my vizor to look clearly at their faces.

My dad took me into his arms the second I got rid of my helmet and balaclava. He kissed my warm cheeks, over the tears running down my face, which I didn’t even notice I had shed.

“I’m so proud of you, Evita,” he whispered in my ear, lifting me from the ground. His heart was beating as strong as my own. “So, so proud,” he cupped my face in his hands. I never saw him smile that hard. “Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”

Rio pulled me in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around me with a strength I had never felt before from him. It was a goodbye. He stepped back. His teary eyes, the big smile, the messy hair, the undone shirt from all the jumping.

I felt my lips tremble and I made an effort not to cry. He was an extension of me. I had never spent more than two weeks without seeing him. He embraced me again. Even tighter. Even more meaningfully.

“You’ll be great,” I muttered while he sniffled next to my neck. I stroked his back gently as I spoke. I could feel his hands clinging to my suit. “You’ll be one of the best.”

                                                        *  

His words mingled with the cacophony, making it hard to understand what he was saying. I sat down on one of the benches, of the outside garden. Dinner and the prize-giving ceremony were happening inside.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In a bathroom,” he replied. “I had to hide from the team. I wanted to talk to you before this dinner. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know…” I said, almost in a mumble. Hours had passed since the moment I crossed the finish line and I couldn’t seem to put some sense into what I was feeling. Utter happiness and disbelief and, at the same time, fear and uncertainty of what the future was saving for me. "Hard to put it into words," I said, a short giggle coming out with my words.

"I can imagine." The smile in his voice was easy to perceive. Instantly, my mind pictured him leaning against the wall, with his phone pressed to his ear. "You were great out there."

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”

“This race didn’t win you the championship,” he paused for a second. “You were amazing all season.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need to thank you for what you did yesterday,” I insisted. My fingers were restless in the fabric of my dress, gripped by my inability to discern what last night had awakened in me. “And I need to say sorry. For the other day.”

For the first time, I could feel that we were going through the same thing. After years of parallel lives and not being able to understand his world, or even trying to, I finally felt like I could relate to him. That we weren't that far apart. I felt him close. Closer .

“You’re welcome,” he said after a short silence. I could hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “And don’t worry about it.”

I didn’t really know what to say. The words were building up in my throat as quickly as they were disappearing. I didn't know how to deal with him. To be fair, I don’t think I ever knew. It was impossible to resist the sensations he ignited in me, which so easily took me back to the times when just the sight of his face made me blush.

"I should probably go," I said, seeing Nicola and Lina calling me inside.

"Save some champagne for me.”

“Of course,” I said. “Enjoy that dinner.”

“Enjoy that win. You deserve this.”

I mumbled a thank you and a fast goodbye and the line went dead shortly after.

                                                        *  

As I walked down the red carpet flanked by several Ferraris from various eras and categories, my attention was locked on the trophy weighing heavily in my arms. Striding through the aisle with confidence, teary-eyed but donning the biggest smile my lips had ever formed, my gaze dropped to the silver plate, with a thick gold rim and a yellow medal in the centre, on which the prancing horse was drawn in black. Around the rim, the title I had just conquered was imprinted on the golden metal.

I couldn’t help but smile as the flashes of the cameras lit up in my face. I had done it. Against all odds, I had become the first woman to win the Ferrari Challenge. At the end of the aisle, around the long rectangular table, my team was applauding me. Around the huge room, hundreds of people clapped.

I raised the trophy over my head, my arms reaching for the higher aims I always wanted for myself. I had finally conquered them. I did it under the weight of the stares and the pressure of expectations. And if there was a day where it weighed me down, this day it inflated my glory.

I had been living under a magnifying glass that whole year, but this time it was different. I had won it, despite all the scepticism. I looked around, still with my arms outstretched. In between intervals of blindness caused by the intermittent flashes, I watched the faces of the crowd clustered at the tables on either side of the aisle. Among them, I saw the sceptical faces that once told me that it was too late to turn pro, that I could continue as an amateur in lower categories and not waste my father’s money in racing. Those who, years before, had tried to convince my father to invest in other teams when Rio decided to stop racing and I proposed to take his place, were now applauding me as I walked back to my table, carrying the most important trophy of the room in my hands.

I reached the table in a few steps. The familiar faces smiling back at me, their eyes as teary as mine. Every single one of them was happy for me. Proud of me.

Rio looked at me with pain in his eyes, an uncertain smile, a duality that took over his expression. My chest ached to feel such an antithesis in his features, aching to feel him so restless, overwhelmed by scattered feelings. I set the trophy down on the table.

"Go hug your sister, Fabrizio," I heard my father say, pushing him towards me. The second I opened my arms to hold him in a hug, he was already there. Holding me in return.

"I'm so sorry. I’m so so sorry." I murmured as I caressed his back, hands open.

I pulled away and looked at him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie. The top buttons were left unbuttoned and his face was perfectly shaved. His hair was slicked back, leaving his green eyes uncovered. The deep green stared at me, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. I had changed, Carlos had changed, but I had forgotten Rio had changed too.

He had always been my older brother, that unshakable figure who resisted everything and gave up nothing. The ambitious Rio, objective and analytical, with dreams and ambitions. The guy who taught me how to drive, how to make donuts and how to rollerskate. He was all that, but he had also grown to be a father and a husband, he had cultivated in him a huge sense of responsibility to care for and think of others, sometimes putting others ahead of himself.

“I want to make sure you understand my choices,” he took me by the arm and walked with me to the other side of the table, where we were previously sitting. “Don’t want to leave anything left unsaid.”

“I do. It may have taken me a while, but I do,” I sat down and Rio occupied the seat by my side.

I looked over at my parents, still standing near the rest of the team. They were beaming with pride. My father had his arm around my mother's waist and she was resting her head on his shoulder. I felt a lump in my throat and turned my gaze back to Rio.

“I won this for us ,” I whispered. “It has our name on it, not just mine.”

My body leaned over the table to pick up the trophy, which I then placed on my lap, over the silky red fabric of my dress. Around the trim, “DiMaggio” was imprinted in the space just before the title. I showed him the detail.

"I asked them to do it this way," I explained. "I wanted to share it with you."

"Eva," he looked deep into my eyes. His voice cracked and he had to pause to compose himself. "This is yours. You won it. You did an amazing job this season."

" We did an amazing job," I insisted. “I don’t care where you’re going next. Why you’re going, even. We deserve this.”

"Yes," he conceded. His finger traced the outline of the brim. "We do."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, in silence.

"I'm going to miss you," I said finally.

"I'm going to miss you too." He took my hand and squeezed it. "Maybe for just one day or two.”

I turned my head down and laughed again. When I turned to him again, his eyes were now locked on the golden band on his finger, “Marjorie told me I should talk to you first. I didn’t listen. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m ungrateful?”

“Rio…” I laid my hand on top of his and did a gesture with my head as I got up. I felt the weight of the stranger’s eyes on us. He got up after me and walked by my side until we reached the outside.

The icy night air seeped through the slits in my dress, touching my skin everywhere and making me shiver with cold. There were a few people scattered around the terrace - some were alone, drinking or smoking, and some were accompanied. I walked to one of the corners of the terrace. The cigarette butt in the ashtray, still scattering a line of smoke, told me that until a few minutes ago someone had been there. I sat on the wooden bench, positioned under a still small and fragile tree and looking out over the golf court, from which the terrace offered a beautiful view.

"I said it out of fear," I began to speak as soon as the background noise of the ceremony died down. "I never believed you were really ungrateful. I saw the things you’ve done for me and the team. There’s nothing ungrateful in this. But you made the decision by yourself, spent weeks keeping this away from me and I admit that hurt me.” That was no lie. Looking at him, his painful expression and the look on his face throughout the whole weekend, I could see he was going through a lot. “Perhaps you were being a bit unfair, but not ungrateful.” I paused.

Rio leaned against the glass railing that surrounded the terrace, facing me. His body blocked the view, making the darkness disappear and filling my field of vision with the image of his tired and remarkably upset face. Now, maybe, even a little confused.

“Unfair?”

“Yes… To yourself and to me too. It was a tough decision to make alone,” I explained my point. “And it saddens me that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with me. I’m not a teenager anymore. I could have helped.”

He nodded. Just that. No words, no dry smiles or sarcastic remarks. Silence took over, which was not common between us. We would fall into disagreements and arguments every time we had a tough matter to handle. That’s how it had been the last week. The gut-wrenching silence that fell whenever we weren’t obligated to talk over any work-related subject.

He had his lip caught between his teeth and his gaze focused on the perfectly polished sailing shoes he was wearing. And if I knew him, I knew that hard-to-decipher gaze was a sign that his mind was full. I wondered what words he was saving and what was the reason to do so.

“I didn't want to approach you and simply say I was bored at the Challenge,” he raised his eyes to find mine. “At one point, I felt like I was doing nothing, that I had barely any service to the team. You were doing all the job.” He paused quickly. “And you did it amazingly! But there was nothing more for me to do than gather data and pass it on to you. I was not being challenged .”

A dry chortle from his part, noticing the play on words.

“So you decided to send out resumes?”

"Not only that," he shrugged and leaned away from the fence. He took a few steps, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. The night was unusually cold for July. I warmed my arms with my hands. "But yeah, essentially that was it. I started to send them out until the day I was talking about the season with Carlos and he decided to act on it.”

Carlos. His name didn’t take long to surface in the conversation.

“How involved was he in this?”

“Not much.” He sounded honest. “I didn’t want it to be any other way. I just needed him to tell me if there was a chance for me or not.” He paused. I raised an eyebrow and gestured with my hand, encouraging him to continue. "Two, three, weeks later I got a call. They asked me for some reports. And a few days later, when I travelled to Silverstone, they surprised me with an interview."

“What did Carlos do, exactly?”

I wasn't sure where I was going, there wasn't much thought behind my questions. I knew Rio had gotten the job on his own merits. All the work my brother had done with the team, the way his insights managed to unify a set of strangers and turn them into a winning team was remarkable. It was more than enough to promote him to any category above the Challenge.

So my question wasn't what Carlos had done to get him a job. And I think he knew it.

“He mentioned my name? I think. I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t talk to him about the job until after I got an offer. Why so many questions?”

I shook my head. There was no reason for so many questions, other than the lack of trust I had in myself and Carlos. With each barrier he broke down, another one rose.

I hadn't been naive enough to think that it was really the longing that made him take a step towards me, but I had let myself bathe in the happiness that thought brought me. However, it was one thing to allow me to think about it and use such excuses as a justification for not trusting him, and it was another thing for Rio to confirm to me that he had indeed encouraged Carlos' action.

“This might sound dumb, but,” a dense exhale left my lips, taking with it the restlessness of my ideas. The answer Rio would give me wouldn't be black and white, but maybe it would be the ideal shade of grey. “Did you ask him to talk to me?”

He didn’t take long to answer, nor did he hesitate with his words.

Rio had no reason to be careful with his words and spare me the answer. It was a yes. Simple as that.

"Asking you would be a dead end," he completed.

That was a certainty. I was too stubborn to deign to talk to him, even if my brother asked me to. Rio had leaned back against the fence again, his hands now in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other. The night accentuated the expressions on his face, especially the frown lines on his brows and his clenched jaw as he tried to read my face.

I didn't realize that I was silent.

That was one hard shade of grey to decipher. Only then I realised I was grabbing onto the hope of a different answer. That maybe, even if Carlos’ motivation had been Rio’s well-being, at least he acted by himself, without any interference from my brother. Once again, my hopeless romantic streak jumping ahead of me.

"I'm guessing you two have talked by now.” I nodded without saying a word. I needed a few seconds to think. "Things didn't go right, did they?"

My torso heaved with the dry laugh that had escaped. I couldn't say things were worse, but they weren't right. They would be if desperation and longing hadn't clouded our minds and had put us in that position . Literal and figurative. If only he had never gotten so close like that, or if I had retreated at once instead of allowing us to levitate so close to each other, harvesting feelings I thought had long since withered and disappeared.

"Didn't he say something about it?"

"Not really," he said. "Until now, I had no idea if he decided to try to talk with you after his failed attempt in Mugello."

I looked into his eyes, my mind trying to think of some way to put my feelings into words. I was confused, upset, angry… Everything I felt was too tangled up to be able to answer in one go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Eva,” he sat down by my side and clapped his hands on his tights, “I just need you two to get along well. I don’t need you to become best friends, I just want you to be able to share a room, or a table, without any of you feeling uncomfortable with each other’s presence.”

He had a good point. Avoiding us sitting close together at the same table will be the least of his worries the moment they start to work together. Until now, it was Rio who occasionally visited Carlos wherever he was racing. In a couple of months, it would be me who would have to go to Rio. And Carlos would be there.

Imagining a future where everything stayed as it was, Rio would be destined to live a nightmare, running through a complicated labyrinth whenever he needed me.

“You two were really good before,” he continued. “I don’t see why things won’t get better.”

I sought comfort in him. I laid my head on his shoulder and stared into the darkness, imagining lines between the points of light that marked the paths through the grass a few feet away from us.

“I don’t think things will go as well as you deserve them to go.”

"No worries," he answered with a tender smile, looking at me. "I just need them to go a little bit better."

We stayed silent for a bit, my mind finding the rest it needed on the good memories of the three of us, especially the weeks in winter we would spend in the snow with our parents, or the long summer days we used to spend by the pool.

“Don’t be mad at him for only speaking to you now,” he continued and I moved my head to be able to capture his face. “I'm sure I'm not the only reason he decided to finally do something about it. If what I asked him to do had any impact, it was just so he could blame me if things didn't go well,” his lips turned into a funny smile and I chuckled. “You two,” he paused, “have a problem with empathy. Not the lack of it. The total opposite. And both of you are so stubborn… It was difficult to see you drifting apart and not being able to stop it.”

His words brought the restlessness back. I got up, pacing around between the bench and the fence, trying to settle my unquiet mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That each step he takes to reach you is way heavier than you could ever imagine,” he explained. “He has a way to deal with his feelings, a way to show them… he talks, he acts, he…”, Rio stopped for a second, thinking, “he doesn’t let himself be vulnerable. He uses his tough guy attitude to hide it, but you know he’s not all that.”

My mind pictured the beautiful sight of his face so close to mine - the perfectly shaped brown eyes, the thick lips parted, ready to take mine. I could hear his laughter in my mind and the murmur of his breath. He had been vulnerable with me.

“I would pay to know what you’re thinking about, Eva,” he disrupted my thoughts. “Don’t use this to create a glass box around you, thinking it will protect you from him while giving him the illusion he’s getting close.”

“I’m not like that,” I interrupted him.

“He protects your feelings more than his own, Eva. That’s why he let you go,” my brother's countenance changed as his patience wore thin. “I was there to witness the way he looked at you, the way he used to get jealous when you talked to someone else. He was crazy about you. But he…” Rio hesitated, “ respected you so much he was not capable to stop you from living your life to live by his.”

From this moment on, my mind was blank to anything but his words.

"You were way too careful with each other," he continued. "You take a step forward, or a step back, but never to each other’s pages. Because you are too afraid to let yourselves do it. You’ll find every excuse to not do it. Just like you’re doing now.

“You’re waiting for me to say something that will either make you trust him or verify every excuse your mind has been weaving since the last time you talked. And he’s probably doing the same. He doesn't have faith in his feelings. And he definitely does not have faith in himself, to the point where he thinks it’s acceptable to jeopardize his relationship with me or our family if he takes the step."

"I want it to go well," I said.

"I'm sure you do," Rio took my hand and smiled. “But if you're waiting for me to make you feel comfortable, you'll have to wait a little more." I nodded at his words, a fragile smile taking my lips as I saw the corner of his curling. “I can’t tell you to follow your heart, or whatever saying you or anyone else would say,” I chortled and he continued, “especially because I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but I can just tell you to admit to yourself that you miss him and that you want him around.”

His words reached me and if it hadn't been for his usual sunny disposition that was being brought back by the smile emerging on his face, I would have probably started crying at that moment.

Next chapter: 05.

Next chapter we'll have Carlos in a suit roaming around Eva's backyard. Keep that in your mind, eheh. Hope the race narration wasn't too boring. Thank you so much, see you all around! <3

[roboticchibitan]

Okay, list of projects either in progress or I have supplies for and are time sensitive, because I gotta finish some things before I lose my mind

WIPs

1. My sibling's Yule gift (armwarmers) - second one is coming out huge so I need to frog it and start over

2. Peace sign pin design - have bought additional supplies (oil pastels) for mixed media experimentation

3. Turquoise pants - everything is cut out and embroidered, ready to be sewn together

4. Geshela's socks - 1/2 done with first sock, need to finish before winter is over

5. Celestial cardigan - long term project, not urgent

6. Peace sign vest - nearly finished, got maybe 3-5 rows left

6. Dye notes binder cover - pretty sure I finished the embroidery and it just needs sewn together

7 - outdoor meditation cushion - half sewn together and then abandoned when it got too cold to meditate outside

Things I have supplies for that are time sensitive but haven't started yet

1. Grandma's Yule gift - a zippered tote with a zippered pocket

2. Watercolor painting bookmark - to go with the book I got grandpa for yule

3. Wool pants (medium weight) - needs pieced cuz the fabric I got from the art thrift store is only 4 yds of 22"/55.88cm, want to finish before winter is over

4. Wool pants (lightweight) - fabric less warm than expected but should still finish before spring

5. Marsha P Johnson inspired "my pronouns are pay it/no mind" pin design

Project I need to buy supplies for cuz I want the thing and it's time sensitive

1. Cotton rainbow peace sign Granny square blanket - want to finish before summer (waiting for a knitpicks sale)

[shu-box-puns]

This brainworm is lovingly called ‘Who’s your daddy?’ in my avatar prompt word doc.

Note: This is a potential fic idea if people are interested in seeing it in full. 

DO NOT steal or I’m crawling under your mattress tonight.

Summary: Tuk wraps the recoms around her little finger. A play date with the enemy.

Context: The recoms got revived and sent into the forest. Mansk got briefly separated from his squad, he could still hear them close by, but he couldn’t see them.

Tuk got separated from her siblings and was wandering aimlessly around the forest until a recom stumbled across her (probably Mansk) who was scared shitless by her. Despite her tiny stature, this man has to have some form of PTSD after dying to the na’vi.

Tuk doesn’t give a shit that this weird man is dressed in RDA military wear or that she can’t see his eyes - those sunglasses are GLUED to his face, no wind could possibly remove them - nor that he carries a gun longer than she is tall. All she sees is an adult that’s capable of protecting her and helping her back home. Close to tears, she holds her hands out and makes grabby hands up at Mansk who is just furiously backpedalling trying to get away from her.

His panic makes her panic and she runs after him assuming there’s a thanator or something that spooked him. Still crying. Still grabbing at his pant legs or tail. Whatever is in reach.

Mansk trips on a root or something, and Tuk flings herself down into his lap, latching on tight and squirming to get his arms around her and the soldier is just frozen solid. He’s not breathing. He’s not blinking. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He doesn’t do kids. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what to do with them, let alone how to comfort one. His nieces back on earth wanted nothing to do with him. And here is this na’vi child sobbing into his bullet proof vest like he’s her dad or something.

Hesitantly, he brings up his hands and awkwardly pats her on the back, which just makes her cry harder and he wants to disappear. 

One thing leads to another and he manages to get his feet back under him and has the little na’vi cradled to his chest. She’s stopped crying, cheek pressed into his shoulder with her fingers curled tight into his shirt. 

Just Mansk regrouping with the squad cradling a literal child. 

Wainfleet is like: when did you have the time?

And Quaritch is a tired Dad, now Grandpa.

Anyway, within hours, Tuk has the entire Deja Blue Squad wrapped around her little finger. They’re bringing her fruit. Z-Dog has discovered all the ways to make her laugh. Fike is just as confused as Mansk because Tuk has decided he must also hold her because her feet got tired.

And the whole time, she pretends not to know English, just grins evilly as these adults scramble to figure out a plan since the RDA is going to want to confiscate her if she goes back with them. Then there’s a full blown argument about taking her back to her clan and how long it would take. Not even Tuk knows the answer to that one. 

I wanna say that Wainfleet tucks her into his jacket and with the help of the other recoms surrounding him, they manage to successfully smuggle her into the recom quarters. Mansk finds her a little breathing mask and she’s all set. 

At some point, she definitely breaks into someone’s wardrobe and demands the recoms play dress up with her like she does with Neteyam and Lo’ak. She’s definitely dressed in someone’s labcoat - Mansk has no idea who she stole it from - complete with scientist goggles. Meanwhile some poor recom is dressed in various weird clothing combinations with all sorts of leaves in their hair. 

Tuk: “Do you, or do you not feel bonita?” Some unsuspecting recom: “I feel bonita.” Tuk: “Wonderful because you look bonita.”

Mansk is probably her favourite because he’s quiet like Neteyam. Always listening to her endless narrating. And even if it seems he isn’t, as in he’s cleaning something or multitasking, she knows he’s paying attention because one of his ears is always pointed towards her and he nods and grunts in all the right places. 

Wainfleet gives me fun uncle vibes. If she comes up with some sort of prank, he’s definitely the go to man to get it sorted.

Meanwhile Quaritch sees her as a means to get to the na’vi, but gradually softens and develops some sort of soft spot for her. I call him grandpa because he gives me old man, too tired to run after the kid vibes. And he definitely considers Tuk Mansk’s responsibility since he’s the one who found her.

WAIT: You know how I said about Mansk’s sunglasses never coming off. Maybe he’s holding her at some point, and Tuk just casually steals them for herself and plops them on her little head. They’re way too big for her and don’t grip onto her tiny nose, but her ears wiggle so happily and her tail is wagging that Mansk doesn’t have the heart to take them off her. He definitely prefers wearing them because he’s got baby eyes and doesn’t look as intimidating as the older marines without them, but while Tuk wants them, he doesn’t take them back. He just tries to scowl extra hard during meetings to make up for it - it doesn’t work, he looks like an angry toddler.

Cue the Recoms going back into the forest and Tuk being all happy to show them all the cool stuff she knows. Telling them which fruit they can eat. Showing them how to navigate judging by the way the flowers face and which plants grow on which side of the trees. The recoms are quite literally absorbing all the wisdom of this eight year old and she’s LOVING it.

Only for the Sullys to find them and cut the playdate short. 

Little Tuk just peeking out from behind Mansk’s leg and going, “Mummy!” Then ZOOMING over to Neytiri as Z-Dog and Wainfleet try to catch her. She dodges them effortlessly, winding herself around her mum’s waist.

Quaritch is sweating, having flashbacks: “Mummy, huh.”

Neytiri looks royally pissed. Teeth bared, bow drawn.

All the recoms are just backing away, slowly, carefully. 

Mansk is straight back to square one, scared shitless and convinced he’s gonna die again.