#I can either steer great or awful

[sunnycanwrite]

Imagine being able to drive a car, haha lame. I steered my wheelchair into a display at the grocery store and knocked it over. But they can't take that license away. Right? Right....???

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Fake boyfriend - p5

Pairings - soft!rafe Cameron x virgin!reader

warnings - none

Part 4

You had walked past the mirror at least 6 times, checking your outfit with a strict eye each time. “Jesus y/n.. you look great!” Kelsie groans, grabbing you by the shoulders and steering you out of the bedroom. “Since when have you been so concerned off what you wore around a guy?” She questions, a smirk creeps its way to her lips and she gives you a friendly nudge.

“What will you do tonight? I feel bad leaving you, you leave tomorrow night”.

She gives you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, shrugging her shoulders to your question. “I could see if you could come?”

“No definitely not…honestly I’ll be fine! I’ll probably just stay in” you nod your head and reach for your bag, the rumble of Rafe’s truck cuts through the silence. Kelsie is quick to push you towards the door, overly excited to watch her best friend go out with her boyfriend. “Have the best time okay! I’ll see you tonight or you know maybe in the morning” she winks.

A soft rap on the door she pulls it open, Rafe stands dressed in dark gray chinos and a loose white shirt that is rolled up at the sleeves. You can see a slither of his chest and it just about sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Hey”

“Hey”

“All right love birds, off you go!”

Kelsie pushes you out of the door, your frame smacking his chest face on. His hands are quick to grip your bicep and steady you, you give him a soft smile and let him walk you down to his car. “You look beautiful”.

Your cheeks darken at his words, shying away from him. “Thanks” you manage to whisper, letting him help you up into the truck.

You wore a black dress, it had puffy sleeves and tightened at the waist. Sitting just above your knees, paired with a pair of red pumps.

“So this work event.. should I expect personal questions about us?”

The corner of his lips turn up and he glances over to you briefly, staring at his side profile in awe. His jaw was sculpted and you could see the muscles pop when he clenched his jaw. “Well about that… my dad owns the company”

“Oh”

Your heart begins to race at the idea of meeting his dad, this could either go really well or end really bad for the both of you. He could see behind the lies and ask you to leave.. worse, he could have security escort you out in front of everyone.

“Don’t be nervous”

“Easy for you to say”

He laughs loudly, the sound sends goosebumps down your arms. You pocketed that sound into a core memory, never wanting to forget the way he sounded.

“I have a confession”

“Mhm?”

“That story I told your friend about the elevator..”

“I was meant to ask you how you knew I was stuck in an elevator”

“Well… my dad owns that building. I was in the security room when they got notified of the lift getting stuck, we could see you in the camera.”

“Oh”

You remembered your brief panic attack, pressing the palms of your hands on the mirror to steady your breathing. Reminding yourself you were only one level away from ground, you wouldn’t fall to your death.

“That was the first time I really got a good look at you.. I wanted to be there when they opened the elevator but I was late to a meeting so I couldn’t be… I wanted to be the one to comfort you”

Your eyes glazed over at his confession, your hand reaching over to grip his that sat idly on his lap. “I thought you were beautiful the moment I set eyes on you, but our paths didn’t really cross and when they did it wasn’t the right time for me to introduce myself”

You find yourself nodding, waiting for him to keep speaking, your heart beating harshly against your chest. “So when I caught you walking my way at the party I was beside myself… especially when you said play along and kissed me… it was like I was dreaming.”

Your thumb brushes up and down his palm, his eyes straight ahead. He’s pulling in front of the building before you can say anything and turning to look at you.

His mouth opens to continue but the sound of knuckles on the tinted glass cut through the small bubble the two of you had created around you. Your eyes lingered on his for a moment before dropping to his chest, he let out an annoyed breath and opened his door. “Thanks mate”

He hands the keys to the valet and walks around the front of the car, your eyes never leave his and when he opens your door and helps you out, your eyes still stay on one another. “Don’t be nervous”

All you can do is nod, you didn’t want to go into the building now. Not when he hadn’t finished his conversation, what was he doing to say next? Was he going to say he actually liked you?

You're both swept into a sea of people instantly, everyone saying hi and giving Rafe a hug or handshake. Everyone’s quick to direct their attention to you, eyes surveying the outfit you wore. Your cheeks painted in embarrassment as you gave everyone your best confident smile.

Rafes hand never left your waist, giving you soft squeezes anytime he noticed you staring at your shoes. He gushed about you, introducing you as his girlfriend and light of his life. A twang of guilt bled through your veins when you stood in front of his dad, you didn’t know if lying was a good idea but you weren’t confident enough to put an end to it.

“Dad.. this is y/n, my girlfriend”

You had heard mixed reviews about Ward Cameron, the man who owned pretty much all of the outerbanks. The tough man who pushed his son hard and only wanted the best for his children, the man who didn’t take no for an answer.

“So lovely to meet you! I hope my son is treating you well”

“He is” you give him a soft smile and accept his brief hug. Rafe’s hand is quick to tug you back against him, this time your back pressed tightly to his front.

You don’t miss the way Ward’s eyes drop to his son’s arm around your body, a quick raise of the brow before his eyes were on yours again. You stand in silence, watching him take a sip of his whiskey before he places it on the table next to him.

“Well, I must go say hello to more people. Do join us for dinner sometime soon, yes y/n?”

“Yes sir”

He’s gone before he can hear your response, quickly understanding that is how he never takes no for an answer as he doesn’t stick around to hear anyone’s response.

“He’s scary”

“Mhm, let’s get a drink”

He whisks you away to the bar, ordering you a cocktail from the list. He moves you to stand in front of him, caging you against the bar. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, his eyes are watching the bartender closely so you take this moment to study his features, the way his jaw was sharp and hard but softened when he smiled. Ocean blue eyes that you had witnessed blown out and dark when he was aroused. “I can feel you staring at me”

“Oh, sorry”

“Don’t be sorry… I like it”

A soft wrinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles down at you, your stomach clenched at the sight. His hand dropping to your waist once more to pull you closer to him, he dropped his head to look at you. “Rafe” you whispered, pressing your tiptoes into the ground and pushing up slightly. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” You question, you’d never asked a man before. You expected to feel embarrassment but the only feeling flooding your veins was arousal.

His lips are on yours immediately, his grip on your waist tight as though he thought you might vanish mid kiss. Your arms snake around his neck and pull him closer, mouth parting for his tongue.

A cough from behind is the only thing to bring you back to reality, pulling away in a huff. Turning your attention to the drinks placed on the bar. “Thanks” you both say at the same time.

“Let’s drink this and go” Rafe says, your head frantically nodding as you bring the straw to your mouth to drink the fruity liquid. The alcohol burns your throat slightly, you're not even half way when Rafe is placing his glass down and staring at you with hunger in his eyes.

“I’m done” your rushing, placing the half empty drink down and grabbing his hand. A cheeky grin creeps up his face and he’s rushing you out of the building without any goodbyes.

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting @drewstarkeyslut @emotionsmgcbabe @ijustwanttoreadlols @uraesthete @drewstarkeyswifehoe @aysha4life @yeosxxx @ailee-celeste @aaronhotchswife @watersquirtpewpewboomm @bbadiehoe @dream-pink @unbearableblog @blhemmings @20braced22 @xyzstar @bean-is-reading

[atinyslittleworld]

Size doesn’t matter

mingi x f!reader ft. ateez

Summary: Mingi’s tiny girlfriend drives expertly his massive SUV, saving Ateez from a chaotic road trip, proving that size doesn’t matter in driving

Word Count: 753

Genre: humour

Warnings: none

Mingi, the tallest and most confident member of ATEEZ, was proud of his massive SUV. It was as grand and imposing as he was. However, his driving skills were... not exactly up to par. His girlfriend, Y/N, though petite, had an uncanny talent for driving the beast of a vehicle with grace and precision.

One sunny afternoon, Mingi decided to take his girlfriend and bandmates—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho—on a road trip to the beach. The plan was simple: get there, have fun, and return before sunset. Little did they know, this trip would become an adventure of epic proportions.

As they piled into the SUV, Mingi took the driver’s seat with an air of confidence. Seonghwa claimed the passenger seat, while the rest of the bandmates squeezed into the back. Due to the limited space, they ended up sitting on top of each other, like a human game of Tetris.

"Alright, everyone, buckle up. This is going to be a smooth ride," Mingi declared, starting the engine with an overly enthusiastic grin.

Barely five minutes into the journey, Mingi took a wrong turn, steering them onto a narrow, winding road that seemed to shrink with every passing minute. The SUV lurched and bounced, causing everyone in the back to clutch at whatever they could for support.

"Uh, Mingi, are you sure we’re going the right way?" Seonghwa asked, gripping the door handle tightly.

"Of course! I have a great sense of direction," Mingi replied, though the beads of sweat on his forehead told a different story.

After what felt like an eternity of bouncing along the wrong road, they finally found a spot wide enough to turn around. Mingi attempted a three-point turn, but the SUV seemed to have a mind of its own. He was either too close to the ditch on one side or scraping the bushes on the other.

Y/N, squeezed between San and Wooyoung, finally spoke up. "Mingi, maybe I should drive?"

The car fell silent. The bandmates exchanged glances, and San let out a barely contained snicker.

"Really, babe? I can handle this," Mingi insisted, looking less certain with each failed attempt to turn the SUV.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile. "Trust me, I’ve got this."

With no other options in sight, Mingi reluctantly agreed. Now came the challenge of getting Y/N to the front seat. Practically wedged in the back, she had to climb off San’s lap, then over Wooyoung, who yelped as she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

"Watch it, Y/N!" Wooyoung whined playfully, while San tried to help her maintain balance.

Finally, Y/N managed to extract herself from the human puzzle, clambering over Yunho’s long legs and squeezing past Jongho to reach the front. Seonghwa unbuckled and slid out, letting Y/N take the driver’s seat.

Adjusting the mirrors and scooting the seat forward to accommodate her petite frame, Y/N took the wheel. With a gentle but firm touch, she maneuvered the SUV with a precision that left everyone, including Mingi, in awe. In no time, she had them back on the main road.

The rest of the drive was smooth and uneventful. Y/N expertly navigated the twists and turns, handled the traffic, and even managed to parallel park the beast of a vehicle at the beach, earning a round of applause from the bandmates.

"You know, Mingi, I think Y/N should be our official driver from now on," Wooyoung joked, patting Mingi on the back.

Mingi chuckled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I guess size doesn’t matter when it comes to driving."

Jongho, always the practical one, chimed in. "At least now we know we can get to our destinations safely and without detours!"

As they enjoyed their day at the beach, Mingi couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for his girlfriend. Sure, he might be the one with the impressive height and stage presence, but Y/N had shown everyone that true skill and capability came in all sizes.

On the way back, Mingi didn’t even protest when Y/N took the wheel again. Instead, he relaxed in the passenger seat, enjoying the smooth ride and the laughter of his bandmates filling the car. It was a lesson in humility, teamwork, and the surprising strengths hidden in the most unexpected places.

And so, the legend of Y/N, the tiny SUV master, became a favorite tale among ATEEZ, always good for a laugh and a reminder that sometimes, the best driver isn’t the one you’d expect.

[futurewdclandonorris]

Home | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Word count: 8316

Summary: it's been a week since George and you separated. One night he unexpectedly returns, but has enough time passed for everything to go back to normal?

Warnings: angst angst angst, fluff, more angst, but then even more fluff

A/N: Finallyyyyyy part 5 is here!!!! First of all, I want to thank everyone for reading, following, sharing, loving and supporting this mini series. I've had the time of my life writing this, something that's been brewing inside me for too long and I'm happy this platform allowed me to share it and for it to be so well received. Even if some of you called me evil for the things in part 4, but hey, I tried to make the plot interesting and unpredictable as much as I could. It would be boring if everything always ended in the same way, would it not? With that being said, I hope I manage to buy your forgiveness for the awful things in this FINAL part of bsf!George series! ♥♥♥ P.S. This song was a great inspoooo, you can thank it for getting this part

Previous part

George wasn’t mad at you. No, he was mad at himself. Mad at how his heart had betrayed him and at how he had let himself fall for someone he knew he couldn’t have. He should’ve been better at taking care of you last night, at keeping his feelings in check. He couldn't believe that he had let his feelings spill out like that, knowing deep down that it might push you away. And alcohol was no excuse. He just should’ve known better.

He stepped out of the building, the cold morning air biting at his skin, and walked towards his car, his mind filled with you. He couldn't bear to look up, couldn't bear to see the window where you stood, the image of your pained expression etched in his mind. George clenched his fists, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over once again. He had never felt so helpless, so lost.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He tried to steady his breathing as he replayed the scene in his mind over and over again. The look of shock on your face, the pain in your eyes as you pushed him away. How could he have been so foolish to think that confessing his love would solve everything? It only complicated things further, driving a wedge between the two of you.

“Dammit!” he hit the steering wheel out of frustration. He wanted to run back and knock on your door, to beg for a chance to make things right, to plead with you to give him another opportunity. But he knew deep down that he had to respect your space, your need for time to sort through your emotions. He couldn't bear the thought of causing you more pain by being any more selfish and demanding your immediate attention.

And there was no time either. Race week had started and he had to go home and pack if he meant to catch the evening flight. The further he drove from your apartment the more he felt like he was getting away from a future he had allowed himself to envision with you.

When he finally reached his apartment, he sat in his car for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly ahead. The thought of packing for the race seemed inconsequential now, a triviality in the face of the emotional storm raging inside him. But he knew he had to keep moving forward, even if every fiber of his being wanted to turn back and fight for you.

The apartment felt empty and cold, mirroring the ache in his chest. He mechanically packed his bags, his movements robotic as he tried to push down the torrent of feelings threatening to overwhelm him. The sweater you had borrowed from him lay crumpled on the bed, a painful reminder of what had transpired between you.

As George zipped up his suitcase, he paused, his hand hovering over the sweater. With a determined glint in his eyes, he picked it up and folded it carefully, tucking it into a corner of his bag. It was a small reminder of you, a piece of him that he couldn't bear to leave behind. It was the second best thing if you don’t show up on the track like it was planned as well.

The drive to the airport was a blur, the city passing by in a haze as George wrestled with his inner turmoil. Should he have fought harder? Should he have just left without a fight? The questions swirled in his mind, each one stabbing at his heart like a jagged knife.

He barely remembered checking in for his flight, the motions automatic and distant. The loudspeaker announcements and bustling crowds at the airport seemed to fade into the background as he found his seat on the plane and as the engines roared to life, propelling the aircraft down the runway, George's mind was still consumed by thoughts of you.

The plane ascended into the sky, leaving behind the city where his heart remained tangled with yours. He stared out of the window, watching the landscape below shrink into miniature shapes. The distance between him and you grew with each passing second, yet he couldn't shake off the feeling that a part of him was left behind, anchored to you.

The flight attendant interrupted his reverie, offering him a drink with a polite smile. George instinctively accepted, taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee but hardly registering its taste. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, regret and longing mingling with uncertainty about what the future held for him and for you.

He made a silent promise to himself, a promise to give you all the space you needed while also holding onto hope for a future where your paths might converge once again.

-

You spent the whole week thinking. Wondering. Realizing. You barely left your apartment or moved from that one spot on your couch. You couldn’t enter your bedroom without being reminded of George, the memories of his presence lingering in every corner. The faint scent of his cologne still clung to the air, a painful reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

It wasn’t just your bedroom. Your whole apartment was full of him. Starting from the clothes that were piling up every time you had borrowed something and never returned. They were now neatly folded in his section of your closet.

The books he lent you, with his notes scribbled in the margins, were scattered on the coffee table. You picked up one of them, running your fingers over his handwriting, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the easy camaraderie you shared. But now, everything felt tainted by the confession he had made, by the emotions that had spilled out into the open and shattered the already fragile balance between you.

In the kitchen, he had his mug he always used and you didn't let anyone else touch it. “It is George's mug,” you would say. At the time you didn't think anything of it, but was it normal that friends had such possession over each other's items? Not that you were just friends, though, were you? The events of that night had made it abundantly clear that there was a depth to your relationship that extended beyond mere friendship. But where did that leave you now? Confusion clouded your thoughts, making it hard to see a way forward.

Maybe the worst part was that he even had his own toothbrush in your bathroom. How often did he crash that he–or you–needed to buy one? Next to it was his razor. No, that was definitely the worst. He shaves almost every morning and you found yourself wondering how many times had he stood in your bathroom, meticulously shaving before a big race, the sound of the blade scraping against his skin, a familiar background noise in your shared space? How many mornings had you watched him from the doorway, a warm feeling blooming in your chest at the sight of him so vulnerable yet so achingly familiar? It was a mundane yet intimate act that now felt like a distant memory, a relic of a time when things were simpler between you.

The realization that George had seamlessly become a part of your daily routine hit you like a ton of bricks. How could you go back to your normal life without him now that he had made himself so at home in your space?

The signs. They were all over. And you were blind. Too blind. Maybe even deliberately so. Standing there, you realized it was like you did everything backwards. First it was like he lived there, was your lover, friend and now a stranger. Isn't it how it always ends though? Ultimately with every ending, a person you part with becomes a stranger. Maybe not literally so, but the person you knew turns into someone you don't recognize anymore and that's what leads to a break up.

Not that you and George were completely over, far from it, but that's what happened when he confessed his love. You couldn't recognize him as your friend anymore. That wasn't your friend, couldn't be.

You moved through your apartment like a ghost, your steps heavy with the weight of sorrow. Every corner held a piece of George, a piece of the life you had built together without even realizing it. How could you have been so blind to the depth of his feelings for you? How could you have missed the signs that now seemed glaringly obvious in hindsight?

The toothbrush in the bathroom seemed to mock you, a symbol of the intimacy that had grown between you and now lay shattered at your feet. Frowning, you went to the kitchen and pulled out a cardboard box out of your pantry. You started shoving each and every of his belongings into it.

The once familiar space of your apartment now felt foreign and cold, stripped of the warmth and comfort that George had brought into it. You couldn't bear to look at the empty spot in the closet where his clothes used to hang or the blank space on the coffee table where his books had once been. It was as if he had never been there at all, as if all of it had been nothing but a figment of your imagination.

You sealed the box shut and left it by the front door. You’ll send the stuff back. Or throw them away if he doesn’t want them. Either is good. But not just yet. You wanted to hold onto them just for a little while longer. You sat on the floor next to it, buried your face in your hands and finally allowed yourself to cry.

-

George busied himself with media stuff and training. His days were a whirlwind of interviews and practice sessions, leaving no solitary moment to spend lost in thought. He threw himself into his work and training with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Every spare moment was filled with activity, leaving no room for the thoughts of you that threatened to consume him. Or so he thought.

“Okay, that’s it.” his trainer announced. “We’re done for today.”

“Aw man, I was just in the zone,” George protested, a bead of sweat trailing down his forehead.

“I don’t know what zone you were in, but you were definitely not focused. Your mind is somewhere else today. Like it was yesterday, and the day before.” the trainer replied, eyeing George with a knowing look. “I need you here, present.”

“Don't know how much more present I can be, I am literally here,” George frowned.

“Physically you are, but I need you mentally,” the trainer said and touched the side of George’s head. “I don’t mind training with you twice or even three times a day, but it’s obvious you’re running away from something.”

George's facade cracked, a flicker of vulnerability betraying the stoic mask he wore. He knew he couldn't keep up the charade any longer, not with his trainer's penetrating gaze boring into him. With a heavy sigh, he slumped down on a nearby bench, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“I told her,” he confessed, the words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “I told her how I felt, and she... I don’t know how to fix it.”

His trainer sat down next to him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “So you finally confessed.”

“I didn’t mean to. It just slipped. We were having a fight because-”

“Because?”

He stopped, the memories flooding back in a rush. The fight replayed in his mind like a broken record, the sharp words and raw emotions still fresh in his heart. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before continuing.

“We got drunk and did something we shouldn’t have. We, uh, slept together. And it's not just that. There were things that happened even before...”

He felt his trainer's gaze studying him, waiting for the rest of the story. George hesitated, unsure if he should reveal more. But the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, though,” George admitted, his voice laced with regret. “I’ve been in love with her for a while now, you know that. I thought maybe she felt the same way, but when I told her...” He trailed off, unable to articulate the ache in his chest.

“She pushed me away,” George revealed, his voice barely a whisper. “Told me she didn’t see us that way. And now everything is so messed up between us. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“But she didn’t call it a mistake, did she?” His trainer's question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. George looked up, his eyes meeting the trainer's intense gaze.

“No, she didn’t,” George replied, a hint of confusion in his voice. “She just...said we needed space. That she needed space.”

His trainer nodded thoughtfully, absorbing George’s words. “Sometimes, space is what’s needed to gain a better perspective on things.”

George let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to ease the tension that coiled within him. “I just can’t shake this feeling that I’ve ruined everything. That I’ve lost her completely.”

“You haven’t lost her, George,” the trainer reassured him, his tone firm yet gentle. “Sometimes, taking a step back is what you both need to figure things out. Give her the space she asked for, but don’t lose hope. Love has a way of finding its way back to where it belongs.”

George looked up at his trainer, gratitude shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry to burden you with all this. Thank you for listening.”

“Don’t apologize, G, that’s what I’m here for. Not only to care about your body, but also your mind.” The trainer patted George on the back, a reassuring smile on his face. “It’s good to get it all out in the open. Now that you’ve told her how you feel, the ball is in her court. Give her some time to process everything, and in the meantime, focus on yourself. You can’t control how she feels or what she decides to do, but you can control how you handle this situation.”

George nodded, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little lighter with his trainer’s words of wisdom.

“Now go back to your room, take a shower, relax. And remember, this too shall pass. Tomorrow is a big day and she would like you to do good.”

George nodded in understanding once more, a sense of calm finally settling over him.

-

You never had to face any challenges alone. You always had George by your side and together, you could conquer anything. But now he turned into one of those challenges and you had to figure it out on your own. You knew deep down that the space was necessary, that you both needed time to think this through and figure out what you truly wanted in order to move on.

The familiar sounds of the city outside your window seemed to echo the turmoil in your heart. Each passing day felt like an eternity as you grappled with the weight of your decisions and the ache of George's absence.

You found yourself reaching for your phone multiple times throughout the day, your thumb hovering over his contact name before pulling back at the last second. You wanted to call him, to hear his voice and to mend the broken pieces between you two. But something always held you back. Not just yet.

You busied yourself with mundane tasks to distract yourself from thoughts of George, but his absence lingered like a ghost in every corner of your home.

A notification went off on your phone, reminding you of the race weekend approaching. If everything were right, you would be packing your bags and catching a flight and not choking on your tears in the living room, clutching your phone. The reminder only served to intensify the whirlwind of emotions already swirling inside you. You should’ve been there with him, cheering him on and supporting him through the highs and lows of the weekend. But now, the distance between you felt insurmountable, a chasm of uncertainty and unspoken words.

You missed him more than words could express, more than tears could convey.

On Saturday, you turned the TV on and watched the qualifying session even though you promised you wouldn’t. It would only torture you more. But you felt obligated to support him even from a distance, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would feel the warmth of your encouragement seeping through the miles that separated you.

The cars raced around the track, their engines roaring like thunder in the distance. You couldn't help but watch, your heart heavy with a mix of longing and regret. Each turn they took on the screen mirrored the twists and turns of your own emotions, the unpredictability of the future weighing heavily on your mind.

As you watched the cars speed by, a flash of black caught your eye. It was George's car, unmistakable even from a distance. Your heart leaped into your throat as you saw him maneuvering through the pack with skill and determination. Despite everything that had transpired between you, a part of you still held out hope for a future where you two could find your way back to each other.

But now, as you watched him from afar, a sense of regret gnawed at you. You should have been there beside him, sharing in his triumphs and soothing his defeats. Instead, you were stuck in this limbo of unreliability and self-reflection.

The qualifying session seemed to pass in a blur, the cars flashing by like ghosts on the screen, but George’s final lap had you holding your breath. When his time flashed on the screen, you let out a heavy sigh. It was a good time, but not good enough to qualify on the front. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you had been there, things would have turned out differently. A pang of guilt tugged at your heart as you watched George’s disappointed expression on the screen. You wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but you knew it was impossible.

You turned the TV off. The weight of your decision to give each other space settled deeper in your chest as you stared at the blank screen, the remnants of George's image still burned in your mind. The silence of your apartment felt stifling, suffocating you with its emptiness. You knew that you needed to make a decision soon, to either reach out to George and try to mend what was broken or to continue down this path of separation and solitude.

The following day, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest. It was race day. Would George be able to focus on the race with everything that had transpired between you two? Would he be thinking of you as he navigated each turn and straightaway? Is he even thinking of you?

As the race time drew near, you found yourself pacing around the apartment, unable to sit still. Your phone lay on the coffee table, silent and untouched. In normal circumstances, you would send him a message of encouragement, a simple "Good luck" to let him know you were thinking of him. But now, the words stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to give him false hope in case you needed more time before you finally talk. No, it was better this way.

The sound of the commentator's voice filled the room, announcing the start of the race. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the TV this time, the thought of watching George out on the track without you by his side in this situation too painful to bear. Instead, you stood by the window, staring out at the city below as if searching for some semblance of clarity in its bustling streets.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, each passing second heavy with anticipation and anxiety. Finally, the roar of engines reached a crescendo, signaling the end of the race. Your heart raced alongside them, unsure of what news awaited you.

You turned to the TV, your hands trembling as you searched for George's name amidst the list of racers. When you finally found it, your heart dropped. He was in the top 10, he scored points, but you knew it was not the result he wanted.

You couldn't help but feel responsible, as if it was your decision to give each other space that had kept you both from achieving satisfaction and now you had to live with the consequences. A tear rolled down your cheek as you thought about what could have been if you had chosen a different path.

In the quiet moments that followed, you realized that you had set yourself on this course of action alone, but you had no idea where it would lead. You needed to take a deep breath and figure out what you wanted from this arrangement, and whether it was possible to have the life you both deserved with each other.

-

You were getting ready for bed and it was around midnight when you heard a knock on your door. You frowned, thinking who could it possibly be at this late hour or if to even open at all. With cautious steps, you made your way to the door, a sense of apprehension tightening your chest. As you reached for the doorknob, you paused, gathering your courage before swinging the door open.

You expected a neighbor, or anyone else, but standing before you, illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the hallway, was George. His usual confident demeanor was replaced by a vulnerability you had never seen before. His eyes, usually bright, now held a mixture of sadness and longing as they met yours.

“I could’ve gone to my apartment, but it is cold and empty and I wanted to… come home.” George's voice was barely above a whisper, the words heavy with emotion.

You stood there, stunned by his unexpected presence, unsure of what to say or how to react. The air between you crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings, the tension palpable in the space that separated your bodies.

“But I see now that was a mistake. You clearly—” but as he reached to take his bag, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, catching him off guard.

“You’re home,” you murmured against his chest, holding him tighter.

George hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to your embrace. But as he felt the warmth of your arms around him, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift, and he slowly returned the hug. The barriers that had kept you apart for so long melted away in that single embrace, leaving behind a sense of relief and an unspoken promise of forgiveness.

“I missed you,” you choked out, your voice barely audible. “I missed you so much, George.”

His response was to hold you tighter, as if trying to erase the distance and time that had separated you.

“I missed you too,” George whispered, his voice shaking with tears he was holding back. “I missed you every single day.”

The silence that enveloped you was no longer suffocating but comforting, a space where words were no longer necessary to convey the depth of your feelings for each other.

After what felt like an eternity, George finally pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But all he found was a deep-rooted affection and a silent plea for a fresh start.

“Come in,” you finally said, whipping away little tears and moving aside.

George stepped inside, his eyes never leaving yours as if searching for any hint of uncertainty. As he walked further into the apartment, you couldn't help but notice how the dim light from the hallway accentuated the lines of weariness on his face, lines that spoke of sleepless nights and unanswered questions.

You led him to the living room, both of you enveloped in a cocoon of silence that felt both heavy and fragile. George sat down on the arm chair, his hands fidgeting with the straps of his bag, while you perched on the edge of the couch, unsure of what to say or do next.

“Are you hungry? I can make you something quickly—”

“No need,” George interrupted, his voice soft yet firm. You nodded, another silence falling among you.

“No offense, George, but you look awful,” you couldn't help but blurt out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. George's head shot up, surprise flickering in his tired eyes, before a hint of amusement crept in.

“I haven’t slept in days, y/n,” he replied as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

A pang of guilt twinged in your chest at his admission, but also relief that you weren’t the only one having nights with little to no sleep.

“I understand,” you said softly. George nodded, his expression a mix of exhaustion and relief at being back in your presence.

“You know what I’m the most tired of?” he didn’t wait for your answer. “Being apart from you.” he opened his eyes and met yours.

Tears welled up in your eyes at George's heartfelt confession, his words echoing the sentiments you had been carrying in your own heart all this time. You reached out a trembling hand to brush a lock of hair away from his face, your fingertips lingering on his cheek as if trying to memorize the feel of his skin.

“I’m sorry for what I put us both through—”

George placed a finger against your lips, silencing your apology. “Y/n,” he called, his tone warning. “I’m tired.” his eyes darted to your lap and then back to your eyes again and you understood.

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll talk in the morning. Come here now.” you pulled yourself on the couch and patted your thighs, making room for him to lay and rest his head on your lap.

You ran your fingers through his hair, the simple act bringing a sense of peace and familiarity that had been missing in both your lives for more than long.

In the soft glow of the lamp beside the couch, you sat together in silence, the rhythmic pattern of your fingers against his scalp creating a soothing lullaby that seemed to calm the storm raging within both of you.

“Did you watch the race?” he murmured.

"Yes, I did," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I watched it all."

George let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. "So you saw me messing up," his voice tinged with regret.

You continued to run your fingers through his hair, offering him comfort in your touch. “You didn't mess up. You did well, George. Top 10 is nothing to be disappointed about. I’m proud of you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he closed his eyes, basking in the comfort of your touch. “I wanted more,” he admitted softly, a hint of frustration seeping into his words.

You smiled, somehow finding it unusual he wanted to make a small talk out of his race. He never wanted to do that if he wasn’t satisfied with the results. But everything was better than talking about you two at the moment, you guessed.

“You always want more, George,” you replied, a teasing lilt in your voice. “But you gave it your all out there. That’s what matters,” you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing.

George let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing against yours. The weight of the past seemed to lift off his shoulders with each passing moment spent in your embrace. He turned his head slightly, looking up at you with a mix of gratitude and longing in his eyes. "Thank you for letting me come back," he whispered.

A wave of tenderness washed over you as you gazed down at him, seeing the vulnerability and sincerity in his expression. Without a word, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise of forgiveness and understanding.

As George closed his eyes, a sense of peace settled between you, the weight of past grievances slowly lifting.

“Tell me what you did without me. I want to listen to your voice,” he said, his words trailing off as sleep began to claim him.

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through your chest at his request. But how were you to tell him about all the days spent missing him, about the hollow ache in your chest that only his presence could fill, about the countless moments when a simple sight or sound would bring back memories of him flooding into your mind. How could you convey the depth of your longing, the way his absence had left a void in your life that no amount of distractions could fill? How were you to tell him that the most you’ve done in the week was pack his things in a cardboard box that was still by the door?

But you knew George needed to rest, to find solace in the peaceful refuge you offered him. So, you began recounting mundane details of your days, from the way the sun cast golden hues through the windows in the mornings to the sound of rain tapping against the roof on lonely nights. You spoke of small victories and minor setbacks, all the while keeping your voice soft and soothing as he drifted off into a much-needed slumber.

As George's breathing evened out, you continued to stroke his hair gently, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your thighs. The apartment was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

You leaned back against the couch, your thoughts swirling with memories of the time you had spent apart. The ache of missing him had been a constant companion, a dull throb in your heart that no amount of distraction could alleviate. And now that he was here, lying in your lap once more, you were at a loss for how to bridge the gap that had formed between you. But that will have to wait till morning.

With a heavy sigh, you shifted slightly on the couch, careful not to disturb George, and closed your eyes.

-

A motion woke you. You were moving, but not of your own volition. As consciousness slowly seeped back into your mind, you realized that the movement was not yours alone. Someone was carrying you, their arms wrapped securely around your body. Confusion and fear jolted through you as you tried to make sense of the situation.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself met with darkness. The soft glow of the lamp by the couch was nowhere to be seen, leaving you disoriented in the black void surrounding you. The arms holding you tightened slightly, a silent reassurance in their grip.

"George?" you whispered, the word barely audible even to your own ears. A shiver ran down your spine as the silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of footsteps echoing in the dark.

A voice, deep and familiar, cut through the void. "It's me," George whispered, his warm breath tickling your ear. You could feel his heart beating steadily against your back as he carried you towards the bedroom.

You wanted to protest, to insist that he didn’t have to go through the trouble, but the comfort of his embrace and the rhythmic sway of his movements lulled you into compliance. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that brought a sense of peace unlike anything else.

Before you knew it, you found yourself being laid down gently on the soft bed.

"I'm sorry for waking you," he whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I just couldn't bear to leave you there on the couch."

You reached out a hand to find him in the darkness, intertwining your fingers with his as a silent reassurance that it was alright.

“Stay with me,” you breathed.

George's hand tightened around yours, his touch grounding you. “No, let’s not repeat past…” he trailed off, not wanting to call it a mistake. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Then let me sleep on the couch, you can stay here—” you insisted, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. You sat up, the covers pooling at your waist, and made to move off the bed. But George’s hand on your arm stopped you, his touch gentle yet firm.

“No,” he murmured, his voice holding a note of determination that brooked no argument. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.” he kissed your forehead and left the room.

-

You woke up to the first light of dawn filtering in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room, the events of the previous night almost feeling dreamlike. That’s when your eyes shot up and you bolted upright in bed, the bed sheets slipping off your body as you stumbled out of bed and ran to the living room almost tripping over your two feet.

You leaned against the doorframe and breathed a sigh of relief as you spotted him sleeping still on your couch. It wasn’t a dream. He was really there. Silently, you made your way over to him and sat down in the arm chair beside the couch.

You took in the sight of him. He was sleeping on his stomach with mouth slightly parted, stretched out with his whole length that his feet were dangling over the armrest. His hair was tousled, and the early morning light painted a golden hue over his features, highlighting the faint stubble on his jawline and the way his eyelashes swept against his cheeks.

The blanket he found was too short to cover his whole frame and the decorative pillow he used as a makeshift headrest had slid slightly to the side. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a surge of affection welling up inside you as you watched him sleep so peacefully.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply be in his presence, to take in the quiet intimacy of this shared space. The distance that had seemed insurmountable in the past now felt like a small gap waiting to be bridged. With each rise and fall of George’s chest, you felt a renewed sense of hope blooming within you.

“… You’re staring.” George murmured without opening his eyes.

You immediately turned away, a blush creeping in. “I was not.”

“I could feel the intensity of it, even with my eyes closed.” you could hear the chuckle in his voice.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. You shifted in your seat, trying to appear nonchalant as you averted your gaze from George’s sleeping form.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes still closed. “I don’t mind.”

You risked a glance back at him, finding his lips turned up in a small, lopsided smile. The warmth in his expression eased the tension coiled within you, and you couldn’t help but return his smile.

“Hey, y/n, look at me,” he said and your eyes finally met, making you suck in a deep breath. “Good morning,” he smiled.

“Good morning,” you replied. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did,” George answered, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the couch. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a contented sigh.

"You should have slept in the bed," you said, unable to keep the words from spilling out. "I could have taken the couch."

George shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm fine here," he assured you, his voice warm and gentle. "Besides, I've slept on worse during my travels."

You shook your head, but chuckled anyway, the tension ebbing away as you let yourself relax into the moment.

“Do you… Do you want to stay for breakfast? I could make us something to eat,” you offered, a flicker of hope dancing in your eyes.

George’s smile widened, his gaze meeting yours with a softness that made your heart flutter. “Yes, I would love that, y/n,” he replied, gratitude shining in his eyes.

“Great!” You rose from the arm chair, a newfound sense of determination fueling your steps as you made your way to the kitchen. The familiar sounds of George following behind you brought a smile to your lips, the simple act of sharing a meal together filling you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’ll just wash up while you prepare the food,” George offered, rolling up his sleeves as he headed towards the bathroom to freshen up.

The sound of running water mingled with the clinking of dishes as you set about gathering ingredients for breakfast.

As you cracked eggs into a bowl, a sense of contentment washed over you. George’s presence in your home felt right, like a missing piece clicking into place. The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, punctuated by the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee. But the magic of the morning was disrupted when George called for you.

“Um, y/n, did you throw away my toothbrush?”

You froze mid-crack, the eggshell slipping from your fingers and landing in the bowl with a soft splat. The box.

You quickly wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and rushed to the bathroom, where George was standing with an open toiletry bag in his hand. “I thought I left my toothbrush here,” he said, a puzzled expression on his face.

Your heart sank as you remembered how you packed all of his things into a cardboard box and put it by the front door, looking to erase any trace of him from your apartment. The guilt washed over you in a wave, knowing that you had acted rashly in a moment of hurt and confusion.

“George, I…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him that you had packed up his belongings, fully intending to remove every trace of him from your place? The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken regret and heartache.

George’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding, his gaze flickering with a mix of disappointment and resignation. “You were going to send my things back,” he stated quietly, more as a statement of fact than a question.

You nodded wordlessly, unable to meet his eyes as shame burned hot in your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, the weight of your actions crashing down on you with full force. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay, y/n,” George interrupted gently, his voice soft and forgiving. “I understand why you did it.” He reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. “I know things have been difficult between us, but we can talk about it. We can figure this out together.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally dared to look at him, seeing the sincerity in his gaze that mirrored the ache in your own heart. “I never wanted to push you away,” you whispered, the words heavy with regret. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything.”

George’s thumb brushed away a stray tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and full of understanding. “We both made mistakes,” he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t try to make things right.”

A surge of hope blossomed within you at his words, a flicker of light in the darkness that had clouded your hearts for so long. But all of a sudden, the apartment smelled of burning.

“Oh my God, the bacon!” You bolted back to the kitchen, where smoke billowed from the skillet on the stove. The once-crackling bacon lay charred and forgotten, a victim of your distraction. Frantically waving a towel to disperse the smoke, you turned off the burner and opened a window to let the acrid fumes escape.

George followed you into the kitchen, a chuckle escaping his lips at the sight of the burnt bacon. “Well, I guess breakfast is going to be delayed a bit,” he remarked, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but join in his laughter, the tension that had gripped your heart moments ago loosening its hold. “I promise I’m a better cook than this,” you said, a sheepish grin on your face as you cleared away the charred remains of breakfast.

“I have no doubt about that,” George replied, stepping closer to you and taking the towel from your hands to help with the clean-up. The simple act of working together in harmony warmed your soul, a silent understanding passing between you as you moved around the kitchen in tandem. Once the cleaning was done, you both settled at the small kitchen table.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” you said, rushing to the corner by your front door.

You returned with the cardboard box that held George's things, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination.

“All your things are in here,” George watched as you placed the cardboard box on the table, his expression unreadable as you spoke. Silence enveloped the kitchen, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic outside. Talking about packing his stuff was one thing, but seeing that you actually did it was another. You held your breath, waiting for George’s response, unsure of what to expect. Would he be angry? Hurt? Disappointed?

Slowly, George reached out and lifted the lid of the box, his gaze flickering over the contents within. His fingers brushed against familiar items—a toothbrush, a worn paperback novel, a battered travel journal, a familiar beanie, the softly knit fabric a testament to the countless times he had worn it on chilly nights—as if seeking reassurance in their presence. 

George's eyes flickered between the contents of the box and your face, searching for any hint of what was to come. Your heart felt heavy with the weight of your actions, the fear of rejection looming over you like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“I never should have tried to erase you from my life like that. It was a mistake and I’m sorry.” you said. “You can have everything put back or take them with you. It’s your choice now. If it’s the latter, I’ll understand—”

“What do you want?” His voice was soft, but the question echoed loudly in the space between you. What did you want? It was a simple question with a million answers, each one more complicated than the last.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not up to me—”

“It matters to me,” George interjected, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. “I need to know what you want. Not what you think I want to hear, but what you truly desire in your heart.”

Blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, you met his gaze. “I want you back. All the time, everyday.”

George's expression softened, a mixture of relief and hope shining in his eyes. Without a word, he reached for your hand and pulled you onto his lap. You didn’t protest. The gesture was both familiar and foreign, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a lifeline.

“I want that too, y/n,” George said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want us to try again, to work through our problems together and rebuild what we had.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you as you leaned into him.

“I was so scared, George. When you confessed—”

“Look, we can pretend I never confessed if it means we’ll stay—”

“What?! No! You can’t just take back your confession! That’s such a cowardly move and the least I expected from you, George William Russell!”

George's eyes widened at your outburst, surprise flickering across his face before giving way to a mixture of amusement and affection. His grip on you tightened briefly before he loosened it, allowing you to turn around and face him. You could see the humor dancing in his eyes as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Oh no, you pulled the middle name card and now I’m terrified.” A chuckle escaped George’s lips, the tension between you both dissipating with each shared smile.

“I had to. I will not allow it. Especially not when I feel the same way towards you.” your admission hung in the air like a fragile thread, waiting to be strengthened or severed by the response it would elicit.

George’s eyes widened at your words, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. “Eh… fucking pardon?"

“I’m in love with you too, George William. I mean it.” you even surprised yourself how easy it was to say it. You didn’t feel scared anymore. If anything, you felt invincible.

But seeing the look on his face made you doubt. You held your breath, waiting for his response, the silence stretching between you like an impassable chasm. What if he didn’t love you like that anymore? What if the space you have asked for helped him get over you? He did try to take back his confession.

Slowly, a smile spread across his face, breaking like the dawn after a long night.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” George murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I never expected…” He trailed off, at a loss for words as he reached up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and reverent.

You rested your forehead against his, sighing in relief. “Time apart helped me open my eyes. I realized how much you mean to me, that I was so lost without you. I tried to fill the void your absence left with distractions and busyness, but nothing ever felt quite right. It was like a puzzle missing a piece, incomplete no matter how hard I tried to force it together. But now, with you here in front of me, holding me close and looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters, I finally feel whole again.”

George’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he listened to your heartfelt words, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. The weight of the past lingered in the air between you, but the warmth of your confession enveloped you both like a comforting embrace. In that moment, all the uncertainties and fears melted away, leaving only the truth of your feelings shining bright.

“I love you, y/n,” George finally whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “I never stopped loving you.”

You captured his lips in a tender kiss, pouring all your love and gratitude into the simple act, catching him off guard. But quickly, he kissed you back, burying his hands in your hair to pull you even closer.

It was a kiss filled with longing, with promises of a future together, of rediscovered love and unspoken apologies. The world outside faded away as you melted into each other, the taste of forgiveness and hope on your lips. The box of George’s things lay forgotten on the table, a silent witness to the reunion that had unfolded before it.

As you pulled back, George cupped your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. “I want to make things right between us, y/n. I want us to rebuild what we had and create something even stronger. Will you give me that chance?”

There was no hesitation in your response as you nodded, a smile of pure joy lighting up your face. “Yes, George. I want that more than anything.”

You leaned in to kiss him again, but his stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the tender moment with a burst of laughter from both of you. George’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he sheepishly rubbed his stomach, a playful glint in his eyes.

“I think that’s a sign we should probably eat something,” he said with a chuckle.

You nodded, feeling your stomach join in with its own protest. “I think burnt bacon is off the menu for this morning,” you replied, teasingly.

George laughed and stood up, pulling you along with him. “Let’s order in. I’ll make sure this time it’s something edible.”

“What’s wrong with my cooking?”

George raised an eyebrow at your question, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Your cooking is charming. But let’s just say I prefer my bacon a little less… crispy.”

You playfully swatted his arm before following him to the living room, where the two of you settled down on the couch with your favorite takeout menus spread out. As you leaned against George’s side, the scent of new beginnings lingering in the air around you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for second chances and the love that never truly faded, no matter how much time had passed. Together, you began planning your first meal as a couple, laughter and joy filling the space that once held only precariousness and regret.

And as you listened to George’s easy banter and felt his fingers interlaced with yours, you knew deep in your heart that this time, everything would be different. This time, you both were ready to face whatever challenges came your way, hand in hand, knowing that you’ll always have each other.

[rogueddie]

Leap of Faith T | 1,286 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is saying 'I love you' even when you're scared

Eddie has never been very good at figuring out where his limits lay. It's something that usually proves good- he's willing to try to do anything, sure he can do it and he usually finds that he either can or he can pick up the skills neccessary very fast.

When it comes to romance, he's never quite got it.

He's not sure Robin "gets it" either, but she knows Steve better than he ever could. He trusts her to plan something that would, at the very least, be something Steve would enjoy.

It might not get him a boyfriend at the end of it, but it will at least make Steve happy. It's the best Eddie can bring himself to hope for.

But, even with all of that in mind, Eddie is terrified.

"You'll be fine," Wayne reassures him, for the eighteenth time. "That boy adores you. Even if this don't work out, you'll stay friends."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"It's still scary," Wayne wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I get it, son. This ain't ever easy. I can't imagine how much harder it is when it's with another boy. But I know you. You're gonna do great."

Before Eddie can respond, there's a knock at the door.

"Oh, shit, I almost forgot-"

Eddie darts off to his room, quickly grabbing the tickets Robin had got him. He can hear Wayne and Steve talking, which makes him rush back.

"Hey!" Eddie says, slightly out of breath. "Sorry. You, uh... you look good."

"Thanks," Steve grins, glancing down at himself.

Objectively, Eddie knows it's an outfit he's worn before- a striped, yellow polo with his favourite jeans and go-to white sneakers.

But he tries to be optimistic, and it's easier than he expects. He's told Steve that those types of jeans suit him, he's told Steve that yellow looks good on him...

"You look good too," Steve adds, looking him up and down.

"Thanks. Uh..." he hesitates, glancing at Wayne, who pointedly raises his eyebrows. "We should head out, right? Movie starts soon."

"Did Robin tell you what movie we're going to see? She gave me the weirdest rundown of tonights plan."

"She told me not to tell you."

"Great," Steve sighs. He tries to frown, to look annoyed, but it fails completely. His excitement is too obvious.

Eddie holds the door open, gesturing Steve through.

When he turns back to say bye, Wayne mouths "good luck" at him, giving him a thumbs up too.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Thanks. See you later, old man."

Steve is already stood by his car, expression making it clear that he'll lose if he tries to argue that they take his van instead.

"We're not going in the van," Steve says, the second Eddie pulls out his keys.

"I know! Just- one minute!"

He climbs in the back, shoving things aside so he can grab the small box, grabbing the flowers once he's climbed back out.

"For you," Eddie says, holding them both out.

The carnations aren't anything special- Eddie had only picked them specially because they're cheaper- but Steve holds them delicately, eyes full of awe.

"Thank you," he breathes, finally tearing his eyes away from the flowers. "They're, uh... they're really pretty."

"Yeah, they're... you're welcome."

"Could, um... you don't mind if we stop by my house, on the way, right? I should- these need to be put in water."

"That's fine, yeah, I don't mind."

The ride to Steves is quiet, but tense. Eddie keeps his eyes firmly forward, struggling to keep his expression neutral with how Steves eyes keep boring into the side of his head with his glances.

When Steve darts inside, Eddie grabs the box that Steve seems to have missed with the flowers stealing all his attention. He carefully props it on the steering wheel.

He keeps glancing at it as he waits. By the time Steve comes back out, he's wiping his hands on his jeans, anxious.

"Oh!" Steve grins, grabbing the box, excited. He only hesitates for a moment, glancing at Eddie, who gives him a nod. "It's not even my birthday."

He freezes once he finally opens it. He turns to look at Eddie after a moment, expression blank.

"It's, uh... you said you liked it," Eddie explains. "Saw one the other day and, uh... here we are."

"Thank you. Really. I didn't think you'd... well, it's great. Thank you."

The ring is almost plain, a silver band with simple designs carved. It doesn't help that it's old, clearly second-hand.

Eddie thinks the age adds to its charm and, judging by how Steve immediately slides it onto his finger, he seems to agree.

"We're eating after we watch this film, right?"

"Yeah. I thought we'd go to that little burger joint?"

"The one ran by Diane?"

"I think it is. It's got those weird tablecloths with the-"

"The lace things, yeah, that's the one. I love that place!"

Thankfully, conversation comes easy after that. It makes the journey to the cinema less tense. By the time they park, they're teasing each other as usual.

The movie, for Eddie, is boring. Another rom-com that Steve loves.

Eddie spends almost the entire time staring at Steve, enjoying his love of the movie, basking in the second hand joy.

He's almost disappointed when the credits roll.

Their meal makes up for it though. Steve spends the entire time talking about the movie, gushing about the parts he loved and why. The lovesick expression he has, when describing the love the protagonists shared, is worth the price of admission.

Steve gets out, when they pull up to the trailer park, walking him to his door.

"Eds," Steve says, quickly, grabbing his arm when he goes to unlock the door. "You know, tonight was amazing. It was really fun. I'd, um, love to hang out again. If you want."

"Yeah?" Eddie shifts, nervously glancing around. "What if, um..."

Steve waits for a moment but, when it becomes clear that Eddie is too nervous to continue, he asks, "what?"

"I don't want it to be a hang out," Eddie rushes out to say. The words jumble together in his rush, making him almost unintelligable. "I want it to be... to be a date."

"Really? That- yeah. Yeah, I'd love that. Was- this was a date too, right?"

Steves smile is wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes Eddies heart flutter.

"Yeah, I mean, if you want it to be, because... I do. Want it to be a date, I mean."

"It was a date," he nods. "And it was a great date. Perfect."

"Good." Eddie shifts a step closer, taking a shaky breath. "Sorry I didn't ask you, like, properly. I really, um... I really like you, Steve."

"I like you too."

"No, I mean... I'm pretty sure I love you."

"Good, because I'm pretty sure I love you too."

He leans in, quickly kissing Eddie on the cheek. His cheeks are flushed as he quickly looks around.

"Oh, look," he snorts, pointing to one of the windows- Maxs face is peering through the curtains and she gives them a thumbs up. "Brat."

"You... don't mind? That she saw?"

"No? She's like family, man, she's safe." Steves smile falters. "Unless you don't want them to know? Is it too soon? Am I-"

"No, it's great. I just wasn't sure."

"Well, to be clear, I'd scream it from the rooftops if it didn't put a target on your back."

"On our backs."

"Eh, I've got a nailbat, I'm fine. You've been through enough."

"So have you."

Steve rolls his eyes, sighing. "Sure, yeah, whatever. Come on, let me kiss you again before we say goodbye."

[factual-fantasy]

Greetings Factual! I just realized I completely forgot to congratulate you in my last Ask- so although it's a tad late, allow me to say, great job getting to yet another milestone in the form of 27,000 followers! As I've said before, you deserve every single one and more- your works, both big and small, make bad days brighter and good days even better! I've especially enjoyed the pixel art gags these past few days- "human sans" and "Bingus" in particular- and it seems like many others have too- at this rate, 30,000 is just a few steps away! Almost their!

Also, thanks a million for responding so kindly to my idea regarding the gangs reunion with patty and meeting with Baragara! I'm glad you like it, and regardless of what details you decide on, I just hope we get to see the moment illustrated some day, as emotional as it is epic!

As for my actual Ask today- I was wondering about Grimaces Gigantamax status. As you probably know, some Pokemon species, including Gengar, can take mega evolution to the next level and temporarily grow to Kaiju sizes when exposed to certain types of legendary energy. However, of the 26 compatible species, not all members have the genes necessary to do so. So, even though he is unlikely to be exposed to the energy required to Gigantamax, if he was, would Grimace be among the lucky few of his kind to react? Or does he lack the Gigantamax genes- which, if he does, certainly wouldn't make him any less awesome!

Oh, and also, small goofy side ask I just thought of- since the group usually seems to sleep together, do any of its six ( later eight ) members snore? And if so, have the others grown accustomed to the noise? Or do they "throw a pillow at the problem" so to speak?

(27,000 followers) (Human sans) (Bingus)

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD I'm glad to hear that you've been liking my pixel stuff!! :DDD

As for the Baragara ask, awe! No problem!! :D I've been thinking about his story and how I would draw it.. it just seems like a hefty project to take on in my current state.. <XD

Now hmm.. Gigantimaxing.. Funnily enough the discord server an I actually talked about Grimace potentially Gigantimaxing or mega evolving. You know, for angst reasons XD But the general take away I got is it would requite too specific of an environment and situation for him to mega evolve on accident. If mega evolving on accident is even possible- (I say accident because the group are not intended to know what megastones are or how they work. So its not like Grimace could mega evolve intentionally-)

Gigantimaxing had a similar problem. Requiring too specific of an environment/situation for him to Gigantimax unintentionally. They're not in/from the Galar region, so they don't have access the things needed to Gigantimax.. and since Grimace isn't from Galar, I thought it would stand to reason that he wouldn't have the gigantimax genes..(do only galar region pokemon have the genes..?)

And even if they were in Galar and Grimace had the genes, Gloria would be a roadblock.

If they found like.. a gigantimax den.? She would surly sense the powerful aura and be sketched out. Thus steering the group away. And since Gloria has never steered them wrong before.. no body would disobey her.

It kind'a sucks that I cant find a way for these two scenarios to work out! 😭 I had a lot of fun imagining Grimace mega evolving in a panic to protect the group and then needing Sylvester to talk him down. But needing a megastone, and a keystone..? And somehow having Gloria not get sussed out by the stones powerful aura and not taking it away from Grimace just seems pretty far fetched. Darn you Gloria for being so observant and caring for your friends. 😔

I'm open to ideas of how I can make either idea less specific and more possible though.. 👀👀

As for your last ask, I'd like to say that thankfully none of them snore <XD it would be pretty hard to stay hidden in the forest if you snore!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Moving a person by their waist for Capt Pike?

When your shifts let off late, it's not surprising to arrive to a packed kitchen. Nearly everyone is settled with plates and chatting, save for Uhura, Spock, and Pike. That's not so surprising, either. You're almost certain that Uhura and Spock only just got off of shift as well—and Pike is nearly always the last to fill his plate.

With the wealth of distraction, you take a moment to just...Look. The captain looks as calm and in his element as he does when he's sitting in the captain's chair. Whatever joke Uhura makes has Spock's brow rising, and Pike's head tipping back with a laugh. The sight makes your stomach flutter.

"A-hem."

You jump at the sound of the clearing throat and glance around to find Chapel and Ortegas just a couple of feet away, watching you with mischievous smiles. Your face goes hot at being caught, but you force yourself to have a blank expression.

"See something you like?" Chapel asks.

"Something you'd like a bite of?" Ortegas adds. You scowl, mumbling, "Oh, shut up," As you hurry away, leaving their snickers behind. You skirt past Spock, murmuring a greeting as he heads for the table with a full plate. You take up one, scanning the dishes set out before reaching for a serving spoon.

"You took your time."

The comment catches you off-guard, and the serving spoon slips from your fingers. Your heart catches in your throat as Pike's hand shoots out, skimming your side and catching hold of it before it can hit the counter. You let out a shaky laugh as you take hold of the spoon again.

"I had a few logs to sign off on," You glance back toward him as he leans against the counter beside you. "Why aren't you eating yet?"

"I'm going to, I just got distracted in here."

"Get yourself something to eat, then," You wave toward the plates. "Don't make me sic Number One on you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't tempt me."

You smile as he chuckles, straightening up with a murmur of concession. You return your gaze to the food, then go still as you feel Pike's hand smooth along your waist, gently steering you to the side. You swallow thickly, focusing steadfastly on the dishes.

"Everything here look as if it's to your liking?" He asks. Aw, hell. You can only imagine the knowing grins that Chapel and Ortegas must be giving you. You just nod, loosing a hum before you pass the spoon to him.

"Everything looks great—as always."

[pouroverpaloma]

yellow and white!! :)

Hey thanks, this was fun!

💛 Yellow: Do you ever alter, highlight, or de-emphasize certain canonical traits in a character? If so, why and describe how.

Oh, god yeah. I feel like I give SO much energy and space to Gale’s trauma—it’s something only touched on in the game that I wanted to see explored narratively, and I felt like I could do it well.

I grew up in a pretty intense, charismatic kind of Christianity that was focused on experiencing the divine as a two-way personal relationship. Gale’s relationship with Mystra reflected a lot of the anxieties and fears I had growing up as an evangelical teenager—what if I was so good, that God chose me for something important? What if it was awful? What if God is cruel, actually, and I don’t find out until it’s too late? How could I escape someone omnipresent and omnipotent? Idk, his story hit me VERY hard as an exvangelical, and I feel like that heavily colors the way I write him. I just want to make him a spicy margarita and play him Ethel Cain’s entire catalog; it would fix him.

Also, I think anyone who’s read my stuff, especially this beauty that pleases too well, has probably guessed that the way I portray his survival of intimate partner violence is born from experience—but this is a tumblr post about a fictional wizard, so I’ll leave it there, except to say that I got my happy ending and it brings me a lot of joy to do that for him too.

Also also: his crow’s feet. If I’m writing him, you WILL see and appreciate the eye crinkles.

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

Shadowheart is so difficult to get right!! Done well, she’s dry and haughty but secretly having a great time fucking with you. It’s so easy to steer too hard into the skid and make her either boring or so snarky she’s unlikeable. You have to write her well enough to get her timing. She’s too much fun to leave out entirely, though, so I’m working on it.

I find Gale extraordinarily easy to write, probably because we’re both terminal nerds who overtalk to fill time. It’s like confronting my fucking Jungian shadow self, but in a horny way that I am in no way prepared to unpack.

I like writing Astarion, but I just never feel like I make him enough of a bitch. He deserves to be full bitch. The height of his powers. I can, should, must, and will find a way to let him be an emotional terrorist (affectionate) moving forward.

[mirror-to-the-past]

So.... I bolted to the finish line of Dream Drop as I had nothing else to do today.

I am still collecting many thoughts, sentiments, attempts at analysis, etc, as I always do, but this game just had a lot to offer so I'm still weeding through the freshly tilled flowerbed that is my brain at the moment. Holy mother of run-on sentences (you're gonna see a lot of those).

First off, I wanna thank this game for doing so much for Sora and Riku's characters. The inverse development they had through the course of the plot was really interesting to follow, actually, and none of it's out of nowhere!

Since KH1, Sora's had the repression subplot and embracing the strength of others as his own. Here, he tried to do the same, but with everything that's happened to him since, all of which he doesn't even necessarily remember, and all of the emotions and memories he's been touched with and made more and more aware of- he's on shaky ground and the same ol' methods don't fit like they used to! Understandable! And Xehanort/13 Darkness gang just feeds into that. He expands on Sora's questioning of his identity, suggests the lack of validity of his emotions. Everything that could be used to describe Sora in a positive light in wake of what's happened to him, he finds a negative spin on it to really dig at Sora's core:

'You're confused about the direction your life has taken? Hm, wonder how much of you is even real. Your emotions? Memories? Could be fabrications. Or someone else's. Who knows...'

'Your heart is a refuge for lost souls, hoping to find a new future? Nah, screw that. Your heart's a prison. Your very existence binds people, Sora. And of course, you just love holding people back.'

'Aw, you follow where your heart leads? Cute. People's feelings have never led them astray before, huh? Why don't you just keep being a precious little idiot though, it works great for us.'

Xigbar particularly, was brutal as always. Loved the scenes with him and Sora in The World that Never Was. So well crafted. He towers over him, gets all up in Sora's business and you can see how uncomfortable Sora is. He pokes directly at Sora's two biggest insecurities:

Weakness; being incapable and helpless.

Not being wanted/needed, or dragging others down.

He goes on his whole spiel where he specifically highlights how Sora's pretty much leftovers. He acts like he's a good for nothing- "As if the Keyblade would choose a wimp like you." And childish for simply feeling the pain of others: "Oh... thank you, Sora's heart, for pushing him right into our clutches. Aren't hearts great? Steer us wrong every time." (Love that line) And Sora figures out that Nobodies have the capability of essentially learning to gain their own heart (CALLED IT, YES- BUT ALSO 😭 you poor guys. I think every party that could have benefitted either didn't care or didn't figure it out.), only to be further disparaged by Xemnas essentially being like 'Yeah, and then they got manipulated anyway, hah. Just like you.' Just two grown ass men bullying and gaslighting a teenage boy to heighten his insecurities. Because "possession" just seems to be a symbol for one losing themselves.

Xehanort as a character just gives those vibes of an individual who takes, takes, and breaks someone down until they don't feel like themselves anymore, becoming an extension of their manipulator. He preys upon vulnerability and lack of self assurance and it's so good, hah. So, that's the reading I find most appropriate for his thematic relevance, in relation to KH's continuous crisis of what makes up an identity. I mean, just look at how Xehanort describes the others they were considering as a dark vessel- Riku's "immune to the darkness," in other words, immune to obfuscation/has more solid connections. Roxas was considered as too driven, assured in his place in Sora's heart when he forged his own trial-by-fire path. Both people that came to peace with themselves and what they wanted through hardship, one way or another. Now, I'm not saying Sora hasn't felt hardship, but when your theme is "repression," he's up against amnesia, feelings of others encroaching on his own, and a lack of self evaluation. He has more of himself in others, at the moment, and that's leaving him vulnerable.

So, you can only imagine how Sora feels at the game's conclusion, denied a rank of Keyblade Master, those words lingering in his mind as one of the most recent things he's heard, near death(?) experience, and Sora had been filled in I'm sure on how Riku was endangering himself for Sora's sake. I'm sure he feels super great about all that.

(His "What do you want me to see?!" line after Roxas disappeared... haha... I'm well.)

Meanwhile, Riku. His whole arc was the polar opposite! By the end of this game, he was the most self assured than we've seen him the whole series! 🎉 Hooray! At least someone gets to be happy! :'D

But for real, *wow.* Personal quip, I doubt I need to go heavily into the queer connotations of Riku's journey to easier vulnerability and self acceptance, especially in this game, because I'm sure anyone who takes time to read this can probably see it, but wow. The way he learned to change his reflexes and actions throughout the course of the story in a number of small, meaningful ways was so sweet. It was cheesy, sure, but him openly laughing with the other teens in Traverse Town. Him admitting to the nature of his insecurities to help another, and then getting comforted by Esmeralda in return, who assured him it was understandable to have walls around his heart/keep parts of himself separate from the world when he was still unsure and figuring out his feelings (lines that drive me crazy, 2023). Him rolling his eyes at the "All for one and one for all," motto before reflecting on Sora's openness and inclusion, and deciding to give it a try, himself. So many little things where he learned to laugh and reminisce freely and it reminded me of the snippet of how he was when he was younger in BBS, which, speaking of- all those steps towards healthiness made it so that throughout the entire game, unlike CoM, where he fought in darkness with self hate, and Days, where he lost himself completely, he never battled with notable levels of internal darkness to try to win anything. He found his strength to protect the things that matter, like he always wanted, by being himself, unapologetically.

...I wish I played this game in middle school or something. Alas.

(Also Riku Dream Eater theory was a go, boys! Also like how there was no explanation other than *X. Heartless voice* "Yes adopted son of darkness, you were down so bad you changed species to protect Sora from bad dreams as soon as you subconsciously felt suspicious vibes." And that's all we're gonna fucking get, so deal with it *mic drop*. 😂 Was pleasantly surprised Sora's clothes were also plot relevant, and I feel better about disliking them now. They branded him, eugh.)

Speaking of being yourself, but perhaps being too many of yourselves, in this case, here's my obligatory "cries at the endgame" sentiments. This one was less hype than the others, but punched me directly in the heart instead. Oh. My. GOD? That whole sequence of Riku diving into Sora's heart (with all of his memories floating past? Lord I'd be so embarrassed if I was ever in such a situation- it's so personal, y'know?), entering its innermost reaches, answering the questions... holy guacamole guys I think I left a part of me on those sunset beaches, there. That whole scene was a KH1 reference with the questions (I answered in terms of how I best thought Riku would answer), Riku and Xion's sitting placements on the Paopu tree (also Riku saw Xion as Sora *fist pumps in sad success*), and I'm almost *certain,* especially since it was right before "What are you most afraid of" that my theory of Riku overhearing the Sora&Kairi dock convo in the first game was valid. I mean, just look at the dude's face after staring out at the sunset. M'boy Riku looked downright melancholy and I trust KH microexpressions with my life. (And speaking of microexpressions, Sora's smile looked suspiciously forced when congratulating Riku on becoming a Master, poor fella. He was trying so hard to be a good sport about everything with that messy situation.)

Dream Drop Distance did so much with how we're finally having all of the separate plot points converge and it was so surprisingly satisfying. Sora seems to be picking up more about Naminé, he's aware of Xion and is trying to figure out who she is. Roxas seems to be losing himself or doubting who he is outside Sora and aaaahh?? No?! My beautiful boy, don't do this, we'll get you out! I miss Axel, but we've got Lea, who keeps getting deadnamed (he got chosen as a Wielder by the universe for his troubles). I want to see more of Ienzo, he endears me, especially when he's told "shut up nerd" by Lea. Foreshadowing about Ventus (when he smiled upon feeling Sora's happiness with the Dream Eaters post-credits, something got me in my core about imagining Ventus experiencing all of Sora's joys and hurts while he grew up. I wonder if he'll feel any affection for Sora's friends as if they were his own, as well.). We finally got Ansem's data he implanted within Sora. Kairi is being brought back into the plot since KH2!! HYPE! *On my hands and knees*

Anyway this game was good. I probably have more to say because there was just so much but yeah.

Edit: Almost forgot the thing I groaned at my TV for earlier! ^_^

*ahem*

They composed a Heartsong and each of their hearts play a piece of a Duet version of Dearly Beloved, which is the Title Theme for the Entire Franchise, and Definitely Doesn't have any romantic connotations as a phrase or anything. Also they Definitely do not have a Two-Part-One-Whole Keyblade that isn't (so far, I'll catch up) explained, and is a phenomena not previously noted throughout the games, that has a Paopu Fruit hanging off the end.

Man, all this stuff tuckers an epic gamer out. Think I'll go replay Hades, Stardew Valley, Undertale/Deltarune as a break, considerably less gay games. (Har, har)

[boltlightning]

So, Pinterest found out my love for Jorrington. However it showed me some other aesthetic scenes of AWE. Which makes me wonder, if he was still alive and survived, or perhaps kept alive by David Jonathan.

What side do YOU think he would be on in the stand off, why, and what would his response be?

Does this differ to you depending on how he would be alive (escapee or enslaved by Dave Johns)

I imagine angles could be: Civil yet sassy, violent either by skill or having more numbers, obedient (to whomever is his leader).

david jonathan..............

i've definitely thought about this an inordinate amount, and my biases are on fully display as i say norrington would be at elizabeth's side, or at least hovering behind her glowering, when dealing at the parlay.

i've gone through a lot of mental turbulence over a version of events where norrington ends up a pirate, because it's so antithetical to what he stands for both as a vessel of themes and a character with feelings, i have a hard time wrapping my head around it. i think he needed to die in the canon narrative. HOWEVER. i think there's a lot of good theme resolution if he metaphorically dies on the dutchman to save elizabeth, survives and escapes with her, and casts out his former self to become a pirate, even if just to kill cutler beckett in revenge. it's more about loyalty to elizabeth and revenge than it is actually believing in what the pirates stand for than anything, but even getting to that point requires a major ego death.

for all that the title is hollow, norrington is an admiral and a lifelong seaman. he could outgambit beckett in a fleet vs armada situation, were the fleet at his disposal not a pirate fleet, and i think he'd have real valuable input at the parlay...just nothing he'd want to reveal out of hand, like everyone else.

(more thoughts below this got out of hand)

furthermore: consider that the pearl and dutchman have their final standoff during a maelstrom. his canonical ego death happened while chasing the pearl into a hurricane; if he follows elizabeth, he can help steer the pearl out of a storm to safety. the bookends! the parallels!!!

in this consideration i do imagine he's somewhere between the snarky-yet-stuffy cotbp and scruffy-and-blunt dmc norringtons, as you say. that's a great read, and a fun little thought experiment about who he is without the blade of duty/expectation hanging over his neck. civil with a sharp tongue and little reason to hold it back, but with renewed purpose and less of a vendetta against the world at large.

tldr: swap out his literal death with a metaphorical one and he'd follow elizabeth anywhere, especially to battle

(not to self-promo on an ask from a friend but i did write a 20k fic about this very subject; i'd change some stuff now but the bulk of my thoughts are in this big ass thesis. thank you for your time now back to the show)

although..........i am thinking very hard about the idea that he, like jones, is still being forced into service here? like maybe beckett keeps swann as a hostage not to keep elizabeth compliant, but to keep norrington compliant, to make sure the dutchman follows orders in the big fight.

(aside: i don't think norrington fears death or would want to live as anyone besides himself, so he'd never accept jones' offer of undeath unless it was to protect someone else from the same fate. hmm hmm much to consider)

either way: beckett brings norrington to the parlay just to flaunt "look how many of your people i have in my charge! haha!" maybe norrington is trying to drop hints to elizabeth that her father is still alive during the parlay, but she's focused on will being there ALSO trying to drop hints, and it gets messy fast.

having received confirmation that everyone ignores the puppet admiral and uses him for leverage, norrington frees both jack AND governor swann and escapes into the narrative. or something. hmm i'll workshop it

this is a very interesting idea!!! thank you so much for the ask

[irradiatedrosegarden]

its really great to see someone on here whose so passionate abt dead money!! i would love to hear about daisy and their relationship to the other collars! (also, i really love how you draw christine, she is delightfully teensy tiny)

YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING, I WOULD BE SO HAPPY TO EXPLAIN :D

The entire situation of being stuck in the Sierra Madre and forced to cooperate was a special kind of awful for Daisy, what with her being the type of person who does not trust other people (not at all quickly, at least). She likes being in control, and absolutely hates feeling like her life is in the hands (or, *ahem*, around the neck) of anyone else, which makes for a very interesting situation with some very interesting dynamics with the others collars!

Daisy and Dean:

Their relationship is something of an unstable equality, where they both hold the upper hand (and both want to hold the upper hand), until they don't. They could each beat the other easily, Dean with smarts, Daisy with strength, and they each know it, and it's something about that shared capacity for ruthlessness (the ability for each of them to fight with teeth and claws and come out on top; there's no clear winner between them, it could go either way) that enables them to actually get pretty close. (and like, really close at one specific point in an abandoned convenience store, if you catch my drift.) Between the two of them, Dean is the one in the so-called "leader" position, calling the shots whenever they're doing things side-by-side, although look any closer than face value and it becomes clear how much he relies on Daisy's strength, selflessness, and general know-how. Dean will let her take point more often than not, let her charge ahead and do the dangerous things, the scary things, the hard things, that he will then take most of the credit for (she doesn't mind too much, luckily). They're kind of like,, y'know, a rich guy and his big ol' guard dog that he keeps on a short leash and claims the reason it's so short is because he needs to keep her under control, that it's a reminder that he's in charge, he's the one who owns her (metaphorically), but in reality it's so short because A) he finds comfort in her being so close, able to protect him at arms' length, and B) she is really who's leading. not him.

He also refers to her as "Miss Daisy" more often than not, which is kind of cute. She calls him "babydoll."

Daisy and Dog/God:

Daisy meets God twice, once in the police station and again in the kitchen, and both times, they absolutely hate each other. No camaraderie between them, nor was there ever any potential.

Daisy and Dog, however, end up caring for each other. A lot. They become fiercely protective over each other, quickly realizing "oh hey I would die for this person actually" and each putting in the extra effort to make sure the other has what they need. Daisy goes out of her way to keep Dog fed, to reassure him that he's doing well, everything's going fine. In return, Dog keeps an eye out for the things he realizes Daisy is afraid of (BUT IMPORTANT CHARACTER NOTE FOR DAISY, admitting fear is something she never, ever does. Ever.). Dog will use himself as a shield for Daisy (if need be), and does his best to steer her away from the darker areas of the Villa, or from more cramped, enclosed spaces or pathways (she has claustrophobia). He tends to scout ahead when they're traveling together, reporting back to Daisy with things like "Small space ahead" or "Ghosts that way," so they can take a different route (even if they could theoretically kill ghosts together with relative ease, ghosts are scary, dude).

Daisy has a lot of sympathy for Dog. For a good chunk of her time in the Sierra Madre, he acts as an anchor, reminding her she's not here (or shouldn't be here) for the gold. She's here to cooperate until she can get the hell out of here, and take Dog with her. He deserves better than what the Sierra Madre has handed him.

(no spoilers bc I'm writing a whole fic about Daisy's time in the Madre, but . . . . things don't end up going well for her and Dog; something she ends up regretting so much, and so deeply, she attempts to drink the cloud kiss (poison), which (fortunately) doesn't end up killing her.)

Daisy and Christine:

These two end up trusting one another more than anyone trusts anyone else, due to several factors, most having to do with their inexplicable shared experiences (having gone to the Big Empty and gotten their brains messed with, being the only two human women, both knowing and being very close with Veronica[!!][although it is a purely platonic, sisterly relationship with Daisy; we all know that was very much not the case with Christine and Veronica <3]). They both adapt to the other very quickly, and get really good at watching each others' backs while they do their things in the Villa. They have a pretty significant barrier between them, though, with Christine not being able to speak, and Daisy . . . really not being able to understand her, for the most part (low perception and very low intelligence), but those walls fall down once they reach the casino and Christine is able to speak and explain things in a way Daisy understands.

very important note as well, Daisy understands immediately that Christine wouldn't want to go in the elevator at her switching station to do all her work manually (tiny cramped room, noises like an Auto-Doc, no. way.). Forcing Christine into the elevator was never even an option; Daisy has claustrophobia, she doesn't want to be stuck in any tiny-ass room with barely any leg room. Christine appreciates this. :)

i love talking about characters and dead money this is so fabulous, thank you for your ask <33333

[predvestnik]

The idolization of Capitano by Childe is one of the important elements to the development of his maturity in the Fatui and as a warrior but I shan't elaborate.

SIKE. I will expand a little on it.

Ajax joined the Fatui in his adolescence, meaning that he wasn't exactly unaware of how the world works. He was, however, a sheltered and imaginative kid who retained a great deal of innocence in the sense that he majorly believed in wonder, thrill and rewards of life/the world to those who follow a certain path*, truly in a fairy tale fashion, until it was picked apart by unfortunate events.

* Think of it as him believing that people can pick their roles like in a story, and he wished to be the hero. Heroes live for epic tales, and they reap the bounties of such. His fall into the Abyss subverted it and even to this day he hasn't grown out of this perspective, only that currently he's not longer the hero - he sees himself as the bad guy, which gives him a "permit" to assume an antagonistic position; at the same time, he still wants to be as great as the hero and that brews conflicting ideas and powers his unpredictability. But I partly digress, this is about how the figure of Capitano centers him.

Anyway, he is out of the Abyss, he's confused and has his system pumped with abyssal corruption, acting erratic etc etc, everything we already know. Pulcinella steers him a certain way, he is getting on the right track, he ascends to Harbinger status.

Even if he already knew Capitano, the moment of awe would come from virtually seeing him navigate the role of "bad guy" with certain grace, being honorable, which is befitting of, you guessed it, a hero. Therefore, now, Tartaglia points at him and goes "I wanna be strong, feared, respected AND honorable like that", because he fits the stereotype Ajax fabricated in his story way back then.

It's not a deliberate choice either. It's more like "this feels right" to him, he will try to extract something of the sort from each powerful person/being he encounters. So Zhongli, Neuvillette, Skirk, Surtalogi, the Tsaritsa, Pulcinella are all in this soup he's cooking for himself too. Man is trying to build himself a story but he's not that good a narrator tbh.

[nukacourier]

Torturing your ocs ask :3 - 6, 11 and 14 (mwah mwah)

Yayyy thanks for the ask!! I shall try to think up decent answers for em :]

6 - Who goes through the most relationship conflicts?

I thought this would be easy but now that I think about it, it's not. I'd say it's a toss up with James, Pierre, and Blaire all for different reasons (James has been in few relationships where most didn't end well, Pierre has had a mixed bag of dating history ranging from awful to great, and Blaire just makes a living off "dating" other men but still has a stable long running relationship regardless...so it's hard to answer)

11 - Who is afraid the most (and how does it affect them)?

Very unsurprisingly Pierre is constantly running off a constant dosage of paranoia. Because of that, it's super easy for Pierre to feel "wronged" or threatened, which causes him to initiate many fights or even attack people seemingly out of the blue. It's not good for her physical wellbeing or his reputation

14 - How does your OC cope?

Pierre, when stressed either resorts to a sort of state of hyper aggression, but if comfortable enough or alone, Pierre likes to cradle himself and rock back and forth and absent-mindedly plays with her hair. It's actually ties into involuntary age regression due to trauma. It's the best he can do to deal with stress, really

Although for some time Pierre also happened to fall back on chem use to deal with stress and trauma during a time where he couldn't do either (but she's tried to kick the habit, though occasionally relapsing they eventually try to steer away from using them often)

And James...he ignores his problems. He tries to squeeze out his emotions little by little (by writing mainly, rarely venting to other people), but often things build up and either leave him feeling overwhelmed or empty. So I'd say he's not sure how to

As for my miscellaneous OCs I don't talk much about -

Apollo doesn't let things bother him enough to need to cope, but if he did, would probably just punch something. Blaire, usually with alcohol. Graveyard is constantly stressed so the answer would be that he doesn't cope at all

[redmoonwanderer]

FFXIV Write 2024, Day 1 Prompt: Steer

At first, the loud sounds, mostly banging on metal and stone, get the whole tribe wary. They think, and rightly so, that the Imperials were dealing with some percieved trouble in the vicinity of their home, and quickly gather their belongings.

Well, the adults do. Qhol’a’s oldest sister Felha is tasked with taking the children to safety, and they rush for the Comet’s Tail, where they would meet the rest of the tribe.

There hasn’t been refugees coming through, lately, and the well-trodded paths in the forest are in places hidden with new grass and bushes. The tree-line has withdrawn closer to Gridania since the Imperials invaded in their hunting grounds, and there’s less cover to take, but his sister knows her way around, and Qhol’a and the other children start to think of it as a game rather than a precausion when they dash from shadow to shadow. “If that monster sees us, the game’s over,” says one child, Reha, and points at a large, three-headed beast whose heads are actually more like plants. Qhol’a wonders how it sees or hears anything, and how they can even decide if it’s spotted them when all the heads are turning this way and that.

But one by one they go by, with Felha leading the way, and find their way safely to the lit caves in the southern Fringes. There they wait for what feels like an eternity and a half, and when the children try to play, Felha tells them to be quiet. The way she hisses at them, Qhol’a’s not sure if she’s angry or scared, but because Felha is fated to be a great adventurer, and they are never scared, she must be angry. Qhol’a thinks it because the Imperials are in their territory.

Finally, the rest of the tribe arrives. Some talk with Felha quietly while others look after their children. Qhol’a is quiet, like the good child he is, and listens. Beyond the murmured greetings and questions between blood-families it’s hard to tell what his sister is talking about, so he sneaks a little closer. When he tries to sneak past two grown-ups, his shoulder hits someone.

“Oww,” says the voice next to him. Qhol’a doesn’t say anything, but rubs his arm and looks at the youngest of his three sisters (who is still older than him, though she’s smaller than him. It’s kind of funny when outsiders think she’s the youngest). Elys seems to pick up on his intent, puts a finger on her lips, then leads him to the side, behind a rock.

“-- to say what, but I don’t like it. Either way, our way over to Gridania is blocked, for now, maybe for a very long time,” Qhol says to Felha.

Aw, they missed the important things. The two look at each other in disappointment, but before they can do much else, Qhol speaks loud enough that the others can hear. “Children, come on here.”

Qhol’a and Felha step out from their hiding place, and Qhol gives them a knowing look, but seems a little proud. Maybe she hadn’t seen them go there? Elys giggles and Qhol’a smiles as they join the group of others.

“Firstly, you don’t need to be scared,” Qhol says. “The bad guys aren’t attacking, they’re building something. We don’t know what, but we might find out eventually. But they are really, very close to us now, so you need to be careful. No going out alone, just like before. If you see something or hear something and don’t know what it is, tell one of the grown-ups. Most important of all, steer clear of whatever they are building. You can’t go to Gridania anymore. If you see anyone trying to go away alone, tell us.”

The kids look at one another, then one, a five-year-old Nilh, raises her hand. “And what if we see Qhol’a going out alone?”

Because he’s the only one who can, because he’s allowed to do magic. It makes him feel a little important.

“If you do, you can still tell the grown-ups. Just in case,” Qhol says with a smile, and Nilh nods her head.

After that, they’re told they’ll be sending the night in the cave, and that they will find a new place for their home tomorrow. Or the day after.

Just one look at Elys, and Qhol’a knows that they’ll be out to see the secret thing the bad people are building. Not today, probably, but one day.

[tiptapricot]

Hi!! I saw your MK mystery swap and was going through the doc and saw the red eye Jake is not to be featured? I haven’t been back to this fandom in a long while so I’m not aware if Jake having the red eye depicts him seriously wrong..?

Hi! Totally no worries, it’s something that’s become pretty ubiquitous and widespread and on platforms where there’s less discussion or talk ab it it’s not as, well, talked about!

Essentially, giving Jake the red eye is harmful for a mix of reasons, all generally tying into that it contributes to the idea of him being sinister or evil or “other” in some way. From what I know the trend of it started from a mix of those in more anime-art communities giving it to him (as a shorthand/visual of him being more sinister, violent, unhinged, etc) and then people either followed that after seeing it enough or went with it off the behind the scenes image showing Oscar as Jake wearing some kind of dark contact. Whatever the reason, it has a whole lot of connotations in the end that aren't great.

From the start its a differentiation detail thats not needed. It's not canon, and Jake is probably the system member with the most visual cues to indicate Its Him (hat, mustache, gloves or jacket, etc.). From there we get into implications and connotations. The one red eye is often used or helps to imply something off or sinister, most often seen in extra violent/"evil" or bloody art of Jake, or as a visual to make him seem out of place or like he's hiding something. It's a glare, a twinge of villainy or “madness” etc. And even if that is not the intent when giving it to him (I’ve seen plenty of art that’s chill and fine where it’s a choice that’s been made) it's easy to have it be read that way anyway, as that is not only the culture that has grown around it on a larger scale, but as a visual shorthand it still gives him an offputting feature that separates him from the others for no real reason. Why does he have it? What does it mean? Why is he the one given it and for what reason, etc.

In the end it all overall contributes to the wider view or stereotype of him as the "evil alter,” again, even if the depictions of him with it do not do that intentionally. Jake is the outsider, the one with madness in his eye, with some kind of hidden violence. It also can contribute to some antisemitic stereotypes, depicting a Jewish man with a sinister feature or the "evil eye,” especially if tying into his shooting of Harrow as some “unhinged” thing instead of rightful revenge.

This post and the additions and discussion below go further in depth on certain things and have points of view from others as well, but overall it’s just something better to avoid as it’s not needed as a detail and has become a wider hallmark of evil alter Jake depictions in fandom (similar to only giving MCU!Jake the nose bandage, perpetuating that he’s the one in the Duat scene with the broken nose, which can b blurrier but I can also talk ab if needed!) so it’s better to steer clear of!

But not knowing about it before is not a bad awful “you suck” thing, again, it’s extremely widespread due to a bunch of different factors, and if you don’t know you don’t know! Tumblr is also the main space I’ve seen any mentions or discussion of it happening due to the blogging nature. I hope this helps and if you have further Q’s I’m happy to answer as well :-)

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 3: the secret keeper

Wahoo! Now that Bones knows, the fun stuff can begin.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆☆☆

Halfway through his shift, Kirk messaged Bones on his padd. 

>JTK: Drinks tonight? 

>TheRealMcCoy: Sure

>TheRealMcCoy: Any special occasion? 

>JTK: Drinking?

That was not entirely true. But if he started to explain himself now, he would have to type a novel’s worth of context and attach all his planning notes, and Bones would still come up from Medbay to yell at him and probably Spock too. It would just be easier to tell him in the comfort of his office where maybe, if he was lucky, Bones would laugh at the prospect of Kirk committing to anything but the Enterprise and then toast to a long union. 

☆☆☆

Bones yelled, “Are you out of goddamn mind?” 

“Thanks for the support,” Kirk said. He swirled his bourbon around in his glass, steadfastly refusing to meet Bones’s eyes. The doctor sat across his office from him, feet no longer kicked up on his desk but planted firmly on the ground, apparently so that he could shout at Kirk from a steadier foundation.

“Tell me you’re joking.” 

“It’s not a joke,” Kirk said. He took a pull from his drink. “I just really, really did not want him to leave.” His throat burned. 

“You’re so committed to keeping him on the Enterprise that you’re going to legally tie yourself to him? The green machine?”

“Watch yourself, Bones,” Kirk muttered softly, but Bones steered away from straying any deeper into xenophobic territory for once and said, “I can’t believe you, Jimmy. You’ve had a lot of stupid ideas in the past, but this one really takes the cake.” 

“What’s the problem?” 

“What’s the problem? Jim, first of all, you are the most emotional person I know and he is a Vulcan. Second, you are the touchiest person I know and he is a Vulcan. Third, what about the future? Say you marry him to keep him on the ship and then, ten years from now, you meet some nice gal on a starbase and want to marry her instead and you have to choose between divorcing Spock and seeing him reassigned immediately or asking her to accept that you can’t legally marry her!” 

“Your first two points are irrelevant because this is a strategic marriage. Emphasis on strategic. We’re not doing this so he can fulfill my human needs. Also, he already agreed to physical contact.” 

Bones squawked, “He what?” but Kirk continued, “And I’ve met plenty of nice gals on starbases and guess what? None of them want to marry someone who comes home once every five years to get new clothes and then leaves, and I’ve never wanted to marry them either.” 

“But you want to marry Spock?” 

“If it means he stays, then yeah, I do.” 

Bones sighed and leaned back in his chair again to prop his feet on his desk. He lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed before saying, “Would you have done it for anyone else?” 

“I would do it for you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Someone who isn’t your oldest friend. Would you have done it for Uhura? Or Sulu?”

Kirk chewed the inside of his lip as his cheeks reddened. “They’re not getting transferred out.” 

“In a hypothetical world, then.” 

“Maybe not,” he said defensively. “But they would do great on their own ships, and it’s something they want someday. Spock doesn’t want a command and he didn’t want to leave the Enterprise. I couldn’t let April just yank him from the only place he considers home just because what’s-his-face retired.” 

Bones considered him over the desk before digging beneath it. He pulled up the bourbon bottle and Kirk held his glass out for him to refill it before he added another finger to his own and stashed the bottle away again. For a few minutes they sat in silence, Bones studying Kirk, Kirk studying the patterns in the replicated wood paneling of Bones’s desk. 

“What do I know about getting married?” Bones said. “Clearly it didn’t work out for me.”

“Aw, that wasn’t your fault,” Kirk said, even though it partially was. 

“Shut it, kid. Marriage is complicated. It changes things, even though you think it won’t. It’ll change things for you and Spock too.”

“Come on, now,” Kirk said, and spread his arms in what he hoped was the picture of innocence. 

“You come on. So Spock’s going to let you touch him now. You’re going to move into his quarters, or him into yours. You’ll spend more time together, if that’s even possible. And your brains are cut from the same ridiculous cloth. We could all tell, even when he still wanted to punt you off the bridge. What happens when you get too close and you want something from him that he can’t give you, Jimmy?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Kirk said. “It’s not like that for us.” 

Bones eyed him but took a sip. “Okay. Whatever you say.” 

Kirk nodded and took a drink. After another minute of silence he said, “I know that this isn’t… the ideal situation. But I also think there are worse reasons to get married. Maybe just wanting to be around someone for a long time is a good enough reason.” He raised his eyes to Bones’s. “And he seems to feel the same way.”

Bones lifted his glass and sighed. “May we all be so lucky.” 

☆☆☆

Kirk dropped facedown into his own bed an hour later, exhausted from the day and from the unfortunate but expected and fairly deserved verbal sparring match with Bones. It had gone better than he had imagined, though, and now at least there was one person he could talk about it with. He was ready to pass out for the night.

His padd dinged next to his face on the mattress. 

>NUhura: Congrats, captain :-) 

>JTK: Talked to Spock, did you? 

>NUhura: I did! 

>NUhura: Many happy returns

>JTK: Thanks. Glad he told you 

>NUhura: Me too

>NUhura: You better be a good husband to him 

>NUhura: He’s a catch

>JTK: Yes ma’am 

He set an alarm, killed the lights, and then sleep swept him away.

Kirk dreamed. It was dark, at first, before a pale and flickering light began to emanate from some distant horizon. Emaciated bodies crawled from the dark corners of the world, reaching for him, tearing through his skin with skeletal fingers. He was a child again, running through the barren wood, tears streaming down his face as he fled from the hideout. He could hear the other children, wanted to warn them, but his throat didn’t work anymore. Pale fire leapt from tree to tree overhead, and the flames sucked the oxygen from his lungs. His skin sloughed off him, his bones breaking under the weight of it, and he screamed and screamed and screamed and 

Kirk woke up. He was twisted in his sheets, damp with sweat and sticking to the fabric. He pulled himself free with his heart in his throat, his pulse still pounding in his ears. His skin was firmly attached to him, and he was unburned, and he could feel the comforting shape of his own body as he moved, but it was only when he ordered the lights to 10% and took in the sight of his room on the Enterprise that his heart started to slow. 

He was on his ship, and he was safe. But he built a barrier of pillows and slept between it and the wall, just in case. 

By the time Kirk woke up again to the sound of his alarm, he had forgotten the nightmare entirely.