#I can just imagine the realization setting in

[story-box]

STATIC ON THE LINE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N

Summary: Eddie ghosted you to “set you free”—so you came home to ruin his pity party and remind him you're nobody's damsel.

—

You should have set his trailer on fire.

Okay, maybe not literally — arson was still technically illegal — but metaphorically?

Oh, absolutely.

Because if Eddie Munson thought he could ghost you like some coward in a metal band who suddenly decided he was too emotionally fragile to answer a letter, then he clearly forgot who he was dating.

You had written twenty-one letters. Twenty-one. Plus, three postcards you thought were charming and a freaking cassette mix you made with actual effort and very questionable transitions. ("Careless Whisper" into Black Sabbath — sue you, you were emotional.)

And what did you get in return?

Silence.

Avoidance.

The occasional 'your letter was received' from Wayne when you called the Munson trailer, followed by an uncomfortable pause like the old man wanted to say more but wouldn’t.

You had tried to be patient. Really. You reminded yourself that Eddie wasn’t exactly known for healthy coping mechanisms.

But there’s only so much you can take before you start imagining exactly how hard youmee going to throw that shoebox full of unsent letters at his stupid, beautiful, stubborn head.

Because here’s the thing: You didn’t fall in love with him because he had perfect grades or a five-year plan. You fell in love with the idiot who played Dio songs like they were sacred texts, who gave voices to dungeon monsters and talked about fate like it was something he could fight.

And now? Now he was playing tragic martyr like it was some noble sacrifice.

You stared at your phone, hanging up on the wall. Again. Like it might magically spring to life with his voice on the other end.

It didn’t.

Instead, you whispered to no one, "If you think you're protecting me, Eddie Munson, you're dumber than that time you tried to climb my dorm window and got stuck halfway like a stray cat."

Maybe it was time to come home for a weekend.

And maybe it was time to make some noise…

. . .

The trailer looks smaller than you remember. Maybe it’s the winter light — flat and grey, like everything’s been dulled down without you here. Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

Because he’s standing in the doorway, sleep-creased and shoeless, hair a mess, looking like regret and cheap weed had a baby and named it "avoidant behavior."

You cross your arms and lean against your car, giving him the kind of look that says: Go ahead. Explain yourself. I’ll wait. Probably won’t believe you, but I’ll wait.

He blinks like he thinks you’re a hallucination. Which, fair. You did show up unannounced, in your Friday jeans and a pissed-off aura that could probably kill a small god.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“That’s all you’ve got?” you ask. “‘Holy shit’? After ignoring me for three months?”

He rubs the back of his neck. Classic. You’d almost missed that stupid nervous tic.

Almost.

“I thought you were… I don’t know. Gone.”

You laugh — sharp, not sweet. “Yeah. That tends to happen when someone stops answering your letters, calls, telepathic pleas—should I go on?”

His mouth opens like he wants to defend himself. Then closes again, like he realizes there is no defense. And honestly? Good. Let him stew. Let him feel the way your chest has felt every time you checked the mailbox and found nothing but silence.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he finally mutters.

You throw your hands up. “Try anything. ‘Hey, I suck at feelings, give me a minute’? ‘Sorry I’m an emotionally constipated disaster’? Even a postcard that just says ‘still alive’ would’ve been better than radio silence.”

He flinches. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then he says, voice low and stupidly sincere, “I thought if I let you go, you’d move on. Meet someone better. Someone who doesn’t live in a trailer and get held back and—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan. “You don’t get to martyr yourself and act like you’re doing me a favor. I’m not some romcom character who blossoms without the sad boy weighing her down. I chose you, you idiot.”

He stares at you, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it until you said it out loud. Like he’s terrified hope might be real.

You step closer. Close enough that he can see the tear line in your eyeliner and the months of unsent anger burning just behind your eyes.

“If you ever ghost me again,” you whisper, “I will break into your room, steal your favorite guitar, and replace all your good vinyls with Barry Manilow."

He chokes on a laugh.

You almost kiss him right then. Almost. But he has to earn that.

So instead, you say, “Now let me in before I freeze out here. We’re not done talking.”

[graycoin]

Okay, I tried writing this up last night, but it didn't quite work so I'ma redo it now. I'm gonna gush about this, and I'll put it under a readmore, but before that, I wanna say...I really appreciate this gift? It makes me realize just how cool and impactful fanart is. I can't really...experience my work as an audience member. I'm too close to it, the best I can do is go back and read it and go "oh yeah, this is pretty okay :)".

But, seeing this? I can experience this from the outside, and realize...wow. Someone thinks my fic is a really, really cool, huh? That is...quite motivating. :) I'll go into it more in the readmore.

Speaking of...

Page 1

Okay, I love the initial inclusion of the areas from the story at first. :3 Bordered by Dark Matter's dripping, inky substance...gives the whole thing an ominous feel. The contrast of dark and light gives the whole thing a vibe that feels kind of oppressive, in a way.

I'm only noticing this now because every other time I looked at this I was so taken with Dedede's design. Holy shit. X) I need you to understand, dear reader, that my main visual reference for this character is like, this guy.

So I'm like, yeah, dark red/brown coat, pirate hat, gold embelleshments, that's my visual mental image. Big. Fat. So you can imagine that I got absolutely jumpscared by how fucking dapper my boy looks. God, that fluff. He would wear that fluff, 100 percent. That shit is canon now. How are artists so powerful? My guy lookin' good.

I love how the Waddle Dees look like such little guys. Gazing up at their Great King. Guided by his Grand Majesty to a new world. Except.

It wasn't just him.

That hammer. :) The eye in the hammer. Again the artist is making Dark Matter look cooler than I even did in the fic! Peeking out looking ominous as hell, and then...

Man that bottom right corner. The various eyes closed, and one opening, suggesting the start of action, and then...

Page 2

Boom! Eyes everywhere. Again, very different from how I portrayed them, but I love how Snappy captures the emotionless, grim stare of Dark Matter here. The looming, leering eyes. The deep red space background implying a grander narrative but the central figure is Kirby trapped in a dripping, grim cage.

(Man, funfact, I was worried about hucking Kirby in there. Like, is it stupid, to put the franchise protagonist into a cage? Damsel this dumb child. And I guess it's one of the artist's favorite scenes!? I never would've reckoned.)

Okay. Okay, I think about this page, sometimes. This one in particular, because - look at it. Look at how Dark Matter's inky, oppressively-dripping substance forms the borders! It sets a mood, a mood I didn't know my fic had, and you know what? It works! I get to find out - oh, Dark Matter just feels like this ominous, oppressive thing, even as the characters are going through these scenes.

The artist said these are some of it's favorite scenes, it picked out for this. It makes me really, really happy that it's just...Meta and the Squad interacting.

(I'm really glad the artist wasn't afraid to take creative liberties. I know I made Waddle Dees basically all clones. I'm sorry. I am not an artist. ;-; I don't think about visual interest as much as one. The little guys are so cute! I love how the artist has portrayed them as so innocent! Like, sure, some of them are very worldly! They swear! They can be mean! But they're just little guys! They're so little.)

I like how Galaxia has an eye. :) That's fun. God. I can't believe my weird little AU Meta has a visual representation, that's so -

Page 3

THAT'S SO PEAK.

God, what the fuck. Okay. Okay.

I didn't know this line would be such a big deal. It's...it's a line for me, in the end. It's me, telling myself I have to believe. And I do, or I won't be able to write, I just...I didn't...

I didn't expect it to resonate so much. Look at this. It's a splash screen. Meta is falling, reaching up to Morpho. It's just such a perfect distillation of his whole situation and the feel and...fuck. It's so good. I don't have a lot to say, other than I still look at this sometimes and can't quite wrap my head around the fact it exists. Man.

Page 4

I have this as my desktop. Like, I have animated wallpapers, but when I turn my computer on for a few seconds I see these two and go ":) Thass my boys".

Is that weird? I hope it isn't weird. It's such a good, heartfelt, honest capstone to this whole set of images. God, I love it. Kirby putting his nub over Meta, looking up to the sky with his too-starry eyes (intentional, I specifically mentioned he has too many stars in his eyes), Meta looking down contemplatively to Morpho, who is resting delicately on a flower...

...god, this whole thing is so peak. I don't meant to discourage anyone who...um...

...if anyone else ever wanted to make fanart? Ever? I don't want this to be discouraging. I think love and the honest expression of it are the important parts of art. Skill only works in service to those elements, so if I ever got, like...a pencil sketch on lined paper, I'd be just as honored to receive it. The fact someone puts their time and creative energy into something I made? My thing?

The two cakes doesn't cover it, I'm honored. I don't know how to react. I just...

I just thought this deserved some gushing. ^_^; So here it is. Thank you so much, Snappy. I'm so glad you like my fic this much. I might slow down here and there, but I'm gonna keep writing.

I've got fans now, after all.

From: @what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me (Instagram)

To: chesgray (Ao3)

Message from Santa: "Surprise!! Happy Secret Santa!

I was very excited when I saw that you were my recipient for this event--I've told you before how much I enjoy your fic 'A Knight Must Be', The worldbuilding mixed with a refreshing and compelling  take on the cast makes it a compelling read, and it's truly a great work! I didn't want to make a comic with super heavy spoilers, and instead I based it off both some of my favorite lines and allusions to my favorite scenes... and a bit of artistic liberty taken for Cool Factor. I sincerely hope you enjoy this :D Happy holidays to you :)"

[tanobatcher]

see you later

hunter x gn reader

summary: you’ve been lucky to befriend a certain group of refugee clones on pabu, with a special interest in the one they consider their leader. saying goodbye becomes difficult when you realize you don't want him to leave despite the circumstances.

warnings: nothing explicit but i might have snuck in a kiss 💋

a/n: i just finished my tbb rewatch and this idea came to me during s3 ep11 when they decided to leave pabu but obv this would take place before the empire came and fucked everything up!! bc imagine how cute it would've been if he met someone there omg :(

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

Rumor has it that your new friends won’t be around for much longer. Small whispers of people’s business always travel fast across this island regardless of whether or not the gossip is intentional. Sometimes, you overhear conversations that have nothing to do with you or your immediate circle. Other times, you discover that decisions relevant to the pit in your stomach have already been made without so much as a word in your direction.

Of course, they don’t have to tell you anything. From what you’ve learned about them, they come from wildly different lives than you. Something as trivial as your slight disappointment wouldn’t stop them in their tracks as a point to consider. But you know you’ll miss them when they’re gone. You wonder how long this farewell will last.

“Do you have a minute?” Someone asks you from behind, breaking you away from the conversation with the rest of the docks. It’s Hunter, for there’s no one else on this island who raises goosebumps across your arms at the sound of his voice like he does. You stay behind and let everyone clear out in slow waves until all that’s left is the two of you by the shore as the sun sets on the distant horizon. Finally, when the world feels quiet again, you turn around and look at him with a somber frown itching at your lips.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, already knowing the answer to your question.

He shakes his head, setting his jaw with a determined clench. “No. I’m sure you’ve heard, but I wanted to tell you that we’re leaving Pabu. Soon.”

You nod, trying to treat this like an inevitability and nothing more. “How soon?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, “Better to be quick about this…before it’s too late.”

You hesitate before stepping closer and taking his hand with a comforting squeeze. “You’re not a hazard to this place, you know. We’ve never had any reason to fear our safety here.”

“We can’t risk changing that,” he responds firmly.

The tired lines on his face begin to crease when he looks down at your joined hands, which feels retaliatory to your instincts. Your face warms as you pull away, unsure if this just crossed a line. It’s difficult to remember that you barely know him when the time you spent together thus far has felt so normal. That’s what being at home is like, though. And time is relative, especially when he’s brought more light into your life than anyone ever before. But right when you start to believe you can reach a deeper part of his heart, he decides it’s time to go. Perhaps he’s just too good to be true.

“I understand,” you hear yourself saying.

“Thought you would.”

You hug your arms across your shoulders as a slight breeze begins to pick up with the approaching nightfall. He watches you closely until you ask, “How’s Omega with all of this?”

His eyes soften at her mention, distracted from his constantly circling thoughts about her. “She was a little upset, but she’ll be fine. The kid’s tough.”

“Besides,” he meets your gaze, “This is necessary…for everyone.”

You nearly squirm under the pressure of his stare, still not completely used to his natural intensity. He’s a soldier, so different from your average self. Despite knowing what it feels like to lose your place in this galaxy and run away to the extent of your exhaustion, you can’t compare the degree of the events that brought you both here. Which is exactly why you need to feel okay with this. For them.

“Yeah,” you offer a shy smile, “And you’ll be back when things settle down again. Right?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be like last time. We’ll have to see.”

“Right. Of course.”

Observing the lingering hope in your eyes despite your attempted acceptance of this uncertain situation, he sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t wait around for me. You’re better off forgetting we were ever here.”

His words hit exactly where it hurts, calling you out on the feelings you thought you were hiding so well. He’s smarter than that, though, quiet and calculating in every move that crosses his attention. But your pride can’t let you down just yet.

You fold your arms over your chest. “Who said anything about waiting?”

He smiles slightly, amused by how riled up you suddenly are. “Just thought I’d mention it.”

“Noted.”

That feels like the end of this conversation, but neither of you moves to leave. He doesn’t mean to push you away like this. He doesn’t want to, actually. You don’t realize that you—like the rest of this island—have been so good to all of them, almost enough for them to believe they have a chance at keeping the disillusioned normalcy they’re now leaving behind. Hunter never meant to lose focus, and he hasn’t completely. Grief and responsibility keep him grounded enough. But looking at you when you’re right in front of him, so open and pliable to his presence, feeds a tugging desire he’s not in a position to fulfill.

He opens his mouth to reply, startling into silence when you abruptly throw your arms around his neck and inhale deeply. His hands instinctively raise from his sides, hovering around your figure with surprise and hesitation. You assume he’s not going to reciprocate until you feel the weight of his palms flattening around your torso and the squeeze of his fingers that soothe your racing heart. The impending reality of his absence suddenly overwhelms you, extending beyond the fact that you’ll miss his company. You’re afraid of anything happening to him out there, not even knowing where he’ll be. He tells you not to wait for him, but maybe that’s all you can really do.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d really miss me,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flutters as his words melt into your skin, so close and exclusive to your ear. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tell him, “I might be too busy for that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. Wrecker’s not gonna be here anymore, which means more work for us. I’ll definitely miss him.”

“Right…”

You laugh at the skepticism in his tone and step back, nearly slipping out of his arms. But his hands don’t fully leave your body, keeping your fronts together as you search his expression for some truth. It’s not as obvious to the naked eye, but he liked it here. Not just for Omega, his brothers, or his entire family’s peace. For himself, too, even if that isn’t anywhere near his highest priority. Maybe he’s been catching his breath, only to feel winded by the coming change all over again. Maybe he’s been dreaming forward, just for his nightmares to follow his trail.

The humorous buzz drains from your spirit as you consider these thoughts, looking at him while trying to find the perfect consolation. But he doesn’t seem to need any of that. You’re not really sure what he does need, so you simply cup his face with careful and caressing hands that smooth over his scars. His eyebrows briefly furrow at the unfamiliarity of your gentle touch, but he doesn’t reject it.

“I wouldn’t want to think this is the last time I’ll ever see you,” you say quietly, “So…just make sure you come back.”

“I shouldn’t promise that,” he replies before clarifying, “For my sake, at least.”

“You don’t have to.”

Suddenly, you realize that your faces are much closer than they were just a few moments ago. It’s like you’ve caught each other in your orbits, gravitating towards a decision you won’t ever come back from. You don’t want to, though. Testing the waters, you lean forward until his mouth is just hovering over yours. His eyes widen in response to the kiss you softly press to his parted lips, and his subtle surprise remains when you pull back just enough to see him again. He regains his composure quickly, though, almost smug in his returning smile.

“What was that for?” He rasps, sliding his hand up your back.

You’re breathing the same air now, noses touching and foreheads resting against each other. Swiping a teasing finger across his cheek, you reply, “For good luck.”

He makes a “hm” sound under his breath before dipping his head to kiss you on his terms. It’s clear he’s in control as he tilts his head at a sharper angle, and all you can do is just follow his lead and hold onto him for stability. His shoulders are hard in your hands, but his lips are soft against yours each time he coaxes a quiet gasp from the many noises you imagine you can make for him. The kiss eventually pauses, and you run your hands across his upper back while drowning in these last moments with him.

“Now I really can't say goodbye,” you confess, avoiding his gaze.

His fingers find your jaw, pushing slightly so you’re looking at him again.

“See you later, then.”

Your eyes round from the unexpectedness of this response, as it feels a lot more playful than his usual demeanor. But when he smiles reassuringly, you can only smile back and wrap your arms around him in another embrace. Resting your chin against the crook of his neck, you look out into the ocean behind him and linger with the setting sun. There’s only a little bit of orange left in the darkening sky, but the morning will return tomorrow. The day after that, too, and you’ll see him eventually as if the time hardly passed. The minutes, hours, or complete rotations won’t matter. Because you’ll be right here, thinking of him until this constantly moving galaxy decides to let you catch up.

[leaswhum]

Westley! If Sebastian and (King) Julian were a fruit, which would you say suits them best?

:D

Westley set his cup to the table slowly. What an odd question. Certainly not something that had ever crossed his mind before. He pondered a moment, his head tilting just slightly as he searched for a genuine answer.

"Julian's is easier for me, I think. He's not quite as dark and complex as he likes to make himself out to be," Westley chuckled.

"I would say he's a lot like a pineapple, maybe? A bit intimidating when you first meet him (not without good reason, of course.) And you have to learn how to handle him while you get to know him, or you could wind up hurt, truthfully. He can be, well... a bit prickly," he paused.

"Once you get past the front, however, he's actually incredibly bright and has a very colorful imagination. He's a lot of fun to be around. And then pineapples have the leaves - " Westley gestured around his head. "They look a bit like a crown, don't they?" he groaned. Such a silly name.

"As for Sebastian...Huh," Westley frowned, silent for a beat.

"Blackberries," he answered finally. "They're very pretty. I always thought so, anyway. When you think 'fruit,' you tend to think of a bright array of color - and yet the color of a blackberry isn't really off-putting, even though it's not what you're used to."

"Once you've moved beyond that and attempt to eat a blackberry for the first time, it confuses you further still. Because it bites back," Westley huffed, sounding almost amused. "It catches you off guard - so tart it can send an almost painful spark through your jaw. Then the seeds start popping between your teeth, and that can shock you a bit, too.

"You start questioning yourself, 'Is this actually good? Why did I want to try this to begin with?' "

"You try another anyway," he said with a small smile. "You know what to expect, and it's less jarring. Then another. And another. Sweeter with each bite. Then the bowl is empty, but you find yourself craving more. You realize you may have actually found your favorite fruit..." he trailed off.

"I - Well, that was my experience, anyway," Westley flushed and cleared his throat. "With blackberries, that is."

[coffeepaintwater]

shen yuan, luo binghe and shen jiu the most explosive trio to ever trio i fear (there are two duos in these trio and hint hint both of them feature sy lol)

also this is basically fanart for Shen Yuan of No Relation on ao3 by Gemi bc i'm binge reading/listening to it and it's so good!!! the characterisation is so on point it dragged me back into the svsss fandom by my hair. the character study tag 100% deserves its' place there.

notes, bc how could there not be??:

i saw a post that said that any svsss fanwork's inaccuracy to history can be attributed to airplane's lazy pidw world-building and. yeah. basically.

i was thinking what would the disciple robes look like to both seem regal to the commoners (as described in 99% xianxia novels) and good to train in and i realized that there shouldn't probably be more than two layers anyways because it isn't even really accurate. also, i like the interpretation that each disciple has a subtly different uniform, but i just can't picture how that would work???? 100% the rich kids and older disciples who can actually earn some money would add accesories to their robes, but for shen yuan and luo binghe, i just couldn't imagine where they'd get anything like that, besides the hair pins ning yingying made/gave them (sry if i mix some shit up, i've read 20 chapters in 2 days okey have mercy). plus, with a world that focuses on social standing as much as pidw/svsss does, i think that the sects would naturally aim to recreate that hierarchy in their own society.

with the example of cang qiong mountain, yue qingyuan would have the highest rank, and (as syonr showed!!!) probably boast the biggest estate on the peak, inheriting all the wealth the previous sect leaders had accumulated. and while from what i understand, being a sect-affilated cultivator means your payment is basically getting fed, clothed and having a roof over your head in the sect instead of idk, coin, yue qingyuan would still have monetary means because of, surprise surprise, inheriting it. so, clothes just on the better side from the other peak lords perhaps

next in the food chain would be the other peak lords, except that we see that even the peaks have different 'rankings'. so, while on the outside each peak lord carries the same authority, shen jiu would have been able to be as he was in canon (MASSIVE side eye btw) and no one would have been really in a place to kick him in the gut and say he was a fucking asshole, for example, besides yue qingyuan. that is, from a purely theoretical stand-point, bc all hierarchical order is sometimes broken but that's besides the pointttt. the point is, they would have freedom to dress however they wish and while i believe the disciple robes remain unchanged since the founding of the sect (bc svsss universe is implied to be a largely unadvancing society, regarding anything besides cultivation), the peak lords most likely don't have one set uniform, besides each peak being color-coded apparently??

there was a post i was inspired by (https://www.tumblr.com/svsssfanonarchive/736782613008809984?source=share) that confirmed that the peaks (or at least three of them, but we don't get much of the others anyways) do in fact have the disciples wear robes of one color. qing jing favors greens and teals (see the post for more details pls pls pls it's so good) BUT i love adding white to my art bc i feel like a fabric this vibrant and light would fit the scholars there. also, white seems like the furthest one could get from the gutter to me, bc while it is the color of mourning, it's also the color of purity and shen jiu would take the chance to put one more barrier between shen qinqiu the peak lord and shen jiu the slave. don't ask why i put shen yuan in better robes; there's no reason other to make him more like a mini shen qinqiu lol

the head disciples could probably get modified uniforms or a layer more, to make them really stand out. and i'm not touching on the hall masters and senior disciples bc NOPE. not my problem for now

last thing, fu yue my love, my beauty, my life force, WHICH CHARACTER ARE WE TALKING ABOUT FOR FU?????? i decided on these ones bc there were the closest i could get to the meaning Gemi intended but :(( i have a gut feeling the first character is wronggg

[lewismcqueen]

written in red. 02

vamp!lh44 x black!reader

summary: when you find yourself lost after being chased by a mysterious figure, an encounter makes you realize that this case might be bigger than you thought. a/n: a bit of a fun driver cameo in this one. should be quite obvious who it is. also lmk if you guys want longer chapters! i'm unsure if people still stick around long enough to read those. 01 | read from beginning

You had been cruising carefully around the pristine streets of the neighborhood for so long that your phone was on 5% battery, meaning GPS was now off the table. The nearly-identical lawns with their neatly cut grass made you wonder if you had gone in circles. 

Ironically, not a single resident was out on the sidewalk. You saw no one inside through the few windows not covered by drawn curtains and spotted no one so much as even tending to their bushes or sitting on their porches. The same dread from earlier crept up your spine, cooling the nape of your neck with sweat.

Scanning the area, you eventually caught a flash of pink on one person's lawn: A plastic flamingo that looked even more ridiculous amidst a sea of empty, uniform green. 

And standing next to it? A brunette man wearing sunglasses with a tall, lanky build, in a navy polo and khaki shorts with white running shoes. He was watering his bushes with a pale blue watering can that looked straight out of a classic film.

Strange, you thought. Wouldn't a place like this have automatic sprinklers? You slowed down even more as you drew closer, getting ready to roll your windows down and try to ask for directions. 

He turned to see you through the windshield, likely gathering from your expression that you weren't from around here.

“Lost?” He mouthed. You nodded emphatically, finally slowing to a stop. 

The man set down his watering can to jog up to the window on the driver's side. He began conversation as soon as you rolled it down enough, casually leaning his arm on the roof. The overly familiar gesture made you bristle, but you needed any help you could get.

“No worries, you're not the only one who gets lost around here,” the man chirped with a smile. He had a long face with high cheekbones, and an English accent that you imagined some of your overseas friends might call ‘posh’. “You visiting someone?”

You tried to mirror his smile as best you could, but you imagined it looked quite strained. “No, I just took a wrong turn going home and ended up here. Do you know how I could find my way back to—”

“Hold on,” he held a finger up, and began…sniffing the air. “Big storm coming on. And soon.”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you nodded slowly. “Good to know. I'll look out for it. But I really need to get—”

The man removed his glasses, revealing watery blue eyes. There was nothing particularly strange about them, but as soon as you met his gaze the words seemed to die on your tongue. You had the vague idea that you had just been saying something, but the remaining thought seemed…fuzzy. 

In a softer voice, he beckoned, “Look, why don't you come inside, have a spot of tea? You'll have to wait out the storm, anyway.”

A sudden clap of thunder punctuated his sentence. You looked past him, into the warmly-lit windows of the man's home. It did look very cozy in there…

You unlocked your car doors and smiled—genuinely this time. 

“Sure, lead the way.”

You sat comfortably in a soft seat facing the kitchen, where you could see the man's back as he waited for his tea to brew. The house was so quiet that you heard the subtle whistling of a kettle, the clinking of what you assumed to be ceramic or porcelain cups, and then the trickling of liquid. The smell of fresh chamomile filled the air.

The empty chair across from you was soon occupied by the man, holding two small teacups with intricate blue patterns painted onto white porcelain (you were sure now that it was porcelain). He held one out to you with a friendly grin, and you took it. It was raining properly outside now, the sound of large droplets hitting the window and the occasional rumble of thunder becoming white noise in the background. 

“So, where are you coming in from?” He asked after taking his first sip.

Something tugged at you, finding it odd that he spoke as if you were intentionally visiting when you said you weren't. You pushed the feeling aside for now. 

“Oh, I live just over on…” You trailed off. A crease formed between your brows. 

You knew what street you lived on, it was right there on the tip of your tongue. But it was as if something was blocking it, pushing the information away from you before you could reach it. Your breaths became quicker every second you struggled to recall.

The man waved a dismissive hand. “All good if you don't remember, you probably have it written down somewhere,” he gestured towards your pocket, “Or in your phone?”

“Right, probably,” you exhaled. Just as you reached into your pocket and tried to unlock your phone, the red ‘low battery’ icon flashed mockingly on the screen before the device shut off on its own. 

“Fuck.”

The man had an expression of concern that wasn't very convincing. 

“Well that's unfortunate. I'm not really a smartphones kind of guy, so I haven't got a charger around for you. Really sorry about that.”

You sighed, and finally sipped from your cup now that it was no longer steaming. The chamomile was expectedly fragrant, grounded by the sweetness of what you deduced was likely honey instead of sugar. It would've relaxed you if you weren't freaking out internally about how you were going to get home.

After a beat of silence, your host piped up again. “Forgive me, but you look a bit familiar. Are you a journalist, by any means?”

“Uh, yeah, spot on,” a wavering grin crossed your lips momentarily. “Where'd you recognize me from?”

“Oh, I was just reading an article on a particularly slow Sunday—I live alone, so I get pretty bored—and I was just struck by how cutting your prose are.”

It was quite obvious that the man was attempting to flatter you, but you smiled anyway. At least someone was reading your work.

“Are you a writer yourself? Or just an avid reader?”

He shook his head. “No, no, I could never write, I'm absolutely terrible at it. So I just appreciate good work from afar. You working on anything?”

You stared into those clear, blue eyes again. The whites of them looked…new. Like a newborn who lacked any of those brown spots or veins because they hadn't lived in the world long enough just yet. A strange thought entered your mind: they looked like they hurt.

“I just got through doing an interview with some new artist, nothing special. At least not paid work.”

You wanted to will yourself to stop talking, but suddenly you felt like revealing more. No one but you knew of your interest in the Hamilton case, and keeping quiet about it had apparently taken its toll. You leaned in as if telling a secret.

“Music’s actually not really my area of expertise, if I'm being honest. I like investigating. Doing deep-dives, you know?”

The man nodded. “Your writing voice sounds more suited for that, I must say.”

You went on, “I'm looking at this old case on my free time. You know Lewis Hamilton?”

An odd snort or scoff left him. “You'd be surprised at how much I know.”

“Doubt it, my dad was super into Formula One back in the day. Hardly missed a race.”

The man had a smirk on his face that said he might know something you didn't.

“Of course.”

You went on, “So I've been looking into the guy, and he just straight up went missing. Vanished into thin air. And I thought, ‘well, people can't just vanish without a trace, he's gotta be somewhere.’ Right? I mean, isn't strange that after he was reported missing that no one thought to look for the literal racing legend?”

He sat back in his seat, circling a finger around the edge of his cup with a stormy expression. “Maybe he'd prefer not to be found. All the cameras and folks always wanting a piece of you.”

You paused, the corners of your lips tugging downwards in a puzzled frown.

“You sound like you're speaking from experience.”

Like someone had flipped a switch, the man's expression brightened. “Anyway, what'd you find in his mansion?”

The sudden transition felt like whiplash, but you answered anyway without thinking.

“Not much, just this weird book I haven't opened yet. No title or name written on the cover, but it's as thick as a Bible. I feel bad about swiping the man's stuff, but it's not like he's alive to—”

The realization hit you: you had never brought up the mansion, let alone that you had gone inside. You stared at your host, who sipped the remaining dregs of his tea with an eyebrow raised. His voice remained quiet, but took on a new edge.

“What? You thought no one would notice someone poking around Lewis Hamilton's estate? Are you daft?”

Your felt your stomach drop, feeling as if you were frozen in place. Was this man some kind of undercover fed? Were you about to be arrested? You did not have the money to get arrested right now. A jovial chuckle filled the silence.

“You should see your face right now, really! Please, I'm not a cop,” he leaned forward, resting the arm that wasn't occupied on the arm of the chair. He said your name in a placating voice not unlike that of a disappointed teacher.

“I'm here to give you…something like a bit of a warning, sweetheart. I'll be frank here: You're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, and it's gonna get you into some very unpleasant situations. I’m sure you've already had some experience with that. The dead ought to stay that way, don't you think?”

You said nothing, running through the events that led you here. This man couldn't have been the motorist following you, he'd have to have run home and done a quick change while keeping the motorcycle out of view. This meant multiple people knew what you were doing. Someone was watching you.

A cold chill settled deep into your bones. “I-I think I'm gonna leave. Thanks for the tea.”

You stood up on wobbly legs, forcing them to move towards the door with the man's icy gaze on your back.

“No problem. Let's hope you take my advice, or else I'll have to see you again soon.”

Your clothes wet the driver's seat of your car after sprinting in the rain, but you were just glad to be out of there. Taking a deep breath, you tried one more time to recall your address. Relief washed over you when it came to you like usual.

How you managed to maneuver around the neighborhood and find your way out, you didn't know, but eventually a familiar street came to view and you turned onto it. You checked the rearview: nothing. Within fifteen, you were back at your apartment. 

After a warm shower, you changed into newly-washed pink sweatpants and an old grey oversized t-shirt. Back in your bedroom, the book still sat on your desk, worn and unopened. The British man's warning echoed in the back of your mind; how long would you have to finally peek inside before you were scared off the trail? There was no way you were going to stop here, after just barely scratching the surface and that being enough to send weird posh English dudes after you.

It was now or never.

Reluctantly, you sat down at your desk and cracked it open. The first thing you noticed was a huge coffee stain blooming from the bottom corner of the first page. The second thing? There were initials, written elegantly in the top margin.

L. H. Likely Lewis Hamilton. And a note:

Hello there, new friend! I hope to be talking with you a lot these days. Possibly much longer, if I'm right about what is happening to me. Cheers!

You released a shaky breath, in absolute disbelief at your sheer luck. This was Lewis Hamilton's diary.

[k1tty-switch-blxde]

I am begging for a father Darry cutrtis fic (or anything at this point) idk i just like imagining him as a father lol

When You're Good to Mama ༉‧₊˚.

(contains: Fluff, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth)

It was a bright Sunday morning when you woke up and immediately realized something was off- the house was completely quiet, and you had actually slept through the night. You sigh, laying in the soft comfy bed for a final few seconds before pushing yourself up with a groan.

Looking around, you realized Darry wasn't present, he must've gotten up to take care of Katherine and let you sleep in. Although you were thankful for the extra sleep, the baby needed to eat and it was already 10 am.

You slide your feet into a pair of slippers and fix your nightgown before heading out to the living room. Low and behold, Darry and his two brothers sat in a circle on the floor with Katherine in the middle- babbling with a big grin on her face.

"uncle soda, can you say uncle soda?"

Sodapop prodded at her with an identical grin on his face.

"sab-da!"

Katherine blubbered, grabbing at sodas boney fingers. You almost forgot you were starting when Darrel piped up, snapping your attention over to him

"looks like Mama's awake."

He says, standing up and walking over to you. He grabs your waist gently and pulls you close, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. Before you can open your mouth to nag at him for letting you sleep, he cuts you off.

"I already fed her, everythings been taken care of."

You let out a sigh, closing your eyes and leaning up against him.

"thank you."

You whisper, relishing your moment of silence before an energetic baby tugs at your nightgown.

"mmmhh-mama"

"you wanna see mama?"

Darry asks your daughter, reaching to pick her up and hold her. Katherine grabs at his face and babbles at him, pointing upwards.

The grin that grew on both their faces was enough to tell you what was going on.

"Darrell Shane Curtis JR- "

He ignores your warning and carefully tosses the baby up into the air; both of them loved doing this but it worried you to the moon and back.

Darry continued to make rocketship noises and throw your only child like she was a danm football.

"You're gonna hit her head!"

You warn, giving him a stern look just for the two of them to give you a face like you had just forbid them from eating for a week. You only sigh, shaking your head.

"How about some brunch for your day off?"

You ask, laughing as ponyboy and sodapop snapped to attention at the mention of food.

"I'm gonna go shower, we'll leave in an hour and a half."

At that, all three boys run to get dressed and grease their hair. Darrell walks over to you with Katherine still in his arm- he uses his other to wrap around your shoulder and pull you in.

"I'll go set Kathy up with the boys and meet you in there."

He says gently, pulling you back to give you a kiss before smiling at you and heading off.

"love you baby,"

"love you too Darry.."

[allastoredeer]

Ya'll want to know the funniest shit?

I'm researching the era when Alastor was alive right now to get a better idea of both his character, the life he lived before Hell, and to hash out a backstory for him.

And so, apparently, Alastor lived through the Prohibition (which was basically the United States government illegalizing the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcohol because they thought it was the cause of a lot of domestic violence and child abandonment).

Alastor canonically died in 1933.

Do you know how long the Prohibition lasted?

From 1920-1933.

ALASTOR LITERALLY DIED THE SAME YEAR ALCOHOL BECAME LEGAL AGAIN. CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW BITTER HE MUST'VE BEEN?

The Prohibition officially ended on December 5, 1933, and now my headcanon is that Alastor died December 6, 1933. Literally the day after he could legally drink all the booze he wanted.

I am learning a LOT about New Orleans and the era Alastor lived through (including the gay community in the city at the time) which has been a lot of fun, and I just wanted to share that tidbit because it is so fucking funny to me.

[batsyheere]

"So, handling your archnemesis," Danny starts. The room falls quiet, heads slowly turning to look at the man as he writes the words on the chalkboard. When finished, the characters somehow both messy and neat at once, Danny places the chalk back down and claps his hands.

"I typically call them fruitloops. Often they're in a better position than you are- older, richer, more powerful. They may have some sort of status that protects them when facing the public."

Tim wondered where Dick was right now, and if he was laughing. His brain was lagging like a computer as he tried to process what Danny was saying, and how seriously a few of his fellow teen vigilantes were taking this.

"Some of their more common tactics are-" the chalk was picked back up, and Danny writes as he speaks.

"Manipulation, isolation, conditioning, and empathy."

MICE.

Tim stares at the board, and quietly slips put his phone.

-What have I done to deserve this.

Enjoy your lessons Tim-

His head thumps against the desk. Conner leans over, gives him a pat on the shoulder but returns to taking notes as Danny goes on to explain the conditioning tactic.

[thethespacecoyote]

I still feel like the craziest part of the book of bill is bill making ford stand on his roof in the freezing cold and ford realizing bill couldve made him jump but didn't. like. what the fuck

[koterkot]

i'm probably a system but i have a job so idrc about that rn

[schnaf]

26 days until gunil's 26nd birthday

day 6 - hungover

bonus:

[felikatze]

dark road's side cast. vor's arc of feeling like a dead weight to her friends so she forges her own path with the upperclassmen and come back to her friends a keyblade master - but it is her new confidence that spells her downfall, as she throws herself into a battle she could never win.

vidar starting the same as baldr, hoping for kingdom hearts to save his friend. but he realizes his mistake, that this cosmic force will not solve a personal conflict without dire consequences, and he course corrects - too late. his hesitation and his mercy have set free what he sought to defeat and doomed him.

character arcs, offscreen - felt only in echoes. never to be seen, and cut short. the tragedy of lost potential.

[teamfortresstwo]

In a life swap AU rather than just a role swap I think it would be sooo fucked up if Patroclus swapped with Theseus and Achilles with Asterius

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up