#I think he knows there’s someone on the other side of the camera

[artdcnaldson]

We can run back please expand on that beautiful thought

like…. Walk with me….

You’re just out at the record store or something browsing when he approaches you and says that you have the perfect look for a project he’s working on, that he’d love to have you come to his studio and do a bit of modeling. He’d pay you, of course, he’s not some creep or anything.

And he seems so approachable and sweet, and he says you’re so beautiful, that he really thinks you’d be perfect… how can you say no?

His studio ends up just being a spare bedroom his apartment, the windows are covered so he can adjust the lighting how he wants. It’s all pretty simple— the lighting, the plain white fabric as a backdrop. It doesn’t feel very special or different than any other photo— like your awkward prom photos, headshots.

“C’mon, open up a little more,” he instructs, but you don’t know what he means. He has to physically adjust your pose and posture— guiding your hips into the correct angle, tilting your chin up with his thumb. “Perfect, you’re doing great.”

He smells like cigs and a musky cologne. It floods your senses as he stands in your space, as he presses his fingers into the small of your back so it dips in and your body curves tantalizingly. He steps back, snaps a few pictures.

“Can you take the jacket off?” He asks, peering up at you from over his camera. “It’s bulky, it’s swallowing you up.”

You take off the jacket, shrugging it off and to the side. He smiles and takes a few more pictures. You enjoy the soft pressure of his big hands on your body as he adjusts you into new poses for him— like a pretty doll for him to play with.

After a while, the room is thick with cigarette smoke. He has one dangling from between his lips that he puffs on between instructions. “Can you go topless?” He asks suddenly. When he registers your surprise he tacks on a quick explanation— that it’ll be tasteful. That it’s all for art. That you’re beautiful, that someone who looks like you should be immortalized like that.

And it works on you, as corny as it is. It feels different once you take your top off, when you’re exposed to him like that. You can’t help but cover yourself, laughing shyly, nervously. He stands up and uncrosses your arms, exposing your breasts to him while he holds your wrists at your side. “Don’t cover up,” he says, and a trail of smoke follows the words. You swallow and nod.

He snaps a few more pictures, and now his hands feel different. Like he’s not posing you as much as he’s taking the opportunity to touch you. His hands running over your ribs as he turns you slightly to the left, his thumbs grazing the undersides of your breasts. Your breath goes shaky, and the thick cling of smoke in the air is making your brain all fuzzy.

His fingers trail just at the waistband of your hips, touching at the hip huggers you wear. “What about these?” He murmurs. “Can you take these off for me?”

Rational thought is at the window. You’re not even sure that you’ve heard a camera snap in the past ten minutes. His fingers pop the buttons there and they slide down your legs. “Very pretty,” he hums, big hands exploring the newly exposed flesh. “You should be a model.” He grins like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Because Isn’t that what you’re doing? Even if his camera is forgotten around his neck, and you’re stripping down in a guest bedroom for a man you met on the street an hour ago. His fingers ease the soft cotton of your panties down your legs and you don’t try to stop it. You part your thighs to let them pool at your ankles. His breath is hot at the apex of your thighs as he looks up at you. “So beautiful.” His lips are brushing your skin and your knees feel weak. “Can I take some more pictures?” Isn’t that what you were there for?

[laurentidal]

Out of Frame

"Who the fuck is that?" Amelia spat.

Her boyfriend froze mid-swipe as she began to shout.

"No. No. Go back. Let's see. Yeah, yeah. One more to the left. That one."

His finger came to rest on the photo in his camera roll he'd been swiping past. The photo showed what was obviously him on the pier. His arm was outstretched, taking what was meant to have been a selfie with someone else, but the other person had just stepped out of frame. All you could see was his laughing face and his other hand, clasped tight around a woman's hand. Her nails were done. Pretty red.

She looked up into his face, which was full of confusion.

"Babe, that's you."

She hesitated for a moment. "What? No it's not. We haven't been to the pier in months. This photo is from three days ago."

"Yeah," he said, his voice shaking slightly and his eyes full of perplexed worry. "You don't remember when we went to the pier three days ago?"

"No! Because we didn't!"

He tried to take her hands in his, but she pulled them away. "Babe," he started again.

"No. Don't try to gaslight me. I'm not some crazed woman who can't remember what we did over the weekend!"

"Okay then," he said, staring her down, "I won't. I'll let you tell me. What did we do this weekend?"

"Friday we went to the movies. Sunday we were at that market downtown."

"And Saturday?" he asked, bringing up the timestamp. "When this photo was taken, where were you? Where was I?"

She screwed up her face slightly, suddenly aware of a hole in her memory. He sighed a long, sad sigh.

"Amy, you know I've been hypnotizing you?"

"Yes," she spat, her anger still boiling despite her growing confusion.

"I did it that morning but we got interrupted. I thought you'd come out of it. You were behaving normally, but maybe you weren't totally back when we went out."

Amy sat there, stunned. That was… possible.

"Here," he said, reaching for the sides of her head. He placed his hands on her temples and looked into her eyes. "Amelia, drift."

Like a switch, her mind was like sand in a sieve. Her eyes went glassy. Her breathing slowed. She'd been topless already since they'd just been fooling around, and Connor noticed, as he always did, how fucking hot she looked when she sank this deep.

"Think back now, Amelia. You remember Saturday morning. You remember staring at the candle flame and sinking so deep for me."

"I remember."

"That's good. Do you remember the knock on the door from the landlord, and how I needed to leave you on the couch for a moment?"

She didn't notice that had been a statement rather than a question. She simply did as she always did when he spoke to her in trance: as she was told.

"I remember."

"And you remember when I came back and without remembering to wake you, we went out to the pier and had a lovely day."

Another statement. A fact. A truth.

"I remember."

"Good. Amelia, anchor."

She blinked and looked at him aghast. "Oh my God, Connor I'm so sorry! I can't believe I forgot!" Then she punched him hard in the chest. "You need to be more careful with me!!!"

She kissed him on the cheek and apologized again. And apologized for hitting him. Then she took his hand in hers. His fingered intertwined with hers, her nails colorless. And as she stood to go get dressed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

She'd spend all of Saturday here in the apartment, staring at the candle he used to hypnotize her. She'd sat right there on that couch with her fingers on her clit, his name on her lips, and her eyes on the flame. He'd spent Saturday with Bev at the pier, making sure she focused very closely on the blinking lights of the rides.

He dialed his phone as he heard the shower turn on.

"Beverly, drift."

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[stonedficz]

hi this is it. title is a pun. ENJOYYYYY‼️‼️‼️‼️

Most of my publishes will include music. Music is a HUGE part of writing for me, as it helps me set the tone for my work. If able, please listen as you read!

schlatt x streamer!reader

✰ star shaped ✰

ch. 1 ❛ talk about being roux ❜

you were a whore for him. parasocially, of course.

Spending the past 4 years of your life obsessing over someone online was the most entertainment you could find besides trying to pass your college classes.

You had been a fan for years - literally, since 2020. You weren't there for the start of Schlatt's career, but by God, you wish you could've been. He gave you some inspiration to livestream/vlog stream just for fun. You had seen almost every video as soon as it released, every live, everything. Now, you just wanted to be like the big angry guy you watched videos of on your laptop, but better.

Maybe it was your college aspirations, the lack of support from your family, or something else - no matter what it was, you were here. 5 followers on twitch in.

Despite the lack of viewers, you continued streaming happily. You were meal prepping for the next week of work and school to try and save money. It just so happened to be a good content idea as well.

"So, if you look here," you patiently looked and pointed down at your frying pan, showing the camera and 3 viewers your pov. "- the roux is starting to burn. I'm gonna have to take it off the heat and try to add some more milk to fix the flavor. I don't have any more garlic powder so I can't remake it unfortunately." you frowned as you set the pan on a different eye, gently adding more milk. Your eyes flickered down to the chat on your phone.

"whats a roux"

A heavy sigh left your mouth, you had been at this for 2 hours. Streaming, that is. Now you didn't have the patience to answer questions. Then you saw a notification.

BigGuy is live now! Streaming: fixing my minecraft house

"Alright my friends, I think it's time for me to go." you smiled at the camera and waved. "The roux needs my whole attention, so I'll see you 3 later!" God, you were a terrible liar. You hit end stream pretty abruptly, immediately clicking on the notification.

"Hey guys, thanks for joining in," Schlatt breathed as he sat in his chair, turning side to side. He just looked at his screen blankly for a few minutes, occasionally making comments. TTS hadn't started yet but you were anxious to get your message in first. Anything to get his attention.

"Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-" He was cut off by the normal loud TTS voice.

"hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill" you typed in at light speed. Somehow, someway, the past 5 streams you had made it in as the first TTS donation. Pure luck.

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” he yelled and laughed, opening up his mailbox in the game. It didn't matter that he made fun of you - that was his persona, it didn't mean much. All you cared about was being seen. God, you were obsessed.

It went further than this. You GENUINELY were interested in Schlatt - you didn't even know his name. You were the obsessive, love-at-first-sight type. You still thought about a sweet boy from a coffee shop when you were in your junior year. Once you liked something, you had to have it. Unfortunately, millions of other people felt the same. Yuck. So.. now it was this. You sent donos, dm’ed him, everything you could to kindly, gently, and hopefully get him to put you on his channel. That was the boost you needed. Socially, and egotistically.

The dream: meet schlatt. Didn’t matter if it was in New York, at a meet n greet he would never do, or for media.

You knew you wouldn’t make it big enough to quit your job - you didn’t want to, you just wanted to be able to show the internet your life. You wanted others to find community.

—

You continued to watch the stream, he was playing Minecraft, drinking, the usual. Messages were flooding in. Soon enough though, it was 10 pm, and he was about done.

POV: Schlatt. 7:03 pm

“Ahh fuck,” he sighed, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “What’s up fuckers? Welcome to the stream, welcome,” he nodded and chuckled as he watched the people and chats flood in. “Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-“ he was cut off by the first TTS donation. It was the same person from the past few streams. Somehow, they managed ro get first dono more than twice in a row. “Lucky fuck.” He muttered under his breath.

“hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill"

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” He yelled and chuckled - rubbing the thin beard on his chin and his mutton chops for comedic effect. He knew a lot of people wanted him, lusted over him, loved him - but he couldn’t help but smile when people gave him a normal compliment. It felt good to be talked to like normal. Normal normal normal. He knew he wasn’t that, but it didn’t matter, being a star always had it’s perks.

“Alright, guys, lets get in. Fuck all of you shaming my house. FUCK YOU.” He yelled, furrowing his brows in faux anger.

—

3 hours had passed. Schlatt ended up building a new house, opening letters, and getting spammed with donations. God, that felt good. ‘Money, money, money, bitch.’ He thought to himself.

“Alright guys,” he let his tongue swirl in his jaw. “I’m fucking plastered. I’m done for tonight. Hope you enjoyed!” His cheeky smile flooded thousands of screens as he ended the live.

“Motherfucker.. jambo, i’m so fucking tired.” He complained, letting Jambo jump into his lap. His hands grazed over his fur as he headbutted schlatt. He yawned, sipping the last of his glass of whiskey. Jambo jumped down, awaiting their bedtime routine. “Moowwww!” Schlatt looked down at him.

“Alright, alright. I’m not feeding you again though.” Schlatt shut out all the lights in his office, slowly making his way into his bedroom, then his bathroom. He got onto insta when he was done getting ready for bed.

“Shiit, that’s a nice ass car.” He muttered to himself, scrolling. His thumbs grazed the screen hesitantly.

“I wonder..”

Every now and then, he would look at his message requests to see the ridiculous things people sent him. Family photos, death threats, achievements, etc. Every week though, there was the same username. “cookkizkill” managed to catch his eye. She never harassed him. Belittled him. Judged. Spammed. Begged. Nothing. She was overly normal in how she messaged him - and by God, she did it everywhere. Though, no matter what she sent, she said thank you, and wished him the best. Odd. Peculiar. Weird.

“Hmph.” His brows furrowed. He was intrigued. He looked at her messages frequently, never replying. If he replied to one, everyone would expect him to.

He opened the chat request.

cookkizkill

hi handsome! i finally hit 5 twitch followers. yesterday i hit 200 subs on yt. thank you for being a great influence!! i know i wont be huge, but I’m thankful i get a chance to share my life with people. thank you for your stream today! i hope to be on one with you sometime <3

5 minutes ago

accept request?

Click.

[morbethgames]

Love In Stasis - Chapter 4

Hey everyone, the story wasn't getting quite the amount of feedback or traction just on my Patreon, so I'm gonna be releasing at least a few more free chapters here. The Patreon version is currently up to Chapter 16, which is the chapter that really puts the sapphic into this sapphic romance mystery. So, if you're enjoying this story, please consider supporting over there, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and what you think about this story!

Patreon : Love in Stasis Chapter 1 :

Love in Stasis Chapter 2 :

Love in Stasis Chapter 3 : The Bureau Current Demo

4:23am - Police Station

Luz could be seen through the one way glass window from the other side of the interrogation room. Two men were standing there, arms crossed. One of them was a taller, dark-skinned, muscular man with a goatee and connected mustache. The other was an older white man, a little shorter than his six-foot-two counterpart, with a graying beard. The taller man had a perturbed look, while the other was more stern. 

“It doesn’t look good, Andre,” the man with the gray beard said.

“Yeah, I know,” Andre sighed heavily through his nose, then turned his head towards his captain. “But she didn’t do this, Crane.”

Captain Crane looked back at him sympathetically, but still not losing that sternness he was known for. “It’s not about whether I believe that. It’s about whether you can prove that.” He looked back into the room where Luz was sitting. She brought a hand up to her face and rubbed her eyes, wiping a stray tear away from one of them. The image of her ex-girlfriend’s lifeless body on the ground was no doubt continuously flashing through her mind.

The detective furrowed his brow, “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s still applicable. Always will be.” Crane nudged his head towards Luz, “But if you can prove she’s innocent now, then we won’t have to keep her in our pool of suspects.”

Andre ran a hand down his goatee, then pointed towards Luz, obviously frustrated. His voice was calm in spite of that, “I’ve known Luz since she was a little girl. I’m tellin’ you, there’s no way she did this. It’s her job to search out crime that’s happening on that campus.”

“And it’s our job to consider all the possibilities, Andre. C’mon, you know that.” Captain Crane shook his head and sighed, “Look, I gave this one to you as a courtesy. Because I know you care about her. Just tell me right now if that was a mistake, because I’ll call someone else in here.”

There’s a pause as Andre turns to look into the interrogation room. He thinks about it, albeit briefly, then says, “No, I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” Crane said, opening the observation room door. “Then do your job, Detective Johnson. Keep me updated.” The police captain reluctantly looked towards the front of the station where the news reporters and cameras had gathered, before looking back. “I have a media frenzy to cull.”

A few more minutes go by, and at this point Luz is just sitting there, stuck in her own head. The cool metallic surface of the table is chilling against her skin as she leans her arms on it. At the very least, they gave her a clean set of clothes and let her wash her hands and face. Thanks to that, most of Mel’s blood was cleaned from her body, but she could still feel the weight of it. That viscous feeling on her palms still hadn’t gone away.

Her hands clenched as her face contorted into anguish and anger. What if she hadn’t spaced out? What if she hadn’t looked down at her phone? What if she had been just a minute sooner to the scene? She could’ve saved her. She could’ve been there, like she promised she always would be. Even after they broke up, she told Mel she’d always have her back. Well where the fuck was she this time? 

Why couldn’t she just be thirty seconds faster?!

The door opened, making her look up, momentarily freeing her from the guilt-ridden thoughts. She wiped an arm across her face to wipe away the tears that began to fall. “Andre…” 

The detective didn’t speak. At least not until the door behind him shut all the way. Then he let out a sigh and walked towards the table, staring down at her sympathetically. “Hey, kid.” He sat down on the edge of the table with a file in his hand, “How’re you holding up?”

Luz bit her lip, looked away and shook her head. The movement obviously meant to indicate ‘not well’. 

Andre nodded, taking another deep breath and placing the folder down onto the table. “You okay enough to answer a couple of questions?”

Luz sniffed, giving a half-shrug, half-nod in return. 

“Good, because Luz,” he paused, purposefully waiting for her to look at him. Which she did, slowly. “They have you as their lead suspect for this.”

Her eyes widened, and a look of rage came across her face. “What?!” 

“Luz-”

“I’m the one that fucking called it in!” She slammed a fist down onto the table, “She used to be my fucking girlfriend!” 

“And that, and your home life, is why they’re looking at you for this,” he replies calmly. 

Luz scoffed in disbelief, “My home life?! No, you mean my dad!” She stood up and leaned forward, putting her hands flat on the table. “Y’know, when you guys would answer those calls of drunken disorderlies down at the bar, and you’d let him off with a warning or have him spend a couple nights in jail, who the fuck do you think was getting the worse end of it when he was allowed to go home, huh?” Her voice raised to a shout, “And then you wanna use that to pin this shit on me?! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Hey hey, kid-” Andre put up a hand, keeping an even tone and trying to de-escalate the tension. “-I’m not tryin’ to pin anything on you. Remember who the cop was that put your old man away in the first place.” He pointed to his chest, then let his hands rest in his lap. “The higher ups just care about making this all go away, but I’ll be damned if I let them-” he pointed to the door, “-pin anything on you, alright?” 

She stared him down and tears began to well up in her eyes again. So many emotions could’ve been contributing to them. Anger, frustration, sadness; it was too difficult to pinpoint the exact cause. Detective Johnson continued, “So you can stand, or you can sit, but do us both a favor and simmer down a couple notches. Because you’re angry; I get it. I would be too. Only a handful of people in the entire world know what you’re going through right now, but I really need you to keep a calm head and help me get you through this, okay?”

A tense silence settled in the room. There was nothing more infuriating than knowing that the people out there wanted to use their failures to pin her for a crime she didn’t commit. The murder of her friend. But ultimately, that wasn’t on Andre. If there was one person in this building she did trust, it was him. He was like the father figure she never had growing up, and probably the main reason she’s practicing criminal justice in the first place. 

So she let her legs give out and sat back in the chair, “Alright.”

“Good,” Andre leaned back to a more neutral position and continued, “So, tell me what happened. Where were you from two-thirty to three-fifteen this morning?”

Luz’s voice lost all defiance. All fight. Mostly because she felt secure enough with Andre to actually drop it. “I’ve been working all night. Patrolling around campus. At two-forty-five I stopped by Ellie’s Diner to grab a coffee. Then I took the car and went to sit in the Grayson Library parking lot until my break was over. I noticed someone on the green, but they took off as soon as I shut the car door.” She balled her hands into fists, “I should’ve gone after them.”

“You couldn’t have known, Luz.” Another pause enveloped the interrogation room before Andre continued. “Did you get a look at them?”

Luz shook her head, “No. Anywhere from five-foot-six to five-foot-ten. Wearing a baseball cap or something. I couldn’t see’em. It was too dark.” She started to bounce her leg, trying to hold it together. “After that I went to investigate where they’d been. And that’s when I found-” she stopped herself and grit her teeth. If she didn’t, she’d have broken down yet again. “I, uh… c-called it in after that. After I…” Her bottom lip quivered, “After I found her…” 

“Okay, hey-” Andre reached out his hand and leaned forward, putting it on her shoulder. “This is good, kid. You did good.”

She looked up at him, a single tear running down one of her cheeks, and waited for him to continue. 

“The fact that you were in your patrol car means they’ll be able to track the GPS back to everywhere you went tonight and know how long you were there for. They scoured the scene of the crime, searched your clothes, and searched your car. They didn’t find a murder weapon. Since you didn’t have it on you, and you didn’t have time to dispose of it in an area away from the immediate crime scene, there’s no way you could’ve done this.” He looked her in the eyes to make sure she understood what he’s saying, “You hear me? You’ll be outta here in a couple hours.”

Luz nodded, then looked down at the table.

“That bein’ said,” Detective Johnson said, “I do need you to sit tight for a couple of hours while we get the data from your work, okay? I’ll drive you back to your dorm room after we sort it all out.” He pats her shoulder a couple of times. “Hang in there kid.” Then, he stands up and begins walking to the door. 

“Hey, um, A-Andre…” Luz’s voice nearly gets caught in her throat, but it’s enough to make Andre turn around as he’s grabbing the handle to leave. “I, um,” she taps her fingers on the table. The words are difficult to push through due to the enormous amounts of bottled up emotions. But the grief is just too much. She was in front of someone she trusted and respected, and she just couldn’t keep holding it in any longer. “I don’t- I don’t know… what to do…” 

Andre’s shoulders visibly sulk as he sees the girl he’s tried so hard to protect lose all sense of innocence she had left. It wasn’t enough being knocked around at home, the world had to go and put this on her too. Not just the weight of a loss, but the guilt that came with it, too. It’s something he’d asked himself a number of times on the job.

What if I was just a little faster?

Luz closed her eyes and tears began spilling out in full force. She kept looking down and shook her head, her hair swaying from side to side as she spoke through strained cries. “I don’t know what to do…” 

It was almost enough to bring Andre to tears too. “Kid…” His voice was gentle and cautionary. He walked over towards her, and she immediately got up and turned to hug him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him when she did, though. She felt weak, and for some reason ashamed. 

He hugged her back, putting a hand behind her head and letting her cry on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” He rubbed her back comfortingly, “It’s not your fault, Luz.”

11:25am - Madeline’s Dorm Room

As Madeline opened her eyes, she saw the familiar, yet blurry, walls and furniture of her dorm room. As her sight started to return to normal, she groaned and began sitting up.

“Hey, she’s awake.” The deeper voice said. 

“Oh, thank god.” A higher pitched voice said. 

“Where-?” Madeline began to speak, but her mouth felt extremely dry. She coughed and saw a figure come into view. 

“Easy there, Mads. Take it easy. Here,” Darrel handed her a cup of water he had kept on the desk at the foot of the bed. He tilted it up to her lips, letting her take a couple of sips before pulling it away. 

“Maddie?” Angie, one of the R.A.'s, was standing behind him, “How are you feeling?” 

“My head hurts.” The exhausted woman managed to prop herself up against the headboard, groaning as she answered the question, slowly reaching up to place the palm of her hand on her temple. She looked at both of them, who each had extremely concerned expressions on their faces. “What happened?”

Darrel looked away for a second and then stepped back, allowing Angie to come forward and take her hand. “Maddie, sweetie,” she gave it a gentle squeeze, “you were drugged at the bar last night.”

Her eyes went wide, and she put a hand over her mouth. Fear immediately came over her and she had assumed the absolute worst. Before that fear had time to fully set in, however, Angie leaned forward and continued. “Hey, that’s all that happened, okay? Darrel came along and caught you before it could fully take effect.”

She looked over at the physical trainer, still frightened, but less so now. She seemed more horrified that a guy was in the room while this conversation was happening. It was humiliating, especially in front of a man. She couldn’t even put into words why. It just made her feel a little more uncomfortable. That, in turn, made her feel guilty, because from what she was just told, he’s the one that got her to safety in the first place. 

Thing is, Darrel also seemed uncomfortable in the situation. He was looking away, and pretending as if he wasn’t hearing any of their conversation. Mainly to try and help Maddie feel more comfortable. “After the paramedics left, we both stayed here for the night to keep an eye on you.” 

Madeline held up a hand, looking confused. “Woah woah, wait- paramedics?” 

“Um, yeah,” Angie looked back at Darrel, who shared her look of concern, then turned back. “The paramedics got here shortly after you guys got back to the dorm. They woke you up as much as they could and had you take a couple tests.”

Maddie shook her head and her breathing started to speed up, “I don’t- I don’t remember. Last thing I remember was being at the bar.” She looked under the sheets, in a paranoia that everything wouldn’t be alright, then swiveled her head from left to right to look around the room. “W-what did they do? I- I don’t-”

Darrel came over and placed a hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. “Maddie. Maddie, it's okay. I promise, nothing happened. You weren’t assaulted or anything; I wasn’t ‘bout to let you stay at that place and risk letting that happen. When the EMT’s came in, I left the room for a bit-” he made sure to specify that part, “-then they took a urine sample, and a blood sample. They checked your eyes and, well, did other shit to make sure you were safe to stay here and sleep it off. We should get notified about what was used in a couple of weeks or so, they said.”

Madeline stared at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I just wanted to have a good time.” Her bottom lip quivered and she crossed her arms over her chest, gripping near her shoulders.

Darrel wasn’t sure what to do at this point. He looked over to Angie, who was equally as concerned. “Do you,” he paused, drawing out the end of the last word a little, “want me to call Mel?”

All Madeline did was nod her head yes while she quietly cried to herself for a bit. 

He got up and reached over to her phone, but just as he opened the contacts and started typing in Melody’s name, there were a few hard knocks on the door. He turned his head to look at Maddie, seeing Angie sitting with her now and making sure she was being taken care of. So, he figured it was alright to answer the door first. 

He put the phone down on the desk and went to answer it. When he peered into the hallway and saw who it was, there was an immediate sense of dread. Not because of the aforementioned who, but because of how rough she looked, “Luz?” 

She looked awful. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. She’d barely had anything to eat since dinner time the previous night. Not to mention her eyes were extremely bloodshot from all of the crying she’d been doing the past eight or so hours. 

Luz looked just as surprised to see Darrel opening the door as he was to see her on the other side of it. A bubbling sense of jealousy built inside her, but was luckily numbed by the news she came here to give Madeline. Still, the confusion was prominent in her tone, “Darrel? The hell are you doing here?”

He looked back into the room and took a deep breath, before looking back at Luz. “Better question is, what happened to you?” He stepped out into the hall, letting the door close most of the way behind him. “You didn’t sleep last night or somethin’?”

She looked off to the side and cleared her throat, “No.” Luz paused, controlling the urge to just push her way into the dorm room. “You mind giving us some time alone? I have something I need to talk to Maddie about.” She was dreading it, but it still had to be done.

Darrel shook his head, “Look, Luz, I don’t know what you got goin’ on, but it’s not really a good time right now.” He side-eyed the door before returning his gaze. 

Luz furrowed her brow in frustration, “Look, I don’t fuckin’ care what you two had goin’ on last night, you can give it a rest long enough for me to talk with her, alright?”

Darrel glared down at her, “You best tone down the venom, homegirl. I don’t appreciate the third degree-”

The woman attempted to just push her way past him, “I don’t have time for this shit. Just-” 

“Luz-” Darrel put a hand on her shoulder and pushed against her, which she shrugged off angrily and prepared to push back in retaliation.

“Hey- don’t fuckin’ touch me man!” 

“Maddie was drugged last night.” The words left his mouth sternly, but still in almost a whisper. 

She stopped in her tracks and her eyes went wide, “What did you just say?”

Darrel let out a heavy breath, “Maddie was at a bar last night and I saw her start to, y’know-” he held his hand flat, tilting it back and forth. “So I walked over to see if she was alright.” His eyes drifted down, “She wasn’t.”

Luz’s head was spinning with a million different thoughts. A thousand different emotions. Did someone take advantage of her? Was she awake now? Did she get help? Who slipped her that drink? Who was she going to go beat the shit out of and probably get expelled over? Did Maddie know? Should she even tell her right now if she doesn’t?

She was flexing her arm and clenching her fist so hard out of anger that her hands were shaking. Her throat was strained and she was actively holding back the need to throw a fist at the wall as hard as she could. Depending on the answer she got to this next question would be the answer to whether or not she followed through with that impulse. 

“Did they-” she grit her teeth, “Y’know-”

Darrel held out his hands and quickly answered, seeing where her head was at, “No- fuck no. I got there before anyone could lay a fuckin’ hand on her.” 

Both of them released a sigh as a vast majority of the tension simmered down to a palatable amount. “Trust me, I was askin’ myself the same question when I first saw her. I was ready to knock someone on their ass, too. But no, I took her here as soon as I knew what happened, and Angie and I have been with her all night since then.”

Luz nearly started crying again right then and there, only out of relief this time. “God-” she put a hand up to her forehead and took a deep breath. Then she took a step forward and pulled Darrel into a tight hug. “Thank you, man. I mean it. Thank you so much.”

From this point, Darrel is taken completely off guard. He’s never seen Luz like this in his two years of knowing her and hanging out with her. She’s always either acting tough, or joking around, or brooding. But he’s never seen her emotional like this. He cautiously wrapped an arm behind her in response. 

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” There was a pause between the two where they just held the hug for a bit before Luz pulled away and took a step back. “Luz, are-” he lowered his voice a little more, “are you alright?”

She shook her head, having to take a deep breath before responding in order to hold it together. “No. I know it’s not a good time, but I still need to talk to her.” She looked him in the eyes, her gaze pressing and her tone was desperate, “Please.”

The door opened behind him and both he and Luz looked to see Angie’s head sticking out. “Darrel, what’s going-” then she saw Luz and nodded as a form of greeting, “Luz, hi. Sorry, Maddie’s not taking any visitors right now. I can give her a message if you-”

“Mel’s dead.” Luz interrupted, quietly. The words left her throat like she had to push them out. 

Both Angie and Darrel’s faces dropped. Their eyes went wide in disbelief, and Darrel was the first one to speak up. “What the fuck do you mean she’s dead?” He looked back to Angie, who had a hand up covering her mouth and the beginnings of tears started to form.

Luz closed her eyes and talked through clenched teeth, trying to get through a quick explanation. “I found her body on patrol last night on the green outside the library.” She looked back up at Darrel with the same pleading expression, “Please, man, I need to be the one to tell her. Alright- look she’s my friend, and she was Mel’s best friend, and Mel was my-” She choked on the words, and wasn’t able to get the rest of them out without breaking, which she couldn’t allow herself to do out here in the hallway.

A tear rolled down Angie’s cheek and quietly spoke through her hand, “This can’t be happening.”

“Please, Darrel.” Luz’s voice snapped him out of his disbelief, “Maddie can’t learn about this from the news, or some email the school sends out. It’s gotta be from me.” She pauses again, letting the words sink in. Letting the realization of what hearing it by a third party like that might do to her. But Luz was so hellbent on being the one to tell her because, in a way, it was one of the last things that she could do for Melody. To be there for her best friend on probably the worst day of her life. “Please.”

Darrel stares at her for a moment, then subtly nods his head, his gaze much more mournful than it previously was, “Alright. We’ll get outta here. C’mon, Ange.” 

Angie wasted no time fast-walking out the door and down the hall. The tears that had already escaped were only the first of many. One could only imagine that an R.A. felt somewhat responsible for the students in their building. In a way, she might have felt like she failed Melody too. 

Darrel took a couple steps out of the room and held the door for Luz, who put a hand on it to stop it from closing and began walking forward. “And Luz,” Darrel said, causing her to stop where she was and look back at him, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for your loss. If you need anything,” he paused again, letting his sentence trail off. He and Luz weren’t the touchy feely kind of people. They didn’t show their emotions on their sleeve. So when he simply left it at that, all she had to do was look at his face and she knew what he meant. 

“Thanks. I will.” 

Darrel nodded to her and walked down the hallway to try and catch up with Angie to make sure she was alright. 

Which left Luz standing there, holding the door to the dorm room open. She turned her head to see what little of the inside she could from this angle, trying to gather enough willpower to take those first steps in. With a deep breath, she gathered the strength to move that first foot and steeled herself for one of the toughest conversations of her life.

As she heard the door close, Madeline looked up and saw who it was. Her eyes widened a bit and she instinctively pulled the covers up towards herself a little more, “Luz?” For some reason, she was the last person Maddie wanted to see right now. Because of the shame. The humiliation. Because she felt so unbelievably stupid for letting something like this happen in the first place. None of these thoughts were warranted, and logically, it wasn’t her fault at all. But if logic had a say in trauma responses, no one would need therapists. 

She couldn’t figure out why she felt this way with Luz though. After all, she was-

“Hey, Maddie.” Luz spoke softly, interrupting her train of thought and sitting on the side of the bed, close to her. “Heard you had a rough night.” Madeline’s head sank and her expression fell. “How are you holding up?”

Maddie shrugged, “Dunno. I feel-” she had to stop to think of what to say, “Stupid, I guess.”

Luz immediately scooched a little closer and put a hand on one of her legs that was currently covered by the blanket. “Hey, stop that. It’s not your fault some asshole decided to slip something into your drink.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve been more-”

“Maddie,” Luz rubbed her leg, interrupting her thought process before she could finish, “it’s not your fault. Don’t victim blame yourself, okay? All you did was go out to have a good time. This isn’t on you.”

Madeline looked up at Luz for the first time since she sat on the bed. She didn’t know if forgiveness towards herself would come anytime soon, but having someone here to reassure her and remind her not to blame herself was a step in the right direction. 

When Maddie did look up, though, she saw what kind of state Luz was in. “Luz,” she leaned forward a bit, “you look like hell. What happened?”

Luz looked down and attempted to keep it together. Because Madeline would need her to. She needed to be the strong one out of the two of them, at least for right now. 

“Luz?” Madeline asked softly, moving one of her hands just a little closer to Luz’s, but not so much that they were touching. 

“Mads, I um,” she cleared her throat again and looked Maddie in the eye. The concern was already palpable, “Melody. She’s-” Luz’s eyes became glassy and she found it more difficult to speak. “She’s dead, Mads.”

Madeline just stared for a couple of seconds. 

She blinked, and a small smile came across her lips as she tried to reassure her friend. “Luz, I was just with her last night. Melody’s fine.”

But the longer Luz continued to silently stare at her, the more unsure Madeline got. The silence was all that filled the room. From the look on the taller woman’s face, Madeline knew Luz was sure of what she said. And so her own expression became more irritated, and she retracted her hand. “Luz, you’re wrong.” 

Another couple seconds of silence. 

Luz shook her head. 

“Or you’re lying. You’re wrong or you’re lying, Luz, and I really don’t fucking appreciate it.” Madeline nudged her head towards the desk, “Go grab my phone. I’ll call her right now. Come on, go get it.”

“Mads,” Luz talked softly, and tears were dangerously close to escaping at this point. “I found her body on the green this morning.”

“No-” Maddie held up a pointer finger. Tears began to form in her own eyes now as her breath sped up. “No, Luz-”

“I ran over but I was too late. I couldn’t help her-”

“No! You’re lying!” Madeline pushed forward in an attempt to shove Luz away. To shove the harsh, bitter reality that was being presented to her away. 

Luz’s voice broke a little and a single tear dropped down her cheek. “I didn’t want you to find out through social media or the news-” she shook her head again, almost in a pleading gesture. Pleading for her friend to forgive her for even having to be the one to tell her this in the first place. “Mads I’m so sorry-”

Madeline threw a hand forward as she screamed at the top of her lungs with tears rushing down her face. “NO!” The first one managed to hit Luz in the side of the face, which surprised the woman. But she quickly recovered and was able to restrain Madeline’s wrists by her sides, pulling the distraught woman closer towards herself. 

Maddie began getting dizzy again. The hysteria was in full effect, and the fact that she wasn’t fully rested from just being drugged at the bar last night only made things worse. “You’re lying!” She screamed out again, then collapsed forward into Luz’s shoulder. 

After a couple of seconds, with Maddie uncontrollably crying into her, Luz swiftly released her wrists and wrapped her arms around her, letting tears of her own begin to fall. One of her hands rested on Madeline’s back, and the other on the back of her head. Luz only felt her emotions take an even bigger nose-dive when she could feel Maddie noticeably shaking. The news wasn’t just catastrophic; it had sent her into a form of shock. It was one of the worst pains Madeline had ever felt, and would ever feel, in her lifetime. 

“MEL!” She sobbed, drawing out her best friend’s name as some sort of plea or bargain to try and get her back. “No, Mel!” Maddie continued shouting similar things into Luz’s shoulder in between her heart-wrenching sobs. 

Luz rubbed the back of Maddie’s head, trying to comfort her as much as she could. She swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffed, trying and succeeding to talk clearly past her own tears. “I’m so sorry Mads. I promise you, I’m gonna find out who did this. I’m gonna take care of you.” She began rocking subtly left and right, “I promise.”

At that moment, with both of them so stricken by grief, neither of them really knew exactly what those words meant. They would have time later to reflect on them, but for the time being, they both needed each other to mourn. Nothing would ever be the same again. 

Entire worlds have crumbled beneath the weight of feelings like this. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything that was once right in the world seemed to be a never-ending spiral of horrid, suffocating truths. A downward cascade of events that, when put together, made a reality that no sane person could ever be content with living in. The only way anyone could get through it all… was together.

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

I DON’T KNOW WHICH SIDE TO BUY

Summary: Bill x Julie headcanons

TW/CW: None

A/N: If this formatting’s awkward, it’s because I’m doing on mobile lol.

Reblogs are appreciated!

Met at Joe’s Fantasy World. Julie’s sister dragged her to the shop since “it’s the only one in town”. While there, she saw Bill hanging out with his friends. She admit he was kind of cute…until he opened up his mouth.

From then on, it was honestly a war between the two of them. Julie has a bad temperament due to social isolation and having only one friend for her own life, and Bill’s just…Bill. Bill definitely got the last word in the most, but Julie’s insults would sear into Bill’s head more often than not.

They definitely got physical at one point, however, one thing lead to another…and they kiss (more like smashing two lips together honestly)

Julie’s more accepting of it than Bill, though it’s more in a “it is what it is” type of way. Bill tweaks out every time he thinks of her, cause he genuinely hates her, but he never met someone who can match his energy, his insults…it almost melts his cold dead heart.

Their first dates were definitely in the movies. They didn’t want to be seen together, so they would go to a late showing of a film (usually a film with B-star actors) and they watch it silence.

This is usually wear Bill will be more vulnerable. He may put his shoulder around hers, but it’s usually just grazing his hand on hers. For Julie, she’ll snuggle up against him and let his body heat warm her up (they can honestly do this till the film ends).

Publicly though? They would rather be caught in a compromising position than be seen with each other (despite the club knowing how obvious it is)

Josh genuinely tweaks out every time he sees Julie. He expresses it vocally how much he hates seeing the two together and is pushing Bill to break up with her. Pete is indifferent to it, and Jerry is generally supportive (yet will vocalize how shock he is “someone can tolerate you Bill, let alone date you”)

If they do go out during the day time, it’s usually for Julie taking pictures with her film camera. Bill oddly seems to have an infinite supply of film camera, despite him showing no interests in…well, anything really!

Bill usually stays at Julie’s house cause he prefers it over his own (minus the collection being of Barbie’s and Lisa Frank). You can catch them cuddling on the couch. This is where Julie learns that Bill’s a crusher when it comes to hugs. It’s like his goal is to intertwine themselves together, and he could stay there forever if she decided that.

There is no big or little spoon, but rather they’ll face each other and hold themselves as close as they can to each other (with Bill laying at the crook of her neck)

If they were to go public, it’d be a prom night (I know he didn’t go in canon, but shhhh). They both be nervous wrecks, especially when taking those couple pictures. Julie would loosen up a little, but Bill’s staying in the corner (unless prompted to slow dance, in which case he grumbles before doing so).

These bitches are so toxic for each other that it goes around and now they throw up at the thought of dating anyone else (it’s disgusting <3)

[starguardianniom]

It's not just that, it goes further than that too. In Ephemeral, Luka straight up ask Ladybug why it needs to be so complicated and why she can't just tell Chat Noir, and Ladybug straight up says that she knows him best and that he won't share his identity with anyone else but her first, she legit assumes she knows his answer and takes said asumption as face value and use it as the reason to not tell Chat Noir squat and deceive him. Like what?

Bitch he's more understanding than YOU are, if you fucking talked to him about it he would most likely agree, but if he disagreed then at least he would still have FUCKING KNOWN, but noooooooooo, Marinette knows people best, so she can already say with ease what she'll think they'll do and plan around the fictional scenario she imagined them doing to just do what she wants.

Seen all the way back in Crocoduel, where she thought Luka would be too sad to see her at his birthday party, so she instead decided to ask his twin sister and her good friend Juleka to tell him to NOT COME AT THEIR OWN FUCKING BIRTHDAY PARTY JUST TO NOT UPSET HIM COMPLETELY NOT REALISING THAT IT WOULD HURT NOT ONLY HIM BUT JULEKA AS WELL?????????? HELLO??? How did she come to this kind of new stupid ass conclusion???

What Marinette does is project her own feelings, thoughts and experiences on other people and then takes those at face value despite them literally not thinking the same way as her, not feeling the same and their situation not being the same as her, yet she does it anyway and then is always surprised when it doesn't work and blows up in her face.

It's a repeated pattern that has gone all the way since season 1.

Case in point, Reflekta. In the episode Marinette wants the photographer to retake the class photo so that Juleka can be in it, yet when she decides to take care of it, when she tells her idea, someone asks her why they can't just ask the photographer to do another one, and she straight up says that he won't do it, without asking first and without any hesitation whatsoever, she already thought and decided that he wouldn't do it so it was ok for her to steal the memory card of his camera. Like what? And at the end when she returns the memory card and ask nicely, guess what? The photographer agrees without any problem whatsoever, meaning that what she did during the episode was completely pointless. So she was completely proven wrong about her actions and thinking process, and yet, nothing stops her from doing it again in later episode, simply because she got rid of the evidence by deleting the photo in Chloé's phone, and for once I was siding with Chloé over it, Marinette had no right to go steal something in the principal's office, if she had asked nicely in the first place a lot of grief could have been avoided.

It's now season 6 and Marinette keeps doing the same crap, I'm so tired of her and her idiocy, how can she manage to defeat villains but completely fail at understanding other people so hard is beyond me.

Ephemeral is the episode that completely turned me against Marinette. Her solution to finding out Chat Noir's identity is to gaslight the hell out of him, when all she had to do was approach him and explain the situation like a rational person. Then the episode has the gall to act like she was right all along when she browbeats Su-Han into submission even though he was 100% right. I actually said "You're f**king disgusting!" to Marinette when I watched that scene. Does that make me a bad person?

---

Fortunately, Marinette is a fictional character and can't get her feelings hurt from us refusing to think she's a flawless queen when she manipulates and gaslights her way around her love interest and friends. And, like, that's the thing; Marinette does this stuff more than once. Getting Cat Noir to reveal his identity, gaslighting Adrien about his dad and manipulating Alya into becoming the backup Guardian. These are all people Marinette should be able to just be honest with, (because, if not them, who can she be honest with?) and when she is faced with a make or break decision in their relationships, she chooses deception over honesty.

I think disliking when such a character is being glorified as a flawless, selfless and heroic person by a piece of media aimed at preschoolers is, mostly, a morally neutral act. Like, there are genuine, good, moral values behind finding such a thing abhorrent, but we can’t exactly help many people despite how we feel about this stupid cartoon. But, also, just because we can’t help real people outside of offering support to the members of the fandom this show actually hurts with its abuse apologia, it doesn’t mean we are harming anyone either.

Being a spiteful, little hater every once in a while is a right. To claim otherwise would be to act as some kind of a thought police and none of us here better be cops. As long as we don’t hurt real people over it, keep cussing at the screen when it shows you cuss-worthy shit.

[nurpowurpo]

POV you set up a camera in the facility.

[gothamphantomgoat]

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[fandommothfreak]

I think Duke should be immortal in the "cannot die" sense and Jason should be immortal in the "cannot stay dead" sense and that they should keep this a secret from everyone including each other. And then they should both get caught in a situation that Absolutely Should Kill Them Instantly, miraculously not die, and then be like:

Like Jason shields Duke from some massive explosion or something, and Duke is horrified because he thinks Jason just pointlessly sacrificed himself for someone who would've been fine anyway - only for Jason to very casually come back from the dead, look at a completely unscathed Duke Thomas, and go, "Hey, what the fuck."

And Duke should look at a freshly revived Jason Todd and be like, "Me what the fuck? No you what the fuck."

And they end up both agreeing to not say a word about this to the rest of the Bats. Which poses issues. Because here you have a pair of unhinged vigilante siblings that do not fear death, that additionally now know they don't have to fear each other's deaths either, both unwilling to give anything less than everything they have to do what they think is right (and/or what they really, really want to).

So. Some things that happen in consequence:

Duke throws Jason off a fifty-story building in pursuit of some shoplifting rich asshole that was caught on camera insulting Duke's favorite metal band and being a classist fuck about it. This does, incidentally, re-traumatize Nightwing, who was ten feet away and not prepared to see his little brother yeeted off the side of a building, no grapple in sight - but it also traumatizes the shoplifter when Jason lands right in front of him, grotesquely knits himself back together, and rises from the ground in a distinctly horrifying fashion just to beat the shit out of him. So Duke takes the win.

Jason shoots Duke in the head to get him to stop shining light in his eyes in the middle of a gunfight. He does stop, but only because Batman shows up out of nowhere, and now Duke gets to pretend to be grievously injured while Batman yells at Jason about "self-control" and "maturity" and "putting teammates at risk." Meanwhile Duke is playing up this horrible concussion that he doesn't even have. Jason is seething. (Duke gets checked out at Leslie's. They convince her to lie for them by appealing to her inner petty bitch.)

Jason gets his payback a few months later by poisoning himself at an undercover op and subsequently forcing Duke to drag his dead body around a mob-owned nightclub for like half an hour trying to convince seasoned criminals that this brick shithouse of a man sprawled awkwardly across his back is just... really wasted. Totally not a corpse.

Both Jason and Duke get caught in many, many, many explosions after that initial reveal, and it's always terrifying for the rest of the Bats. It gets to a point where Batman refuses to partner Duke and Jason together for literally anything, because they always act fucking insane. Big metal vehicle moving hundreds of miles an hour towards an unsuspecting civilian? That's okay! Jason will just throw Duke in front if it. Unknown, volatile substance potentially being used by a notorious serial killer to murder his victims? No lab testing required! Duke will just pour a whole pint of the stuff on Jason's bare arm to see how it reacts. Bomb that can't be disarmed? Why wait for backup when these two psychopaths can just grab the thing and jump into the harbor? Like, genuinely. The stress. Bruce is one particularly traumatic incident away from actually considering therapy.

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie I

~8.4k words

From me: here she is. gonna be at least one more part (probs 2) sorry. I didn't mean to do a series. I just can't shut up and I introduced too many fun characters. I don't know a lot about hockey so a lot of this is probably unrealistic.

Warnings: douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent (it's hockey after all)

Summary: When the assistant coach's niece comes to take pictures of the team, her lens isn't the only thing capturing Harry Styles heart and soul on and off the ice. Harry wants to win her over more than he wants to win the entire league championship. (Although it would be nice to rub it in her ex's stupid face if he won that too).

The rink was chilly even with the appropriate clothes on. Despite the fact she practically lived in ice arenas for the two years, it never ceased to catch her off guard with how cold it was. To be fair, she was a lot closer to the ice this time around. Her camera pressed into the little glass cutout, her eye checking the visual before she clicked the shutter.

Quickly she pulled away as two of the guys pressed against the glass right next to her. “Hey Sweetheart,” Noah Ashford smiled briefly as he skated off in the other direction. She rolled her eyes. Uncle Charlie, assistant coach of The Arctic Chargers, warned the entire team that his niece was taking residence at the rink and would be part of media photos, headshots, and would be submitting to all major sport reporting outlets. The team was told without question, not to bother her in any way.

Naturally the group of twenty twenty-something year-old hockey players were going to do nothing of the sort.

Captain Evander Langston swished almost gracefully over to her. He stopped in front of her with a puff of ice at his feet. “Do you think I have a good side?”

She shook her head with a smirk and looked over the photos she just took in the last three minutes. “Probably not the left. You’ve been checked into the board over there about five times this practice alone.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you wound me.”  Sweetheart was the name Uncle Charlie called her in front of the whole team during the introduction and so it was the only thing any of them paid attention to from their coach. “Don’t say that in front of the others,” he pleaded quietly.

“I would never, Cap,” she smiled kindly.

He returned her grin with his own. “You call me Cap, and I’m going to have a problem with Coach’s rule, Sweetheart. But I know we’re all going to like having you around to keep us in check.”

“Lang, you better not be flirting when your technique needs work!” Kian Calloway shouted across the ice where he slapped a puck into the open net from the blue line.

“You better not be flirting, period, Lang!” Uncle Charlie called.

“Yeah!” Callie repeated to his captain. She had gone over the nicknames with her uncle before starting. Lang, Asher, and Callie were easy and as some of the major stars of the team, it made sense she would chat with them most. “If anyone is going to flirt with her, it’s going to be me!”

“I’ll sit you for less, Callie,” Charlie warned.

She couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t mind the attention nor care. It was adorable. Like a group of puppies looking for attention. With a shake of her head, she made her way around the glass and boards for another angle of the players on the ice. She wanted shots of the goalie. Niall Horan seemed much too nice to be a hockey player but perhaps that’s why he was the goalie. He was the first one to introduce himself and he didn’t seem to have the temper that the other players did over trivial things (like tying skates together or putting salt in someone’s Gatorade). Niall blocked shots from his teammates as if it was nothing but breathing. In a way it was stunning, nearly beautiful.

Hockey was violent, yes. But there was beauty in it, too. The way players skated backwards, cupped the puck on their stick. The speed, agility, and gracefulness required to stay standing. It was all really beautiful, and she was excited to be up close this time around. For the last two or so years she had been in a box cheering for her ex-boyfriend, right forward for the Glacier Wolves, Kael Crowe.

To be completely honest, she should have known it wouldn’t have worked out. Among the cheating, the belittling, and all the other things that were, in hindsight, an abysmal part of dating him, the orange and blue coloring wasn’t her favorite. The Arctic Chargers black and silver jerseys were much more her speed. Kael was her boyfriend of years and years but once he made it to the majors three years ago, things were very different.

“You can come on the ice, Sweetheart, we’re almost done!” Asher said.

Even though she had dated a hockey player for nearly a decade (most of which took place during college) she couldn’t skate. Uncle Charlie tried when she was younger to teach her, but the balance and coordination was not in her wheelhouse. She longed to skate better. Figure skaters were so dainty and beautiful as they glided on the ice. She was neither of those things and almost dreaded getting on the ice in the boots she was wearing. If she fell in front of her uncle, it was embarrassing. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be in front of an entire professional hockey team.

“One second!”

She wanted to prolong the agony. Plus, with her fragile camera it seemed like a death sentence to send her out there. Even if it was what she was getting paid to do. It wasn’t the most lucrative job she had, but it was what she wanted to do most. She was grateful for the opportunity and hoped it would kickstart into something more. Photography was a major passion for her. Pictures of anything. Her computer was filled with pictures of the sun and sky from the summer. Snowy days in the winter. Pictures of her parents’ dog. Her uncle’s kids on birthdays. She was the official photographer of family weddings and more. But it wasn’t steady. A lot of her post-college young life had been put on hold to dote on Kael. Something she regretted but couldn’t do anything about now.

Uncle Charlie was kind to help her out and she thought starting now was better than never starting at all.

“Styles is that you?!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss yourselves in excitement,” the voice was right beside her.

“You better be fucking cleared before touching this rink,” Ray Wheeler, head coach and another surrogate uncle to her was a bit gruffer in his delivery to the players than Charlie most of the time.

The man beside her slapped his hand, paper held pressed to the glass. “Doctor-cleared for takeoff,” he called. A round of cheers went up and she snapped another picture of the excitement, ignoring the one and only Harry Styles beside her.

Harry Styles was Kael’s rival. The same draft class (although begrudgingly, Kael would admit Harry went first), and almost the same position—left forward. Fortunately, they were in different conferences, so they only ever played one another twice a season. Unless they made it to finals which hadn’t happened yet. But in her opinion, it was only a matter of time. Harry made headlines for his skill and ability, fitness, and overall dominance on the ice. He was protective of his best friend in goal—he and Niall were a pair like no other. Which meant when they did play each other, Kael knew exactly how to get under Harry’s skin.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Harry wasn’t here for her formal introduction to the team. Before she could open her mouth, Uncle Charlie was there. “That’s my niece Styles. She’s off limits so just make your way to the locker room.”

“Ah,” he smiled.

It should have been noted that in addition to skill and ability, fitness, and dominance on the ice, Harry was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His eyes were green which sure as hell meant God was in fact a woman because no man would know to make Harry even more beautiful with forest green eyes. He was tall, even taller on skates. His skin glowed in a way that should have been illegal when she spent half an hour dousing her face in ten moisturizing products each night to achieve the same look and Harry spent most of his time indoors on an ice rink. Was it the chill that made his cheeks pinker? Would she get the same glow working here all season? She could only hope.

But it was that smile that did her in. His straight teeth peeking out from his lips. The dimples. The arrogance behind the expression. The pink curve of his upturned lips went right through her as he grinned at her.

“Nice t’meet you,” he held his hand out.

“Hands off!” Charlie shouted again.

Harry chuckled as she took his hand with an eyeroll introducing herself. “I’m your photo media specialist, if you will.”

“Excellent,” Harry grinned. “Let me know if y’need me t’pose a certain way,” he winked.

She shook her head and Niall skated up to the side. “Hey Sweetheart,” he said.

“Hi, baby, I missed you,” Harry answered with a grin. Niall shook his head flipping his friend off which made her giggle. Niall remained focused on her.

“Your Uncle said you might need help walking out here.”

“Oh, do we have a skating rookie on our hands?” Harry asked. Her cheeks felt hot under the assumption. Even though it was accurate.

“I suck at skating,” she shrugged. There wasn’t any use playing it off—they would know in a matter of seconds. “I get too nervous and lose my balance,” she admitted.

They both tilted their heads at her. She knew that vulnerability wasn’t something seen on the ice. It seemed almost trivial to admit, but she knew it clearly threw them for a loop. “I can walk you out,” Harry offered with that sinfully delicious smile.

“Coach said he was going to rebreak all of your fingers if you touch her."

“Oh, please let me walk you out,” Harry practically bounced with excitement.

She worried her eyes were going to remain in the back of her head from rolling them so much, but she supposed that would come with the territory with working for a group of boys. “Thank you, Niall. I should be okay. Just don’t let anyone laugh at me too much if I fall on my butt.”

“We don’t want you t’fall on such a pretty asset, Rookie. Are y’sure I can’t help?”

She ignored Harry, keeping her eyes on Niall. “No one will laugh,” he assured her, a smile toying at his lips as he slipped his helmet back on. “I offered, but she’s stubborn like you, Coach!”

The laughter that ensued was a good distraction for her to make her move. She unlocked the rink door and stepped onto the ice following behind Niall. Each step was carefully taken, knowing the traction of her winter boots were better than any other pair of shoes she owned but would never compare to the blade of skate.

Three little steps was about as far as she could go it seemed. Right as her footing was about to be lost on her and send her to the hard ice, a hand caught her elbow and kept her upright. “Rookie, love,” he tisked. “I told you I could help.”

She looked at him briefly knowing that his good looks got him any girl he wanted. She heard the rumors of the string of girls he had (perhaps one for every city he visited) and she knew of every bad thing that Kael had to say about him. But the kindness of him to catch her was sweet. Even she couldn’t deny that. Kael merely laughed each time she fell, it wasn’t mean spirited per se, but it was almost like he was glad she couldn’t skate. A way to be better than her.

God, she wished she had taken the hint a lot sooner.

Harry’s skates weren’t even tied yet. “Jus’ wait,” he said and knelt to lace them up. She had to imagine he rushed to get out here just knowing she wouldn’t make it across the ice.

Once tied, Harry held her elbow again and skated so effortlessly beside her barely moving as he glided alongside her. No one paid attention to her slow steps, and she could feel Harry’s grip firm but not hard on her arm. Almost sensing when she was going to misstep before she did. It made her heart skip a beat.

No. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t going to fall for another hockey player ever.

“M’teaching m’niece t’skate. I can teach you,” he shrugged. It wasn’t arrogant the way he said it. She was sure anyone else that knew she was in their mid-twenties (especially someone with a famous hockey player for an ex-boyfriend of eight years, and famous major league hockey coach for an uncle) would expect her to be able to skate. Instead, one of the top players in the league was at her elbow barely acknowledging that it was weird. Perhaps the vulnerability she mentioned to him and Niall really meant something to him. Or maybe she was just reading into it—which she definitely shouldn’t have been reading into it.

“It’s a real shame you won’t have that hand to play with after all, Harry,” Uncle Charlie shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Charlie, I can handle a group of boys,” she rolled her eyes again, earning a bout of laughter from the group. But she knew that Uncle Charlie was worried about Harry specifically. He was a lot like Kael. In another life, Harry would have been a weakness for her. But not anymore. She was done with hockey guys.

“M’jus’ making sure she doesn’t fall. Sad y’couldn’t teach her t’skate. Some uncle you are,” he shrugged casually.

The group laughed again, and she smirked. Charlie ignored the childish behavior of his players but rubbed his middle finger on his nose like he had an itch aimed for Harry “They’re all yours, Sweetheart. Just tell them where you want them. They’ve all been instructed to listen carefully unless they want to do suicides tomorrow at practice, so be honest if they don’t listen. Or lie if you see fit,” Uncle Charlie remarked making everyone groan. “Harry, go get your gear she needs individual pictures too.”

His eyes flickered to Niall for several seconds. Right as he released her arm, Niall now stood beside her and waited for direction. He didn’t hold her elbow like Harry did, but it was clear there was an unspoken message they shared telepathically. That little flutter in her chest made it’s appearance once more solely because Harry was kind to her about her inability to skate.

No, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She wasn’t going to fall for the hot left wing of her uncle’s team just because he offered to teach her to skate and didn’t make fun of her because she couldn’t.

Nope. She wasn’t.

Not even a little.

Right?

*

The boys were decidedly sweet. Despite the fact it was like trying to wrangle a group of twenty toddlers into one spot. They sat nicely for their headshots individually, but once she tried to get them into various poses and group shots with their respective lines it proved a little more difficult. (Don’t even get her started on how the whole team shot went).

Harry stood beside her while she took pictures of everyone but him. His presence was comforting in a way she didn’t want to admit so readily. It had been less than an hour since she spoke to him. When he returned with all his gear in place, he held a small rug that the coaches often used to stand at center ice and call drills. He laid it before her feet, and she didn’t have to worry as much about falling. Niall was her test subject in front of the goal. When she wanted to get another angle, Harry scooped up the little mat and held her elbow and let her guide while he slid alongside her at a pace that was much too slow for a professional hockey player. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I see?” He asked while the others skated around, messing around at the other end of the rink. She was now at the bench where she was safe from slipping. Harry leaned over the rail, dropping his gloves onto the wooden seat beside her. She offered her camera to him. Carefully he cradled it, like he knew it really was precious to her. Silently, he looked at the little screen. A smile grew on his face as he admired how his pictures came out. “These are awesome, Rookie.”

“Thank you,” did her cheeks feel warmer from the compliment? She smiled softly as he looked through several photos of himself. Harry Styles was lucky he didn’t have a bad side. Not that she would tell him that.

“How come y’didn’t do this for Crowe’s team?” He asked clicking through photos of his teammates.

She blinked, the smile melting from her face. “You know about me and Kael?”

“Well, yeah. S’the whole hands-off talk Coach gave us. Said you’re done with hockey players,” Harry shrugged one shoulder, his gaze focused on the lines and group shots on the screen of her camera. “Fortunately for me, I don’t consider your ex a real hockey player,” he smiled at the screen. “But I haven’t told Coach ‘bout that loophole jus’ yet.”

She snorted and shook her head. The flirty comment was cute. She could admit that. Plus, a dig at her shitty ex made her feel a little lighter. But she wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s easy-going charisma.

If she repeated it to herself enough, it would stick.

“I will not be dating real and-or imaginary hockey players,” she told him.

“At least give me a chance t’change your mind, Rookie,” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she shook her head politely. He frowned. She laughed softly. “You genuinely look down by my answer.”

“Hell yeah,” he scowled. “Y’take pretty pictures and y’wrangled this ragtag group,” he sighed almost dreamily. “And you’re absolutely beautiful t’boot.”

That made her smile, at least. He was an expert flirter. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”

“Enough t’let me take you on a date?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed again. “Thank you for helping me around the ice,” she said graciously. “I’ll tell Uncle Charlie you were a perfect gentleman after he left.”

“Rookie, love, you’ll ruin m’reputation,” he called after her as she made her way around the rink toward the exit.

*

Her apartment was not in the nice part of town. To be fair, it was only just over the border from the nicer side. From her place she could see the bar she would be working at on the days she wouldn’t be at the rink. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie about it because she knew he would be pissed if he saw where she lived. But it was the right price and honestly, the other tenants weren’t bad.

She suspected one of her neighbors on the first floor was... an entrepreneur... for his... small business. Michael was very wary of her at first, but she was lucky because he wore a hockey jersey the day, she met him, Callie’s number and name on the front and back. She hadn’t gone to the rink yet because she was getting a lot of her things and affairs settled. That evening she moved in, she got him tickets to a home game through her uncle (along with a dozen cookies to welcome herself to the building). To his credit, Michael looked weary that the tickets were fake, but the cookies were good. They weren’t special seats or anything, but they weren’t bad seats either. He knocked on her door the day after the game and it was clear she wasn’t going to have any issues with her neighbor. “That was cool. If you need anything, I got you,” he assured her with a grin. “That car you got, I’ll keep an eye on it for you when you’re not around... you’re too sweet to be living here.”

She smiled. “Thanks Michael.”

On the second floor lived an older couple. They kept to themselves, but she was sure to give them a dozen cookies as well and offered to shovel out their cars when it snowed. But once Michael saw her out there shoveling, he joined her as well. She brought a hockey stick autographed by the whole team for their grandson. She couldn’t wait to hear how he enjoyed that Christmas gift.

Her neighbor on the third floor just down the hall was Marcellus. He went by Marc and told her that he had a boyfriend and if she had an issue with that, it was too fucking bad. The previous tenant must have been a piece of work. She laughed at him, handed off her dozen cookies and shrugged. “If he breaks your heart, I have a team of hockey boys who can take him on,” she giggled.

So, Marc loved her too.

She wouldn’t be jogging around the neighborhood any time soon, but it was nice she wouldn’t have to worry about her car being stolen (although good luck to anyone who tried to get that piece of crap to start without a prayer), or getting robbed on her way into the building.

Inside her little studio apartment was a small kitchen. There was enough space for a small loveseat, a bed, and TV. She had a coffee table and a counter to sit at for breakfast. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and modern for a rundown studio apartment building.

After a full day at the rink, she was chilly. A shower was just what she needed before she ventured into the cold again. Letting the hot water soothe her cold neck and back was so nice. While her hair air-dried, she transferred and then sifted through her pictures on her laptop. The edits she made were small. The lighting and shadows only needed to be adjusted a little. She loved the natural look of the of the players in their element.

She forwarded the photos to Charlie for approval, and he would send them to the higher ups for printing.

They look stunning, Sweetheart. Incredible job.

Grinning she looked over the photos she took of Harry again. He was by far the best-looking guy on the team (not that the others weren’t good-looking but alas). Even in the photos where you couldn’t see his pretty face, there was a presence that made him look more attractive. It was obvious he was a good player. His talent was evident in the photos, and she was proud of herself for being able to capture it.

There was a knock on her door. She padded quietly across the room, peeked through the peephole to see Marc, before she opened it. “Hi,” she smiled.

“You have to teach me hockey,” he said. “This man is obsessed, and I don’t even know what you call the ball.”

“Puck.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. He glanced around her apartment. “Your talents are wasted on this run-down place—holy hottie, who’s that?”

Her computer screen remained on Harry’s smiling individual photo. Dimples on full display and looking intense but happy. “That’s Harry Styles.”

“I think I’ll like hockey after all.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Listen, I have a shift I have to get to, but there’s a game on tomorrow afternoon, come over and we’ll watch it, and I’ll teach you,” she offered.

“Bring flashcards of the players. It’ll make me more interested.”

She tied the apron around her waist as he sifted through the photos. “God damn, is this what all hockey players look like?” He asked.

“Bye Marc,” she pulled his arm and pushed him toward her door. “See you tomorrow.”

*

The Locker Room was a local restaurant owned by Louis Tomlinson. It was a hot spot for the players to go to on off days and after a win (they refrained from going after a loss unless absolutely necessary). The fans that went were not allowed to be aggressive about the players, but after a while, they got used to seeing the players so often, it became a nice place to be themselves.

Asher and Lang were playing darts while Niall and Callie focused on a game of pool. Harry sat back sipping his beer analyzing his contacts looking for the hookup he wanted for the evening. They had curfew at midnight since there was a game tomorrow evening which left him with ample time to peruse his list, meet up with the girl, and get home by midnight before he turned into a pumpkin.

“Who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Louis asked clapping a hand on Harry’s back.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he chuckled.

“Well, when the new waitress comes over, you are not to make her uncomfortable. I already warned her.”

“I would never,” he rolled his eyes, still scanning the names.

“Uh-huh,” Louis nodded. “Of course. Tell your teammates too. She’s off limits.”

“What’s up with every new girl being off limits in our life?” Callie asked.

“Coach won’t let us date his niece and you won’t let us date the new girl,” Niall explained to Louis for clarification.

“Fortunately, it’s the same person, so you don’t have to lose out on two girls.”

Harry pulled away from his screen to admire the pretty girl he met at the rink earlier in the day. His grin grew. “Oh, Rookie, it’s you,” he cooed.

“Oh Jesus,” Louis sighed. “Watch out for that one, love,” he patted her on the back.

“So, I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Is she ours?” Asher asked excitedly.

“As long as you don’t torture her,” Louis shrugged.

“We would never!”

“Eleanor refuses to set foot back here because of you all.”

“Hire meaner waitstaff.”

“Best of luck, love,” Louis shook his head.

“What can I get you guys?” She asked sweetly.

“Uncle Charlie doesn’t pay you enough that you have to slum it here?” Lang asked.

“I heard that!” Louis shouted.

Harry was...quite taken. From the moment he laid eyes on her. The concentration on her face as she took pictures, the way her hair was pinned up, how bundled she was. Her smile was sexy. The quips that spilt from her mouth perhaps even sexier. Harry was certain she was a dream because good things at the rink consisted of goals, interviews, and the pizza from the snack bar. Not a pretty girl with an expensive camera and his assistant coach as her uncle.

Now her hair was still pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, and the black and silver uniform as homage to his own. Harry wanted her draped in the number eleven and his name on her back ASAP.

It was cute she couldn’t skate. Cute how passionate she was on day one taking pictures. She wasn’t flustered by their rowdiness, or their annoying nature. Harry knew that she was used to hockey boys—had to be if her ex was one of the top forwards in the league (although Harry didn’t recognize that too often). He liked how she didn’t take shit from them but was still kind. She was funny, creative, and lovely.

And he only saw her in action for a short time.

But it was enough to make him put his phone away and not think about hooking up with someone tonight. His focus would be on her waiting on the team and (hopefully) getting to know her more so he could rationalize falling for someone so out of his league and someone so off limits.

“Hi Rookie, love,” Harry smiled as she approached his table. She took orders from the other four hanging around.

“Hi Harry,” she answered.

“M’happy to see you again.”

She nodded. “It’s only been a few hours, Harry.”

“S’too long t’go without seeing your pretty face,” he assured her.

She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed how her cheeks flushed with color. “What do you want to drink?” She asked instead.

“Are you on the menu?”

“Does that work on other girls?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably because of the hockey thing you have going on. I promise it wouldn’t work if you weren’t a professional,” she shrugged.

“Good thing m’very professional,” he continued, his voice flirty.

“I’m putting down whatever the other guys said,” she shook her head and headed off to get the drinks.

“Harry, don’t bother her. Coach said she’s off-limits,” Niall reminded him while Callie took his shot.

“Yeah, she doesn’t strike me as one-night-stand material,” Asher murmured focusing on his dart going directly into the board.

“Mmm,” Harry sighed. In the brief interaction he had with her, he kind of figured that too. In fact, given she had been with Crowe for nearly a decade, he imagined she didn’t have too much experience dating other than her ex. Not that he would force her—or any woman. Like he said they all knew what they signed up for. Harry wasn’t great at the whole relationship thing. He was constantly traveling with the team. Practice most days, games most nights. Relationships were often one-sided and tiresome. It wasn’t fair to expect someone to wait for five months of the year to have a relationship.

One-night stands were better for him.

But he could at least ask her if she was willing to try him out. God, knew he wanted to try her out the second he looked at her.

“Your drinks,” she announced setting them on Harry’s table. He eyed her as she set the drinks down from the little tray in her arm. “Do you guys want food?” She asked.

“Are you on the menu now?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lang shook his head.

“You’re embarrassing us, Styles,” Callie sighed.

“Chicken wings, you said?” She asked scribbling on the pad of paper in her hand. “Great choice. Do you want anything else?” Harry smiled, opened his mouth to speak but she turned immediately. “Not you,” she said over her shoulder and sauntered over to the pool table. Lang and Asher chuckled to themselves at Harry’s strike out.

“You’re our hero, Sweetheart,” Asher sighed dreamily.

*

When Harry was on the ice there were zero thoughts of anything but slicing up the ice with the blade of his skate. He thought about the opponent across from him. The puck sliding across the ice and into the net. Protecting Niall in goal if anyone dared to lay a hand on him.

But now when they had timeouts, or when he was waiting for the puck to come up to him, he saw the pretty girl with her camera lens pressed to the glass, or in the cut out for the press. Her little badge draped around her neck looked so cute. Everything about her was cute and dainty.

Crowe was a fucking idiot to let her go.

Which made him wonder why he chose to break up with someone so pretty and witty. Creative as well.

Fuck. Coach was going to kill him.

But she really stood her ground. In the month that she had been part of the team, she seemed damn near impervious to Harry’s flirting. Harry worked hard to make her blush (which he could see was easy) but it took a lot to make her speechless. It was obvious Crowe didn’t treat her well. It seemed like Harry’s attention to her was the only time she had been shown affection. That alone pissed him off and made him hate him more. It was like she had never been told how pretty she was. Even when Harry wasn’t actively flirting with her, when he complimented her hair or how her pictures came out, she seemed completely off-guard.

What a fucking dick.

Harry once more wondered why they broke up. He still hadn’t figured it out. There was no way she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. Especially for a hockey player. For all the reasons Harry didn’t date, she knew precisely what she was getting into and did it anyway. But she doted on his teammates as if she was dating all of them (there was no other way to describe it.) She always had extra tape for sticks. She walked with her cross body filled with supplies for hangovers, minor injuries, and the like. When she waited on them at Louis’ place, she knew their orders and had them ready almost like clockwork for when they arrived.

“Styles!” Coach Wheeler called. “If you’re not going to practice, you can sit out!” He shouted.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid his mind of the team’s photographer. The coach’s niece. His pretty waitress.

The star of all his dreams as of late.

*

“Sweetheart, where do you want us?!” Lang called.

She was on the bench, waiting to take some gameday photos. Today she was wearing skates, which made Harry nervous. He knew if she went down, she would protect her precious camera and he didn’t blame her, but it he hated the thought of her getting hurt. “Just by the—” She sighed, closing her eyes mid-sentence and she put her phone to her ear. “Stop fucking calling,” she snapped and then put her phone in her pocket again. “By the goal,” she cleared her throat.

The team stared at her. “Do you have a stalker, babe?” Asher asked.

“No,” she snorted and looked at her camera. She took a test shot of the empty net to make sure everything was set. She stepped tentatively onto the ice, more graceful than the last time she did. But Harry glided over to her quickly. He didn’t touch her, but he was more than ready to catch her. She ignored his presence, not in a mean way at all. Not an ounce of her was mean. Which is why it was so surprising she had that much malice in her voice on the phone.

“Everything okay, Sweetheart?” Charlie asked.

“Yup,” she popped the ‘puh’ sound.

She slid forward very carefully. “S’kind of shooting yourself in the foot here, Rookie. Figure skates have a better blade for beginners. S’harder t’skate on hockey skates for what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I was always told a hockey blade was thicker, so it was better.”

Harry shrugged. “S’not really that big of a deal in m’opinion. Figure skates have a longer blade, better for y’balance. Charlie set y’up with those?” She shook her head.

“No,” her voice was quiet.

“You bought hockey skates on your own?”

“Can you go stand with your team?” She asked dodging his question. He frowned.

“Yeah, sorry, Rookie, love,” he skated off but whistled at his younger teammate, Garrett, the third string forward for his position. Harry tilted his head in her direction and Garrett went over to her, standing way too far away in case she did fall.

“Who got her the skates?” He mumbled to Charlie. He shrugged.

“Not sure. Probably Kael. I would imagine he got a deal from his sponsors.”

God Harry hated him.

*

Mila was someone he saw on a semi-regular basis. Which meant she knew the drill. After their win, they would do their thing. Harry would stay until she fell asleep—because he wasn’t an asshole; and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he liked cuddling. Even if it was only for a little while—and he would send a text the next day to make sure she felt okay. There was no breakfast, no awkward small talk. Just sex. There was no setup to get feelings hurt or hearts broken. Harry was too busy for a girlfriend, and he would make for a shitty boyfriend.

It was cold when he left her place, and he blew into his hands for warmth when he as he headed to his car. There was a text on his phone from an unknown number.

Thought you would want to see the picture that’s on the front page of the sports section for tomorrow :) There was an impressive picture of Harry’s game winning goal. It wasn’t time sensitive but it was the one that broke the tie. The rest of the team held off the offensive line for the remaining ten minutes of the game.

Thanks, Rookie. I’m going to send it to Mum. She’ll print it for the fridge. How’d you get my number?

Kian gave it to me. Is that alright?

Who?

Callie 🙄 You should really learn your friends’ names. Is it okay I have your number?

Of course it’s alright. Just surprised YOU asked for it. Didn’t know you would want to talk to me so bad. You could have asked me yourself.

Sorry, I think have the wrong number.

He chuckled to himself while his car warmed up. The seat heater was heaven on his stiff muscles. Harry liked the cold—he had to being a hockey player. But it was her funny wit that warmed him from the inside out. Are you all still at Louis’?

Yes. Niall and Noah are about to break the air hockey machine.

Who?

🙄 Asher. Sorry. Jesus.

I’ll be right there, Rookie.

*

The next time the team won, Harry looked at the message from Layla asking if he wanted to come over to celebrate. He didn’t really want to. The guys were headed home because they had an early flight and there was no celebrating. Which meant that the pretty girl he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t going to be out and about either. She wouldn’t be doting on his drunk teammates. Wouldn’t be stopping their stupid fights about who’s turn it was to play her in darts. She wouldn’t be making sure they all made it home safely in the Ubers she ordered.

But Harry couldn’t just hang out with her either. There was no reason. She was basically his teammate and he couldn’t figure why she was so guarded. At least not beyond whatever it was she was dealing with Crowe.

“Is he still calling?” Niall asked looking at her phone the bench while she looked at her camera. Her hair always fell so perfectly as she watched the screen.

“Who?” Lang asked.

She sighed. “It’s just Kael.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

She shrugged. “I would have to answer to find out. Which is the last thing I want to do. I need a new phone number; I just haven’t gotten around to it. My schedule conflicts with most regular business hours so I could go to the store.”

“Charlie, you can’t spare her to give her a day off?” Asher asked.

Her uncle rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and continued practicing with the second and third stringers.

Harry sat beside her and peeked over her shoulder at her photos. “Do y’have any non-hockey photos?” She nodded and picked up her phone that was still showing Crowe blowing up her phone with calls and texts. “Why don’t y’block him, Rookie?” She swiped his notification away and she opened the web browser. It was currently on a recipe for carrot cake cupcakes. “Those look good,” he smiled.

She smirked. “It’s Ray’s birthday next week. Carrot cake is his favorite. Figured I’d make you all cupcakes.”

Harry thought she was too sweet for him. Someone with a lineup of women didn’t deserve her sweetness. Someone who was meeting Arya at her place after practice because he could didn’t get a girl like her. Him meeting Nyla after tomorrow’s away game three states away didn’t get someone like the pretty photographer.

Kael’s name kept popping up. “Y’probably never had t’block anybody before,” Harry said quietly. “D’you know how?” He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of blocking someone every now and again.

“I know how,” she laughed softly. “It’s just... with Kael, it’s likely to be a thing, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s easier to ignore him.”

“It probably gives him hope,” Harry frowned.

She held out her phone to him and shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I’ll see him in a couple weeks when we’re up North,” she reminded him. “Hopefully by then he’ll get the message; or I’ll have to talk to him in person.”

Harry took her phone and admired the portfolio of photos she displayed for him. The website was all black making her images pop. She was so talented. There were babies and weddings. There were family portraits and just general landscape shots. All of differing but equal beauty and perfection. Natural. Lovely.

Harry swiped away Kael’s name again and clicked on the menu item of the about section.

Two side by side pictures of the pretty girl next to him were on the screen. One with the camera in front of her eye, the other a sweet smile on her face camera in front of her like a prop. Behind the Lens... Thank you for browsing. If you like what you see, I’d be happy to quote you for any need. I have experience in just about any area of photographing. Thank you for letting me part of you day!

Too sweet for someone who was going to never be able to settle down because of his job. No matter how much he wished she could be part of his day.

Kael’s stupid name popped up again. Without another rational thought, Harry answered the call, pressed the phone to his ear, and skated off knowing she couldn’t go after him.

“Finally, baby,” Kael groaned.

“STYLES HOW DARE YOU!” She screamed.

“Crowe, nice t’hear from you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” He growled.

“HARRY!” She was on the ice in her ever-present boots. They weren’t great for walking on ice. She slipped immediately but Lang was right nearby to help her up. Harry was going to feel guilty about that for ages.

“None of your business,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want y’calling anymore.”

“What the fuck? Put her on the phone!”

“No,” Harry said defiantly. “She doesn’t want t’talk t’you. Ever. Stop calling y’piece of shit.”

Lang looked at Harry wildly as he glided with the pretty girl clutching to his arm. She smacked Harry multiple times on the arm and chest making the coaches laugh. “Give me the phone!” She snapped.

“Give her the phone!” He repeated. “Listen to her!”

“No, y’don’t deserve her,” Harry stepped out of her reach where she lost her balance as she lunged for him. She fell again catching her hands. Thank God she didn’t have her camera. Lang helped her to her feet again and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him again. “Y’didn’t appreciate her, her talent, or anything. Y’didn’t get her the right skates, and I don’t know what y’did t’piss her off so bad, but y’not getting her back,” Harry said it so casually. But every word was meant for her.

“Is that you, Styles?” Crowe snarled.

“Bye Crowe, see you in a month!” He said cheerily handing the phone off to her.

She nearly fell again despite holding onto Lang. “What the hell, Harry!”

“I got rid of him,” he shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Her face was beat red with embarrassment. Her hands had to be cold from the fall. But she still looked adorable as always. Even with a sour expression, she was sweet. Pretty beyond belief. Wide eyes, soft skin, even her nose was cute. She glared at him and spun on her heel. “Get me away from him,” she snapped.

Harry sighed, feeling bummed he pissed her off too much. Lang shook his head at Harry as he helped her back to the bench. She packed up her things and left.

But he couldn’t help but notice that her phone had stopped ringing.

*

She was still mad at him a week later. If she ignored his flirting before, this was an entire new level. She hardly acknowledged his presence. He missed her. In a weird way. He enjoyed bugging her, but perhaps it went to far. It was an invasion of her personal life that he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t really have any right to deal with her ex-boyfriend.

That didn’t mean anything he said wasn’t anything but the truth.

“Hey Rookie,” he said as she entered the room to get their drink orders for the evening.

“Hi everybody,” she grinned at everyone in turn and glared at Harry.

“Boy you pissed her off,” Niall chuckled.

He shrugged. “Worth it,” because it was. He hated Kael before, he hoped he got the clue.

“You know she had to talk to him, right?” Callie asked. Harry’s head snapped up from his phone screen looking at his contacts once more. Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it exactly but his evenings with the women in his phone were leaving him less and less fulfilled. He wasn’t looking for any grand pronouncements of love. That wasn’t his thing. But the idea of spending the evening with someone didn’t give him the same excitement as it used to.

It was probably the day he met her. But it was sinking in more over the week she had barely spoken to him. “What do y’mean?” He frowned.

“Crowe? She had to talk to him after that stunt you pulled.”

Harry glowered at the table. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone and he was threatening to come to her if she didn’t just talk to him. Why do you think she didn’t come with us on the plane the next day?”

Harry felt like a jerk. “Oh.”

“She hates you,” Asher reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “She could have told one of us,” he mumbled. Harry would have sat outside her apartment waiting for him.

“I don’t know if you noticed Harry, but she’s pretty private,” Niall sighed leaning on his pool stick. “I know you meant well, but it kind of fucked up her day.”

Harry pouted. He met her gaze as she brought their drinks out.

And if she spilled Harry’s on him, well, he supposed he deserved that.

*

Harry was a great hockey player, a great friend. A great brother and son. Not to toot his own horn but he thought he truly was the World’s Best Uncle like it said on the T-shirt Gemma had got him when she told him she was pregnant. He was still pretty humble all things considered; always looking to improve. Coach Wheeler was one of his favorite mentors (right after his mum) and he strived to do better by them.

He was bad at Chemistry in school. He wasn’t good at Sudoku. Most recently he felt like he was bad at having sex. The thing he had going with the women he knew didn’t seem to be working for him the way it used to. There was an awkwardness to the hookups when he left. He wasn’t mentally present in the moment.

Harry was pretty certain he would be a shitty boyfriend.

He needed her forgiveness, or the other remaining areas of his life were going to get worse too.

Most notably, he was shit in practice. He worried he was going to be demoted to second string.

Harry arrived early to practice, putting goals in the net two hours before everyone else arrived. He would have to pay to resurface the ice twenty minutes before practice officially started. But he hoped that she was going to show up early with her carrot cake cupcakes. He anticipated she would be just one short. Which Harry deserved on top of everything else too.

Fortunately, she did arrive early.

“Hey,” he waved.

She ignored him, set the cupcakes down on the bench and pulled out her camera. She fiddled with it, wiping the lens off with a cloth, and took some test shots of the ice.

“Rookie, love,” he sighed and skated over to the bench.

“Yes, Mr. Styles? Can I help you?”

“C’mon, Rookie, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I was just trying to help.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You must get whatever you want all the time.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t actually,” although from her perspective he could see what she meant.

“Well, me either, so if I’m going to be miserable. So are you.”

He snorted, shook his head. He stepped off the ice and sat on the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. Really. I hated that he was bothering you. I didn’t mean t’make it worse, honest. I would have done the same for m’sister or any one of the guys’ girls.”

“I am an adult Harry. I’m independent and I can handle my own shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I understand. M’sorry, really. I won’t do it again. But m’sick of y’being mad at me. S’been no fun this week without skating you around, grossly overtipping you jus’ so you’ll spend extra time with us,” he smiled shyly at her.

She sucked her lip into her mouth. For a moment she looked at her lap, obviously thinking something over. “How’d you know he bought me the wrong skates?” Her voice was quiet.

Harry blinked wondering how long she had that question locked and loaded. He shrugged. “I asked Charlie. He said he didn’t. So, I assumed it had to be him.”

She sighed and looked up. “He said figure skates would make me look like try-hard. Hockey skates would make me look more like I belonged on his arm,” she explained. “I didn’t know. I would have...” she shook her head. “It was eye-opening when you said that, and it hurt... and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry too.”

Harry sighed with relief. “You don’t have t’apologize,” he promised. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

“Apology accepted.”

Harry grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks Bunny.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “I don’t like Bunny.”

“Oh...” his smile grew by the second. “Y’don’t Rookie, love?” He chuckled standing up and getting back on the ice. “Y’probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he winked and skated off.

“There’s no cupcake for you!” She called.

“That’s okay, Bunny!” He shouted back with a grin and sank a shot from half-ice.

Maybe Harry would be a shitty boyfriend, but he was going to be her best friend instead.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @babegoals @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[sturnsdarling]

'Chris likes girls who don't like him back'

Late night streaming with your best friends turns to a conversation about the boys' type, and Chris gets called out

vibe check: flirty fluffy fun, 3/4 of my favourite f words

1.4k words

A/N: i had this idea literally straight away after what Matt said about Chris' type.........the idea of being Chris' best friend that he openly fancies but you're 'not interested' makes MY TOES CURL BRO LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING anyway I hope you love this. PART TWO IS INCOMING…

love and cigs, merc

"Matt he's right there what the fuck are you doing?!" you scream down the mic, nearly throwing your controller across the room as you jolt back in your chair.

You watch as Matt gets sniped in the head from the back, laughing as he wails on this desk, making the whole stream glitch and nearly crash. Chris is laughing along with you, trying not to make it obvious that he's watching you, and not Matt.

"Matt, bro you need to fuckin' up your game, y/n/n is actually carrying us right now." Chris says as Matt picks his chair up off the floor and sits back down in a huff.

"I always carry when I come on with you boys" you smirk, looking at the tiny square of Chris on your screen.

"yeah because you're a little sweat" Matt chuckles.

The boys had been streaming everyday for over a week now and, after some convincing, they managed to get you to join in on one of their games. At first you were apprehensive, obviously, but they explained that they were trying to diversify their platform and find a more mature audience so, actually interacting with girls on the internet was their first step.

You and the boys had been friends for forever, you met them through Nick in elementary school and had basically all been inseparable ever since, you'd been in some earlier videos but the fans back then made it very difficult to just exist around them so, you took it upon yourself to only exist in their real life, not their online one.

Cut to right now, you're nearly two hours deep in fortnite trios with the boys on stream, everyone was super excited to see you when they announced that they'd be joining and, other than a couple comments that you all ignored, it was going really well.

"Matt, someone asked what our types are" Chris laughed, reading the chat.

"I'm not answering that" Matt dead panned, screwing his face up at the camera

"I can answer it for you both, for sure" you chuckle, "chat do you want me to answer it?"

"yes, yes, yes, yes, omg yes" Chris was reeling off the answers in chat, "everyone wants y/n/n to answer, Matt should we let her?" Chris asked.

Matt rolled his eyes with a smile, "g'head, y/n/n, expose us" He chuckled.

"okay, so" you said, in your best girly gossip voice, "Matt likes nerdy, reader, soft girls" you begin to explain, your train of thought is interrupted by Chris erupting into laughter.

"dude she's so right! you love a girl that looks like she's always buried in a book" Chris wails.

"what are you guys even saying?" Matt complains, the smile etched across his face giving his tone a lot less power.

"you definitely want a girl who will go on a hike with you or some shit, Matt" You say, enjoying this whole interaction a bit too much.

Chris was keeled over in laughter, loving finally being able to talk about this kind of stuff on the internet without everyone going insane.

"I dunno why you're laughing so much, Chris, you're next" Matt states, Chris shrugs in reply.

"i don't give a fuck, call me out y/n/n, gimme the best you got" Chris sits back in his chair, arms folded over his chest.

"hmmmm" you say, exaggerating your thinking, "what is the famous Christopher Sturniolos type" you rub your chin, pretending to be thinking deeply.

A knowing smirk is spread wide across Chris' face as he stares at your face on his screen, tongue prodding the side of his cheek.

"I know Chris' type" Matt adds, a menacing smile on his face.

"g'head matt, you take this one" you gesture to the boy on your screen.

"Chris likes girls who don't like him back" Matts brows raise in accusation towards Chris.

You try and hide the smile forming on your face, attempting to look as focused on the game as possible as your tongue prods at your teeth. Neither of the boys say anything, both of them cheesing, Matt in a teasing and knowing kind of way and Chris more so in a 'I cant say what I wanna say' kind of way.

"damn, Matt, you just called me the fuck out" Chris shakes his head, looking to the tiny version of you on his screen.

You're still quiet, trying to fight the smile on your face and look as focused as possible, you catch Chris looking as if he's looking at you on his screen and shake your head with a chuckle.

"what you grinnin' at, kid?" Chris smirks.

You raise your brows, shaking your head with a downwards smile, "no, nothin', nothin" you say, returning your focus back to the game.

All of the viewers watched the interaction and were blowing up the chat with comments about how Chris definitely likes you, saying things like 'did you guys see that?!', and 'think they're slick look at how they're both smiling!!!!!'. Chris was reading the comments and trying to hide the red blush crawling its way onto his cheeks, Matt was relishing in the fact that Chris was so obviously nervous, and you were just trying not to react.

"Chris, dude, you better wipe that smile off your face, chat's onto you" Matt pokes the bear.

"chat ain't onto shit, Matt, shut the fuck up" Chris says, trying to be serious but unable to push his smile down.

"you know i'm right though, you do like girls who don't want you" Matt pushed on with his joke.

"Matt, shut your fuckin' mouth, dude" Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head, his smile still prevalent.

You couldn't help but laugh, still pretending to not care about the situation unfolding. In hindsight, it probably made it all the more obvious that you knew exactly what Matt was referring to.

"you're awful quiet, y/n/n, you got nothing to say on Chris' type?" Matt extends his joke over to you and your attention is immediately on him.

"nah, you hit the nail on the head, I think" you shrug, stretching back in your chair and adjusting your headset.

"oh really?" Chris replies, brows raised in accusation.

"mhm" you nod, faux innocently.

Chris kisses his teeth, nodding and trying to hide the smile on his face once again.

"yeah, chat, Matts right, I like pretty girls, who don't like me back" Chris says, subtly turning his attention to you and then back to chat.

You roll your eyes with a smile, leaning forward once more to lock into the game.

"you're ridiculous, Chris" Matt chuckles into the mic, watching you shift in your seat, trying not to blush.

The rest of the game went off without a hitch, you guys went on to win multiple times and all the viewers eventually stopped trying to get the conversation back to Chris' obvious crush on you. You played until the early hours of the morning, joking and laughing with the boys' just like old times and relishing in the fact that you were finally able to be a part of their online presence again. When it hit around three a.m you told them you had to sign off, explaining that you had to be up early for college that morning.

"guys, I gotta go, but I'll text you when I wake up" you said, pulling off your headset, and brushing your hair back with your hand.

"alright, y/n/n, thanks for helping us bury kids, its always a treat" Matt grinned at you, shooting you his token boyish smile.

"you know I live to humble kids on fort, Matt" You shrugged, putting on your best boyish persona, earning a laugh from Matt

"okay seriously, I gotta go, bye chat!" you smile, "bye boys" you go to switch off your computer but you're stopped by Chris booming voice.

"bye, beautiful" he says, a cheesy grin on his face.

your eyes roll to the back of your head as an uncontrollable smile finds your lips, "bye, Chris" you reply, switching off your computer.

The whole chat erupts with people losing their minds over Chris calling you beautiful, the boys say nothing, Matt just shakes his head, laughing at the chat as he watches Chris, grinning with pride and completely unashamed of his very obvious crush on you.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10

[yuvany]

꒰ 🥊 ꒱ ENHYPEN IN THE RING

// ENHYPEN as boxers and you're their number one prize.

─── ( on point ) OT7 x female reader contains : fluff + violence mentioned + pet names + est relationship + cameras + boxing!au + non!idol enha + not proofread 887 wc

reblogs + feedback always appreciated !!

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

Being in the boxing ring felt natural to him, but to you, it just felt as if you were praying for Heeseung to be alright every time he fought someone bigger than him. You didn't worry too much as you knew how talented he was and how he managed to beat people who mocked him for him size. Seeing someone fall to the ground never felt this relieving. You rushed up and enveloped his face in between your palms as you pressed a kiss to his lips for his victory. "Worried? For me?" He asks when you both are on your way home. "Yeah, what if you got really hurt?" You said, fidgeting with your thumbs, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be alright, yeah? I wouldn't want to worry you." Heeseung takes your hand in his.

(rest of the memebers below the cut)

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

always worried what you thought of him doing this sport. He knew the dangers of this sport, and he knew that he could get injured really badly, but something always pushed him to continue. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush. During matches, he'd always contemplate if he should quit or not after seeing other boxers bleed from their noses while being knocked out. That anxiousness quickly disperse as he sees you in the crowd, jumping and cheering his name. He puts on a smile for you. Some time later, Jay asked, "what do you think of me doing boxing?" You take a moment to think before answering, "I'm really happy that you're doing something you like, and I'll always support you." You reassure with a kiss to his cheek.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

He adores the comforting speeches you give him before each match. How they always manage to calm him down when his nerves were playing a trick on him. "baby, I'm nervous." Jake says, his hands clutching to your side, not wanting to part from your closeness while his coach is urging him to hurry up. "Why are you so stressed, Jakey? We both know how awsome you'll be. Just go and do what you love." You say, slowly walking towards the ring so that he can jump in. Jake sighs and hums at your words. "You'll be watching, right?" He asks, his puppy eyes gleaming under the bright stadium lights. "Of course." You say, patting his back before you shoo him inside.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Sunghoon loves showing you off to everyone just as much as you love cheering him on. Post-match, you'd be the first person he'd run over to as the cameras pan over to the couple. He doesn't care about what anyone says or sees, and instead he presses his lips to your face over and over again making sure that the camera and audience does not miss his love for you. Sunghoon is a firm believer that your love is worth more than any prize he'll ever win in his boxing career. After each match he'd win, the internet would be flooded by news making headlines of you and him, which always managed to put a smile on your face.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo didn't brag about his wins, even though he had a swelling ego, he was humble. Before each match, he'd wrap his arms around you, his head snuggled against your shoulder as you pat his back, urging him to let go and get ready for the fight, "Sunsun, it's time to go now." He doesn't let go and you just sigh. "Promise me that we'll go on a date later." He compromises, and you easily agree to it, because it's a date? While in the ring, you cheer the loudest, and he hears you since you're standing in the first row, but when the match is over and he is the clear winner, he doesn't hesitate to shoot you a quick wink.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

You loved watching him combat his friends during practice, but when it was time for the competition, you were starting to feel a bit anxious - your heart beating like a drum against your chest. You whisper a soft "good luck," before he gives you a bright smile and climed into the fighting arena. You watched with dread filling you up, and all you cared for was his safety. Seeing him get hit, you jump out of your seat with your palms hovering over your agape mouth that opened due to shock. You try to reassure yourself that he'd be okay, and luckily he was. "You really gave me a scare!" You lightly hit his shoulder, and he just pulled you against his chest.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You honestly didn't worry too much about him when he fought. Riki is a strong person, both physically and mentally. While he speaks to his coach during break time, Riki wraps one arm around your shoulders lazily as he leans his body against yours. You can hear his short breaths due to exhaustion, but you don't pull away, even though he is sweating. With a nod, there is little time left to spend and he presses a kiss to your head before he rushes back inside. When he wins, he runs over to you with a bright smile as cameras are aimed at him. One interviewer shouts, "What do you think of the prize you're winning." "What do you mean? I've got her right here!" He shouts back as he motions to you.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa @pshwrldd

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

THE PRANK THAT BACKFIRED (sort of?)

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: reader and drew decide to play a prank on the obx cast for her youtube channel. they do the “asking to have another girl over” prank, which results in a very angry obx cast who are out to get drew😅

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you asked for @xoxosblogsblog !! i had so much fun writing this and it was ADORABLE, i hope you like it :)) <3

WARNINGS: pure tooth-rotting fluff, slight angst (not really), like one (?) curse word, insinuation of cheating (the prank), chase & rudy threaten to “throw hands” with drew lmao. (lmk if i missed anything!)

WORD COUNT: 1.25k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N adjusted the camera, angling it perfectly to catch the cozy backdrop of the apartment she shared with Drew during her surprise visit to the set of Outer Banks season four.

The faint hum of laughter and chatter outside hinted at the cast heading out to grab food, giving her the perfect opportunity to set her plan into motion.

"Hey, guys!" she began with a bright smile, wiggling her fingers to the camera. "Welcome back to my channel. Today, I've got something hilarious planned. You've seen those TikTok pranks where someone asks if they can bring another girl over while their partner's friends or family are listening, right? Well, I'm doing it today—with Drew."

She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I've got the cast in on this. Well, not really in on it—they think I'm at a friend's place for the night, so this is going to be pure gold. Let's see how much they love me and how far they'll go to defend me from Drew's, um... betrayal."

She turned the camera to Drew, who sat beside her on the couch, half-smiling, half-shaking his head.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," Drew muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They're going to kill me."

"Kill us, you mean," Y/N teased, poking his side. "But it'll be worth it. Trust me."

"Uh-huh," Drew replied, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "When JD and Rudy show up with pitchforks, you're taking the blame."

Y/N laughed, her grin widening as she leaned into him. "Oh, come on. You know they love me too much to actually hurt me. You, on the other hand..."

Drew sighed dramatically but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

A few minutes later, Y/N tucked herself behind the camera, keeping it trained on Drew. Drew pulled out his phone and dialed JD's number, putting the call on speaker. The phone rang twice before JD answered, his voice lively with the sounds of clinking plates and background chatter.

"Yo, Starkey!" JD greeted. "What's up, man?"

Drew exchanged a quick glance with Y/N before diving in. "Hey, would you guys mind if I invited someone over?"

The line went silent for a beat, then JD's confused voice came through. "Uh... sure? Who?"

"Just a friend," Drew said casually.

"Cool, yeah," JD replied, his tone nonchalant. In the background, Madelyn could be heard asking, "Who's he inviting over?"

"Oh, she's just someone I met recently," Drew added, making his voice as nonchalant as possible.

Madelyn's voice sharpened. "Wait, she? Did he say she?"

JD stammered for a moment, then said, "Uh, Drew, man, what are you talking about? You have Y/N—why are you inviting another girl over?"

"It's not that deep," Drew said smoothly, earning a wide-eyed stare from Y/N as she struggled to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Not that deep?" Madelyn's voice rose an octave. "Are you fucking insane? Y/N is literally the best thing that's ever happened to you. You're just going to, what, throw her away for some random girl?"

"Yeah, Drew, what the hell?" Rudy's voice chimed in. "Y/N's gonna find out, dude. She always finds out."

"She's not even here," Drew argued. "And I just want some alone time with this girl. Is that so bad?"

Madelyn's voice was nearly a shriek now. "YES, IT'S BAD! You're in a relationship, Drew! A really amazing one, with an incredible person who, by the way, loves you more than anything!"

"And we love her!" Carlacia added. "You're crazy if you think we're not calling her right now."

"Right?!" Chase's voice joined the chorus, sounding equally appalled. "Drew, what is wrong with you?"

JD sighed loudly. "Man, I'm so disappointed right now. Y/N's, like, the nicest, funniest person ever. She's practically family. I don't even know what to say to you."

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth, tears forming in her eyes from trying not to laugh. Drew, ever the actor, kept his tone neutral but shot her a playful glare.

"You guys are overreacting," Drew said, feigning exasperation. "I mean, Y/N doesn't have to know, right?"

The collective gasp from the group was loud enough to make Y/N choke on her laughter.

Madison started a rant so fierce it almost made Drew break. "First of all, how dare you? Second of all, Y/N deserves so much better than this! She's gorgeous, sweet, funny—literally the whole package! And you're just going to throw that away? For what?!"

"I can't believe you right now," Rudy chimed in. "If you're serious about this, I'm calling her. Like, right now."

"No, don't—" Drew began, but Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her laughter burst out like a dam breaking, echoing through the room. Drew immediately broke character, laughing along as he waved his hands at Y/N’s camera.

"Wait, wait!" Y/N called out, coming into view of her camera. "Guys, relax! It's a prank!"

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a cacophony of voices.

"Are you serious?!" Madelyn exclaimed. "You scared the crap out of us!"

"You both are the worst," JD groaned.

Rudy's laugh boomed through the speaker. "I was about to knock some sense into you, man."

Chase chimed in with mock indignation. "I was ready to drive back and throw hands, Drew!"

Y/N giggled, holding her stomach as she leaned against Drew. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't resist! I saw it on TikTok and knew you guys would freak out. And you did not disappoint."

Madelyn groaned dramatically. "You two are so lucky we love you."

JD sighed. "I'm not speaking to you for a week."

"Okay, that's fair," Drew said with a grin.

Eventually, after more playful scolding and laughter, the group hung up, leaving Drew and Y/N alone again. Y/N turned off the camera, still giggling as she leaned back against the couch.

"That was amazing," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Drew shook his head, his expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "You're lucky they love you. If it were just me, they'd probably disown me."

Y/N smiled, sliding closer to him. "Well, can you blame them? I mean, look at me. I'm kind of a big deal."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You really are. They adore you, you know that? It's one of the things I love most about us—how easily you fit into my world."

Her teasing smile softened as she gazed up at him. "It means a lot to me, too. They're like family. And so are you."

Drew leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You're everything to me, Y/N. I hope you know that."

Her heart melted as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his jawline. "I do. And you're everything to me, too."

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other. The laughter, the teasing, the chaos—it all melted away, leaving just the two of them in their shared little world.

"You think they'll forgive us?" Drew asked after a moment.

Y/N smirked. "Oh, they'll forgive me. You, on the other hand..."

Drew groaned, burying his face in her shoulder as she laughed.

"Totally worth it," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was so so adorable and so much fun to write !! i hope you all enjoyed, and please please please like and reblog, it means the world when you do <3

my asks are still open so please don’t hesitate to send any in !! i’m in the mood to write some angst, hurt/comfort if you have any requests for drew or rage <3

[smoft-demons]

Mammon deserves to have someone who misses him when he’s away.

Imagine: Mammon’s not home for the week. He’s away, doing photoshoots or dealing with witches or whatever it is he does. His brothers are just chilling as usual. This is nothing to even blink at, much less be upset about.

But MC? Nope! He’s their Mammon, and they love him so much!

Imagine MC turning to the side where Mammon usually is, automatically going to whisper some dumb comment to him, and then deflating when they find no Mammon there. Imagine MC absentmindedly reaching their hand out to that side, going to hold his hand out of habitual impulse—and being confused for a moment to find empty air… then hiding their sadness. Imagine them distracting themself by hanging out with all the others, who they DO love a lot, but… Mammon’s not there, and the house feels incomplete. They’ve spent lots of time with the others without Mammon before, but he’s never been away so long before, and everything feels wrong.

Imagine Mammon’s reaction to his brothers (probably Asmo, to tease him, or Beel, out of sympathy for the human) texting him to tell him that the human’s moping without him. Imagine them catching MC doing one of those things on camera, because Mammon has to see it to really believe that someone misses him so much.

Imagine Mammon coming home, and the human regaining their energy just at the sound of his voice announcing that he’s back. Imagine them running to the door, pouncing on him for hugs with such excitement that he TOTALLY would have been knocked to the floor if he weren’t supernaturally strong—you know, being a demon.

“You’re home!!!!” MC shouts, not bothering to contain their excitement because they love him, they’re so happy to be reunited, they missed him so much, and he deserves to see that. It’s good for him.

Imagine how happy he’d be to get a reaction like that!

Imagine Mammon and MC inevitably ending up in MC’s room, as they always do, and Mammon seeing that MC has stolen the blanket off his bed. It’s in a messy pile on top of their own blanket, it looks like MC had been curled up under it just before he returned. Because it smells like him, and it’s warm and soft and big, so it’s the closest thing to a hug from him that they could have gotten while he was away.

Imagine how his heart would melt. Imagine how loved he would feel.

Idk, I think he’d cry

[keferon]

My hands are shaky and my head is refusing to work properly! But! I made it!

The Blurr chapter for Mecha au >:D

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

Under the cut

————————————

Nobody likes Blurr.

Okay, if you think on a large scale, everyone loooves Blurr. His face is on every poster, his brand is in every possible store, his voice and is in every cool commercial. You literally can't exist without knowing who Blurr is, or at least seeing his face once. It's a “Luke I'm your father” level phenomenon. How massive a rock do you have to live under to miss something like that?

Everybody loves Blurr. You can go buy a t-shirt with his face on it. You can go listen to his interviews or purchase a tiny replica of his action figure. There are incredibly many ways a Blurr fan can blow a hole in their budget.

Swerve knows, because he's done it many times. And recently, it's stopped being something he's proud of. To be precise, it was exactly four days ago when Blurr first stepped into his office. Swerve had just finished his shift and was finishing his tea when his boss suddenly appeared in the doorway, with the best racer in the world right behind him.

The tea was instantly dropped, adrenaline was released, and the brain was turned off.

In that moment, Swerve thought that this is what it must look like. The moment when all your good karma comes together in one pile to reward you for all the times you dropped a sandwich butter side down or missed a deadline.

Both of which happened with annoying regularity. Swerve is unlucky. Sometimes things seem to fall through his hands.

It started out great.

Swindle, their boss, showed up in the office space one day looking simultaneously jubilant, nervous, and very inspired. Usually on such occasions, Swerve could almost see the dollar signs reflected in his boss's glasses.

“Attention everyone. We have an important guest arriving in an hour.”

Swindle expressively pushed his glasses down on his nose and looked around the room

“I promised him a tour and I expect you all to behave yourselves.”

He meticulously looks around the floor beneath his feet

“Send someone to clean up all the trash. This place is unbelievably filthy. The floors should be sparkling in twenty minutes! And, oh! Hey you, go buy some good drinks.”

Having finished inspecting the floor Swindle hurriedly runs off, probably to say the same thing to the neighboring department.

Swerve stretches his neck out curiously, listening in

“Is the president coming to see us?”

Walking by, Jazz shrugs

“When the president was coming Swindle said the floor was dirty and made him wear boot covers.”

It's not the president

Swindle gestures generously to the entire office at once and looks overall like a bird trying his best to primp up

“And here we have the engineering department offices. In the next building is the assembly plant, that's where the mechs are put on their feet so to speak. And this is where all the computing, design, and planning happens.”

Just over his shoulder stands and looks around at none other than

Oh, dear God.

Swerve's tea flies to the floor next to his thought processes.

He's seen Blurr countless times, but never in person. How can this guy look as good in person as he does in expensive retouched-until-squeaky-clean photos? Mystery.

Blurr's gaze slides lazily over the simple office setting and for those two seconds when it's directed at Swerve it feels like sheer madness. He tries to look normal. He's not sure he's succeeding, but he's making an effort.

Swindle waltzes through the office, heading for the next door

“Come on I'll show you the mech hangar.”

Blurr grins.

“A highlight of the show I suppose~”

His voice is like a needle bursting a ball of stunned silence. People begin to rise from their seats and scramble to say hello. Someone asks for an autograph, others ask for a bunch of selfies, a couple people in the corner hastily fix their hair, one of the employees just pulls out his phone and shamelessly starts filming.

Swindle looks at the this with an unchanging commercial smile, but his gaze promises all kinds of punishment.

Perhaps if it had been the president, the buffoonery would have been smaller.

______________

For the next few days, Blurr is the big news and the center of all discussion.

Officially? He's becoming one of the pilots in the Mecha program.

In fact? Swindle's greedy soul couldn't get enough of the idea that the Mech concept could be monetized.

The dust is blown off Blurr and his boots are licked. He doesn't go to general training, he doesn't participate in ordinary or overly dangerous missions. He's allowed everything and a little more. His job is to look pretty on camera, speak his lines, smile and wink. He's a walking advertisement and Swindle's incredibly powerful tool in negotiating with investors.

Swerve once saw him called to a negotiation in the middle of the night, and even sleep-deprived and exhausted after a full day of filming, Blurr had the strength to pull that charming expression on his face and flawlessly play along with Swindle wherever he needed to.

His mech was a work of art. And that's not even an exaggeration. Usually the main purpose of mechs is to be efficient and practical. Blurr's Mech was made separately and so many people worked on its design that it could have its own end credits. It's beautiful, sleek, shiny and show-offy. It's designed to be awe-inspiring, but not so decorated that it's ridiculous.

When Swerve looks at its specs, he almost feels sick. Maneuverability, mobility, everything is absolutely top-notch. But most importantly, speed.

The technology to accelerate Mechs to incredible speeds has been around for some time, but the average robot doesn't reach even half of the technically possible maximum. Because even the fastest machine can't outrun the human brain.

After a certain threshold, pilots are no longer capable of controlling their own Mech. Human reaction speed is simply not enough to maneuver without crashing into anything or losing their orientation in space. And. Well. Without losing consciousness.

This has led to Mech manufacturers sort of tacitly agreeing on a rough speed limit and tending to stick to it. Just to make the technology safer and more suitable for everyone.

Regardless. Everyone except Blurr apparently.

Because the numbers across from his Mech's speed specs are horrifying. Swerve looks at the blueprints and thinks it's either freaking awesome or absolute suicide. Maybe something in between. Can a human being have reflexes like that? What about this turning mechanism? The numbers tell him that these levels of g-force make a large percentage of pilots just pass out.

Is Blurr really going to pilot this death wagon??

To achieve that kind of speed and mobility, they'd have to cut off half the armor or make it very light. Which would almost be like inviting a dangerous injury.

But if the Mech is made primarily to flaunt rather than fight...well... it probably makes sense.

Swerve's inner fan is sliding down the wall.

Blurr is incredible. And what's even more incredible is that he's kind of sort of almost Swerve's coworker now.

It only takes him a couple days to realize.

Everyone loves Blurr.

But the one who loves Blurr the most is Blurr himself.

The rose-tinted glasses are breaking slowly but surely. On the first day, Sverve walks up on shaky legs to get introduced. He tells himself that this is definitely not an attempt to get an autograph. They're coworkers. He's just...uh...greeting a new employee.

Blurr looks slightly bored.

“You're from this department....uh.. What's its name, whatever.”

Swerve clutches his hands in front of him so he doesn't accidentally drop anything

“OH.Uh yeah. Swerve! Engineering Department. You were there on a tour the other day. I usually work in the assembly plant, making armor for Mechs, developing new alloys. But I design too! I, uh.

(Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. He'll think you're a crazy fan. Don't talk about Blurr.)

Blurr starts to get sidetracked by his phone.

Swerve swallows awkwardly.

“I'm uh. I'm a big fan of yours. Sir.”

(Good job...)

Blurr chuckles softly and offers out his hand

“Well, nice to meet you.”

Sverve's hand is shaking like crazy, he hopes he isn't squeezing too hard. Working in the assembly has made his hands rough. Blurr's narrow, soft palm is almost sinking in his grip.

“ 'Nice to meet you, yes. Nice to meet you sir! If you, ah, if you have any problems or questions or uh, well. You know, if you need help with your Mech or upgrades or or.”

Blurr chuckles.

“I'll be counting on you~”

Swerve feels like his soul is about to break away from his body.

The next, day when they cross paths in the hallway Blurr waves to him.

“Hey you. Whatever your name is. Can you tell me how to get to Block D?

Swerve stops awkwardly.

“Ah. Of course! I'm Swerve sir. Come, I'll show you.”

Blurr smiles a beautiful, ad-libbed smile and follows him in

“Thank you darling.”

From this point on, the entire program gradually learns a simple but unpleasant truth.

Blurr is an asshole.

And nobody likes him.

He always has everyone at his beck and call. You rarely get to see him on his own. There's always someone swirling around him with a guilty or annoyed face. A sort of serve-get-show-explain designated poor guy.

Swindle treats Blurr like a precious antique vase.

Blurr treats people like his servants.

The whole world is in love with the glittering cover, the image polished to a squeak. Until recently, Swerve was doing the same thing. Now it feels more like an embarrassing crush.

Blurr still doesn't remember his name. He actually remembers at most three to four people by name, and calls everyone else “hey you” or “ darling”. After Swerve reintroduced himself to him for the fourth time he just sort of...stopped trying.

On the field, Blurr is incredible. No one can deny that. The tremendous speed of his Mech leaves all the other pilots in the dust. Whoever said human reflexes weren't fast enough? HA. When Swerve sees his reports and results, he gets dizzy.

The combination of such incredible speeds and light armor means Blurr simply can't miss. If he hesitates, if he falters. If he gets confused. The whole metal thing will smash him to smithereens.

And yet Blurr comes back untouched time after time.

Swerve's no longer inclined to think it's just because of his mad skills. He knows that Swindle is paying Blurr a lot of money for his cooperation. No one would let Blurr fight on the front lines, no. It would be too dangerous. He has to do just enough so that Swindle can record a commercial and in it call Blurr a badass pilot without adding small print to that statement.

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. But he is the first person every citizen would name if asked to say something about the Mech program. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

A month later, he still can't remember anyone's names and sometimes calls people by the colors of their clothes, laughing as if they should take it as a cute joke.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

That's okay.

It's not like fanboying over Blurr is Swerve's only passion.

He gets upset.

Then he gets mad and rips down all the posters.

Then he has no time to be angry because Swindle wants to launch Mechs into outer space and damn it, Jazz flies off the planet and doesn't fucking come back. The engineering department stays up nights trying to figure out where he's gone, but they can't.

Unlike Blurr, everybody loved Jazz.

Unlike Blurr, Jazz deserved every ounce of that love.

The ground beneath his feet is starting to shake.

At first, all that happens is panic. Everyone starts making a confused noise, someone assumes an earthquake.

A voice on the speakers says that everyone needs to evacuate immediately, but no one hears it because huge mechanical tentacles start coming through the windows and the whole building starts shaking, creaking and crumbling.

Sverve has seen the monsters humanity has to fight many times. But never this close. And their size leaves him absolutely terrified. These things are huge, they take up all visible space. And what's most damning is that they can break down the walls around Swerve like a fucking cookie.

He's gonna die. Oh god he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die here under this stupid rubble or get eaten or turned into one of the ugly bloody stains on the wall. His heart is doing a million beats a minute and his eyes are starting to sting. He tries to get to the emergency exit, but the door is blocked by one of the huge toothy creatures that is actively trying to get in.

Next to him, Swindle is shouting to someone on his comm, trying to sound louder than the rumble of the collapsing building and the hungry aliens.

The floor tilts at a very disturbing angle and Swerve grabs one of the interior doorways to stay in place. A second later, he reaches out and pulls Swindle, who has already slowly begun to slip toward the monster's huge hungry maw, to the same doorway.

Swindle grabs onto the frame of the door and Swerve at the same time. His glasses are cracked and his usually neat expensive coat is all dust and debris.

“It was a trap.”

Swerve can't hear a word over the grinding of breaking structures.

“What?”

Swindle almost slips and falls, but Swerve grabs him by the scruff of his coat and puts him back on his feet. Working in an assembly shop gives a man strong arms and right now he's very grateful for it.

Swindle makes a second, louder attempt

“It was a trap!!! All available pilots are now on the other side of the country! I've called for backup, but who knows how fast they'll get here.”

A smooth, silky voice comes from a walkie-talkie strapped to his coat.

“Ouch Swindle. So little faith in my professional skills?”

Swindle rounds his eyes

“Blurr??! Where are you!”

Blurr's voice sounds...not quite as it usually does. It's missing the habitual lazy note. The one that makes him sound like the whole world owes him money.

“Give me another minute and the answer will be 'here'.”

The building shakes again. Swindle swears so eloquently that Swerve can't help but admire it.

Swerve can't stand Blurr's smug face, but when he spots the first glimpse of blue metal in the window, joy floods his brain.

He usually associates Blurr with dumb nicknames, dismissive treatment, and commercials.

Now he watches the sleek, fast Mech lunge fearlessly at the monsters surrounding the building and thinks that. Fuck this. He's an asshole, but if he buys Swerve enough time to evacuate, he'll bring him a thank you card or something later. Though it's unlikely Blurr will care about that of course.

Swindle continues to shout instructions over the walkie-talkie. Swerve basically drags him outside by. He jumps up probably a full meter when very near him one of the monsters falls to the ground.

Blurr's Mech stands proudly on top of the fresh corpse and looks...actually really bad. Swerve knows that this particular robot was not built for rough, open confrontation. Its armor is too thin. Designed for speed and agility, not strength. He assembled it himself, after all.

Many of the plates are crumpled. Some are torn off. His legs are intact, but one of the joints sparks funny.

Blurr quickly looks around and Swerve unwittingly follows his example. The whole place is on fire. Office buildings are in ruins and a huge column of black smoke rises above the assembly plant.

Blurr's Mech drops to the ground and gets down on one knee. The plates on its chest are pulled aside and Blurr sticks his head out of the cockpit while simultaneously opening the visor on his helmet.

“Everyone okay?”

Swindle clutches the walkie-talkie

“The office areas are empty, but there still could be people left on the lower floors of the assembly plant. But we have no access there!”

Blurr drums his fingers quickly on the metal plate

“Fire?”

Swindle shrugs his dusty shoulders

“Something exploded at the bottom of the building. It's a real smelter down there.

Even if we send a Mech, it won't last more than a minute before it overheats. Or make the building collapse.”

Blurr's gaze becomes focused. Sharp. Swerve has seen that look many times on tough front line fighters like Jazz. On Blurr, never.

“'That's enough time for me.”

Swindle waves his hands

“Are you crazy?”

Blurr slaps his palm against the armor of his Mech

“This baby is light. Lighter than anything you've got! If anyone can do it without dropping the building, it's me. They make Mechs in the assembly hall, it's got high ceilings right?”

Swerve wants to snap. He wants to throw his hands up angrily and yell something along the lines of “you were literally there!”

Who else is down there on those lower floors??? Tailgate? Maybe Wheeljack? If something exploded, Wheeljack was definitely there. And probably closest to the explosion.

Swindle curses furiously, but retreats and runs off to give orders to someone else.

“”Be a hero if you want, but I'm not going in there. For all I know there could be melting metal in there instead of a floor! It's just not reasonable.”

Swerve's brain stumbles over that statement. Why...Swindle is acting like he's being forced to climb into that building too...?

Blurr looks nervous.

“You know what. Fine. I got it. Hey, you--”

And there it is. The good old namelesness.

Blurr pays no attention to Swerve's frowning face, nor his hands shaking with fear

“ You're familiar with those buildings. You know who was there and where to find them right? I need you to walk me through.”

Swerve feels the urge to snap again and this time doesn't hold it back

“If you cared about something other than yourself, you'd know this damn building and the people who work in it too and !”

“I don't fucking remember!” Blurr interrupts him.

Swerve doesn't have time to put anything in after that. Though a sarcastic comment is begging to be made.

Blurr quickly takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

“I don't remember okay! This isn't a fad or posing or whatever else you think of me. This is what an accident can do to you if you miss a turn! I can't remember shit, okay?! Do you need a medical report?!”

Swerve just...stands there with his mouth open and probably looks like an idiot.

Blurr nervously tucks back his disheveled hair. The longer he talks, the faster he does it.

“Now. I know you don't want to die in a pit of fire. But I need your help to save them. Don't do anything, just take the map. I promise I won't let you die.”

He sounds determined. And holds out his hand to Swerve, silently inviting him to climb up onto the Mech.

His face is stained in sticky dust, his hair is an absolute mess, and his narrow palm is covered in streaks of soot. It's as if he's been dragged face down a muddy road.

He's. Very Handsome, Swerve thinks.

He takes his hand.

Blurr helps him up, pushes him into the space next to the pilot's seat, and closes the cockpit.

“Been inside a working Mech ever?”

Swerve clenches his hands nervously on the back of the seat

“No.”

The lights of the consoles around him come to life as Blurr puts on his helmet. The space around him hums. It's a strange noise. At once unsettling and calm.

Mech feels alive, he thinks. Then corrects himself. Blurr is mind-linked to this Mech. This Mech can technically be considered alive in a sense.

Blurr moves one of the monitors toward him and opens the map.

“Just mark the path here. Don't touch anything else. And hold on tight. I won't be going too fast anyway, but it'll be shaky.”

Swerve swallows nervously.

“Understood.”

After that, everything turns into motion. Watching the Mech work while being inside is mesmerizing.

Blurr doesn't say much, concentrating on the controls. His hands aren't shaking anymore, Swerve notices. Not even a little.

He steers the machine forward confidently and smoothly, dodging falling debris and avoiding the biggest pockets of fire without panic or hesitation.

He's also strictly following the path Swerve is laying out for him.

The air filtration system is doing well so far. Swerve can feel the smell of burning and the heat slowly creeping up, but it's bearable for now. For now.

They find a man on the nearside of the emergency exit.

Two more people a floor below. A small group stuck in the elevator.

Wheeljack's on the doorstep of his lab.

Blurr pulls them all out. Picks up the first group of people and carries them outside, goes back into the fiery furnace, finds more survivors, pulls them out, goes back, searches, rescues, goes back, searches, rescues.

The heat is coming up. Swerve can feel it. The plates around him are getting hot. The air smells like burnt wires.

Blurr’s Mech wasn't designed for this kind of thing.

His Mech was made to flash for the camera and accelerate to impossible speeds. To deceive and confuse the enemy. Its armor is thin and cools easily in the air, which usually helps it avoid overheating.

This also means that this Mech heats up very quickly as well.

Now, with the air around him feeling like a red-hot frying pan, Swerve regrets not saying anything back then. He regrets that he didn't make any changes to the blueprint.

More and more warnings pop up on the screens. The map stopped working correctly some time ago and Swerve is forced to give directions verbally.

He nervously grips the back of the pilot seat with one hand and, without noticing, Blurr's shoulder with the other.

Blurr carries two more people outside and hands them to the rescuers. Then turns back to the building again and. OH FUCK. Right in front of him, a huge crack begins to creep along the structure. This thing is on the verge of collapse. The roof is already starting to fold down in a very bad way.

Swerve clenches his grip fearfully and hears Blurr hiss through his teeth.

Suddenly, the cockpit opens. The fresh air of the street feels like a cold sledgehammer blow after the heat and stuffiness of the lower levels.

Swerve is about to ask something, but doesn't have time because Blurr uses Mech's hand to gently but quickly pull him outside and set him on the ground.

“You were going to mark another spot.”

Swerve nods hurriedly.

“Tailgate is still there.”

Blurr wrinkles his face.

Swerve corrects himself and clarifies

“Bright blue uniform. Short. Considering all the places we've been, I think he's in the staff quarters. It's...”

He chews his fingers, trying to remember numbers and directions without a map

“...two floors down, left, another floor down and straight ahead.”

As he speaks Blurr bends over the side of the open cockpit and spits...blood on the ground. His nose is bleeding, Swerve realizes. That's not good. It's a clear sign of a malfunctioning neural connection. Or damage to his respiratory system? Possibly both.

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his worried look

“Two down, left down then. Shit. Wait. Two down, left then down, straight ahead yeah?”

Swerve nods.

Blurr keeps repeating these directions like a mantra. A very fast and creepy mantra.

His gaze roams strangely and his breaths sound hoarse. His teeth and chin are covered in blood and his face is streaked with soot.

Swerve understands. He's about to do another go.

Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight.

Alone. He's going, and he's going to fry himself alive in there for a stranger he doesn't even remember.

Swerve doesn't have time to say anything. What's he gonna say? Stop? But he wants to save Tailgate? Go on, I believe in you? But it's certain death.

Swerve rarely has nothing to say, but this time he can't find the right words.

Blurr wipes the blood with his sleeve, wrinkles his nose, and storms off, heading back into the flaming mess the plant has become.

Not twenty seconds later, the roof collapses, spewing a huge cloud of smoke, ash, and fire into the sky.

Swerve wrinkles his shirt nervously in his hands.

The walls are still in place, right? If the roof is gone but the walls are still standing it's... it's. It's.

Damn it. He's trying to remember the blueprints. It means the ejector will work. It means Blurr can still get out through the top. That--

Blurr's not getting out. As the small, bright blue escape pod appears above the falling walls of the building, Swerve feels his brain stop. Remember the blueprints, remember the damn blueprints. The Mech is light, the design is compact, the space in the pod is for only one person.

In the capsule lies an unconscious Tailgate.

Swindle grasps the radio

“Blurr? BLURR!”

Swerve looks at the smoke and ash and feels numb. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He has to know. He doesn't...

He feels weird. The same kind of weird as when objects fly seemingly through him. Everything just stops being real.

The thought comes out of nowhere. You don't have to obey the rules. You can see more. Just look.

He's not sure how or why he's doing it.

No one around him is paying much attention to him. Everyone's busy with survivors and damage assessment or just stunned by the chaos.

And him? He disappears.

And then he appears at the bottom. Under the rubble.

All around him is ugly, molten and red-hot chaos, but he doesn't care anymore. He feels like whatever is happening is about to end and he just has to be in time. Time for him to find out.

Blurr's Mech lies crushed by the fallen roof. Its cockpit is open. A gaping hole where his chest was, the place where the escape pod had undocked.

Wall debris has pinned him in a crooked, grotesque pose.

Blurr is here. His legs are wedged between crumpled metal plates inside the cockpit, leaving him hanging upside down. His suit is charred. Half of his face is destroyed. It looks like a horrible bloody and burned mess. It's ugly and gruesome.

Blurr opens his only working eye and gives Swerve a cloudy look.

“I must be seeing things...”

Swerve shrugs in daze. He knows he shouldn't be here.

Blurr spits up a mouthful of blood

“I'm sorry I hurt you uh...”

“Swerve.”

“Yes. Swerve. It's hard for me to remember things unless they're...akgh...hell... not in my face all the time.”

Swerve moves closer and frowns

“You know, that explains but doesn't excuse you.”

Blurr closes his eye and coughs. That sounds really bad.

“No...I guess not.”

He huffs off the blood again. The burned half of his face is oozing with it. The blood runs down his forehead, collecting in a small puddle on the floor.

“It was better than letting everyone know what's wrong with me. I can't even begin to think about the amount of messes I'd be dragged into.”

Swerve notes that the fire seems to be getting closer.

This whole bit of dialog is so unnatural. Who even talks about that kind of stuff before they die. On the other hand. Well. Character development?

“So you think it's better to have everyone assume you're a jerk than that you got your head screwed on?”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“ You're a very specific kind of ghost.”

Swerve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away

“I needed to know. Before you die.”

“That's ...akghhh...ha....it's good to know. Can you tell me something Swerve? As..agh...

As a last wish?”

Swerve shrugs again. He stares at the dripping blood. At the ugly, bubbling burns. At the burst vessels in his eye and the paths of blood from his bleeding nose. He looks at the broken and scorched and dying bloody mess.

He looks at Blurr.

And he thinks, until today, he didn't really love Blurr. Not with the posters and figurines. Not with the disdain and dislike.

He loved an image. And hated an image.

He reaches out and tries to touch Blurr's hand, but goes through it.

“I'm sorry. But we're both not really here. And I have to go.”

He can feel the cold metal around him, which is strange because he's standing in the middle of smoking and burning ruins

“But if it makes you happy, I guess you're my favorite character after all.”

Blurr doesn't answer. Swerve isn't sure he even heard him.

The feeling of metal around him grows sharper.

Someone shines a flashlight in his face.

Swerve blinks stupidly and tries to move away.

The unknown Autobot medic standing over him smiles happily and puts the flashlight away

“Welcome back. You've been in a coma Primus knows how long.”

The other medic to the side frowns

“You have zero tact.”

Swerve blinks his optics puzzled, raises his servo and for a while just stares at it like some movie character. All around him is an Autobot medbay. Metal walls. Metal instruments. And him. Metal.

Yes. Seems so. That's the way he's always been. That's right.

“Doc, you won't believe what kind of weird dream I had.”

___________

Swerve feels like he's going crazy.

He's standing in the middle of a hallway on one of the Autobot ships, and he's staring. shamelessly.

There's Prowl standing at the end of the hallway. And on his shoulder is...

“ JAZZ????”

Both bot and human turn around abruptly at his scream. And both look equally puzzled.

Jazz waves his hand

“Do I know you?”

Swerve is definitely going crazy. It's Jazz. The same one. From his...dream??? But he's real and tangible??? Sitting on Prowl's shoulder, talking and breathing and being seen by everyone not only Swerve????

“You're...real...?”

Jazz raises his eyebrows

“I am. Yes. Really Mech, you sound very familiar.

But I can tell you for a fact that I have not been friends with any Cybertronians before...”

This can't be, this can't be, this isn't....

It was a dream. The spawn of his TV series-addled mind. A hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't, was it?

But Jazz is here. And he disappeared from Earth. And now he's here.

And.

What the..

Swerve blurts out something like “sorry-sorry-see-you-later-now-I've got to go” and runs off.

“HEY DOC????”

The autobot, already familiar to him, flinches

“Primus...Swerve? Is something wrong?”

Swerve realizes that everything is about to either make sense or lose it completely.

“Tell me...is it possible to project a holoform...like...very far away?”

The Doctor tilts his head.

“Depends on power consumption. If you channel all the energy available in a frame, you can go very far. But that would send you into a...coma...if you...tried...Swerve, is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

“Doc do you know where Earth is?”

“Wha...no?”

Swerve chuckles nervously and bites his knuckles.

“I don't either. But I think I've been there...”