#I’m sorry I am the way I am and haven’t responded to these they’re all so kind and wonderful and i love all of u

[formulafics]

★ DO I WANNA KNOW? | JB22

Scenario: in which a series of unexpected events, starting with being stuck in the same hotel room with a single bed, takes teammates yn ln and jenson button from major rivals to lovers.

Pairing: jenson button x fem!reader

A/N: no one asked for this but LAWD I LOVE JENSON BUTTON. i had to do something about it 😔 shoutout to @renarots for supplying memes and 4 am brain rot that contributed to the making of this fic and most of my other ones too

NOTE: yn and jenson drive for mercedes (i had to do this for my own sanity)

racing_news

liked by buttonnation, sebrrari, and 12,432 others

racing_news jenson button responds to questions about his relationship with teammate yn ln following this weekends rumors.

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formulawrld idec about the rumors jenson looks so fine bro

formulavettel i bet seb knows all the tea about them. sebastian please spill

webbersebberf1 🤨 surely they could have just gotten another room? they have the money for it. idk, me thinks they’re dating and trying to keep it secret

⤷ ferrarilvr LITERALLY. you genuinely cannot convince me that they aren’t dating after this

⤷ shumione you genuinely thing they’re together even with how much they clearly don’t like each other?

⤷ ferrarilvr 🤷🏻‍♀️ things change and honestly i feel like they’ve had feelings for each other and just didn’t want to admit it

It had been three months since the “hotel incident”. Finally, you texted him. You weren’t sure what to expect from him, but you were ultimately relieved by his response, and didn’t wast a single moment on making your way to him.

With each step you take, a small splash sounds beneath your feet. Rain patters on the ground, and you pull your jacket closed in an attempt to shield yourself from the cold gust of wind that blows through the night. Each stride is powerful and determined - the truth is, you like Jenson. What once was a deep disdain for the man has somehow formed into a blossoming adoration for him. Miscommunications and mistakes lead you down the wrong path with him, but ever since the night of the “hotel incident” — as you, Jenson, and your team call it — you haven’t been able to see him in a bad light.

“Look, i’m sorry,” Jenson says, his expression softer than it had ever been towards you. You were almost offended, thinking he was about to try and make you feel bad, but that wasn’t the case. “You’re more than welcome to go - actually, i’ll pay for your hotel room if you want to leave, but if you’re choosing to stay, i’ll give you your space.” It was unlike him, at least, the him that you knew. He seemed remorseful and genuine, like you and him were anything but rivals. It made your heart beat just a little faster in your chest, and you couldn’t deny how strangely right it felt to be in the same bed with him. Even sharing the room was almost natural.

You turned away from each other to change, but both of you were guilty of peeking over your shoulder. Your eyes lingered for longer than you’d ever admit, but the same went for him. Neither of you could muster the courage to say anything, to address the tension between you both, and despite what should have been an awkward atmosphere, you both found yourselves comfortable in each others presence, even with the weight of your forbidden thoughts.

Not much happened after that, truthfully. Things did change though. Suddenly, his presence didn’t irk you, and you could never get on his nerves. You worked together more willingly, almost volunteered, and through those minor changes, you both came to realize how wrong you’d been about the other. Sure, Jenson had his moments, but he was sweet, a genuine and polite guy. You weren’t entitled the way Jenson thought - in fact, you were humble, kind…and how could he ever not see just how beautiful you are?

He doesn’t know the answer to that, but now, knowing that you’re moments away, he finds himself anxious. In a good way. He’s excited to see you, and he laughs to himself about how ironic that is given how he used to dread seeing you. A knock on his door draws him back to reality, and he knows it’s you. Outside of the hotel room, you wait impatiently, and breathe a sigh of relief when he finally opens the door. Instanly, like an instinct, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into his warmth. His reaction is just as instinctive, and he wraps his arms around you, guiding you into the privacy of his room.

For the first time, you talked. Not yelled, not argued, just spoke to one another. It was a completely different experience for the two of you, one that you never thought would come of your relationship, but it came to you naturally. The warm touch of his hand holding yours, the somehow assuring and slightly intimidating way he looked at you as you spoke, the way he didn’t just listen to you, he heard you. And, you did the same for him. Though he didn’t have much to say, you listened and heard, and soon, you felt as though you’d only just met him, yet known him for years. Not the rival Jenson, but a Jenson you could get used to, one that you didn’t back away from when he leaned in.

It was a small, sealing kiss that he placed on your lips. One to really ensure that all of this was happening, that things were changing between the both of you, and you both accepted it, with a weight lifting off of your shoulders.

mercedesamgf1

liked by the.ynln, jensonbutton, and 265,672 others

mercedesamgf1 last time in Abu Dhabi…

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hereforbutton okay but are jenson and yn dating? PLEASE TELL US

formulaobsessed ARE YOUR DRIVERS DATING? YES OR NO?

⤷ mercedesamgf1 🤭

⤷ hereforbutton okay so what the fuck does that mean

formulayn we do NOT care about jenson rn where is my wife

mercamgfan maybe this time don’t prioritize the inferior driver 🙏🏻 yn deserves her wdc

hereforyn i’m so scared that this race is gonna send yn and jenson back into their rival arc

⤷ jensonbuttonlvr NO WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT. i cant handle them going back to rivals now

⤷ ynsgirlie i know. now that we have them being nice, i can’t imagine going back to what they used to be

mercedesamgf1

liked by the.ynln, jensonbutton, nicorosberg, and 346,789 others

mercedesamgf1 OUR WORLD CHAMPION ❤️ an exceptional performance from yn today, and a well deserved win. thank you for another amazing year, @/the.ynln

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the.ynln i’m gonna cry 💔 thank you guys so much.

formulayn THATS MY FUCKING WIFE IM SO PROUD OF HER

buttonynamg MY BABIES P1-P2 IN WDC IM SO PROUD RIGHT NOW

formulaobssesed who’s here after the post race interview? 🤭

⤷ markwebba I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA FALL IN LOVE

⤷ jensonsbutton bro jenson was heart eyes for her in the whole interview and the way he kissed her cheek when she started talking about their relationship 💔 he was so gentle

⤷ hereforbutton what got me was her getting emotional about the win and him hugging her like :( i was always hoping they’d start getting along but i did not expect them to become like this

🏷️: general taglist | @renarots @jsjcue @illicitverstappen @lovstappen @minkyungseokie @treehouse-mouse

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“I can’t wait to try one,” you beam at the tarts on the cooling rack. 

“Why don’t you?” Queenie asks as she wipes her hands on her apron. 

“Well, it’s only polite we let others try them, right? Thor? Loki?” 

“Oh, I don’t know if we should bother them right now,” she puts her hand behind her. “I’m sure they’ll find us when they’re ready.” 

“Uh, yeah, makes sense,” you raise your shoulders to your ears. “Sorry.” 

“Please, don’t be. I just don’t want to be in the way.” 

“Me either,” you smile. “I feel like that a lot. My sister always makes me the odd one out. Her and her friends.” 

“Oh, really. I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault. I don’t want to tell on myself but I’m really happy we met. I hope... we can be friends.” You chew your lip as you look around. 

“We already are, aren’t we?” She asks. 

Your cheeks hurt as you smile gets even bigger, “really?” 

“Sure. You think I bake for anyone but friends?” She snorts. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not much of a homemaker.” 

“No, you have to be! You always look so nice,” you insist. 

“Ha, yeah, well... that’s what they like,” she swallows. 

“They?” You wonder. 

“Ladies,” Thor’s booming voice thunders in and you whip around to face him. “I smell something sweet.” 

Queen mumbles but doesn’t respond clearly. You perk up, “tarts! They’re all done, if you want to try some.” 

“Tarts,” he echoes in excitement and claps his hand, “I was of the mind for a different sort of sugar,” he steps around you and nears Queenie. He puts his large hands on her shoulders and draws her into a kiss. You avert your gaze embarrassed. “But a dessert would be nice too.” 

You shift and wave at the tray of pastries. “If Loki wants some, there’s a lot to go around.” 

“My brother? No, he disappeared a while ago. So is his nature,” he plucks a tart from the array. “But perhaps we will set one aside for him.” 

“Okay,” you agree as Queenie turns and wipes the counter. She’s already done that but she seems to prefer the distraction. 

Thor bites into tart, nearly taking half of it. He purrs and nods. “Very delicious.” 

“She did most of the work,” Queenie says over her shoulder. 

“We both did a lot,” you counter. “Really, it’s good?” 

“Haven’t you tried one?” He asks through his mouthful. 

“Not yet.” You turn and carefully cradle one. You lift it over your cupped hand to catch the crumbs and bite into it. “Mmm.” 

“Queenie, please, you must,” Thor turns with what’s left of his and offers it to her. She turns to him and hesitates. She lets him feed her the tart and chews tightly. 

She hums and hides her mouth behind her hand, “very good.” 

“Well, it seems you’ve been quite productive,” Thor praises. “You should show sweetness around. Give her a lay of the land. Have a bit of fun. Can’t save it all for the night time, eh?” 

He winks and she bats her lashes bashfully, “sure, um, come on,” she brushes by him and grabs your wrist. “I’ll show you the garden. It’s my favourite place.” 

“Aside from the bed,” Thor chortles. 

She squeezes you tight as she drags you away. It’s cute how much he loves her but you imagine you’d be just as embarrassed. You go with her easily, chewing on what’s left of your tart. 

“You’ll have to take some with you,” she says. “I can’t possibly eat so many.” 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” she takes you through the back door and finally stops. You can sense her dismay. 

“Are you okay?” You free yourself from her grasp and touch her shoulder. She winces. 

“Fine,” she insists and crosses her arms. She marches ahead of you. “Just need some fresh air. It was getting warm in the kitchen.” She stops and glances back at you. “I don’t know how you’re not dying in that.” 

You look down at your turtleneck and shrug, “guess I’m used to it.” You follow her and glance around. The yard is huge. There’s a pool and grotto, a canopy over a dining set, a gazebo at the far corner surrounded by lush rose bushes, flowers at the middle arranged around the immense fountain. It’s like a fairytale. 

“This is so...” 

“I know, it’s beautiful,” she agrees as if it’s a bad thing. “Do you want to see the birds?” 

“Birds?” 

She nods and beckons you after her. She takes you toward the gazebo and around to the rear corner of the yard. The stone wall is woven over with vines and you can hear the steady cheep within. Bright yellow heads poke in and out as wings rustle through the leaves. 

“Wow!” You say. 

“He gets them imported,” she explains. “Pretty but... stuck here...” 

“They can fly away.” 

“They are tracked,” she sighs. “Not that they get very far with clipped wings.” 

You frown, “oh.” 

“Well...” she sniffs, “things are a bit nicer with someone to share them with,” she stands beside you. “Aren’t they?” 

You agree with a nod and gape at the wall of birds nesting between the vines. After a while, you trail after her into the gazebo and play on the wooden chessboard inside. The air smells like pollen. You while away the time, enjoying the lull as the breeze gently flows through the arches. 

“Checkmate. I think.” You say. 

She clicks her tongue, “yes.” 

“Wow, I never played before,” you snicker. 

“Don’t be a sore winner,” she sticks her tongue out. 

“I’m not,” you retort. 

“Well, maybe I’m a sore loser,” she pouts. 

You laugh and when she does, you laugh even louder. It’s infectious as the two of you giggle in the curtained dim of the gazebo. 

“Ahem,” the clearing of the throat also clears the air. You choke on your laughter and look in tandem to the shadow in the doorway. “I was told I am to return you to your home.” 

Loki stands with a placid expression. Despite his unaffected demeanour, you notice that a strand of his hair has fallen forward away from the rest of his neatly combed locks and there’s a dark stain on his collar. 

“Oh, already?” You wonder. 

He checks the watch on his wrist, “my brother said so. It is after dinner time. I believe he has plans with his... companion.” 

Queenie rises, “maybe next time you can stay.” 

“Hm, yes, maybe next time,” Loki repeats deliberately. “Come on then. I’ve not got all night.” 

You stand and give an apologetic smile, “bye, Queenie,” you murmur as she passes Loki. You follow her and stop just before him. “Did you have a tart?” 

“A tart?” His brows arch. 

“In the kitchen. We baked tarts.” 

“Mm, perhaps another time,” he drawls. “Let us not linger.” 

“Yes, sir,” you agree and wait for him to move. He doesn’t. You stare at each other. Finally, he shifts and extends his arm to gesture you out ahead of him. “Thanks,” you bounce past him and down the steps. “Oh look, you can see the moon already.” You point ahead as you cross the lawn ahead of him. 

“Mm,” he follows you at a pace. “Suppose that is rather amusing.” 

[iwritefandomimagines]

MORE THAN ENOUGH — ETHAN LANDRY

masterlist

pairing: ethan landry x f!reader

description: you’ve been hanging around the group more often lately, and they haven’t clocked the way you always end up leaving with ethan. when you overhear them doubting you’d ever date him, you decide to make a show of just how much your boyfriend means to you.

warnings: swearing, mindy is kinda being an asshole but i love her it just fits the plot, also they make popcorn like … impossibly fast at the end but i was not wasting time on popcorn making when i had FLUFF to write huh. no gf mentions !!!

author’s note: this has been almost finished for so long and i finally finished it today lmao. hope you enjoy!

“Hey E, when did Y/N say she was getting here?”

“What’re you asking him for?”

“Because obviously it’s him who’s going to know?”

You rolled your eyes at the argument between Mindy and Chad as you quietly paced down the hallway towards the lounge.

“Why is that obvious?” Mindy countered, and you could practically picture Ethan’s pout as he butted in now, “Why are you so sure she wouldn’t tell me?”

Mindy scoffed, “What, you know everything just because you have a massive crush on her? You probably just, like, stalk her or something.”

“I don’t stalk her—,”

“Okay, you just follow her round like a lost little puppy she has to deal with all the damn time,” Mindy snorted, “I’m just saying she’d have text the group chat, not just you.”

“Hey, that’s harsh,” Tara interjected, “Whether she’s out of his league or not, that’s not what the deal is here. They’re just as close as she is with you, if not closer. It makes sense she’d text him.”

You shook your head even though they still couldn’t see you, lingering just past the doorway and listening in as they talked.

“Why is this whole thing being blown out of proportion? He only asked when she’d get here, not for you to all talk about me like I’m a total loser she’d never be seen with,” you could hear that he was taking their words to heart as he tried to stick up for himself for once.

“Nobody said total loser,” Mindy shrugged, “But we’re just speculating. Chad talks about you two like a couple, and I’m simply reminding him that you’re obviously not.”

Anika put her hand on her girlfriend’s arm for a second, “Mindy, c’mon. You’re just being mean now.”

“I know she’s out of my league and I never said any different Mindy,” Ethan groaned, “Could we shut up about this already? She’ll be here any minute and I don’t need her hearing you talking about how pathetic I am.”

Mindy huffed, raising her arms in feigned surrender, “You said it, not me. Look, sorry, I’m not trying to be harsh I swear. Just no point in you getting your hopes up, is there?”

You took that as your cue, striding into the room and heading straight towards your boyfriend.

“Hey guys,” you hummed, throwing down your bag and plopping yourself down onto Ethan’s lap and curling your arms around his neck.

He looked perplexed, unsure why you waltzed in and made such a show of PDA all of a sudden, but his tense body relaxed under your touch regardless.

His hands curled around your waist as he shuffled back in his seat to make you both more comfortable, his voice shy as he responded, “Hey.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mindy rose to her feet, “What?”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning your head to shoot her a sickly sweet smile, “What?”

You could see Chad stifling a laugh, because he’d seen you sneak out of their dorm one too many times not to have figured out you were actually dating by now.

“Why are you—,”

“Sitting on my boyfriend’s lap? There’s no other seats, Minds,” you shrugged, fighting back a smirk as she went bug-eyed, “Oh, shit. I forgot we still hadn’t told you guys. My bad!”

Mindy fumbled over her words for a moment, still staring at you as your fingers twirled Ethan’s curls at the base of his neck and his fingers danced over the waistband of your jeans.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling warmth radiate from his skin as his eyes darted around the room for everyone’s reactions.

“Boyfriend? You’re together?”

Tara was grinning, “Nice!”

“Aw you guys,” Anika grinned, “That’s so cute. We can double date!”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe if Mindy apologises for talking to Ethan like he’s the shit on the bottom of her shoe, yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I just—,”

“It’s fine, Mindy,” Ethan shrugged, nuzzling his face into your neck to hide away from the attention, “Can we just move on? At least you all know now.”

You frowned, pressing a kiss atop his curls as he remained close to you. You watched Mindy frantically search for the right words to say, before deciding to stay quiet.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, tension evident as Ethan’s grip on you seemed to tighten.

“It’s Ethan who’s been asking to keep things quiet, so thanks for the reminder of why,” you huffed, “Because you make him feel like he doesn’t deserve me. It’s not fair, Minds. At all. And you’re supposed to be my best friend.”

“I am your best friend!” Mindy replied, “I just didn’t expect this, that’s all. I’m sorry, okay? I’m happy for you guys. I really am.”

You scoffed, “Well maybe if you spent a little more time treating Ethan like an actual person and not some pointless side character in a, like, movie or whatever, you’d realise he’s a good person and that it’s me who doesn’t deserve him.”

You felt guilty for your outburst, and you could see that it had really driven your point home to Mindy, who was now staring at her feet shyly and snuggled in close to Anika.

You snuggled in closer to Ethan’s lap, interlacing your fingers as you did so. His hands were as warm as his face had become as a result of all of the attention, and you could tell he felt uncomfortable.

He did, however, enjoy the fact that everyone knew you were together now.

A sudden bout of confidence sparked in him as he pulled your joined hands up to kiss the back of yours, “Whatever. Whether she’s out of my league or not, she’s my girlfriend. Now let’s just put the stupid movie on, yeah?”

Everyone nodded silently, tension still thick in the air as Mindy picked up the remote control, but before she could press play you hopped back up out of your boyfriend’s lap.

“Oh, I brought popcorn,” you exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up as you picked up your bag again too, “We’ll go make it really quick. Won’t be long.”

Ethan followed you into the kitchen, your hands still interlocked, and smiled confusedly at you as you hopped up onto the counter beside the stovetop and quickly began preparing the popcorn.

“Sorry about that,” you bit your lip, watching him carefully as he sauntered to your side and placed a palm on your hip, taking control of the popcorn making, “I overheard the conversation and got really pissed off. Also just missed you and wanted to be annoyingly PDA’y… Is that alright?”

He scoffed, “Are you kidding? I only wanted to keep it from them because they don’t think I deserve you and I didn’t want you realising they’re right… I’m like, so happy, that I can kiss you around them now. So happy.”

You pouted, “I hate that you think that too, though. You more than deserve me, Eth. And I’m really lucky to have you.”

His thumb rubbed at the skin of your waist just beneath your top as his other hand shook the popcorn as it heated up.

“You’re the best, Y/N,” he hummed, pecking your lips quickly before refocusing on the popcorn, “I kinda wish we could just go to mine or something instead. I’m not in the mood for anyone else’s company anymore.”

You leaned in to kiss him, a hand carding through his curls briefly as he took the popcorn off the heat and set it aside, turning off the hob. His hands then flew back to your waist, settling himself between your parted legs to kiss you properly.

“I wish we could just go to yours too. We’ll dip as soon as the movie ends, yeah?” you grinned, biting your lip as you pulled back from the kiss, “We can deal with them asking questions another day. ‘M more in the mood to just curl up with you.”

He nodded, “Me too. Sounds like a plan. And thank you, for tonight, seriously. I’m not exaggerating when I say how lucky I am to have you.”

You shook your head, “You’re my boyfriend, and I’m proud of that fact. Mindy just needs to get her head out of her ass sometimes. I’m sorry they’re so shitty to you sometimes, it’s pathetic.”

He kissed you quickly again, scooping your waist to pull you down from the counter to stand beside him.

“Honestly at this point I don’t care anymore,” he shrugged, “I’ve got you. Oh, but please don’t agree to any double dates without me. No offence, but a double date with Mindy and Anika would be, like, my personal hell.”

You giggled, shaking your head again, “We’ll work on her weird unnecessary disdain for you, babe. But of course, I understand. C’mon, we better get back in there.”

“Can’t we just stay in here instead?”

“I wish.”

“Ugh,” he huffed, an adorable pout gracing his features that almost made you give in and make up an emergency reason for you both to leave, “At least we get to cuddle this time. I’m sick of you always having to sit away from me.”

You chuckled, “You do tend to watch me from across the room like a lost puppy. It’s adorable. In fact, I’m surprised nobody ever notices me doing the exact same thing back. We’ve been totally obvious this whole time.”

He kissed you again, briefly and feverishly like he couldn’t stop himself, “Our friends are idiots, huh.”

“Absolute morons,” you smiled, kissing him one final time before grabbing the popcorn and his hand.

“Let’s go get through a movie, hey?”

———

thanks for reading !!!

i hope this was okay, it felt a bit messy and shit when i was editing but i’ve been stuck on it so long so thought i’d post and then maybe come back to it? let me know what you thought!

feel free to request more, i’ve been chaotic with which old drafts i’m finishing lately but my requests are still open — and here’s my masterlist!

[dramaturgydrakes]

of things i have little power over

odysseus has been on ogygia for a long, long time. hermes pays a visit.

words : 1,111

content warnings : very vaguely implied sa, odysseus being sad

notes : im not going to torture myself w mega fancy talk this is epic fanfiction.. also im very nervous about posting this and am aware that its kinda overly self-indulgent and not like. character-accurate. but wtv great grandpa hermes

the soft pat of feet connecting with sand behind him is different than usual.

“i thought i told you i needed some space,” he says anyway. they’re the only two people on the island, after all.

“i’ll stop by in another five years, then.”

he tenses. has he started to hallucinate again? but, no—

hermes crosses his legs on the white beach, seating himself next to odysseus and casting his head in the same direction—out towards the endless sea.

odysseus’s mind has cast many illusions upon him in the past years. a god’s presence, however—it is undeniable. ultimate. every part of him resonates with certainty.

hermes is here.

he doesn’t know where the god is really looking. little wings cover the upper half of his face; an obstacle meaningless to a divine entity whose true form is boundless energy. the immortal says it’s for the aesthetic, whatever that means.

“i haven’t seen you in forever,” is all odysseus can bring himself to say.

hermes makes a sound without certain definition. “and i see you every day,” he responds. somewhere in his voice, odysseus hears a mournful pain that he could never imagine a deity suffering.

he doesn’t know how to process that. he traces a finger through the sand. “why are you here?” his brow pinches with an upwards glance. “a message?”

one of the wings beneath hermes’ ears flicks, and he hums. “someday,” he says. it’s hopeful, almost. “i’ll see to it. but for now,” and he turns his head so it’s certain his eyes are on odysseus, wings guarding them or not, the smile he’d been wearing now less strained, “can’t i just visit my favorite great-grandson?”

the sound odysseus lets out is something bitter and utterly wrecked. he hasn’t the mind to call it a laugh.

“time really is fickle to the gods if you’re only here now,” he sighs, placing his chin on crossed arms that he’s left draped over his knees. hermes’ smile drops an inch or so.

“i’m sorry,” the god, the immortal, the deity, the all-powerful, who need not have regrets, tells him. “it wasn’t lack of care that kept me away, i…” he shakes his head, expression grim. “it’s unfair to burden you with my excuses.”

odysseus doesn’t want them. hermes doesn’t give them.

“i wish i could take the suffering from you.” odysseus flinches, and the words are quickly rectified. “i mean that… i wish my words meant more to my father. that you weren’t trapped here, if any place at all. that he wasn’t so cruel and inconsiderate to—”

he cuts in like scissors snipping apart a string, hermes’ voice falling away in time with his rising. “to leave me with her.” just the thought has him blinking away stray tears, stomach rolling. “i know. you’re not cruel, hermes. you have more kindness than most gods i’ve had the time to meet.”

hermes is silent.

odysseus once thought that a god was either filled with rage, or their emotions simply remained imperceivable.

it’s just their way, he had told himself, under the cold eye of athena, who never took less than perfection in his every thought and every step.

it’s just their way, he had told himself, when zeus stared him down and expected him to either end the short life of an infant or allow for his life to crumble away.

it’s just their way, he had told himself, as great, mountainous boulders crushed eleven of his ships, while poseidon watched and waited for the perfect moment to end his life.

it’s just their way, he had told himself, when he was again faced by zeus, and had his hand forced in choosing who was to live and who was to die.

but hermes’ guilt—his sorrow, his grief for one of his family’s pain… it feels as though odysseus could take it into his hands and hold it; turn it over and examine every facet, every scratch, every bump and nook, like a jewel not wholly refined.

it’s overwhelming in ways he can’t comprehend, perhaps just for his mortality. and, yet, at the same time, there’s what he could believe to be relief swelling inside him, knowing that there is someone who cares.

the edge of a wing from hermes’ lower back brushes over odysseus’s shoulder, the offer of an embrace hovering in the quiet air.

he relaxes as much as he can, and lets himself be pulled in. it’s the strangest thing, being pressed to the side of an immortal whom he had believed held no real care for him, half-wrapped in fluffy white feathers.

it stretches on, the silence. he isn’t sure if time really passes, or if it’s just the feeling of eternity—but the sun is beginning to set, so he supposes that it must.

“of the things i have little power over,” hermes says as the water is painted red, soft and near inaudible, “i think this is the one that hurts me the most.”

he shifts, and odysseus moves with him.

“but i do have plenty of power over this.”

for the first time in years, odysseus is hugged and held in arms that do not make him ill.

he did not think the gods to be affectionate. not even hermes. and, yet… maybe his pain is enough to take what he didn’t think he could be given, without question, just this once.

he finds tears running down his face when they part, and hermes smiles in a nervous, apologetic sort of way, gently patting his head. “i may try,” he says, “but i’m not that good at this. gods… gods were never really built to be parents. or great-grandparents.” odysseus sees milky golden eyes peek out from under small wings, but they’re quickly hidden away again as the god sighs heavily. “there are no words to describe how sorry i am. perhaps because gods are not built for apologies either.”

while hermes’ laugh is dry, odysseus feels a smile tug his lips. it’s surreal, how this whole evening has so deeply subverted his perception of his divine ancestor.

a god cares about him. a god cares about him without expecting perfection in return. a god cares.

a hand grasps his shoulder. “if you call to me,” hermes tells him, “i’ll come. for any reason that you need me. i will suffer every ounce of my father’s wrath if it means you are not left alone here.”

the wings lift away, and though his eyes are nothing but pure golden-white, odysseus still searches them.

and he still finds sincerity.

so, he tries his best to smile, weak and wobbly as it is.

“thank you, hermes.”

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble - 28/09/23

Prompt: horse

Warnings: mentions of chronic pain

This is the longest thing I have ever shared, and the weirdest thing I have ever written. I have literally zero idea where this came from. It's not beta'd, apologies for typos etc. This is just shy of 2.5k words, so yeah... not so Drabble actually.

****

“So, what’s on your mind today, Eddie?”

He sees Doctor Pearcey every Wednesday at 2pm. Has done now for two months. And it’s the first thing she says to him every time he sits down. What’s on your mind today, Eddie? He’s responded in various ways. With anger. With humour. With distrust. On one particularly memorable day, with silence, which Doctor Pearcey matched in spades. The two of them sat there for an hour and didn’t say a single word. Eddie wanted to peel his skin off about ten minutes into it.

He’s in more pain than usual today, has a lower tolerance for her psychobabble mumbo jumbo, so he’s already looking to derail the session before he gets in the room.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” Eddie asks her.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Hmm, couple of times.”

There’s silence for a minute or so. It’s like they’re playing therapy chicken, who gives in and speaks first? It’s usually him.

“I like them. Like how fast they are, you know? How free you feel on them.” He digs his thumb into the leather of the armchair, leaving little crescent nail marks.

“And what’s got you thinking about that today?”

The beautiful purple Kawasaki he passed on his way here today would be the easy answer. But when did he ever do anything easy?

“Wayne hates them. I’ve been wanting one for years, but he begged me not to. Asked me to wait till I was twenty one. I think he thought I would just grow out of it.” 

“And have you?”

“Fuck no. I want one more than ever.”

She waits.

“I’m twenty one next week, and I won’t be getting a motorcycle because my leg is fucked, and I can’t twist or move properly.” He doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness. “It doesn’t matter, I mean, it’s whatever at this point, just another thing I can’t do, add it to the fucking pile, right?”

He changes the subject and she follows along behind waiting for breadcrumbs. Eventually their time comes to an end and he’s desperate to get out.

“Do you trust me, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You work for the spook agency that started this fucking nightmare. So, no, not really.”

She smiles back. “That’s fair.” She walks to her desk and scribbles a note before handing it to him. Eddie takes it from her like it’s poisonous.

“Meet me at that address on Sunday. Two PM. I’ll be waiting.”

And that is definitely not how the sessions usually end.

——

Wayne is working so Steve offers to take him. And Eddie isn’t going to say no to spending some time with him, especially when he’s walking into the unknown. Although the unknown appears to be…

“A horse sanctuary? Why the fuck does she want to meet you at a horse sanctuary?”

“Maybe she’s going to shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

Steve slaps him against the chest with the back of his hand. “Dude.”

“Sorry.” 

He sees her standing at a fence watching a couple of horses wander around the paddock. The ground is a little rough below his feet and his leg has been a complete nightmare all week, so Steve walks with him, hand gently resting at Eddie’s elbow as he traverses the uneven ground with his cane. It makes him grateful and fucking furious all at the same time. Such is his life these days.

“You came. I’m glad,” she says, smiling brightly.

“Well, my curiosity door was opened,” replies Eddie and Steve stifles a laugh beside him.

Steve heads back to the car, squeezes Eddie’s elbow gently, before saying goodbye to the Doc. She watches the exchange intently, and Eddie feels entirely scrutinised. He hasn’t spoken about Steve in the sessions, has no intention of doing so and the last person he would want to know about it is someone that works for the fucking feds.

“So, why am I here, exactly?”

“I thought you might like to get out of that stuffy office for a change. You never seem very comfortable.”

Eddie laughs. “Uh huh, and what is it that gave you the impression I’d be comfortable in a field full of horses?”

She shrugs. “Humour me.”

See, it was shit like that that drove Eddie crazy. Humour me. It’s Sunday. Right now he could be lying on his bed playing guitar, reading, hanging out with Steve. He could be jerking off. All of which was preferable to standing in a field full of horseshit.

“Okay, well I’m not in a humorous mood, so I’m going to leave you to your equine endeavours.” He turns to leave.

“There’s someone I want you to meet. Before you go. Will only take a minute.” The Doc waves at a stable hand and a few minutes later Eddie is face to face with a beautiful white horse.

“I swear to god, if you tell me his name is Shadowfax…”

She laughs. “No, this is Tony. Tony, meet Eddie.” Tony whinnies, nodding his head up and down, his mane blowing gently in the wind. Eddie smiles. God damn her.

Eddie reaches over the fence to stroke Tony. This gorgeous, graceful animal, and it’s called fucking Tony.

“He’s beautiful. How come he’s here?”

“He was a race horse, I believe. But he was slow, didn’t make his owners any money. So now he gets to live here and lead a good life.”

“Doesn’t he miss racing? Like, aren’t they bred for that? What does he do all day if he can’t race anymore?”

“It wasn’t meant to be. But he’s patient, and kind and now he helps people learn to ride. And he’s very, very good at that.” She turns to face him, one arm hooked over the fence. “You said you were disappointed at not being able to ride a motorcycle? Correct?”

Where the fuck was this going? 

“Yeah… ?”

“Why ride a steel horse when you can ride the real thing?”

Eddie splutters. “You have to be kidding me?” She just keeps smiling. He stares at her, open mouthed and wide eyed. “You’re fucking serious?”

“I’m fucking serious,” she says, with a glint of mischief. “You wanted the freedom and the excitement of riding. Well, I’m offering it to you. Or, Tony’s offering it to you, really.”

He looks between her and Tony. “Did you miss the part about my leg being fucked? How the hell am I even supposed to get up there? And what if I fall? No, absolutely not.”

The Doc gives him a long hard stare. “Do you trust me?” she ask him.

“No.”

“The sanctuary has a programme for disabled riders. Tony is the best of the best. You’d be perfectly safe. Come on, Eddie. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“This was… very nice, I guess, of you to think about this, but no. Sorry. It’s not the same as a bike, like at all. I have control of the bike, my bike can’t just run off and start jumping over fences and shit.”

“No, but your bike’s not smart. Tony is smart. He’s kind. He feels his rider, he knows what they need, knows when they’re scared. He fills in the gaps, takes the lead when a rider needs it, hands them back control when they don’t. He can guide you. Look after you. Your bike can’t do that.”

He feels his resolve wane. He sighs. Animals, they get him every time.

“People get hurt riding horses.”

“Sure, but they don’t call motorbikes donorcycles for nothing, Eddie.” Touché.

He shakes his head, this is such a stupid idea, but eventually that little pixie voice in his head just says fuck it, and within fifteen minutes he’s wearing a very unflattering helmet, climbing a mounting block and being helped into the saddle on Tony’s back.

He feels like he’s going to slip off the other side, and every time Tony moves his head forward toward the ground Eddie panics because it feels like he’ll just lean forward and drop like a rock to the ground. It's incredibly disorienting.

Eddie grips the reins so hard he sees his knuckles go white until the instructor shows him how to hold them properly. They show him how to guide Tony but ultimately Tony is doing all the work here, Eddie is just along for the ride. 

He’s led around the paddock, and yeah, he feels stupid at first, self conscious sitting up in the air for everyone to see. But eventually he gets into the swing of it, and it’s… nice. Nerve wracking, but nice.

They’re going at walking speed, he can feel the rhythmic sway of Tony’s body, and it’s comforting. Why is it comforting? It’s not exactly the Kentucky Derby, but he can’t stop himself from grinning.

Eddie knows fuck all about horses, less than fuck all actually, but if he didn’t know better he’d say that Tony was enjoying himself. And as much as he hates that she’s right, he feels at peace. Feels like he trusts this animal, who he literally just met, but who seems to be having a ball wandering around with this asshole on his back.

“Wanna pick it up a bit?” asks the instructor and Eddie’s about to say ‘fuck no’ when Tony comes to a stop. Like he knows Eddie’s not sure. Eddie strokes along Tony’s thick, white mane, and pats his shoulder. 

“Eurgh, yeah, shit, okay,” he says before leaning forward and whispering in Tony’s ear, “look after me, okay? Cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing up here.” Tony answers with a swooping nod of the head and then they’re off.

They’re barely going any faster as Tony trots around the paddock, but Eddie can definitely feel the difference. The soft, comforting sway has been replaced by a harder jolt. He’s going to pay for it tomorrow, can already feel it in his hips and back, and he hasn’t got the strength in his leg to properly push up from the stirrups, but it doesn’t matter.

The last time he was on a motorcycle he was seventeen, and it belonged to a friend of Reefer Rick’s. He was riding pillion and they were going way over the speed limit, and he’d never felt more alive, more free. He was young enough and dumb enough to think he’d never get hurt. He was invincible at seventeen. He wasn’t even a little bit scared of falling off. The folly of youth. 

In three short years the folly of youth has been replaced with constant dread and a little bit of paranoia.

This isn’t the same as that careless charge up the highway, not by a long shot, but it’s exciting in it’s own way, like going on a roller coaster instead of walking through an alternate universe.

He feels at peace. A moment in time when he’s not having to think about doctors appointments, worrying about Wayne, worrying about his future. His life has got so small since March. The kids are at school and he’s not, but he can’t work so he spends endless unfilled hours at home, waiting for other people to have space for him.

The constant churn in his mind slows, his thoughts empty, his worries silence. 

They go back to a steady walk, Tony’s body lilting from side to side, a gentle rock. Eddie already loves him. He’s a fucking sap. Horses? Rich people pets? No way man, not for him. But this guy, this is Eddie’s guy now.

As they turn in the paddock he sees Steve leaning over the fence, grinning.

“Nice hat!” Asshole.

Eddie flips him off but Steve just laughs, sunglasses pushed back up on his head. Steve can read him like a book, and Eddie knows he can see it. The complicated emotions today is bringing out in him. The joy and the excitement and the little bit of sadness. Steve raises his eyebrows, that little silent okay? Eddie smiles shyly and nods in response. They’ll talk properly later, when Eddie is trying to unpack everything.

It’s over too soon. Eddie’s helped down and fuck, yeah he’s in a little pain now, but Jesus it was so worth it. He pats Tony, strokes his neck, tells him what a beautiful boy he is, and Tony leans over nudges his nose against the side of Eddie’s face. There is a conversation happening between them, just this little quiet acknowledgement of something. Eddie doesn’t want to leave him. He feels… changed, weirdly. Like it was spiritual. Like something inside him got cracked open just a little.

“So?”

Doctor Pearcey stands behind him, looking pretty pleased with herself. 

He tilts his head to the side, makes a big show of it. “Yeah, it was okay.” Eddie knows she sees through his bullshit. They’ll be talking about this next week. No need to go through it all now.

They head back to the car, Steve at his elbow again, and Doctor Pearcey hands him a card with the sanctuary number on. “Just in case you’d like to come back.”

He does. Wayne is going to enjoy giving him shit, and he doesn’t even want to think of the number of jockey jokes in his future, but he really does want to do this again.

The car ride is quiet on the way home, just the sound of some top forty shit in the background, but Eddie’s mind is elsewhere. He feels still, his head is clear and quiet. Ridiculously relaxed.

“How’s your ass?” asks Steve.

Eddie grins. “Haven’t had any complaints.”

“Jesus Christ.” But he’s laughing. They’re both laughing.

“So, you want to do it again? We can make it regular, I’ll just make sure Keith doesn’t schedule me for Sundays.”

Eddie stares at the side of Steve’s face. This guy. This fucking guy. 

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would.” Steve looks studiously out at the road, hands firmly at ten and two. “I’d do anything for you.”

Eddie feels like he’s skipped a breath, but tentatively reaches his hand across the console and pokes at Steve’s thigh. Steve takes a hand off the wheel, reaches blindly to find Eddie’s, gives it a little squeeze before letting go. They don’t look at each other.

He leans back in his seat, imagines Tony, galloping, mane trailing behind him in the wind. Just beautiful.

Why the fuck did they call him Tony?

[bamboobooshark]

BASIL STITT X READER

𓍢 ⌨️˖࣪ ∿ ࿔ LESS THAN THREE (1) : 807 WRDS

A/N : Yes this is inspired by the song Less Than Three by Disko Warp, no I don’t care that it doesn’t fit Basil’s canon personality! !!Warning: Obsessive behavior (nothing intense, just clingy and overthinking about you), mentions of knives, mentions of death (assumptions)!!

Basil is freaking the fuck out.

You haven’t answered him for an hour. An entire hour. You always let him know ahead of time if you have something to do at work that’ll cause you to be unable to respond to his messages. Now that you weren’t saying anything without any warning, he can’t stop himself from worrying. What if you’re hurt? What if there’s some guy talking to you? Does he have competition? Are you going to go out with that guy and not be able to message him once you’re home? Fuck, this can’t be happening.

He can’t keep himself calm. He never can. His hands start to shake. His face grows hot and begins to throb with a headache. His breath is erratic, like a feral animal’s. “No. No. No! Answer me! Please! I need you,” Basil whines at his bright computer screen. His eyes are glued to your activity status, patiently awaiting a green circle to appear near your icon. His nails painfully dig against the table in expectation and concern. After sitting there impatiently for a few minutes and not getting anything, he begins to flare up with nothing but worry for you. “I said answer! Talk to me! I need to make sure you’re okay, baby. It’s all I need. It’s the only thing I need. Just come online! Please,” he continues as tears prick his eyes.

 

You are stuck at the register today. Unfortunately for you, you’re currently dealing with one of the worst customers of your life. She slams her fist against the counter, which causes you to jump a bit, but nothing more. “I am not leaving this horrid establishment until I can speak to a manager,” she childishly demands. Your jaw is clenching arguably harder than her own. You try your hardest to speak in your customer service voice to stay calm and not lose your job. “Ma’am, I told you that all of my higher ups are in a meeting right now. Unless you’re willing to wait anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour, I suggest you come back tomorrow,” you explain for the third time in a row.

“Are you dumb? Like, seriously,” she retorts while giving you an ugly look. You swear you see the light of the afterlife once you hear a faint beeping. Your shift is over. You display a genuine smile toward the woman, showing how relieved you are to get away from her. “Oh! I’m so sorry, miss. You’ll have to speak to one of my co-workers. My shift has just ended, and I don’t work overtime,” you beam as she begins to growl gibberish out of pure rage.

Thankfully, your co-worker Bec is clocking in for the rest of the night. He is a godsend. The manager has known him so long that his actions have no backlash; he treats customers as they treat him. You know damn well he’s going to have a blast with the lady at the counter. You walk over to him and tap his arm lightly. “Hey, Bec! I just wanted to let you know there’s some girl who can’t seem to grasp the fact that our higher-ups are in a meeting right now. She’s tried everything in the book to talk to the manager or anyone who doesn’t work in our position,” you explain with a slightly anxious tone. Bec smiles softly at you and shrugs. “Kid, you know me. You know how I act. That lady is about to get everything she deserves,” he reassures you while patting your back. “Have a good night,” he adds as you start walking away. “Good luck with yours!” you chuckle as you leave the establishment.

 

“They have to be dead. That’s the only logical explanation for this. Oh, my god. They’re dead,” Basil cries. He’s been distraught for the past two hours without a message for you. He isn’t tracking you. He isn’t stalking you. He has no way to know where you are or what you’re doing, but his mind always fleets to the worst-case scenario when you leave him be. His tears make his vision blurry, but he can still see the shiny surface of the knife he had stuck in his desk. He might as well trash his flat again! This is the second major incident this month, and he can’t mentally bear it. “Fuck this! Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” he growls as he reaches for the knife still stuck to the table. He’s more than ready to further splinter the tabletop’s wood once more. He can feel his heart stop for a moment as he hears the sweet sound of a ping from his computer. “They aren’t dead,” he mumbles to himself. “They aren’t dead,” he repeats with a level of excitement he hasn’t felt in so, so long.

[kkumawrites]

Here Kitty, Kitty ― Chapter Four CW: food mentions WC: 1.3k

You were sitting in the campus quad, flipping through your chemistry book before class, going over some notes when someone slips into the seat next to you. You furrow your eyebrows and turn to look over, knowing already it was one of the werewolf brothers. He’s already looking at you with a small smirk on his face and all you do is blink at him, questioning why he was suddenly here, sitting next to you. 

“Hey, I’m Junhui. It’s nice to meet you, I think you’ve met some of my brothers?” He asks with a quick flip of his hair and he moves his arm so it’s casually hanging off the bench behind you.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I could tell. You reek the same as them,” A lie, but he didn’t have to know that. His scent was muskier, a hint of something tangy underneath like citrus and it makes your mouth water for just a second.

You introduce yourself nonchalantly, trying to push down the immediate pull you feel towards him, still vehemently denying the attraction you felt for any of them. Jun scoots a little closer to you and the grip you have on your textbook becomes tighter, your heart beating faster as his scent wraps around you. He still has a smirk on his face and you so badly want to wipe it off his face, preferably with your lips. Wait. No. God damnit, can the pull just leave you alone for ONE second? 

“Why do you look so nervous? Sorry, am I too handsome?” The comment pushes you back to your senses as you roll your eyes at the wolf, closing your textbook and pushing it into your bag before moving to stand up. 

“Careful there, wouldn’t want someone to deflate that ego of yours darling,” A cat-like grin appears on your face as you start to walk away, giving him a small wave goodbye. “See you around, Jun,” The way you say his name sends shivers down his spine and all he can do is watch you walk away with awe.

You:  1 Wolves: 0 ────── 〔✿〕────── 

When you arrive at your chemistry class your headache only grows as you notice the only open seat left is next to yet another brother, one you haven’t met yet. You’re not 100% sure how many there are, but you know that there are far too many of them - never able to escape their scent that’s all over campus, and as much as you’d hate to admit it, you’re not too bothered about it. 

You make your way to your seat, trying to sit as far away from him as possible, totally not checking out the pretty boy with perfect complexion and a stupidly cute smile on his face. Instead you try to keep your focus on the professor even though it’s hard when you know he’s staring straight at you with no shame. He’s got longer hair and honestly, prettier than a lot of the girls you’ve seen around campus - his scent is woodsy and warm, with a hint of something sweet, like roasting smores by a campfire. 

“Alright, I sure hope you like who you’re sitting next to, because they’re gonna be your lab partner for the semester,” Your professor’s monotone voice cuts through the classroom and at his words you let out a small sigh of defeat, turning to face the brother you haven’t met yet. He’s got a smile on his face, though it’s definitely more of a smirk, one that’s similar to the one on the brother you met earlier. 

“I’m Jeonghan. We haven’t been properly introduced,” He holds out his hand for you which you reluctantly take, ignoring the electricity that shoots down your spine at just a simple touch. 

You introduce yourself, adding on a quick “but I have a strange feeling that you already knew that,” at the end of your sentence. He responds with a small chuckle, the smirk on his face morphs into a more shy smile that you can’t help but think suited him much more. 

“Oops, caught red handed,” 

“Behave yourself, I don’t need your alpha getting mad at me again,” You shudder at the thought, really not wanting to even think about getting scolded by Seungcheol again - not sure if you’d survive another confrontation with the angry wolf. 

“Ah, don’t worry about cheol, he’s a little uptight,” 

Still, you grimace at the thought of being the source of his anger - not 100% sure why he even seemed to hate your guts already. Besides you know, perhaps goading him a little with the werewolf comment. 

Yeah, you definitely wanted to avoid Seungcheol at all costs. ────── 〔✿〕────── 

In order to avoid the chaos of the campus cafeteria (and perhaps a few certain werewolves) you had decided to eat outside for a change. A quick cursory glance around the open area, you spot a nice big tree that gives off some nice shade and it’s the perfect spot. When you walk a little closer your nose twitches slightly as you catch the scent of used books and espresso, enticing you further. Although you were supposed to be avoiding the brothers, the male in question seemed much more interested in his book than you, not even looking up when you came closer. So you decide there’s no harm in sitting here as you settle down on the roots of the enormous tree. 

His eyes dart up to meet yours and you can see the small ghost of a smile that makes you want to return the small gesture. You do your best to ignore him and the rising blush that threatens to color your cheeks just from having the attractive male glance in your direction. Surprisingly you’re able to maintain your cool composure as you eat your lunch in silence, scrolling idly on your phone. He takes the hint well, returning his attention back to the book but it still doesn’t stop him from stealing noticeable glances at your figure every once in a while. 

The silence is rather pleasant, a calm, content air between the two of you. His scent was starting to make your brain a little foggy, trying to resist the urge to just scoot a little closer to get a deeper whiff. The atmosphere makes you feel light, ready to get through the rest of your classes with little to no more annoyances.

It doesn’t last long when Mingyu insists on walking you home for no reason, following you around like a lost puppy. You definitely were not imagining the taller male with a wagging tail behind him as he trailed after you. You already knew Mingyu’s goal was to get more information out of you, but you expertly dodged questions and gave him vague answers that had him pouting and honestly more confused than he already was. 

When he had returned to the pack house, Seungcheol was less than pleased with his brother who continued to disobey his rules, having easily smelled you on the taller the moment he walked through the door. Seungcheol knew it was pointless though to scold the younger, who wasn’t even paying any attention to his alpha. Defeated, he had excused Mingyu (who immediately ran up to his room) and turned his attention to the window.

He could see Joshua sitting under the big tree in the front yard, something the calmer wolf enjoyed doing, so that in itself wasn’t unusual. What was strange was that he was currently sitting with a cat in his lap, a pristine white collar around its neck that contrasted starkly to its shiny black fur. Seungcheol could not think of a single time ANY of his brothers had shown any interest in cats, considering their dog-like nature.

He could feel the signs of a budding headache building in his temple, fingers coming to soothe at the tense skin of his forehead. 

What on earth was going on with his brothers?

[drewsbuzzcut]

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/737730544334487552/also-christmas-night-is-when-nick-asks-dallas

Can we get a blurb on this?

When You Know, You Know

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: talk of marriage

“Baby, I’m going to take Layla to get some ice cream from the store, want to come with us?” Dallas asks, leaning over the back of the couch where Nick is sitting. Her hands go to massage his shoulders and she presses kisses to his cheek.

“I actually need to make some phone calls to my family, sorry,” Nick says, leaning to the side to connect his lips to hers.

“It’s no problem. I’ll be back,” she responds before leaving with her baby sister.

“Mr and Mrs. Blankenburg, Nick, can I ask you guys a question?” Nick asks Dallas’ family, voice a little wobbly and eyes growing a bit teary.

“Sure. What’s going on sweetheart?”

“I know June and I haven’t been together for long, but I love her so much. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thankful for her. It’s safe to say that she’s the one for me, without a doubt. I know this is going to sound completely insane, but I want to ask for her hand in marriage. I know your acceptance means everything to June, so I wouldn’t dream of not asking before proposing,” Nick says smoothly, a silent sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“You both are only 19,” Dallas’ dad says.

“I know, sir, but when you know you know. I am so sure about June,” Nick explains.

“Look Nick, we adore you and we love the way you treat our daughter,” Mrs. Blankenburg starts and Nick can feel his enthusiastic mood falter.

“But,” Nick adds because he knows there’s a “but.”

“But this seems like a drastic move. Please don’t be offended by this, but I don’t want my daughter to feel like she can’t pursue her career because she has to be a housewife,” she says and Nick feels a little shocked at the statement. He’d never hold Dallas back.

“I would never expect June to be a housewife. I know she wants to be a designer and she’s already an amazing one. The way June encourages me with hockey is the same way I will always encourage her with her endeavors. Just because I want to get married doesn’t mean I want to start having kids right away. I just want to be able to love your daughter forever,” Nick defends himself.

“Mom, dad, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to not want them to get married. Nick is a great guy and he treats Dallas with so much respect and love. They’re prefect for each other. Dallas has been the happiest I’ve ever seen her,” Blanks contributes to the conversation, and it makes Nick smile.

“What about living arrangements and school?”

“For the remainder of this school year we will stay where we are, but I was thinking for the next school year that we would rent an apartment together. School will still remain an important part of our lives. Marriage wouldn’t take away from that.”

“You really want to marry our little girl? You really want to be the one who always makes her happy?” Mrs. Blankenburg questions, voice breaking and tears springing to her eyes.

“Yes. I’ll always want her. She’s the love of my life,” Nick states.

“You have our permission. All of ours,” Mr. Blankenburg concludes and gets up to bring Nick in a hug.

“Thank you, so much. I already picked out the ring and I’m planning to propose on Valentine’s Day, because I know she really loves that holiday,” Nick exclaims, his blushing cheeks on display.

“Can we see it?”

“Of course,” Nick pulls out the small ring, going around and going in depth for his explanation on why he chose that ring. He’s counting down the days until February 14th.

a/n: To the anon who requested this, I am so sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy!

[ghostofskywalker]

Hey, so sorry to hear that your semesters been rough, I hope it gets better. I am super excited you’re doing the spring ficlets though! Could I request one with Fives and hes just head over heels for this spunky hot-headed reader. Maybe idk they’re going off on someone (who deserves it) and hes just there making heart eyes? Idk do with it what you want, thank you so much! Have an amazing week!! 💖

thank you!! i LOVED your prompt and i hope you enjoy this!!

words: 884

summary: you prove that you aren't one to be messed with, and fives falls even more in love.

clone troopers masterlist

Smitten

“You know you’re staring again, right?” Rex’s voice cut through the ARC trooper’s daydream and Fives barely even acknowledged his commanding officer. 

“What? No I’m not.” That was a bold-faced lie, and everyone around him knew it. It really didn’t help that Fives had yet to take his eyes off you as you sparred with a shiny, who had been acting like he was a lot stronger than he was. Most of the battalion knew what was going to happen when you challenged him to a sparring match, and yet the trooper did not heed their warnings that he might be a little out of his depth. A rule was set that no outside weapons could be used in the fight (since you had a habit of keeping at least three concealed on your person at all times), and the spectacle began. 

Fives would never speak ill of his brothers, but there were certainly troopers who lacked in the manners department, who acted like they were Maker’s gift to the world around anyone they thought was attractive, and you certainly fit the bill. And given the fact that you weren’t always around (because the 501st didn’t need the help of a bounty hunter for every mission they went on), not everyone knew who you were when you arrived on Coruscant for a little friendly training and bonding before you headed off with the 104th for a campaign.  

“You’re so obvious at this point I’m shocked that they haven’t noticed yet,” Rex said. Both him and Fives were watching you dodge every single punch the shiny tried to throw at you, and Fives was desperately trying to keep his jaw from dropping. “I thought bounty hunters were supposed to be hyper-aware of their surroundings at all times.” 

Fives shrugged, still not done staring. 

“Maybe they’re just as oblivious as Fives,” Jesse cut in, walking across the room to stand next the two of them. “What do they say? ‘Love is blind’ or something like that?”

“Then we may need to get them an eye exam if they really can’t see Fives’ lovesick glances,” Hardcase had now joined the conversation, and Fives was really regretting standing here right now. 

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that obvious about my feelings.” 

“Scratch that, we may need to get you an eye exam!” 

Fives was about to respond, but his eyes were still drawn to the scene in front of him. 

The shiny had just lunged at you, and it was exactly what you wanted. Grabbing his outstretched arm, you turned, twisting your body so that you were using your strength and momentum to push the trooper upward and then send him careening to the floor. To the cheering spectators on the sidelines, it was clear that you had just flipped him, sending him flying through the air and landing (quite unpleasantly) on the padded floor of the training room. Fives had seen you use that move before, and it was just as seamless as the last time you used it on the battlefield, one fluid motion that proved you weren’t one to be messed with. 

“Well, I think they won,” Jesse remarked, and the shiny hadn’t yet gotten up off the ground. Everyone knew that he wasn’t really injured, given the floor padding and the armor he wore, but rather that he was embarrassed to have been beaten out by you, to have talked a big game and gotten his shebs handed to him in response. 

You caught Fives’ eye from across the room and made your way over to him, smiling and greeting all the other troopers of the 501st that you knew. “Did you kill him?” Jesse asked playfully, nodding back at your sparring victim. 

“Oh please, I didn’t even flip him that hard,” you said, a soft snort escaping your mouth. “It’s his ego that’s bruised more than anything.” 

“Maybe you and Fives should go a round then,” Hardcase joked. “He could be knocked down a few pegs.” 

“Hey!”

You just laughed. “I don’t think I’d want to spar with Fives though.” 

“Why? You afraid I’d win?” 

Jesse tried very hard to hide his laughter at Fives’ teasing words, and Rex didn’t seem to be faring any better. “No, I just wouldn’t want to ruin your gorgeous face,” you said, a smirk playing on your lips. 

Whatever Fives was expecting you to say, that wasn’t it, and he didn’t know what to do in response, his mind completely lost for words at the implication that you thought he was attractive. 

“I think you broke him,” Rex commented a smile crossing his face at the sight of his ARC trooper completely awestruck.  

The others around laughed, and you smiled. “Wow, and I didn’t even need to pin him down to do it.” 

Fives was still trying to form a sentence in response when your name was called across the room, and you waved to another trooper dressed in grey, the symbol of the Wolfpack adoring his armor. “Alright boys, duty calls,” you said. “I’ll see you soon, alright?” 

Right before you left, you leaned in to place a kiss on Fives’ cheek, and his brain short circuited all over again. You were going to be the death of him, that’s for sure. 

- the end -

[badaziraphaletakes]

In which some poor innocent unsuspecting reader submitted an ask and I respond by throwing an entire textbook at them

Like seriously i won’t even be upset if no one reads this PhD dissertation, like actually what is wrong with me omg

The ask:

I want to start by saying I love this account and really appreciate the rebuttals I see here to some of the messed up stuff the fandom’s spit out over the past few years. That being said, the most recent post about “the creepiest take you’ve ever seen,” was one I disagreed with strongly. It’s entirely normal to enjoy watching media where characters have breakdowns. It is not a desire to see a person breakdown. It is a desire to watch a good story.

(Edit: Just realized I somehow omitted to include the full text of the ask here. I apologize for the error! Will fix it soon. -Mod X)

My response:

Hi and thank you for your kind words! (Also idk why there is this huge gap in the text here, sorry haha!) If it were a necessary part of the story, or a part of the story that made sense, I would agree. But it’s not necessary (esp not at this point in the story) and therefore wouldn’t be “good”, if we are defining good art as being emotional truthful, which I imagine is a pretty uncontroversial definition.

Side note: We already saw him have this exact shattering breakdown in Uz. So that renders most of what I am about to say (and arguably some of what you have said) somewhat moot. But I’m going to continue anyway because some of the points brought up here touch on issues that I think bear re-visiting often.

It’s cathartic, it’s engaging, and it helps people who’ve been through the same thing see themselves reflected. For example, I like watching someone on tv hit rock bottom with their addiction because I’ve been through that, and seeing them finally realize they have to work on recovery and actually do it is motivating and empowering.

I’m so sorry you’ve been through that. I haven’t (although I am estranged from an entire side of my family due to alcoholism and meth addiction, which is a whole fun thing), so I can’t comment on this too much.

But addiction is not the same as an ab*sive relationship. (I do have knowledge of those, both from life experience and from my previous job in ab*se research. I edited a newsletter about family violence research for several years.) Seeing a person suffering from addiction realize they want to work on recovery, and realize that the substance they are addicted to is messing up their life, can make sense. Especially if they're in a place where they're able to work on it and have the opportunity to try to change.

But seeing an ab*se survivor “realize they need to get away from their ab*ser because they’re evil and have a breakdown about it” doesn’t make sense, because being trapped in an absive situation is not about “motivation” or what they think about the abser or even, really, about "empowerment". (Side note that word is thrown a lot to delude women into thinking our capitalist system is working for us rather than oppressing us. But I digress.) It boils down to the fact that they are in danger if they leave. The situation is not within their control.

(This next part is not directed at you, but at the general readership, in case this is helpful discussion for anyone: A lot of addictions aren’t within people's control at all either. It depends very much on the drug we’re talking about, the health of the individual, the quantity and duration of the addiction, whether the person has access to the healthcare they need to be cured, and whether there’s a way for them to get free from the broader societal dysfunctions that led to them being trapped in this situation in the first place.)

Also, with addiction, people can absolutely get past that without losing their sense of self and their identity. If they go through that kind of crisis in the process of healing from addiction, I would argue that something is very wrong. (Not with them, but with the society around them). In a best-case scenario, a person suffering from addiction would have access to the kind of mental and physical healthcare and support system that lets you get free from that without a shattering breakdown or loss of sense of self.

Besides, not everyone who has an addiction has toxic beliefs about themselves or their own identity or other people, etc etc. (Babies who are born addicted come to mind, if we want to talk about the most extreme example.) So I find the idea that addiction is down to toxic beliefs about one's self very suspect. I would argue that 95% of the time, addiction happens because your life sucks. The mental health community is starting to have this conversation about depression and anxiety - Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to work on one's "limiting beliefs" and "destructive thought patterns" can only do so much to help you feel better when your whole life is shit anyway. And it can actually make it WORSE if the victim is made to believe that their depression is the fault of their "Faulty thoughts" rather than a reasonable reaction to a shitty situation. Not necessarily saying we should throw CBT out the window altogether, but I am saying that mental healthcare will be a LOT more effective when it learns to truly take the broader societal context into account. I suspect, I hope, we'll soon be having a simialr conversation around addiction.)

And that’s doubly the case for ab*se survivors. They’re not stuck in that situation because there’s something wrong with them that they need to fix. They’re stuck in that situation because there’s something wrong with the ab*ser.

Regardless of the victim’s personal worth as an individual, regardless of whether they’re a good person or what-have-you, they don’t deserve to be ab*sed.

(I'm just waiting to hear about how some therapist tells a victim to work on their "limiting belief" that they need to stay with their ab*ser in order not to be killed, and/or tells them that fearing their ab*ser will kill them is a "cognitive distortion", and tells them to stand up to their ab*ser and/or leave, and then the ab*ser kills them. But I digress.)

And the loss of self when separating from a toxic system that’s defined your whole life is a real thing some people go through. It’s not bad consider that Aziraphale could also go through that, or to want to see that experience reflected.

I want to be very clear that I don’t have the smallest objection to people wanting to see that in a show. But a. that’s not what the person was saying, and b. they were also saying it’s necessary. IT’S NOT. I can’t emphasize this enough.

Loss of self is the worst-case scenario for how something like that goes. Nothing good comes from that. That is a side effect of ab*se (because the ab*ser’s the one who says that “Everything you are is bound up in me and you’re nothing with me"), not an integral part of the process of getting away.

Trauma is not necessary for character growth.

The way these things should go is that the person is able to gradually and mindfully work through the beliefs that are poisoning them with the help of a therapist, trusted friends, etc.

I know what I’m talking about. I worked in trauma research for over seven years. Please trust me on this one.

And again, Aziraphale can’t “separate” from them anyway. There’s nowhere he can go where they won’t find him. So his beliefs are irrelevant to his situation. And if the show implies that his beliefs “need to change” as part of the earth being set free from heaven-hell’s tyranny, or that he “needs to change” in order to be free, I will be writing a strongly-worded letter to the creators.

But more importantly, *they didn’t just say giddy.* They also said apprehensive. Perhaps they’re apprehensive because they know it could be painful to watch. Or because they don’t want to see it handled poorly.

“Giddily apprehensive” sounds an awful lot like “excited” to me. I admit it is ambiguous, though, so I’ll give you that one. I maintain that the OP expressed themselves with an exceptional lack of grace, however. And fwiw, they’d be FAR from the first person to want to see Aziraphale suffer because they are mad at him. I think I have good reason to believe that's what they're getting at here, given how many people in the poster's orbit say the same kinds of things and how many other things I've seen the OP say that are along those lines. I acknowledge I should have made that clearer in my original post.

They aren’t giving this advice (if one could call it that) to a human. They’re saying they’re excited to see a character breakdown. Character arcs like that are common and enticing for good reason.

I have yet to see a reason why I should believe that the things people say about Aziraphale are different than the things they say about people in real life.

I would point you to a couple lines down where you say yourself that we respond to characters the same way we respond to real people.

Personal growth ≠ character growth.

But what makes a good character is that they act like real people.

As an audience, character growth (even negative) is engaging.

Yes, absolutely. But we can absolutely do character growth in a way that does not spread harmful mindsets or misinformation about what ab*se and recovery from ab*se looks like. In fact, I would argue that character growth can’t happen if the writer doesn’t write the characters to behave in a way that is realistic to real life.

Characters follow the same rules, though. We respond to characters the same way we respond to real people. The same general rules of personal development and so forth apply.

The idea that “Aziraphale realizes his ab*sers are terrible” is something he needs to do for his “personal development” is highly objectionable. He doesn’t need to grow in this area. He just needs his ab*sers to leave him alone. Side note: We should give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he already does think they’re terrible and only stays with them because he is terrified. Even if this hadn’t been strongly and frequently hinted at in every episode going all the way back to S1E1 - almost every scene, in fact - we should still give him the benefit of the doubt.

Also, even if we say, for the sake of argument, that Aziraphale was a terrible, awful, horrible person - I know you’re not saying that, to be clear - even then, he still wouldn’t “need to realize his ab*sers are terrible” or “have a complete breakdown” or “lose himself” in order to grow. That's not how growth works. The best growth happens when people are at peace and safe and loved. Not frightened and confused and alone. He never chose them in the first place, he never wanted to be on their side. If he were left alone, he would just spend the rest of eternity reading his books and eating Eccles cakes and snuggling with his former-demon. That’s who he really is. There’s nothing about him as a person that needs to change. I agree a story where a person loses their sense of self after escaping from an ab*sive system would be interesting to watch, but I maintain that it does not make sense for the context of this particular story. And, such a story would NEED to make clear that the person wasn’t bad or wrong for deriving some part of their sense of self from the ab*ser and that they shouldn’t have had to have a catastrophic breakdown in order to develop their own sense of self. No one should have to go through that.

It’s not the same thing as asking for personal growth from a real human being.

Good characters do not operate according to different emotional and psychological rules than we do, though. If they didn't, we wouldn’t have millions of people sobbing about how real Aziraphale and Crowley feel to them. We would be the biggest dodos in the world if we were reacting this way to paper dolls 😄

Comparing the desire to see a character go through a dramatic storyline like that (and to come out of it strong and shining) to fundamentalist rhetoric is… just total bullshit.

You said this blog has been a good place for you and I want it to continue to be that way for you. So I want to give you a chance to revisit this part and see if you can say something more constructive. Because I've gotta admit, this really made me upset and I can't let it go without saying something. It’s not cool to call someone’s commentary “bullsh*t” like this.

I heard the line “we must die to ourselves” many, many times from the high-control religion of my childhood. It is a classic cult line. Hence why so many cults have "burial and rebirth" rituals, make people change their names, etc.

I am not just making up a comparison. This is a real phenomenon. Controlling ab*sers are the ones who’ve given us this idea that “death of the self” is character growth. It’s not. Character growth happens in spite of those excruciating emotional crises, not because of them.

Growing as a person is supposed to feel good overall. Not always easy, but on the whole, it should be a positive experience.

Also - Again, they said he “needs” to do it.

And they didn’t say anything about Aziraphale “coming out strong and shining”. You added that in. I think it's wonderful that you want to see that for him (so do I) but that’s not what this person was saying

If they'd said that, I wouldn't object to it at all. But they didn't. That part was left out. Which I think may be very telling in itself.

There are a myriad of reasons someone could have that desire, including having gone through something similar themselves.

Having gone through something similar doesn’t necessarily mean it makes sense for another character. It also doesn’t mean it’s necessary. And having been through something that went a certain way does NOT mean that it happening that way makes sense for someone else.

Deconstruction from a religious upbringing is different from leaving an ab*sive relationship

Aziraphale doesn’t have religious trauma. (I’m not going to talk much about religious trauma and deconstruction here, because it’s outside the scope of this blog, largely because - as attested by no less an authority than Neil Himself - Good Omens is not about religion. But I’ll say a little bit.)

Heaven and hell are not a “religion” in his world - they’re real. His fear of hell (and of heaven) is absolutely, one hundred percent, completely legitimate and appropriate, and NOT something he should be “reasoned” out of. Saying otherwise gives “your ab*ser isn’t actually that evil and scary”. But regardless, in either scenario, that kind of traumatic personal crisis is not a necessary part of the healing process. My heart aches for all the people whose deconstruction process was emotionally shattering. But what makes it ache even more is how for so many of them, the takeaway is somehow that that kind of crisis is necessary - rather than "dear god, i hope no one else ever has to go through that kind of hideous experience to get away from their shitty religion", which surely is what the takeaway should be (assuming there even is a lesson to be learned at all from an experience like that, which is doubtful) - and they go on to demand it of other survivors and gatekeep against people who haven't gone through the exact same thing they did in the process of getting away.

How, HOW did we get to a point where so many people’s deconstruction is a fucked-up, scarring experience that we think it’s inevitable for deconstruction to be that way????? I grieve.

I know the idea of killing one’s old self is inherently wrong to many people.

It’s not about whether it’s *wrong*. If that's valid for someone and they get where they need to be - you do you. It’s about the fact that it’s painful and it’s unnecessary to the process of growth.

Furthermore, it is the kind of thing ab*sers WANT to see happen to their victims when they leave. They want victims to think that they have to have that kind of crisis if they want to leave them. Because then they’re less likely to leave. When we encourage that kind of thinking, we are playing directly into their hands.

What should happen is that the victim should be given the opportunity to realize that all along there was much more to them than their ab*ser.

I don’t personally desire to watch Aziraphale do that, especially because there are so many wonderful aspects of the Angel he’s been since the beginning

Agreed.

But fwiw, this is giving a faint whiff of perfect victim syndrome. Even if he were an asshole, he still deserves to just have his ab*sers leave him alone, not to have some kind of shattering, soul-crushing emotional breakdown. They will always, always be worse than him.

but it’s not wrong to want to see that. People do go through it, and their stories are incredibly compelling.

I don’t disagree. For me it’s rather about the place this is coming from. OP was saying it’s necessary. There’s a difference between wanting to see a show address this issue overall because it’s interesting, and demanding that a specific character go through it because you think it’s necessary, or that their process of leaving and healing won't be legitimate (or whatever word we wanna use) if it doesn't happen.

And, as you said, it doesn’t make sense for Aziraphale. If the character is an asshole, I’d be able to see it a little more (although again, I still very much question the entire idea in the first place) But he's not an asshole. I find anyone’s thinking it “makes sense” for him to be highly questionable.

I know Aziraphale is much more than a character to many people

Speaking as a (very, very, very slightly, lol) professional writer and actor - every character should be “more than a character”, if they’re well-written. They should feel real if the writer and/or actor has done their job well. I like NG's line that "If you write someone who is utterly and completely themselves, you get people coming up to you and going 'Oh my God, you wrote my life!'

a desire to watch him go through a psychological breakdown is not some poorly concealed desire to watch real people go through that.

It may or may not be. I agree that it isn't always.

In this person’s case, though, I very much did get concerning vibes. Poorly concealed. (As an ab*se survivor, you start to know the vibe of victim-blamers after awhile.)

Regardless, though, the way we respond to characters is the way we respond to people in real life. Story is a primary vehicle through which people learn how to interact with one another and their environment. If it wasn’t, discussing media along these lines would be pointless, and I'd just spend all my time talking about how good David Tennant looks in those tight pants 😁 Or, probably, I would take up a different hobby altogether.

I wouldn’t have wasted my time starting this blog if the things people say about this story and especially about Aziraphale didn’t have real-world applications (not to mention making a lot of ab*se survivors feel very unsafe in the fandom - before we turned off anonymous asks, I got an average of two messages a day from ab*se survivors and other oppressed people telling them how this blog has made them feel so much safer in the fandom) - and if their views about the characters didn’t mirror the kinds of things they’d say about people in real life. (All the anti-Aziraphale autiphobic takes come to mind.) I flatter myself I have enough judgment that those takes wouldn't have troubled me so deeply if they weren't reflective of real-world societal problems and indicative of problematic attitudes in the people who write them.

In this case, the wording is identical to the kinds of problematic things people say about real-life victims/survivors. Yes, the person may not actually consciously want (or want at all) to see real-life ab*se victims/survivors suffer. But I absolutely, one hundred per cent guarantee you that anyone saying this has some major problematic biases/assumptions that are contributing to how ab*se survivors are maligned, degraded, and oppressed in our society. (I never want to see Disabled people suffer, but if I say ableist things, I’m contributing to it whether I mean to or not. I may not want to see women suffer, I am a woman, well more or less anyway lol, and I've identified as a feminist my entire adult life, but nevertheless there have certainly been times in the past when I've said sexist things. It's something all of us will always have to be vigilant against in ourselves. I suspect at this point I'm preaching to the choir, because you do not strike me at all as a bigoted or ignorant person, but I figured I'd re-iterate all that again anyway, because screaming it through a megaphone as often as possible is what this blog is for lol. :)

And what’s worse, they are spreading that rhetoric. I’ll be damned if I’ll let it go by without saying something.

Hope this makes sense and cleared some things up.

With love and respect,

Mod X.

[muse-write]

Towering Past

Here's my entry for the 2024 Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge)!

Jan. 12, 2023

H.,

Sorry for not responding to your Christmas letter…or your New Years’ letter. Really, I am! I know you probably think I’m tired of this method of communication—and I can’t rightly say I’m not—but there was more to my lack of response than sheer avoidance. I know you well enough to know you haven’t watched the local news anytime recently, so you might not have heard about the October explosion on the upper east side of the city. They’re saying it was a bomb planted in the subway system. It took out half the Northern line and a couple of blocks in every direction.

I have my own story to tell about that explosion, but I would sound insane, so I’ll leave this letter at that. And anyway, my hand is hurting from scribbling this letter out in record time now that I feel up to writing at all. You at least know I’m alive and hopefully you believe I wasn’t avoiding responding on purpose.

How are Jen and the kid doing? If you weren’t so set on letters like this you could text me pictures, you know! Why can’t you just call me like a normal person, H.?!

Love,

Frankie

Jan. 17, 2023

Dear Frankie,

Thanks for responding—finally. I was about to hop on a plane or send a strongly worded letter to your commanding officer just to make sure you hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. I suppose a cellphone would make this kind of thing easier, but we’ve had that conversation too many times to rehash it now. Jen’s doing fine. Eric is running around and getting into trouble, and we both know who he takes after on that score. I always was a good son, Mother always said. If you please, you might want to drop by and visit next time you’re in the area; you might have some tips born of experience for how to deal with a little boy who insists on coloring on the walls.

What a vague way of ending your story; you aren’t saying you were anywhere near the explosion, are you? I know it’s your job and all, but don’t blame a man for getting worried when his sister defuses bomb threats on the daily. Anyway, you know I wouldn’t find any of your stories insane, and you must tell me your version of events. Just don’t wait another two months to do so, or I really will send your CO a letter asking after you.

Glad to know you’re alive,

Henry

P.S. In the envelope is a bracelet Jen borrowed from you a few years back. She was very worried that you thought she was planning on keeping it forever.

Feb. 10, 2023

H.,

I’ll tell you what happened if you insist. But you have to promise me not to laugh. I haven’t told anyone else what happened; I’m not entirely certain it was not a vivid dream. And you know I’m not much of a storyteller, so it won’t rank among your beloved novels. But it will be what happened to me, as accurately as I can put it. Forgive the late letter. This took days to write down.

First off, the explosion wasn’t an explosion at all—so you can put your fears about me being among the defusement team to rest, at least this time. I had woken that morning to a leisurely day, not having so much as a drill to look forward to on my day off, and that meant I had a clear view out the window at the precise moment a tower erupted from the concrete sidewalk only a block or two away from my apartment. When I ran from my complex down the street, I had no thought of entering the tower—I didn’t even know if it was that kind of tower, one that could be entered—but I knew someone had to check it out, and that someone had best be me, with my gun and military training. I brought my Sauer and phone with me (not being a technophobe like you) and approached the tower.

It was not pretty or elegant or admirable in any way. In fact, it was rather ugly, with sharp jagged peaks—I forget what they are called—at the top, and the walls made of black brick—except it wasn’t brick, it was more like marble or stone, lopsided and uneven, like the tower had been thrown and glued together. And it was completely silent. Nothing moved, except at the very tip-top there was a flashing blue light. Like a signal. It didn’t seem to be Morse code or any other signal method I could make out.

And then something moved in the very highest window, and through a pair of binoculars I took from a man next to me (there was a crowd forming by now) I peered up at it and saw that it was a human.

Henry, do you remember Lieutenant Gorsk? A few years back. It was him. Somehow he had found his way into the tower and all the way to the top, and any doubt of my venturing in there was put to rest.

I would find him.

I am ashamed to say that I didn’t prepare. I was so afraid that if I went back home and returned with gear it would prove to be a dream that I marched straight up to the entrance—I know you’ll beg for a real description, but all I can say now is that it was a door, black and wood of some kind, with an ornate gilded knob for a handle—opened it, and walked through, my hand on my Sauer the whole time. I still had the binoculars from the man outside.

This is where it gets insane, H. The interior of the tower was like one of those ancient cathedrals, you know the ones, like in England. The ones tourists go to and exclaim about and take pictures of sunlight streaming through the windows. Though there wasn’t any stained glass here. And the windows—don’t laugh—they didn’t look out onto Seattle, H. They looked onto a completely different world.

I can’t describe it. I can’t remember it all that clearly, either, it’s a huge blur in my head, after the hospital and…anyway, I remember that outside the sky was red—like blood-red, and below there was a dark river, sluggish and black and I didn’t like to look at it for very long, so I turned away and looked at the tower instead. It was Gothic, I guess. You’re the architecture freak. I’ve attached some pictures below, so make of them what you will.

Anyway, I’d entered a large foyer-like hall, with a great staircase sweeping up the far side and climbing the walls in spiraling loops. There were statues in this room, tons of them, but they were—they had such terrible expressions of sadness and terror that I couldn’t look at them for long, either. Even more than the sights, it was the feeling that stays with me, even months later; there was something utterly depressing about the place despite its eerie beauty. It sank deep into my bones and chilled me to the core. But I had to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I tightened my fingers on the Sauer and began up the stairs, ready for…well, anything. I had no idea what to expect from a place like this.

And what I encountered, I had no way of expecting at all.

What descended down the stairs towards me when I had only climbed a few steps was a horde of—I don’t know what to call them. Demons, I suppose. They were not like the demons you see on church windows under the feet of angels. Some of them almost looked human, but were spindly and covered in scales like lizards or dragons or fish, scales that were matte and dark and reflected no light. Others weren’t human at all, but animal-like, though they resembled no animal I’ve ever seen except that they traveled on four legs, or maybe more. The horde of things surged toward me and I raised my gun to shoot.

I have killed people in my career, H., you know that. I’ve spent entire nights awake in my bed unable to get rid of their faces. I killed these things almost too easily, though the scaled ones gave my bullets some trouble. I had to resort to picking up a sword, fallen on the ground a few feet away from a bleached skeleton, to pierce through the gaps in the armor. It was helpful in preserving my ammo, since I’d only brought the few rounds that were in my gun, and I would need one round for when I reached the top--though I wondered what kind of other world I’d stumbled into. Who had this person been who had ventured in and died with a sword in their hand?

I proceeded up the stairs past the corpses, which were dusting away as though they had never existed in the first place. The tower reared up above me. Along its walls were grotesque tapestries of things I do not wish to remember, and I kept my eyes on the stairs and the gaping doorways I passed, waiting for another horde of demon-like things. I have been a soldier for decades, and never have I been more grateful for it than when I was ascending those stairs. My training kept me safe.

I reached the first landing and had to fight through another horde. I will not describe them all—some of them I don’t remember clearly enough, and others were simply too odd to put into words. All I know is that, with gun and sword, I managed to clear a path up the stairs.

But then one of them got the first hit in. I remember these clearly: three large, hulking things, with mouths like lions and bodies like eagles, large golden wings sending strong wind swirling around the landing. I could not move forward. My bullets barely pierced their hides. My sword could not break through their guard, and one of them sent an arm forward and its claws slashed my shoulder to ribbons. It burned like a gunshot wound, and I knew there was no hope of me defeating all three of them. I could only run and hide and hope they didn’t pursue me, so I turned and left the staircase to venture into the rest of the tower.

This floor was full of branching halls and large empty rooms that smelled of decay. The red sky outside left a garish red tint to everything that unnerved me, but I ran down hallways at random and tried to remember my way back to the stairs in case I lived long enough to return. The lion-eagle creatures chased me, but gave up soon afterward, and vanished into other areas of the tower. I ducked into an empty room and used the relative peace and quiet to inspect my arm. It was bleeding heavily, and I made a note to myself to check it for infection later in the day, assuming I survived that long.

I could have turned around. Abandoned my quest. Left Lieutenant Gorsk up at the top of the tower and returned to the peace of my house, a peace I had fought so hard for and tried to attain for so long. But you know what he did to me, Henry.

At the time, it seemed obvious to me that this was my second chance at justice. My chance to make peace, finally, with what had been done to me, and leave it in the past.

It never occurred to me to wonder how Gorsk had found his way here, or what had been done to him in the process, until much later on that day.

I wrapped my wound in strips from my shirt and hoped it would hold and wished I had some antiseptic, but a dirty shirt would have to do as gauze. Then I tried to creep out of the room, but realized that the door was locked. I had not closed it.

Demons appeared in the room around me, the scaled spindly ones I had fought off before, and I had become used to their movements and attacks and knew with relative certainty how to defeat them. A few strong strikes with a sword would weaken them, a gunshot through the head would finish them off. I would rely mostly on the sword now; I was running low on ammo, and I did not know how many more floors I would have to fight through. I refused to think about the fight back down once I reached the top. There had to be ten demons in the room, and my shoulder was burning and slowed me down, and there were quite a few close calls I prefer not to think about. I don’t know what it would have been like to be killed by one of these things and I don’t want to imagine it. They had sharp teeth meant for ripping and biting, and at some point after I killed a few of these I began tearing those teeth from the corpses’ mouths for extra weapons.

Ten of these demons were more than enough to test me, but with a lot of luck I managed not to die, and had a pocketful of demon teeth-blades to show for it at the end.

The door unlocked by itself as the last demon corpse dusted away.

I ventured back to the stairs, losing my way a few times in the process, and it was amazing what a relief it was to see the familiar grand staircase spiraling up over my head once again rather than the red wash of the old windows. The castle grew darker as I headed further up, and there were less and less windows, and less and less red, until I began to long for the light, eerie as it was. It was never dark enough to blind me, but it was surely dark enough for the shadows to shift and move and look like demons. I have had decades of experience calming terror in combat; this tower tried my nerves in a way I have never experienced before and hope to never experience again. In all of those books you’ve read, have you heard the phrase, “bear wrongs patiently”? In the military, I turned that into a talent. I bore the hazing, the combat, the setbacks and the horror and the fear. I tried to do that here, too, but the tower seemed to steal that control away from me, until even I was left trembling like a little girl surrounded by monsters. I gripped my gun in one hand and my sword in the other and ventured on, wishing more and more that I did not feel such an urge to find the Lieutenant. Wishing that I could be normal and move on from that time.

You can maybe understand why it took me so long to finish writing this letter.

I will leave it at that for now, so that you can get your letter in two months and not feel the need to call up my superiors. Though I think a glare from you, looking like some Oxford don, might just frighten Commander Paik more than all the roughest thugs in the city.

Love,

Frankie

Feb. 18, 2023

Frankie,

I don’t quite know how to start this.

First, let me say thank you for trusting me with your story. I don’t think you’re insane, and I didn’t let out a single chuckle.

Second, I am familiar with that tower. It appeared in my own city—around the time yours did. It looked exactly as you describe, and the pictures confirmed it. It was the same, or one of the same type. I entered the tower, though not at all for the same reasons.

You see, when I looked up at the top of it, in the window I saw Jen. Of course, I couldn’t leave her there.

I did not tell you of this before because I did not wish to worry you or cause you alarm; after all, what transpired became something much greater and more beautiful than I could have imagined when I first stepped through the door.

I sympathize with your quest to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I remember him very well, and I wish I could have been there too, to punch him in the face (a second time, if you remember!). I don’t know if I can condone your mission, nor the intentions you implied, but after what the man did to you, I can’t say I wouldn’t have considered the same. And considering you are not writing me from a jail cell, I need to know the end of the story as soon as you can bring yourself to give it to me.

I did not bring a gun with me—you know my stance on them well enough—but, as with  you, there were plenty of demons. I have never been a fighter, but I picked up a stray sword and a dagger or two and managed to hide and slip past many, and fought those I couldn’t. It was with a great deal of trepidation that I climbed those stairs—I can only imagine you, flying up them like a goddess of vengeance with wings at her feet! It was an eerie experience for me; the light made everything look as though blood covered it. The sun outside was not—right. It was deep and vibrant and would have maybe been pretty if not for the sickly pallor to the sky around it, like when a tornado is about to touch down.

I deciphered that I had entered a new world a little earlier than you. I had found a storage room to hide in—and what a storage room, with jars and masks and boxes—and could not help reading a few of the files I found stuffed in drawers (I know you’re rolling your eyes at me about now, so stop it!). The files were plain documents, just text written in a crusted brown substance I refused to consider any further than necessary, but I couldn’t read a word of it. It was not Latin, nor Greek, nor any derivation of any language I have ever come across. The letters themselves were indecipherable, and anyway I felt like it was best not to know what was written in them, so I shoved the papers back into their drawers and did my best not to wonder. I am not very good at that, but it was time to move on, and my survival (and Jen’s) relied on not being overly distracted by the theoretical.

I reached the top of the tower perhaps slower than you, but with far fewer injuries (please tell me you went to the hospital, Frankie!), and emerged from the stairs into a long corridor that extended to a single door. This part of the tower was not a maze, as I had discovered in the lower levels; it was very straightforward and clear about where I was meant to go. That door was my destination, and behind it must be Jen, and the window through which I had glimpsed her.

There were no enemies laying wait for me along that corridor, but I fully expected there to be some monstrous creature waiting for me behind the door. I grasped the knob. It swung open easily, terrifyingly easy.

I assume this room looked much the same for me as it did for you—circular walls, broad windows letting in that wash of red light anew, a view of a mountain range of some other world, dark and strange, stretching out beyond. Jen was there, and I called her name, but saw that she could not move, because, though she stood, she was enclosed within a barrier of some sort—her hands, I saw, were burned where she had attempted to push through it. There would be no breaking it.

And then the monster—appeared. I mean that very literally; one moment it was not there, and then I blinked, and it was. I could not make sense of it at first; it did not fit your descriptions at all of any of the demons you encountered. It was hulking and winged, but appeared to be made of chitin all over its body, like an insect has, and blue flame flared from the gaps in this natural armor. It bared teeth—I suppose would be the expression, on something that had such an unnatural face—at me, and there were two rows of sharp needle-like prongs.

This terrified me.

But it held Jen, my wife, the mother of my son, and what would I ever say to Eric if I let this beast harm her, or whatever it planned to do with her? Whisk her away? Kill her? Keep her imprisoned here, like some damsel out of a fairy tale, to lure adventurers with?

I tightened my grip on my sword, feeling a sense of hopeless doom fall upon me (yes, that was the only way to describe it, let me have my sense of poetry once in a while without mocking me, Frankie!). There did not seem to be a way I could triumph over such a foe. But neither could I hide or flee or distract it. So fight I must, even if it led to my own death.

I see no reason to regale you with the battle; there was nothing glamorous about it, as you well know. Suffice to say, I charged at it, which was not a good strategy, and my strategy changed to accommodate this. I was injured (and Jen gave me a good lecture about my stupidity later) and the pain nearly made me sick, but miraculously I managed to stay upright. It was a long battle, the monster was fast and strong and wanted me dead as badly as I wanted it dead, and I was afraid every instant, but eventually I managed to get lucky, and the blade sunk deep into one of those infinitesimal cracks in the monster’s chitin, and with a wrench I managed to twist the blade hard into its heart. That is not a feeling I wish to relive, Frankie.

But in the end, the monster lay there, its breath rattling out, and the barrier simply disappeared, just as the monster had suddenly appeared. Jen could move again—she later told me that the barrier had not been there until, presumably, my hand had touched the door; the monster’s doing, I assume—and she rushed to my side. I have never before felt like a brave man, especially when compared to you, brave sister, and I wish it had not taken such awful circumstances to turn me into one.

Jen told me later that she had no idea where she had been; in a moment she had been whisked from the living room of our house to the top of the tower, and for hours she had been staring out at that dark mountain range and the red sky and attempting to find a reasonable way of climbing out. The door had been locked, and the lock had repaired itself even as she had broken it, and escape seemed hopeless, unless she were to throw herself out, and she had not been quite that desperate yet.

Hearing your story, I simply wonder why? Why was it Jen who was picked up and plopped in that window to send me creeping up the stairs? Why was the same done to Lieutenant Gorsk? Was it a punishment? Or coincidence?

Do you have any theories, Frankie?

Henry

Feb. 30, 2024

Henry,

I never would have imagined that you had had such an experience, or that both of us have been carrying it around with us for months without letting on. We’re both stubborn—well, a soldier’s language isn’t something I want to subject you to, so I’ll leave it there.

When I finally did reach the top—though I don’t think it was so much as a goddess of war as a very frightened, very stubborn military-trained soldier—it looked the way you described it. The same long corridor, the same door at the end, the same suspicious lack of enemies. I had one bullet left in my Sauer, and plenty of demon teeth in my pockets.

Except there wasn’t a monster for me. Maybe the tower had decided I’d had my fill. Maybe the final challenge I encountered was the monster. I don’t know. I didn’t think much of it then. I just knew that odious lieutenant was behind that door, and I needed to get in there and shoot him dead, military protocol be damned.

It was a desire for murder, plain and simple, but I wasn’t thinking about the consequences then. I was thinking about those two years of hell, with the king of demons being Lieutenant Gorsk and his stinking breath and wandering hands and my only savior the friendship of Corporal Alice Lewis.

I turned the door, and there he was. Oddly, he was kept in place by the same barrier you described.

H., have I ever told you how easy it is for me to kill someone with a gun? My trusty Sauer, familiar and worn in my palm, my callouses formed around it, my target in its sights. It’s far easier to pull the trigger on my old friend than it is to take my Swiss knife and stab someone in the guts, but I’ve done both. I was prepared to do either, if it meant ridding the world of someone like Gorsk.

By now it’s been…what? Eight years since I was under his command? Not that long, in the grand scheme of things. Two years of hell, and eight years recovering.

I’ve put him out of my mind as best I can. I had almost imagined that I could go my whole life and think only of moving forward, but that vanished the second I laid eyes on him again. All my old rage and hatred and desire for vengeance came back to me in a moment, and propelled me up those stairs. Maybe in that way I was some goddess of vengeance after all.

My gun was lined up with his temple. He stood there, unable to move, his hands and arms burned by the barrier, knowing that I would be the last sight he saw. There was no doubt in his mind in that moment, I’m sure, that I would kill him.

I did. I did kill him, Henry.

I pulled the trigger and he fell back against the wall. It was a clean, cold kill. The door behind me unlocked, and I stepped out onto the stairs again. Going down, there were no enemies to fight, and I relived the moment I had shot him again and again, and did not regret leaving his body there at the top of the tower. I was victorious, the winner, the survivor, and I had killed the man who had made my life a misery for years.

I returned to my apartment, and the tower…crumbled. It fell, brick by brick, stone by stone, back underneath the city, and left no sign it had ever been there. I was quite satisfied with myself, and didn’t feel guilty about what I’d done until that night, when I remembered suddenly that he had had a wife, the last I had heard. Maybe a son, too, but I’m not sure. The next morning, while I ate breakfast, he appeared in the news—but not news of his death. Instead, there was something about some promotion to Major General, and I stabbed myself with my fork and threw my plate across the kitchen.

I realized what had happened soon after that.

I am not writing this from a jail cell, Henry, because to all intents and purposes Lieutenant Gorsk is still living—in this world, anyway. In whatever terrible, twisted mirror world I found myself wandering through, Lieutenant Gorsk is dead, a bullet’s clean entry and exit wound through both sides of his skull. I know I killed him, and I must live with knowing that I was capable of doing so, that I was fully aware of what I was doing. In my mind, he lies in a pool of spreading blood.

Love,

Frankie

[luckykiwiii101]

Not an ask because you act so immature to take seriously.Honestly,I never judge people for their ages but you are literally crazy and the way you answer questions looks like you think you are someone so busy,popular blah blah.Kid,Now i don't even believe you really entered to the void state,I know it is so easy but you don't even know how to answer simple questions.You keep saying the same things or blame people for stealing your time.You have to delete the app or take down that ask button shit,aren't you here to help people? Maybe they scrolled down in your acc but did not see the question that is similar to theirs and decided to ask.You can ignore that question or link the previous ask as an answer,stop acting immature.

I did notice this and it’s on purpose. I’m not a rude person. Thank you for holding me at account though. I have already tried being nice so many times and all that has earned me was just even MORE disrespect 😭 Of course i am very kind in real life but talking to people online is just on a whole nother level. These people get to hide behind screens and just disrespect anyone they want and to hell if you think i’m gonna let that happen to me. I’ve literally been on this app for not even 2 months. + I am a busy person so i really don’t appreciate you saying “you think you are someone so busy, popular”. I think that you forgot i actually have a life outside of tumblr. Do you realise that i get like 50+ asks a day, all along the lines of the same question. I’ve answered them many times and these people NEVER read my answers to the previous asks. They just spam and spam and spam to their hearts content. Treating me like some AI robot.

“You tell them to delete the app” Bro…i told a liar to get off the app. a LIAR. Someone who gets peoples hopes up. Literally destroying their faith in the void state. It’s because of these liars that people give up and think everyone on this app is lying. So ofcourse i’m going to tell them to delete the app for other people’s sake. People don’t deserve to believe that they can’t manifest their dream life just because of some internet troll roaming tumblr. I am not sorry for telling them to get off the app.

“Maybe they scrolled down your acc and did not see the question similar.”

It’s not difficult to find at all. I understand if it’s a genuine question that is hard to find the answer to but these people are literally asking me how to apply a state. There are 1000000 posts on how to apply states and they’re seriously asking me?!?! I’m sorry but what? They are too lazy to do research. Don’t expect me to answer the dumbest questions. Honestly.

“You don’t even know how to answer simple questions”

I shouldn’t have to answer such simple questions…what is your point exactly? They are simple questions, therefore meaning plenty of people have provided answers for them over and over again and you just want me to repeat it like a broken record everytime you want me to.

“Now i don’t believe you’ve entered the void state.”

Sorry but that’s not my problem. I haven’t created this blog to convince people of my success, i’ve created this blog to help people achieve their own success.

“You keep saying the same stuff and blaming people for stealing your time.”

Exactly. I KNOW i keep saying the same stuff because i get asked the SAME questions everyday, therefore WASTING my time. Thank you for acknowledging that.

“You can link the previous question with a link.”

That takes twice the amount of time. You STILL expect me to respond…for what? Am i your mom? I’m not babying grown adults on this app.

“You act so immature to take seriously.”

Then don’t look at my posts…? + Don’t provoke people then act surprised when they get mad.

“I never judge people for their ages but you are literally crazy.”

You say, as you judge someone for their age. Anyway i know i’m 15, and that adds to my point. The fact that i’m still in school and stress a lot about exams and people add more stress onto me by asking me 100000 questions of the same questions, or really obvious questions a day.

“Stop acting immature”

Not to take my own side but…people not doing simple quick and easy research is also immature. Me getting frustrated and calling them out is just a product of that. I do admit that i was mean to them, but that’s what it took for them to leave me alone, so i’m not going to apologise. When i was nice to the lazy people online, it got me nowhere.

(Not to stir drama everyone! Just to clear the air).

[phoenixisobsessed]

OH MY GOD CHAT I JUST GOT A VALVEPLUG ASK FOR LIKE ONE OF MY TOP FAVOURITE SHIPS…AND IT’S SPECIFICALLY CENTERED AROUND A THING I REALLY LIKE (a specific kink that I like?? Idk maybe. ANYWAY!!) TODAY IS A GOOD DAY A GOOD DAY INDEED…

Also to that anon for the ask I just recieved, if you see this you don’t need to worry I draw pretty much anything that isn’t specifically in my “I don’t do this” list. So if it’s not there, I do it. The “I do this” list is only a rough guideline for those who feel unsure of what to do, and not a limiter. I get feeling unsure as well don’t worry I am TERRIFIED of sending asks most of the time. It’ll be out at some point. You match my freak ong.

The hear me out valveplug ask is also right after the one I am working on rn, so for anybody who remembers that one and was itching to see what it was, you’ll have it VERY soon.

I did like the first valveplug ask and suddenly the gates opened. Very happy about that. Not because I want to be 100% valveplug but because I LIKE FREAKY ROBOTS AND I WANT TO DRAW THEM FREAKY SOMETIMES.

Sorry about the random ramble but idk if Imma finish today’s ask today. Schoolwork and shit and I wanted an excuse to post something so y’all know I’m not dead. And also I have so many asks that are like “Sorry for asking about this you don’t have to do it” and when there’s like a queue of 10 asks before that I get scared that those people feel like they fucked up for asking… EUHAU LIKE I SWEAR I’M DOING ALL OF THEM THEY’RE ON THEIR WAY DON’T WORRY. And if I don’t do one, I’ll respond to it, saying that I won’t!! No hard feelings. I’ve done it once before. But so far I haven’t gotten anything so vile disgusting toe curling skin itching bad I’ve had to just delete and forget it. UEHAU All are on their way. Kitchen (brain) is just understaffed (lacking braincells) at the moment.

[frozenjokes]

I support all of his wrongs (he’s never done a right in his entire life)

obligatory fic snippet time, find the rest in my pinned post

the kestrels will absolutely believe scar when he tells them he isn’t haunted. why would he lie.

***

“I guess I don’t have a choice then,” Scar frowned, risking a glance back. He was expecting the ghosts to be there, but not directly behind him, hanging over his head. Scar couldn’t stifle his own startled gasp, turning stiffly back around. Hopefully no one saw that. Based on the way everyone was staring, they absolutely did. Oh boy.

“Alright!” Sausage clapped, drawing the room’s attention back to him, “If you haven’t already guessed Scar, this is about your.. hm.. Let’s say your attitude when the topic of the paranormal surfaces. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we- especially after recent events- are concerned. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

Yeesh. This was going to be a shit show. “Okay, yeah, I understand where you guys are coming from. I know weird stuff happens around me a lot, and I know everyone likes to joke around, but you’re looking too deep into things. That’s all.”

“Well, we don’t feel that way.”

“Blunt.”

“You need to hear it, Scar, so take this seriously. And we want to help you if we can, so just give this a chance. I’m going to start, and we can all go in a circle and share times where we feel that your, or our lives have been endangered. I’ll go first! I will not lie, I did not appreciate you pulling your sword on me when I tried to take the ouija board away. Clearly, at least to me, whatever happened with the screaming event was connected, and I’m honestly quite concerned you want to keep something that dangerous around.”

“Alright, that wasn’t my best moment, and I am sorry, but I don’t think you have any right to touch my stuff.” Scar was ready to start tearing out his hair. Grian seemed awfully bold today, floating forward to laugh in his face. Pearl joined him, flicking her fingers in Scar’s face to try and get him to flinch. His frown only deepened.

“Me next?” Kyle pointed to himself, and began on Sausage’s nod, “Well, the big thing is the first ouija board incident. That was crazy. Those scratches weren’t deep, but I think they’re going to scar. But it isn’t even just that- it’s also how freaked out you were about it, before and after. You knew! And I don’t blame you for the fact that it happened, you warned me and I didn’t listen, but if you really don’t believe in anything paranormal, what’s with the edginess?”

Scar opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted by Impulse floating across the circle, using some unknown momentum to do little flips in the air. Scar closed his eyes. “No comment.”

“Okay, well my turn!” Oli started, puffing out his chest, “Now I know you tell me whenever you see me to mind the noise, or don’t think too hard about, or whatever, but gosh Scar, you are so loud in that room of yours! And I get it, everyone talks to themself from time to time, so I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t heard who you were talking to! I mean, you even call them by names! The night you had your, for lack of a better word, seizure, you were talking to a Grian! And then there was another night where you were talking to someone else!

screenshot in doodle page is a direct continuation, the rest of it needs more context so it’s not here

***

[spectralsleuth]

Now that we're entering into 2024, I'm asking some artists and writers that I follow:

1) What is the one piece you're most proud of from this past year?

2) What are some pieces that you would have liked more people to see? If you can include links, I'd love to go check them out!

3) What were your top three favorite pieces (art, comics, fics, etc) that someone else has made this past year?

(As always, no pressure to respond! Feel free to just ignore, or let me know if you'd rather I not send you these kinds of asks in the future.)

This is such a sweet and fun ask!! Thanks so much! I enjoyed seeing other authors answering this it’s so hype to get it myself.

1. This is hard to answer, because this year I tried to do something different with every fic I posted. When I got a concept I very pointedly didn’t shy away from it because it seemed difficult, or I thought I might be bad at it, so there’s something that makes me proud with each one. IF I HAD TO CHOOSE THOUGH I’m going to cheat and pick two.

What it Will Be I’m proud of this because it fell out of me SO EASY. I felt like the process of writing it was a testament to how hard I’ve been working at improving all year, and it came together very quickly and very well. I’m also proud because I incorporated @heckitall ‘s comic page to base it off of, and I’d never tried writing fic for a visual media like that. It was super fun!

On the OTHER end of the spectrum is Case of the Hidden City vs Lou Jitsu because it is VERY technically and narratively complicated and is by far the most ambitious thing I’ve ever written. It’s very hard, but I am VERY proud because I haven’t QUIT it. It’s not complete yet, but it is a good amount of the way there and I’m excited to finish it. Probably once I’ve recovered from surgery lol.

2. This sounds insincere maybe, but I really am happy with the engagement I get on my fic. I really do write my fic for me, and while I love to make sure as many people who want to read it can find it, at the end of the day I don’t like assigning people homework! I went through my whole works list and scratched my head and really tried to think of there was anything I wanted to plug, and I don’t think there is!

I guess I’ll post my lowest viewed, my Swanatello fic! @tangledinink ‘s AU I’m sure everyone’s familiar with lol. I knew that one would be lower when I posted it, if only because it has prior required reading (Swanatello). But I wrote it mainly because the AU was starting to reach a critical point and I REALLY wanted to write fanfiction of how I fantasized an ending might be, so I could go back and read it for comfort. I love Odette and the lore Kayson made for his AU, so I’ll plug this only because I think some people may have missed it!

3. Three works!! JUST THREE?? AUGH.

little kid with a big death wish

By @remedyturtles ! This made me leak tears the whole way through, so huge CW’s obviously. Not only was it one of the best fics I’ve ever read, but I got the privilege of seeing how talented Rem is behind the scenes a little and saw how they write and work and I really want to emulate them going forward. One of many all timer fics for me, for sure, I’d love to read any original fiction they put out.

The Whispering Forest and Other Tales

By @sroloc--elbisivni and @kithnkin ! I love love LOVE the feudal Japan fusion, the research, and the perfect blend of Usagi Yojimbo’s universe with what the Riseverse would have been like in this era. Even the little segues into what they’re wearing and eating is endlessly fascinating to me. Every single character is written to be the best and most interesting version of that character I could imagine. Theres Leosagi, there’s a PB&J murder mystery, there’s spookiness- AND Raphael Hamato gets wifed up!! WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT? I love people that write a fully fleshed story that could be a standalone universe, without losing ANY of the flavor or humor or narrative of the original source material.

And last is I’m Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now

@tangledinink has such a good grasp of family and writing, and realistic portrayals of what would HONESTLY HAPPEN if you discovered literally any aspect of the ROTTMNT narrative. Not even taking into ACCOUNT the turtle nonsense, how do you unpack a family that’s been devoted to destroying a magic monster and sacrificing themselves, or a Dad that fought in a death match battle royale for over a decade, or a RIVAL CLAN OF NINJA? All the characters are written SO WELL, and Kayson does a fantastic job of never letting the characters or story fall into cliche tropes. Their characters are always super detailed, to the point where I really feel it if they’re hungry or hurt or itchy. Which is a weird thing to point out but they make sure you really FEEL the situation. Also like, turtles in highschool? Body dysphoria? My CO-CEO of Hamato Yoshi???

What a great year!! I had so much fun in fandom this year and made a lot of friends.

[wicca-wicca-whack]

The Maid of Honor and the Best Man

Modern!Au Gordon Malloy x Reader

Word count: 3035

//I'm back on my bs

You could feel your irritation with your best friend bubbling the longer she spoke. 

“I don't know, I don't really need anything elaborate!”

“Kel, this is your bachelorette party! After that you're spewing out vows and tying your life to this dude,” you gesture haphazardly towards Ed, who just chuckles.

“I mean I'd rather just do something easy. You know, we were talking about doing a joint party,” she offers. 

“A joint party!” You try really hard to sound excited, but it sounds kind of lame, at least to you.

“I mean, I don't really feel like I need any of those things you would even do separate parties for, like strippers or anything, and it'll be way cheaper for you and Gordon if you're just pooling resources.” She reaches her hand out for your phone, and knowing her, you can easily assume she wants to give you his number. 

You bite your tongue, handing your phone over. “Yeah, for sure.” 

“I'm sure you guys will get along great.”

You know from experience she's wrong, but you just smile and nod. 

You and the best man have butt heads at every event, and he's made it pretty clear he doesn't like Kelly much, and by extension you. After all, she's marrying his best friend and you're, apparently, a stick in the mud, partially because you won't talk trash about her. You haven’t even seen him in over a month, which makes you question his dedication to helping out with this wedding.

Hours go by before you even open your phone to text the ginger. You settle for something simple.

It's the MOH. Let me know when you're ready to talk about the joint party.

Shockingly, you've only just set your phone down when he texts back. 

Whz ths nd whtz a MOH?

He must be drunk, you figure, to be texting like that. 

The maid of honor?

O. U.

You decide not to respond, between the drunk texting and the response to him knowing it's you on the other end, settling down to watch your trash TV. 

It’s maybe four hours later your phone rings, and you glance at the caller ID of Dickhead before picking up. 

“We didn’t need to, like, have a conversation about like, tonight,” you try, the only thing coming from the receiver being the sound of cars and and the wind.

“Nah, I wasn’t doing anything. Can we just make it, like, not lame?” You can hear Gordon sigh, and the scuff of his shoes as he walks.

“What do you mean not lame?” You try not to sound amused.

“I mean, a joint party is already super lame. No strippers, nothing, like, fun.”

“You don’t know how to have fun without strippers?”

“I mean I do,” he insists quickly, “but, like, when I imagined throwing my best friend's bachelor party…”

“Well, they decided they wanted a joint party.” You pull a notepad on your table close. “So, their wedding colors are blues and greens, I’m thinking for the decor we should stick to that.”

You can hear him sigh again.

“What?”

“They’re just, like, such, uh… kinda lame colors together.”

You bite your tongue for a moment, annoyed. “Let’s just do this another time, it's late.”

“No! No,” you can hear him jostling something around. “Uh, why don’t we meet up?”

Your eyes drift to your clock. “It’s two am.”

You hear muffled cursing. “Right, yeah. Uh, night.” The receiver clicks before you can respond, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. If he’s lost his grip on time, this was gonna be a whole other kind of difficult.

When you wake up the next morning, you have two missed calls from Kelly. You can't help but sigh, looking at the time to see it's barely even 10 AM. 

You roll from your bed, working your way through your morning ritual before returning her call.

“Kels, you basically blew my phone up,” you half-whine. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn't realize how early it was the first time I called.” You can hear her rustling around. 

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Ed and I are making party favors.” The audio changes, and you assume she must've put you on speaker. 

“Hey. Morning,” Ed's voice rings through, and you sigh. 

“Morning. Did you guys need help?”

“Could use a hand. Gordon's coming too.”

You almost groan. Or maybe you do, because Ed laughs. 

“I'll see you in an hour!” Kelly calls cheerfully. 

“Yeah, okay. In an hour,” you agree, calling your goodbyes and moving to get ready. 

You get there more like an hour and a half later, and Kelly looks like she might be upset, until you press a fresh coffee into her hand and bring one to her fiance, and she seems to calm down.

“Sorry, sorry! I come bearing caffeine,” you soothe, moving to plop next to Gordon, who gives you a weird look. “What are you making?”

She motions to the table, grinning. “Snack and drink boxes.”

“...What?” You can’t help but give her a look.

“Little boxes of snacks and, like, shooters and edible glitter,” Ed supplies, and Kelly claps her hands, clearly excited.

“I thought it was a good idea!”

“It is, babe,” Ed assures, and Gordon groans loudly.

“Do you have to be all gross in front of other people?” He complains.

“Dude-”

“It's a word,” you interrupt Ed, turning to look at the scruffy ginger man. “He said the word babe.”

“Yeah, and it was gross, obviously,” he scoffs, reaching to grab one of the little decorative boxes Kelly put out.

“What are you, twelve? Babe is one of the tamest things he could call her right now.”

“How? Any of those weird PDA names is gross to use in front of your friends.”

You give Kelly an exasperated look, but both she and Ed just look on, amused. “Please be so fucking for real right now, man.”

“I’m not in this argument,” she tries.

“You’re kind of in it,” you shoot back.

“Let’s just get back to these favors,” Ed offers, taking a box, “they’re super easy but we have a ton to make.”

You’re annoyed, but you move to get to work anyway, taking a long drink of your coffee.

A couple of hours go by in relative silence, though Gordon can’t resist shooting jabs and jokes around, before Kelly and Ed step away to take a wedding call, and you turn to Gordon.

“So for their party, I was just thinking the wedding party all meet at mine, and I’ll decorate, and then we can do, like, a bar crawl. Something easy but still fun.”

He stares at you for a long time. “...What?”

“Dude. Their joint bachelor/bachelorette party. Obviously.”

“Oh. Right. Sounds cool.” A beat of silence. “We should make one of those stops a strip clu-”

You whack him in the arm, and he yelps. “No.”

“I thought we were planning this together!”

“We are. Make a list of bars. I will vet them.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the couple returns. “Did I hear Gordon yell?” Ed looks between you, both suspicious and amused.

“No,” you answer casually, tying a ribbon over the last snack box. “And we’re done! I need to head out, but text me that list,” you remind Gordon, grabbing your purse and standing. “Kels, I love you, I will see you Friday for your bachelorette. Two days. And in three you will be hitched. Text me or call me if you need me.”

You don’t give her a chance to answer before you’re out the front door.

When Gordon sends you a list of bars that night, you skim the list before calling him.

“Yello?”

“Gordon, half of those are strip clubs. Not bars. Good strip clubs don't even serve alcohol!”

“How do you know that?”

“Gordon.” You don’t dignify that with an answer. “Be real. There are so many bars down this strip, why those? Hell, I will pay for a limo or something to take us further from this stip you started on.”

“When I pictured throwing Ed’s bachelor-”

“You pictured strippers, I get it. This is what they wanna do. Save the strippers for your wedding.”

He snorts, but he’s quiet for a minute. “Fine. I’ll fix it.”

“Are you pouting?”

“Do I sound like I’m pouting?”

“Yes, you do.”

“Are you gonna need help getting your place set up?” You can hear the clink of a glass and someone shouting something in the background.

“I can handle it,” you sigh, confused at the rapid subject change.

“I’m offering.” His voice is almost soft, at least compared to the rest of the conversation. “I can come over and help you put up all that ugly blue and green crap. That’s what you’re doing, right?”

You can’t help but snort a little. “Yeah, I am. But you can show up with everyone else an-”

“I’ll be there at six.” He hangs up before you can even protest more, and you can’t help giving your phone a weird look.

In the morning, to your shock, you do wake up to a new list of bars, ones that are actually all bars, and you almost smile.

When Friday comes around, you feel like you’re insanely busy, between work and making sure you have everything, and when you open your door to see Gordon, promptly at six, you pause, staring at him in shock.

“You’re here.”

“Uh, yeah. I said I’d be.” He gives you a confused look.

“At six.”

“That’s what I told you.”

“You’re not late.”

“I’m not always late.”

“You’ve been late to, like, every event since the wedding planning started.”

He huffs, carefully pushing past you to grab some streamers, looking up at your ceiling. “Are we just going to town or what?”

It pivots from there, Gordon seemingly content to decorate however you instruct, though more than once he argues when you correct him, its… almost fun. Almost.

You’re done just in time for the rest of the wedding party to start showing up, and then, finally, the couple of the night, accompanied by shouting and whooping as you and Gordon pour a round of shots for the large party as a sort of pre-game.

You give each of them an obnoxious crown and sash, and both Kelly and Ed laugh as they’re ushered back down towards the limo you had, in fact, ended up renting for the party, the whole of you piling into the seats, a couple of the others squishing you into Gordon.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, leaning towards you a little.

“It’s cool,” you assure softly, jostling a bit as the ride starts. There’s a lot of shouting, and you think someone else is trying to pour more shots in the bumpy ride, but thankfully, the first bar is a quick drive, and before anyone can crack a bottle open, Kelly is ushering people out with Ed’s help, and into the western-themed bar.

Looking left to right, you can spot a line dance happening on the floor and at least eight cowboy hats.

“Yeah, this is a good one to start a night,” Gordon sighs, moving towards the bar and taking orders from people. The bartender looks familiar with Gordon as he orders the drinks, both laughing it up, and you can’t help but soften a little.

You turn your eyes from him as quickly as you can when Kels elbow connects with your arm. “Ow! What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were damn near making eyes,” Ed adds in.

“No one asked you.”

“Our opinion is joint now,” Kelly tries, giving a smile to a stranger handing her a drink and congratulating them.

“I didn’t ask you either.”

“Technically, you did.”

You’re cut off by a cold glass hitting your hand, and you carefully take it from Gordon, who just looks between the three of you before setting another drink down and heading to collect more, giving you all a weird look.

You groan, moving to knock your drink back as Kelly laughs. “It isn’t like that.”

“Right, yeah. For sure.”

You huff, annoyed. Sure, Gordon was cute. And while prepping for this party, he’d even been… nice. But you had no intention of throwing yourself all over a guy who never really seemed interested in you.

But God help you, part of you wants to.

You quickly learn, after another drink or two, it's incredibly hard to keep such a large party on track. When you finally round everyone into the limo, you were supposed to head to the next bar an hour ago, and everyone is considerably more trashed than you expected them to be. Someone calls for shots, and your protests go unheard as a bottle gets opened and shots get passed around. You’re once again smushed into Gordon’s side, and everything is fine until something warm splashes your chest.

“Damnit!”

“Shit! I’m sorry,” Gordon calls quickly, sounding a little surprised, and one of his hands comes down like he’s going to wipe the vodka from you before his senses catch up, and he pulls his hand back.

“It's fine,” you huff, glad for the dim lighting and green shirt. 

You can sort of see him shuffling for something, and you hear a muffled ‘aha!’ as he presses a cloth to your chest.

It takes him all of two seconds to snatch his hand away, and, thankfully, no one seems to have seen the interaction. 

You let out an awkward chuckle, dabbing at the wet spot with the cloth. “Thanks… I, uh… think I’ll head home maybe. Do you think you can handle them?”

“Y-yeah, for sure,” he agrees, nodding, and you swear he’s never looked quite so nervous. “Honestly, they’re probably not gonna make it past this bar,” he agrees as the limo stops and the doors open.

You nod, moving to hug your friend goodbye with a hurried explanation. She gives you a pout, but presses taxi money into your hand, despite your protesting, and you can’t get Ed to take it from you either.

The minute you make it home, you make sure your alarm is set, and you crash.

Six A.M. comes way too quickly, but you’re up, and heading to pick up Kelly, coffee in hand. Somehow, she’s full of energy when she gets into your passenger seat, taking her drink from you. You start the trek to the venue, listening to her ramble about the night before.

Thankfully, the actual getting-ready part of the wedding, and the wedding itself, goes pretty smoothly. You, for one, are relieved, not wanting to deal with disasters. You can’t help but tear up, watching your best friend pledge her life away to a man, but you almost laugh when she ushers people towards the reception while the wedding party gets ready for pictures.

For most of them, you’re opposite Gordon, who hasn’t made eye contact with you once, including your walk down the aisle. You don’t even really hear him speak until you’re taking a picture where Kelly wants everyone paired up like when they walked down the aisle. 

His hand hovers over your waist as he mumbles, “I’m sorry. Again. For last night.”

You wait for the photographer to take the picture. “It’s fine, really. Water under the bridge. It’s not like alcohol’s never been spilled on me.”

“I just don’t want you to think I was, like, using it to cop a feel or something.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Not that you aren’t, like, pretty, but that would be, like-”

“-Really weird of you, yeah.” You hesitate, bringing your hand to pat his arm. “It’s cool.”

“Right, yeah. Cool.”

You’re being ushered towards the reception before either of you can break the tension, and you’re at opposite sides of the table once everyone’s sat, and the interaction barely crosses your mind until after the first few dances, when Kelly is insisting the bridal party go dance, and as everyone more or less pairs up with the person they walked with, you look at Gordon, who looks halfway terrified.

“Well? Come on,” you motion him towards the floor, holding a hand out. 

One, two, three seconds pass before he takes your hand, heading towards the floor for an awkward sort of slow dance.

“I don’t dance,” he admits awkwardly.

“Yeah, I can tell.” You’re content to sway, though, his hands barely resting on your waist, yours resting on his shoulders.

“You, uh, look nice,” he offers.

“With how much Kel paid to get our hair and makeup done, I hope so,” you snort.

“You, uh, look nice the rest of the time too.”

You look at him slowly, a little amused and pretty confused. “Thanks?”

“I mean,” you can’t tell if he’s blushing or his face is always that red, “you’re pretty. A pretty person.”

You’re pretty sure he’s blushing.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you offer.

“You, uh, seem like a lot of fun.”

“So do you. When you’re not being an ass,” you nudge him gently, but he chuckles.

“It’s kind of my default. Total douche.” He waves one of his hands before he returns it to your waist, more pressure than before, and looks over your shoulder, making a face.

You turn just in time to see Kelly pushing Ed’s thumb down, and you turn back to Gordon, who looks embarrassed. “What’s that about?”

“Did you wanna, I don’t know, maybe… go out sometime?” He braces, like he’s waiting anxiously for your answer, and you can even feel his shoulders tense.

“That sounds like fun.”

There’s one, two, three seconds of silence before his eyes return to yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Cool,” he sighs, relieved, a muffled sort of ‘oomph’ coming from him as you lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“We can count this as a first date,” you joke, and he chuckles a little, pulling you closer.

“Yeah, sure. Fits for me. Total douche thing to do, having your first date at your best friend's wedding.”

You chuckle, reaching to punch at his arm.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he pretended to be.