#I'm very sorry if someone already did this

[anna-pineappel]

This has been sitting in my Tumblr Drafts for a while, and I'm finally putting my thoughts in on this. Fair warning: this is going to be a long rant of a post, sorry not sorry!

I will NEVER write fanfic for financial gain! Obviously, with fanfiction, I don't own the characters/setting/Source Material, so it would not be wise to put my work behind a paywall. I do have some OC writing content, I was getting back into it earlier this year, then Peace in the Moonlight's prequel, Terror in the Shadows entered the chat and I am now high off of my Crackship StettiHo 😅 ANYWAYS... even if I ever got to the point where I wanted to 'Publish' my OC writing, I would do so on AO3/Tumblr/Google Drive PDF... where no money would be exchanged. I've been told I have potential to write professionally, and while it is very validating and flattering, it is not something I'm interested in, for a number of reasons:

Anytime I decide to make money off a creative endeavor, I almost immediately lose interest in that endeavor. I love writing fanfiction and posting it up on AO3, absolutely. HOWEVER, the moment I write for money and then feel Obligated to do so, I will never write again. This is just how I am.

With money on the table, I feel pressure to perform to standards set out by the person paying me. I will set impossibly high standards for myself and feel like it isn't good enough.

Or I'll feel like I can't write the story I want to, since someone else is dictating the content (i.e. they want a certain pairing, certain characters to be featured). I also feel safe pushing my own comfort levels within my writing when I'm writing for free. (I have learned wayyyyy to much about BDSM practices, the Gestapo/SS... it's a wild ride, okay??)

Life is expensive as is/capitalism/monetizing everything = blegh! I want people to be able to access my writing without having to pay for it. I write because I enjoy it, and it's a piece of my soul I'm baring to the world. You shouldn't have to pay for that!

If you feel compelled to donate money to me/you feel l deserve to be compensated for my writing (or any other writer), may I suggest donating to AO3 instead? It's sites like that that allow me and other writers to share writing in the first place and they are completely run by volunteers! Also, my favourite currency is in the form of kudos and comments... THAT'S ALL I NEED!!!!

Even if you ever did pay me for my writing, somehow, I would just turn around and throw the money at AO3.

Oh and if you're a writer who thinks they deserve to be compensated for writing/have exclusive fics under a paywall/what have you... SO MUCH OF LIFE IS ALREADY MONETIZED... WE DON'T NEED FANFIC WRITING TO BE ONE OF THOSE THINGS!!!!

The rest of the thread is here.

tl;dr: Don’t monetize AO3, kids.  You won’t like what happens next.

[heartowan]

★ WINTER VISITOR : red hood x reader!

( cuss words ) ──────────────── ★

* im not from america so i have absolutely nooo idea how much is -20°c in fahrenheit im sorry 😭 *

You used to enjoy winter so much more when you were a kid. The snow, the warm clothes, the atmosphere, your mom's hot chocolate... everything was so perfect back then. Now, though, you didn't like it as much.

Not because you grew up to be an insufferable grump, but things weren't as easy. At 9, you didn't have to walk on snowy streets from campus to work to your house in a -20°C weather. Freezing your ass used to be fun when it was voluntary.

But, fortunately, the holidays were already coming, so you wouldn't have any more classes during these few weeks, and you'd also get a few breaks from your job at the bookstore. Finally, some rest.

That's what you thought when you approached your porch, pulling out the keys to open the door in a practiced movement, but you stopped when your eyes caught a glimpse of something red. Then you walked a little closer, and you were able to make out the shape of someone sitting down with their legs stretched, hand cluching their side, a weird helmet on their head and a little cropped brown jacket... what a weird combination.

You knew that helmet, though. You lived in his area, after all.

"Can I help you?" Anyone, literally, anyone, would advise you to not speak to him and simply go find some place else to crash for the night until he went away. The thing is, you wouldn't listen anyway.

He raised his head in your direction, the white eyes of that creepy/fucking weird helmet staring at you, sizing you up and probably judging the fact that you were wearing green tights and red shoes. But, hey, who even was he to judge your style choices?

"Actually, yeah." He said, and even with the modulator distorting his voice, you could hear the hoarsness and the faint tireness. "I'm fucked up over here, I'm not sure I can walk anymore."

You furrowed your eyebrows at that and reached for the phone in your pocket. Carefully, you crouched down beside him and turned on the torch to be able to see his wound better. "Let me see." You said, urging him to take his hand away.

He revealed the wound to you, and God, it was nasty. A bloody and very bumpy gash started from the left side of his abdomen to a little bit before the height of his shoulder blade. Absolutely disgusting. Whoever did that was probably trying to split him in half.

"Oh, my God." You mumbled, your eyes widened at the sight.

"Yeah." He added, nodding his head in understanding to your shock. "Can you at least let me in to... I don't know? Clean it up? It just starts bleeding more if I walk, and I don't wanna get an infection."

What kind of stupid fucking little dumbo would let a stranger dressed like that into their house, especially in Gotham?

"Yeah, come on in." You said, your eyebrows furrowing even more at your own brainlessness. They were almost knitted together like a unibrow.

★...

He sat down on your couch like his body weighted tons, and you noticed how his wound did an odd ripple movement. It just got weirder.

"I have a first aid kit in my bathroom." You said, stripping off your coat and your jacket. "I'll go get it. Do you need anything else?" He just shook his head, and you quickly disappeared into the little hallway.

Red Hood used this moment to look around your house, trying to distract himself from the pain and dizziness. He took in how your walls weren't white, but some kind of eggshell color and there was a green wall too, that one covered in framed paintings, pictures and many posters, as well as some hanging plants.

There were just so many plants. Your couch was more comfortable than his bad, and you had a fluffy mat at the center of the living room, between the couch and your bookshelves, which were full of books he could barely recognize in the dim light.

Oh, yes, the lamps. You had little lamps everywhere and one big lamp beside the couch, but they were all warm and barely even illuminated a thing. They made the room very cozy, though.It was so homey, and it looked like you. If he saw you randomly on the street and for some reason he decided to guess what your house looked like from the inside, that would be it. Maybe not as many lamps, but still.

"Okay, I'm back." You walked out of the little hall in hurried steps, a little red box in your hands. You kneeled close to him on the couch. "Fuck, the lights." You mumbled, and he though your annoyed tone was funny, so he smiled a little under his helmet.

After switching on the big, white light, you kneeled again and gently moved the ripped fabric of his shirt away from the cut. He was staining your couch with blood, but you decided not to care at that moment. With some gauze and saline solution, you cleaned the whole thing up, the sides, and what you could reach of the insides, then, you sprayed some antiseptic on it.

"This is disgusting, but I don't think you'll need stitches." You murmured, not looking at him. Your eyes were focused on the wound. "At least not on the whole thing."

"I can manage." It was all he said.

"I'm gonna patch it up so it isn't exposed." He simply nodded at that, and you started covering the extension of the gash with the little pieces of gauze you had, and then, you secured them with some adhesive tape. "All done."

He stayed there for at least forty minutes, and you noticed how he seemed to have fallen asleep at some point. Maybe he was too tired. You didn't care, but you let him rest anyway.

When he woke up from his nap, you had changed outfits into something more comfortable than the jeans you wore before. A pair of gray sweatpants and a very soft brown hoodie on top of your black Iron Man t-shirt.

"You want some tea?" You offered, looking down at him as he seemed to access the situation — probably forgot what the hell had happened for a second.

"Yeah... yeah. What is it?" He mumbled, his distorted voice sounding groggy. You smiled faintly at that.

"It's peach and ginger." You said. "I like it."

You poured a small amount of it in a little mug you had. It was one of your favorites, with little leaves painted all over it.

"I put honey on it, tastes better." You handed him the mug. And then it hit you... how the hell was he gonna drink the tea with that weird ass helmet on? "How do you- oh."

He shut you up when he removed the helmet after one little click at the back of it.

"You wear a mask under your helmet?" You arched one eyebrow, and he chuckled at your reaction.

"It's for the effect." He said and took a sip of the tea. "Very sweet."

You took a moment to look at the exposed parts of his face. He had a few scars all over it, a sharp jaw and slightly plumpy lips, which were rosy from drinking the tea. He also had flushed cheeks, probably from the cold and a seemingly straight nose. You couldn't really tell the shape from that distance.

"Thanks for taking care of that... and for te tea. And for letting me nap on your couch." He said, looking up at you.

His voice sounded so melodic now without the modulator. It was just slightly raspy, not absurdly deep, but not even a little bit high, and just so much more easy on the ears than you'd ever expect Red Hood's voice to be.

"You're leaving?" You asked in a slightly exasperated tone that surprised both of you and put your own mug down. "You sure you're gonna be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry." He shook his head, waving his hand as if to say it wasn't a big deal. You just shrugged at that.

He put his mug down, it was almost empty. So he liked the tea. With his helmet in hand and walking a little more stable than before, he offered you a small smile before stepping over to your door.

"Bye." He murmured. "Thanks again."

You stood there after he left, in your living room, with the big light on, staring at the door. What an unusual night. Your eyes drifted back to the blood stain on your couch, and you groaned internally at the fact that you were the one that was gonna have to clean that.

That only reinforced your belief that vigilantes only brought more and more trouble.

☆

first part here !!

[poguelandiarafe]

red carpet reveal | drew starkey

pairing - drew starkey x gf!reader

warnings - none

summary - drew brings you to the outer banks season four premiere even though you're relationship is still under wraps. well, until it isn't thanks to a pushy reporter.

--------

the 'outer banks' premiere is in full swing and you're so grateful you get to experience it with drew for the first time. you're buzzing with excitement, the flashing of cameras and excited fans screaming as the cast makes their way onto the red carpet feels surreal.

"you doing okay?" drew asks, gently squeezing your hand.

you nod, looking up at him with a smile, "more than. go shine you superstar."

he chuckles and his hand gives you another comforting squeeze before letting it go and opting to rest it on your back. the way he looks in that suit, flashing his signature smile to the cameras, makes you wonder how the hell you even let him out of the hotel room.

as drew is ushered into many different interviews, you keep to yourself, staying mostly in the background and out of shot. you don't mind this, always having preferred to watch him in his element. he talks with so much passion and excitement that you could, and do, listen to him for hours on end.

the night seems to be going perfectly until it's not. the problem? a leggy blonde who's seemed to make it her life's mission to interview your boyfriend. you claim to not be the jealous type, but you can already tell the type of questions she's going to ask by the way she stalks over to him, eyes not so subtly looking him up and down with an exaggerated smile on her face.

"so, drew," she begins, her voice already annoying you, "you're looking very handsome tonight. outer banks season four! what's it like to still be playing the hottest character on the show? you are literally the internet's boyfriend right now."

he's here with you, don't let it get to you are the words that keep repeating in your head as drew politely answers the question, but you know she's attempting to flirt with him.

"what does your family think of the show? i'm assuming they're very proud," her eyes briefly flicker over to you and she turns her attention to you, "you must be such a proud sister, right?"

you scoff, not only at the question but at the condescending way she's talking to you, like you're a child.

"uh... she's not my sister actually." drew chuckles awkwardly, his free hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

her eyebrows raise in surprise before her shrill voice cuts through the air, "oh sorry! well, it's so thoughtful of you to bring your friend to the event."

yes, you've both agreed to not directly make your relationship public, but god did you want to set the record straight. the way her hand kept grabbing his arm throughout the whole interview is making your blood boil.

before you can say anything, the interview continues and she pays you no more attention. drew's patience for this is wearing thin, but he's determined to remain professional, not wanting to go viral for lashing out at someone for doing their job.

"coming back to my earlier point about being the internet's boyfriend, how's the love life? tell us, do you have your own sofia yet or are you still available?" the interviewer asks, playful flirtation coating the words as they leave her lips.

drew's arm unloops from yours and slides around your waist to pull you slightly closer to him. he's not trying to out your relationship, just reminding you he's there.

his eyes narrow slightly in annoyance at the question, "i... uh, well it's my personal life. wanna keep it personal."

"come on, not even an inkling of an answer?" she insists.

you've had enough of this woman and, quite frankly, drew has to. he's ready to walk off but you don't let him, instead moving to face him with your back to her.

"what are you doing?" drew leans down, whispering in your ear.

before you let yourself overthink what you're doing, you grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. everyone around you is in shock. cameras are all turning toward the two of you, and the fans are screaming even louder now. the kiss isn't a subtle peck or quick goodbye kiss. no, it's a kiss that is telling the world he's yours and no amount of bad flirting will take him away from you.

when you pull back, your cheeks are flushed and drew has a stunned smile on his face. your eyes suddenly widen as the realisation hits you like a train of what you just did, and he can tell that a million thoughts are going through your head.

"hey, stop overthinking it. i'm glad you did it," he starts before whispering, "meant she finally shut up and stopped trying to flirt with me."

relief washes over you and your tense shoulders drop as you let yourself relax. you don't even want to think about the social media reaction right now.

"umm," the interviewer clears her throat, "i guess that answers the question."

you grab drew's hand before looking back at the woman, "i think we're done here."

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[bewitchedfeathers]

You Don't Need To - Jayce Snz Fic

Jayce has a cold and Mel tries to convince him to take the day off.

This is for @rosieknows who requested sick Jayce with JayMel and Jayce refusing to rest. Thank you so much for your request darling! I hope you enjoy it!

---

“I'm fine, Mel. Really,” he reassured as he pulled on his clothes for the council meeting later that day. 

“Jayce. You're sick. You need to rest.” She hovered while trying not to look like she was hovering. 

“It's just a hh-head cold. I have too much to get done to take a day off. Snff. I have the council and hh…Hextech, and none of it can wait.” He rubbed at his nose with an irritated expression. 

“Jayce…” Mel said soft and concerned, coming up to his side..

“Hey, I'm…fuhh..hh’huhh… Heh’ESHHxxt-shuhh…hhh’HT-RSSHHoo..sndff… finde.” He sneezed towards his shoulder, trying and failing to suppress his sneezes, and then winced when he realized Mel was in the same direction. “Scuse mbe. SNF! Shit, I didn't get you did I?”

“Bless you. No,” she reassured. “But Jayce I'm serious, you need to rest in order to get better. “ 

“I just…I'm already struggling to keep up with all the…political maneuvering and then this…huhhh….gottasneeze-HH’GZZSHuh…shit, sorry,” he sneezed into his elbow and then kept it pressed to his lower face as he scrambled to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. Mel stepped closer and pulled his kerchief out seamlessly, reaching up towards his face. 

He grabbed her hand to stop her from moving his arm. “I've got it, thandks,” he said gently, embarrassed at what a mess he was.

He turned away and wiped himself clean and then blew his nose, grimacing at the productive sound. Mel's hand brushed over his back and he turned back to her with a tired attempt at a reassuring smile. 

“I'm fine. Snf. Really. You don't need to fuss over me.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?” she asked with a curious tilt of her brow. 

“Isn't it?” He asked hesitantly.

“Jayce, I care about you. And I want to take care of you, if you'll let me.” She reached up to cradle his face between her hands, expression open and sincere. His face flushed and he struggled to meet her gaze. 

“I…thank you, Mel. Really. But you don't need to. I can��tuhh…take care of my-huhhh-myself…Mel…lehhh.. I'm gonna…hhh’Uhhh’EEISHHHoo..” Mel moved to the side out of range just in time for him to sneeze down towards the floor. He swiped at his reddening nose with the back of his hand, cheeks adorably pink. “Sorry.”

“Bless you. And I know you can take care of yourself, Jayce. You're very good at taking care of people,” she said kindly as she stepped back in front of him, “But I want to take care of you. Won't you let me?” 

She could see him struggle between not wanting to deny her but not wanting to accept help either. 

“Please, darling?” She asked, gentle and coaxing, brushing a few loose strands of hair off his warm brow. 

“If it means that much to you…” he conceded with uncertainty. 

“It would mean a great deal to me to be able to take care of you when you're feeling sick and vulnerable, Jayce,” she knew how difficult it could be for him to let down to guard, “Thank you.”

He gave a huff of disbelief tinged with fondness. “You're welcome, I guess?” He said with an uncertain smile. He still felt wrong footed accepting help, and uncertain about what exactly she meant to do. 

Mel merely smiled with her usual air of calm confidence. “Now why don't you change back into some pajamas and get back into bed.”

“Wha-Mel, there's a council meeting today! And then Viktor is expecting me in the-huhh..Snf the lab,” he protested. He coughed harshly into his elbow for moment. Mel shifting to rest a supportive hand between his shoulder blades. 

“The council meeting can be rescheduled. I'll have Allura take care of it. And I'll have someone let Viktor know that you're sick and resting.”

“He'll worry-” he rasped, and then cleared his throat, swallowing heavily to ease the growing ache. 

“Then I'll invite him here so he can see that you're being well taken care of. I'm certain that will assuage any concerns he may have,” she said with a hint of smugness at having so quickly undone his arguments. 

Jayce floundered for a moment before giving in with a crooked grin. “Snff. Alright, alright. I'mb SNFsnf going back to bed.”

—-

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, know that I hoard positive comments like some kind of dragon and then use them to power my writing motivation!

I am currently taking requests/prompts for Jayce and Viktor in my ask box!

[Snz Fic Masterlist] (you can also check my masterlist for my current wip fics)

[andikiramman]

hey riot

quick question... ಠ_ಠ

can you plz explain to me why this had to happen :)

like other than the fact that you hate us and want us to suffer for some weird reason :D

but like, seriously... i genuinely do not see the point in jinx dying.

maybe i'm fucking slow and missed some major plot point that made jinx dying a reasonable plot point, but i'm seriously drawing a blank here.

(edit: okay so i just saw a post basically explaining how jinx actually escaped the explosion and only faked her death, so please disregard everything i said after this… i really did miss something, didn’t i lmao)

i know at this point, jinx feels that there is no reason for her to be alive anymore. she truly sees herself as the root of all the bad things happening around her. but we the watcher know that that's factually not true. recall the hexless AU ekko and heimerdinger traveled to. there, literally everyone was alive except for vi. and even then, notice how she was able to cope with it in a healthy way and didn't become jinx???? maybe, just maybe, that's because she was never the problem. y'all already got rid of the guys that started all this shit just a few minutes prior, so literally what was the point of this?

maybe i'm just lacking some media literacy, but for the latter half of this season, jinx and vi were getting along and reconnecting. of course, it would have never been the same as before, but in my personal opinion, from the way they built their relationship up, they made it seem like jinx would get at least something better than this...

and honestly, i get it, that whole "conversation" she had with silco while she was in prison about killing being a cycle sort of alluded to jinx dying. in her mind, as long as she's alive, the people around her that she loves will keep dying (mylo & claggor, vander, silco, isha)... i guess this was her own fucked up way of protecting vi, because she fears that if she got too close to her for too long, vi would end up dying too.

but i'm still not satisfied, sorry ┐(´д`)┌

and legit what sense does it make for vi to lose her sister... she's already lost everyone in her family. genuinely i do not see the point. if someone could please enlighten me, i would very much appreciate it.

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 2 (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader 18+)

Part 1 here.

Warnings: Profanities, smut, alcohol consumption and cigarette use. Age gap (reader!22)

MINORS DNI

-

You were in a separate room at the Corinium with Seb, Declan, and Cameron Cook, discussing how to take down Rupert Campbell-Black. Ever since the incident at the Jones' dinner party, Declan has been hell-bent on taking down Rupert. There were folders filled to the brim on his desk with blackmail, although much of it was already public news.

"We've done all this research on Rupert," Seb starts, looking toward the three of you from the bulletin board of newspaper cuttings. "But what if he won't agree to be interviewed?" He queries.

"Don't worry, he will." Cameron affirms, leaning over the desk. "Alright. So, we start with the horsewhipping and move up to the cabinet minister's wife and his daughter."

"Wrong," Declan interjects. "English people care more about horses than they do women. We end with the horses and the Olympics."

You scoff, Tony Baddingham entering the room rather abruptly to sneak a glance at the work the team has done collectively.

"Imagine if this works," Tony says, his hands on his hips. "We annihilate the smug fucker on national television."

"Well-" You begin.

"Hello." Charles Fairburn says, entering the room suddenly with clipboard in hand. "What time do you want us all for the party tonight, Declan?" He asks eagerly.

"Oh. Wasn't expecting to see you there, Charles." Tony says with arrogance.

"Um," Declan closes his eyes with annoyance. "Eight o'clock should be grand. Are you okay Charles?" He asks. "You look a little worn."

"Uh, my mother's not been very well." Charles responds. "There's only me, so it's not been easy."

"Sorry." Declan says.

You look over at Seb, who simply shrugs as the rest of the room continues to make conversation about the party.

"Are you going?" You ask, to which Seb nods.

"Taggie invited me, I'm assuming you as well?"

"Yeah, she did." You and Taggie became friends over the French four-course menu at the Jones', assisting her with the menu due to her dyslexia. There was a fiasco over Rupert groping her, to which Declan nor you took well the next day in office. You were invited to the dinner for some reason, although you knew it was per Freddie's request. He saw something between you and Declan that no one else did, that was for certain.

"And Cinderella will go to the ball," Tony says, placing a hand on Cameron's shoulder and bringing your attention back to the room. "Just not this one. Happy New Year, all." He announces, walking away as Declan presses his hand to his forehead.

You hear a champagne bottle pop in the distance, wincing with your two higher ups.

"Oh Christ, it would be quieter to work from home." Declan states. "Let's pick this up next week, yeah?" He asks of you and Seb, the both of you nodding as the commotion in the office becomes louder. He leaves hastily, you and Seb lingering behind to gather your belongings.

"See you later, yeah?" Seb says rhetorically, a grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah, see you." You say, exiting the office briskly to eventually make your way home as your duties were no longer needed for the afternoon.

-

As you cooked yourself a mediocre meal with the radio playing in the distance, the phone rings. You turn off the stove, wiping your hands on the hand towel hanging off your stove as you take the phone off the hook. "Hello, y/n speaking." You say.

"Hey, it's Taggie." Taggie says timidly on the other side of the phone.

"Taggie, hi! What's up?" You ask, leaning against the wall.

"I just need someone to talk to, y/n." She explains, sighing. "It's too grand of a party my mother has thrown, I feel like I'm drowing in potato peels. Plus, she's sat herself beside Rupert." She says harshly, groaning as you hear yelling in the distance.

"Are you serious?" You say, twirling the cord between your fingers. "What a mess, Christ. Are you okay?" You ask,

"No, I just..." She sighs. "Remember that Ralphie boy I told you about? Well, he's shown up with a girlfriend." She exasperates.

"Oh, Taggie... Gag me with a spoon!" You exclaim, using your west coast slang. "I can come over earlier if you'd like, it's no problem at all." You say.

"No, no." She says, speaking to someone else in the room quickly before returning to the phone. "It's alright. I'll see you at eight, yeah?" She reaffirms.

"Yes, of course. Be easy on yourself, please. We can get super fucking drunk together and forget about it all." You jest, hearing Taggie laugh on the other line.

"Yes, course. See you later, y/n."

You hang up the phone, sighing as you cross your arms. Tonight was going to be real grand, whether you liked it or not.

-

You pull up to The Priory with your car that you bought for cheap, the engine louder than the camera shutters in the distance. You turn off your vehicle, stepping out of it and closing the door behind you. A velvet dress mimicking the style of the 40s clung to your waist, your hair cascading just past your shoulders. The blinding of camera flashes hits you as you approach the home, gripping your clutch for dear life.

"Y/n!" Daysee yells, beckoning you over.

You join her eagerly, entering the house together. You were taken aback by the guests and decorations, a glass of champagne already shoved in your hand. You and Daysee approach Sarah Stratton, who was accompanied by Lizzie and and James Vereker.

"I thought there was supposed to be celebrities here tonight." Daysee says in a tone of disappointment.

"Well there's definitely one." James chimes, referring to himself.

"Where?" Daysee says excitedly, looking elsewhere as you stifle a laugh at the interaction.

You glance around the room, noticing Taggie on the other side. You make your way over to her, placing your now empty glass on a table surface.

"Taggie!" You exclaim, getting the attention of your friend.

She instantly smiles, meeting you in the middle to give you a hug. "God, I'm so happy to see you y/n." She says, rubbing your arms before dropping her hands to her sides. "If I have to keep watching Ralphie with his girlfriend I might put a barrel in my mouth." She mutters, grabbing ahold of your hand. "Care for a tour?"

"Always, love." You say, grinning as Taggie leads you away from the crowd. You pass Declan, giving him a smile and a wave as you disappear around the corner, his eyes scanning over your entire body within seconds.

Taggie grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen table, taking a swig before handing it over to you. "He gifted me a bracelet, I just thought I meant more than that." She whispers, putting her head in her hands as Caitlin bursts into the room.

"The bracelet's from Rupert!" She exclaims, nearly clearing you as you hold onto the table for stability. "Christ, sorry y/n." She exclaims.

"What?" Taggie says in dismay.

"It's 'R' for Rupert! He feels bad for touching you up at the Jones's." Caitlin exclaims.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you take a swig of the wine bottle.

"Sounds about right. Too much money, too little sense." A woman you have yet to get the name of comments as her son lays upon the kitchen table beside her.

"Oh, wow. England is surely more entertaining than home." You mumble, scratching the back of your head. "What are you gonna do Tag?" You ask, Taggie looking off to the side in thought as she takes off the bracelet and discards it by the sink.

"Nothing." She snaps, taking an open bottle of champagne and swigging it. "Let's go celebrate Patrick's birthday, yeah?" She remarks, exiting the kitchen as you and Caitlin exchange worried looks.

The three of you re-enter the dining space, Caitlin explaining that your name card was beside hers, and shockingly beside Rupert Campbell-Black and Maud O'Hara. You watch with curiosity as Maud laughs a little too loud at Rupert's remarks, your eyes trailing elsewhere. You find yourself looking at Declan, who was watching Maud.

He says something dismissively to Tony's wife before standing up and walking away, taking a path that led him outside.

"I'll be back." You tell Caitlin, who nods in response. You follow Declan through a door that leads towards the open acres, spotting him lighting a cigarette in the middle of a field. You slowly approach him, holding the bottle of wine to your chest.

He spots you, taken aback by our presence. "Y/n, nice to see you." He says warmly, putting out the cigarette in the grass underneath his shoe.

"Likewise." You say, standing face to face. "How're you doing?" You ask, taking a swig of your bottle.

He raises his brows at your bottle, chuckling. "Could be better. How'd you get ahold of my wine?" He asks, pointing to the vessel in your hand.

"Taggie." You simply say, stretching out your arm. "Would you like some?"

He hesitates before taking the bottle, taking a large swig from it before sighing. "So you know about Ralphie, then?"

"Yeah, real pity. Your daughter is wonderful, he's cruel to not realize that." You say, taking the bottle back as Declan hands it to you.

"Thanks for being here for her, she really admires you." Declan says, smiling. "We both do." He admits.

You begin to smile, white knuckling the neck of the bottle. "She has a great father, that's why she's so lovable Declan." You say, giving him a look of longing. "I see Maud's distracted." You bring up cautiously, watching as Declan pulls out another cigarette and lights it. You hear Foreigner's I Wanna Know What Love Is start to play in the distance, setting the mood in a rather ironic feat.

"No, really? I had no idea." Declan spats, looking up at the dark night before returning your gaze. "I have tried everything! Fucking everything to keep her happy, yet for some bloody fucking reason it's my god damn fault!" He yells, breathing heavily as you watch him with wide eyes.

"Declan-" You try to interject.

"She goes on and tries to fuck whoever she wants but I can't help but feel guilty whenever I look at you! God that fucking dress of yours!" He exclaims, gesturing towards you. He doesn't realize what he has admitted until he sees your reaction.

Your jaw drops slightly, taking in his words. "You... what?" You whisper.

He stares at you, his actions dawning over him. "Y/n, I-I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to come out like that." He admits, tossing his second cigarette to the ground. He takes a step closer to you. "Ever since you started working at Corinium, you have never left my mind. You are the one thing I cannot let myself have, yet I think of you every waking hour." He explains, watching you closely as he continues. "When we danced at Bar Sinister and you left me in the dust, I felt defenseless. I wanted you so fucking badly, but I kept thinking of Maud. But now that I'm here, I don't care anymore. She can have what she wants, as long as I can get what I want." He whispers, pressing his forehead against yours.

You toss the half-empty bottle of wine to the side, letting it pour onto the grass as you grab his face and press your lips against his.

He eagerly pulls you in, hungrily kissing you like he had been waiting for centuries. You pull at his tie, undoing a the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal his chest, running your hands over it. The two of you fall to the ground, Declan unzipping your dress slightly to move his hand underneath the fabric. He maneuvers his free hand between your legs, rubbing gently against the fabric of your underwear as you moan against your own will.

"Declan-!" You say, tilting your head back in pleasure as his fingers slip into you, pumping feverishly as he reconnects his lips with yours.

"Y/n," He moans, kissing across your jaw as he begins to suck on the space between your neck and collarbone. His other hand finds your breast, kneading it gently as you try to keep your composure.

You couldn't believe that Declan O'Hara was fingering you by the tree line, but sometimes wildest dreams come true. You nearly yelped as you felt his mustache graze your clit, his mouth now fucking you as his fingers teased your bulb.

"Declan, please." You whimper, your hand running through his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. You find yourself nearing your climax, your thighs pressing against his head as your back arches in ecstasy. You finally come undone into his mouth, your hand pushing his head away as you became too sensitive to the touch.

Declan smiles as you as he sits up, pulling you forward by your lower back to reconnect your lips. You could taste yourself on his mouth, somehow even more enamored by his actions.

"God, you are so beautiful when you cum, y'know that?" He murmurs, pressing more kisses along your neck.

You smile in contentment, tilting your head back. "If you enjoy it so much, do it as many times as you wish Declan." You whisper, pressing kisses against his ear as your hand palmed against his groin.

He groans, pulling his head back. "Mm, we'll have to arrange meetings in my office then." He says, kissing you once more. You start to undo his pants, which he tsks you for. "We have my son's birthday to celebrate. This can wait." He murmurs, redoing the button on his dress pants as he stands up, offering a hand.

You eagerly grab his hand, pulling yourself up onto your unstable legs. "Do you think anyone saw us?" You whisper, looking around.

"No, I highly doubt it. Everyone's inside completely smashed." He reassures, not realizing Charles had been waiting out in the garden for his secret lover, watching every move made between the two of you against his own wishes.

"For both of our sakes, I hope not." You say, recouping as Declan gestures for you to re-enter the home, giving himself a minute by lighting up another cigarette and fixing his attire before he enters.

A few moments later, you find a space between Seb and Taggie as Declan joins his wife in singing Happy Birthday for Patrick.

The clover cake is lit up beautifully, Patrick blowing out the candles as you all cheer. The attendees all sit down hastily as Declan begins his speech by tapping on the mic repetitively.

"Today we celebrate my son, Patrick, who was born New Year's Eve, 21 years ago." A few yells echo through the space before Declan continues, your eyes watching him closely.

"My son, makes me prouder than any father ever was." Declan says, attempting to hold back tears as you and Taggie awe in sync. "Yeats wrote, 'Life is a long preparation for something that never happens'. But when I look at my son..." He takes a beat, looking directly at Patrick. "I think Yeats was wrong." He places a hand on his son's shoulder before continuing. "My son was a brilliant boy, who is now a brilliant man. He has happened." He says towards the crowd, raising a glass.

You notice Taggie seeming disheartened by the statement, your hand placed upon her shoulder in silent comfort as she gives you a soft smile.

"So please raise your glasses for my clever boy, now a man. To Patrick!" Declan finishes, the entire room whopping with joy for his son.

"Are you okay?" You whisper to Taggie, who simply nods.

"I'm fine." She whispers before Patrick takes hold of the mic.

Your paranoia with your actions between you and Declan were already taking flight as you worried about someone seeing the two of you earlier, grabbing ahold of a discarded glass of champagne and raising it in toast for Patrick before slamming it back.

Patrick thanks his parents, beginning to thank a third party before his words come to a halt.

"Holy shit. Celestial light." He says into the mic, causing the whole room to turn their focus on whatever he was looking at.

Cameron Cook.

The whole crowd murmurs as Patrick begins counting down for New Years. You check your watch, leaning towards Taggie as you see him walk towards Cameron. "He's way too early." You mumble, watching in shock as Patrick kisses Ms. Cook.

You glance over at Declan, who seems bemused by his son's actions before you move your gaze to Tony Baddingham, who was most definitely sleeping with Cameron and surely not pleased with the sight. No one seemed happy about the actions bestowed upon them.

You notice Taggie looking over at Ralphie and his girlfriend, causing you to place a quick kiss on her cheek to distract her. "Happy New Year!" You exclaim quietly, Taggie giving you a force smile before exiting hastily.

You noticed Rupert watching her moves, causing your brows to furrow at the sight of Mr. Campbell-Black.

The crowd starts to sing in song, random goers linking hands with you as you watch Declan from a distance. He makes eye contact with you, giving you a subtle wink as you both look elsewhere. You smiled to yourself, not realizing the weight of what was yet to come.

Happy New Year, indeed.

-

oh my oh wow oohhh naughty naughty... I think i have to do a part three now ohh noooo blasphemy. thanks for reading as always and please do interact with my posts, it reminds me to keep the ball rolling :D

much love,

isabel

[clubsmarties]

He grinned even though she couldn't see him he still did it. "I was getting to the hello just needed to catch you off guard first." His laughter was easy going and flowed like a river. "A National Park, not just any old one. Lassen Volcanic National Park. The meadows were freckled with wildflowers and those lakes are so crystal clear. I mean, I know I wasn't there for the sights but it was refreshing to see a familiar sight to home. Water wise anyway." He sighed and shook his head. "Truly unexpected way to start Monday morning with hearing grab your boots we going hiking. My legs are killing me though."

Hearing Liz on the other side of the call made him smile. He knew he'd missed her but it didn't click just how much until he heard her voice and consequently her teasing banter. He rolled his eyes as he chuckled and sighed. "He wishes he was this cool. Actually, we do have a UFO department did you know that? Fun fact of the night. I may just request a transfer. Thank you for the reminder. Alien life expert." Wally couldn't help but laugh at his own lame joke.

Getting the picture of his pup made him smile as he chuckled and talked to Dolly knowing she could hear him. "There's my precious girl." he cooed and saved the picture. "Thank you again for keeping her company. She looks very happy and very well loved." That pause made him open his eyes and frown. "That bad huh?" He wasn't sure if it was the tone of her voice or that pause that gave it away to him but he picked up on something in her voice. "For what its worth im glad you got my furry best friend to at least get a smile out of you." His dog was good at that. "Timezones you say, huh it's the first I'm hearing about it."

"Oh that tells me you have not had a moment to sit. Manoa Falls? It has a pretty name. Tell me about it. What did you like the most? A guard dog? Has she already found her new calling? Is this your way of breaking it to me? I'm glad that she's been having a ball of a week so far. I hope that when people asked if she was yours you said yes." He wouldn't have minded it either. Dolly took to Liz so he knew the dog liked her.

Wally sighed and knew that cop bullies usually tended to set their sights on a new target, the ones that came after them first. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do let me know." Just by the sound of her voice he knew she didn't want to dwell on this so he switched the topic. "Messy for sure. It turned out that the sheriff for the county lost the paperwork so Sunday when I landed had me at the station waiting for seven hours to see one page of a report that someone actually had saved. The rest needed to be requested from the San Diego office. Not only that but they had three suspects that all had alibis but stories didn't align correctly. So, now we have to trace all three of their footsteps. First guy had us at the National Park. The other was the aquarium and the last one which is my least favorite will have us at a strip club talking to some of the employees there. All this because no one thought to pull fingerprints. One deputy touched a bloody cloth with his hands." Wally sighed. "Upside is that they're all cooperating."

"Why are you so sure that Wildfire will hate you? Do you not trust me? If I had a doubt that she'd hurt you I wouldn't even have you consider this. It'll be like when you met Dolly. Wildfire will fall in love with you. Its not hard to do you know?" he rolled his eyes and laughed. "You are always thinking worst case scenarios. A pony? We can put you on ponies but technically Wildfire is a baby. You're scared of a little baby." His laughter wasn't mean spirited just amused. "It is a ranch. Fine we are adding feeding goats to the list. They jump up just FYI."

His sleepy little laughter rung out and nodded against his pillow. "Mhmm. The big old circle isn't there anymore but that's because city didn't let them build it. Said it was too big. But still there." Her laughter made him hum in content as he had forgotten how melodic a sound it was. "It's actually a funny story. The guy you were looking is friends with suspect number two. They just didn't put two and two together until I saw the report."

Wally switched to video as he had missed seeing her face but could use the pretense of seeing Dolly. He smiled sleepily as his eyes were the only thing visible. "They said it was Marilyn Monroe's ghost but I know that's false. She haunts the Roosevelt and we're so far away from that hotel. I think it's a poltergeist, might be, I hear rustling more than I see any figures pop up. I'm not scared," a little lie. "I just don't fuck with them. What if you inadvertently piss them off because you step on their favorite spot on the floor? And then you have one hanging on you and you have no idea how to begin to apologize." Shaking his head his eyes sparkled with amusement as he moved slightly so his long bang would fall to the side inside of on top of his eye. "Do you believe in them?"

" Well, hello to you too." Elizabeth chuckled as she plopped onto her bed before Dolly joined her. It was not like they bothered with greetings most times, but she couldn't help but poke. And it seemed like Dolly could either hear him, could tell by the way she spoke that it was him on the other line, whatever it was she nuzzled against her and looked up towards the phone. As she listened to him, she pet her head and gave her a look that said that she'd let her hear him in a moment once he was done talking. "Tell me where did they take you this time."

When he had left, she thought it would be a bit of freedom, no more him popping up randomly during her day. Or reaching out to bounce ideas off of during a case.

"Okay,Fox Mulder," she teased. "You're not in that department focus on your case."

On day one though, she realized how, lonely quiet, her days were without him. Charlie would check in from time to time as he usually did, but it wasn't the same. She would never admit it of course, but she liked the calls. She hated that he had seen through her lies and had Jamie deliver food when he dropped off Dolly, upset at herself, that he had seen through her stupid lie.

"Great, she's right here actually looks like she's missing you. Here," She took the phone away from her ear for a moment to take a picture of Dolly on the couch and send it his way before returning to the call. "It's been," a pause as she thought it over. "a week."

He was tired, he was babbling about time. "Yea, you know in all my travels I learned about this crazy thing called time zones. Pretty crazy." Hand absentmindedly petting Dolly began to scratch her behind the ears, as she decided to stop being so mean if only for a moment. "What haven't we done? And yeah, I found a new trail, well new to me anyway, Manoa Falls. It's really pretty. Some people thought she was mine and she had the best time on the trail. And a couple of people that came into the office thought she was some new guard dog of sorts." Smiling she looked down at her companion of these last couple of days and nuzzled down against her.

"Oh, him," her mood soured slightly. "It looks like it'll all be settled out of court with everything I provided, but he found a new target to aim his ire at." Sighing, she leaned back into a reclining position with her pillows underneath her. "But tell me about your case. Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?"

Oh, adventure week. She had forgotten about that. Part of her had hoped he had too. "Not this again. Wildfire will hate me. And there's a first for everything, watch she'd bite my hand." Was she making excuses? Of course. Were they partly true to her fear of anything that she couldn't talk to, convince to see her way or seduce? Damn right. "Why not a pony? Ponies are nice and small, right? Or a goat? You said this was a ranch right? I could feed a goat. Or chickens!"

"Randy's still around?" That drew a laugh from her, she had seen cities change, towns become cities, and other places become living cemeteries, the fact that some things didn't change amused her. Not as much as what he said about a fax and it pertaining to her case. A raised eyebrow, she began to settle into a lying position, finding tiredness sinking through her bones. "You said that they needed you with their case, how could they possibly help me on mine from an ocean away?"

Laying on her side, she cuddled up against Dolly and placed the phone between her and the pillow. She didn't want to think about work and cases anymore. "Tell me about the haunted hallway. Are we talking full poltergeist or spectral nuisance? You never struck me as someone being scared of a little ghost. "

[fluorescentbalaclava]

he slept outside the tent that night

[charmtale]

sailor moon episode 200 .. revolutionary girl utena episode 39

[s0dabeach]

since so many people now appear to be part of the "Stan Pines is hot" club, I gotta ask...

Which Stan appearance is the hottest

(also reblogging for larger sample size is appreciated)

[batsplat]

as our resident Casey expert i wonder what do you think would have happened if marc and casey competed against each other? since casey retiring is so important for marc coming into motogp im always thinking abt the what ifs...

my initial instinct with this hypothetical is always 'that sounds horrible', though I do have more thoughts and opinions about it than that! marc obviously would have loved the chance to race casey, and casey has even been one of his picks of 'guys he would've liked to be teammates with' before, so, you know, clearly something there - and he does very much respect casey as a rider. I think it's quite likely that by the time marc entered the premier class, casey had already developed... I don't know if wariness is going too far, but maybe a little bit of unease or caution where marc was concerned. marc already very much had a reputation based on his 125/moto2 track record, and some of these incidents were controversial enough that the motogp riders commented on them. so take the phillip island 2011 incident where marc rode into the back of another rider:

the valentino quote serves as a bit of a benchmark here, given he was generally pretty pro-marc. yes, casey's phrasing is perhaps a little harsher, but unsurprisingly none of the riders were big fans of marc's behaviour in that particular incident

on the other hand, it's not like casey never sided with marc. take catalunya 2012, where marc was slapped with a controversial post-race penalty:

yes, casey's main complaint was about inconsistent stewarding - but still, he believed marc had been unfairly treated here. feels like these incidents were some of the only things casey and valentino actually agreed on in those years, so that's nice

that being said, it's hard to see how casey wouldn't have his issues with marc and marc's whole approach to racing. I did include some thoughts on the teammate question here, but mainly I'm going to pilfer the relevant autobiography passage:

"if a rider doesn't care about his own safety then it stands to reason he doesn't care about anybody else's either"... there's nobody really who embodies the 'doesn't care about his own safety' maxim better than marc. he was the young rider desperate to win, and I can't imagine casey would have enjoyed actually racing him much. casey mostly didn't enjoy racing valentino, after all, who is a generally a lot more selective with his aggression than marc is (though casey did have to experience some of the worst valentino had to offer in that regard). casey talked in his autobiography about getting a sense when he just wasn't really able to trust another rider on the track, how much it bothered him - and that exact lack of respect is something that's been pretty closely associated with marc. that doesn't mean he would immediately declare marc his enemy... he'd just want marc to change, to learn, to grow up, to start treating his competitors with a little more respect. the way casey talks about young riders, there is a sense in which he has more time for them than he does for valentino - whose lack of respect casey views as more integral to who he is as a rider. valentino isn't a bully on track due to the exuberance of youth, he's a bully on track when he thinks he can use it as a tactic of intimidation. then again, marc by this measure is worse... and I think very quickly casey would have grown pretty disenchanted with how marc approaches all his wheel-to-wheel racing, especially when it becomes more and more clear marc does not feel particularly inclined to change

it's always important to remember how recent the trauma of losing simoncelli was for the whole sport, and it coloured both dani and jorge's wariness of marc... but also (in my opinion anyway) their restraint in how they dealt with him. how they tried to stop themselves from actually making an enemy out of him, in part because they'd just had an experience of harshly criticising a rider for a whole year and then having to process his death. both dani and jorge actually had more public and more serious disagreements with simoncelli than casey did, but I reckon there would have been an element of that restraint with casey too... on the other hand, his experiences with marc would have left him feeling even more alienated from the sport than he already was - at times frustrated (like jorge was) less with marc directly but more with the regulatory bodies for not holding marc back, for not giving him a race ban or whatever to teach him a lesson. that being said, marc's shamelessness vs casey's stubbornness means that if they had direct on-track encounters and casey didn't like marc's post-race response... well, I certainly think that'd end up being a pretty tense situation, even if it falls short of active hostilities

worth including irl!casey's take on marc in 2013:

which, you know. it's not just that marc's a hard racer - casey is accusing marc of deliberately wanting to make the defeats extra painful for his opponents, of wanting to not just beat but humiliate them. anyone else that reminds you of? someone who is as motivated in securing his psychological victories as his actual ones? perhaps someone who has a bit of a history himself with casey?

let's bring in valentino. it's not that casey would really have begrudged marc his friendship with valentino, and he generally kept his hatred of valentino quite 'clean' in that he wasn't conducting any proxy wars or anything (for instance, I don't get the sense the vale/sic friendship ever affected his view of simoncelli... though I have very little to go on here either way). also, if nothing else in this timeline changes, we're assuming valentino in 2013 is fairly clearly the... fifth? best rider? kinda depends where dani would have landed I suppose (casey's retirement announcement did save honda from a bit of a headache)... but anyway what this means is that valentino probably wouldn't initially have been much of a competitive threat to casey. mostly he would have been consigned to the sidelines

that being said, I doubt casey would have massively enjoyed the whole laguna seca saga. unfortunately, we don't even really know what real life casey's stance on the copycat move situation was... though if I had to guess, in this timeline I'd say his position would've been, a) marc could and should have carried out that overtake two corners later, there was no need in that race situation to take that risk, b) still, it was valentino's slight error as he attempted to reclaim the position (in what was a pretty aggressive manner, it has to be said) that led to them both ending up off-track and fuck that guy, and c) the problem with 2008 wasn't just or even primarily the corkscrew overtake and it's annoying that that's the only bit everyone talks about. of course, there's also the question of whether casey would have bought marc's explanation that it was totally by coincidence that the overtake happened there... and again, complete guesswork, but my sense of casey is that he would have assumed marc was being at least a little bit dishonest. (which, you know... laguna's not an easy track to overtake at, but marc did prove with the bradl move that he was perfectly capable of overtaking after turn 8 - might not have been planning on the off-track excursion, but he was still attempting to overtake just ahead of a blind crest that happened to feed into the corkscrew lol.) I think casey by his honda days had calmed down a bit (though he still certainly had some conspiratorial tendencies), but I also don't think it's a stretch to imagine that he would've felt like he was a victim of a joke between the pair of them... not ideal

overall though, I reckon casey's main frustrations would have been less with the move itself and more with how it was discussed. in the presser, while joking with marc, valentino does take the opportunity to get in a jibe at casey for old time's sake. there's this clip, where he directly addresses livio suppo (at ducati in 2008, by then at honda) - specifically about how both casey and suppo criticised him for that overtake. in response, suppo says something about how he's grateful to marc because they finally got payback. valentino is later asked directly about casey's complaints in 2008 in this clip, and replies with the following:

would valentino have said this stuff with casey still in the paddock? well, yes! honestly, given valentino did very quickly lay off needling casey once he had retired, there's a good chance he would have said something worse. and marc would have laughed along at the whole thing. I don't know, I just don't see casey taking particularly kindly to that... he can hold a grudge, that man can, and at a certain point he'd probably be increasingly less willing to give marc the benefit of the doubt. interesting situation though, laguna seca '13 + casey is a very juicy scenario that could play out in several different ways

but I'm guilty of burying the lede here - there's a far more obvious reason than anything I've described above for why the casey/marc relationship would have turned sour. it's the simple fact that they would have been teammates which would do the damage all on its lonesome; they have radically different conceptualisations of how that dynamic is supposed to work and would inevitably have clashed as a result. the one commonality they do have is they don't see their teammates as potential friends, which is... also not helpful! I think they'd probably initially be fine on the interpersonal level - and, actually, given how the casey/valentino relationship played out and marc's general approach to his rivalries, I can see marc/casey more or less being able to maintain a minimum standard of politeness towards each other even at their worst. like, I still think they'd be able to smile at each other and do some small talk when face-to-face, but I also think everything else would be a complete disaster. I talked a bit about how marc approaches his teammate relationships in this post - and I'm not going to rehash too much of what irl!marc got up to, but I'll include some bits relevant to casey

from marc:

related to casey:

and dani comparing the two:

we do obviously even have actual real life controversy wherein casey thinks marc felt threatened by him and forced him out of honda... and this in a timeline where they weren't even direct competitors! if this is the level of tension a test rider role can generate, then if they'd actually been teammates...? yeah, no. casey thinks that teammates should cooperate - and he thinks that riders enforcing divisions within the box are essentially doing so because they are "afraid". marc has openly admitted to lying about what parts he likes to make sure his teammate doesn't get any edge over him. this is the thing, right: marc might think casey is a cool rider, would've liked the chance to race him and even be teammates with him... but this is the stuff he did to dani, who was one of his literal idols! this is his understanding of competition - (like valentino) he might love the fight, but simultaneously he'll do pretty much whatever it takes to win, because he considers this stuff fundamentally part of the game. casey does not. to casey, this kind of victory is dishonest. any kind of gamesmanship is a sign of weakness... the victory is worth less if you're accomplishing it like that

now, hey, maybe marc would never have been able to go as far as he did with dani because he wouldn't have the kind of performance edge that allows you to definitively impose your will within the team. I think it's a popular interpretation that marc wouldn't have won the title in 2013 if casey had been there, which... I mean, I think it's true that it would have been less likely - in that in a season with that much volatility, the more plausible championship contenders you have the less likely it is that any single one of them takes the title (same goes for instance if you add in a valentino who had not gone to ducati for two years and would have presumably been more competitive in 2013). but it's not like casey would have been the defending champion and the clear class of the field... partly due to injury, he ended up finishing in third in 2012. jorge and dani didn't win the 2013 title in part as a result of their own injuries, and who knows how casey would have fared... like sometimes it's just luck of the draw really. you can be the better rider and still not win the title, shit happens. I think for as long as a more or less healthy-ish casey stays in the sport, it would have been unlikely that marc establishes quite the same performance edge as he did over dani... but, well, if anything that would have meant he would have fought even harder out of perceived necessity to win the internal honda wars

it's the kind of thing that can make a relationship quickly deteriorate, especially with a prickly character such as casey, and it's entirely plausible that dynamic would have become strained at best and horrendously toxic at worst... sooner rather than later. and the thing is, this environment would affect marc considerably less than it would casey. again, it's the fact that he relishes the fight... he's very good at shrugging off (most) criticism and thrives in that kind of tension. the emotional fatigue that this scenario generates would be painfully lopsided, where casey offers harsh criticisms and means them and is endlessly frustrated with marc's approach, while marc... doesn't really care. at least dani also had a questionable manager who was conducting behind the scenes warfare on his behalf - casey doesn't want to play these games at all. he just wants to ride a bike, and marc is never going to allow him to live in peace as long as he's an internal threat. if casey were exposed directly to all of that from marc, I doubt he'd walk away from the experience with a particularly positive impression of him

does he walk away? I think there's a decent chance that casey would have ended up so disillusioned with the whole thing that this would have been what pushed him into retirement. if he wants to get out of that mess, let's say after two years, his options would have been pretty limited. yamaha is closed off and I'd struggle to think of a scenario in which either jorge or valentino would have been particularly interested in a direct swap (also, if you're sick of being marc's teammate, you're probably not gonna be jumping at the chance to be valentino's instead). I suppose you could go back to ducati (which he did return to as a test rider so it's not like those bridges were permanently burnt), and maybe casey could do something special even with *gestures* that version of the bike. really though... I think enough would have been enough for him. regardless of the actual balance of success between the pair of them, my guess is marc wins that war because he's happier to get nasty and because he wants it more. casey has his two to four titles... he's done. let him go fishing

[tswwwit]

i have a counter argument to the 'only one person can boop bill' thing, mabel. she's the type of person to slap stickers on people, she would definitely be the type to also boop others occasionally and bill would be no exception. she probably doesn't do it to annoy bill like dipper would, but maybe as a form of a friendly gesture, kind of like those people who will lightly punch friends in the arm when they hang out.

You know what? Good point. Mabel would get away with more than most, as a fun-loving lady! Bill understands those impulses, and being a touchy person! He indulges in similar ones himself.

Though when Bill's not in the mood to be playful and gets booped anyway? The 'sister-in-law' status grants her considerable grace.

[kyojuuros]

knowing communication is vital to a healthy relationship but never knowing how to start a conversation or holding back because you don't want to burden them with your emotions or say/do something that will push them away and just generally being socially inadept is such a fun time! :)

[achillean-knight]

WOOO!! Rough Henry design LMAO bonus mini comic thing, BC why not

Y'all try on your mates glasses too, right?

-- Notes under the cut --

- He never shaves his moustache LMAO he does his beard, tho.

- Along with William, he needs glasses to see, but his eyesight is dramatically worse then Wills LOL

- The design is like-- sorta a combo of Henry's Novel and Character files design BSBSVSVSV

- This is his work attire, he wears suitable clothes for engineering ofc

- His wife left 🫡 as to why is unknown. They never fought to the extent of her leaving, but she left Henry behind one day, and Charlie. Charlie constantly thinks about it, but all she and Henry know, is Henry's wife left on good terms.

- Henry was the one to sing "my grandfather's clock" to Charlie as she grew up. Charlie was so fixated over the song, she would hum or sing it whenever they passed a Grandfather clock at the shops. Eventually, Henry created a smaller then average grandfather clock as a gift. This is why it calms the puppet.

- Henry has a habit of getting stressed and frustrated if work isn't going the way he wants. He doesn't lash violently out but he does request quiet and loneliness if he gets too heated. He has a personal punching bag in his shed.

- He originally created Carnie which later was repurposed into Lefty.

- After Charlie's death, he fell into severe depression. He drank heavily and it wasn't until he was confronted by Michael again, that he started seeing a therapist. He is still on edge alot and suffers from his mental health.

-- Relationships --

William:

- His relationship with William is very close lol romantically involved? No clue. Maybe they are, maybe they aren't, I seriously haven't decided, just like I haven't decided with Mike and Jeremy lmao

- Henry is William's crutch. He feels jealousy toward him, but ultimately relies on him most of the time after his own wife left (on bad terms). Henry doesn't mind, though.

- William is considered family to Henry.

- He is also the one to discover Williams corpse inside springbonnie and decided to board up every single safe room. Yikesssssss

- Strangely, Springtrap doesn't act violent toward Henry. He stares just- silently. Watching.

Charlie:

- Loves his daughter more than anything in the world.

- He passionately encourages Charlie's path in wood work after discovering her love for wooden crafts like the aforementioned Grandfather clock and various types of Puppets. Sometimes, if supervised, Henry hands her a block of wood and tools and lets her craft away. She finds peace in wood calving and Henry's utterly joyful.

- He struggles to recognise the Puppet as his own daughter, and unknowingly put her through so much pain when being caught by Lefty. It was only after the capture did he find out that of course the puppet is possessed by his daughter 😭 he just thought it was possessed by a very vengeful ghost. He didn't know that ghost possesed Golden Freddy, and that's why he's not in FNAF Pizzaria Simulator :')

Michael:

- He's on edge around Mike. He reminds him too much of Will.

- After Crying Child and Elizabeth died, aswell as Charlie's murder and William disappearing (he got spring locked rip), Michael lived with Henry shortly before disappearing himself. (He went to the SL bunker.)

- Henry looks after post-scooped Michael.

- Henry doesn't anticipate Mike to be the one to work at the Pizzaria Sim location-- but he knows this is where he wants to be.

[rouge-fauna]

I think you’re talking about these posts [here & here], I don’t know if there have been others.

I'm not gonna say what I did was right, you are correct I should probably just not respond to asks getting me to talk about other people. I will say for these two posts those people had already blocked me I’m pretty sure, so it’s kinda hard to talk directly to them in that case. And I was not doing so anonymously and had not blocked them so I wasn’t hiding what I was saying. I did not follow them, I am not part of the innitor community, and not that that makes it right but I do think it is kinda different. Though you make a good point, perhaps we should stop this pattern of responding to asks about other blogs and such.

Still, the biggest thing to me I realized, back in elementary school when I first dealt with this, was that honestly all the time we talk about people behind their back. Talking about people when they aren’t always in the room is kinda just inevitable and part of socializing, however I think the important part is how you are talking about other people. It’s when you are insulting them, talking negatively about them to people they know, spreading false information and so on that it becomes not okay. Hopefully that makes sense.

In these cases I merely focused on the lore. I didn’t insult them or talk shit about them, as a person, as a blog or say their takes were stupid or they are stupid or speculate about their trauma or mental history. I just talked about reasons why I disagreed, or saw things differently and why we might see things differently. They were also not the only ones I saw to say similar things so I think in my mind I was making more of a general discussion, not trying to target them specifically. I didn’t post beyond that about them. But you are right, regardless it was probably not the right way to go about things.

But just to be clear, if I am a hypocrite it is not my intention. I haven’t vague blogged anyone or meant to vague reblog anyone. I think this week is pretty much the first time I’ve ever been not naming, passive aggressively talking about blogs, and even then I’m not trying to insult them, trying to cancel them. I’m just expressing that before you go off about how I’m stupid and unable to have a discussion about it, the very least you could’ve done was give me an opportunity to try.