#OH MY GOD RUNAWAYS HOW I MISSED YOU

[razzle-zazzle]

would lloyd still free the serpentine in the runaways au? If cole is with him then the ninja wouldn't have hung him up and laughed at him, meaning that he wouldnt have had reason to free the serpentine. Also how does Cole end up a ninja in this au?

One way or another I'm going to free the Serpentine, they did not deserve being trapped in sunless tombs for an indeterminate time period.

Thinking... okay, so Lloyd actually makes it to Jamanakai Village before the sun even rises, while Cole's still at the little camp they settled in for the night. Because Lloyd's attempting to try and prank the town into thinking Lord Garmadon has returned, in an effort to get food. It uh... it doesn't work. The ninja are just about to hang him up on the roof when Cole shows up, upset for various reasons, and they back off.

Now Cole's annoyed and mortified and also not letting Lloyd out of his sight (he is also kinda lowkey proud of Lloyd's ingenuity, even if it didn't work all the way, but he's not like. super good with kids even if he and Lloyd are tentatively friends and in this journey of theirs together so he's not expressing anything other than annoyance and mortification), but Lloyd's upset enough that he manages to run off hours later regardless. He finds the Hypnobrai Tomb, opens it up, and immediately his mind lights up at the possibilities. Cole catches up to him, sees the chaos about to unfold, and for a moment, thinks "oh, good, the kid finally found someone willing to take care of him, I don't need to stick around anymore." So he turns to leave. He'll miss the brat, of course, but it's not like he's needed anymore, right?

Meanwhile, Wu is not only disappointed in his students for how they didn't take Lloyd seriously, but also suspects the "mean older brother" they described might be the missing Master of Earth he's been trying and failing to find. The moment he's done admonishing them he's got his head in his hands. Lily was never this hard to train, he swears, nor was she ever so hard to find.

The rest of the episode sort of progresses as in canon? Like, there's a bit where Lloyd notices Cole's absence and keeps hoping he'll pop up again, and Cole realizes that fuck, he really is going to miss Lloyd, and they definitely reunite at the end of the episode (with the map of the other tombs in hand) and realize they've grown too attached to each other to part just yet, and the ninja learn a whole lesson about not underestimating their enemy. But there's still a lot I need to work out...

I really need to rewatch Rise of the Snakes, huh 😅

[roachemoji]

[its-avalon-08]

i love hearts intertwined. how did you think of that idea? like what was ur inspiration?? cause its hella creative props to u also can i ask for a y/n x oscar piastri where oscar gets jealous about how close you are to lando since you both grew up together. he gets all cold and distant. he starts ignoring you. you brush it off for a few days but it gets too much. he hears you cry to lando over the phone and he rushes in in tears to apologize. make it angsty with happy ending

hi! thanks for all ur support!! as for how i come up with ideas, i just think about what i would like to read and then i just get started by brainstorming on how i want to write them. as for "hearts intertwined" i have been loving the idea of rosberg!sister falling for lewis because it has all the tropes ever (brothers (ex) best friend, enemies to lovers, rivals, friends to enemies to strangers to lovers)! anyway here's your story! hope you enjoy!

my heart hurts (op81)

the clinking of silverware and murmur of conversation filled the bustling restaurant. you and oscar had finally snagged a quiet corner table after a long day of practice. across from you, lando held court, recounting a hilarious story from your childhood.

"and then, there was the great custard incident," lando boomed, his laughter echoing. "remember, (y/n), when you-"

you doubled over, giggling. "oh my god, lando, don't!" heat rose to your cheeks at the memory, a childhood prank that involved a particularly disgruntled neighbor and a runaway bowl of dessert.

oscar, however, remained silent, his fork poised mid-air, a frown creasing his forehead. he watched you, his gaze lingering a little too long on the way your laughter lines crinkled around your eyes, the way your hand brushed against lando's arm playfully as you swatted him away.

lando, thankfully, oblivious to the undercurrent, continued, "and there you were, covered in custard, trying to explain to mrs. henderson it was just a... 'culinary experiment'."

you snorted, tears welling up in your eyes. "god, i miss those days." you reached out, bumping fists with lando playfully. "thanks for always having my back, even when i was a disaster."

a beat of uncomfortable silence followed. lando, finally noticing oscar's stony expression, cleared his throat. "right, well, enough about the past. oscar, how's the car feeling this week?"

oscar forced a smile, his tone clipped. "good. ready to take on the track." his gaze flickered back to you, a flicker of something akin to hurt in his eyes before he turned back to his plate, pushing the food around with a distinct lack of appetite.

the rest of the meal was strained. you tried including oscar in the conversation, but his responses were short, devoid of his usual easy banter. you stole worried glances at him, the carefree joy of your reunion with lando now tinged with a growing sense of unease.

as you exited the restaurant, lando clapped oscar on the shoulder. "good luck this weekend, mate. you'll smash it."

oscar mumbled a response, his eyes glued to the ground. the walk back to your apartment was filled with a suffocating silence. you knew, with a sickening certainty, that the carefree evening you envisioned had taken a sharp turn into jealousy lane

the silence in the car was deafening. oscar, usually a chatterbox during drives, hadn't uttered a word since leaving the restaurant. you kept glancing at him, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "what's wrong, oscar?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper.

he shrugged, not meeting your gaze. "nothing." but his tone was clipped, a stark contrast to his usual warmth.

his hand did not hover near your thigh, he didn't kiss you at the red lights, he didn't ask if you were cold with the AC. oscar had shut himself out.

over the next few days, "nothing" became your new normal. oscar became a ghost, barely acknowledging you. you'd catch him staring at you, then quickly look away. calls and texts went unanswered. you tried brushing it off, clinging to the hope it was just race week jitters, but the sinking feeling in your gut wouldn't budge. while sleeping he would mummer a goodnight and barely cuddle,

tonight, the dam broke. curled on the couch, tears blurring your vision, you dialed lando. "he's just being weird, lan," you choked out, your voice thick with unshed tears. "like, distant. like i don't even exist. i can't lose him lan, i really can't. but i'll leave if he wants because i just want him to be happy. even if it means its not with me"

suddenly, the front door slammed open. you flinched, dropping the phone. oscar stood frozen, his face pale, your tear-streaked cheeks a stark picture in the dim light. he had heard everything.

"(y/n), i..." his voice cracked, a battle raging in his eyes. before he could finish, a fresh wave of tears welled up. "oscar, what did i do?"

he took a shaky step towards you, then stopped. "i am so so so so so sorry baby." the confession tumbled out, raw and laced with shame. "i regret what i did. it hurt my heart being away from you. on purpose. seeing you with lando, so close... it made me jealous."

you stared at him, bewildered. "jealous? oscar, lando's practically my brother. we grew up together!"

he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "i know, i know. it's stupid. but seeing you laugh with him, the laugh you kept just for me..." his voice trailed off, heavy with regret.

a choked sob escaped your lips. "oscar, you're the one i love. the way i look at lando, it's nothing compared to you." you stood up, tears falling freely.

he mirrored your movement, his face etched with pain. "i messed up, (y/n). i let my insecurities cloud everything." his voice broke. "can you forgive me?"

you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. he held you tight, his body trembling.

"just promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly, "a) you'll tell me when something bothers you and b) you'll never let jealousy come between us again."

he cupped your face, his eyes filled with newfound resolve. "never. you and lando, your friendship is beautiful. i'll never take that away." he leaned in, his kiss a promise whispered against your lips.

the following days were filled with apologies, laughter, and tentative rebuilding. oscar apologized to lando, acknowledging his insecurities. you realized communication, even the uncomfortable kind, was the key.

that sunday, as you watched oscar race, a different kind of excitement bubbled within you. it wasn't just about his victory, but the fact that you had weathered the storm, emerging stronger as a couple. the bond you shared, forged in vulnerability and love, was a trophy far more valuable than any podium finish.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[qprpbj]

ik u posted ab this like a million and one years ago but ur pb&j runaway au literally haunts me. like literally stare up at my ceiling at night thinking about how fcking upset soda and darry would be haunts me. so i must know how do u think that went down 😣 like who brought up running away who actually brought it up as a Serious Thing They Could Do was it impulsive or heavily premeditated did they have a very solid plan HOW DO THE GANG REACT TO ITTTT omg this au haunts me SO BAD u have no idea 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ in my head i envisioned it as like they have a plan and a set day but then darry does smth that Really pisses pony off and he’s like “johnny 😐😐 idc we were meant to go in two weeks we’re going NOW i fcking #hate my brother” SO I NEED TO KNOW HOW U ENVISIONED IT i’m dying dead no matter what btw i love ur mind about the outsiders

stop bc i thought i elaborated more on that but when i scrolled down my account i literally made one half assed post and that IT oh that is so insane. i literally think about them on the daily though it’s not even funnyyyy so this ask made me so happy 🙇🙇 (just so you know these are basically all just messages of mine copy pasted from chats with @girlishwhimsies bc i’m too lazy to write it all out in diff words and bc the lore for this au still EATSSSS but id be SOOO happy to elaborate more on anything :D)

- i’m imagining some universe where like. the slap and everything never happens but that also means pony never really has a reason to bond with darrel so it just stays tense and weird for years and eventually he’s like. 16/17 and johnnys 18/19 and everything’s just gotten worse and both of them are so tired of their lives here. pony sees some obscure movie at the theatre and/or reads a new age book that’s set in new york about queerness in some way (idk what movie and/or book. will have to research) a la i’ve seen it in the movies and in the books i’ve read, this place is real, it’s not just in my head btw. and pony brings this to johnny and excitedly tells him this plan he has to just. up and run away to new york. he can drop out and change his name and get new ids (it was the 60s tbf) and say he’s a year or two older and he’ll get a job too with johnny. that they don’t have to just dream about being far away from tulsa, so to speak, they can just. do it. the only thing stopping them is themselves and their fears

-pony going to the library and stealing maps and checking out like 10 books about travelling and saving money and about new york and. maybe one or two he hides about queerness

-them asking dally what new york is like and dally getting all pissed but not thinking much of it. then suddenly they’re vanished with all their belongings overnight and dally knows Exactly where they’d have gone. the gang has to follow them but they never catch up

-dally shooting up in bed one night like a week later at like 3am rushing over to the brothers house all i know where they are. they asked me about. about new york the other day. oh my fucking god and darrel’s all just??? new y— NEW YORK?? what the hell did you SAY TO THEM??

-frankly i think they’d wanna go and look after them but they’re poor and darry has a job so. they just put out missing persons requests and have no choice but to call it a day. darry feels guilty but they were never that close but. but soda??? soda knowing pony ran away from him??

-i think pony would leave some cryptic message in a copy of gone with the wind (ironic) addressed to soda in the cover before he leaves but soda literally doesn’t read so he probably doesn’t find it it for ages. something about how you were the only thing keeping me alive in tulsa but i gotta go be my own person now, get away from all of this shit

-darry turns what remains of pony’s room upside down inside out looking for anything but. there’s absolutely nothing left for him

-pony sends a letter back to soda a couple months later all were safe and sound in new york and we really miss you, sodapop, every day. tell dally new york ain’t as bad as he thought…he oughta give it another shot someday. maybe you too, soda. tulsa ain’t home to people like us, soda, you’ve gotta understand why we had to leave

-he sends his first letter without a return address yet bc he’s not ready for soda to know where he is but the next one!!!

-by then it’s been like six months and pony’s hair is bleach blond (smiles) and he looks healthy for maybe the first time really ever. pony sheepishly coming out from behind his friend in some goofy totally-not-pony outfit (bc he’s fallen in loveeee with fashion. btw.) and soda hugs him so fucking tight he swears he stops breathing for a minute

-you know…darry’s been real choked up since you left. you know he…he gets it, right? he’s like you. n’he’s real torn up you left when he couldn’t, honey.

-maybe you…could bring him here, too. there’s family here for him if..he wants it. he’s just gotta get brave like i did.

[hitsmelikeasteamroller]

Runaway Thoughts

Carmen Berzatto X Reader

Warnings: Smut, Language, Anxiety, Drinking, Slightly drunk sex

Word Count: 3,051

Summary: After a mishap in the kitchen, Carmen takes it upon himself to cheer you up. 

A/N: This is my first Carmen fic and I hope everyone likes it bc I am definitely starved Carmen content lol. This is not proofread sorry not sorry <3

When your brother begged you to join him working at The Bear, you would have said no if you knew what it entailed. Richie pulled you into the job by calling me over and over, complaining about other candidates and how they “didn’t fix the napkin” whatever that means. You gave in, becoming a server for the restaurant, and managing front-of-house affairs, training the servers on anticipating customers’ needs and wants, and improving their overall experiences at The Bear. The tense atmosphere of the back of house staff doesn't often carry to the front of house workers, but when it rains, it pours.

Tonight was one of those nights. Focaccia courses were behind, pushing everything else back, and causing Carmen Berzatto to lose his shit behind the kitchen doors.

“Where the FUCK are the seven fishes for table 42?!” Carmen screams at Tina.

She attempts to explain that the last batch got undercooked, and she had to cook some of the ingredients a bit longer when Carmen cut her off, snapping  “Just get it done, chef. Every second counts.”

Tensions have been high all night and only continue to rise as servers poke their heads in and out of the kitchen to ask where their missing dishes are. Nothing pisses the chefs off more than this.

The flames between the servers and the chefs are stoked with every backed up dish, and every question, a fact you are overwhelmingly aware of as the servers decide to come to you as a front-of-house manager. You’ve finally had enough of the complaints, and you stomp through the restaurant in search of Richie. He would know what to do, his gruff and snarky exterior being able to bridge the gap between front and back-of-house, with his sister in front and Carmen in the back. Unable to find him in the front, you push open the doors to the kitchen and begin to make your way to the back doors, behind which you assume Richie is standing smoking a cigarette. In your haste, you forget to yell ‘corner’ as you crash directly into one of the dishwashers, who just so happened to be holding a freshly clean stack of salad plates. You watch in slow-motion as part of the stack tips off the top, crashing and shattering on the kitchen tile.

“Oh my God, I-I’m so sorry, here let me go get the broom, I’ll-” you begin to panic, rambling on about cleaning the plates before you look up and meet the eyes of the person you crashed into. It’s one of the new guys, you haven’t talked to him before, making your mishap all the more embarrassing.

In the middle of your rambling he cuts you off.

“Are you too fucking stupid to say ‘corner’?!” He barks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Do you not know how a kitchen works?! Now we’re gonna be fucked over for the rest of the night because we’re short fifteen plates! And it’s your fucking fault.”

You apologize profusely again as you grab the broom and the dustpan, attempting to sweep what you can to avoid any risk. The man finally walks away as you sweep, muttering more about how he hates you and how you fucked the kitchen for the night. You go silent, retreating from your current situation into your head and thoughts. Are you stupid? You couldn’t solve the server’s problems without running to cry to your brother. You empty the dust pan into the trash. You’re awful at this job. You don’t deserve to work here. You smooth your shirt as you walk back to the front, not looking at any of the chefs you walk past. You’re an obstacle. You don’t help all you do is hurt. You tell a server to deal with their backed up tables by themself, continuing to walk past the rows of tables, to one you know is waiting on their food. Thoughts continue to plague you as you offer them all free glasses of wine as they wait. You wouldn’t have to give away free drinks if you could control the servers. You’re costing the restaurant money. You’re gonna fuck everyone over.

Your night continues like this, nitpicking yourself as you try to do your job, unable to fully be in the moment. A faraway look sits on your face as you complete your cutwork. You roll silverware in fabric napkins, placing the complete bundles into a crate for tomorrow as your thoughts haunt the back of your mind. Richie’s gonna be so fucking pissed. You roll another. Carmen’s gonna fire you. Another. The chefs all hate you now. You reach for another fork, and realize you’re out of clean silverware, signaling your ability to leave.

Checking your phone, you realize it’s much later than usual, you must be moving pretty slowly tonight. The kitchen getting backed up must’ve been your fault.

You arrive at your locker, swapping your non-slip work shoes for regular sneakers. You hear footsteps as you grab your bag.

“Oh good you’re still here. I need to talk to you.” It's Carmen. You’re fired. He hates you.

“I was actually just about to leave, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened earlier too, I didn’t mean to knock into him, I understand if you don’t want me back, I totally fucked up the whole kitchen I’m so sorry.” your words escape you before you can think about what you want to say.

“No. No no no, you’re not fired (y/n). You’re like the most reliable one here.  I just need to know what he said to you.” Carmen looks surprised that you would have thought he would ever fire you. “Plus I think Richie would kill me if I fired you so…” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh. Sorry. I just kind of assumed-” you trail off before you begin to tell Carmen the awful things the dishwasher said to you, not letting the tears that were welled in your eyes spill down your cheeks.

Carmen looks at you with an upset empathy in his blue eyes, he reaches forward to brush a stray tear from your cheek, then takes your hand in his as you finish telling him how the things the man said to you had echoed in the back of your head all night. “I’m sorry, I know it shouldn’t affect me like it does, I should just move on, grow up.” You dryly laugh, attempting to brush your insecurities off as a joke.

“No, (y/n), I expect that from my chefs who have gone through culinary school. They have those words drilled into them for years and they learn to deal with that in a learning setting, not a professional kitchen like this. That is not in your job description and should not have happened, as the owner I can not apologize to you enough.”

Carmen’s words make you feel reassured and safe. You’ve never heard him speak like that in all of the years you’ve known him.

“It’s not your fault Carmy, I think- I think I just need to go home and sleep off the day.” you brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you bend to grab your bag again.

“Here let me call you an Uber, you don’t really seem to be in a place to deal with the L.” Carmy grabs for his phone, opening the app. “Where do you live?”

You tell him your address and he snaps his head to look at you

“Are you fucking with me?” he asks. You shake your head. “Oh my God you live like a block from me.” He laughs in surprise.

“Oh shit, are you leaving soon? We can just share the Uber to our shithole apartments.” You laugh back. It’s definitely not the nicest part of town but at least Carmy can share your pain.. You’re shocked Richie never mentioned that you live in the same area as Carmen, but Richie is kind of fucking stupid.

Carmy agrees to split the Uber, grabbing his things while you wait for the car to arrive.

As the two of you walk to the car, Carmen opens the door for you, allowing you to slide in before he takes his own seat and slams the door shut, briefly exchanging pleasantries with the driver. It’s a 20 minute drive through the traffic spent exchanging stories of Richie, remodeling The Bear, and finding line cooks doing drugs in the alley. As you pull up to Carmy’s building, he licks his lips nervously, and turns to look at you. “Hey uh, do you want to maybe come in for a drink? I can walk you to your building later if you want?”

“Only if you have tequila.” You respond. He laughs and you follow him out of the car to the doors of his building.

You sit on his couch with a drink in your hand. He sits beside you, picking up your earlier conversation.

“Richie was always an asshole but you were so nice and polite, I didn’t believe you were related when you first came to Christmas.” Carmen is leaned back against the couch, feet up on the coffee table. The arm holding his drink is propped up on the arm of the couch. He looks delicious. It’s then you remember to respond.

“I think I was on my best behavior because your family is terrifying.” You laugh. “Like is Cicero in the mafia or like what is the deal with that?”

Carmen’s face drops “Oh babe, we can’t talk about that.” His voice is hushed and your heart drops. You dumbass you fucked it up. Carmy's concerned look cracks into a smile.

“I’m fucking with you.” He laughs and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re awful.” you laugh in response, softly swatting his arm. It's then you realize how close together you are really sitting. You can smell him, hear him breathe. As he finishes laughing, he meets your eyes. It must be the alcohol talking when he says “You know I used to have the biggest crush on you, I was too scared to talk to you that first Christmas because of it.”

You’re taken aback. Fucking Carmen Berzatto just admitted that he had a CRUSH on you.

“No you’re fucking with me again.” You can’t believe him.

“No I promise you I’m not. I honestly don’t think it ever went away, and I probably shouldn't say that but I’m a little drunk right now and there’s a beautiful girl on my couch.”

You can’t say anything. Your cheeks heat up as you lean into him meeting your lips with his. As your lips meet you feel him sigh in contentment, he’s been waiting for this and so have you. Your lips move against each other heatedly as you intensify the kiss. You’re leaned over him so you can kiss him as he is leaned against the back of the couch. Your arm meets his side of the couch to prop yourself up across him and he breaks the kiss for a moment as his arm meets your lower back, encouraging you to set yourself on his lap. Your legs wrap around his waist as you continue to kiss, his tongue entering your mouth as his hand pushes itself under your shirt, rubbing your back. Your hands make their way to his head, you have one hand on his cheek, one tangled in his hair as he moans into the kiss. You feel his hardening cock underneath you as you sit on his lap and you trail a hand down his torso towards his hips.

You pull away from his lips as you whisper  with a soft laugh “Carmy I think I owe you for the Uber.”

You take yourself off of his lap as he frees himself from his pants, his hard cock rests against his stomach as he lays back on the couch. You place yourself between his legs, taking him in your hand. You run your hang along him a couple times before taking him in your mouth.

“Oh my God that’s so fucking good babe, Oh my God.” Carmen moans as you move your head up and down.

He threads his hand into your hair as his head falls back looking towards the ceiling, consumed in the pleasure you are giving him.

He begins to rock his hips to meet your mouth, your hands run up and down his thighs as you continue to suck him off.

Suddenly he pulls you off his cock, keeping his hand in your hair as he pulls you to his lips, heatedly kissing you.

“Can I please fuck you, I need to be in you.” Carmen almost whines.

“Please.” is all you respond before he lays you down on the couch, pulling your shirt off and throwing it somewhere into the abyss of the living room. His kisses from your neck down to your stomach, unbuttoning your pants. Your pants come off next. They meet the same fate as your shirt, thrown to the side. Carmen continues to kiss along your hips, pulling your panties down. He slides two fingers through your heat as he leans back up to meet your mouth with his. “So wet babe. Is it all for me?” He knows the answer, he just wants to hear you say it yourself.

“Yes Carm, all for you.” you moan in response, giving him exactly what he wants.

“Oh babe.” He lines his cock up with your entrance, pushing in bit by bit to give you time to adjust. He kisses up your neck, right under your ear as he begins to thrust into you, causing you to gasp and wrap your hands around his back.

He moans as he fucks you, your hands running down his back. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders as he angles his hips up, hitting the perfect spot inside of you. Your head is thrown back, whimpers escaping your lips as he continues at that angle.

“Oh yeah that’s the spot isn’t it?” Carmy muses, confidence dripping from his statement as he watches your reaction to his actions. It's driving him crazy. He fucks you harder as he feels himself about to finish.

“Oh Babe, I’m gonna cum, you’re so good, so tight oh my God.” He is rambling as he fucks into you, trailing his hand down your front, stopping at your clit, rubbing small circles as he continues to fuck you hard and fast.

“Oh my God Carm please don’t stop that I’m gonna cum, oh fuck.”

“Fuck babe, cum with me, please, fuck.” Carmen continues his actions as your orgasm washes over you, causing you to tense as he pulls out and finishes onto your stomach. Moans fill the room as you ride out your orgasms. Carmen, still above you, leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips, capturing each other in a sweet, heavy kiss.

Finally Carmen stands to grab a towel and clean you off. He finds his boxers and pulls them back on as he walks away to throw the towel in the laundry. You wonder if you are going to sleep here, or complete the walk of shame back to your complex down the street. Your questions are answered when Carmy tosses one of his shirts to you, cocking his head in a ‘follow me’ signal towards his bedroom.

“Uh, there’s a shower in there if you want, you can sleep here with me, or I can walk you home. No pressure.” He kisses your temple and moves to his dresser to find a shirt.

You make your way to his bathroom to take a brief shower, still feeling a little gross from your shift earlier. Washing yourself with Carmen’s soap, you’re lost in thoughts about how you just fucked your boss and family friend, and it was fucking awesome. You dry yourself with a towel, putting the shirt Carmen gave you back on. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, writing something on his phone when you open the bathroom door. He sets his phone down to look at you. You sit next to him and lean your head on his shoulder.

“Hey.” is all he says.

“That was so good, Carmy.” you simply respond.

“Fuck yeah it was.” He softly laughs. You turn your head and meet him in a soft kiss. “Do you want to stay here tonight? I can make you breakfast in the morning.” He offers, speaking into your hair as you lean against him.

“Yeah, I think I’d love that.” you respond. You crawl into the bed, settling under the covers as he slides in next to you.

He pulls you to him as you wrap your arms around him. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this in front of people.” He says softly.

You breathe out a laugh as you think about what Richie would say if he found out about this. “Yeah, probably not. Just act normal.” you respond.

“Just act normal, huh?” he laughs. “Act like I didn’t just have the best sex of my life with you?” He teases.

“I don’t know, Richie and Sydney would love to hear every detail of this, I’m sure.” You counter playfully. He sighs as he begins to rub your back. You close your eyes as you are hit with a wave of exhaustion from the day, head growing heavier against Carmy’s chest. He kisses the top of your head, whispering a soft goodnight as he turns off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

...

After a delicious breakfast, Carmen walks you back to your building so you can get ready for your dinner shift. You smooth your shirt, trying to get rid of the wrinkles caused by it sitting in a heap on Carmy’s living room floor. Just act normal.

You walk into the restaurant, clocking in and walking past the chefs cleaning up lunch. You meet Carmy’s eye and hold back an awkward laugh. Sydney and Tina exchange a suspicious look and Carmen tells them to get back to work as he watches you pass through the kitchen doors to the front.

[sunnysideprincess]

Tony Stark was a wizard well known to attract trouble with the divine. First it was Loki, who had been enraged that a mere mortal couldn't be enchanted by him. Then it was Thor when Tony cursed his brother to erupt in painful boils if he dared to step on Earth. After, it was Steven drenched head to toe in swamp water—which was very reasonable on Tony's part because the flame keeper's tantrum was hurting his largest batch of hibiscus. Though he was willing to admit there had been a slight misunderstanding due to Natasha and Fury's mingled cunning. There was also Tiberus Stone, a minor deity of an abandoned mountain, who sought Tony's land and thought the best way to do it was to flood the lower plains and destroy an entire settlement. The less it was said about how many mortals and immortals he had pissed off was better. Though the incident did gain Tony his Rhodeybear, a furious looking cloud Elf and it did mellow Steven, who now went by Steve of all names.

Coming to the present, there was a wolf blocking his way. Its fur gleaming silver like the frost and eyes glittering greys and blues like a budding storm. Tony had been warned about it. Once a hell demon going by the name of Winter Soldier, now he was seated at the council of gods as the White Wolf.

Not currently of course. Not when he was prowling around Tony in a way that wasn't unlike a predator circling a prey. A slightly difficult situation, considering Tony was all out of mana after destroying the Hydra beast lurking near a demigod settlement and his spare arc was in the carriage with little miss Wanda. He was bleeding and exhausted, hungry and stumbling.

He was a great wizard. The best. But he was also a mortal in dire need of the comforts of his home.

So he was caught unaware when a drop of his blood touched the ground, when the wolf took a deep breath and lunged, disappearing into a blur. And Tony, who was too busy in trying keep his body upright, yelped when his world tilted and he ended up facing the maw of the beast.

"Alright, that's it," he growled, pulling his only faintly glowing arc out of his pocket. "Get off, frost fleabag, before I push you—hheeek!"

He would never admit it, not even under the threat of drowning, that he squeaked like a squirrel when he felt the icy tip of the wolf's nose diving into the crook of his neck. He would also never tell of how the soft exhale which cast ice crystals over his skin made his cheeks heat in a way no mortal or immortal had ever known to or how he shivered when he felt the scrape of tongue over his skin.

"Bucky, no!"

The wolf jumped back, its teeth bared and eyes slanted in annoyance. Tony was quick to scramble up and plant his back against the nearest stump of tree, wondering why in the world was Steve marching down towards the wolf like it was a runaway dog and why in the world was the White Wolf sniffing and licking Tony.

"What in the seven heavens are you doing?"

The wolf huffed out a challenging breath then growled at the god, before tilting its head towards Tony.

"Absolutely not! No," Steve growled, erupting in his usual bright blue fames. "You know it is forbidden."

"What is," Tony voiced out loud, gathering the attention of the two divines. A flicker of annoyance washed over him, reminding him just why Gods were the most terrible of all immortal brethren. They were brutish, vicious and above all, thought they were entitled to every man's respect. "I wish to know exactly why your friend—is he not—decided to jump a weary travelling wizard?" He gave himself pause to fix his posture, then added a snide "your ever-unfrozen highness" for good measure.

The wolf huffed out a —laugh? It cast a smug look towards Steven then licked its teeth in a slow teasing reminder of what it had tasted on Tony.

Tony, like any respectable wizard, ignored the heat and tingles rising up his spine and crossed his arms.

"Well?"

"He's Bucky."

"Oh my—is he your pet? How very scandalous, your lordship! Does the heaven know about it? Does my godmother know about it? Who, may I remind you, you have pledged your eternally beating heart to."

"Tony," Steve sighed, his flames flickering back to a more manageable size. "No. He's not—He is my friend. And he, uh..."

The wolf snorted and much to Tony's everlasting surprise, Steve's flames came back roaring.

"Shift back to your humane form then, I'm not willing to be your translator for the night!"

"What are you—"

The place where the wolf was standing erupted in a flurry of snow and wind. And Tony watched, fascinated and already itching to try and create a spell which could mimic the flare of it all, as the air cleared.

The wolf was gone, and instead there was a man, almost as tall as Steven. His hair belowed with the wind, reaching past his chin in waves that would make the travelling Sphinx jealous. His left arm, bless Tony's luck, was completely encased in ice and carrying a scythe made of Wakandan moon stone. A greedy part of Tony wondered if he could somehow detach it from the god and keep it for himself, which was immediately smothered by the memory of his mama chastising him for being spoiled.

As if sensing his appreciation, the wolf-god-man bared his teeth-his fangs into a roguish smile and spoke with a deep rumble which clouded the air with a sudden chill.

"I am here to declare wizard Anthony Edward Stark as my beloved consort. And I wish for him to be seated with me in the highest council of gods."

So there you have it.

Tony Stark was a wizard well known to attract trouble with the divine. But this just might be one of a kind.

[urszn]

❨ POPSTAR GF ❩ — park sunghoon

CHAP ll. “runaway popstar” written + smau

warnings: anxiety attack, cursing duh, if i missed anything pls let me know! (not proofread)

word count: 892

SUNGHOON wasn’t the type of guy to go out on a sunday night, he knew he wasn't going to be happy waking up early in the morning rushing to get to his lectures at six and then going straight to the ice rink to practice

but he still went with his friends even though he insisted he needed to finish his essay that wasn’t due until next week

heeseung had been working hard perfecting her album, and sunghoon felt bad saying no to his friend especially since it was heeseung and he knew that if he needed something he could count on heeseung to come to the rescue

jake was also spamming his phone begging him to go with them and he couldn’t decline.

“holy shit guys” jungwon says jumping up and down with excitement as we entered the vip section, i look around seeing people with their lightsticks, chatting to eachother with big smiles on their faces

heeseung glanced over at me and nudged my shoulder “thought you were busy” i rolled my eyes “thank you for inviting me hee”

“wait! we get to meet y/n right?!” sunoo asked, we all look over at heeseung as he shrugs his shoulders “who knows” was all he said with a slight smirk on his face

suddenly everyone seemed to be quiet, some people whispering to their friends while pointing over at the entrance where three people were standing at

“oh my god” jake squeezed my arm “i love hyunjin, wonyoung and jisung” “they’re coming over here, never thought i’d be this close to them” jake rambled on

i glanced over at them as they walked our way, they were all dressed up in designer clothes and seemed to be accompanied by another person

he seemed to be dressed…less extravagant than the others, yet he still looked better than whatever i was wearing, he had a black mask and hat covering his face, maybe he was a body guard or something like that?

as the venue filled up with many more people, i looked over at heeseung who was by my side

he was now talking to hyunjin

“when did he go over there,” i asked jungwon who was on my left side “he got called over there by hyunjin not that long ago, i think you zoned out” he continued “you were staring at them when heeseung went over there, i think you should quit staring, they might think you’re a little creepy” i slowly nod

a couple of minutes pass by and heeseung is still talking to them, “hoon, is that you’re phone ringing?” i look at my pocket seeing the contact name chaeyeon

holy… “shit i forgot to tell her that i cant hangout with her today”

“wait i need to answer her but it’s loud i’ll be back okay?” i tell the guys “she’s about to start though!” jake says “i’ll be back i just need to answer her real quick, i’ll be back i promise” “go quickly”

i quickly pass by people to the exit nearby and call chaeyeon back

“where are you?! it sounds loud” was all i could hear her say, i plug my other ear so i could hear her better, yet it was still loud “wait i’m trying to get somewhere quieter!”

“hoon?” she says “wait-“ suddenly my phone was on ground broken “watch where you’re-“ oh…

“i’m so sorry! i’ll pay for it!” the girl says leaning down to grab my now broken phone, her hands seemed to be shaking “it’s okay” i say panicky finally realizing who she was

she was meant to be on stage right now, performing, but she was here with me outside her own concert, crying

“are you okay?” was all i could ask — i know, i know what a stupid question to ask, but i didn’t know what else to say “hey aren’t you supposed to be on stage and not out here crying”

“yeah, yeah i’m so so sorry, really i’ll pay for it” she says looking down, her voice seemed normal but i could tell she was trying to hold back her tears “you don’t have too” i replied back

i scan over the area and my eyes land on a bench nearby, “hey how about we sit down, okay?” i say as she nodded

“do you need water or anything?” i asked “n-no” she said before finally breaking down into tears and all i could was comfort her

“it’s okay” i reassured her “i-i just saw someone and-“ she stops for a bit trying to catch her breath “i-i panicked!” “i..i don’t know why i’m crying”

she then “oh my god my manager will be so mad” “and my fan” “and friends” she panics, crying even harder now “hey it’s okay, they’ll understand” i say before hugging her

and that’s how we stayed for a bit

“how about you go home, i bet you that everyone will understand” i whisper quietly but loud enough for her to hear “you don’t understand, everyone is going to hate me!” she tells me

“c’mon, i’ll walk you there, and i’ll explain everything to them you don’t even have to talk, okay?” she slowly nods

i stand up reaching my hand out for her grab and she looks at my hand hesitantly before grabbing onto my hand.

back to masterlist! - previous - next

(📰) TOP NEWS ! after sunghoon gets forced to go with his friends to a concert he ends up bumping into a crying y/n aka the person who was supposed to be on stage performing, not knowing what to do he hugs her out of pity trying his best to comfort her, perhaps he shouldn’t have? because the next day he wakes up to one million followers on twitter and instagram and a text from y/n’s manager asking him to fake date her.

PERM TAGLIST: @ddeonudepressions ⋆ @zuyairus-deactivated20230507 ⋆ @sunoksunny ⋆ @taejays ⋆ @hanniluvi ⋆ @haknom ⋆ @trsrina ⋆ @tyunnie-gyuu ⋆ @ririlovesrenjun ⋆ @xiaoderrrr ⋆ @r-westillfriends ⋆ @placinggum10 ⋆ @gakrufbd ⋆ @nanabbg ⋆ @son4taa ⋆ @redm4ri ⋆ @strwberrydinosaur r ⋆ @dreama-little-dreamof-me ⋆ @lcv3lies ⋆ @aspaia ⋆ @schmocolateschmchip ⋆ @seungcheolswife ⋆ @ixomiyu ⋆ @dimplewonie ⋆ @jeongintwt ⋆ @esther-kpopstan ⋆ @uwuheeseungie

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s1 episode 24 thoughts

aka SEASON FINALE! wow, one full season with these nerds... time flies <3

this episode was super fast-paced and full of twists and turns, straight from the beginning. we open on a very jerky chase scene that was hard to watch and which set the mood as a guy was shot and then jumps into some water and no one can find him

!! the title sequence changed !! it said "trust no one" rather than "the truth is out there"!! surely this means something, but what? i'm spooked!

mulder is sleeping on his couch again. can we please start a fund to get his ass a mattress. it's getting serious.

looks like he fell asleep working on a case when a phone call from deep throat wakes him up, telling him to change the channel where he sees the news of the opening car chase and records it on his VCR (how vintage!)

he shows the footage to scully who is basically like why do we trust this deep throat fellow- a valid question, as mulder trusts almost everybody like a little baby duckling- but scully referring to him as "deep throat" means they've discussed the subject before, which is interesting

we then visit a scientist who is working on monkeys. scully, for some reason, wants to say hello to the monkeys- perhaps we can chalk this up to her innate goodness

the scientist is like "leave those monkeys alone" and she says "i'm sorry, i thought they were friendly" scully, you should know that monkeys are NEVER friendly! they tried to bite her but thank god they missed because these are, after all, no ordinary monkeys, but Alien Monkeys

after the monkey business scully is pissed because they have no leads and she says we need to wrap this up! we've learned nothing! ohh i wrote this next part down word for word because it gagged me:

mulder is so trusting of deep throat and scully says he's stringing mulder along for some unknown purpose...

to which he says: "you think he does it because he gets off on it?"

and scully replies "no, i think he does it because YOU do"

oh i gasped and yelled at my screen! she got him! valid question though, why is this guy leaving them little clues beyond his earlier in the season confession of alien murder guilt? it IS suspicious.

mulder and deep throat confront each other and play more sick and twisted mind games which is fine; deep throat insinuates that mulder doesn't care as much as he used to which is rude but it spurs him on his quest for answers

next the monkey scientist kicks the bucket which obviously means his monkey science was deeply important

the guy who was doing the running during the car chase confessed to being underwater for 3 days after he was shot which obviously has implications but we aren't given a whole lot of time to explore them

back at the monkey lab, now a crime scene, mulder hands scully a flask of mysterious liquid and says "what do you think this is". she says "i don't know" then runs on a quest to go find out because he asks her to. god, dana scully has really had to endure SO much with this man, and now a mystery liquid from the monkey lab? again i ask where her compensation is

mulder breaks into the dead scientist's house, which revealed another basic and universal truth akin to gravity: if no one lets mulder in a house, he Will find a way to break in. he cozies up to the dead guy's desk and starts flipping through his stuff, and the runaway underwater alien guy calls and he picks up the phone like this is a typical day for him. alien guy is emitting some sort of gas that hurts everyone which is unfortunate.

scully fell asleep on the couch of the microbiology department which was soooo <3 but then the lab scientist comes in with the plot twist...

monkey liquid reveal: it has some sort of secret bacteria... with a new base pair! which means it HAS to be some sort of extraterrestrial life!

mulder tracks down a storage unit that is filled with bodies in tanks, and he looks like a kid in a demented candy store while some crazy orchestral stuff goes on in the background. then he is chased by some people but leaps over a fence with astonishing agility.

scully realizes that the monkey liquid is actually Very Important and they meet up to explore the tanks and she says she's sorry for doubting him. "i should know by now to trust your instincts" she says, to which he replies "why, nobody else does" and they both smile and it is not emotional at all, shut up!

"you know, i've always held science as sacred. i've always put my trust in the accepted facts. and what i saw last night... for the first time in my life, i don't know what to believe" <- banger scully line

(i don't believe that this is the first time she's questioned it, though. she's been on edge the whole time, this is just the most she has been. she was thrown off by the psychic who quoted her dad, and by the alien bites in the very first episode. regardless, character development!)

((also, love that she talks about holding science as sacred while wearing a cross necklace in every scene. she's got that "raised catholic" aura about her))

gasp! just as i knew it would be, the room of tanks is now entirely empty, all cleared out except for... deep throat? he reveals that this is the place where the first alien-human hybrids were developed out of terminally ill patients, who got better, but developed superhuman strength and the ability to breathe underwater. a valid tradeoff, in many ways, and exactly what has happened to our friend who was shot and hid underwater and now gives off noxious gas. so now they have to find him before the Others do.

mulder runs back to the dead guy's house, which he seems far too comfortable entering, and finds the alien hybrid man. alien man tries to choke him out, but mulder still says "i'll protect you"

(man, i love that line. we Will be psychoanalyzing that at a later date)

but alien man is shot by an intruder, and his noxious gasses burn mulder while he's tied up. poor scully has been blowing up his cellphone, to which he mumbles "i'm a popular guy"

(always with the damn one liners while he's beaten within an inch of his life; you are popular to one individual, mister mulder, but granted she's a very special one)

deep throat says scully can get into a high containment facility and trade the alien tissue for mulder which okay. sure. why not? she guesses the mystery password and gets into the building and. well. this was my reaction:

"she's opening a mystery container and i lowkey expect a frozen head but NO IT'S AN ALIEN THINGY AUGHHHH IT'S LIKE A BABY"

gross!

only 6 minutes left in the episode at this point and i was stressed! scully's got a box full of alien, is meeting deep throat on a bridge, and refuses to hand the alien box over because. again. who tf is this guy? he gets all mad and says that she NEEDS to hand the box over because these guys that they're dealing with took some of the alien tissue and injected it in children.

and this maybe was supposed to get her to hurry up but she was just like. nah why the hell would we give them the alien back? so we can get more alien children?

to save mulder, of course! because they are the only two who can shine light on what is really going on!

(don't talk to her in such a condescending manner, deep throat, i will bite you. she has perfectly valid reservations about handing ur mysterious ass a box full of alien. but she finally does)

and then as he hands the box over to the mystery people HE IS IMMEDIATELY SHOT! i gasped so hard here i actually hurt my mouth which is still recovering from surgery and so all of us had a bad time around this point. they do toss mulder from the back of a car, though, and deep throat's dying words are to "trust no one"

(so is it really mulder that we have back? if we can trust no one, does that mean someone has hacked into mulder? and scully doesn't know that? that's what i'm guessing here. sort of a winter soldier-ish situation)

13 days later, mulder calls scully in the middle of the night and says the fbi is shutting down the x files and they're being reassigned, but he won't give up, he can't give up. he says someone named "skinner" made this decision. i am unfamiliar with this individual but have a feeling we will become acquainted.

the season ends with the alien being placed in a mysterious room. to this i wrote the following:

"alien baby in formaldehyde in an archive i would kill to get my hands on it let me see it let me see it let me see it NOW"

(i bet they also have JFK's brain in that archive!)

so what a whirlwind of an episode! we certainly can't trust anyone moving forward, but does that apply to the trust between mulder and scully themselves? what will they do now that the x files have been shut down? somehow i have a feeling they will come back, a sort of hunch to do with the 10 more seasons of this show.

will they meet up for coffee during their new assignments? who is skinner? so much awaits us on the other side of this season, but i still need to process all i've seen so far!

[via-rant]

Leo stood in front of his burnt house in despair. He spent months building it and now it's in complete ashes. There was nothing left - he checked - because of the stupid Chimera attack. He could try to rebuild it but that would take more time, more energy on a house he's wanted since forever. Another few years collecting the money for the same materials as before to rebuild it. Another few years... Hasn't he waited enough? Hasn't he worked hard enough?

Isn't it obvious? Haven't you learned by now? You'll never be enough. Everything and everyone you love will always leave. He sobbed, not bothering to stop himself. It felt pointless to try again. He worked so hard for nothing. Everything he does always amounts to nothing if he's not sacrificing himself. It only works if it's for someone else.

He fell to his knees crying into his hands. He thought of telling someone but remembered he had no one. He ran away after everything. Calypso broke up with him, Jason was dead, everyone else ignored him completely or didn't know how to handle him. He wanted to start a new life. He knew he was better off alone, that Nemesis was right. He was alone and he always will be. No matter how much he missed Piper. And Hazel. And Frank and Nico and Annabeth and Percy and Reyna and Jo and Emmi... But reminded himself of what Nemesis said every time he feels that way.

When he stopped crying the moon was out and, remembering his bed was gone, just fell asleep right there.

---------

"Leo?" Thalia asked and the boy groaned.

"Oh my Gods, it is you!" She yelled and he sat up rubbing his eyes. When his vision cleared he groaned again, this time in exasperation. Of course.

"What the hell?! Where have you been?! We've been looking everywhere for you!" She yelled pointing and accusatory finger at him. He just pushed it away and glared.

"Obviously not, since it took you this long to find me." He said and she scoffed. "Gods, I forgot how selfish you were. You run off without telling anyone, and when we find you your only thinking about your dam self!"

"Maybe I'm not and you only think that because you're mad at me. For some reason, I don't know why you even care. Piper, Hazel, Nico, and the rest understandable, but you? We were never close."

"Doesn't mean I don't care." Leo laughed out loud.

"Yeah, right. I was weird back then, your attitude back then was understandable, I don't care if you like me or not." Thalia sighed her expression softening.

"Leo, if anyone understands being a runaway, it's me. Whether you ran away because you were scared, or because you felt alone, or thought you didn't belong there, we looked because we care. Even if you don't believe it." Leo sat there pondering her words. Then he glared.

"CPS says the same thing. 'We wanna help' and they never do." He said. He took a breath. "You shouldn't be worried. I'm fine. I'm an adult, I can take care of myself."

"You're 19."

"Legally, an adult. I have a job, looking for a house-"

"Yeah, sleeping on grass by a giant pile of ash is totally normal for a house."

"I'm not trying to convince you to come back. I joined The Huntress' for a reason, but just... visit? Piper really misses you."

"And as soon as she sees me again, I'm dead."

Thalia snickered. "Probably." Leo smiled at the thought.

"Just... think about it? At least?" She asked and he didn't answer before she left. He looked back at the pile of ash that was his house and sighed.

[onepiece-asl-lover]

READER my au X ASL TRIO

Part 1 "The beginning"

TW:BLOOD,SCARATCHES,BRUISES, RUNAWAY,BROKEN BONES,F!READER, TRAUMA

You are quietly walking in the hallways of the Clestial Dragon ship. Silently wiping your bloody child hands on your ripped robe,and hide in a crate that would be thrown overboard. The Celestial guards grab the crate as you cover your mouth with your hands to not make noise. The guards throw the crate over board with some other unnecessary items, not knowing they have let a slave escape.

Finally escaped.. from the hands of the Celestial Dragon. Your not sure if you will make it, just being stuck in a crate at the dead of night. So you slowly open the top of crate and go into the water as cold water hits your skin. You can still see the ship not to far away from you so you have to be quiet. You see what looks like several hills, moutains, cliff? Whatever it was it might be helpful in your escaping. You climb the cliff, your hands and feet bleeding. You keep climbing carefuly and focus on your grip or you'll fall. You almost missed your footing but regained it again and finally reached the top of the cliff.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding trying to calm yourself from the spike of adrenaline rush. You're finally...safe.. You see that up here there is a forest with trees that are 50x bigger than you. You slolwy stand up as pain washes over your body, you fall face first on the grass, dirt covering your cheek. You stand up once more now being able to hold yourself up. Throwing the hood that is attached to the robe over your head to cover your face. Now start walking into the forest.

After a couple of steps you put one foot in the ground, more like one foot in the grave as you hear your feet bone "crack"now probably broken. You shake it off and keep walking, as the chains that uses to hold you, slides on the ground, around your feet, neck, wrist..especially sea stone which was even worse. You dont dare make a sound a you step on a sharp object. "Shh"you tell yourself or they might hear you. "Run from the ship, all you need is your name" you tell yourself as you still feel the carving of your name in the seastone collar. You wipe the sweat on your brow and you feel your blood running through your veins.

You shake your head as "what if" thoughts run through your head. "Dont think twice, you'll be dead in the second. If I dont find a safe place" You think to yourself as you keep speed-walking looking for anyone who can help you. Your neck and chest are starting to ache and ache. You let out a scream in pain as you try to keep your ground. You turn your eyes from your hands to the heaven as you pray for some good luck to come. You pass through every thought that happen before being captured by the Celestial Dragons. Your life wasn't good before you got captured but you had freedom. Killed your pride.

You keep your guard up already killling a few animals that were about to attack, turning your fear into a wepon. Oh how long you've walked and your body feels like its about to collapse, your eyelids slowly closing. " No. Dont you let them take control or take my soul now" you tell yourself as you keep walking.

You see a house or somthing like that and it has people inside and god they were LOUD! "Will they help me, or mabye they w.." "no, no time for takebacks." Your vision slolwy blurring and becoming fuzzy. With the last energy you knock on the door. You see a shadow walking to the door from the inside "its not the devil at the door jeez" you hear a person say from inside and you see your shadow on the floor before you collapse onto the ground. You see in a blurty sight a big person probaly a man with orange hair and a cigar, with a white blouse. Then everything goes black.

A/n:Ima make a part 2 so dont worry, i had this idea and wanted to make a comic but thats not going to happen so im now writing a fic.

[unicyclehippo]

reminder to self: finish the dang wash prompt

[have read it too many times & now my brain is fried so that’s it!! im done!! for @possibilistfanfiction​ the ray fic as promised, i hope u enjoy it!! for everyone else, if you think you’ve read this before, that’s because the start is functionally identical to the thing i posted a few weeks back for the “wash” prompt]

//

you should have listened to your brother. 

the thought makes you shudder and you ignore it valiantly as you start your morning, because at the heart of it, that’s what you do: you’re a runaway. 

hop out of bed; don’t think about it. make breakfast in your tiny kitchen, the overhead light a little dim but bright enough against blue pre-dawn morning; don’t think about it. get ready for work, check the to-do list note in your phone twice to make sure you’ve got everything you need; don’t think about it. not thinking about it works just fine until, asshole that he is, he calls you as you’re climbing into the car. 

you think about ignoring him but as much as he ticks you off—and you know that the first or maybe last words out of his mouth are gonna be, when are you coming home, ray—it’s been three weeks since the last time you spoke and you miss him. plus, it’s not as if he’s wrong (ugh). it is lonely here, sometimes, and you have friends closeby but no family, and your stomach hurt all last winter because no one wanted to learn to surf when the water was fuck-off cold and the jobs you got to cover those in-between months didn’t ever last long enough, and he’s right about all of that but he’s wrong about it not being worth it. he’s wrong about you needing to come home, because there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here and maybe, yeah, maybe that makes you selfish or reckless or any of the other things he’d called you in anger, regretted quickly, but the smell of seasalt and smog clings to you and you feel good, healthy, when you swing into the drivers seat of your car and excitement swells up inside of you—like always, every morning without fail—because this was never about running away, not really, it was always about this. about running to something, about having a different home, about making a place where you feel right in yourself, braver and better too. maybe when you explain that to him this time, for what feels like the hundredth time, he’ll get it. 

you put the phone in its clip, up on the dash, and answer his call. 

‘hey,’ he says, voice gravelly with the early hour and the crackle of your shitty reception. ‘didn’t think you were gonna pick up. figured you were still ignoring my calls.’

god, you miss him. but he’s your brother so you won’t ever say that except under pain of torture, maybe. Instead, you say, tone clipped,

‘thought about it.’ it’s not helpful to be short with him but hell, you answered, didn’t you? It doesn’t fall on you to fix all of this. 

he sits with that for a second, then clears his throat. you can picture him clear as day: he’ll be leaning back against the counter of his kitchen, arms folded, face folded up as he listens hard to every word. there’ll be coffee brewing in a pot, and all the stuff for the kids lunches laid out ready for the assembly line. 

he tries again. you love him for this, you admire him for this—not that you’ll ever admit it to him. he never stops trying. 

‘you off to work?’

‘yeah.’

‘how’s that going?’

for a second, there’s another short answer on your lips. something terse, something not quite unkind but not welcoming or inviting. but then you think about him standing in the kitchen pre-dawn making your sandwiches, day after day, and glance to the passenger seat to your bag where you tossed the sandwich you’d made this morning in your tiny kitchen—exactly the way he used to make it, and makes now for his son and daughter—and instead you say, 

‘i have a new student.’

‘oh? kid or adult class?’

‘adult.’ 

there’s a smile in his tone, just exactly as teasing as when you were fourteen and admitted to having a crush on sophie perez (a year older than you and so much cooler), when he says, ‘is she pretty?’

‘oh, come on marco.’

‘what! i’m just asking.’

‘you’re just being nosy is what you are.’

‘sorry, sorry,’ he laughs. ‘but that’s totally a yes, by the way.’

you roll your eyes. there’s not really a word for what beatrice is. pretty, yes, absolutely. but it’s sneaky, the ways in which she’s really stunning, and even after three sessions teaching her how to surf you still feel kinda knocked around by her, not quite able to find your feet. she’s so composed, always, that it makes you feel awkward. listens so intently to your instructions and advice that under that close attention you feel singular, like the only person in the world. and, you don’t tell him, cannot tell your brother without seeming like the world’s biggest weirdo, you’ve seen her smile two and a half times. the half had been an accident; you’d turned to her at just the right moment to witness it—she’d been looking at nothing in particular, an empty spot on the beach, eyes gone wistful—but it wasn’t for you, and it wasn’t exactly happy, so it doesn’t seem right to count it as a full third. each time she smiles, it makes you want to see another with a fierceness that startles you. you are no stranger to want, nor attraction, and you know that makes up part of your fascination with beatrice but, if that were not enough, there is even more to her. 

all the rest, your brother could wheedle out of you eventually, but this is something you keep locked tightly away, something you have not ever spoken to him about. 

you should, eventually. you will (you might). 

the first time you met beatrice, spoke with her after wading up and out of the hissing surf, with her lingering on the outskirts of your lessons to “inquire how to take part”—she’d taken the sheet you’d handed her and filled it out right there and then in careful script, beatrice, she/her, twenty four, england, never surfed before, email, phone number, emergency contact, the last of which had made her pause for a long time—something in you had recognised something in her. grief, still painful, had welled up in your chest, nailed your tongue to the roof of your mouth, stung in your eyes powerfully that you’d had to turn away and run your fingers through your hair, dig your heels into the sand, step back into the wet sand and the water pooling around your ankles. the ocean takes away everything you’re not ready to feel; while you are out there, it holds you up, weightless. two minutes into talking with beatrice, you know that she wants the same thing. 

none of which you particularly want to tell your brother, so you say, ‘yeah, she’s pretty.’

‘single?’

‘i haven’t asked.’

‘you should.’

‘should i?’ 

pulling neatly into the park by the boardwalk—your favourite, for no particular reason other than this was the same one you always take, the same one you took the first day you came here, ended up here—you turn off the car but don’t make any move to get out. the engine quietens, then goes silent. marco fills the silence. saying things like how long has it been since you went on a date and you never know unless you try. you pull the keys from the ignition, toss them into the little waterproof bag you’ll take down to the sand with you. sunscreen, food, first aid kit. 

‘what happened to, it’s time to come home?’ you interrupt his teasing. 

he sighs. the line crackles, weirdly high-pitched, as the kettle begins to make noise on his end. 

‘listen, ray. i miss you. i’m not gonna pretend that’s not true, or that i don’t worry about you all the time. and with all the shit that’s been going on lately… i want you nearby. but asim said, and i guess he might be right, that i’m being overprotective. and an ass.’

you’ve thought similar things about him before. twice, just this morning. but hearing him say it, voice warm and tired and a little ashamed, makes you want to take the first plane home and hug him until all the weird, unsettled, lonely parts of you find their place. like all it’ll take to fix everything is a hug from your big brother. but you know that isn’t true. knowing it makes you feel a little old and sad. resolute too, because you’re good here, better than you were. you made this place for yourself and you’re filling it with good, important things. 

that’s far too many feelings for four a.m. so you say, ‘say asim was right again,’ and marco laughs. and then, because he was open first, and that makes it easier to follow, to admit to your own missteps, mistakes, you say, ‘i think about it all the time. coming home, i mean. i love you guys, and i do miss you guys, and you’re right. it’s hard out here. but…i love it. my life, the beach.’ he laughs again at that, which is fair. you could have said one or the other; the beach is your life, after all. ‘hey marco, i gotta go. before the waves get tired.’

‘yeah. yeah, i get it. hey - talk later?’

‘yeah. anytime.’ 

‘love you. be safe out there.’

‘always am. love you too.’

//

beatrice is waiting on the sand when you finally get down there; she’s not looking for you, just watching the sun rise, and you’re going to call out to her when something changes—maybe some ephemeral thing, little more than a change in the quality of the light when you take a step closer; maybe the way she’s holding herself, one hand folded over her wrist where you’ve seen the black ink in the divot of her wrist, delicate letters small enough that you haven’t been able to read it when you’ve snuck a peek or two before. whatever it is, you decide to give her a second on her own. 

the sand is hot on the surface and cooler beneath. you shift your weight, dig your feet down until the sand covers the tops of your feet, just to give yourself something to do. and then you stare out over the ocean and breathe. 

it’s beautiful. it’s so fucking beautiful. you’ve known this was where you were gonna end up since you were eight years old and your cousin gabriel had pinned a photo of it to your wall—no one will ever consider it a masterwork of photography, that old blurred snapshot of sand and water and the sun, and just a tiny bit of his fingertip, no one but you because it had been his and he gave it to you, because he’d stood on the beach—maybe this beach, maybe right where you are now—and loved it so much he’d taken a photo of it and you’ve got the proof of it (proof of him, always) tucked into a book on your bedside. 

‘good morning.’

you drag your eyes away from the sunrise—super gorgeous, thin wispy clouds like cotton-candy, pink in the sunlight, striped across the distant horizon, and everything shimmering in what, logically, you know is the smog haze but for a second it can just be beautiful too—to find that beatrice has wandered up to join you. she’s watching you with the attentive curiosity you’ve come to expect—warmer than polite, cooler than inviting. 

‘hey, morning. sorry i’m late—got caught up talking to my brother.’

she nods her understanding. it has a thoughtful tilt to it, or maybe questioning. ‘does he live elsewhere in the world?’

‘excuse me?’

‘it’s early for a call. is he in another timezone?’

you don’t think she’s interrogating you, or she doesn’t mean to interrogate you. you actually think she’s trying to be nice and show interest, so you say, ‘well, he’s home—mexico—so… i think it’s an hour later for him. something like that. but he’s a get-up-and-go kinda guy—has been, ever since i took up surfing. he used to drive me to the water when i was a kid.’

‘older brother, then.’

‘only by a couple of years.’ you roll your eyes, ‘that’s all he needs to get up in my business.’

‘that’s what brothers are for. so i hear.’

‘true.’ you think about saying something more, because all you want to do right now is keep talking to her as long as possible, preferably forever, but that urge seems like a you problem, and something that’ll get washed away the second you dunk your head in the water. ‘okay! hey - mind taking this board and i’ll run back for the other one?’

when you return with your board, hauled down off the roof of your car, beatrice has set her sandals neatly beside her tote a few meters up from the tideline where it’ll all stay dry. you dump your bag right beside hers and jog to join her, check her out with a quick look. of the wetsuit, that is, that you had advised her to buy if surfing was something she wanted to keep doing. 

she crouches, wets her hands, and secures the leash of her board carefully around her ankle. 

‘good job!’ you compliment, because it’s four-something in the morning and, yeah, it’s your choice to get up this early but that doesn’t mean you’re firing on all cylinders yet. you want to say something impressive and kind and get her eyes on you because she’s pretty and interesting but, here’s the thing, most of the time you’re teaching children so the compliment comes out the way you would say it to little jayla (eight years old and nervous about everything and therefore, in your opinion, the bravest little soul in the world for keeping at it). 

beatrice looks over at you, amused, and you earn your third full smile from her. 

she’s laughing at you, definitely, which you don’t mind, have never minded when it comes to girls; years of report cards scrunched at the bottom of your bag, with comments amounting to smart enough but needs to spend more time listening and less time clowning around for the girls will back you up in that regard. your mami despaired of your grades and your attention (or lack of it) and she had chided you then, sat you down at the kitchen table opposite her as you made dinner together for the whole family, splitting the excess. she scolded—and pressed a ripped piece of bolillo into your hand to tide you over to dinner—she lamented—and passed over a bowl, diced tomatoes, crisp and red—and she talked to you about hard work and the importance of school and respect for your teachers and you know now that it was all love, that loud bright kitchen and how she made you handle it all together, space and work and life; you didn’t have the words to explain then—though you remember trying, loudly—that you knew, or thought, you were only really any good at two things, that most of the time you feel like you’re sleepwalking through your life and it’s only when you’re out there in the water, or making your friends laugh, that you feel totally real and vital and incredible. 

here, today, beatrice’s eyes are on you and you’ve made her smile (laugh, even). you feel invincible.

you laugh at yourself. run a hand through your hair. ‘you wouldn’t believe how many people put their wetsuits on backwards, or don’t bother with the leg rope, so. really, you’re doing great.’

she shrugs very slightly, cheeks gone a little pink under the compliment, or the sunrise, or maybe—a girl can dream—your singular attention. ‘thank you, then.’

‘sure,’ you say, and, ‘i can get your zip for you, if that’s okay? it’s not quite all the way up.’

‘thank you, yes.’ 

she turns away from you so you can fix it and you do, immediately and without lingering. she has freckles across her shoulders; the teeth of the zipper tug closed, swallow up the sight of them. you think, briefly, about kissing her there on the back of her neck, her shoulders, of taking a zip between your fingers and pulling it down. 

‘how does it feel? i know the wetsuits can be weird at first.’

‘it’s fine. i’ve worn stranger.’

you desperately want to ask for details but, aside from her first name, you don’t know anything much about her except that she wants to learn surfing, and probably the first time you ask for more information shouldn’t be about what she’s worn, even though your brain is filled with all kinds of theories. so instead you swallow back a flirty comment—also she is paying you to teach her, you remember abruptly, and maybe you should wait until after the lesson to flirt with her—and nod to the water. 

‘let’s hit it, then.’

the sand is golden, and the ocean is starting to turn gold under the sunlight, and you feel a bit golden too. you think idly, self-indulgent, you want heaven to be like this. a golden beach, with everyone you’ve ever loved on it with you. you take it in—a great start to the morning—and, smiling, run forward into the water.

/

she’s lighter, after surfing. 

in your first few lessons, you weren’t sure whether it would be like that for her. it’s not the physical part—she’s obviously fit and athletic enough to be good at surfing (you’ve noticed); there’s this…relaxation isn’t the right word, meditative is close but too dramatic for your tastes.

it’s like this. you paddle out to the calm, past the small waves that break close to the shoreline, and sit on your board and wait, legs dangling in the water, fingers drifting over the surface of it. maybe you sit in silence, maybe you chat with your buddy. and then you pick out a wave and then there’s this feeling when the wave swells and you catch it just right—you’re a little outside of yourself, entirely out of your head, and you experience it totally, trusting the wave to carry you and your body to move the way you’ve taught it to. you thought, when you first met her, that beatrice was too contained for that, every movement so precise, so controlled, intentional and intelligent and totally present, always watched, always watching herself. if there’s anyone who needs to get out of their head, you thought then and think now, it’s beatrice. 

and now. it’s only been four lessons, four days of knowing her split up over a couple weeks. you’re sitting on your board, legs in the water, cold spray in your face. august and siti—a couple of the regulars, friendly, you talk sometimes enough to say hello at the least, and lent august your sunscreen last week when they forgot to pack some even though it is not cheap—are a decent way further out. you see a good wave start to roll in and before you can say anything to beatrice, she’s already spotted it and moving. you stay where you are, watching as she catches it alone so you can check her form and you see it happen. she pops up smooth and rides it all the way in. a second later, you’re searching for a wave you can catch and wave at her to stay; you tumble off in the shallows, not your most graceful wave ever, and rush up to her. beatrice is smiling (four and a half, you think, totally brainless), big and so pleased, and you can’t help but grin back at her. 

‘you felt it!’ you call out—accuse, almost—when you’re close and she laughs. slicks her hair back off her face with a trembling hand. 

‘i - i think - yes, i did, yes.’ she’s breathing hard, from excitement you think—she’s caught waves before, bigger ones even, but this is different and you can tell. it’s entirely confirmed when she reaches out, clasps your wrist, and smiles—all for you. (five and a half.) ‘thank you, thank you.’

‘yes,’ you say, a little brainless, a little helpless. ‘of course.’

(fourteen years old, madly in love with sophie perez and madly heart-broken when you spotted her hand-in-hand with some scruffy-haired unfunny boy, your cousin gabriel had driven far across town to pick you up and, ignoring the impressive sulk you’d sunken into, packed you into his car and took you to the beach. he hadn’t spoken to you at all while you cried into his shoulder, his arm thin and strong around you, holding you tight, a tether, and when you roughly scrubbed the tears off your shame-hot face, he’d smacked your hands away and pulled a pack of tissues from his bag, cleaned you up carefully. nodded when he was done, approving. and then he stood and walked knee-deep into the water, not seeming to care that he was in jeans or that you’d have to get back into his car in wet clothes. 

love is like the ocean, he’d said. 

you remember rolling your sore eyes because at fourteen years old you already knew that love wasn’t the ocean. love was enjoying all the same music and turning up early to class to get the seat across from hers and the way your heart sped up when you passed her in the hall and staying up way too late dreaming of ways to make her laugh in class the next day. but gabriel was your favourite so you listened carefully, and you’re thankful for that now because you can remember so much. his dark curls, the smudge of his eyeshadow, how cold the water had been on your skin, how warm his arm had been around your shoulders.

not everyone loves her the same way. some people stay for a day and then head back to the mountains. he’d paused. mountains are, i dunno, a loveless marriage in this metaphor. you’d laughed at him. some people paint it, or make movies, but they never swim in it. some people sail out in their nice boats and go fishing. take what they want from her and head back to dry land. but for people like us? gabriel wore rings on his fingers and a shirt, tight, in a dusky kind of orange. love for us is like the ocean. we could drown in it and it wouldn’t be enough. he had a boyfriend in the city, and was beautiful and proud and kind, and you’d looked out over the calm sea and thought the world must be really different for him, vibrant and strange and wonderful. you felt special, nestled into his side. 

people like us, he’d said, and you remember because you remember everything about that afternoon, that in amongst his kindness, he’d sounded sad.)

you’re not fourteen anymore. you love the ocean more than you love anything else. when beatrice smiles at you, your heart swells, crashes, drags you under. you love her, too.

/

‘i love surfing,’ you tell her later, pleasantly tired. 

you trudge up toward the car park, stumble a little at the tide-mark where wet sand turns dry and gives way under your weight. you swear under your breath; every spare moment of your life has been spent at one beach or another, and you’d think that would earn some kind of loyalty perk, like, never tripping over your feet in front of cute girls, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. but beatrice only laughs, kindly, and puts a hand out to steady you and you don’t need it but you take it, of course. beatrice is slimmer than you, and a little taller, and far more graceful; you wonder if she’s ever tripped over anything in her life. her hand is cool from the water and calloused and scarred, which you didn’t entirely expect but makes a kind of sense in the collage you’re putting together in your head of what little scraps of information she’s given you.

beatrice takes her hand back; you keep your observations to yourself. 

‘you love surfing,’ she prompts. and then, ‘i’m starting to love it too, i think.’

‘it’s okay if you don’t, i won’t think less of you,’ you say, only lying a little bit, which you think she knows because she arches an eyebrow in your direction. you grin back. ‘of course i hope you do. but if you’re only coming to lessons for my many charms, i completely understand.’

‘is it hard? surfing, with such a large head?’ she snarks, unimpressed but eyes bright.

‘god never gives us more than we can handle,’ you say, absolutely facetious, absolutely cocky. she looks away. you put “doesn’t like jokes about god” in the collage of beatrice and move on. ‘you thanked me. earlier. you don’t need to. you’re paying me, first of all,’ you tease, ‘but. i love surfing for what it is, for myself, out there alone. i love every bit of it. but the teaching part… i didn’t expect to love that. it’s turned out to be so cool. getting to know all kinds of people, introduce them to surfing. and the water, too, sometimes. watching them fall in love with…’ 

you stop at the rocks and look behind you. the strip of sand, the greedy suck of the tide crawling higher up the beach, the shimmering green-glass sea.

‘with all of that.’

you think about being embarrassed about your tone—way too sincere, way too holy—but when you meet her eyes you see she understand this, too: that holy can be found outside the cathedral, that hymns can be the raucous gull shriek and wave crash and breath. 

‘getting to partake, and teach, and do what i love every day? honestly my genuine pleasure.’

the words bring something complicated to her face. sad? wistful? a little angry, definitely. her eyes return to the view; you stay looking at her, not keen to lose whatever she might say to the crash and hiss of the waves. 

‘i wish…’ she holds herself still. she’s lost the lightness surfing brought her; you don’t know if it’s your fault, you hope it isn’t, or if it was never going to last very long for her. ‘i wish i had that.’

if you were thinking about it properly, you don’t know beatrice or her situation well enough to give advice. but you like her, and you want to be able to help, and you get the impossibly strong (if slightly uncertain) vibe of queerness absolutely radiating off her and that you understand. plus, surfing makes you brave—a little stupid in that invincible way, like nothing can hurt you, like nothing can truly go wrong, like anything that does go wrong can be fixed—so, picking up your board again, you head off toward your car once more and she follows. 

as you walk, you say, ‘i think you can have it. i think you can make it. joy, passions, a life you want to live… that doesn’t fall out of the sky, you know?’ she flinches at that but you keep going, since you already dove in. ‘most of the time, you have to work for it. all of the time, it’s about making decisions and figuring out what’s important. figuring out who you are—how you feel, how you want to exist, what you want to do. and then you have to find your way there.’ scraping your fingers through your hair, pushing it back out of your eyes, you take a second to think. ‘once you know the life you want to have, you can go out and get it. a little at a time.’

she stops where the sand hits concrete, which you get. the beach feels worlds away from reality, sometimes, and you get wanting to stay there as long as possible. everything seems smaller, compared to the ocean. more manageable. you stand there with her.

‘what if what i want is impossible?’

‘…damn. great question. i don’t know. set yourself an easier goal?’ that startles her, and for a moment you think it would have been better to be gentle or sincere but then she laughs, louder than before. god, you think, thank you for letting me meet her. thank you for letting me make her laugh. ‘i don’t always turn into a life coach and give unasked for advice after surfing, i swear. it costs ten bucks more for that package, if you want to spring for that next time, but hey, first one for free.’

‘perhaps i will. you seem to have all the answers.’

‘maybe not all of them but yeah, i know some stuff.’ you let sincerity bleed through, here, because you joke around but there’s something serious and seriously healing about being with other people, being able to be open and honest with them, and you can be that for beatrice, if she wants. 

‘what about you?’

‘what about me?’

‘you made the decision to come here,’ beatrice says, with that faintly accusing, faintly interrogative tone she gets. ‘why?’ 

ah. here is what your invincibility gets you—the sting of salt in your eyes; a heavy pressure against your head, your ears, like you’ve dunked you head beneath the waves and all you can hear is the slam of your pulse; and that feeling—one that doesn’t hit so often anymore—that you are just one little creature treading water at the top of the vast ocean, alone, with no one around to help you out. 

it only lasts for a few seconds. 

you’ve talked to people, on and off, for a few years. and you know how to ground yourself in the here and now—the heat of the sand, the sun on your shoulders, your hair drying into careless waves and curling a little around your ears, tickling your jaw, the taste of salt and lip balm when you lick your lips, the click of your wrist when you flex it. 

you step off the sand and into the parking lot, toward your car. for a minute, you work in silence getting your board up onto the rack; the work helps but the collar of your wetsuit is soaked and heavy, tight around your throat. when you turn back to help beatrice with her board, you grab for the zipper and tug it down an inch, let it slacken so you can breathe better. 

it has been a long enough delay in answering her that she’s starting to make assumptions, observations of her own. she also has the faintly horrified look of someone who has stepped in something gross—dog shit, or, in this case, brought up a more deeply personal conversation than she was prepared for—and looks like she’s searching desperately for a way to change the subject. but it was a direct question, an honest one and not unfair, not one you’re unhappy answering, so you say, 

‘when i say you make decisions, choices…things happen to us in life and we can’t control that shit. but you get to decide what to do after that. something… something kinda rough happened in my life.’ you look at her, and think of a grief so profound that you have to wear it on your skin. you flex your hands, and look down at the tattoo on her wrist that you still haven’t taken the time to examine, not visible under the sleeve of her wetsuit. ‘my cousin died,’ you tell her. ‘he was really important to me. and after that, i chose to come here. left my hometown, my family, and started again. i’d wanted to do it for ages and i guess i realised this was the only life i was gonna get. so here i am. and that,’ you say, tone much lighter, ‘is all you’re getting out of me this morning. you know how it goes—just a little of a great thing at a time. can’t risk you getting sick of me, can i?’ 

beatrice looks at you for a long moment, fingers resting on her wrist. eventually, she shakes her head, passes over her board. ‘i’m not sick of you.’’

‘oh yeah?’ you hoist up the board and fix it in place. when you look back over your shoulder, you mean to say something teasing but lose your head because she’s looking at you—your back, your arms. you flex a little more than you need to and her eyes dart to your muscles, your wrists, and linger on your tattooed hands. 

she turns away with pink cheeks you’re certain isn’t the sun’s fault. clasps her hands behind her back. 

‘thank you,’ she says, sincerely. ‘for sharing that with me.’

‘sure, of course.’ it’s not really an of course. you can count on two hands the number of people you would talk to about gabriel. but it’s an of course for her. you don’t think too hard about it. 

‘and for the lessons.’

that makes you laugh. ‘the ones you are paying for? you’re welcome.’  it’s kind of obvious at this point that she’s just looking for things to say, to hang out a little longer, and you take pity on her. and also, you want to spend more time with her too so, hey, works out perfectly. ‘if you’re not busy, if you don’t have to run off, maybe we can talk some more? i don’t have to be anywhere for a while and there’s this place down the road—a few minutes that way, walking distance, easy. decent coffee, great view. we could get coffee. breakfast, even.’

beatrice turns super slowly and stiffly to look in the direction you point. it’s a long, long moment before she looks at you.

‘as a date?’

‘hopefully, yeah.’

‘oh.’ her eyes dart around the mostly empty parking lot—it can’t be later than six, if that—and suddenly contained seems a little more like hidden. ‘I’m—that’s kind of you—’ she swallows. sets her shoulders, her jaw, and meets your eyes. ‘i have a partner.’

‘that makes sense.’ you wonder, briefly, what her partner is like. you hope they’re stoic and serious as beatrice is, because if they’re hot and funny like you it’ll be vaguely devastating. maybe you’ll get to meet them. ‘as friends, then.’ beatrice hesitates. ‘would your partner be cool with that?’

beatrice smiles again, one of those not-for-you smiles. you think again, more fervently, that you’d like to meet her partner—they must be something seriously special to have captured beatrice’s attention, first of all, but to get her to smile like that… 

‘she’d be delighted, actually.’ she touches her wrist and nods. ‘yes. thank you. i - we - can do that. get coffee.’

she makes it sound revolutionary, like she’s never had coffee before, which you know is not the case because you’d mentioned, offhand, that if one more goddamn politician or bank twitter account advised people to save money and make coffee at home you were gonna lose it, and she’d agreed that she preferred homemade tea and store-bought coffee, and mentioned an article she’d read on how coffee was produced and how it worked, which she though was “quite interesting” and when she forwarded it to your e-mail it wasn’t a think piece like you’d been expecting but rather a fourteen page research article, peer-reviewed, on the social aspects of caffeine consumption, or something like that. there’s genuine nerves in her rigid posture, and you think of how revolutionary, world-changing, bold, fucking terrifying and a little bloody it’s been to get here, where you’re standing now. 

‘cool. if you’ve got time after, there’s this surf shop—it’s a bit of a hike but,’ you flick your eyes to the cloudless blue sky overhead. ‘nice day for it. we can look at a couple of boards for you. i’m happy to go with you, help you find something good. borrowing a board is fine while you’re learning but it’ll be easier and feel better when you’ve got one that’s properly suited to you.’

she nods seriously, the way she always does when you talk about surfing, student to teacher. ‘i - would like that.’ 

‘yeah? awesome, alright!’ 

//

the cafe is a decent size and decently popular, which normally makes it hard to get a seat sometimes but today is a day of miracles and a couple is clearing out right as you get in, freeing up a table in the laneway. it’s in a good spot, shaded by one of the wide umbrellas and not in the way of the servers, so you sit sideways in your chair and happily stretch out your legs, pluck off your sunglasses and hang them off the collar of your t-shirt. opposite, beatrice tucks herself into her seat prim and proper, no surprises there; what does surprise you is how still she sits and how, even though you know that she agreed—wants—to be here, it’s like she’s trying to go invisible. 

the server who brings out your drinks is young and harried, doesn’t even pause when you thank him. you’d ordered an espresso, and beatrice had asked for the same, but now she’s staring down at it doubtfully.

‘did you want something else?’

she shakes her head no. ‘i’d like to try it. this is your preferred coffee?’

‘my abuelo makes the meanest espresso you’ve ever had. this is water in comparison.’

‘oh.’

‘but it’s a nice place and i like the beans they use here. i really should ask what their blend is one of these days but,’ you shrug. ‘i don’t have a machine at home so what’s the point, right?’

she nods. picks up the little cup and sips at it. immediately, her nose wrinkles and her lips twist and her perfect posture breaks for a second as she bodily fights the urge to say, presumably, judging by her grimace, ‘yuck!’ she lowers it but doesn’t set it down, like it would be impolite to abandon it immediately, and watches with the tiniest grimace as you drink it happily. 

‘not for you?’

‘at risk of sounding like a stereotype, i am more of a tea drinker. this is…rather a powerful taste.’ she looks a little guilty setting it back down. ‘do you mind if i order something else?’

‘no, course not. but i might judge you on what you get,’ you tease, grinning, and she just rolls her eyes, nods. you split your attention between enjoying the morning and watching the line creep forward until she’s at the register, shake your head when she folds another note into the tip jar. 

she comes back to the table with another coffee—an oatmilk latte, with lavender of all things—and, as promised, you tease her gently about it.

‘really settling in, aren’t you? very LA of you,’ you say, and pretend to gag. ‘lavender. gross.’

beatrice smiles over the lip of her cup, shakes her head. ‘your favourite drink tastes like battery acid, i don’t think your opinion counts.’

‘ouch.’ 

‘you mentioned your abuelo,’ she says. ‘do you have much family?’

talking about family is easy, even if beatrice does make it a little of an interrogation—she gets everyone’s names and ages, nodding with this intense look in her eyes like she’s filing it away somewhere in her brain, like if you never spoke again and ran into each other in ten years she would still remember. you don’t have anything to hide, happy to tell her: yes, you’ve been here a while, a little over five years; surfing has always been your favourite thing to do; no, it’s not your only job, you have a very boring desk job but the boring bits are compensated by the fact that you get to work from home and your boss is kind of amazing about letting you take your afternoon run down to the beach and back; yes, you’re queer, you’ve known forever and so has your family, and yes they’re fine with it, very supportive, and they love you the same as they always did after you came out. 

‘barely needed to, really. my mami said she knew since i was like ten, eleven, maybe. all because i followed my tennis coach around like a duckling, which makes sense because i can’t think of why else i would play tennis, it fucking sucks.’ beatrice sips guardedly at her coffee, looking away, and it’s so carefully inoffensive that you have to laugh. ‘tell me you don’t love tennis, beatrice, please.’

she shrugs carefully. ‘i’ve enjoyed it in the past. both playing and spectating.’

you groan. ‘no, beatrice! christ.’

‘it’s an olympic sport—‘

‘it’s dead boring,’ you insist.

beatrice frowns at you, considering. ‘you’re bad at it,’ she announces after a moment, very confident. ‘if you were better at it, perhaps you’d enjoy it more.’ you laugh, shrug a little, because she’s hit the nail on the head. she continues, ‘to its credit, tennis has serena williams, the most incredible athlete—‘

‘messi.’

‘team sport,’ she counters, and you cede the point with a nod.

‘certainly she’s the greatest tennis player of all time—‘

‘oh undoubtedly.’

‘—and it’s also one of the only sports that pays men and women equal prize money, and has mixed competitions.’

‘great points,’ you allow. ‘and yet, somehow it’s still fucking boring.’ beatrice fully scowls, shaking her head, and you have to ask, ‘are you rethinking being friends with me?’ 

she relents after a moment. sets down her drink with a sigh. ‘we can be friends,’ she tells you after a moment. ‘so long as we’re on the same page regarding serena williams.’

‘i’d love to regard serena williams.’

‘you should watch tennis, then,’ beatrice tells you bluntly, and smiles, pleased, when you laugh hard at that.

‘okay. you know everything about me now so what about you?’

‘what about me?’

you push a hand through your hair, ruffle it; her eyes follow the movement, your hands, and then she stares down at her coffee. ‘how long have you been in LA?’ 

‘a month. perhaps a little less.’

‘and you came here because…?’ when she hesitates, you say, ‘wait, wait, let me guess—you’re going to be in movies, right?’ she laughs like that’s ridiculous—even if one in five people you meet here is an aspiring actor, and none of them as compelling or, honestly, attractive as beatrice is—and relaxes. ‘ok, not movies. tv?’

‘no, i’m not here to act. i’m here to…’ she picks up a knife off the table, turns the cutlery smoothly between her fingers. ‘settle, i suppose. i’ve been travelling for some time.’

‘oh yeah? where to?’ 

it takes a little nudging for her to get going but when she does, she speaks very sincerely of the world, of its people and religions, of sights natural and man-made. she’s light on details but you can tell that the travel was important and life-changing, which you sort of understand. you haven’t been many places but every town away from where you grew up felt like a whole new world, like freedom, and you can only imagine that beatrice’s travelling was like that but no doubt on a far grander scale. 

‘and your partner? what are they like?’ you ask, and immediately know that you’ve fucked up, because beatrice looks abruptly striken. ‘sorry, i -‘

‘no. it’s fine. she - ‘ a little of the horror in her fades the moment she says she, like even the thought of her partner is enough to soothe, but most of it stays. she picks up one of the paper napkins, twists it harshly between her fingers. ‘she’s sick.’

sick, she says, voice thick, unsteady. it occurs to you that she’s lying, trying to soften the blow or maybe deny it to herself again, but beatrice doesn’t seem like a liar. you choose to believe her. this is what it was, you realise. the source of that grief you’d felt, seen, ever since you first met her. you recognise the grief in her eyes—loss, fear, confusion too, like she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself. you remember that. the fog, the ache, when he was gone like an organ removed and your life having to close and heal around the lack. trying to find something that filled in that empty space, or fit enough that it didn’t hurt so much. 

love for us is like the ocean. that’s true for you, then and now. you don’t think it’s the same for beatrice. 

there’s love in every part of her—the joy and the waiting, the grief and the hurting—and there’s a cross around her neck that drags low, heavy, and there are words on her wrist that stand out stark against her skin and you think for beatrice love is like religion, holy, dedicated, faithful. you’re terrified that she’s waiting for a miracle that will never come; you hope, of course you hope and will pray for it tonight, that she gets it.

it’s also far too much to consider on a weekday before coffee, and you’ve already planned to keep her in your life in whatever capacity you can, so. you can talk about it later. 

‘oh. that’s -’ beatrice looks like if you say another word she’s gonna bolt; if she does, you’re not sure that she’ll come to her next lesson, even if she has already paid for it. instead of condolences or well wishes, you say, ‘do you wanna hear about the time i hopped a fence and ripped my pants? right in the butt.’

she wasn’t expecting that in the slightest, obviously. a small smile curls her lips upwards and she resettles, looking dramatically less like she’s going to flee. ‘yes. that sounds very amusing.’

‘it’s funny now, sure, but back then? first of all, i got teased a lot. and second, it fucking stung,’ you bemoan, grinning when she looks a little unsure of whether this was, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. she relaxes a little more and you thank god and your parents and brother that you get to be the person you are, someone who can make other people laugh. that’s not a bad life–surfing at the beach, a boring job, and making your friends laugh? not bad at all. 

‘sounds like a pain in the ass.’ beatrice says, looking very pleased with her joke when it makes you groan, which is a lot better than her looking devastated. ‘what happened?’

‘usual idiot kid stuff. playing footy with my brother, kicked the ball over the neighbours fence. i thought i could jump it, get it back for us, and i did. mostly,’ you add after a tiny pause. then, slyly, you say, ‘the only reason i didn’t rip my boxers and my pants is because i was going commando.’

‘no.’ 

‘better a cut up my ass than ruining my good boxers,’ you wink, and beatrice laughs.

it’s just as easy as that to turn the conversation to lighter topics. she knows what you’re doing—you can tell, because her smile is occasionally too grateful than is deserved for just a chat over coffee—but she allows you to do it, and all too soon it’s been an hour and she’s buying you a second coffee, takeaway this time, and tipping, like, two hundred per cent with the most pristine notes you’ve ever seen tucked away in this slim handsome wallet, and you’re walking lazily, slowly back the way you’d come toward the beach. it’s not really a surprise that she declines the offer of heading to the surf shop—she still seems a bit unsteady after the mention of her partner—and you’re a little worried that she’ll disappear from your life now so you slow your pace when you see your car, twirl your keys around your finger. 

‘what is it, ray?’ she asks, a touch cautious but mostly good-natured, curious. 

‘busted. i was just thinking… you have a partner—major bummer, by the way,’ you tease, which is a fucking risk, but she manages a tiny smile. ‘mostly for you, because i was gonna ask you out and it would’ve been a good time, i know all the coolest places in LA.’ her cheeks go a little pink but she’s still smiling, so, ‘so despite being heart-broken, i’m going to this party tomorrow night. just a small thing, house party with a bunch of folks i go surfing with. you’ll probably meet most of them, if you keep up the dawn patrol, but it might be nice to get to know them out of the water. y’know, wearing clothes.’ much more seriously, much more sincerely, you tell her, ‘it’s absolutely cool if you want to be with your partner, or if you’re not going out much, but i wanted to invite you anyway. i think you’d enjoy it. very casual scene—music, some beers, a disproportionate amount of queer folk. plus, i’ll be there looking hot, that’s always a plus. you can be my wingwoman!’

beatrice frowns, considering her words carefully. ‘my partner is… she’s in a speciality hospital so i don’t get to visit her. i - promised her i would have some fun,’ she tells you, fingers brushing against her wrist. in this life, you’ve managed to read now, sitting opposite her for an hour in the morning sunlight, drinking coffee that almost tastes like home, sitting in a body and a life that entirely feels at home, and you look across at beatrice and see someone who is almost there. almost certain, almost sure, almost happy. ‘yes,’ she says, after taking a bolstering breath. brave, you think, with sudden fondness, protective. it comes to you, a splinter of a memory, being afraid of the ocean; gabriel plunging in ahead of you with such joy that you forgot. ‘yes,’ she says again, ‘i’d love to come to the party.’

‘amazing!’ 

‘and, while i find it difficult to imagine you would have a problem finding people to go on dates with you, yes, i will be your…wingwoman, if you require it. what is the dress code?’

‘too hot for leather, unfortunately,’ you tease, and have the extreme delight of watching beatrice stumble over literally nothing, ears going pink. so, so valiantly you manage to not comment on it. instead, you say, ‘wear whatever makes you feel good and happy. hot, if you want to feel hot. that’s always the rule.’

‘you get to decide what you do.’ it takes you a second to place her words—they’re your words, from this morning, which makes you smile because she’s quoting you, very seriously and kindly like that actually helped her, maybe. ‘i do best with rules, or a guideline,’ she mutters, but sets her shoulders and nods, decisive. ‘i’ll find something to wear. you have my number.’

‘from your form, i do, yeah. it’s cool if i text you?’

‘yes.’

‘alright. awesome, i’ll pin the address for you.’

‘good.’ 

beatrice walks you all the way to your car, shakes your hand like you’ve just concluded a job interview, and then continues on quickly. she’s got a white-knuckle grip on the handle of her tote bag and walks away with this quick, neat stride that makes you feel self-conscious about your own walk, like maybe you’ve been doing it wrong for your whole life. more importantly, there’s about a thirty per cent change that beatrice will actually turn up at this party but you’ve hoped for things with worse odds that were way less important to you than this, so you easily, recklessly hope that she’ll turn up. 

//

the likelihood of beatrice actually showing up is still low, you remind yourself, even though she had texted this morning to accept and had thanked you very sincerely - and formally - for the invitation. the uber drops you off on the corner where you had agreed to meet and you hop out, saying a cheerful goodbye to your driver, rajeev, who had taken one look at you and nodded and switched his playlist to something titled GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS which…accurate. he totally earned his five stars and you’re clicking through to leave a quick review—clean car, GREAT music—when beatrice calls your name. 

‘hey! you came!’

beatrice strides up the street to join you. the timing of her arrival three seconds after yours is odd enough that, for a second, you wonder if she’s been waiting and for how long. then, you get distracted by beatrice in her gay ass outfit—lightwash jeans, loose, that fall to her ankles; a soft-looking crewneck, blue; and birkenstocks that are either brand new or excruciatingly well-cared for, with not a speck of dirt on the white sandals—and realise you’ve made a huge mistake. there’s no way beatrice can be your wingwoman. every queer woman in this house will flock to her and her damn british accent and her freckles and her polite, comfortable, slightly masculine air, and the way she looks at everyone like they’re important. god. beatrice is devastating at four in the morning in a wetsuit, hair slicked back with ocean water; she’s devastating now, with the sleeves of her crew folded just once, precisely, enough to show off the dip of her wrists, and her hair pinned up in a pristine bun. 

she stops mid-step, looks you up and down, and you stop calling yourself an idiot long enough to preen. with beatrice coming tonight, you felt like getting a little dressy and picked everything with slightly more care, ending up in a satin-type top you’ve tucked into high-waisted pants. it drapes open rather handsomely almost to your belly button—you’ve only done up half the buttons tonight, because you believe sincerely in being god’s gift to women and it’s your duty to parade around with a little skin showing, enough to tantalize. maybe a little slutty, just for fun. you’ve got a few chains hanging around your neck, and some rings on your fingers. 

‘oh, i am gay,’ beatrice mutters when she gets a good look at you. ‘sorry - that’s,’

you wave off her apology or whatever she’s going to say, because a compliment is a compliment and that is a damn good compliment, especially coming from her. 

‘delighted to be of service, honestly. any time you need reminding.’ you stroll over to greet her properly—not a hug, but an obvious once over, so she can see how much you approve of her look too, and then a tap to her elbow in hello—and she examines you a second time, looking marginally less embarrassed to get caught. this time, her eyes linger on your necklaces; no, your cross. 

‘catholic?’ 

‘born and raised. you?’ 

she only nods, lips pursed. glancing around, she says, ‘the party is around here?’

‘yeah. oh, yeah, it’s on this street. one minute walk, maybe two.’ she looks a little confused and you admit, ‘i wasn’t sure if you actually wanted to come. i wanted to meet up with you first, make sure you were comfortable.’

rather than being offended, beatrice relaxes. ‘that’s kind of you.’

‘well, i want you to have fun. it will be fun,’ you insist, and start in the direction of luis’s place. ‘i’ll take care of you tonight, i promise—you can drink, if you want, or smoke. no pressure. i’ll stay sober anyway. but what i really want is to introduce you to my friends, i really think you’ll like them.’

‘because we’re all queer?’ beatrice guesses, a note of something odd in her tone. it’s not suspicion, but something akin to it. 

‘yeah, sure. i know what it’s like moving to a new place and not knowing anyone, it’s rough. especially for us,’ you say, light on the emphasis but apparent enough that beatrice looks at you again, and nods to herself. ‘but aside from being queer, i just really think you’ll like them. luis is the one hosting tonight. they’re super smart, they’re finishing a phd in anthropology, movement in borderlands—oh, and they will offer you weed every half hour but that’s not you, and you don’t have to accept, it’s just their idea of hospitality.’ beatrice nods very solemnly. you can practically hear the information being locked away in her brain and the image makes you smile. ‘it’s this one, up ahead.’

as promised, the party is pretty chill—low lights, not too packed, good music. it’s a really nice night and there are a few folk standing around on the porch, drinks in hand; when you get in, you’ll probably find most of the guests have spilled out into the back yard. plus, you’re only a few streets back from the beach—based on the last few parties luis has hosted, the beach is where you’ll end up in a few hours. 

beatrice stops outside the house, stares in through the open door. she touches two fingers to her wrist. you stand with her, beside her, and part of you aches because you know that there is someone else who should be here, who she wants very badly to be here, and it seems terribly unfair that something this simple - a party, new friends, the distant sound of the ocean - isn't simple at all.

‘all good?’

‘thank you,’ she says, softly. ‘for inviting me. and don’t say you need a wingwoman because i sincerely doubt that.’

you grin. run a hand through your hair in a way that makes you look particularly douchey, according to your ex. ‘thanks. i appreciate that. and no, i don’t need a wingwoman but it can’t hurt... except if the girls hear that accent, actually,’ you say with a thoughtful frown, like it’s only occurring to you now that beatrice is hot. you step in front of her like you’re blocking her way to the house, even as you back up toward the house, the party. ‘this is bad, i’ve made a huge mistake, you gotta go,' you insist, teasingly.

beatrice laughs and follows you in.

[theicarusconstellation]

zelda tangled au anyone?

genderfluid link. runaway princess zelda.

imagine ganon knows only link can defeat him so he kidnaps him as a six year old and takes him to an abandoned tower in hyrule forest with the intention of corrupting him and the master sword to get them on his side. zelda has been told all her life that the power of hylia is in her, but she hasn't unlocked it yet, and the pressure is getting too much so she sets off to find the "legendary future swordswoman" who went missing years ago because "if i can't unlock my powers, maybe she can help me."

one day, she finds the master sword (which ganondorf has been hiding near the tower because he's saving it for when he finally figures out a way to corrupt it, harness its power, and take over hyrule). she's like "oh my god what if the swordswoman is around here somewhere😱."

MEANWHILE link is in the tower with their gorgeous long hair (and maybe wolf link as a sidekick instead of pascal?), and every year on his birthday, the leaders of all the villages get together and hold a little mourning/prayer ceremony for her bc signs of the calamity are approaching fast, and they're hoping link shows up soon, especially with zelda's power not being awakened yet. link desperately wants to go see the ceremony (they don't know what it's for, just that there are a lot of beautiful lights and the dragons of hyrule all come together as well), but obviously ganondorf won't let him.

THEN zelda finds the tower and scales it. link is all "HYAH!!!!!!" and the scene where eugene is trapped in the chair with rapunzel's hair plays out between the two of them except it's just a lot of link being like 😡😡and zelda being like 🤭omg this guy's reallly good with a weapon...looks a lot like the descriptions of...WAIT OMG ITS THE LEGENDARY SWORDSWOMAN🤭 link is like "i mean 1/3 woman i guess."

eventually, zelda convinces link to leave the tower with a bargain like "if i take you to the swordswoman ceremony, will you tell me about ganondorf?" (she already suspects it's THE ganondorf ykyk), and link is hesitant because zelda is telling them that the person they've been raised by is evil, but he really wants to see the ceremony, so he goes. they cut their hair to its length in totk and it really validates her gender yk? and when zelda sees how happy link is in her newfound freedom and gender expression she's like "well i have to tell him the truth about who he is"

she doesn't want to because it'll shatter link's worldview and newfound peace, and she doesn't want to put a burden on their shoulders (bc hylia knows she knows what that's like), but she does it anyway. at this point, link is beginning to get flashes of memories from his childhood and realize what zelda is trying to tell her is true, so both of them go to kakariko village to talk to impa (and they plan to talk to the champions after), but once they get there, ganondorf is there waiting in front of the desecrated former village like HEY POOKIE. FOUND YOU. MISS ME?

he takes link captive again and accelerates his plans to take over hyrule. link is trying to find a way out, and zelda is trying to find a way to help him, but it's not working out very well lmao. meanwhile zelda goes to the champions and asks for their help, relaying everything she knows, and the champions make a plan to get link and stop ganondorf. they get to the area where the tower is, but ganondorf was expecting this and takes them captive

as this happens, link doesn't know what's going on and is alone in the tower. he finds the master sword and the secret tower staircase, but it's a trap laid by ganondorf to manipulate link into joining him because link escapes the tower only to find zelda and the champions all tied up and stuff. the bargain is like "join me and i won't kill your friends when i rule, but refuse and i'll kill them slowly and make you watch" (i came up with this on the spot i know it's a rough plot WORK WITH ME😭🙏)

link being link challenges ganondorf to a duel, and ganondorf accepts purely out of amusement bc at this point he thinks "link can't defeat me yet since he's been locked in the tower; he's only a danger if he's been trained." link whoops his ass, but ganondorf harnesses the power of the calamity at the last second (which he was planning to do just to teach link a lesson in obedience and whatever). he whoops LINK'S ass, but just as link is about to get killed, zelda's powers Come To Life, and she saves him. then they all work together to defeat ganondorf and they all live happily ever after

[powderblueblood]

If there’s a future where Lacy and Eddie split but won’t ever let go then I’m a motherfuckin Eddie Munson is a wedding crasher truther!!!

Lacy gets her life somewhat back on track and is getting hitched to the Ivy League dullard she was always destined for had she not gone broke and fell from grace.

Eddie crashes the hen party and they fuck but afterwards he just can’t say the words and Lacy is once again disappointed. On the big day he finds the words and is ready to say them but will Lacy be too pissed that it’s 1. too late and 2. he’s embarrassing her on her day and infront of everyone she knows

OR will she be fleeing in the passenger seat of a roofless vintage car, custom Westwood veil blowing down the highway with her forever partner in crime?

Either way Ronnie is stood infront of a crammed church trying to desperately think of an excuse for a runaway bride.

now mona you fucking listen to me

when did you crawl into my brain in the middle of the night and read my thoughts. are you in my walls. are you under my bed!!!!

couple fuckin things this made me think about which maybe god knows maybe i will write to full fruition one day but for right now.... christ

so. eddie, a year or so grown out of the buzzcut he had at twenty-whatever (which could've been the last time lacy saw him, the last time she didn't have any hair to run her fingers through when he went down on her so she had TWO things to feel crushing regret about when they were done) (the first one... letting him eat her out in the first place obviously), disguising himself as a cater waiter at her bachelorette. lacy is the kind of person to have cater waiters at her fancy bachelorette.

ronnie 110% snuck him in because naturally she hates lacy's new fella and knows that lacy actually hates her new fella.

also did the last time lacy hooked up with eddie cause her to actively spiral and purposely set a marriage trap with the first dumb boston blue blood she could find (answer: yes).

anyway eddie now looks like this (actively trying to grow his hair back out...) and fucks her on a pool table of the country house she's celebrating at.

(by the way, the only theme for lacy's bachelorette is 'gambling' (secret secondary theme: 'guns') (secret third theme: 'cocaine').)

there's an exchange (mid-fuck, while he's ball deep in her, mind you) that goes something like --

"what do they call you now?"

"my name."

"and what's that?"

"... lorelei." "lorelei. lorelei, that's not your name. your name's not lorelei, it's got forty fucking vowels and a shitty backstory. what's your name?"

she hisses. this tight sound. tight as the grip she's got on him.

"what's your name?"

"... lacy."

hearing it fucking unhooks him totally. he groans her name, the one that feels like her, into her ear over and over and over. lacy, lacy, lacy.

"lace, ah, fuck--"

she tries to press a yelp into his shoulder but he's so close and so attentive and he never lets up. never misses a single sound, the fucking asshole.

"and what's my name?" voice splits on the last syllable. "what's my name?"

"eddie," she's all strangled, high heels tearing the cloth top of the pool table. urging him deeper. "eddie, eddie, eddie-- oh god--!"

"that's fucking right. that's fucking right-- and who do i belong to?"

he can hear the curse on her breath. "-- no one."

"liar," he knows how desperate he sounds, "don't fucking lie. look at me, look. who do i belong to?"

the sweat beading across his brow. he presses his forehead hard against hers. trapping her. she can't escape him. never could. he's in the seams of everything. so is she.

"who?"

"me."

"christ, that's fucking-- right-- i belong to you. i'm all yours."

as far as the actual crashing of the big day itself, GUARANTEED lacy warned him not to come near the fucking place or she'd kill him on sight. and this time, the one fucking time in the history of the world, he actually listens.

and lacy is enraged, duh.

she leaves her groom at the altar and guns that rented rolls royce to the nearest motel six she's positive eddie has parked the van outside of to sleep in

also, speaking of guns. she has one. a hunting rifle that she aims right between eddie's legs and she's all,

"you stood me up! you humiliated me!"

eddie, on the verge of pissing his pants naturally because did i mention she has a gun pointed at his dick, "what are you talking about, i did exactly what you told me to do!"

"and since when do you ever do that! huh!"

"so, what, i was supposed to ride on in there--"

"yeah!"

"--guns ablaze--"

"yes!"

"--and beg for you to come with me?! is that it?!"

"exactly! wasn't that your plan?"

"i mean--"

"oh, jesus, eddie, the only thing more embarrassing than you crashing my wedding is you not crashing my wedding! that's high fucking treason, you rat bastard piece of shit!"

eddie swallows, because she can't find a veil opaque enough for him. he sees right through, right to the heart of how badly she hoped he'd show up.

and then he did, and then he went and fucked her over again. because he's a coward.

"and if i did that... if i went through the pantomime of it all... you w--... you would've come?"

lacy goes quiet. aim's still true.

because she might want it real bad, but can she let herself have it? this, with him? the uncertainty of it all, even if the bedrock is truer than anything she's ever felt?

she's a coward too, y'know.

this grin unspools on eddie's face. levity boy. "well, i mean, you always come, but--"

tcch-tch. the gun cocks, and his cock twitches. you get the picture.

[twinsoftriumph]

last but not least...... Ames. the Came Back Wrong oc. who i am actually painting currently so if i like it i will post it :3

hashtag Edgy Backstory

ames wears Some sort of abyss mask modified just to be more unique but probably most similar to cackling cannoneer's. they also have melancholy mope hair, overactive overachiever's cape but modified to go around the whole body, anddddd. some sort of long pants outfit thats most similar to the aurora runaway outfit. or maybe like confident sightseer's outfit Again but more grey/cool toned.

no matter what outfit theyre wearing youre Barely going to see anything besides the legs anyway because theyre not one to take up much space or make very grand gestures

from isle! very interested in the history of the sky kingdom and spirits and the rebirth cycle (uh oh)

professional emotional wall builder. and archer i guess. they picked up that skill in forest back when vedesa still lived there which is how they met in my beautiful brain

they were the very eager sort of moth which eventually culminated in them having some rather large but also quite dangerous ambitions. aka fucking with the rebirth cycle and having to deal with the consequences of that

im still working on the finer details but they basically unded up stuck in the shattering void for A WHILE and witnessed a ton of memories suspended in time both of their own and other people's including from WAY before they were born and also feeling fluctuations of light and dark. very normal experience for one's psyche. but they escaped after like at least a year and theyre so normal about it and you cant even tell (lying)

vedesa's involvement comes from her being the one who spent ages trying to figure out a way to reach them which is how she ended up primarily spending time in vault in the first place and ALSO why she's trying to spend a lot less time in vault nowadays

so of course when ames escapes on their own theyre Pretty Damn Pissed but also really dont know what to do. and they lay low for another unspecified amount of time and are presumed missing or just permanently dead. they are very much neither of those

they ended up wandering into prairie after a while which is where they very much startled lalut due to literally looking like hell. lalut was very concerned to say the least but offered to take them in and they've been warming up to each other since :)

ames is just grateful to know someone who doesnt know their whole batshit backstory and is non judgemental and tries to just treat them like any other person

they are quite protective and will purposefully leer at people over your shoulder if they get bad vibes.

wicked chef. could theoretically be bribed with food (few have ever tried)

can be very meticulous and careful and is really quite gentle in most everyday stuff. very quiet footsteps. you will get jumpscared

used to be the lighthearted silly teasing type but has become a lot more dry and sharp about it. it has also become harder to tell when theyre just joking around

anyway theyre basically plotting to track down vedesa and properly confront her about what happened. id say yay for communication but god knows what they actually plan on doing or even what vedesa plans on doing with all that guilt. (guy who literally created them) (dont worry i have some ideas i just might draw them out another time)

[spectrechosts]

Beast Of Burden - Chapter 2

Even Lunaeris will admit it's fun to drop a good "how DARE you speak to your PRINCESS that way" every now and again.

Full Series

Adventuring, in Kallixenia's experience, consists a great deal more of long stretches on horseback traveling to and fro than it does exploring dungeons or felling great beasts.

Not that that's a bad thing! The opposite, really- She's the sort of professional one hires to, for example, guard princesses. Lunaeris may technically be a novice adventurer, but she got her start exploding the Demon King out of sheer fiery rage; a lack of practical experience with dungeoneering fundamentals didn't really hold her back for very long. Lagakh and company are all decently high ranked members of the Adventurer's Guild.

If the kinds of problems that required the likes of the six of them were common, the world would be a dire, dire place.

But they aren't. So… long horse rides.

Ones that could stand to be longer, maybe. Everyone else would probably disagree- They've been on the road for near a week and a half already, and those heading onward to deal with that wyvern nest have probably another two ahead of them. But today is where her and Lunaeris split off, and head into the Elven Kingdom, and then who knows when they're going to get caught by royal guards looking to reclaim their lost princesses.

She's not worried about that encounter, Lunaeris is quite sure she can strongarm them into taking only her back to the castle and letting her continue on back to the mountains, and Kallixenia fully believes in her ability to do so.

She's going to miss her terribly while they're apart, though. They're not exactly close to her home, entering the kingdom here, and who knows how long they'll both be occupied once they arrive?

"So, are you meeting up with anyone to replace us?" Asks Lunaeris, seemingly untroubled by such things.

"Mhm." Lagakh hums. "Have to. Always good to have a wizard, after all."

"Awwww, I'll try not to deprive you of my talents for too long."

"That… may not be up to us, beloved." Says Kallixenia. "If your father-"

"Oh, to hell with my father! What's he going to do, throw me in the dungeons? That'd be even more embarrassing for him than me being a runaway." Lunaeris scoffs. "He's going to bluster and whine about propriety and then do precisely fuck all to stop me from leaving again."

"We should take more jobs in elf lands." Purrs Ryse. "Law sounds remarkably lax."

Lagakh snorts at that and shakes her head. "You know how to get in touch, whenever you're done picking fights with the King."

Lunaeris had, of course, told the rest of the party that the purpose of their detour was to try to clear up the situation with her family. Not untrue exactly, though she certainly didn't seem interested in clearing it up so much as making her father decide it was too much trouble to continue fighting her on it.

Telling people that you want to break your paladin oath isn't typically wise. And even if Lunaeris is right and she won't face much trouble, Kallixenia very well might. It's up in the air whether she'll even return still capable of adventuring at all, not stripped of all her power and smote for good measure.

"I think this is where we part ways, just up ahead." Lunaeris says, tilting her chin at a crossroads ahead of them.

"Good luck, then."

"Gods guide your journey." Says Sophia.

"Yours as well." Kallixenia says, knowing that the cleric would probably hate her for what she plans to do.

~

The two of them travel alone for maybe fifteen minutes before Kallixenia decides that it's an appropriate time to ask for something frivolous and comforting.

"Would you like to ride with me, Princess?" She asks, scooting back a little in her saddle and holding out her hand.

"Oh! Gladly, hang on-"

Lunaeris takes her hand and joins her on her horse, leaning back into her chest and giving a short whistle to make sure her own steed follows. Kallixenia wraps one arm around the Princess' midsection, holding her close.

"We're going to be fine, love." Lunaeris murmurs softly. "I can handle my father, and if changing your oath will bring the gods' wrath down upon you then, well, don't do it."

"You're likely right." Kallixenia replies.

"I often am."

"Mm."

She lowers her face to the top of Lunaeris' head and places a gentle kiss upon it, holding her a bit tighter.

"Even if it all goes well, I'll still miss my princess." She says, and Lunaeris sighs.

"Gods, I'll miss you too. Need to enjoy being held like this while I can, who knows how I'll sleep without it after all this time."

"Without your head buried in my tits, Princess?" Kallixenia asks with a soft smirk as she kisses her again.

"Without your deafening heartbeat ringing through my skull, oaf." Lunaeris grumbles, ears reddening. "It's comforting, it's like falling asleep in a thunderstorm that loves me."

"O-Oh. Well, that's, I-I also find you comforting. I'll try not to-"

"By order of the crown, HALT!"

Lunaeris lets out a combination of pathetic whine and annoyed huff.

"Already?" She grumbles, as Kallixenia shoots bolt upright and lets go of her. "You cannot be serious. Does he have people watching the borders for us?"

A scouting party emerges from the trees, bows-

"I'm certain you aren't aiming those at your princesses." Lunaeris says with a glare.

-nervously un-nocked and pointed at the ground. The leader of the bunch comes forward and takes a knee.

"Princess Lunaeris. Princess Kallixenia." He says, and Kallixenia feels a little embarrassed because she still really doesn't see herself as a princess. Lunaeris just grumpily takes her arm and places it back around her, not wanting to part just yet.

"Speak." She says haughtily, fully taking on her role.

The man swallows hesitantly, and then says: "We've orders to escort you both to the castle, princesses. Direct from the King himself."

Lunaeris reacts to that with an upturned nose and a loud 'hmpf!'

"If, if you'll allow us-"

"I will not." She says, and the guards look between themselves, lost.

"Lunaeris." Kallixenia says softly, taking her cue to be the ~voice of reason~. "You have to go see your father eventually."

"I didn't think we'd be caught so quickly." Lunaeris whines, now sincere. "I don't want to see him."

"I know, beloved."

She hems and haws and grumbles and kicks her feet and eventually says: "Fine."

The guards visibly relax.

"Right. Excellent, Your Highnesses. If the two of you-"

"No." Lunaeris interrupts, arms crossed.

"…Pardon?"

"I will return with you to the castle. Princess Kallixenia has important business with her holy order, she will be returning to her home unbothered by any further patrols. Are we clear?"

"I- Princess, the King requested you both-"

"Are we clear?"

Kallixenia clears her throat gently. "I give you my word as both a paladin and your princess, once my business is finished I will make straight for the castle."

"…Right, of course, Princess." The guard says, nodding. "Give us just a moment to bring our horses around, we'll be on our way."

Hm. Kallixenia has never given anyone her word as a princess before. Definitely feels strange.

They travel together up to another crossroads, where their escort insists they must part so that Lunaeris can take the most direct route to the castle.

"Ugh, fine, okay." She huffs, turning around to face Kallixenia. "I'll message you at least once a day. Try not to worry too much about… well, you know. And please don't worry for me, I can handle myself."

"That's rather evident, yes." Kallixenia hums, lifting the Princess' chin and drawing her into a kiss. The guard patrol awkwardly looks elsewhere, all pretending to investigate nothing in particular. "I love you. See you as soon as I can, Princess."

"I love you, and you'd better." Lunaeris grumbles, reluctantly returning to her own steed.

"Oh, wait-" Kallixenia says, and Lunaeris pauses. "It's- The weather's getting colder, and I don't know how much longer you'll be on the- Here."

She unclasps her cloak and holds it out to Lunaeris, who takes it and looks at it blankly.

"…Kallie, I breathe fire."

Hells.

"R-Right, um, well, never mind then-" Kallixenia stammers, and Lunaeris shakes her head and holds the cloak close to her chest when she tries to take it back.

"No! I, I still want it. Thank you." She says, ears twitching. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Right. See you soon." Kallixenia says, red-faced.

Lunaeris sets off with her guards, and Kallixenia waits at the crossroads for her to leave her sight. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself, then continues on her own way.

Time to go get excommunicated.

[melissa-titanium]

i and b for theee ask post mayhaps if i may

twirls hair in fingers smiles

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

oh my god ok okw ait. imgonna do the second for mp100, md and ln cause those are my main girls right now .

I - honestly?>?? um. a little bit for every fandom ive been in. but twitter has caused me the most grief LOL.....

id have to say homestuck first cause the homestuck fandom is just. fucking RAMPANT with people who mischaracterize.

murder drones second for the same reason but ... it's smaller so its more manageable. there's always going to be bad apples in fandom space no matter what you do unfortunately.

that is exactly why my first mission once i get into an interest is to scope out the coolest people in a fandom and get them to be my mutual. there are a bunch of people who have yet to follow back but. i am persistent. if i have you in my sights you better believe we're gonna be buddies.

for murder drones i think this was mainly ...

@ / electronix-arts @ / 400terahertz @ / randygrim @ / jamieenthusiast @ / ghoulinfuschia @ / yorkistarbomb @.t1rkras rip tirkras :( I JUST CLOSED THE TAB WITH MY LIST IN IT FUCK. ITS OKAY GUYS IF I FOLLOWED YOU THAT MEANS I THOIGHT YOU WERE AWESOME IM SORRY IF YOURE MISSING FROM THIS LIST. BAWLS. also theres a lot of other people on twitter who r cool and i hope they come to tumblr because we all know what twitters like LOLLLLLLL.....

for mob psycho. off the top of my head???

@ / bugcatcherkit @ / metukika @ / bonk-boink @ / bizarre-blues @ / percycoolguy @ my wonderful mutual bloodpopdreams on twitter. queen get out of there @ and... YOU!!!

I WAS SO FUCKING HPYED WHEN YOU FOLLOWED ME BACK U HAVE NOOOOO FUCKING IDEA.

B - ok. fuck. ok. for mp?? RITERU. breach of trust & suitablyskippys one fake relationship fic made me go absolutely fucking insane over them.

breach of trust already on its own is an INCREDIBLE fic but seeing how teru & ritsus dynamic developed without mobs influence was... so so so interesting. and suitablyskippy is just a fucking awesome writer no questions asked so their fic made me love it even more LOL.

also. i might sound insane for this one because its literally one of the most popular fucking ships but. terumob ? like. ok . i know. but i didnt interact with the fandom until after i finished the damn show & didnt pick up on ANY of the undertones of their interactions so it came out of complete left field to me as the most popular ship.

my immediate thought was oh its going to be a johndave situation or something where ekurei was the most popular but then serirei took its place. but i was completely fucking wrong LOL.

BUT YEAH im not insane over terumob but i think they r funny if done right :))

FOR MD... um. genuinely nothing. LOL. the fandom has done a shit ass job of convincing me to like ANY pairings, platonic or otherwise. in fact its steered me away from alot of them.

i genuinely liked nuzi until seeing a lot of the discourse around it LOL...

to be fair i am not a big shipper. i see romantic relationships from a purely analytical point of view because a) autism, and b) aroace.

BUT IN SHORT...i don't HATE all murder drones pairings, i just like to see them through my own personalized lens without any fandom influence :)

LITTLE NIGHTMARES IS DIFFERENT CAUSE. LIKE. ??? ROMANCE?? DUDE HALF OF THE CHARACTERS ARE CHILDREN AND THE OTHER HALF ARE MONSTERS TRYING TO EAT THEM. THE KIDS ARE TOO BUSY TRYING TO SURVIVE AND NOT STARVE TO DEATH AND THE ADULTS/MONSTERS ARE TOO BUSY TRYING TO K I L L T H E C H I L D RE N . AINT GOT NO TIME FOR ROMANCE !!!!!!!!! BUT in terms of platonic pairings. the fandom didnt really change my opinion on any BUT im in the middle of reading a reaaaally good fic that expands on flashlight girl's character (called flicker in this fic,) and explores the idea of runaway kid & six having a dynamic. it's super fun & INCREDIBLY well written and im very sad for when i finish reading it cause its unfinished and was last updated in 2022 </3

WHEW this was long HELPPPPPPPP. THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS ASK IM GIGLGIGN <3333