#actually. what if she brings weed……. it’s not impossible

[szczylpierdolony]

maybe i should just get a vape

[dadvans]

thinking about pregnant tommy is rewiring my brain. thinking about him isolating himself and feeling guilty and horrible while desperately clinging to the fact that at least he still has part of evan with him.

Five months after they break up, Buck gets the courage to ask the guy from Air Ops supporting their hillside extraction if Tommy is the one flying the chopper. It doesn't hurt to be nice. The guy looks him up and down twice, eyes only, and says, "Buckley? No, man, he's been with the rehab unit for a month," before securing their guy and then he's going, going, gone.

Buck texts Lucy afterwards about it, curious. She doesn't respond.

"You hear Tommy's working rehab unit?" He asks Eddie when they're dressing down into their civvies later. "Did he get injured or something?"

"No clue, that guy stopped responding to my texts a few weeks after you two broke up," Eddie replies.

Buck's fingers slip buttoning up his own shirt. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

Eddie shrugs. "You guys broke up. Tommy's cool and all, but I would get why he needs space. If he's been working rehab though, I wonder if something happened." Pauses, looks at Buck. "I'll text him for you."

He doesn't bring it up again. If Eddie texts, Buck never knows the response.

Buck drops it.

x

Two years after Tommy breaks up with him, Bobby pushes him out of the nest. Buck's spent the time leaning into Bobby's mentorship and when it becomes available, Bobby submits him as a candidate with full confidence for battalion chief up in Mendocino.

His career grows from there. He's not thrilled with working rural, but he learns to love his new team, and continues the traditions of his first house. He learns how to earn their respect.

There are a number of hook ups, men and women. It's a two hour drive to the bay, but that's not an impossible ask for him when he wants a little something more with no recognition.

His job is his love first.

x

"I saw your panel, uh," Buck says, starts, fumbles, "on Helitack. Sounds like you've really changed that program."

It's been almost a decade, but Buck could still recognize the slope of Tommy's broad shoulders, the tired, smile-driven drive of his cheek up to his eyes, the cliff-side cut of his chin, anywhere. Even with grays at Tommy's temples. It's a lifetime later, it feels like, but considering both of their ambition it would be a shock they wouldn't rub shoulders at the annual CFCA.

"Buck," Tommy says. He traces the rim of his shot glass with two fingers, and he doesn't look unhappy when he shifts up. He smiles, even. "Hey."

"Is uh, this seat taken?" Buck asks. Ten years erased. Tongue-tied and twisted guts all over again.

Tommy does pause for a second. But then he nods at the stool next to him at the hotel bar. "All yours, if you want it."

They catch up, a little. It's mostly Buck telling Tommy about working in rural NorCal, his team, and the strange, strange reality of operating in weed country.

"Who's that?" He asks, when Tommy's phone face-side up gets a text, then another. "Niece? Nephew?"

"Well," Tommy says, and he's quick with his phone but not quick enough for Buck not to notice the little girl posing with him on his lock screen photo, them jumping on a beach together-- his background looks like another picture with the girl, this time on a beach. "Daughter, actually."

A tumor borne of desire, of never being enough, gains weight in Buck's gut. After all this time, and yet. Tommy hadn't really seemed open to any kind of future with him, but this girl looks, she's old enough to be, probably right after--

"Cute," he says, softly. She looks ten years old. Her hair curls wispy and wild out of her braids and bangs, and Buck swallows back the bait instead of spitting it out. Maybe. "Takes after her dad."

Tommy nods. His smile has grown tight. "Actually, Evan."

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (viii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : the triplets' birthday party is a perfect place for flirting, tension, and... well, matt and y/n's forte.

warnings : use of alcohol, weed and smut ( just a lil flithy icl ), beware that the word count on this ho is crazy - meaning i did not proofread!

mickey speaks : this took a MINUTE to get out im sawrryyyy. i tried to fit everything into one part and ended up rewriting almost the entire part last minute (which is most of the reason why this is very delayed), sooo hope you love??? bc i dont lmfao also the triplets r a couple yrs older in this (turning 23)

THIS IS PART EIGHT GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST!!!

"JESUS, matt. can you take this seriously, please?" chris scoffs, taking the dry-erase marker cap from its awkward spot between his teeth.

matt's not one to continue adding his opinion knowing it won't be listened to. he prefers to leave the impossible-to-get-a-word-in debating to nick and chris who have no problem yelling over each other to the point that they don't even know what the issue ever was.

so he's found comfort in sitting at the dining room table with his eyes firmly closed and arms used as a pillow for his head, leaving nothing but a dollop of his hair to be shown, or as he told chris "attempting to find peace for myself while living with you chaotic fucks."

"what could you possibly want from me?" matt asks without moving from his face down position, voice muffled and strained.

"i want you to fight for your opinion! don't you care about what we do for our birthday?!" chris stresses while nick rolls his eyes and falls into a bored stance, leaning against the dark marble counter.

matt finally raises his head causing his face to scrunch up and eyes to squint due to the sudden and bright change in lighting, "no? i actually don't give a shit, chris."

chris first feels the instigator within him sighing in defeat only for his pride to take center. he figures if nick has practically given up and matt cares so little, that gives him all of the creative action for birthday plans. exactly what he wanted.

his lips form a tight line to hide his satisfaction as he shakes his head slowly, unevenly wiping his hand across the magnetic white board (that he used to write the many ideas thrown around in his head, mistakenly thinking a visual would narrow things down for him and nick). “‘kay. then i’m getting nate to help plan us a house party and it'll be fucking perfect. because i care.”

౨ৎ

you've never been so grateful of your front door's placement this close to the kitchen. but carrying three cake boxes and a tote bag the size of your torso, desperately needing to put them down after traveling up three flights of stairs, will surely be the task that brings that gratitude out of you.

though when you arrive, your scrunched eyebrows and pouted lips are an apparent contrast to the enthusiastic vibe of your kitchen- with andrea moving her hips to the lines of spanish dancing in the air, waiting patiently for the sizzling indication of her fried egg's tenderness, and the use of pink lemonade-colored towels or handles on utensils (that made you and andrea way too happy during one of your first target runs as roommates) scattered around.

drea finally notices you when your metal keychain clanks against the countertop, "y/n!" her excitement slightly dulls with her widened eyes when she gets a better view of your face, turning the stove off and coming closer to hug you. "hi, good morning-ish. are you feeling okay? ...or, like, sad?" you silently accept her gesture and tuck your head in her neck while she caresses your hair with a sigh, "or both at the same time...?"

your response is a breathy sigh and pause before the words tumble out, "m'fine, i think. just overestimated myself a little with staying up so late." you remove your head from her neck and move backwards to lean against the countertop, fanning your hands to create a much needed breeze, "and i'm so hot, it's making me feel gross."

andrea peers into the clear plastic cutout on top of one of the boxes, "at least the cakes look nice."

a week ago you set your mind on gifting the triplets their own cakes for their birthday (thinking that sharing a day was already enough, no way would you want them to have to share and agree on only one cake). you easily gathered their cake preferences by sneaking it into any random conversations you'd have with each of them.

and after a week of planning and preparing, was it so bad if you wanted a fun night in with your roomie? andrea warned you several times to go to bed considering you'd be up at 5:30 the next morning, but you insisted that you'd be fine and asked her to help you clear the rest of the box-wine in the fridge.

you could tell matt was a little irritated that you chose rewatching episodes of a sitcom and "cheap ass box-wine" over sex with him (of course throwing the fact that his birthday would be arriving in only a few hours right in your face) but you pioneered and assured him that you'll make time for him the next day, while also sweetly reminding him that you too have a life outside of this exchange.

at midnight you sent the triplets a group message to congratulate. and a few minutes later you left andrea on the couch for your room, sending matt a birthday text of his own (because you did feel the tiniest bit guilty for rejecting him earlier) paired with a picture with your shirt lifted, hem tucked behind your teeth, and your boobs sat in a sheer bra with decorative white trimming and a bow in the center.

he didn't respond for almost an hour and you tried to not feel embarrassed or overthink his reaction at all.

you couldn't stand the giddiness that came over you (you'd blame it on being the slightest bit tipsy) when you finally got into bed to find his response gentle, in his own matt-kind-of-way, with your image loved and a grayed bubble text reading: "Very pretty, thank you"

"thanks, drea. they were a bitch to make." water drowns out your voice as you start to wash your hands in the deep sink. you run your soapy fingers over a small cut you got when dealing with an irritating cardboard box earlier, finding the stinging of the hot water a wonderful kind of bitter that further plays into your foul mood.

"mmm... i'm sure. but it's not like you can even tell. they almost look store-bought," she attempts to flatter you, turning her head from the packaged desserts to offer a smile.

when you're sweet you're the most ripe, juicy peach, eveyone knows this. but god, when you're feeling down you really are the most cranky, green apple that could force a pucker onto even the most undaunted. your face is dragged of any aloofness or sunshine with your dry response as she turns to resume her breakfast, "uh huh. you don't have to coddle me. i'll get over myself soon, i promise." you dry your hands.

andrea would argue she's not coddling only looking out for your well being- because she wants to and knows if she were neglecting her needs you'd be right on her ass as well, "okay...and did you eat?"

"just like, a bagel before i left," you open the fridge and let the door hang open as you walk across the kitchen to grab the cake boxes and set them inside. you make sure to mind your feet, noticing figaro nosily has his furry face lifted to sniff into the side door.

she strings some sarcasm into her sentiment, "oh yum." she pauses, letting the sizzle of the egg and (now faint) music linger in the air before she speaks again, "how about you go take a shower or do something that'll make you feel a little better?"

"you know i would but being around my favorite roommate is already making me feel sooo much better!" you deliver the dry joke with a smile and pick up figaro when you shut the fridge door with an accidental slam.

she turns to look at you over her shoulder as she grabs two glass plates for the both of you, scolding you like a mother (as she tended to transform into at times like this due to her essentially parenting her younger siblings) "y/n, you're only fighting yourself, go ahead now."

౨ৎ

matt can hear chris' voice only grow louder and pound against the hallway walls but assumes he is heading anywhere but the space that matt's in, deciding to continue brushing his teeth instead.

he'd only be so lucky on his birthday.

"but yeah-" chris interrupts himself to knock and barely wait for an answer before he walks into matt's sleek bathroom. "matt's here!" his phone is carelessly thrown in front of matt's face (with a frothing mouth and irritated eyes) before he has truly registered anything that has happened.

he truly wants to roll his eyes infinitely but when he sees his mother is the one on the phone, his grumpy front is quickly wilted and a glimmer kisses his spirit in a way only she could produce.

it's clear she hadn't expected matt to be in the middle of something as personal as brushing his teeth when she first sees him, "oh, hi matt!" she understands him well enough to know he absolutely hates this (this being chris unnecessarily close to him as he hunches over to keep matt's face in the camera) so she attempts to amuse him, "wow, you're really showing your age now, aren't you? just looking so put together and nice." she laughs to herself as matt tries to not smile whilst brushing, holding his index finger up to indicate that he would address her with words in only a moment.

"chris, honey, why'd you bring me to your brother when he's busy, anyway?! now we're just watchin' him brush his teeth and the angles you're givin' me are so awkward," she emphasizes her sentence as it goes on.

chris turns the phone back to himself, "because you told me to show him?!"

"no, i said 'where's matt?'" she corrects him in jest.

"okay, so am i incorrect in saying that there was an implication-?"

matt dries his face with a towel and grabs the phone scolding chris, "hey we get it, smartass-" he turns to look at her again with a smile, "sorry mom."

"mhm," she dismisses, "when's this party of yours starting?"

"soon i think," matt moves around chris to exit the bathroom, leaving chris (literally) in the dark.

"okay and how's your birthday been so far?" he smiles knowing how excited she's always been about these things.

"good, i don't feel any different. just doin' the same stuff, except today there's way more people sending me texts and pretending the care about me." matt places the phone against a bowl full of chips in the kitchen, waving when he notices chris followed him.

"get down here nick, mom's on the phone!" chris yells, coming into frame and leaning on the counter. "jeez, matt's masochism can't give any of us a break even on days literally made for our happiness. you hearin' this kid ma?"

matt shakes his head, pointing to chris with his handful of chips, "spell masochism."

chris' eyes pinch and before their mother or chris himself reply, nick is running over to them with a smile and yell of "im heree!!"

she's has the much-expected motherly urge to cry seeing her three sons (whom she rarely sees anymore) all in the same frame, "aw, hi nicky! just look at you boys...so sweet."

it only takes another second before she's crumbling in tears. their smiles drop as chris grabs his phone. they all begin spilling out the most comforting phrases they know to cheer her up.

౨ৎ

"okay people! cake is coming through! everyone move. move, move...precious cargo right here and your ass is in the way!" asha yells and shines her phone's flashlight into the faces in the crowded living room as she ushers the girls to the kitchen.

she earns a few glares that she happily dishes back and a few mumbles of "bitch" once she's walked past that has remi "accidentally" stepping on a certain people's shoes while following asha's lead.

the modern open kitchen hosts plenty of drinks and snacks as well as a worried nathan, who's shirt is barely on his torso from the amount of buttons he's undone since stepping foot in the wild space. "oh thank god the cake's are here," he sighs with a throw of his head before frantically moving a platter of chips and guac (that someone was actively eating from) and a few six packs from the island to the opposite counter, encouraging the girls to place them down with an awkward nod of his head and harsh blink of his eyes.

asha holds back a laugh at nate's odd vibe as she moves next to him, nudging his shoulder, "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing," his head whips to look at her, "well, i mean, think 'm just nervous." he starts slow but it seems he needed someone to finally prompt him to share such a frustrated rant, "like- chris comes to me and asks me to throw him the best party. yet he doesn't give me shit to work with besides his home to host it in-" he breathes, "and 'm feelin' all the pressure of planning a party right now but, you know, i just need things to go smooth and then i'll be fine..." he runs a hand through his hair, "you ladies don't worry about me." he fakes a smile and gives a small wave of his wrist to show just how "fine" he is.

coinciding with nate's rant, you've began to pour a hefty amount of vodka and lemon juice (you absolutely scoured the fridge for) into a large glass. you hand it off to andrea with a pleading "mix" as you lick the remaining lemon juice from your thumb and open cabinets to search for shot glasses.

you line up a multitude of shot glasses with various cities labeled on them as andrea pours the mixture in carefully. you immediately bring one up to nathan, "lemon drop?"

"yes, please. no way your a fucking bartender and baker?" nate's eyes widen as he receives the small glass.

"no, definitely not. just live with a girl whois always making her own drinks at home," you smile and grab your own glass as the rest of the girls follow suit.

"i need this right now," remi starts, "let's cheers to drea's DIY shit and nathan making it through the rest of the night!" she woops and the group all let out various chuckles.

"a-fuckin'-men!" nate leans to clink the small glasses softly before taking the shot quickly. he barely recovers from the shot before he's pouring more vodka into his glass and taking a second.

you get the best view of chris turning the corner and seeing you all (his reaction is more specifically for andrea) have arrived. his jaw hangs dramatically as he walks over but quickly turns to a big smile when the group all start to sing happy birthday to him. "stop it! stop it!" he jokes and begins to give out hugs and thank each of you for coming. he stops and squeezes you extra tight, bringing up the cakes sat nearby, "i know that bakery anywhere. thank you for my cake."

"of course, i had to," you smile.

"no seriously, you're fuckin' awesome, girl." you can tell he's already a little buzzed from the look in his eyes but you also know he's almost more truthful than ever when drunk.

you notice that when he leaves you to finally greet your roommate, it's very clear he's purposely left andrea last to ensure there would be no rush on his interaction.

the rest of the group leave them to their own world for a moment; as the two hug chris gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering "hi, mi cariña (my darling)" an inside joke between the two of them as chris' struggle with speaking spanish never fails to make andrea laugh.

౨ৎ

"okay, okay, i'll do it," matt finally gives in, lifting himself off of the black couch with people piled on top of it. he hands his drink over to elijah smoothly and begins to playfully rub his hands together.

"'hold my beer' headass," elijah jokes placing the cup off on a side table next to him. matt stops any movement, turning his torso to look back at the boy and start to laugh while holding both middle fingers up.

"matt," erin taps him with the side of her arm twice to get his attention again, handing him the second wii remote in her hands. the screen appears extra bright in contrast to the dimness of the room which causes matt to wonder how the fuck anyone has managed to play just dance in this space without getting a sudden head rush or worse.

"okay, let's do timber because it's classic," she suggests.

"let's not," matt opposes, his hand covering his mouth to hide a grin before running his cursor over the other choices.

erin looks over to him with a blank expression, "i mean i don't care that much you can-"

"'m joking, we'll do timber," matt looks from her to the colorful screen to find the song once more.

when he notices she's stiil looking over at him with an unreadable expression, matt smiles big attempting to not laugh, causing his already-slim eyes to pinch a little extra as he turns to her, "hey e, the screen's right up there, you won't be getting much direction from starin' at me-" he breaks into obnoxious laughter mid-way through his sentence which earns him a small smack on the arm.

erin laughs a little now, "would you stop it? just click 'a' on your fucking remote."

he does as she says and looks to her as the screen loads, "thereee we go, you can cool down now, sweetheart."

as the two dance both matt and his friends make one-off comments and jokes about the many times matt almost fell (and would make sure to blame it on the rug or his shoes). they seem to be having such a great time that you don't know if you only being there for the final few lines of the song, watching erin ride matt's back as they spin in circles laughing, is fortunate or unfortunate.

the claps and whistles are wild when the two finish with a bow, the crowd around them only getting louder when matt teases that he's so hot he might have to take off his shirt, lifting it slightly then putting it back down and calling them pervs. you only shake your head and bite back a smile, hating how fucking charming he is when he allows himself to be completely lost in a good time.

matt would say you snuck onto the sectional couch- because a minute ago you weren't there and now here you are talking elijah's ear off and taking repeated hits of his blunt.

but you wouldn't say you snuck into his area, rather walked in a manner in which you'd be out of his and erin's way- of course not taking away from the birthday boy and his...good friend. so you're a bit surprised he slumps on the couch next to you and not in his original spot on the opposite side of eli, "sunnnyy," he huffs and leans his head back against the couch, "when'd you get here, huh?"

you turn to look at him and he smiles at you then looks up to the ceiling, "think an hour ago? maybe?" you hand him the blunt.

"cool, cool, cool..." matt repeats cutting himself off by placing it in his mouth. he's dressed so stylish and attractive you can't help but scan over him with your eyes; his jersey-style shirt showing off his armfuls of tattoos, baggy jeans, car keys hanging on a cheetah print clip attached to his belt loop, shoes that look straight out of the box, a matching hat that you honestly wish he'd take off, and his signature silver jewelry brightening his attributes in the otherwise dark room.

he makes the slightest "tsss" sound when breathing in the drug before speaking with smoke plummeting from his mouth, "you should dance next," he brings it back to his mouth for a final hit.

"mmm maybe...if lucas is up for it," you play with the metal can of a wine cooler that you hold on your bare knee as matt leans over you to hand an occupied eli his blunt back, his laugh trails smoke out of his mouth and into your face as he slouches back next to you.

"forgot you're fuckin, hilarious! holy shit." his hand makes its way up his own shirt to rest on his stomach as he giggles.

a smile grows on your face, "no seriously is he here?" you lift yourself up a little and pretend to look for the familiar face.

"stop that." matt chuckles and tugs your wrist gently. you almost get nervous this time when you look him in the eyes. when he's drunk, matt is so carefree and giggly in a way you rarely get to see. and now you’re starting to notice how the poor lighting makes his features appear arched and his face look carved into, yet the jagged becomes soft and fuzzy whenever the gumdrop-colored lights of the wii game hit his face with the beat of the song. he notices your staring and lets go of your wrist, "what's up?"

"nothing."

"excuse me everyone! i would like to give a speech! hello, i am giving a speechhh! everyone shut up, please!" nick projects his voice into the microphone- he stole from the karaoke machine -while standing on a dining room chair.

as people start to calm down nick speaks, "right, so, it's my fuckin' birthday!” he raises his arms and dances his fingers before pointing out matt, “and it's matt's fuckin' birthday, right over there! let's get some flashlights pointing over to my brother please!" matt’s face flushes as he covers his eyes from the sudden bright lights. you squint your own eyes from next to him and move closer to eli to avoid the flashes.

"and it's chris' fuckin' birthday..." nick looks around, "i couldn't tell you where exactly he is, just know that he is also here tonight!” the crowd roars, “anyway... i'm so- so happy to have you all with us tonight to celebrate. we turn twenty fucking three and... that feels so old saying it out loud. holy shit." nick cringes obnoxiously, slurring his next few words, "but i love my two best friends in the whole world: chris and matt, i wouldn’t wish to share a birthday with anyone else… and i love all of you thank you again. oh! and shout out nathan for holding this shit down! if you see nathan give him something... i don't know- money? a kiss? a drink? fuck if i know." as nick speaks cameron nudges him with a shot glass which he finally acknowledges, "and apparently this is a toast now so, you know, here's to getting older and having the most fun forever!" he raises the glass in the air and drinks it without further thought, inviting everyone to do the same while cheering and applauding him in excitement.

you raise your wine cooler and let out many cheers along with the rest, but of course matt ridicules you a little in jest, "really? you sit here and 'woo' while i'm going blind?!" he’s still wiping at his eyes, dealing with the aftermath of bright lights shining in his eyes; his vision tainted with faint blue and red splotches only for a second. you lean closer to him, attempting to see his eyes better while uncontrollably laughing.

"are you crying?!"

matt thinks you look really pretty even when you're quite literally pointing and laughing in his face. you move his hands away from his face and he widens his eyes dramatically, "look, no 'm not!” you shake your head in response, “does really it look like it?"

you notice his bottom eyelashes are slightly clumped and you move your hand closer, placing your thumb under his eye, "baby, that's damp!" you giggle and pull his hand close, using your thumb to draw a wet line across his tattooed wrist to prove your point.

he drags out his first word, "alrighttt. whatever! you got me, sweet girl. ‘cause god forbid i have the ability to cry?!” pulling away from you with a smile as he dries his eyes by rubbing them gently.

matt excuses himself with a quick "gonna go grab another drink or somethin'" before he does something irrational like kiss you in front of all these fucking people.

౨ৎ

you carefully open each of the packaged cakes, each revealing the boys' full names written in cursive with the uniquely styled and colored buttercream frosting you made that very morning. you used the same shades to make the puffed frosting border of the cakes, for an easy, soft garnish. remi follows behind you, lighting candles on the cakes as you go.

there's a chaos that comes with trying to gather this many (drunk) people in one area and capture their attention long enough to sing then cut cakes. it doesn’t help that the hosts are at their most unserious themselves; matt and nick both snickering and making jokes while holding onto each other while chris talks to one of his friends off to the side with his obnoxiously loud voice without regard for anyone around him.

“okay, people we’re singing!” nathan attempts to yell over the loudness of the crowded room. you and remi are then in the position of getting the attention of the birthday boys who can’t focus on the task at hand, leaving you both to snap your fingers and call them as if you were attempting to take photos of a stubborn baby.

you truly wish it didn’t irk you so terribly but you can’t help your annoyance when matt looks over to erin after she shouts from next to you, “matt, can you pay attention? your cake’s ready,” and he listens, moving nick off of him with a shoulder nudge and laugh as he approaches the row of cakes.

you recover quickly with a smile once both matt and nick’s eyes widen and mouths hang open in awe of your hard work, “s’perfect,” matt whispers to himself, now adjusting his hat to fit backwards.

“oh my god, the wax got in my cake! what the fuck,” nick whines and that cues drea to tug chris’ arm softly and urge him with a hushed, “chris ven aquí (come here)!”

and he's is down so terribly that he moves to where she wants him immediately.

chris is a known sap, especially when wasted, so he’s stood fighting the urge to cry when taking in the scene in front of him: his brothers and friends gathered together to celebrate their twenty three years of life together.

he tucks his lip into his mouth and looks down at the burning flame, slowly smiling when everyone around them begin to sing a rendition of happy birthday with all the charmingly bad high notes and run on “you”s but not forgetting to crunch all three names into a single line.

midway through the song, chris leans to hug matt in comfort while sneaking a reach into matt’s back pocket to grab the slim joint he just knew would be there. he grins to himself, “sweet! free j and free light,” placing it into his mouth as he leans over his cake to spark the joint hanging in his mouth with as much precision as possible. andrea shakes her head in confusion while filming on her phone beside to you.

“dude,” matt lets out a breathy laugh while waving his hand to clear the atmosphere of the potent smoke. sudden applause recognizing the end of the song and leading the three to blow out their candles.

matt gave up on birthday wishes a while into his teen years and nothing changes this year; he blows his candles out and claps along with the crowd before accepting his joint from chris for a few puffs of celebration.

you watch in amusement as nathan distracts the boys with shots to get them away from the cakes as andrea begins to cut. except no shot could beat the view of andrea bent over the counter like she is now, so chris is practically on top of drea with annoying whines of “i wanna see,” when she asks him to be careful and wait a second.

you, however, are actively searching for the spiked punch that elijah recommended when you run into erin and matt talking. they both look to you with different expressions as you squeeze yourself by them to get to the punch bowl.

you remind yourself that erin is your friend, not your enemy. nor your competition. meaning you also have to remind yourself that matt is some guy you fuck around with, not your boyfriend.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in while grabbing a plastic cup and using a small ladle to pour the peach colored liquid for yourself. instead of flat-out staring at the two, you take turns looking from them to your cup. you watch as they pose for a picture; erin taking his hat to place on her own head and matt smiling next to her. and another with her kissing his cheek as he laughs.

it’s upsetting- no, humiliating to you. and how especially humiliating that your first thought is whether he’ll dismiss you for erin when you ask him to fuck you later tonight? you blame the weed for getting you so worked up over minutiae interactions.

you’re brought out of your daze in the most humbling of ways: a sudden splash hits your bare foot and covers your black kitten heels in the sticky juice. “fuck,” you groan and place the ladle back into the punch bowl, taking a large sip of your overflowing drink as you look down at the puddle of pink you’re standing in.

you find a towel laying nearby and lower yourself to fumble and wipe your shoe.

“damn y/n, you like my punch that much?” a voice asks from next to you.

you look up and see lucas smiling down at you, “you made it?” you ask genuinely as he helps you rise to standing again.

“no,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, “but im wondering how you managed to spill any with this itty bitty fucking ladle?” he jokes, lifting the ladle and watching it pour the small bit of juice it managed to gather back into the bowl.

“i just wasn’t paying attention,” you laugh and sip your drink again.

“mhm…why’s that?” he squints his eyes down at you.

you tap two of your french tip fingernails against your skull, “so much is happening up here.”

“like what?”

“i don’t knowww,” you smirk and look away to take another sip of your drink.

“well, i know you look sexy as fuck in this dress right now. look at you,” he wets his lips and offers his hand to you with a grin, showing off a few of his shining tooth gems.

you try to maintain your composure and not smile too big but it’s a challenge when he playfully gets you to spin slowly for him and show off the tiny strapless dress you have on as he “oouu”s and whistles to hype you up.

“mm, you like that?” you look up at him, blinking slowly.

he nods and chuckles, “you know damn well-” looking off to the side then gaining your eye contact once more as he wipes over his mouth with his hand, glancing over your body, “‘course i do.”

"good. we should dance then," you guide him to the living room with his hand still in yours.

౨ৎ

you hate to be the bitch on her phone at a party but you can’t stop staring at it. you tap past the story then go back to look again. you even rewatch it in the perspective of someone who hadn’t been there to see the photo taken to see how it would be perceived. hurting your own feelings knowing they could very well assume matt to be erin’s boyfriend with how close they’re standing and her lips against his face.

it’s very dizzying and ruining your high quite a bit, especially paired with andrea who continues to look to you to celebrate after every ping pong ball she throws whether she makes it or not.

you go to rewatch the story once more, only this time a text from matt slides down on your screen to interrupt your sulking:

MATT

Hey come here

Y/N

where???

MATT

Outside youll see me

you let andrea know you’re going outside for air before walking over to a glass sliding door to let yourself out.

you see matt holding a stick while looking down at his phone, fire pit radiating next to him, a mass of people surrounding it.

your arms wrap and hold onto your shoulders as you walk closer, feeling the breeze rack through your body despite the internal heat from the many drinks you've had over the course of the night.

as you approach, asha gets up from her spot on nick's lap to give you a hug, "y/n! hiii." she pulls away and her hands remain on your shoulders, "your cake was so delicious, i tried a bite of each."

"oh good, 'm glad." you smile.

she feels your hands, "are you cold, babe? come sit." she guides you over to the group of people sat around the fire. "you can take my spot, i'll stand," she insists and nick agrees smiling kindly.

you interrupt matt's texting to figure out why he wanted you here, cupping your hands to shout, "matt!" across the lawn from your spot atop nick.

he looks over and quips his head while moving closer, "hey, was just wonderin' if you'd try my s'more? nick thinks he makes them best." he smiles but you can't help but feel that there's a catch to this.

"always gotta prove someone wrong. yeah, i'll do it." you agree as he moves to grab the snack he'd apparently already prepared.

nick mutters, "don't let him bully you into liking his, and don't forget who's acting as your chair currently!" from behind you as you giggle into the bite that matt gives you, holding the smore in his hand up to your mouth.

you chew slowly and matt watches, chatter and crinkles of the fire filling the heated space. you finally nod your head and matt smirks, "so good, right?" matt asks and brings his hand to hold your face and wipe around the corner of your mouth, looking to his right with a smile then back to you.

you feel awkwardly and unnaturally sensual, moving his hand away from your face and searching for what he's looked over to, catching the eye of lucas, standing with a group of guys lighting up near a fence. so that is the fucking catch.

you lick your lips of any remaining marshmallow and shake your head, annoyed, "i don't know, it tastes normal and graham cracker is fucking stale." you look up at him and his face is adorned with confusion on your change of heart.

you feel too fucking weird about this. you wish you couldn't believe that he'd use your feelings towards him for some weird shit like claiming you from lucas, but it's not surprising in the slightest; matt wants his cake yet he'll always want to eat it too.

"yeah, nick wins." you pat the side of nick's thigh to grab his attention and tell him the news, making him cheer and bring you into his chest for a small hug.

matt's lips form the smallest pucker as he watches you get up and walk towards the house without further conversation.

"bye, y/n!" asha yells.

౨ৎ

matt lays flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling to try and organize his many thoughts when his door creaks slightly, allowing a roar of party chatter into his space before it shuts again.

he lifts only his head up to see erin stood with a small smile before letting himself fall back into his plush comforter, "hey, i got your shit in the first drawer over there." he points to a tall dresser across the room.

he listens to her shuffle around before finding a large bag of weed, coming close to him and placing a few folded bills in his front pocket slowly. she then moves so that she hovers over his dazed face, "thank you, are you sure you don't need anything else from me? it is your birthday..." she grins and runs a hand over his chest. he mimics her smile (intended in more of a mocking way than she takes it) and laughs softly.

"no, i'm good on that, e. you enjoy your doobies and shit," he continues to softly laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides before she thanks him again and gives him a small peck.

"happy birthday, matty!" she sings before closing the door to his room and heading straight to his bathroom next door to pee.

matt would say it hasn't even been four minutes since erin left him when you're stumbling into his room. he repeats his look up, only to soften a bit when he sees you make effort to move some of his shoes out of the walkway so that you don't trip, "hi, baby" he waves you over with his fingers and welcomes you as if you'll be staying for long, "lock that door for me." he figures if you came to see him after storming away like that at the fire pit you're either gonna spit your thoughts in his face or sit on his face, there's no in between.

"i found you," you smile and twist the smaller knob to lock the door from the rowdiness. you then make your way over to sit at the end of his bed and begin to fiddle with the straps on your tiny heels, "my feet have been achin' so bad," you look at him as you complain.

"mm, i'm sure."

when your feet are finally free from your shoes you place them on the ground and adjust yourself on the bed. you silently grimace seeing matt with his shoes remaining on his feet despite being on his bed.

he giggles when you begin to unlace them, "feel like a fuckin' princess."

you roll your eyes and begin to pull them off, "with the way you act you might as well be one."

"ouch? it's my birthday," he holds his heart while looking to you playfully.

you tilt your head and drop his second shoe right on the floor as you stare back at him, "oh, i know."

"right. what's wrong now?"

you run your hands along his legs as you inch up his body and hover yourself over his crotch, "nothing. everything's fine, right?" you adjust your hair away from your face.

"sure, uh huh," matt looks up at you and bites his lower lip while moving his hands to hold and squeeze your full thighs. he silently admires the way you fill that tiny dress and look down at him from this angle.

you look away for a moment then decide to put your full weight onto matt, muffled groan leaving his mouth. your lips curve up as you pull his bottom lip from his mouth with your thumb to replace it with your mouth, sucking and kissing it. your tongue runs over his lips a few times before matt takes hold of your head and pulls you impossibly closer to capture your mouth messily with his own.

the kiss is a filthy, drunken sight: noses meshing and colliding, tongues playing and licking, and moans escaping and ringing into the air desperately.

you pull away with a wet smack and whisper into his lips, "i've got another present for you..."

"mmm?" his eyes widen and he squeezes your neck gently, kissing you once more, "for real? like, more than this?!" his hand feathers over your ass, insinuating the way you're sat on top of him right now could easily be his best gift tonight.

"yes," you breathe then begin to giggle, "you're gonna lose your shit, i think."

his mind can think of a lot of things you could do to make him lose his shit, "damn, okay. well, show me. you got my stomach dancin' and shit." he holds you so that you stay put as he lifts himself to rest on his elbows.

your smile bites over your bottom lip now as you raise yourself from his lap once more. your nail taps against your upper thigh as you look down at him, "kiss, please?"

he doesn't have to move much, as your leg is already so close to his face. he keeps heated eye contact with you when he kisses and marks the skin you'd point to, causing small mindless noises to fall from your mouth as you play with his soft hair (that you unfortunately hadn't seen much of tonight).

when he's finished he looks up to you with his red, puffy eyes and wet lips as you thank him, "now...pay attention." you gently demand as you slowly move your dress up your body.

matt studies your movement in awe, eventually catching your gift in his line of sight. he knows you must think you're so sneaky when you only show a glimmer of your lacy white panties, with a cursive red "M" embroidered near the waistband, before quickly pushing your dress back down with an uncontrollable laugh.

matt's face morphs to express a million different emotions and he doesn't realize how loud his voice is when he speaks, "what the fuck?!" he looks up at you- with your head thrown back laughing -then back to your covered lower half. "what was that? hold the fuck on," you body is so loose with laughter that he easily grabs you and flips you onto the bed so that you lay underneath him, still squirming in your own giggles (yelling a few "matt!"s or "matt wait i can't breathe!"s).

his face is full of amusement when he firmly lifts your dress to get a better look at what you've done for him. "oh my god, 'm gonna pass the fuck out. look at you, sunny!" he rubs his eyes dramatically and shakes his head. "no, you're so bad."

"you like it?" you ask, licking over your lips and reaching your hands up to trace the small hairs prickling on matt's jawline.

"course i do, the fuck type of question is that?!" he turns his face to kiss your inner palm before bending closer to kiss your lips once more.

"happy birthday, matt." you say in between kisses, "there's somethin' else if you look a little more."

"really?" he immediately splits from you and looks to your panties once more, running his hands over your lower stomach. the cherry red joint laying against your hip and tucked into your underwear catches him by surprise but the stoner in him nearly cums on the spot.

he removes it from it's place and kisses you mumbling a reminder that "you're so hot" and "the marijuana bug must've bit you real bad" before he gets up to store it in his bedside table, patting the closed drawer and joking, "for when i miss you."

he stands above you for an extra second to shake his head slowly with a tut, but when you whine "c'mereee," he's hushing you and removing his shirt before crawling back on top of you.

your hands run across every inch of his warm torso as you both sloppily kiss, and matt's own hands curiously make their way into your underwear for a proper feel of your wet core.

he allows you to desperately grind your hips against his hand until he eventually decides he needs to taste you. he lowers himself to face your clothed pussy, tracing the "M" with a finger as he places his tongue flat against you and places pressure on your most sensitive area.

his finger once tracing, now moves to pull the tiny piece of fabric off of you. he looks into your eyes as he easily stuffs the cloth in his back pocket, mumbling "mine now" while moving his fingers through your sticky folds.

you cry out when he dips two fingers into you teasingly, over and over again, and another series of moans leaves your mouth when he begins to lick over your clit eagerly.

matt continues his efforts, spitting on your clit a few times to watch it drip down to where his fingers harshly move inside of you; his movements quickening while he watches.

and just before you cum you dumbly warn him, which makes him stop entirely. "no, matt. stop, please come back. please."

"shhh. don't start that shit, you'll cum twice on your day..." he unbuttons his pants, "plus, you know it feels so much better when you wait and have to chase it a few times." he smirks and nudges your clit with his finger once more making you breathe out a moan and close your legs around his hand.

he pulls away from you to finish undressing before laying back dowm in his tight boxers, "come take care of me, sunny. i need you."

"hm...and i needed you too..." you lift yourself up and pout as you climb off the bed and get closer to where he lies, turning and moving your hair away for your back, "unzip me, please?"

he does just as you say and watches you finish removing your dress in only one movement. when you climb on top of him he now gets a view of your tits directly in his face that has him humming and immediately feeling you up.

he kisses and licks the skin while you scratch at his scalp in the most sensual way. you reach behind you to dip your hand into his boxers, immediately coming in contact with his sensitive and slightly sticky tip. he tilts his head back with a groan as soon as you begin to stroke him beneath the fabric making a sinical smile form on your face.

you push the boxers further down his thighs to fully expose him as you bring your lips down to him again. his moans flow into your mouth when you repeatedly rush your movements then slowly circle his head.

eventually matt's eyebrows pinch in terribly tight and he grabs your hand, sighing, "god damn, baby. chill or i'll be cummin' before i'm inside you."

you roll your eyes playfully, "okay?" as you adjust yourself to align over his length, before sinking down on top of him.

"mmm, fuck." he encourages when you lift yourself and slam back down on top of him. you move his hands to hold your hips then spread your hands over his chest as you continue.

matt can't help but slap your ass a few times after discovering the way your muscles flutter around him so perfectly each time. but one smack in particular aids you to practically fall onto his chest whining, "matt i can't, please just-."

he immediately lifts your face to give him a much needed kiss before reaching to realign himself and hold onto you as he thrusts rhythmically into you.

moans sneak from your mouth and interrupt you from kissing and holding onto matt's neck, which only encourage matt until he's completely flustered and drilling into you sloppily.

matt can tell you're cumming by your all too and familiar broken moans. and once you harshly kiss him and ask him to let go in return he finally stills inside of you and groans into your soft shoulder.

a silence coats the room, leaving the overpowering music and talking of the party to linger through the air in a cloudy murmur.

matt keeps his arms around you while you recover from your high, staring at the ceiling of his faintly lit room in questionable thought.

and he assumes you must be doing the same; only he mistakes the wetness of your tears for his own sweat as you turn your head away from him to dissolve your embarrassingly shaky breaths.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list is in the replies ily!!!!

[noturlondonboy]

Hiii, can I ask for more autistic Yelena hcs? I love her sm but there's so little content for her :(

Autistic Yelena Belova is the genuine love of my life and I would do anything for her

Also this was MUCH longer than I thought it would be so I hope that’s your thing lol

-first of all, Yelena has literally no clue what autism is. They were never taught about neurodivergence in the Red Room, because there was no point. Each Widow was already tested on their cognitive abilities over and over and over again, with the weak links being weeded out. Yelena got “lucky” in that aspect; she didn’t start showing signs or symptoms until later (which can happen) and would be considered high functioning or even neurotypical when under the Red Room’s control. She unknowingly taught herself how to mask and always blamed the discomfort she felt on the fact that she was in the hell that was the Red Room in the first place.

-the first time she ever mentions something that could be related back to her being autistic, she and Kate are out clothes shopping. She’s already overstimulated from the bright sunlight, the store lights glaring off the floor, and the sounds of people’s shoes clacking, shopping carts creaking, and the children throwing a fit on the other side of the store. She physically recoils away from a jacket after her knuckles brush over it, her face scrunching up and tears welling in her eyes as she desperately shakes her hand out to get the disgusting texture off of her skin. Kate is worried and confused, but once they’ve gotten into the safety of their car with the window shades pulled up and the AC blasting, Yelena is able to explain that the texture felt awful and it felt like her brain was on fire from all the noise (even tho the store was actually relatively quiet). Kate starts putting two and two together after that day but doesn’t say anything for a while.

-when the idea of a diagnosis is brought to her, Yelena literally laughs in Kate and Natasha’s faces. She doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about, but she’s for damn sure knows that that’s not her. She avoids the topic completely for weeks, changing the subject abruptly, leaving the room, of just full on putting her noise canceling headphones on and blasting her favorite music. That entire time, she is masking HARD, still without even realizing it, because the thought of a medical professional analyzing her is terrifying and just brings her right back to the Red Room. Kate is finally able to get to her one night when she pulls out her laptop and shows Yelena a list of common signs/symptoms of autism, and Yelena reads over them with a blank look on her face. She spends the rest of the night feverishly researching as much as she can about it, and by the morning, she’s a crying, exhausted mess in Kate’s arms.

-when they finally make her an appointment to see a neurologist, Yelena is practically bouncing off the walls with how anxious she is. The wait time is months long, but Natasha pulls some strings and manages to get her scheduled for the next month. Yelena needs a ton of cuddles after that, curling up with Kate on their bed and having the archer rest on top of her so it can feel like her body isn’t trying to escape her.

-the appointment itself goes smoother than she was expecting, but she still doesn’t like it. She’s asked questions and given scenarios to react to, they have her complete all sorts of different kinds of puzzles and equations, but she completes them all beyond easily because her brain was literally rewired to be cognitively brilliant. They don’t really start getting anywhere until the topic of her overstimulation comes up, and from there it pipelines into a conversation about how she hates certain textures, how some foods feel impossible to eat, how she has to complete patterns in her head to feel better, how anxious she gets about small things, how she stims and ticks almost constantly without even realizing, etc etc. She gets the official diagnosis a few weeks later and doesn’t know how to feel, so Kate and Natasha just hold her and they all watch a movie together.

-with Yelena’s stimming, you can bet it’s pretty constant whenever she’s not masking. Stimming is the repetition of certain physical movements or noises to help calm someone down. And seeing as Yelena is who she is, she’s stressed pretty much all the time. Her biggest stim is playing and fidgeting with her rings, but she also taps her fingers together a lot in patterns that she can’t explain, blinks rapidly when it’s bright wherever she is, rubs her thumb over her cheek, presses her hands together tightly and rubs them together, and runs her hands through her hair. She tries to get herself to stop doing those things once she knows what they are, but masking is getting more and more uncomfortable, and she only lasts a few days before she breaks and has a meltdown.

-she ticks when she’s particularly anxious or overstimulated, or when there are sudden unexpected loud noises whenever she’s relaxed and not masking. Ticks are a lot like stims, but are most often involuntary and can’t be controlled unless a lot of effort is put into it. Keeping oneself from ticking can be extremely physically painful, more so than holding back on stimming. Her ticks are usually small- clicking her tongue, making small noises in the back of her throat, tilting her head back and forth, snapping her fingers, etc. With the loud noises or high levels of stress, they turn into full body twitches, which usually renders her entirely nonverbal and prone on the couch or in bed while she shivers and jerks. It freaks Kate out until she understands what’s happening and learns how to help, but only because she’s so worried.

-Yelena finds out that she loves to have something in her mouth, and at first it weirds and freaks her out, but she can’t help herself when Natasha buys her a chewable necklace. She adores the texture on her tongue and how she can sink her teeth into it without it breaking, and she wears it almost constantly, often accessorizing different color pallets of the chewelry with how she dresses. She also likes to chew or suck gently on Kate’s fingers, which usually happens when they’re cuddling or after sex. Kate doesn’t mind, as long as she doesn’t bite too hard, and she makes sure to always have her hands clean whenever they’re together in case Yelena randomly wants to go full puppy on her.

[swampgallows]

.

complaining here because i dont want to burden my friends but still want to collect validation in the form of little pixel hearts

my moms mental state has gotten so much worse and as a result her hoarding is becoming even worse and even more impossible to tolerate. i have tried to have more sympathy about it and to help her with it, sitting with her while she sorts "a box a day" or even just "one thing a day". ive gently recommended she get a new therapist but all she did was change her horse on the SSRI carousel and start smoking weed. i've linked her articles and books and videos, and when she doesnt look at any of them i try to relay to her in conversation what i learned from them when she bemoans "why am i like this?". none of it matters. she just complains that it's "too overwhelming" and she "can't help it" even though she refuses any help at all.

i know it is a mental disorder. i know it is overwhelming. i know it causes her physical pain to get rid of things and at the same time cripples her with guilt to keep it all. but as of right now all we're trying to get her to do is just rearrange the things so that they aren't turning our house into a fucking obstacle course, and she pushes back on that too. like she doesn't want to even organize the piles AS THEY ARE and condense them because she'd rather be "actually throwing things away and putting things away like a human being!"—the thing that she very specifically CANNOT do.

and if we consolidate it on our own? hooooly christ. she goes on a fucking rampage, slamming doors, screaming/sobbing, throwing shit (her shit. it's all her shit). because it's HER stuff and WE touched it and she feels guilty about all her stuff. she STILL talks about when my sister tidied the spice cabinet, convinced that "she threw everything away!" and that was years ago. (my sister is a different kind of insane and probably DID throw a bunch of shit away, but either way all it did was give my mom ammunition for the rest of her life to never do anything.)

this is long enough already so all i can say is that im disappointed in myself for losing more of my tolerance and sympathy. like at this point the only reason i care is because i have to fucking live here since i havent been able to stay employed or move out yet and my mental health is also incredibly bad. but also my mom's becoming much more intolerant and hateful as a human being, which makes me less inclined to keep trying. like she deliberately brings up incendiary topics (usually politics), whips herself up into a cyclone of hatred (every '-ism' you can think of) while preemptively apologizing for things that she thinks that we think about the politics that she "doesn't like talking about" despite blatantly shifting the conversation to bring them up, then devolves into histrionic crying or yelling at us for something she has imagined. this is almost every day. i know she's my mom so im trying but christ alive

[weezerfan123]

If you have any headcanons for sweet dirt? Like about their futures or relationships

People showing interest in the obscure rarepair I made up over a year ago is something I never could’ve imagined and I appreciate it beyond words, seriously😭💗

ANYWAY yes I think about them all the time and have so much to say about them!!

Scott definitely falls first. Sugar rolls around in dirt and puts makeup on pigs and has violent tendencies and Scott is like WOW. What a woman. When Scott has a crush, he’ll try to play it cool, or even pretend he hates Sugar, but his true feelings are painfully obvious.

If he tries to play it cool, he’ll go out of his way to hang around Sugar, making lame excuses just to be near her. He might start mimicking her interests, like rolling in the dirt alongside her or acting like he’s suddenly into pig makeup. Of course, Sugar’s suspicious, and thinks he’s only hanging around because he wants something/will backstab her eventually. It’s a bad mentality she can’t shake from her pageant days, she’s convinced anyone being nice to her is faking it.

They’d definitely develop a rivalry before they’d become any kind of friends. Wether it’s on the show, at their local county fair— in every universe, these two fight like feral animals. It’s not cutesy stuff like tripping or hair-pulling; Scott will put nails in Sugar’s driveway and Sugar will hit him on the back of the head with a steel pipe. There will be many concussions and broken noses before these two even consider becoming friends.

As their rivalry intensifies, Scott finds himself in a strange predicament. The more they clash, the more he’s drawn to Sugar. Every time she pulls some wild stunt, his respect for her only grows. Sure, she may have just stabbed him in the foot with a rusty pitchfork, but Scott can’t help but admire her strength and determination.

On the flip side, Sugar’s suspicions about Scott’s intentions only deepen as he sticks around. She’s used to people being fake nice, but Scott’s different. He’s not pretending to be sweet; he’s openly antagonistic, and for some reason, that feels more genuine to her. Even though they’re constantly at each other’s throats, Sugar starts noticing the little things—how Scott’s always around, how he never really tries to hurt her too badly, and how, despite everything, he’s weirdly consistent in her life.

Their rivalry becomes the foundation of their bond, and before they know it, they start to rely on each other in odd ways. Scott might complain about Sugar being impossible, but if anyone else messes with her, he’s the first to step in. And while Sugar might talk about how she hates his guts, she’d secretly miss their fights if he ever stopped showing up.

Eventually, the tension between them builds up to a breaking point. Maybe it’s another over-the-top brawl, where they’re both covered in mud and bruises, panting from the effort. In that moment, there’s a pause—just long enough for them to catch each other’s eye and realize that underneath all the chaos, they actually care about each other.

From there, things start to change. Their fights become less about hurting each other and more about pushing each other’s buttons in a way that only they can. It’s still a mess, but now there’s a weird, unspoken understanding between them. They’ll never admit it, but both Scott and Sugar find a certain thrill in their bizarre relationship.

Once they’re in a relationship— however the fuck they figure that out—

Scott’s love language is 100% acts of service. He’ll wake up at 5am to feed the chickens and weed the garden. When Sugar’s like why’d you do that for me Scott says “BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!”

He also brings Sugar home little trinkets, cool rocks, and flowers he finds out and about. He tells her “This reminded me of you FUCKFACE,” and kisses her on the cheek. He can’t give affection without being a little mean to balance it out.

Sugar, instead of getting mad, just beams at him, knowing that Scott’s bark is worse than his bite. She’s used to his rough edges and tough love, and she can see right through Scott’s attempts to hide his feelings. It’s why she likes to smother him with affection, knowing it drives him crazy.

Sugar’s love language is touch. She loves hugging Scott so hard his ribs crack and carrying him around like a sack of potatoes. She likes to kiss him all over his face until he gets embarrassed and shoves her away.

Their relationship is a mix of insults and affection, bruises and hugs, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. AND I LOVE THEM!!!!!

[lesinquietes]

Summary: Warmly, you aren’t like those other final girls — the ones you watched in Friday the Thirteens or A Nightmare on Elm Street. You’re resourceful. You think ahead. You actually want to save your pathetic mortal life. And Alucard loves your thirst for life. It makes you such dynamic prey. You don’t bore him. He wonders what it’ll feel like when you die in his arms, body limp in a volatile concoction of death and eternal pleasure.

Pairing: Yandere!Alucard x AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ (minors, don’t interact); angst, dark content, horror, sexual themes, substance use (cree be smokin’ weed), violence

Previous l

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

The Basement's Monster IV

When you get into your bedroom, you lock the door. Chest heaving, you lean against it, gathering your composure. An onslaught of emotions hit you. The fear. The anger. The overwhelm. A whimpers leaves your lips, and you crack.

You sob into your palms, muffling the sad noises howling from your mouth. The last thing you want is for Nelly to check on you. You can’t hope to explain what happened before she came home. She’ll think you’re delusional. You aren’t sure where she’s at in terms of spiritual beliefs. When Cree was about to enter the basement and the lightbulb blew, she appeared to be cognizant of the potential dangers lurking below. But, then again, she was rather critical when you proposed the presence of an entity on the day of the showing.

“We’re really gonna pass up this opportunity because the basement could be haunted?” She asked incredulously, forehead creased and expression packed with exasperation. “‘Cause it’s a good deal, and we might not find something better.”

If you could travel back and opt out of moving into this house, you would. You wouldn't care if Nelly resented you for it. You wouldn't care if they excommunicated you for being unreasonable, either. It would be worth it to extricate all of you from this fate.

You feel halfway defeated, now.

You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor. You bring your knees up to your face and press your head against them. Your tears are tapering off.

You close your eyes. You're in the cycle of grieving. It's impossible for you to mourn your safety and privacy while engrossed by your survival. You find yourself jumping from hysterics to logic in a matter of seconds. If you ever get a breather from this terrible situation — from the abominable beast in the basement — you know you’ll need to have a good cry; that, and years of therapy.

The floor is crisp against your hot palms. It serves to ground you, offering reprieve from emotion mind. What do you remember reading about the vampires’ weaknesses? There has to be something you can do to protect yourself.

Today, he meant to frighten you; tomorrow, he'll kill you.

Some forums claimed vampires are deterred by running water. One user asserted that they can be drowned. Another posited that they're incapable of moving across bodies of water. You’re not sure what to think. The nightstalker entered the bathroom in the midst of your shower; does that count? If so, the running water theory is a myth.

Sunlight might be fictitious, as well. The fiery ball was high in the sky this afternoon when he ravaged your space. He doesn't seem repulsed by its rays. Granted, he does seem more active at night.

Garlic was highlighted in your search results, too. Users asserted that it isn’t necessarily the vegetable that wards them off, but the allicin it contains. You always presumed vampires had an acute sense of smell, and the scent of garlic was overstimulating. You don't believe the garlic will kill him; you're hoping to disable him, or ward him off from the sheer smell. Anything to buy you time.

While wild roses were seldom discussed, you think they’re another viable option to hinder his advances. Their petals are said to be mildly harmful. Their thorns are meant to restrain the undead to their everlasting graves. It would be simple to line your bedroom door and windows with the pretty red slivers, banning him. You could also line a stick with them, using it as a weapon to take beyond your chamber.

You lift your head up. And there’s also holy water. It seems like an ingredient that’s interchangeable with other sacred items or formalities across different religions. Cree described using tobacco in prayers and rituals to communicate with oneself and spirits; that would probably be just as effective. Perhaps you’ll try both.

There are no mosques, temples, or synagogues in town. A church at the top of the hill, overlooking a doddering graveyard, is your only bet. You've pass by it on the way into town. It appears run-down, like no one has donated to its upkeep in decades. You’ve heard townsfolk mention service on Sundays, so you know it’s still in operation. You can go there to obtain a vial of holy water.

You deliberate going at this precise moment. Impulsivity tugs at your chest cavity. Anxiety has your leg bouncing. But you’re not up for it — you feel it. Begrudgingly, you recognize that self-care is crucial during this battle. You need to let your body rest. You can visit town tomorrow.

Today, you're going to collect and carve a piece of wood from your yard. There are plenty of branches lying beneath the snow, and you want a stake handy in case the vampire lunges. You’ll keep it by your bedside.

Alternatively, you can call Cree. He’s at work this afternoon. He could buy the essentials for you.

You go through your phone and find his name. You click on his contact photo and press the device to your ear. You nibble on your lower lip, desperate for him to answer.

He picks up after three rings.

“Hey, lady.”

“Hey.”

“Everything good?”

“Sure." You're not keen to inform him of how your afternoon genuinely went. "You mind grabbing a few things for me?”

He exhales. There’s exhaustion in his tone.

“Tonight?”

If it wasn’t urgent, you wouldn’t press.

“If you could.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat on my break anyways. Not hungry for what I brought. Guess I could be productive, instead.”

You light up.

“You sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah.” He says. “What do you want me to bring back?”

“Garlic, if you could.” You indulge. “And is the florist still open?"

He takes a minute to check. The modest storefront is just down the street from him.

"Yeah."

"Can you see if they have wild roses?"

"Sure."

“Thanks.”

You smile. Here he is, pulling through for you again. You're fortunate to have people you can rely on.

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

You’ll go to the church on your own. You’ll ask him about the ceremonial tobacco when he gets home, as well.

“‘kay, gonna get back to work.” He drawls. “See ya.”

“Thanks again, Cree.”

“Takeout’s on you this week.”

He hangs up. You titter softly to yourself. You enjoy sitting down and enjoying a meal with him every once in a while; in fact, maybe you’ll buy enough for everyone.

You get to your feet and straighten out your clothes. You take numerous deep breaths, until you're prepared to face whatever awaits. Eventually, you open the door. Cree won’t be home until late. You want to find wood that's worthy of being crafted into a stake before the sun sets. You need a refresher on carving, so the endeavour could take all evening.

You exit your bedroom. Across the hall, you hear Nelly listening to music. The beat is faint. You can't tell what song it is. Vaguely, you wonder if it's truly her this time, or something deceptively sinister.

You saunter down the stairs and hook left. In the entryway, you snatch your jacket off a hook and throw it over your shoulders. From there, you strap on your winter boots and decorate your neck with a scarf. Your gloves are adorned last.

You glance behind you. Ericson hasn't returned yet. You hope she's okay. It wouldn't hurt to shoot her a quick text.

You pull out your phone.

Checking in eases your conscience. She always responds to texts. You'll hear from her later. You store the device in your pocket.

The front door is unlocked. Bravely, you step outside and shudder. The frigid wind immediately coasts up the bottom of your coat, freezing you to the core. Nothing helps when the weather is this tumultuous. You step out.

Spilling over onto your property is a massive grove. You haven’t trekked inside the flurry of trees, for fear of getting lost. Maybe one of these days, you’ll ask Ericson to take a hike with you, but you won’t venture into its depths without a companion. Coyotes, wolves, and bears are known to roam in these parts — amongst other, supernatural beasts.

You march towards the hem of trees. All the while, you contemplate. It’s unlikely you’ll be capable of dispelling the vampire entirely. You’ll have to convince your friends to move, but when is the right occasion to breach that topic? No one will be on board. Everyone will take a tremendous amount of manipulation.

You stop and stare at the woods. The wind howls in your ears, whipping icy crystals into your face. You shield yourself as you bask in the wonder of the decrepit-looking forest.

You’re much closer than before. From its recesses, an eerie sensation threatens to choke you. Trees poke up on the horizon. Their branches are jagged, jutting from thick trunks like refined skewers. You reminisce on the monster’s cruel words.

“My primary mode of execution for traitors was a slow death by impalement.”

It’s funny how the tables have turned. Now, he’s the one who shall be stabbed to death. You don’t doubt that it’ll come to that — to him terrorizing you when the stake is ready in your grasp, and you have no choice but to finish him.

Something compels you to enter the forest. Something coaxes you — with a long, lithe digit beneath your chin, sharp nail digging into your flesh — to explore the secluded valley, where no one will find you if you go missing, and no one will hear you scream. There will be better pieces of wood inside. You can protect your loved ones best with a proper weapon.

Wait… no.

You shake your head. You don’t permit his influence to affect you. You recognize the feelings clouding your mind as the same ones he induces. You won’t play into his game. You won’t be easy prey again.

You pick up the first branch you can find on the ground. It’s thick enough to work. It doesn’t look rotten, as though it’ll snap with force. It’ll do. You can’t afford to linger anymore.

With this settled, you scurry back towards the building. Hard snow crunches beneath your feet as you jog. Motivation and dread keep you warm. Every so often, you can swear you hear another set of footsteps trailing after you, but a swift glimpse over your shoulder debunks your theory. It doesn’t ease your pounding heart, however; your body knows what it heard.

You enter the house, panting for air. Instantly, your hand rips the door lock across, barring anything physical from an open invitation. You don’t dare regard the skyline of the wicked forest, for fear of what might be staring back through the thin glass at you.

Cree finishes work at nine. His cafe closes the latest on the strip — not counting the gas station up the street that’s open ‘til midnight. Fortunately, he grabbed your garlic and roses earlier.

He shares a joint with his coworker before driving home. He gets to the house by ten without delay. Unlocking the door, he notices a subtle ringing in his ears. His black brows furrow. That’s odd. Could be the temperature difference — from very cold to mild — but his body has never reacted like that before.

He doesn’t dwell on it. He kicks off his boots and shrugs his jacket onto the coat rack. From there, he carries your bag of goods up the stairs.

Prying eyes flicker to Ericson’s door as he climbs. It’s dark in there. He can’t see her usual lamp, shining brilliantly as she yammers on the phone. Remarkably, there’s no sound at all. He ignores his unease for the second time this evening, at the cost of almost smashing into Nelly. She gasps at the top step, clutching her chest.

“Oooooh.” She breathes. “You had me fucked up for a minute ‘cause I forgot you were working late.”

Right. He works afternoons, but he’s been covering for a sick colleague. She must have heard someone come home and forgot about his change in schedule.

“Shit, sorry.” He chuckles, clasping her forearm gingerly. “Thought I told ya.”

She slides past him with a small smile.

“It’s all good.”

Cree proceeds to his destination. When he gets to your door, he listens to the music playing. He spares you a few knocks. Unsurprisingly, you don’t answer. It’s challenging to usurp the beats coming from your space.

Ten days,

ten days,

ten days.

He knocks louder, overpowering the ballad. That does the trick. He hears something hit the floor while you scramble off your mattress. The music shuts off and you trot to the door. Soon, your figure comes into view.

Your hair is a mess. Orbs hazy and narrowed, you scan his form until you get to his face. You don’t seem to be in the mindset to interact. There’s a feral energy to you, and it’s greatly affecting your confidence in others. Nevertheless, despite picking up on these reads, he still chooses to greet you casually.

“Sup.”

“H-hey!” You step aside to let him enter. “Sorry, got sucked into my work.”

That’s a fib. You were looking up more resources on vampirism. Music helps pacify your raging nerves.

“No problem, man.”

He hands you the bag and welcomes himself inside. You have the window slightly ajar, permitting some of the cool night air inside. It’s a little brisk. Don’t you feel the wintry chill?

He treads over to your bed. He only gets halfway when a stabbing sensation reverberates through his being. He curses in his first language and releases a guttural groan.

“Argh!”

Lifting his foot, he sees what caused the abrupt pain. It’s a huge splinter of wood, embedded below his big toe. Tweezing the debris between his thumb and forefinger, he yanks it out of his flesh. It leaves a small speck of blood.

Inspecting the ground, he makes note of various other bits scattered across your rug. He wish he'd known to look out for them.

“Oh my gosh!” You gape. “I’m so sorry, Cree!”

“It’s all good.” He mutters. “But like, were you carving something?”

You purse your lips. Do you want to show him your stake? You don’t know how he’ll respond. If you’re to convince them to move in the future, it’s best if you don’t come off like more of a lunatic.

“Yeah.” You admit. “Just… practicing for the season.”

Inwardly, you wince. Who the fuck says that? Practicing for the season. Practicing for what? You anticipate his disbelief. Shockingly, it doesn’t come.

“Oh, cool.”

Cree takes your excuse at face value. Although this is helpful in the grand scheme of things, the guilt that arises is unpleasant; it’s not fun, lying to your friends. He indulges you further.

“My dad used to do a lot of stone carving. If he left any of those shards around the garage and I walked around barefoot, I got fucked up.”

He laughs at the memory. His father has been gone for three years. He was a good man. You knew him, too. Cree did a lot of grieving with his kinfolk for months following his passing, so you didn’t see him much. You know he went through it.

“Anyways, work was boring.” Content to change the topic, he sits on the edge of your mattress. “You gonna check to see if I got you the right shit?”

You peek in the bag. You clasp the sack of garlic and reel it out. Next to it is a small pile of silky bulbs. You clue in that those are your wild roses. You pick them out to examine their lacklustre presentation more closely.

“Oh yeah, sorry about those.” He divulges. “The florist only had wild rose heads, and they’re not in the best shape.”

He’s not kidding. The petals are beginning to wilt, ruining the velvety red hues with patches of hideous black. They don’t look happy.

“Why didn’t they have any with stems?” You inquire, perplexed.

“She said something about clipping too many for a wedding order.”

That explains it. You can’t fault the woman for making an error. The bulbs will serve the purpose you need. You can glue them to another stick from outside; one that has range.

“Thanks for getting these.”

You set the bag aside.

“No problem, my dude.”

You ponder how Cree might react if you told him the reason for needing your mismatched supplies. He’s more open-minded than Nelly and Ericson. But what the hell does that mean? Everyone has a line of reality that can’t be crossed. For Ericson, despite enduring the monster’s wrath, she still wasn’t willing to admit the possibility of a vampire. What’s Cree’s limit?

You go out on a limb. Maybe he’ll be an ally, or maybe you’ll bury yourself with this confession.

“Can you guess why I asked you to pick these up?”

Without skipping a beat, he shrugs.

“Vampires?”

Unceremoniously, your eyes widen and your lips flap.

“H-how did you know?!”

He casts you an incredulous stare.

“You bought garlic and roses, dawg. No other ingredients.”

You simmer down. When he puts it like that, you suppose your intentions were obvious. If he’s cognizant of his lore, he knows wild roses and garlic are the antitheses to nightstalkers. Why else would you frantically ask him to get them for you?

“Okay.” You concede. “But do you believe me?”

Cree folds his arms across his chest. His face bears both contemplation and concern. He takes a second or two to formulate his reply.

“I believe that there’s something in the house.” He murmurs, at last. “A vampire, though?”

Your impulse is to claim that the monster told you it was a vampire, but you don’t utter a word. What does he benefit from knowing its exact species? A demon isn’t much different than the creature you’re grappling with in the basement. They can both manipulate, lie, steal… kill.

“It could be anything.” You lie, folding to his ambivalence. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“I honestly feel like it could be a bad spirit.”

He isn’t far off; your foe certainly isn’t good. There are ill intentions waiting for you and your comrades as the clock ticks. He doesn’t understand how accurate his statement may turn out to be.

“What would we do about that?”

“Smudging, man.”

“But didn’t you smudge this place already?”

He deadpans you.

“You think we don’t encounter negative energy that we can bring home? Once or twice ain’t gonna cut it.”

You suppose you didn’t think of it like that. Maybe he thrives on negativity. Maybe he can smell it, and he uses scent to hunt particularly frail prey.

“So you’d smudge again?”

“Shit, I’m gonna go overboard this time. I’ll smudge the fucking food if I have to, girl.” He leans back on your mattress and stares at the ceiling. “Honestly, that day in Nelly’s room still messes me up.”

“Me, too.”

You can’t fathom what would have come out of that closet if you’d stuck around.

“Don’t wanna run into that again.”

You wish that was an option.

“Do you think we’re safe?”

The question slips past your lips before you can stop it. Part of you is asking to test the waters; another part is thirsty for reassurance.

“I mean, wouldn’t it have done something at this point if it wanted to harm us?” He shakes his head solemnly. “I think we’re good for now.”

For now. Even Cree doesn’t trust in the permanency of safety when there are creatures of the night involved. Besides, what if dark doings have already transpired, and they flew underneath his radar? He ought to be open to the idea of being spiritually blinded by a creature more mighty than he can envision.

“Yo.”

You lift your head up. Cree is gazing at you with furrowed brows. His eyes scrutinize your expression.

“You legit seem spooked.”

“I guess I am.”

You’re downplaying your terror. You are; there’s no guessing involved. What can he do about it?

“Try to chill.” He clasps your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m right across the hall.”

But what about when he’s not? What about when he’s at work, and you’re on your own with this Eldritch nightmare? He can’t save you; no one can. You have solely yourself to rely on. Ericson is fighting her own battle.

“Thanks.”

He lets go of you. There’s a charm about him that’s incredibly unique. He’s in touch with himself and those around him. Above all else, though, he gives a damn. You cherish the friendship you two have cultivated… and you aspire to protect him, if it comes down to it.

“Oh hey, did you buy those tickets last night?”

You’re happy for the change in subject.

“Oh, yeah.”

Amidst all the ruckus today, you nearly forgot about the festival coming up. From what you gather, it’s an outdoor social market in town. For drinks, there’s warm apple cider, hot chocolate, peppermint tea, and boiling water. The food sounds holiday-themed and delicious. There will be games and prizes, too. You’re excited to see what it’s like. Maybe you’ll finally get to chat with some of your neighbours.

“You bought me roses and garlic, so I’ll front the ticket cost.”

“And takeout?” He winks.

“Sure, whatever.”

It wouldn’t bother you to do both. Happy moments are far apart with what’s been going on. You want to have as many as you can before facing the enemy, in case the outcome doesn’t weigh in your favour.

“‘Kay, I’m gonna go wash up and head to bed.” He proposes, stretching his arms high above his head. “Text me if you need anything, lady.”

“You too.”

He rises. There's a small limp in his walk. Eyes glued to the floor, evading slivers of wood, he makes it to the door. You nibble on your tongue as he twists the knob to let himself out. You’re frightened for his wellbeing, and there’s a nagging tenacity which begs you to tell him.

“Cree.”

He pauses. Long black hair, bound in a thick ponytail, sweeps across his back while he peers at you analytically.

“What’s up?”

“Be safe. Like, stay alert.”

He parrots your words from earlier.

“You too.”

And with that, he departs.

You pray he took your warning seriously. If not, he won't live. The beast is hungry, and he’s growing stronger.

You reach over and turn your music back on. You don’t want to face a second of silence. The creaks and groans of this old building are foreboding. They warn of a presence just outside your door, and a monster maiming your friends. You don't want to be privy to any more of it than you have to.

You sit on your bed and reopen your laptop. The webpages you were browsing, prior to Cree's interruption, are plentiful. You barely recall what you were reading. You immerse yourself back into the content.

When I think of you…

When I think of you…

“You should follow your own advice, trandafir.”

Your eyelids snap open. Pupils dart left and right, working to register your surroundings. It’s dark again. Instead of tall evergreens, you’re at a grey cliff face. The grand castle from your nightmare stands at the peak. That’s when it dawns upon you that you’re dreaming.

Normally, this realization shocks the system and stirs an individual from slumber; not this time. He doesn’t allow you to rouse. Unbeknownst to you, there’s a specific sequence he has planned that he’s been dying to play out with you. He thinks he has sufficient energy to keep you under until he can act it completely through — so long as you don’t squirm.

Alucard cackles in his recesses. Unlike the mortal plain, he isn’t muted; you can hear everything he wants you to hear in his realm. It’s the change he’s been pining for. Akin to impotence, he feels lesser when he’s unable to communicate with you.

He relishes in how you shrink beneath his influence. It makes him miss the power he had before his defining battle with van Helsing. If he was at peak strength, you wouldn’t dare be as audacious as you are in his domain. It’s not the silence or the jump scares or the shadow in your bedroom you should be scared of — it’s his budding prowess.

Lucid, you clutch your cloak close to your body. You swallow. The chilly wind feels dreadfully real. But it can’t be that what happens to you here will translate to your waking life; he isn’t an incubus.

Your boots crunch through a thick coating of snow as you trek, following the twisted path forward. It’s the only direction you can go. There’s no turning back without facing whatever was hunting you in the forest. Truth be told, you’d much rather face the horrors contained in a castle, with predictable corridors and staircases, than the woods, with trees that look the same and spiteful shadows.

Battling the gusts and terrain, you reach the towering twin doors. Weathered from the harsh temperatures of this land, the thick planks are badly chipped, as is the metal of the knocker. You gulp. Bravely, you extend your arm to grasp the iron handle. Before you can dedicate, however, a vicious breeze pulls your cloak over your head, exposing your bare torso.

Your thighs clench together, legs trembling from the frost and humiliation. Embarrassed, you quickly yank the garment down. You know that wasn’t a coincidence; the vampire’s perversion is to blame.

Fuelled by a blossoming fury, you try again. The knocker is gigantic in your hands. As you swing it down twice against the thick slab of wood, heaving with every fibre of your being, it reverberates through your form. You feel it rattle the roots of your teeth; then, his voice penetrates your ears like a stray bullet.

“Enter, pet.” Each syllable dipped in velvet, rolling off his forked tongue. “Explore your future homestead.”

You grit your teeth. He’s cocky. You would never elect to live in this hellscape. If you have it your way, this place will die with him

The doors part effortlessly. You expect him to be standing there, welcoming you into his grand home. He’s not. He’s a poor host.

Beyond the gate is the dim main hall. Candelabras hang on the walls, illuminating the corners and crevices, so that no surprises lie in wait for you. A rugged red carpet leads from the doorway to the throne at the head of the room. For a second, gazing through the darkness, you think you see the silhouette of an armoured warrior with long onyx locks. When you blink, he’s gone, and the seat is empty.

You enter cautiously. The throne room is further lit by a grandiose fireplace and an elegant chandelier. The atmosphere is gothic. Your unease grows with each detail of the mundane interior that you notice. It’s too gloomy in here.

“Ah?” He chuckles tauntingly. “Perhaps you can redecorate, then.”

You would rather die — as in, forever; undead isn’t your jam.

You find yourself drawn to an entryway with an ancient, descending staircase. Glancing to and fro, you clock that the only way to go is down. You think it’s fitting that he’s the basement’s monster in your nightmares, as well.

“You take implicit direction well.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from exploding. The way he acts — as though you’re choosing him — is infuriating. Angrily, you snatch a torch from one of the metal wall baskets. The short handle is cozy in your palm. It’s a stark contrast to the ice storm roaring outside these stone walls.

The darkness jerks and wriggles further from your flame as you plummet. At the final step, you survey your surroundings. The stairwell led to a hallway with multiple openings on either side. The torch isn’t brilliant enough to reveal what the passage holds.

“Don’t be a coward.” He jeers. “Face the unknown with the precise delusion that priests use when they pray to their false god.”

You wrinkle your nose. His disdain for religion raises an eyebrow. Does that mean his weakness lies in holy symbols?

You lurch off the staircase and wander towards the crevices on either side of the walkway. They’re cages — all eight of them empty. Peering through the bars, you acknowledge that they’re no bigger than an animal stall, with a blanket of soiled hay on the floor as if to reiterate that fact. This is where he stored his prisoners, hoarding them for his sick amusement — and their blood, of course.

You grasp one of the bars and tug. The door jiggles in your hand, but it remains latched. You try the cell opposite, to no avail.

Shaken, you continue along the path ahead, using the torch to break through the blackness. No one seems to be lurking in the shadows, regardless of how many times you glance over your shoulder; nevertheless, your guard doesn’t lower. The passage hooks right. This time, the corridor is lined with sturdy wooden doors. There are torches on the walls, though none of them are lit.

All of a sudden, apprehension buckles your knees. The oxygen from your lungs feels as though it’s being drained, leaving you panting. Every fibre of your being is warning you. Every single part of your soul indicates that to continue is to die.

You clamp your eyes shut. A muted whimper surfaces, signifying your stress. There’s no winning in a nightmare of his creation. But what lies in the entryway of the castle, or even the cryptic forest? Nothing of substance. Perhaps merely his fury.

You struggle to move forward. One leg jerks, while the other jitters mid-step. You’re going to see this sequence through. Maybe you’ll shock him; after all, he can’t control all your actions and behaviours.

A noise cuts through the air. It sounds like glass shattering. You’re pretty sure it came from one of the first few doors. This is your cue; the show is commencing.

You approach the door on the right, slightly ajar. A light floods in from underneath. With a trembling hand, you push it open further. What lies behind it startles you. It’s the vampire, feasting on an innocent man.

The mortal appears to be in his twenties. Dressed in clothing dated in a different era, you can’t tell what his hopes and aspirations were by judging a book by its cover; all you know is that he didn’t deserve this fate. His throat is ripped out. Blood pours down his horrified visage, fresh and fragrant. You can barely see its trail down mocha skin.

You think he’s dead; then, his eyes shift. It startles you. The gesture is oddly intimate, as if he’s cupping your essence in his dead grasp. That’s when you notice he’s staring directly at you. And the monster is, too.

“Oh my god.”

You back up. The cryptid’s lips are dripping with crimson. Mouth messy with the remains of his snack, he grins. His teeth are sharp as razors. On the man’s neck, he left puncture wounds the size of small coins. The pain must have felt unimaginable.

The beast lowers his latest catch to the floor and creeps forward. Up close at last, you can see his finer features. Irises the colour of war and brutality contrast against pale, grey skin. Black tresses stop midway down his back, with no red fedora to obstruct their length. His skin is frustratingly clear, accentuating his refined characteristics.

He’s taller than you anticipated. If you had to guess, you’d say he was seven feet tall. It’s horribly intimidating. You learn that his speed is impressive, as well. He dashes towards the door, drool running down his chin and mixing with soiled blood — it’s the colour of a deluded merlot.

You can hear your heartbeat. What the hell are you doing?! A scream tears from your throat.

“Holy fuck!”

With reflexes of sheer iron, you slam the door in his face. Milliseconds after, his claws make contact with the wood, dragging down the opposite side of the planks. It’s a show of what he would have done to your flesh, had you delayed. You don’t want to stick around for the sequel.

Boots clacking against the stone, you barrel back down the dark hallway. There’s no way you’re going to stand around and wait for him to devour you. Behind you, his gruff voice travels, articulating annoyance.

“Foolish woman!”

You startle into consciousness. Mouth open, you inhale greedily, gasping for breath with each release. Hyperventilating becomes the norm while you digest the panic clouding your nervous system. Inandoutinandoutinan—

You feel like you’re going to die. You feel like you’re going to have a heart attack, like your chest is being torn apart. It’s one of the most uncomfortable sensations you’ve ever experienced. Eyes wide, the veins in the whites of your orbs look like spiderwebs overtaking your sockets. You’re an alien inside your body.

All you needed was a good night’s sleep after the horrors of yesterday; why must the haunts persist?

Placing a palm against your chest, you inhale profoundly. At the height of your breath, you gasp and hold. Eventually, you exhale. In… and out… in… and out. It’s enough to soothe.

That hellish dream was the nightstalker’s doing. He wanted to pick up where he left off the last time he induced a wretched, aimless nightmare. His motives are unclear, though his theatrics are getting predictable. Does he intend to harm you, or toy with you? These dreams don’t seem to land anywhere concrete.

You reach over to your night table. Your phone is on top, charging. You click the screen to life. Squinting, the numbers read 3:45. You groan. Dawn can’t arrive fast enough.

You flick on your lamp and roll out of bed. Gaze hooded, you groan at the precautions you’re forced to take in this afflicted house. Normally, you’d leave the lights off.

You pad to your bedroom door. One hand on the knob, your lips form a thin line. You have to get a drink of water, but are you prepared for what could be waiting for you beyond this chamber? Reaching over to your dresser, you pick up the stick you decorated with warped rose petals. This is the only weapon you have.

You open your door and peer into the corridor. Everyone’s bedroom is pitch black. Cree is listening to rain — his nightly ritual. Nelly rests in silence.

Gradually, you creep down the hallway. When you reach the bathroom, you switch on the light. It flickers to life, struggling to shine. You’ll have to replace the bulb when you wake up for realsies.

You walk over to the sink. You gaze at your dim reflection in the mirror and twist on the faucet. Nothing comes out.

“What the fuck?” You murmur, groggy.

You’re not hallucinating, right? And you just woke up from your dream. There ought to be a steady stream of water gushing into the basin. You twist the hot dial again to be certain. Not a drop falls.

You twist both handles off and step back from the sink. You rationalize returning to bed. You’re not sure if you can, though; not without a glass of water. You’re parched. It looks like you’ll have to go downstairs.

Weapon in hand, you exit the washroom and close the lights. You expect something to transpire as you move. It never does. Upon reaching the staircase, you glare at the main floor below. Ericson doesn’t appear to be awake. You don’t hear a sound.

Okay. You can do this. As long as you hold onto the banister, you’ll be fine.

You inch downwards. It’s reminiscent of the nightmare you recently roused from. You tell yourself it’s different, but you aren’t sure how much you truly believe that; nonetheless, getting to the last step progresses without a hitch.

You swiftly enter the kitchen and set your stick down on the counter; then, you grab a glass from the cupboard. Racing to the sink, you’re relieved to discover it has an open flow of water. You fill the glass and engulf a lake’s worth of fluids. Three cups quench your thirst.

As you sip, you check the clock on the oven. 3:57. You’d better try to get some rest after this.

You rinse the glass and place it in the drying rack. You survey the room one more time. It’s tranquil. There doesn’t seem to be anything amiss. With that, you pick up your weapon and leave.

You take a shortcut through the dining room. You’re halfway through, when a noise tickles your eardrums. You freeze. That sounded like a footstep. Is someone following you?

Oxygen fills your lungs. Should you run or face the threat? It could be in your best interest to—

“Hey.”

The yelp that flies from your mouth is shrill, underscoring your horror. You whip around, expecting the cryptid; instead, it’s a friendly face. A mere foot away stands Ericson. The light streaming in through the window highlights her features.

“You scared me!” You huff. “What’re you doing up?”

She doesn’t respond. Her stare is cold and blank. It doesn’t feel as though you’re looking at another human being, but something that’s wearing the skin of a mortal. You don’t know how else to describe it.

Inwardly, alarm bells are ringing. You ignore them. The person before you has precisely the same face as Ericson’s, down to her button nose and arched brows. Her height and stature are quintessential to what you know of the brunette, as well.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She retorts. “I heard you upstairs again.”

Her tone is icy. It’s the same one she used yesterday afternoon. She’s persuaded herself that the villain tormenting her is you.

“I woke up like fifteen minutes ago.” You insist. “The upstairs bathroom sink isn’t working, so I came down here to get a drink. Sorry if I woke you.”

You apologized to keep the peace, gladly swallowing a fragment of your pride. It wasn’t you, and you’ll die on that hill. Since when does walking down the stairs as carefully as possible wake her up? You can’t be the culprit.

“When did you come home?” You try to change the subject. “I was worried about you.”

She didn’t respond to your text. There wasn’t a reply when you dozed off, and there was no notification when you checked after awakening. That, coupled with her odd demeanour tonight, stirs up a steady stream of fear in your anatomy.

She doesn’t offer a retort here, either. She doesn’t even blink. For a second, you think she checked out of the conversation. Then, you register that she’s showing you what she has in her fist.

“You forgot your glass.”

Presumably, she’s holding the same glass you used, moments ago. It’s still dripping from the rinse. That means she was watching you in the kitchen, somewhere in the shadows, spying on you beyond the scope of human comprehension. This is incredibly disturbing.

“I… don’t need that anymore.”

You hold your voice steady, refusing to reveal the overwhelming terror afflicting you. But Ericson doesn’t react. She simply stares through you, as though hypnotized.

Promptly, she whips the glass at the wall, shattering it. Tiny shards fly everywhere. You shield your face and shriek, inadvertently scrambling backwards to create distance. Panicked, you raise your voice to her.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

She throws her head back and laughs. The racket that ensues isn’t like anything you’ve ever heard from your friend. It’s clear now that you’re dealing with something wearing her flesh. Logic has left the chat, and you can’t appeal to reason.

You run. Your feet smack against the wood as you dash up the stairs. She doesn’t chase you. Her deranged, demonic laughter can be heard until you slam your bedroom door and bolt the lock.

The vampire has Ericson in his possession. She isn’t safe. No one here is. Whether this is a mere one-off parlour trick or a permanent ordeal, you’re concerned about your comrades — yourself included. This thing is capable of the implausible.

You jump onto your mattress and glare at the door. You listen enduringly for footsteps, or anything to indicate he’s drawing closer. Holding your breath for god knows how long, you wonder if the stick you’re still clutching will have any effect on Ericson.

Abruptly, your phone vibrates. Confused and flustered, you extend a quivering hand to turn the device over. The screen has a text notification.

You bypass the lock and open the app. Your heart sails. It’s from Ericson.

[likecastle]

OK, this one's for @bus-ghoul, who said, "Robin and Nancy for whatever reason shop at the mall (that somehow didn’t burn down)." Thanks for this prompt! I love a girl-world shopping trip! I didn't wind up setting this at Starcourt, but there is shopping at the mall, so hopefully that works! I also, once again, made this kinda angsty. Whoops! All Feelings! No serious warnings on this one, though.

“Are you sure you girls don’t want me to drive you?” Nancy’s mom asks fretfully.

“Yes, Mom,” Nancy says, not for the first time. Somehow, Nancy’s impending departure for college has activated her mom’s protective streak way more than any of the nightmarish events of the past few years ever have. Nancy figures her going away to college probably feels real to her mom in a way that psychic children and extra-dimensional sinkholes never did.

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Wheeler,” Robin pipes up, from where she’s standing by the passenger side door, just waiting to get in. “I promise. It’s not even an hour’s drive.”

Nancy’s mom still looks torn, but finally she sighs and takes a twenty dollar bill from her purse. “Why don't you get yourselves a nice lunch while you’re out shopping.”

Over the roof of the car, Nancy sees Robin’s eyes widen. And sure enough, once they’re finally on the road and Robin has finished fiddling with the radio, she says, “What does your mom think we're going to get for lunch? Caviar and champagne at Hotdog on a Stick?”

Nancy shakes her head, as if it’ll help her shake off her mom’s worry. “She just wants us to have a good time,” she says, feeling defensive now, even though she was irritated at her only a few minutes ago.

“I’m pretty sure it’s scientifically impossible to have a good time shopping for twin XL sheets and shower flip-flops.”

“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” Nancy threatens, without much heat. “Because I can still turn around.”

To their mutual surprise, they do actually have a good time. College Mall is doesn’t have quite the same selection as Starcourt did, but it’s also not backed by nefarious Russians. It shouldn’t be fun, shopping with someone who has objectively terrible taste, and who thinks Nancy has awful taste in turn, but it is.

“Seriously, Wheeler?” Robin asks, when Nancy picks up a perfectly nice set of sheets with pale pink roses on them.

“What? What’s wrong with these?”

Robin laughs. “Nothing, if you’re Laura Ashley!”

“Well," she says indignantly, "which ones would you pick?”

Robin gets a devilish look in her eye and leads Nancy across the bedding section, weaving between the displays. “Just look at these beauties!” she says, doing jazz hands in the direction of a set of sheets in an eye-searing geometric pattern, every angle somehow in startling disharmony with the next. Nancy actually feels a little dizzy looking at the fabric, something she hadn’t previously thought was even possible.

“They’re hideous,” Nancy says.

“I know,” Robin says, with barely-restrained glee. She holds the package up for Nancy to take a closer look, which only makes the design worse. “Isn’t it great?! It’s like someone vomited non-Euclidean geometry all over your bed. Imagine if a—if someone brought you back to their dorm and you start making out only to find that under their comforter. Instant hilarity.”

Nancy blinks at the mental image. “I guess it would be sort of a mood killer,” she admits, though her dating history’s been marred by some pretty lamentable bedroom décor, and that never stopped her.

Robin nods sagely. “Good for weeding out the faint of heart.”

“You should get them,” Nancy says firmly, though she doesn’t think the sheets are any less ugly now than she did a minute ago. But they make Robin laugh, and it's nice to see her toothy, sidelong grin.

Robin shrugs, setting the package of sheets back down on the shelf. “I’ll probably just bring some sheets from home,” she says, her voice carefully casual.

Nancy remembers too late Robin bemoaning the fact that her scholarship to IUB doesn’t cover room and board. It hasn’t escaped her notice that Robin’s got one shopping bag to Nancy’s three.

“D’you want to get some frozen custard?” Nancy asks abruptly. “My mom’s treat.”

“Yes, I absolutely do,” Robin says, with such seriousness that Nancy can’t help but laugh.

Nancy can’t help thinking about it, though, as they make their way to the food court and order their frozen custard, Robin shoving the remainder of the twenty dollars into the tip jar out of sympathy. She can��t help thinking how different their college experiences are going to be—Nancy almost a thousand miles away at Emerson, Robin here in Bloomington, not even an hour away from home. Nancy has a merit scholarship, too, but her parents are paying for everything it doesn’t cover without batting an eye, while Robin’s been talking about getting a part-time job on top of her work-study. Nancy’s not even sure when Robin will find time to take someone back to her dorm to make out.

That hasn’t escaped her notice, either, the little pronoun game Robin plays sometimes—when she talks about dating at all. Nancy’s never asked outright, because she’s afraid to shatter the tenuous friendship that’s developed between them since spring break. But between her vehement insistence that she and Steve are just friends and the way she looked at Susan Sarandon in The Hunger that one time they all tried to do movie night, Nancy’s reasonably certain that the someone Robin would be bringing home would be someone a little like Nancy herself. Probably not just like her. Someone cooler, with edgier taste in music. Someone who wouldn’t pick sheets with dainty little rosebuds on them. Someone with red hair, most likely, if Nancy’s not mistaken. But someone—at least in some particulars—not entirely unlike Nancy.

And Nancy doesn’t really know what to do with the way that knowledge sits inside her, the way she thinks about Robin leaning back on her elbows on her dorm room bed and feels a pang of jealousy for the girl who’ll get to push her down on the worn-soft sheets she brought from home. But it’s a moot point, because even if Robin’s interested in girls, it’s not like she’d attracted to girls like Nancy, and even if she were, in a few weeks they’ll be half a continent apart, and Nancy’s tried the long-distance thing and it didn’t work out great the last time, so what’s the point of even entertaining the possibility?

Even so, as she watches Robin sneak her spoon out to steal a taste of Nancy’s yogurt, she does think about it.

[axailslink]

Alrighttttt so maybe a Jamie story where her and the reader meet at the club and sneak away together having a moment before parting ways. Only for Jamie to come back in search for her after Lenabitch gets locked up again.

I can be your friend

Jamie x FEM reader

The smell of alcohol, sweat and weed was getting boring to Jamie but she of course didn't say anything to Leanne about it because Leanne loved the place or more like she loved the guys. There was one thing though that was keeping her interested and awake.

You.

You kept making eyes at her from across the club not shy at all demanding actually wanting her to come over but Jamie had to admit she was used to Leanne getting all the guys and girls for someone to hit on her was misleading. Leanne would always tell her look out they don't want you they just want you for your body which was ridiculous coming from her. So that's what she did she kept to herself and enjoyed the vibes you got tired of waiting though. You approach her and you can see her panic it's kind of cute to you watching her avoid your staring eyes "you're here almost every weekend you a friend of Leanne?" She nods and you smile Leanne was a bitch even Jamie knew that she wasn't blind to it so everyone knew and everyone had some problem with her.

You didn't have too much of a problem with her just the simple fact that you just didn't fucking like her she itched your back the wrong way. However she didn't like you because she saw the way you looked at Jamie the way she could see it in your eyes it pissed her off but unlike half the motherfuckers she knew you weren't scared of her. You weren't sure why but it didn't matter whenever Leanne came you weren't fucked up about her because you were way too busy looking at Jamie sweet reserved Jamie you want to break her out that shell you want to corrupt her see how much better or worse she'd be if it was you by her side not Leanne.

"I don't like to hop around my point so I'll be straight I want to kiss you... So bad" Jamie smiles to herself before letting her eyes scan over you taking in everything the way your clothes hug your body your body language the way you lean forward towards her and let your hand play with her hoodie. "No you don't" she says as if teasing you daring you to do just as she knows you want to you nod and pull her to you by her hoodie "yeah I do but what will your friend think? You really going to piss her off you know she don't like me." You laugh and she shakes her head you let go of her hoodie and down what's in your red cup before smiling at her "maybe if she liked me... We could be good friends me and you that is." You pat her chest and walk past her leaving her thinking but you don't get far outside of the club though before you hear feet splashing in the rain water you turn around and she takes your hand "come with me" you raise a brow and toss your cup in the nearest trash can "okay."

You don't question her why would you? She was Jamie and Jamie was a lot of things but she wasn't a bad person maybe confused sometimes but not bad. She pulls you behind the club and you look around "so what you bring me back here to hi-" she cuts you off mid sentence and catches you in a hungry kiss you place your hands behind her head forgetting everything in that moment the sound of the loud music in the background the rain sprinkling only thing on your mind was Jamie Harrison when she pulls away you smile to yourself. "Okay Jamie so she don't control everything you do that's good to know" she licks her lips before pecking your lips "you talk about her too much" you hum and smile "then why don't you make me shut up" she laughs "that's impossible but I can try" you laugh as she pulls you in by the waist she keeps surprising you more and more you hum and look up at her as she lets her hand slide up your back "she doesn't control me she's my friend" you slowly unzip her jacket while keeping eye contact with her "I can be your friend" you say smiling she watches as your hand runs under her shirt.

"Jamie Jamie!" And there it goes the vibe is ruined it's absolutely completely ruined you sigh and roll your eyes "great a bitch and a cockblock is there anything she can't do?" Jamie grabs your hand and kisses it "it's fine she's fine" you look at her and your smile returns so quickly "I'll come back some night we can finish this properly." You suck your teeth "will the leach be hanging on or will it just be me and you?" You she glances in the direction where she hears Leanne still yelling for her "just me and you and maybe a few beers " you nod and smile "okay well I'm always here after eight you know that" she nods but neither of you move away from the other "too bad we have to call it a night I was interested in what you would do next..." She pulls you to her by your jeans and gently lets her fingers run along the waistband "these would be off I'll save you the thinking" you nod and smile "oh really Jamie bold bol-" "Jamie" You both look over to see Leanne and you can't help but burst into laughter you peck Jamie's lips before walking past Leanne "bye Jamie!" You say in a singsong voice she watches as you walk away and Leanne looks at you then Jamie. "you're fucking her?" Jamie shrugs "I would be if you hadn't interrupted...cockblock" she laughs when she says this because all she can think of is the way you said it just moments ago.

.

Jamie hadn't come back to the club like she said she would she'd like to blame it on Leanne but it was truly because she didn't go once then she just felt like she couldn't go back that you wouldn't want to see her. She didn't want to come up with some half ass apology but she also couldn't ignore that night because it ran over and over in her damn mind like some broken record but it was in pieces from how long ago it had been. A month was a long time.

You didn't expect anything less than this so you moved on and put the night in the back of your mind like it was some trash movie you'd never watch. So when you were grinding up on some girl you were surprised to see her but you didn't stop what you were doing. She looks so good she got a haircut it was fresh as if she had just got it done however that was the only thing different she still looks like Jamie she still has that attractiveness. This time you weren't watching her she was watching you pulling you in but you refused to go why? It has been a month she'd have to do a lot more than stare you down to get your attention. The girl behind you lets her hands run down your body and you smile as you grab one of her hands and pull it to your breast she lightly squeezes. It's like a teasing game to Jamie seeing her stare you down but say nothing or do anything you turn around and kiss the girl she's surprised as you notice but that quickly disappears as she picks you up both hands gripping your ass. You can feel Jamie's stare burning through your naked back but you don't stop you let the kiss take it's time before getting down "y/n" the girl says you smile "thank you but you're not as good as you think you should work on that" when you turn around Jamie's gone.

You know where she is so of course you walk outside the club and behind it there she is you smile at her but she only returns a straight face. "Oh did the kiss piss you off that much?" She grabs you and presses you against the brick wall causing you to widen your eyes but you quickly let your face fall again "no you staring at me while she touched you did" you laugh "that's crazy because if you didn't want anyone else touching me you would have claimed me or at least came back a little sooner but nah you waited a month so you have no say." She sighs and grabs your face "well I'm doing it now" you laugh nervously "okay that's...that's new" your voice might have cracked at this new found confidence that Jamie was giving off you don't know where it came from but you needed it put back in it's box because the way it makes you want to drop.

"you're gonna leave when she calls your name this time?" You ask cocking your head she shakes her head "she's in jail she killed someone..." You wish you could say you were surprised but you weren't "so I'm not going anywhere any time soon." She says looking in your eyes before smiling and leaning down you smile and press a kiss to her lips gently this time not filled with hunger or lust but something else...

A/n: I'm really not a fan of any of the drafts I'm doing lately I wonder why 😩 I hope you enjoy this even though I didn't put much into it

[quailxcrossing]

CHARACTER DYNAMIC ASK GAME YES!!! You have so many amazing duos….

Machwell and Bartenn (I’m predictable) 5, 3 and 16!!

Magic and Ruse - 1, 6 and 8!

Ruse and Esperanza - 13, 15 and 7!

Runo and Peony - 2, 4, 9!

aaand Spiro and Tai - 2 and 11!

BWBWBWB i want to talk about dynamics so much and you selected like. all of my favorites

thank you for being one of the biggest machwell and bartenn fans ever . i will write a lot about them, just 4 you

MACHWELL AND BARTENN

5. A has to get B a gift. right now. what would they get? how long would they spend thinking about it? Machwell's POV oh god i can't even express how bad Machwell is at gifts. when the pressure is on, he truly forgets most anything that person ever liked- and his ability he feels like to fulfill this task is shot down to 0. can you imagine Francine being good with gifts? yeah. Machwell would work himself in a stupidly long tizzy, so stressed out to pick something that's not only perfect, but something that Bartenn will receive well, and he overthinks and replays fake scenarios of every possible reaction Bartenn could have-

-without actually getting him anything. and the longer this goes on, the worse he feels, the harder it is to think of anything-

gifts from Machwell will come in due time. they're heartfelt by the nature they came from him, and usually in the form of perishables. that's great! that's exactly what Bartenn wants!!!! it's hard to give gifts in Nhales anyway- and he's always so overjoyed when Machwell brings over some drinks or gummies or bbq bacon pizza, and there's always room for him to enjoy it too!! cmon sit down!!

3. what's something A thinks in their head about B that they would NEVER tell them out loud? alternately, what's something they want to say to them but haven't/can't, and why not? Bartenn's POV Bartenn definitely struggles with articulating how much Machwell really means to him; yeah they're close, but they're also middle-aged men who aren't doing Therapy-Speak at each other. its impossible for either of them to say "hey, you know you're my friend, right, and i care about you immensely and i'm sad when you're not around and you keep me on this planet"??? i dont even think he can think thoughts like that. how could he possibly say that....

16. free space: what's your favorite thing about their dynamic, as a fan or as a writer? smiles :) i just like them......I like how a character (Machwell) who originally started as literally "well he's Goat's absent father, who he would have never had any chance to meet, so he pretty much exists to make him warm-colors" and then Bartenn was a character I, like....got in a custody battle with my ex-girlfriend?? not really sure how it happened, honestly. but she gave him to me! and i was, like....not in a good headspace, so Bartenn got set aside for almost a year

and then they looked at each other....and Bartenn tried to give Machwell weed-paranoia. and ruffled his hair and told him to get his head outta his ass and chill the fuck out and come drink expired apple juice with him.

i did not mean for their relationship to be that serious. i did not mean for either character to be that serious!!!! the way these two have wormed my way into my heart is so fascinating... they literally are getting straight-man married. they keep track of each other's mental health and make sure the other one is eating and showering and sleeping. they get knocked outta their zourds and lay completely still for hours together. machwell starts to feel safe enough to go places with bartenn, and then safe enough to go places by himself. and bartenn has a companion again, someone would could never replace his late wife Lindsey, but Machwell doesn't need to- he makes Bartenn laugh, and gives Bartenn the reason to make jokes again.

i think they're a very good testament of how scarily sentient characters get to me! i really care about both of their journeys and how they found each other and are just,,,friends. just good, genuine friends, and i could roll around forever and think about how these two fucked up little men became friends and helped each other get out of their spirals just by being a buddy :]

MAGIC AND RUSE

YAY!!!! I LOVE GIRLS!!!!!

1. what were A's first impressions of B? were they mostly correct or have they changed? Magic's POV This is such a fun question to answer after just drawing their first meeting out, finally!! i've had that scene in my head for years....Magic's first impressions of Ruse were, oh geez well my head just got chopped off, but really Magic is quite used to that (her limbs are quite detachable! it doesn't hurt, she swears) and she was mostly concerned if Ruse was okay after fainting. She felt bad for startling her!! clearly, this girl was living on a hair-trigger...Magic wanted to make sure Magic herself wasn't too scary, though. She did feel a little self-conscious about causing such a fuss....

her POV has certainly changed- she knows now why Ruse was so scared, but they're definitely over that now. the story of their first meeting is a funny story Magic likes to tell while Ruse hides her face in (normal levels of) embarrassment. Magic knows Ruse is a big softie and gentle giant, who doesn't ever want to hurt anyone ever. She just wants to eat chicken wraps and go shopping and sing badly to her favorite songs as she sits pretty in Magic's passenger seat.

6. what does A think B thinks of them? or, if asked to describe their relationship, how would they do it? are they right? Ruse's POV

Ruse would hum and haw....emotions and perceptions are not her strong suit. but she'd shyly say that Magic really likes her. before their relationship is confirmed, Ruse is generally confused about Magic's feelings, but she can pick up on the fact that Magic always sticks up for her and takes her fun places and always jumps for a chance to hang out. they can spend a long time doing nothing together- their hangouts can easily span 9, 10, 11 hours, much longer than either of their social batteries. they spend their time recharging together, doing errands together....Ruse doesn't know how to explain things on the terms of internal feelings. she loves spending time with Magic, and she's pretty sure Magic does too.....right? she's right!!

8. is there anything they really disagree on? what are they most likely to argue about?

The most major thing these two disagree on is their variation in threshold, basically. they're both autistic/have a range of mental illnesses, from Magic's extreme sensory differences to Ruse's C-PTSD. And sometimes, things overlap and they clash. Ruse is very sensory-seeking, while Magic is not. Magic needs a lot of quiet time with minimal noises, and Ruse loves loud music and big crowds. Magic can handle going out for an hour or two, while Ruse wants to be at events from start to finish. sometimes they miss what the other wants, and they both get frustrated. Especially since both of them lack a lot of understanding in emotion/ conveying how they actually feel.

they're trying to find the perfect happy medium! Ruse learns to understand that Magic doesn't want to go to every loud party that she does- and Magic understands that Ruse can't stay at home parallel-playing all day. Magic likes to go to events for limited hours, and with aids like her headphones and sensory happy objects, and Ruse will happily wait for her. And if Ruse needs a day of distraction or loudness to block out the cluster of teeming slush in her brain, they'll cafe-hop or take part in outdoor activities. they do their best to make it work !

sometimes it doesn't always work out, and they are just truly incompatible in a way that neither of them will be happy. sometimes you just really wanna spend time with your bestgirlfriend, but she wants to do something that you Cannot Do- sure, they get ticked off. but they ultimately care about the happiness of the other, while preserving themselves.

and then youre gonna hit with Ruse and ESPERANZA. geezus...../posi thank you thank you thank you for bringing them up. they fuel me. they mean everything 2 me

RUSE AND ESPERANZA

13. if A needed help, how likely would they be to ask B for it? Ruse's POV ah! she would! not! Ruse is so terrible for asking for help, especially in her current situation. This Ruse we're talking about is not healing, chicken wrap eating Ruse, this is Ruse in the middle of an active coup. She firmly believes she is in this situation because she signed up for it. She does share her grievances with Esperanza, but that is different in her mind than asking for help. And even when Esperanza offers help, unrelated- she cannot take it.

15. what's A's absolute favorite (or least favorite) thing about B? Esperanza's POV

Esperanza's favorite thing about Ruse is her humor! And yes...Ruse is not TRYING to be funny, but Esperanza just loves how dry she is, how funny she is without trying...how earnest and genuine Ruse is, without needing to put on a face. Esperanza really admires that.

for what Esperanza dislikes the most, probably when Ruse's dryness turns to stubbornness, and then cost-sunk fallacy pride. She wishes she could knock Ruse outta her brain sometimes- she knows she can't.

7. are there any habits, mannerisms, practices etc. A does because of B? anything they do because they saw B doing it, or got advice from them about it, or something rubbed off on them? Esperanza's POV

Yes.....yes. quite a few. Esperanza is only just recently living in a physical body again (long story) and for a while, the only person she knew before she regained her memories was Ruse. Esperanza picked up lots of her little quirks to relearn how to exist.

One of the major ones is playing with her tail, Esperanza has never had a tail before, but she's seen how Ruse used it with her body language! So Esperanza tries her best to mirror those mannerisms. she wants to feel comfortable in her new shape and have others feel comfortable around her!

RUNO AND PEONY !!!! MY PARENTS

2. if asked to describe B to a stranger, what would A say? are they mostly truthful, or is there anything they omit? Runo's POV

I think he'd try to keep it on the lowdown best he can but he's such a wifeguy. he's weepy sobby over his wife and keeps hyping her up, did you know she's trying to publish a book she's so talented and such a good writer and so intelligent and eloquent and .....!!! i'm pretending he's not deathly shy in this situations, but honestly if Peony was brought up, he'd be gushing all about her.......man who loves a woman. augh

how does A refer to B (first name/last name/pet name/title/etc) in their head, to them directly, and to others? are they different? why? Peony's POV

This is a pretty simple answer, but to herself and to Runo, she calls him...Runo. To their kids, it's Dad. To strangers, she uses Brunowe, at Runo's request. To friends, it's whatever name they know him by (usually Runo) that's it! I mean she's got pet names but she doesn't throw those around too often, nor does she think in them!

she knows Runo is most comfy with Runo, but he's also really embarrassed to give people his nickname, hence the "this is my husband, Brunowe!" and if he ends up giving that person his nickname, that's his choice!

9. what do outsiders think their relationship is? do they consciously or unconsciously act different around others?

also kinda simple, but to others they're mostly like...aww a normal married couple. aw look, its Sunny/Indigo's parents. They just seem sweet, quiet, and in love. which they are usually anyway!

SPIRO AND TAI UAUUUGUUGUHGHHGHGHHH!!!!!!!!! CMON FISH!!!!!! I LOVE THESE GUYS........... NO ONE UNDERSTANDS /LH

2. if asked to describe B to a stranger, what would A say? are they mostly truthful, or is there anything they omit? Spiro's POV augh he's a husbandguy too. he'd be saying some real embarrassing shit he knows Tai would turn into a tomato to hear, and because it's Spiro, i can't guarantee it's PG. but yeah he's bringing up the opioid story. he's making dramatic hand motions. he's pulling out all the sickly sweet nicknames he knows Tai hates.

11. what's something A knows about B that most people don't? alternately, what's something most people believe about B that A doesn't? Tai's POV well....take everything I just said about Spiro's mannerisms above. most people see him as this really confident, semi-famous guy who is known for being very quick socially but also really weird.

what most people don't know (basically the only people being Tai, their daughter, and Star) is that Spiro is still handling a lot of things really poorly. he has bad coping mechanisms and he's scared shitless to leave his house alone, even for simple things like getting the mail. he's tethered to his house and even going in public with a safe person is too overwhelming, and Spiro tries to keep things light with a smile despite how terrified he is. ALL. THE. TIME.

everyone thinks he's completely over The Incident; this couldn't be further from the truth. i don't think there's an expiration date on trauma, but you know how Society is :(

only Tai is really deeply privy to how deep this goes, and he wouldn't share it with a soul unless Spiro was seriously in danger.

yay!

[detroit-grand-prix]

thistle and weeds - susie wolff x oc

i. in the wind and the rain

Summary: Maree McInnes is finally content with her life, she thinks. She felt stuck in a marriage that made her feel lonely, and in a job that made her feel horrible. Two years later, she's divorced and content with the place she is in her career, until a surprise reassignment at work leads to her to working directly under the person that indirectly made her realize that she didn't have to accept the circumstances she was given and that she could ask for more out of life.

Tags/warnings: brief mention of suicidal ideation, later implied polyamory/polyfidelity, no infidelity involved

Author’s note: A new series has landed. A few of you requested more stories with Susie and her assistant!Reader continuing at F1 Academy, but I actually find F1 x reader stories sort of clumsy to read and write, so instead, we have a new OC. This is intended to be a more mature, grown-up sort of fanfiction, and there probably won't be any drivers involved because it mostly centers around Susie and the F1 Academy.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Please let me know what you think!

Maree couldn’t sleep.

Her body was crackling with the kind of feeling that she used to feel on the first day of school every year, as if she was a loaded spring, poised to fling her headlong into the unknown.

Tomorrow wasn’t the first day of school, or even the first day of a new job. She would be driving to the same expensive-looking building in Bromley that she’d been commuting to for five years now, charmingly called Sapphire House, though it was neither sapphire in color, nor was it a house. She’d park her Volkswagen Golf in the same spot in the car park she always did, say hello to the same receptionist she always saw, scan her badge at the same doors to go into the same office, and sit at the same desk in the same office she always sat in.

But she was still stepping into the unknown.

Two weeks earlier, the day she returned to the office after the holiday break, Maree’s boss called her into his office to discuss a future project. 

After they discussed their holidays, Maree’s boss, James, told her that she had done outstanding work for Formula 2 and Formula 3, and a new feeder series needed a programme manager with her talent and experience. He told Maree that the managing director needed someone who could make things possible when the circumstances were impossible. Apparently, James said, hers was the first name that came to mind. 

“As of January 31st, you’ll be working on the F1 Academy project.”

Maree could feel her face blanch. “Why is this happening so soon?” she asked, surprised. She tilted her head, trying to remember the planning meeting they’d had to discuss projects for the 2024 season, when The F1 Academy series was discussed. “I knew the Academy series was in the pipeline, but I thought it wasn’t planned to go live until next year.”

“I asked Stefano the same thing. He said that with the W-Series going into administration, there was a gap in the market that needed to be filled right away. And, they said with the right managing director, it would be doable to start in the spring. Fortunately, we found the right managing director.”

She remembered hearing the news that the W-Series, an open-wheel racing series just for young women trying to break into the higher echelons of motorsport, was insolvent. The series’ financial issues had been the industry’s worst-kept secret, but even Formula 1’s upper management expected the series to last for one more season. They came up with the idea for a similar series, under the Formula 1 umbrella as Formula 2 and Formula 3 were, to start in 2024. 

“Oh, who did they hire? I didn’t even know they already had candidates lined up. Was it an internal hire?”

“They’re bringing in Susie Wolff.”

Hearing the name felt like someone had poured ice water down the back of Maree’s neck. 

It wasn’t as if she was starstruck by the prospect of working with her. Maybe if someone had told her this two years ago, but she’d met Susie a few times since she’d started her current job. The world of Formula 1 was small, and they’d been introduced at some point by a mutual professional acquaintance who thought it was funny, for some reason, that he now knew two people from the Scottish highlands. But Maree was from Inverness, which was on the opposite side of the country from Susie’s native Oban, so it’s not as if they’d grown up together or were probably distant cousins, as the man introducing them implied. Their interaction was limited to a handshake and shared confusion at the things a Londoner found funny.

No, her nerves, the sinking feeling in her stomach… it came from the realization that she would now be working directly under the woman who was, without even knowing it, the catalyst for the avalanche of changes Maree’s life had seen in the past half-decade.

“Susie Wolff?” Maree said. She felt like her head was buzzing. “I didn’t know she - I was wondering what she was doing after leaving Venturi, but I didn’t -”

It was an amazing hire, really. Susie was a former professional driver, was the first woman in almost three decades to come even close to a full-time F1 seat. After she retired from being a test and reserve driver, she moved on to being the team principal and CEO of a Formula E team. Nobody else had the history and experience she did to bring this series to life, and to give it the gravitas it would doubtlessly need to be taken seriously by sponsors, suppliers, teams, drivers, and even fans. If anyone else was leading it, there was a good chance it would share the fate of the W-Series, too.

“Yes, it was just finalized.” James murmured, glancing at something on his laptop. “Hasn’t been announced yet, obviously, but she’ll be here in early February, and since the first round of the series is scheduled for April, things are going to be moving quickly, but, I think you can handle it.”

Maree blushed a bit at the praise.

James and Maree spoke more about the particulars, and about the current projects in her purview, what could be wrapped up and what could be transitioned to other teams.

Not long after she’d gotten back to her desk and was focused on wading waist-deep into the mire of her expanded “to do” list in Jira, she was startled by an email notification from an “S. WOLFF”. 

It was just a generic “welcome to the team” email, sent as a carbon copy to many other names (some of which Maree recognized, most of which she didn’t) with Susie introducing herself as the new managing director and a calendar invite for the first planning meeting attached, but it drove home that it was all real. 

And so, as Maree lay awake, at 12:23 AM, January 31st, she let her mind travel back five years, to 2018, when Susie’s unknowing involvement in her life began.

She was visiting her parents at home in Inverness. It was the off-season for the Premier League, where she worked at the time, but a few behind-the scenes moves within the league’s middle management ensured that Maree had a new boss that, for some reason, seemed to dislike her, and showed it by not only significantly increasing her workload, but by offering her a stream of very-not-constructive criticism, usually in the middle of meetings when he could berate her with an audience. Eventually, Maree had a preferred stall in the women’s toilets to cry in, and began to weigh out the relative risks and benefits of stepping in front of the number 6 bus that she took to work every day. She needed a break, so she took a few days of holiday and headed home.

Rowan, her husband, opted not to join her, as usual. He frequently declined when offered the prospect of traveling outside of the confines of the home counties around London, never mind all the way up to Scotland. He usually moaned that it was too long of a trip and that there was nothing to do in Inverness, so Maree let it go instead of arguing. She learned long ago that trying to get Rowan to do something or go somewhere he didn’t want to was not worth the fight. She normally flew on her visits home, but decided to take the Caledonian Sleeper train. Seeing the country by rail over a twelve-hour trip would give her some time and space to clear her head, and not to arrive at her parents’ house wound up and agitated. Plus, it reminded her of her first journey down to London for University, when her life seemed ripe with possibility.  

After a pleasant train ride and enjoying a giant breakfast that her mum, Moira, made before heading off to work, she joined her dad, Arthur, in his daily post-retirement ritual of watching The BBC Scotland in the sitting room until noon.

Maree was barely paying attention to the newscast when they announced an upcoming segment with an interview of Susie Wolff, a native Scot, as she was just announced as the team principal of something called the Venturi team in Formula E. Maree knew who Susie Wolff was, at least, she’d heard the name before. Neither of her parents liked motorsport, or sport in general, but the segment caught Maree’s interest when the interviewer started asking Susie questions about the challenges of working in a male-dominated sport at a high level. 

For some reason, the interview was still on her mind even after she and her dad ate lunch together, and as she was joining him on his daily bike ride around the shores of the Moray Firth, where he would comb the beaches for interesting-looking rocks that had washed up on the shores. 

“How’s work going?” her father asked, as he bent down to pick up something apparently worth examining. “Not so busy in the offseason? It is the offseason, right? I haven’t seen any adverts for football matches on the telly lately, so it must be.” 

“Yeah, it is. It’s…” Maree sighed, turning her gaze out toward the lighthouse in the distance. “I’ll survive.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, tossing the rock out into the water. “Just more limestone.” He mumbled. 

“What are you looking for out here, anyway?” Maree said, looking quizzically back at her father. “Even I know it’s all limestone, and I’m not the retired geologist.”

“Retired marine geologist, thank you!” he said, standing back up with another stone. “And it mostly is, but once in a while you can find a lot of agates here, or things like pyrite or quartz crystals. See? I found this one a few minutes ago while you were down the shore.” 

He stepped closer to the rock formation that Maree was sitting on to show her a gray stone from his pocket, glittering with sparkling square inclusions. 

She nodded, recognizing the appearance of the “fool’s gold” in the rock.

“Now, scoot over, and tell yer dear ol’ da’ what’s bothering you,” he said, mustering up a stronger accent than he usually had, as he plopped down next to her on the outcropping. He took off his round horn-rimmed glasses to wipe the sea spray off of them with the sleeve of his woolen jumper. Between the jumper, and the salt-and-pepper beard he’d been growing out, and the wellingtons he was wearing, he looked more like the lobster fisherman she remembered seeing once on a family trip to the Orkney Isles than a geologist, retired or not. 

“Oh, well, it’s just…” Maree said, letting her gaze drift off to the lighthouse at Chanonry Point once more. She took a deep breath of the salty air before starting. “I feel… stuck lately. I’ve done everything I should have, you know? Go to a good university, get a good industrial placement straight away, get a good job from that, move up the ranks and turn that into a good job somewhere else, get married to a nice man, get a nice apartment in a good location… neither of us want kids, so that’s fine, but lately, the thought of going to work every day turns my stomach, and Rowan says I should just deal with it, because it’s stable and it pays well. And lately, it seems like he’s been treating me like I’m invisible, you know? It’s not just been this trip, you know he doesn’t like coming up here, but…” 

Maree’s throat started to tighten. 

“I really do like the work I do. But it honestly feels like my boss is trying to drive me out. He’s been adding so much to my workload lately, and it seems like nothing I ever do is good enough, even after years of being told I’m doing great, it’s just… it’s awful. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think going to HR would help, and I can’t really request a transfer without people asking questions, so I’m -”

Without hesitation, Arthur interjected.

“Leave.”

“What?” Maree said, turning her head to look at her father. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Leave. You’re an intelligent, talented woman, and you’ve got one hell of a CV. You went to King’s College, you worked at Chelsea, and then the Premier League. I don’t even follow football and I know those names, Mare. Every company and organization has programme managers these days, there’s no sense staying somewhere that makes you miserable. Life’s too short for that. Just leave.”

“I thought about it, but Rowan said I should stand my ground and -”

“Mare, I like your husband -” Arthur said with a heavy sigh, interrupting her again “- I’m sorry, I do, but Rowan is the last person I’d take job advice from, especially in this case. I know he has that issue with his wrist and can't play cello in the symphony any more like he’d wanted to, which I feel bad about, but he decided the next best thing was to rot upright at a desk somewhere in the bowels of Lloyd’s of London as an insurance broker. I couldn’t imagine a more boring way to spend your life. If I thought less of him, I would assume that he wants you to be as miserable as he is, but you don’t have to be. Life is too short, and if your boss doesn’t appreciate your talents, you can take them elsewhere. If your husband has a problem with that, he doesn’t have your best interests at heart, and he’s not the one.”

Maree knew that her father was right. 

In an incident that seemed like destiny, a few weeks after her trip, a corporate recruiter 

sent Maree an email, asking her if she was possibly interested in making a switch to Formula One Management. She agreed to at least meet with the recruiter in person over lunch, and Maree couldn’t help but be impressed as the woman answered her questions. There was one overarching, remaining question on her mind after the recruiter finished her pitch.

“I thought it was kind of a bit of an old boys’ club there. I haven’t ever really followed motorsport, but that’s the impression I’d gotten from the news for the past few years.”

“Ah, yes. It was, under Bernie Ecclestone. His way of doing things was… a bit antiquated, but the environment has changed a lot since he sold the organization to a new parent company. Under Mr. Carey, it’s a much more, ah, equitable environment. Still majority male, I will admit, but things are starting to improve.”

She wanted to accept the recruiter’s offer of an introduction to the programme management team, but she figured that she should discuss things with her husband, as a career change would affect him, too. It would be a different work environment, which Maree needed. It would still be working in the world of professional sport, which Maree wanted. However, it would come with a small-but-significant pay cut.

Rowan’s reaction to the news of her entertaining the possibility of her leaving her job was just as she’d predicted.

“I don’t mean this to sound rude, but I don’t think you should throw away the years you have in the league just because your boss is a prat. By the sound of it, he’s not very good at his job anyway, so you’ll probably outlast him. Hell, maybe they’ll even promote you to replace him. Just grin and bear it until then. Plus, it sounds like they want you as some sort of diversity hire.”

The last bit of it annoyed Maree, and was even beyond what her father had warned her about. The recruiter hadn’t even brought up gender until Maree had asked, and in the position she was in at the Premier League probably made her seem like a quote-unquote diversity hire, so the difference would be minimal.

As she sat down with her laptop to send an email to the recruiter to say “thanks, but no thanks”, she remembered the interview with Susie Wolff that she’d watched at her parents house.

The things Susie said to the reporter about knowing when to move on, and how you could never experience growth if you weren’t willing to accept change and take risks resonated with her. “But at the same time,” she remembered Susie saying, “You can’t lie down and accept being walked all over in that kind of environment. It’s tough, but you really need to demand the treatment you deserve.”

She sent a reply to say “yes” instead. 

A few months and more than one shouting match with Rowan later, she packed up her office in the Premier League headquarters in Brunel building in central London, never to return again. She called her father on the way home to tell him the good news.

Her getting a new job wasn’t ultimately what caused her and Rowan’s marriage to crumble, but it was likely the wound that led to its slow exsanguination. 

All of this was on Maree’s mind as she was at work on the Monday of the first meeting. She was at her desk, reviewing things for the meeting last-minute, and glanced up from her computer monitor just in time to see Susie breeze past her office door en route to the conference room on the same floor, flanked by Stefano Domenicali and some other members of senior management. Her elegant wool coat was unbuttoned, flowing behind her a little like a cape as she walked. Her blonde hair seemed to glow under the fluorescent ceiling lights. Maree wasn’t sure why, but she felt her heart catch in her throat. She couldn’t help but stare as Stefano led the group into the conference room, until a notification pinging her watch snapped her out of it.

“Shit,” Maree whispered. She was due to attend the very meeting Susie had arrived for, which had managed to somehow slip her mind in the past thirty seconds. Truthfully, she had given herself a few minutes in her calendar notification, but it suddenly didn’t seem long enough for her to gather up her notes, calm herself down, or figure out why the idea of a meeting with some motorsport executive had her feeling so off-kilter. It wasn’t as if these types of meetings were new to her, not at this point in her career. She’d had plenty of meetings with team principals, executives from supplier companies, drivers, team executives and footballers during her Premier League days, this was nothing new. 

Maree sat back down at her desk, and pulled a small makeup compact out of her purse. She was suddenly very aware of how the blonde of her own hair looked almost dull in comparison to Susie’s, how her long, wavy hair had so many flyaways than the silky bob Susie’s hair was always styled into. She tried to coax the rebellious strands down and flounced the ends a bit while she did a last check of her makeup, wondering if she shouldn’t have gone with something more than the minimal application she usually wore. Someone once told her that the way her cheeks were rounder and fuller made her look young, and as she approached her mid-thirties, she preferred to keep it that way.

The only thing she thought she’d done right that morning was selecting her favorite blue cardigan to wear over her gray blouse. She always liked the way it brought out the light blue of her eyes.

“Why am I so nervous about this? Maybe it’s just because she’s my new boss,” Maree thought as she stood up, grabbing her laptop and her notes for the meeting before trekking across the office to the conference room. 

She took a deep breath before knocking on the conference room door and letting herself in.

“Ah, Maree, nice to see you again,” Stefano said, as Maree nodded to the group assembled loosely around the conference room. He rose from his seat to give Maree a handshake, gesturing for Susie to step over. “Maree, I’d like you to meet Susie Wolff, your managing director for this project. Susie, this is Maree McInnes, your new lead programme manager.” 

Maree did her best to remain calm and collected as she shook hands with Susie. In the back of her mind, she made note of how soft and warm her hand was, even in their brief, businesslike clasp.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Susie said, giving Maree a pleasant smile. “Though, I believe we’ve met before, correct? I get the feeling we have.”

“Yes,” Maree said. She could feel herself blushing, pleasantly surprised that she’d made enough of an impression. “At the BRDC awards gala a few years back.”

Susie laughed, flashing a brilliant smile. “Oh, right, when Dan Ticktum’s father made a joke about us being cousins because we’re both from Scotland, or something.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re from Inverness, if I remember?”

They chatted for a moment as Maree eyed Susie up and down. She was dressed very smartly, in a well-tailored business suit, with a cream-colored boat neck sweater under her jacket, a chunky statement necklace that looked like a chain, with large links that looked like they were made of polished, pale wood, and a pair of diamond stud earrings. Maree couldn’t help but feel strangely slovenly in comparison, despite wearing the sort of thing she normally wore to work. 

Eventually, Stefano called the meeting to order, and Maree and the other attendees each found an open seat. After a perfunctory round of introductions that reminded Maree of being in primary school again, they got down to the business of starting to form a new motorsport series. While Maree’s mother and father would likely think it was terribly interesting and exciting, despite not being fans of sport at all, they were both the sort of people that enjoyed the minutiae and details of things. Maree supposed she was the same way, otherwise she wouldn’t have gone into programme and project management.

As Maree was called on to present the proposed timeline and key dates of the project, thankfully, she felt as though the nerves and adrenaline she’d been feeling lessened their grip on her as she came into her element. This was her giving another presentation on another project she was leading, just as she’d done hundreds of times over the last decade and then some. She barely noticed the impressed expression on the face of her new boss as she talked through the separation of duties of each person assigned to the project. Who would be handling marketing, suppliers, sponsorships, driver recruitment, team relations, all of the little pieces and parts that needed to come together “...before we make it to pre-season testing in Barcelona in April.”

There was mild, scattered applause through the room as Maree clicked to the final slide on the presentation projecting from her laptop. “Any questions?” she asked, steeling herself for the usual barrage of critique. And questions.

It surprised Maree when Susie was the first to speak up.

“The first thing I have to say is that I am very thrilled to have you on this project, and I am impressed. I think Stefano and James chose the perfect person as far as our programme manager goes, and I’m quite excited to start working with you.”

Maree was only half-listening over the joyful ringing in her ears as Susie asked about some supplier dependencies, giving some answer that was maybe a bit more automatic than intended. All she could think about was Susie’s words, and how her Scottish accent had mostly reformed itself around Germanic phonemes after years of living abroad and being married to someone from Austria, much like her own accent had been pounded out of shape by her time in London, but much like Maree’s, Susie’s roots - their common roots - shone through when she said certain words, like the way she said the vowels person and perfect.

By the time she got back to her office, she could still feel her heart pounding. Almost 150 beats per minute, according to the sensor on her watch. But still, she had no idea why a first meeting with a new boss would make her feel this way when it never had before. She had also not felt such a desperation to impress her boss like this, probably since she started on with the Premier League. Susie praising her during the meeting felt like she was sinking into a warm bath, and she never wanted to get out. 

And so, when an hour later, she received a calendar invite from Susie about a “planning lunch” for the next day. There was nobody else CC’d to the invitation. Not for the first time that day, Maree was grateful that she had her own private office, because that way, nobody could see the mixture of terror and joy spreading across her face. 

[specialinterestshows]

I’m on a roll! Enjoy part deux, and let me know if you want to be tagged for this Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic

Warnings for this section: Cannabis (weed)

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 2/?): I Call Shotgun!

Considering how your evening had started, things were looking up; you’d gone into the night an anxious mess and despite all odds, now there was a beautiful woman on your couch. Rhea sipped at the cup of water you‘d brought her, looking around at your apartment as you brought out the bong, most of a bowl packed and ready. You sat down next to Rhea and pointed the mouthpiece in her direction, “Want to start us off?”

Her eyes widened and she seemed uncharacteristically hesitant, “I’m not used to- I’ve never…”

“Used a bong?” you pull the piece back onto your lap, “No worries! I can shotgun a hit for you?”

Rhea nods, relaxing visibly as you light the bowl. The piece filled with smoke as you took a deep inhale, looking closely and stopping when you could no longer see your thumb on the other side of the neck. Pulling out the bowl, you expertly take in the entire contents of the bong in one uninterrupted breath.

Turning to face Rhea, you almost forget what you’re doing. This is the first time you’ve really looked each other in the eyes in decent lighting and she was closer than you expected her to be. She arched a dark eyebrow at you, lips parted, waiting for you to keep going. Hoping the warmth in your face isn’t showing, you lean forward, stopping an inch in front of Rhea’s mouth before opening your mouth slightly and exhaling.

An almost electric feeling surged through your body at the sensation of soft lips suddenly pressed against yours, heart beating in your throat as almost all the smoke in your lungs is taken in by Rhea. There’s no doubt in your mind you’re blushing, not moving an inch even after she pulls away suddenly, violently coughing out smoke. A few short buzzes from your phone give you momentum again, the need to check it automatic. You were grateful for something to do that made you seem more casual as your lips tingled and the woman next to you coughed and chugged water. It was the group chat of friends you’d gone out with tonight, and what you read actually ended up making it more difficult to act casual.

Every message seemed to be addressed to you:

-“Did you really go home with a girl tonite??? Glad one of us is getting some!”

-“Isn’t Rhea supposed to be super mean?? Text if you need help!”

-“Congratulations on picking up a lady from the bar! Who knew you had moves? (Seriously, did anyone know this?)”

-“If you have sex with Rhea Ripley, youNEED TO TELL ME”

“You must have lungs of steel,” the sound of her voice made you slam your phone face-down on the couch next to you. Rhea has composed herself, but seems to be unaware of your flustered behavior. “How are you not coughing?” she’s looking at you like you have superpowers, her sharply-lined eyes pinking up. You can’t help but giggle at the genuine awe coming from someone who - as far as you knew - was difficult to impress. “I’ve had this piece for a while now, so I’m used to it,” you answer, bringing it up to your lips to take another hit.

Rhea watches the smoke move through the water and glass, putting a hand up and shaking her head when you offered her more. “It’s definitely hitting me,” she tells you.

“I can see it in the pinks of your eyes,” you joke, letting billowing clouds escape as you spoke.

“Shut up!” Rhea laughs and playfully slaps your arm.

It feels impossible to keep yourself from grinning at the sight of that dazzling smile.

“Feeling better?” you ask, putting the lighter and bong aside and relaxing into the couch. Your guest follows suit, leaning back and stretching out her muscular arms before folding them behind her head, “For now.”

The ominous nature of the statement makes you pause and look up at her, just in time to see her peek at you through one eye. She grins and your collective laughter fills the room.

[end part two of ?]

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/723477939705053184/absolute-smokeshow-part-3-when-the-bong

[inklessletter]

It's a love story (baby just say yes) Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“How’s university treating you, Buckley?” Eddie asked a little louder than usual, to get himself be heard over the pop music blasting in that freshmen party. Eddie offered her a very much illegal beer, and she accepted it with a cheeky grin.

It was the last weekend before Christmas break, where almost everyone came back home for the festivities. Of course, the break only lasted two weeks, and it was way less than an appropriate amount of time to actually throw a rager, but, hey, most people there were eighteen or nineteen. It’s not like they actually needed a reason to bring booze, and weed, and obnoxious music. 

Robin gave Steve the call a couple weeks before, and it only took Steve to mention it to Eddie for him to be on board. A weekend trip to Chicago to see Buckley and party surrounded by faceless people who actually were not worried about Munson being a mass murderer and also see again his favorite lesbian after months? Abso-fucking-lutely yes.

Well, truth be told, it’s not like he wasn’t going to see Robin just a week after that, she was going to be in Hawkins for Christmas and New Year’s Eve, but, come on, he wanted to visit. Plus, that would mean a four hour car ride with Steve, and there was no way he was going to refuse.

So everything in this plan was calling Eddie in, and after all the shit he’d been through, a selfish part of him actually thought that he deserved to have a little fun.

Sue him.

“Actually pretty good,” Robin said. She took a sip of beer, making an unfortunate grimace at the taste. “Classes are interesting, but some professors are shit , and I’ve met some people that are, um, how do I put this? More open minded, generally speaking, than in Hawkins, so. Yeah, I’m having a blast here.”

Robin granted him with a coy smile. Eddie took a second to appreciate her, she was stunning that night. She was wearing a lot of silvery jewelry, and a smudge and sparkly eyeliner made her eyes look impossibly large. She had a pink lock of hair now. Big worn out Doc Martens and purple plaid flannel over a cut off gray shirt tucked in belted and high-waist ripped jeans.

God, she looked beautiful (and not because of her very much flattering outfit, because she was wearing an attitude where she actually didn’t feel awkward in her own skin anymore), but he still couldn’t understand how it took him more than three months to realize that she was friends with Dorothy too.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

Eddie bit his cheek and smiled, dimples showing. She was busy looking at her red solo cup. Too busy.

“Okay, Birdie, spill the tea.”

Robin looked at him, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m not—” Robin started, exasperated. “It’s not like—” 

Oh, wow. So, there was really something bothering her. She took a deep breath and then looked back at Eddie, soft expression.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Eddie thought for a second what he was going to say next.

“Look, I know I’m not your platonic soulmate, but if you want to talk about anything, you know I’m your humble servant, Ladybird,” Eddie said, with a compliant smile, hand in over his heart. “If you want your other half over here to spill your guts, I can go after him and drag his squeezy ass back here.”

Robin cackled at that.

“And if you don’t want to talk at all tonight, we can focus on how that hot punk girl over there has been checking you out for ever, now.”

Robin turned around and interchanged glances with her, who gave her a brief, suggestive smile. Robin bit her lip and looked at Eddie, hiding a smile.

“That’s Gwen, she’s in my philosophy class. She’s smoking hot , indeed,” Robin said.

Eddie looked at her with a wry face. He made a wordless gesture to go for it with her.

“We’ve already actually, um—”

Robin took a little bit too long sip of her nasty beer. Eddie smiled widely, and laughed.

“Oh, Buckley, look at you, you are such a menace now,” Eddie teased.

“Shut up, Munson. It was just one time.”

“So, you actually got to learn a thing or two from Steve, huh?” 

She slapped his arm, muting him to shut up again, but Eddie only laughed harder. She was going full red now.

“Oh, come on. It’s a good thing! Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. It was fun, but, can we just not—?”

“Okay, fine.”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. 

Robin looked around, and then Eddie realized.

“You’re waiting for someone, aren’t you?”

Robin sighed and looked at him. 

“And here I thought that you were expecting to spend the night with us, your friends,” Eddie said, in a dramatic tone.

“I am. It’s just— Do you wanna dance?” she blurted out, fast. Robin was acting weirder than usual tonight, Eddie could tell.

“To Madonna ?” Then Eddie realized that Gwen was approaching. The clawing hand on his forearm and the panicked look on Robin’s eyes was enough for him to accept. 

He took her by the hand and guided her to the mass of sweating, smelling bodies, and not a word was said, when he spun her around and they started dancing.

Okay, there were some blank spaces in this narrative that Eddie didn’t have. Robin looked so confident just a minute ago, and then this Gwen punk appeared and she seemed to want to crawl out of her own skin again.

“Birdie, I don’t mean to pry but you’re fucking weird tonight. Do you need help or something?”

“Can’t we just dance?”

“Babe, the weird thing about you wanting to dance is that you can’t bet to not trip over your own feet while just standing . What’s wrong? Is this girl, is she bothering you or something?”

“No!”

Eddie cursed Steve in his mind. Where was he? He was supposed to go down to grab some drinks but that was forever ago. Whatever that was upsetting Robin, this was Steve’s field. Not that Eddie didn’t know how to comfort her, or that he wasn’t to be trusted, but it was clearly that she would feel more comfortable with him around.

Eddie grabbed Robin’s hand.

“I’m going to get Steve.”

“No, no, no!” She looked really panicked. Robin pursed her lips, stopped dancing and cursed under her breath. “Fuck, okay, come with me.”

Eddie followed her lead. She took him out of the dorm, and crossed the crowded hall to the stairs that went to the roof. The building roof was empty, except for some smokers. 

It was a quiet place.

Eddie observed Robin. He let her find the words and the strength to actually tell him whatever she needed to share. 

He didn’t pressure her.

Eventually, she turned to him, and took a deep breath.

“There’s something I need to tell Steve, but I’m not sure if our friendship will survive this bomb.”

Eddie was perplexed.

“What? Robin, what are you talking about? Steve will never break your friendship, he loves you.”

“He won’t once he finds out.”

Eddie frowned his eyebrows. He saw her sitting on the floor, and he sat in front of her without saying anything.

“You were right before, I am expecting someone to show up. I’m—shit, I’m kind of seeing someone. Well, not kind of. I’m seeing someone.”

“But Birdie, that’s great. Wait, is it that Gwen? That’s why you didn’t want to be seen with her before? Didn’t want Steve to find out before you could tell him?”

“What? No. This kind of has to do a lot with her but, no, Gwen and I—It was at the beginning of the semester, we started talking and she was nice. It kind of reminded me a little bit of you—”

“Gross.”

“—and it had been like three weeks, and I was missing you guys a lot, and I wasn’t making any friends, and she was just like me , and she’s so hot, god damn, and I didn’t know how it happened but we had sex—” Robin stopped to take a shaky breath in and calm herself. “And don’t get me wrong, it was so hot. I wanted it, okay? And—And she was so nice after. But then I felt like shit, like the day after, and I didn’t know why because I wanted it so bad . But maybe I made a mistake because I wasn’t ready. I—” Robin gulped and looked away. “I hadn’t even kissed anyone before her. I didn’t even tell Vickie I had a crush on her. I had my first kiss and my first time in the same night, and I was so confused the day after. So confused, Eddie. I wanted it. I really, really did, but I felt like shit. Like I was the worst.”

Eddie listened carefully, trying not to interrupt her, but he got himself drowned by the sinking feeling of the understanding.

“I believe that I was going through a lot. Everything was new, I didn’t feel like I had to really hide myself that much, because my family wasn’t around, so. I don’t know, it took me a while to understand that maybe I got overwhelmed, and I felt lonely and maybe I went all the way with Gwen because I just didn’t know what to do with this—this ball of feelings. I felt like shit because—because I know I had my first time for the wrong reasons, and that’s nothing to do with Gwen, because she was splendid before, during and after, believe me, but—” Robin gulped around a lump that was forming on her throat, so Eddie finished the sentence for her.

“You didn’t have feelings for her.”

Robin looked at her hands, slightly nodding. She was playing with a piece of paper that was lying around, destroying it mindlessly.

Eddie felt terrible after hearing that. He felt even worse because he had teased her a little bit about Gwen before. Well, his goddamn mouth.

When Robin didn’t speak for the following minute, Eddie intervened.

“Birdie, I’m so, so sorry that you went through that. You must have felt so lonely and confused. Are you okay now?”

Robin looked at him, and sighed.

“Yeah, I mean. I’d been feeling like shit for weeks until I figured it out, but. Yeah, I don’t know, Eddie,” she flexed her knees, bracing her own legs. “I just don’t think I was ready for it, that’s all.”

Eddie waited a little bit for her to continue, but when he understood she wasn’t going to, he asked:

“Why didn’t you call? You know, we miss you too, a lot . Steve mentions you at least once a day.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“Why? Robin, we wouldn’t have judged you at all! We support you no matter what, I think we could’ve even taken a trip earlier to see you if we knew you were going through this!”

“I know! I know. I shouldn’t have felt that way.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“No, I am. But I felt that way, and I really didn’t want anyone to tell me that, because I already knew. Besides, Steve and I have been talking about my doomed love life for like, ages, and—I just, I don’t know. I got some action and it got me spiraling and I didn’t want to face this conversation with Steve.”

Eddie was going to refute that rambling, but Robin continued.

“ I know ! What you’re going to say, believe me, I know. I should have been able to talk about this with him, and I feel bad that I didn’t, that I—that I called Nancy instead.”

Eddie felt where that was going before she kept speaking. He raised a hand, covering his mouth. His eyebrows frowned, and his eyes were fixed on a very uneasy Robin in front of him.

“I didn’t know Nancy knew about you.”

“That’s because she didn’t. I didn’t tell her before, but—but I called her, and she wasn’t far, and she came by. And we—I don’t know, she’s so sweet and so fearless,” she laughed a bit, her cheeks stained in red. “How is that possible, huh? She can be so frightening, point a gun to your head, but then she’ll do whatever in her hand to make you laugh? To make you feel… less lonely. Not a—not a big error .”

Robin then, after what it felt ages, gazed directly at Eddie, and god, whoever said the eyes were the windows to the soul was so damn right.

“Shit, Robin—”

“She was going to come tonight, too. We were going to tell Steve together.”

Eddie covered his face with his hands.

This was bad.

This was real bad.

Eddie knew for sure that Steve would be happy for them if they were happy together, but he knew Steve. He would be hurt, too, for more than one reason.

Not that long ago, Steve still had inconclusive feelings towards Nancy. They had history together. 

Robin, his soulmate, had kept a secret from him, and they shared everything. God, if Eddie knew something about these two is that their friendship hadn’t met any boundaries yet. And this time, Robin didn’t want to talk explicitly to him.

Also, Robin had decided to trust Eddie before Steve, too.

And, well, she apparently had feelings for his first love, so. There was that.

“I’m assuming correctly that what you and Nancy were going to tell Steve tonight is not that you had your first time with Gwen, right?”

Robin nodded, shortly.

“We’ve been—uh, we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

“I see,” Eddie said under his breath. But then he frowned and looked at her, “I’m sorry, this is not any of my business, but isn’t it too fast? I mean, the whole Gwen thing, and then you regretted it because you didn’t know what you were feeling, and all that jazz. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I mean, you two guys are friends, and I know that you know it’s overwhelming this first semester. Robs, are you sure about this? I really, really don’t want you to get hurt. Any of you.”

That included Steve, too.

“Eddie—I had feelings for her before. It’s not—it’s not a rushed thing. I think I’ve been feeling for her this way since—you know.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I know.”

Eddie was happy for her. For them both. He really was, truly. But a part of his heart was with Steve, anticipating what was going to be a sad journey for him. He won’t hint how he was truly feeling to Robin or Nancy, but he knew that he would speak his soul to Eddie. And Robin knew Steve as well as Eddie did, now. 

And she knew that, too.

“Please, don’t tell any of this to Steve. Not before I do.”

Eddie closed his eyes. 

Fuck, he’s shit keeping secrets. 

“It’s not my place to say anything,” Eddie said, pained for having to keep yet another secret to Steve. 

Robin sighed, relieved.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“But please, if you plan to do it, do it soon. We all know that he deserves to know.”

Robin nodded. Then he offered her the hand, and she took it. He pulled her in for a hug, and whispered to her ear that he was thankful she trusted him, and that he was glad if she was happy now. 

Robin hugged him tighter.

“What about if we go back and look for Harrington? He’s either lost or looking for us.”

Robin nodded, and smiled.

“Yeah. I don’t know where he went.”

Robin and Eddie entered the stairs, passing by a few couples making out in the dark, when they both froze with the sight in front of them.

There, in the privacy of the indoor stairs there was another couple loudly kissing. Hard.

And one of them was Steve, trapped between the wall and the mouth of a six foot two tall, jacked, blond guy.

Two things happened at once.

1. Robin grabbed his arm and pulled Eddie back to the roof, shutting the door, making the sight of Steve devouring another man disappear behind it.

2. Eddie’s heart broke in a million pieces.

Robin dragged him fast to a quiet area, and put both hands on Eddie’s face, forcing him to look at her.

“Eddie, okay, shit. Okay. Eh—”

Robin was about to have a nervous breakdown.

“Listen, Eddie. I know that you’re a friend and to be trusted, but, what we just saw, it never happened, okay?”

“Robin—”

“No, no, I need you to listen. This? This is a dream,” Robin started waving her hands, looking at him straight in the eye. “This is a dream, whatever is happening in those stairs you just dreamed it , capisce ?”

“Jesus, Rob—”

“I’m fucking serious, Eddie,” she said, high pitched, making a few people to look in her direction. Her hands were trembling. She held Eddie’s face in place again. “Holy fucking shit—” she said under her breath, “holy fucking shit!”

Eddie felt like he was on autopilot. He held her arms, keeping her in place.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, almost without a voice.

“Why are you not freaking out?”

“Because he told me, Robin. That he’s bi. I know he told you, too.”

Robin looked at him and her expression changed.

“I won’t rat him out, okay? It’s fine. It is fine.”

“Eddie—”

“We can stay here to give him—uhm—privacy, yeah? I bet he can’t do this in Haw—Hawkins. He’s entitled to have fun. It’s fine .”

He didn’t remember Robin’s hand were in his face until she started wiping his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Eddie, babe. You’re crying—”

“It’s fine.”

Now he could feel his heart clenching, and all the air being sucked out of the world. He could feel his face growing hotter, and wetter, and his own shoulders shaking almost violently.

Robin lifted her arms and hugged him close. It took him a second or two, but he hugged her back.

“He can’t know. Please, don’t tell him. Please .”

“Okay. Okay.”

She entangled her hands in his hair, and he hugged her tighter. He was shaking.

“ Please ,” Eddie said again.

He blinked a few times, trying to control his own breathing, his shaking, his body. 

Eddie let out a sigh and loosened the embrace, until they were not touching anymore. He was under Robin’s gaze, and it took him a bit to calm himself.

When he had enough self control, he spoke again.

“Do you recall the whole capisce speech you gave me? Same here. You never saw any of this. If you think you did, you dreamed it. None of this ever happened, okay?” Eddie said as calmly as he could, but his voice was in a strange forced pitch, and still a little bit shaky.

Robin nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

With a deep breath, Eddie leaned in the wall, facing the skyline of Chicago in the middle of the night. After a few minutes, Robin asked her since when he was feeling that way for Steve, and Eddie shrugged. He couldn’t pinpoint it, really. She joked about now understanding about his squeezy ass. 

He laughed a bit, but then he spoke, after a silence and a deep breath, because he was shit keeping his own secrets.

Eddie told her that he’d been feeling like this for Steve for quite a while now. That he didn’t expect them to become friends, that he thought Steve would stop spending time without him after the apocalypse. And then after he recovered. And then, after she and Nancy left for college and school started again.

That everytime he expected Steve to leave, he was surprised because he didn’t. That he noticed every little bit of Steve and he loved every quirk of him, that they became closer, and they trusted each other with their own deep secrets and family history.

That he made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe.

That Steve had become the best part of his day.

That he knew that Steve was still struggling with his own internalized homophobia since he sort of hinted that he felt that he had to fight against it.

That Eddie wanted to come clean, pour his heart into his, give him his everything, and that it would be a problem.

That Eddie knew that he had no future in Hawkins, that he had to leave sooner or later, and he wasn’t sure Steve would do such a thing.

Eddie didn’t want to risk what he had with Steve, even if at the end of the day was not enough . 

Eddie kept talking about how much in love he was, how heartbroken, until his voice even out, and two figures came into sight.

“Holy shit, where the hell were you? I’ve been looking for you for ages !” Steve said.

Eddie and Robin turned their heads to him. Then they shared a brief look. 

“Look who I found at the party!”

Nancy smiled at them and waved. She had a red cup in her hand, and, if Eddie didn’t know what he did know, he wouldn’t have noticed the look in Nancy’s eyes when she looked at Robin.

“Hi Nance! I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Well, my car broke down, and I tried to call, but no one would pick up.”

Robin and Eddie nodded. 

Nancy went next to Robin, and they both looked at the skyline, having a quiet conversation. Steve walked and leaned next to Eddie, also looking at the horizon. 

It was obvious that both Nancy and Steve had been drinking.

“I went for drinks and when I came back you and Robin were nowhere to be found. You were here all the time?”

Eddie looked at him. Steve was shamelessly looking back, dead in the eye.

“Yeah, we were here. Sorry we bailed, we didn’t know where you went, either.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice out here.”

Steve offered him his own drink, and Eddie took it with a smile. He took a sip.

The sight of Steve’s lips, pink and kiss swollen didn’t definitely feel like a dagger to his heart.

The soft sigh leaving Steve’s body, while he rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder, looking at the infinity, didn’t definitely feel like dying .

“Did you have fun tonight?”

No.

“Yeah. Did you?”

Please, say no. Lie to me.

“It was meh. I missed you.”

“You did?”

Eddie’s voice was small and fragile, but Steve was drunk enough not to notice. He shouldn’t be looking for reassurance, but some needy part inside of him, needed to hear it, even if it was while he was under the influence of alcohol, and not everything that came out of his mouth was reliable.

“Yeah. You know I do. You make everything better.”

Eddie closed his eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“And what did you do up here?”

We shared some secrets that we’re keeping from you .

“Nothing, just—Nothing.”

“Hm,” Steve hummed. 

Eddie knew the signs. First, the leaning, then, the humming. He didn’t have to look to know that Steve’s eyes were closed.

Eddie lifted a hand to Steve’s hair, lacing his fingers in it. Steve let out a happy breath.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s perfect.”

The four of them eventually sat against the wall, and it took no more than ten minutes until Steve’s breathing even out, and he was fast asleep. How he could sleep anywhere was something that none of them fully understood.

Robin was looking at Eddie, he knew. But Eddie didn’t have it in his heart to look back at her.

He just kept stroking Steve’s hair for a while longer.

For as long as Steve let him do that.

For as long as the secrets don’t destroy him.

[analtyranny]

let’s play gore screaming show (part 1)

so i’ve been curious about this game since...before i was old enough to play it, probably. i listened to the OP pretty frequently and would try looking up info on the story now and again. problem is, it came out 16 years ago with no sign of an english release. i’d also heard rumors that black cyc games are programmed weird and impossible to insert text into, or something? so basically i gave up on it and moved on to greener more euphoric pastures

UNTIL NOW

it FINALLY got an english release in november 2022, and i found this out...on the last day of a JAST sale. so i figured, fuck it, no time like the present

which brings us here today. is this game good? no clue! is it gory? most likely! but nothing can faze me after euphoria, right? ......r-right?

WARNING: THIS GAME IS XTREMELY SCRAY. VIOWER EXCRETION IS ADVISD

due to tumblr’s bullshit TOS im gonna be heavily censoring scenes. you’ll have to play it yourself to get those. but also it should be fine if i post just certain key phrases from them. it wouldn’t be an eroge playthrough without “The meatus...!” after all

this OP kicks ass, highly recommended. 18+ warning though for some of the included CGs. ...not sure how it survived on youtube for 14 years

okay before i start im just gonna talk about what i know about the story, i.e. what little information i’ve gleaned from my “research”

so the plot is this dude moves back to the town he grew up in and lives with his hot older cousin. he will probably fuck her. sorry. don’t kill the messenger. he reunites with his childhood friends who are all girls with color-coded names. he will probably fuck them. for some reason there's an ossan with a gun. he will probably fuck him?

so whoever you try to date, you get harassed by this purple-haired little girl and her creepy murder clown buddy and you have to stop them from killing your three weed-smoking girlfriends

also that caution tape says "delicious"

this boob lady’s in the OP too but idk who she is

then there’s a scene of a little girl going home. it goes back and forth between this and boob lady telling the story

oh, there's the clown guy

hey it’s the groupchat

so boob lady’s going "ohh everyone's looking at me im getting fucked by eyeballs" while the little girl talks to clown guy. who then eats her. cronch

hey look, it's our protagonist...'s POV!

...or not? looks like the actual narration is in 3rd person instead of 1st, like most VNs ive played. huh.

also, only three years? i got the impression it was longer than that

this road sure looks familiar. any little girl bones around here? conspicuous bloodstains?

h-haha, you sure it's supposed to be red-brown?

i missed capping it but he crashes into purple girl on his bike and she says "welcome home :)" but when he tries to apologize she's not there

and suddenly he's in a different place... and then he gets a flat tire

AND he's late for high sch--COLLEGE

on his first day, too

his teacher's like "how tf did you get lost when you used to live here?" it's those damn warp panels, man

all my teachers just talked to me like i was braindead and/or a toddler

he will probably fuck him

short king

red one sighted!!!

here's the blue one but kyoji doesn't remember her name

and finally, the yellow one. apparently she has huge boobs. i guess she's not a childhood friend but used to live where he went before, and conveniently also transferred here

it's normal for legal adults to live alone

school sux, come get some yoofies

we've got our...awkwardly shoehorned first choice! from top to bottom, it's: 

red

blue (first playthrough) 

yellow

[weabooweedwitch]

I say this as someone who's followed you for years and with as much kindness as possible:

Get the fuck away from your mother. Ditch her fuckin ass. She's repeatedly making things worse and refuses to learn. You need to get away from her, for your own good.

I know I might be repeating what other people have said, or even what you have thought of doing, but holy shit this bitch is actively ruining your life through sheer stupidity.

I hope things get better

I feel bad that people have to keep giving me this kind of advice because I realize it's the most obvious answer, and there are multiple reasons separating from my mother would be good for us both. I feel bad that i keep sharing all these worrying stories and worrying people and then at the end of the day, I'm way too scared to actually try and fix things. I just worry so much about not being able to take care of myself, not being able to drive, what if I go somewhere and it's harder if not impossible for me to get to work, just. I worry about everything. Honestly the thing that worries me the most is keeping my job or not being able to transfer if I went somewhere else. My wage is currently $19 an hour, my 58 yo mom was making $22, so like, I'm helping hold it all together with rent BECAUSE of that income. I'm so scared of losing that.

I've had people ask if there's any family I can go to and the only possible option would be maybe my father who is in another state, I cannot remember if it is in Illinois or Missouri (ugh, they may have passed recreational weed but thats the only good thing thats came outta thar state in like the last 2 decades). And I don't know if that would be good either. But it's an option I'm beginning to consider. But I am sort of still in the reconnecting process with my dad and we've butted heads a few times and he also has his own physical and emotional issues. Actually I think he is where I inherited a lot of mental illness from because he also has an anxiety disorder and we are almost positive he has equinus like me. He also has developed type 2 diabetes and I am really bad with sugar impulse control, what if I hurt my dad because I can't stop bringing sweets into the house and he eats them too 🥺

It just. Personally makes me hate myself to even think of "hiya pops, we've barely spoken in the last 10 years, I've been really ahitty about talking to you consistently since we've said hi again and lost my temper with you a few times, hey I know you're on a fixed income and out of a job right now (or was, maybe he has one now, we've spoken so little idk) but is it OK if I come live in your house as a whiny codependent barely functioning weed addict of an adult?" 😅

But yeah I just. This is really. It just never ends. I keep fighting myself and beating myself up on "who's right, am I right, am I wrong, am I overreacting, whats going on, what do I do, someone tell me what to do because I'm too stupid to do things right" and it's just. I also still love my mother even if that love is being increasingly mixed with resentment. I worry about her ability to take care of herself because her health is getting worse and, like, I worry about her mentally a lot. Like this tooth infection she has, is because she doesn't have the best dental hygiene, and had fillings and such, and even after needing fillings still takes shit care of her teeth, and was putting off getting like broken teeth and such taken care of, and, they're now having to pull SEVEN of her back teeth. She'll need dentures to eat certain foods now. And I'm not better, I basically stopped brushing my teeth for many years because I literally expected to be dead before they rotted out of my mouth and now I'm scrambling to adopt that routine again, and also like.

Sorry but my mom and a dentist literally lied to me when i was a little girl and said i had several cavities because they thought i would be scared into brushing my teeth and all that did was convince me everything was pointless and needed to give up since it was already damaged, and she refuses to apologize or even acknowledge how that literally helped me develop a complex and felt helpless when SHE LIED TO ME, A CHILD, HER CHILD (and also i think my difficulty keeping routines is a combination just needing to apply myself and having adhd issue because like, I've been pretty good with my skincare at least)

I just. I love her but I hate her. If I'm not careful to keep myself calm I'm going to escalate to the physical level. And to be honest I've had the opinion for many years that, all those times my mom told extremely age inappropriate stories to little tiny baby Miranda about her experiences with assault and domestic violence, even as a kid I would think, "well you like don't listen, you shut people down, you insist youre always right, I want to hit you all the time too, maybe it wasn't them but maybe you got yourself hit by constantly pushing everyone around you to their breaking point" like clearly that's not a healthy thought to have and I. I am kind of convinced at this point that almost every single bad thing that had ever happened to this woman was her own fault in some way shape or form. But you could also say that about me

What's scary is that I can't even think of going anywhere without having savings first and I'm constantly being pushed to my limits to the point I don't HAVE any savings, it's all getting sucked up. I dunno how else I can get out of this pit and I'm just, mentally worn down from any entire life of this. I feel useless and exploited at home and then I go to work and feel useless and exploited at work and by society. Like. Life feels so bleak. My Canadian friend is getting in worse health. I still have a lot of affection for him but he's also uh done and said a few things I really disagree with on personal levels and it, gives me some pause, like. I genuinely am so sad all the time. I need to go back to the psychiatrist to get some medicines again but, I am working and making enough money that after my state insurance expires in October, I'll have to go through my work, and that doesn't 100% cover everything so, j wouldn't be able to afford anything at that point

Just. Ugh. I try to write down my thoughts and listen to music and try to write on my other blog to cheer myself up but I just. What can you do right. What am I good for. What is anyone good for. What is this world itself good for. Our entire species is gonna go extinct with climate change anyways. Why should I keep struggling and suffering like this when it's. Idk. Arguably all for nothing. We'll all be nothing more than just dogs following commands and paying bills until we die

[showerbong]

as soon as i hear that the casting agents for Not Your Mom's Dance Mothers (Boogying MILFS Edition) are going to be scouting out the local studio moms here in Plainville, i make up an excuse to text shauna, asking her what she thinks of her traveling waxer, fabricia.

I already know shauna's opinion on the waxer because shauna never shuts the fuck up about her, always droning on about how fabricia is incredibly hygienic. evidently she can appear at shauna's doorstep, massage table in tow, on a mere 15 minutes' notice. shauna loves to tell everyone that she once had fabricia relieve her of her pubes in just 6 minutes, in the middle of the home office during the work day, while shauna was camera off and muted in some PR zoom meeting. she is absolutely full of shit. we all know she just keeps bringing up her vag because she's insecure about wanting a vaginoplasty. at this point, shauna just needs to sack up and get one. tell everyone she's going for a digital detox retreat for a few days. fly down to new york, get her box tightened up, pickup the vicodin from CVS on her way back into town.

everyone is really exhausted of having to reassure shauna when she gets wine drunk that all vulvas are beautiful and hers transported two beautiful babies into the world and that she should be more body positive and less disparaging and should stop referring to her pussy as a cheese-skirted smashburger. i was the one who accidentally breathed life into that phrase when i was smashed off Tanqueray one of the earlier times shauna brought her pussy insecurities up. we'd been sitting in shauna's living room, drinking six different liquids between the four of us, and her fat husband sam was gone with their kids at dance practice. shauna was apparently punishing him for some domestic crime that i can't remember. i hadn't meant for it to become a thing, the smashburger comment, but i guess i just have that unfortunate knack for turning a truly enduring phrase every now and then.

shauna had been telling us all how her sister's sister-in-law got one, a vaginoplasty, after a terrible accident involving cliff-jump-gone-wrong in dubrovnik left this girl with permanent damage to her perineum. shauna was recounting this girl losing her pussy to the adriatic sea with a twisted fascination that she seemed unable to repress. i had just hit my weed pen in the bathroom a few minutes prior and was incidentally laughing hysterically.

it wasn't really that she wanted one, a vaginoplasty, shauna had explained in between baritonal gulps of her pinot. she sounded like she had marbles in her mouth. 'it's just, wouldn't it be nice to get like a designer vag? like a BESPOKE vagina?? just to tuck in the lips, like, just tuck them in so they're not just hanging there, that would be like ALL i would really need.'

i just knew the other two women (honestly, i ever only think of these two, who are shauna's mommy group friends, as a single entity, not because they are inseparable, but because they are both incredibly bland and boring and distinguishing them is irrelevant) were waiting for shauna to take a breath, winding up to start montessori-parenting the shit out of shauna's inner child. no time to waste.

'actually yes, i would absolutely love to get a designer pussy,' i jumped in, because i was drunk and high and irritated and in a sure-i'll-bite mood. also, shauna hates the word pussy, so i generally try to say it loudly in front of her whenever i get the opportunity.

i don't exactly remember how it happened because the three of them were talking over each other at that point, and then shauna started crying and came clean that she did, in fact, have monstrously flappy pussy lips. someone was saying that was impossible and the other floated the idea of shauna doing a divinely feminine grounding nude walk through the house to renew her self-compassion, if she was comfortable and wanted to of course, but then shauna started crying more, and that's when i knew that the situation was dire. there was no question about it-- shauna must actually have weird pussy lips. i had chalked up the theatrics to her emotional vampirism (which was nonetheless notable) but clearly the lips were not good. so i ended up just kind of nodding along and saying 'yes exactly i am sure you are normal!!' but this went on for several minutes and finally in desperation i just blurted out that there's no way hers was worse than this girl in college knew (i was making all of this up on the spot) who was rumored to have two sets of extra folds, and on top of that, she surely didn't have a waxer like fabricia. which did seem to cheer shauna up for a moment, but then another wave of stoned hit me and i started howling again. everyone demanded that i tell them why i was laughing, and shauna was at my metaphorical emotional jugular, suckling away, so i finally caved and forced to explain that this fictional girl's botched pussy was known throughout medford as the cheese-skirted smashburger. it just popped into my head and i got latched on, you know how it goes. predictably, that didn't land and so now Shauna brings it up almost every time we all get together now, working some thinly veiled joke about having an ogreish smashburger hole into every conversation with a long sigh or two.

but all this to say, when i learned about the opportunity to finally make my reality debut, i was just looking for an excuse to text shauna, because i know once she's thinking about me she'll try and plan some sort of excuse to drink together, and then once shauna is about 3/4 of the way through the bottle of wine after she's had her one celsius energy drink and two high noons, i will pose to her one of the most vile questions a young, sexy, childless woman such as myself can ask (especially when one's tits are still as perky as mine are), which is 'how are your kids doing,' and i will suffer those long agonizing minutes as shauna starts bitching about dance studio injustices, but i will PERSEVERE because if shauna knows anything about the casting situation yet she will not be able to resist telling me every exaggerated detail, unless she knows who theyre going to cast already and is embarrassed she did not get picked, in which case she will play dumb, but there will be her usual nervous tics that give her away (read, making unnatural and dramatic shifts in conversation towards her completely unique and possibly genetic chronic pain condition), but again i will persevere because that will be the moment i begin to plan EXACTLY how i am going to get cast on Not Your Mom's Dance Mothers (Boogying MILFS Edition).