#and left dude on read at the end instead to focus on max

[chirpsythismorning]

El being *12 hours earlier* than the Cali timeline when she arrives at Nina. Will saying ‘it’s been 9 hrs’ in the scene following his monologue in the van.

We know that at some point their timelines merged when they arrived to save her…

But we don’t know when exactly those alignments took place when they were still apart… which just makes you wonder…

[silverstonesainz-archive]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : journals and dreams could've never predicted what was to come.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : engineer!max verstappen x ofc, artist!daniel ricciardo x ofc, businessman!pierre gasly x ofc

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.5k words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit language, sexually suggestive dialogue & descriptions, mentions cheating briefly – semi unedited.

Sophie loved adventure more than anything.

She remembered all the days she spent in the comfort of her room, nose stuffed in books as she reads of grandeur in countries and cities she’s never heard of. She dreamt of the day she could leave home, to move to a place by the water. She imagined a house in a quiet town, not too far from the city. A studio, filled with beautiful artwork and plants all around. Maybe she would work in a coffee shop, or own one for that matter. All Sophie ever wanted was a simple life. All she wanted was to be happy. 

The night after graduating from college, she packed a suitcase and left home. Not a word to her mother, whom she spent the better part of her life trying to please, and forgetting about a father who never was. Sophie left without a word, and never looked back. 

She spent her days working day in and day out to be able to afford this moment. So she flew out of her little town, and made her way to Greece. London was her first stop. Glorious, but terribly wet. She spent several days in London, shacked up in a dingy hotel just outside of the city. Cheap, but homey, if she looked past the water stains in the corner of the wall and the fact the hot water knob doesn’t work. Just three days in London, three days to explore the city before she was onto the next city. And on her last night, she opted to spend it in the hotel bar. 

Her feet ached after walking all day and she figured a vodka-pineapple or two might help ease the pain. She was too distracted looking at the photos on her phone, deciding what was worth keeping and what needed to be deleted, to notice the man looking at her at the end of the bar. He sits there, nursing a whiskey, completely ignoring his friend’s story. He’d hear it again anyhow, he wasn’t too worried. Instead, he placed all his focus on the girl with dark hair opposite of him, far too busy on her phone to notice that he was sitting there staring at her like a fucking creep. He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes as he nods, pretending to hear whatever punchline his friend was laughing at.

Sophie was just finishing her second vodka-pineapple when she finally put her phone down. Her eyes burned slightly and she figured it’s time for bed. She was about to pay for her tab when the barkeep let her know that it was taken care of by the gentleman over there. She looks up, eyes following the man’s index finger until she makes eye contact with a handsome man with golden brown hair and bright blue eyes. His friend is talking animatedly to the side of his face, but all the man really seemed to care about was her. His are soft, sweet, and he has dimples indenting his cheeks as he gives her a closed-mouth smile. He waves shyly, and it’s then when his friend notices that he had never been listening at all.

“Are you fucking serious dude?” the guy says before slapping the backside of the man’s head. “Whatever man, I’m gonna go play some music.”

Sophie stifles a giggle, finally turning away and getting up from her seat. She takes quick and long steps towards the end of the bar, smiling widely. “Thank you for paying for my drinks. You really didn’t have to.” 

“It was my pressure- I mean pleasure.” He stuttered, cheeks turning red at his little mess up. “Sorry uh… I’m Max.” 

“Sophie.” She smiles.

Sophie doesn’t end up leaving the bar as early as she intended to, and had more vodka-pineapples than she meant to. She stayed with Max at that bar until they got kicked out. And even then they didn’t seem to find an end to their conversation, sitting in the hotel lobby for another thirty minutes. With a little bit more booze, Max wasn’t as awkward as he claimed. He is animated in the way he talks, excited to share parts of him most people would be more reserved about sharing. And in all the talking and laughter, neither of them notice the staff who glare at them, upset that two people can be this happy to be together at two in the morning. 

“I think we’re annoying the front desk people, no?” Max leans in to whisper, nodding his head towards the two people behind the desk, scowling as they whisper to each other.

Sophie bites her bottom lip to suppress a smile, nodding. “Maybe a little.”

“You know… I do have more vodka in my hotel room…”

“What are you suggesting?” Sophie raises her brow, to which Max flushes red. 

He begins to stammer and stutter, the charm he so gracefully built crumbline. “J-just drinks. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Or we could just call it a night, up to you.”

Sophie is giggling again, shaking her head. “One more vodka pineapple won’t hurt me,” 

But of course drinks never happened. How could they with Sophie’s lips on his the second they got into the elevator and her hands desperately gripping his shirt to pull him closer. Her last night in London turned out to be a night she would never forget. Not even the alcohol could muddle her memory of Max above her, or the way his lips felt against every single part of her body. 

She woke up the next morning, his arm slung over her and his hot breath fanning against her neck. With a pounding head, she slowly slips away from him and leaves him with a note and a memory of her radiant smile. 

She left London, wondering if she made the mistake of not leaving her number or if she should’ve woken him up. He was sweet, maybe slightly awkward, but there was this charm about him that was more intoxicating than the five vodka pineapples from the shabby hotel bar. But then she also wondered if he would’ve convinced her to stay one more day, and if she would even have the strength to deny his charm. She’d be damned if she let a pair of bright blue eyes keep her from her goal. 

So she continued on her way, pushing Max to the furthest corner of her mind.

Germany and France, in her one day stint each, were a dream. She briefly considered staying in France, but nonetheless still got on her train and made her way to Italy. Florence was just as she imagined, everything she dreamed of and more. The architecture, the culture, the food, Sophie fell for the city fast. 

Sophie stays at a motel in the city, one not too far from the train station. It’s small, the building clearly old. But it had some endearing qualities, and truthfully it was enough for the next three days. In the midst of her exploration on her first day, she ends up at a flea market happening twenty minutes from her motel. It’s busy, filled with people buying fresh produce and little knick knacks that would remind them of Florence. Sophie walks past it all and right up to a little booth at the end of the market. There aren’t many people, all them moving towards the big crowd. But Sophie was attracted to the canvases with bright colors and fun strokes. She was enamored by the beauty of every single piece the vendor had put up. 

“How much for this?” She asked, eyeing the canvas of the Florence skyline. She could already picture it in the little studio apartment, maybe above a fireplace that doesn’t work, or maybe even above her bed. 

The vendor has his large nose nearly right up against a canvas as he paints whatever project he’s working on. His hair is curly, a mop over his forehead and flaring outwards around his head. He doesn’t give her a second glance, he just carries on painting. “180 euros.”

The price is steep, and so she releases the corner before taking a step back. The vendor drops his brush, standing to go and begin the vicious cycle of bargaining until he is able to sell his work for a price that would demean his hard work. But hey, anything to get him by, right?

“I’m willing to bargain,” He says, wiping his hands over his jeans and right up to the front of his booth. 

Sophie shakes her head, “I don’t think I’d realistically be able to afford any price you’d be willing to give me. Nothing against you! I’m just in the middle of moving… I have to make every dollar count you know? But it’s beautiful. All of it is.”

For the first time that day, the man smiles. “That means a lot… if you don’t mind my asking, where are you off to?”

Sophie must’ve stood at that stand for an hour or so, talking to the man who introduced himself as Daniel. He was charming in his own right, but different from Max. He was confident, optimistic, just down right happy and it was refreshing. She ended up helping him take down his booth, packing away the pieces of art and loading them into his truck. 

He offered to drive her back to her motel, an offer she most graciously accepted.

She never wanted the night to end, even as he pulled up to her motel. 

“When do you leave Florence?” Daniel asks as he pulls up to the little building. 

“Thursday. Then I’m off to Rome for the weekend and then Greece.” She smiles, “Thank you again for the ride.” 

“Of course.” Daniel watches as she gathers her belongings, opening the door to climb out. Just as she’s about to slam the door, he stops her, “Hey. If you’re not busy tomorrow, do you want to maybe grab some dinner?”

Sophie grins widely, nodding without any hesitation. “You’ll pick me up at six?”

“I’ll be here at 5:55,” Daniel winks. 

Dinner comes as quickly as either of them hoped. True to his word, Daniel was in front of her motel at 5:55, on the dot. He waits in the lobby, nose deep in some travel magazine until he hears gentle pit-pat come closer and closer to him. Daniel looks up, completely awestruck at the woman before him. Something about the way she stands there before him, hair up and away from her face that makes the man’s heart beat in a frenzy. And when she asks him if he’s ready to go, it takes him a minute to respond. But he does, pushing the idea of what could be out of his mind. 

He takes her to his best friend’s restaurant, where they spend the night learning to make pasta and drinking copious amounts of wine. He’s a wine connoisseur he claims. But whatever red cabernet or merlot he had convinced her to drink, it was enough to ease her nerves and push her straight into his arms. Something about the way he looks at her, a lazy gaze that sets fire within her. Daniel pays for the bill, as a gentleman does, and just about drags her out of the restaurant. It doesn’t take long for their hands to be all over the other, lips attached, and Sophie on top of Daniel in the driver’s seat fogging up the windows of his old truck. 

The moments after are ones that Sophie will never forget. It’s soft and gentle, his slender fingers coming up to brush the hair stuck to her forehead. His sweet compliments, and the soft begging for her to stay one more day. She nearly gave in, nearly extended her trip one more day to spend just a little more time with Daniel. But she stays strong, as hard as it was. He ends up in her bed, stays with Sophie until she is boarding that train. Daniel sends her off with a gift, and watches the train until he can no longer see it. 

What was Rome if not grand. Though truth be told, she struggled to enjoy the city as much as she would’ve hoped, the memory of Daniel still heavy on her mind. She wanted to cut her trip short, maybe even turn around to Florence for one more wine-fueled adventure, or London to apologize to sweet Max for disappearing. But she wasn’t in the city for her own personal time. She was there for her best friend’s wedding, to celebrate love and welcome forever. And it’s there that she meets the tall, ruggedly handsome best man. He was a cliche to a fault, standing with his chin up and chest out, smiling as he charmed his way through the room. He looked like he’d been pulled out of a book, his face ungodly. Had he been written by a man or a woman, she would have to discover for herself. 

It isn’t long until the best man is in front of Sophie, hand outstretched to shake hers as he introduces himself.

“Pierre, the best man. And you must be Sophie, the maid of honor? Donna has talked so much about you.” He says.

His voice is smooth, just like honey. It goes straight to her core. 

“I am, can’t say I’ve heard anything about you.” 

Her bluntness catches Pierre off guard. It was what had hooked him, the way she shuts down his advances all throughout the night. Even after buying her her drink of choice twice, his charm did nothing for her. He spent the entirety of the rehearsal dinner pining after her, even making it as far as to drop her to her hotel room, which in fairness was only two doors down from his. But even then, Sophie only left him with a peck on the cheek and a promise that she would see him tomorrow. 

She kept her promise, unintentionally for that matter. Though she was referring to the fact she would see him at the wedding, she ran into him at the cafe in the hotel that morning. They ended up having breakfast together, staying long after they started serving lunch, and only left because they needed to get ready for the wedding. Pierre, as relentlessly flirty as he was, was witty and smart. He is more than a pretty face, and as much as Sophie hated to admit it, she was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into him. 

She fell even more at the wedding, when Donna read her vows to her husband. There were sweet words about love at first sight, something about how she just knew. She always knew the man standing in front of her was meant to be her forever. Sophie can’t say the same about Pierre, hell the idea of that made her want to vomit. But something about the way he smiles at her, void of cockiness, makes her heart skip a beat. And after the wedding, after one too many mixed drinks at the reception, Sophie let him into her room. She lets him take her on the bed, over the desk, in every conceivable way possible until she slips into a dream-filled slumber in his arms.

And she woke up feeling satisfied, feeling a bit more complete than she had recalled. It felt right, that moment felt absolutely right. 

“Just one more day, belle,” Pierre muses, trailing kisses down her neck, “please… for me?”

And how could she say no? How could she deny his bright blue eyes and his soft lips against her skin just one more day?

In hindsight, maybe she should’ve. She very easily left Max and Daniel. What was so different about the Frenchman? Why was it so easy for her to melt into his hand, for him to convince her to veer off track, even for just a day?

After the day spent together, and a night of things she could never mention, Pierre is fast asleep beside her. She was almost asleep, almost in complete bliss, when his phone began to ring. He doesn't stir, doesn’t even flinch at his ring tone. And when Sophie moves over him to turn it off, she can feel her heart shatter in her chest. She stares at the contact name, Baby, with a red heart right next to it. And when the call ends, she sees the multitude of texts on the screen of Baby missing him and asking Pierre where he’s been.

Quietly but with haste, Sophie slips out of his arm, gathers her belongings and leaves. Disgust and distaste fuel her rage. Hot tears stain her cheeks while she sits on the train, trying so hard to shake off the memory of Pierre’s lips on hers and the way he set her skin on fire. She should’ve been stronger, should’ve left like she originally planned. She would’ve saved herself the heartache. 

The rest of the trip to Greece was without trouble, without any more distractions or one night stands. Sophie looked straight ahead, continued her trek towards the life she so carefully planned for herself. 

She wished to say that arriving at the port to get to Santorini was when she was able to push Pierre out of mind. She wished that pushing Pierre out of mind was as easy as it was to do with Daniel and Max. But the feeling of disgust, of being the other woman stays with her. It festers in her, makes her grow bitter and angry at herself. And with all that bitterness, she was even more enraged when she saw her ferry floating away. 

Sophie broke down into tears, dropping to her knees as she sits on the semi-empty port and cries. Frustration sits in her chest as she tugs on the roots of her hair. She was so close. She was being fucking dramatic, she knows that. She knows how easy it is to buy another ferry ticket, that her new home can wait just a little longer. She knows deep down that it really isn’t that big of a deal. But between traveling for the last two weeks, and whatever happened with Pierre, she just wanted to be home. 

“Are you alright?”

The voice is soft, but filled with worry. She wipes her eyes quickly, looking up to see a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He stares down at her with furrowed brows and wide eyes.

She nods. “Yeah. I just… it’s been a tough week and I just missed my ferry to Santorini.” 

“Oh… well. I can take you.” He offers. 

“Oh please, I don’t want to trouble you. I can just wait for the next one.”

“The next one won’t be here until tomorrow. I’m leaving right now and I can take you to the island in four hours.” 

Sophie looks up at him, watching as he turns to look at his boat docked not too far away. 

“I need to go to Kamari.” 

“Well you’re in luck, because so do I.”

Mick, who introduces himself as he takes Sophie’s bags, is nothing short of a gentleman. He tells her all about Kamari, how much he loves living there and how excited he is for her to see just how great it is. She learns that Mick leaves just ten minutes outside the city, and runs a mechanic shop that had been passed down for generations. After his father’s accident, he assumed control of it to support his family. Four hours fly by faster than Sophie thought, and soon she’s back on land. Kamari, Santorini, her new home. 

The lengths Mick goes for her are more than she would’ve ever expected or asked for. He had the courtesy to drive her to her new studio apartment, and help her move in. He visited her every chance he got and helped make Kamari feel like home. Sophie busied herself as much as possible, trying to get settled in and accustomed to how drastically different life seemed to be in Kamari. 

Sophie finds work as a waitress at a restaurant by the coast. She commutes every day by bus to work in the city, despite Mick and Corinna (his mother) insisting they can take her. It was honest work, but she had never been happier. Her journey to Greece, the people she encountered, none of that mattered anymore. She was here, she was happy. She was living her dream.

For one month.

It was bliss for one month. Four weeks, then her body ached more, sleep never seemed to be enough, and she spent every morning bent over the toilet. Then it’s a full week of this before she realizes that she’s late. She’s fucking late. 

NOTE: ahhhh i'm so happy i finally get to release this!! i've been thinking of this series for maybe two or three weeks and have been planning it out and now to have the prologue out means its real. i can't wait to share this with all of you.

as always shout out to the loml @bigdiccricc for helping me get my thoughts in order and to @vamossainz55 for listening to me come up with a MULTITUDE of ideas and helping me get this fic together. i love u both very much.

wanna be notified?

[phantom-curve]

Second birthday is such a cool thing to call that! 8 or 35 if you are feeling so inclined.

Thank you! When I was a kid my mom always tried to call it my rebirth-day and I was like no❤️ I went with some Willex whump (with a fluffy end) for this one! Set in the gimme a chance AU, featuring pro-skateboarder Willie and anxious Alex. This is also a bit of a companion piece to the #8 prompt I wrote earlier!

#35: kissing their bruises and scars (Trigger Warning: mentions of injury, mild description of panic attack, and mentions of a car accident. Rated T for language) 

Alex generally tried not to think about worst case scenarios when Willie was competing. If he let himself, it was way too easy to imagine all types of situations that ended with Willie broken and bleeding at the base of a halfpipe while Alex stood helplessly on the sidelines. It didn’t help anything for him to obsess over what could happen, especially because at this point, Alex knew skateboarding was as much a part of Willie as drumming was a part of him.

It was just that ever since Willie had gotten his first sponsorship and moved to the pro circuit six months ago, he had started taking bigger risks. More complex tricks and a lot less hesitation to go big when he was representing the brands that were paying his bills. And that meant longer hours practicing and a higher chance of injury on a daily basis. Alex wanted to be a supportive boyfriend, the kind that would show up at the skate park to cheer and not have a panic attack every time that Willie wiped out, but he wasn’t. He was just an anxious guy in love with a dude who seemed determined to break every single bone in his body.

Things only got worse when Willie started traveling for competitions. He was gone almost every weekend, and Luke had finally convinced the manager at the bar he worked at to let Sunset Curve preform regular Saturday shows, and so, more often than not, Willie would be somewhere else in California flinging his body down an insanely tall ramp with nothing but a helmet and some pads to protect him while Alex was trapped in LA losing himself in the familiar pattern of sticks against drums in an attempt to control his raging anxiety. It had about a 68% success rate. That success rate increased dramatically when Willie called Alex the second he knew his set was ending. It plummeted on the nights Alex didn’t hear from him until much later, or worse, heard from a different skater entirely.

Tonight was unfortunately one of those nights.

When their set ended, Reggie called out the same line he had coined after their first performance, a couple audience members chiming in with him because they actually had a bit of a fan following now, and Alex wasted no time in grabbing his phone from the fanny pack he kept behind his kit during shows. Instead of it lighting up with a picture of his boyfriend’s face, he was met with a series of missed calls and text messages from the guys Willie was rooming with for the weekend. He tried not to panic, tried to breathe in deeply to a count of five, holding it for just as long before exhaling again. It kept the anxiety at bay for as long as it took for him to unlock the phone and read the last missed message.

Don’t worry, bro. They’re gonna airlift him back to LA so you can just meet him at the hospital whenever.

Panic hit full force. What the actual fuck had happened to his boyfriend?! Alex’s fingers were shaking too much for him to open the other messages, his vision going blurry and a distant ringing sounding out in his ears. It took him longer than it should to realize Luke was crouched down in front of him, Reggie hovering just beyond the drum kit.

“You have to breathe, Lex. C’mon, follow me.”

Luke inhaled deeply before letting his breath out in a loud woosh. Alex tried to copy him, but his chest felt too tight, his throat closing in the more he tried to open it. Luke kept talking, his voice low and calm.

“Try again, we can do it together. We just have to breathe, nothing else.”

Alex inhaled with Luke that time, not quite as deeply and not quite as steady, but more air than he had managed to get before. It took several long moments before he was able to match Luke completely, the fog starting to clear from his brain, surroundings snapping back into focus.

“Great, good, just keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna go grab the office keys and we’ll take a minute in there to talk, okay?”

Alex nodded, not exactly wanting Luke to leave but knowing whatever his best friend was saying logically made sense. Reggie slipped into the space Luke had been occupying, breathing in the exact same pattern, and Alex refocused on him. When Reggie stood, Alex copied him, reaching out to grip the back of Reggie’s red flannel as he led them both off of the stage and down the hallway to the office in the back of the bar. Alex dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Lex? Can you tell us what’s going on?”

Reggie’s voice was soft and quiet, like a gentle melody. Alex let it wash over him, knew his boys would be able to help if he could just figure out how to get his mouth to form the words it desperately didn’t want to say out loud. He fought to speak for a few moments before finally just thrusting his phone forward. A hush fell over the room as Luke and Reggie scrolled through the texts and Alex was suddenly grateful that he wouldn’t have to read through them himself. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Luke cleared his throat and spoke.

“Okay, so good news or bad news first?”

“How can there possibly be good news?”

Alex’s throat felt raw and scratchy, the words coming out broken and strangled. Luke and Reggie exchanged a quick glance before Reggie sat next to Alex on the couch. Not touching, but close enough for Alex to feel comforted all the same.

“Willie isn’t dead or dying, so yes, there is good news. Which one do you want first?”

A significant amount of the panic left Alex’s system at the reassurance that his boyfriend was alive and going to stay that way for the time being. It hit him all at once, sending him into Reggie’s side as he let out a cry of relief. Reggie’s hand stroked up and down Alex’s arm, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat. Luke spoke again.

“Okay, so good news is that Willie is probably already back in LA, he’s at the best hospital he can be at, and he’s going to be fine.”

Alex clung to the words like a life raft. Willie was going to be fine. He turned it into a mantra, repeating it over and over again until he felt like he was back in control, no longer on the precipice of drowning. He disentangled himself from Reggie’s arms, took a deep breath, and met Luke’s gaze.

“I’m ready. Gimme the bad news.”

Luke let out a long breath before sitting down on Alex’s other side.

“The guys were in a car accident. They didn’t even make it to the competition. Willie was in the passenger seat and he took the worst hit in the collision. The other guys got taken to a local hospital, but they had to send Willie to Cedars-Sinai because of some special orthopedic department there. Max said they mentioned he would be admitted to the post-trauma floor.”

A car accident. He didn’t even make it to the competition. Alex had considered himself prepared for the worst when it came to Willie and his chosen profession. He had told himself that loving Willie meant accepting the risk that came with skateboarding, especially at the level that Willie did it. He had not once considered the fact that Willie could be hurt in some type of freak accident that had nothing to do with skating. The life raft slipped from his mental fingers, hurtling him back into the sea of despair once again.

“We got this, okay?” Luke was still speaking. “Reg is gonna call an Uber and take you to the hospital, and I’m gonna get Dante and Felix to help pack up stuff here and then come meet you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Luke’s words painted a path for Alex to follow, a way to move forward without having to fight so hard to do so. He nodded, allowed himself to be bundled out of the employee entrance and into the car Reggie had called. Clung to Reggie’s flannel again as they traversed the white hallways of the hospital, eventually making their way to a nurse’s station situated on the post-trauma surgical floor. Alex didn’t even let himself think about what that string of words implied. Not until Reggie nudged him forward to speak with the blonde-haired woman with kind brown eyes sitting behind the welcome desk. He forced himself to clear the lump in his throat and scrape some words together.

“Hi, I’m uh, my name is Alex. Alex Mercer? I’m looking for my boyfriend Willie? William, actually, his name is William Stewart. He was...he was in a car crash.”

The words came out in starts and stops, cracking at the edges as Alex forced them through numb lips. The nurse nodded, her fingers tapping across the keyboard in a sharp staccato.

“He’s out of surgery, but might still be a bit groggy. The limit is one visitor at a time, so your friend will have to wait out here.”

Alex turned to Reggie with a blank stare.

“You got this, Lex. Remember, he’s gonna be fine. I’ll be right here, and Luke is on his way too. Whatever you need, okay? We got you.”

Alex nodded even though the movement itself felt like a lie. The nurse smiled softly at him and for one split moment Alex wished he could call his mom, hear her comforting voice the way he used to when he was a scared little kid. But he had Luke and Reggie now. And Willie, who was alive somewhere in this hospital.

“He’s in room 604, just down the hall.”

Alex forced his feet to move. Forced himself to count the numbers on the wall until he found 604. Forced himself to open the door and enter the room.

Willie looked so small on the bed, his dark hair a mess across the stark white pillowcase, his leg encased in plaster and suspended from some contraption that hung down from the ceiling. He turned his head at the noise of the door opening, eyes half open and soft with sleep or maybe painkillers. The smile on his face was a mere shadow of its normal sunshine.

“Hey, Hotdog.”

Alex wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and curl into a ball and absolutely lose it. But instead, he walked to the side of Willie’s bed and sat down in the chair next to it that seemed to have been waiting just for him.

“Have you been crying? Please tell me you weren’t crying.”

Okay, Willie was definitely on drugs. Because of course, Alex had been crying.

“Yes, I’ve been crying! Are you kidding me?”

Willie winced slightly and Alex was instantly swamped with guilt.

“No, okay, let me try that again.”

He took a deep breath and reached up to brush a few stray hairs away from Willie’s face. There were a number of cuts and bruises marring his skin, a few of them hidden under bandages.

“Hey pretty boy, I’m so glad you’re not dead. I’ve never been more scared than when I saw that text from Max. I thought you cracked your head open on a halfpipe or something, what the hell happened?”

Willie tried to shrug and grimaced, like it hurt. Alex’s hands fluttered uselessly above his boyfriend’s body, unsure where would be safe to touch. He settled for grabbing the hand that Willie offered which was thankfully unmarked, nothing but some leftover scars from catching himself at the skatepark.

“I think our car flipped? There was a lot of crashing and my leg really fuckin hurt. It’s still hurts.”

Willie frowned, clearly addled from the leftover anesthesia and whatever they were giving him for the pain. Alex pulled his hand up to press a series of kisses across Willie’s knuckles, making sure to cover each scar at least once.

“You can’t die on me, Wills. I fucking love you, okay? I know you do insane stunts and regularly let yourself get beat to crap at the skate park, but you can’t fucking die on me in some stupid car accident. I’d lose my goddamn mind without you.”

“You love me?”

Willie’s voice was soft and awed and Alex suddenly realized he hadn’t ever actually said those words out loud before even though they’d been living in his brain for months now. When he looked into Willie’s eyes he saw a hint of wetness there, and his heart melted.

“Yes, I love you, you fucking dork. I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Willie grinned, dopey eyed and pink cheeked.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for like, ever. So, I win. Gimme a kiss for my prize.”

Alex laughed and rolled his eyes, but obliged, nonetheless. Willie might not remember this interaction, but Alex would never forget it. A look of absolute peace settled onto his boyfriend’s face.

“I knew you’d come. I knew as soon as that car hit us that when I woke up, you’d be here. You’re the best boyfriend ever, that’s why I love you. And you’re so hot. Like, really hot.”

Alex’s cheeks burned, his heart kicking into overdrive.

“C’mere,” Willie nodded his head to the side and tried to shuffle over, like he was inviting Alex to climb in next to him. He made a disgruntled sound when the contraption his leg was in refused to budge, frowning up at the suspension system.

“That’s so lame, what the fuck? I wanna cuddle.”

And Alex, unable to resist even when he knew it would probably be better for Willie if he did, climbed up to wedge his body into the small space between Willie and the guardrails on his bed. He tucked one arm behind Willie’s head, pulling his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. Willie let out a contented sigh, his breath sending shivers down Alex’s spine.

“You smell like you,” Willie whispered, the sound happy and relaxed. “I love you, Lex.”

“I love you, too.” Alex sighed, kissing his way across every single cut and bruise he could reach without moving.

Willie settled into place, his body going lax and soft snores sounding out against Alex’s chest within moments. Alex let his own head fall to rest against the top of Willie’s, finally allowing himself to believe everything would be okay. When the same nurse came to tell him that his other friend had arrived and maybe it would be best to come back in the morning, he accepted it without complaint. She gave him a final moment to say goodnight, Alex taking the time to make sure Willie was tucked in tight before kissing his temple softly.

Willie was going to be okay, and Alex was going to spend the rest of his life making sure he was always the one there to kiss his scrapes and bruises.

Send me prompts for my second birthday!

[fandomsilhouette]

they’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation)

The spotlight clicks on, floods the stage until the shadows are sent scampering away, every flaw and every fear in sharp contrast for the audience to feast upon; but what horrors lurk where the darkness prowls, trapped at the edges of the script like handcuffs around the actor? May life mirror art at the best of times, the worst of times. 

Happy @felinettenovember, y’all! We’re back to terrible o’clock writing times with @musicfren, who is collaborating with me on this fic-turned-mechanism-through-which-to-preach-on-the-spot-Hamlet-analysis. He’ll be posting the second part on his account tomorrow, during which the bulk of my meta nonsense is going to come through. Are you following him yet? @emzurl spoiled this whole story with their art and @dumpsdoods simply spoils me with theirs. 

Part 1 below. Part 2 upcoming.

“Alright, take ten, my dudes! We’ll go from Act III, Scene 1 after you get some snacks and chill.” 

Marinette lets out an amused laugh as she thumbs through her copy of the script, ignoring the throng of hungry students pushing past her, desperate for this grueling 5 hour rehearsal to end. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but certainly not of this play. Nino makes a good director, she thinkst: loud, relentlessly positive, able to carry the sagging energy of an entire unwilling highschool production on his shoulders.

But alas, poor Nino is fighting a losing battle. Everyone knows that the point of this play is the obligatory report they will all have to write for their literature class at the end of the week. Almost no one here can act, and Marinette’s arms are beginning to grow tired from carrying up the entire play. With scarcely a week left it looks like most people are planning to coast the rest of the way to a clean C+. The part of Hamlet still has not been cast.

Akuma attacks have pushed back the discussions they were meant to have on the play, and Bustier couldn’t cancel the major assignment for the unit; instead, she had told them to analyze the play through the role of their choice after embodying it for the few weeks it took to rehearse and perform the production. Their in-class discussions have been condensed into a take-home paper on top of the already obligatory theatre performance and pretty much everyone knows that Bustier would be lenient on them just for that. And Nino knows they know, and Marinette is starting to suspect that he is itching to “chill” like he keeps telling them to. 

Marinette chews on the corner of her pencil, running a finger over the veritable bloodbath of neat pink notes she’s crammed into the margins of every page. She’s on in the next scene, and she wants to make sure she’s got all the nuances of the character, her character, exactly as she plans to bring her to life. Looking over the script, Marinette starts to regret not typing the notes to begin with: her entire essay is definitely already fully composed. Maybe Max will consider building her an application that can scan the document and transpose it to a word processor as editable text… 

“Give me your hand, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.” 

Marinette looks up to see Felix quoting Shakespeare, trying very hard to look inconspicuous in his black stage-hand clothes, wheeling a stand of fake swords almost as tall as he was. She watches with some amusement as he struggles to set it upright, and makes absolutely no move to help him. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you on stage any time this week,” she says, sticking her tongue out and being far cuter than it had any right to be. Felix, sweating, scrambles for a riposte. 

“I hadn’t expected you out of the home ec room at all. Shouldn’t you be half-drowned in fabric or something?” 

She sends him a quizzical look. He wonders if the akuma attacks have scrambled her memory. “Because...you’ve got costumes to work on? As the play’s costume designer?” 

“Oh, I’m not doing costumes this year, actually.” Marinette laughs awkwardly. “I’m not even sure what I would write about if I were.” 

Felix stares at her. The sword he was carrying slid out of his grasp with a dull clang.

“...what are you writing about as a stagehand?” 

Felix decides to pretend the last few moments were a fever dream and focus on answering this one very reasonable question. “I’m looking at the blocking and the prop placement and the lighting and how it impacts the effect of the character portrayal on the audience and what information manages to get conveyed to the audience.” 

Marinette offers a suitably impressed ooh at this. “How far have you gotten with it?” 

“Darling, we don’t even have a Hamlet. The titular character. I’ve done nothing.” Felix offers the most deadpan look he can muster and startles at her giggle. “What, how far have you gotten?!”

Marinette flashes her script at him, more notes than dialogue at this point. 

“You are possibly the only person in the class thinking anything even remotely deep about this play. What is all that for?!” 

“Hopefully for a handwritten notes to editable text conversion app.” 

Felix only narrowly avoids gaping. What?! “...is that what’s scrawled on every corner of that script you’re clutching?” He grins crookedly at her, and her traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“...oh! no, um, those are my notes. For… my essay? I’ve written out the character analyses into where the text supports my arguments and… um… yeah.” She flushes with the realization that 1) that was completely out of context for him because 2) he cannot, in fact, read her mind. 

“...Marinette, for what do you possibly need notes?” 

“...to play my character?” 

“Oh, wow, are you playing a guy? Impressive, tiny girl.” He rakes his gaze down her body and Marinette is flushed for a whole new reason now. She pushes to her feet and doesn’t bother to care about the swords she knocks over. 

“I’m not, actually.” 

“Why?! Who is there to play among the female characters? Marinette, I took you as someone who plays characters of worth.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide with dangerous innocence “Are female characters not valuable?” 

“I-- no, that’s not what I meant and you know it! Shakespeare is historical, and male-centric, and writes women who do little more than parrot the views of the men around them if they get any dialogue at all. There’s no substance there! Who are you possibly going to play, Gertrude? Ophelia?!?” Felix’s tone makes it very clear what he thinks of the only two options she has available to her. 

Marinette sweeps past him coolly, her hair whipping against his cheek. “I am playing Ophelia, actually.”

Stumbling, Felix turns and gives her a wry grin. “Oh darn, I’m sorry for your loss.” He makes a valiant effort at replicating her stuck out tongue, not that Marinette is looking. It’s for the best: it’s not nearly as cute on him. 

“Excuse you?” Marinette halts in her tracks, shadowed amongst the heavy curtains of stageside. Her voice echoes hauntingly around the empty theatre. 

“...c’mon. Ophelia does less than Gertrude. She even has fewer lines!”

With great restraint, Marinette manages to do nothing more than turn to face Felix, trembling with repressed rage. “Does less? Ophelia is the only person in this play who does anything at all that isn’t driven by a madman’s plot! Ophelia is the only person in this play who can pull Hamlet out of insanity, even if for little more than a moment.” 

Frustrated, Felix tosses the nearest item at her and growls when she catches it neatly. It’s a victory when she stalks off across the stage to the opposite wing, gathering her notes and settling herself neatly in a prim fury. She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong. He whirls around and starts rearranging everything she knocked over, grumbling under his breath. 

“Ophelia is the only character in that play who makes zero choices of her own. Even her death was a result of her tripping into a lake.”

There’s a crashing sound, and Felix spins back around to see Marinette bolt upright, tempestuous in her temper. Felix may have gotten a bit too loud with that last statement.

“How can you say that? That’s the most significant choice she makes in the whole play!”

Felix can feel the irritation rising, hot and ugly in his chest. Why is she being so stubborn? Marinette makes a gesture at him, quick and angry from the other side of the room. Felix squints and tilts his head, struggling to what she was doing from across the stage. Then all at once it hits him.

“Do… do you bite your thumb at me?!” He splutters in indignant incoherency, his grip tightening on whatever he’s holding until the plastic grooves bite into his skin. 

“I do bite my thumb at thee, sir.” 

Felix steps onto stage, glaring. Marinette matches him step for step, glare for angry glare. Nino gasps, cowers, and then grabs his camera.

The class, milling around aimlessly as their ten minutes ticked to an end, comes to a collective halt. Nino sheppards them out of the way of the camera’s shot. They flock without protest to the edges of the theatre, terrified to watch this trainwreck unfold, terrified they’ll miss even a second of it. The die has been cast. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

Nino can only hope that the set backgrounds manage to come out of this intact.

[hargrove-mayfields]

No, see, this is the point where I now come into your ask box /begging/ you to give me even a single religious Neil headcannon in exchange for my entire heart ❤️🤲

Ahh thank you for the ask! I’ve been wanting to ramble abt this! Here’s a few hcs for you!

-The number one most important one I think is that Billy is left handed. We all know the association between left handed folks and the devil and it would tick Neil off to no end when they notice that little Billy is tying his shoes left handed and picking up crayons and sippy cups with his left hand, so he trains Billy to use the right one instead through typical Neil fashion. His mother never let Neil hit him but he definitely scared him through threats of it, and when that doesn’t work he breaks his left arm so he can’t use it and pretends it was just an accident. Billy learns his lesson and starts forcing himself to use the right hand, but because of the constant focus on using the wrong hand or facing the consequences he develops pretty bad dyslexia. If you’ve got dyslexia you can’t read the Bible, so Neil tries everything he can to cure him of it (making Billy pray it away, forcing him into every educational church related program he can find, beating it out of him) but it only makes it worse. It takes him years after moving out of Neil’s place to be comfortable using his left hand for anything and even then he’s still mostly ambidextrous because there’s some things he just can’t shake using the right for.

-They have bibles literally everywhere in the Hargrove-Mayfield house. One on every bookshelf, in every drawer, on every side table, and whenever Billy or Max get in trouble for minor things they get verses read to them (in Billys case because of the dyslexia he has to read them himself and it always goes terribly) and forced to apologize to whoever is punishing them, whoever they wronged, and to God.

-Their church had a pastor who tried to be like, very hip with the kids but he was truly a nasty s.o.b under the surface. Neil was very close friends with this dude so he was able to get Billy one-on-one sessions with him after the church cleared out, and they are, very tough to sit through because he’s got this facade of being Billy’s friend, but he’s saying terrible things about him because of who he is (I hc that Billy outed himself before he realized the consequences of it as a little, little kid) and it’s so confusing to him that he ends up just bawling his eyes out after every one. His faith in the church is shaky at best, but he really internalizes a lot of what that man says to him because of the way he presents it. When the pastor moves on to another church and they get this new old guy in who’s genuinely really nice, Billy's still terrified of him regardless and sits through every service unable to look to the front.

-Bible school was absolutely mandatory. Most kids would go to have fun, but Billy didn’t like the church, and he couldn’t really click with the other kids. Making a prayer pillow and listening to the creepy kid friendly songs and reading in the Jonah and the whale tent just wasn’t cool and exciting like it was to his peers and he feels so isolated. So he sneaks off to go chill in the nursery where he can be alone and it’s not suffocating and crowded, but Neil wants updates since he can’t be there, and he knows Billy’s lying about attending because he asked the ladies in charge of it. As punishment for blowing off what he considered the easy route to teaching Billy the right path to take, Billy winds up enrolled in church camp.

-Church camp sucks. A lot. It’s marketed as being a fun outdoorsy getaway but it’s a lot deeper than that for kids who don’t have a normal relationship with their religion, and especially not for kids whose counselors know they’re gay. It’s basically torture, being away from home in a secluded place where literally around him treats him like a freak because they all know his secret. It’s like, during worship times it feels like everyone’s staring at him, and nobody eats with him in the mess hall and he’s got a bunk bed all to himself because no one else is allowed to share with him and it’s awful. When he gets to come back home he breaks down hard, and Neil is smug as all hell that it had made him that miserable. Billy starts pretending then and there that he’s changed, because he knows the next step would be conversion therapy and what he’s been through was bad enough, so he basically hides away anything that was left of his personality after church camp. For the first time ever Neil’s proud of him.

-Whenever Billy would get in big trouble he’d pretend to pray. Hide in his room and get on his knees at the foot of his bed because his dad wouldn’t hit him if he’s praying, right? Wrong. Neil started making him say his prayers out loud, and he’d stand in the door and wait for Billy to do it right. It makes the whole thing that much more unpleasant because now he knows what was inevitably coming when he got through with it, and he’d only get in more trouble if he stalled. Neil isn’t stupid either, he knows that Billys just trying to buy himself some time and he doesn’t truly mean what he’s saying, so once Billys got his punishment he makes him pray again through his tears. Just to drive the point home.

-Neil definitely made the kids do the annual Easter Pageant when they were little. It was humiliating for Billy, getting put in a reused costume and having to tell the story that’s been used against him so much. All the old church ladies fussing over how cute he is, standing up on the grassy hillside to be gawked at while Susan insisted on snapping picture after picture of her new step son even though he didn’t have any lines. It’s all just way too much. By the time he’s old enough to refuse doing it anymore Neil accuses him of tearing the family apart, ruining their traditions, embarrassing them in front of their community, but he stands his ground, and they all watch Max perform in her little angel costume, and Billy gets his ass beat as soon as it’s over.

-Their church used to have annual holiday parties for stuff like Christmas, Halloween, and Easter, and that was the only time Billy ever had any fun when it came to his religion. They weren’t the greatest little parties but there were some really tasty baked goods and the games were kind of fun because there was no underlying biblical message behind like, carrying a ping pong ball across the room with a spoon and pin the tail on the donkey. Neil doesn’t approve of them though, thinks they distract from what the church should be teaching, and Billy and Max are forbidden from going to them.

-As time goes on Billy still goes to church every Sunday and attends the holiday services but he’s not forced into the extracurriculars anymore because he’s a lot better at acting and following the rules. But I think the worst part would be that he would truly want to believe in God. Of course he’d be bitter that he’d been forced to go through so much abuse at the hands of someone who claimed to be religious, but deep down he knows that isn’t what it’s about and he doesn’t want to have to pretend that there’s something for him to believe in. He genuinely wants to believe that there’s hope for better things and someone looking out for him, but there’s just so much trauma associated with his faith that he can’t, no matter how hard he tries, and if not for everything else he did, he hates Neil so much for ruining that for him.

[angryschnauzer]

In Another World

Summary: In another world, it was Jensen that got the role of Captain America, not Chris. You have dreamed of meeting Jensen ever since you saw him in his CGI glory in The First Avenger, and your comicon experience you discover to be underwhelming. But then you meet a cosplayer in the bar... and life takes an altogether different turn for you.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Comicon, Comic Convention, Strangers at a Bar, Cosplay, Captain America Cosplay, Unprotected Sex, Hotel Room Sex, Oral Sex, Fingering, Blow Job, Anal Play.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female Reader (no race specified)

The above Jensen manip i cannot trace, it was sent to me years ago by a now deactivated tumblr user, with the signature half chopped off. Its the artwork that inspired this fic. In case you weren’t aware, Jensen auditioned for the role of Captain America but it of course went to Chris.

I do not operate a tag list, but feel free to go ahead and follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified when i post a new story. Oneshots will be posted on Tumblr and AO3, Multichapter stories will be AO3 exclusives.

Due to the amount of stories i have written over the years i no longer have a masterlist, instead please check out my AO3 HERE.

In Another World

You sat at your computer, staring at the screen as you streamed the latest press junket. Marvel was going all out with its ten-year plan for The Avengers and with this press tour for The Winter Soldier you had fallen in love even more with Cap.

 As the images streamed live from the far east, you watched as Jensen flexed his muscles and his co-stars laughed in admiration. He was born to be Captain America.

 But you weren’t the only one watching.

 In a small apartment in Boston another pair of eyes watched with an added level of sadness. He remembered the audition. Standing in the hallway with a bunch of other guys, all in their 20’s, all having a few bit-part roles under their belts in teen TV shows or low budget horror movies. The same green eyes that stared out of the screen had looked at him in the hallway, holding his hand out to shake;

 “Hey man. Jensen”

 “Chris”

 Jensen smiled;

 “Strong Boston accent there dude”

 Chris chuckled;

 “Say the same about you, what’s that Houston?”

 “Dallas”

 “Eh, close enough”

 They chatted for a while as the guys ahead of them in the line entered the room, only to leave 5 minutes later. They didn’t look up at the guys left, no-one wanted to read expressions to give themselves fake hope. The door opened and the annoying droll voice of the elderly secretary called out;

 “Ackles”

 Chris looked up, holding his hand out to his new acquaintance;

 “Break a leg man”

 Shaking it briefly Jensen nodded;

 “Thanks man”

 -

 You clung to your priority tickets, the excitement so intense you weren’t sure if you were going to puke or cry. You hoped for neither. It was your first convention and you had maxed out your credit card and called in sick from work when the special edition tickets had been released, refreshing your computer every ten seconds so that when they had been released online you had made your purchase within 30 seconds. 

 Now standing towards the front of the queue you were terrified. You had loved Jensen from the first moment you’d seen him in all his CGI glory in The First Avenger. You’d followed his career and had even gone back and watched his entire back catalogue. He was a natural for the role and the stealth suit from the most recent movie had made him look so handsome you had actually swooned when you had seen those first opening scenes of the movie aboard the Lumerian Star. 

 The con volunteers were doing an amazing job, herding the fans into some form of order, and as you got closer you could hear the laughter and squeals of joy as fans ahead of you were rapidly shown in.

 It was your turn. The flimsy black curtain was pulled aside, and you were pushed into the brightness of the well-lit area that was surrounded on all sides by vivid blue panels that bore the con’s logo. Jensen turned and smiled, putting his hand out and you found you were standing next to him. Your head swam;

 “Do you have a pose?”

 “Umm…”  You could see the con workers and volunteers moving their arms in a ‘hurry up’ motion; “I guess… a hug?”

 “Sure thing”

 He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pointed towards the bored looking photographer;

 “Smile sweetie”

 You did. You smiled, your saw blobs as the flash blinded you. You didn’t even register as Jensen pressed his hand to your back, thanking you before turning to the next person who had already been pulled through the black curtain. A volunteer took your wrist and pulled you gently through the curtain on the far side, giving you your photo number as they apologised it was so fast.

 The curtain closed and you stood there, blinking as you tried to focus on the small piece of paper you held. It was done. Over. You’d met Jensen and it had been so rushed you hadn’t even had chance to look at him. 

 The bile started to rise, you looked around and saw a trash can, leaning over it and vomited into the piles of used coffee cups and candy wrappers. 

 -

 The hunt for a bottle of water at a con hadn’t been something you would think would take so long; a lot of the vendors had already sold out, others the line was so long it would have taken you longer to get the water than the queue for the con in the first place. It seemed as if everyone was walking against you, or you were going against the flow of them, but when you finally got your water you drained the entire bottle, soothing your bile parched throat. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand you heard an announcement over the PA system;

 “We apologise, but the Jensen Ackles panel won’t be broadcast out of the auditorium due to technical issues”

 “WHAT?” you grabbed your wrist, looking at your watch as your eyes went wide. You’d been so dazed by your photo op and feeling ill afterwards you had forgotten about the panel. You needed a drink, and something stronger than water.

 -

 Chris adjusted the helmet of his costume as he looked in the mirror. The men’s room was quiet, the main panel of the con was on and he couldn’t bring himself to sit in the same room as the guy that had won the role that had made him millions; of fans and dollars. 

 After not getting the Captain America role Chris had continued to take bit parts and small independent movies. He was recognised occasionally but he hadn’t hit the big time. In fact there were months when there was nothing coming in and it was only after someone had asked him to fill in at a kids party where one of the superhero guys had fallen sick at the last minute did the idea of cosplaying come to him. Now however he was well known in cosplay circles, even getting paid for some appearances. He was called a natural for the role, but that was the hardest to hear. He’d worked hard with his costumer and within just a few weeks of the latest movie coming out they’d successfully recreated the amazing Stealth Suit in its darker colours. 

 Checking his pants for his wallet he decided he needed a drink, and something stronger than a soda. 

 -

 Nodding to the bartender, you thanked him as he set the beer down in front of you before he went to the far end of the bar to pull the latest load of glasses out of the dishwasher. You sat picking at the label and tracing patterns in the condensation that gathered on the cool glass. You were vaguely aware of other people coming and going, and when the barstool next to you was taken you didn’t look up.

 “What’ll it be Cap?”

 The bartender’s greeting drew your attention from your drink, casting your gaze to your side and your breath was sucked from your body. You watched as the man set his helmet onto the surface of the bar before nodding to what you were drinking;

 “Same as the lady please”

 Your eyes travelled from where his hand sat on the countertop of the bar up the dark sleeve of his stealth suit, taking in his wide shoulders and up to the fluffy dark blonde hair, slightly messed up from where he’d been wearing the helmet. You couldn’t help it, but you were staring. Your jaw was hanging low as he turned slowly to you, his blue eyes sparkling with just the faintest hint of green as he looked at you and a self-conscious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth;

 “Hi…”

 “You’re… you’re…”

 “No, just cosplaying…” he turned back to his beer for a moment until you finally found your voice

 “No. You’re Chris”

 He set his beer on the countertop and turned to you, this time a genuine smile on his face;

 “Do we know each other?”

 “Well…” you blushed; “We spoke on Instagram” He cocked an eyebrow, but his attention didn’t waiver from you as you continued; “You’re ‘AlmostCap’, right? You posted about wanting advice on how to dye leather boots a deeper colour? I messaged you with the details of the dyes costumiers use”

 His face broke into a wide smile;

 “Oh yeah, that really worked! How did you know that?”

 “Majored in theatre design at college”

 “Well that titbit of knowledge brought the whole costume together” he motioned to his stealth suit and you couldn’t help but to look him up and down; “Without you I wouldn’t look this good”

 You snorted back a laugh;

 “I’m sure you look just a good without the suit”

 Bringing your beer to your lips you took a sip, not realising Chris had moved closer until his lips brushed against your ear;

 “Would you like to find out?”

 -

 The hotel room door crashed against the wall, the metal doorknob leaving a dent in the drywall. Chris had you pressed up against it, one hand holding you flush with his chest as his other hand blindly reached out for the door to close it. As soon as his fingertips grasped the cool wood he threw it shut with a thud that reverberated through the room. 

 Your hands clawed at Chris’s costume, desperate to find purchase, something, anything to hang onto and anchor yourself as he kissed you so hard you saw spangled stars. He’d put his costume helmet back on for the rather quick walk through the convention to the hotel where you were staying. His lips traced patterns over your cheek before he pressed kisses down your neck, whispering as he went;

 “I don’t normally do this…”

 “Me neither…

 “...especially in costume…”

 “Oh Chris…Cap…”

 “It’s Captain tonight, Princess”

 His fingers had found their way to the buttons on the front of your dress, skilfully plucking each one from its grasp on the thin cotton fabric, before his still gloved hand roughly cupped your breasts. As his lips found yours again, he groaned into your mouth as he weighed your breasts in his large hands, the rough leather against the lace of your bra sending chills through you. If Chris had a Captain kink you weren’t about to say no, hell, it would be one of your biggest fantasies. 

 You found yourself being manhandled towards the bed, Chris’s kisses hard and ravenous, and when he wasn’t kissing you his tongue was doing the most devilish things on your skin. The bed touched the back of your knees and you were falling back onto the covers, Chris following seconds later as he pressed you into the mattress. With a thick thigh he pushed your legs apart, the rough Kevlar fabric of his suit brushing against the delicate skin of your soft skin as his fingers sought out the juncture of thighs. The brush of the harsh leather of his fingerless gloves made you groan into his mouth as he tugged your panties to the side and his thumb found your clit. Rubbing small circles, he teased it from its hood, before his fingers slid through your folds to ease some of your slick moisture from you to smooth his efforts. 

 When his lips left yours you chased after them, but his voice made you settle back against the bed and open your eyes;

 “Uh-uh… stay there Princess”

 You watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth, before his kiss bruised lips closed around his glistening digits and he moaned as he tasted you;

 “You taste amazing”

 “Umm… thank you?”

 “Here…”

 He brought his hand to your mouth and you grasped it as you sucked gently on just the fingertips, watching as Chris’s already lust blown pupils widened even further;

 “Jesus fucking Christ, your tongue…”

 Letting go of his fingers with an audible pop, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, resting on one arm as you slid a hand between your bodies and palmed his erection through his suit;

 “What about my tongue?” you grinned before you tugged him down to lay beside you. 

 Pushing up onto your knees you ran your hand down his chest and stomach, the costume warm from his body heat and firm to the touch. Your fingers clawed at his suit to try and find the zipper, and after thirty seconds of searching you let out a huff;

 “Ok, how the fuck to I get in here?”

 With a low chuckle Chris reached down and lifted a hidden Velcro flap that revealed the button and the top of the zipper, and you eagerly tugged the pants of his suit open. The large bulge in his boxers immediately filled the space of the open zipper, and you found yourself nuzzling against the hardness that the soft jersey fabric could hardly contain. Pressing open mouthed kisses to the hard shaft through the fabric, you felt Chris’s hands on your head, he wasn’t pushing but you could tell he wanted you. With a smile you just about tugged his boxers down enough to free his cock, the thick shaft standing proud from the fly of his stealth suit. You wrapped your hands around it, the flesh hot to touch and pumped him slowly. 

 “Ah fuck Princess…”

 “Yes Captain?”

 “Please…”

 He sounded wrecked, and as you leant forwards and licked at the bead of clear precum that was pooling at the tip you not only heard but felt the low rumble of his moan of appreciation. Wrapping your lips around the tip you started to suck, your tongue working over the hot smooth flesh as your fist worked up and down, pumping him slowly as you let the saliva pool in your mouth so you could take him deeper. In a moment when you pulled off to take a breath Chris’s hands were suddenly on your hips, moving you until you were kneeling on the bed and straddling his shoulders, and for a moment you squealed where his sudden strength had moved you with such ease.

 “Gotta taste you…” he muttered from beneath the skirt of your dress, his hands smoothing over the globes of your ass and you could feel his breath hot on your skin. His fingers tugged your panties to the side and he was pulling you down onto his mouth, his tongue swiping through your soaked folds. 

 For a moment you lost yourself, Chris’s efforts driving you closer to orgasm than you thought was possible, but you found your senses and leant forwards again, taking him as deep as you could and you felt his moan deep in your cunt as he almost came on the spot. Working your fingers into his suit you cupped his balls, feeling them tight and hot in your hand as you sucked hard on his cock. At the same time you felt Chris drive his tongue into your soaked hole and his thumb sought out your clit. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, and you could feel your legs start to shake. The harder he drove forwards the deeper you took him into your mouth. You heard a muffled cry from between your thighs and you felt that first tremble of the thick vein that ran the length of his cock. At the same time you felt his fingers dance over the crack of your ass, one finger pressing lightly against your dark rose and you were cumming over his face as he pumped thick ropes of cum down your throat. 

 When your legs were about to give out you tactfully rolled to the side, laying on the bed next to Chris as he fought to catch his breath. With laboured efforts he wrenched his helmet off, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he started to fumble with his costume;

 “Gotta get out of this…”

 Watching a hot guy strip was not something you’d experienced before, and a hot guy dressed as Captain America? Well that was hitting all your buttons in one go. You smiled as Chris was muttering to himself;

 “Fuckin’ suit, so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ drenched in sweat…”

 When he was down to just his pants you finally spoke up;

 “Need a hand there Captain?”

 Chris looked up and grinned;

 “You mind if I use your shower?”

 “Sure thing, it’s all yours…”

 Chris started for the small bathroom door, his utility pants hanging low on his hips before he paused and turned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth;

 “Wanna join me?”

 -

 Showering with a guy you had literally just met was a surreal experience. The comfort and security of being partially clothed during a hook-up was completely stripped from you as you stood in the small shower enclosure the hotel room offered. Chris had looked absolutely sinful as he had stood beneath the cascading water; his skin patterned with multiple tattoos and just the right amount of chest hair that made you want to run your fingers through it as the hot water coursed over his body. Your fingers had trailed down over his hard stomach, tracing the trail of hair that led to his thick cock hanging heavy between his muscled thighs. 

 His lips had met yours eagerly again, and he soon had you pressed against the wall, his leg wedged between your thighs as you ground yourself against the firm muscle. Chris’s hands found your ass and eagerly pulled you hard against him, trapping his now angry cock between your bodies;

 “Fuck… you’re so fuckin’ sexy” he muttered against your ear, his fingers digging into your asscheeks; “You gonna cum for me Princess? Soak my thigh?”

 “Yes Chris, please…”

 “What do you need Princess?”

“Something…. Just more…”

 He pulled back from you, searching your expression for something, anything as he chose his words;

 “I can give you more…” The depth of tone sent a shudder down your spine; “I’m gonna ask you this and you can say no, and I won’t walk out that door if you say no, but do you like ass play?”

 You growled. You god-damn growled like a feral wildcat, nodding eagerly;

 “Yes Chris… fuck, yes…”

 He captured your lips for another fierce kiss as his hands slid over your ass and one finger trailed up the seam of your cheeks before pressing gently against your rear;

 “Now Princess” he muttered against your lips; “I haven’t got any lube in here so it’ll just be a gentle press, you tell me if you want me to stop”

 You nodded, biting your lip as he pushed forwards, one hand gripping your hip as he slid you up and down his soaked thigh, the other pressing gently but insistently against your back door.

 Just that stimulation alone was enough, and you were cumming hard, your head pressed against the cool tiles as Chris sucked a hickey into your neck. 

 You stood there panting as you tried to regain your composure, Chris holding you tight in his arms as he gently caressed you as you finally came to your senses. Nuzzling against his neck you felt him push his hips forward, his thick cock hard again against your hip;

 “Ready for another round?”

 “Anything for you Cap” you grinned.

 -

 The pair of you had fallen back onto the bed, half dry and oblivious to anything other than pleasure. Body heat rising, you felt your back naturally arch as Chris lay on top of you, pulling his knee up to part your legs further and you could feel his thick length laying hot and hard against your soaked folds. As his other leg pushed up and parted your thighs even further, you felt that first nudge of his tip at your soaked entrance, your legs instinctively wrapping themselves around his waist and with one firm squeeze you felt his breach your body and slide into you.

 The base noise that escaped your throat as you felt each glorious inch stretch your velvet walls was music to Chris’s ears, and he let you take the lead even though he was the one on top, letting your body grow accustomed to his size. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke softly;

 “You’re doing so good Princess, feel so fuckin’ amazing, takin’ me so deep”

 You slowly relaxed your thighs grip on his waist and Chris started to move, sliding his hips back as he slid out, before pushing slowly back in. Propping himself up either side of you, you watched as his arms bulged as he looked down and watched as he pulled out again, your wetness liberally coating him. 

 With his tip just notched inside you whined at the loss, before with a powerful thrust he filled you completely;

 “Holy FUCK!”

 “Do you like that Princess? Like my thick dick splitting you open?”

 “Fuck Chris, yes, do it again… please!” you whined.

  The gorgeous man above you grinned down, seemingly turned on by your begging, and with a loud grunt he started to pile drive into you, his impressive girth stretching you in all the right ways, the slight upward curve to his shaft making your g-spot his number one target with every push. The man was a demon in bed, fucking you hard as he pressed kisses to your chest and breasts, all whilst uttering the dirtiest things about how good you felt, how well you were taking his dick. You begged for more and he eagerly gave it, fucking you through one orgasm before chasing another. His thrusts started to get sloppy, his hips stuttering and he cursed quietly under his breath;

 “Fuck… I’m gonna cum soon…”

 “Cum inside me… I’m on the pill…”

 He pushed a hand between your bodies, rubbing hard circles against your clit and soon you were coming, your orgasm triggering his, and you as your body milked the cum from his body you both felt like you had found heaven. 

 With a grunt Chris rolled to your side, his dick sliding out of your soaked channel and he lay on the bed, his head propped up on one elbow, his dick full and swollen at your hip, still shining with your combined fluids. Your body trembled with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, and you practically purred when Chris gently ran his fingertips over your breasts;

 “That was fuckin’ amazing… I’m probably going about this the wrong way, but can I buy you dinner?”

 “That’d be nice”

 -

 Dinner had been a fun affair; you had redressed, and Chris had worn his stealth suit pants but just wore the thin Under Armour undershirt instead of the full suit. Although the hotel was well used to people in cosplay costumes during the conventions using their facilities, Chris didn’t want to draw attention to himself, instead he wanted his sole attention to be able to be on you rather than people asking for photos. Throughout your meal the conversation had been fun and light, Chris telling you how he had in fact auditioned for the Marvel role but didn’t envy the craziness that came with the now worldwide recognition that Jensen had to put up with. You had explained how you now worked for a theatrical costumer’s agency on the West Coast, but had heard about some openings for a new series production out of Vancouver.

 Chris laughed softly;

 “Typical… I fall for a girl that lives on the opposite side of the country”

 “You… you’ve fallen for me?”

 Chris paused, resting his hand over yours;

 “I’m sorry, I’m kinda sappy when it comes to relationships… and I gotta be honest, when I saw you at the bar, I recognised you from your Instagram and when you helped me… I was trying to play it cool…” he took a deep breath; “I hope I’m not scaring you off…”

 Leaning forward you pressed a kiss to his cheek;

 “No… it’s nice… its more than nice…”

 -

 Once the meal was over the pair of you stood in the foyer, unsure what to do before Chris pointed out the rest of his costume was in your room.

 “Where are you staying tonight?”

 “I was meant to be crashing on a friends couch”

 Grinning you pulled him close;

 “Did you want a bed rather than a couch?”

 “Fuck yes”

 Minutes later you were crashing in the door to your room, Chris’s hands and lips trying to cover every inch of your body, and this time with the knowledge of how his costume worked you knew exactly how to get his pants open, tugging them to the floor as you pushed him into one of the chairs and knelt at his booted feet. With his dick in your mouth he was soon hard again, but that was when he took control, standing and moving you until you were knelt on the soft chair arms looking out of the high rise window over the convention center and city below, the lights of the city oblivious as he flipped your skirt up and pulled your panties down, and filled you with one smooth thrust;

 “Fuck… this pussy is fuckin’ perfect, you feel like heaven…”

 Wrapping his strong arms around you he pulled you flush with his hard chest, sucking at your neck as his dick rubbed so beautifully against your g-spot you were coming again, screaming out your release as Chris pulled out and lifted you, pulling you to your feet before you found yourself pressed against the wall and he filled you again. 

 Clinging to his wide shoulders you felt him filling you over and over, your pleasure climbing higher than you ever thought possible. Chris’s strong arms were holding you up, his large hands gripping your ass as he fucked you into the wall, your legs wrapped around his narrow waist;

 “Chris, I’m gonna cum…”

 “That’s it, cum for me, let me feel that pussy milking me as I fill you up… you feel so good, I’m never letting this pussy go…”

 As you came so did he, your walls squeezing him so tight he thought he may pass out from the sheer pleasure. For the longest time he just held you there, your bodies joined until Chris’s dick softened enough to slip out of you. Letting your feet fall to the ground you kissed as you made your way to the bed, falling onto the mattress before wrapping the covers around your flushed bodies, falling asleep soon after.

 -

 The sound of a phone ringing pulled you from sleep, the warm body next to you grumbling at the sound before it rapidly jumped out of bed;

 “Fuck, that’s my phone”

 Through bleary eyes you watched Chris’s naked ass as he rummaged through the piles of clothing on the floor, finding his phone and answering it just in time;

 “Yeah… uh-huh… for real?! Yeah absolutely! Send me the details, I’ll be there!”

 You watched as he listened a little longer before ending the call, turning to you and he had the biggest smile on his face;

 “I might have gotten a part!”

 “Really? That’s amazing!”

 “Yeah, they want me to do some screen tests with a possible co-star, see if there’s chemistry”

 Jumping out of bed you ran and hugged him, kissing him deeply as he carried you back to the bed;

 “I feel like celebrating… how about breakfast in bed?”

 “Ok, I’ll call room serv… oh…”

 Chris was pushing your legs apart and kissing up your inner thigh, and that’s when you realised he was talking about a different kind of breakfast in bed. As you lay back and enjoyed the magic he could perform with his tongue, you blissed out from pleasure.

 -

 Three Weeks Later

 Chris finished the last scene, the director calling cut and he grinned as he looked at his castmates. None of them could quite believe how they were there, standing in a cold and rainy British Columbia small town, with writers and directors that had been trying to get their series picked up for years. 

 The rest of the cast of ‘Supernatural’ was a small ensemble, and having been given the role of the older brother; Dean Winchester, Chris felt at home with the role and had been given he contract straight after his screen test with his on screen brother Sam. Laughing with the actor that played Sam - a native New Yorker by the name of Sebastian - the two of them had immediately clicked and their friendship and on screen chemistry shone through the camera.

 “Hey Evans, Stan!”

 The sound of the producer’s voice caught Chris’s attention;

 “Yeah?”

 They need you two back at the studio, costume fitting”

 “Sure thing”

 -

 The sound of the small doorbell that had been fitted on the counter drew your attention from the racks in the back room, calling out for your new arrival that you’d be out in a second. The job you’d applied for in Vancouver had pulled through, and it was your first week. A new show that needed a lot of men’s casual wear, yet things like jeans and jackets needed seams strengthened for fight scenes and pockets added for prop weapons. You were yet to meet the two main stars of the show, the casting having not been fully finalised until just days ago, and everything was hush-hush until it was going to be announced at one of the late summer conventions. 

 Dumping the armfuls of clothing onto the counter you turned and almost fainted;

 “Chris?!”

 For a second he looked in shock before he vaulted the counter, and took you into his arms;

 “You’re here? You’re really here?”

 “You’re the star?! You didn’t tell me!”

 You kissed him deeply, before a quiet cough from behind Chris drew your attention, Chris turning;

 “Seb, I want you to meet the girl I was telling you about”

 The other guy raised an eyebrow;

 “You’re THE girl? Wow, it’s a pleasure to meet you” he held his hand out over the counter and you shook it, Chris still holding you in his arms; “I’m Sebastian but everyone calls me Seb”

 Looking at the two of them you knew in that moment the show was going to be a hit, and you looked forward to making these two look even better on screen… if that was even possible.

[olivenight17]

I have seen this done so many times in the BNHA fandom, but? Iida accidentally hurting reader's feelings? Like, she makes a little loving comment or kisses on his face in front of his classmates or family - and Class Rep ™ kinda scolds her. And it really hurts sensitive!readers feelings so she kinda bottles up her normal little loving antics to avoid embarrassing him. I would love headcanons on this! Praise be to you and thank you 😪😩💗

No, thank YOU anon! I haven’t had the chance to write for our wonderful class rep and I’m happy you asked me to write for him! Let’s do this, oh our lovely engine boi, he doesn’t have a clue lmao.

- This’ll be a classroom scenario because I don’t know, I feel like he wouldn’t be that harsh if the affection was in front of his family because his mom and dad are probably affectionate with each other so he probably thinks it’s fine, at most he’ll just be a bit embarrassed.

- But the classroom? School? The place of WORK and FOCUS? Nah, nah, nah, no PDA there. Zilch.

- Once he enters that classroom, play time is over, and he needs to focus. Which typically results in him ignoring you for most of the day.

- Does he want to? I mean… not really, he loves to spend time with you, talking with you is one of his favorite things.

- However, it’s so easy for him to be distracted by you and he’s a guy who very firmly believes school and personal life should be two separate things. So, he does what he needs to, which means ignoring you and any signs of affection you try to give him

- There’s just one problem in this plan of his.

- He forgot to let you in on it.

- Thus the first few weeks when you start dating and this goes on, you’re very confused and a little hurt.

- Like, what, are you not worth his time anymore? He legit won’t even look in your direction unless he has no other choice. Any time you try to hold his hand, he slips it out of your reach. He’ll barely even talk to you until lunch and then after lunch is over it’s straight back to robot Iida.

- And, god forbid you try to hug him in school. In fact, you did, and that’s what has you crying in your room while basically trying to suffocate yourself with your pillow to muffle your cries.

- You thought, enough was enough, opened your arms for a hug and… he pushed you.

- Straight up, physically pushed you away from him while he lectured you about PDA in the classroom and how “This was highly inappropriate!” In front of the whole class no less.

- Every one saw the light die in your eyes as you just nodded your head to what he was saying and sat back down in your seat without another word for the rest of the day.

- The second the bell to end of the day rang out, you were out the door and on your way to the dorms. Normally, Iida would walk with you, but you stormed right passed him which left him so confused because you’ve never done that before?

- That’s when Midoriya and Uraraka pull him to the side to talk to him because that was a little harsh… even for Iida.

- When they start explaining to him “Dude, that was kinda mean and you absolutely upset (Y/N) because of it. Actually, you’ve been doing that a lot lately, I think you should apologize.”

- And he freezes because he didn’t realize he was hurting you, like it’s never his intention, he just assumed you got it, but alas, you had no mind reading quirk and did not get the memo he sent you in his head.

- So, he thanks the two for enlightening him and off he goes to your room. Knocking on it insistently and stating that you have to talk.

- You’re still bunched up in your blankets wanting to stop existing though, so you don’t get up and open the door right away.

- “What, come to yell at me some more about PDA? If you thought the idea of me touching you was gross Iida, all you had to do was say it and I would have left you alone.”

- His heart squeezes because he can hear the voice cracks and how hoarse your throat is and he feels guilty to the max. Also, it’s the first time in weeks he’s heard you use his last name instead of his first. You started calling him by his first name when you started dating, so if you’re resorting to his last name… he really messed up.

- “No, I am not here to lecture you, I… would like to apologize for how I’ve been acting towards you lately.” And he delves into his explanation and how his mind works and that he never meant to hurt you and you’re so silent in listening to it all that he’s not sure if you can actually hear him. “I am sincerely sorry for the hurt I have caused you, (Y/N). You do not have to forgive me now, or ever, but I do love you and if there is anything I can do to make you feel better, name it and it will be done.”

- There’s still silence on your end and he sighs, going to turn away, when the door opens and you look at him with these already tired eyes. “Could you just cuddle me? Please? It’ll make me feel better, even though you probably don’t want to-”

- Before you can even finish speaking, he has lifted you up into his arms, placing you on the bed and curling up right beside you. He holds you tightly and places a kiss on your forehead as he strokes your hair. And as he does this, he realizes just how much he’s missed the warmth of your body against his and just promises to never be so cold towards you ever again, for both of your sakes.

- After that point, he’s far more friendlier and talks with you and holds your hand sometimes. And, if you’re lucky and he’s feeling really good like he just won a training match, he’ll pick you up into his arms and spin you into a hug. Just be prepared to be teased relentlessly for it by the others afterwards lol

Ahhhhh, can you tell how much I love this boi and this prompt??? This was so soft, even if it’s been done before, thank you again for sending it in!

[where-is-francis]

Boys Don’t Cry

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt: “I came by your house late at night for advice and you’re dancing in your bedroom to The Cure and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty amusing.”

A/N: And the slowest writer ever award goes to: me. But ok Boys Don’t Cry is one of my favorite songs to dance to in an over-dramatic fashion while I’m alone in my bedroom. And I figured like. Why not.

TW: underage drinking, Guys Bein’ Dudes™️, slight language, you dated Nancy but the sexuality is never specified.

Cliques were always dangerous. You never really fit in with any specific group. Fellow peers at Hawkins had just kind of dubbed you a wanderer. And for as much as the teachers liked you, you found yourself in detention quite a bit. Not because you actually started fights, but pissing off Steve Harrington was one of your favorite hobbies. And when Billy Hargrove moved to town, your focus simply shifted to tormenting him instead.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the attention. For whatever reason, aggravating each other was the main basis of your friendship.

It was about third period and you’d come in to school late. The secretary noticed you weren’t at roll call for algebra or science, so she called your house. And before you could get to the phone your mother picked up and began screaming at you, whom she just assumed had already left, prompting you to get ready and leave.

The hallways were empty and it was fairly quiet, save for the noises of one of the gym classes going on. Your locker, unfortunately, was in the hall right beside the gym. Squeaks from sneakers and thuds from a dribbling basketball came from behind closed doors. Every time that damned ball hit your head throbbed more, still recovering from the party last night.

Tossing your Walkman inside, you began to grab out one of the books you’d need. English had been boring, but not as laggy as math and science. For a kid who was good with numbers you were surprisingly bad at the two subjects.

A sudden break in your thoughts came when a familiar face spotted yours and began to walk over. You could sense the uneasiness in the way he walked, normally he’d be trying to scare you. With everything in your hands, you nudged the door to your locker closed and waited for him to say something snarky as a greeting.

But he never did.

(E/c) orbs met dark brown ones. The light behind them was gone, now replaced with a sorrowful expression.

“You good?”

“Not really,” he sighed defensively.

“What’s got you—?”

Memories of the party from the night before came back in a blurred montage. Drinking, dancing, smoking, laughing, making out, repeat. You didn’t remember much, but at one point Nancy spilled her drink and went to the bathroom. What seemed like five hours later, Steve was pissed and ended up leaving.

“Oh, shit.” You visibly cringed.

“Look, I’m going to go talk to her.”

“It’s a wasted effort, man.” You reasoned. “Coming from somebody who’s been with her, just trust me.”

He always went to you for advice when it came to her. Nancy Wheeler was a very complex person, but you two dated for a while, and you kind of knew everything. A breakup came after about ten short months when you grew apart, but after a bit of a chat you two decided to stay friends.

The brunette shook his head slightly and glared. Reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he muttered something about just getting it over with. You opened your mouth to speak just when the secretary stepped out, a less than pleased look on her face.

“(L/n), you better get to class before you end up with another detention. You too, Harrington.”

A small smirk crossed your features. “Aww, that’d be such a shame, huh?”

Steve quickly sauntered off, presumably to talk to Nancy, and you were left with the secretary. The look in her tired eyes that reached your own pleaded for you to just shut up and go to class.

“They aren’t paying me enough for this,” she groaned.

The smirk on your face morphed into a full shit-eating grin, then prompting you to make your way down the hall and into your English class. Just another average day would follow, nothing out of the ordinary.

Later that evening as you got home, you decided it would be best to unwind and listen to music. Nobody else was home, your parents both at work, so that meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted. Reaching your beat up door, you began to tug your denim jacket off and toss it onto the chair in the corner.

Everything about the room was overdone; posters adorned the off-white walls, the pictures overlapping at times, and stickers thrown onto the closet door. Two large bookshelves were filled to the brim with your music collection, some sketchbooks, and whatever other junk you had that couldn’t be left on the floor.

Nancy always hated your room but that was to be expected. It didn’t bother you much, you’d rather be at her house anyways.

You shut the door and began to change into something a bit more comfortable, wondering what you’d do with yourself for the remainder of the night. Ordering a pizza sounded pretty good, considering nobody was home and you didn’t want to cook. Most nights alone you’d end up watching TV, playing video games, and then crash at about 2 AM. A vicious cycle, one you never grew tired of.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the receiver and dialed Steve’s number. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you could hang out for a bit without getting yelled at.

Last time he was over, your parents came home earlier than anticipated and found the two of you sat on the couch, drunk, reading through the phone book (for whatever reason), only to just lose your shit whenever you saw a name that sounded even mildly amusing.

The phone rang a few times before eventually being picked up.

A sigh could be heard. “What?”

“Hey, loverboy. I’m ordering pizza tonight. You wanna come over and hang out?”

“Are we going to get our asses ripped this time?” The brunette retorted.

A fake laugh came from you. “That was one time, so are you coming or not?”

There was a minute long pause between you two. No matter how much you annoyed each other, you were one of his weaknesses. And pizza was something that he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine, but—”

“Great! See you in a few.” You chirped and practically smashed your phone back onto the base.

Steve lived only a couple streets down from you. You met back at the beginning of elementary school, both of you riding the same bus. Neither you, nor him, could really remember when you started to consider the other a ‘friend’. But it mainly had something to do with him and Nancy being a couple.

Since she and you dated before and were still close friends, somehow you ended up becoming the marriage counselor along the way.

But hey, the more the merrier, right?

Your mind couldn’t help but drift sometimes. Steve was pretty cute in your eyes, even with his weird hair. Generally the same taste in music, shows, movies, and obviously the same taste in girls. And although he was stupid (sometimes), he was a good dude.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the house. In the meantime you decided it would be best to put in the order for the pizzas. A quick call to the nearest shop, and they’d deliver it as soon as it was done.

After scanning through some music, you finally settled on one: a mixtape of your favorite songs from The Cure. You popped it in with no hesitation and set your player to max volume. The intro to Siamese Twins rang out in your bedroom, the beat eventually making all of the furniture thud in perfect time. Glass window panes shook as well, you’d probably have the neighbors complaining in the morning.

Your feet guided you around the house aimlessly as you searched for something to drink, the sound of music becoming more muffled as you entered the kitchen. It reminded you of the party a few nights ago, but far less stuffy. And with better music.

“I chose an eternity of this; like fallen angels, the world disappeared,” you sang slightly to yourself as you rummaged through the cabinets.

Nothing.

Onto the fridge, stocked full of Coke and other stuff you didn’t much care for. Nobody

Meanwhile, down the street, Steve could hear loud music coming from your street. Which was odd, if there was a party he would’ve known about it. Upon further inspection he realized it was coming from your house. The sun was already starting to set behind said abode, nestling itself deeper and deeper into the rows of houses that occupied the area.

The Harrington boy stepped a bit closer and took in the view; your house covered in orange and red tinted leaves, the living room and kitchen lights shining through their respective windows. Your silhouette moved about inside, gracefully, to the beat. Almost like a shadow with perfectly fluid movements.

His focus shifted to the porch lights, then the door, the doorbell, and back again. He only assumed your parents weren’t home but he wasn’t sure, although with as loud as the music was, ringing the doorbell or knocking wouldn’t have done any good anyways. It took him a bit to move, then walking around to the darkened backyard where he counted the windows.

The first one was your parents’ room (he learned the hard way), the second belonged to the bathroom, and finally, the third was the entrance to your bedroom. He glanced down, careful not to step on the flowers, then maneuvered his way around to find a spot where he could see through the gap blinds. What he got was something out of a renaissance painting.

You with your mom’s pearl necklace and matching earrings draped carelessly, your shirt all the way unbuttoned, and a wine glass in your hand. To top it all off, your hair was a mess, but complemented the askew lipstick that painted your lips. Your hips swayed back and forth in a graceful yet drunken manner. Inside, Boys Don’t Cry came on the stereo.

Each step you took was calculated to sync with the beat, the only thing that could’ve made it more amusing was if you would’ve been wearing heels.

“What is that moron doing?”

“I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would change your mind

But I know that this time I have said too much,

Been too unkind,”

You sang along, a slurred version not being heard by the other male as he watched from the window. Brown eyes were fixated on your form as you leapt up onto the bed, forcing a bit of a stumble from yourself. After almost toppling over, you continued on.

“I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies

I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes cause—”

“Boys… don’t cry.” Steve finished.

In the midst of the dancing spree you turned and locked eyes with said boy. The room was swaying about and took a minute to stop, your vision focusing on him. Each step you took closer to the window made your knees feel weaker, but somehow you managed to pull the screen up to let the other boy in.

The room was almost like a time capsule; nothing really moved or touched since the last time he’d been there, the only difference being the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Sudden weight on the bed caused it to dip behind him. When he turned, your body was draped gracefully across the dark (color) sheets. Almost something out of an erotic painting, the clash of textures and colors alike.

Originally, the plan had been to come to wallow in self pity and ask for advice about Nancy. Now all he could think about was you, tipsy, singing along to music so loud it would rival an actual concert.

“You—you want a sip?” You shouted over the lyrics, somewhat slurred.

Steve thought about it for a minute, taking glances at your extended hand every so often. A slight sigh escaped him, then taking the glass and downing whatever was left. He started coughing and gagging as a result of the cheap liquor hitting, but didn’t care too much to do anything besides wipe his mouth off.

Everything in that moment was fuzzy, and loud, and warm. Time was stopped for you two. Nothing really mattered except the exact moment you were living in. Not some dumb party, not some spoiled suburban girl, and most certainly not being sober.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips. The newfound anxiety on his face made you wonder, but still too afraid to ask.

“Is there more to drink?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen… come on.”

Everything that happened afterwards became a blur of colors and muffled noises. Almost like going under anesthesia in the hospital, you couldn’t really remember what went on until something triggered it. And from then on you’d spend your time wondering if it was real or not, trying so hard to distinguish a vivid dream from a drugged reality.

One thing happened to stand out. The single thing you could remember.

Not so many hours later, bottles of liquor had been spread across the floor and the lights turned off. The music that once blared and annoyed the neighbors was turned down now, a much softer volume. Melodic hums came from your lips as Steve ranted about Nancy. The party, it was all because of the stupid party.

“— and, I mean, I apologized. Me. Steve fucking Harrington.”

After what seemed like four rounds too many, his speech was slurred.

Steve buried his face in his hands.“I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“You didn’t do any-anything wrong, man. Nancy just... has a stick up her ass, nothing new.” You assured him with a soft shove to the shoulder.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, his hands sliding down the sides of his face. A pitiful laugh found its way from his throat, soon after turning into something far more maniacal. Something about the situation was funny to you as well.

But not what you had said about Nancy, no. What made you laugh was the look on this idiot’s face, perfectly illuminated by the neighbor’s porch lights. How he slid down deeper onto your floor, ribs aching from giggling too hard. Though he was drunk, the smile plastered on his face was genuine.

Two separate roars were only extinguished after a few minutes, but at the time it felt like hours. You attempted to regain your composure but it was hard when his face was right next to yours. Once perfect brown hair was now askew, the result of the perfect night in. Eyes in the color to match brimmed with tears from laughing, something he felt like he hadn’t done in a while. Nearly perfect skin and perfect lips almost begging for some action; it was too amazing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you wanted to make out with me…”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Even in the dark he could see the red flush rise to your cheeks. You swallowed a bit, hand rising to comb through (h/c) locks anxiously. Harsh shadows covered your (s/c) face but even then Steve could still tell you were biting your lip.

It seemed he had his answer.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, oh,” you mirrored.

Everything happened what felt like hours later, but at the same time, all at once. Your bodies had been forced together, the taste of long forgotten cheap wine playing on your tongues. His hands reached up to tangle gently in your hair, all while yours gripped desperately at the lapels of his denim jacket.

The kiss was soft and messy, but whether it was the alcohol’s fault or the fact he was nervous was anybody’s guess. For whatever reason, Steve expected it to feel different but it didn’t. The kiss was just that; a kiss. Not a kiss with a boy, just a kiss.

Clumsily, he straddled your lap to get a better angle. It still felt the same. The time had come to an end, your lungs begging for air, forcing the two of you to pull back. His shoulders heaved, the room only being filled now with the slight sound of you both panting.

(E/c) hues opened to take in the view. Steve Harrington straddling your lap, breathless, disheveled, only being lit by the light that came through the window. The grip you had on his jacket slowly loosened, only to be stopped by his hand on yours. Red lipstick that once adorned your lips was now shared. The Cure that played in the background had finally come to a complete stop. But the gaze Steve had on your lips didn’t, especially when he began to lean in again.

“Don’t tell Nancy,”

[ghostspideys-moved]

All For The Best

Chapter Three

A/N: I’ve been trying to divide up the chapters well enough, so hopefully the cut-offs make sense for each one.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x OC

Summary: River, Steve, and Dustin end up on a stake out. It’s just now occurring to River that Max might have been right.

How River ended up on a stakeout was unclear to her. In hindsight, it might have been smarter to stay behind with Robin, but she figured it would be better to give her some space to think. 

Even with her ability to confirm that their translation was correct, River didn’t know where to start with actually deciphering what it really meant. That felt like a task better left to Robin, anyways.

Which left her to sneak around the mall with Steve and Dustin. Which was fine, really. She didn’t mind. Except the fact that they had absolutely no clue what they were doing.

“Do you see anything?” Dustin crouched beside Steve, peeking out from behind the plant they’d chosen to hide behind. 

Steve scanned the area with the binoculars. “I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.”

“Evil Russians.”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.”

“Tall, blond, not smiling.”

River scoffed and turned to Dustin. “I’m beginning to think you guys don’t even know what a Russian looks like,” she said. 

Dustin stammered. “Well, that’s why you’re here.”

“I can guarantee you that no one here looks inherently ‘Russian’ without getting stereotypical.” 

“Well, that’s why we also have to look out for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.”

Steve simply nodded along, and River could already sense how distracted he was. His train of thought was not remotely focused on spies or Russians. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled.

“What?” Dustin perked up, hoping he might have spotted something suspicious.

“Anna Jacobi’s talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky.”

River and Dustin groaned simultaneously. “Dude, if you’re not gonna focus, just give me the binoculars.”

“Jesus Christ, whatever happened to standards?” Steve was hardly even listening at that point, and Dustin had to yank the binoculars from his hands, the strap strangling him for a second.

“Besides, I don’t even know why You’re looking at girls. You have the perfect one right in front of you,” Dustin added. 

River couldn’t help perking up at his words, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Seriously, if you say Robin again-”

“Robin.”

Immediately, River’s hopes deflated. She couldn’t help thinking back to her conversation with Max from the day before. She’d been in such denial, but what if Max was right? And if she was, that meant she was just getting her hopes up for nothing. Because, for all she knew, maybe Steve really did like Robin, and the last thing she needed was to put herself through the pain of seeing Steve with someone else. 

Despite Dustin’s continued nagging, Steve shut him down quickly. “She’s not even my type.” For just a moment, River’s hope returned, but she pushed it down. If Robin wasn’t his type, there was no way she was either. 

“She’s not even in the ballpark of my type,” Steve insisted. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to tag along.

Dustin finally turned to him again. “What’s your type again? Not awesome?”

River sighed and listened to them argue, mostly tuning them out at this point. Max had been right, and now she had no idea what to do. She was stuck helping them, as she’d promised to do, while also battling with herself internally. 

“And she’s weird. She’s a weirdo. And she’s hyper. I don’t like that she’s hyper,” Steve continued, catching her attention again. “And she was in drama. That’’s a bad look. And she’s in band?” Steve shook his head. “No.”

“You have something against weirdos?” River chimed in, refusing to look at him. If she just kept her eyes ahead and tried to look like she was helping, maybe she could push down her feelings and ignore them.

Steve paused, seeming to understand what she was getting at. “Well, you’re...you’re different,” he insisted. 

“Different how?”

Steve stuttered, unable to come up with a proper response. “You just are. You’re my friend, and I’ve known you for a while now. You’re a cool kind of weird.”

His words were equally kind and frustrating all at once. Yes, they were friends, but now that she was having her epiphany, it almost hurt to hear him say it. 

Friends.

“Maybe instead of dating someone you think is gonna make you cooler, why don’t you date someone you actually enjoy being around,” Dustin cut in. “Like me and Suzie.”

It always amazed her how much smarter the kids could be than either of them. He was right, even if Steve didn’t seem to think he needed the advice.

“Right, Suzie. You mean, ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates.’ Yeah, that Suzie.” 

River let them go at it for now. She started to wonder if it was too late to go back with Robin, though that might hurt just as much right now.

It was a long while before anything happened. Far longer than she would have liked. She was already getting antsy every second they spent sitting in the same spot, and there was now an air of tension between her and Steve — though that might have been all in her head. It was hard to tell. 

“Target acquired.” River felt relieved when Dustin spoke up, but she was also curious who he found suspicious enough to look like his idea of an evil Russian.

Steve took the binoculars from him and searched until she assumed he’d found whoever Dustin was talking about. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Duffel bag.”

Steve and Dustin turned to each other. “Evil Russian.” 

Before she could comprehend what was happening, they were leaving their hiding spot and calling her over to follow them. River sighed and rolled her eyes before she got up as well.

The boys snuck around, possibly taking this whole spy thing way too seriously. It was funny — that much she could admit — but it was a miracle no one else in the mall had caught onto them. Calmly, and without making a fool of herself, she followed them, spotting the man they must be spying on. 

In a stereotypical sense, yeah, he fit the evil Russian profile. And he did have a duffel bag, which was weird, but she didn’t really see any other reason they’d singled him out. They’d been right before, though, so she went along in the hopes they were finally on to something.

They trailed behind, getting too close, according to Dustin. Both of them scrambled to look casual the moment the guy turned back. If anything, they looked just as suspicious as before, and she tried not to laugh, still refusing to follow their lead.

As soon as he kept walking, Steve dragged them ahead again to follow him. By this point, she’d had the bright idea to simply dig around the guy’s brain a little. Nothing too serious, mostly so he wouldn’t feel her presence in his head. And what she found made her almost laugh. Even more so when they stopped and watched him join the ladies getting read for Jazzercise, of all things.

There was a visible look of confusion on the boys’ faces, and she finally let out the laughter she’d been holding in. “Outstanding spy work, guys,” she teased.

Dustin seemed sorely disappointed, and a bit weirded out. And it wasn’t hard to notice Steve staring at all ladies, unfortunately. Except, she wasn’t doing much better, or she’d call him out for it. It was very possible she also caught herself staring for a little longer than she should have. She shook her head and cleared her throat.

“Hate to break it to you, but your stakeout plan didn’t really work,” she said.

Sighing in defeat, Dustin took Steve, dragging him away. “So, what now?” Dustin asked.

River shrugged and followed. “I guess we check on Robin’s progress. Hopefully, she might have fared better than us,” she said.

It was the best plan they had right now. Instead of finding her in the store, though, Robin was standing outside.

“Robin? What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Robin grinned and jumped down to join them. “I’ve cracked it.”

“Cracked what?” They looked at her curiously, hoping she’d done so much better than they had.

“I’ve cracked the code.” 

Stakeout number two was already proving much more successful. As soon as Steve and Robin were off the clock, the four of themselves headed out in raincoats, perched atop a roof overlooking the mall’s storage unit.

It was almost hard to hear anything over the thunder and the pitter-pattering of the rain against her hood. Dustin was in charge of the binoculars, upon his own insistence. 

“Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes,” Robin said loud enough to be heard over the rain. 

Dustin kept a close eye on the truck where boxes were being unloaded. “There with that whistling guy, ten o’clock.”

“What do you think is in there?” Steve asked curiously. 

“Guns, bombs?”

“Chemical weapons?”

“Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth.”

Steve sighed. River could see his hair was flattened and wet by the rain, and he looked exasperated, not that she blamed him. “Great. Just great.”

From here, she could spot more boxes, and when Robin called it out Steve tried to get a better look. Of course, they boys fought over the binoculars, accidentally banging them against them against the rail. 

They ducked for cover, and River could feel her heart pounding. If they ended up being caught, that might just be the end for them. She stayed low, hoping the noise was written off as nothing suspicious. Perhaps she should have been more focused on that than the fact that she noticed Steve and Robin hold hands for just a split second. Not the kind of thing she should have been worried about, but she couldn’t help it. Assuming they got out of this just fine, she would have to find Max and tell her she was right. 

River didn’t have too much time to dwell on it before they were all rushing back inside. They couldn’t risk getting caught with no explanation for being on the roof this late in the rain.

“Well, I think we found your Russians,” Robin said.

//

Taglist: @charmedtenderness​ @jxnehxpper​ @musicalytrashpanda​

[iamaquaria]

Lando Stream

Time stamps are aproximated, can be a minute or two off

here are a list of some funny/memorable things from Lando 24hr Spa stream:

around 46 min: Max asks Lando how come he is a memelord

around 52 min: Lando is asked if he got any pubes yet and he says no

between 50/60 min: Lando dancing to ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’

around 1hr 32 min: Lando is asked what cars he have?

Lando very unamused: mclaren

around 1hr 36 min: Driver order: Max Benecke, Max Wenig, Max Verstappen, Max Norris

around 2hr 15min: Lando: GURLL

around 2hr 20min: Lunch time for MILKBOY

around 2hr 33min: he’s back eating an apple

around 2hr 34min: loud apple eating (ASMR vibes)

around 3hr: Max V. is back and asking very technical questions (he was training in a different lobby)

around 3hr 1 min: Lando rushes to rescue his food he’s forgotten about

around 3hr 4 min: Lando comes back with his food, he looks so happy — it looks like a burrito with mayo

around 3hr 9 min: lando says MILK

around 3hr 11 min: Lando plays as Carlos on F1 so he can always be behind Lando (that face)

around 3hr 17min: Lando drinks milk

around 3hr 18min: Lando is asked which drivers are best worst at sim. Apparently Seb is really bad and rarely trains on the sim while Carlos plays a lot on it and Max is the god in F1 sim

3hr 23 min: Lando “ I’m such a good chef ” — 1 min later - “ I’m pro chef Max, I got the starter pack from Testo but I have to prepare the chicken blah blah blah”

3hr 28min: Wagamama is apparently amazing

3hr 38min: Lando’s reaction to Kimi response to ‘tiny car comment’

3hr 51min: Lando texting the Milkman (he then ramble son that he is the milkman and loves milk)

3hr 53min: Lando joking pirelli tyres

4hr 7 min: Lando is asked when does his work week starts. He has no idea (has a very confused face on).

4hr 9 min: Lando’s team is blocked in the pitlane entry

4hr 10min: Max is behind the wheel now

4hr 13min: Lando to Max “Look at that! Commuting to those corners/offtrack”

4hr 15min: Max is driving like a Madman with those lines (just need to clip the banter between them in these timeframe - 20min)

4hr 19min: Lando’s laugh and angry Max (Max can’t drive without going off track)

4hr 22min: Shit Energy Car has beached on the gravel (player dc’ed mid stint)

*The off-track counter keeps going up bc of Max V being incapable of staying on the track*

4hr 26min: Max joking about his driving style on F1 being similar to in game (he loves driving on grass)

4hr 28min: Lando shows to the stream - Peppa Pig’s height ... (it’s 7”1’)

4hr 30min: Lando to Max “You should have gone for the outside” during Max overtake — Max “Next lap”. Lando referred to the awesome overtake of Max on Nasr back in 2015. Max actually practiced that move in iracing many times before. (thank you rosieu for pointing this out)

*Max has done over 40 off track movement in his first stint — the 4 stints before did a combined value of 50*

4hr 39min: Max has done 60 off track moves, totalling 100 in total so far (chat is really invested in this)

4hr 44min: He has a Renault car from Renault while the 570s is a “company car”

4hr 48min: Fan asks when will Lando be in a good F1 team. Lando is pissed and banned him. Lando “What do you mean a good team?” He’s very protective of McLaren bros

4hr 49min: Max V goes wide, Lando banters with Max

4hr 50min: Someone “Stop donating to a millionaire” Lando “Just bc I race in F1 doesn’t mean I’m a millionaire” (rolls eye)

5hr 1min: Someone asked “What Happened to Rich Energy?”

Lando “Dunno”

Max V “They ran out of energy”

5hr 5min: Max V did over 100 off tracks movements on his first stint 😬

*For Max V the track is the space between two barriers*

5hr 10min: Lando is asked the worst part of being an F1 driver. “The travelling, training and being away from home”

5hr 12min: Lando “IN IN IN IN” — Max V “IN IN IN IN”

*Max 2nd Stint*

5hr 14min: Lando “IN IN NO NO OUT OUT IN”

5hr 20min: Lando os AWOL, Max B told Max V “Keep on track”

5hr 22min: Maxes talking in Dutch, Lando comes in talking very rude words in dutch (tnx rosieu for pointing this out) and snacking

5hr 26min: Lando closes main race to train in another lobby (Max V created the lobby, password: redtube) b4 his stint (black screen until 32min)

5hr 38min: Lando crashes the car while training and rage quits “That’s why I practice b4 the race”

6hr 1 min: Max does 200 off track moves during his 2 stints

6hr 4min: Chat makes a joke, Lando laughts then does a self-depreciation joke. “What’s the difference between Max and a Flag”

6hr 6min: Joke from last post Version 2.0

6hr 10min: Chat “What are those racing lines?” Lando “Those are Verstappen lines”

6hr 11min: Donations Music time

6hr 12min: Lando and Max doing old grandma voice

*Lando is turning off all notifications to focus on the race*

6hr 14min: Lando “Box this lap, IN IN IN IN”

6hr 16min: Max V had 0.1 litter left of fuel, boy is on point

*Lando is driving now / Max V has taken a break “Can’t feel his feet” *

6hr 21min: Lando “I’m too focus to speak, I’m here for the team and not for twitch chat” (Someone clip this cutie plz)

6hr 28min: Lando “Lando the milkman, whassup”

6hr 32min: Lando “Now we are a bit quicker as we have less fuel but because of low temps we don’t have much degradation on the tyres”

7hr 9min: Lando makes a mistake after reading twitch chat instead of focusing on the race

7hr 11min: Lando wants a drink but “ha can’t have the drink”

*Lando is doing about as much off track moves as Max V. did during his stints*

7hr 15min: Max V. is back!! Lando is about to pit for his next stint

7hr 17min: Max V. “Good Pace” — Lando “A lot of runnoff” — Max V. “If there’s no penalty 🤷‍♂️”

7hr 19min: Lando 2nd stint

7hr 19min: Lando has his drink (water)

7hr 22min: Lando and Max banter (who has more runoffs)

*The 2 non-F1 drivers did around 15 runoffs each on a stint while Max V and Lando are doing over 100 a stint*

7hr 30min: Lando almost crashed, Max V is watching the race from the TV. Max V calls the other guy a retard

7hr 36min: Chat “Lando needs some milk” Lando “YAA man, I need some milk”

7hr 56min: Lando overtakes a lapped car and thanks him (as in, thumbs up to the camera and say “Cheers”)

7hr 58min: How is IRacing like? Lando “think of the worst car...” ... “Think of Williams guys, not McLaren” (should clip this later)

8hr 9min: Lando has made a great overtake and is amused the dude behind is flashing his lights at him

8hr 18min: Siren goes off. Lando “Is it loud?” *proceeds to make such loud sound*

8hr 20min: Lando “IN IN IN IN” “no no stay out” “are we in trouble guys”

*end of Lando 2nd stint, Lando will come back 6am UK time*

8hr 21 min: Benecke is driving, Lando is exhausted

8hr 25min: Lando is thanking all the subs he missed during racing, did a weird move with his jaw

8hr 27min: Lando “Oof, almost make 500 off track? Dissapointed”

8hr 36min: Lando panics when he sees Benecke did a runoff (he is one of the best in the server of safe driving)

8hr 37min: Lando has left to go to sleep (he said ciao ciao ☺️)

8hr 38min: Lando left a message in the middle of the stream screen

*Lando will go to sleep but leave the stream going*

around 12hr 27min: Max was finishing his stint, and the other max went IN IN IN IN

*Lando stream crashed, he started a new one, so time stamps are lower than should be*

5hr 16 min: Max will you be safe? Eyes closed safe

5hr 22min: Just had a SHOWUR

5hr 29min: Lando admits Max is amazing at FIFA and he sucks at it

5hr 31min: One Max asks who changed car settings, Verstappen says it was him laughing

5hr 38min: Verstappen almost crashes

*2 hours left of racing*

5hr 39min: Verstappen “McLaren ! McLaren!” “Lando go home”

5hr 48min: The broadcast says Verstappen did the fastest lap when it was Benecke (max v was very amused by this)

5hr 50min: The guys discussing why iracing is so nice to drive

5hr 51min: A max “you can run 2sec slower and still win” (they have a massive gap to p2) Verstappen laughs like a schoolgirl

5hr 63min: Lando “Max (V) won’t get to 1000x, he’s a pro”

6hr 5min: Lando comes back and plays with “MICROPHONE MUTED””MICROPHONE ACTIVATED” messages

6hr 6min: The Lord drinks MILK + snacking a sandwich

6hr 14min: Lando drinks milk and spills some

6hr 26min: Lando telling Max V he is the quickest. We stan a supportive friendship

6hr 27min:chat “ Is Max V drivin drivin?” Lando “Oh he’s drivin drivin”

6hr 30min: Stream down for a couple of min

6hr 38min: Lando put an audio of a meme, and then it’s just meme references between the two of them (cutie pies)

6hr 41min: Lando “Max (V) we need more offtrack to get to 1000” Verstappen “No way!”

6hr 42min: Lando “Max there’s a force india in front of you ... it’s OCON!!!”

6hr 43min: they talk about the emix of blue flag radio messages

6hr 44min: Lando plays blue flag remix song

6hr 47min: Max B “A couple of teams have around 2000 off tracks” Lando “we only have lower because you 2 (Max B and W) don’t go, it’s only me and Max” Max”Cool kids go off track”

6hr 48min: Lando singing “Blue Flag! Blue Flag! Blue Flag!” Max completing “Honestly, what are we doing?”

6hr 49min: Broadcast said that if Max does fastest lap he will win the race, no questions asked

6hr 54min: song played “SUPER MAX” Lando plays it to the Maxes in teamspeak

6hr 55min: Lando pitch’s the idea of a song called “Off-Track” by Max V feat. Lando

6hr 57min: Maxes teaching Lando how to pronounce words in Dutch correctly

7hr 8min: Lando “Would you prefer default or fail?” Max V “Fail definitely” Lando “i like more default”

7hr 10min: Chat “What was worse, driving in Paul Richard or that time you couldn’t turn your steering wheel?” Lando “Def the second, I couldn’t drive like at all”

7hr 11min: 0% Champagne is called Milk

7hr 14min: A donation “Imagine if last lap Vettel shows up and hits Verstappen” Teamspeak mic was open and Max V was like “If someone does that to me I will find his real address”

*Stream reaches 10K viewers*

7h 18min: Lando “I should be getting paid for doing as for puredriving”

7hr 20min: Maxes make a joke Lando don’t understand but most chat can as they are Dutch (max fans)

7hr 21min: Lando tells Max V to keep his head down to do a purple sector, Max V responds “My head is in my steering wheel”

7hr 22min: Max has enough fuel to make donuts at the end of the race

7hr 23min: Max V dissing Williams

7hr 25min: Max V almost crashes, Lando laughs. I mean, everyone is preoccupied

7hr 27min: Max V has a technical difficulty(his break pedal has fallen off) They panic for a couple of minutes, worth watching

7hr 30min: Lando MilkBoy is coming for the rescue, these last 30 min are golden

7hr 30min: Lando is drivin’ drivin’ now, they are very panicky

*Hectic end of the race*

7hr 32min: Lando can’t stop laughing, Max V break pedal snapped in half

*14k+ watching this burning train*

7hr 34min: Lando says they got karma for shit talking about their amazing lead and gap from P2

7hr 35min: They are just laughing at their shit luck

7hr 37min: Apparently Max V was going to change his pedals for new ones after this race (new ones already on his house), I guess he will have to swap now

*16k viewers*

I mean guys, they are just giggling the end of the stream, really recommend watching the last 30 min of the race

7hr 40min: End of the race. All of them so relieved and Lando does some donuts

7hr 43min: Lando is being a dick to the other cars, gets hit

7hr 45min: Lando and the Maxes mocks all the PEE WAN celebrations (e.g. Get in there Lewis!)

7hr 46min: Lando “I don’t want to be straight” Maxes laughs — Lando “I mean the car”

7hr 48min: Lando recaps the race

7hr 52min: Clip of the accident and then narrator is asking the drivers questions about the 20 min (man, this is golden)

Lando “It went all wrong”

7hr 56min: This interview is great, Max and Lando friendship exposed

Who was driving when:

A stint has a duration of 1 hour

1st and 2nd stint: Maximilian Benecke

3rd and 4th stint: Maximilian Wenig (he sounds eery similar to Kvyat)

5th and 6th stint: Max Emilian Verstappen

7th and 8th stint: Lando ‘Maximilian’ Norris

9th and 10th stint: Maximilian Benecke

11th and 12th stint: Max Emilian Verstappen

13th and 14th stint: Maximilian Wenig

ps: Lando will be on holidays during WTF1 event (he’s going to a different country - not saying which) (3h20m)

ps: Lando likes full fat milk, “if you’re going to drink it, go all the way”

ps: in the beginning of the stream (less than 30 min in) Max V. disses Williams: wow Williams is much better here than irl 😂

[skysterriblescribbles]

Part 1

The only reason Denki got out of his school-issued bed this morning was thanks to the ever-handy alarm vibrating itself off of his bedside table and onto the floor, making itself out of reach.

He shivered when his foot hit the cold wooden floor, making him even colder. The blond picked up his phone and glanced at the time.

3:00 am

Perfect.

Denki stretched his arms up arching his back. Satisfied with now awake muscles, he headed to his bathroom.

He showered and brushed his teeth. His blond hair was now held back by some clips. Gone were his pajamas, replaced by an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and some shorts.

If you asked anybody in his class, they would say that his room is probably not cleaned, that it would be the epitome of a teenaged boys living space.

But that isn't the case with Kaminari. He like to keep everything nice and organized. Shelves for his books, yes he reads, more than you would think, fairy lights were pinned against the walls, just below the ceiling.

He likes order and the peace that comes with it.

Denki started his routine, a deep stretch to start off the day, first warmup the arms, the the legs and after his stretching finished it was 4:30.

He opened the door to his dorm room slowly, like normal. He would never forgive himself if he woke up a classmate at these ungodly hours of the morning.

He wandered down the hall and entered the stairwell.

Never skip leg day, he thought to himself, bouncing down the steps.

On the usual days, the common room and kitchen are empty. Sometimes the occasional Tokoyami or the resident embodiment of IcyHot. Or the insomniacs that spend all night in the common space, mainly Midoriya or Shinsou. He had always managed to slip by his classmates unnoticed.

But today it was just him by his lonesome. The large space was dark, the only light source was from the light pole outside.

Denki strolled over to the kitchen area. Today they had hero training which allowed him a small breakfast. He settled on a boiled egg. 90 cal, leaving 110 for dinner. He didn't eat lunch.

He ate in small bites, taking too long to chew each piece. Finishing his meal, Denki headed to the door, grabbing his running shoes and putting them on before leaving the building.

Things were hard the first few weeks of living here. He had to readjust his schedule to fit within the curfew the school enforced.

He couldn't leave any earlier 5 in the morning and 11 at night. It threw his running off for a while, him being used to midnight runs to burn off the stubborn fat that seemed to pile up in his thighs and stomach.

His run lasted 30 minutes, like always and he slipped back into the dorms. This time the commons was occupied by another, Iida Tenya.

He usually was back in his room before anyone else began their morning exercise, so Denki walked quietly, trying to avoid confrontation with the boy.

But like everything else in his life, he failed.

"K-kaminari! You frightened me. What are you doing this early?"

He froze. So far he's been able to keep up his "I'm lazy and never put effort into anything" facade. It's made it so much easier to keep attention off himself.

Think Denki.

He looked over at the class president and smiled, "Oh hey class prez! I was takin some pics of the sun rise for my insta! It's hella pretty, you should check it out." He said with a cheery voice then waved at the boy and left as fast as he could.

I hate talking to people, he thought.

Once back in the safety of his room he fetched a fresh school uniform and jumped in the shower, taking extra time to scrub his skin raw.

Now 6:45, he had an hour until he had to head to class.

He finished his homework from the night before, then plopped down on his bed and spent the remained of his morning scrolling through his tumblr feed, rebloging some thinspo he liked and some workout routines.

At 7:55 he left his room, knowing he was going to be late. But he doesn't care. He never paid any attention in class anyway.

Denki walked alone to class, and entered a few minutes after the bell rang.

Everyone paused and looked at him, today is so not going to be good.

With a blank stare he looked at his homeroom teacher. "Sorry Aizawa-sensei, I didn't wake up on time." And lazily walked to his desk and sat down.

Fuck. I shouldn't of eaten breakfast.

--------

The day passes by without any other hiccups, so when the bell rang signaling that lunch had started, Denki felt a little better than he had earlier.

Kirishima walk up to the blonde like normal.

"Hey Kami, you ready to head out? Mina's gonna go with Bakugo to review for the quiz next period." He smiled at the boy and scratched his neck.

"Dude I totally forgot about that. Ugh I'll just wing it, ya know?" He flashed a brighter, faker, smile at the red head.

And with that the two boys left the room and made their way to the cafeteria. Denki walked to their table and saw Sero already seated and eating.

Denki sat in front of him and took his phone out, opening tumblr and scrolled through his dashboard.

After a few days minutes, Kirishima joined them with his lunch. Today was American style food, and Kirishima got a hamburger with fries.

Denki's mouth watered at the sight of the food until the smell hit him, making his stomach growl loud, but still quiet enough to be hidden by the noise of the room.

He grabbed his water bottle out of his bag and chugged the whole thing.

"Damn Kami, thirsty much?" Kirishima laughed at the boy. But Denki was to distracted by the rumble inside him. The want, the need to eat.

He opened the Google app on his phone and searched for calories in a hamburger.

354 calories, 154 over my limit.

Your fucking disgusting, Kaminari. You don't deserve that many calories. Such a waste.

Denki could feel this breath picking up. His surroundings blurred and his focus was on one thing.

Shit, why did I eat this morning? He thought. He looked at his wrists, they were so small and fragile in his uniform. He reached his hand to his collarbone and dragged his hand along the protruding bone. It felt so good.

But never good enough.

He thought that if he were to touch his thighs, he'd puke. So he settled for just looking.

"Kami.."

He saw how much space they took up.

Repulsive.

"Kaminari!"

He saw how they touched when he sat down.

How disgusting.

He jumped when a hand was put on his shoulder. He looked at the appendage with shakey eyes. Kirishima.

"Hey bro are you okay? I've been calling your name for a while. You look pale, are you sick?" Denki saw. The furrowed brows, the worry in his eyes, the hesitation in his voice.

Denki stood up. And gathered his stuff.

"Tell sensei I don't feel good, I'm going to my room." The blonde said, then he ran out of the seeming even louder room.

He ran down the stairs to the first floor, breath wild, tunnel vision setting in. He ran past Bakugo and Mina, who finished their tutoring.

He reached the dorms and kicked his shoes off, not bothering to put them in their spot properly.

He didn't even remember the trip up to his room, doesn't remember locking the door behind him. He doesn't know how he ended up emptying his already empty stomach in the toilet.

He just remember the egg.

------

That's how the boy found himself a few hours later, passed out on the bathroom floor, the smell of bile still hanging in the air.

He got up of the floor and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was out of place from sleeping, but the bags under his eyes would speak for the quality of his rest.

He exited the bathroom and groggily walked into his dark room. He fetched his phone from his school bag and checked the time.

3:50 PM

That meant his classmates were done with classes and heading to the building, since hero training always ran late.

Speaking of training since he wasn't in class and couldn't participate, Denki still needed to burn off the calories from this morning.

It had been a while since he had worked out on his own, since hero class satisfied most of his exercise cravings. He scrambled through his desk got a bit before he found the paper.

There were 3 levels of routine he had written. The first was a light workout, the second was his previous daily one and the third was a super intense routine.

He decided on the latter.

He stretched for a warm up and began his workout.

Arms, abs, and legs he all work, pushing his body to the max and then some.

You need to work harder. You lazy piece of shit.

He drank more water, getting ready to repeat the list again when he heard a knock at his door.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone." Denki thought. But the knocking persisted. He wiped his mouth and tried to collect his breathing.

He opened the door to the class president.

"Kaminari! I hope you are feeling better, Kirishima told us you felt ill? Please do take better care of yourself." The boy spouted.

He was too tired to be happy. How could he get through this?

"I'm sorry, Iida. I just need some rest and I'll be better." Denki said with blank eyes. He motioned to close the door but was stopped.

"You should talk to Kirishima, he's really worried about you." Iida adds. And with that the blue haired boy left.

Denki closed the door and returned to his exercise. Yeah right. Like someone as cool as Kirishima would worry about him.

------

When 6 rolled around, Denki ignored his phone when it lit up, indicating a new notification.

He knew it was the class group chat telling everyone that dinner was ready and that everyone should head to the commons.

Instead, the blond changed into a pair of loose sweatpants, which at this point everything was baggy on him and switched off all his lights.

Might as well go to sleep early, not like anyone needs me.

----

Something was wrong with Kaminari Denki.

Or that's what Kirishima had come to conclude.

These last few weeks of living in the dorms he had noticed a difference in his friend, but couldn't quite figure it out yet.

At first, he chalked it up to living in a new space, with 19 new neighbors. Everyone was a little apprehensive at first. But everyone had gotten used to the changes throughout the first 2 weeks.

But what happened during lunch was new. It was as if Kaminari was a different person.

But the thing Kirishima hated the most was the expression on his friends face.

He looked so...

Empty.

Something is wrong with his best friend and he'll figure it out.

The question is whether he makes it in time.

---------

I cant. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't.

Fuck.

His mouth tasted like old medicine and his stomach felt heavy. Already were tears bubbling in his eyes, threatening to break the tension and pour hot tears down his face.

Immediately he made way to the bathroom, delivering dry heaves into the toilet.

His limbs pinned him to the floor, like weights. His mind was too clouded to think or move. The only thing he could register before passing out was the tears spilling down his cheeks and rolled down his face with gravity.

------

The first thing he remembered when he woke up was that there was classes today.

Denki forces himself off the floor and back into his bedroom, a quick glance at his clock telling him it was well into the day, morning classes would be over soon.

"Fuck it I'll go to the afternoon classes then." He mutters. He throws on his uniform, reaching for his phone only to see the thing is dead.

Denki decided to just leave the phone and heads out.

He gets to the main building when the lunch bell rings, allowing hungry students to flood the halls. The blond waits outside for a bit to let the hallways clear out before starting his trip to the 1-A classroom.

Pleased to find the room empty, he takes his seat and decides to sleep until lunch was over.

In the quiet of the room, you could hear grumbling, a plea.

It's okay, he's not hungry.

---------

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 15: Spring Show

Marinette’s a bundle of nerves as the much anticipated spring show finally arrives.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette stood behind stage, lurking near the curtains as she took quick peeks out at the unfolding show. Everything was going just as planned - the models certainly knew what they were doing as they strutted down the catwalk, the building was packed full of people, it all looked professional and high end, just like a real fashion show.

Maybe that was why she was freaking out so much. Because just like a real fashion show, there were critics in the crowd. People with notepads and discerning looks and frowning face coldly regarding the models wearing the product of five months of hard work. Today was a big day - either her pieces would get picked apart or they’d be praised highly. Or even worse - no one at all would comment on them.

If she got critiqued, it would suck and she’d feel awful, but it’d at least be helpful. She could use that to improve herself, find out where she was going wrong and fix it. Praise would be even better - with a glowing review, she’d get an edge on the competition. It would be an extra lucky charm in her arsenal when going out into the big scary world that was the fashion industry.

But not getting any attention at all? Good or bad?

Sometimes being forgotten was the worst outcome of them all.

Her train of thought derailed when she saw Adrien walk down the stage. While it was impossible for her to forget just how handsome he was, seeing him like this was something else entirely. The light caught on his hair, making it gleam like gold. His stride down the catwalk was full of the confidence of someone who had been practicing for almost as long as they could walk. Her jaw dropped, but the best part was when he turned around and began walking back. His emerald eyes flickered to where she was, pinning her in place.

The boy had the audacity to wink, making her heart melt and flutter uncontrollably at the same time. Before too long, he was slipping his arms around her waist again, pressing a kiss the side of her face.

“Enjoying the show, lovebug?” He murmured in her ear.

She wiggled around to face him, looking up at his too-smug face. He was too cute for his own good and he knew it, which was even worse.

“I’m terrified out of my mind, but yes, it is nice to watch my boyfriend strut his stuff.”

He laughed, honest and pure. “Don’t worry, we’re doing great. Looking good isn’t even a challenge when you’ve given me such a great wardrobe to work with.” He cupped her cheeks and pressed a short but tender kiss to her lips. “I gotta get changed. I’ll be back after my next walk.”

She sighed after him before turning her attention back to the show. Adrien wasn’t the only one modeling her pieces, after all, and she needed to gauge the crowd’s reaction to everything.

--------------------

If she thought that the show itself was bad, she hadn’t counted on what the after show was going to be like. Normally, she wasn’t exactly shy around people, but with her nerves frayed from the constant worry and knowing how much was riding on making a good impression on people… she wasn’t at her best.

Which made her all the more thankful for the friendly faces she saw arrive in support of her. Not just the ones she had made during her time at university - many of whom had shared the show with her - but older ones as well.

It was amazing how many of her friends from school had showed up to support their old class president. Rose had greeted her with a flying hug, followed by a more subdued one from Juleka. They were still going strong after all these years. Max and Kim and Odine gave their congratulations as well, as if she had already gotten some part in a big fashion house. Their faith in her was touching, and did a lot to calm her. But not nearly as much as when she saw a familiar wave of red hair forcing its way towards her.

“Girl! We’re so proud of you!” Alya said as she finally broke free of the crowd, wrapping her up in a hug. Hot on her heels was Nino, Chloe, and Kagami.

“Totally, dude!” Nino said, giving Marinette a hug as well once Alya gave her some breathing room. “All your stuff was absolutely swank!”

“Thanks you guys!” Marinette smiled widely at the two of them. Her eyes looked past them to Chloe, who noticed her stare.

“What do you want me to say? You did a great job; do you really need me to tell you that?” Chloe stumbled forward and huffed at Kagami. “Okay, fine. Your stuff wouldn’t have looked out of place at the New York runways I’ve been to.”

Kagami nodded approvingly before stepping up to Marinette and offering a shallow bow. The two of them locked eyes for a moment before giggling and sharing a hug.

“Don’t let her gruff exterior fool you - Chloe really was impressed by everything you put out. Given her upbringing, that means a lot.” As they pulled away, Kagami shot a meaningful glance toward Adrien and smiled. “But I suppose you already have someone like that.”

“Anyway - girl.” Alya grabbed Marinette’s shoulders and turned her so she was facing Alya. “This is a way big deal, so we’re gonna head over to your place and get ready to party. That alright by you?”

Marinette sagged in relief, the tension leaving her as she thought about what she had to look forward to after getting home. “After the past few weeks, I really need to unwind.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you better not get drunk before I get there. I want to relax, not babysit.”

“Chill, dude,” Nino said. “We’re gonna be bringing some stuff so we can just spend the night.” His face split into a grin. “The party is gonna be off the chain!”

Marinette and Adrien waved as their best friends left. More people came up to Marinette - professors, her parents, more of the people she knew from university. But there was one person that she didn’t know that stopped her just as the after party was winding down.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng?” The stranger said. She was sharply dressed in formal attire with a serious expression on her face.

“Um… yes? Hello, have we met?”

“Not yet, no. But there is something that we need to talk about…”

------------

Adrien took the lead going home since Marinette was still too dazed to focus on such mundane details. She took another glance at the letter in her hand. Apparently it was one of only a handful of such letters, and the only one that had gotten handed out tonight. While she felt bad for her other classmates, that took a backseat to the overwhelming joy she felt coursing through her system.

Inside the envelope was an offer for a prestigious internship at a famous fashion house. It was exactly what she had been hoping for when she had been painstakingly making all those pieces with such care. This was exactly the thing that could give her the experience and connections she’d need to start her own brand. Or even just rise in the ranks of the fashion house, if that’s what she wanted to do. Either way, this was an amazing opportunity.

Marinette was so caught up in it that she had completely forgotten that there was going to be four people waiting inside her home for her. The instant she opened the door, there was cheering - although Alya made sure to be heard above the rest of them.

It didn’t take long for them to notice that she was holding a letter. And once she explained to them what it was about, the cheering got even more enthusiastic.

Alya was squeezing her tight. “Girl, I told you! Didn’t I tell you? You’re wonderful, they were bound to figure it out eventually.”

“It’s gnarly! I’ve heard of those dudes, and I don’t know anything about fashion at all.” Nino lightly punched Marinette’s shoulder. “You’re def in the big leagues now, bro.”

“Yes, she is really moving up in the world,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes. “I believe that’s why we were here to celebrate?” She held up a bottle of wine and shook it. “Or do you guys want to spend a few more minutes patting each other on the back stone cold sober?”

Cutting through the tension, Marinette dug some wine glasses out of the cabinet. “You’ve got a point.” She grinned at her former enemy. “Pour us some drinks, Chloe!”

Chloe blinked at her in surprise for a moment before grinning. “Finally, someone with some sense!”

---------

Later that night (or perhaps more accurately, very early the following morning), Alya and Nino had finally dozed off. They were bundled together in a blanket, the picture of an adorable couple as they slept the deep sleep of the truly drunk. Adrien had ducked out of the room a few minutes ago and Marinette suspected that he had finally crashed in bed. Chloe hadn’t even made it anywhere comfortable, instead leaning down face first on the kitchen table.

Marinette happened to be in the kitchen eating cheese and crackers when Kagami picked up Chloe as if she weighed nothing.

“Where are you two going?”

“Sorry,” Kagami began, “but I’m going to take Chloe home. She… tends to exaggerate her abilities when it comes to her alcohol tolerance. After everything that’s happened tonight… she’s going to want to wake up in a familiar bed. It’ll make the hang over just a little more tolerable.”

“Are you…” Marinette yawned, the long, long day finally catching up with her. “Are you going to be okay to drive?”

“I didn’t have anything to drink beyond the first glass of wine.” She paused. “It was a fine vintage, by the way. I always prefered French beverages over Japanese.”

There was a long silence between them. Without other people around to drive the conversation, they were left feeling awkward. Their friendship had started off well, but after Marinette and Adrien had started dating, it had soured it for a while. At least until Kagami made a discovery of her own.

They were better now, but those old shadows of confusion and jealousy had left their mark.

Kagami adjusted her grip on Chloe, holding her like she weighed nothing. It reminded Marinette that while Adrien had stopped fencing and training, Kagami never did.

“I’ll see you later?” Marinette said, sounding more like an invitation than a goodbye.

Kagami gave a small smile. “Of course. I would love to. And Marinette?”

“Hm?”

“You were phenomenal today, and you deserve that internship. I wish you all the best.”

Without another word, Kagami opened the door and walked out of the house. After staring at the empty space where she had been for a few minutes, Marinette felt a small smile spread across her face.

Ten minutes later, Marinette had curled herself into bed next to her handsome, warm boyfriend and dreamed peacefully.

[northofsomewhererp]

Your Name, Age (17+), & Timezone: mars, 22, cst ? i think?

Roy Rahim turned 33 years old on October 7th. He’s a police detective in Greensville. His face claim is Riz Ahmed.

Admin note: *SQUEALS*

Bio: 

It was hard for people to find words to describe Roy Rahim. He was a criminologist turned police detective who kept his life, for the most part, private. He had a few close friends he trusted and sisters he talked to every day, but even they didn’t know what he was up to most of the time. They knew he was immersed in his work, locked in his apartment with a few beers and some take out, and that was it; that was as much as he let them know. He kept his job and personal life as separate as they could be, and his meticulous personality made sure they stayed that way. He’d made that mistake once before, with Isolde, and he vowed to never do it again. 

Their marriage ended abruptly. He should’ve seen it coming - they weren’t happy anymore - but the months prior had been pretty good. He thought they were fixing up their marriage, working through their issues. He’d been more supportive of his wife, and they’d been going to couples therapy, which was all he’d ever wanted. Roy, always obsessed with the mind and how it worked, was completely baffled by the way his wife’s did; she’d go from warm and affectionate to cold and emotionless in less than 3 seconds. Isolde had convinced Roy to give them a second chance after he slid the divorce papers across the table during their 3 year anniversary dinner. A heartless move, but the only way she would listen. Eyes wide, she cried that it wasn’t fair - she thought their marriage was going great, and if it wasn’t, that she was willing to change. 2 months later, Roy got home to find divorce papers stuck to the fridge with a souvenir magnet from their honeymoon in Hawaii. It dawned on him later that Isolde didn’t want to fix their marriage, she just wanted to have the last word. 

Around the time his divorce finalized, Roy’s grandfather, Apa, fell sick. He decided to take some time off work to return home to Windsor, Ontario to take care of him and spend time with the rest of his family - his grandmother, Ama, and his two sisters, Seline and Zara. He hadn’t seen them in a while because Isolde always conveniently fell sick when they were supposed to travel to Windsor - she said it was probably because she didn’t feel very comfortable around them (– and funnily enough, neither did they), and the nerves made her sick.

Roy’s parents died in an accident when he was 6 years old. They were headed back from the airport after celebrating their 8 year wedding anniversary when a drunk driver crashed into them. Roy and his sisters were waiting for them eagerly at their grandparents house, but they never arrived. The police showed up at their door with the news, and everything that came after - them going to the police station, Roy’s grandparents identifying the bodies, the funeral - was completely blank for Roy. Before he knew it, he was living with his sisters at his grandparent’s house and his parents were gone.

This loss was very hard on them while growing up, a little harder on Roy because he, in his grandfather’s words, was the man of the house now. He had to be tough and suck it up because men didn’t cry. Although he had always been very sensitive, he believed that for the longest time, and shoving those feelings down for so long made him cold. He shed all of that - those ideologies, those thoughts - when he moved out to go to college in Boston. It was challenging everything he knew about the world and about himself, but he was different now. He could be vulnerable when he wanted to, he showed affection and love and kindness. Working at the police force was like moving back a hundred years, but then he found that his empathy, his sensitivity, his passion was what made him good at his job.

Three weeks into taking care of his grandfather, when Roy was starting to think maybe he would stay a little longer, maybe take a break from work, got a call that they needed a detective to investigate a few murders happening in a town in North Carolina. They were stumped and needed fresh, new eyes for the case, and they thought he was perfect for the job. He debated rejecting the opportunity and staying for a month or two, but his Ama and Apa told him to go, that they would be fine. He said goodbye, packed his bags, and left. Unable to find any housing in this other town, Roy rented an apartment in Greensville which was close enough. It was supposed to be temporary - he was supposed to return to Boston when he was done - but he decided to stay and work there instead. He’d made a few friends already, and it wasn’t half bad. 

Activity (1-10): 6? More or less?

Have you read the rules?: removed

In the event that you leave, can we keep your biography for future use? I’m going to say no, sorry love u.

Any comments/questions?:  I’m really eager to play Roy, but you can 100% hold this application until I’m back because ya girl is about to request a teensy hiatus. I just wanted to send it in because I just finished his bio and I’m excited about him. (and I hope you are too. I love him)

Sample (2+ paragraphs):

Roy’s apartment building held meetings on the first Tuesday of every month to discuss different, very important building matters; whether they would use blue or green tiles for the pool (they picked blue), whether they’d put a fountain in the back garden (which was voted no by Norma Jane Grace-Barnard because she was afraid her son, the 20 year old Harvard student, could fall in and drown), and the latest was whether they would fix the elevator because it had broken down 3 times in the past month, and Roy had been in it two of those three times. It was this incident that made him reluctantly agree to go to the meeting.

“You’re a victim, Roy,” Norma said with her funny little Southern accent as she felt up his bicep. “You’re a victim of the building administrators disregard for our safety.” 

He agreed. Not with the victim part, but about the building administrators tendency to ignore real problems and instead focus on stupid non-issues like whether the lobby should be painted pearl or cotton. (“What the fuck’s even the difference between those two?” he’d asked his friend Carter as he tossed a stress ball in the air. “Pearl and cotton - they’re both fucking shades of white.”)

The meetings were held at the conference room next to the gym - a place Roy had no idea existed until he read the notice in the elevator. 

“ALL MEETINGS HELD IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM. BRING FOOD TO SHARE.”

He arrived early with a box of donuts he’d stolen from the station (box he promised he’d replace the very next day), and he dropped it off at the refreshments table. Norma Jane Grace-Barnard was the first one to greet him. “Hiiii!” she’d waved from her seat. “Saved ya a seat, hun bun,” she said, patting the spot next to hers. Roy had been the subject of today’s unofficial pre-meeting: Roy Rahim, the attractive, mysterious police detective would possibly be attending the meeting. Would they in trouble? Would he arrest them? Cuff them? Norma Jane was excited and she wanted to go first, a fact she’d told Roy and then giggled about. Roy just chuckled and shook his head. “I might have to, Norma” and he winked before pulling out his phone and texting a simple “WTF” to his sisters. “Strangerville @ meeting.”

The meeting wasn’t so much a chat about the building and more of a mixer for the single tenants. Roy and the six other people who’d gotten stuck in the elevator talked about their experience and then the meeting was adjourned. Final verdict: they would be fixing the elevators. After that, it was like a new season of the bachelorette; wine was being served, spilled, and he was pretty sure at least 2 people interrupted his conversations with an “excuse me, can I steal you for a sec?”

Roy didn’t know anyone at the apartment building, but he’d investigated most of them on his first week living there. “I have to know who I’m living with,” he’d said to himself to justify the snooping. He’d found a lot of very interesting things about the tenants, like the fact that the girl from 302 had been arrested for stealing other people’s dogs 5 times already and that the guy from 506 had a restraining order put against him by his college professor. The one person he knew was the 23 year old who lived upstairs, Max, but only because he’d had to arrest him twice for getting in bar fights or shoplifting. Max Lawrence, who was walking into the conference room with a black eye, a beer, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt. 

“Yo, Rahim,” he said, throwing his limp arms around Roy. “The elevators working yet?” He reeked of beer. Roy chuckled and shook his head. “Dude, you smell so good.”

He was the perfect excuse to leave. He raised his hand up at Norma and her friends (Amy, Stacey and Natalie? Or was it Anna, Casey and Natasha? Either way, he had to take this drunk idiot back upstairs.) “Sorry, gotta take care of this now, ladies. It was nice talking to you,” he said as he put an arm around Max, who winked at the ladies and then proceeded to burp in their faces.

“Sorry,” he slurred, tipping his invisible hat. “Ladies.”

They both walked out of the conference room, Max dragging his feet as they walked, winking and doing finger guns at anyone who looked his way. As soon as the door closed behind them, Max stood up straight and pushed Roy off. “You’re welcome, Rahim. You owe me now,” he said as he wiped his hands on his shirt. 

“I owe you? Who bailed you out last week, huh?” he asked, shoving him playfully. “You had me there for a second, Lawrence – I really thought you were drunk.”

“Well, years of practice,” he said, bowing his head. “What do you say? Take out and a beer? My dad’s treat,” he said, already running off toward the elevators. Roy smiled and shook his head. 

“Take out and a beer.“ 

[bloodybells1]

Leeches, Part 1

“Just the other day, I sat at a bus stop, over on, I don’t know, somewhere in the eighties on the east side. I sat back and the sun shined on my face, and I think I just sat there for going on half an hour. I let about five buses pass me by, I reckon. The drivers kept asking through the doors, but I just shook my head and waved them on.”

Joe laughed at himself, very much the wizened old timer, laughing at his time-honored follies, a cough feigning to latch on to the tail end of one of his chuckles. He sat on a folding chair and never crossed his legs during his speech. He looked back at us once in a while, a wide grin framing the face of a man who’d found God in his dotage.

Behind him stood three sturdy chairs on a low, small landing, the middle one much larger, obviously for a deacon, or some other minister. To his left was a banner affixed to the chapel’s wall, to his right the darkened interior of Rutgers Presbyterian Church’s main hall, only the closest pew mingling with our reflections on the glass, while the rest of the chamber disappeared into the unlit black, pews, apse, arches, all fading away like undulating cephalopods motioning into the bottomless expanse of the deep ocean.

We were thirty men of various ages and, in various angles, situated on recently unfolded chairs, our ears plastered to Joe’s syllables. A semicircle of a row flanked Joe on each side, while rows of five staggered farther away in front of him. We waited for him to finish his speech.

My friend Kenyon, a man given to reflexive smiles, body art and jangling silver jewelry, raised his hand on the tail end of the applause. Kenyon was, like myself but in a completely different way, the aesthetic anomaly in this male lineup of denim, half-zip fleece pullovers, and unbuttoned checks. As for me, I was undergoing an awkward transition from the bespoke slim-fitting hipster fare of my East Village salad days to the generic knits I ended up cottoning to, staid, American gear with a fashion forward edge, the kind of corporate mimicry of downtown New York style evident in late aughts Express storefronts, the cheap grey cardigan with thin, plastic buttons and a gaudy, shiny placket to name one example, the sort of trickled-down haute couture which American Apparel had turned into a belated, and thankfully short-lived, empire of disposable cotton.

Kenyon, on the other hand, was a world onto himself. He was irreducible, and managed to turn all of that corporatizing on its head. Steeped in glam rock, a downtown tradition dating back to Max’s Kansas City, he merged the ripped tank tops and the second skin of leather trousers with punk, post-90s hip hop, and even industrial. By the time Kenyon was done, he was fully dressed, even though he’d barely put anything on: five necklaces formed an extra shirt over that tank top, while seven sterling-coated rings formed makeshift cuffs past the “sleeves” of tattoos on his arms. Sometimes he wore a black grosgrain cap with a chrome plate sewed onto the front that read “BITCH”. No one dressed like Kenyon, and if the reader regards my valuation as improbable, I can but insist that no one pulled off his sartorial derring-do with even half of his aplomb.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to like Kenyon, and I chalk that up to sibling rivalry. Though he did pull it off, his style was nonetheless loud. At the time, I needed quiet. That’s why I was there listening to Joe with my conveyer belt cardigan. Of course I had no idea I was dragging my old style like a cadaver in search of some missing morgue. But I was trying to fit in, trying to make a break with the past. I needed those dudes with their conservative shtick, sitting cross-legged checking blackberries once in a while, probably texting loved ones about soccer practice and babysitter hours. Joe was the granddaddy and these guys were my dads.

Once Joe was done everybody else started chiming in. People talked one at a time, and each person picked the next person to talk. Kenyon’s arm was erect, and he was picked early. Joe was sheepish about feedback, more out of feeling gratified to have shared his story with us than with insecurity about revealing himself, so he darted his eyes from the floor to anyone who wasn’t talking. Kenyon, like all who were picked, was speaking to the room, even though he directly addressed Joe, who indulged the time it took to place a couple bucks into the donation hat making the rounds. Silver tinkled on silver as Kenyon lowered his arm.

He did his best: “Joe, that story about the bus stop, man, wow, that’s amazing. I wish that was me. I’m just not there yet. I’m always busy, running around chasing my fantasies, maybe a woman, projects, getting angry about my job. It’s like I’m addicted and I can’t find peace. So I envy you, and all that serenity you shared with us. Thank you.”

Unlike their hardier, more “masculine” AA counterparts, Al-Anon meetings have no liquidation agenda. They’re not out to eradicate your issue. Nobody will say, as they do in AA, “Hey buddy, you’ve been fucking up, so it’s time to get your ass in gear and do some service for a change”. It’s more like “Sit back and relax, you’ve been working too hard” and “Don’t just do something, sit there.”

AA-ers criticize the warm embrace as too accommodating, but for my money’s worth, I always got more out of the Kumbaya fireside chat in Al-Anon meetings, than the fluorescently-lit, “bad cop” demeanor of your typical AA church basement. Booze was a problem, of course, but only during a relatively short span of debauching as an erstwhile rockstar. It was a symptom of “extreme lifestyling”, so, once I left the music industry and started frequenting libraries instead of dive bars, I had little difficulty moderating my intake. Thankfully, there were no winged bottles of Smirnoff in my dreams, and to this day, I say a prayer of gratitude with every crisp draught of New World red during mealtime.

What I lacked was not self-control, but self-esteem. Al-Anon, with its boundaries, its “healing centers”, its gingerbread cookies, its amateur yogis meditating, palms up, while people like Joe regaled you with yarns about how they lived “one day at a time”, boosted the lagging go-getter within and checked the autocratic superego’s overreach. Unlike our bulldog AA counterparts, choking and chafing on the leash, we were more like tiny, caged Papillons needing assertiveness training. Al-Anon’s ethos of boundary-setting was the gamechanger for the steamrolled contingent.

I needed a jolt in the arm to help me take charge of the new me. Once the keg dried on my club kid/rocker past, so did all of its faulty affirmations – “I’m a killer” – “I’m the man” – “I’m the life of the party”. What had seemed like incontrovertible evidence of greatness and longevity soured into empty pomp and arrogance, showing its age faster than a fine Brie sitting out too long. If you cut the tap, you see things for what they are, hollow, teenage rhetoric, a lacquered gloss of puerile angst disguising the real pain within, the miserable cartography drawn in Crayola. I had a hard time transitioning to “adulting”.

Al-Anon was the perfect solution for a spiritual drifter like myself, someone who’d managed to duck the hypnotic allure of substance, but was tethered to the overhead luggage of an overwrought past, a hypertrophied lore inflated by the helium-empty of media success and unrestrained carousing. The skill of setting boundaries, the primary focus of the work in that fellowship, was my first time making a conscious, adult demarcation of self. It was a kind of handwritten accounting, using a brand-spanking new calligraphy pen when in the past I only had a crayon.

Not only had I been bluffing my way through every opportunity and relationship all my life, but I’d shirked male bonding as well. The old man had left enough scar tissue to lead me to believe, wrongly, that nothing presented a greater threat to my safety than another swinging dick in the room. Al-Anon, being majority female in its constituency, attracted me for this very reason. But this uptown meeting offered me a new twist: the gentle lilt of Al-Anon sloganeering with the familiar heft of masculine energy. When I found that meeting, I discovered the verdant hidden pastures of otherwise craggy masculine caverns, undergoing the Robert Bly encounter with male, yet enlightened, initiation.

“I get so much wisdom from those guys,” I told Kenyon on the downtown 1, our trip back to the Village from the Upper West Side enlivened by the meeting. Post-meeting positive spin comes like hand delivered mail, the delay forgiven and forgotten at the instant the hand touches the parcel, a sudden flash of serum in the bloodstream, a mild chemo.

“They’re like old New York,” Kenyon replied. A silver bracelet ticked on one of his eight rings as he switched arms straphanging. He rearranged his fedora and there was a moment when, with the sterling on his fingers blinking in the light as it contrasted with the soft crushed velvet of the brim, he looked like Jared Leto (Twenty Seconds to Mars Leto, not the actor). Kenyon was impossibly handsome and, after two decades of casual sex in New York, had to have known it. On top of that, his mind was so sharp, dropping an op-ed’s worth of observation in a single response, you always forgot how attractive he was. I didn’t want to like him, for survival reasons, but I couldn’t help myself.

We both got off at Sheridan Square and parted at the newsstand on Christopher and Varick. The hugs were the best part of the night, warm, not bro-y. Cool jocks first clasp hands and keep them in between, the embrace more of a back pat, with the forearms warding off fears of errant torsos touching. Not so with Kenyon. It was a full upper body affair.

He went East and I West, to a dinner date with someone I met at school. But I couldn’t get his wall-to-wall smile out of my head.

All throughout the evening, through the dinner and the subway ride back to my Upper East Side apartment, even as my head hit the pillow and I let the day’s events drift through my head like a shuffling deck, I thought of Joe’s bus stop and wondered if it was one of the ones I used, any of the M79 ones, running from where I lived on East End Avenue to Lexington where the 6 train offers the nearest underground service. That crosstown corridor gives access to one of the most pacific locations in the city. The highlight was coming out of Agata & Valentina, hauling four thick polypropylene shopping bags spilling over with istara cheese, seasonal fruits, swordfish, prime cuts, homemade pasta, and imported Brazilian nuts, and, braving the murder on my delts, walking across the street to the east bound stop on 1st and 79th,hauling two leaden weights like overfull scales pressing down on a balance. Joe probably had his atman moment directly across the street, at the westbound stop, where the sun hits more directly for longer in the day.

As I turned my head on the pillow, I thought of tomorrow, Wednesday, of waking up, walking the dog, hitting the computer to play around with electronic music, and stretching the limbs. At acting school they were really emphasizing the importance of movement (“If I see one more stiff actor in my scene study class, I’m going to be angry” was one teacher’s version).

I was reminded how, in my early twenties, I was terrified of anyone looking at my body. I didn’t know anything about anatomy, but I could feel how broad and lanky were my shoulders. I was like a wide clothes hanger. Playing the bass guitar, though I hadn’t gone out of my way to pick it up, made perfect sense, the heaviest rock instrument to offer ballast against flaying limbs. Night after night the strap creased my left shoulder, pulling me closer to the floor, the weight pressing my boots on the ground, plantar ligaments stretching out the arches. Once it was removed, I was like a hot air balloon.

So was my acting, hence the need for movement exercises, which made interesting cases concerning anatomy. At Stella Adler, I had the good fortune of having Joanne Edelmann, an experienced dancer from the Alvin Ailey school, impress upon me the importance of the pelvis. Everything was about the pelvis, acting, moving, blocking, memorizing lines, it all had to come from the pelvis, apparently. We’d lay down supine, after one of us had swiffed the last class’s sweat, grime and dead skin cells off the creaky, wooden floor, and start gyrating our pelvises, all twenty-five of us. Having suspended my pause at the bursar’s office (at some point the acting conservatory, like therapy and Al-Anon, acquired healing potential in my mind), I jumped into all this with gusto. These movement exercises, so I thought, were my ticket to getting my feet on the ground, literally. So I worked them every day for an hour.

It was early spring in 2009 and I’d been living in the Upper East Side for close to a year, moving here to escape the East Village’s countercultural orthodoxy.

The East Village is great when you’re an upstart, when your friend owns a vintage boutique and sitting there for hours talking about nothing could feel like a quiet revolution. There was something conspiratorial about scrounging for change, wearing the same pair of trousers, and bumping into the same vagrant hipsters every night. Bar hopping became a kind of Where’s Waldo stretched over the span of a week, like each party was a pop-up shop taking over that bar or club. It would have been unthinkable to go on another night, after the pop-up shop had moved. Each one of us could feel like an unshowered Che looking at Fidel clipping a Cohiba across the fold-out table, an overhanging burning bulb backlighting the floating dust and cumulus clouds of tobacco smoke.

But by this time, I’d already “made it”. My cover was blown. Interpol’s success had fattened my wallet even as it’d thwarted my agitprop designs. Trips to the grocer could involve catcalls and held stares. Benjamin’s wisdom seemed apt: “Behind every fascist regime, lies a failed revolution”. In my case, the project of seeing how far flipping the bird could get me (very far, apparently) had yielded such pithy spiritual results it was time to call it a day and find a place to do my laundry where I wouldn’t have to sign autographs.

Growing up in Queens, I had no idea what the hell was the East Village. But I knew the Upper East Side, mostly through The Jeffersons (my mother did have a wealthy friend and, once, while we visited when I was eleven, I feigned adult sass by declaiming “This place is rich!” during the elevator trip up the Central Park adjoining high rise). The sight of rows of stacked iron-grated balconies on grey-brick facades, all set to each other like a long ship container yard disappearing into the horizon of 2nd Avenue, where every taxi cab, street light and butcher shop becomes a tiny dot twenty blocks north of 79th Street, was always set to a soulful “We finally have a piece of the pie”.

Later, after initiation with the caramelized crust of 80s pop-culture, the Upper East Side came to mean Woody Allen and Andy Warhol. The high rises, in my estimation, offered sanctuary to the city’s cultural superintendents, a haven in which to pen or paint their New York City-centric odes in peace and quiet. I thought of Leonard Bernstein laboring over scores, the doorman interrupting with a call about a dry cleaning delivery.

Here, as well, were stock brokers, attorneys, traders, and other sundry bourgeois interests, the better to authenticate the wealthy artist’s pains with commerce’s badge of (dis)honor. (“There. You are one of us. Now, to quote a 90s prophet, entertain us.”) Eyes Wide Shut, with its luxury apartments and endless chambers, its New York Jewish-y professional class embodied in Sydney Pollack’s Rolex, its de riguer charcoal Brooks Brothers three quarter overcoat worn by Tom Cruise in almost every frame, laid out the terms of this fantasy of old school New York wealth for me, if also tickling my artistry with a Kafka-esque slant. Perhaps, I could revivify the failed revolution, I thought, not against the fascist regime, but from within.

It was a straight shot up 1st Avenue from Houston Street to 79th and on a random late morning Tuesday you could drive through light after light in less than fifteen minutes. I’d always hated the West Village’s European style of urban planning, the streets and lanes that curve and follow every slope of the ground, (pre-Google Maps, this meant that sometimes you ended up, Blair Witch Project-style, back to where you started). I loved the East Village’s Soviet, numerical grid, so artificial you could easily imagine the planners taking their time to map everything out. What this did was help me focus on the shops, ateliers, and salons within the fifteen block radius, without the distraction of curves and cobblestone. And the Upper East Side, at least from an urban planning perspective, was the East Village without the personality, simply adding a z axis of verticality to the latter’s x and y. With three dimensions now at my disposal, I felt I could take my Bernstein myth into Olympus itself, away from the caustic rabble of DIY punk down below.

I made enough money to afford a $4000 rent in what is called a “splinter building”; apparently only three in the city exist, a building slim enough it can only have two apartments per floor, but giving each one a three sided-view of all Manhattan, in my case, from the 23rd floor. When I first walked into it the sun was setting, casting an amber glow onto the East River. Wall to wall windows proffered a vision of Manhattan only the wealthy know – “This is Your City” (daily exposure did end up diminishing the returns of the view).

For some reason, taxis were out of the question (never mind I was splurging on rent, dinners, tuition, and music equipment expenses). After five dizzy years of flights and car services, I was only too happy to take to the MTA, the buses still lacquered in the future-glossy palette of navy and white, which I recognized from my morning commutes to St. Francis Prep High in Floral Park from my Elmhurst home. Getting on the M79 right by the river, I basically had the bus to myself, my own crosstown Lear jet, a meager, yet delightful, taste of the jet-setting I’d left behind.

[cadevader]

Fallout series thoughts

To Preface: I’ve sadly only played the Bethesda Fallouts, so this is based more around them.

With the new Fallout coming out soon, I have been replaying Fallouts 3 and 4, and some things really strike me about them and Fallout 76.

 As Bethesda is making these, they are turning the games’ focus from character-based to player-based. In 3, you make your character with a certain focus/specialization in mind and you stick with it, or you balance yourself out. This can make your playthroughs very different from each other as your character can be based around charisma, intelligence, strength, etc. However, in 4 characters will generally end up being about the same throughout the game, since the perk selection is spaced out by level and there being no level cap, meaning you are encouraged to spread your level between many different specializations over the course of the game. In 3, you had to choose which perks you wanted since the hard level cap meant that you could only get so many, so spending a level on a SPECIAL stat means you lose out on a perk for that level. But, in 4 you can freely level all of your SPECIAL stats to max without much penalty, you just have to wait a little longer for your perks. This means that in Fallout 4 you are never super committed to playing your character a certain way since if you want to do something else with them, you just have to wait a few levels at worst. ~(EDIT: this upcoming bit was wrong, so I revised it a bit)~ In Fallout 76 the SPECIAL system goes back towards Fallout 3 in that you have a limited amount of points to put into SPECIAL again, However, the perks themselves can be swapped in and out at any time. This means that there is a commitment in your overall build, but not in the specifics. The SPECIAL stats also now start at 1 go up to 15, and you get a total of 49 points to spend. This means that if you spec for max charisma and intelligence, you have 21 points left to spread among 5 stats, which isn’t a lot. This makes your character more important again, but not as much as the other games (besides 4). Nothing really requires a certain stat to be a certain level, it only affects how many perks you can equip. This plus the lack of real NPC interaction makes Fallout 76 pretty darn focused on the player. You do build a character, but that character doesn’t do much to affect the world other than building a base and looting. The character itself only matters for general gameplay and if another player really wants a teammate with a specific build. 

The rest is a bit ranty and is more focused on fallout 3 and 4 so I’m putting in a read more line. Also spoiler warning for Fallouts 3 and 4.

The morality system in interesting though. In 3, it is awful and super binary. While in 4 it is more based around your followers and what they think of your actions. The ending to Fallout 3 is basically, the Enclave are bad dudes because they are bad, you stopped them because you are not bad, and you either sacrificed yourself or not to get clean water to the wasteland. Whereas with Fallout 4 it is; do you think synths are people and how do you think synths should exist, do you think synths should even exist at all? This is a much, much better basis for interesting ideas and thoughts.

However, there is a major problem with agency with Fallouts 3 and 4. In 3, the story is basically; Find Dad > Enclave show up > Dad sacrifices himself because Enclave ~Bad~ > Join Brotherhood because they’re ~Good~ > Finish Dad’s Project > Attack Enclave so you can finish Dad’s project > Sacrifice yourself or don’t. A ton of the game is based around your dad. The only real choices you have are at the end; you can sacrifice yourself or not, and you can poison the water to kill the mutants and ghouls or not. The story is pretty rigid. In 4 it isn’t as bad, but only by a little. In Fallout 4 the story is basically (for non-minutemen); Find son > Find Institute > Learn about other factions > Choose a faction > Destroy other factions > You win, woo. The only difference for the Minutemen being that if you choose them, you only have to kill the Institute. You can’t really control anything within the faction you choose. You basically just decide who you want to win and you go from there. For example, the Institute is my favorite faction because they are actually trying to improve life and technology, but I have always disliked how little they help the commonwealth and how they treat their synths. I like to imagine, that by becoming the head of the institute I can change that, and that’s always my headcannon. However, that isn’t the case and you can never really alter the institute, and the same goes with the other factions. If your character didn’t exist, the only change is that it would be up to fate for which faction comes out on top. And yea that would be kinda an interesting Existentialist viewpoint if that was what the game is going for, but I don’t think it is. And that is true for 3 as well, you really don’t do anything they couldn’t have had some random mercenary do.

 In both of the games you could be replaced with a mindless machine and nothing would really change. I know these aren’t the ideas the games are going for, though,  because of the games’ focus on how the settlers and survivors all matter. But I dunno, maybe the message is a bit of both. Maybe that is what they are saying with the synths, that people in general matter, but individuals Don’t. That Societies and communities can prosper and grow, while the individuals within those societies can easily be replaced and are ultimately meaningless. You can replace any member of a society with a synth that has the same skills, and nothing would change. Perhaps Fallout 4 is never wanting to ask whether artificial life is equal to natural life, instead asking if individual life has meaning. Nah, both games would put way more value in raiders and other human enemies than they do. Either way, it is really interesting to me and I would elaborate even deeper, but this post is already a pretty long rant so I’m gonna cut it off.

[critrolesketch]

Right Kiddies, the De Rolo interaction continued

Here is the thing real quick about the people in the party going forward

Val was kidnapped at 7 and has a scar in her hand where the kidnapper stabbed it when she got annoying. She and her 3 Aasimar Brothers were also targeted when she was 12 by three necromancers. She made a pact with the Raven Queen in that moment to stall them long enough for help to arrive. Now Val is on a mission to serve her patron, become a hero, and return to teach her brothers to do the same. Except she is 16 and is in way over her head and has a lot of growing left to do.

Calladyne is a half elf bard who looks fab and sings like Beyoncé, but spent her life in a bad Fey court and has just returned from the Feywild and it’s only been, like, 3 months since she was technically born. Gal is 20

Dixie is a revenant out to kill the dragon that killed her home and family.

Aavar was tricked into wearing cursed armor that had a good ac, but the dude who gave it to her could make her do whatever he wanted her to do (and he was a dick) and she couldn’t take it off. He died and we recently got her armor off , which was a big in game victory.

Veir really likes guns. He thinks Dwarves should use guns as their main form of weaponry. He is butt-hurt that Percy doesn’t agree.

The player who controls Dixie had to leave early, so we were without a tank who...actually can’t really die. It was bad.

We find out that multiple people took the baby. We track some footprints back into Whitestone and to a warehouse. I break our stealth with a nat 1 and try to remedy it by going in first. 4 Rogues with sneak attack = pincushion Val.

We fight them off and eventually tie up two and interrogate the gal behind the whole thing, who happens to be the lady we met at dinner on the council who is in charge of the business and economy in Whitestone. She is Myriad. They handed the baby off to cultists.

We head back out again after some...intense interrogations. Percy pulls our Gunslinger aside to interrogate the woman and he nearly pulls an No Mercy Percy, smoke and all. It’s just a test tho to see if Veir was a good person or something and Veir is left along to interrogate this gal. Something awoke inside that dude because hell man, we was not very kind to that woman.

Percy gives Veir Animus as a loaner so he can better kill the f-ers that took the youngest De Rolo.

We head out, find an old hideout at the end of the tracks we are following in the woods, and make it through the hallway of spinning blades and smashing pillars set up as a death trap. Fun thing about that was if we got to the end, a rune on the door caused a fear effect and you ran back into the death trap.

We find the cultist and her crew with the baby. It’s a tough battle. Calladyne our Bard goes down a lot, and Aavar our arcane archer ends up getting hit by a spell that makes her see her worst fear. It wasn’t pleasant. Eventually the cultist lady takes a knife to the baby’s throat and Val is freaking out. She doesn’t know how healthy this woman is or if she will kill the baby as soon as anyone attacks. She risks it and gets the HDYWTDT with eldritch blast.

I catch the baby, Veir finishes off the remaining foe, and we questions her and her companions using my Tome ability my class provides (I can ask the dead 1 question). They were gonna use the baby for fuel apparently. We find that they are cultists if the Chained Oblivion, and a letter on the lady says

“We found another in Whitestone. Have it delivered to the Whithered.” Signed Thola.

Both names are from Val’s backstory. Both were two of the three necromancers that attempted to kidnap her.

So I’m cradling baby Vax, who has snuggled into my shoulder, staring in shock at this letter.

We end by returning baby Vax to a very grateful mother and father.

NEXT SESSION!

We all meet the next morning to De Breif the De Rolos (that is legit the session title. My DM was pretty proud)

Val basically info dumps her backstory to convey how dangerous the people are who took baby Vax. She gets really upset during this too and Vex reaches out to put her hand in mine and Val lets her know that she will do everything in her power to protect Vax from the necromancers. She accepts Val’s vow but says that they’ve got it handled for now and gives me the classic Vex smirk.

Also, turns out Baby Vax just has black wings that appeared recently, so Val is now for sure certain the RQ blessed them with the child instead of any other God.

So the De Rolos decide to help and Percy gets really excited. Like super excited.

Also Aavar snoops around for info in the evil council members house after being told not to and took a bunch of papers. Don’t know if she kept them or left them for the De Rolos but she and the councilwoman had relations through the Myriad, as Aavar was forced to work with them.

The next morning we are awoken by Percy, who is practically vibrating with excitement. He has a speedy way for getting us to Lyrengorn.

He made himself an airship.

Dude let us take it out on its maiden voyage.

The ship is pretty small, but the cabin is bigger in the inside and is heated. Dude just...got everything he wanted.

So we sail off to Bigby’s tower! With the eldest De Rolo kid Shaun as our captain.

Speed round

We discover that Dixie is basically Deadpool after she fails with a Nat one to climb down a rope in Lyrengorn. She has, in canon, a Canadian accent, duel wields swords, and reassembles herself like something out of a horror movie, with shit just snapping into place.

We find the tower and it’s like...super Trippy. Each door leads to another room, every step takes you to a different place with different gravity, one door took us to a giant mimic in a giant glass container that imitated sand. That was fun.

Also the steam Gollum we faced did 65 max damage in a round to level 6 players. That was stressful.

We finally find the study and the artifact we came to recover called Cepheus, the shroud of tears.

Funny thing is though, our dm made these items before we even sent our characters in and I just so happened to be a Raven Queen fangirl. He tells us that the list of coincidences and parallel story beats we somehow miraculously stumbled upon in our party is absolutely mind boggling.

Here is the item made the THE RAVEN QUEEN HERSELF BEFORE SHE ASCENDED.

Val takes the item in her hand and immediately feels a rush of power. She channels the energy apprehensively into her focus and suddenty sees the Raven Queen’s face. “Put it on.”

Val: “Yep ok im putting it on”

Val’s wings extend 15 ft in either direction, a cape made of shadow extends out from the clasp, and her hair goes all Eris from Sinbad.

So I got wings all the time now y’all (but just for the aesthetics, I still can’t fly unless I use my racial feat or turn into a raven)

We read Bigby’s journal and other artifacts we are looking for get mentioned. One of them is a bow (great for Aavar) that was lost in Pandamonium. Aavar makes a comment “I’m not gonna go carrying around a magical weapon that I’m going to get hunted for.”

I surprised myself with a very out of line quip from Val “I mean, you wore that armor and everything was fine” (implying that no one hunted her for that particular powerful magical item)

Everyone reacts shocked and very disturbed by the comment. Aavar walks away, stunned at the comment.

Never had Val been so powerful yet felt so powerless.

I love this game. I can’t wait for more drama. We all have plans for how to deal with that bombshell and are practically vibrating like Percy. We ended after exiting the tower. Things are gonna be real interesting as we travel to Vassilhiem. I’m so excited you guys.

If this was enjoyable for you, go ahead and let me know in the comments and I’ll set up an official tumblr where we will keep you updated about our travels through Tal’dorei.