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f14fun · 8 months ago

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lay all your love on me - op81 (C5)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.7K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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05: Caffeine, Clem, and Capital-L Crushes

I was running on exactly four hours of sleep, and every yawn felt like my body’s way of scolding me for staying up way too late dissecting every little detail of my night with Oscar. Two hours on FaceTime with Clementine had somehow turned into a caffeine-fueled debriefing session, complete with dramatic reenactments, wild theories, and far too much giggling for someone who was supposed to be getting some rest.

Clementine had demanded every detail, leaning into the camera with wide, eager eyes, dissecting each word, each touch, like she was decoding the plot of a blockbuster rom-com. I’d found myself animatedly recounting every flirty remark and lingering glance, my voice climbing higher with each retelling, only for Clem to gasp and fan herself like we were living in some Victorian romance.

The more we talked, the more the night felt surreal—a blur of sun-soaked moments and teasing exchanges that played on a loop in my mind. I’d lost track of how many times Clem had paused to remind me, “Babe, he’s into you. Like, capital-L into you.” Each time, I’d try to protest, but the undeniable flutter in my chest always betrayed me. By the time we’d finally hung up, my cheeks were aching from smiling, and the adrenaline from our impromptu therapy session had me buzzing long after I’d collapsed into bed.

I could still hear Clem’s voice echoing in my head:

“I’m telling you, this is a Hallmark movie in the making, and you’re the main character. The Oscar Romance Special is about to hit season two.”

I’d rolled my eyes at the time, but now, dragging myself out of bed with a sleepy groan, I couldn’t stop replaying every flirty line, every shared smile, every moment that had made the night feel like something more.

The minute I’d crawled under the covers last night, I should have fallen straight into a blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But instead, I’d tossed and turned, Oscar’s voice running laps in my head, every cheeky grin and lingering touch replaying like my brain had hit the “rewind” button on the best parts of the day. And once Clem got wind of it, there was no way she was going to let me sleep without a full-blown breakdown of every micro-detail.

“It’s the way he looked at you when you were talking about chicken fights,” Clem had mused, eyes wide as if she were watching a thriller unfold. “Like you were the only person who’d ever said something even remotely interesting.”

I’d laughed, brushing it off, but the truth was, I’d noticed it too. The way Oscar’s gaze would linger, how his playful teasing had just the slightest undercurrent of something deeper.

We’d joked, sure—but every joke felt like it was skirting around something bigger, something neither of us were quite ready to name. And when I’d finally tried to put it into words, Clem had been ready with her own dramatic commentary, as usual.

“So he’s a Formula One driver, he’s charming, and he looks at you like you hung the moon with the flick of a finger. Babe, if you don’t lock in right now and lock that down, I’m coming over there myself to knock some sense into you.” She’d laughed with such glee and enthusiasm, but the teasing was laced with genuine excitement, and it had fueled my own sleepless spiral long after we’d said goodnight.

I’d tossed and turned for hours, replaying every moment in my head like it was some kind of twisted highlight reel. The way Oscar’s voice had dropped when he talked about his life on the track, the lingering touches that made my heart race, and that look—God, that look—like I was the only person in the world who mattered. Clem was right; it was hard not to get swept up in it, to not feel like the universe had handed me some ridiculous, too-good-to-be-true script of a romance movie. But as much as my heart was screaming at me to dive headfirst, my mind was busy throwing up every possible reason to pump the brakes.

Now, sunlight was streaming through my window, mercilessly bright, as I trudged to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in a vain attempt to wake up. My reflection stared back at me, hair sticking out in every direction, dark circles under my eyes that practically screamed, You should have gone to bed sooner. But my mind was still buzzing, caught somewhere between the thrill of last night and the anxiety of what came next.

I brushed my teeth absentmindedly, trying to scrub away the exhaustion and the lingering taste of late-night anxiety. But every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that beach, Oscar’s teasing grin etched into my memory like a permanent fixture. It wasn’t just the flirting or the way he’d pulled me close; it was the way he’d made me feel seen, like all the walls I’d put up to protect myself had been effortlessly dismantled in a single night.

I leaned against the sink, sighing heavily. “Get it together,” I mumbled to my reflection. “He’s just a guy.” But even as I said it, the words felt hollow, lacking the conviction I so desperately needed. Because deep down, I knew Oscar was not just any guy. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to stick to the safety of denial.

My phone buzzed on the counter, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was a text from Clem, her timing impeccable as always:

Clem: morning, lovebird! dream of your racer boy? 😘

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

Me: morning. and no, i dreamt of sleep deprivation, thanks.

Clem: liesss girl liesss, i can see you RIGHT now in my mind. you’re probably blushing just thinking about him right now.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and, sure enough, the telltale warmth was already creeping up my cheeks. Damn it, Clem. She knew me too well.

Me: oh my god, clem. you’re like a psychic stalker. can’t a girl have some peace?

Clem: peace? honey, you signed up for the drama package the moment you met him. so spill, what’s the plan? are you gonna ride this love rollercoaster or what?

And, damn her, she was right. I tossed my phone onto the wooden dresser, groaning. Everything felt too raw, too immediate. It wasn’t like me to get this twisted up over a guy, but there was something about Oscar—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on—that made my usual cool detachment completely useless.

I splashed my face one more time, hoping the cold water would snap me out of my reverie, but it was no use. The memory of Oscar’s easy laugh, his warm touch, and that sincere, almost vulnerable side he’d let slip through lingered like a song I couldn’t get out of my head. And the worst part? A small, stubborn part of me didn’t want it to go away.

As I ran a brush through my tangled hair, I caught myself staring at the mirror, silently wishing for answers. What was I supposed to do now? Lean in and see where this crazy, unexpected thing with Oscar could go, or protect myself and pull back before things got messy? Either way, I was in uncharted territory, and the thought of navigating it without screwing everything up seemed both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Guess I’m in it now,” I muttered to my reflection, feeling the weight of the decision resting heavily on my shoulders. Because whatever happened next, there was no going back to before.

Clem: you better not chicken out now. i swear, if you start overthinking this, i’ll fly over there myself and push you into his arms.

Me: so violent, hehe.

Me: but thanks for the pep talk, dr. phil. ilysmmm

Clem: ilysm booo! you know it. and hey, you’ve got this. worst case? you get a story to laugh about later. best case? you get a hot f1 boyfriend. seems like a win-win to me.

I laughed, shaking my head as I set my phone down. Clem’s relentless optimism was a lifeline, even when she was half-joking. I wasn’t sure which possibility scared me more—letting this thing with Oscar fizzle out into a ‘remember when’ or diving in headfirst and risking everything.

I threw on my seafoam green strapless dress, the one with the ruched bodice that hugged my waist just right and flowed into a ruffled hem. It was the perfect mix of casual and effortlessly chic, capturing that laid-back Mediterranean vibe I’d always admired but never quite pulled off until now. The soft pastel green felt fresh and summery, and as I adjusted the fabric, I couldn’t help but feel a little more put together than usual.

To complete the look, I fastened my chunky gold chain necklace, adorned with oversized sea-themed charms—starfish, shells, and other ocean treasures that jingled softly with every movement. It was bold, a little gaudy maybe, but it felt right, like an unapologetic nod to the seaside setting we were in. Matching gold earrings dangled from my ears, catching the morning light, and I stacked a few gold bangles on my wrists for good measure. The jewelry was heavy, warm against my skin, but it grounded me, giving me a little boost of confidence as I prepared to face whatever this day would bring.

I took one last glance in the mirror, adjusting the loose waves in my hair and making sure the necklace lay just right. There was something about the way the outfit came together that made me feel a little bolder, like I was dressing not just for breakfast, but for the possibility of whatever—or whoever—came next.

Even if I felt nervous as hell and quite possibly so very close to the edge, I would make sure no one could see it (telling myself lies again but I digress).

I needed to look hot. Fucking impeccable.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone again, typing out a final message to Clem:

Me: okay, okay. i’m going. no more hiding. and if i trip over my words like a fool, that’s on you.

Clem: that’s my girl! go get your man.

With Clem’s words echoing in my head, I shoved my phone into my pocket and headed downstairs, nerves fluttering in my stomach like restless butterflies. The scent of breakfast hit me as soon as I reached the bottom step—freshly brewed coffee, the crisp aroma of toast, and something sweet, like cinnamon and sugar. It was a comforting mix, and it tugged at the edges of my anxiety, coaxing me forward.

The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, casting a golden glow over the bustling scene. Mae, with her short hair tousled in that effortlessly cool way only she could pull off, was dressed in an oversized graphic tee and a pair of tiny denim shorts, her legs stretched out as she lounged on the stool, half-distracted by whatever was on her screen. A few bracelets jingled on her wrist as she absentmindedly scrolled, occasionally chiming in with a sarcastic comment that made the others laugh.

Hattie, ever the organized one, was moving around with purpose, her damp curls pulled back into a messy bun that still somehow looked put-together. She wore a light blue tank top that matched her eyes and high-waisted linen pants that billowed slightly as she moved, the kind of outfit that screamed effortless summer chic. She balanced a stack of mismatched plates on one hip, arranging them on the table with precision, her expression a mix of focus and amusement as she chimed in on Mae’s snarky commentary.

Edie, the youngest but certainly not the quietest, was manning the stove with the confidence of someone who had taken on the role of breakfast chef many times before. Her hair was pulled into two loose braids, little wisps escaping around her face as she flipped pancakes with practiced ease. She wore a sunflower-yellow sundress that brightened the room even more, the fabric swishing around her knees as she moved. A slight dusting of flour clung to her hands, and there was a faint smear of batter on her cheek, giving her an endearing, carefree look.

The kitchen smelled heavenly—warm, sweet, and buttery—with the faintest hint of vanilla wafting from Edie’s pancake masterpiece. Mae’s playlist was faintly audible, playing some indie pop tune that filled the gaps in their conversation and set an upbeat mood. It was the kind of scene that felt both chaotic and comforting, each of the sisters contributing to the lively morning energy in their own way.

“Morning!” Mae chirped, barely glancing up from her screen but still managing to sound chipper. “You’re up early. Couldn’t stay away from us, huh?”

“Morning,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light and casual. “Smells amazing in here.”

“Edie’s specialty,” Hattie said with a grin, sliding a stack of pancakes onto the table. “She’s got this whole breakfast chef thing down to an art.”

Edie turned, waving the spatula in a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week. Literally.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, taking a seat across from Mae. “Well, lucky us. I’m definitely not complaining.”

Mae finally looked up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, did you sleep well? You know, after your little moonlit stroll last night?”

I felt my cheeks heat up instantly, and I reached for a mug to hide my flustered expression. “Yeah, fine. Just… normal.” I took a sip, hoping the coffee would ground me, but all it did was make me more aware of how on edge I was.

Hattie exchanged a knowing look with Mae, then turned to me with a playful smile. “You guys were out there for a while. I half expected to hear the soundtrack of a rom-com playing in the background.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice in it—just the familiar tug of embarrassment. “You guys are impossible, you know that?”

Edie laughed, flipping another pancake. “Oh, we know. But you love it.”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as I picked at a piece of toast. The truth was, I didn’t mind their teasing. In fact, their relentless ribbing was almost comforting, like being folded into a dynamic I didn’t know I needed.

“Anyway,” Mae continued, dragging out the word as if savoring the moment, “Oscar’s still asleep. Guess all that romantic strolling wore him out.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and I choked on my coffee, trying to keep my composure.

“Mae, please,” I said, laughing despite myself. “I don’t need a play-by-play of his morning routine.”

Edie set down the last plate of pancakes and took a seat, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on. It’s just so fun watching you squirm.”

“Yeah, and you’re kind of the only normal one here,” Hattie added, piling syrup onto her plate. “Oscar’s always either being overly confident or sulking about something. It’s refreshing to have someone who’s, you know, sane.”

I smiled, feeling that familiar warmth of being welcomed, even if it came wrapped in layers of teasing. “Well, thanks, I guess? I’ll take being the sane one if it means I get pancakes.”

Hattie passed me the syrup, her grin wide. “Deal. But don’t think that gets you off the hook. We’re all dying to know—what’s really going on with you and Oscar?”

I hesitated, suddenly aware of how much their playful scrutiny meant to me. I didn’t want to let them down, but I also wasn’t ready to admit to anything that I hadn’t even figured out myself. “Honestly?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not sure. But I think that’s okay. We’re just… figuring it out.”

Mae nodded, surprisingly earnest. “Hey, no pressure. Just enjoy it. Life’s too short to overthink everything.”

I glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift from teasing to sincerity. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, feeling a little more settled. “I think I will.”

Mae’s expression softened, and she set her phone down, propping her chin on her hand as she watched me. “Seriously, though, don’t stress about it. If anyone can handle the chaos that is Oscar, it’s you. Plus, he’s not so bad once you get used to the terrible jokes and the occasional bouts of bravado.”

Hattie chuckled, sliding into her seat and pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “And the dramatic speeches,” she added, winking at me. “He’s got a flair for making everything sound like it’s life or death, but really, he’s just a softie at heart.”

Edie finally turned off the stove, setting a towering plate of pancakes on the table with a triumphant grin. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, giving me a conspiratorial smile as she sat down. “Just roll with it. That’s what we do.”

Their encouragement warmed me more than I expected, and for a moment, I felt like I was being let in on a secret, one that went beyond the lighthearted teasing and easy banter. It was clear that beneath all the jokes, there was a genuine care for their brother—a kind of protective, loving acceptance that made me feel a little less alone in navigating this new territory with him.

I sat down, reaching for a pancake and letting their words sink in. The idea of just enjoying the moment, of not overanalyzing every tiny interaction, felt both freeing and slightly terrifying. But sitting here, surrounded by this noisy, welcoming group, it felt like maybe, just maybe, I could let go a little. I could let myself lean into the unexpected without the weight of expectations dragging me down.

Mae poured herself another cup of coffee, her smile turning back into her usual mischievous smirk. “And hey, if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll have some great stories. Like, ‘Remember that summer I got tangled up with a race car driver and his three crazy sisters?’ It’s all part of the adventure.”

I laughed, shaking my head at Mae’s dramatics. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, taking a bite of my pancake, the sweetness filling my senses. “But for now, I think I’ll just enjoy breakfast and see where the day takes me.”

Hattie raised her glass in a mock toast. “To not overthinking and just going with the flow,” she declared, her eyes sparkling with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how to live in the moment.

Edie joined in, clinking her glass with Hattie’s and then mine. “And to great company,” she added, beaming as she dug into her stack of pancakes.

Edie took a sip of her juice, then leaned forward, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “So, we got all wrapped up in Oscar’s big secret yesterday, but what about you? We didn’t really get to know much about the mystery girl who’s apparently brave enough to keep up with our brother.”

I smiled, feeling the spotlight shift to me as all three sisters turned their attention my way. “Oh, nothing too dramatic,” I started, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m twenty-one, a senior at George Washington University in DC.”

Hattie’s eyes widened with recognition. “Ooh, DC! The nation’s capital, right? I’ve always wanted to go. It’s like, politics central, isn’t it?”

I nodded, laughing at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s a pretty unique place. It’s not a state, but it likes to think it’s important enough to be one. You know, home of the White House, Congress, and a whole lot of people in suits pretending they know how to run the country.”

Mae snorted into her coffee. “So basically, it’s one giant power trip?”

“Pretty much,” I grinned. “But it’s also got this amazing mix of history and culture. There are monuments and museums on every corner, and sometimes it feels like you can’t throw a rock without hitting some important landmark. It’s kind of like living in a history book—except with more Starbucks.”

Hattie laughed. “And you’re majoring in what? Political stuff, I’m guessing?”

“Close,” I said, feeling a bit more comfortable now. ��I’m majoring in International Relations. It’s like political science, but with more foreign countries, diplomacy, and trying to figure out why world leaders can’t just get along. Basically, I’m training to be the world’s most overqualified peacekeeper or, you know, a very stressed-out diplomat.”

Edie nodded, clearly impressed. “That sounds really cool, though. And probably way over my head. So what do you do for fun in a city full of politicians?”

“Well,” I said, a little shy but pleased they were interested, “when I’m not drowning in textbooks, I actually love to photograph the city. There’s something about the mix of old architecture and modern chaos that just... speaks to me, I guess. Plus, it’s an easy way to escape all the academic stuff and just focus on something beautiful.”

Mae’s ears perked up. “Wait, so you’re a photographer? That’s awesome! Do you post your stuff anywhere?”

I hesitated, suddenly feeling a bit bashful. “Yeah, I have an Instagram account where I share my photos. It’s kind of taken off a little bit.”

Hattie immediately pulled out her phone, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’s your handle? I wanna see!”

I told them my Instagram username, and within seconds, they were scrolling through my feed, their faces lighting up with interest as they took in my shots of cityscapes, moody portraits, and candid street moments.

“Whoa, you’ve got 32.9K followers?” Edie exclaimed, holding up her phone to show the impressive number. “You’re basically Instagram famous! And these photos are gorgeous.”

Mae looked up, clearly impressed. “I’m not even surprised. You’ve got an eye, girl. These shots are like... magazine-level good. I feel like I’m seeing DC through a totally different lens.”

I blushed, feeling a mix of pride and humility. “Thanks, it’s kind of my little escape. I just love capturing the city’s vibe—the people, the little hidden corners, the chaos and calm all mixed together. I never expected it to turn into something people would actually follow.”

Hattie scrolled through a few more pictures, pausing on one of a sunlit Washington Monument framed by cherry blossoms. “I get it. This is art, seriously. And now I’m kind of jealous of your life. You get to live in this cool place, study fascinating stuff, and take amazing photos on the side. That’s like, triple threat territory.”

Hattie leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in disbelief. “You know, I’ve never even been to DC. I mean, we’ve talked about going, but somehow we always end up at the beach or stuck on some last-minute road trip that Dad plans.”

Mae laughed, nodding. “Yeah, because why visit the nation’s capital when you can get lost in the middle of nowhere and argue over gas station snacks, right?”

Edie snorted. “Honestly, the closest we’ve been to DC is watching reruns of House of Cards and pretending we understand politics.”

Mae threw her hands up dramatically. “I swear, we’re missing out. I mean, we’ve got to see all those marble buildings and secret government stuff, right? What’s it like, just casually living near a bunch of old guys in suits who make all the rules?”

I laughed, enjoying their banter. “Honestly? It’s a mix. On one hand, you’ve got all these important people running around pretending they’re changing the world. On the other, it’s just a bunch of monuments, overpriced coffee shops, and tourists blocking the sidewalks with selfie sticks.”

Hattie giggled. “Wow, it sounds like such a glamorous place. Like New York, but with more government scandals and fewer Broadway shows.”

Edie nodded, trying to look serious but failing miserably. “I feel like we’d be kicked out of DC within a day. One of us would probably start an argument with a senator over parking spaces, and Mae would definitely try to sneak into the Capitol just to see if it’s as dramatic as the movies.”

Mae pointed at Edie, pretending to be offended. “Hey, I’m not that reckless. But, like, if we do go, I’m definitely hitting up those underground tunnels. You know they’ve got to be hiding some cool spy stuff down there.”

I shook my head, laughing at the absurdity. “Yeah, I’m not sure you guys would last. You’d probably spend the whole trip critiquing the statues or getting lost in the Smithsonian.”

Mae shrugged, grinning. “Hey, we’re up for the challenge. Just promise to be our tour guide when we eventually decide to grace DC with our presence. We’ll bring the chaos, and you bring the camera.”

“Deal,” I said, raising my glass in mock seriousness. “Just don’t blame me when you get kicked out of a museum for climbing on the exhibits.”

Mae nodded in agreement, setting her phone down. “Yeah, honestly, I’m just glad we finally got to hear your side. And hey, now we know that if you ever get sick of Oscar, you’ve got a whole city full of potential new admirers.”

I laughed, feeling a warm sense of belonging settle over me. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick around for a bit. I’m kind of liking where I am right now.”

The girls laughed, and Hattie leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Wait wait wait I still have a few questions. You must have some wild stories. I mean, it’s DC—you’re right in the middle of all the action!”

I smiled, settling into the moment. “It’s a lot of things—hectic, beautiful, sometimes frustrating, but never boring. I love how there’s always something happening, whether it’s a protest down on the National Mall or a pop-up art exhibit in some random alley. There’s this constant energy, like everyone’s in a rush but also living in this incredible historic moment all the time.”

Edie nodded, fascinated. “And the photography thing—how do you even capture all of that? Like, do you just walk around with your camera 24/7?”

I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Pretty much. I like to just wander around and see where the day takes me. You’d be surprised how many hidden gems there are—little parks tucked between office buildings, street musicians who are just as talented as anyone on stage. Plus, it’s fun capturing the contrasts—the shiny government buildings and the raw, gritty parts that make the city feel real.”

Mae smiled, clearly impressed. “Okay, so now you’re officially our go-to when we make it to DC. We’ll get the full insider experience—no boring tourist traps.”

I opened my mouth to agree when suddenly, a familiar arm draped around my shoulder, pulling me into a warm side hug. “Speaking of insider experiences,” Oscar’s voice broke in, far too close to my ear. “Are you telling them about your little secret photo spots? Or do I get to be the first one you show around?”

Startled, I jumped and let out a sharp yelp, my heart leaping into my throat. Without thinking, my elbow shot backward, driven by pure instinct and a jolt of adrenaline. The impact was immediate—I felt my elbow connect with something firm and unyielding. It wasn’t the soft thud of bumping into furniture or the awkward smack of knocking into someone’s arm. No, this was solid, unmistakably muscular. My elbow sank briefly against the defined ridges of Oscar’s abs, and I could feel the tension of his muscles bracing under the sudden, unexpected blow.

Oscar let out a strangled, surprised grunt, the sound half-laugh, half-pained exhale, as he stumbled backward. His expression morphed from shock to mock agony as he clutched his side dramatically, doubling over with a theatrical gasp.

“Ow! Holy—” he managed between strained breaths, his free hand pressed firmly against his stomach as if he’d just taken a punch straight out of a boxing ring. He staggered back a step, his body curling protectively around the spot where my elbow had connected, and for a split second, I worried I might’ve actually hurt him.

But Oscar’s over-the-top reaction was more comedic than anything else. He leaned against the counter, groaning with exaggerated flair, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were the star of his own melodramatic performance. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and even in his mock pain, he couldn’t quite hide the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’ve got some serious power in that elbow,” he wheezed, still clutching his side but peeking up at me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “What have you been eating? Steel oats? Protein shakes? Because, damn, you’ve got a weapon there.”

“Oh my god!” I gasped, half mortified, half laughing as Oscar pretended to lurch dramatically against the counter. “You scared the hell out of me! Why are you sneaking up on people?”

Oscar winced playfully, rubbing his abs where I’d jabbed him. “Damn, remind me never to surprise you again. You’ve got an elbow like a linebacker.” He laughed, but his eyes were twinkling, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d caused.

I sat there, caught between concern and stifled laughter, my face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, half-panicked, half-giggling as I reached out, instinctively trying to pat his shoulder as if that would somehow ease the pain. “I didn’t mean to! You just—scared me, and I—I panicked!”

Oscar straightened slightly, still rubbing his abs where I’d jabbed him, his expression teetering between pain and mischief. “I thought I was gonna end up on the floor.” He let out a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling despite his over-the-top suffering. “You’ve got some serious reflexes.”

I glanced down, my gaze lingering on the spot where I’d made contact. Even through his t-shirt, I could feel the distinct firmness of his abs—hard as a rock, like something carved from stone rather than skin and muscle. It was like hitting a brick wall disguised as a human. My cheeks heated as the realization sunk in, and I quickly pulled my hand away, trying to mask my flustered reaction with an awkward laugh.

“Next time, announce yourself!” I shot back, still breathless from the sudden surge of adrenaline. “Or, you know, maybe just don’t sneak up on me when I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

Oscar straightened fully, his grin widening, and he offered me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Lesson learned. I’ll approach with caution—and maybe a helmet—next time.”

The girls burst into laughter, Mae doubling over as she clapped her hands. “Nice one, Oscar. Just try not to get yourself KO’d next time.”

Edie was practically crying with laughter, holding her stomach. “I’ve never seen anyone get taken out by a breakfast elbow before. That was amazing.”

Hattie chimed in, wiping a tear from her eye. “Oscar, you’ve got to work on your stealth skills. Or at least your reflexes. She got you good.”

I was still blushing, torn between embarrassment and pride at my unintentional takedown. “Maybe don’t sneak up on people who are talking about their city adventures,” I said, giving him a playful glare. “I almost knocked the wind out of you.”

Oscar straightened up, still rubbing his side but grinning like he’d just won a game he didn’t know he was playing. “Noted. I’ll keep my distance when you’re in storytelling mode—didn’t realize I’d need a bulletproof vest just to get your attention,” he teased, his voice laced with that familiar playful confidence. He gave me a mock bow, adding, “But hey, it’s not every day I get nearly floored by someone half my size. Impressive, really.”

Mae, who had been watching the whole scene unfold with wide-eyed amusement, chimed in, barely able to contain her laughter. “Honestly, I think you got off easy. If she can take you down with an elbow, just imagine what she could do with a roundhouse kick. You better stay on her good side.”

Hattie snorted, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, Oscar, if she’d been holding a frying pan, you’d be out cold right now. I’d pay to see that fight.” She shot me a wink, clearly enjoying her brother’s over-the-top reaction. “Nice job, by the way. Most people just tell him to buzz off, but you? You went straight for the kill.”

I was still blushing, torn between embarrassment and a tiny bit of pride at my unintentional takedown. “Maybe don’t sneak up on people who are talking about their city adventures,” I said, giving him a playful glare.

Oscar chuckled, his grin never faltering. “Lesson learned. I’ll approach with a white flag next time.” He rubbed his abs one last time, his expression softening as he glanced at me. “But hey, consider me officially intrigued by DC and whatever other hidden skills you’ve got. Might have to keep my distance, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Edie was wiping away tears of laughter, her cheeks flushed from the hilarity. “This is officially the best breakfast we’ve had in ages. Who knew we’d get a free Oscar takedown with our pancakes?” She raised her glass in mock celebration. “To the unexpected and unintentional, but very satisfying, smackdown of the day!”

Oscar shot her a look of mock offense but couldn’t keep from laughing himself. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’m the morning entertainment. But just you wait, I’ll get my revenge—when you least expect it.”

I smirked, still feeling the lingering tingle in my elbow and the rush of adrenaline from the whole absurd encounter. “I’ll be ready. But remember, sneak attacks don’t end well around here.”

Oscar held up his hands in surrender, the playful banter still dancing in his eyes. “Point taken. No more stealth moves—at least not without a warning. But hey,” he added, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper as he leaned in just a bit closer, “I guess that means I’ll just have to find new ways to get under your skin.”

His words sent a small thrill down my spine, the challenge hanging between us like an unspoken promise. It was impossible not to smile, the line between annoyance and attraction blurring further with every quip and every lingering look.

We all settled back around the table, the remnants of breakfast spread out like the aftermath of a lively party. Mae was still giggling into her juice, and Hattie was busy piling pancakes onto her plate, but the atmosphere was lighter now, filled with an easy camaraderie that made the whole morning feel like a scene out of a feel-good movie. I scooped up some scrambled eggs, trying to act casual, but every now and then, I’d catch Oscar sneaking a glance my way, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Pass the syrup?” Oscar asked, leaning in closer than necessary, his arm brushing against mine as he reached for the bottle. It was a small touch, barely noticeable, but it sent a little jolt through me, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes playfully.

“Careful,” I said, handing it over with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself with this dangerous syrup. It’s a real menace.”

Oscar grinned, pouring a generous amount onto his pancakes. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to handle it without getting taken out by a rogue condiment. But thanks for the concern.”

Hattie snorted, shaking her head as she munched on her toast. “You two are like a sitcom. Seriously, how are we supposed to eat when it’s all banter and sneak attacks?”

Mae nodded in agreement, waving her fork in the air for emphasis. “Exactly. We need a warning before you two start up again. I almost choked on my juice.”

I laughed, grabbing another slice of fruit. “Don’t worry, we’ll try to keep the drama to a minimum. Breakfast is a sacred time, after all.”

Edie set down her fork, glancing at the clock on her phone. “Speaking of time, it’s still early enough that we could hit the market before it gets too hot. We need to grab some stuff for tonight anyway.”

Oscar perked up, leaning back in his chair. “The market sounds good. It’s not far, and we can get there before the sun decides to fry us alive. Plus, we can stock up on snacks. I’m thinking... fresh pastries, some local olives, maybe something sweet?”

Mae grinned, tapping her fingers on the table. “Count me in. I want to see what kind of cool stuff they have. And maybe pick up something to annoy Hattie. It’s like, a sibling rite of passage.”

Hattie rolled her eyes but smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. “Sure, Mae. I’ll make sure to keep you far away from anything that looks remotely like a musical instrument. I don’t need another round of impromptu concert performances.”

I glanced around the table, feeling a swell of excitement at the idea of exploring the local market with them. It was the kind of spontaneous plan that felt like the perfect way to spend the morning—just wandering around, sampling local food, and maybe picking up a few souvenirs. And, of course, the thought of more time spent with Oscar, in and out of playful jabs, wasn’t exactly unappealing.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, pushing back my plate and stretching my arms. “But we better go soon before it really heats up out there. I’m not trying to become a melted puddle on the sidewalk.”

Mae let out a dramatic groan, fanning herself with a napkin. “Seriously, I already feel like I’m halfway to becoming a human popsicle. Let’s move before I turn into a puddle of regrets.”

Oscar chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he finished the last of his juice. “Don’t worry, Mae. We’ll keep you hydrated. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a portable fan to add to your collection of weird market finds.”

Mae shot him a playful glare. “I’m not the one who bought that weird wooden frog last time, Oscar. That was all you. But if I find a fan, I’m buying it. Consider it an investment in my survival.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, but if anyone finds a fan that also doubles as a weapon, I call dibs. You know, just in case I need to defend myself from any more surprise attacks.” He shot me a teasing look, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Edie laughed, wiping her hands on a napkin as she pushed her chair back. “Oscar, the day you need to defend yourself from anything other than your own bad decisions is the day we all need to start worrying.” She grabbed her sunglasses from the table, slipping them on with a flourish. “But I’ll keep an eye out for a fan-weapon hybrid. Seems like something that could really elevate your whole ‘I’m constantly under attack’ vibe.”

Oscar feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Edie. But you know what? I’ll take the fan and the survival bragging rights. And when we’re all sweating buckets, just remember who thought ahead.”

Hattie shook her head, tossing her empty juice cup in the trash. “Let’s just get to the market before you guys end up buying the weirdest stuff just for the sake of it. We’re here for essentials, remember?”

Mae snorted, throwing her arm around Hattie’s shoulders as they headed toward the door. “Speak for yourself, Hattie. Some of us are here for the thrill of the hunt. And maybe a sun hat that screams ‘I’m on vacation and I don’t care.’”

Oscar turned to me, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “What about you? Got any market goals today? Weird trinkets, secret weapon fans, or just here to keep me out of trouble?”

I pretended to consider it, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “I think my goal is to keep you in just the right amount of trouble. Can’t have you getting too comfortable.” I winked, enjoying the easy flow of our banter, the way it felt like slipping into a well-worn routine despite how new it all was.

Oscar laughed, a low, warm sound that sent a flutter through my chest. “Deal. I’ll keep it interesting. And if I find anything particularly ridiculous, you’ll be the first to know.”

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author's note: a double update for my lovelies, so sorry i didn't update on sunday <3, i hope you enjoy chapters 5 and 6!!

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

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earlgreytea68 · 7 months ago

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Hi! I think you mentioned it here, that Patrick did a second appearance on In Defense of Ska podcast, I finally got to listen to it today, and wanted to share my bubbly feelings in your inbox ;)

I’ve got a feeling, that once in awhile p2 just have to go and participate in cool interesting things just to give fan fiction writers new plot bunnies! Like, here’s a new titbit about my life that you can totally incorporate in your new story! For example, Patrick worked on a school radio station for 4 years??? He had his own show??? He got to listen to bunch of new music and decide what will be in rotation?? There was a lot of hardcore bands that made their way on that rotation?? Do you know what I mean???)) And then, when he was asked about if he managed to sneak in some ska into fob catalogue, and he admitted to only a couple of songs having some elements…?? It’s just pure gold! He softly talks about Pete appreciating reggae, because he grew up listening to it a lot, and then tells that he himself likes doing the dishes and listening to some reggae albums… I mean… this shit writes itself, lol!!! And by the end of it I just realised once more, that I could listen to this magical, silly man from the suburbs of Chicago talk, almost uninterrupted, for endless periods of time ☺️

All of this is SO TRUE. It's funny because, like, Pete has long had the reputation / role for being the one "in the know" and joking about fandom and RPF and shipping, etc., but I love so much how, as they have aged, Patrick has turned out to be absolutely stellar at providing little fic prompts hahahahaha he's such a little gremlin about it and I love him for it. Everything about that interview was SO GOOD. They just let Patrick ramble and ramble and the whole thing was pure gold, Patrick is the best hahahaha

Sometimes I think, like, Pete used to joke about it all so demonstrably because he was testing Patrick, like, do you like me? do you still like me? we're special soulmates, right? you feel the same way, right? And now he doesn't have to test Patrick anymore because he knows how Patrick feels because Patrick so casually is just like, So Pete loves reggae and me, too, I listen to it while I wash the dishes, yup, for, like, no reason at all in this conversation hahahaha. Pete's chilled out the more that Patrick's leaned in.

#peterick #fall out boy #fob

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primewritessmut · 1 year ago

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15, 19, 24, 26, and 30

15. favorite weather for writing

Jesus. I don't know! I've literally never thought about it. There are benefits to all the weather, I think, when it comes to nurturing writing but I think I like wet fall weather the best. When the leaves have all fallen and are turning to mush on the ground and hot drinks start becoming a necessity again. But that is all tied up in my cabin in the woods, bog witch dream future so... I mostly write when I can write.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

Dude. YOU KNOW.

When I was writing bloody theater, the one-shot inspired by spirit box, I needed to research Victorian era medical practices so I more or less knew what the operating theater looked like and what kinds of tools Loki would be likely to use during the vivisection. Which led to me reading an entire book about Joseph Lister who is /sort of/ the father of modern medicine in the sense that he pioneered ways to minimize infection during surgery.

It was such a wild book and so interesting. I was literally sending you screenshots of some of the shit these Victorian doctors did. Like literally nothing has made me feel more kind toward current healthcare than that book.

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

I usually stop writing and spend more time doing other hobbies. This past week I've been feeling sort of "meh" about Midori Sour and so haven't been writing at all BUT (!) I've read a ton of books, finished several crochet projects, and went to a few open shoots.

This very adult way of dealing with it is relatively new though. I used to just lay upon my fainting couch with my hand upon my brow and LAMENT for an hour before getting back to the word mines.

26. are you able to write with other people around?

Yes. I kind of have to be able to or I would never write at all.

Back in the day I was very much a "complete and total silence" writer but needs must when the devil drives which means I've had to adjust because I will never experience silence again.

(All that being said, I still think I'm most productive, and write better, when I can sit uninterrupted in a quiet space for an hour or more.)

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

Goddamn it.

I don't feel pride for fics because hitting post is the exact same thing as shoving them into a shallow grave and shoveling dirt over the body. They are dead to me. Gone. I've moved on now.

I don't knooooow.

I guess I'm proud of bloody theater because it was (1) a labor of love that landed exactly as I'd hoped and (2) it's something I never thought I'd have the balls to put in fic form (let alone ROMANTIC fic form). I'm also super proud of A Particular Set of Skills because it's very balls to the wall in a different way and has format that scared me a little. That one was not so much a labor of love as a Dear John letter to Spideypool. He Speaks Daggers is also probably up there. I think it's one of my mostly tightly plotted fics and it's emotional and romantic in a way that's very special to me.

Ask me again in three months and the answer will have changed to my most recent fics from that point in time, I'm sure.

#ask game #inbox #as always you make me think about my writing #thanks i guess

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foster-the-world · 2 years ago

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Moving along

Having a great vacation to celebrate our anniversary and both of our Birthday's. The kids are in heaven with my Mom and Aunt. I was worried about baby boy and felt guilty about leaving him. He's doing great. My Mom is so good with him. When I dropped him off at school he was still clinging to me/crying. With my Mom he walks in without looking back. I'm so glad we booked the trip despite my worries. Time with your grandparents/family/people who love you is a gift. I have such fond memories of weeks with my Grandma when my parents went on trips. My kids are lucky they will have the same memories. My Mom made a list of fun things the kids wanted to accomplish. They took baby boy to his first movie. Obviously enjoying all of the uninterrupted time with my husband. It's so easy to travel without the kids. I also think its really good for my Aunt. She doesn't move much - as in she rarely walks anywhere. She loves spending time with the kids and they force her to move. Its incredibly helpful for us and I think she likes feeling useful. She also takes care of her Mom. She's pretty grumpy so its a thankless job.

Job interviews are rolling in. Odd/nice to be in a job that companies are desperate to hire. One job sounds great but I'm worried about the commute time. Its a home for children with developmental delays. The kids seem to be on vents/have trachs. It says they can't live at home. I'm not sure why as many kids with those things live at home. The parents generally become experts. Maybe these are more complicated then what I'm familiar with. The place looks fancy - it includes a swimming pool. They train new grad nurses. It reminds me of a college summer job I had working at a Paul Newman job for kids with illnesses. It was wonderful. It would be a lot to learn but that's anywhere. Five weeks of vacation and a good salary. It says you accumulate PTO immediately but can't take vacation for six months. That won't work for me but I'm assuming its something I can negotiate. Especially if I'm willing to take unpaid time off that I preschedule during the first six months. I want/need Christmas and April Spring break off. The interview is next week. I also have an interview at a IVF clinic. Have an option to interview for a home health job. I think the long run that would be interesting/great but I don't want to start a job where I'll be on my own. They will train me but I have my doubts its enough. I'll probably do the interview just to hear more/practice.

Evaluations for baby boy continue. His OT said "no way he has autism." Feeling calmer about it no matter the diagnosis. The fact that he's charmed his teacher and is getting rave reviews has eased everything. We need to treat his ADHD type symptoms to keep him and those around him safe. From what I understand the two time's a week OT sensory gym sessions is the first step towards that. Still hoping to tour a special ed school but as of now not feeling that recommendation. Also will feel better when we get an adoption date. No word on that from anyone. The caseworker still acts like we are crazy for even asking.

Bee had a fun Birthday party. So nice to see all of her little friends. So lucky to have such a great community.

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jinlizz-dragondrama · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 15

I am Robot

*2 years later in SpongeBob Narrator voice*

"Phew, finally, I'm finished," I say, exhausted and wiping the sweat off my forehead, leaving a grease smear on my forehead.

I added the finishing touches to my science project, thankfully I was able to use Donnie's lab uninterrupted....well mostly uninterrupted. Donnie was very nosey in trying to figure out what my project was.

*Flashback*

1 year ago

"So Aqua, about that project of yours since you won't tell me about your senior science project I've come up with plenty of ideas to power-"

"No thanks got it covered," I say while adding some adjustments to my blueprints*

1 year 4 months ago

"Can I just have a little peak, please...I'll-I'll let you use my tech bo..."

"Really?" I quickly drop some scrap metal onto the floor and rush over to him with my eyes sparkling with excitement

"Maybe I was being a bit hast-"

"No can do Don Tron," I say uninterested, and picking up the discarded metal.

1 year 10 months ago

"Pleeeeeeeeease, the suspense is killing me"

I giggle, and continue to use a welding Torch once I'm finished with that section I remove my safety shield from my face and look over at him.

"You'll have to see it with everyone else"

"But I'm more special than everyone else so that makes me first in line to see this very intriguing and unknown invention of yours"

"Sorry, Dee I haven't broken now, what makes you think I'll say yes now?"

"Well it's scientifically proven mostly from the data I collected over the years from Leo that if you keep asking eventually the person will give up and do what is being asked of them," Donnie says

"Uh-huh, well I think that the great Donnie can't handle a bit of pestering from his brother.

Donnie splutters and crosses his arms, mumbles to himself as he walks out of his lab.

Literally this morning

I'm sleeping and having a very interesting dream, then I hear Donnie's voice whisper to me.

"You should let Donnie help you with your project, with his genius brain and your equally genius brain. You will be the best team to ever walk to earth. EVIL LAUGH"

I wake up, feeling headphones on my ears and a cassette player attached. I rip it off and throw it out of my curtain door.

"Are you serious Donnie!" I shout while throwing it and it hits Donnie square in the face.

I hear a pained groan from the other side and I turn over in my bed and go back to sleep.

*End of Flashback*

"Ugh with how poor April's past and present science fair projects went I'm glad I was able to keep Donnie away" I yawn again

I push the button on my inventions and it turns into its incognito mode which is a tung mode. I place it on my middle finger on my left hand. Making sure to clean up my mess after using Donnie's lab for 2 years it was pretty much my second room but I made sure to keep it clean and organized. Once I was finished cleaning up I decided to grab a bowl of cereal before I made my way to school with April.

Stepping into the kitchen I'm greeted by Leo and Raph fighting over the last box of cereal that they like and Donnie drinking a cup of coffee with a complete crossword puzzle in front of him. I roll my eyes and expertly avoid the scuffle, as I reach for my brand of cereal a plate of pancakes is placed in front of me. Turning to see Mikey holding the plate, I gladly accept it, hop into my chair at the breakfast table, and start to eat.

"How long did it take for you to complete it this time?" I ask while blowing on my pancakes

"About a minute," He says without looking up from his phone

"Nice new record," I say

"Scoff I would have finished faster if those dunderheads weren't so loud" Donnie retorts

"No fair, why does she get pancakes?" Leo asks, Raph shoves him away and pours the cereal into his bowl while Leo is distracted.

"For one, You don't have a big presentation this morning, two breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and three Donnie helped make these so they are extra special.

Donnie spits his coffee which splatters all over his crossword puzzle and starts to choke. Mikey shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Oops my bad it was supposed to be a surprise"

Once Dinnie recovered he gave Mikey such a look that if it could kill him it would and probably the people around him too.

"Thanks, Dee, they're really good" I smile and finish up my last pancake

"Don't mention it" he says as he cleans up his coffee mess.

"Ooooo Donnie is in-" Leo starts to say but it is cut off by Raph smacking him on the back of his head

"What?" Leo says annoyed

"Spider" Raph answers

Mikey comes over to me giggling and shows me pictures of Donnie making the pancakes with one of his inventions and it mixed too much causing batter to explode everywhere, another picture of both Mikey and Donnie covered in batter, then the last picture was of Donnie plating the pancakes. It warmed my heart and brought a blush to my cheeks thinking about him trying his hardest to cook for me.

Washing the dishes in the sink Leo comes over and rests his arm on my shoulders.

"Listen you have nothing to worry about you've got me the best wingman for these kinds of things. All you have to do is imagine that everyone is in their underwear" Leo says

"That never works and you better not cause a scene at my school Leonardo Hamato!" I say while bending one of Leo's fingers backward causing him to tap on the counter signaling that he has given up.

"Oooooo government name," Mikey says teasing

"Look at the time, gotta get ready to meet you guys at the school" I shout as I run to my room.

After a quick shower, I brush my teeth, comb my haur put it into a bun, put on some black leggings with Jean shorts over it and a flowy purple shirt with puffed sleeves. Grabbing my back pack, stuffing my blue prints, phone, homework and snack I head out of the lair entrance. Seeing April we high five and chat as we walk to school.

We go our separate ways, I head to the gym to see up my section for the science fair, after am hour of setting up it was finished, fiddling with the rung nervously I sigh to myself and go over my speech flashcards.

"Hey, Y/N!" I heard a voice say

I jump a bit and turn around, seeing a fellow classmates bit not being able to remember his name I smile and wave.

"Hey, you all set with your project?" I ask

"Yep finished it last minute though" male classmates says.

"Of course you did" I laugh

"Hopefully those big shot scientists pick you to join their program. You deserve it the most." He says

"Oh no I don't think I deserve it, I tried just as hard as everyone else" I say the last part slowly as I see someone with a volcano project and I laugh awkwardly.

The doors are pushed and in walks the gang in their surface attire looking like average teenagers....well as average as possible. April follows in as well and look at my presentation white board and poster boards. I made sure not to have anything that explained what my project was exactly only the materials and the type of power source it uses.

"You got this, cuz if they don't pick you I'll have no choice but to write an article on how they made the wrong choice" April says while pushing her glasses closer to her face.

"Stop April keep the articles for the real stories" I punch her gently in the shoulder.

"You guys look around, I'm gonna set uo backstage" I start walking towards the stage

"Say uh Donnie I think you should go help Y/N" Raph says awkwardly

"Yea Dee just in case there is an electrical problem or something. She'll need your expertise" Mikey says while gently shoving him in my direction

"Yea go get em, cuz if you dont I will'" Leo says

"Leo!" Raph and Mikey whisper shout

Donnie makes his way to the stage he sees me and clears his throat.

"So about that Valcano"

I snort and laugh uncontrollably and he soon joins in.

"If, If they pick that person I swear I will just die" I wipe a tear from my eye and play dead.

"No, you have so much to live for pfft" he says while chuckling and playfully shaking my shoulders.

"You came at the perfect time if you would, can you be my dj for my presentation?" I ask with puppy eyes

"I am at your serve my liege" Donnie says while bowing and activating his battle shell and it turns into a dj turntable. It funny seeing him do that with how tall he is now, every year that I catch up to him he grows a few inches taller and that used to make me so mad but I got over it. Besides its funny watching him bump into low bearing ceilings.

We high five and go back to join everyone else. We see the big shot Technical Science CEO's appear in the gym, Donnie starts fan girling super hard. I pull out one of my fans and start to fan him as April rolls her eyes.

"I have so many questions I have to ask" Donnie says while pulling out his phone and his pupils were shaped like stars.

"Donnie chill this is Y/N's moment you can fan girl later"

Soon the science fair begins and each person presents their project. The people with bigger projects get to show them off the stage. I place my ring on the table where my display is at. My name was called, I take a deep breath and exhale. Donnie places a comforting hand on my shoulder, I give a quick nod as I head to the stage.

*Insert Big hero size Hiro microbots presentation, ifykyk*

"Hey everyone so I hope you're ready for your mind to explode!" I say while tapping a small circular communication device that on my temple. Donnie starts the music and the strobe lights start to circle around the room until the land on to my table.

It activates my ring and it transforms into a suit of armor. *Insert transformers, transformation sound and it stomps its way towards the stage. If you had a glass a water the steps were definitely causing ripples in the liquid. It jumps into the air I outstretched my arm to the sky, the armor separates into different sections and we become one. Soon I'm coveted from head to toe in the purple and black colored armor. Pulling out my iron fans as targets appear around the gym. I throw my fans and they turn into boomerangs of mass destruction slicing and dicing the targets, as the broken bits shoot into the air, I have my laser sight lock onto them pieces, as I shoot non lethal ammo at them and the target pieces disintegrate into dust. Commanding the suit to fly with another tapbst my temple I soar over the heads of the student body, doing a couple flips and tricks for good measure. As I land and pop open my face mask.

"Of course I can't fully show you its full potential here, but I made a comprehensive easy to understand video explaining what it can do. Plays the movie and lets it explain and shows little cartoon shorts of it capabilities.

Super shock-absorbing gel that spreads impacts across the whole armor and might even convert the kinetic energy into power for the suit.

The armor is a life support system and protects against radiation, biological threats, chemical attacks, corrosion, electricity and kinetic attacks.

Hand to hand fight pattern analyzer

A rocket booster to fly into space

Radiation absorption and decontamination

Protective force field

Stealth technology

And last but not least it powered by my mutant energy. But that's for me to know and them to never find out. Hopefully this information won't bite me in the butt later.

Once I'm done with my presentation the room erupts into cheers. I get congratulated by everyone and I smile brightly and deactivate the armor so it goes back to its ring mode.

"That's my bitch!" Cass shouts

I look in the direction of the shout and see Cass being pulled away by Papa Lui and Papa Brutus.

"Get your hands off of me, I want to congratulate her on totally winning this thing."

"Keep it down, she isn't supposed to know we are here" Papa Lui says quietly

"That's our girl" Papa Brutus says proudly

I smile to myself, I'm happy they came and I've forgiven them. I know that they had nothing to do with what happened to me with Draxum.

"Listen kid you can make it big at my company with that invention of yours" One of the CEO males says

"No way she'd be much better at an all female work environment where her work will actually be appreciated" The female CEO states

"Well let's let the young lady decide foe herself" The last male CEO says

"Here's our contract! Have a look and get back to us!"

The gang comes out of nowhere and I get hugs all around but Donnie reached me first and hugged me tightly.

"I'm so proud! I think I might....*sniffles* give me a minute" Donnie says while turning away and sniffling a bit

At the corner of my eye I see someone that looks familiar, once I turn my attention to it I see it's the woman from my dream. Everyone's voices around me start to lower and lower until they were nothing but a whisper.

"Mom?" I say quietly

I push through the crowd trying to get to the woman. I reach out for her sleeve but I pushed away by the crowd.

"Wait mom...." I shout

Once I get to where I last saw her I see nothing but an empty hallway, i look down at the floor Sadly and see a beautiful decorative hairpiece comb, it's silver with a purple flower ornament on it. I pick it up, I have a strong feeling that it belonged to her, playing it gently into my hair. I take one last look around for her and I turn around walking back into the gym.

*Not long after*

"I've done what you've asked of me" Thecwoman says quietly while handing the blueprints over

"Very good, you've done well" A voice says

"You still promise not to hurt her"

"As long as you do what we ask, no harm will come to your daughter"

A tear falls down the woman's face as she stares at a picture and places it on her heart.

Silent evil chuckling can be heard from the hull of the ship.

It sails through the open galactic skies and disappears into the hyperspace void.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donatello #rise donatello #rottmnt x reader #rise donnie #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #donnie x reader

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fablegaze · 2 years ago

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Spectember day 6 - leviathan planet culture

(mostly me rambling for this one)

the leviathan planet is made up of 2 major landmasses: I'll call them the "human continent" and "leviathan continent" for now. you can find a Very messy world map that I drew on day 1. it's not entirely accurate (going to make both continents smaller in the final version) but it's good enough for now

the human continent is the largest area of land on the planet, mostly uninterrupted by water and with only a few islands surrounding it. "wait how are humans on this planet-" don't even worry about it.

the leviathan continent, on the exact opposite side of the world, is Entirely islands. some of them get pretty big though

there’s a huge divide between human & leviathan cultures, fueled by distance, a language gap, and a recent uptick in leviathan hunters

human culture is almost entirely unaware that some leviathans are sapient. leviathan hunters are the only ones that interact with them often enough to be able to tell, but they tend to push those thoughts aside for the sake of money or culling these “dangerous animals” (human attitudes toward leviathans are not the best)

the only guy that actually knows about their sapience is now kinda a leviathan himself and has almost entirely left the human side of his life behind, so. yeah, no contact between humans & leviathans at all

(i will explain Why he is a leviathan. later. eventually)

leviathan hunting is a relatively new thing that more and more people are hearing about, largely fueled by the sheer rage and hatred of One Guy. most people either don't like it or just don't give a shit

fish leviathans & seal hexadogs are both species that used to gather in schools/packs, and are still very social. they tend to get anxious if alone for long enough. frilled leviathan socialness varies wildly from individual to individual. horned leviathans are almost entirely solitary

most leviathan settlements tend to be on land near the shore, or in shallow waters. there are a few deeper settlements for those who can hold their breath long enough to go down there

leviathans don't wear clothes very often, but they LOVE accessories and many leviathans are just completely decked out in random bits and bobs that they found or made. necklaces, earrings, and bracelets made out of driftwood, shells, dried plants, beads, and/or scraps of fabric are very popular

in the biggest leviathan city (the one that the two pictured above live in), the most common way to show your affection for someone is to give them gifts. accessories are a go-to option, but also food and supplies. bullet (the lighter gray one) spends a lot of their time fishing, and passing out the extra to anyone who needs it

leviathan culture as a whole adapted pretty well to being contacted by other sophonts, but most are entirely disinterested in space. especially the bigger leviathans that would require specialized equipment and large ships to even get up there. the fish leviathans & seals are overall the most interested in space. they are little and easy to transport

humans are way more eager to go into space, and all the people from other planets are eager to meet them. humans are an outlier on the leviathan planet; they don’t look like anything else that lives there, and no one knows where they came from (including Me ❤️❤️❤️). there are old leviathan legends about humans descending from the skies but they don't really go into much detail past that

humans learn about sapient leviathans around the same time the leviathan planet is contacted and the reaction is mixed. some people don’t give a shit and still view them as wild animals, others are filled with immeasurable amounts of guilt. leviathans are willing to make peace with anyone who Wasn’t involved in leviathan hunting. their only message to the hunters is “get fucked”

#spec bio #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative evolution #xenobiology #worldbuilding #spectember #spectember 2023 #world tag: ased #featuring helios whose design changes slightly every time i draw him. and his friend bullet #oc tag: helios #oc tag: bullet

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male-to-less-male-derogatory · 9 months ago

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Some people's gender is just "Henchman", and I met a lot of those people.

This will be a long, self-centered, self-mythologizimg, rambling narrative about my youth where nobody comes off well. There is no moral to this, and there is no real story either. Insert the "This is not a place of Honor" copypasta here.

During my childhood/adolescence, I did not know I was really fucking chronically ill. I just thought that everything people do while not lying down just sort of sucked somewhat and people are ok with it. If an assignment required lots of handwriting, which took me significant effort and pain for very ugly results, I interpreted that to imply a view of us as so filled with respect for authority and desire to please that we would studiously do our work.

There is a lot of genuine callousness to the way children and teenagers are treated, and that naturally builds some frustration. Now imagine being able to vicariously release that frustration through one incredible asshole of a fellow child, someone locked in an endless battle against the teaching staff to be left alone about not doing homework, but also someone who shows up surprised to every exam before acing it.

A mythical figure simultaneously at odds with and one with the world. A transcendent Bodhisattva moonlighting as Cú Chulainn. Someone achieving what you are told are the goals of school, while being maligned for a lacking work ethic nonstop.

That is why I had friends as a child. There is no other explanation - I certainly didn't take initiative. I was too busy dissociating from my aching form by consuming an endless stream of books from the massive free library near me. At all times. Especially during classes. I would carry around separate novels in English and German to justify my actions to my English or German language professors. The amount of nonsense that happened to ensure my divine right to be uninterrupted in my pursuit of literature is difficult to describe. One of the persistent holdouts was my mathematics professor - despite the fact I'd annihilated the entire rest of the school and most of the country in every national mathematics competition, despite eventually making it to the god damn internationals, I was not allowed my printed opium.

... Ok it's midnight and I've spent way too long talking about books. Let's try to remember people. Ow ow ow ow pain pain bad idea.

I had some very close friends, overwhelmingly the kind of kids who could not yet quite figure out how to socially weaponize their intellectual interests. To them, I was Napoleon, and I don't have a complex, I think it's quite simple.

For so long, since kindergarten, I'd been told I just "thought I was better than everyone else/too good to put in effort"... That I started to believe it. I like to think it's a kind of humility - they wouldn't be wrong, right? I'm not special enough to be the one they all get wrong.

That's where the trouble started. I still believe I had a kind heart, but I had a black belt in the rhetoric of intellectual superiority and many eager students.

It's hard to describe what it was like to attract people (platonically and otherwise) based solely off being a smug asshole who knew too much. Fandom culture sometimes feels way too close to home, I feel like one of those people who misguidedly relate to Tyler Durden, except it's Gregory House and Wholock. I'm pretty sure that the few and unfortunate summer-camp-for-gifted-teens girls who tried to approach me before I realized I was unique in being aro/ace- they projected some hateable tumblr sexyman on me. and that's-that's harrowing.

I don't feel like any of the changes in my life have truly come from anything except realizing the things that were wrong with my body the whole time, except that one thing. The thought of someone wanting to be "the Watson" or "Wilson" to my dysfunctional bitch witticisms IRL has grown kind of horrifying.

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spinningwebsandtales · 3 years ago

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Imagine Eddie Painting Your Nails

Eddie Munson X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes

Word Count: 1,061

(A/N:) I have been doing a Stranger Things rewatch here recently (been a fan since it first came out) and now I’ve started on season 4. I had seen the Eddie hype but I truly didn’t join the bandwagon until that first scene in the first episode and I understood completely why everyone loves him. I’m on episode 7 so far but I couldn’t wait to write something and then I had this idea on my way home from work and had to write it. I still have some Top Gun stuff I’m going to write but this was just too good. So enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson the native outcast, the pariah, and terror of Hawkins Indiana. Teachers were sick of him, parents shunned him, and the kids avoided him like the plague. But you, you called him boyfriend. While others only looked at the outside you really truly saw what lingered on the inside. Now you looked at him sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor with tongue sticking out of the side of his perfect mouth and brow furrowed in concentration. You sat on his bed, leg outstretched as he held your foot, ever so gently and gingerly painting your toenails.

“Eddie,” you giggled, “don’t burst a blood vessel. It’s just my toenails.”

He sighed setting the brush back into the bottle, “Sweetheart. Honey. Light of my life. It’s not just toenails, these are toenails that are connected to your toes. That connect to your feet. That connect to your legs which connect to your…”

“Watch it,” you warned teasingly, earning a cheeky grin from the long haired metalhead.

“That means that while they may just be toenails to you, to me they are part of the perfection that makes up you.” He had stood up during his rant so now he was leaning over you, long hair of curls brushing your cheeks, “So that means I must create absolute perfection to match you.”

“Okay ease up there Shakespeare and finish up.”

He nodded sitting back onto the floor, back in the zone. You admired your fingernails he had painted not too long ago. The shiny black a color you normally wouldn’t wear on your nails, but after Eddie had talked you into letting him paint them you were now quite fond of the color. Whenever you would look at his handy work it would remind you of him and how that even simple moments just sitting in his room letting him paint your nails was special.

“Hey Eddie.”

“Hmm,” he hummed still concentrating.

“You’re actually really good at this,” you complimented. Despite hiding his face with his hair you could still see the dusting of a blush. “Oh so the mighty Eddie does blush.”

“Shut up,” he growled mockingly. Growing tired of waiting for him to finish you stretched out backwards. Your back popped from the strain of sitting like you had been for almost an hour. Eddie continued his work uninterrupted but he couldn’t help but steal glances at you while you were preoccupied looking around his room while laying down. Normally he didn’t care what people thought of him but whenever you were planning to come by he always made sure his room was the cleanest part of the trailer house. He’d even changed the sheets on his bed. He had never felt this way before until he met you. Now his whole world seemed to revolve around you.

Despite being on an extremely different wavelength than him, you both found yourselves actually sharing the same interests despite such a difference in social status. You still had both your parents, you did well in school, and it seemed like you had a good amount of friends. Eddie was different. Sure he had his own group of buddies but they were the outcasts much like him. But then he met you and everything changed. The Freak found his purpose and it shocked you both when he first asked you out. You had hesitated at first but there was something inside that said to give him a chance, so you did, and now you were here and you couldn’t be happier. You found more in common with the so called outcast of Hawkins and you found that the music you normally listened to (since it was socially acceptable) wasn’t really your taste at all. When you had first heard Metallica when Eddie shared his cassette collection you were hooked. Iron Maiden followed Metallica then Dio. Now you were a covert Metalhead in Eddie’s opinion and he was proud.

Eddie lowered your foot stirring you from your thoughts. His eyes were searching as you had been quiet for a little longer than normal.

“All done,” you asked looking at him while he stood up.

“Yep,” he stretched before launching himself onto his bed. His impact caused your whole body to jump up and when you landed you couldn’t help but laugh. Grabbing a pillow you whacked him causing his hair to stick up a little more than usual. He rolled over onto you, pinning you down underneath him.

“Careful Munson,” you growled before smiling. “You’ll ruin all your handy work.”

“That’s okay I can redo it. I kinda like touching your feet,” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ew gross Eddie,” you pushed against him but he didn’t budge. He kissed your forehead just enjoying your presence.

“Kidding,” he cooed. “Maybe.”

“Ugh.” Then you grinned menacingly. “Oh my gosh Eddie my nails look so rad. I just can’t get over how rad they are.”

“No! Stop it!”

“Totally tubular man. The radness can’t be contained,” you screeched when he started tickling you. He laughed as you tried to get away but his weight kept you from escaping.

“Okay! I give,” you relented and he eased his attack.

“Y’know I hate it when you do that.”

“I’m not sorry,” you replied trying to regain your air supply.

Eddie set up before messing with the collar of his shirt. He only did that when he was really thinking about something hard. “Out with it Munson,” you said scooting closer.

“It’s nothing.”

“Yeah sure nothing. Spill it.” You jabbed his side, poking him until he relented.

“I think I love you,” he blurted while his face blushed deep red. Now it was your turn to blush. You never thought he could surprise you anymore and then he went and said that. You had questioned recently if he even did, you’d both been dating for awhile now and he never said those three words that every girl longed for. You felt like you loved him but you didn’t want to scare him away if he wasn’t ready to hear them. You took his hands kissing his rough knuckles gently.

“I love you too Eddie Munson.”

He stared for a couple seconds, processing everything before he leaned in taking your lips with his. He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but whatever it was he was so thankful.

#Eddie Munson X Reader #Eddie Munson / Reader #Eddie Munson #Stranger Things #Eddie Munson Imagine #Stranger Things Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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captainpikeswoman · 3 years ago

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Oooh maybe having a thing for Captain Jean-Luc Picard’s voice would be fantastic! He has such a soothing to e of voice and yet he can still sound so commanding it’s sexy!!

He really does have a lovely voice! Hope you like it! (Sorry I could resist this gif though 😂)

Having a thing for Captain Picard’s voice would include:

•the first thing you notice about the illustrious Captain of the USS Enterprise is his voice. Many people notice his physical form first, but not you- it’s his voice. And that does in part come from the fact that for the majority of the time during your shifts he’s just a voice played over the computer.

•working in your department you have an important job, but it’s not like Engineering or Medical- the job that you and your colleagues do often go without crisis, without problems and without a lot of special attention. But it is of course essential.

•so you get to have weekly conference chats with the Captain via the computer, so that he can keep working without interruption. And oh how you look forwards to those meetings! To listen to his voice- no matter how standard the question and answers may be, is some sort of treat!

•and then one day you make a startling, exciting, pertinent discovery! And you’re summoned to the bridge to meet the Captain and deliver the news in person! You’re buzzing for the entire journey and as the Captain invites you to sit and explain everything in his Ready Room you’re a little over-awed. But Riker and Deanna are there too, and you flawlessly deliver the exciting information.

•Captain Picard is very impressed! He starts a speech about how much he values the underrated hard work of you and your whole department- you hang onto every word, eagerly lapping it up and beaming under his praise. You don’t even notice Deanna smirking to herself, she could feel the very powerful enjoyment the Captain was providing you!

•after that Captain Picard insists on meetings happening in person weekly, and it’s the highlight of every week for you! To get twenty minutes of Picard time entirely uninterrupted!

•and then one night you’re in Ten-Forwards as a poetry recital is underway. You’re spellbound when after a rather lengthy recital by Data, Captain Picard gets up and starts to recite some of Shakespeare’s sonnets. It’s like watching magic unfold before you! You find yourself a little dewy eyed as he finishes and you applaud louder than anyone else! He sends you a small smile.

•and then Q had to intervene. He spies on the Captain often enough, so he knows all about your little crush on the man. He finds it pathetic, and yet he owes Picard something special, so he meddles- he’s trying to help. Q locks you and Picard in a very small, very hot room together! You can’t help but panic as the room grows hot, you have to strip down, and when the room seems to start shrinking you burst into tears! It’s not the Captains arms wrapping around you that pulls you out of your fears and tears- no, it’s when he starts soothing you. He begins to sing little French nursery rhymes and you’re almost instantly soothed. Captain Picard is very confused at how quickly you settle, but he doesn’t stop.

•you do eventually get out of the room- Q’s meddling has had all of no impact on the relationship. Which naturally, infuriates the God like entity.

•but that wouldn’t be true. You and Picard are closer now, when you talk it’s not only about work- but about feelings and interests and more!

•which is good, and yet terrible too! You’re completely smitten by the man, and people have started to notice. Deanna, Worf, Riker and even Data have all spotted the reliable and repetitive reaction you have when you hear Picard’s voice. You go all soppy and submissive, you have to hear him out.

•but Picard doesn’t realise quickly or easily. It’s not until you lock horns with Lwaxana Troi when she begins to interrupt an important speech being delivered by the good Captain that he starts to slowly put two and two together- Lwaxana hadn’t done anything wrong really, but the way you berated her! It was like you were scolding a small child. (Secretly he enjoyed it.)

•he eventually works out (after an embarrassingly long time) that you have a thing for his voice, and it causes him a little embarrassment but a great deal of pride too! He likes that you like his voice.

•and that’s when he makes the decision to invite you for dinner…he intends to turn off the Universal Translator and let you hear him matter away in his native French like you’ve asked to experience.

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #star trek the next generation #star trek tng headcanons #star trek tng imagine #star trek tng x reader #captain picard headcanons #captain picard imagine #captain picard x reader #captain picard

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cecilysass · 3 years ago

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How to Eat Pleasant Holiday Meals With Co-Workers (1/5)

Read on AO3 | Rated M | Tagging @today-in-fic

This is an expansion of a one-chapter fic posted last year. Chapter 1 was posted for the Secret Santa exchange 2021; the other chapters are new.

Thanksgiving Day 1993

He is sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, throwing his baseball against the wall of the basement office, when he hears footsteps and the door opening behind him. He remains focused on his pattern: bounce the ball as close to the far corner of the room as you possibly can, catch it with your bare hands, then repeat.

“Sorry about this, Scully,” he says, not taking his eyes from the ricocheting ball. “I know I’m probably making you late for something.”

“You’re awfully trusting this morning, Mulder,” Scully’s crisp voice says from behind him. “How did you know for certain it was me?”

He throws this time with too much force, and the ball bounces wildly, over his head. He nearly falls backwards out of his chair trying to reach for it.

“Well,” he says, sitting up, swivelling the chair to face her. “You may have noticed the building is empty. One of the benefits of working on Thanksgiving Day is that no one is around to bother you.”

“Right,” she says. “All those suckers at home with their family and friends.” She presents him with the files he wanted. “Here’s your holiday fun, Mulder.”

“Ahhha.” He takes the files from her hands eagerly. It was going to be impossible to work on this article without them. “Just what I needed. Thank you for making the trip in.”

“It’s no trouble,” she says, and then seems to hesitate. “You’re really going to work here all day?”

“I really am,” he says, his eyes now running over the papers in his hands. The files go back much further than he thought, he realizes, flipping through to the end. Decades of data here. He can use these records for several parts of his argument, which will be unexpectedly handy.

“Your … parents don’t do Thanksgiving dinner?”

Mulder looks up at her. His partner has the slightest crinkle between her eyes. He recognizes the expression on her face. It's one he isn’t wild to see. Pity.

Well, this is your own doing, he thinks. This is what you get when you pour out your sob story to a new partner on your first case: she gets into the habit of pitying you. That is, when she doesn’t think you’re completely out of your mind.

At least his sad tale had managed to capture her interest enough to make her stick around. He thinks it also works to keep her firmly on his side, which is no small feat. Loyalty is not nothing. But he doesn’t especially like it when she looks at him like he’s the kid no one will sit with at lunch.

“Not really,” he says, keeping his tone casual. “Some years they do. This year Mom’s on some cruise with her friends, and Dad is … well, I’m not exactly sure what Dad’s up to.” Thanksgiving was a rough holiday in the Mulder family, coming so close to the painful anniversary. “Some years I go have dinner with friends.”

“But not this year?” Scully asks.

“This year I’m working on an article, Scully,” he says. “I’m a man with a plan. Uninterrupted work time. Pizza later, maybe a run.” And then time with a new magazine, one he liked the looks of, one he thought might be a special way to unwind with his hand later. But that wasn’t a thing to say to your new partner.

“Hmm,” she says, nodding. She bites her lip, and he wonders if she has something else to add. “Well, all right. Have a good weekend, Mulder.”

“You, too,” he says, his eyes already dropping to the files, thinking about their contents. “You, uh, heading to your parents’ or something?”

She has already started walking to the door, and her purse slips off her shoulder. She leans over to pick it up, and, glancing up, he notices her attire for the first time. Sweatshirt, sweat pants, athletic shoes. Hair in a poufy ponytail. Not much like someone about to go off to all-day Thanksgiving plans with her family.

“No,” she says, and clears her throat. “As it happens, my plans fell through. So I’m on my own today, too, I guess.”

“Your plans fell through?” He scowls, perplexed. “With your family? I thought your folks lived in Bethesda.”

“I was actually going to go do Thanksgiving this weekend with my boyfriend’s family,” Scully says, leaning on the edge of the table, not quite meeting his eyes. “With Ethan’s parents in New Hampshire. But … recently he’s not my boyfriend anymore, so those plans fell through.”

“Huh. But I thought …” Mulder runs a hand through his hair. “I thought you and Ethan broke up a while ago. Weren’t you on a date with someone else? When we were in New Jersey?”

“We did break up a while ago, and then we decided to give it another try,” Scully says, her face a little pink. “But … well. It just wasn’t going to work.”

“Oh,” Mulder says. He lays the file down on his desk to look at her. She doesn’t appear particularly upset — just uncomfortable, really — but he feels a pang for her. Break ups have always hit him hard. “Oh, hey, sorry, Scully, that’s too bad.”

“No… it’s fine. It was the right decision,” Scully says, looking down at her hands. “It just messed up my Thanksgiving plans, that’s all.”

Mulder finds he has picked up a pencil and is now twirling with it in his fingers. “Your parents aren’t in town?”

“Ohhhh, they are,” she says, exhaling a little. “And I could go have dinner there today, but I’d have to talk all day to my parents and my brothers about why I’ve broken up with Ethan for the second time in two months.”

Mulder nods, absorbing this information, that she had been the one to break things off with Ethan. “And you think they would … judge you for that?”

“My brother Bill just got married,” Scully says, her finger following along a crack on the table. “Mom and Dad really like Ethan, and I think they were hoping … oh, I don’t know, Mulder. You know. Parents and their expectations.”

Mulder doesn’t know, actually. He has no idea if his parents ever cared one way or the other if he had a serious relationship. They reacted politely — if somewhat distantly — to Diana, to women he dated before that. Maybe they had some hopes. Maybe when he was a kid. Who knows.

“Okay,” he finds himself saying, “well, given all that, doesn’t it seem like we should maybe hang out then?”

She shoots him a skeptical half-smile. “Working, you mean?”

“We could do that,” he says. “Or ... if you’re up for it, I could pick up some food and bring it by your apartment in a couple hours. We could do a little Thanksgiving. Maybe watch a movie or something. Keep each other company.”

Hanging there in the air, it sounds inappropriate. So far they have not spent any personal time together, and the last thing he wants is for her to think he’s the kind of partner who would try to cross a line. He watches her with unease.

“Really?” she says, her eyes widening. She doesn’t look offended. Her face spells clear and obvious relief. “You’re sure? I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“My work,” he scoffs lightly, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m a crackpot, Scully. My work can always wait.”

“Then that sounds really good, Mulder,” she says, straightening up, smiling. “I’d love that. It sounds … fun. Low pressure.”

“Well, don’t oversell it,” Mulder replies, feeling strangely embarrassed.

“In three hours, maybe? That would give you some more time to work.”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down at the papers on his desk. “I could do three hours.”

After she leaves, the basement seems unusually quiet. Mulder begins to look through the files, but gets distracted by trying to remember when he actually last ate a Thanksgiving dinner with another person. The Gunmen asked him last year, but he said no. Was it Diana? His mom? He puts the files down on the desk and picks up his baseball again, rolling it back and forth between his palms.

“Mulder, what is all of that?” she says, staring at the bags in his hands as he steps inside. “Where did you get all that food?”

“Oh, you know, just ran home, whipped up a turkey dinner in the kitchen.”

“I’m afraid that stretches the limits of believability, Mulder, even for you,” Scully says, peeking in the bag.

“It’s just a to-go dinner from Safeway,” Mulder says. “I can’t promise it’s going to be amazing, but I figured, more festive than pizza.”

Scully lifts an entire pumpkin pie from the bag, her jaw dropping. “How are we going to eat all of this? Is this for a family of six?”

“Oh Scully,” Mulder says. “Don’t you worry about food going to waste. I do have some talents.”

Scully’s apartment looks clean and well-appointed, like she has been preparing all day for company. But Mulder remembers seeing decorative flowers on her table the day Tooms broke in, too, so probably this is just how Scully’s place always is. She might have the physical appearance of someone still in college, he thinks, but she has the apartment of a grown-up medical doctor.

He would have been perfectly happy to eat sitting hunched on the couch, but Scully has them sit down properly at her table, in front of real plates, on real placemats, across from one another. She has a bottle of wine that she pours into real wine glasses.

Mulder wonders, uneasily, if she will suggest they say grace. He has given thought to the little cross necklace she wears daily around her neck — such an interesting counterpoint to her skepticism, a complication that fascinates him. But she doesn’t bring up grace.

“A toast?” he suggests, when she is done pouring. “To very-likely-oversalted grocery store turkeys?”

“My mom always makes everyone go around the table and say what we’re grateful for before we can start eating,” Scully comments. “It was frustrating when I was a kid.”

“Do you … want to do that?”

“No,” Scully looks embarrassed. “Seems a little corny.”

“Yeah,” agrees Mulder, but then realizes, with a flash of clarity, that he does feel grateful. This partner thing could have gone very badly. It was probably designed to go badly. Instead, it has been … good, unquestionably good. They are a team. They counterbalance each other almost perfectly. She is a lot like a friend. He would not dare say something like this to her, so he smiles, feeling a warm flush, and takes a gulp of his wine.

“To teamwork,” Scully says in a quiet voice, apparently reading his mind. “To trust.” She holds up her glass a little, smiling, and he extends his to clink them together.

The takeout dinner is fine: mashed potatoes a little gluey, gravy too thick. Mulder takes the opportunity to lecture Scully on the finer points of cranberry sauce. It’s a subject he feels strongly about — coming, as he does, from cranberry country. He does not admire the gelatinous, sliceable jellied cranberry sauce that Safeway includes with their to-go meal. Scully, on the other hand, likes it very much. It reminds her of childhood.

“It’s really best to get real cranberries from the Cape and make your own from scratch,” Mulder says, in a pained tone. “You add some grated orange, some cinnamon, some cloves. Next year, I’ll show you how it’s properly done.”

“Oh, will you?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably not,” he corrects quickly. He forgot for a moment that she will probably be on to bigger and better things in the Bureau by then. “Next year, you’ll be back in the arms of the Scully family, counting blessings.”

“Probably,” she nods, pouring herself another glass, and refilling his, too. They have made their way through the bottle.

“So you’ll break the news to your family about Ethan before Christmas?” Mulder says.

She shifts in her seat, nodding. She isn’t dressed in the sweats she was wearing this morning. She has on an oversized black sweater, jeans. There is still that little poufy ponytail, high on her head, some wispy escaped curls falling down her neck.

His first assessment of his new partner had been that she was cute. That’s not quite right, he thinks now, the wine making him more honest. There’s definitely a classic look to her, something more than just cute. Something elegant, beautiful.

“Yes,” Scully says. She closes her eyes. “I’m not looking forward to it, though. The whole process has been … unpleasant. Ending a relationship requires such a continued resolve.”

Mulder hums, like he understands. In fact, he wouldn’t know, because he has never actually been the one to initiate the break up of a serious relationship, a personal quirk he fears reveals way too much about his psychological makeup.

Scully sets her fork down, and she seems unusually loose, like the wine is having an effect. “I don’t particularly want to have to break up with anyone ever again.” She makes a decisive hand gesture. “It’s too much. This is the last time.”

Mulder chuckles. “Well,” he says, “then you’re probably going to limit your choices somewhat, Scully.”

“That’s true,” she admits, fingering one of the fallen curls. She definitely seems a little tipsy. “I suppose I’ll just take an official hiatus from break ups for a while. For a few years. A few decades.”

Mulder plays along, nodding solemnly. “So in the year 2013 you’re allowed a break-up again. That one’ll be a real heartbreaker because you saved it up for so long.”

He is afraid that was an insensitive joke, but she just gives him a small smile. She doesn’t seem to be particularly heartbroken over Ethan, Mulder observes, and he considers asking questions about that, but decides against it. She might be keeping her full emotional reaction private on purpose, and he wants to show he respects her boundaries.

“What about you, Mulder? You’ve broken your fair share of hearts?”

He smiles a crooked smile. “No, not really,” he says. “I’ve got no life, remember?”

“But not ever?”

He shrugs noncommittally. He doesn’t think he will ever want to discuss his ugly past relationships with his partner.

“No? Really?” She throws him a sideways look. “That seems ... implausible.”

“Does it?”

Her eyes go wide. “A little.”

“Why’s that?” he says.

“Oh,” she says, casually. “I don’t know.”

She licks her bottom lip in what he has decided is a nervous habit, and he is pretty certain he sees her eyes move quickly over his body before she looks away.

He feels his face warm. He looks down at his plate, making the effort to regroup.

“So what’s after pie?” he says, changing his tone. “You still up for hanging out?”

“If you are,” she says.

There is a pause.

“We could go for a walk?” she says. “Or see a movie? There’s a movie theater just a few blocks from here, and there’s something that just opened I really want to see.”

“The one with Robin Williams dressing up like the nanny?” Mulder says hopefully.

“No,” Scully says. “I was thinking Remains of the Day. I loved the book, and the movie is supposed to be excellent.”

Mulder puts his chin in his hand. “It’s arty, right? Depressing?”

“It’s about this English butler in wartime who is very committed to his job. To the point that he can’t even allow himself human needs.”

“Aha. Is this some kind of thinly veiled lesson about having a life, Scully?”

“Oh, maybe, Mulder,” she says, “but not just for you.”

They eat too much pumpkin pie and have not agreed on a movie, or really even whether to go to one at all.

Mulder, who ate more pie than his share, has discovered the comforts of Scully’s overstuffed sofa. He has his hand pressed dramatically on his stomach and is reclining with his face against a giant pillow that smells like his partner, a scent he didn’t even know he could identify. Like something floral, like some extra special detergent. Through half-open lids he is watching Scully, who has the newspaper out and is sitting at the coffee table, efficiently looking up movie times in the entertainment section.

This Saturday, in only two days, it will be twenty years since Samantha was abducted. Miraculously, unthinkably, Mulder is not miserable right now. Instead, he is on some pleasant edge between satisfaction and stupor. He doesn’t want to mention it to Scully, but a nap on her fancy, clean sofa sounds way better than a movie.

The phone ringing rouses him, makes him sit up. His head swivels to Scully, who is looking up from the newspaper and scowling.

She doesn’t move to get it, and he realizes that she is screening the call, cautious, not sure who it is. Her parents think she is out of town with Ethan, he remembers. They listen to it ring a moment, and then there is the sound of her message playing in the other room, followed by a beep.

A male voice speaks over the machine: “Dana. Dana.” There is a muffled sound, an audible bump. “Are you there, Red? It’s me. I just … I just miss you so much.”

Ethan.

Scully’s eyes, hearing the voice, widen in horror, and she leaps up from the coffee table, newspaper forgotten, rushing to go pick up her phone.

Ethan’s voice, oblivious, continues on the message: “I know I acted like a dick. I didn’t listen to what you said -- about your job, about what’s important -- I know I didn’t--”

“Ethan,” Scully speaks into the phone, interrupting the message. “I’m here, Ethan.”

Mulder lowers his head back to the pillow on the sofa, trying to vanish from her sightline. His cheek pressed to the cushion, he listens to Scully’s footsteps moving towards the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t have called,” her voice is saying quietly.

There is a moment of silence as Ethan, presumably, makes his case on the other end. Mulder wonders what he is saying. He hears only the sound of a floorboard creaking.

“That’s not — that’s not really the point, Ethan,” Scully’s voice says. She is clearly trying to keep her voice down, but the place is just not big enough for Mulder not to hear, even if he were trying. And truthfully, he’s not trying at all.

Ethan says something else. Mulder imagines the whiny tone of his voice.

“I’m trying to keep quiet right now because I have company,” she says to Ethan. “And I should probably go. Please don’t--”

She is apparently interrupted.

“Well, my partner came over for Thanksgiving,” she says, her tone the one of someone trying to be patient. “But that’s not really--”

A sharp inhale. Then, in an angry, hushed voice: “Classy talk, Ethan.”

Mulder feels alarmed despite himself. He sits up to peer over the edge of the sofa at her. She is leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, her forehead in her hand.

“You never even met him, so you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says tightly, and then notices Mulder watching from across the room. She swallows, shifts so that she is facing away. “Ethan, really, this conversation has gone far enough. No… No .” A tiny pause. “That’s not going to be possible. Please … don’t call back.”

She holds her phone away from her ear and clicks it off.

For a moment she stands there, her shoulders rising and falling. Mulder stares at her, and she makes eye contact with him again. Painfully blue eyes.

“So that’s Ethan,” he says to her.

“Mulder, I --” she says. “I’m really embarrassed that you heard that.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Mulder says. “He acted like an idiot.”

“It was just such a personal conversation,” she says. Her face is very pink. She walks back into the living room, sits down on the sofa, looking at her feet.

“Is there any chance he would come over here and bother you, Scully?” Mulder says seriously. “Do you have somewhere else you could go? You need me to stay?”

“No,” Scully says, shaking her head firmly. “That’s not necessary. He’s just upset. Desperate, not dangerous.”

Mulder thinks about how often in VCU he saw exactly how dangerous desperate men could be. Especially to women, and especially to women who have rejected them sexually.

“You’re sure?” he says. Mulder reaches out and touches her arm. He feels tempted to rattle off statistics about domestic partners and violence, about ex-boyfriends specifically.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you for your concern. But he’s in New Hampshire with his family anyway. And ... you know, I’m actually an armed agent with the FBI, so I’m not exactly helpless.”

“Yeah,” Mulder nods, pulling his hand back. “Of course you’re not. I’m sorry.”

They sit there in an awkward silence for a moment.

“He wasn’t happy to hear I was here, I gather,” Mulder says.

“No, he wasn’t,” Scully says, looking down. She doesn’t elaborate.

“I’m really sorry, Scully,” Mulder says. He is, too. He feels sorry she has to deal with it, sorry she’s humiliated that he overheard, sorry he reacted so protectively and can’t turn off his profiler mind and probably treated her too condescendingly. Just plain sorry all around.

“It’s okay,” she says. She pauses. “Well, it’s going to be okay, anyway.” She sighs, then flashes him a conciliatory smile. “After all, it's my last time doing this until … 2013, you said?”

“That’s right,” he says.

He smiles back at her, stares at her perfect round lips, and do not even think about it, not even for a second.

“You want to go see your boring movie?” he offers. “I feel like getting a lesson about my poor life choices all of a sudden.”

She laughs. “How about a walk around the block instead?” she suggests. “I could use the air.”

“Yes,” he agrees quickly. “Me, too. Fresh air.”

Much later, when he is back at home, too wired to work on the article, he remembers his new magazine and sprawls on his couch. There is a particular photo spread that caught his eye earlier, a woman on the rustic floor of a cabin: scattered dark hair, generous tits, large expressive eyes. He reaches into his pajama pants and pulls out his cock, already hardening, and begins to stroke up from the base.

His eyes run over the photos, and he imagines the woman in the magazine sitting astride him, visualizes the precise bounce of those tits. She calls his name, maybe. She calls it like she knows him; she is calling him Mulder. It’s the same husky voice that might say “come on, Mulder, just look at the tangible evidence.”

He closes his eyes. This is very fucked up. He shouldn’t. It’s crossing a line. He shouldn’t do it. He feels himself become harder at the idea. He puts the magazine down.

He imagines the scenario Ethan probably imagined, too — that after Thanksgiving dinner they fucked, that she was beneath him on the sofa, looking up at him, that red hair scattering loose from the ponytail, her face pink, but not from being embarrassed. Those lips of hers falling open, they are making little desperate breathy sounds, and he is making her feel so good, so good, like he knows he could. She is chanting his name, looking straight into his eyes. She sees him. She wants him, she wants all of him.

After he comes, he goes into his bathroom, cleans up, looks at himself in the mirror and promises himself it will never, ever happen again.

His goddamn partner. He is lucky just to have this sharp-witted partner, this true partner. It’s the kind of positive development that hasn’t happened for the Files —for him — in forever. Ever, maybe.

What is he thinking, what would she say? He is horrified, sickened by himself.

His eyes look sad and hollow in the mirror. She’ll be gone by this time next year, and you’ll be working on Thanksgiving again, he reminds himself. All you have to do now is not mess up a good thing while it lasts.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xfiles fanfic #my fic #how to eat pleasant holiday meals with co workers #thanksgiving

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spyral-out-keep-going · 2 years ago

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I’ve got one kid with adhd and one with autism (high functioning, so he was not evaluated until he was 9). And a thing I like is recognizing traits in other family members. My little sis- adhd. Like. Before she was diagnosed it was already Known. My dad-autistic. He’s got so many of the same traits my son has. There was a lightbulb moment-of course it makes so much sense! But before autism entered our family consciousness it was understood that Dad was just Like That. But then came introspection time.

I can function as an adult (usually, but are there people that always keep it together??) and like. I’m noticing things. I have a routine and get upset and discombobulated when it’s changed. I can get super absorbed with some activities for hours if uninterrupted-my special interests but I never had a name for it. I don’t like social situations and just always considered myself an introvert. And with more reflection I’ve realized that I have (logically in my mind) come up with ways the cope with routine change, with keeping my interests to myself, with literally mimicking outgoing people when I’m in social situations (with new people) even though I feel like my insides are full of static at the time. I have also realized that I don’t just Make Friends with people easily. My bff I’ve known since we were grade schoolers and she literally brings people in my orbit often enough that we can get to know each other. She introduced me to my now husband. And my husband introduced me to his friends so I can become friends with people. It just takes me a while. But people who just make their own connections- like meet once and then just. Go do something together later? I can’t imagine actually suggesting that. I’m open to accepting invitations from these magical people. Extroverts adopt me I guess lol.

I don’t have any lesson, just rambling on. I guess if anything it’s making me want to let my son be who he is and not try to make him feel the static inside. I think it’s ok to try new things and experiences, step outside his comfort zone, be open to making new friendships (because real social connection is important for mental health!) But at the same time being mindful and looking out for him and supporting him if it’s time to step back and reset.

#autism #autism? in my brain? it’s more likely than you think #autistic parent #autistic kids #I guess this is a post instead of a journal entry

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givemethatgold · 4 years ago

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 5

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship, swearing, past drug use, alcohol

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes:

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR

Your injury, and consequential recovery time, couldn’t have come at a better time. The harvest was done and the apples had to rest before being pressed, which meant Frankie was now free to start working on your home. The work didn’t often require more than two hands so the days found you doing menial tasks being his gopher.

“You know,” Frankie had had to explain to you, “Go’fer this, go’fer that.”

This mainly consisted of you passing him tools while he was swearing under his breath in the attic, or groaning after rapping his knuckles under the sink, or white-faced and clinging to the weathervane on the roof.

You had discovered Frankie’s sweet tooth on the first day of renovations, not noticing until after he’d left for the day that more than half the cookies you’d baked that morning were already gone. Making sure he was kept happy, you had a new treat ready for when he walked in the door.

He was a coffee drinker though, and while you owned a coffee press you had never actually used it yourself, preferring tea leaves for your dose of caffeine. You’d tried, the first morning, to make a cup for him. You even googled How to Make a Cup of Coffee? to make sure you didn’t fuck it up.

You could laugh about it now, but the look on Frankie’s face after he’d taken his first sip made you worry you had poisoned him. He had spat the black sludge out and handed you back the mug with a look of bewildered disgust. Apparently, you needed to grind the beans first, who knew?

An efficient, if not quite comfortable, rhythm had been forged between the two of you over the past week and a half. Frankie would arrive at nine in the morning, scarf down half a dozen treats while discussing the day’s projects. You would run to town in his truck (yours was still at the autobody shop awaiting parts) and buy any supplies that would be needed while he set up the worksites and organized the tools that would be required.

You had added popping into the local café for a large coffee for Frankie and a red rooibos latte with almond milk for yourself. The first couple of days you had bought him a brownie too but stopped after he’d only half-finished the first one and mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth that yours were better. It only took you three days before the owner had your order ready for you before you even walked in the door, five days before you noticed the sidelong glances the little old ladies were giving each other as you walked out.

Small towns, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes, had the unique benefit and downfall of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. They’d quit with the hardly-concealed smirks if they knew how awkward working with Frankie was becoming.

You had been sure, in the immediate aftermath of waking up in Frankie’s arms while his truck sat in your driveway, that he was never going to speak to you again. The two of you and hopped out and began explaining away whatever conclusions Jacquie and Mark had made. Then Frankie, without even looking in your general direction, told Jacquie to get you inside and have your wrist looked at.

To his credit, he had taken care of everything regarding your truck for you. The tow truck came and hauled it to the yard, Frankie had commandeered the inspection report and, after calling them out on trying to swindle you into buying unnecessary parts, had ordered what was needed and paid.

You had, naturally, argued against this but you both knew you weren’t in a position to afford it. Frankie shut down your arguments gracefully, and broke his apparent vow of silence, with a gruff “I’m just doing it so I can drive my damn truck without you changing the radio station.” The absolute charmer.

It was your damn house, though, so you decided you'd talk as much as you wanted and it would be up to him to interact. Either that or you had music blaring from the radio, never playing his favourite country station purely out of spite.

Never quite sure if he was listening or not, you rambled on about anything and everything. You explained your vision for the house and the plans you had for a greenhouse in the yard. Memories from your childhood were described in great detail, as were embarrassing stories from your year in college. Baking tips, waxing poetic about your love for sunflowers, interesting animal facts, you'd even downloaded a Word of the Day App and made a game of fitting the words into your daily uninterrupted monologues.

It took three days for Frankie to break.

You had been reminiscing about your trip to Disneyland as a child when he abruptly cut in, voice muffled due to the nails being held between his lips.

"You never talk about it."

You assumed he was referring to the little all-day nap you’d shared in his truck, as it had yet to be spoken of, but were taken aback by the slight accusatory tone.

"Talk about what?"

He took so long to reply, you started to think that he had interrupted purely to shut you up. The silence demanded an explanation though, so you kept your mouth shut and waited.

Clambering down from the attic, where he had been strengthening the trusses throughout the sagging section of roof, Frankie pinned you with his gaze and softly repeated himself.

"You never talk about it. The time in your life when you were married." He must have seen your hackles rise because he quickly set down the hammer and held his hands up in a placating wave.

"You still haven't answered my question about being in the army," was your quick response, finished with an ever-so-mature, "so there."

With a resigned sigh, Frankie twisted his hat around backward and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Come on" -waving you towards the patio doors- "these kinds of conversations require fresh air and a drink."

Reluctantly you followed him outside but rather than sinking down onto the porch swing you opted to lean against the post facing it. Opening two ciders, which you now had free access to, you handed one to Frankie and watched him over the top of the bottle.

Half of your drink was gone and your mind had wandered to greenhouse and flower garden placement before Frankie spoke again. His voice low and quiet catching you by surprise.

"Yeah," he broke the silence with another ragged sigh, "I, uh, I served. Started in the Air Force, worked my way up to Special Tactics Squadron. Made enough noise there to get recruited to Delta Force."

"Oh, fuck," your exclamation was soft with shock "you've seen some shit then." Blast your runaway mouth and its inability to wait for your brain to catch up before blurting out your inner thoughts. "I'm sorry!-"

"No, it's okay" Frankie interrupted, trying to reassure you and remove the horrified look that had come across your face.

"No, no, that was totally uncalled for. Brad, my um, my husband, he was a Marine. He hated talking about it, said no one liked talking about it. I should have known."

"It's not that," Frankie reassured you again, "You were the first person to ever ask me about it, in all the time I've lived here. Just took me by surprise."

Leaning over in the swing, Frankie pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a photo from inside it. Five men beamed up at you. You could recognize them from a few of the photos that had rested on Frankie's mantle, they looked older in this one.

"Tell me about them?" you asked, knowing that most of the request was due to curiosity but a small part of you hoped that if you kept him talking you could avoid the subject of your marriage.

The sun was beginning to set and you'd long moved inside to eat dinner by the time Frankie was done sharing. It must have been cathartic, you mused, for him to bare this much about himself. He had never looked more relaxed in all the time you'd known him, which wasn't saying much and it could just as easily been due to the amount of alcohol thrumming through his system.

The room fell into a companionable silence, each of you digesting the information that had been revealed. You were in awe of the fact that, despite the life of violence he had witnessed, Frankie still maintained his humanity. Even after a messy divorce and lost custody battle, Frankie continued to choose the path of healing. He was clean, was fighting for shared custody of his daughter again, running his own business, and still had found time to endear himself into the town's hearts.

Frankie was, for all his sharp edges and gruff words, a sweetheart.

It put into stark comparison how Brad had reacted to the lemons life had served him. Born into an upper-middle-class home, the only son, doted on by his parents, Brad had been raised into a life where every door was open to him. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he had grown hateful of those weaker than him. He was controlling but had just the right amount of charm to pass it off as caring.

"I've met men like that,"

You nearly jumped out of your skin from surprise. Looking at Frankie with wide-eyed shock you wondered again what the hell was in the cider. This was the second time you'd poured your heart out to a virtual stranger, but this time you hadn't even realized you'd started speaking your thoughts aloud.

Squaring your shoulders and holding Frankie's gaze you continued, almost challenging him to find someone worse than Brad had been.

"He made me quit college because he said he wanted to start a family. Then berated me and acted like it was all my fault every time the pregnancy test came back negative. You know what that asshole did?" Tears were threatening to fall but you held on to Frankie's gaze, "He had gotten a vasectomy months earlier. I didn't find out about it until after he died; going through paperwork that had been stored in his desk."

Frankie was up on his feet now, pacing around the kitchen island, too distraught to keep still. How could anyone be so cruel? Let alone be so cruel to someone as sweet and pure as you. He hated seeing you cry but knowing you weren't receptive to people being in your personal space, wasn't sure how to comfort you.

Acting on pure instinct he grabbed the kettle and started preparing you some tea, not allowing himself to ruminate how he knew which flavour you preferred. Setting your favourite pottery mug in front of you, along with the little honey pot, he also decided to grab the fluffy throw blanket off your couch.

"I get it now," he thought to himself offhandedly, "why women have so many fuckin' blankets and pillows in every room."

Placing the throw around your shoulders he was preparing to say goodnight and let you have some peace but was stilled by your hand reaching up and covering his.

"Please. Stay."

Part SIX

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#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x F!reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x you #Frankie Catfish Morales x reader #Frankie x reader #Frankie x you #Catfish x reader #Catfish x you #Triple Frontier fanfiction #Frankie Morales Fanfiction

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