#but i never really stick to that very long

[formulaonecrumbs]

helloo!!! a story where oscar is celebrating a win at a random club and ends up having a one-night stand with the reader, whom he just met? she ends up getting pregnant, and oscar struggles to explain to his family that he's going to be the father of a child with a woman he barely knows. at first, they scold him for being so careless, but over time, he and the reader grow closer, start dating, and his family starts supporting the pregnancy?

sunday night, monday reality 🤰

Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: a one night stand turned pregnancy ruins blesses their lives. now they have to navigate it while barely knowing each other.

warnings: one-night stand, accidental pregnancy, co-parenting to lovers, brief mention of alcohol

A/N: i’m not gonna lie when i read the request, i cackled cause imagine it actually happened 😭😭 one of the single f1 drivers gets some random one night stand pregnant and is just a parent now. that’s so funny to me. anyways, THANK U ANON!!! requests are always appreciated. i hope this isn’t too boring, i tried making it as funny as possible. enjooyyyy, love u bitches 💋💋

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you never planned on oscar piastri being the father of your child.

because it was supposed to be just one drink.

just one, to celebrate the win. a little toast with his team, a quick “cheers” before disappearing into the night like usual. oscar piastri didn’t even like clubs that much. too loud, too sweaty, too many people trying to pretend they weren’t watching him.

but there he was, two drinks deep, standing in some overpriced monaco club that smelled like vodka and rich people’s perfume.

and then there you were.

honestly, he wasn’t even sure how it happened. one minute he was trying to order water (because he’d already messed up his post-race hydration schedule), and the next, he was laughing at something you said about the guy dancing like a malfunctioning robot.

you weren’t a fan. didn’t even realize who he was until your friend elbowed you in the ribs and whispered something about “that f1 guy.”

you just shrugged. “cool. he’s got nice teeth.”

that made him laugh. really laugh. like, the kind that makes his shoulders shake.

by 3 a.m., you were sitting in a cab with him, giggling like teenagers, way too sober to blame it on alcohol. you both knew what was happening. neither of you said it out loud.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it was fun. reckless. the kind of story people only half-believe when you tell it later.

he left before breakfast. not in a rude way, just… life goes on.

until yours didn’t.

two pink lines. three deep breaths. one panicked text.

you: so. uh. i’m pregnant?

you didn’t expect him to reply so fast. or at all, honestly.

but he did.

osc: wait. what?

followed by a very long phone call, one awkward coffee meetup, and him pacing your living room with his hair sticking up in every direction like he’d just driven through a tornado.

“okay. okay. we’re gonna—this is fine. i mean, not fine. but not not fine? wow. okay.”

you just blinked at him. “you done?”

he nodded. “yeah. no. maybe. i have no idea.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

telling his parents was… fun.

“i got someone pregnant,” he blurted out before they even sat down. classic oscar.

his mum dropped her fork.

his dad blinked exactly once, then said, “didn’t they teach you basic health in school?”

“yes, dad. thanks for the support.”

they freaked out a bit. okay, more than a bit. but he didn’t blame them. he was freaking out too.

he barely knew you. he couldn’t even remember what your favorite color was. but here he was, scrolling baby name websites at 2 a.m. and texting you dumb things like:

osc: what if we name it after a track?

you: if you suggest monza one more time i’m blocking you.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

slowly, you both figured it out.

he started showing up. not in a “look at me, i’m a hero” way. just… he wanted to be there. he came to appointments. brought snacks. made fun of the baby books. (except the one with cartoons. he actually liked that one.)

you weren’t dating. not officially. but he made you laugh. you made him feel normal. and when he talked to your belly and got kicked mid-sentence, he swore it was on purpose.

“this baby’s already got sass. takes after you.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re the one who talks to unborn humans like they’re your teammate.”

“strategy is important,” he said seriously. “i need to build trust.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

his family came around eventually.

his mum knitted a tiny hat. his dad bought a car seat and refused to let oscar install it wrong. they invited you for dinner, asked questions, started smiling a little more when they said “baby.”

you and oscar grew closer without really meaning to. it wasn’t romantic movie-level stuff. more like inside jokes, shared ice cream, and him falling asleep on your couch with his hand on your belly like a protective raccoon.

and then one night, you kissed him.

neither of you said anything about it. just… kept kissing.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

by the time the baby arrived, everything felt different.

he was calmer. more grounded. still chaotic, but in a “dad who has the diaper bag ready five hours early” kind of way.

you were exhausted, emotional, and slightly murderous toward anyone who told you to “just relax.”

but when he held the baby for the first time—eyes wide, face soft—you saw something shift.

he looked at you and whispered, “i think i love you.”

you blinked. “you think?”

he laughed. “okay, fine. i know. but i was trying to be cool about it.”

you smiled, tears in your eyes. “you failed miserably.”

turns out, unexpected love hits different.

especially when it comes with midnight feedings, matching pajamas, and a baby who somehow has his exact eyebrows.

(“they’re aggressive little eyebrows,” you said once. “they’re powerful,” he argued back, dead serious.)

he learned how to swaddle like a pro. changed diapers half-asleep. sang lullabies that were really just off-key versions of old race radio messages. and somehow, through all the chaos, he made you laugh even when you felt like crying.

you never planned on oscar piastri being the father of your child.

never planned on him staying. or falling. or building a life around someone who’d only been a stranger at a bar.

but damn, he made it kind of hard not to fall for him.

especially when he looked at you like you were the best win of his career.

and maybe—just maybe—you were.

THE END :>

[just4jinx]

# cw ! fem!reader. stalker!jinx. masturbation.

the clock’s hands edge closer to midnight, but jinx doesn’t notice. her mind is elsewhere. the soft glow of her phone screen illuminates her face in the darkness of her bedroom as she scrolls through her camera roll, her thumb brushing over photo after photo. all of them were taken earlier that day when she’d followed you around town. she doesn’t feel guilty. why would she? the shots are beautiful. perfect, really.

her fingers pause on one picture, her breath hitching as she zooms in on you, standing on the inside of a store window, your hair tumbling perfectly over you. jinx’s heart twists painfully in her chest, beautiful pink eyes scanning over every inch, every pixel. the way your outfit hugs your figure, the little flick of your wrist as you try on accessories, the way your lips curve into a soft smile when you speak to a kind stranger. god, she’d do anything to have you look at her like that.

“your hair… it’s like… it’s perfect.” jinx mutters to herself, almost reverently. “so soft, like i could just..” she trails off, her breath catching. there was no need to finish the thought, it was enough just to imagine it—fingers running through the soft strands, pulling them away from your neck, feeling the pure warmth of your skin against her palm.

jinx skips to the next photo, zooming in once again. her chest tightens with an insane longing, the ache intensifying, gnawing at her insides. her eyes drift closer for a moment, and she imagines your scent. she’s certain its something sweet, beautifully fitting for such a sweet girl.

“no, no… it’s not enough.” she whispers, front teeth digging into her bottom lip. she wants to hear her name spill from your lips. she needs it, like she needs air to breathe.

she swipes to the next photo; this time you’re seated outside your favourite coffee shop, sun hitting your features perfectly, looking like an angel on earth. how your skirt rides up your plush thighs, how your fingers wrap around the mug for warmth, how the rim kisses your lips as you take a long sip of your drink. she could stare at you all day and never get bored.

jinx’s breath hitches, eyes lingering on your lips specifically. she’d do anything to taste you—to slide her tongue into your mouth, to kiss you so deeply your mind turns to complete mush. shamelessly, she switches what hand grips her phone, the other trailing south while she parts her thighs. she’s already soaked through, panties clinging to her cunt, practically aching to be touched. jinx wastes no time slipping her panties off and scrunching them in her hand, using the dampened material to rub circles over her throbbing clit. she’s considered finding a way to steal your underwear for this very reason, but for now she sticks to imagining, bucking her hips up into her hand as if its yours.

every minute she’s swiping to a new photo she took, desperate whines and whimpers bouncing off the walls, back arching off the mattress.

“hah—please, please, mmf please—“ its pathetic really, how she begs for you when you’re not even there, only able to get off if she imagines you having your way with her, abusing her greedy cunt until she cant take it anymore. it wasn’t long before her panties were discarded somewhere even she didnt notice, two digits now stuffed inside her tight but dripping hole. she clenches around herself, attempting to pump in and out at an unforgiving pace, pink eyes half lidded.

jinx’s abs tense and she throws her head back, her phone slipping from her grasp and bouncing off the mattress. she’s too consumed by pleasure to focus on any photo now, so it’s a good thing you’re completely burnt into her perverted mind. her slender fingers continue their pace, her needy pussy sucking her in perfectly, spasming around her digits as soon as she reaches her limit. she’s never needed a lot to cum, always been such a sensitive little thing.

“fuck, fuckk—need you—“ her teeth sink into her bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut as she inevitably falls over the edge. and hard. she’s a squirming mess—hips jerking up into her own hand, clit throbbing more with every harsh slap of her palm. it’s no surprise she’s making such a mess, her juices squirting out of her, coating her inner thighs while guttural moans spill from her lips. she rides out her release, intense pleasure washing over her in waves, her mind filled with you and only you.

jinx hesitantly slides out her fingers with a high pitched whine, a sweet string of cum still connecting them to her swollen pussy. she’s completely fucked out, feeling utterly weightless on the sheets, thighs fluttering and hole clenching. she could easily drift to sleep like this, her phone screen still illuminating her side, the last photo she took of you perfectly on display. she knows this wont be the last time she admires you this way, but still longs to capture more moments—more intimate ones. she knows exactly where to find you, anyway.

[rhyrhy]

Tryouts! - cold shoulders

Tryouts series | A.A

[content warnings:] language, heartbreak, descriptions of injury, r! Hates the world.

series masterlist | wc: 3.6k | previous

Damp long hair darkening her white T-shirt, an exhausted Abby clicked the door shut behind her, greeted by the familiar sound of her roommate’s study music. She wasn’t even sure if it helped Nora study—half the time she just danced around—but the notebook and laptop were out, so that was about as much effort as she’d expected.

The shower had done little to shake off the mess of her day… or the still-tender skin of her lip. Settling in front of her wall mirror, Abby met the eyes of her now-paused, shoulder-shimmying dancing roommate.

“Soo?” Nora asked, clearly hopeful for something she shouldn’t be.

“So?” Abby echoed, voice flat, giving her all she needed to know.

She dropped the smile, mouth falling open. “Nothing? Seriously? You are killing me, Anderson.”

“Yeah, and she’s killing me!” Abby groaned dramatically, tossing herself into her chair. Then, slipping into a voice mocking yours: “Oh Abby, you ruined my life. ‘Piss off, Abby!’ Like, alright. Cool. Just stab me next time.”

“She said that? …Mm.” Nora leaned back slightly, making a scissoring motion with her hands. “Time to cut that loose.”

“You’ll get ’em next time, tiger.” Nora gave her a dramatic thumbs-up before peering back down at her laptop. “Unless she does stab you first. In which case—I dunno—duck.”

“Very helpful. Thanks.” Abby muttered, turning back to the mirror, trying to shove down the stupid sliver of disappointment that was sticking to her ribs like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Felt like she’d hit a stalemate. Again.

As she finally crashed onto her bed, the hum of Nora’s speaker helped drown out the buzzing in her head. She didn’t mean to care. She really didn’t. But the disappointment was there anyway.

Maybe you just weren’t worth her time.

And apparently, your professor wasn’t worth yours.

Your head slumped forward onto the cold desk, out cold—sleeping so deeply you half-expected cartoon Zs and a floaty dream bubble to appear above you. The steady drone of a science lecture lulled you deeper, wrapping you in a weird dream. You didn’t even flinch as the last student packed up and left.

Until a dainty finger poked your shoulder.You shot up, eyes wide, already scrambling for an apology.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—“

Your professor just gave a tight-lipped smile, adjusting her bag. “No harm done, just…” A small sigh. “Try to get some rest after class next time.” Her voice held more concern than malice.

“Oh. Right. Thank you, Professor.”

You grabbed the paper she’d left on your desk like it was a life preserver, nodding again as she held the door open. You were used to people watching you. Born into it, honestly—your mom’s whole legacy thing. Big goals. Going pro. Winning titles. Doing everything she didn’t.

You were used to the eyes being on you. If anything, you’d grown to love it—thanks to your mother’s constant push to carry her legacy. Going pro. Doing it big. All the things she never did, now feeling like your responsibility.

But after a certain outburst, those stares felt like they held more weight than usual. With no practice to go to, you honestly just wanted a pint of ice cream and a warm blanket—something to forget about this whole week. Month. Hell, even the year.

And right before your fingers fully wrapped around the door, hoping to find solace in the parking lot, a familiar voice piped up behind you.

“Hey! There you are!—Jesus, you look…” Dina’s pitch rose slightly as she gave you a once-over. “…Wonderful,” she finished, smiling too hard.

“Weren’t you just lecturing me about lying?” you glanced over your shoulder.

“I—” Dina blinked, scrambling for an excuse.

“There you two are!” came a too-cheerful voice from behind.

“Saved by the teammate,” you muttered.

Josephine chirped with all the energy of someone who did not just sit—well, sleep—through a lecture. “Hi, Dina!” she grinned, then turned to you. “Hi, grumpy. I’m shocked you made it out of the dean’s office alive.”

“Barely.” You nodded, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Oh, enough with the depressing!” she waved off dramatically, nose already buried back in her phone. Her face lit up a second later. “Eeeek! You are so right—it’s going to be perfect. I’m telling you!”

You blinked. “Wait—what are we talking about?”

“The sun, the mountains, whatever snacks I want without Coach telling me to put them down,” Dina added, laughing to herself.

Lightbulb slowly flickering on. “Girls… What are we talking about?”

“The annual trip to—”

It clicked. Every spring, a few of the girls would go glamping, with a devastatingly long road trip to compliment it. The pictures of everyone in smiles and endless bug spray so you didn’t itch your skin off the bones. You remembered the last trip: sharing a tent with your then-girlfriend, jokes around the fire, blowing on your marshmallow when the white browned on the other end of your stick.

Whispering how much you loved her, excited to go into the next semester by her side. So much for that. The warm feeling of the memory paling to a shade of gray.

“Not going.” You said it bluntly, the words coming out faster than you could stop them.

“Yes, she is,” Dina said immediately. “Plus, you could use some relaxation.”

“Dina—” protesting began to ring out.

“Nope. Not listening. Let’s just focus on you not breaking any more noses.” Dina shook her head childishly.

“Oh, speaking of noses,” Josephine said, gesturing vaguely to a figure passing by in a soft pink cardigan, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a fresh bandage bridging the center of her face.

“Hopefully, she doesn’t need another. Pretty sure the last one was expensive.”

You were seconds from adding on—something biting, something that probably wouldn’t help—when Dina’s eyes snapped to her phone.

“Crap. We have to run.”

Right. Practice. You were still benched. So— “Break a leg!” you called after them.

“…It’s cheer?” Josephine tossed back, eyebrows raised.

“You’re right—break both.” You gave a mock salute.

“So funny. Try not to explode some more,” Dina said.

“No promises!” you shouted back. “But hey—if she wants round two, I’m free after lunch.”

“Girl, please,” Josephine groaned. “At least let me eat before I have to lie for you again.”

With a roll of your eyes, you finally pushed the door open. Freedom. Air. An escape. The air of the quiet parking lot hit your arms, goosebumps just as present as the uneasy feeling in your chest. The one that’s been lingering.

Pathetic. A word you never thought would suit you. But here you are, feeling like it, despite the small laughter. Taking a deep breath, you reopened your eyes—only to remember you’d left your wallet in your room. Great. You turned back around, heading in the opposite direction, ignoring the sound of whistles and feet on grass as you passed the field.

Your defeated posture gave you away—whether from a mile off or right up close. Pools of blue subconsciously followed your movement as you faded into the large building. Drawn back when a smack landed on her arm, Abby flinched. The sting had her hand flying up to wave off the figure who caused it.

“Ouch—hey!” A hissed breath followed.

“Earth to Anderson. Are you even listening?” A shorter Ellie corrected, nudging her side with her elbow.

“Yeah, yeah.” Abby nodded, eyes flicking toward the now-closed door before landing back on her teammate.

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “Who are you even looking at?”

“No one. Relax.” Abby brushed it off, though she wasn’t sure why she was watching in the first place.

“As if she weren’t practically drooling the moment Miss ‘Give me a U, give me a W’ strutted by,” a teammate chimed in, mimicking Ellie’s gaze toward cheer captain Dina.

“She’s better at that than catching the ball,” Ellie fired back without missing a beat, clearly unfazed—maybe even a little entertained by her dramatic reenactment.

Abby smirked, tying her cleats a little tighter. “Better at that than you.”

Unlike yourself She didn’t have a helicopter parent, but she’d kill for one some days. After her dad passed, the distance with her mom became a canyon neither one tried to cross.

Still, the thought of him—of her dad being proud of her, of how far she’d come—was enough to keep her moving. The reason she pushed so hard. Took hits. Got back up. Led when no one else would. Sure, some of the team were assholes. But letting a few bad apples rot the whole basket? That was way too easy. Lazy. And she wasn’t built like that. As she took her place on the field, the tension of the hallway fight earlier replayed in her head—your words, your expression. No. She shook it off. She had work to do. Ellie was right, Focus.

The sun was high and mean, baking the field until cleats left prominent impressions in the turf. Abby didn’t mind. She just couldn’t help but focus on the memory of that face. The one she thought she’d erased.

But she hadn’t. Whistles shrieked across the yard as drills rotated, players moved like chess pieces, and Abby darted forward in a usual tight sprint.

“Defense, eyes up!” Her Coach bellowed from the sidelines.

She heard the rhythm of it before she saw it—a teammate pivoting on the left, the pass sailing slightly too far, Abby adjusting her step to intercept. She lunged, turning too sharply, positioning herself —and her foot landed wrong. A splintering pain darted up her leg as her ankle twisted inward. Her knee buckled. She hit the ground hard, a grunt bursting from her chest as her shoulder skidded against turf. Grass in her mouth, heat in her jaw, and white-hot fire in her ankle.

“Shit,” followed by another string of profanities, curling in on herself.

The silver whistle blew again. Longer this time.

“Goddamn it!” Coach immediately calls it “Anderson, off the field before you become a lawsuit!”

Abby scowled, biting down her pride as she dragged herself upright with a limp. The walk off the field felt longer than the drill itself. She dropped onto the bench with a muted thud, sweat running down her back. Her ankle throbbed in time with her heartbeat. And then—because of course—the doors to the rec building swung open. She looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of you.

You, stepping out of the building, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets, face drawn and unreadable. You didn’t look over. Of course you didn’t. Abby didn’t know if she wanted you to. But that didn’t stop her eyes from following you until you disappeared down the path toward the parking lot. The whistle blew again. Practice was already wrapping. She hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey, Romeo.” A cold thwack hit her knee. An ice pack.

Ellie plopped down beside her, the sleeves of her hoodie rolled up, sweat darkening the collar. “You planning on icing your ankle, or just the girl who won’t even look at you?”

Abby shot her a dry look. “Shut up.” But she pressed the ice to her ankle anyway, teeth clenched when the cold hit.

Ellie leaned back on her hands, watching the last stragglers leave the field. “You’ve been staring at her all practice.”

“I haven’t,” Abby said, eyes forward.

“If this is your way of dragging me out of that mixer—don’t bother,” she said, voice flat.

“You should sit it out anyway,” Ellie replied. “Rest. Sulk. Rant to someone who actually wants to hear about your emotional spiral.”

Abby snorted. “That would require someone wanting to talk to me in the first place.”

“You could talk to her,” Ellie offered, after a beat. “Crazy idea, I know.”

“I said I’m not interested.” The words fired out too fast, too defensive.

Her teammates Long arms threw themselves up, in surrender .“Alright, if you insist. But I’m not playing doctor all night.”

“I can handle myself—while you disappear into the night with you-know-who.”

“I’m not gonna dip—”

“You did last time. You think I didn’t notice the inside-out shirt when you came back down?”

“That wasn’t intentional! And yeah, okay—cockblocked me!”

Ellie shook her head with a reluctant, joined-in laugh. “I’m going to be by your side tonight. I promise.”

“Holding you to it.”

A simple reply “I didn’t think any less.”

“Good,” Abby muttered, adjusting her ice pack. The promise of Ellie’s company was some what comforting.

“So, about that mixer…” Ellie trailed off, glancing at the campus flyer board nearby. The neon sign advertising Outdoor Movie Night flickered, promising “A night under the stars with free popcorn and all the classics.”

Sitting on your bed, casually eating ice cream while scrolling through your phone, you paused the scrolling to look at a picture of you and Valeria. It was a bittersweet reminder of better times. The weight of it hit you for a moment, but you quickly pushed it aside. The room was only lit by the soft glow of the TV when, suddenly, a pair of eyes appeared in the dark hallway. The flick of a light switch followed, and the room brightened.

“Jesus! You scared me.” You leapt up, the metal spoon slipping from your fingers and splattering ice cream across the floor. “—Why are you dressed up?”

Josephine stood there, grinning like she just won the lottery. “I’m going to the mixer. Mind if I borrow this?” She waved a yellow top in front of you, clearly hoping for a response.

You rolled back onto your side of the bed, unamused. “Oh, you mean the mixer I’m not going to?” you muttered, not bothering to look up as you scooped another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

Josephine didn’t even flinch at your lack of enthusiasm. She threw the shirt onto the bed, ignoring your sigh. “Actually, no. I’m joining you. You’re coming with me to the mixer”

You groaned, clutching the ice cream tub tighter. “Why do I have to go? Can’t I just rot in peace?”

Josephine raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “You don’t rot in peace. You overthink in peace. Come on, it’ll be fun. You can sulk and complain all you want, but you’re still going. Free popcorn”

“I hate you. I hate Dina. I hate—”

“Yes, yes. Get dressed, drama queen.” The blonde rolled her eyes. Holding up different options to throw on.

“What’s wrong with this?” You gestured to your current ensemble—an oversized tee and sleep shorts. “Don’t answer that. I’ll change.”

You eventually settled into the event, tucked into a spot on the edge of the crowd. The oversized tee was replaced with a cropped white top and jeans, eyeliner reapplied with more times than you could count. Honestly, already missing your ice cream at home.

Feel the drying of your throat, Reaching into a blue cooler nearby, you pulled the lid open only to find soda cans bobbing sadly in barely-cold water. With a blank stare you spoke up

“These are warm,” you muttered, turning to someone nearby.

“I’ll get some ice,” they offered, but you were already moving. Knowing you’d probably be faster “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

You didn’t see any overly familiar faces on your way to the nurse’s office, but you did pass Ellie, her hair a little messy, cheeks flushed from whatever activity she’d gotten pulled into. You clocked it but kept walking. Not my business,you thought.

Abby, meanwhile, sat watching the movie. The crowd laughed at a cheesy punchline, but she barely registered it, focused instead on the warm weight of her now useless ice pack. She turned, ready to whisper for Ellie—

“Ellie, can you—”

But her seat was empty. She scoffed. “So much for promises.” Knowing she’ll ring her neck later.

With a resigned sigh, she stood and headed for the building. The hallway lights flickered as you tapped the switch a few times. Eventually, the room lit up—a hum from the ancient freezer in the corner, where bags of ice jutted out. You tugged one free just as the door creaked behind you.

Footsteps. A flicker of movement. You turned, and Eye contact.

It took you a beat to realize it was her. Abby. The light casting sharp shadows across her features. But you broke eye contact first, shifting your weight as if the awkwardness might evaporate if you pretended it wasn’t there.

You both moved quietly around each other, but your shoulder still brushed hers—brief, unintentional, but it certainly happened.

Your eyes dropped to her ankle, wrapped and clearly stiff. Should you ask?

“Are you following me now?” she asked, flatly.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, Abby. I planned my entire day around bumping into you and your broken foot at this exact moment.”

“It’s a rolled ankle,” she replied, dry. Choosing not to give the rest attention.

You glanced over her expression, unable to help the way Your mind flicked to the frat party. The flirting. The hands. The way you let her. The way it all fell apart moments later. What about you screamed ‘easy’. Did you overreact? No, she was being an ass and you had a rough few weeks. Unsure if that’s just justification The silence buzzed around yourself.

Watching as she shifted away from you to remake the ice pack for her foot. Your own task seeming less important, stepping back a little so she could finish.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

You watched as she shifted away to remake the ice pack for her foot. Your own task suddenly felt irrelevant. You stepped back a little to give her room.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she said quietly, the rustle of ice filling the space between you.

Your eyes darted away. “I’m not looking at you at all,” you bit back.

She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t take the bait. The usual sarcasm died on her tongue. Instead, she just gave a curt nod. “Good.”

She wrapped the ice pack, tying a makeshift brace around her foot. When she was done, she stepped back and eased herself down to sit near the door. Her gaze flickered to you, then away. Abby leaned back against the wall, the weight of the moment settling between you. She’d only come here for ice—but now?

Now it felt like something else. A sigh slipped from her lips.

“Are—dude, are you still mad about the party?”

“Who said I was mad?” You grabbed your own bag of ice from the freezer, trying to act casual.

Abby raised an eyebrow, her gaze skeptical. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” She shifted her weight, wincing slightly as her ankle throbbed. “So forgive me for thinking you might be just a little annoyed.”

“You’re not that important for me to be upset over,” you said with a shrug, forcing a smile as you closed the freezer door.

Abby let out a quiet, almost resigned laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You didn’t say anything at first, just glanced away, suddenly aware of the silence hanging between you two. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter, and it felt like you had to look away before the tension turned into something worse.

“Good talk,” you muttered, taking a step back, but Abby’s quiet chuckle stopped you.

“Yeah. Real nice.”

Before you could reply, Ellie poked her head into the room, her eyes bouncing between you and Abby. “Abs—everything’s… good?”

You didn’t answer, but Abby nodded, her jaw tight.

You didn’t look back. Just grabbed your bag and brushed past them both.

“Just catching up with old mistakes,” you said quietly.

“Ouch,” Ellie said, raising an eyebrow. “You two still doing that?”

“Apparently.” You heard the sarcasm in her m voice, as it fainted the further you got from the door.

“Yeah, so much for talking it out,” Ellie muttered, her gaze lingering a second too long before she turned and left.

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

Finals part ii

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 11:00 PM

There was a roar in Logan’s ears. He didn’t know where to turn first, numb and frozen and disbelieving. He didn’t know anything, and he knew it all. He wondered how it had happened, and he’d seen the entire thing. His cheek throbbed and he tried to look around, anywhere, tried to find them, even though he knew they wouldn’t be here. They’d be in the stands. They’d be waiting for him. Logan dropped to a knee and let out his first real breath all game.

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 4:30 PM

Logan adjusted the bill of his hat where Luke had knocked it askew down against the back of his neck to try and keep him from seeing the soccer ball they were kicking around in one of the clearer parts of the inner arena.

“D’accord,” Logan said, hand over his head. “That’s cheating.”

“You just tripped me,” Luke countered. “Which, by the way, if Coach saw you do that—”

“So, what did she say?” Logan interrupted. He looked pointedly to Percy as the soccer ball came his way. Luke rolled his eyes.

“What?” Percy asked, but he was grinning.

“Fuck off, you know what,” Luke said.

“When you finally asked Cassie out.”

Percy’s sigh was long and drawn out even as he laughed softly. Logan could see him doing that in OKN’s kitchen, on the road, in the various drab dining rooms of different hotels, and on long midnight bus rides. It was the same sound, the same laugh, the same face. His strawberry-blond hair and its usual tighter curls had been turned fluffy by his post-practice shower.

“Ah…” Percy said slowly. “I haven’t exactly asked her yet.”

“Marsh,” Alex shouted. “Jesus, dude, she likes you.”

“I am just a man,” Percy shouted back, still laughing. “You try looking at someone like her and asking her to spend time with you.” He held up a hand and began ticking off things he said by lowering a finger. “Cassie Baker, Cas-sie Ba-ker is smart, and gorgeous, and accomplished, and funny. And she always has been, since the moment I met her.” He pointed at Logan. “And before you freak out, you emotional French Canadian human, yes, it is fine that you dated her. But back to my original point: I am just a man who is fairly accomplished with sticks and ice cubes.”

“My God,” Alex said. “We should be better friends.”

“Please,” Percy replied. “Sir, come on.”

“Why haven’t you asked her?” Logan said. “She’s so—She’s so…”

He was met with multiple sets of raised eyebrows.

Logan didn’t know if it was really a lack of words, or English, or just that time had gone by that kept him from being able to properly describe Cassie Baker. She had been there, desiring him, through the start of a new part of his life. She’d kept him from feeling like a failure after a bad class, or a bad game—even, without her knowing, after a bad night spent wondering why he kept thinking about the freckles over Finn’s arms, and the moment earlier that day he’d wrapped one of those arms around his waist. She’d loosened his tense, guarded ways. She might, now that Logan was thinking about it, have been the reason he felt like he could kiss Finn in the dark back bedroom, that very first time. Might have been the reason he had been bold enough—when he was bold in nothing else—to guide their hips together and get Finn off.

“Hello?” Percy said. “Why do you have your Finn face on all of a sudden? What were you gonna say?”

“I…” Logan shook his head, dazed. “I mean—she’s fucking kind. She’s the best. Ask her, Perc.”

“He’s scared,” Saint said. He wasn’t kicking the soccer ball around with them. He never did. Wouldn’t touch the thing. He hung out and stretched close by though, usually near Luke’s side of their circle.

Percy scoffed. “Wow. Way to call me out, Saint.”

Saint shrugged, reaching back for an ankle to stretch towards the back of his thigh. “People as loud as you usually are.”

“She’s not scary,” Logan said.

“Girls are definitely scary,” Alex said. “But, like, it a good way.” He gave a mock little shiver and grinned. “In like a, what the hell’s gonna happen next way.”

Percy let out a soft ha. He kept his eyes on the soccer ball, which he balanced on the flat laces of his sneaker. “I—yeah. But. I mean, she could definitely say no. And I would rather be her friend than have her say no.”

“She could also say yes,” Logan pointed out.

“Yeah, well…” Percy gave the ball a little boost with a flick of his toe and kicked it in a gentle arc to Logan, who caught it on his sneaker likewise. “Saint’s right. I’m a chicken, Tremblay.” He adjusted his hat over his curls. “This chicken is now going to run a few laps.”

Logan frowned, watching him go. Percy Marshall was a lot of things. Afraid wasn’t something that would have made Logan’s list.

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 11:00 PM

Luke could hardly hear the crowd—or maybe it was all he could hear. Someone put a tight arm around his shoulder, then released him. Sweat dripped off his hair and down his neck. He was soaked through, overheated, wanted water so badly he was sure he could drink the entire tank of Gatorade the staff kept for them. But he wasn’t tired. He was a live wire with dangerous sparks at its end, trying to piece those last moments back together in his mind.

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 5:30 PM

Alex leaned his back against the doorframe to the lounge, using its solid edge to dig into a particularly sore spot on his shoulder while he waited for Natalie or Kasey to notice him. For now, he was content watching the way Natalie talked with her hands. He didn’t have all the time in the world, but he wanted to see the families milling around. There were his own parents, along with Finn and Leo, talking to Logan’s. Logan’s mother and Leo had their arms around each other’s waists and were laughing heartily about something with glasses of wine in their hands. Percy’s parents had been caught up by Will’s family it seemed, and they were showing something to each other on their phones and miming their hands in a way that made Alex think they must be talking about food. Maybe where they’d get dinner another day this week.

Alex crossed his arms and looked back to his two. Kasey was already looking at him.

“Kasey Winter,” Alex mouthed, and unwound one of his arms to crook his finger, telling Kasey to come to him.

Kasey bit the inside of his cheek against one of his hidden smiles and excuse himself from the conversation. Alex watched him walk over. He pulled a last sip from the ice of his drink before setting it down.

“Your face gets sexy when you’re chewing ice,” Alex said by way of hello.

“I took too much,” Kasey said around the sound of crunching. “It’s cold.”

“Root Beer?” Alex asked.

“The most underrated drink,” Kasey said. “Saving my more celebratory drinks for later.”

Alex slugged him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you just fucking said that.”

Kasey just smiled. He leaned forward, hesitated for only a moment to look at Alex’s face, and then ducked slightly to give him a quick kiss. A zing of a kiss. Chilled from the ice. Alex felt ten times more awake.

“Feel ready?” Kasey asked.

Alex raised a brow. “Do you feel ready?”

“No, I feel like I’m already on pins and needles.”

Alex laughed. “Well, I like to keep you on your toes. It’s a goal in life.”

“Don’t we know it.” Natalie slid against his side and put her hand out. “Look.”

Alex gently took her hand in his to better see her red and blue nails. “Very pretty. All for me?”

“I like dressing up for games, what can I say?”

Alex glanced at Kasey as he ducked to press a kiss to Natalie’s temple. Her hair was swept back into a high ponytail and curled. “Just for games?”

“For you, Alexander,” Natalie said, putting a hand behind his neck. “Feel ready?”

Kasey laughed. “I already asked him.”

“Uh-huh, and he probably didn’t answer.”

Kasey made an exaggerated hm noise. “Come to think of it, he didn’t.”

“I’m ready, I’m ready.” Alex pressed a quick kiss to Natalie’s mouth. “And I gotta go, baby.” He leaned forward to to wrap a tight arm around Kasey’s shoulders and turned his mouth close to his ear. “You should watch me now, then watch me and Nat later.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kasey laughed softly. But then he pressed his hand low on Alex’s back.

Alex grinned. He gave Natalie’s blond hair a gentle tug as he passed, and felt alone in the hallway, like he always did when he left them.

He only made it a few steps before he heard footsteps behind him, jogging to catch up. When he turned, expecting Kasey by the lack of heels clicking against the floor, he found his little brother.

“Ah, goldfish cracker,” Alex said. When Finn just looked at him, frown in place, he put a hand on his shoulder. “Hi, you good, or—”

“These games,” Finn said softly. “They get rough. Tonight especially. It’s all on the line, Al.”

“You’re telling me.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Alex.”

“I know,” Alex said. Some days, some mornings, he woke up unable to rest until he knew that Finn was all right. Sometimes he’d had a dream about the concussion. Some days he just needed to know. “I know.”

“Just be careful,” Finn said.

“You gonna celebrate with me tonight? No matter what?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Not gonna let Logan hog you?”

“Well—no promises. He’s very convincing.”

“You mean you wouldn’t be able to resist him if he…” Alex sighed. “I can’t even think of anything he could do.”

“Sounds right,” Finn said. He put both hands on Alex’s shoulders. “Hey. Love you. Kick their ass, all right? For our seven year old selves.”

Alex laughed as he watched Finn back up to return to the lounge. “Sure thing, Fish.”

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 5:30 PM

Logan was on the stationary bike when his phone lit up. Leo.

Finn is with his parents but I’m just around locker room corner—kiss? xx

Logan nearly tripped getting off the bike. He stumbled on the pedals and hopped on one foot before catching himself on the handlebars of Luke’s.

“What the fuck just happened to you?” Luke asked.

“Be right back,” Logan called, already headed towards the door.

Cooing, he typed back to Leo, then cursed and tried to type correctly as he jogged out of the gym. Coming

Rounding the corner to see Leo leaning against the wall was more than Logan could have hoped for. He wore a blue sweater, one of the soft, thin cashmere ones he’d allowed himself to spend more money on than usual. Look, Lo, he’d said in the store. Feel how soft.

Logan had made him blush when he’d pushed the sleeve up and ran his fingers along Leo’s skin instead.

“Hi,” Leo smiled when he saw him. Logan reached out for him and Leo walked right into his arms, leaning down to press their cheeks together.

“Salut,” Logan said. “Thanks for coming all the way down here. Everyone in the box?”

“Just about.” Leo nosed at his jaw. “Thought maybe I could shut your brain off for a couple minutes.”

“That sounds good,” Logan said.

Leo’s kiss was playful. Logan let himself be pressed back against the wall by Leo’s tall form. The shadow he cast was like shade on a warm day. Logan felt like he never had to move again, especially when Leo ducked down further, deepened the kiss, and brushed his tongue into his mouth. Logan caught his hips, tucking his hands right under that soft sweater just like he had that day in the store.

Leo was true to his word. Logan’s mind hummed into quiet. The only pressure was Leo’s body against his. He wanted him closer. He withdrew his hands to press up on his toes and put his arms around Leo’s neck, carding his fingers through his hair as he sucked gently on Leo’s lower lip before letting Leo kiss him properly again.

“I—“ Logan broke off in a laugh. “I’m, maybe—Mm…” Logan held Leo closer, arching up into another one of his kisses that threatened to fold him right up. “Merde—Le—je t’aime, wait, je t’aime…”

Heat had begun to course through him, and if he didn’t stop Leo now, he never would.

Leo just smiled against his mouth. “They keep showing locker room shots on the broadcast they’re playing in the lounge.” Leo’s voice sounded shaky, like he was just as wound up as Logan. “And I’m standing there trying to talk to all these parents while you’re behind them on TV with your shirt off…” He brought one of Logan’s hands to his mouth and kissed his wrist, then his palm. “Taping a stick with these hands…Fuck, Lo.”

Logan leaned up and kissed him again. He tasted like tequila and lime. He must have had something with it at dinner, or in the lounge.

Leo broke the kiss with a reluctant sound and pressed a softer one to Logan’s overheated cheek.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “Sorry, I’m just suddenly…” He ran a knuckle along the collar of Logan’s t-shirt. “It’s strange, to see you ready to play when we’re not.” His hand traveled down Logan’s chest, over the Rangers logo on his sweatshirt, under the hem, where his thumb tucked just barely below the spandex shorts Logan wore beneath his sweatpants. “Though watching is not without its perks.”

Logan flatted Leo’s warm hand against his stomach and held it there.

“How was dinner?” Logan asked. He didn’t like being left behind from dinner with his and Finn’s families, but he knew he had a game to prepare for. He had received a photograph of Finn and Leo being hugged by all of his sisters. Noelle had sent him another of her and Leo cheering glasses, and another of Finn kissing her cheek. He didn’t know which one to make the lock screen of his phone.

“It was really fun. I love your sisters so much. And your mom.” Leo ran a hand through Logan’s hair. “She kept rubbing my back of brushing Finn’s hair back, or Noelle’s or something. I’m not even sure she knew she was doing it.” He put his hand back where Logan had placed it, running it up to his chest. “No wonder you like being touched so much.”

Logan sank a little more into his side. “I think I like being touched by you a little differently.”

Leo leaned down to rest their foreheads together. “I think so, too.”

They both took a few breaths, hands still clasped, Leo’s thumb ran soothing strokes over Logan’s skin.

“Feeling good?” he asked.

“Mm,” Logan nodded, not enough to part them, and closed his eyes. He did feel good. Endorphins raced through him. Even the nagging burn of Leo’s pleasure wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like a little push.

“Got something for you,” Leo whispered.

Logan opened his eyes, interested. “A present?”

Leo laughed, reaching into his shirt. “It’s not really a present. Though I expect you’ll get a few later tonight.”

He withdrew the fleur-de-lis from around his own neck and slipped it over Logan’s head.

“Meant to give it to you earlier,” Leo said. He kissed the pendant before letting it rest over Logan’s chest. “Good luck, okay? Be safe. You know where we’re sitting?”

“Ouais,” Logan said. When Leo folded him into his arms, Logan inhaled deeply and let every muscle in his body relax. “I’ll find you.”

When he was back in the locker room, he savored the feeling of the pendant dropping against his bare chest as he pulled his sweatshirt and shirt over his head to dress for the game. It was still warm from Leo’s skin. In his stall, his phone lit up again, this time from Finn.

It was a photograph of a television, where he saw his own back.

Hi, Finn wrote. I find you so hot, I don’t know what to do with myself.

Logan looked over his shoulder, found the camera, and grinned.

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 6:30 PM

Luke had a bit of a plan. Maybe he wouldn’t exactly call it a plan, but he had something he wanted. He kept an eye on the clock, on Saint getting dressed, buckling his pads. He listened as the rest of the boys got louder, more riled, as their walk down the tunnel to the ice got closer. Logan was laughing hard at something Alex was saying. Luke pushed his helmet down over his head, adjusting the tightness. It didn’t matter how hard his heart was pounding. Saint would lead them out tonight. And there would be no catching him alone after that.

He accidentally caught Logan’s eye as he made his way towards Saint’s stall. There must have been something in his face, because Logan put a hand out for him to clasp.

“Good?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Luke said, bringing their palms together and squeezing briefly. “See you in a bit.”

Saint had his mask perched on his head. He was examining his blocker, streaked with black from the rubber of the puck. He only glanced up when Luke stopped in front of him.

“Tweedle,” Saint said in a soft voice. “We’re all dressed up.”

Luke put a hand on the stall divider and leaned down until Saint looked up at him.

“Come with me,” Luke said.

Saint didn’t look up from his blocker. He only switched to checking the netting of his glove. “All right.”

Saint put his mask over his head and brought his stick, as if Luke was merely going to speak with him for a moment. Well, what Luke had to say would take a moment, but Saint didn’t need his mask for it.

He checked to make sure Saint was behind him. He lumbered a bit in his gear, but kept up.

“Are you okay?” Saint asked through the bars of his cage.

“You didn’t need your mask for this,” Luke said once they were alone.

Saint’s eyes flicked up. “You’re wearing your helmet.”

“Well—” Luke began, then cut off. He cleared his throat, looking between Saint’s brown-gold eyes. “What was all that with Percy earlier?”

“What happened with Percy earlier?”

Luke huffed. He was messing with him.

“‘People as loud as you usually are,’” Luke repeated his words back at him. “Scared.”

Saint tilted his head. “What did I mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I…” Saint opened his mouth, then closed it. “Nothing bad. You think he’s angry with me, I’m guessing.”

“No,” Luke said. “No, I don’t think he was angry, I’m just asking…What about the quiet ones?”

“What about them?”

Luke smiled slightly, giving his head a shake. This was Saint in full force. Driving him insane. He could drive him insane right back.

“I’m not loud.” Luke took his helmet off, letting it drop to the floor. “And I’m scared. Or I was, for a long time. Terrified the first time I saw you. The first time you kissed me.”

Saint’s eyes tracked the motion, resting on the helmet by Luke’s feet. “You’re…a special case.”

“Why?”

“You just are.” Saint looked back at him. “You were scared?”

“I want something.”

Behind his mask, confusion bloomed all over Saint’s face. He glanced in the direction of the locker room. “Tw—Luke…What?”

Luke shook his head once. “I mean, I want to say something.”

“I said what I said to Percy. It’s not a rule, I just…” Saint began, looking almost frustrated. “It was true. It’s hard enough to get what you want in life without people not even trying. It’s hard to…” Saint nearly rolled his eyes. “You are quiet. You’re also very difficult.”

“I know I am. So are you.”

Saint looked at his mouth, and Luke swore he leaned in, just a little.

“The thing about you is…” Luke pressed his lips together in an unsure motion. “I have no idea if you’re quiet, or if you’re loud.”

Saint said nothing.

“You don’t talk that much. And then when you do, you’re kind of brutal about it, but I don’t think that’s because you’re afraid at all, I think it’s because you’re not.” Slowly, Luke put his hands on either side of Saint’s mask. It was a new one, made from the deep blue color of the Rangers, Saint’s name written across the front below the cage. “Quiet, loud, I don’t care. You just have to look at me and it’s the loudest thing in the room. In the world.”

Luke was fairly certain Saint was no longer breathing. His shoulder pads were still.

“Seb…” Luke whispered. He put his thumb over Saint’s name. He began to lift the mask from his face. “I—”

Saint’s hand flew up and stopped Luke’s with a tight grip on his wrist. His eyes were wide. Bright. Something close to tears, but he wasn’t crying. Something close to fear, but not quite.

“You choose right now, when we’re about to go down that tunnel to the most important game of our lives to…”

He trailed off, but his voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah, I do,” Luke said.

Slowly, enjoying the way Saint watched him, Luke leaned forward and kissed the mask. The cage’s bars were cold against his lips. Saint’s tawny eyes had not moved away from his.

“I choose right now,” Luke said softly. “But I’ll chose later, too, if that’s what you want.”

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 8:30 PM

“What does my Finn face look like?”

There was six minutes left in the second period, and Logan wasn’t sure he was even going to be able to catch a break during a two minute TV break. Both sides were playing like hell, and Madison Square Garden, the New York crowd, was like wildfire.

Percy swished water around in his mouth and spit it back on the ice. “Like someone either just smacked you really hard or gave you a million dollars. Or like someone just smacked you really hard with a million dollars.” Percy considered. “Come to think of it, you actually have been both smacked really hard and probably earned a million dollars in the last few minutes. So I should think of a new metaphor.”

Logan smiled and looked up towards the crowd. A sea of blue. Will slid onto the bench beside them. Logan bumped their shoulders together. Will had a fresh cut over his nose, courtesy of one of Colorado’s defensemen.

“What’s up?” Logan asked.

Will’s mouthguard hung halfway out of his mouth and he chewed on it idly. “I’m thinking that your O’Hara mind-reading applies to extended family. And we should use it.”

They went back out onto the ice with a plan—a plan Logan had used so many times it was practically muscle memory. Luckily, he still only had to glimpse the edges of red hair from his peripheral vision. Logan told Alex what to do, covering his mouth with his glove, and Alex nodded.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

It almost worked. Logan had the puck on his tape, ready to drop it back to Alex when the next thing he knew he was being slammed into the boards.

He felt the cool waft of the ice near his neck as he landed on his back. He groaned and pushed himself up, righting his helmet on his head as he chased after 54, who had done it.

As soon as he touched the puck, Logan threw his shoulder forward, dug his skate into the ice, and sent 54 sprawling.

“Tremz!” Alex shouted, and Logan scooped up the puck and shot it across the ice. Then it went to Percy, then Alex, as they pushed back up the ice. Alex nearly missed Percy’s arrow of a pass, and then a Colorado defensemen only just managed to intercept the puck. He didn’t knock it free of it’s path, though. It ricochetted, and Logan lost sight of its path for only a moment before the red light in Colorado’s goal lit up.

The New York crowd roared, but it was muted just as quickly when the whistle blew. Logan’s smile slowly melted from his face as the referee pointed to the Colorado bench.

“What?” Logan shouted to the referee, skating up beside him. “Fucking what?”

“Language, Tremblay,” the referee said. “Coach’s challenge. And you know what else—that bullet of a hit of yours.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took his mouth guard out. “Oh, come on. He was in my numbers, too, everyone is tonight, I’m allowed.”

But the referee only waved him off, already talking into his headset. Logan scowled after him, but skated back towards his own bench.

“Colorado’s challenging the goal,” Luke said. “Said Marshy kicked it in.”

“Bullshit,” Percy scoffed. “It just hit my foot. It’s not my fault my foot was there.”

“And they’re thinking about giving me two because of my hit,” Logan hissed. “It was clean.”

“It was,” Luke said.

“He started it.”

“Calm down,” Luke laughed.

“What Dev said.” Percy shook his head. “Ya fucking fireball. Gotta douse you with one of those metal hats—those things, you know?”

Luke squirted water into his mouth. “A snuffer.”

Percy shook his head. “That’s what you clean floors with.”

“Swiffer.”

“It was a clean hit,” Logan said again, just as the referee pushed back out to center ice.

“The call on the ice stands,” he boomed over his microphone, and he put his arms out, though the crowd was already roaring. “We have a good goal.”

They left the second period ahead of Colorado, but a two goal lead was the fragilest thing in the world, and Logan didn’t feel anything other than urgency as they left the ice. He’d also left with a fresh, blooming bruise. His cheek throbbed, his knee, but all he saw was those twenty minutes more.

“Logan,” one of the assistant coaches said. “Intermission interview.”

Logan looked down the hallway, breathing hard, to where Cassie was discussing something with her camera crew.

“Take Percy,” he said, taking his helmet off.

Through the tunnel, Logan broke away from the team and the cameras, and was about to take the three steps up towards the PT room, only then someone grabbed his arm. He found his back set gently against the wall, and then he was being kissed. It was a kiss that he knew in his bones.

Finn Finn FinnFinnFinn.

“Nice,” Finn said in a low, happy voice. He glanced sideways towards a passing aid, who was politely keeping her eyes ahead and fighting back a smile. “Being able to do that.”

“Do it again,” Logan said.

Finn laughed. He brushed another kiss over Logan’s mouth. “I love when you follow the ref. Love when you get all like that. Love it…”

“He started it,” Logan mumbled, more interested in the flush on Finn’s cheeks—his ears.

“You okay?” Finn thumbed lightly over the fresh cut over Logan’s cheek. “You look good out there. That was a clean hit, I don’t care what the refs say. It was a solid play, your play, just like always. Can’t stand watching you get hit, makes me want to—”

“It was our play.” Logan turned his chin down into Finn’s palm. “You know?”

Finn gave him a lopsided smile. “Baby…”

“You know it was ours. You saw?”

“I saw.” Finn shook his head, still smiling. He kissed the corner of Logan’s mouth. “Of course I saw.”

Logan was nearly his height with his skates on, but he stepped halfway up the three stairs so he was taller and wrapped Finn up in his arms. He didn’t care if he was sweaty or had snow on him from the ice. He kissed the side of Finn’s temple and felt Finn touch where his necklace had come out of the neck of his jersey.

“Le?” Finn questioned.

“Yeah, Le.”

Finn rested his forehead against Logan’s jaw.

“You got this,” Finn whispered. When Logan looked down, he saw Finn had his eyes closed. Peaceful. “I can see it. All that fire you got in you.”

Logan smiled, letting his eyes slip closed, too. “Perc and Luke say it’s too much.”

Finn’s reply, whispered against the sweat cooling on his neck, drew a pleasant chill over Logan’s skin.

“I like it.”

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 8:45 PM

“I don’t know about you,” Percy said. “But I think they paired us up again because they want to hear the rest of the story.”

Cassie laughed. She had a small compact mirror out and was carefully adjusting the wing of her eyeliner, but snapped it shut and turned to him. “I guess they’ll have to live in suspense.”

Percy knew he certainly did. Snowy nights and street lamps showing blizzard flakes and wheels spinning on ice.

“Did you see my goal?” he asked instead.

“We’re going to be live in ten seconds.”

“Yeah, but were you watching?”

Cassie had a ready smile in place, eyes towards the camera. “Of course I was, that’s my job.”

“Did you think it was pretty?”

“It went off your foot and they reviewed it for a kicking motion.”

“But I didn’t kick. I would know.”

“No, you didn’t kick.”

“So, say it was pretty cause it was.”

“Thanks, guys,” Cassie said brightly to the voice in her earpiece. “I’m here with Percy Marshall who scored the goal to tie it up at the end of the second. Pretty tense moment, there, Percy, what do you think you guys have to do to keep your lead in the third?”

“I think we have to keep doing what we’re doing. We’re a team with a lot of strengths, very star-studded, with O’Hara, Tremblay, Montague… We have a lot of options, and we’re using every single one of them.”

Cassie directed the microphone back to herself. “I noticed you didn’t include yourself there among the stars.”

The microphone came back to him. Percy swallowed, and let his usual smile pass over his face easily.

“I’m no star. I’m what they call blood and guts.” He let his eyes flick down to her mouth, just for a moment. “At least when it comes to hockey.”

Cassie stared up at him for a moment, smile still in place, but softer. More for him. “I—thank you, Percy.”

Percy flashed the camera a smile. “Uh-huh.”

“And off,” said the woman waiting behind the camera. She flashed Cassie a thumbs up and then shuffled off with the camera man somewhere. It left them alone, if only briefly, and Percy’s heart kicked into drive.

Why, why had he been so much better at this in college?

Cassie was looking at him. He looked back

“It wasn’t a pretty goal,” she said. “But last game. The one you scored in the second…that was pretty.”

“Thanks,” Percy said. Then a question came tumbling out of him. “Is it weird being around us again?”

“Weird?”

“Will, Logan…” Me.

Wouldn’t be the first time I saved you, though, would it?

He’d meant to make her laugh. He hadn’t saved her, and now he felt stupid for saying it, saying it on television. It had been a snow storm, it had been a drive home, it had been—

They both looked away.

“No,” Cassie said. She was scuffing the heel of her boot lightly against the floor. She’d always done that. Percy could suddenly see her in those tight little dresses she used to love, one toe pointed up, heel down, tapping against a beer-sticky floor while she talked to Logan.

“It’s nice,” she continued. “You guys were always so wonderful. And I regretted when Logan and I—you know, when we broke it off. I mean, I get what was going on now, and I don’t—I’m not mad or anything.” She looked up at him. “Did you know? Finn and Logan.”

Percy leaned back against the wall, blowing out a breath. “That’s a very loaded question. Know-know? No. But…I mean, yeah, I knew they…”

He thought of Logan tearing out of the house after Finn left. Finn’s car skidding back into the driveway, his red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks. Nothing. I just thought I forgot something.

“It’s okay,” Cassie said, shaking her head. “It’s not my business, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no,” Percy said. “You were caught up in them just like the rest of us. It’s all right. Happy ending, right?”

Cassie smiled, eyes flitting to his, then away. “Yeah.”

Percy glanced down the hallway where he could see the coaching staff heading into the locker room.

“Well, I gotta…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassie laughed, then cleared her throat. “Okay. Good luck. Do something pretty out there.”

Percy’s laugh came out a little high-pitched, even to himself. “Yeah, I—I’ll try. Thanks.”

He made it half way to the locker room doors before he heard her voice.

“Hey, Marshall.”

Percy looked over his shoulder. Cassie was biting at the inside of her cheek, idly tapping her microphone against her thigh.

“Hey, Baker,” Percy said softly.

Cassie smiled at the old routine. Old jokes and unfinished business, that’s what Percy thought they were.

“I don’t know if I would exactly call it you saving my life,” she said. “But I do remember.”

Percy’s insides were melting. He knew no one else knew what they were talking about, but he’d felt such elation, such guilt that night, that he swore the memories had rolled out in scrolls at his feet.

“Do you?” Cassie shifted back a step, twisting one heel of her boot against the rubber they set down over the floor for their skates. “Remember?”

“Cassie Baker,” Percy sighed, settling his helmet back on his head. “If I ever forget a single thing about you, you can tell the world to go ahead and say I’ve lost my mind.”

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6 : Saturday, 10:45 PM

Logan burned. His lungs. His thighs. His knuckles. It had been a short, swing of a fight with a number 34, and when the guy had tried to put Logan on his back after taking his helmet off with a hard swing, Logan thought of Finn’s head, gorgeous and fragile, and he had seen red. Logan sent 34 to his knees with a rough shove to his shoulder. He’d caught some of his breath back in the two minutes he spent in the box, ice on his wrist, and now he was breathing hard waiting to take the face-off.

He waved off the beckons back to the bench. He breathed deep through his nose. He put his mouth guard back in.

He tried to pretend the only reason he was working this hard was to win a Cup.

He wished his boys were on the ice with him, not in the stands. He wanted Finn, tall and lean in his skates, talking fast in his ear, and Leo at his back in the net.

Home.

He needed this to get him home, and he needed it not to go to overtime. He needed this finished.

5-5 in the third with the clock winding down. Five goals: Alex, Percy, Logan, Logan, Alex.

Three times to show he meant it, that’s what he needed.

He gave his stick a flick of a twirl in his loose gloves and bent for the face-off.

There was nothing faster than play-off hockey. Sometimes, Logan thought he’d been born for it. He flexed his fingers in his gloves and imagined himself on the lake near his parents’ home. It’s where he put the pressure away. He sank into memory. He reached for something to set his blood roaring and found the image of how Jack Archer looked at Leo there waiting. His heart thundered. He dug his skate edges into the ice harder, ready to take off at a moment’s notice.

“I know you’re counting the seconds, boys. It’s nothing at all and it’s an eternity,” the referee said as he held out the puck. “But let’s play nice now. If you win it, you want to win it fair.”

Neither player replied. Maybe 45 was fast, but Logan stole the puck right out from the dot when the referee dropped it. He didn’t have to think, not in moments like these. Not when he could feel Will behind him, catching Logan’s win, hear Percy tapping the ice for his pass.

Colorado intercepted. Logan skated hard and drove his shoulder into the pick-pocket’s side right at the blue line. It let Alex get the puck. The crowd shrieked.

Alex hit the post. Logan swore the pinging sound echoed through the entire team. It made him gasp as he skated for the bench. He fell down beside Luke, breathing so hard he had to lean over and cough.

Luke slapped his back. “Atta boy, Tremz.”

The whistle blew as Colorado sent the puck dinging off the glass and into the crowd.

“Fuck me,” Alex shouted as he came to the bench, slamming the door after him hard.

“It was a good shot,” Logan said.

Alex’s laugh was breathless and he stole Logan’s water. “It was an almost shot.”

Five minutes.

It was nothing at all, and an eternity. Logan looked up, looked for red and gold.

It was impossible to see them, but he imagined he could. He found that his pendant had come out of his jersey and, eyes still raised, brought it to his lips and kissed it before tucking it away again.

Home. It was irrational, it wasn’t true, likely, but he still felt that if he did this, if he helped pull the Rangers into victory, he could ask for anything he wanted. He’d served his purpose. Home.

“You have 29,” Logan said to Luke. “I’m going to go around.”

“I know,” Luke said. “I’m with you.”

But the referees were calling nothing at this late stage. At three minutes, Logan found himself going shoulder first into the boards, pain flaring. He ignored it. He got up, there was no time. He made to hit his stick against the ice, calling for the puck again, but found the blade half snapped off. The bench was hollering at him as Logan skated hard towards it. He barely looked as he threw the broken stick towards the equipment manager and snatched the fresh one.

Luke had the puck, his eyes went to Logan. Every part of the stadium seemed to hush, but Logan knew that was only because the place was so loud. Logan could picture Finn with his hands in his hair, Leo gripping his arm. He could imagine his sisters screaming.

A defenseman tried to block Luke’s pass, but Luke lifted the puck just enough so it warbled through the air. Logan was afraid, for a moment, that he wasn’t going to be able to catch it like that. He needed to steady it somehow, he needed to undo its momentum.

Logan dug his skate into the ice, tracking as the puck found his tape, and immediately pulled himself into a fast turn. The puck steadied on his tape and Logan knew he was out of time. He could feel the screams, they rumbled his feet, the ice, but he couldn’t hear them. Only his heart.

Logan steadied his blade on the ice and, half-blind, shot.

Luke was there, ready to pick up a rebound. Alex was there, arms wide against a defenseman. The goaltender reached, glove wide.

But the puck hit home, the net rippling.

Logan shouted, or at least he thought he did. The sound tore out of his throat. He threw his stick, his gloves. It was all he had time for before Luke and Alex were slamming into him. He felt himself stumbling, held up by his teammates, still shouting. He clutched at their jerseys, felt Alex’s visor press against his. The arena shook, and he gasped, straining his head back to see. When the cameras caught this moment, he wanted the world to see who he looked for first.

•

NYR vs. COL Game 6: Saturday, 10:50 PM

Dog pile.

Luke stumbled over thrown equipment, hardly able to move with how tightly his team was pressed together. He clutched Logan’s shoulders. He allowed himself one more second of holding his best friend before he turned, looking wildly, trying to find—

And he was there. Shoving to the core of their huddle, glove, blocker, helmet somewhere left behind, his curls free. Saint reached for Luke. Jostled as they were by the other boys around them, Saint held onto Luke’s jersey, keeping them together.

“Seb,” Luke shouted, laughing. “You were amazing, you—Fuck, you were so—”

“You terrify me,” Saint shouted over the stadium’s roar. He was still breathing hard, sweat dripping in his eyes in a way that probably stung.

Luke thought his heart had already been pounding. He thought there had already been a few tears on his cheeks. But now…

“You do.” Saint cupped a hand around the back of Luke’s neck, the other pressing to his chest. “And I—love you. I love you.”

Luke did cry then. He hadn’t expected it, the first sob hiccuped out of him, then it was a laugh. He leaned down in the only half-hidden, joyful huddle of their team and brought their mouths together. Kissing Saint was hotter than the adrenaline fire in his blood.

Someone, Percy, Luke thought, hit him in the shoulder happily. When the parted, Saint was smiling at him. It was a grin Luke had seen all of once. So thoroughly unguarded. No masks, no performances.

“Well,” Saint said.

“I love you,” Luke could hardly speak. Hardly breathe. “Seb—”

Saint pushed into his arms, and then someone else hugged him, too. When Luke opened his eyes, Logan was there at their sides, grinning at him.

•

Someone had shoved a champion hat in his hands and Logan pushed back his sweaty hair and put it on, backwards.

“Where,” he mumbled to himself. He saw families. Will’s wife, his son, his parents, all embracing. He saw Percy’s parents. Natalie and Kasey. “Where…”

“Lolo,” Logan heard from behind him.

He grinned, barely had time to turn, before Noelle was in his arms. He held her force and clutched back.

“Lo,” Noelle said shakily in his ear. “Logan, you did—you fucking did it again, that was beautiful, Lo, that goal, fucking hat trick, that was so beautiful.”

She broke off, laughing, speechless.

Logan tucked his face into her neck. There were cameras on them, capturing the moment, and mics hanging like fruit above their lenses. Words pushed at him, words he wouldn’t say to Leo or Finn, in case they made him sound too hopeful—or not hopeful enough.

But to Noelle. To Noelle, he could say anything.

“Maybe I can go home now,” Logan said.

“Oh, Bear,” Noelle said softly. Her arms tighten around him. “I know. I know…”

“Where—”

“Right behind me.” Noelle released him, crying, grinning, and turned.

Finally, there they were.

They didn’t have to push their way through. The crowd parted around them. Everyone knew they were his, that they were coming for him.

Alex was closer, and Logan knew Finn wasn’t about to pass by his brother. Two identical grins, running at each other one moment, then hugging tightly the next.

Logan only had eyes for Leo. Logan put a hand on Noelle’s shoulder and squeezed, then skated hard through the crowd. Leo put his hands up as he ran gingerly on the ice, then scooped Logan right off his feet, skates and all, and held him tightly before setting him down again and pressing his smile to his cheek. It probably should have made Logan feel every single one of his injuries, being lifted like that, but he felt unbearably light.

“That goal,” Leo shouted. “Jesus, Lo, oh my God, your hands. The spin, the lift you got, I don’t even know how you did that—”

Logan kissed him, but he might as well have plunged them both underwater. His hearing went muffled. Leo felt so good in his hands, strong and kissing him back. Salt leaked in, Leo’s tears, Leo being kissed on the ice by him.

“I can’t believe…” Leo mumbled, but the words dissolved and he gripped Logan’s jersey, drawing it taught over his shoulder pads.

Logan broke the kiss only so he could see his face. His lips were parted, red, his blue eyes bright. Speechless. His gaze darted behind Logan, around them, and he began to shake his head, began to laugh.

“I can believe it,” Logan said. “‘Cause it’s you.”

Leo brought his fingertips to Logan’s mouth, then the cut on his cheek. Smiling. Pure and bright. He touched his own lips, as if he could feel what had just happened.

“We…”

Logan threw his arms around Leo’s neck. He kissed him again, this one short and easy like they’d kissed on the ice a million times. “So happy you’re here. Merci, soleil. I know this is—after everything—” 

But Leo shook his head, grinning. “Oh, I love you. Of course we’re here, how could I miss that spin, and your face and—Lo, Harz and I just shouted our fucking lungs out. Lo, we just…” Leo leaned down and kissed him again. “God, lots of microphones around, I got a lot to say, but where—” He turned to look over his shoulder, clutching Logan to him as he searched—

And there was Finn, walking towards them, brown eyes already shining.

Leo released him only so Finn could take Logan gently in his arms.

“Look at him,” Leo said. “Look at him, Harz, look how happy.”

“God,” Finn’s voice broke, and he laughed, sniffling. “Are you hurt? Does that hurt?”

“Non,” Logan said, though he probably was, somewhere. “Non, I mean, can’t feel it.” Logan wanted Finn to hold him like this all the time. Hard, grasping, large palm warming the entirety of his flushed left cheek and jaw. And they were surrounded by people, Logan was wearing his uniform, on the ice, about to be handed the Stanley Cup for the second time in just two years, and Finn O’Hara was about to kiss him.

Finn didn’t say anything. He was probably thinking exactly what was going through Logan’s mind. He laughed, though, tears beginning to escape, and looked around, then back to Logan.

“If someone had tried to tell me, at nineteen…” Finn began. At the sound of how thick the tears were in his voice, Logan choked up, too. “My Lo.” He looked at Leo. “Le…I am the luckiest—”

Logan put his hands around Finn’s shoulders, leaned up, and kissed him. Finn’s tears were salty like Leo’s, and Logan was surprised to find that he himself wasn’t crying. He was so happy that he ached.

When he wrapped his arms around both of them, Finn tilted his head back and let out a loud, long whoop.

Leo’s answering smile was radiant and Logan hoped someone was taking photographs, anyone, of this. Of what was finally his.

“Now, I’ve won,” Logan said, clutching to them, and their answering laughs were a silver finer than anything. “We did it.”

Finn gripped Logan’s face, careful of the bruise, and made a low, growling sound that Logan supposed was him not knowing what to do with his happiness, how to contain his smile. He took Logan’s hat off, pushed his hand through his sweat-soaked hair, and settled it back on his head before using the bill to jostle Logan a little.

“God, Tremblay,” he said softly. “Love you forever.”

Leo’s mouth was close to his ear when he whispered, “MVP. At least in my book.”

Logan let himself close his eyes. He needed—and wanted—to see his family, but he just wanted to rest here for a moment. He wanted to feel Finn kiss his temple twice and Leo take his weight without question. Just the few moments had some of his adrenaline draining away, and Logan wanted them to take him somewhere and sleep for a year.

“None of that yet,” Leo said. “You got some heavy lifting to do still.”

~

“Alex,” Cassie Baker said. “How does it feel to be named the most valuable player to your team in this play-off run?”

Alex still felt like he could barely breathe, but he laughed, using the hem of his jersey to wipe champagne off his brow. “Got a shiny trophy and everything, huh?”

Cassie smiled at him. “Two trophies!”

“True, true. No, for real though, it’s—it’s a honor, but I’m nothing without these boys.” He motioned vaguely, but looked for a moment, trying to find familiar faces among the families in the crowded locker room. He could still feel the heft of the Cup as Percy had handed it off to him and he lifted it above his head. He could still see Logan’s grin as Alex had handed it off to him, then Logan to Luke, Luke to Saint. He found Finn, standing with his arms around Noelle and Aubrey, watching Logan being interviewed by another network. The floor was sticky, Alex’s entire face and hair was soaked with sweat and champagne and beer, but he was reluctant to take a shower. Natalie had jumped and locked her legs around his waist. Kasey was wearing his champion hat. Alex wouldn’t soon forget his grin as he took a swig from his own champagne bottle. Should I jump next?

“I can’t say enough about them,” Alex said. “And I won’t say this was an easy season. New faces, old friends, old faces, new friends. This team has become so close, but it was…” Alex laughed a little. “I don’t know, forge with fire, or whatever that saying is. Lots of wins feeling as rough as loses.”

Alex looked up to see that Finn was closer now, standing off camera, but listening. Cassie followed his gaze and smiled, too, but said nothing. Alex felt another hand thump him on the back. He didn’t see who it was, a teammate, a coach, a parent, but it felt good all the same.

“The thing with trades is you come to love people who might be your teammate one day and your opponent the next, and it’s difficult. But it’s lucky. There is so much…I’m just grateful to have everyone in this room in my life. On the ice, it’s a different world, we’re fighting so hard and—and it means everything when you’re on solid ground again to look around and find that there are twenty people waiting to celebrate with you.”

“You bring up trades, which you yourself went through this season, along with your old friend, Logan Tremblay. You both share a very tight connection with Gryffindor, who you knocked out of the playoffs this season. You’re being very modest, but I bet anything he would be able to give me ten reasons why you deserved this tonight. What was it like getting to be line mates with him?”

“Oh, Tremz is my—” Alex laughed as his eyes found Finn’s. Shouts went up and Alex caught a glimpse of the Cup being raised up, foaming beer sloshing out of it. Finn was smiling hard, rubbing at his jaw. “I don’t even know where to begin with that kid, he’s like a brother to me. We’ve shared good times, we’ve shared bad times, we…” Alex shook his head. “He makes my baby brother very happy, and so he makes me happy. And don’t even get me started on his game, he did things tonight I don’t think anyone can repeat, don’t even get me started, we’ll be here all night.”

Cassie laughed. “Final question, Alex, and then I’ll let you get back to celebrating. I just made eye contact with your brother you just mentioned, Finn, who plays for the Lions. There were a lot of Lions in the house today, including your old teammate Kasey Winter who you began your NHL career with here in New York. What did it mean to have him in the crowd?”

“Oh.” Alex heard his own voice break, and he laughed again, but felt it tremble. “You know, it’s…” Kasey was standing with Leo across the room, and both of their hands were out like they were discussing the goaltending of the game. Alex thought of that first locker room. Those brown eyes and big paw of a hand—he hadn’t quite grown into himself yet back then—stretching out to shake Alex’s pale one. That speeding drive, going faster than he’d ever admit, to reach the airport security check in time. Kase. Kase. Fucking, stop, Winter, wait—

“Oh,” Alex said again. “It’s—” He felt a sudden surge of protection over all of those stories, even against Cassie Baker’s kind eyes. “I’ll say this for now. It’s a big thing coming into this league. Bliz helped me settle into this life…” Alex swallowed. “Into myself. He retired this year, you know, that’s a big change for anyone. I just…I’ve never been so excited to be a part of someone’s next chapter, their daily life. I’ve never been someone’s…”

Suddenly Natalie was standing next to Finn. He didn’t know if Finn had waved her over, or how long she’d been standing there. She’d let her hair down, gold flowing over her shoulders. She had her arm looped through Finn’s, but she was only looking at him.

“There are beginnings, middles, and ends of everything,” Alex said, then smiled down at Cassie. “Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get the full ride.”

[femmenature]

You drew stars around my scars

The creator of this content does not speak English, constructive criticism on grammar is welcome😭

I know Liv identifies as non-binary and uses They/them as pronouns, but I used she/her just because of Vanessa's character!

Pairing: Teen Van Palmer/Vanessa Palmer x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Your girlfriend hasn't spoken to you since the wolves left scars on her face, and you can't ignore the sudden distancing.

Warning: Insecurity, bad words.

-

A few days have passed since the wolves bit Van. It was noticeable how distant she was from you. You understood, but on the other hand, you felt guilty for wanting to question her. How could she possibly think you'd judge her? How could she possibly think I'd be disgusted by seeing her face? It hurt you to feel that she had that perspective on you.

The secret relationship between you and Vanessa started before the accident. You were one of the defenders in soccer. It created a short distance between you and your team's goal. In other words, very little distance between you and Van. The chats at practice and the whispers in the locker room turned into make-out sessions and love confessions. Everything was perfect until the crash, and let's just say we managed to stay together. But this really messed things up. She won't talk to me, she won't look at me, she won't touch me, and she even does whatever it takes to push me away. And it sickens me, sickens me that I can't be by her side knowing what she's going through. So I took advantage of the moment when she went to look for dry branches for the campfire and cautiously followed her.

"Are you planning on ignoring me any longer?" Her shoulders lifted at your sudden voice, but she still didn't turn around. "I haven't even heard your voice in days, Vanessa" She cleared her throat as she continued collecting the sticks from the floor. "You don't understand," she said shakily, trying to get used to her voice again, as if she'd kept it hidden in the darkest part of her. "Why do you think I don't understand?" Your face clouded with confusion. 

"I don't know, things like this. This damn interrogation." She stops herself, trying to take back what she said "I'm sorry. I know I'm not reacting well. I just need to be alone."

"Stop doing that, stop pushing me away, because I'm not going to do it." You approach her, facing her back. Every step toward her feels like a step closer to the abyss. "You don't know what I'm like right now, you don't know what I'm saving you from," you furrow your eyebrows, even though she can't see you. Your hand reaches for her shoulder, not with the intention of turning her around. Simply so she knows you're there, respecting her time. "What are you talking about? Do you really think I'd react like this because of your scars, imagining what I was saved from now that my girlfriend was bitten by wolves?" You blurt out the words that had been stuck in your throat for so long. "Do you even know me at all? I need you to listen to yourself."

Her face turns away from where you placed your hand, still trying to avoid you. "I don't think badly of you. I just don't want you to be with me out of obligation." A sigh of frustration escapes you at the sound of her voice. "If you think I'd do that, you really don't know me."

Her body abruptly turns, facing you, allowing you to finally see her face. "Look at me. Look at me and tell me I don't disgust and repel you. That you could caress me the way you did before I had this." Her hands scribble, trying to point out her scars. Even the slightest reference to them repels her.

"You survived a damn wolf attack. What you have on your face are the marks of survival. Do you want me to tell you what would have been devastating for me? That you don't come back." Her eyes meet yours, hungry for the tiniest hint of contact. "So don't put words in my mouth I'd never say. Because having you here with me is more than I could have ever wished for, and more."

Her eyes glaze over and her breathing evens out, leaving behind the air that was squeezing her lungs. "Doesn't it disgust you? Doesn't it make your stomach feel sick, like you're going to throw up?"

"The only thing I feel in my stomach when I see you are butterflies," she rolls her eyes, though you managed to see a small smile escaping her lips. "Van, your beauty is eternal to me. The thing I feel when I see your scars is pride and gratitude that you're still here." One of her hands dared to move away from her body to stop contemplating yours from afar and do something about it. Brushing your hip, with the absurd fear that you'll reject her even though she's heard you say the opposite, her mind betrays her. "I don't deserve you," she whispered to you while her thumb caressed you. 

"You fought with fucking wolves. I don't think anyone really deserves you. And I think it's important to emphasize that you look way too hot with them." She lets out a chaste laugh, not believing you. "You're just saying that." Your hand approaches her cheek, delicately caressing her sensitive marks. "I'm not lying. It's a constant reminder of how brave you are. And you know very well that I admire that about you."

After staring at each other for a while, you pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her neck as she rests her face in the crook of your neck. "Thank you. Thank you for staying even though I tried to push you away. I don't know what I would have done without you. You always know just the right thing to say, at the right time, in the right way. I love that about you." Her voice is low as she clings to your body "I love you."

Your head moves away from hers, forcing her to look at you. With a smile, you stroke her hair as you respond with the same feeling you always had. "I love you, Van. Nothing could change that."

Unable and unwilling to prolong the moment any longer, their lips found each other as they had before.

-

Again, sorry if there is any mistake, it's late here and for some reason I write when I'm sleepy. 😫

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (HVC) - pt. 2 excerpt

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: ... warnings: nothing (my procrastination) a/n: hi!! erm so part 2 is taking longer than i thought because i refuse to work properly ig... so im taking it up for myself to post the first excerpt of part 2 and I PROMISE PART 2 WILL BE UP BY THE END OF THIS WEEK.

anyways thank u always for reading <3 taglist form here!!

In 3 weeks, you go to 6 home games. 

Which, in retrospect, is absolutely crazy because that’s averaging two (2!) games per week in the brunt of design finalizing and fashion week scrapbooking and planning with your team. 

And now, the one you’re sitting at seems to up your count from six to seven games in 3 weeks. Which means that your assistant will be calling you sometime next week asking if you ever finished finalizing the fashion week scrapbooks and tulle selections (only one of which you’ve actually finished. The other…. Well, let’s just say that it won’t be seeing the light of day for a while). Which also is part of your explanation to why you are busy multitasking between texting Yena, your assistant, on the last flap stitches for your fold-over bag for the F/W collection, gluing pieces of fabric and drawing cut-outs and print outs and colors down onto your scrapbook, and watching the actual baseball game and participating in half-assed and quarter-minded fanchants that seem to have no soul in it. 

All in that exact order. 

And it’s even harder to balance (especially your phone that teeters precariously off your knee because your actual table is too full of food, beer, and your scrapbooking trash pile) when your phone chimes with a familiar notification. 

new message from vernon⚾️🐈

You almost choke on your beer that was travelling half-way down your esophagus, coughing violently and trying not to get drops of Cass onto your scrapbook. 

For the first time in almost fifteen minutes, you raise your head, swiveling to try and see where the hell Vernon is texting you from because not only is it the middle of the seventh inning but it’s also the middle of his game. 

And he never goes on his phone during games. 

vernon⚾️🐈 yo u see that last play?

You roll your eyes at his text. Yo? Really? But also, typical Vernon. Almost three months – texting, calling, showing up to games, post-game chicken runs, and the occasional late-night movie theater run at Coex – made you accustomed to his rather nonchalant way of saying hi. Those including (but definitely not limited to) yo, hey, bro, dude, whats up, lol, and show cat now as in your actual feline pet, not your pussy (which you thought at first was what he was implying and almost blocked him before he clarified with a photo of his own cat that you were too scared to open for the first three minutes, thinking it was an unsolicited dick pic). 

You pause before you reply, placing the glue stick down. 

you yea obv

It’s a lie. A blatant one at that. But you feel bad telling Vernon hahaha no lol was too busy working on my pfw scrapbooking and model calls to be focused on ur game im at. 

So yeah. You lie.

But Vernon texts back in record time. 

vernon⚾️🐈 no u werent

You roll your eyes. 

you i was watching

vernon⚾️🐈 liar!! too busy lookin down @ ur sketches to watch me hit that ball outta da stadiummmm

you ur such a child and literally lying

vernon⚾️🐈 no im not but u wouldnt know bc ur too busy

you i have pfw stuff to sort out sue me

vernon⚾️🐈 ah so u admit that u werent paying attention

You don’t get a chance to reply before the speakers above your head crackle to life, stadium static breaking over the announcer’s booming voice:

“Now up to bat, our very own number twelve, VERNON CHWE!” 

All of the vowels in his name are stretched way too long but most of the call of his name is drowned in the thundering cheers and applause of the Diamonds fans crowding up the stadium. 

You jolt at the sudden screams, blinking up from your stupid silly grin at your phone. 

And just like that, the messages stop. 

: ̗̀➛ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇸​​🇸​ ❜​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇺​​🇵​ @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows ; @itsclda ; @luminouskalopsia ; @kiachiako ; @81evermore

[owl-of-fandom]

written for @drarrymicrofic prompt: 18 by One Direction wc: 626 | slight angst with a happy ending, no warnings

Draco tracks the movement of Harry's wild curls as he moves, bouncing through the kitchen, preparing tea and breakfast for two. His black hair is even messier than usual. The curls stick up in every direction. Bed hair extraordinaire. 

Harry hums along to the wireless. Some pop song is playing. Draco has to admit it is rather catchy. If only it wasn't so early. 

It's miraculous still that Draco gets to have this. That he gets to see Harry like this. All soft and carefree, barefoot, in his pyjamas, dancing through his kitchen with a love bite visible high on his neck. Draco smiles to himself, remembering how it got there. 

Finally Harry puts a plate in front of Draco. The food smells heavenly. If this is what breakfast with Harry Potter always is like, he might just become a morning person. 

"Here's your tea, love," Harry says and freezes, his hand still on the handle of the mug. 

Draco's eyes snap open. His ears ring with the last word. He drags his eyes from the steaming mug, slowly, so so slowly, up to Harry's face. Harry's dear face, frozen in shock and blushing a deep shade of pink. It looks lovely on his brown skin. Perhaps Draco should make him blush like this more often. 

But still. He doesn't mean it. He can't. 

Draco's own heart is beating furiously, as if trying to jump through his throat out of his chest, just to lay right there on the breakfast table, bleeding out his feelings, clear, and obvious, for everyone to see. 

Harry's impossibly green eyes go wide as an array of emotions flit across his face, too fast for Draco to recognize any of them. Then he closes his eyes.

This is it. He's going to take it back. He's going to realize how ridiculous this whole thing between us is. He's going to end it all for good. 

Harry pulls back his hand from Draco's mug, sits down finally. He looks at Draco and smiles and Draco has to force himself to keep breathing, swallowing his treacherous, rapidly beating heart back down his throat. 

How can he be this beautiful when he's about to break my heart?

"I won't take it back, Draco," he finally says. His voice is like the softest caress. Like a lover's touch. 

"Listen, I know it's a bit crazy and maybe too soon," he chuckles and runs a hand through his curls, rubs his neck. "I knowit's way too soon to say. But when you touch me, it feels electric. And when I hold you it feels like you belong right there. Like … like I was made for holding you." Draco swallows hard.  Did he really mean—?

"And obviously we haven't always been, you know, nice to each other," he continues with a smirk, "I mean we practically hated each other. Until 8th year, I suppose." 

Draco's mind flashes back to nights spent silently in front of the fire, just the two of them. To how when the whole school despised him, hexing him, spitting on him wherever he went, green eyes turned to him not in pity, but in reluctant understanding and eventual companionship. 

"We probably still have a long way to go, but I'm really happy with where we're headed. You make me very happy. And yes. I love you."

He smiles at Draco shyly through his lashes. A genuine smile, soft and vulnerable and lovely. 

He takes Draco's clammy hand across the table. 

"I don't expect you to say it back, darling." Draco swoons. 

Could he really have this? 

He swallows hard. Now or never. He puts his hand against Harry's cheek, gently stroking his cheekbone. 

"I've loved you since we were eighteen," he says. 

[deviantartdramahub]

So this is something to settle an expose a certain person who is rallying people to hate on one of my friends, and that person is @xscene-queen-selfshipsx. This is from my perspective, the person she actively and proudly tried to trick into giving her free stuff by taking advantage of my generosity.

For context, Vee and I had become close friends, and I admittingly was lovestruck and didn't go about it in the right ways, ultimately, unfortunately, unknowingly, and unintentionally making Vee uncomfortable and having Vee block me on everything. I do not blame Vee for what she did to protect her own emotional well being and once Scene relayed what Vee had told her I did, I finally saw the other perspective and I took a long look at myself in the mirror and punched it in disgust, and now I'm in the process of making a mosaic of a monarch butterfly with the pieces of that mirror.

What Scene thought she was doing was revenge for her as she found out that with as little income I have, I go out of my way to show appreciation for the people that are there for me and give them gifts, but I personally can't see how what she was attempting to do and admittingly almost succeeded in doing is in the benefit of ANYBODY ELSE but herself.

I first met Scene when playing Cards Against Humanity with her and Vee, we three had a great time together, and afterwards conversations went on from there. Scene was a cool person with a lot of similar interests and I enjoyed talking to her. There was a time she thought about leaving Vee's server when she felt like she wasn't fitting in and had nothing in common with anybody there. Being someone that has dealt with rejection from the world for being different, I decided to go talk to her, and I spent hours writing long paragraphs to help her understand that it's okay to be different and to be proud of it, and that she should still be open about her personal interests because true friends will support you in those interests AND since I was there at the time, I offered to be that person that shared common interests with her. After that long conversation, Scene decided to stick around and it seemed her mood had actually changed. She seemed more confident to be herself and seemed to have found a new outlook on everything, I felt like I had truly helped her. She even said when I admitted to her that I REALLY liked Vee, that she fully supported the possibility of Vee and I getting together and that I would be a good person for her.

Fast forward to when Vee and I had our falling out because of my own mistakes that I take full responsibility for, and have told Scene many times that I did. Scene and I talked about the falling out, and Scene went to Vee to find out her perspective of everything and then relayed it to me, which was extremely helpful in me starting to fix what is wrong with me as I was unaware of the full scope of what I did wrong, but scene did it in a very harsh way as well. Calling me names, comparing me to awful people or comparing my actions to way more extreme actions, making sure that I saw every ugly detail in my reflection so I could start popping those ugly pimples of my personality. But she also helped change the subject and was being there to talk to me about the common interests we had, often having to help me stop thinking or talking about Vee in my time of heartbreak by saying things like "it was never real, you were delusional, you messed up, you have a lot to work on before even thinking about finding love" etc. (not actual word-for-word quotes, just mostly paraphrasing.) and of course the conversation came up about my anxiety of how Vee is going to feel when gifts I had sent her were going to be coming in the mail in a couple days and how I used to shower Vee in gifts, not in a way to "buy her love" but to simply get her something that she couldn't afford at the time (but I could) that I know she would like and would make her happy, because I am a people pleaser to a fault.

After Scene discovered this trait about me that I do with ALL my friends, she started REALLY trying to convince me to get her stuff, and in my depressive state, I agreed that I would buy her stuff she was asking for, because I wanted to be happy making somebody else happy again. I came close to doing so but thankfully fate protected me and the items she was asking for the most at the time were out of stock, so I couldn't buy it for her, so then I splurged on myself to cope in my own way, making me unable to afford ANYTHING she was asking me for. She kept trying to tell me when I was reacting to the things she was asking for "not to fall for her, don't make the same mistake you made with Vee", but that's the thing, I didn't have an OUNCE of feelings for Scene in the slightest, my heart simply doesn't move on like that, and I'm currently working on myself to be a better partner for somebody in the future, because obviously I'm not good for anybody right now for many reasons. I am not going to fall for somebody else RIGHT AFTER losing somebody that I was basically handing my heart over to on a silver platter, especially if that person is their "ride or die" best friend that's like a sister to them, that's just morally messed up. I was simply reacting because what she was asking me for was the typical Hot Topic girl vibes clothing, which I did admit that is my favorite style and usually the style of every girl I crushed on, just to simply say that Scene had good taste and that she was going to be looking amazing in it, the same way a gay friend would go shopping with a bestie and compliment her with no intentions behind it because he doesn't swing that way. Example: "Damn gurl! Your butt in those, omg, you're going to make guys and girls flood the place because they'll be drooling so much! Yaaaas!"

Fast forward again after some time of me talking to Scene, daily updates, random memes, occasional drops in mood and venting how I miss Vee and how I wish I knew sooner what I was doing wrong so I could start to fix it before I lost her, etc. I randomly got a message from Vee after being unblocked on one of the apps we actively followed each other on in the past, telling me to add her back on Discord since she unblocked me there too because she had something important to tell me. Vee then sent me the screenshots you see in this post, of Scene admitting to her that she was planning to take advantage of me to get free stuff while also talking shit and insulting me for being a kind and trusting person who makes a lot of mistakes unknowingly and unintentionally. The way she speaks about me when I've been nothing but kind and supportive of her truly hurts. After Vee told me that, Vee and I also discussed our falling out, what we both did wrong on our own parts, what we learned about ourselves in the experience, and what we plan to do to become the best version of ourselves in the future. Vee and I are on good terms and actively speaking to each other, but I am controlling myself as best as I can to not be the clingy, obsessed, and lovestruck fool I was that made me lose her before, and she is trying her best to be better at communicating and being open about her feelings instead of forming to what she thinks others want. We are both becoming better people slowly but surely, because we don't want to be misunderstood by our actions when we have good intentions.

After I was informed, I kept it going with Scene to see how far she'd truly go to do such an evil thing to someone, and even when I admitted that I'm nervous that she may be taking advantage of me after she sent her amazon wishlist, she denied any I'll intentions and tried to make me feel ridiculous for thinking that she would do something like that, that she is there for me. So I decided it was finally time to show her what I now know. And you can see the rest in the screenshots.

Fast forward to now, where Scene is posting vague things, bad mouthing Vee and rallying other people who have had their own experiences with Vee, but never admitting any wrong she did on her part. I don't think Vee doing the morally right thing and warning someone that something LITERALLY ILLEGAL is being done to them warrants all the things that are being said about her. I do not make a lot of money right now, the only guaranteed amount being a little over 1k per month, while also living in my own and taking care of my ESA cat, and the things I was going to buy for Scene were going to be a LOT of money, the CHEAPEST item Scene was asking for being $50 or more, yet I was still going to do it because I was convinced she was my friend and gave a damn about me.

I'm going to close this with a direct statement to Scene. Scene, please feel free to do a post explaining how *you* taking advantage of a broken, generous, kind, good intentioned, IDIOT is "revenge" for Vee. Explain what Vee gains out of that. If you know Vee like you claim to, that you were her BEST FRIEND, her ride or die, then you would know that Vee doesn't take pleasure in the suffering of others, and what you were doing wasn't minor at all. You could've had me spend money on you that I could've spent on taking care of myself, wether it be things for my physical stability or emotional stability. You took advantage of my emotional state, my gullibility, and my passion for making others happy. Now you're upset because your friend ratted you out before you gained anything from it. I'm sorry but in comparison to you, Vee, and I, I have to say you are mostly in the wrong on a moral standpoint, and a legal standpoint at that. You are the reason why I hate humanity and now don't even want to identify as human anymore because humans are greedy little fucks that let the 7 deadly sins not only dictate their lives, but let it be the core fundamentals of how the "real world" works. What you attempted to do to me is disgusting, and I'm sure if you were on ANY other side of this other than your own, you'd be just as disgusted by somebody doing that to somebody else, and if I'm wrong and you STILL think you're justified, you have a LOT more to work on than Vee and I do. And anybody else that sees this and still thinks she's justified, you have problems too. I pity all of you and the karma that will eventually come for you. I wish you all luck in your own paths of lives, because the ones I see you going on are ROUGH, but there's many forks in the paths of lives that you have the choice to take better ones, ones less traveled so you don't need to push others down to get past them.

I believe I've said all I could, but I could always go into more detail. I hope this post doesn't get taken down while other posts slandering Vee remain up while Vee's retaliation is being taken down. That would be extremely unfair and just silencing the truth and hiding actual evidence of somebody doing an awful and ILLEGAL thing she could EASILY try to do to others. This is Tovar Perri, AKA tovarisawesome or tovartheawesome (depending on the platform), not any alt account of Vee's, and I'm willing to prove that however I can.

TLDR: Be careful getting REMOTELY close with @xscene-queen-selfshipsx, there is a chance that it's all just an act to get something out of you, wether it be something with monetary value or simply your attention and emotional support, and she actually doesn't give to flying fucks about you, no matter how nice you are to her. Nobody is off limits for her to manipulate and take advantage of. Vee and I may have our own flaws we are actively working on, at least we are morally mature enough to know that doing something like that is EXTREMELY messed up. Did I mention enough that it's also ILLEGAL?! If I wanted to I could take legal action for just attempting to do it, and with all the evidence Vee and I have and my amazing lawyers, I would win. I'm just saying. But I like to give second chances, so as long as this post puts an end to this whiny "my friend snitched on me and I didn't get my free clothes, WAH! Let's all talk shit about her and validate me when I don't disclose the shitty things I did!" posts that I'm seeing, then I'll take that as you either sulking in your shit pile you made, waiting for karma to come to you, or you are actively working on yourself as well, which I hope the case is the ladder. Good luck. I hope nothing but the best for everyone in this shitty situation and this fucked up world we live in.

Long-winded as always, if that isn't proof that I am Tovar Perri, I don't know what is. XD

I'm going to see how all this goes. One might say Evie has been brigading in response to everything and that it's giving this a conflict of interest. You won't be given the boot, but keep in mind the dump may not exist for long. There also needs to be more sources, this needs to be talked about.

[olderthannetfic]

Hi, anon who was asking for sweater patterns here. The raglan looks great and very doable, and I might honestly just go with that, though I was also thinking of doing something with some simple cabling. I've never done cables before, but I tend to like how they look and my first sweater seems as good a time as any to learn.

--

Cables can be reasonably simple. I don't have a sweater rec offhand, but this hat was designed to teach someone cables:

I've made a couple of them. They're simple, but they don't have that 'I only made this to practice' vibe.

The key to cables is to learn to read charts right away and to pick a pattern that has 1. fewer total times the yarn crosses over itself (i.e. longer stretches between the cross, meaning elongated-looking motifs) and 2. very regular and symmetrical cables.

So, for example, a cable where 1 stitch crosses over 2 is usually more confusing than a cable where 2 stitches cross over 2. A cable pattern where the actual cable cross happens on rows 4, 8, 12, etc. is easy to memorize, while one where pattern A goes on row 4, pattern B goes on row 6, pattern C goes on row 14, etc. is hard to memorize.

Something like the Handsome Chris (replicating that sweater from Knives Out) has cables that mostly make sense, but there are just so many. It takes forever to finish the sweater. I'd consider this an intermediate sweater where much of the difficulty is just in sticking with it long enough. It's really hard to say how long a sweater takes a person to knit, but at a wild guess, I'd say most people are taking 100 hours of labor at least on this one.

Something like the Minori has cables that are hard to memorize and very confusing. It also has one pattern that does everything important on odd rows while every other part of the sweater does the important stuff on even rows. (WHYYYYYYY?! It would be so easy to swap that one tiny pattern to be consistent!) I'd consider this more of an advanced sweater.

The Timberline has confusing cables that are hard to memorize and an insane construction. I'd place this in the Dear God Why very advanced category.

But notice that the Handsome Chris looks pretty complex, not that different from the other two. The gap is mostly in how much sense the charts make and how hard it is to memorize instead of referring back to the pattern every two seconds.

Patterns are tech writing. You can have a pattern that's hard simply because your brain works differently from the designer's or because the designer is a shitty writer. You can also have a pattern that's harder because the sweater construction is complex along with the cables being complex. The Handsome Chris is just a couple of big rectangles until you get up to the armpits, and the join where the sleeve meets the body does not have a complex shape.

Sari Nordlund's patterns have a relatively complex construction (for a total newbie), but some of her cables are simple. For example, look at the Colette pullover or the Ballard pullover. In the Colette, all of the cables are the same, and there's a long space in between the actual cross. In the Ballard, there are big stripes of plain stockinette rather than cables everywhere like on the Handsome Chris. I haven't knit these two, but I suspect I'd consider them beginner for cables and intermediate for other stuff.

Those are the kinds of factors I'd think about when trying to decide if a pattern is hard.

[kickbutts-singsongs]

I’ve had some thoughts about Izuku and his actions in the post-canon chapter that I haven’t known how to voice until this very moment so uh I just wanted to say that I actually saw myself in him and his decisions and here’s why:

(warning: manga spoilers and minor traumadumping)

I just recently turned 20 years old and I’ve been noticing that life feels a whole lot clearer now that I’m out of my crazy house (for the most part) and attending college, but I didn’t realize just how murky and foggy everything had felt up until now.

Like seriously looking back on it, I felt like my head was underwater and I was in a fishtank watching everyone pass me by. Some people would come up to the glass and reach out, but I didn’t really reach back bc I just assumed that since there was glass I wouldn’t be able to truly connect. Instead I kind of acted the best and brightest that I could, almost like I was performing tricks for them, in the hopes that they’d at least stick around, but I didn’t think I’d be anything more than a passing interest to them. But that was okay because I liked seeing the people and it was enough for me, I’d take what I could get.

Also some context: I was homeschooled as a kid and was a pretty isolated child whose only real connection to anyone was with her younger sister (which may or may not have been an unhealthy relationship) so when I finally attended high school, I went through those years thinking that everyone who ever met me wouldn’t really like me or want to stay connected bc if my own lil sis didn’t then who would? And though I did make friends, and they def reached out and touched the glass, I felt like I was this intangible thing that they would soon move on from and forget, once again leaving me alone in the water

Last year, someone came up to my tank and punched straight through the glass

And holy fuckin smokes everything changed

I have this dear friend that I’ve known for quite a long time (6 years now), but I never in a million years would’ve guessed that I had any real impact on her bc she was so well-liked and was surrounded by so many great people. I was just me.

But one night, she told me that I was her best friend.

Did I cry? Uh huh big time

But also?? My entire worldview changed????

Cuz WHAT DO YOU MEAN IM SPECIAL ENOUGH TO YOU FOR YOU TO DECLARE THAT OUT OF EVERYONE YOU KNOW, I AM YOUR BEST FRIEND

Basically, since then I have never felt more alive, and now I’ve decided that my days of being a wallflower to everyone I know and love are fuckin OVER

IM BEING PRESENT AND ATTENTIVE AND INSERTING MYSELF INTO PEOPLES LIVES BC THEY WANT ME IN THEM BITCHESSSSSS

“Wow, Song, congrats on the epiphany? I guess? What does that have to do with Izuku??”

Great question my friend

In my humble and lightly biased opinion, Izuku grew up without a bunch of self-worth and didn’t think very highly of himself. He also didn’t grow up with very many (healthy) friendships, and when he finally attended UA, he got his first dose of seeing people actually reaching out to him

But I think he was stuck in a daze of “Wow they really wanna be my friend? That’s crazy cuz they’re so cool and I’m just. Me.” <- similar to how I acted in hs.

And after all the ✨traumatizing shit✨ he went thru up until the end of the series, I think it’d be understandable if his life felt a bit foggy and murky, like he was existing but not truly living (esp if he never got a therapist or smth, but I sincerely hope he did) and he didn’t feel like he had much of an impact on the lives of his friends in hs other than his heroics (esp after he lost his quirk)

So my guess is that he just coexisted with everyone, counted his blessings, and then let everyone go after they graduated. It wouldn’t surprise me if the only reason he and Katsuki are as comfortable as they are in the epilogue is bc Katsuki was the one making efforts to reach out to Izuku for the past eight years, but again that’s my projections ashajkajaka

Anyways SO when it comes to the point where Katsuki’s driving and tells Izuku “if you treat everyone like they’re special to you, then no one actually is” I was shook to my core because that’s how I’d been living my life (and I still was at that point) so when I saw a lot of people criticizing Izuku for his seemingly uncaring behavior in rejecting Katsuki’s vague agency proposal, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for my boy bc I prob would’ve said and done the exact same thing. I don’t think I would’ve understood the importance of such an ask, or the impact I would’ve had if I’d said no.

And further on, when Izuku looks at Uraraka, someone who was a dear friend of his in high school, and notices that they never talk anymore and grew apart (partially bc he let that happen), he hears Katsuki’s words in his head and realizes that he’s right, and that Uraraka is someone that is special to him, actually special to him, and that he wants to rebuild that connection and put work in to keep in touch.

But I don’t think that means that that’s the end.

I think Uraraka is just the beginning.

My theory (my hope) is that he’ll start to look around at the people in his life (or currently out of his life) and allow himself to actually be in their lives again, to purposefully insert himself back in. To reach out, to connect. He’ll start being more aware of how his life actually impacts others, and how his life has meaning outside of doing things just to help people.

(And maybe he’ll re-evaluate how much he actually cares about a certain someone and notice how much effort they actually put into their relationship and wonder if they’re really just a friend to him but that’s my shipper heart alskllaksk)

Anyways uh I guess I had been neglecting my ‘thinking about Izuku’ duties for a sec so now I’ve just word-vomited a small essay that’s probably mildly incomprehensible but the point is that I care and maybe someone else will too so if u got this far thanks for reading 🫡

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

I've been going back and forth over whether what we've seen in spoilers is actually going to happen or of its a fake out. Read below the cut for spoilers/speculation/ramblings.

I still maintain that with what we know and what we've seen in the show (eg. Tim with post-Shannon regret showing that he doesn't like killing off major characters, the fact that the show loves to do dramatic twists, etc) that narratively it is likely that Bobby doesn't actually die. Not to mention, if they wanted it to be this big shock, they did a piss poor effort of keeping it quiet. And we know they are capable of keeping things quiet - if it wasn't for buddie "journalists" with screeners who couldn't help themselves from leaking spoilers to their fans and then said fans unable to keep their mouths shut, we never would have expected Tommy to return in 8x11.

But on the other hand, Peter has said in the past that while he loves being on the show, he doesn't expect to be there forever. We don't know what's going on with him behind the scenes - for all we know, he's had enough, and he wants to leave. I guess we'll find out by the end of the season if it sticks.

The thing is, I'm torn about whether I want it to be real or a fake out. I like Bobby, I love the Bobby and Buck dynamic, especially, and I would be so sad to see him go. But on the other hand, this could very well be the kick in the pants that this show has been needing.

Think of all the potential new story lines we could have if Bobby is truly gone, especially in regards to all the characters' careers. Hen, for instance - would she step up as Captain? What would that be like for her, not only being Captain full time, but having to fill some pretty impressive shoes?

And Buck, in the instances where Hen might need someone in the Acting Captain role (say if she was sick or injured), would he decide to step up? He once said he would like to be Captain one day - would the show finally remember that and get him to start seriously thinking about it? He's certainly shown good leadership qualities this season, it would be a natural progression.

What about Chim? Next season he'll have two small kids to think about. With first the loss of his (foster) brother all those years ago and now his friend/Captain, would he start re-evaluating his life? Maybe a story line where he starts freaking out and starts being overly cautious because he doesn't want to leave two small kids without a father.

If Eddie comes back and Hen moves up, would Eddie take on the medic role full time? And if so, would Ravi stay in Eddie's place? If Eddie doesn't come back, could Ravi do what TK did in Lonestar and rethink what he wants in his career and decides he might actually want to move over into the paramedic side of things? Either way, we'd get to keep Ravi as a main.

And that's the other thing. With no Bobby and potentially no Eddie if he stays in Texas, the budget is suddenly open to bring in new mains for the show. New mains = new back stories to explore, new interactions with the existing mains, and new stories to tell. We could finally move on from the stagnant recycling of storylines and get something fresh. I mean, sure, there's always the possibility they could do some of these things without killing Bobby off (new stories/characters), but they've been reluctant to do so so far, so I'm not exactly holding out hope. Peter, especially, being one of the stars of the show, would cost a lot of money to keep. If he goes, that money could go a long way into bringing in more characters. I especially noticed it from season 7, but the gradual decrease in supporting characters in 911 has really been a detriment, because they really fleshed out the show, made the world of 911 seem bigger, more fleshed out, and not so insular among only the 118. Carla, for example, was a great supporting role that just disappeared and has made me on more than one occasion miss her presence.

Personally, I'd love it if we got both Ravi and Tommy as mains. Now, I'm not expecting Tommy to suddenly transfer back to the 118, but you don't have to be with the 118 to be a main. Michael wasn't. Chris isn't. Nor do you need to be in every episode (again, like Chris). They could have Tommy and the 217 liaise occasionally on calls (I wouldn't expect too many helicopter rescues as they're expensive, but the 217 do ground ops as well). They could actually focus on Buck and Tommy's relationship properly this time and on Tommy's past (Buck somehow meets Tommy's father for starters). Hell, maybe get back into the closeness of the firefam within the show by having some sort of hijinks with Tommy, like him babysitting Jee and baby boy Han while the 118 are on shift or something. There's all sorts of possibilities.

So yeah, that's the dilemma. Keep a beloved character and potentially continue on with the same old, same old that's been plaguing the show for a few seasons now, or lose him and open the show up to a whole realm of possibility. Like I said, I'm torn.

[will-teehee]

Euladawill (doppelbancheebaku?) friendship headcanons

After the Wild Hunt arc the groups start having to mix up a bit and Will has taken a liking to Eulalie, as she kept trying to talk to him and get closer to him

She yaps a LOT but Will really loves to listen to her, people generally don't speak to him much

+ He likes her weird interests and they're curious about eachother's spectre

Ada and Will have a huge fight, they end up being pushed by Annabel to talk it out. They realise they understand eachother on a pretty deep level and learn to tolerate eachother more, eventually start naturally sticking together.

Ada is at first very judgemental of Eulalie, but through Will she's charmed by her views on friendship, because she also longs for people that genuinely care for her and wouldn't leave her like Some People™

Maybe the three team up in a class (thanks to Eulalie yanking Will outta Montresor's grasp and Ada willingly stooping in just to defy Montresor)

This makes them get really close :3

They like to meet up in their dorms, it's generally easier in Will's since he doesn't have a roommate

Berenice still kinda dislikes Ada so she doesn't want to be involved and Ada kinda feels weird about inviting people in her dorm

To me this is how their usual sleepover goes :

- They talk about silly things over hot drinks or alcohol and Eulalie teaches them how to make voodoo dolls and trinket accessories

- Ada tries hairstyles on Eulalie and then tries to get Will to accept her meddling with his hair too (they end up by all having ridiculous hairstyles)

- There is SO MUCH Monty slender (I love him but it's very deserved) like even Will sometimes ends up mumbling something or laughing

Actually he laughs quite often, he realises sometimes Monty's behaviour is ridiculous but still completely trusts him etc

- They try to summon things (harmless ones you never know)

- Will tries to sketch the girls or things they request

- If there is access to any kind of rentable entertainment at the academy and specifically movies, they have SUCH a hard time choosing :

Ada is a sucker for romance movies but Eula doesn't really get the appeal, Will is uncomfortable

Eulalie is for the supernatural summer movies but the others get scared easily

And Will doesn't really love movies but for some reason likes when there's cowboys

The snacks :

Ada loves olives

Eula likes salty things and likes to have some Japanese snacks

Will has a just basket of peaches

And they all eat ice cream :))

They end up sleeping all tangled up on the ground, sometimes Ada gets on the empty roommate bed if she isn't too tired tho

The day after they're all giggly when they look at Montresor and Will is blushing even worse than usual

[writingdevil]

Hiii I really liked your Damsel x Paranoid fic, could I get Cold x Nightmare please? I've been obsessing over how their dynamic could be like and I need content of them

(Thank you! I honestly wasn't expecting people to like the Damsel x Para one as much as they did, but I'm glad you liked it. Cold and Nightmare would be sooo interesting together, because I think they wouldn't be able to help but be curious about the other, and their dynamic would be so good. Anyway, enjoy!)

'If you're not going to remember the chant, then at the very least, do not let her touch you.'

Paranoid's words kept ringing through Cold's mind, not because he cared about them, but because Paranoid had spent the last hour drilling the chant into his head, and then reminding him of every threat that the Nightmare posed.

Cold casually let the information go in one ear and out the other.

Besides, Cold wouldn't be going through with this if he cared about his safety.

He walked into the woods, the stars twinkling above him. He wasn't entirely sure what counted as the exact middle of the woods, but he's sure the Nightmare will stick out to him.

For quite some time now, Cold has been incredibly intrigued by the power and terror that the Nightmare wielded. Of course, he's heard the horror stories from Paranoid, and he was present for the Wraith and the Moment of Clarity, but he never truly got a chance to witness Nightmare, and Cold couldn't help but be tempted by her.

He wanted to meet her. He wanted the chance to take her in and see what she was made of-and to see what she made of him.

Spectre was the one who had organised the meeting, instructing him to meet Nightmare directly in the middle of the woods, the distance between both of their abodes equal. The princesses lived on the complete opposite side of the forest, both parties wanting distance but not committing to completely leaving the other group forever.

Cold sighed, watching the way his breath floated up and disappeared into the sky. He wasn't sure how long he was willing to wait for, but he knew his patience could only be tested for so long before his interest was shifted to something else.

He tilted his head up to gaze at the night sky, until his feathers puffed up in alarm, and his head snapped back down to the trees around him.

Then, a giggle.

His eyes scanned the trees intensely, until a sharp movement caught his eye.

He almost missed her with the way her dress blended into the darkness, but there could be no hiding that mask.

Cold felt his body tense up without him even realising it, as Nightmare floated towards him.

He could feel her eyes burning into him through the mask, and he made sure to keep his posture relaxed and calm.

She giggled as she emerged from the shadows of the trees, her hair flicking about wildly, like dark tendrils waiting to snatch and strangle him. Her dress floated around her gracefully, and the stark inky darkness that she was drenched in was such a shift from the misty white that he was used to seeing from Spectre.

He found it hard to look away from her.

"There you are!" she cheerfully announced, spreading her arms out as if waiting for a hug. "I was starting to think that you'd chicken out and not keep your word."

"I wouldn't promise something if I didn't intend on going through with it," Cold stated, his gaze drifting up and down her body, studying each way that she moved and how the air around them felt heavier, as if her mere presence was enough to force such a change in the atmosphere.

"Aw," she cooed, clasping her gloved hands in front of her, "what a sweet birdie you are. Such a gentleman."

The corner of Cold's mouth quirked upwards. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew me."

"Well then it's a good thing that's why we're here," Nightmare said, and she floated even closer to him, closing the distance more and more. "I have to say, I was surprised to hear that you wanted to meet me. Not many of your little bird friends would want to even be in the same room as me."

"They're all weak," he said, "and they let themselves be guided too much by their emotions."

"But not you?" Nightmare said, her voice lowering to a coquettish murmur, and Cold felt himself being drawn to her intense gaze, one that refused to move away from him, as if he was all that mattered in this moment.

Cold found that he didn't know how to deal with that kind of attention, so he just looked her in the eye and took a bold step forward.

Nightmare threw her head back and burst out into loud cackling. "Oh you're fun, aren't you?" she exclaimed in wicked joy, staring at him like she almost couldn't believe he was there.

She then suddenly flew right up to him, and Cold merely blinked in surprise at the swift change in proximity, where all his vision could see was her porcelain mask, smiling at him in excitement.

He could feel the ends of her dress drifting across his legs, and he kept his hands at his sides as Nightmare studied him, and he mentally noted that she kept her own hands behind her back as well.

She tilted her head to the side as she taunted, "Are you not scared? Do you not feel fear?"

Cold shrugged, grazing her long hair, surprised at the small path of warmth it left on his skin. "I don't feel much. That's why I'm here."

Nightmare chuckled in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. "Really?" she asked. "So you don't feel-this?"

There was the feeling of something wrapping around his pinky finger-and then there was nothing.

His body lurched forward, and Cold found that it suddenly felt as if his arm had been ripped off. But he knew it hadn't been. This was all just her doing.

As quickly as the sensation appeared, it was gone, and Nightmare backed away with an air of pride around her.

Cold hadn't made a sound during that moment, but as he straightened up and attempted to blink back into reality, he found that he was struggling to move his tongue to make the correct sounds.

Nightmare hummed in thought. "You definitely don't squirm as much as the others do." She then chuckled and added, "But you do feel, you little liar."

Cold shrugged, making sure his voice was even and calm as he replied, "It was just a bit different from when Spectre possesses me, is all. Her touch is icy, but I can still feel her wriggling around."

"What do I feel like?" Nightmare asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice. "Surely I'm more fun than a ghost."

Cold could feel a smirk tugging at his lips, but he pushed it down as he turned his attention away from her, as if bored, and said, "I don't know. You haven't made me feel much of anything at the moment. I was told you were a dark force of nature."

Cold could tell she was glaring at him. He briefly glanced at her, and saw the way she bunched her hands into fists, before quickly releasing them, instead making an effort to smooth out her dress.

Cold went on, beginning to circle around her, "I try things to feel something. I want to experience the things that others are too afraid to." Nightmare twisted her body so that her back was never to Cold, always keeping him in her sight.

He glanced at her, his eyes catching the way her fingers twitched, as if desperate to reach out and grab him.

He stopped then, slowly trailing his gaze up and down her body. "I know that you were one of the worst for us."

The woods went silent for a few tense minutes, and then-Nightmare howled with laughter.

It wasn't a chuckle of amusement, or some sinister giggling. This laughter came deep from her core, right from something deep within her. She laughed like she had finally found something worth her time and effort.

Evil-the most simplest way to describe her laugh, was evil.

She picked up the ends of her dress with a deep sigh, and began to aimlessly dance around in the air. "Oh, you're a funny little toy, aren't you?" I didn't think I would find anyone more fun than that twitchy one, but you're clearly changing that."

"I am?" he asked, not exactly surprised, but more curious to know what she thought about him.

She nodded, and continued to dance, her hair twisting softly above her, and Cold found himself getting distracted by the sight of her.

She closed her eyes, getting lost in her dancing for a moment or two, and then she said, "Nobody wants to deal with what I am. They can barely handle a single touch before they run away, leaving me all alone."

"Poor you," he said flatly, making her giggle, and a sudden burst of pride went through him at the sound, but he easily ignored it.

She stopped her dancing, holding her dress out as if she was about to curtsey before him. "But you," Nightmare said, a growl at the back of her throat, "you sought me out. You wanted to see me, in all my glory."

Cold took a step forward without thinking. "You are fascinating." It was the truth. "I want to feel what kind of terror lurks within you." His voice was coming out hushed, and he found that he was beginning to crave that terrible, painful, amazing touch again. How dare Paranoid tell Cold not to let her touch him.

"Maybe you'll be the thing that stops the numbness in my heart," he said, and Nightmare blinked, as if unbelieving that someone would ask this of her. But then he saw the way her eyes lit up in determination.

"Okay, birdie. But don't blame me when your heart stops-promise?"

Nightmare didn't give him time to respond, as she suddenly rushed towards Cold, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mask against his lips.

It was agonising.

It was everything Cold has ever wanted.

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Low-key (high-key) insane about the contrast between an imposing MC threatening to tear someone's tongue out

And the casual intimacy/closeness when they put Aurynns head on their lap,

And the way they sit down docilely for a scolding from Samira (and how easily she sees through their "i'll get better" lie),

And them holding their little sister's hand leading her to her room and getting her to bed after a long and taxing day for both of them ... and after encouraging her to punch people in the face :3

I went through some asks on the blog (and by that I mean I went through them all, at least afaik), do you still plan a lock in for the personality at some point? The possibility of picking options contradicting/contrasting MCs usual personality is kinda (very) exciting. I don't mean to pressure tho!! Im, like, really loving what this IF offers so far in all the departments and I'll stick around either way ^^

And your art is amazing too btw......... I've eaten up all the previews, answers and RO introductions like I've never had a meal before.

Lol I do also really enjoy the contrast between an mc who can be scary or manipulative af but gentle with the people they care about 👍❤️ Even Sam was kinda internally like (oh shit wtf😰) when mc threatened to tear out Raya’s tongue and then just turns around all casual to Sam like it was nothing. :3

My plan is that the personality stats will lock in at the start of chapter 2. However, there will still be choices aligning with each of the different personalities that mc can choose regardless, they just will no longer contribute to MCs personality stat, meaning you won’t get a stat increase. But like an imposing mc for example could still make choices aligning with gentle, charismatic, dignified, or confrontational. I think it makes sense for mc to still act differently in certain circumstances or especially like under duress. In some instances, if your choice differs from MCs set stat however and it feels like they’re acting out of character, then some characters might react differently to that. Locking in a main personality stat will just make it easier for me to handle instances where MCs acts out of character and to give them more flavor text for smaller personality quirks in-game, but you’ll still be able to make choices for how mc reacts to things that align with each personality stat regardless of your locked in stat. :)

Hope that makes sense! :) And thank you!! ❤️ I had a lot of fun drawing them all to life :D 👍

Thanks so much for reading and for your message!! ❤️ Take care! :D

[unbuttonedown]

I don’t know why but I have this image of the reader in fault lines being super sunshine-y compared to Cyclone who’s super not and one day Cyclone comes home and sees reader singing and dancing in the kitchen to Juno by Sabrina Carpenter and he thinks it’s super cute but when he hears the lyrics he’s like 😳 but also super into it and that’s how baby #2 is conceived 😂

loved this idea + added a little something extra at the end ;)

It had been one of those golden California spring evenings — warm breeze through the windows, soft light stretching across the kitchen tile, and the house deliciously quiet for once. 

Stella was next door for a playdate with the neighbors’ twins, and you had exactly two hours of uninterrupted time on your hands. So naturally, you decided to turn it into a little date night at home — just for Beau. No fancy plans, no pressure. Just comfort food, soft lighting, and a moment to remind him that even in the chaos of your lives, he still had your full attention. 

You were barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his old button-downs — unbuttoned just enough to keep it interesting — and the loose shorts you knew drove him crazy. The smell of garlic and basil filled the room, and you were half-dancing, half-sautéing when you heard the front door open. 

He stepped inside, looking very much like a man who’d had a day — flight debriefs, politics, pilots acting like teenagers. Exhaustion clinging to him like static. His shoulders were tense, brows furrowed, that signature crease between his eyebrows deeper than usual. 

Until he walked further into the house and saw you. 

You were twirling a wooden spoon in one hand, hips swaying gently as you hummed along to Juno by Sabrina Carpenter, not even noticing him at first. 

Beau just stood there in the doorway for a beat, watching. Something about the way the last light hit your face, the way your laugh broke out when you really stopped to listen to the lyrics, the flirtatiousness of the song and the curve of your bare legs — it melted whatever tension had been bricked into his spine. 

“You always stare at me like that when I’m making dinner?” You teased, finally spotting him. 

“Only when you’re making me fall in love with you all over again,” he said, voice gravelly. 

You grinned, turning the stove down and sauntering over to him. “Long day?”

He nodded and pulled you into him without hesitation, burying his face in your neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Well,” you murmured, lips brushing his ear, “we’ve got wine breathing, pasta boiling, and no kid in the house for another hour and a half.” 

He pulled back, eyes dark with affection and something heavier. “That’s dangerous information, babe.” 

“I’m counting on it,” you whispered, and when his mouth found yours, it was slow, deep, and full of that kind of ache that comes with missing someone you see every day. 

The pasta never got eaten. 

Weeks later you were standing in the bathroom, barefoot on the cool tile, blinking down at the tiny plastic stick with shaking hands. 

Two pink lines. 

You laughed. Then immediately cried. Then laughed again.

Stella was asleep upstairs, curled up with her favorite stuffed otter, and Beau was still in uniform, sorting through emails down in his office. 

You walked out of your bathroom and down the stairs slowly, holding the test behind your back. 

He glanced up at you as you entered the room, eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Actually…” 

You handed him the test, and for a moment he just stared. Then he looked at you — eyes wide, stunned — and the smile that stretched across his face made your knees weak. 

“You’re pregnant?” 

“Looks like pasta night came with a souvenir.” You laughed, tears welling in your eyes again. 

He laughed, then pulled up into him so tight you felt like your heart could burst. “I love you,” he said into your hair. “God, I love you.” 

[waxworkdaughter]

I definitely get that there are contradicting headcanons, as it were, even behind the scenes, though i do think the thing from the Drive script coupled with the level of creative control Vince Gilligan had for a big chunk of the show does make me think it was more of a common thought behind the scenes than what came out directly on screen. No, the names surrounding Mulder aren't Jewish, but on the other hand that doesn't mean very much because a lot a lot of Jewish immigrant families at the turn of the last century and beyond changed their names to sound less Jewish, especially less eastern European/ukrainian/russian jewish bc even among Jews of that era there was a perception that it was 'more metropolitan and hopefully more acceptable' in society to be a central eurpean jew if you were hoping to kind of strike a middle ground . Obviously these would be Watsonian explanations for a Doyalist fact, that Carter simply used his own family names for a lot of the Mulder background. And it's fine to stick with those explanations, but imo it's not definitive outside of a kind of 'showrunner word of g-d' explanation, because a lot of immigrant and indigenous populations end up with a lot of sets of names, voluntarily and not.

But for me the Jewish Mulder concept hinges on a few things, like the fact that the character Mulder faces antisemitism on multiple occasions, and the writing makes certain antisemitism themed 'jokes' at Mulder's expense. You don't have to be a member of a minority to experience bigotry aimed at that minority that missed the mark, yes, but I feel like if I had to watch my guy go through that, I'm going to want to reclaim him from those cheap tropes because otherwise what was the point, yknow?

another thing is the fact that ill-advised jewish-gentile marriages happen and happened a lot. in fact a similar but obviously less intense and conspiracy-laden version happened in my own background, where the grandparent in question, like presumably Teena, got involved, got married, moved away from her highly observant family and tried to assimilate into the spouses WASPy family that controlled their access to the money they needed to live on and general family life. This didn't work out long term because they were culturally and emotionally incompatible, but this led to a couple generations mixed, half assimilated and culturally lost people, and that's a story i hear a lot. You try to assimilate, you try to be safe, but it doesn't really stick, and you and future generations are left in a weird no mans land.

like, it's important to remember that jewishness isn't just a religious observance, it's a tribal identity with a culture and a tradition tied to that ethnicity. There's the spectrum of observance, which obviously Mulder is not observant at all. There's the spectrum of faith, and there are many observant jews who aren't literal believers in gd or are fully atheist. There are also some who are believers who are barely or non-observant, and if anything I feel like Mulder falls here. Despite Carter and TXF's intermittent insistence that faith = religion = christian god in some kind of universalized closed loop, i do feel like Mulder is consistently written to believe in various types divine imminence just not in the culturally Christian shorthand 'god' concept used on the show, though I don't know that canonically he believes in anything like the Jewish concept of g-d because this difference of concept is never touched on.

There's also the spectrum of cultural connection, which yeah, if his mother never passed anything along growing up or he never got to know his grandparents, or if his father's family expected him an observant Christian as a child, then yes it is more likely he is a culturally christian atheist no matter what his genetic background may be. There are cultural aspects, even in diaspora, that aren't just about religious observance and dietary laws, although those are very important to many jews. There are social-cultural values and cultural gender norms, and history, and tradition, and a rejection of suppressionism and a rejection of universalized majority-religions and their cultural values, and food and drink and culturally specific superstitions, that if you have any connection to people raised in that culture, you absorb even if you didn't have a comprehensive education in your founding stories or regular observance. There's no indication that Mulder did or did not have any of those kinds of cultural connections in his past because they weren't relevant to the plot (apparently), so we can imagine them in where we see fit.

I do think Mulder's rejection of cultural christianity is consistent throughout the show, clumsy though it may be in places. I think that's the most important window into which one can build a Jewish Mulder. Much more important than names and disavowals tbh (Mulder also went from "oxford educated psychologist" to "i'm not a psychologist," these things happen in a long running show).

This other other thing is quite simply David Duchovny's face. You have to be able to recognize the tribe out in the world and that is definitely a recognizable face. Beautiful and recognizable. Honestly Mulder doing the job he was doing, mixed up with UFO nuts and conspiracy theorists and the lunatic fringes, with that face on him and his propensity to drop his gun and his propensity to give everyone a fair hearing no matter how amped up or extreme.... I mean, that's very Jewish of him too, actually, but it's also foolhardy, and terrifying to think about in real world terms.

Fox Mulder: Jewish, Dutch, or Other Some Such

In my curiosity to explore Jewish cultural practices, I stumbled on an enlightening article (and a couple noteworthy theories.)

JEWISH CUSTOM

When toying with the idea of Mulder's Jewish ancestry, I had assumed that maternal lineage was the opening and closing authority on the subject.

Not so, apparently, in recent years.

REFORM

As My Jewish Learning explains: Although the Hebrew Bible defines Jewish identity in patrilineal terms (determined by the identity of the father) the Mishnah [a record of the oral Torah in the aftermath of the destruction of the Second Temple, 70 CE] states that the offspring of a Jewish mother and a non-Jewish father is recognized as a Jew, while the offspring of a non-Jewish mother and a Jewish father is considered a non-Jew. This talmudic position became normative in Jewish law.

This continued as the religious and ethnic norm for many centuries until, about, 1947: ...the CCAR adopted a resolution that stated that if a Jewish father and a gentile mother wanted to raise their children as Jewish, “the declaration of the parents to raise them as Jews shall be deemed sufficient for conversion.” And though the wording changed somewhat in 1961 ["The insistence on a “conversion” was dropped completely...."]

But it did not become-- in effect-- law until 1983 resolution:

By 1983, the CCAR was ready to spell out the patrilineal descent resolution in greater detail. By this time there was a broad-based commitment to egalitarianism. To many, it seemed unnecessarily biased to accept the child of a Jewish mother and a gentile father as Jewish while rejecting the child of a Jewish father and a gentile mother. 

[Rabbit Alexander] Schindler initiated a process that eventually led to the CCAR voting in favor of what became known as the Patrilineal Descent Resolution....

What this meant was that if a child was born of either a Jewish father or a Jewish mother, and was raised as Jewish, that child would be regarded by the Reform movement as Jewish. They were, however, expected to participate in the various Jewish life-cycle ceremonies which usually mark the life stages of a Jewish person.

1996 brought another development:  ...the CCAR created an 11-member task force to interpret and develop guidelines for the successful implementation of the patrilineal descent policy. The task force recommended that the resolution be referred to as “equilineal descent” or simply “Jewish descent” rather than patrilineal descent since the resolution accepted descent from either the mother or the father.

The radical shift, encapsulated, is as follows: While Jewish children had always been asked to prepare for their bar and bat mitzvahs, their Jewishness was never contingent upon successful completion of that ceremony or any other.  The Patrilineal Descent Resolution shifted the emphasis from birth to conscious choice.

DISSENT

Regardless, there is still broad disputation between Conservative and Orthodox Jews and Reform Jews:

...However, patrilineal Jews are likely to encounter problems later in life if they decide to become more traditional in their observance. A problem arises if Reform Jews who are Jewish by patrilineal descent choose to participate in ritual or celebrations at more observant synagogues. 

...Conservative and Orthodox Jews do not recognize patrilineal descent as a valid means of passing on Judaism. “Who is a Jew?” has been a controversial issue for several decades, and the Patrilineal Descent Resolution deepened the division between the opposing viewpoints. 

The article also raises an intriguing point:

Interestingly, this created the possibility that someone who had a Jewish mother, but had not been raised Jewish and had not had any public religious acts of identification such as a Jewish baby-naming ceremony, a bar or bat mitzvah, or a Jewish confirmation service could theoretically be regarded as a non-Jew despite his or her lineage. However, many rabbis recognize lineage alone.

MULDER'S EARLY PARENTAGE: A THOUGHT

With this in mind, it's possible that Mulder could, potentially, have had Jewish roots from his father's side (per his actor, David Duchovny's, own ethnicity) --instead of, or in company with, his mother's.

Early canon states that Bill Mulder was Mulder's father, while later canon debates the issue back and forth a bit before settling on CSM in the Revival. If, however, one were to build off the framework of those initial ideas, Bill Mulder could hold as much theoretical weight as Tena Mulder in the ethnicity and lineage discussion (per the Reform dictates): neither canonically uphold Jewish customs, and are both buried according to the Americanized (or Protestant) standard.

Speaking of canon: what evidence can we glean from The X-Files's on-screen depiction?

TO JEW OR NOT TO JEW

Let's dissect the series' proof (or lack thereof); and the writers' and actors' opinions and perspectives.

CANONICAL EVIDENCE

We are shown three Mulder family funerals: Bill Mulder's in The Blessing Way, Fox Mulder's in Field Trip, and Fox Mulder's again in Deadalive.

For Bill's funeral, Tena Mulder made the executive decision (or carried out his expressed wishes) to involve a minister, not Jewish Rabbi, in her ex-husband's final service:

For Mulder's Season 6 funeral, Scully glimpses a cross of white flowers standing above her partner's casket; and doesn't bat an eye:

For Mulder's Season 8 funeral, Scully chose a Protestant (or derivative thereof) minister-- not rabbi or priest-- to read from scripture and pray over her partner:

We aren't shown Tena Kuiper Mulder's funeral; however, she wasn't buried within the traditional twenty-four hour timetable for Jewish custom. Not only was her body likely preserved for multiple days while Mulder was tracking his sister, but it was also flown out to North Carolina and buried alongside Samantha's memorial an undisclosed date later. While there are exceptions in Jewish law-- be it Shabbat or other religious observances-- if Tena wished to be buried according to Jewish custom, she would have broken the rules.

As for Mulder himself, he is notably non-religious, often struggling to understand his partner's (at times) unquestioning belief in God. That being said, he has sought out and wept in a Christian church (Conduit), kneeling without hesitation in an accustomed pose. Religious observance, then, isn't an utterly foreign concept.

These circumstances, however, could be interpreted as shadows of Bill Mulder's or Tena Mulder's (or Bill and Tena Mulder's) WASP upbringing: the Protestant symbolism a tie to his lineage rather than Tena's. Perhaps husband and wife had separate faiths that were both lost after Samantha's abduction-- Tena turning away from the religion of her people and Bill from the practices of his upper crust society.

AUTHORIAL INTENT AND INTERPRETATION

I've briefly explored this concept in another meta post here, but it's wisest to tackle the subject as thoroughly as possible.

Chris Carter named the Mulders in honor of his mother, a descendant of Dutch-Americans.

April 2001:

Loyal “X-Files” fans may know that Fox Mulder, the brainy protagonist played by David Duchovny, was named after Carter’s mother, the late Catherine Mulder Carter. (Scully was named for longtime-Los Angeles Dodgers’ baseball commentator Vin Scully – no relation). But very few people know that Carter’s mother was born to a Dutch-American family in Manhattan, Mont.

According to McCoy [Carter's cousin], the Mulder family moved to the Amsterdam-Manhattan area from Grand Rapids, Mich. Seven of their nine children were born in the Gallatin Valley and after an unsuccessful turn farming here, the Mulders moved to Southern California to start a feed and grain business in Bellflower, Calif. Norman Mulder was the only one of the nine children in the family to return to the Gallatin Valley. While McCoy and Mulder are Carter’s closest area relatives, there are probably many distant relatives still living in the Gallatin Valley’s Dutch community, McCoy said. She added that the California and Montana Mulders have always been, and remain, close.

(An aside: Kuiper, Tena Mulder's maiden name, is also of Dutch origin.)

Meanwhile, David Duchovny and Vince Gilligan had a different view. David inherently played any character through his experience of the world-- culturally-ish Jewish-- while Vince worked in a reference to Mulder's "Jewishness" in a deleted portion of Drive's script:

Crump: You know... what kinda name is Mulder, anyway? What is that, like, Jewish?

Mulder: Excuse me?

Crump: Jewish. It is, right?

Mulder: No it's not, yes I am....

But there is, yet again, another schism of dissent: Howard Gordon, write of the episode Kaddish, stated that he didn't think Mulder was Jewish "or even half-Jewish." The purpose of his work was to set Mulder up as the outsider peering inward: "We had never dealt with the horrors of antisemitism and the power of the word [on The X-Files]. And because I'm Jewish, it was something that was really compelling to me personally." As explained in Paula Vitaris's Cinefantastique article, Gordon purposefully wrote in three references to Mulder's Gentile perspective: Mulder is unable to identify a Jewish book, does not read or speak the language himself (" I don't speak Hebrew, I don't know what that means"), and is unwilling to pass up a reference to Jesus Christ's Christian resurrection ("A Jew pulled it off 2000 years ago") in response to an antisemite. Gordon's Mulder, then, is a man who related to all perspectives while still remaining, fixedly, an outsider.

CONCLUSION

Church and prayer, funerals and flags, could all be part of the nostalgic American 90s, symbols of meaning rather than actual belief. Mulder could have been raised Christian, agnostic, religiously Jewish; Mulder himself could be Dutch or Jewish or Jewish-Dutch or Dutch Jew. His mother or his father could have been Jewish; Tena Mulder could have been Jewish; Bill Mulder could have been a Jew who turned his back on his people; or both could have renounced, or been forced to renounce, their Jewish ancestry.

The truth is, ultimately, what you make of it: everyone has their own version.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!