#even if she tacks on a ‘it was an accident’

[dontopenfairies]

There’s activity all around them; people are shouting and laughing and buying ice cream. The roller coaster cars tick-tick-tack up the tracks to their right, and the organ music flows out of the open doorway to the carousel house on the left.

But all he can think is, *Oh no*, as he feels something warm and solid stretching his underwear under his shorts. *At least it’s happening now…and not when we’re about to sit down on a ride…*

He should tell her. He opens his mouth but the words won’t come out. This is so embarrassing. He didn’t even notice that he had to go at all.

“Do you want me to get you cotton candy?” She asks, humming and looking up at the ferris wheel. “Oh, that would be so romantic…No, we should do that in the evening when the sun is setting. Do you want to go on the swings? Oh, sweetheart, you have a little stain on your shorts. Did you sit in something?”

She very quickly and briefly rests her hand on the back of his shorts. “Oh. Ohhh.” She squeezes his hand tighter, dragging him to the bathrooms.

“Oh, shoot. There isn’t a gender neutral one,” she says when they arrive. People are everywhere, entering and leaving the bathrooms. It looks like every single stall inside is occupied. Someone is shouting about no toilet paper.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, this isn’t good. Let’s keep looking, is that okay?” She rubs his back. The sun is getting hot on his face. “Do you need your sunglasses? You’re squinting.” She starts to rummage in her bag.

“Can we find somewhere, please? I don’t think I’m done.” He fidgets with the bottom of his shirt.

“You can’t tell?” She looks up at him, hand still in her bag. “Okay, I’m sorry, honey. We’ll go find somewhere.”

The only single-stall gender-neutral bathroom is out by the parking lot. And it’s OCCUPIED. He stands next to her right outside the door, looking out at the sea of cars. He starts to feel himself filling his pants again and tears sting his eyes. The pressure is doing so much to his bladder, too. He already leaked a little bit but it isn’t showing yet. He starts to squirm.

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I got you.” She wraps her arm around him and the door opens. She catches it as the person leaving holds it open and she pulls him in.

As soon as they’re inside, he starts to really wet himself. It soaks through his shorts quickly and dribbles down his legs to the floor. This is when he starts to cry a little.

“Oh, honey…Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay. I brought you extra pants. I just really wasn’t expecting…this.”

“I wasn’t either!”

“You really didn’t know it was going to happen?” She unlaces his canvas shoes and he kicks them off.

He shakes his head as she undoes his shorts and strips them off. “You’re just getting worse and worse at this,” she tuts. “Oh, honeypie, I don’t think we can save these panties.”

He can’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. Despite himself, he’s starting to feel really excited and it’s making him even more frustrated.

“Okay, let me give you a wipe-down. Here, can you help me? Hold this for me.” She sets the packet of wipes in his hands. “Oh, you’re so messy,” she sighs.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, baby. You had a messy accident at night two nights ago, and now this. You really didn’t know you had to go at all?”

“No, I didn’t notice. I just felt it coming out when we were walking.”

“How come you didn’t tell me? Aw, honey. It’s okay.” She goes to throw away the wipes and wash her hands. She takes the wipes from him and stows them in her bag again. “Okay, I know you don’t like being changed away from a changing table, but the floor is reallyy dirty in here. I’m going to diaper you standing up, okay?” She takes out his spare diaper, the only one she brought, just in case, and fluffs it up.

As she straightens up, she notices his runny nose. “Blow your nose,” she says, unrolling a wad of toilet paper from the dispenser next to the toilet. “Here. There you go. Okay, diaper’s coming on. Help me out, okay?”

After he’s all taped up, she reaches in the bag one last time and gets his spare shorts out. “I thought you might have a little wet accident today and need these…” she says to herself quietly as he steps into them and she pulls them up. “Okay, you can get your fly yourself,” she says as he stands helplessly, hands twisting his shirt again. He zips it up and then his thumb slips into his mouth.

“Aw…Get that out now while we’re in here, okay? You can’t really get away with that in public. I know you want to, don’t worry. Save it for the ferris wheel, okay, honey?”

He nods and they leave the bathroom.

“Your diaper feels okay, right?” she whispers as they reenter the park.

“Yeah.”

“You were so good during that change, baby. Let’s go find something to eat, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy,” he says very quietly, so that only she can hear.

“Good boy.” She rests her hand on his back and guides him through the crowd.

[voiceshearingyouloud]

Thanks to my partner’s wise words (that I initially found invalidating but they were totally right) I realised that all this trying to divine my mother’s motivations in her treatment of me is actually futile. I keep feeling like my pain would be more valid if she was doing it on purpose versus by accident, but the crucial difference is that when we think that someone doing something by accident is less hurtful, it’s because generally in those situations the person has admitted it was an accident and in doing so likely acknowledged the hurt and apologised. Even if my mum is hurting me because she’s emotionally immature and not because she’s masterminding the process of gaslighting me, it’s not any easier on me unless she properly apologises and acknowledges the pain.

Until then, since her motives are unknowable to me, it’s basically between her and G-d so to speak and I have to deal with the feelings it causes me without invalidating them by saying it’s “not on purpose”. Because if she doesn’t apologise to me or admit her mistakes or tell me anything kind that isn’t trying to manipulate me then how am I supposed to believe her anyway?

[artdcnaldson]

You asked for blurb ideas & that thought here got stuck in my mind since this morning 🌞

Tennis Reader “thanking” Art after their training session in the locker rooms. ;)

Reader sneaks in men’s locker room after training together till evening, surprising (Stanford) Art under the shower + asking for some steamy extra cardio. 👀

And eventually Patrick walks in. Idk abt that but whatever you write is amazing, in every trope 🫶🏻

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (hj, fingering, p in v), throuple dynamics (+1)

A/N: Ok I’m sorry I know you said Stanford but 2019 era Art is ALLLL I can think about 🩷 forgive me for my transgressions pls

Tashi had set the whole thing up, holding his hand through it. Because Tashi and Patrick were off globetrotting for the tour— France, if he remembered correctly. Tashi just wanted to make sure he was taken care of, that his needs were being met. In his career… and otherwise.

You were a player out of… USC? He thought that sounded right. Recently graduated, doing well in the pros, already highly ranked with an excellent record. The perfect first player for Art Donaldson to coach.

She set up the entire thing, met with you to get things organized, and penciled training into his calendar with a tiny note.

Have fun without us -T

You were doing such a good job, even unwittingly— putting on the sweetest little show for him. When you’d miss a serve or a ball went out of bounds, you’d do a peppy little jog then bend over to grab it, completely unaware of the effect it might have had on him.

“I need to see how you play,” he had said as you dropped your bag on the side of the court. You smiled and nodded, and took to the opposite side of the net.

He beat you embarrassingly easily the first set. Sweat was beading on your forehead as you met him at the benches between courts and guzzled down water. When you finally came up for air, a little trail of water went from your plush bottom lip and down your chin.

He watched you lick the moisture from your lips, then wipe at the rest with the back of your hand. He swallowed hard.

“Do you want my advice?” He scratched at the back of his neck as you peered up at him expectantly. “You need to loosen up, you’re too tense.”

Your eyes widened at his direction, but you nodded. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Donaldson.” You drank down another gulp, then jogged back to the other side of the court, eager to please.

He watched you bend over, retrieving a couple of balls that you’d hit into the net, flashing tiny white spandex beneath your tennis skirt.

Jesus Christ, Tashi was evil.

By the afternoon, sweat dripped down your arms, along the line of your throat, dampened the baby hairs framing your face and the back of your neck, tacking them down to sticky skin.

“Why don’t we head to the locker rooms inside, then we can meet upstairs and go through a training plan.”

You smiled, looking so sweet and eager. “Okay.”

He was grateful for the shower— molten against aching, underused muscles. He hadn’t exactly just given up on everything after retiring, but his muscles weren’t being used the way they were used to— the constant strenuous training.

He closed his eyes, letting the spray hit his face and soak into his skin.

He heard a squeak and jumped, eyes flying open to the sight of you naked underneath one of the other shower heads, quickly adjusting the spray from ice cold to steaming hot.

“Turned it to cold on accident,” you said over your shoulder. “Women’s locker rooms are under maintenance. You don’t mind, right?”

He turned, cheeks burning pink as he tried his best to play it cool— act like he wasn’t checking you out. “No, uh, it’s fine.”

Were you in on it with Tashi? It certainly felt like it as he watched you lathering your body up with soap, maybe focusing too much attention to your tits.

You glanced over, caught him looking, and smiled. He turned away quickly with his pulse thrumming in his throat.

Fuck. He was already hard. It wasn’t exactly a surprise— he’d been half-hard just at the sight of you in that fucking outfit on the court.

He heard you laugh and looked back at you. You were looking right at him, amusement evident in your expression. “She said you’d be easy, but, Jesus, I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” 

You shut off the water of your shower and made your way over. Water dripped from your body, rolling down your skin in delicate rivulets. You stopped in front of him and ran a hand down his chest, making him shiver.

“Tashi told you?” His words trailed off into a groan as your hands moved between his legs, stroking the length of him in your delicate grasp.

“She told me to say thank you after every lesson,” you said. With each step forward you made, he took a step back, until you had him pinned against the cold tile. He moaned as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock, and you smile sweetly. “She showed me exactly how I should do it.”

“Showed you?”

You sped your hand up, twisting slightly with each tug upwards. “Mhmm. On Patrick. She went first, then I showed her what I learned.” You laughed softly, lips brushing along his jaw. “I’m a very fast learner. Patrick was very impressed.”

Fuck, he was going to get back at Tashi for not letting him be there for that. The mental image was enough to make his cock pulse in your grip. Maybe he’d just have you recreate it for him the second Tashi and Patrick came home.

Your lips brushed along the like of his jaw as you continued to jerk him off, your hand slick and tight and relentless. Just like Tashi’s would be. God, you really were a fast learner.

It would certainly make being your coach a lot easier.

“Art,” you hummed, breath hot against his ear. He nodded wordlessly, almost afraid that if he spoke, he’d wake up from a fugue state to find out that he’d just imagined it all and was mid-jerk off session.

Your lips moved against his throat, nipping gently at the expanse of soft skin. He tasted like sweat and tap water. Your words came out as a whisper, “You can fuck me now.”

He laughed shakily, flushed red down to his chest. “Now? You don’t want me to go down on you, or—“

He was cut off when you grabbed his hand and moved it between your legs. Dripping wet, silky soft, absolutely aching for him.

You moaned softly, leaning fully onto him for support as he rubbed at your clit. “T-Tashi—“ You stammered, losing that seductive bravado you’d walked in with. “Told me I should make you work for it. But, fuck—”

Art laughed softly. “You’re too needy.”

“Do you know how fucking sexy you sound when you play tennis?” You whined, breath going shaky as he pushed a finger inside of your aching cunt. “Halfway through the second set, I— god— I considered dropping the pretense and fucking you right on the— on the court.”

Tashi wouldn’t have that. When she came home, she’d clock that impatience train it out of you. She’d make you sit and watch, get so desperate you’d beg and cry for it. She had to do it to Patrick before— she would know just how to get you to the point she needed you at.

The tennis would be up to Art.

You were so wet, clenching around his finger, craving more. What the fuck would be the point in denying either of you any longer?

You whined when he moved his hand from you, but he wasn’t going to keep you waiting. He pinned you against the cold tile wall, lifting you up to where he needed. You smiled at him,wrapping your legs around his waist, coaxing him closer.

A shiver ran through you as his cock brushed over your folds— so close to where you needed him. His tip notched against your entrance and he pressed into you slowly, relishing in the way you held your breath, in the way your body opened up for him so eagerly.

He pressed his forehead against yours when he bottomed out, and you panted as you adjusted to him.

You were impatient. So fucking impatient. You rocked your hips against him, begging wordlessly for more. He leaned in, kissing you slowly.

“Art,” you gasped, pulling away from the kiss as he fucked into you, slow and deep. “Patrick told me that I should tell you that you’re supposed to fuck me, not make love to me.”

Of fucking course he did. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, somehow looking so sweet split open on his cock. His hips met yours in a particularly harsh thrust and you cried out in surprise. You moaned so seeetly, your lips turned up in a smug grin. It was exactly what you wanted.

Your back slid against the slick tile wall as he drove into you again and again and again. Your cunt was so warm, and tight, and so fucking wet if squelched obscenely with each thrust.

Wet kisses were peppered along his jaw and throat along with soft murmured thank yous and praise.

“You’re so deep, Art,” you moaned into his ear. “Feels so good. Thank you, thank you.”

It had been a week since Tashi and Patrick were home. A week of having to find satisfaction with Patrick’s fucking lewd Snapchat videos and his hand.

And here you were— a sweet, tight, Tashi-approved plaything. Your manicured nails rubbing at your clit, your pussy clamping around his cock as you drew closer and closer to the edge.

What better foreplay was there than tennis?

You came first, which was a fucking Godsend. He had no doubt Tashi would’ve flayed him if she found out that he couldn’t even manage to get his new toy off before he did. Loud— not caring if anyone heard.

Tashi would train that out of you too, lest you get them banned from every fucking country club in the state. Or a TMZ article whispering about a tawdry affair.

He shut you up with a hungry, searing kiss. Tongue moving against yours, muffling your cries. He came buried as deep as he could possibly get, with his tongue shoved down your throat and his grip bruising your soft thighs.

The water had gone icy when you both detached from each other, finally taking the actual shower you needed. You happily shared a shower head since you’d wasted enough water as is.

You redressed, tied up your wet hair, and sat on a bench, tapping away at your phone while he did his best to look presentable, and not like he’d just fucked the athlete he was supposed to be coaching.

“Tashi and Patrick say hi,” you said casually, offering a killer smile.

Maybe retirement wasn’t that bad.

NEED to be the toxic triplets’ little plaything im clawing at the padded walls of my enclosure

Anywayssss feel free to send more blurb reqs 🩷

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons: Sedulous Desire

Yandere Orc Bully x AFAB Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, violence, pantyhose kink, uncomfortable content, bullying, nonconsensual kissing, etc

From the moment Lash laid eyes on you when you walked into her class, she hated you. Lash Hearth hated you. She hated how cute you were. How doll like you were while she was riddled with scars from her parents. It wasn’t fair.

Lash may have been an orc, but she didn’t deserve the way the other students at this school despised her… and yet they loved you. A cute fairy. So delicate and dainty compared to her bulky, adolescent body. She couldn’t stand it. She was so jealous.

And so began to bullying. She would pull on your hair and she’d scribble over your art with red or black crayons. Hell, she even put thumb tacks in your gym shoes but you never got upset with her. You were nice to her despite her behavior. It only infuriated her even more, especially as the two of you began to get older.

You tried to be her friend, you truly did. You’d help Lash with her homework and you’d compliment her but she’d growl at you and insult you. You had even invited Lash to your birthday party since she didn’t have any friends, but she destroyed your cake. Lash wanted your life. It wasn’t fair… she wanted to be loved like you and if she couldn’t, then she’d ruin you. If she couldn’t be happy, then neither could you

Lash sometimes spilled water or paint on your clothes and tell you it was an ‘accident.’ Lash would trip you and kick your books away. But you still picked them up without so much a word or a tear. Why didn’t you react? Why didn’t you scream or cry from her relentless bullying? Why didn’t you cower in fear like the other students from her intimidatingly muscular stature and large tusks? Why couldn’t she break you?

The first time she saw you bare was in the locker room. Her golden eyes were wide with shock and awe. A heat spread between her legs that confused her. She hated you… so why did her body tell her otherwise? Lash didn’t understand that she confused a crush with hatred… she truly wish she would have realized this before she inflicted so much emotional damage on you…

It was when high school hit that Lash finally received a reaction from you. She had decided to try to give you a shove down the stairs but you had caught yourself. The orc bent down to sneer in your face, “why don’t you get the hell out of my way, cupcake-“

And that’s when you swung your small body around and sucker punched Lash in her ugly face with a force she didn’t even know you had. She hit the floor with a loud smack, blood fell from her face. Her nose bent to the side with blood gushing from it. You broke her nose… you hit her… and for the first time in her life, Lash felt her heart hammer in her chest and a heat consume her. She wanted more. More. More. More. Something dark woke up inside of Lash that day… and so began the obsession.

Lash began to steal your underwear whenever you changed in the locker room. She’d press the soiled garments up to her nose and greedily inhale the heady scent like a drug. Why did you smell so good? It wasn’t long before she found herself sucking on the garments like they were her favorite candy. She felt like a sicko but she knew she was just following her biological urge (she’s delulu)

Lash’s stomach now filled with butterflies every time you glared at her. You’d smack her hand away every time she tried to touch your hair. She was in love

Lash’s bullying reached an all time high but you fought back now. The principal had to pull you off of her when she held up the mangled body of the local cat you fed. Lash was in a state of euphoria from how beaten and battered you made her. Her ribs were cracked and her jaw was dislocated… but your eyes were on her. They were filled to the brim with emotion only directed for her but she didn’t care. She had received yet another reaction from you and it made her heart soar… you were worthy of her. And that was when a realization came to her. She loved you.

Lash loved how you were soft and sweet but you could fight. She loved how your small fists did so much damage to her massive body. How soft your lips looked. How your hips were perfect for her hands to grab onto. You were made for her… how didn’t she realize it before?

The principal nearly expelled her but Lash told the principal it would be discrimination since this was an orc tradition. Orcs chose their partners based on strength and violence… and Lash had found her partner.

Rather than continue to bully you, Lash now brought you flowers. Arm fulls of vibrant red roses with all the thorns removed the stems. It was such a strange sight to see your tormentor now absolutely love sick for you. It disgusted you.

Lash would sensually eat fruit in front of you in the cafeteria and make crude gestures at you with her fingers. It frightened you but you only had a few more weeks left until you graduated from this magical school. You couldn’t wait to get out of here… and away from her.

After graduation, she continued to try to chase after you but you told her to leave you the hell alone. You weren’t interested in her, no. You hated her. And it upset Lash. Why did you hate her? She could be a good mate, she was strong and massive. You’d be so safe with her… so why didn’t you want her? Were you still upset about grade school? Lash could make it all up to you. Her tongue was longer than most of the men genitals in this school. She was sure she could please you better than any man or woman.

You explained to her that you would never want to be with someone who tormented you for so many years. Who made your life a living hell for their own twisted fantasy. That physically and emotionally tormented you day by day. It was a firm no.

Even when Lash went down on her knees to beg for forgiveness, you didn’t budge. So she did what she had to… she took you by force. What an orc wanted, an orc took.

So here you were in her home as she shoved her tongue down your throat. Her large green hand forcefully held your head back by the hair so you couldn’t escape. Her golden eyes filled with lust while she watched you try to struggle from her hold. A few tears gathered in your eyes from how pathetic you felt under her but she shushed your cries with her lips and her tongue. Her tusks lights grazed across the soft skin of your cheeks, which made you gasp. Yes… she was a strong mate wasn’t she? She was perfect for you and you were perfect for her.

Lash pulled away from you, a thick string of saliva connected the two of you together. Lash quickly began to tug at her clothes with haste. Her large, green hands quickly began to work on yours as well. She needed you now. She needed to devour you or she felt like she’d lose her mind.

“Your clothes have to go… I’m starving.”

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

horse girl charlie morningstar, her partner in a cool hat and eye patch vaggie, and the Hazbin Horse Rehabilitation Ranch- where shit people are introduced to horses no one else wants and hopefully no one get trampled to death (niffty this means YOU)

other key features include

vaggie riding a small working horse and ppl keep calling it a pony and she keeps telling them It's Not A Fucking Pony

charlie and her beloved mule, who never listens to her

angel dust wanting to learn dressage bc it looks like "fancy sexy riding" and also he was banned from mentioning the words "bare back" or "bucking bronco"

husk constantly found drunk and asleep in his horse's stall while said horse nuzzles him

niffty obsessing over grooming all the horses down to their individual hairs, yes even the bad tempered horses, yes she likes it when they shmoosh her against a wall or step on her foot

alastor looking calm collected and in control on his horse as he wanders off from the group and never participates in activities bc his horse won't listen to him either and he's too proud to admit it

sir pentious keeps trying to make his horse look and preform the best using his own new designs for tack and gear and it always backfires but he's the go-to one if your saddle needs adjusting or fixing

his egg boiz are a flock of chickens

his horse keeps eating the chickens' eggs and he keeps crying over it, even when charlie tells him they wouldn't have hatched into chicks anyway

lucifer lives in a shack somewhere around here with his collection of customized my little pony brushible toys

the locals in the nearest town still talk about lilith's incredible horse whispering skills before she up and vanished

charlie gushes about these stories a LOT but laughs nervously if asked about her own way with horses

she tries.

her way of making sudden loud squees and eeeks and excited yells and wild energetic movements doesn't fit well with most of the horses

she also slips up and gets flaming mad at anything that threatens her family's ranch or anyone who mistreats a horse

angry charlie is Scary Charlie

her mule doesn't care tho it knows she's a pushover treat giver

when vaggie first figured out what was happening she spent weeks with her own horse slowly getting it used to all sorts of weird charlie-related things, including stealing charlie's jacket a few times to flap it wildly while chasing her horse around the paddock singing loud show tunes

vaggie's horse is the only one that'll let charlie ride it without being a nervous wreck

charlie maybe cried a little when she went for that first ride

vaggie has a shot gun

she spends a lot of time checking on things riding far out and alone and keeps the gun with her just in case

she's never actually threatened any of their human boarders with the shot gun but she does have an unnerving tendency to check and clean it whenever she's pissed and trying to keep some shred of her patience intact

every week there's at least one night set aside for an evening dance after dinner and yes chaggie was doing it long before any other ppl showed up

valentino showed up once and charlie chased him off the premises with vaggie's shotgun

the ranch used to have a television

now it has a radio tower

no one except alastor is happy about it but his radio commercial revenue is paying for most of this so they all keep mostly quiet about their grumbling and record voice lines for ads when he looms over them with a script

vaggie swears the time she shot out the radio tower's windows while arguing with alastor over her and charlie's voice lines was a complete accident

razzle and dazzle are ranch dogs who keep track of the horses when they're out grazing and both are COMPLETELY in tune with charlie, been with her since childhood, the three can basically read each others' minds and watching them all work together is like watching magic

(vaggie also knows how to work with them but has to use more obvious signals instead of just tiny changes in body language)

vaggie keeps trying to gently remind charlie there are events for dog handling she could enter in

but the ranch was lilith's passion and rehabilitating rejected horses her dream and charlie is not not giving up on that OR on the rejected people her mom always was so proud of and charlie is NOT letting herself think for one moment that her mom isn't coming home

speaking of coming home

chaggie met when charlie was out riding after a storm looking for a lost horse and found it staring curiously down at a half dead lady lying in a ditch with a freshly gouged out eye and burns on her back

the half dead lady claimed she shot out her own eye by accident and got hit by lightning

or maybe fell asleep on a campfire uhh

charlie was way too busy figuring out normal social interactions again and also how to patch up a pretty lady without being a complete fool about it to question vaggie's super realistic tale

vaggie was planning on staying just long enough to get on her feet again- especially after she started catching feelings watching charlie being sweet with all the stubborn horsies- and seeing how much charlie was struggling with the ranch without having someone else to look after

she was even gonna steal a horse on the way out

and got caught by charlie in the act

charlie just smiled sadly, told vaggie she was glad she wasn't heading off alone, told vaggie's horse to take care of her, and then went back to the daily chores

vaggie caught up with her an hour later

she'd had to properly put her horse away and get breakfast started first, for after they've finished up the morning stuff

they've been running the ranch together ever since

keekee the cat is the actual boss on the ranch and got her name from how doors always open for her (bc she bothers whoever's around until they drop what they're doing to obey her)

cherri bomb stops by once just to laugh at angel dust and ignore pentious but ends up being the only one who figures out why the new horse is spooking at everything- it's got hearing loss, and she's got it too from doing endless unlicensed fireworks shows, and she's totally just sticking around until the horse gets used to things here. totally

[dearharriet]

Whatever; Steve Harrington 🌓

summary: they say you’ll meet every person in your life twice. the second time you meet steve, you’re in college, and he’s very different from what you remember.

word count: 3.2K

warnings: fem!r, mentions + content of previous bullying, ex-bully!steve, alcohol consumption, some unresolved emotions, angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: i swear im alive i’m just stupidly busy. hope y’all like this one xxx

You circled back to Steve so quickly that a lick of embarrassment flamed at your cheeks, but really, you couldn’t have stopped it. His presence was fascinating, and like a passerby can’t look away from a car accident, you couldn’t resist inspecting Steve.

The house was very dark and humid, crowded with people that went to your university, and people who didn’t. Steve, for example, who had appeared—now for a second time—seemingly out of nowhere. Two weeks ago you’d spotted him at a party across town that a scene band threw, but he’d disappeared before you could talk to him. Tonight, he wasn’t so lucky.

To your relief, he received your sudden presence very gracefully, almost sheepishly. He was bowing his head and his broad shoulders shrunk together carefully. You wanted to say something very bold, something to grab his attention like fancy meeting you here, but the totality of your unfamiliarity made you hesitate.

“Where’ve you been?” you shouted instead, hugging your chest to feign casualness. It sounded, you realized, like you were inquiring as to where he’d been five minutes ago, not indefinitely post-graduation. Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“Hawkins,” he replied, matter-of-fact. “You?”

“Hawkins?” you repeated, ignoring his courtesy. “That’s not like you.” In truth, you probably knew very little about what would be like him and what would not, so you tacked on, “Not to be presumptuous or anything, sorry.”

In school, you and Steve saw very much of each other yet spoke next to never. In the spring of your sophomore year, Tommy Hagan’s father made him walk about the neighborhood and offer to mow lawns for money—something about growing hair on his chest, forming a sense of responsibility—and your mother had just broken her wrist, so she gave him a five dollar bill every Saturday for three months to help out. Tommy was awful at it, and he loathed you, and when you returned to school in September he’d dragged Carol and Steve with him into his loathing.

One day, you couldn’t recall what date—or even what month—but you remembered the three of them had come to find you after classes were done after you’d stayed late. You missed a question on some test, or there was something about a project, whatever. You knew it was late because the halls were empty, and your recollection of that relied heavily on the memory of Carol’s chilling laugh echoing down them, which you never forgot.

“God, Tommy, you’re sadistic.”

They prowled closer, just around the bend. Tommy and Carol were chortling and you could imagine them hanging all over each other the way that they often did. Steve cut in abrasively, something frenetic in his tone.

“I’m telling you, she’s not here, man.”

Steve’s voice bounced down the corridor and sounded back, like radar pinging around and around, detecting movement.

“Relax, Harrington, what’s the rush?”

“Rachel’s waitin’ on me, that’s what,” Steve replied. “And I still gotta drop you two assholes off.”

“Your gal-pal can wait, Steve,” Carol sneered, and you thought her voice was edged with something sharper than exasperation. “Besides, this’ll be fun.”

They turned the corner, and you realized then that it was likely you they were looking for, and it was suddenly too late to turn and hide. You froze, bag heavy on your shoulder and damp starting to form on your brow.

“Ah-ha! Just the girl we wanted to see,” Tommy sang, his voice already lilting meanly. You took a step back, wondering if they’d really chase you if you bolted. Carol had heeled boots on, and you were certain Tommy and Steve wouldn’t hunt down a girl no matter how twisted they were. A guy, sure, but you?

It didn’t matter, because you didn’t run, which you could only blame on yourself and your tendency to petrify under pressure. Anything you chose seemed the worst option, which made the logical solution to do nothing.

“She looks about ready to run,” Carol peered as they came closer, which was very astute for her, all things considered.

“Yeah, maybe.” Tommy grinned. “You wanna play, goodie-two-shoes? Me ‘n Steve’ll give you a head start.”

In retrospect, the roles of Tommy and Carol and Steve, and even you, are played by their fully grown versions. Of course you all looked very young, sounded very young—being fifteen at the time—but it all comes back as if it happened yesterday. It’s warped by everything that happened after.

“Yeah, why don’t you just get it over with, save us all a little time?” Steve picked, his expression almost bored.

You pressed your lips together. Carol stepped behind you, prodding at your bag, and you recoiled, backing closer to the lockers.

“Nah, she’s too chicken-shit,” she hissed, and then ripped your bag from your arms. When you lunged for her, Tommy pushed you back into the metal wall of lockers, and your shoulder blade landed hard on a dial-lock.

“Jesus H Christ, Tommy,” Steve laughed awkwardly, “could you have pushed her any harder?”

“Whatever, man,” Tommy waved him off, watching as Carol dug through your satchel. “You’re soft.”

Steve’s features tightened then, all of a sudden like a switch had been flipped. He took his hand out of his hair and strode over to Carol, taking your bag and emptying its contents onto the linoleum. Notebooks and pens, highlighters and, embarrassingly, a heap of pads, all washed over the floor. Carol had your journal in her hands and Steve took that too, discarding it with everything else.

“I’m fuckin’ tired of this shit,” he muttered, “let’s go.”

“Boo,” Carol complained, “what a wet blanket.”

“Yeah, why don’t you stay here with the teachers’ pet,” Tommy gibed, gesturing at you, “since you both love being L-A-M-E.”

He spelled the word out, holding a backwards L on his forehead that Carol copied.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna drive you home, Tommy?” Steve challenged. Tommy clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes petulantly. Carol’s hip popped as she dropped her hand, lips smacking. “That's what I thought.”

Steve brushed past them then, properly regal and entitled, and they followed him begrudgingly, swapping resentful glances until you couldn’t see them anymore.

In the minutes it took to gather your things back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the cloudy thought that Steve dumping your bag felt like a mercy. In the company of many rabider dogs, his offense was almost magnanimous, and, despite it being your things, felt more targeted at Tommy and Carol than at you. On your way home you decided that that was stupid, and that you were likely feeding into a fantasy that would eventually hurt you.

It wasn’t until after graduation that you realized they were bullying you. At the time it obviously hadn’t felt friendly, but you’d been so fictile then that you assumed most of the blame. When your mind changed, the word bullying alone felt too childish to bear, so you decided it was fine and that you were over it.

Standing before you at the party, Steve was folded in on himself. The memory juxtaposed so coarsely against how he looked now.

“Not like me?” he repeated.

“I just mean,” you continued, “I would’ve thought you’d go to school. Here in Chicago, maybe. I don't know. Indi, at the least.”

He shook his head, cradling his damp beer can closer.

“Yeah, well, I'm not smart like you,” he answered. “I didn’t really get accepted anywhere.”

Steve’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, but he didn’t look all that dejected. You were sure that was the nicest thing he’d ever said to you, and the added element of self-depreciation threw you off-kilter.

“You still talk with Carol and Tommy and stuff?” It wasn’t much of a question, but Steve looked profoundly confused.

“What? No, I um—“ He licked his lips, looking down. “They ditched me when Hargrove came into town. You don’t remember?”

“Oh,” you said. “No, I must’ve missed that.”

“Yeah, that’s uh. S’ probably for the best. You shouldn’t have been caught up with us anyways.” It sounded like an apology, though not direct enough for you to accept in any way.

“Well it’s not like I never saw Tommy H. and Carol again,” you said, admittedly sour. “I figured you were off with Nancy or whatever. Where is she anyways?”

“Nancy?” You nodded. Shrugging, Steve said, “I wouldn’t know. We broke up in 1984.”

“Oh,” you jolted , “sorry about that.”

“Nah, don’t be.” He looked very sorry about it himself, like he was still wishing it away.

“Well, I am. I always thought you two would get married or something. She seemed like she knew how to keep you in line.”

Steve smiled softly, vaguely.

“Yeah, Nancy’s like that.”

His sentence ended there and didn’t pick back up, and you felt terribly anxious about what to say next. As often as you denied it, you did want to see people from school again, if only to show them they didn’t win. You wanted to happen upon Steve The Hair Harrington, or Tommy H. or Carol Perkins or anyone at all just to affirm that, yes, you were doing significantly better than they expected you to. You wore shoes with heels and makeup and you were just like them, only you could writhe in shameless glory because you were never a prick.

“So what do you do? No school?”

Steve leaned closer then, apprehensive as he brought his mouth to your ear.

“D’you wanna talk outside?” He asked, and then pulled back to gauge your expression. “I can’t hear very well,” he explained, some level of shame coloring him. You nodded tolerantly, following him out to the porch.

It was clear and cold in the Chicago suburbs, like a freshly opened bottle of coke, and you could see Orion’s Belt. You had on a white leather jacket that kept you just warm enough.

“You seem to like it better here,” Steve observed. Your earlier question stood forgotten from the journey outside.

“In a way,” you agreed.

“People are nicer?”

You pinched your brows thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t say nicer, no.” Fiddling with your jewelry, you looked at the sky. “People have been rude to me here before, but it’s…it isn’t like Hawkins.” You swallowed a freezing breath, wondering if Steve was really standing next to you. “I can leave at any time if it gets to be too much. Or, like, tell them to fuck off if I wanted to. In high school I just had to sit there and take it, and then come back the next day for more.”

Blowing out a stiff laugh, you looked back to Steve. His eyes were downcast, face crumpled, and it looked like he would eat his own mouth before he said a word in response. It was painfully silent, so silent that the wind and your racing heart played a spoilt song together at Steve’s inattentive audience.

Your face felt warm with humiliation. Conversation had grown on you, or so you thought, enough that you wouldn’t become carried away into overzealous speeches to people who didn’t care. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, frowning.

“Do you like Chicago?” You asked Steve, and it turned brittle in the air, like a wisp of ash from a fire.

“I’m so sorry,” his aggrieved response came, and it carved your chest open to hear, in a way. It was something you imagined, a moment you craved, a fantasy you knew would never occur. Now that it had, you felt a million miles away, like he’d said some magic word and hypnotized you, stealing your present mind and leaving you cavernous and vulnerable.

“It’s really okay, Steve,” you said hoarsely. “We were kids, and you were as stuck as I was.”

“I was not,” he sternly denied.

“Sure you were,” you insisted, “it was eat or be eaten. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be picked on.”

“Because I would have died from being unliked,” he retorted sarcastically. You gave him a look as if to say that’s not fair, but you knew he was right. It would have been a different kind of unlike for him. If he’d forfeited his social standing, all of the cruelty and indifference he got would have been directly his decision, and his courage would have been gratifying enough to sustain him.

“Well,” you stammered persistently, “I still think you’re okay. I forgive you.”

“Look, I’m—“ Steve huffed, scrubbing at his hair anxiously. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments. Really. I just have this terrible feeling that you convinced yourself that it’s okay, what all happened in school. But it’s not okay. It’s not.”

He looked into your eyes hotly, a wild turn to his features, and you felt oddly nauseous. You looked at your shoes to avoid his stare, slim heeled boots that all the pretty girls wore in school, and you wondered how you’d feel about those girls if you’d never slipped them on, never had a guy take you home because you looked so good in them.

“What do you want me to do, then?” you asked.

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Whatever you feel,” he replied, “what I want is besides the point.”

“Not to me,” you mumbled, and then regretted it instantly. You pulled your jacket tight around you and shivered, said: “I don’t know what to do.”

A tear tracked hot and shameful down your cheek, dancing with the porch light and the stars and Steve’s eyes. You felt like the whole world was watching you flounder and choke like a fish on a dock. You sucked in, and air stole down your throat in three distinct parts, stuttering and painful.

Steve reached for you then, taking your arm into his grip and crushing you to his chest. Through teary eyes you could spy into the house where the party still thundered. It looked shockingly vibrant and warm inside, a world away from your moment with Steve on the frigid veranda. He was holding your head gently and rubbing at your back, and you could only think of how much you’d been craving this. How you’d yearned over intellectual conversations and counseling sessions for something as real as this moment, here, with Steve. He knew you better than anyone inside, anyone in Chicago, even, and you could not fathom how that had happened.

Pressing into him, you sniffled pitifully and hid your face.

“Sorry for crying,” you said, “I really didn’t want to.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said, for the second time that night. You liked the way he said it, with a soft sternness that left no room for argument. He even went on further to say: “It’s okay if you want to cry some more.”

You rubbed his sleek jacket between your fingers and looked at him.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

Steve laughed, and you knew then that he wouldn’t, like you knew he wasn’t laughing at your expense.

“Who am I gonna tell?” he asked genuinely. You thought about it.

“Tommy or…” Steve shook his head. “No, right, you said that.”

You pretended to think some more, but you had nothing. You said, “I don’t know,” and then expected Steve to give you a name, like you were playing a guessing game and you’d lost. Instead, he drew his arms tighter around your shoulders, so that your chin was trapped on his chest as you looked up at him.

“I won’t tell a soul if that’s what you want,” he admitted, a shiny frond of his hair escaping the fray to sway between you two. “I think I’d do whatever you asked, actually.”

He seemed very affronted by that fact, as if he was only discovering it as he told you, right then.

“Would you—” You licked your lips. Looked at Steve’s. Asked: “Would you kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, “‘course.”

He kissed you then, acerbic ale transferring from his lips to yours. The stray hair caught between your foreheads, doing what your noses could not and flattening. Steve’s hands held you firmly, at the back of your neck and on your upper arm, and it made you shudder. He was kissing you dizzy—not nearly the first you’d ever had, but certainly the first that felt worthwhile, the first that felt good and right and deserved.

As you pulled away shyly, Steve kept his eyes closed, his jaw working and his breath uneven.

“Steve?” you called.

“Hm?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Steve hummed negatively, tapping his forehead back onto yours and finally blinking his eyes open.

“No, sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” You smiled, and Steve grinned knowingly, like he could tell he’d be hearing that a hundred times a week from then on. You asked him what he was thinking and he fiddled with your jacket collar nervously.

“Just about you. In Chicago and everything. Where that puts us.” Steve scrunched his face in a sort of wince like that might upset you. “I mean, not that there has to be an us at all—if that’s not what you want, or if I’m getting ahead of myself.”

He says the last bit like a question, like a request. Like: Please say I’m not getting ahead of myself?

“No, I wouldn’t say you are,” you assured him. “I didn’t even think about the distance. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said without hesitation, but a small abashed smile played on his lips. “But I meant what I said, whatever you say goes. Whatever you want me to do.”

You looked him over, from the tallest strand of his styled hair down to where your chests met, taking in his moles and the fibers of his shirt.

“Do you have anyone at home that you’d miss?” you asked, and Steve’s face said everything, even as he shook his head stubbornly.

“Baby, whatever you want. Ask me to move up and I will.”

Smiling, you kissed him curiously, the feeling so novel and thrilling. His responding squeeze on your arm shot through you to your very center.

“I still have my family in Hawkins,” you told him dazedly. “I go home every holiday. We can visit. And it’s only a year and half before I graduate, and then we can figure something new out.”

Steve smiled dryly, perhaps anticipating a different answer, but ultimately you knew it’d be best not to rush anything. You were content, all of the excitement and adrenaline seeping from your body and making you feel soft around the edges. You shivered a touch, and Steve rocked you both to and fro.

“Do you wanna go back inside,” he asked, his mouth on your hairline. You shook your head, stuffing your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“Can we stay here just a little longer?” you pleaded.

“‘Course we can,” Steve granted, soothing his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you want.”

+

thank u for reading xx

masterlist

[walkinthrudaisies]

Do You Think I’m Weird?

jack kline x fem!reader

2.5k | fluff

summary: you’ve always been a little weird. not thinking anything was wrong with it until dean decided to read your journal. though jack was just as weird as you were, and that makes your quirks a little more better.

fighting evil and the supernatural was not what you had pictured for your life plan, yet here you were.

you had met sam and dean about seven years ago. freshly thirteen, you had been living in an orphanage since the age of five. both of your parents had died in a freak car accident, leaving you in the care of a middle aged woman with ten other girls, far away from home.

the winchester brothers had sniffed out a case in oklahoma. a shifter that was terrorizing homes so they could slaughter everyone present. that was the only reason you’d ran into the infamous sam and dean. the shifter had visited your orphanage, slaughtering everyone there and almost killing you too if it wasn’t for dean killing them at the last moment.

sam was the one who felt obligated to take you in. you were so young, with no where for them to drop you off. dean wasn’t too keen on taking in a random thirteen year old girl. him and sam dealt with enough as is. so tacking on taking care of a fresh teenage girl, while also saving the world, was not something he really wanted to do.

but sam was always so convincing, breaking out his infamous puppy dog eyes to sway dean into saying yes. so for the past couple of years, sam and dean winchester were all you had. they loved you like a sister, and you viewed them as your family.

joining sam and dean on their journey meant you saw a lot of strange things. you were there when leviathans took over, one even killing bobby. you were present when dean went to purgatory, even following sam to texas when he thought dean had died. you watched as an angel took over sam and dean got the mark of cain, inevitably turning him into a demon.

attempting to close the gates of hell, angels falling, god’s freakin sister wanting to take over the world. you where there for it all. beside the two brothers, learning what you could from them and helping the best you could. so of course, you where there when the devil himself took over the president. you stood along slack jawed as castiel realized a nephilim had been born. not any nephilim though, but satan’s fucking offspring.

the poor woman who’d the devil taken advantage of was too kind to have this happen to her. you couldn’t bare be around kelly kline, for you felt a sense of dread any time you looked at her somber and smiling face. realizing she wouldn’t be alive to see her child.

though in the end, everything had happened so fast. kelly’s child was so strong, the unborn baby opened a rift to another world. this rift ended up taking the devil, alongside sam and dean’s mother, (who yes, was back from the dead) before it closed for good. oh no, but that was after lucifer stuck an angel blade in castiel’s back, killing him right in front of you and the brothers.

everyone was gone. kelly was dead, and in all the chaos, you had completely forgotten she’d given birth to a whole damn child. well, it was more like a twenty something year old man. you believed after everything you’ve seen, nothing could shock you. but as you walked into the baby’s nursery, you swore your jaw fell off as you looked past sam’s broad shoulders, eyes falling on a full grown man who was very much kelly’s newborn son.

jack was an interesting guy from the jump. he was a week old baby in a grown man’s body. it was a little weird and hard to get used to. it got easier — well actually exceptionally harder, when jack ended up getting stuck in the other dimension with mary winchester. but they were both back now, and the devil was dead, and everything seemed to be okay.

right now, mary had been gone for a week or so, working on some cases. so now, it was just you, sam, dean, cas, and jack in the bunker.

times like these you enjoyed. with the addition of jack, it was like how things used to be. times when not everything was as complicated as it is now. it was just you and the winchester’s fighting evil, with castiel to give his aid when needed and bobby’s house as a refuge spot.

no big threat was happening at the moment. this allowed for you and everyone else to chill and relax for a bit. you had found some time so get to know jack some more. yes, you’d fought alongside him, but you never knew what his interests were. what he found entertaining and other factors of him were completely unaware to you.

though today, your investigation in the phenomenon that was jack kline was put to a halt. sam basically forced everyone in the bunker to go through a certain chunk of books in the library. his words exactly were ‘these are the only books we haven’t cataloged, and when are we going to find time to do it?’ he wasn’t wrong, yet the task was as boring as watching paint dry.

midway through the highly entertaining book cataloging, you heard a snicker come from across the table. dean winchester was holding a book that looks wise, wasn’t as old as the other men of letter novels. dean reading the contents and silently giggling to himself. you were slightly confused on what he had found so funny, until you spotted a very familiar fiona apple sticker on the front.

oh dear god. dean was reading your journal. your scattered brain had left it on the table alongside all the other books. a late night of jotting down your thoughts and even creating your own poems was cut short as you felt drowsiness take over you. in your sleepy haze, you must’ve forgotten to take it to your room. now because of it, freaking dean, the most immature person you’ve ever met, was reading it’s contents.

you loved the eldest winchester, don’t get it twisted. though like everyone else, he had his flaws, and you couldn’t deny the truth. dean being raised in a not so nice environment by his drill sergeant of a father left him to be a little cruel when it came to certain things. in honesty, he didn’t catch on to social cues well. if he was publicly going to laugh at your journal, then he probably would.

“oh wow, pipsqueak.” dean’s voice came out through chokes of laughter, and you could feel yourself sinking into your own skin as time kept moving foreword. “i knew you were a little weird, but jesus christ.”

in dean’s brain, he was joking around with you. this was something john used to do — mostly to sam. if the older man came across something personal to his youngest son, especially something john didn’t agree with, he would laugh at him. chalking it up to be a joke when sam got upset. dean wholeheartedly believed that this was all joking fun. this was how he grew up, and it wasn’t his fault that his dad was an emotionally unattached man who was stuck in his distorted ways.

eyes downcast towards your lap, you couldn’t bare to look up at any of the four men in the room. the feeling of sam’s pitiful gaze fleeted over the top of your head. he knew what this felt like, and you knew that he felt for you and wanted dean to shut up as much as you did. cas was confused. the man always had a nuance of bewilderment on his face, but this time it was different. he was an angel after all, he could feel your discomfort radiating off of you in waves. his confusion didn’t stem from why you felt this way, but why dean was making you feel like it. he wanted your emotion to stop, wanted you to feel comfortable and not like everyone in the room was judging you.

jack was a different story. he hadn’t been alive for long, but jack was already very well versed. he cared exceedingly for the people he held close in his heart, and he especially had a problem with letting his anger get the best of him.

one thing for certain, jack kline cared for you deeply, more than anyone truly knew about. he thought you were ethereal, everything he believed a person should be. seeing dean treat you so blatantly terrible made the swell of anger in jack’s chest rise. without even lifting your head you could feel it coming off of the young nephilim in waves.

before jack could explode, or god forbid dean read an excerpt out loud, you got up from your chair and in a fast pace walked to your room. you could hear sam start scolding dean but you didn’t make a move to turn around and tune in. the embarrassment was rolling off of you in waves, and you could already feeling the tears forming at your lash line.

you’d always been a little different than other people. your interests sometimes weirded people out, starting from when you were in the foster home. some of the girls would make fun of you, and it would make you feel even more alone then you already were at the time.

there was just some things you wanted to keep to yourself. your journal was the number one thing of that. yeah, sam and dean knew how you were and even mentioned multiple times that you were pretty strange at some times. you knew they were just joking around. but with what dean was doing with your journal, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t all a joke.

closing the door to your room, you stood by the wooden threshold and looked around at everything you did to change the space. all of the pictures and designs you put on the wall felt silly now. you didn’t know what dean, cas, or even sam was thinking when they came in. you felt so stupid, so embarrassed that your brain couldn’t properly function.

staring at your walls, trinkets on your desk. hell, even the new bed spread you got to replace to old, thin one the men of letters probably had since the 1950’s made you feel so exposed. everyone was secretly making fun of you, like they used to at the orphanage, and you couldn’t go through that pain not again.

you were a freak. so off putting that even sam and dean noticed it. noticed it not in a good way, but in a way where they were judging you without you knowing. with eyes blinded by embarrassed sadness, you ripped the comforter off of your bed, throwing each stupid plushie at the wall. every trinket or item on your desk was thrown off in a massive sweep, leaving a loud clatter in it’s wake.

as you were about to rip all the posters off of your wall, you felt two arms wrap around you, pulling you away from the destruction. some part of you wanted to fight back, wanted to believe that changing who you were was the best thing you could do. but you were so tired. tired of forcing yourself to pretend you were something you weren’t. so melting into the arms of the person who you still haven’t identified, the tears started to freely fall from your eyelids.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” the sound of jack’s voice right by your left ear shocked you a little. turning around in his arms, you looked at the man’s face to see nothing but hurt and confusion plaguing his stare. he held such care in his eyes. this moment made you realize how much jack truly cared for you, and that led to you falling limp into his arms and breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.

jack stilled, not knowing what to do in this certain situation. like a lightbulb going off in his head, he remembered what sam always did when a victim was crying. wrapping his arms tighter around your body, jack placed his head on top of yours, letting you cry into his shoulder and soothing you the best he could.

voice muffled by jack’s sweater, you spoke with a small voice. worried that jack would judge you. “do you think i’m weird?” the question caught the young nephilim by surprise. why would you think that? to jack, you were so creative and intelligent. yeah, you had your quirks, but that made you who you are in jack’s eyes. anyone who thought you were weird in a bad sense was just plain old stupid.

moving his head from yours, allowing you to look up into jack’s eyes, you watched as he softly smiled at you, contemplating what to say next. “yeah. you’re pretty weird.” his words made your heart drop to your stomach. eyes widening in fear before he continued. “but that’s what makes you, well, you! and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

mouth agape in shock, you shook your head as if to disagree with him. “but, what about what dean-“

“sam and cas are giving dean a pretty heated lecture as we speak. i don’t think he realized how much that hurt you.” the thought of sam and cas sticking up for you made a smile light up your face. you loved dean, yet jack was right. he probably didn’t know that his words were hurtful, and you knew that a heartfelt apology and a lot of pie would come in it’s wake.

turning your head away from jack, you looked around your room at all the destruction you had made. thank god you didn’t tear your posters down, for the mess of blankets, papers and small trinkets was already bad enough as is. the man immediately perked up, moving away from you and rummaging around your things in a way to clean them up.

a soft gasp was heard from where jack was knelt on the ground. turning around, he lifted up a medium sized glass cat figurine that he’d gotten you at at farmers market. “thank goodness skittles didn’t break. the lady at the stall was staring at me funny and i really don’t want to see her again.” the thought that jack didn’t care about the destruction of your belongings but how he was going to reattain them for you put a smile on your face. he really did care, and that warm fuzzy feeling in your chest was starting to grow bigger and bigger.

leaning down so you could place a soft kiss on the crown of jack’s head, you moved to sit beside him on the floor, helping with the clean up of all the items strewn around the room. a light squeeze to your hand had you understanding that even with everything going on, you still had someone who didn’t care for what you liked. jack was right there beside you. reading the books you liked, watching your favourite movies, listening to your rants on anything you found interesting.

jack kline was someone you could always count on to be your true self around, and that was something that made you realize that enormous crush you had on the half angel.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 - 𝟏

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: After moving to Hawkings for a fresh start, you meet a boy with kind, brown eyes who will quickly become a friend and maybe something more. The only problem is: you took something that belongs to him by accident and now you don't know what to do.

A/N: Yes, there will be more parts. No, i don't know when. I hope this start doesn't suck.

You kind of hated how you had thought moving there was a good idea. Of course, your aunt had told you that she would welcome you with open arms if you ever decided to go and live with her but she had never told you that the people there seemed to look all the same and that everyone would have stared at you in a weird way, being the only crazy person who moved there after years of no new arrivals.

Hawkins was a small midwestern town located in Roane County in the state of Indiana and it wasn't hard to tell that it wasn't a very busy or interesting place even though you were driving down the main street for the first time, heading towards the house where you were supposed to live for quite some time, if everything would have gone as it should and your aunt hadn't decided to get rid of you after a few days, like you had basically done with your parents.

You looked first on the left and then the right side of the road, while the music was still playing loudly in the vehicle, trying to figure out which way you were supposed to go, then you remembered that you had a map of the city somewhere in your pickup.

You glanced at the back seats, where there were several suitcases and a few bags full of things that you would probably never need and which were just taking up a lot of space in your car already always full of various junk.

You noticed a lamp peeking out from a bag and wondered for the second time that morning what the hell was going on in your mind.

"C'mon, where are you?" You talked to yourself, searching through the sea of ​​objects scattered on the dashboard: a concert ticket, some polaroids containing memories of a life you were leaving behind (which had fallen from the ceiling of the car where you kept at least fifty of them fixed with tacks), a horror book by an unknown writer (the school library had crossed it out because it was considered inappropriate for kids), a shoe whose match had been lost while you were packing your bags, a half-empty green spray can and no trace of the city map.

The car behind you honked: you had not moved for at least two minutes.

"I'm trying to figure out where I need to go! I'm sorry!" You shouted through the rolled down window before the car passed you and a man gave you the middle finger.

"Rude." You commented, sighing and thinking about what to do.

Did continuing to wander around the city until you found the right path make sense?

You were about to restart the pickup when you saw a boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen and a taller, blond boy wearing a green and white jacket talking to each other as they walked along the sidewalk.

You grabbed your leather jacket and got out of the car, hoping no one would complain about the inappropriate place you were leaving it. Your driving teacher was probably right when she told you you sucked at parking.

"I'll be right back Casper." You said to the thing in the passenger seat. Nobody responded.

You reached the two boys just as the blond guy took the hat off the younger one, laughing.

You didn't immediately understand what was happening.

"Sorry, do you know where I can find-"

"Hey! Give it back!" The younger one tried to grab the hat while the other laughed, raising his arm straight up so he couldn't reach it.

"Give what back?" The blond laughed.

You cleared your throat. The two turned to you suddenly.

"What do you want?" The older one asked in an annoyed tone, looking you up and down.

"I wanted to know where Piney Wood Lane was but now I don't wanna talk with you anymore. Give the hat back."

He snorted as if I had come to ruin the party. "You can never have fun with you weirdos around."

You caught it before it landed in a puddle as the blonde dropped it to the ground.

He pointed to the kid saying something like "I'm not fucking done with you" before walking away.

"What a nice guy!" You yelled after him as he turned the corner.

"As always." The younger commented.

"Is everyone like this around here? I just moved but people like him make me want to go back to where I came from." You handed the hat back to him with a half smile.

You hated people like that guy, you had never understood how anyone could take pleasure in making someone else suffer.

"Not all. Most but not all, some of my friends are really cool. Thanks for that." He put the hat back on his head, covering his short curls, on his face a grateful expression even if you didn't do much.

You found yourself wondering what these "cool friends" of his were like.

"Good to know." You sighed ironically.

“I'm Dustin, by the way.” Dustin smiled at you.

You said your name and shook his hand, you thought that you had known that kid for about five minutes and you would already do anything to protect him.

Dustin looked at the car parked behind you. “Your car is so cool!” He commented in amazement, pointing with his finger at the drawings standing out against the black background, on the side of it.

"Thanks, it's a mess but it represents me, I think."

“Wait, what is that thing sitting in the passenger seat?”

"Oh, that's Casper!"

"It's a-"

"A skeleton, yes. My biology teacher let me borrow it from his class."

Dustin looked at you questioningly.

"Okay, I stole it. But he's a great travel companion, and never complains about the music I choose."

Dustin laughed. "I swear, you would love my friends."

"And I really would like to get to know them but now, could you help me find Piney Wood Lane? I lost the map in the middle of all the shit in my car."

"Sure I can, I know that street!" The boy nodded, hoping that you could become one of his "cool friends".

That afternoon, what had become your room was already full of stuff scattered around and suitcases that you didn't feel like unpacking everywhere. The posters you would soon hang were on the desk but you had decided to leave Casper in the car for a while longer. You had put most of your clothes in the closet and packed a bag full of spray cans with the intention of going out and finding a nice wall to do your first mural in the new town.

That time you didn't have any of your friends to make sure the cops didn't come but you figured that for your first few days there, you could manage on your own.

You grabbed a book in case you found a quiet place to read: you felt safer when you went out taking a book with you, even if you weren't sure you'd find a place or time to read.

“Are you going to explore the town?” Your aunt asked with a smile as you came out of your room with your bag over your shoulder.

You couldn't help but be grateful to her, she had said she would treat you like a daughter and give you a room of your own and that was exactly what she had done. You hadn't seen her in years and you didn't know each other very well but for the moment you seemed to get along well and your relationship seemed more peaceful than the one you'd had with many people in your old hometown.

Maybe this was really a new beginning for you.

"Yeah, something like that." You tried to sound convincing.

"Okay, don't get in trouble on your first day here."

You smiled.

"Oh, I would never do that."

You jumped off the trash can you were standing on, in the alley you had chosen for your mural.

You turned the spray can in your paint-stained hands, observing the work on the wall in front of you: you liked dragons in fantasy stories, you thought it might be nice to experiment with something like that.

"Yeah, you don’t look that bad." You said to the creature painted on the wall, before noticing that the sun was starting to set and it was probably time to go home.

You put the spray cans back in your bag and threw the empty ones into the bins you climbed onto.

Then, you heard a noise.

"Please don't be a cop." You muttered to yourself, placing your bag over your shoulder and walking out of the alley.

The footsteps got closer.

"Please don't be a cop." You repeated, keeping your gaze down as you rounded the corner, hoping to escape, that way, from whoever was coming in your direction.

Of course, luck wasn't on your side, as always: you collided with the person who was coming in your direction and if they hadn't grabbed you by the arm you would have surely ended up on the ground like the rest of your stuff.

Your book, your bag, and several spray cans scattered across the ground, some rolling away from you.

"Shit." You said through your teeth, looking up to look into the eyes of the person you had collided with.

A gentle and slightly worried gaze met yours, his chocolate brown eyes watching you as if to make sure you were okay. His expression was completely different from the way the boy who was bothering Dustin had looked at you that morning.

His messy, curly hair was brown like his eyes and his slight smile was reassuring.

"Are you good?" He asked, letting go of your arm after making sure you wouldn't fall.

"Oh, thank god you're not a cop!"

“And neither are you, good for both of us.” He chuckled before helping you pick up what you had dropped. You did the same, so quickly that you didn't even realize you had put something in the bag that didn't belong to you.

"I'm fine." You grabbed the spray can he was holding out to you, your fingers grazed his, adorned with chunky silver rings, and the action made you feel a weird sensation that you couldn't identify and that only lasted a few seconds in your stomach, “thank you.”

"It's a pleasure. It's always nice to help pretty girls break the law." He chuckled.

"I wasn't breaking any laws." You rolled your eyes, aware that you both knew you were lying, almost without realizing that he had called you pretty.

"Then why did you hope I wasn't a cop?"

"Maybe I just think they're not nice."

"Well, believe me, I've been arrested several times and I can guarantee you that most of them aren't."

You raised your eyebrows. "You've been arrested several times? What the hell did you do?"

"You really don't wanna know."

“Okay mystery man,” You rolled your eyes, the boy laughed at the nickname and you immediately liked the sound of it, then you held out your hand, introducing yourself.

He shook it and you felt that feeling in your stomach again but decided to ignore it, “Eddie.”

"Okay Eddie, are you good at giving an unbiased opinion on a mural done in an alley while standing on garbage bins?" You asked and without even waiting for an answer you started pushing him towards the dragon on the wall.

Usually you didn't need random strangers' opinions on your street art but this time you felt like you wanted to spend more time with that metal singer looking guy with the sweetest eyes you'd ever seen. And also, he wasn't a stranger anymore, he was Eddie.

“Oh sure, I was born for that.” He stated confidently.

Your laughter echoed down the alley as you reached the mural.

"There we go. Now you are an accessory to the crime."

"Well, in reality.... I didn't do anything. I'm just an innocent witness."

"You have paint on your hands."

"I don't-" He looked at his palms and realized you had stained one of his hands with green paint when you held it. "Oh, fuck you."

You laughed. "So? What do you think?"

“I think it's worthy of being on the cover of a metal album, it's amazing, really.”

"Well, thanks. For now it will stay on the wall of a dark alley."

"Really, that's so fucking cool. You should do this as a job or something like that."

"Well, I'm still in high school and I'm looking for someone who needs a babysitter to earn some money so... not yet, I guess."

"Well then I guess we'll meet there."

“Are you still in high school?”

Eddie sighed, as if expecting a joke on that.

"Hey, we don't judge people here. What do you expect from a girl who's spending her Sunday afternoon with a stranger chatting in front of some garbage cans?"

"I expect her to be cool as hell. And well-" He paused, as if thinking about it carefully, "I think she is."

You couldn't help but laugh again.

When you got home you still had a stupid smile on your face. You liked Eddie, you liked the way he made you feel like you didn't have to pretend to be someone else around him, you liked the way he called you "pretty" five more times that afternoon, you liked the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music, you liked the way he kindly asked you if he could walk you home since the sky was getting dark and he didn't want anything bad to happen to you, you liked the sound of his laughter and the way he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks when you told him that your opinion on Hawkings had become better after you met him.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Your aunt asked you when you entered the house.

"I met a boy."

She smirked.

"Don't look at me with that face, I just met him. He was just being nice."

"Mh-mh sure." She laughed as you rolled your eyes and walked into your room, leaving your bag on the bed.

When you unzipped it, something inside caught your attention: a small, brown leather-covered notebook you'd never seen before.

Your first thought was how the hell did he end up in there, then you remembered your clash with Eddie a few hours earlier. Was it possible that you had taken it without realizing it?

You got under the covers with the notebook in your hands. It was small but the pages were so many and so thin that someone could have started writing in it years before and still not filled it all.

You knew you shouldn't have done it, it might have contained private things, but you couldn't resist.

You opened it.

As soon as you did, a black and white photo of a girl with dark hair and a sun dress fell off the first page.

She was smiling and she was really pretty, you wondered who she could be. In the background you could see a garden and the sun shining in the sky.

It was wrinkled as if someone had held it in their hands for a long time.

Then, you read the first lines of the first page of the notebook. The writing was messy but legible, some words had been crossed out and rewritten probably due to some grammatical error or unclear thoughts.

"I realized that I almost don't remember her anymore and that's the thing that scares me the most. I don't want to forget her."

You couldn't help but wonder how you could feel the pain in those words simply by reading them in an old, crumpled notebook.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

[barry-j-blupjeans]

Lucretia would love to say that there wasn't much that surprised her anymore, but that was horribly inaccurate and incredibly easy to prove false. Last week, she had been surprised to tears when Merle held her hand, even though Merle held her hand all the time (he did that even with his memories gone, though it had been much more weird for both of them then). And even two days ago, she had nearly startled herself to hell and back when Angus told her that "you actually don't hide your depression symptoms very well, ma'am" and "maybe you need to seek some professional help? I have some great therapists I can recommend!"

Anyway.

No, Lucretia couldn't say she wasn't hard to surprise. But despite knowing all of that, standing in the tiny living room of Magnus's childhood home, getting hugged by two women whose arms wrapped around her the exact way Magnus's did? Cut her some slack, why wouldn't that be surprising?

"Thank you for staying with him," one of Magnus's moms said— Amelia? Fuck, of course Lucretia knew it was Amelia, she had drawn her dozens of times, recreating and refixing the worn-down photo that Magnus insisted on keeping on him the first few years of their century running from the Hunger.

The words, "but I didn't" got stuck in Lucretia's mouth. She swallowed around the, and couldn't bring herself to do anything more than just nod. Gods. Fuck.

Magnus had been the one to tell her of the Planar Belts. Lup was supposed to have, apparently, but Magnus caught her first. An hour in their home plane wasn't a lot but the seven of them had far grown used to working under weird, constrictive time limits. And while they were still tracking down Lucretia's brother, Magnus's moms hadn't been hard to find at all. Story and Song had stretched across their planar system, yes, but the Hunger had already touched down when it did. And thus, every single planar system inside it heard it, too.

Lucretia had spent a lot of time after that wondering what her brother thought of her. And standing here with Magnus's moms doubled the thoughts' intensity. Would he be proud? Teary, like Amelia? Speechless, like his step-mom? Had he been worried about her? Had he given up on her coming back? Was he even still alive?

A small gust of wind caught against her skin and Lucretia looked up to see they were outside. Gods, she needed to get a grip on herself. How much time had passed? How much time did they have left?

A hand tugged on hers, leading her to sit down. It was Magnus. She settled onto a picnic bench in their back garden, surrounded by dozens and dozens of flowers.

This was not the first time she had been to this house. The memory was old, but the scent of rosemary brought it back. She and Magnus, much, much younger than they were now, still in their Institution days, back when the Institution of Planar Research had yet to tack the "And Exploration" onto the end of their name. They had been roommates for a semester, back when they both started out. Magnus had convinced her to spend Candlenights out here and she had felt much the same as she did now.

Yearning. For her brother, for a life she didn't yet have, and a life she hadn't begun to know.

Helplessness. Away from home for the first time, in the wake of her mother's death and her father's withdrawal into himself. Trying to figure out who she was in the world.

And hopefulness. Winter had been bitter, but it hadn't snowed, and Amelia was, in Magnus's words, "an expert at seasonal plants." Their garden had still been full and lush and while she had been invited to help tend to it, she hadn't wanted to, in fear of breaking something by accident.

That version of herself felt foreign now. How could Lucretia possibly break anything worse than what she had already done to her family?

Magnus nestled into her side as she lifted her head, trying to blink away tears.

"Ma said she's gonna get some new plants," Magnus said. "As 'celebration'." Lucretia snorted a little bit at the way he said it— Amelia Burnsides thought every event, no matter how big or small, was worthy of new plants. "You still like cornflower, right? 'Cause I told her to get cornflower for you."

"I—" Lucretia said, her throat suddenly a little tight. She turned away. Magnus didn't budge, merely wrapping an arm around her and holding tightly. Lucretia cleared her throat, trying to get a hold of herself. But instead of answering, her mouth said, "thank you for staying with me."

Magnus didn't respond, just squeezing her slightly. She wiped at her eyes, looking up towards the horizon. The two suns overlapped like flower petals. The wind chime played a little melody in the wind.

"Cornflowers are good," Lucretia said at last. "It's— tell her that'd be great, Magnus."

"Tell her yourself," Magnus said.

[everythingne]

out of the woods — LS2

After a short break during her time as a Ferrari reserve driver, loud-mouthed driver Dhanishka Dubey resurfaces when she moves up to f1 under Ferrari. She’s back to terrorize her ex, none other than Logan Sargeant when she conquers him once again this season, just like before, just like always.

But when faced with your first love, and your only love, it's hard to let those feelings past. Especially when a relationship was prematurely ended, especially when she's everything you aren't, especially when you never got over his love.

logan sargeant x ferrari!ex!oc

fc: iffat marash (adult) hamda al qubaisi (young)

warnings/notes: mentions of past car accidents, multiple incorrect dates, butchered pasts for logan and oscar, [] used to denote other languages being spoken, yes the title is taylor swift ok, the oc is indian, however the author is NOT, pls pls pls correct me on any inaccuracies ♥️ let me pretend logan didn't have a bad season by putting him on par w oscar. this is for MY mental health !!

(part two)

14 NOVEMBER, INSTAGRAM

scuderiaferrari made a new post!

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, logansargeant, and 238k others…

scuderiaferrari: welcoming dhanishka dubey to the f1 team from her past position of reserve driver this season! she will be the first ever bahraini f1 driver, and the third woman to take to the grid. dhaniska is currently sponsored by @ monsterenergy and @ colourpopcosmetics, she’s bringing a bright, energized feel to our team this season!

dhanishkadubey: so so excited to be here!

charlesleclerc: sometimes i still hear carlos… singing in the distance…

⤷ dhaniskadubey: smooooooooth operatoooorrr

⤷ carlossainz: you both act like i died, i just changed teams.

⤷ charlesleclerc: rip smooth operator <;/3

user2: this is so a jab at williams .

⤷ user3: how ??

⤷ user2: @ user3 dhanishka is logans ex girlfriend

⤷ user3: OOOO

⤷ user4: NO WAY???

oscarpiastri: pls don’t run me off the track again (i will beg if i have to)

⤷ dhanishkadubey: no promises ossie ♥️ (get on ur knees)

⤷ oscarpiastri: AYO??

danielriccardio: DANNY 2!!!

⤷ dhanishkadubey: DANNY 1!!!!

dhanishkadubey made a post!

liked by charlesleclerc, logansargeant, landonorris, and 298k others...

dhanishkadubey: might be the prettiest thing i have ever worn?? happy diwali to u all and a (late) happy 22 to me ♥️ (yea, i AM feeling 22.)

tagged: anyadubey

anyadubey: ily<3

user1: MOTHER IS MOTHERING EVERYONE!!

liamlawson: u look like a very nice disco ball ! happy diwali

⤷ dhanishkadubey: u look like a very nice young man ! thank u!

user2: god we don't need this conceited bitch on the track.

maxverstappen: happy birthday, happy diwali, and welcome to f1!

⤷ dhanishkadubey: thank you max !! looking forward to challenging you this seaon :)!

user3: shes going to get someone killed

14 NOVEMBER, TWITTER

28 FEBRUARY, BAHRAIN

"It's a pre-season dinner, how badly can it go?" Anya asks me, eyes darting down to my sari and then back to my face as she works on pinning the pleats to my shoulder as I adjust them and secure their positioning.

When she’s done, she squeezes my arms as she stands next to me in her much more casual western clothing. We look like opposites, me in a bright red sari and her wearing a black dior sweatshirt and jeans. She grins, “you look stunning by the way."

"Thanks, Anya," I give her a little side hug, passing her to continue fixing myself up in the mirror ahead of us. I huff as I adjust my earrings and bracelets, tacking the former down with eyelash glue, "I just worry if like… Logan says something.”

“You’re gonna let a man, a white man no less, make you worry?” Anya paused, hands on her hips as she looks at me in the mirror of our parents home, the little cookie cutter complex we lived in the corner plot in.

“Plus what would he even say?” Anya crosses her arms, “that whole thing wasn’t even your fault.”

“I know but… I was still Trident’s golden child when it happened. People are always gonna assume I had something to do with it. I’m lucky the FIA didn’t take anything away from me, I’m honestly lucky the team admitted I had nothing to do with it.”

“Does Logan blame you?” Anya leans on the doorframe to my bathroom, “because that’s the only opinion that matters.”

“He might. I… it made him break up with me. So, I don’t know.” I sigh, “but it’s just one guy, I still have Oscar, Charles, Carlos and Daniel.”

“I still don’t get Danny.” Anya muses, and when she sees my confusion she waves a hand, “No, not him, as your nickname.”

“Oh, a reporter called me ‘Dan-ish-ka’ and not ‘Dun-ish-kah’ and someone on Twitter thought she called me Danny and it just—rolled from there.” I laughed softly, turning back to Anya as I motioned for her to move out of the door so I could grab my bag and such. She did with ease, moving to grab the keys to my (but hers when I wasn’t home) Porsche Taycan.

“And, that’s when there were rumors I was joining Red Bulls Junior team as well, instead of Ferrari’s, so it all just kept stacking.” I grabbed my purse off my bed and dropped in a small perfume container, my lipstick, and a few other essentials, “people called me ‘Danny 2’ and it got to Daniel Ricciardo himself, and that’s how we started talking.”

“Oh that’s actually so cute.” Anya grins, following me out to the kitchen where my mother is forcing my father to help her make biryani while she’s fixing up the bar for a party they’re having tonight.

“Alright, [Momma, Dad, how do I look?] Do we like the red one better than the silver one? Anya helped me pick this one out, [she thinks it’s some sort of new style with the solid color.]” I call in the usual mix of Marathi, Arabic, and English out household uses. As I pause in the kitchen, Anya’s fixing my sari out of her own nervous habit. My mother gasps, pushing past my father to take me into her arms with a bright smile.

“Oh! Dhanishka, wow! [You look amazing! I love this one,] is it new?” My mother looks me over and I nod, seeing the hint of my father’s smile from the kitchen that makes my heart sing. He rarely showed his support on his face, but since everything with Trident and the subsequent fall out and mental break, he tried his hardest to show his love for me and Anya. He did a good job.

“Yeah, [it’s from Manish?]” I say, turning back to Anya who nods.

“All of my girls, [so stunning.]” My father grinned, wiping his hands off before giving me a loose hug as to not get anything from his hands on my outfit, “Do you need anything to eat before you go?”

“No, [dad], I’ll be fine. Thank you.” I squeeze his shoulder, and my mother makes me stand back so she can take about a dozen photos of everyone with me. Once the photos are done, we wave goodbye, and it’s off to the restaurant they’ve picked.

I would’ve settled with anything in Manama, honestly but eating at somewhere down by the Four Seasons is perfect.

Anya drops me off to the front of the restaurant and I slip in, greeting the staff and letting them point me in the right direction. My hands are slick as I pull out my phone from my bag, Charles letting me know he was coming in right behind me, and I turn to see him, Max, and Carlos.

“Dhanishka!” Charles grins, leaning down to give me a quick hug, “Oh, this is the one you sent me? It looks nice.”

“Thank you. Figured I’d come in looking like I at least belong in the country I’m in, since I don’t quite fit in with the people yet.” I shrug, fiddling with the red fabric in my hands, feeling the beading against my knuckles. Catching my worry, Charles turns to the two who awkwardly greet me with half hugs and congratulations on driving along with them this season.

Once everyone’s stepped back, Charles nodded to them, “You guys go ahead, we’ll see you in there.”

Carlos and Max move behind a curtain and into a doorway, but Charles grabs my arm gently and pulls me back into a hallway leading to the bathroom, hands finding mine and squeezing them.

“Stop overthinking this, it’s a room with a bunch of stupid men. Basically the same thing you’ve been dealing with for like—over ten years.” Charles looks at me and I huff, pulling my hands back from him and fixing my hair for the third time since we’d gotten to the hallway.

“I just—what if someone brings up the crash? Or me racing with Trident?” I stammer and he shakes his head.

“I’ll deal with it. If anything happens, I’ll help you. I’m in your corner.” Charles takes my hands once more, squeezes them, and then lets go of them, “now, are you ready?”

“As long as you’re next to me, yeah… yeah I can do this.” I nod and he grins, moving ahead to open the door for me. I follow him, taking a slow breath before nodding and moving into the little reserved dining room. At the sight of me, a few conversations halt and I scan the room before noticing Oscar moving away from Logan to come greet me.

Logan’s… the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, crinkles in the corners of his eyes and a permanent smile line as his lips fall from a grin when he spots me. I take him in, his crisp blue suit with the jacket discarded—sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie a bit loose and fuck, he looks confident and calm. He’s nothing like me in this moment, almost like we’ve swapped.

“Dhanishka.” Oscar steps in my eyeline, breaking the stare down between me and the American boy, and I smile at the Australian as he gently takes me in a hug.

“Good to see you, Oscar.” I close my eyes in the hug, and he steps back.

“Nice—fuck what’s the word—sa..” He holds up a hand when I go to tell him and then snaps, “Saree!”

“I’ve trained you well.” I laugh, complimenting his black suit, noting the decorative papaya colored inside of his jacket and little McLaren ‘81’ lapel. He says Lando has the matching ‘4’ and I make some joke that’s lost over Daniel chanting my name as he comes over to give me a tight hug.

“How’s my mini-me?” He asks, making sure the beading doesn’t hook on his suit as he steps back, I laugh and tell him I’m good, leaving out the part where my ex has been staring at me since I came in the door and I’m about half a second away from yelling at him to look elsewhere.

Luckily, Alex pulls Logan’s attention away— flashing me a small apologetic smile before bringing him over to the little minibar on the opposite side of the room.

“Do you drink?” Charles asks, hand on my elbow and I nod. My parents were lax with drinking and stuff as long as it wasn’t a holiday where I shouldn’t be. He grins and guides me to my seat, Oscar, Daniel and now Carlos tagging along. As I'm settling down to sit, Oscar on my left side with Lando on his left, Charles asking me what I’d like to drink. After a quick peruse of the menu, I settle on a margarita, and he whisks off to the bar to get it while Daniel sits across from me.

“You’re nervous about Logan, aren’t you?” Daniel leans across the table as he speaks, Carlos sitting next to him and taking a sip of a drink. Lando leans to ask Oscar something in a hushed tone besides me, and my eyes flicker to their whispers momentarily before settling back on Daniel.

“I just don’t want someone to bring up Trident, for either of our sakes, its a sore subject.” I huff, looking around the room, everyones clumped off in the groups I expect to see, a few stragglers between each group either drifting to the table or the bar.

"I'm sure if someone tries, it'll get shut down pretty quick." Oscar turns to me after filling Lando in. Charles sits on my other side, setting down my margarita and taking a sip of whatever drink he'd been coerced into drinking. I assume Max had something to do with it when I eye the gin and tonic in his hand.

"I know, I know. I just worry." I hum, bringing the margarita to my lips as a few more people settle. Logan is sitting a few seats down on the other side of the table, giving us both a clear view of the other. I know it's not intentional, but it makes my skin crawl.

Oscar has Lando switch seats with him, claiming he doesn't wanna hear whatever the two will shout over him, but I know it's so that he can help distract Logan. I remind myself tot hank him later.

I set down my margarita glass, standing up to formally greet Yuki as he comes to sit next to Daniel and I notice Logan's eyes firm on the glass. As I sit back down, I know why he's staring and my cheeks warm. Red lipstick stains the edge of the glass, something that I used to use to stain his lips back when we'd sneak kisses between Trident and HWA's paddocks and in hotel elevators.

And he might have had power over me because I was afraid of causing a fight at my first event with the F1 drivers, but being civil and lying down never got me anywhere in racing. So, when his eyes linger on my lips, I 'accidentally' make a show of pulling out my purse and setting it on my lap. My dark red nails clicking along the zipper as I pull it open and pull out a compact mirror and the same tube of red lipstick he'd bought be back in 2021. Logan bought it days before the crash, a Valentino refillable lipstick, more expensive than I deserved. He'd proudly given it to me, claiming his mom had the idea after my long term lipstick had finally run out. It was still shade 22R. The only shade I ever wore.

Even if Logan had bought the lipstick, I still liked it. It looked nice on my lips, complimented my skin, transferred just enough for my liking.

Across the table, Logan's eyes dilate in a sort of recognition as I swipe the tube across my lower lip. My dark eyes watching his light ones out of my peripheral as I watch myself in the my little red compact Valentino mirror. I'd bought it since it matched the tube of lipstick, and I know he recognizes that too. His bottom lip disappears under his teeth in a soft hiss. I know he knew exactly what lipstick it was. He'd bought be the first one, I just got it refilled after.

And if I purposefully fuck it up, using my finger to fix it just to rile him into silence as he looks away flustered, no one else comments on it. Except a cheeky grin from Daniel who muffles a laugh into his palm, pretending Carlos said something to him.

I have the upperhand at the moment, and it eases my panic. Charles looks over at me, sending me an odd look as a click my mirror shut a little louder than I probably should, but a just send him a tiny smile in response and he doesn't question it as I drop both items into my Coach purse and hang it on the back of my chair once more.

Once everyone's settled, it's Max who stands and thanks everyone for coming and thanks Charles for helping him organize the little dinner. Menus are passed around by two waitresses who speak in soft voices as they explain the specials to us in groups, and then we're off to pick our food and mingle. I settle on a 'keto bowl' type dish with salmon and a small appetizer of these little potato wedge things Daniel claims I have to split with him.

And I get a stronger drink because each time Logan even looks in my direction it makes a knot form in my stomach.

"Are you gonna ignore him all night?" Lando turns to murmur to me when we're getting our appetizers. It's been twenty minutes of odd tension and I can tell Lando's getting a little irritated by it.

"I've ignored him for three years. I can do it now." I say back, a little sharp, but when I see Lando's not asking out of irritation but rather worry, I soften and whisper, "It's fine. I..."

Trailing off, my eyes find Logan's accidentally, and it's like I can't look away. It's the second time we've made eye contact, and maybe its the margarita swirling in my stomach and pumping liquid courage through my veins, but I can't look away. It's like we're trapped for a moment, breaths caught in our throats. His voice fails in whatever story he's cheerily recounting to Oscar and Alex, and I see the former look towards where Logan's staring and he makes a bit of a worried expression.

I swallow, Pierre screeching in laughter pulling us from the moment, and I turn back to Lando as Logan rips his eyes away to look at Oscar.

"It's just... hard." I muse and Lando nods, he doesn't say anything about Logan after that as I turn back to Charles who gives me a tiny reassuring nod and then introduces me to the aforementioned Pierre who's come to stand behind us. I keep myself turned away from Logan for the rest of the meal, appetizers swallowed quickly between Daniel and I, Yuki and I sharing drinks and stories as we wait for dinner, I'm at least seven drinks in and happily going for an eighth.

My high tolerance doesn't fail me, but my bladder is close to doing so. With as much tipsy grace as I can muster, I slip out and down the hall to the bathroom, and when I'm done there I stop to freshen myself up in a mirror in the hall. I reapply my perfume, check my teeth, and wipe off a faint smudge of lipstick on my nose from when I had taken a rather large bite and smushed my lip up.

I hear the door click shut and glance over, throat going dry at the sight of Logan. I turn back to the mirror, digging in my purse for my lipstick once more, and he silently passes behind me without a word.

Somehow, that hurts more than anything.

But it's not like I'm making myself available to speak, so I finish tidying up my lipstick, and go back into the room. I grab more drinks for most of the table, thanking the bartender who comes around to help me bring all the drinks to the table.

Entrees arriving at the table passes me in a blur, I'm somehow shoved in a story with Yuki, Zhou, George, Esteban, and Max. I don't even know what they're really saying as everyone's laughing and speaking over one another, but I just enjoy being included.

I eat slow, laughing along with Daniel when he pops into whatever debate Lando, Carlos, and Charles, have pulled him into. And when the hyperactivity dies down as more of us get a bit sluggish from drinking, I eat a bit quicker to finish up my food so it helps my stomach have time to digest before I leave and helps my tipsiness lessen.

I check my phone, it's about ten thirty when we finish eating, and then it's kinda just a free for all hang out for a while. A few people start trickling out after it hits midnight. I know some of them have training tomorrow, as do I, but I kinda can already tell I'm not getting much rest tonight. Alex leaves in a group of about half the table, and I'm helping Charles and Max clean up as the rest slowly trickle out. Eventually I'm escorting Charles to a car as he waves goodbye to Max with a drunken laugh on his lips. Once the driver is on his way, I pluck my phone out of my purse and look through my messages. Anya's on her way, running late due to having to park her car far away since we had a lot of guests at the house.

"You shouldn't... ah," A familiar voice chimes and I look over to where Logan stands. He's far enough away to not be intruding, but close enough to shift towards me a bit as some random men pass behind us on the nearly vacant sidewalk, "You shouldn't stand out here alone, Dhanishka."

Him saying my name makes my heart leap into my throat and I pocket my phone, speaking gently, "Thanks for the concern, but I assure you I'll be fine. Anya's just down the road."

"Still, you know my mom would beat my ass if she knew I left a girl out here alone." He pauses, "Especially if it's you." And his voice trails off. For years his mother had helped raise me, my parents still spoke with her frequently—hell, she and her husband were at my house right now. And I know he’s right. But I can’t say anything past the bump in my throat. My silence makes him shift as he adjusts his grip on his jacket over his shoulder. It was an exceptionally chilly night for some odd reason. A cool breeze ripples across my shoulders. Bahrain was a desert, the lowest we got was 10 degrees celsius, nothing like the zero it was settled at now.

"You can stay." I say after a while and he visibly relaxes, still watching me out of the corner of his eye. The 'few minutes away' Anya texted me feels like a joke as the time stretches on and on and the cold bite of the air gets worse. I try using my saree as a bit of a scarf, but the red fabric is thin and does little to help.

After ten minutes, my teeth start to chatter as the street empties of most people and cars. It's a short hour or so lull when not much will happen at all before people start morning commutes. Beside me, I hear Logan huff. He moves closer and I look over to see him settle his jacket across my shoulders.

"Don't need you getting sick before the first race." He says softly, now far closer than he has been all day. I know I thank him, because I feel the words leave my throat, but I can't hear it over the blood rushing past my ears.

He'd broken it off with me, I never loved another. I still wore the same shade of lipstick and the same perfume, the same songs played on my Spotify whenever I had a chance. Taylor Swift blasting in my ears on long drives, Eminem for parties, Beyonce or Shakira for hyping myself up. I followed the Miami Dolphins loosely because I knew he loved them, and after all this time I found my heart still could be held in his hands. No matter how hard I tried to ignore the feeling of blush spreading across my chilly skin.

After a moment of us just staring at each other, the dim light being broken by passing cars, he whispers, "You can't ignore me forever. As much as you want to, the media is gonna stick us together the first opportunity they have. And... I know I remind you of Trident. I know I remind you of that 'crashgate' shit and maybe I should since you took my victory away."

"You and I both know I had nothing to do with that accident." I turn back to Logan, now fully facing him. I feel suffocated, the scent of his cologne on his jacket covering my perfume, like some sort of silencer washed over my voice. He still wears the same brand from back in the day, from when I stole his jackets and hoodies rather than being gifted them. It felt like a sick metaphor. Somehow we were the same after all this time, yet we would never get to be that again.

"Oh, come on." Logan laughs through a taught frown, threading a hand through his hair, "Now, I can believe that your team principal planned for your teammate to crash into me if I was ahead of you without you knowing. But when they told you to let your teammate overtake you for no reason, you didn't stop to ask why?"

"I did ask why, did you read the FIA reports?" I say back, wind whipping across the street and blowing my hair in front of my eyes like a blindfold.

"Or how about when the accident happened? Why did you keep racing?" He asks, sharp, and I can tell it's something thats been brewing. Years of silence on my end after he'd snapped with tears in his big blue eyes, telling me he 'couldn't do this anymore' and I let him walk away.

But I held my ground, as I always had to do. On my own once again, ostracized, I step closer and rip my hair away from my face in frustration that it wont stay back, "I was told I had to, Logan! I begged them to let me know what had happened to you and they refused! I didn't care about Viscaal! I cared about you!"

"Then why did you let me leave?!" He shouts and the whole street goes silent. We breathe heavy, almost chest to chest, eyes boring into each other with unshed tears. It's a gaping hole in my chest he claws at, trying to scrounge up answers I've buried six feet in the ground. I hear the sound of a car pulling up, I know its Anya without looking.

"What was I supposed to do?" I whisper, ripping his jacket off my shoulders and shoving it into his chest, "Beg you to come back? Apologize a hundred times? You didn't want to see me, you didn't care. I let you go because you wanted to go, and I'm fine with that."

He stares at me and I sniffle, cursing when I realize I've let the tears fall, and I continue, "I never would've let them do that to you if I knew. If I knew, I would've gone right to the FIA, you know that. Don't drag my name like the media already has, please. I can't take it from you of all people, Logan."

We stand in silence for a few more moments and then I turn around, passing in front of Anya's car to get in. I pause with my hand on the handle, watching Logan watch me with this expression in his eyes I can't read. Maybe I was wrong, maybe Logan and I weren't the same anymore, but I don't stop to think too hard as I rip open the door and throw myself down. When I slam the door, Anya puts the car in drive without pausing to ask anything, and pulls away as I desperately try to not watch Logan in the rearview.

"Can we just... drive?" I ask after a long silence and my sister nods, cracking the windows to let the cold air circle around us. I take a slow breath and tilt my head up, swallowing down my emotions until I feel a cool numbness roll across my skin. A familiar numbness.

It's going to be bad again, I can feel it in my chest.

--

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dhanishkajpg: shade 22R. his favorite. red. the color that's always bested him. (viewing translation from arabic)

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@struggling-with-delia

[nothingbutnowhere]

Hockey player au! Simon "Ghost" Riley headcanons. Based on the NHL

Note: suggestive of ghoap and ghoap x reader (she/her used)

Goalie. Starter. Tall, large, and most importantly: weird. Goalies are always weird, idk they just are, it's what happens when you spend half the game hanging out alone I guess

The best part of goalie Ghost is his flexibility. Have you seen how flexible goalies are? These huge, muscular men can do the splits. It's very important to me that you consider flexible Ghost, thank you.

His mask is black and white, matches his tattoos. He's the unshakable goalie, not flashy, never frustrated. Just a brick fuckin wall. If he sees it, he's going to stop it. You cannot snipe on him and score. Also his rebound control is unreal, no second chances.

He never retaliates against opposing players fucking with him because no one fucks with him due to:

His death glare, it's enough to make any and every enforcer or net nuisance shake in his skates

The Incident in the minors where he sent a guy to the hospital with a jab from his blocker and almost got kicked out of the league and banned from the NHL

On the off chance that something untoward does happen on accident, someone else will do that for him. The bond between a goalie and his defensemen cannot be understated. Ok fine. Soap. He's the defenseman, there's the spoiler.

Very superstitious, has his routines and does not deviate. Doesn't ever take his mask off on the ice, except when it breaks. Doesn't even pull it up to squirt water on his face or drink.

The loyalty that his skaters have towards him and vice versa is off the charts. Even if the media and fans don't see it, it's there. Usually guys don't speak poorly of their goalies, but this is on another level. Ferda.

Speaking of, social media people can never catch him. Like seriously where does this guy even walk in the building?? Where does he go during intermission?? Surely he practices at some point right?? He won the Veznia trophy (voted best goalie) and straight up did not show up to the ceremony.

He will go to the children's hospital to do visits with the team and the kids are either terrified or love him. Picturing him giving out the little teddy bears 😭

Caught covid despite his vigilant PPE usage (hockey locker rooms are cesspools like ew), got really sick, and developed myocarditis; ie almost died multiple times, recovered insanely fast and then just showed back up to practice one day at 100% like "put me in coach". No one outside of the trainers and locker room even knew why he was gone to begin with. Wild stuff.

Hockey players tend to tack on an '-y' or sometimes '-er' to a name for funsies but no one gets to call him 'Ghosty'. (Maybe Soap can call him that in private, as a treat 🥺)

Hockey hair status: he shaves his head boooo (not that you'd even be able to tell really with his mask and use of hats and hoods). Won't even grow out facial hair during the playoffs. Maybe if he did then he'd have a cup. Smh.

Roster pic: the meanest mug you've ever seen on a guy

Mic'd up status: everyone thinks he's unmic-able, however he's secretly telling jokes to himself when the puck is in the other zone. But no one needs to know that.

WAG status: if he had one we would never know... Right? He's always in the background of photos that Soap's girlfriend takes and posts of her and Soap? Much speculation.

...

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

Note: WAG stands for wife and girlfriend or the plural, used to refer to sports guys significant others. Yes it is heteronormative.

A/N: I'll never actually write fics for this, but I have headcanons. I know a moderate amount about hockey and next to nothing about cod so apologies. Completely unserious. Just some silly little thoughts :) plus letterkenny reference!

Edit for typo

More hockey au: Soap | Gaz | Price

[nonasuch]

Can I, in fact, get you started on Yesterday? That's the movie premised on everyone just forgetting everything about the Beatles one day right?

Yes, and it drove me nuts because that’s a great premise! But it was totally wasted in a way that I found extra frustrating, because they only needed to slightly reshuffle the existing pieces and give the love interest some kind of coherent characterization, and they just. did not do that.

So like. The premise of the movie is that Jack, the main character, is a struggling musician who gets hit by a car and knocked unconscious at the exact moment of a mysterious global blackout. When he wakes up in the hospital, he discovers that he is the only person on Earth who remembers the existence of the Beatles.

It takes him a bit to realize this: he quotes When I’m Sixty-Four to his best friend Ellie at the hospital and she just gives him a weird look. When he plays a bit of Yesterday while hanging out with friends, they all freak out about how good his new song is, and he realizes that something is Weird.

There’s a fun scene where he frantically googles Beatles-related terms and comes up empty. “Beatles” turns up bugs and cars. Ringo Starr? Never heard of him. We find out that the band Oasis never existed either, and over the course of the movie there are a few more disappearances thrown in as jokes: Coca-Cola, cigarettes, and Harry Potter have also ceased to exist, or never were.

So Jack, who knows most of the Beatles catalogue by heart, and is a decent musician, decides to re-record them. And they’re instant hits, and he starts getting money and fame and record deals thrown at him, and hanging out with Ed Sheeran (played by Ed Sheeran), and going on talk shows and so on. The movie rapidly turns into a parable about the cost of fame, not letting success change you, remembering what’s more important than money and power, etc etc.

It’s just like. kind of lazy about it? and the romance plot feels both incoherent and slapdash, because Ellie has no personality and no comprehensible motivations.

Like, she’s been Jack’s music manager since they were teenagers, and she’s been convinced he was destined for greatness since she saw him play Wonderwall at a school talent show, but she also is weirdly convinced that she’s not good enough for him even before he becomes super famous. But Jack never actually stops being into her, even at the Peak Hubris part of the plot, and he eventually gives it all up and tells the world he didn’t write any of the songs as part of a big dramatic love confession. Except it’s never really clear what was holding either of them back in the first place, or why a dramatic love confession was even necessary.

So, here is how I would fix the movie.

First, the romance plot feels super tacked on anyway so let’s just resolve it earlier and give the poor girl an actual job in the plot. I’d have Jack sit Ellie down fairly early, after he’s released the first few songs and they’ve blown up but before the Fame Spiral starts, and say:

okay. look. I know this sounds nuts but either that accident caused the most specific brain damage in the history of the world, or I remember a different version of reality than everyone else, because I did not write these songs. I just remember them, and no one else does.

And the movie did actually set up a way for him to prove this, but they never used it! for some fucking reason! Because Wonderwall is the song that convinced Ellie that Jack was destined for musical greatness, and Wonderwall has also been erased. Which creates an opportunity, which the movie did not take, for a really effective scene where Jack asks Ellie what song he sang at the talent show. And she can’t answer him, which freaks her out because that’s a core memory! Thats the reason she’s so devoted to Jack in the first place!

So he starts playing her the song. And she knows she’s never heard it before, but she also knows that on some level, she recognizes it.

So from that point onwards, Ellie and Jack can be in cahoots, sharing the secret, which allows the romance to develop a lot more effectively and convincingly, and puts Ellie in a better position to talk Jack down from Fame Hubris, and allows Jack to remind Ellie that he’s not actually too good or too famous for her, because she knows he’s actually just the beneficiary of a deeply weird cosmic accident.

Also, there’s a better way to resolve the romance plot. Ellie has bafflingly low self-esteem, for reasons that are never explained, so like. please explain that, movie. But since half the romance plot is just Ellie going “I’m not good enough for you!” I do have a better resolution than what the movie did.

The only Big Dramatic Gesture Jack does comes at the very end of the movie, and it’s boring and doesn’t actually have anything much to do with Ellie — he already hates being famous by then, he wants out regardless. He needs a gesture that’s actually about Ellie, and allows them to be together and in cahoots again for the rest of the Price of Fame plot.

Which, again, the movie laid the groundwork for at the beginning, and never used.

I’d have Jack tell Ellie that he knows — is baffled by? but knows — that she thinks she ought to leave him for his own good, and that she thinks his music career is more important than her. To prove it’s not, he’s going to give her a song. A Beatles song he’s never going to record, never going to play, for anyone but her. A song that used to be one of the most famous songs in the world, but is only ever going to be theirs, hers and his, from now on.

He plays her When I’m Sixty-Four.

That does the trick: they’re together through the rest of the movie, and decide how to get Jack out of the Fame Trap together, and retire into happy obscurity together.

There is one other optional change, but it would require buy-in from Paul McCartney.

There’s already a scene in the movie — one of the best bits of the whole thing, honestly — where Jack meets an elderly John Lennon, who has never been famous and is perfectly content with his life. I think a nice epilogue would have Jack track down Paul, and find him in his back garden, planting flowers and beatifically happy.

After a short conversation in which Paul appears to have no memory of ever ever having been a Beatle, Jack leaves Paul to enjoy his retirement.

After he’s gone, as the camera pulls away and the movie ends, Paul starts to whistle When I’m Sixty-Four to himself.

[chaifootsteps]

my bets for the next three HB episodes:

Blitzo seeing the ghost of his mother is his big cathartic moment that will be his character development. he'll change from this point on - and by change I mean he'll still be rude to Moxxie but he'll forget ever having stood up for himself in order to be Stolas' knight in shining armor who exists solely to help him fix problems Stolas himself caused. at worst they'll even make his mother imply he needs to change to find love again instead of anything cathartic for Blitzo's trauma, like telling him it was just an accident and she didn't blame him. the show won't even pretend to care about the business from now on

the Millie suicide thing will still happen. knowing how long production takes and how much the crew refuses to change tack, the scene will basically be intact from the leaks

probably a brief flashback to when Blitzo recruited Millie, to throw her fans some crumbs

Loona will...idk, have a line or two and that's probably it...? going by the ghost leaks she still hates Blitzo and he's fine with that, so no change there

Stolas will lose his titles/palace due to breaking demon law. Both he and the writers decide this is Blitzo's fault and act like not only did Stolas never have a choice, he did what he did to support the business and not to get sex. (the audience in unison responds with 'that's cap')

IMP are probably going to go on the run from DHORKs/CHERUB but decide to stay and defeat them easily since the writers can't be bothered with them and they're considered joke villains by Viv compared to the 'real' storyline i.e. the Goetia family drama. The cast once again acts like only Blitzo is responsible for them playing fast and loose with human disguises/general incompetence. The whole plot point is just an excuse for a lowest moment for Blitzo who feels abandoned by everyone until they come back and band together. This moment will likely be the closest thing to what the premise promised, if it isn't totally glanced over

Blitzo going to Stolas' rescue when he stupidly goes over to his now-iced over palace to talk to Via is framed as Blitzo's redemption.

Anyway, Blitzo fights against Andre despite him being way more powerful while Stolas clings to him like a tiny baby and does absolutely sweet FA to help out while IMP risk their lives for him, again. Stolas doesn't say thank you for this because of course he doesn't.

Somewhere in the midst of this Stol1tz happens and it's the worst ever. Only Blitzo risking his and his employee's lives is enough to have Stolas deign to forgive him

forgot to mention but it was probably implied - my cynicism has kicked back in so rn I'm betting not only does Stolas not apologize or learn anything, the show just moves on to the next thing like it was never implies in Apology Tour that he needed to learn anything. The show's position is Stolas Did Nothing Wrong and it sticks to it at all costs

season ends with Hell Christmas which is mostly indistinguishable from Earth Christmas for no reason. Stolas has lost Via but got Blitzo as a consolation prize, with Blitzo promising to fix yet more of Stolas' problems for him by taking responsibility for his daughter leaving him because of course none of this mess is Stolas' fault

(the rest of IMP is in the background somewhere; the show doesn't care what they're doing at this point)

100%. Blitzo's mom's ghost, assuming she doesn't outright tell him that Stolas is great and he's bad for not realizing it, is probably going to give him some spiel about how "he deserves to love and be loved" which he'll put into practice by continuing to abuse Moxxie but allowing Stolas to kick him in the head whenever it makes Stolas feel better.

Remember, Stolas is """"trying!""""

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[zedif-y]

“So,” Joel says. “D’you think Tango would talk to me if I broke the bow again?”

Which, obviously, is a joke. Obviously. He’s a blummin’ actor, for goodness sake. He can handle an audience of one.

Even if that audience is Tango. And also– not quite an audience, is it, when you’re just two people having a conversation–

Grian pauses, looking up from where he's been checking Joel’s outfit, one hand tracing a seam. "Joel," He replies, deadpan. "You are not breaking another prop just ‘cuz you're bad at talking to people." 

Joel bristles, oi! “I’m not bad at–!”

"Then talk to him like a normal person!" Grian retorts, rolling his eyes. He focuses his attention back on the costume, "Pretty sure he'll notice and chew you out for it anyway. I'm doing you a favor by telling you this, really." Joel scoffs.

He’s choosing not to reply to that, by the way. It’s a choice.

Joel lets Grian do his thing, double-checking his costume until Joel’s arms grow tired of staying up, pinning stuff into place and calling Cleo over for makeup stuff. Joel lets his mind drift, letting Grian lead him in front of a vanity mirror– Ah, look. His handsome face.

Joel studies his reflection for a moment, turning his head this way and that. And just before Grian leaves–

“…Would he really get mad?”

Grian pauses in the doorway, “Huh?” He frowns for a moment, squinting, then sighs. “Yes, Joel. You’re not that cute.”

“Oi!”

Grian lets the door shut with a click, his cackling muffled as he goes. That little…

Joel huffs, glowering at his reflection.

“Not that cute,” He grumbles. “I’m plenty cute. The cutest.”

Someone knocks on the door. Cleo pokes their head in, “Hey, Joel.”

“Hey,” He hasn’t stopped glaring at his reflection. “Don’t ask about Grian.”

Cleo lets herself in, “Wasn’t going to,” She says simply. “Now stop sulking and let me do your makeup.”

With great effort, (not really) Joel relaxes his face, his features smoothing out.

He looks good, is the thing. No matter what Grian has to say. Joel looks– good. Attractive. Drop-dead gor– whatever. The point is, he’s handsome, and he could woo whoever he wanted. Definitely.

(He thinks of Tango, gold-spun hair catching the stage lights, red eyes dark as wine.)

…Probably.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Ugh, he’s gonna be thinking about that all day, won’t he?

Stupid Grian. 

—

(“Cleo,” Joel starts. “Am I hot?”

The brush on his face stops.

“The fuck?”)

—

He breaks the prop again.

In his defense, it was still mostly an accident. Mostly.

"How."

Joel squirms a little under Tango's gaze, hoo boy. 

He holds up the broken prop bow, "Ehh, the uh. The thing is, I keep, like, using too much strength on it?" He grins, straightening his back. "You know, 'cuz I'm so strong and stuff. Happens uh, all the time, you know?” At Tango’s silence, he tacks on, “…It's annoying."

Tango raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Joel's grin goes lopsided, withering under the look.

"I– uh," He thins his lips, runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. "...Sorry?"

Tango’s tail sways a little behind him, His arms are crossed, just. Looking at him.

Okay, Joel thinks, palms starting to sweat. Maybe Grian was right.

“You realize I’m not even a props guy, right?” Tango asks. Joel swallows. “Official title’s set designer.”

Joel is so fucked.

“I knew that,” Joel manages, still clutching the damn prop. “Just– you helped me fix it last time.”

And the time before that. And, also, the time before that.

…Joel’s sweating up a damn storm over here.

Eventually, Tango sighs.

"C'mere, I've got something for ya."

Joel's eyebrows leap up. He follows Tango as he leads him deeper backstage, past costume racks and other stage tech-y stuff– none of which Joel can make heads or tails of.

His mind races with questions, half of his brain going why is he leading me all the way back here while the other half is really trying not to ogle at Tango’s–

"There it is," Tango says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scoops up what looks like a small toolkit, holds it out to Joel. "Here, for the next time you manage to break that poor bow again."

Joel opens his mouth, closes it again. He just stands there, dumbfounded and cheeks burning with shame, "I don't know how to–"

"You've seen me do it like five times, haven't you?" Tango asks, teasing. Joel's going to die. "You're a big boy, you can do it."

What'd he just call me, "Right," Joel squeaks, "That's– Right. Yeah."

He reaches out to grab it–

But Tango pulls it back, his grin growing wider.

"Wha–?"

Tango tilts his head, "There are better ways to get my attention, you know."

Joel's heart leaps into his throat.

He’s so fucked–!

It must show on his face, too, because then Tango laughs and it would've been a win if it weren't at him– "I'm serious, man! You didn't have to do all that stuff– You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

Tango shakes his head, gives Joel the toolkit. He closes Joel’s hand around it with his own.

Joel's breath hitches in his throat– Tango’s touch burns but in a good way, like sunlight on skin, like– 

"It's not like you needed help getting my attention, anyway."

If this were a movie, Joel thinks this is where he’d hear a record scratch.

Hold on. Rewind. What?

Tango looks surprised, “Did you really not know?” 

“I–” Joel closes his mouth. He’s trying to form words, honest, Tango’s hand is just so warm– “Would you believe me if I said I knew?”

Tango laughs, (Again! Joel’s mind crows.) “It wouldn’t be your best performance, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Answer’s no, then,” Joel replies, strangled. A pause. “No as in, I didn’t know– oh gosh, I hope I’m reading this right–”

Tango’s hand falls away, amusement twinkling in his red eyes. Joel tries to remember how to breath.

Tango’s lips pull up into a smile, “You know, you’re way different off-stage.”

Ouch. “Sorry to disappoint,” Joel blurts out, a faint sting in his chest. Tango’s eyes go wide.

“That’s not what I meant!” His tail lashes in panic, “You’re– you’re a completely different person on-stage, you know? Which I get is the point, you’re amazing, just…”

Joel blinks. Is his brain melting out of his ears? It feels like his brain is melting out of his ears.

It echoes in his head, you’re amazing.

A faint red dusts Tango’s cheeks, “…I think I kind of prefer the real deal.”

“Oh,” Joel says, voice faint. Tango’s blush deepens.

“I just made this weird, didn’t I–”

Joel’s brain kicks into gear, finally, “D’you wanna go out some time?” He asks. His hands shake, just a little. “Cuz I think you’re bloody brilliant, Tango, so if you’re gonna be saying stuff like that,” He swallows. “You better at least let me take you out to coffee.”

Tango’s grin is blinding, “Only if you promise to stop breaking props.”

Joel laughs, a giddy rush in his chest.

“I promise.”

(At the back of his mind– Take that, Grian!)

—

Somehow, somewhere, Grian just sneezed.

[maddiethedogstories]

Sarah's Playground - 8

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

I am shaking as the tone of my mom's phone ringing resonates over the receiver of Lidia's phone. Lidia is hovering over me, watching my every move, making sure I do exactly what I am told.

I don't have any idea what to do. For years, I'd been dreaming about getting out from under my mom's thumb. The freedom of moving across the country to go to college was so close. However, I could feel my dreams evaporating like the piss drying on my panties. What was I going to do?

There was no way I wasn't getting demoted out of this. If I tell the truth, I would be admitting I am an immature bedwetter and mom would take away my adult privileges. If I lie, Lidia would certainly narc me out to my mom, and the consequences of wetting the bed and lying would certainly be worse. I couldn't even blame Lidia and the alcohol for this. If mom found out that I was drinking, well, I knew that would be the worst situation.

So, when Mom answered the phone, I picked the best of my bad options.

"Hello, Lidia? Is everything ok?" I heard my mom's voice coming over the receiver.

"Um, hi Mom, it's not Lidia, it's Sarah," I said meekly.

"Sarah? Why are you calling me on Lidia's phone? What's wrong?" Mom asked with a tinge of concern in her voice.

"I'm okay, but, I, I have something I have to tell you," I continued hesitantly. Lidia continued to stand over me, listening closely to my conversation.

"What's wrong? You know you can tell me anything baby! I love you no matter what!" Mom said.

I smiled at her reassurance, but it didn't make my next statement any easier.

"Mom, mommy, I, uh, had a little accident last night, and I, uh, I wet the bed," I started to break down in tears from the shame and humiliation of admitting to doing something so childish to my mother. I deserved to be demoted. I could feel it in my soul.

"Really? You wet the bed? You haven't done that since you were 13!" Mom said, sounding surprisingly happy with this situation.

"Yes, it's been a long time," I said to Mom between my sobs, "I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, baby, don't be sad! All little girls have accidents sometimes! I'm not mad at you at all! But, your 18 now, so you must know what this means. Adults don't wet the bed. If you wet the bed, I can't, in good consciousness, keep treating you like an adult," Mom said, still sounding unsettlingly excited about the situation.

"Please, Mommy, it was just one accident! Can't we just ignore it? I am so close to getting to go to college. All of my plans? What will happen to them! Please don't make me a baby again!"

"Ssshhh, baby, it's okay. I'm not going to demote you all the way back to diapers. You know better than most that some big girls have a hard time keeping their pants dry at night too. You'll still get to go to school, just, probably not college for now. How does spending a little time back in adult grade school sound?" Mom said, trying to be reassuring.

"Grade school? Mom, please, don't do this, please!" I pleaded.

"Sorry, sweetie, I don't really have a choice. I'll email the Age Readjustment Agency after this call. From now until you earn the right to be treated as someone older, you will be treated like a 10-year-old," Mom announced.

"Mommy, please!!!" I begged, but mom cut me off.

"Sarah, I would stop and think about what you are doing right now. I have been kind and am letting you keep some big girl privileges. I have not reached out to the ARA yet. You will accept my decision, or you will end up back in preschool!"

That threat shut me up. I immediately closed my mouth and changed tacks.

"Ok, Mommy. Thank you for letting me be treated as a 10-year-old," I said, still sniffling.

"Good girl, now, please hand the phone back to Ms. Lidia. While she wasn't hired to be your babysitter this weekend, that's going to have to be her job now. Please be a good girl for her. If I hear about you putting a foot out of line for her, I might just have to reconsider how old you really are."

I swallowed nervously as I handed the phone back to Lidia who was grinning with a familiar predatory gleam in her eye. Lidia grabbed the phone and immediately turned on speakerphone so I could hear her conversation with my Mommy.

"Hello, ma'am, it's so unfortunate that little Sarah wet the bed last night! I thought she grew out of that years ago. I guess she just isn't as big a girl as we thought she was, huh?" Lidia said.

"Yes, it's so unfortunate!" Mom said, her tone a stark contrast to her words. "Thank goodness you're there though! I know I just hired you to come over and have a good time with Sarah this weekend, but, given the situation, would you mind switching back to babysitter mode until I get home? I'll pay you extra, of course," I heard my mom say.

"Of course! Sarah is always such a LITTLE angel to care for, babysitting her again is no problem. I have to ask though, how old of a little girl am I watching?" Lidia asked.

"She's 10, for now. We'll reassess based on how well behaved she is though," my mom responded, "I am going to need you to help me transition Sarah through her demotion though. Are you okay with that?"

"Of course, she won't be the first demotee I've babysat or the last, I'm sure. What do you need me to do?" Lidia asked.

"Well, I had a feeling something like this might happen, so I am prepared. If you go up to the attic, you'll find a number of boxes labeled with Sarah's name and various age ranges. I need you to grab all of Sarah's adult things--her cellphone, clothes, computer, ecetera--and pack them in the box labeled, 'Sarah - Adult.' Then I'll need you to grab the appropriate box for her now, bring it down and unpack it. Sarah should be willing to help you with that. If not, let me know and we can talk about further, um, readjustments," Mom explained.

My jaw went slack. I know I shouldn't be surprised that my crazy, overprotective Mommy would be prepared to demote me once I grew up. However, hearing just how prepared and organized she was was overwhelming. I suddenly had the sinking feeling in my stomach that, if my mom got her way, the last few days where I was treated like an adult would be my last.

"That sounds perfect, ma'am! I am sure that Sarah will LOVE to help in her readjustment. I'll let you know if their are any problems," Lidia said.

"Thank you, Lidia! You really are the best. What would I do without you? Please let me know if anything else comes up!" My Mom said.

"Of course! Enjoy your trip! Little Sarah is in good hands," Lidia made eye contact with me before hanging up the phone.

Once the phone was disconnected a broad smile crossed Lidia's face.

"It looks like I have my favorite little baby dollie back! This weekend is going to be great!" She said.

NEXT CHAPTER