#glass queue-tie

[zephyraes]

STIMBOARD - LOUIS TULLY (GHOSTBUSTERS)

[ x x x - x 👔 x - x x x ] - [ requested by @louistullyirl ] > custom reqs: n/a

I checked out his wiki page to try and figure out what to use here!! I hope you like it!! (the aerobics clips are from the actual one mentioned by him, apparently!)

[kisstoru]

@kentophilia @dulcento

nanami mhm mhm yeah yes mhm mhm

[rent-a-gender]

Magnifying glass

[scuderiasundays]

a promise is a promise

summary: sliding into a stranger's dm's, nostalgia for your first date, and a promise sealed with a kiss + a little insta au at the end 💙

words: 1,071

a/n: my first time writing for mr. leclerc! thank you for the req, @headinthecloudssblog 🫶🏼 tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @formulaforza, @thatsdemko, and @diorleclerc because i trust you all deeply. feedback is much appreciated as always. hugs and kisses!

Charles loved Adele and he sure wasn't shy about it. While the other racing drivers were hyping themselves up with rock, EDM, or rap, the Monegasque’s AirPods (which he often lost) were blaring “Someone Like You.” You, yourself, wondered how the powerful yet melancholy ballad could put him in the right headspace to drive at breathtaking speeds of up to 362 km/h. 

You were nothing short of euphoric when it was announced that she would be extending her exclusive residency in Las Vegas. It would be a dream come true if you could see her live during the weekend of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. However, a bitter reality crept in when you discovered the final show was scheduled for November 4, a mere two weeks before the two of you would arrive stateside. Charles would be racing at Interlagos, while you would be stuck at a clinical genetics conference in St Andrews.

“I was going to get us tickets to thank you for your service in the Great War!” You huffed as you watched Charles tie the laces of his Puma running shoes, visibly let down by the news. All of your friends thought the racing driver had used his F1 connections to get you those coveted floor seats, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. Your boyfriend had spent 18 hours in a virtual queue on one of his few days off, using multiple of his sim racing monitors to secure tickets to the Eras Tour. Arthur had mocked his older brother about how “whipped” he was, joking that he was relieved someone else’s screen time was as horrific as his own.

With a light kiss on your neck, Charles wrapped his arms around you from behind, his voice filled with affection. "It’s like this, ma chérie. I'm going for a run with Andrea," he whispered. As he headed towards the door, his shoulders slumped and his AirPods in, it became clear today's run would be more of a recovery run, a moment for him to recharge physically but more so emotionally.

Determined to bring Charles closer to his idol, you swiftly grabbed your phone from the kitchen island and opened Adele's Instagram profile. Sliding into someone's DMs had never been your style, let alone that of a Grammy-winning artist, but you figured there was nothing to lose.

"Hi, this is Y/N. I know it's unlikely that you'll ever see this, but I'm taking a leap of faith for my boyfriend Charles, who is undoubtedly your biggest fan. Our first date perfectly encapsulates his essence," you began typing, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. "He took me on the most gorgeous twilight yacht ride, accompanied by a meticulously curated playlist of his favorite songs. Upbeat songs like 'A Sky Full of Stars,' 'Pepas,' and 'Feel So Close' filled the air. But then, out of nowhere, a hauntingly beautiful piano melody began to play."

Pausing for a moment, a reminiscent smile graced your face as the memory came roaring back to life. "'Is this Adele?'" you had asked, a glass of rosé in your hand. Charles looked so at peace compared to the tense expression he sometimes wore during race weekends. He had offered you his blue Ferrari sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill and confirmed that it was indeed Adele. Charles shared that he, unlike most, found comfort in what he deemed “depressive music.”

Since that fateful evening, the British songstress' music had become an integral part of your relationship. It served as the soundtrack to your road trips, where you took turns belting ‘Rolling in the Deep.’ It sparked heated debates about whether Adele’s ‘Daydreamer’ or Sade’s ‘By Your Side’ should be your first dance song. It even led to late nights, downing espresso shots just so you could listen to her latest album the second it dropped.

You reached for your phone once again. "That night ended with Charles’ hand resting on my thigh as he drove me home to 'Make You Feel My Love.’ Your music has been the soundtrack to so many of our most intimate moments, and it would mean the world if you could find some time to perform for him," you typed, pouring your heart into the message. You added, "I know this is a long shot, but I..." before eagerly hitting the "Send" button. With a growing sense of accomplishment, you decided to run to the grocery store to pick up some fresh salmon for dinner.

Unable to keep a secret to save your life, you shared what you’d been up to with Charles. "You DM'd the queen? Je t'aime, ma belle, but I highly doubt she'll reply," he playfully teased, rolling his eyes as he wiped the dish you had just handed him.

"What if she does?" you retorted, a hint of hope in your voice. "You know how I treasure you so much I don’t even trust myself to take you on a hot lap? We’ll do it in Las Vegas if and only if Adele responds." His devilish Leclerc wink accompanied the mischievous remark, leaving you to wonder how this crazy turn of events would unfold.

Weeks passed, and with each passing day, the likelihood of a reply dwindled. Charles was away in Qatar when the doorbell unexpectedly rang. A courier stood before you, holding a grand bouquet of white roses along with a message card. Assuming it was from him, your hands trembled as you read the sign-off on the ivory white card. There it was, unmistakably etched in the most elegant script. Five letters. Adele.

You snatched the card eagerly and read it over countless times, overcome with disbelief. It turned out that Adele's devoted fan base had made her very much aware of Charles' fanboying. She expressed her delight and confirmed that she would be more than happy to sing a few songs for you over dinner so long as she could score some “cool mom points” and bring her son Angelo to the race.

Your hands trembled with sheer excitement as you shared the spectacular news with Charles. He blamed his nonexistent allergies as tears welled up in his eyes, but you saw right through his lies.

"So, you'll be taking me on that hot lap, Leclerc?" you grinned, blissed out seeing him so happy. "Bah oui, une promesse est une promesse," he replied, sealing his vow with a well-earned kiss.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, and 61,616 others

yourusername: weekends with adele (and charles) 🎰🍸❤️

fan1: “it’s true that, after a bad day, if you listen to that, you cry. you don’t feel any better. but i like it. i like the mood of depressive music.” - chuck leclerc

charles_leclerc: i have the best girlfriend in the world! tu est simplement la meilleure ❤️

adele: she’s one of a kind! thank you for letting me bear witness to your love x

yourusername: you, sir, are the love of my life. thanks for tolerating my impulsivity!

fan2: i need a charles and adele collab and i need it NOW 😤

joris_trouche: he’ll never shut up about this

charles_leclerc: prepare to be sick of me! wait, you and @andferrari007 already are 🫣

scuderiaferrari: c² music challenge but adele songs only?

carlossainz55: why play when i don’t even stand a chance 🤨

[final-bae-stination]

Fight Me For His Health (Avatar: The Way Of Water)

This is the only picture I could find, for some reason, of both of them hurt. Please, though, imagine them as their real selves, not human like in the picture, okay?

The second photo is the room mentioned with Lo'ak.

Prompt: Let's pretend that on the SeaDragon, which is the tulkun hunting ship, Neteyam does get shot, but let's say he survives (because, as always, in my stories, he lives). Lo'ak, who was being...erm, tortured (A/N: Because your author wants as much angst as possible) freaks out and basically annihilates the soldiers for hurting his brother, his protector.

This gets bloody. And violent, like, really quickly, so please be warned.

I believe I wrote a scene/one shot where Neteyam lost control and like...tore someone's throat out. Now, we're going to see Lo'ak's way of doing it, which is almost the same but...well, just read. GORE WARNING!

*********************************************************************

Third Person POV

Neteyam knew his siblings and Tsireya were in trouble. He felt it, the same way Neytiri had once known without being there that Kiri had broken her arm when she was ten from falling out of a tree and had run to get her. He knew it the same way he knew Lo'ak would run to warn Payakan about the charges. He knew it the same time that his siblings and Tsireya didn't return home, and he had to go get them.

He knew it, deep in his bones, and he was going to fix it.

Lo'ak's Perspective

The ship, called the SeaDragon, was a tulkun hunting ship commandeered by Miles Quaritch, Spider's real dad and Jake's enemy since the Pandoran War fifteen years ago. Tsireya and Tuk were tied with restraints slapped to the bars. Tuk growled, tugging uselessly at them, but it was no use.

Quaritch stopped his Recom solider as the girl with tattoos over her blue skin went to tie Lo'ak up. "Put him in the Room." He snarled, his gold eyes filled with hate. Lo'ak glared right back as he was marched away to a white room with only a table in it. Lo'ak turned, trying to suddenly attack, and was backhanded so hard he fell to the floor, groaning in pain, glaring. The Recom woman just snickered, shutting the door and disappearing.

Warning: Trigger For Torture!

He sat in there for ten minutes, wondering what was happening, what was going to happen, when the door opened again. Quaritch bent, coming in the doorway, and Lo'ak hissed, backing up. Quaritch didn't flinch.

He carefully walked to the table, as close as he dared to get. "Where's your father and mother?" Quaritch asked. "Kä ne kllte, teylupil! Kalweyeveng!" Lo'ak hissed, which was Na'vi for Go to the ground, teylu-face! Son of a bitch! He glared hotly as Quaritch's face twisted. "I don't think you want to test me, kid." He snarled, but Lo'ak wasn't budging. "Kalweyev--" He didn't get to finish before Quaritch hit him, so hard his ears rang, as his head snapped back, slamming against the glass behind him. Lo'ak cried out, knees crumpling, and heard Quaritch snarl, "Where are they?!" "Fuck off!" Lo'ak shouted, in English, and was rewarded with a sharp kick to the ribs, making him yelp. Quaritch yanked him up by the base of his queue, making Lo'ak scream, clawing at his hands, but Quaritch wasn't letting go. "I have no qualms about killin' a bunch of blue rats," Quaritch spits. "Don't make me." He dropped Lo'ak, and Lo'ak coughed, groaning softly.

Neteyam POV

Neteyam was on an ilu, talking to Aonung and Rotxo. "They must've been caught," Rotxo says, his blue eyes wide with fear. "What will they do?" "It doesn't matter!" Aonung snarled, ears flat. "That is my sister, we are going!" he shouted.

Neteyam shared a look with Rotxo. "I am going, for that's my family." Neteyam whispered. Rotxo's eyes hardened like blue gems, and he climbed on his ilu. "Stick together," he said, which was a phrase often used by the Sully kids. Neteyam blinked, surprised that he'd picked it up, but then all three turned, racing for sea.

Back To Lo'ak...

!! Torture warning, tried not to make it too descriptive !!

He was in the room still, but was by no means able to currently rise. That woman, the one with the tattoos, seemed to love hurting him under Quaritch's orders. "Just don't kill him" was all Quaritch had said before leaving, and she hadn't, just beat him to the point he was tired of moving, even to twitch his fingers. She smirked down at him now. "What's wrong, baby?" She giggled. "Too tired?"

His hiss was like a tiny puff of air, not threatening at all. She snorted, kicking him in the face. His head snapped back, but he didn't even have the energy to scream anymore. He could only lay there, bleeding and broken. His breath rattled in his chest, and he found himself thinking of home, of his mom and Dad, no matter how rocky their relationship was. He found himself thinking of baby Tuk, of Kiri in the jungle, asleep as the wood sprites drifted over her. Of Neteyam, telling him not to go down to the battlefield as they scouted, and he wondered where Tsireya was. Is she hurt? Are they hurting her? But he didn't---couldn't---think of that too long, because any thought of her in pain hurt him, too.

The woman's boot landed painfully on his ribs, and this time, he screamed, writhing, as something snapped. "I'm talking to you!" She shouted over his cries. He turned, trying to be fast, and sank his teeth into her ankle. She yelped, her fist landing on his face, three times before she could make him let go, and her hits were not soft. Fresh blood spilled from his nose and lips until he was forced to let her go. In retaliation, she became reckless and just started kicking the shit out of him, and he heard several sickening snaps before Quaritch was shouting at her to stop. "He's no use to me dead, Z!" He yelled. She was breathing hard, eyes flat and dark gold, her ankle gushing blood. "Out." Quaritch growled, and she stormed out, muttering under her breath. Quaritch merely glanced at Lo'ak's broken and bruised body before leaving. Lo'ak wasn't sure how much more he could take.

NETEYAM

Neteyam pushed his ilu as close as it could get to the hull, slipping his queue from the neural queue of his ilu. Aonung and Rotxo did the same. "Follow me, do not make a sound," Neteyam hissed, reaching for the side of the low ship. Aonung and Rotxo climbed after him, all three boys slipping behind huge crates as someone walked by. "Yeah," The voice, a woman, was saying. "Hey, that blue boy?" She laughed, and Neteyam, Aonung, and Rotxo shared a glance. Lo'ak? Rotxo mouthed, and Neteyam nodded.

"What about him?" A male voice asked, slightly deep and raspy. "Well, after I got done with him, he was more red than blue." Cold laughter. Neteyam's brain seemed to short-circuit. He was more red than blue...red is blood...

What has she done to my brother? He snarled in his head.

The two voices faded, two blue smears walking inside, and Neteyam saw them: the girls, Tuk and Tsireya, bawling against the railing, and he was shook. Tuk looked fine, physically, if not a little shaken up, but he was the eldest brother. He noticed a scratch on her face, a bruise on her cheek. If that wasn't enough, Tsireya's cheek was covered in blood from what looked like a knife slash, and she had bruises on her throat, arms, and face.

Aonung saw red.

"Don't!" Rotxo shouted, but it was too late.

With a shriek, Aonung threw himself at the nearest Recom, fingers spasming into claws and grabbing the guy around the throat before he could even squeak. Both toppled to the ground, and surprisingly, no one came running as Aonung slammed the guy's face into the deck, once, twice---crack! Snap!---three times before dropping him. "Nung!" Tsireya cried, tears falling down her cheeks as the three boys rushed over.

"Tuk-Tuk," Neteyam breathed, sawing with his blade at the restraints with his knife. He gulped, "Where's Lo'ak?"

She looked at him, her eyes full of tears, breaking Neteyam's heart. "T-they said the wh-white room..." She bawled. Neteyam glanced at Rotxo. "Can you get her to safety?" He asked sharply. Rotxo nodded. "Come," He told Tuk, who obediently climbed in his arms, and he slung her on his back as Aonung, helping Tsireya, called the ilu. As the creatures appeared, Aonung whispered, "Come back, okay?" He nodded once at Neteyam and helped his sister down, then joined her. Rotxo climbed over the railing carefully, Tuk glancing at Neteyam once more before she was gone.

Neteyam snuck through the ship, ducking behind crates and whatever was available when someone came around. He kept his ears and eyes open, moved as silently as possible, and wasn't caught, luckily. He made it around a bend and saw the white room, through two doorways, which made him curse. He'd have to either risk it and sneak in, or wait until the two Avatars currently in there left. But...he couldn't see Lo'ak. Where is that skxawng? He wondered.

Then, he saw him, and his world stopped, broke, and crashed. Lo'ak was being yanked up by he queue, which made Neteyam wince just watching it, and his face was bloody, bruises coloring his skin like a fucking ink splatter of blood and different shades of black, blue, and purple...and red, of course. His left arm looked broken, and his eyes were slipping shut. "Let's go," A heavily tattooed Na'vi Recom said, and the man dropped Lo'ak. Even out here, Neteyam could hear the thud his body made, and it made him cringe away. The Recoms exited the white room, stalking down the hall, laughing, like they didn't just beat the shit out of a kid with his (pissed, protective) brother watching. The moment they were gone, Neteyam bolted inside...

And nearly fell backwards, shocked, eyes wide. Blood covered the floor in thin streaks, clearly done by Lo'ak, presumably, dragging himself across the floor the way he was now, without even turning, like he was terrified Neteyam was one of the Recoms come to hurt him. "Lo!" He shouted, and Lo'ak went tense, then suddenly limp, and Neteyam heard him crying against the floor.

Neteyam rushed over, hands fluttering, unsure of where the fuck he could touch Lo'ak without hurting him. "They're...coming back," Lo'ak whispered, and glanced up. Neteyam recoiled at the bruises on his baby brother's face. "Just...just go. Quaritch won't let them kill me, not without Dad." "I'm not leaving you!" Neteyam screamed.

A door slammed. "There he is!" He turned, snarling.

Quaritch raised his hands. "Easy, kid. I won't kill you or your brother, alright?" He grinned, but Neteyam wasn't fazed. He stood, muscles tense, and as Quaritch took a step forward, hissed, to the point where Quaritch blinked, stepping back again. "Alright, alright," He said, raising his hands. "I get it, don't come close." He nodded. "I can do that. However, I need him." He smirked. "Your father's here. I made a deal, and he accepted: his sons for his life." No. Neteyam didn't want to believe it. But that was his dad, he'd do anything for his sons. Even die? What about Mom, or Tuk and Kiri and me and Lo'ak? He wondered. "Let us go, then." "Ah, it's...not exactly that easy. But!" He said as Neteyam's ears started flattening. "I can tell you, the moment he steps onboard, you're free." Neteyam paused. He wanted to rip this guy's fucking throat out, and it grew stronger when he glanced at Lo'ak, crumpled, bruised, bloody, and broken, in the corner, eyes foggy. "Don't, Teyam..." He whispered, the energy to speak leaving him. Neteyam glanced back at Quaritch. "Then let us go." Quaritch waved a hand. "I will. Don't fight," He said as four Recoms came in, two grabbing Lo'ak and two restraining Neteyam. He stayed still, knowing it would be worse, at least right now, to fight.

ON THE DECK

Neteyam saw them first: The Olo'eyktan, Tonowari, with his mate, Ronal. Then, his mother, her eyes hard and dark gold. His heart jumped into his throat, seeing Kiri beside her, her hand on her knife. Thankfully, Rotxo, Tuk, Aonung, and Tsireya were not there. "Mama," He heard Lo'ak wheeze, and it broke Neteyam's heart.

"Jake," Quaritch called. "Come on down," He laughed. Neteyam saw his father kiss his mother, saw him kiss Kiri's head, then come in on a skimwing. "NO!" He screamed suddenly, thrashing. "No, Dad, don't---Ah!" He yelped as something slammed into his face, knocking him to the ground. He was yanked up immediately by his queue, making him scream in pain until that was all he could hear. "Stop, stop it!" Jake was suddenly on the deck. Looking at Lo'ak, Neteyam realized, and he was horrified. "What have you done to my son?" Jake breathed, his eyes darkening. "What I had to." Quaritch snarled.

"Dad..." Lo'ak mumbled, his lips swelling from the bruises. The tattooed lady holding him snarled, "Shut up," her (actually pretty) blue face twisted in rage. Lo'ak ignored her. "Dad, I'm sorry--" He yelped, high and piercing, as the woman slammed her pistol into his already busted nose. That was the last straw for Neteyam.

He shrieked, a weird sort of scream that belonged to a demon, and twisted as the man holding him tried to regain a grip. He swung without really looking, hearing a sickening crunch as chaos exploded around the ship. Jake lunged, the other Na'vi came running (or gliding on ilu and whatnot), and the battle begun. He fought his way towards Lo'ak, who was crumpled on the ground, eyes shut. No, no, please, Eywa, don't take him, Neteyam thought, blindly punching someone else. He heard a sudden shriek and turned, seeing his dad with a knife in his shoulder.

Neteyam was tackled before he could open his mouth.

It was the tattooed lady, snarling as her hands wrapped around his throat. Jake was still in a struggle with three others, the other Na'vi distracted and Lo'ak out for the count, so he was on his own. He choked, tail slapping thickly against the metal deck, and scrabbled for his knife sheath, finally unclipping it and yanking out his blade, but she saw that, smacking his hand. Neteyam's knife slid over the deck, rattling against the metal, and was flung over the side of the ship, lost in the sea. His heart ached almost as much as his lungs. His grandmother, Mo'at, had given him the knife, saying she was proud of him. It was like she was gone, now, too.

The woman laughed, her canines flashing in the sun. "After I kill you, baby blue," She mocked. "I'm killing the other." Her gold eyes flicked to Lo'ak, still unmoving, and that. Was. It. He screamed, his hands flying to her face, and dug his nails into her flesh, her cheeks, the only thing he could think of to get her far enough away. She howled in pain, letting go to clasp her cheeks, and Neteyam, moving on survival instinct, lunged, his mouth open, and sank his canines into her throat.

Her blood spurted from her neck, where Neteyam's canines were lodged up to the gums, and he wasn't letting go. She screamed, gurgling, as he pushed her back, teeth still firm, and jerked back, tearing her throat open, blood gushing from her neck all over Neteyam's mouth and chin, down his chest, and dripping to the metal deck like water. She gasped, gurgling wetly, eyes wide, blood staining both her and Neteyam, before she seized and went still. He was breathing hard, blood covering most of his front and his hands, and turned, eyes wild. Kiri, Jake, Neytiri, and Ronal were staring at him, and he wasn't totally sure if they were horrified or not. "Holy, shit," Kiri said. A groan interrupted them, and Lo'ak blinked, coming to. "Lo--" Neteyam froze, about to run over, but...but he was covered in blood. He couldn't see his brother. He backed up, eyes on Lo'ak, who was shaking his head. Kiri, always so understanding, put a hand on his arm, moving past him to Lo'ak. Lo'ak was staring at Neteyam, and Neteyam...he felt, for the first time in his life, like a monster. Like the demon everyone thought his father was. "I'm so sorry," He whispered, his voice loud like a gunshot in the silence. Lo'ak stood with Kiri's help and stumbled over. He kneeled, grasping a dead recom's shirt and ripping it in half before his fingers, five instead of four, touched Neteyam's cheek, soft as a feather, and wiped the blood away, all without a word. Finally, he spoke. "You're my brother, my tsmukan. Don't act like I'm scared of you," Lo'ak snapped, throwing the cloth, now stained red, to the side. "Oel ngati kameie, tsmukan."

"Oel ngati kameie," Neteyam whispered, tears filling his eyes. *******************************************************************

Glossary: Tsmukan = Brother. Oel ngati kameie = I See You.

[featheredclover]

Redamancy

This one shot is inspired by this prompt by @arshifiesta

Also on Wattpad

“ How long will Sahil be Aman?”

“ An hour”

Swearing under his breath, Arnav brought up a hand to loosen his tie.

“ Marcos has called the garage as well so don’t worry ASR”

Leaning back against the now broken car, Arnav took out his pack of cigarettes and offered one to Aman.

The two men cut out as dashing figures, with their impeccable suits and cigarette dangling from their mouths.

“ You want to sit somewhere? Hartford has great coffee “

“ Sure”

———

They stood in front of a glass door, below the sign ‘Cafe Captain’.

A bell tinkled as Aman swung the door into the place, the place was painted in hues of brown resembling an old British bakery. The strong smell of coffee permeated Arnav’s senses and he headed towards the counter.

“ ….so yes, while a croissant is nice, it doesn’t hold a torch to our cream bun. They melt in your mouth!”

Arnav heard the waitress go on and on about cream buns. He stopped himself from clucking impatiently.

Finally, he thought as he moved forward.

“ One black coffee “

He read the chirpy girl’s name tag- Khushi

A gasp forced him to look back up. “ It is horrendous. Why would you do this? Why? I mean I understand if you are hungover or hmm probably a diabetic, are you?”

“ Um no, I am not”

“ Great! Then darling go sit right there and let me bring you the best cup in Hartford!”

Dumbfounded, Arnav simply paid and went towards the table Khushi had pointed to. It was only when he sat down that he wanted to kick himself.

What am I doing? Black coffee was fine.

It didn’t help that Aman was smirking as he sat down, amusement filling his eyes.

“ I thought no one could boss you around. Glad I am wrong”

“ Just shut up”

He looked up to see the girl walk towards his table with a huge smile.

Placing the huge cup down, she giggled.

“ This will help you! And trust me you will find yourself here everyday “ she said with a wink.

“ And here you go! Lemon tea!”

Aman thanked her while his eyes rested gleefully on a flushed ASR.

It was only after she had taken her place back at the counter, that Arnav looked at his cup.There in white cream was a sun drawn with a smile on it.

——

He found himself at the doorstep of Cafe Captain again the next day. He couldn’t risk bringing that bastard with his all knowing gaze ,with him. Especially,when he himself couldn’t understand the helplessness he felt as he remembered her laughter “ And trust me you’ll find yourself here everyday”

Tinkling bells greeted him and he headed straight towards the queue.

Arnav couldn’t take his eyes off her. The excited bobbing of her head, her laugh, the scrunch of her nose when she disagreed with something, and the way her hands moved when she was explaining the merits of glazed sugar cookies. Everything fascinated Arnav. He felt like he was watching a doll come to life.

And when it was his turn, she flashed him a beautiful smile. “ Just go sit!”

That’s all she said to him. And that’s all he needed.

He watched her work. Preparing his cup , taking the small white jug in her dainty hands and placing it on a coaster.

“Here you go!”

Arnav looked down to see a sunflower smiling up from his coffee. He sipped as he watched her work, chatter and flutter around like a butterfly.

He would never admit the disappointment he felt when she didn’t come to talk to him again. He gulped down the last bit of the milky - sugar filled concoction and headed back out.

——

“ Hey!”

Looking up from the cream doodle of a dog, Arnav stared right into Khushi’s eyes.

“ Congratulations!”

“ Um…for what?”

“ You have been coming here daily for the past week, so now you are my regular “, Khushi said with a wink.

“ Thanks, I guess” Arnav hoped his boring drawl seemed perfect to her. Because otherwise she will know how he really felt about her grouping him with all her other “regulars”.

“ What’s your name? “ she asked in such a soft voice that he found himself answering, forgetting the earlier slight.

“ Arnav”

“Arnav” she repeated as if rolling his name on her tongue.

“ So tell me Arnav, what do you do apart from drinking my marvellous coffee?”she said with a cheeky grin.

“ I run AR.”

“ The design house! Oh my god! I love your clothes! “

“ The designers will be glad to hear that”

“ So…you don’t design any of your clothes?”

“ I used to. Lately…I haven’t found the time”

“ That’s a shame. Something so creative should never be given up!”

Arnav looked away. He should have reminded himself why he didn’t date. He didn’t want a lecture on his workaholism. Di was enough for that.

“ Hey…I am sorry. I didn’t mean to touch on a nerve. God knows I haven’t picked up a guitar since school and I want to scratch anyone’s eyes who reminds me!”

Arnav had to smile at that.

“ Guess that makes us alike”

And in the next moment, his breath caught, as Khushi’s cheeks flushed a beautiful pink.

——

Aman tore into his chapati, as Anjali served more aloo-matar onto his plate.

“ Slow down Aman! There’s enough for you to eat till you burst!” Anjali laughed.

Shyam smiled, “ Well, that’s what bachelor life is, isn’t it? Perennially hungry, filling time with cup noodles and coffee! Aman and Arnav, it’s time for both of you to get married.”

“ Speaking of coffee, Arnav does seem ready to be hitched” Aman spoke before stuffing his mouth again, oblivious to Arnav’s glare.

“ Chotte! Who is the girl? When were you going to tell us?”

“ And what is the connection with coffee saale saheb?”

The chair screeched as Arnav pushed it back and stood up, silencing them all.

“ I am done with lunch”

And he walked out, ignoring Anjali’s protests and Aman’s laughter.

That bastard.

As he roamed the streets of New York, Arnav couldn’t help but wonder about Khushi. He was smitten, he had admitted with quite difficulty one evening, when he had been driven mad when he learnt Khushi had taken a leave because she was sick. The next day he brought a basket of apples and a bouquet of lilies for her. Her giggle had been worth the embarrassment he had felt ,when Aman found out what he was planning to do.

But did she like him? He kicked a rock at the curb and exhaled in frustration. She seemed to greet all her customers with the same glee and modify their opinions on sweet treats with as much vigour as she poured the sugar in his coffee.

His only hope was the doodle on his daily coffee. He hadn’t seen her do that to anyone’s cup. The others would just get simple cream hearts.That was a sign wasn’t it?

That’s it. ASR is not so weak that he is brought to his knees by a woman. He will ask her if she’s interested in him. That’s simple. He has tackled million dollar deals with fabric companies, this would be nothing.

———

Arnav swirled the wheel, drove forward and parked, unaware of the light in his eyes as it fell on the brightly lit coffee shop.

He pushed the cafe’s door open, but the sight in front of him made him stop in his tracks.

Khushi had thrown her head back in laughter as a man stood leaning against her counter.

A splinter opened somewhere in his chest as he realised he had never made her laugh like this. He had never made her blush so red. Overwhelmed, Arnav was about to turn back and leave when his eyes caught Khushi’s.

With no choice but to get through the evening, he headed towards his usual table. He didn’t glance at the man again, he couldn’t. He wanted to tear him to pieces. He clenched his trembling hand into a fist.

He looked up at Khushi when she placed his cup down. She was still a beautiful shade of pink. Her smile was soft, her eyes glazing. Before he could say a word, she had moved back towards her counter in a hurry.

Frowning slightly, Arnav glanced down at his coffee. He gulped painfully as he saw bloody hearts on them. So, this new man comes along and he doesn’t get a special doodle. He gets what all her customers get. That’s what he was to her. A douchebag in a suit, who had nothing better to do every evening than sip her coffee.

Arnav shut his eyes, and breathed deeply. He opened them to see that it had begun raining outside. Bloody poetic, he thought. Unable to control the spiralling of his emotions, Arnav stood up in a flash and dashed out of the cafe, his coffee left untouched.

——

His leather shoes splashed against the fallen raindrops as he hurried to get to his car. To get out of this damned place.

He heard footsteps behind him before he heard the shout “ Arnav!”

He turned to see Khushi holding an umbrella above herself and another in her hand. She smiled somewhat hesitatingly, as she extended the umbrella to him.

Rage flooded his being as he stared at the beautiful woman standing before him, a deepening sorrow in him as he was reminded of his one sided love.

“Don’t need it “ he gritted out.

Her eyes widened in shock at his tone.

“ Wha- what happened ?”

“You want to know what happened? I have not been able to function normally ever since I walked into your bloody cafe after my car broke down that god forsaken day! You and your sweet coffee have driven me mad. And here I am, a grown man, waiting for the clock to strike 5 so that I can leave to travel from New York to Hartford. Just to…just to hear you laugh, just to see you smile, just to get a doodle on my coffee. A doodle that’s just mine. And today yo- you are laughing with another man, turning red when he is speaking. And..and doodling just hearts for me! Hearts you do for every other regular of yours.” Arnav burst out, every word hiding his grief.

He stared at Khushi for a moment. A moment in which both of them didn’t even dare to breathe .

Her grip loosened as the umbrellas fell from her hands, she reached him in a few steps, uncaring of the rain soaking her, entwined her hands around his neck and kissed him.

Arnav froze as her warmth permeated his whole being. A rush of joy flooded his brain. But it wasn’t enough. His hands grabbed her waist, tightening in desperation as he deepened the kiss. He tilted her back further as he drank her. A shiver ran through Khushi as she moved her hands to clutch his hair in an almost painful grasp. She pushed his shoulder lightly, as she attempted to break away from the kiss. Arnav kissed the corner of her lips, before kissing down her neck to her collar bones.

“ Arnav! “ Khushi giggled. “ It’s raining pretty heavily, if you haven’t noticed “

He stood looking at her smiling figure. Breaking out of his trance, he grabbed her hand, and began walking to his car.

——

“ Cold na?” Khushi asked with an obvious shiver, as she rubbed her hands together vigorously for some warmth.

Arnav reached into the dashboard, took out a navy blue sweater, which was a size too large for her and without a word dropped it over her head.

She giggled again. Arnav couldn’t help smiling.

He heard her gasp, before he felt her soft hand grabbing his rough one.

“Arnav” she began “ The man I was laughing with was Noah, my sister Lavanya’s boyfriend. He..he was teasing me about…er.. about you. That’s why I was umm turning red” she finished, turning more red than ever before.

His hands turned her face towards him gently. His lips taking hers in a soft kiss.

“Really?” he asked huskily.

“ Really! In fact, I thought you would understand those hearts I drew because I had been drawing something different for you everyday! It had two hearts, Arnav, and they were struck by an arrow. And no, I don’t do this for anyone else” she finished with a pout.

“ I am sorry” he murmured before drawing her into a kiss again. He felt like an addict, he couldn’t get enough of her and he definitely couldn’t leave her tonight.

As she sat, huddled close to him she whispered

“ I love you Arnav”

Tightening his hold on her, he looked down at her lying across his chest. “ I love you too Khushi, more than you can ever imagine ��

For now it was enough. It was enough knowing that Arnav was going back to drink the now cold coffee with relish. It was enough knowing that they were going to spend the night in Khushi’s apartment above the cafe. It was enough knowing that two hearts were beating as one.

For now, the rain poured relentlessly , providing them a curtain of privacy as they remained wrapped in each other’s love in the car. Arnav marvelled in the redamancy, as he held the woman he loved in his arms, who loved him.

Tagging: @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @barshifan @andli @shiyaravi @muttonthings @hand-picked-star @msbhagirathi @phuljari @sankititaliya @thenainitaldisaster @thedupattaknowswhatsup @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @laadgovernors @laadgovernorandsankadevi @leila1 @hi-this-is-permabanned @arshispyaar @minpdnim @thedustyshehnai @bigfatreader @arshiradio @simplycurlz @scorpio-smiles @bengudill

Please let me know if you want to be added/ removed from the tag list ❤️

[wish-i-were-heather]

TOO SWEET ⤵ NASH HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 3129 words, no use of y/n

STORY: you meet back up with your childhood best friend, and he gets a bit out of hand.

WARNINGS: drunkess/alcohol? i guess that's it

TAGS: @littlemissmentallyunstable @gretag13 @lanterns-and-daydreams @whatsamongus @alwaysthefangirl @zuzanna-jadw1ga @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @low-caloriesmonsterultra @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @jimcarreyfann42 @maybxlle @xoxo-vee @elysianwayy77 @ravishinglyliving @- this is just everyone who wanted to be tagged for grayson cuz i wasn't sure, pls lmk if u do/don't wanna be tagged for other characters!!

inspired by a post by @jkriordanverse <33

A/N: SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO POST WHILE I WAS GONE BUT THE QUEUE DIDN'T WORK >:( anyway so like i said i saw that post about drunk nash singing hozier and i was like omg yes. this gets kinda long i could've split it into two but i didn't so here we are

You were no stranger to formal events. Your family wasn’t necessarily rich, but you were well off. Somewhat higher status. So it wasn’t unusual for you to be at events that required you to dress up a bit. Put on a dress, do a bit more makeup, put on your good earrings. 

But this one was different.

It was a big charity event run by one of the biggest family names in the country, but the dress code was less suit and tie, high heels and pearl necklaces. For some reason, they had decided to play into the fact that they were in Texas. A western themed event. And for some reason you decided to go, despite having no experience with that style.

You thought it would be simple enough. Find a cute but not too fancy dress and a simple pair of boots to match. The dress you were able to find in your closet- a white one that fell loosely to just about the length of your knees, square neck, and thin straps. Nothing too revealing nor too elegant. The event, unlike most, was about simplicity. 

It was the boots that you had trouble with. 

You’d never worn a pair of cowboy boots before. Silly, supposing you lived in Texas, but you had just never been part of the crowd that wore that regularly. Because you only planned on wearing them to the event, you just ordered a pair online because it didn’t matter too much to you.

Only when they arrived did you realize that they were a bit too big. Nothing crazy, it wasn’t like wearing five sizes too big, more like half. And that half a size still made a difference. 

You stepped out of your car in front of the venue. It was some sort of ranch that clearly hadn’t been used as a proper ranch in who knew how long. The large barn doors were open, revealing all the partygoers and tables and drinks and lights and everything inside. 

Sure enough, everyone was dressed similar to you. Not too formal. Nothing like you were used to wearing. You felt out of place, even though every other person there looked the same. 

With a sigh, you made your way to the entrance. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect there. The only reason you came was because it was a Hawthorne event. You knew that name; you’d known that name your whole life. Your family had been close with the Hawthornes. You grew up with the four boys. Well, mostly with Nash. You were closer to his age than Grayson, Xander, or Jameson. 

But as you grew older, you drifted apart. Adulting happened, you got busy, and eventually you lost contact with Nash. You still had his number in your phone- well, at least his old one from when you were fifteen. Odds were he probably had a new one, and you weren’t willing to text and find out.

So maybe some part of you deep down was hoping to find him again here. It was probably hopeless. Such a big event, so many people, the chances of finding Nash Hawthorne were quite low. 

Yet here you were. 

You kept walking, making your way through the entrance. You were just on time, not too early or too late, but there were already plenty of people walking around. You didn’t recognize any of them. 

There were sounds of glasses clinking, country music in the background, and countless voices conversing as the evening began to unfold. You walked through the crowd, awkwardly adjusting the strap of your dress.

There was nothing wrong with it, but you couldn’t help but feel self conscious, even when everyone was just as casual.

Suddenly, your foot caught on an uneven plank of wood, the oversized shoe not helping one bit. With a startled yelp, you tripped forward. Instinctively, your arms moved out to catch yourself. But there was no need, because before you could properly fall, strong arms caught you, helping you balance again. 

“Woah there,” a familiar voice chuckled. And as you looked up, you found yourself looking into the amused eyes of Nash Westbrook Hawthorne. 

Your eyes widened when you realized who had caught your fall, your face suddenly heating up for no particular reason. 

“Nash?” You breathed, hardly able to believe it. 

He laughed, his grin widening in return when he recognized you too. “Well I’ll be damned. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Nash took a step back once you were standing again. “You look great, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you in this type of dress in… well, ever. The boots too, they look like they suit you.” You could tell he was teasing.

“Am I that obvious?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously. “They’re too big, but I figured what harm will it do, right? Oh,” you added. “And, thank you. You look… great, too.” 

Why were you being so awkward? It’s just Nash.

Just Nash.

He laughed again, a deep, warm sound that you remembered well. “Thanks, darlin’. Here, why don’t we go sit down? Catch up somewhere quieter.”

You agreed, and the two of you navigate your way through the crowd of people. He was guiding you subtly, his hand gently resting on the small of your back. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed, like he belonged there.

Which made sense, it was his family’s event. And Nash of all the Hawthornes was the one who was most comfortable in those Western-themed situations. 

Most likely to win a rodeo. 

You and his brothers had voted him that when you were kids. 

Nash led you to a quieter spot in the back, as promised. There were some hay bales set up as makeshift seats. Sure, there were chairs that you could’ve snagged from an empty table, but where was the fun in that? 

“Have a seat,” he told you. “I’ll get us some drinks.” And before you could respond, Nash was off. You watched as he walked away, finding yourself glad that he was turned away so he couldn’t see you staring. 

His hair was about the same length and style from when you were younger- you supposed he found what he liked and stuck to it. But that didn’t matter because he was wearing a cowboy hat. Maybe it was for the occasion, but you knew him, and odds were he was wearing it because that was just what he liked. 

But, of course, it had still been almost ten years. He had most definitely grown. Taller, visibly stronger, and his voice had gotten deeper. 

You weren’t complaining. 

Nash returned, and you were snapped out of your thoughts. “So apparently there’s no alcohol. Avery’s decision, not mine. Hope you like iced tea.”

“Thanks.” You took the cup from him as he sat down beside you, but realized he’d only grabbed one. “Why didn’t you get one for yourself?”

Nash shrugged. “I’m not a fan of tea. Even without sugar or nothing, it’s a bit too sweet.”

“Oh,” you nodded. Then you thought about what he’d said earlier. “So, Avery…?”

“Oh, yeah, you don’t know her, do you? I mean, I’m gonna assume that you’ve seen everything on the news and such, but you’ve never met her.” 

You had definitely been paying attention to any news involving the Hawthornes ever since you stopped talking to him. Maybe paying a little more attention than you wanted to admit. “Is she nice? Good to Jameson?” “Oh yeah,” he nodded. “Very good to Jamie. They’re good for each other.” 

“Good, good.”

Why were you acting so weird?

Just Nash. 

You took a sip of the iced tea, the cold calming your nerves a bit. Nash leaned back on the hay bale, as if picking up on your nervousness and trying to make himself more open. 

“So,” he began. “How has life been? Last I heard you were looking at colleges out of state?” 

You nodded, suddenly feeling more comfortable when you knew what to say. “Yeah. I went up to Massachusetts.” “Really. Did you go to school there?”

“Yeah. Harvard? Have you heard of it?” You joked. “I don’t know, it’s not very well known.”

Nash laughed with you. “Harvard. You’re kidding.”

“What, you jealous?” Already back into your old ways, teasing him.

“No. That’s where Grayson’s going.”

Your eyes widened. “What? That’s crazy. On the off chance I run into him, I’ll tell him you say hi.”

Your conversation continued, wandering from how your lives have been to his thoughts on the whole inheritance drama when it first happened. Then somehow you started talking about the fact that they now had a dog named Tiramisu? 

Oh, Xander named it. 

That made more sense. 

But as the night progressed, you still found yourself being awkward. The conversation would come to a slow point and Nash would be the one to bring something up and start talking again, not you. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to him? Sure, maybe you hadn’t spoken in years now, but he was so easy to talk to that it felt like no time at all.  

“You know,” he mentioned eventually. “I’ve missed this. Missed you, missed us. We should try to get together sometime, while you’re here.”

There was something about the way he said us.

“Yeah, that’d be fun. I’m here for the next week, so we could-”

“After the party?”

His offer caught you off guard. You wanted to spend time with Nash, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to want to get together so soon. You weren’t against it, though.

“Oh yeah, after this works.” You took a sip from the drink to try to look more natural; it looked even more forced. “Where do you want to go?”

Nash grinned. 

“Can you sing?”

A question like that was never good coming from a Hawthorne. 

~~

The rest of the event had gone by quickly. Avery had eventually gone up and said a few words, and afterwards Nash introduced you to her. She was nice, as you thought she’d be. 

You also said hello to Xander and Jameson again, which was fun. Grayson, of course, was still at Harvard. Xander made a pinky promise to you that he’d “make sure Gray finds you on campus or else.”

Then, you and Nash were off.

He’d only told you once you’d left where you were going: a karaoke bar. 

You were not a singer, by any means or definition of the word, but Nash reassured you that it was just the two of you for fun. Neither of you were expected to be professionals, so that gave you some bit of closure and got you a little more excited.

You were sure that there had to be some sort of karaoke room in the Hawthorne House, but that’s not where you went. Nash took the two of you to a karaoke bar. But when you arrived, there was an individual room reserved for you. 

Even if it was taking away from the social bar aspect of the karaoke bar, you appreciated not having to sing poorly in front of strangers.

“So,” Nash began once you were settled in. “Have you got any songs to start with?”

You shrugged. “Do you know any Disney?”

He fully gasped. “Do I know Disney? Do I know Disney? Is my last name Hawthorne? Hell yeah I know Disney!”

Nash hadn’t been lying. Together, you sang a song from practically every Disney movie that existed. And as you sang, you realized you didn’t care what you sounded like. He made it so easy for you to let your guard down and relax and just have fun. 

Nash, on the other hand, you quickly realized he had a voice. Deep and controlled, like he knew what he was doing. The only cracks in his voice were because the note was either too high, or just the result of him drinking.

It was a karaoke bar, after all.

Maybe he was secretly a professional country singer in his free time, it’d been so long since you last spoke to him that you had no idea. 

After finishing Love Is an Open Door from Frozen, you both finally paused to catch your breath after nonstop singing. 

“Y’know,” Nash said, taking a sip from the drink he’d ordered- this time with alcohol. “Hans may have been an ass, but he’s a damn good singer.”

You chuckled. “Says you. You are surprisingly good at this.”

“Surprisingly? Ouch,” he said playfully. 

“Seriously though,” you continued. You both took a seat on the couch. “Do you sing often or is that just… a natural talent?”

Nash shrugged humble. “I don’t know. I will sometimes for fun.”

“What do you usually sing?”

He took a final sip from his drink, setting it back down with a loud clunk. “Let me show you.”

~~

Hozier. 

That’s who Nash liked to sing. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe some sort of country artist, simply because of how he liked to dress and talk. Not Hozier. But, of course, you weren't complaining. Because those songs seemed to match his voice perfectly. And he sounded beautiful.

Nash had spent a good fifteen minutes singing, taking a drink between each song. Which, obviously, as alcohol does, seemed to have an effect on him. His words grew sloppier, attempts at dancing growing more wobbly.

After a dramatic singing of To Be Alone that felt more like a serenade by the way he looked at you during the chorus, you would’ve thought he was done. He looked pretty tired and out of it from the drinks, too. 

But then the next song auto played- Too Sweet, one of Hozier’s newest songs.

Nash Hawthorne, half drunk and easily excitable, practically screamed.

“I love this song!” He cried, running over to where you were seated and pulling you up to stand with him. You laughed and let him take you.

“You know, Nash, I think I’ve really only ever heard this on the radio-”

He cut you off by beginning to sing when the lyrics appeared on screen. You grabbed the second microphone that you’d set aside and followed along as best you could. It was a bit hard for you to focus, though, as Nash stumbled next to you and tried his best to keep both his feet and his voice steady. Though he tried his best, he was failing miserably.

It was hilarious.

“I think I’ll take my whiskey neat,” he sang, or more accurately, shouted. “My coffee black and my bed at three. You’re too sweet for me!”

When the song ended, he finally let himself sit down. He picked up his drink and had another sip, and you then took it from him.

“Hey!” He pouted. “I’m drinkin’ that. You can drink your own drink, don’t drink my drink.” 

How many times could he say ‘drink’ in a sentence?

“What?” You laughed.

“I mean-” hiccup. “I mean don't drink my drink, it’s mine.”

“I’m not drinking it, Nash. I promise,” you said, talking slowly the same way you would to a little kid. “You’ve just had too much. And we took your car, I don’t want to have to drive it for you…”

But it was a little too late for that, wasn’t it?

You took the free water bottle that’d come with the room off the side table and handed it to him instead. “There, drink that.”

Nash took the water and without hesitation opened it and chugged it, successfully spilling water all over himself. You didn’t even bother to clean it up, because he didn’t even bother to care that he was now soaked. 

“Okay,” you said, more to yourself than him. “We should probably get going.”

“One more song?” Nash asked, failing to balance his hat on his head and deciding to throw it across the room when it didn’t stay on.

“Fine. One more song.” 

Imagine your reaction when you recognized the intro to Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

~~

“I’m not five.”

“You sure are acting like it,” you told him. “Sit still and buckle yourself up or I’ll do it for you.”

Nash muttered something under his breath about you not being the boss of him, but he eventually buckled himself up in the passenger seat of his own car, and you got in the front. Nash wasn’t quite completely drunk, but obviously enough to not be himself, because now he was acting like a pouty little kid. 

Yeah, it would probably be best if you drove.

As you pulled out of the parking lot, Nash began typing away on his phone. You didn’t know what he was doing until you heard music begin; he’d bluetooth connected his phone to the car speakers, and was now blasting Take Me to Church. 

He sang along, a sound you assumed usually sounded angelic, but now his voice cracked at pretty much every single note. Things only got better worse when he rolled down the window and sang into the dark of the night. 

You reached over and dialed the volume down, just a bit. When the song ended, you finally took your chance to speak.

“You really like his music, don’t you?”

Nash nodded. “Mhm. He sounds like me.”

You chuckled and let the car fall to silence as you drove him home. 

“I missed you,” Nash suddenly blurted. 

“I missed you too,” you admitted honestly. “You’re a good singer.”

“You’re a good driver.”

“I’m only driving because you got drunk off your ass,” you reminded him, keeping your eyes on the road.

“Thank you for not crashing the car,” he said genuinely, like it was the most serious thank he could give you. “And driving me home.”

You sighed. “You’re welcome, Nash. Try to get some rest when you get home, okay? I’m sure you’ll feel shitty in the morning.”

“I’m gonna start now,” he said, earning another laugh from you. Nash slumped in his seat, and brought his hat down to cover his eyes. “Goodnight, darlin’. Don’t let the… Hozier bite.”

That last statement was so absurd that you couldn’t tell if you were laughing, coughing, or dying in response. 

You caught your breath, though still laughing quietly to yourself at what he’d said. 

“Goodnight Nash.”

You thought back to the times when you were younger, and the two of you would stay up late past when you were supposed to be asleep. Most of the time, the lack of sleep got to you and you’d both say the stupidest things. 

Maybe he wasn’t so different all these years later after all.

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

[rauberrauber]

line up baby

wanted to make a sort of ref for everyone so i can keep track of everyone's designs, heights, etc

side hcs below cuz i wanna ramble lol

fyi any links are just for pictures to help visualize what im trying to say

also add to these with ur own i love reading hcs :]

general:

the sides work with a kind of cartoon logic (kinda like who framed Roger rabbit) which is what their shape shifting and such is, they can survive pretty much everything, dont bend to reality type thing

i also dig playing around with the idea that they just arent human, they dont need to eat, sleep, even breathe or blink if they dont wanna. They just play more human around thomas so they dont freak him out (everyone but remus at least, dude doesnt give a fuck lol) they all have their priorities regarding that kinda stuff. like logan doesnt eat or sleep almost at all (there r exceptions tho obvi (crofters))  while patton rly likes to cook and bake so why not eat the stuff you make? meanwhile remus eats literally anything he can find

they can also float if they wanna, same thing where they just dont around thomas. this came about me just imagining remus consistently floating around in the mindscape instead of walking for whatever reason? so yeah they can do that

theres a core mindscape and a ‘dark’ mindscape, that sorta works like the upside down from stranger things (as in the dark mindscape is like literally upside down and mirrors everything, like this)

everyones also got their own unique doors to their rooms. logans is very sleek and modern, pattons in more childlike and almost vintage, romans resemble castle doors while remus’ is more like a dungeons, virgils is typically angsty teenager with tons of posters and ‘keep out’ signs, and janus has tons of locks on his

design wise the core sides have straight teeth and fluffier hair while the dark sides have sharp teeth and rougher(?) hair (since changing, virgil has vampire-esque fangs)

logan:

square rimmed glasses

loves the rain

unintentionally fidgets with his clothes, always adjusting his glasses or rolling his sleeves up and down or messing with the buttons or his tie

playing more into the whole ‘sides dont have to eat thing’ he finds food kinda nasty lol, again only rly eats stuff thats very good to him (ultimate picky eater basically) patton has tried and failed many times to get logan to try and like new foods

roman was the one who got him to try crofters

watches those long ass video essays about random topics on youtube for background noise

patton:

round glasses and heart eyes

has roller blades/skates! specifically these ones that retract the wheels. good way of getting energy out (even if hes super clumsy with them)

tallest + dad bod

tons of bandages, kinda playing around with the phrase ‘broken heart’

him and janus play video games together (both of them are terrible lol)

definitely listens to dad rock/dad music

roman:

starry eyes!

crown can float on its own (same w/ remus’)

has one of these couches in his room to dramatically faint onto

him and remus dont share a room, but they have a sort of portal to each others rooms if that makes sense. a big mirror but instead of reflecting, its showing into the other room and only the twins can go thru

wants to be his own side after the split

roman and remus pierced each others ears when they were younger

virgil:

decently tall but slouches a lot which hides it (slouching hes shorter than the twins but still taller than janus) also rarely stands or sits straight at all so it kinda shocked the core sides when he showed them how tall he rly was (queue roman being mad cuz hes actually the shortest of the main four lol)

has stereotypical emo hair and still has some purple dye in it

hot topic skeleton fingerless gloves and muddy sneakers (idk why it just feels right)

tons of random bruises

draws his nails black with sharpie

listens to metal music to calm down. remus got him into a lot of numetal, screamo kinda music when virgil was still one of the others, it was one of the few times theyd hang out and virgil wasnt 100% freaked out by remus

definitely experimented with scene fashion when thomas was a teenager

drinks tons of energy drinks

janus:

shortest ha

yellow eyes

bow wrapped on his hat

long flowy cape and heeled shoes with spats (thats what theyre called right?)

uses the staff from pof as a walking cane

speaks fluent pig latin, remus and logan are the only ones who can somewhat understand what he says (remus cuz hes been around janus so long, and logan wanting to research and understand whatever the hell janus is saying) it also has always drove virgil up the wall cuz hes never been able to get it, janus will start speaking it just to annoy him

only rly relaxes when by himself, always kinda putting on a mask with the others and thomas, regardless of how trustworthy he considers them

constantly coming up with proper plans and schemes, typically wouldnt let remus near them with a 10 foot pole (affectionately)

knows how to lockpick

scared of the ocean

remus: 

broken crown

eyes can go all crazy, pupils can be different sizes and such (there was a cartoon that did this where the eyes would go red and have a ton of rings around the pupils like spirals kinda? i cant find a pic of what im rly visualizing rip i hope that makes sense)

ton of rings (one of em is an eyeball ring)

is like half an inch taller than roman and will never let him live it down

enjoys all the ‘bad’ disney/pixar movies. (cars, home on the range, etc) and like unironically enjoys them. prolly started ironically to mess with roman but he genuinely find those ones the best and cant fathom why theyre disliked (totally not self-indulgent cuz some of those movies are my favorites)

comes up with random weird plans and ropes janus into them whenever possible, janus plays along best he can

somewhat wants to fuse back with roman (even if hes unsure why)

remus and virge used to make fun of roman together all the time

remus is the one who gave virge his septum and gages

[izpira-se-zlato]

JO Paris, 22.03.24

Gig report! Compiled this morning in the car to Antwerp with help form @zadig-fate and @yoda-bor 💛 I recorded everything except Katrina (bc my camera app crashed in the middle), so I'll upload this once I'm at a place with stable wifi again :D

all my buses were delayed so I power walked to the train station. Then that train was delayed so I almost missed my Eurostar. Then my Eurostar was also delayed. "That's what I call a Deutsche Bahn special, actually." – Kris ("when your first train is late but then it's okay because the second train is also delayed")

so many people I knew in the queue. From Helsinki. From London last year. From Utrecht. 😊💛

when I grabbed my number, Jan and Nace returned to the venue (and they were so pretty in daylight and in person)

Nace said hi as they walked past 😊

their postures??? Nace has definitely worked on his posture, meanwhile Jan appears so slim and small. It's wild.

Jan and Jure returned to the venue together, looking… Pissed is too harsh a word, but frowning? So we first kinda thought they were actually pissed off. But then Nace showed up a minute later, his usual sunny self, and was immediately accosted by fans. So. I assume it was less "pissed off" and more "do not approach" (and it worked)

soundcheck was Gola and Vem da greš, which we could hear every time they opened the doors (this was my last general access gig. It's EA from here on out, baby!)

Kris and I had decided to go on the balcony and got spots right next to the sound booth, where we were joined by @thisismyobsessionnow 🫶

it was warm but the sound was really good (duh)

also we had nice cushy seats like the old people we are 😂

first opener was a duo of brothers made up of discount Jure and Käärijä if he was French. Discount!Jure had a nice chest (Jure at home)

their music was eh, the lyrics cringe

Kris says they spoke french but I spent most of their set on tumblr/discord so I wasn't listening, but it was a Choice since pretty much none from the EA crowd spoke French

speaking of EA, there were allegedly 60 EA tickets though I saw numbers up to 62 (500 people venue)

JC Stewart was fun

he was told he looked French prime minister. He got confused by president vs prime minister but he also got kinda flustered. He was shown a pic and was "oh yeah, I see it"

we got Katrina opener

Nace. Jfc.

the venue was super hot so I tried to appreciate the fit while he had it on in full – white buttoned shirt with a sweater vest over it and a proper tie and glasses, going for the full teacher look except hot???

I still spent a good chunk of the gig looking at Jure though. The elevated balcony spot gave ussuch a nice view of him

Bojan was smiley and sounded way less congested than in Utrecht (maybe he's on the mend?)

Kris on the other hand was sipping tea on stage. In particular very sassily during Demoni

Kris had guitar problems at the beginning of Šta bih ja and went to Kiki to get it fixed but Bojan didn't see and so was actually worried for a moment that Kris had gotten sick off-stage. Kris was adorable in reassuring him that he was fine

they were all so mobile again

og demoni scream. In the middle. Might have been Bojan letting out his anxiety over Kris having disappeared from stage

"Kris, honey" and then that moment. What in the BoKris was that. I just turned to Kris and said that out loud bc what the fuck

There was a sizeable crowd of Slovenians in the audience and Bojan was delighted

fairly even split in the crowd for French vs foreigners, though the French were louder in yelling

the most hilarious to me moment: Bojan did his spiel about "who here experiences panic attacks?" And the crowd cheered, and he was like "yay! Panic attacks! It's me!" And Kris next to me went "I'm the problem, it's me," and literally on the last syllable, Bojan started saying the exact same thing. One brain cell. Or maybe he has the stream on his in-ears

Barve oceana 🫶🫶💛💛

according to Astrid, I looked ridiculously happy (I was ridiculously happy)

best galaxy of me version tonight. I still don't like it though 😂 it's gonna be my metulji 😂

Bojan went into the crowd for Umazane misli

it's so fun to watch from above

Vita was his trusty shadow and also a beacon of light to spot Bojan with

this time I don't think they forgot her in the crowd

Bojan made the balcony sing while he was still in the crowd. But it was mostly just Kris, Madeleine, and me, at least on the bleachers/seated part. We still gave our best 😂

Carpe Diem was not part of their "encore" but came before

no Tokio :( might be the first show without it?

fucking Novi val

the way Jure jumped up and sprinted to trade a drumstick for a baguette, it was so hilarious

he was so happy, and he first made fun of Nace for being unable to eat it

he shared it with Jan

Jan got chocolate and they put it into the baguette and then shared it.

Jure let everyone else also take a bite, including Bojan who was ostensibly singing

Nace bottle feeding Kris. What the fuck. Can someone make sure they still don't know about AO3?

no Umazane shenanigans even though Jan and Nace had talked right before it so I'd been hopeful

so many um versions in other langauges. It wasn't the longest rendition, but we also

when Bojan said we'd get the original Slovene version, I thought it would be the one he made up on the spot when they went on stage to play it all the way back? When they were babies. So it was a small disappointment when it was just the regular Slovene version 😂

Bojan asked the Slovenians if they were able to tell that they weren't playing at home and they said no and Bojan was so so delighted

he's also given the mic to people in the audience outside of Umazane misli (ne bi smel and plastika, I want to say)

he sang galaxy of me with a guy from the front row (Josh?)

not a lot of Jance, possibly because they were looking after Kris?

still a lot of eye contact

or maybe it was the fact that they apparently were out in Paris together in the afternoon 😏

my phone was so hot by the end (and I have 4gb left of memory)

after the gig I couldn't find my hat so I was worried I'd left it, so I went back in. Which was how I got JC and Vita to sign my gig memory book

I had forgotten about wanting to grab Vita's signature so if Astrid hadn't reminded me, I would have missed out

the boys got JC Stewart sick, he said his voice was going

It was raining so the boys ran out of the venue towards a van while we cheered. Bojan took a group selfie

Jan and Jure left first with the crew in that van so we assume that the others took a second car

[moonchats]

glue song - S.R

summary: where spence has a dance with you :)

warnings: major fluff, reader is also an agent,spencer’s bi because just because the writers can take it away doesn’t mean it’s staying away,

*reader is gender neutral and description isn’t described!*

Your home was homey, green walls and dim litted rooms, it made you in awe of it every-time you walked through the door. It made you smile even more when you realise your boyfriend lived in your dream home without you ever knowing.

You and Spence were close before you finally got together, you two were the best of friends, you sat across from him for 3 years feeling sorry for yourself as he talks about a girl he kissed, or a guy he liked wallowing in self pity, wishing it was you he chose to care for, and wish was there when he awoke. And finally your wish came true. And it had been the best years of your life.

Both of you had the day off, you decided to spend finishing up research and baking while Spence had took himself on a walk to the bookstore on the corner before he got groceries. Chocolate fudge cake, with sprinkles of course, was a favourite of Spencer’s so you decided to make it regularly, and any left overs were greatly appreciated by the rest of your team, which is what you were making now. Spencer and you were insanely alike, both of you loving doing your own thing but in the company of each other, more like shared silence, but both of you still needed recharge time and you both have your own ways of doing it.

Their was cocoa powder all over the kitchen, and cake mix on your face, but with the sound of music humming from the record player throughout the appartement, nothing could diminish such a good mood. With birds lightly chirping from the gutter above the window, and the sun shining on the ever growing collection of books, it was a perfect day.

As if on queue, Spencer walked through the door as soon as you thought of perfect, holding bags of groceries and a smile on his face. “Isn’t this a sight for sore eyes” he gushed, heat rushing to your cheeks, as he placed the groceries on the counter placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Well hello” You smiled towards him, he wore a light washed pair of jeans with a thin jumper along with his shirt and tie, with the glasses that make you smitten, “,this should be done in about 40 minutes”

The glow on his face was nothing but appreciation, an appreciation of you, and your love for him, “I love you” He smiled, a thank you from him.

“I didn’t even do anything”

“Yeah, but you’re here and so i love you” He responded, your heart full.

The piano started, from a track you both adored, ‘Hooked on romance’ from the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra filled the room. You looked him in the eye, “Dance with me?”

“Dance with yo-, I can’t dance, i can barely stand without falling” He chuckled, you smacked his shoulder lightly, pleading with him with your eyes, “Fine but you can’t judge me.”

His fingers lightly grasped yours before he pulled you into him to rest your head on his shoulder, as you swayed with him to the song, before he pulled away from you, holding on to your hand to spin you around before pulling you back to him. Your head instantly rested onto him again,

“I feel like i’m stuck to you, like i cant think of my life without you” You whispered.

“Then don’t, stop acting like you’ll become a ghost of my memory, i’m here for you, till forever” He rubbed your back and you both carried on swaying.

A smile appeared on your face, which he felt grow against his chest “Then I guess i’m stuck forever”

by the glue OH AND YOUUUU!!!

also the song they danced too was

it’s on of my fav tracks of all time, please give it a listen if you get time i promise it won’t be a bad decision!!

also, i’m making all my ‘x Reader’ fics gender neutral from now on, i try to limit the description on the reader as much as i can so be as inclusive as possible, please let me know anywhere else i can make it more inclusive with my language

and also please lmk if you enjoyed, spencer is a very comforting character so i love writing fluff for him because it comes to me so easily!!! - Love you to the Moon and back xx

[proffesionalalpaca]

So I saw Avatar 2: The Way of Water. 10/10 visuals and 6.5/10 for story. But I’m looking forward to #3 in a few years which is supposedly going to feature a tribe or clan(s) of fire Na’vi/ ‘ash people’. There is next to nothing on these guys in terms of info at the moment besides the fact that they are gonna be the bad guys of the Na’vi.

So everything after this point is basically my head-cannon/speculation/fanfic. Enjoy :)

So I interpreted them as having a nomadic warrior society, not like other Na’vi but far more bloodthirsty in fighting other Na’vi tribes, who live near and around volcanoes.

They have a greyish-purple skin tone with sharp, dark stripes that sometimes form crude spiral shapes with darkened fingertips that end in sharpened claws, filing their nails to needle sharpness with volcanic rock. Their muscular and powerful tails have armoured plates, heavily clustered around the end of the tail and evolved from hair, which can be used as a bludgeoning weapon that can easily crush a human rib cage and femur whilst inflicted deep wounds (picture ancient Aztec obsidian clubs or ankylosaurus). The fire Na’vi tend to have amber to red eyes with dark grey/ black sclera. Compared to other Na’vi sub-species and variants, the fire Na’vi have a larger set of double fangs, a large pair of canines on their upper jaw and a smaller but pronounced set on their lower jaw, they also possess larger pointed ears that are often pierced when they pass the trials of adulthood.

The ash people prefer to keep their hair loose with typically only a few beaded braids and chunky plaits to stylise and manage, each bead has a significance to the person wearing it usually marking a hunt or battle, but sometimes can mark other things like the birth of a child or death of a loved one. When going to battle they will tie their hair into tight styles like braided buns, some even braid their hair around their tswins/queues an extra layer of protection due to inter-clan disputes involving the decapitation of queues as a savage battle tactic or prisoner of war’s punishment. The gesture is more symbolic than practical, even though some swear by the practice. When a person is exiled from the clan their hair is cut short to the scalp as a sign of dishonour, marking them as outcast. (Shorter styles are okay but anything above the ears is an exiles mark).

The fire Na’vi often choose to ride upon large creatures that resemble earth salamanders and some dare to ride upon a rare species of feathered Ikran. Many tribes are almost always accompanied by several large tortoise-like animals, twice the size of the direhorse/ Pa’li, these creatures are much slower but are great beats of burden as the clans often has to pack up their sites to avoid the ever shifting lava flows that litter the region they call home. In times of great hardship ones of these animals will sustain an entire clan for over a week. Moving great distances isn’t common but will happen in the event of larger eruptions which occurs once every few generations so the clans make a habit of moving semi-regularly in order to avoid overusing the lands which would incur Eywa’s wrath.

The ‘ash people’ decorate themselves in fiery colours that reflect the lava that spews from Pandora like blood, using a mixture of glass beads, gems and feathers, an amber like mineral being particularly popular among them.

Due to their warring nature, the warriors of these Na’vi take to wearing the bones of slain enemies as trophies, jewellery and sometimes even fashioned/ incorporated into weapons and tools. Nearly every adult fire Na’vi has scars from hunting or fighting and it is encouraged to have wounds from battle scar over, a member’s first scar from a conflict or life & death struggle is often celebrated by close family and friends as an unofficial first step into adulthood (Their first literal steps being a walk over hot lava rocks).

The ash Na’vi also create their signature red war paint using volcanic ash mixed with blood from a kill, either a great beast they hunted or an enemy Na’vi.

Contrary to popular belief from other Na’vi groups, the ash people do not practice cannibalism though they do use their very sharp double fanged bites to tear out throats should their hands be otherwise occupied.

Their interpretation of Eywa differs greatly from most other Na’vi as they feel that they are subject to her true fury and are thus stronger for it, they believe that all life must be preceded and followed by destruction and death for there to be rebirth or renewal. The fire Na’vi believe that they must always adapt or die, as their way of life requires for them to never be complacent or set too heavily in their ways, though strong cultural traditions have remained for thousands of millennia such as their weaving and culinary techniques.

Hope you enjoyed that little bit of cultural speculation of a fictional alien cat species.

[generic-whumperz]

Bullshit & Masterlist(s)

THIS BLOG CONTAINS ADULT (NSFW) CONTENT, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED! 

(This ain’t a daycare, minors kick rocks)

We write sins and tragedies

Side blogs:

•@generic-whumper (SFW whumping) •@generic-throw-away-blog (random bs & some fandom stuff) •@generic-writing-tips (exactly as it sounds) •@generic-horror-slut (for just straight up horror and gore)

The Aid Masterlist (current WIP, 18+)

Apocamerica AU

Other works can be found at the bottom of this post under “Story Stuff,” but there isn't much else because I'm focusing on The Aid for now.

Congratulations, you have stumbled upon another (generic) whump blog, hence the name! Blog est. Aug 2023. Currently just working on one story right now (yay hyperfixations), that is slowly consuming every waking thought. Help

Fun facts to share with the class:

I prefer to be anonymous on here, so just call me “Generic/Gen,” them/them, mid (quit lying to yourself) late-20’s.

Dyslexic bitch & silly goose—please excuse typos, misspellings, and any grammatical errors! I re-read and edit as best as I can, but my brain be playin’ tricks on me, and shit falls through the cracks! Just manage your expectations is all I’m sayin’, I’m not a professional.

I’m (unfortunately) an American and my obnoxious word choice will probably reflect that.

I’m currently a full-time college student taking a single class because I suck! But still, any written works I choose to share will not be uploaded on a set schedule (I write slow, my brain only occasionally works, & yada-yada), I apologize in advance!    

I run a queue—and nah I won’t tag it.

Lover of cryptids (Mothman fucks), paranormal enthusiast and certified Haunted™️. Weird shit WILL leak into my writing eventually. Don’t be surprised if a ghost or skin walker makes a cameo. It’s more fun this way, just go with the flow.

House plant addict. They are all my children. Ask me how big my monstera is ;)

Irl I’m a (professional) stained glass artist

What You’ll See Here: 

All types of Whump; I’m talking all of it bay-bee (detailed types below this section), including: polls, writings, prompts, tropes, scenarios, art, gifs, etc.

Reblogs-a-plenty

Really bad home grown memes 

Whumpy rambling coming straight from my delirious brain

My own sub-par short stories, ficlits, and maybe even an eventual series or two

My own mediocre art

I fuck with a lot and don’t really have any “squicks”, but to narrow it down, the prime pickings are:

All gender & POC whump (including lady whump, lady whumpers, mixed gendered Whumpee & Whumper combos, etc. Errybody getting whumped ‘round here. But yes I love to see men particularly in distress and blubbering bloody messes, sue me.)

APOCALYPSE (+ sci-fic & fantasy)

RED ROOMING

CULT

SLAVERY

TORTURE (especially in explicit detail)

Cannibalism & weird blood shit

Gore and body horror (including puke and all that)

Hurt/no comfort, maximum pain and immense suffering is the name of the game 🤘

When I do dabble in comfort—recovery and caretaking is preferably longer with nuanced healing journeys and after character has been through absolute hell and it’s messy AF

Physical, emotional, and psychological whump (if there’s all three it’s a magical trifecta of hurt)

Drug (illicit and otherwise)

Dehumanization

Captivity (short & long term)

Vampires & zombies (see GORE & CANNIBALISM)

Multiple Whumpees, multiple Whumpers

Family of whumpers (this is niche I know but fuck is it my kryptonite) 

The biggest POS and/or terrifying Whumpers imaginable (for the love of all things unholy, make them shamelessly bad and vile)

Chains, restrains, collars, gags, muzzles, rope (etc.)—just tie that biz-nitch down!

Explicit stuff like non-con, dub-con, forced drugging, etc. Wreck that bussy.

Other Story Stuff & Random Things:

Subject X: BB217 Intro

[goblininawig]

Death & Mischief, Part 2

This is one of two short pieces I wrote for Death Appreciation Week, hosted by @orionsangel86 , about two times that Death of the Endless and Loki of Asgard crossed paths.

Death and Mischief At the World's Fair

Once every hundred years, Death of the Endless becomes human. On this day in May 1893, she is Daisy Smith, a visitor to the World’s Columbian Exhibition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair. But she's not the only immortal being present that day.

~600 words | Rated T | a03 link

Includes spoilers for Loki, Season 2

Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode: s02e03 1893 (Loki TV), Death Becomes Human for a Day, Historical References, Canon Compliant, Random Encounters, Short One Shot

Daisy chatted excitedly with her cousins, who flanked the smaller girl as they rode the Intramural Railway at the World’s Columbian Exhibition. Charlotte and Beatrice had not, until waking up that morning, had a cousin Daisy. Reality rearranged itself to allow Death of the Endless to become human for a day, once every hundred years. Today she was Daisy Smith, visiting her Chicago relatives so she might see the fair.

Her aunt and uncle sat behind them. It had already been an exciting day, and they were resting their feet as the sounds of brass bands wafted in from the surrounding park. Their little group disembarked at the next station and proceeded to the domed Palace of Fine Arts, where they wandered happily through the galleries, viewing art from masters all over the world.

After stopping for refreshments, they paid a visit to the Chinese Village. Daisy was staring at the red and gold replica of a Potala temple when her attention was drawn to a pair of white gentlemen who were softly arguing nearby.

“I told you: legwork. That requires walking…observing. This time and place is all we've got to go on. So we keep looking until we find a clue,” asserted the shorter man, who had gray hair and a thick mustache beneath his brown fedora.

The taller man, with had dark hair, a green silk tie, and a grumpy expression at odds with the other fair-goers, retorted, “Mobius, do you really think we’ll just stumble across Renslayer if we walk far enough? Because that’s not going to happen.”

“Daisy!” called her aunt, waving her to join them. “Come along, dear. We’re going inside.”

The curious little girl hurried after her relatives, leaving the mysterious men to their argument.

As night fell, all the park lights came on, the fairgrounds seemed even more impressive. Her aunt and uncle were ready to leave, but Daisy, supported by her cousins, begged to ride enormous Ferris Wheel first. The adults capitulated, and they joined the queue.

When they were on board, Daisy pressed close to the wall of the enormous glass carriage, it turned and rose enough for the next carriage to fill with passengers. Finally, their carriage was at the apex of the enormous wheel, and the gleaming lights of the "White City" twinkled down below her.

“Can you believe this is real?” she asked her cousins. “It’s like being in a fairy tale.”

Their carriage turned around the wheel, suddenly showing Daisy a veiw of the two men she’d heard arguing near the temple. They were in the next car with a mustachioed, bespectacled Black gentleman with them. Most shockingly, a white woman in a strange costume was attacking them. Daisy and the other passengers facing the nearby car all gasped and exclaimed over the exchange. Bursts of green light, like some sort of magic trick, kept appearing and disappearing.

“Is it a show?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t think so,” Daisy replied. “They seem in earnest.”

The commotion ended as quickly as it had begun. No one could understand what had happened. Shortly afterwards, the ride ended. Daisy and her relatives disembarked.

They were heading to the nearest exit when the Ghost Clock, of which they’d heard rumors - appeared suddenly, huge and unbelievable, over the Midway.

“Girls, hurry!” shouted Daisy’s uncle, putting his arms around them and rushing them to safety. Daisy screamed and ran with the other girls. They quickly put the apparition out of sight.

“Well, I shall never forget this night, not in a hundred years!” declared Daisy’s aunt that evening as she tucked the girls into bed. “You’ll certainly have a lot to tell your family when you go home again.”

“I certainly shall,” Daisy replied with a strange, knowing smile.

[trans-lykanthropie]

New Faces

The ship came to a slow, gentle stop in port, carefully coaxed in by all hands on deck. The long journey is, for now, over. Unloading the passengers takes hours, however, as snaking queues clatter down the gang planks hauling cases and bags. Soon after the unloading of cargo will start, but you don't need to be around for that. The captain has been tending to her own duties, checking that her trunk is sorted, and gathering up the ship's log book to take to the company offices. For once she's in her proper uniform and looks rather smart; a long navy blue top coat, wing collar and black tie, and her usual peaked cap. You bump into her as she's leaving her cabin.

"Oi oi!" she beams. Even in her smart clothes, she's still the same wild character as always.

"Good thing I bumped into you, I was going to ask if you wanted to get a pint? I need to go drop off these logs first, you can come with and we'll get a drink after. Sound good?"

She doesn't even give you time to answer before clapping you on the shoulder in her typical way.

"Grand stuff, let's go."

Eventually the two of you reach dry land, after talking with the other crew on the way out. You'll all see each other again in a few days when the ship is due to put to sea again, but for now it's just you and the captain. After a whistle-stop tour to see the most humourless desk clerk you've encountered at the Reedereibüro the two of you set off along the dockside, weaving amid freight and jostling through the melee of people. You try to match the captain's bounding strides, who seems to melt through the throng without a problem, and you spot how occasionally dockers will look in your direction. Sometimes the captain waves, to the surprise of the other party. One man holding a skein of cord seems to whisper something to a young boy, who goes sprinting off into the crowd. They can't recognise you surely, you've never been here before.

After cutting through the crowds effortlessly, and talking without pause on a jumble of subjects both professional and personal, the captain dives down an alleyway to the right. Clearly she knows the place well, that much is obvious. The streets get narrower the deeper you go, and more and more often you hear whispers in courtyards and catch sight of people looking out of gloomy windows. After a surprisingly speedy and exhausting forced march, you reach a ramshackle pub. The sign above the door, impeccably painted and maintained, reads 'The Fiddler's Green'.

Swinging an arm around your shoulders, the captain deftly bounds through the door in a single effortless motion. The interior is gloomy, lit by a few sputtering oil lamps hanging from nails that curl up from the wall posts and hang from rafters. The air is heavy yet cozy, the wood muffles sound in the way old timber frame buildings do. A woman is standing behind the bar, cleaning glasses and heavy beer mugs whilst humming a tune to herself.

The captain presses her finger to her lips and virtually drags you across the room. When you're only two thirds of the way to the bar, the woman looks up and gasps.

"Dear Gods!" she splutters, setting the mug down with a heavy thud on the countertop, "Nelly!"

Before you know it, the woman has leapt around the end of the bar and grabbed the captain in a long hug. The captain returns it in kind as the two laugh.

"I didn't know you were back on land!" the woman says, almost in tears, "Gods the place is going to be full to the rafters tonight mark my words. Look at you! You've changed, yet you're still the same little whelp I know. How long are you staying? You can have the smaller room if you want, we've got guests in the other I'm afraid. Have you eaten? How's it been at sea? Cripes I need to get Badger to tell the others, they'll want to know you're here."

Her stream-of-conscious ends abruptly as she realises you're there. For a moment she's extremely wary and casts her eyes over you.

"Oh how rude of me, who's this then?" she asks, suddenly coming across as quite formal. The captain introduces you and she relaxes again, back to her previous warm demeanor.

"Think of them as one of the pack, they're lovely. I can vouch for them," the captain says, winking at you. You're not sure what being 'one of the pack' entails, but you don't really have time to think about before a door behind the bar opens and a tall, heavy set figure walks in, tucking a weighty hammer under his broad leather belt.

"And where on earth have you been, you scoundrel?!" the figure booms, grinning broadly. A flash of sharp teeth. Even the captain seems dwarfed by the man as he lumbers over with those same, oddly muffled footsteps that the captain makes. In a blink of an eye she's in a headlock, laughing as her cap falls to the floor to be grabbed by a young girl you hadn't noticed was there. Members of the family, mostly young but also a few adults, seem to be filtering invisibly into the room through hidden doorways. You hadn't realised how busy it was until now.

The captain makes sure to introduce you to everyone, and you receive an endless barrage of hugs, vigorous handshakes, claps on the back, and shy wide-eyed greetings from the younger ones. In the distance you can just about hear the wail of factory whistles echoing as the workday ends.

The man with the hammer is called Edward ("Gods no, please call me Tip, everyone else does") and asks you lots of questions, pressing a pint into your hand as he talks with the same breathless enthusiasm the captain does. The captain herself is chatting to the woman from before, whose name is May, and ruffling the hair of the young girl who's still clinging tight to her hat. A few more women and men come in to roars of excitement and another round of emotional greeting. Nothing, however, could prepare you for when, about ten minutes later, the pub door bursts open anew causing the plate glass in the window to rattle.

"Who's this stranger in our neck of the woods?" a man in a flat cap cries, and a gang of working folk of all kinds floods the bar like an unstoppable wave. The chaos is boundless, a cacophony of voices that you find yourself in the middle of. You're still standing next to Tip, but now you're being enthusiastically grilled by a docker called Horatio on the subject of engines (he seems well informed as he wipes oily grime from his hands with a cloth). A fearsome and matronly fishmonger called Ms. Flite asks about how the captain was aboard ship and if she 'behaved herself', as a young lad in a smart suit whose name you didn't hear chuckles when you relate some of your more eerie experiences aboard the Fenrir. The din only rises as the captain and a group of compatriots break out into a bawdy rendition of The Barley Mow. It's enough to make your head spin, yet you feel strangely at home in the throng of people.

After a while, Tip strides to the bar and, checking that all the adults have some kind of drink in their hand, silence the room with his deep booming voice.

"Everyone," he calls to the room, "to our little Nelly!"

The thunderous cheers and raising of glasses threatens to bring the ceiling down, and the captain, beaming and blushing bright red, graciously accepts toast with a bow. Her wing collar and tie are already gone, she's back to her usual messy self.

"To the pack!" she calls back, and the cheers begin again. Horatio takes a swig of his own drink then looks at you.

"Drink up friend!" he shouts over the renewed clamour of conversation, "Next one's on me!"

[priya-san]

Inktober 2023 - Day 1 JojaMart

I'm going the multi prompt list and multi fandom this year! Basically this is my way of showing I have to many ideas and I can't commit to one, so I'm going to try them all! Will I succeed or crash any burn? Let's find out together!

Prompt taken from the Grapefruit Sky Inktober prompts!

Fandom: Stardew Valley Characters: Reshmi Lavari (my farmer), Morris Pairing: N/A Rating: M (CW: Swears, anxiety, corporate burnout, corporate guilt, mentions of a shitty ex)

The warm spring rain surrounded Reshmi, as she stood outside the stark white building on the furthermost corner of town. She gripped her umbrella tightly. Not even the gentle pitter patter of rain hitting her umbrella could sooth her in this state. She’d manage to avoid shopping at the local JojaMart for two months now, but after her Grandfather’s old toaster died this morning, Reshmi knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

You can do this, Resh. Just run in, grab the damn thing, and run out.

A cold blast of air greeted her as the automatic doors opened. Reshmi shielded her eyes from the harsh white light that lit up the store. Each JojaMart store was engineered in the exact same way, to get customers to spend as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. After fifty years of operating, JojaCorp had it down to an exact science. A science that Reshmi herself had helped push all across the country thorough her work with the legal team. The generic pop music that was playing in the background was interrupted by DJ Joja to let customers know that there was a limited time sale going on in aisle three. Reshmi watched as customers curiously wandered over, in an almost zombie like state, driven by the desire for a bargain. A shiver ran down her back. She swallowed the guilt she felt bubbling in her chest, and made her way to the appliance aisle.

The toaster was easy enough to find. While she hated to admit it, JojaMart really did have shockingly low prices. Driving to Grampleton and buying this same model at the local homewares store would have cost almost double if she counted the money needed for petrol. As soon as the farm did well enough, she was buying her new stove from a local retailer. She had to. With her new found resolve and guilt abated just a little, Reshmi made her way to the checkout queue. While waiting for the lone cashier to scan through the people in front of her, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“I can help you with that if you like.” A short man with glasses, and neatly swept back black hair grinned at her. He wore a full three piece suit and an obnoxious red tie. Reshmi mentally rolled her eyes, this had to be the manager. She nodded and the man led her to the customer service desk and scanned through the toaster. Reshmi pulled out her card to pay, but the man just grinned wider. “You’re the new Farmer aren’t you?”

Great, he’s chatty. Reshmi nodded, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

“I knew it, you’ve been the talk of the town for a few weeks now.” He held his hand out. “Name’s Morris, I’m the manager of the first ever JojaMart in the Valley.” She grabbed his sweaty palm and he shook her hand vigorously. “It’s always great to get more people moving here, helps with the economy as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Reshmi made a noncommittal hum in return. “Morris, I appreciate you helping me out, but I would like to be on my way.”

“Of course, I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you. Let’s see here,” Morris rattled off the price and Reshmi tapped her card to pay. While he grabbed a bag for the toaster, she noticed the cork-board behind him. It was filled with news clippings and photos of JojaCorp achievements. One was about the latest mining project they had undertaken, another of the company revenue figures. All boastful corporate language, which was all too familiar. But it was the headline about the Joja Expansion project that really caught Reshmi’s attention. She felt a heavy lurch in the pit of her stomach. Shit. That was her project. Sure enough, underneath was a photo of the whole team, she and Owen right in front. He had her hand around her waist, pulling her towards him, with the both of them grinning for the camera. A wave of nausea threaten to overwhelm her. It was all so fake. So freaking fake. She had to get out of here.

“Done, and I’ve dropped a couple of coupons in there too. As a welcome gift.” Morris winked, he actually winked at her. She had to go.

The coupons were thrown in the trash as soon as she left, with the toaster almost along with it. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead she rushed home in the rain, this time without bothering with the umbrella. Relishing the feeling of the raindrops on her skin, forcing her to feel something other than numb. Her resolve grew stronger with every step, and she knew she wouldn’t be stepping into JojaMart ever again. Instead she grabbed her last packet of parsnip seeds, and head out to till the soil. She had more work to do.

Want more Reshmi? You can read my Harvey x Farmer fic here!

[sparrowandbee]

Chapter 5, Part 2 | Chapter 7

The Sparrow: Chapter 6: Playing to the Crowd

Synopsis: Marian reveals her story to the Capitol during her interview in a last-minute attempt to attract sponsors.

Warnings: Mention of alcoholism and substance abuse, objectification of narrator, some cursing.

Author’s Note: Happy new year, everybody!! I’ve loved seeing more and more Haymitch appreciation, so here’s some more of his POV, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1780

Somehow all the plucking and the waxing didn’t hurt as much the second time around. Granted there was less hair, but I think the anxious adrenaline of having to look sympathetic on screen minimised the sting. I barely felt the hairdresser tugging my thick strands into some ridiculous braided updo because my mind was completely elsewhere.

“What should I say?” I tried to turn my head towards Haymitch, who sat nonchalantly on the stool next to the huge red vanity of the dressing room but the stylist quickly snapped me back.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Just answer the questions genuinely.” He replied matter-of-factly, looking up quizzically at the hairstylist's hands working to pin another fake braid atop my head.

From the corner of my eye we shared a knowing glance of how ridiculous this all was.

I didn’t explicitly thank him for the gift… I had a feeling that that was better left unsaid, but everything felt more comfortable between us now. I knew he was truly on my side, no strings attached and the gift was the last piece of proof I needed.

We had been all smiles and jokes that morning, I felt a bit bad for Alder at the breakfast table. I had tried to include him in the conversation but he wasn’t very receptive. Haymitch even offered to be with him before the interview but he refused. Not that Alder needed any help- he got an 8 in training and was good looking enough to charm a crowd.

A little part of me was happy at his indifference towards the mentorship- I selfishly wanted to spend as much time as I could with Haymitch before the Games.

His presence had become a warm, familiar thing that I was absolutely dependent on.

Plus I needed his help now more than ever if I was going to make a successful last-minute plea for sponsors.

“Yeah, but-“ I began replying to Haymitch but the hairstylist cut me off with a monotone “Up.”

I swiftly obeyed until he reached for the tie of my robe, nearly undoing it.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, holding the thick towel material shut.

“Vanilla wants you dressed now,” he said unflinchingly, judging me from behind his pink-rimmed glasses.

“But… with him in the room?” I pointed towards Haymitch who was looking at the ceiling. I was shocked at the stylist’s neutrality as he shrugged. He quite literally couldn't care less about Haymitch’s presence.

“It’s alright, I’ll just…” Haymitch turned the stool around and faced the wall.

As if on queue, five more stylists came into the cramped dressing room and descended on me with another revealing black dress and plenty of glittery oil for my body. Vanilla trailed not far behind. I just hoped this one would be slightly more modest than my parade ensemble.

“You look absolutely gorgeous!” Vanilla exclaimed. That was not a good sign.

She turned me around to the nauseatingly bright full-length mirror and I could barely believe my eyes. Sure, this dress had more fabric, but I felt just as naked.

The dress was mostly just black lace with a low-cut strapless neckline that barely covered my breasts with just a layer of thinly padded lace. My torso was covered by a slightly more opaque mesh but my legs were pretty much exposed despite the gown’s length.

The lace was beautiful, I’ll give her that. It featured the most delicate bouquets of flowers throughout its entire length, but the fabric’s aesthetic value was the least of my concerns as I was strapped into toe-squeezing pointed glossy black high heels.

I felt utterly humiliated, and I was expected to smile and make conversation despite it.

Vanilla held my highlighted shoulders and admired her work in excitement. I didn’t want to look at myself so I turned my eyes up to the smooth white ceiling and crossed my arms to try to conceal what Vanilla’s dress accentuated so well.

After a few seconds she got bored of me and my lack of enthusiasm and wordlessly ushered her hoard of stylists out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind them I turned around to find Haymitch still looking at the wall.

I smiled. That was considerate of him.

“You can turn around now,” I told him, tightly squeezing my arms over my chest but not having a solution to my exposed legs, “thanks.”

He grinned, looking only at my face.

“I think that gold eye makeup looks really nice. It makes your eyes pop.”

And in that utterly humiliating situation, Haymitch got a genuine, full-toothed smile out of me.

He looked good too. The button-up shirt hugged his subtle musculature just right, and despite the harsh light there was such a warmth on his face.

I loved the way his smile made his cheeks a little round in contrast to his masculine, harsh nose. But by far the best part was that unwavering blue-eyed glaze, so steadfast I could almost pinpoint some love behind it… almost.

I took a step forward, ignoring the pain of my feet. I knew I shouldn’t but-

“Come, come! It’s time to line up!” Vanilla’s high-pitched voice called from outside along with her repeated knocking on the door. It was probably for the best, but I felt slightly disappointed regardless.

I gave Haymitch a stern nod as I walked towards the door- a reassurance that despite it all, I was a woman of my word and tonight I’d stick to my promise. For both of us.

He nodded back just as Vanilla pulled me away.

—

I took my spot next to the other mentors just as Marian was taking the stage. I stood right in front of the mounted flat-screen as she walked across the stage, her teeth looking paper-white through red-coloured lips. Somehow the same M who was basically folding in on herself just a few minutes ago now stood tall and walked gracefully as she greeted Caesar Flickerman.

She was good at this.

Good.

The audience roared in whistles and claps as M waved some more before taking a seat on the chair across from the interviewer. It was an absolutely unprecedented reaction for a District 12 tribute.

They obviously viewed her as their pretty plaything, the unfortunate styling said as much. But the stubborn, petulant Marian was playing along now, wrapping Caesar and the audience around her freshly manicured finger with a big, fake smile.

“Wow, Marian! It’s hard to believe that such a pretty face hails from the mining district. Tell us, have you ever worked the mines?” Caesar asked through his own toothy smile. It may have been a cheesy question but one that could tug the right heartstrings (and wallets) if M played into it.

“Um, yes, yes.” I could tell she was thrown off by the question but she never dropped her smile. “I was younger than most but-”

“Oh! And how come?” Caesar acted as though every word out of her mouth was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard. It was so fake but damn was the audience eating it up. Even the mentors had gone quiet now.

“Well, I was eight years old when my mother died, which left me officially orphaned,” she shifted uncomfortably, letting the facade slip slightly. I hated that she had to do all of this. I hated that I had to encourage it. “But she was never really present, so I’ve been surviving on my own for a long time.”

“Tell us more about that,” Caesar’s voice was full of fabricated pity. I knew she would hate that but it was necessary. Her story would help humanise her and appeal to the performative charity of the sponsors.

I knew her story, most regulars at the Hobb did- everyone at least knew of Edalia Kuns and the child she left when her addiction caught up with her. Her dad was going to be hanged for having orchestrated some sort of rebellion at the mines, but he escaped instead, leaving his girlfriend and newborn daughter. Marian’s mom wasted her last penny on any alcohol, powder, or pill she could get her hands on. She caused such a mess around town, I remember overhearing merchants sharing their relief when they found out she had overdosed. It was despicable.

Marian started working the mines at 16, tragically young to be in such a dangerous, dirty place. Having gotten to know her, I don’t know how she didn’t let it harden her. Despite all of it she still inhabited this world with flowers on her collar and energy to tell stories to the huddled orphans on the street.

“And tell us, what was your first impression of the Capitol after leaving dreary District 12?” Caesar continued probing.

I took a deep breath, not believing that it wasn’t over.

“Oh, well, I’ve been taking some pretty life changing showers.”

The crowd erupted with laughter. They liked her. I knew that that was our goal but I couldn’t help the rising jealousy as I watched the crowd scan her up and down. With just a little more courage I wanted to match on that stage, swoop her away, and give her real clothes. Screw the Games. Screw the sponsors. I just wanted her to be safe.

“Ha! Well that certainly is a charming answer,” Caesar looked out at the crowd who applauded on queue, like well trained baboons, “now the question that is on everyone’s mind: is there a lucky boy back home, Marian?”

Ugh. This question.

Judging by her face, she thought the same thing.

“Oh, no,” her giggle was an intoxicating sound as it escaped from her red lips, “I was too busy trying to survive, unfortunately.”

More laughter. I rolled my eyes on her behalf.

“Well, Marian, it seems like the entire Capitol is in love with you right now!” Caesar exclaimed out to the audience while she gave one last big smile to the camera. She was really good. “And if you win you’ll certainly have your pick of Capitol men!”

She stood up and the crowd followed suit, whistling and cheering as she waved. She looked down and the gold on her eyelids highlighted the warm chestnut colour of her eyes.

The whole ensemble was painfully Capitol, except for that eyeshadow. That color was all Marian- warm, luminous, beautiful.

I didn’t even realise how much I missed her. How much I needed her by my side, the few hours of separation tugged at my heart.

What will happen when she’s gone into the arena?

Whatever the outcome I knew in that moment that I would never recover from Marian Cartwright.

—

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