#hes nine guys look how talented he is already

[reallysaneguy]

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOURE DOING AND LOOK AT THE SPIDER-NOIR MY BABY COUSIN DREW FOR ME

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[arieslost]

the other papaya | op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader (brief pato o’ward x fem!reader)

summary: something something the first five times you hear the name “oscar piastri” and the one time you say it

wc: 3,165

warnings: mention of covid lockdown, a wee bit o’ angst, drinking

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

The first time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was said in contempt.

You knew your boyfriend didn’t hate him, but you also knew that Pato could practically hear the phone ringing with the offer to drive for McLaren in F1 right up until he found out that the seat was going to someone else. To Oscar Piastri. The “kid,” as he so aptly referred to him.

“He’s only two years younger than you,” you admonished him one night, soon after the announcement was made public.

“Exactly. A kid.”

“I’m two years younger than you.” You said, and that made him wrinkle his nose.

“Point taken.”

You would describe your relationship with Pato O’Ward as puppy love. Things between the two of you escalated a little too quickly, as many things in 2020 did. You went from going on a whopping four dates by the end of 2019 to living together for the foreseeable future when everything went on lockdown. Your mother had voiced her concern about it, but if you didn’t live with him you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Besides, you liked each other so much that it only made sense that you continued to build your relationship in the comfort of his spacious apartment. The two of you settled into a decent rhythm, and you took the time to learn more about motorsport. When he was finally able to hit the track again, you went to every race you could, decked out in papaya, cheering him on no matter what. And you continued to do so even though he lost his chance at driving in F1 to “the kid.”

The second time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it came from the man himself when you ran into him at the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.

It was the first time you felt rather hesitant about going to a race with your boyfriend. Pato was welcomed to the McLaren F1 team as a reserve driver, and that was how you found yourself feeling extremely out of place in the McLaren garage. You met Oscar’s girlfriend before you met him, and while she was kind enough to get you a pair of headphones and offer to sit with you during the race, the entire interaction had you feeling like you should’ve just stayed back at the hotel. All the other WAGs were dressed to the nines, looking effortlessly beautiful, and you were wearing ripped jeans and a jersey with Pato’s number on it, like you always did, even though he wasn’t racing. With Pato busy in a debrief, you were busy just trying to stay out of the way and not stick out like a sore thumb.

“Excuse me,” someone said, and you assumed you were in the way, so you apologized and started moving when the person grabbed your arm to stop you. “No, sorry, I just– hi. You’re Pato’s girlfriend, yeah?”

Your eyes widened when you recognized the man talking to you. “Um… yes, I am.”

“I’m Oscar. Piastri,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, accepting his handshake and telling him your name in return. “Are you here to tell me I need to leave?”

“What? No, of course not. Pato told me you were here, so I wanted to come say hi.”

“Oh.” You could feel your face starting to grow hot, because you really weren’t sure what to do in this situation.

Pato lost a chance at a seat to this guy, and you remembered his disappointment well. But you didn’t expect Oscar to come up to you in a million years.

“That’s really nice of you,” you continued, trying to smile without looking too awkward. “Congrats on getting the seat. You must be pretty talented.”

“Ah, thanks.” He looked at you for a moment, and you looked back. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi.”

You giggled in spite of yourself. “You said that already.”

“Right, yeah. Well, it was nice to meet you,” he said, hesitantly tacking your name onto the end of his sentence. “Thanks for being here.”

“Nice to meet you too, Oscar. Good luck today.”

Two races later, Pato messaged him to congratulate him on his podium, and you mentioned wanting to thank and congratulate him yourself. You got Oscar’s number, and after his quick response, the conversation died out, just as you expected. You didn’t have anything else to say to him anyway, but soon after, you got a follow request from him on Instagram. You accepted without a second thought– just one papaya supporting another.

The third time you heard Oscar Piastri’s name, it was when a TikTok showed up on your feed talking about the “shocking split” between him and his girlfriend. You were reasonably surprised; his girlfriend was beautiful and kind, and from an outsider’s perspective they seemed quite happy with each other. The video went on to discuss speculation that his girlfriend was the one who had ended the relationship, and there were pictures of him looking visibly upset at the latest race. You closed the app, feeling like you were massively invading his privacy even though the first thing you saw upon opening Instagram was a statement on his story confirming the breakup. You couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

“Ah, so you saw, too,” Pato said, adjusting his workout clothes as he leaned over your shoulder.

“It’s terrible,” you sighed, shutting your phone off. “They seemed so happy together.”

“High school sweethearts, too. That makes it worse.”

You gave him a look. “You can feel bad for him, y’know.”

“I do!” Pato raised his hands with a laugh. “But if he wants to sit out of a race because of this, I won’t be upset.”

“You’re terrible, get out of here.” You shoved him playfully, and he left with a kiss on your forehead.

The last race weekend before summer break brought you a taste of the heartbreak Oscar went through only a couple months prior.

Pato had been in one of the older cars running some tests, and came home a little later than usual. He didn’t even answer your question of how his day was before he was sitting you down on the couch and looking anywhere but at your face.

“Pato, what’s going on? You’re kind of freaking me out,” you laughed nervously.

“I think we should break up.” He said, face stony.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a little while,” he began, “and I think it’s for the best.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” You asked, shifting away from him as you felt your heart begin to pound.

“Ever since I became a reserve driver.” He confessed, and you scoffed.

“Are you serious right now?”

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a F1 seat.” He said, like that made breaking up logical.

“Yeah, I know. And you know how I know? Because I’ve been around for years.” You hissed, standing up and walking towards the bedroom. “But I guess that means nothing to you.”

“Don’t be like that,” Pato protested, following close behind. “This is my career. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Right. Of course.” You nodded, moving about the room to collect as much of your stuff as you could with shaking hands.

The rest of the week went by in a blur. You packed up all your things and took the soonest flight to Australia to try and forget about the fact that Pato had just thrown away years of being together for a fleeting chance at driving a stupid race car.

The fourth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s on the other end of the phone.

The two weeks following your breakup are uneventful and entirely consist of you, the warm Australian sun, and the spare bedroom in your aunt and uncle’s house. You haven’t deleted any of your IndyCar posts, nor have you posted any more. In fact, you haven’t posted anything since the last time you were in Australia, only a few months ago. Your Instagram has become stagnant; a reflection of your real life. You haven’t told many people about your breakup, so you’re surprised when your phone rings. Even more so when you see who it is.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Oscar. Piastri,” he adds his last name like an afterthought, just like he did when he introduced himself in the garage.

“I know,” you say, pushing yourself into a sitting position on your bed. “Caller ID. Although you’re probably the last person I’d expect a call from.”

“Listen, are you not around anymore?” He asks, evidently not in the mood to beat around the bush. “I haven’t seen you, and you haven’t posted about IndyCar or anything.”

“Ah, um, yeah, no, I’m not.” You clear your throat uncomfortably. “Actually, Pato and I broke up. Well, he broke up with me. So, no reason for me to be around, I guess.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, his loud sigh crackling through the microphone. “I figured something was wrong. Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I’m uh… I’m sorry too. Seemed like you had a good thing going.”

“Thanks. Seemed that way for you, too,” he mumbles. “So… I guess things have really been sucking for both of us lately.”

“Pretty much.” You laugh.

“This is a terrible idea,” he begins after a moment of silence, “but are you in Australia right now?”

You debate lying to him, because it is a terrible idea, and you have a feeling you know what he’s going to say next. You don’t care. “I am.”

“Alright, well, it’s summer break for F1 right now, and to be honest you’re the only person I know that understands what I’ve been going through.”

“Are you asking me to be your wallowing buddy?” You ask.

“Something like that. My plan was pretty much along the lines of drowning our sorrows in alcohol.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and for some reason that does you in.

The fifth time you hear Oscar Piastri’s name, it’s through a cheap karaoke microphone.

You’ve lost count of how many days you’ve spent with him, and you feel like you’re still a little drunk from the night before when he breaks open a bottle of champagne.

“What is this, a celebration?” You ask, stretching your arms and legs out so you look like a starfish where you lay on the living room floor.

“It’s whatever the fuck we want it to be.” He takes two glasses and pours the champagne out.

You giggle at him while he dramatically sets them both down on the coffee table at your side. “You definitely pregamed before you got here.”

“I did not,” he protests, but you shake your head.

“No, no, you say curse words like that when you’re drunk.”

“Like what?”

“Like, ‘oh my God, this champagne is so fucking good.’” You mock him after taking a sip, and he starts laughing too.

“Fine, you caught me.” He throws his hands up. “I pregamed. But, I walked here, so who cares?”

You’re glad that your aunt and uncle are out for the night, because a few hours and countless glasses of champagne later find the both of you in the attic, discovering a karaoke microphone without a machine to match.

“Screw the machine, we don’t need the shitty machine,” Oscar rolls his eyes, watching you put batteries into the microphone. “We’ll just find something on YouTube. Does it work?”

You flip the switch and hold it up to your mouth. “HELLO? It works.”

You regret putting fresh batteries into it as soon as Oscar gets up to sing. You think that he might not be half bad if he’s sober, but drunk, his singing is absolutely insufferable. You would care if you weren’t equally as drunk as him. He pulls up a karaoke video of Last Friday Night by Katy Perry, only after getting you to swear on the lives of your entire family that you won’t tell anyone what you see or hear. You consider secretly recording him, but the second he starts, you’re practically folded in half from laughing so hard at his antics and the fleeting idea is gone.

He’s so dramatic with every lyric, like he’s trying to act all the words out while he’s singing about a stranger in his bed and pink flamingos in his (nonexistent) pool. When he gets to the part of the chorus talking about taking too many shots, he gestures for you to hand him the champagne bottle. You hand it over immediately and watch as he stops singing entirely to take a long drink straight from the bottle, ignoring how attractive he looks the whole while. You actually think that you’d really like to kiss him. You’re drunk, and you’re heartbroken. You just want to laugh and forget about it all. So when he chokes on the champagne for a moment and flounders to find where he’s supposed to be in the song, you do just that.

The song ends both too soon and not soon enough, and you give him a round of applause, chanting, “Encore!” a few times as he takes a bow.

“I’m Oscar Piastri,” he yells, “and I fucking hate relationships!”

You cheer loudly. “Speak on it!”

“Except I have a problem,” he says, all of a sudden dejected as he flops onto the couch beside you, still speaking into the mic. “I have a biiiig, huuuuge problem.”

“Tell the all-knowing, and she shall answer,” you turn onto your side to face him and reach out to… you don’t remember what you wanted to do. Maybe touch his cheek. Or his nose. Or his lips.

Your hand ends up resting on the top of his head, fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair.

“I think I might really like you,” he whispers, his words muffled by his lips smushing against the top of the mic. “Which is not good. I mean, it’s good, like, I think you’re amazing, but it’s not good, because I broke up and then you broke up, so we both broke up, but not with each other, with other people, and–”

You cut him off by taking the mic from him with your free hand and switching it off.

“Sorry.” He says, blinking at you slowly. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“We do,” you begin, petting his head. “Eventually. But not now. I am way too drunk to talk about this.”

This makes him start giggling, so you start giggling, and then you’re both cackling and clutching your stomachs.

You want to laugh, and forget about it, and you want to do it every single day with Oscar.

The first time you say the name Oscar Piastri, it’s while you’re laying in a hospital bed.

You’ve always been notorious for getting easily bruised, but breaking a bone is a first. Especially when it happens in the public eye.

You were only trying to make a cute, aesthetic TikTok showcasing your first race weekend as Oscar’s official girlfriend when you tripped and fractured your ankle in front of half the McLaren team. Not to mention the throng of fans mere feet away.

The two of you didn’t start dating until half a year after his drunken confession, and when you first started going out you had to be very discreet so fans didn’t expose the both of you before either of you were ready. Most of your dates ended up being at your aunt and uncle’s, which had become your home too once you got a job and started really getting yourself together after your breakup. He flew out to see you all the time, and as soon as he suggested that you come with him to the race of the season, you jumped on the opportunity. You didn’t think you’d ever go to a race again, but here you were. You were both happy, and you were both ready.

And now you’re fuming, mentally cursing yourself as you look down at your boot-covered ankle that has now effectively ruined your entire weekend.

Oscar comes rushing into the room, and you hold up a hand.

“Don’t tell me. Do not even tell me.” You shake your head. “Just tell me if it’s somewhat safe to go online or if I should just throw my phone out.”

“What?”

“I know people are talking about it. Oh, no.” Your eyes widen. “No, no. I’ve become a public embarrassment for you. I knew it. It only took me a few hours.” You cover your face with your hands. “Oh, my God… I am so sorry.”

“Again, what?” He asks, prying your hands away. “Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, aside from that,” you gesture to the boot, glaring at it before your eyes shoot back up to him. “Wait a second, how did quali go? Did you do your media stuff already?”

“I’m starting P5. I came here right after, no media.” He rushes out, pulling up a chair so he can sit right next to you and hold your hand. “They’re letting you go, right?”

“Yeah, just have to do some paperwork and get a prescription– why didn’t you go to the media?”

“Because they told me you got hurt? And you needed to be hospitalized?” He says, like it’s obvious.

“Oz, you get fined for that!” You exclaim. “Oh, no, this is so bad! First I embarrass you– no, not just you, probably the entire team, and now you’re here and not there and you’re going to get in trouble… fuck, what if you get fired?!”

“Baby, baby,” Oscar laughs, grabbing both of your hands now. “I’ll get fined, but I’m not gonna get fired just because I skipped media one time. Zak was fine with it, if that makes you feel better.”

You’re still worried, and he can see it in your eyes.

“What’s got you so worked up about this?” He asks softly.

“I just… don’t want to be a risk towards your career.” You say, feeling ashamed that you can still hear Pato’s words from the day he broke up with you. Oscar knows immediately.

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, leaning in and kissing you on the lips, and then your nose. “None of this means anything if I don’t have you.”

You’re still taking it slow, but this is the closest either of you have come to saying “I love you” without saying it, so you pull your hands from his and cup his cheeks to pull him into another kiss.

“Oscar Piastri, you are my whole world.”

Ten minutes later, Lando comes bursting into the room with such aggression that he almost faceplants, and he makes so much noise that a nurse runs into the room looking highly concerned.

So, you laugh, and you forget about it, and you do it with Oscar at your side, where you know he’ll stay for the rest of your lives.

note: this was a bitch to write. also i was gonna make a layout for this but i really wanted to post it tonight so it is sans layout and was edited like a half hour before it’s scheduled to post. all that being said, i hope u enjoyed!!

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[vintagetvstars]

Pierce Brosnan Vs. Avery Brooks

Last Poll of Round 5!

Propaganda

Pierce Brosnan - (Remington Steele) - If you haven’t seen Remington Steele already, do yourself a huge favour!! It’s the silliest, sappiest, and somehow sexiest show from the 80s. Brosnan is the titular ���detective’ with absolutely no formal knowledge to help him, however the cases always seem to play into his specialist subject of classic movies. Over the course of 5 series you really see Brosnan grow into himself, from his fluffy hair; charming wide eyes; and brilliant comedic timing in s1 to a more suited and serious character later as the overarching romance heats up. It’s a real treat to watch his boundless energy and chemistry with his costars in each and every episode.

Avery Brooks - (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Spenser: For Hire) - ben sisko absolute all time tv dilf and have you heard him SPEAK... the stage background absolutely shows and it truly makes him a standout in a legacy franchise *full* of incredibly talented people. also frankly top 3 all time sexy bald guy

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Pierce Brosnan:

The man has one of the world's finest hairy chests:

He and his wife have been in a long and loving marriage and I think he's generally a good guy, involved with some good causes.

Avery Brooks:

Avery is a certified TV sci-fi hottie as Benjamin Sisko in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. The first black star trek Captain, he also negotiated his signature look - the bald head and goatee - against haters who thought a Captain should always be clean-shaven. Thank God for that, because he looks devastatingly hot in a a goatee (a phrase never before uttered). He went on to direct several episodes of DS9, use his pleasant voice to record music and multiple host documentaries, and mostly retire from acting to teach as a professor.

TW: Flashing Lights

with that wonderful stentorian baritone voice he could move from intimidating commander to gentle and compassionate space dad...benjamin sisko is a man of many qualities, thoughtful, morally complex, understatedly hilarious, a lil unhinged, really really excited about baseball, and avery brooks never fails to breathe life, depth and dimension into the character and also did i mention his voice. fun fact he was a professor of theater arts at rutgers while filming deep space nine and would occasionally teach classes via vhs tapes recorded on set, complete with starfleet uniform. he also directed a number of ds9 episodes including notable ones like "rejoined" and "far beyond the stars", and performed many of his own stunts as sisko. stunt coordinator dennis madalone said, "of all the stars that I've worked with on all the Star Treks, and all the other shows that I've been on other than Star Trek, I've never seen an actor so physically capable of just doing everything...every time I'd bring in a stunt double, he'd be angry, sitting on a bench, because Avery was doing so great." he's also a distinguished stage actor and an accomplished musician and singer who's performed everything from jazz to opera. science has yet to discover whether there's anything this man can't do.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ i thought about this plot over and over, and I hesitated publishing it since i don’t want to deviate so much from everything but i said fuck it, so now ere i am, greeting y’all with ‘wassup villain’

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @shuna-boin

⚠️ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⚠️ Mommy issues, mention of death,, profane language, plot progression. Pronouns keep shifting bc Miles thinks you’re a guy. A bit confusing? Anyways, congrats with your debut. I’ve got uh.. A little surprise? Enjoy.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

"Park behind the building B, McLaren. I’ll have to deal with a separate matter, for now, call backup."

"Yes, miss."

Ring. Ring.

Your head pivots at the sound of your phone’s ringing, eagerly answering the call without having to look into the ID, knowing a thing or two about a certain someone’s timing.

“What’s going on so early in the morning?” Your father haggardly asks. You could already smell the stench of his morning breath from the car.

“We have trespassers in the Warehouse.” You start. “Two of them, partners. The duo we know as the Prowlers.”

“What?” You hear the morning grogginess laced in his voice. “Who leaked the information?”

“I’ve updated Morrison and he’s currently investigating the black market. I suspect a traitor.”

“Evidence?”

“There’d been no reports of outsiders entering the vicinity. All employees have been given fake addresses and all of their gadgets have been monitored— and so far, no one’s been flagged, so my guess is.. A higher up who’s sold us out.”

There you go.

“… I’ll look into it.” Your father mumbles. “Make sure that nothing is released into the media. The election is coming soon, we don’t want to do anything that’ll stir the public.”

“Understood.”

And the call ends just like that.

You blankly look at the road ahead of you, skin itching from the tightness and texture of your leather coat. Laid before your lap was a flat screen, in it were nine boxes— each playing a variety of scenes brought to you by the hidden cameras. Across every box, two swift figures maneuvered past the rooms with incredible ease. Several workers and scientists were sprawled across the jagged floors, motionless like corpses. You grimaced at the possibility of them being dead, but after seeing the thick gas emanating throughout every crevice of the building, you safely assumed that they were simply knocked out.

The Warehouse housed one of your father's investments; an Oscorp-Alchemax experiment funded by the elites, done underground and tested on prisoners to find some sort of super serum. When the new money folks thrusted themselves into the world of High society, most of the higher elites came to applaud the idea of one man.

Harry Osborn.

As a kid, you grew up aspiring to be like Harry. Always so friendly and approachable to anyone and everyone he’s ever met.

He did it so effortlessly that you recognized his niceness as a talent.

Harry came from second generation money— hailing this scientific empire called Oscorp. Having been brought up by his father, Norman, who was an industrialist, Harry was all things sciencey.

After his father's death, Harry sought out a blueprint of his father's past works, finding a journal containing the records of several hypotheses in regard to a variety of drugs. A sort of instruction to turn into a superhuman being, he claims, that his father had put into mind but never really practiced.

A handful of the higher-ups adored the impressionable idea, one of its primary investors being your father. You never really understood his reasons, but when the drug seemingly began showing fruitful results, your father set you up under Antonne's name to supervise Warehouse 317 after Harry entrusted your family to house the experiment.

So at that moment, you weren't you.

And Miles wasn't Miles.

He didn’t know what he was doing here. But he never bothered to really ask since his Uncle seemed tense all throughout the journey.

When Aaron told him to strap up for a sudden mission, he wasn't expecting a raid— nor was he expecting him to bring him to a hidden laboratory containing all these alien-like fuckeries. From glass beakers to drums filled to the brim with some sort of neon liquid, it all varied in levels of strangeness. Everywhere he looked, he could find the same circular, yellow warning sticker staring right back at him. Behind his digital mask, he skims past the unconscious workers— checking every crevice to see if anyone had escaped the incapacitating agent.

“According to the drive, the stuff are located in the north building.” His uncle’s voice snaps him out of the haze. “I’ll be heading there. I’m sure you can fend for yourself?”

“F’course I can,” Miles answered. “I can knock a bitch or two out with these.” He grinned while unfoldding his claw.

“You kiss your mama with that mouth? Watch yo tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aaron pats his shoulder. “Record the evidence, I’ll go find the blueprints.”

With a single nod, Miles sets off with his mission in mind. When the holographic interface materializes from his wrist-mounted control panel, he activates the scanner with a light tap. The digitalized purple light cascades over the room, gathering physical data with each passing step.

He prided in his cut-edge tech— developed into great usage by his and his uncle’s hands. In a way, it reassured him that he had epically great potential, despite the current crisis going on in the city. But of course, his greatest pride was the fact that you liked the idea of the Prowler. That alone harbored him confidence he never knew he had.

Miles never initially thought of himself as a hero, no matter how much he’s worked to save the lower class of New York. Heroes existed in the confines of comic books and kids’ TV shows. He wasn’t super, and he wasn’t a hero either. The term was black and white. Narcissistic, as you would put it.

But he liked playing along to the idea of being a superhero to you.

He wanted you to gawk and admire his vigilante identity. He wanted you to look at the TV early in the morning with a mug of coffee in your hands, pointing at the screen with a squeal, ‘It’s the Prowler!’

Most of all, he wanted you to know about it eventually.

When he passes by the computers, Miles heads straight for the manila folders, unraveling his gauntlet just to grasp the files better.

[ 11 | 10 | 2020 ]

•[𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝: #𝟷𝟷𝟹𝟸] 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟻𝟼

𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎. 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝. 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

With the slightest jolt of his palm, the paper crumbles, and behind it sat another file. He peers through it diligently, only to find a name signed at the bottom.

And it crumples from the clamp of his fist.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

The surname, Primo-Chávez, was the household name of the family who owns the Primm Hotel, and a single mention of it alone only reignited the anger he was sparing for the upcoming plans. All of the rage he kept to himself was seeping out the cracks of his still-grieving heart, and the grief remained a permanent scar.

And with a whisper of the wind, the warehouse falls into darkness.

There was this chill crawling up his back, and it haunted him. And in the silence that surrounded him, he calls out for his uncle.

And it echoes, and echoes. No one replies. Only the silence answered to his desperate calls. At that point, all that he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating out of his chest— a sort of morbid reminder that he was still alive. It made him wonder if that was all his father heard when he was trapped beneath the fallen carcass all those years ago. Just like that carcass, in the midst of all that darkness, screams begin to bellow.

Oh. One of the scientists have woken up.

But all Miles could picture was all what could’ve happened that night, when everything fell apart. Did they scream like this? Call out for help like this? Did his father struggle to breathe like this?

A lone light shines above the metal rails— a watch window, large and square, gleaming in this daunt violent that flickered and flickered. There was a figure there, dark, willowy, and invasive in the way it stared.

Unmoving, watching. A gaze that lingered like the chill running down his back.

What did they do in here?

Like a croak, the question bubbles up his throat and releases.

“Who are you?”

Like a growl, the voice changer emits the query a too many tones lower. At that question, the being tilts its head.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Velvety, low, exhausted— and it oozed from the broadcaster mic like a tease. You stared at the Prowler, almost amused by his size. From above, he seemed much tinier, like less of a threat. You feel your breath cascade against the lenses of your gas mask, sweat sticking to the leather of your gloves. There, you see the digitalized magenta and the gleam of his steel claws, as though he meant to intimidate. You stood partially befuddled at the fact that the vigilante everyone revered and loathed was likely a teenager.

“… You don’t know what this place is, don’t you?”

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ.

The wall beside him crumbles into dust.

Miles shields himself from the impact, the cement’s fumes blinding his sights. Upon the activation of his night vision, he searches in behind the violet screen, finding only his uncle emerging from the smoke and debris, rushing with a USB in his hands. Behind him, a flock of guards came rushing in with their ray guns— flames of red bursting into a shower as the man signaled him to run.

Miles casts a quick glance at the window above.

No one’s there.

“ＥＶＡＣＵＡＴＥ ＡＬＬ ＥＭＰＬＯＹＥＥＳ

ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ. ＩＭ ＭＥＤＩＡＴＥＬＹ.”

The digital voice commands along with a blaring alarm.

The warehouse that housed this elaborate labyrinth, it continued on and on like a maze. Bland green tiles and white walls, glass screens— like a pattern he immediately grew to dislike. It all went on and on like a fever dream, but Miles’ head was ringing with the sight of the man he saw up the window.

And he lays it all out in his mind, trying to piece it altogether.

Ｂ　Ｏ　Ｏ　Ｍ．

The walls click and collapse, and the floors shake, but Miles doesn’t look back. The sound of the guards’ heavy stomps cease though, eventually replaced with a sort of screech that irked his ears.

It was unfamiliar to him. He’s faced over a hundred bad people, but only the sight of that being unsettled him more than the rest.

“Up ahead!”

He watches as his Uncle heads right out the window with a fall, the shards ricocheting behind him like specs of snow as he throws a carabiner right back at Miles to snatch. His fingers thinly reach for the cord when he’s suddenly assaulted to the ground with a powerful force.

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

“Agh!” He grumbles in pain, rolling down to the ground. But even then, it wasn’t the pain that made every hair on his limb stand, it was the sound of your heeled boots clicking against the tiles, and the sound of your metal blade scraping against the wall.

“Mornin’, Prowler.”

Exhaustion made the delivery deeper. He senses it in you, and you sense it him. Though he was unaware of what your head was actually filled of, I’ve got a lecture at nine, I still have to do my literature essay, and I want to sleep. Miles wasn’t all that interested at all in what your mind bore. To be fair, from where he was, Miles only saw this figure towering over him with a long knife poking out its sleeve. Some gas mask, and a black leather coat. Even then as you stood above him, he could only watch as you fixed your gloves, pulling farther beneath your sleeve.

“It’s an honor to meet you like this.”

Fwip. With a crisp cut, the cord that connected him to his partner was severed. You throw it out the window along with the metal piece. “I’m not so usually cruel, but you’re trespassing my family’s property—“

“So this is your family’s property.” He stands back up, hands aching to fight. “Primo-Chávez. As I recognized.”

He claws at you, but instead, the metal meets the end of your unsheathed blade with a clink!

“You’re smart.” And when you pull away, he stumbles backward. “Let’s see if that’ll save you.”

Crack! The walls quivered as Miles narrowly avoided the blade aimed for his neck. He raises his gauntlets, lunging right at you with swift punches, to which you countered gracefully with quick blocks. Eventually, he manages to take hold of your shoulders, shoving you back with feet tangled like knots. You lower down and hook your heel over his ankle, pulling with force as he falters.

You crack your neck, pressing your heel over his shoulder to keep him down. “I’ll be honest with you, I think you’re awfully underwhelming.” You lean down to his level, musing yourself in the way he heaved.

“But I can forgive all that.” Your fingers fiddle with the strap of his backpack. “You’re useful in a way—“

With a gauntlet over your neck, he slams you against the wall.

“I ain’t working for nobody,” He churned. “And I definitely won’t be fucking working for people like you.”

“I never said you had to work for me.” You calmly replied despite his grip. “You just have to make better decisions from now on.”

“Fuck you mean by that?”

From the ache your neck bore, you knew it was gonna leave a bruise.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

He furrows his brows at that statement, holding himself back as he taunts. “… I wonder how your father is going to abandon you once I set this little investment of his on fire.”

Rather than the silence or panic he hoped, Miles heard you laugh.

“Do it.” You playfully suggest. “Do it, and kill all the other interns, employees, and guards in here.” Despite your façade, he could still sense the smirk creeping up your lips. “Then think to yourself, ask yourself; are you any better than my family?”

That alone catches him by surprise.

“… You’ve got a lot to learn.”

“What do you m—“ Before he could even finish off his sentence, a powerful strike ricochets into his stomach, sending him off to the other wall. A loud grunt emanates from his lips, hands gripping the lower of his belly as you set your foot down. “The next time we meet, do promise me that you’ll be much more of a promising opponent. Today was.. Eventless.” Your gaze sets sights on the camera hidden in the corner.

“For now, I’ll have to let someone else do the job.”

As though on cue, you see his partner rush in with the broken cord in his hand. The same broken cord you’d thrown out. Without another word, he lunges at you with lightning speed, and the way you collide with the glass wall sends ripples across the corridor.

“You goddamn son of a bitch.”

“Long time no see.”

Ｃ　Ｒ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｈ.

And from then on, Miles watches as this figure and his uncle battled amidst the labyrinth. But your words struck him hard, ‘Long time no see’— what did that mean? Did his uncle have a sort of connection to the elites, or has he worked for the upper class before?

With how his punches flew, Miles sensed this sort of undying rage that crackled with the quiver of his Uncle’s fist.

Why did this battle seem so natural? Like the two of them know each other’s moves too well.

“I see you’ve resigned.” You curtly brought up, grunting as he mercilessly charges at you. “And seems like you’ve brought a little something with you.” Upon the mention of Miles, Aaron struck back with a blow, feigning ignorance at your words. Despite your state, you managed to put up a great fight. “Why did you bring him here? He doesn’t seem fit for the job—“

“Stop the small talk, Antonne.”

Antonne.

Anthony Primo-Chávez.

“I’m simply being polite,” You grinned. “It’s been a while, don’t you think so too?”

With that alone, Miles somehow confirmed that the figure was the heir of the hotel in the flesh. The man responsible for the deaths of many— the man responsible for the death of his father. But something felt wrong, like a sense that was gnawing at his guts.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly.

Just of now, Miles realizes that he had no place here, at least, not yet. But he was just as confused as the other guy, why did his uncle bring him here if it was too dangerous?

“Is your sister also a piece of shit like you?”

Sister?

“She’s a little more pacifist than all of us.”

You lie so naturally, it was like second-nature to you— as though it was your second, utterly ridiculous hobby next to scheming. To play the part of Antonne was excruciating enough, but it was enjoyable in a way. You haven’t seen the Prowler for about four years— last seeing him when you were twelve, when he worked for the Fisks until his abrupt resignation. Next thing you and the elite knew, the mercenary who once worked for the high-class was now a vigilante working against them.

No one particularly knew the reason why. You somewhat guessed what it was.

And when the both of you crashed past the danger zone, you knew that the situation was way beyond your grasps from this point on, and the best you could hope for was a perfect gamble.

The man grabs all that he could in his anger, from glass beakers to steel rods, he figures splashing you with whatever thing he could find can help in making you perish from his sights.

You fight back, without the usage of anything else except the blade, only until Aaron repeatedly smashes your head inside a closed-off frozen cage. The two of you fall right in, breaking some sort of container in the process.

“What the fuck?”

Like a flame, it sears your skin— causing you to panic and recklessly pat away at the tar-like substance enveloping you in its sticky embrace. Without even a shriek, it consumes your system entirely, sending you down on your knees.

And the next thing you know, everything else fades into black.

Aaron pulls away, in shock of the dark matter unveiling before him. Immediately, he places a hand over Miles’ eyes, ushering him away.

From afar, they could hear the police sirens coming.

“Let’s— let’s go.” Aaron hurriedly commands.

“Uncle Aaron.”

Miles exhaustively calls out to him.

“Uncle Aaron!”

As his mask unfolds, Miles squints as the sunlight seeping from the tall trees welcomes him, shielding his face with his hands while trudging across the stones to meet his Uncle’s steps. Aaron pauses for a moment, taking only one look back.

“Why’d you bring me there?” Miles directly starts. “I wasn’t strong enough to be there— who was that guy? How- How did you suddenly know about the location of the warehouse, how did— I don’t— I-I have school in three hours, I don’t get why you had to bring me along—“

“That girl you’re seeing,” Aaron intervenes without a waste of breath. “What’s her last name?”

Miles takes a step back, furrowing his brows.

“[L/n].”

Aaron nods. “… It’s the same as the file.”

“What?”

“Bring her to dinner.”

Now everything further confused him, what did you have to do with all of this?

“I-I can’t bring her to dinner yet— what do you mean part of the f— we haven’t even gone on a date yet!”

The date set for tomorrow. The trick-or-treating date Miles had always longed for. Aaron tosses his hand upward. “Just make it quick and let me meet her.” He commands in a rush, pacing his steps faster. “We’ve got to get moving before they find us.”

“But— I don’t get it. What does [Y/n] have to do with all of this?"

Aaron stops for a moment, looking up before heaving a long, jagged sigh.

“… I got a file last night. Sent by an anonymous number. Someone managed to take a picture of you and your girl earlier when you were walking her home.”

Hearing this, a bundle of worries begin to churn in Miles’ mind. This whole night enough was messy for him, and he couldn’t understand why things were getting so complicated. Like what Antonne said earlier, it was ingrained into his mind, Aren’t you supposed to be smart?

“Along with the pictures, I got sent a file. [Y/n] [L/n], is..” Aaron consequently looks into his nephew’s eyes, a sort of hesitation imbued in his system. “Somewhat connected to the Primos.”

Miles halts entirely, and over and over, like how he’s always asked for the last hour. “What?”

“I.. I’ll just tell you when we get home.”

It was many years ago, when your mother endowed this habit of sitting you down by her vanity just to comb your hair and fix you up like a doll.

At that time, you were a tiny little girl with tiny little legs that were unable to reach the floor, instead opting to dangle them with light kicks from your seat— thinking you were some kind of mermaid. During those times, you could only spot at least the whole of your head staring right back at you, but rather than yourself, you marveled at the sight of your mother and her clothes.

The colors she wore were patterned in dates. Mauve, pink, white, and sometimes vermilion in special occasions. Those were the days she used to pick out your clothes for you, and whenever you complained about the color being too bright or dull, your mother would claim that she'd know your colors the best.

As you got older, and when you started dressing for yourself, in the colors you liked, and in the sort of mauve and pink that suited you, you watched as your mother would stare at you from afar with an irate frown, and silently, you'd think to yourself.

Even in the way I rebel against you, you still see yourself in me, because when you look at me, you see only a mirror of your younger self grimacing in disgust. You'd come so far to convince yourself that you're at the height of your being, but your daughter and your child-self only sees mediocrity.

…

“Miss?”

A flurry of people. Lots of talking. You despised that.

“Miss, are you awake?”

“[Y/n], wake up this instant!”

And at your father’s instruction, your eyes peel open almost immediately. You’re greeted with the sight of the ceiling, and your skin covered in warmth. You look at yourself, finding bruises all over your arms, still wearing your white dress shirt and formal pants. Silently, you force yourself to sit up despite the ache you felt, wincing as you spot several faces surrounding you. There was your father, pacing back and forth, certainly distressed about something; Antonne, with his arms crossed, sitting by the edge of your bed; some physician, silently standing by the side with her hands clasped together; and Harry Osborn standing alongside her.

“What’s going on in here?” You haphazardly asked.

“You almost died.” Antonne stirs the silence. “The Warehouse was set on fire, and you were still inside.”

“The warehouse was set on fire!?” You jolt up, only now realizing the dirty looks from your father. “That’s impossible, how could—“

“There were traces of gasoline.” Emerging from the doors, your father approaches you with a sort of chagrin in his glare. “Since you failed to capture or at least slow down the perpetrators, that happened.”

“… You’re placing the blame on me?” You ask, hardly believing your ears.

“We’re not—“ Just as Harry’s about to speak, your father intervenes. “Yes, we are. Because of your incompetence, we lost millions worth of money in damages!”

“Sir, calm down.”

“Father, this is what I’ve been telling you about.” Antonne pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s sixteen! How could she have possibly fought against a mercenary!?”

“I did better than you.” Poison spewed from your lips, losing all sort of rationality. “This has never happened before. Whenever there was something any of you asked me to do, I did my very best. How could I possibly perform my best when I lacked sleep and I was dependent on coffee!?”

“Your brother is right.”

Hearing that alone was a nightmare.

“Although you’re talented in upkeep and information, you’re too young to fight against an ex-assassin.”

You helplessly scramble off the bed. “Daddy, you’re being unfair.”

Daddy. It’s like you were a ten-year-old fighting for his attention once again. You looked at Antonne, and then your father, shifting in complacency. “I worked for three years, ceaselessly. Even if it meant giving up my weekends and studying so hard that it made my nose bleed. I got the job done, even if no one paid me or thanked me, I still did everything.”

“We’ve lost a lot of resources,” Harry begins. “And we’ve been brought back to square one because of the fire.”

Before Harry could even finish off his explanation, you lift a finger and point at him accusingly. “This is because one of your people decided to leak information—“ In between your rant, Antonne attempts to soothe you. “Had it not been for the fact that you decided to let untrusted people into the faction, we wouldn— stop it, Antonne— we wouldn’t be dealing with this sort of thing. Mother warned you about it, and you brushed off her every warning— STOP IT, ANTONNE!” You finally yelled out. Your brother ceases, lifting his hands off of you after he sees that you’re shaking.

What’s wrong with me?

Why am I being more emotional than usual?

The way the rage consumed you left you in dismay. At a short moment of epiphany, you run your hands across your face and, like a switch, all of your emotions reboot.

“I apologize. I spoke out of line.”

That line alone was chilling.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n].” The tender way Harry called out your name was unfathomable. “I know it’s upsetting that your job is being taken away from you, and you have every right to get upset. However, for your sake and your health, you can pass on these responsibilities to Montrell for now.”

“Montrell’s in London.” You add. “He can’t possibly take over—“

“He’s not in London.” Antonne confesses. You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. “What are you talking about?”

“… It was going to be a surprise but..”

Oh no.

“Oh,” You blankly state, your mind rioting. “I see.”

“It’s an unplanned decision, really,” Your father explains. “Montrell also has no idea that you’ve taken Antonne’s place in taking care of the hotel for the last three years. It’d be better for you, as well, to take a break.”

You wanted to scream, break down, curse at everyone.

“I’m sorry for being too harsh on you, [Y/n].” Harry eases, placing a hand over your shoulder. “However, you have to understand that it’s also for the best.”

“I understand.” Fuck you, and fuck all of you.

“We’ll leave you to rest for now.” Yeah, leave me the fuck alone before I melt the fuck down.

As they step out, all the tension in the room leave along with the squeak of their fine, leather dress shoes. You’re left with the silent physician, whose presence you’d completely forgotten despite the wildness of her dark curls. She shifts uncomfortably, parting her lips to speak, only to find that she didn’t know what to say.

“What is it?” You ask, lowering your voice so as to not intimidate. Prompting to break the silence in her place.

The woman blinks at you, somewhat relieved by your words.

“Can I be direct, Miss?” She sternly asks.

“It’ll be better off that way, frankly.”

She leans a little closer, tugging on the sleeve of your arm. “When you first got here, your body was riddled with cuts, bruises, and broken bones around— oh, can I touch you?”

You squirm. “I’m not a relic.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Most of the rich people I’ve worked with were usually snobby douches who think their skin shed gold.” She subtly laughs, raising the fabric up higher. “Initially, I believed you were exactly that kind of rich kid, but after seeing what happened, you don’t seem like anything they say.”

You raise a brow. “.. Have we met each other before?”

She looked at you as though you’d just insulted her, her eyes about to pop off her thick-rimmed glasses.

“.. I work at Alchemax. I’m the head of the research team in the particle accelerator project— we’ve spoken many, many times before.”

“.. You’re not my physician?”

Her lips tighten into a line. “I take what I said back. You’re exactly like all those other rich kids.”

“W-well, I’m sorry.” You grumbled. “I work with a hundred different people almost every single day, my mind usually shuts down when I’m at work.”

“Well, your father did just drag me out of the line and forced me to fix you up since they didn’t want to risk calling for a doctor who doesn’t know that you’re parading as your brother.” She spoke so quickly, it made you rethink what she just said three times. “Anyways— I needed to tell you that under my observations, you’ve healed yourself in a supernaturally fast rate that it’s groundbreaking.”

“What?”

“Six hours ago, you had broken bones in here,” She points her fingers at your shoulder. “Here,” Followed by your thigh. “And here.” Then your calf. “But after seeing your little drama session with your father, you were able to move yourself without any sort of pain. Initially, I concluded that you must’ve had some very high pain tolerance, but I noticed that so many of your cuts and bruises have all been healed, and that,” Her fingers trace a line over your neck. “That was red as hell just moments ago. Now, it’s gone.”

Oh, the mark you got from Prowler Jr after he choked the hell out of you.

You liked calling him that. Prowler Jr— a smaller, rustier protégée of the Prowler you grew up with.

“.. I wonder why so.”

There was a wily grin on her face that unsettled you tremendously.

“Well, without your father looking, I ran a test on you.”

“You what?”

Without even a single second to lose, the woman takes out few samples from her bag, laying them all out before you with a couple of handwritten documents.

“Here.” She states so proudly.

You marveled at all that she’s written— unfortunately for you, her handwriting was so messily done that you couldn’t understand a single damn thing.

“… You could get sued for this, you know that?”

“Your father wouldn’t. Unlike his children, he can’t find a replacement for me.”

Your mouth hung in disbelief at what you just heard. Rather than acknowledging the insult, however, she plucks out a print of what you assumed were tiny splotches of black tar on a petri dish.

“What the hell is that?”

“I got that swabbed out of your mouth.”

“Oh fuck, I thought I’d dieted enough for the performance!”

“It’s not sweets, sweetheart.” She answered defeatedly, clearly full of your unsure-weaponized-incompetence. “It’s a mysterious symbiote that we’ve recently caught hold of four months ago, and during your fight with the Prowler, it forged itself into your system.” Her fingers trace down your arm, grasping the center of your wrist while grinning. “And it can make you do this.”

As she squeezes your hand, a black matter ejects from your palm. You jolt away, slapping her hand off as you curse.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?”

“The symbiote.” She casually replies. “Isn’t it amazing?”

It retreats like a slimey being, pushing itself back into your skin as though it’d all been a mere hallucination.

“You mean to tell me there’s some alien slime living inside my body!?”

“Well, yes—“

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

She winces at the loudness of your voice, moving back an inch away. “That’ll take a while for me to dissect. You have to come to my lab tomorrow if you want me to find a way to pull that away from you.”

“I can’t go tomorrow.” You had a date with Miles, and that alone was reasonable enough to miss anything and everything else. “I-I have practice for the fundraiser on Sunday, and I’m still the hostess, so I have to make sure that the preparations are seamless.”

“… I have a comment, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it since you probably hear it all the time.”

“What? That I’m just like my mother?”

She scrunches her nose. “I was going to say that you’re too young to be acting so old.” The woman turns away, beginning to pack up her things again. “You’re sixteen. You should be going out to parties, creating fake IDs, sneaking out to make out with your boyfriend— whatever other shit girls your age like to do.”

You try your hardest not to react at the last mention, since that was definitely what you just did a few hours before. You begin to rub your hands, the friction warming you up as your shoulders shrug.

“Well, as much as I want to do all that, I’ve got too much to do.”

“You won’t be sixteen forever, Miss.” She tosses the bag over her shoulder. “Take that from me. I’m forty-six, and I’ve went through a lot. I’d give everything to be your age again.”

As you watch her head for the door, you call out to her one last time.

“.. Call me [Y/n]. I don’t like it when people way older than me call me ‘miss’.”

She raised her brows. “Alright then, [Y/n].” Your name rolls off her tongue gently.

“How about you? What do I call you?”

With a hand over the knob, the woman beamed.

“.. I’m Olivia Octavius, but you can call me Liv.”

[metallicaislife]

Meet and Greet

Requested by: Anon

Word Count: 1,536

Genre: 18+ Smut minors dni

Warnings: protected sex, oral(f and m receiving), swearing

The sun beat down on me as I waited in line. As soon as I heard Metallica was coming to my city, you bet I snatched a ticket so fast, and paid extra for the meet and greet. It didn’t matter that none of my friends were interested in the band, nothing was going to stop me from coming even if it meant I was going alone. 

I was surprised that I got there before the band did. I watched as their bus pulled up, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the door as it opened. The first member off of the bus was Kirk, he has been my favorite since I got into the band. He’s geeky, and proud of it, he just seems like the sweetest guy. His looks take my breath away, seeing him in person is so much better than the glimpses I've gotten on the television. His mop of curly dark hair, and deep brown eyes. Perfect. 

Our eyes met as he walked past, and he smiled. Kirk fucking Hammett perceived me with his eyeballs and smiled. I could die right now and still be the happiest woman alive. 

The rest of the guys walked past and waved saying hi to their fans. I was still on cloud nine just thinking about the smile from Kirk. 

Not long after they got there, the line started moving and the meet and greet began. When it was my turn for the one on ones, I talked to Cliff first, he was really kind, even though I could see he would rather meet fans in the wild instead of this sort of setting, but now they were blowing up and not playing small venues, that is a bit harder, so I’m grateful they are doing this meet and greet. Lars was next, and he was super funny. He talked my ear off about how excited he was for this tour and thanked me for coming. James had to tell him to shut his trap so the line could keep going, which brought me to James, super sweet guy. Like Cliff, this wasn’t his jam, maybe if it was the fan just talking to the whole group instead of the one on one, he would flourish a little more, he was delightful to chat with though. Kirk was last in line, I could feel my heartbeat picking up, just like out in line our eyes met and he smiled at me. 

“Hey, I’m Kirk.” He said, giving me a small wave. I introduced myself and mirrored his wave. He let out a soft chuckle. 

“Thanks for coming out, we really appreciate our fans, we wouldn’t be where we are without you all.” He said. 

“No, thank you for sharing your talent with us, my life wouldn’t be the same without your insane guitar riffs.” I complimented him. His grin widened.

“You’re too kind, and cute too. I don’t know if my heart can handle such compliments from a woman like you.” He winked. I could feel my cheeks heating up. “I don’t do this often, and believe me that isn’t a line, but here,” He said and reached in his back pocket and sneakily handed me a pass. “Our time is short here, but meet me backstage after the show.” He finished. In utter shock, I pocketed the pass and nodded. 

“Will do, Mr. Hammett.” I said, starting to feel more confident. Kirk smirked at me and we parted ways. 

Okay, keep it together. Yes, I just had my main character moment but I had to keep my head on planet earth. After the show could go many ways, but the most likely scenario had me clenching my thighs at the thought. 

Preoccupied with my thoughts, time passed fast, before I knew it, the show started. I was at the barricade on Kirk’s side. I know I already said it, but the tv screen does not do that man justice. He was so sexy on stage, lost in his playing. He kept looking my way and would smirk as I screamed along to the music. 

Needless to say the show was abso-fucking-lutely phenominal and I knew right then and there any time they come to play I would be purchasing a ticket. 

When the show finished, I confidently made my way backstage. Well, I was confident until I passed security and had no earthly idea where to go. I must have looked like a lost puppy as I stood awkwardly unsure if I should just start knocking on doors, because no way in hell would I give up whatever opportunity I was given by Kirk. 

“Hey, you’re the girl from the meet and greet.” A voice called out. I turned around and was met with Cliff, who had a smirk gracing his lips.

“Uh, yeah, I am.” I replied. 

“Loverboy’s dressing room is that one over there.” He said and pointed to the only door off to the side. 

“Thank you, Cliff.” I said, he nodded and moseyed off to his own dressing room. 

I made my way to Kirk’s dressing room and knocked. He poked his head out soon after, and smiled when he saw me. 

“Come on in.” He said opening the door wider. My eyes widened slightly seeing he was sweaty and shirtless already. I entered and he shut the door behind me. 

“You played really well tonight.” I told him. 

“Again, the prettiest woman with the compliments, I don’t know if my heart can handle it.” He said, placing his hand over his heart. I giggled. “Can I get you some water or beer?” He asked. 

“I’m fine, thanks.” I said. I wrung my hands together, the confidence leaving my body unsure of where this encounter would take us. I mean, I know what I wanted, but if I read the situation wrong I would absolutely die of embarrassment. Kirk noticed my hands and reached out stilling them. 

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just thought you were gorgeous, and had good vibes.” He said reassuringly. 

“Oh I definitely want to, unless you don’t want to, I just wanted to make sure I read the situation right.” I said. Kirk chuckled.

“I definitely want to.” He replied. 

“So it would be okay if I kissed you?” I asked softly.

“More than okay.” He whispered back.

I closed my eyes, our lips met softly as we wrapped our arms around one another. The kiss grew heated as he backed me into the couch and helped me lay down. He kissed my neck and left a mark. All reservations were gone as my hands wandered his body. He undressed me. My back arched as he I found his tongue to be just as skilled as his fingers. 

“Oh my god, Kirk…” I moaned out. I gripped his hair tightly and he hummed against my pussy. He used two fingers to bring me over the edge. My voice already hoarse from the concert. As I came down from my orgasm I noticed his boxers were removed. He stood next to my head and I positioned myself so I could take his dick in my mouth. I darted my tongue out liking the tip before letting him slide into my mouth. I hollowed out my cheeks as he began thrusting softly. Tears entered my eyes as he repeatedly hit the back of my throat. He picked up the pace and had his hand in my hair as he helped me meet his thrusts. I could feel him getting closer to his high. He stopped and pulled out of my mouth, he found a condom and rolled it on before climbing back on top of me. His lips found mine in a deep kiss as he sunk into me. His pace was relentless. He broke the kiss as my head fell back, I let out a hoarse scream. He bit my neck softly as his hand found my clit. He rubbed me as he continued rutting into me. I came a second time, the pleasure hazing my vision. Kirk came soon after and buried his forehead on my shoulder. 

“Fuck that was so good.” Kirk muttered. 

After we cooled down, He helped me clean up and we got dressed. 

“I probably ought to head out.” I said after gathering my things. 

“I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I don’t do this often, I know I’m in the middle of tour, but I want to see you again.” Kirk smiled at me.

“I would like that too.” I smiled back. 

Kirk and I exchanged numbers and he walked me out to my car that was in the nearly empty lot. Kirk kissed me, and waved goodbye as I drove off. 

Not only did I get to meet my favorite band, see them perform and have mind blowing sex with my celebrity crush… He wanted to see me again. Even if we don’t, I won’t kid myself, we live very different lives- I’ll be content knowing for one night I took the breath away from the man who has consistently stolen my breath since I saw his first interview.

Thank you for reading! :)

-Isa

[gravityglitch-blog]

Another Murder Drones AU

"Uzi the Vampire Slayer"

I haven't seen the Buffy series in forever, and even then, I fixated on the early seasons.

This AU idea kept coming back to mind, so I had to write it out. It's not meant as a direct replica, just its' own thing that borrows elements from both shows. (Also, I apologize in advance if someone else has already done this!)

___

The Absolute Solver, an ancient horror awoken by the reckless greed of JCJensen In Spaaaace, now seeks to control and consume all life in the universe. It has created all sorts of monsters to be its' servants, none more feared than the vampire-like Disassembly Drones.

The Worker Drones only hope of safety is to stay barricaded behind the doors of their colony.

If only someone would slay the monsters, possibly even the Solver itself. But no one would be crazy enough to try that, right?

Uzi as Buffy

The daughter of Khan, maker of the colony's doors, and Nori, Copper Nine's first Slayer.

Nori disappeared one night during a mission, along with her own best friend, Yeva, when Uzi was still in her early teens.

Uzi has been very lonely since then, with her father dedicated almost entirely to colony security. There's only one other person she could possibly call her friend. Most others consider her weird for wanting to get outside and battle the monsters herself. When she finds her mother's journals about life as the Slayer, her resolve only grows stronger. Her personality is much the same as we know it💜

Doll as Willow

However, Doll's personality is very different in this AU.

Because of the close friendship between their families, she and Uzi grew up together, like cousins. Though both girls became more withdrawn and lonely when their moms disappeared, they still look after each other.

Doll's father is still alive here (calling him Adam, for now, because I don't know if he has an official name.) He is kind but very overprotective. She learns that her mother was also hiding a secret: she was trying to harness the Solver's own power to use against it, a practice that can overwhelm anyone who isn't strong enough to wield it.

She has faith in Yeva, and becomes obsessed with the idea that she, and possibly even Nori, are still alive somewhere. When Uzi takes on the mantle of the Slayer, Doll begins studying Solver magic to help in the fight.

Teacher as Giles

(Okay, I could not find a name for him, but did learn that he was voiced by Liam Vickers himself. With this in mind, I'm choosing a name that starts with "L". He is Linus until further notice.)

Though he appears eternally bored, Linus was a good friend to Uzi and Doll's parents. He also wants to rid Copper Nine of monsters, but acknowledges that he's no fighter. Instead, he studies the different creatures, learning all he can about their strengths and weaknesses, to help defeat them.

He's felt like a failure ever since Nori and Yeva disappeared. When their daughters approach him with their findings, wanting to continue the battle, he makes a personal vow not to repeat his mistakes.

He might not always express it, but he really does care about all the kids in his charge.

Even when they make him want to rip off his helmet and any hair that might be underneath it.

Lizzy as Cordelia

Lizzy was content to stay in her popular-girl world, until her own life was threatened by a Disassembly Drone (in this AU, there are many more than our original three) and she was rescued by Uzi. Ignoring the nightmares outside was no longer an option. She found that she had a talent for adventure and monster-fighting. No one was more surprised than she was.

Thad as Xander

Normal guy with a good heart and lifelong dreams of being a hero. He finds it easy to befriend just about anyone, and has a natural courage that drives him to fight for his friends, no matter how scary the situation. He's the most optimistic of the group. Also has a sarcastic sense of humor, which can either lighten the mood or drive their enemies crazy.

And that's Copper Nine's "Scooby gang".

Moving on now.

N as Angel

The only major change I see for N is that he's a little more serious and broody in this AU.

Deep down, he's still his lovable self. Along with J and V (who are more like his sisters here), they were pulled from their old lives on Earth by the Solver and transformed into one of the most feared Disassembly Squadrons on Copper Nine. Though he won't say it in front of them, he dreams of reclaiming his freedom.

When Uzi and her team start to become a real threat to the Solver, it orders N's squadron to destroy them. They clash several times, and despite everything, N finds himself impressed by Uzi’s courage. He soon realizes that she could be the key to destroying the Solver and setting them all free. But to help her would mean betraying his family and risking the anger of an ancient evil.

I honestly couldn't think of good character matches for J and V. Their original personalities still fit pretty well into this AU, I think. Initially they just do their jobs. When they begin to question if they can or should change sides, this creates conflict. V is eventually willing to rebel against the Solver, J is more hesitant.

While J is a fierce fighter, she is terrified of disobeying orders, the consequences that could come from it. She knows she will have to make a choice between life as the Solver's servant, or a chance at freedom.

Nuzi would still happen (because it's my favorite ship and I can't let it go), but it would be a slower burn.

___

And this turned out way longer than I intended.

Thank you so much for reading.

Like I said, this is only a rough idea for an AU, but it wouldn't leave me alone. With Halloween coming up, it might be a good time to re-visit both series again.

[detectivesebcas]

Promptober Day 28- Horror Movie Night (AU, Post-STEM)

Prompt: horror movie night where someone gets scared

Warnings: none

“It’s scary movie night,” Sebastian announces as soon as they return from trick-or-treating.

With all of the changes their little family has gone through in the last year, he’s been eager to start implementing some traditions.   His past efforts have produced mixed results in terms of enthusiasm from Stefano and Lily, but this time they both seem to be fully on board.

Stefano goes to the kitchen to make popcorn, and Lily changes out of her costume.  Once she has sorted her Halloween candy into things that must be eaten right now and things that can wait a little bit, she plops down on the couch next to Sebastian.

“What are we watching?” she asks, tucking her feet underneath her and watching the screen, where Sebastian is scrolling through a seemingly endless array of movie possibilities.

“I’m not sure yet…” Sebastian says.

He hadn’t expected picking a movie to be so difficult, but Lily is eleven, and it seems like all the Halloween movies are either animated stories intended for younger kids or slasher films that would be more appropriate for a teenage audience…or maybe Stefano, but Sebastian isn’t going to go there.

Then a title catches his eye.  “Got it,” he says immediately.  “We’re watching Poltergeist.”

“It looks like an old movie,” Lily says, eyeing the title screen with suspicion.  “Are you sure it’s scary enough?”

“Oh, it’s scary alright,” Sebastian says.  “I saw it when I was nine, and I didn’t sleep for three weeks.”

Just the sight of the title screen takes him right back to those days, trying to convince his parents to leave the hallway light on and checking his closet door a dozen times to make sure it was really closed before jumping into bed, burying his head under the covers, and anxiously waiting for morning.

“So it is a really old movie,” Lily says, her fears clearly confirmed.

“How old do you think I am?” Sebastian asks.

Lily looks him up and down.  “Thirty-five,” she says, and her tone makes it clear that as far as she’s concerned thirty-five is positively ancient.

Sebastian laughs, because apparently he’s even older than Lily’s definition of ‘old’.

“I’ve never seen Poltergeist,” Stefano says, entering from the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn.

“What?”  Sebastian is genuinely shocked.  “How?”

Stefano shrugs.  “I don’t think I was born when it came out.”

“Probably not,” Sebastian says, “but still…”

He scoots closer to Lily so Stefano can sit down on his other side and starts the movie.  Stefano leans over to turn off the lamp beside the couch, so the living room is almost completely dark except for the glow of the TV.

The movie begins, and Sebastian is already starting to feel like his nine-year-old self.  He wraps an arm around Stefano, leaning his head on Stefano’s shoulder while his eyes remain fixed on the screen.

They watch in silence at first, but Sebastian’s heart is pounding, not just at the scary parts, but every time he anticipates one of the scary parts, which is basically the entire movie.

“Oh no,” Stefano says about forty minutes in.  “Did you pick another movie where someone’s child is missing?”

Sebastian does have a special talent for doing that by accident, but right now that’s not at the forefront of his mind.

“That’s not even the worst part,” he says.

“Oh?  Then what is the worst part?” Stefano asks.

“The ghosts,” Sebastian says, thinking this should be obvious.

Lily snorts in laughter.

“What?” Sebastian prompts.  “You don’t think this is scary?”

Lily looks at him apologetically.  “It’s creepy, but the monsters don’t look very real.”

He glances over to Stefano, who nods in agreement.  “I don’t know if the special effects hold up.”

“But…” Sebastian sputters, pointing to the screen where one of the most intense and iconic scenes of the film is playing out.  “Are you guys even seeing this?”

Stefano pats him on the shoulder.  “I can see how this would have been frightening when you were nine, but haven’t you seen much scarier things since then?”

“I guess so,” Sebastian replies.  Some of the things he saw in STEM were pretty terrifying, but those memories feel different than this movie does.  He remembers the horrors of Union and Ruvik’s domain, but he was always so focused on saving himself or saving Lily that there was no time to be afraid, no time to dwell on any of it.

Here he can’t do anything, can’t help the people on the screen.  He can only sit and watch the horror play out before him, and that, plus the remnants of his nine-year-old imagination, makes this so much scarier.

Even if Stefano and Lily aren’t convinced, Sebastian’s eyes are glued to the screen for the rest of the movie, and when it ends he still feels jumpy, on edge.

Lily goes to bed without complaint, and after they’ve cleaned up and turned off all the lights downstairs, he follows Stefano up to their bedroom to turn in for the night.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Stefano asks playfully when he has finished undressing and brushing his teeth.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian says, only half-joking.  Then, “Are you guys ever going to let me hear the end of this?”

Stefano frowns.  “I expect Lily now has some very good ideas about pranks to play on you.”

“What about you?” Sebastian asks, giving Stefano a pointed look.  “Are you going to keep me safe from the ghosts?”

Just saying the word again brings up an image in his mind- long black hair and flowing white fabric, an eerie voice singing a haunting song…Anima.  He shivers.

Stefano is staring back at him, and he’s sure they’ve both had the same thought.

“Okay, maybe STEM was scarier than the movie,” Sebastian says, “but I still need you to make sure the closet door is shut before you come to bed.”

Stefano leans in to kiss him.

“I think I can manage that.”

[dr-futbol-blog]

Hot Zone, Pt. 1

Hot Zone (S01E13) is, in many ways, a story about the aftermath of the storm and the events of the Genii siege.

The episode starts with McKay and Zelenka playing Prime/Not prime, a math game. Zelenka is trying to get Ford involved, but he's just not into it. We never see McKay play this with Sheppard but the thing is, Sheppard is better than McKay is at mental math. We already saw this in Rising (S01E01), and we'll see it again toward the end of the season in The Brotherhood (S01E16). Where Zelenka is trying to get the young military member of the team to play the game with them, McKay is more trying to help him understand the game and how it's played. Like maybe he's either had to explain it before had it explained to him previously.

I'm going to go on a limb and suggest that this game was started by McKay and someone that is not currently present. Passing the time doing it is a way of keeping Sheppard close even when he's not there. In fact, we later learn that Ford hadn't been with them from the start but had joined them in the middle of things which would suggest that there had been someone else there with them previously that Ford had come to replace. Someone that might have had to leave for a regularly scheduled gym appointment, for example.

McKay seems to be in a real good mood. Not only is he engaged in the game, he's talking to everyone in an up-beat way. He calls one of his team members "the lovely and talented Dumais," calls one of the guys that has had enough of these shenanigans "Dr. Killjoy," and is just being all-around positive. He even admits it himself, telling the whole team: "Alright, you clowns, listen up! I don't often get a chance to say this, so savour it: good work, boys and girls! Let's go home."

This is the opposite of the McKay that Zelenka claimed is "always like this," the last time we saw him with his science team in The Storm (S01E09). Also, you got places you need to be, Rodney?

McKay does give a compliment to a woman here. It's not in his usual, sleazy over-the-top way when he's performatively hitting on someone. This woman is a member of his science teams so hitting on her would be somewhat problematic to begin with. But he does appear to just genuinely be giving her a compliment because he's in a good mood (and he also turns his back to her pretty much immediately, which signals a complete lack of interest).

And by the looks of it, Dumais is not used to receiving praise from him and isn't quite sure what to make of it. If anything, she looks 100% done with her boss seeming to walk on Cloud Nine.

What ever has Rodney in such an obviously good mood can obviously last only so long. He's reminded of the reality of living on Atlantis when members of his science team start dropping dead under mysterious circumstances. This connects to the events of the previous episode The Defiant One (S01E12), where McKay had to watch a member of his science team die before his eyes, which is also relevant to the resolution of the episode later.

Toward the end of the season (Letters from Pegasus, S01E17), we see McKay musing about leadership. It's a humorous pastiche of his attempts at putting down some of his thoughts for a video message to earth. But the thing is, he has been thinking about it a lot. And the reason for it is John Sheppard and his relationship with the Major (what ever the nature of this relationship may be). He admires Sheppard and hence tries to emulate him. He especially tries to act the way he thinks Sheppard would act when there's danger in the air. And here, McKay displays a lot of leadership. He acts like a responsible leader, taking care of his people and the safety of the city. He wants to make Sheppard proud.

Perhaps not coincidentally, this episode is the first where McKay mentions that he has a sister on earth that he has lost contact with. It connects the episode to Letters from Pegasus, where he's making his video message with his thoughts on leadership to send to her.

They order a quarantine so as not to endanger other people in the city. We can contrast the way one of the scientists, Peterson, freaks out to how cool and collected McKay is. He understands the danger they might be in better than most people but he's still completely unafraid. He's not acting unafraid, he is unafraid. It does not occur to him to be afraid. McKay is also adamant about not endangering anyone in the city.

The plan, as instituted by Weir and Grodin, is for everyone in the city to stay put where they are. This seems to quickly become a problem for Sheppard.

Sheppard and Teyla are practicing some form of Athosian martial art using wooden bastons at a room that has been converted into a gymnasium. She is teaching him, and apparently has been teaching him for a while. Although, she notices and makes note of the fact that Sheppard has not been practicing lately, which is interesting.

Although he's getting his ass kicked, Sheppard also seems to be in a real good mood.

I mean, the fact that he's getting his ass beat so badly and is still in such a good mood is pretty telling.

Firstly, he doesn't treat Teyla as a woman but as a warrior, which is something she noticed pretty much immediately upon their meeting on Athos. He sees her as a person. John Sheppard is not sexist. He has no problem getting his ass beat by a woman that is better than he is at something, or learning from her. And he's learning more than stick fighting:

Sheppard: Y'know, no matter how many hours I put into this, you're still gonna kick my ass. Teyla: It is not for the winning that we practise. Sheppard: Well, what's the point?

(This exchange seems to hearken back to the beginning of the episode where Ford failed to see the point of Prime/Not prime. Like, this exact exchange may have happened previously between Sheppard and McKay regarding the numbers; clearly, he eventually learned to love playing just for the sake of playing; just to hone a skill).

Second, this kind of activity gives them time to bond. They are good friends and care about each other. Where Sheppard is wound into tight knots inside, Teyla is empathic and very good with feelings, expressing what she thinks and how she feels. Being around her is really good for Sheppard. And the fact that she is very sexy, and they are a man and a woman, does not make their interaction sexual or their bond erotic.

They get a message through the intercom about the city going under lock-down for a few hours. Granted, Sheppard is head of security and obviously, he should be concerned. His mood changes instantly, just like McKay's did when a member of his science team died before his eyes. We can contrast Teyla and Sheppard. She's concerned. He is agitated. He needs to know whether there's danger and especially whether someone he cares about is in danger.

Elsewhere, Rodney is leading his science team. Unlike Sheppard, McKay is not freaking out but seems to be on a mission, and indeed it's members of his science team that express concern. Trying to figure out why the scientists died, he tells Ford: "Don't worry, my motivations are based entirely on self-preservation."

But is that what they are?

He wants to get to the bottom of the problem, to be sure. It's not to save the day. It's not to get out of quarantine, which he helped set up himself. There's no indication that he's personally in any danger, yet. He says that his motivation is self-preservation but it seems much more like his motivation is actually to keep what ever is down there from spilling into the rest of the city. Where someone he cares about it.

But it's not that he wants to put himself needlessly in danger. He very much doesn't want to die, not now. He has a reason to want to get out of this safely. It's a motivation, but not his main motivation. He even orders Ford to come with him to the Ancient lab for protection. He wants to figure it out, he wants to fix it, but he also very much wants to get out of there safely.

In the gym, Sheppard is pacing during his call to Weir, getting more and more agitated by not being in control of the situation:

Sheppard: Teyla and I are coming up to join you. Weir: We're in a self-regulated quarantine, Major. Everyone stays where they are. Sheppard: They're nearly a mile away on the east pier. D'you really think I'm in any sort of danger walking from here to the Control Room? Weir: At this point we don't know where they contracted the virus.

First of all, let me note that he knows where McKay is, like exactly. Yes, McKay and Ford are both members of his team but he seemed to be enjoying a day off, having no reason to know his whereabouts in that detail (also? He started heading out of the gym finished with the stick fighting class around the same time as McKay was supposed to be returning back to the city; just saying, he threw that towel on his shoulders like he had places to be and wanted to grab a shower before that).

So, to recap: Sheppard was in a good mood. Has been skipping practicing recently. Forgot to bring his radio with him to the gym. Was about to grab a shower. McKay was in a good mood. Playing a mental math game. Couldn't wait for the inspection of never-before visited nooks of Atlantis to be over and return to the city. All I'm saying is that we later learn in canon that McKay and Sheppard have been spending a lot of time together between missions (ergo, episodes), and while we don't know exactly when they started playing "the game," they are definitely doing it by this time.

I also have no doubt in my mind that Sheppard was the reason Ford was down there with them because he wasn't exactly enjoying himself and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere else. And it wasn't just Ford but they were also accompanied by two huge marines. McKay's safety seems to be a pretty important thing for Sheppard, for some reason.

This being the case, he is trying every trick in his book to convince Weir that he needs to be in on the action. He pulls rank, he tries reasoning with her, tries coming up with excuses and ways he could join them in attempting to figure this thing out. Also, look at his eyes when Weir says: "At this point we don't know where they contracted the virus."

It's not a generalized anxiety he's feeling. It's not that he's missing out on the action and wants to save the day. It's not that he's head of security and his city is under some kind of a threat he needs to fix. This is a very specific fear for the people that Weir claims have contracted a virus. Two of them in particular. One especially.

And he is conflicted. He doesn't want to risk making it worse by breaking protocol and evading quarantine. But he also can't just sit on his ass if Rodney is in some kind of danger.

Continued in Pt. 2

[gvfgal]

The Art of Life: Part One

18+ Minor dni!!!

A/n: This was supposed to be a one shot, but the plot was too good and the one shot wouldn’t have done it justice. So this will be a nice fluffy little Josh series (some smut in later parts). I’m not exactly sure how many parts, I’m thinking 4 or 5.

Only warning for this chapter is STRANGER DANGER!!!

Word Count: 3.6k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You fought to keep your head up as you sat in your Advanced Art History lecture. As much as you loved the class, you found it hard to really absorb the lesson when you were completely zombified.

The sun was already on the horizon by the time you finished the piece you were working on for your Mediums class, and you’d only managed an hour of sleep before you were up again for your morning class.

Who schedules a lecture at 7 in the morning, anyways?

But your presence was important, so you begrudgingly decided to power through, knowing you’d be crammed up in your room going over the PowerPoint later anyways.

“If you guys remember from last week, one of the most renowned Netherlandish artists, Jan van Eyck, revolutionized painting by substituting the oil medium for tempera. He was court painter to the Duke of Burgundy…”

Your professor's monotone voice droned through the otherwise dead silent classroom as you craned your neck to look out the window on the gloomy cityscape.

Due to the overcast and your lecture being held on the 10th floor, there were thick clouds obstructing your view, but if you focused hard enough, you could see the bustle of the New York streets unfolding below you.

It was supposed to be stormy weather all day, and it only made you dread the busy schedule that lay ahead of you.

After Advanced Art History, there was a three hour break until your next class; Studio Art 3. During that time, you’d usually grab a bite to eat then nestle into a corner in the library. After Studio Art, you had to make a b-line to your ceramics class (which you hated the most), where you’d spend the rest of your evening working on your midterm piece.

After that would be hours on end of homework in your room for your more knowledge based classes.

This meant no rest in sight, and you could feel the stress and exhaustion consuming you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When the little hand hit the nine, your professor dismissed class, and per your routine, you headed to the ground level cafe for a breakfast sandwich and coffee (in hopes of gaining even an ounce of energy.) You ate as you made your way to the library, a short walk across campus, the rain pulled back just enough to allow you to enjoy it without struggle.

The library was usually almost empty this early, only a handful of other students probably in the same situation you were in scattered about the three story building.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you passed another student passed out in an armchair with his hoodie slung over his face, either hungover from the night before, or catching up on sleep after pulling an all nighter for an assignment.

One thing that brought you a strange sense of comfort, was that being at an art school, full of diversely talented students that were intensely devoted to their passions, you weren’t the only one overwhelmed all the time.

As an art student, you struggled coming up with portfolio concepts that reflected your visions and ideas. Stepping outside of your comfort zone to work with unfamiliar mediums (like that damn Ceramics class.) Or even staying up until the crack of dawn writing analysis papers for your Art History class.

And between all of that, you still had to find time to work on commission pieces.

But other majors had similar struggles. You’ve seen dancers in the studio from sunup to sundown, trying to perfect choreography for upcoming shows. Orchestra students with fingertips calloused from plucking at instruments constantly, or crouched over pianos in the wee hours of the morning, hair tasseled like some snapshot from Phantom of the Opera. Film majors carrying loads of heavy and expensive equipment around campus, having to stop several times to assemble and disassemble when they found the perfect shot.

Everyone here was a slave to their craft, and it made you feel less alone.

On the third floor of the library, you found a cozy corner with two leather armrest chairs and a small table between them, stained with several coffee rings from previous caffeine addicted students.

Once you were settled into your seat, you popped your headphones in and let your rainy day playlist play and began typing away on your laptop in hopes of relieving some work from later.

But the tension was evident in your body, and you were typing manically on your keyboard, taught and rigid in posture.

“Hey,” a voice interrupted from your thoughts, just above the sound of Midlake playing from your headphones.

You jerked your head up to see a rather short guy standing before you, wild and damp curls sticking this way and that from the top of his head.

He was smiling at you like he knew you, but you were sure you’d never met him before.

But his smile was beautiful.

“Hi,” your reply was uneasy, your face skeptic. You removed one of your earbuds, “can I help you?”

He shrugged, gripping onto the straps of his backpack, “just couldn’t help but notice you look stressed.”

You blushed slightly, “is it that obvious?”

His smile broadened, and his head tilted to the side, causing his curls to bounce, “only a lot.”

Both of you laughed.

You weren’t really one to engage in random conversations with strangers, but you partly blamed your delirious state of sleepiness (that your coffee did nothing to cure), and how attractive this particular stranger was.

“I’m Josh.”

He crouched forward with an extended hand, and you shook it gently, “y/n.”

He nodded his head towards the seat next to you that was occupied by your backpack, silently asking if he could join you, and without much thought, you moved to clear the seat.

“What are you working on?” He questioned as he settled next to you, leaning in to take a glance at your computer. It was strange how comfortable he was talking to you, as if you were some old friend of his.

Strange, yet endearing.

You turned your computer a bit so he could see your screen full of sentences you were sure made no sense. Hopefully he didn’t look too closely.

“It’s an analysis paper for my Art History class, I’m an art major.”

His brows peaked on his head, “nice. Film major here.”

“I figured,” you nodded towards his tremendously oversized backpack, more than likely housing loads of film equipment.

Josh looked down at his bag, then back at you with a grin, “is it that obvious?”

You smiled back, “only a lot.”

He returned his attention to your computer screen, “so what then, are we analyzing?”

Feeling self conscious about your shitty writing, you slowly grabbed your laptop and brought it to your lap, but that didn’t seem to deter him.

“We have to choose three expressionist pieces, one popular, one controversial, and one personal favorite, and dissect them.”

He seemed to be following, and he gave a curt nod, “looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“That’s only part of it. Try doing this on top of projects for other classes, and still trying to find time to work on commission pieces so you can make enough money to not get kicked out of your far too expensive brownstone that you can barely afford but just had to have…”

You trailed off as your eyes found Josh’s face again. His eyes were wide, the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, and suddenly you felt embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you peeped, “that was way more than you probably wanted to know. I’m just,” you sighed, rubbing remnants of sleep from your eyes, “I’m just exhausted.”

Josh shook his head, “no need to apologize, mama. Sometimes you have to get it off your chest.”

Mama. You liked that.

“Yeah, think I’ve been holding that in.”

“Sounds like you need a break.”

You nodded. You didn’t get a lot of those.

“You should ditch class, come spend the day with me.”

Your head snapped in his direction, and his face showed no sign of his unconventional suggestion.

“What?”

He leaned into you, speaking lower than he was before, “look, I have a confession. I didn’t just approach you because you looked tired, though that was a big part of it, fellow creative and all.”

You raised a curious eyebrow. Suddenly you weren’t so sure about this guy.

“You see, the real reason I approached you was because I’m working on a project of my own for a class. And I need a muse.”

Even more skeptical than before, you leaned back, “what kind of film are we talking about, Josh? You’re not trying to put me in some cult erotica film are you?”

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, and a few students scowled in your direction, causing you to grow uncomfortable.

But the sound of his laughter was so melodic, you simultaneously didn’t want it to cease.

“You’re funny. You know that?” His laughter had died down, and he was speaking in a hushed tone again.

“It’s nothing like that… unless you’re into that kinda thing?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you began fiddling with the sleeve of your jacket.

“Kidding,” he eased your nerves, “It’s more of a creative documentary of sorts. A look into the mind of a student of the arts. And the weather today fits my vision for the film perfectly.”

You were much more relaxed now, hearing him explain his idea. And truthfully, you were quite interested. You weren’t friends with any film majors at the school, so you weren’t aware of what the process was like, but you figured it reflected your own creative process in a way.

You must create when inspiration strikes.

But you weren’t done teasing yet.

“So out of all the students in the library,” you looked around to emphasize your point, “you came and asked me?”

He could tell you were messing with him, “well you look like you needed a break the most,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair, “and none of them are as pretty as you are, y/n. And I say nothing makes a film better than an angelic protagonist?”

Angelic.

He thought you were angelic.

Your cheeks flushed red, but not from the nippy air outside, and Josh’s expression was smug.

After staring for a moment, he leaned in, “so what do y’a say? Take a break from the busy life of a tortured artist and be my muse for a day?”

It’d be completely crazy to agree. You’d hardly skip class when you were feeling sick, let alone to rendezvous with some handsome stranger. But the offer was rather compelling.

You gave him a good look over. He appeared rather harmless. In no way was he a monster of a man, and if you needed to, you figured you could take him down long enough to escape.

Your eyes fell to his shirt, and you squinted your read the words.

Frankenmuth, Michigan.

Never heard of it.

When you looked back at him, he was watching you with an entranced expression.

“Fine, I’m in.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

How you’d let a stranger convince you to spend your day out in the rain in New York, you’d never know. But here you were, letting Josh drag you from location to location, in search of the perfect shot.

Your first stop was the coffee shop (it was your trade off, he buys you another coffee and you continue to be his Guinea pig), then after that, it was off to Central Park.

You were confused when, upon arrival, the two of you simply sat on the bench in the mist, Josh looking out thoughtfully at the very few people around the area.

But finally, he reached into his bag and pulled out a medium sized film camera, followed by a small umbrella.

As he attached the two together, you began laughing.

“Is that really an umbrella for your camera?”

He looked up at you and smiled, “don’t laugh. This is expensive equipment.”

After he fiddled a bit longer, you saw the camera shutter flick open.

“Wh- what do I do?” you asked, suddenly feeling nervous under the watchful eye of the camera.

Josh was scoping you out through the lens, tweaking the knob on the top to adjust the focus.

“Jussssttttt, stand there and look pretty. Yep, just like that.”

He pressed a button on the top of a camera, and a light flashed red, “andddd we’re rolling.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You guys spent some time wandering about in the park, Josh stopping you every so often to capture you at different angles in different spots.

After that, he dragged you to one of the many art galleries in the city. He paid for your admission, and the two of you scaled the building, admiring the many sculptures that were displayed.

It was funny to you, the giddy child-like feeling you got whenever you stepped inside of the gallery. The gears in your head began turning faster as you began picking apart different pieces, finding hidden meanings like some artistic scavenger hunt.

When you stopped and lingered in front of a painting longer than most, Josh seized the opportunity to record you, flicking the camera on and standing behind you.

“From the eyes of an artist, what’s your analysis of this painting?”

Tilting your head, you assessed the painting further.

There were two trees connected at the root, that expanded out in opposite directions, large branches crawling up the canvas. The tree on the left had leaves that were shaded in fiery shades of reds and oranges, the one on the right, cool, vibrant shades of blue and purple. The rest of the canvas was dancing in some abstract patterns that gave movement to the entire piece.

You were still facing it when you responded, “Well, I think the two trees symbolize two people. And it shows how even though they can be so similar at the roots, they can still grow apart in completely different directions, until on the surface, you couldn’t even tell they came from the same origin.”

Josh smiled at your answer, “I like that,” you turned to give him a smile of your own, “but… you gotta admit it kinda looks like a hairy vagina, too.”

You gazed back at the painting, “yeah… I can see that too.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Once the tour of the art gallery was complete, both you and Josh were starving, and he whisked you off to what he claimed was ‘the best damn restaurant in all of New York.’ It was a small pizzeria, no larger than one of the classrooms on campus, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the best damn pizza you ever tasted.

The two of you talked over mouthfuls of food, learning more about each other since you were still technically strangers. He told you about his hometown, and revealed to you that he had a twin brother.

It seemed like the more he told you about himself, the more you wanted to know. You found this stranger more interesting than anyone you’d ever met, and hearing him talk about all the things he did had you eager to tune in. You didn’t want to miss a word from his mouth.

Josh insisted on paying for lunch, since he told you he’d more than likely need more of your time beyond that day to complete the vision for his film.

When you told him that you needed to go to the art depo to pick up more supplies, he readily agreed to tag along. He and his camera followed you up and down aisles as you selected fresh colors and brushes.

Then the rain came. It poured so heavily, the two of you were forced to take shelter in a nearby bookstore. You and Josh nestled into a quiet corner, sifting through a collective pile of books each of you had plucked from the shelves.

Eventually, you found your home in a copy of What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher, and for the next several hours, you sat with your headphones in, flipping through the pages as you waited for the rain to pass.

You were a little over halfway through when Josh, who had disappeared from his spot almost an hour ago, came bouncing around one of the shelves, wearing what you now realized was his signature smile.

“Hey,” you removed your headphones to listen, “rain cleared out. Come on, there’s one more place I want to take you before the sun sets.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Harbor was windy. Josh had you standing in front of the railing, back towards the water as he adjusted the shot. Signs of the fresh rain were apparent in the atmosphere, and the dim glow of the sunset behind the passing storm clouds casted a faint rainbow across the water’s surface.

“You ready?”

The wind sent your hair whipping across your face, and you fought to tame it, “ready as I can be, I guess.”

He pressed record, “okay. When it comes to your art, what would you say your biggest fear is?”

Damn. He completely stumped you.

This wasn’t a question you’d ever been asked before, let alone asked yourself, and it left you contemplating for several minutes. Josh waited patiently behind the camera for your response as the wind whistled around you.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “I guess it would be the fear of not living up to my own expectations. I’m really hard on myself when it comes to my art, and I always find myself not quite satisfied with what I create, no matter how good everyone around me says it is. I don’t know I’m just… I’m afraid that I’m going to die without having created one piece that I’m actually proud of. Something that I really love.”

Josh was silent, now looking directly at you rather than through the lens. His stare was intense, and you found yourself growing embarrassed.

“Was that… too deep?”

After several more moments, his smile appeared, “no. It was perfect.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were hesitant about bringing Josh back to your apartment. Not because he was a stranger, you were beyond that now, but because of the fact that your apartment also doubled as your art studio, and its conditions were shameful.

But Josh insisted that it was necessary to the plot.

“It gives a raw look into your creative processes,” he explained.

Your living room was scattered with easels supporting different sized uncompleted pieces. There was a shelf that lined the entire wall, filled top to bottom with various paint colors and brushes. You once had a very organized system for it, but over time it had become a cluttered mess that you had yet to fix. The tarp on the floor did little to stop the paint stains that marked the scuffed hardwood. You tried not to think about it, but if you wanted your security deposit back come move out day, you’d have to spend a full day on your hands and knees scrubbing those floors clean.

What would’ve been your dining room was now your living area. A small couch, a coffee table, and a projector screen against the wall. But even your coffee table was littered with sketch pads and pencils. The art was never really contained to one spot.

Josh spent time filming various angles in the studio area as you prepared a pot of tea.

“So, what’s next?” You questioned as the two of you plopped down on the sofa.

He took a sip from his mug and savored the taste.

“Well, next I want to get some footage of you while you’re in the process of creating,” he lowered his mug to reveal a mischievous upturn of his lips, “which means you’ll have to hang out with me again. Can you stomach that?”

You grimaced, “I think I can manage.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A cup of tea turned into a glass of wine as Josh rummaged through your record collection, with childlike excitement.

You found yourself not wanting to take your eyes off of him, caught up in the commentary he made on every album as he flipped past them.

He pulled one from the stack, “no way you’re a fan of Fleet Foxes, too?”

You grinned around the brim of your wine glass as you leaned on the kitchen counter, “yeah, they’re great.”

He was careful as he retrieved the record from it’s sleeve and placed it on the turntable, and the two of you retreated back to the couch as the music began to fill the room.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Several more albums were spun, and millions of words were shared between you and Josh before either of you even thought to check the time.

“Holy shit, it's almost 2 am,” he noted as he glanced at his phone. You were curled up in your corner of the couch, but upon his revelation, you stretched your limbs out and jeweled loudly, “Christ, no wonder why I’m so tired.”

Josh stood from the couch with a stretch of his own, “yeah, I should probably get going.”

You don’t know why, but his words made you a little sad. Apparently, you didn’t really want him to go. The fact that he prevented you from getting any homework done didn’t bother you any, you just enjoyed his presence.

He slung his bag over his shoulder then handed you his phone, “you can uh, give me your number if you want, so we can figure out a good time to meet up again. I promise to only use it for film-related purposes.”

You grinned playfully at him as you finished entering in your number, handing his phone back to him, “I don’t think I’d mind if you used it for non film-related purposes.”

He smirked, only this one was a lot less confident than the others.

“Noted.”

You managed to peel yourself from the couch to walk him to the door, and as he stepped into the damp night, “until we meet again, my muse.”

His words made you blush, and his eyes stayed fixed on you as he made his way carefully down the steps.

“Goodnight, Josh.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[miintsprigz]

Hiya!:] Was wonderin if you could do some headcanons for Scout and a GN!Reader that loves to sing and dance when they're alone? If this isn't exactly your cuppa tea, or if you dunno how to write this, you can ignore this request, I ain't forcin ya./pos

Hope you have a good day/night/evening/afternoon !!

I started writing last night and then forgot to save and lost EVERYTHING AAAH

I absolutely ADORE this prompt because it’s something I do, and I found the perfect song for it the other night to boot. I hope this is good—-

Song used as inspiration: “Knock Three Times” by Tony Orlando and Dawn

Character: Scout (TF2)

The mercs had finally left for the day, and for the first time in a long time, home base was vaguely quiet.

You adored them, each and every one of them, but the volume and sheer chaos of having all nine of them around could grate on you from time to time. Sometimes it was nice to just have the place to yourself for a little while.

As you got out of bed after hitting snooze a few times, it seemed as though you may have had your chance.

On went the radio as you started mixing some batter for a late pancake breakfast. It wasn’t long after you started heating up the skillet that one of your favorite songs came on.

You knew that meant only one thing.

At first, you hesitated, so used to a head poking out from around the corner, or a voice calling out just down the hall. But hey, the fellas were all at work! If there was any time to jam out, it was now.

So that’s exactly what you did. Singing along as though auditioning for some kind of contest (in your mind, if nothing else, you were winning), and turning the kitchen into your personal dancefloor.

Caring not how you looked or sounded. Simply filling the open air with music and making this little spot your happy place.

It was only a few songs later, and after stacking up a couple pancakes and starting to cook some bacon up…that you realized that you were not, in fact, alone.

A voice rang out.

“So, when’s the talent show audition, slugger? I think you’re gonna make it!”

You jumped probably a full foot backwards, eyes popping open. With a somewhat sheepish smile, the Scout poked his head through the doorway from the hall.

“How. Long have you been there.”

“Uh, since about…second or third song?”

“Why are you not at work???”

“…can’t a guy call out every so often? Geez.”

Cursing yourself under your breath, one hand came up and curled over your face.

“…remind me to check the rooms next time.” You could feel a rush of blood to your face, and the laughter of your surprise audience didn’t help.

Approaching you, he playfully bumped his shoulder against yours, elbowing you.

“Aw, c’mon, (Y/N)! Lighten up a little. It ain’t a crime ta have a good time. Hey. Look at dat. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.”

As you peeked through your fingers to pull a face at him, he smirked.

“There ya are.”

“You’re not gonna like…tell the others, right?”

“Don’t get why you’re so worried, but nah, I won’t tell ‘em if ya don’t want me to. Whoop, look out, your bacon’s gonna burn.”

“Oh!”

“I got it, I got it.”

Sure enough, he’d already caught it and got everything onto the plate…not-so-sneakily taking a piece for himself.

“Really though, you’re pretty good! I heard ya since you started this whole jam session, and honestly? You got some pipes on ya!”

Well, now you were just blushing at the compliments.

“And those moves? Engie’s been wantin’ ta start some…square dancin’ lessons, I think? Oh, he’d love dat.”

“You think so?”

“Sure! …(Y/N), ya only do solo dance parties, huh?”

“Uh…I guess? I dunno, I think I’d get too nervous to dance if I was in front of anyone.”

Scout raised an eyebrow at you, and looked to the side for a second, like he was checking to see if anyone else was around.

“…wanna know a secret?”

“Hmm?”

“I do the same friggin’ thing.”

You couldn’t help but smile. He did tend to play his music pretty loudly, but you were never sure exactly what he was up to in his room.

No sooner did he say that than a song that both of you happened to love came on. He eyed you slyly, biting back a grin.

You had to try your best not to crack a smile yourself. “What are you doing…”

He motioned with one hand out, trying not to laugh. “(Y/N), quick…before that gets cold. One song?”

Well, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous. Shrugging your shoulders, you chuckled. “Can’t hurt. Just promise you won’t laugh.”

“Nah.” He stared off sheepishly again. “…You promise da same?”

Nodding your head quickly, you followed his lead.

It was awkward at times for sure—you each couldn’t read the other’s mind, and they didn’t quite move as you thought they would sometimes—but in spite of that, it was fun. Almost as fun as dancing by yourself.

By the end, both of you were beaming.

“Hey, maybe I oughta talk ta hardhat about that hoedown thing.”

“I think I could try that.”

“Havin’ you as a dance partner, I think it might be kinda fun!”

“Aw gosh.”

“Whaaat? I’m not bad, you can’t deny that.”

You rolled your eyes, handing him a plate before you helped yourself.

“…aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh shush, I knew you were gonna ask, Scout.”

“…guilty.”

[aurekiwi]

chapter 1: ateez hit the block

how does 2024 look for the group? how are they doing/feeling?

aurekiwi. all rights reserved.

how does 2024 look for the group? how are yall (they) feeling?

mingi the tower, king of wands i feel lots of fiery energy from him. it's like hot hot hot fire. he still has so much more to show. he worked so hard to reach their current milestone. what he did till now already shocked fans, but he's saying there's still more to come. it'll shock everyone, possibly know the winds out of everyone's lungs. he might do something that ppl did not expect at all.

seonghwa five of pents, five of wands, nine of wands rx seems like it hasn't been too amazing for seonghwa so far. i think there are many expectations he put on himself that he feels he hasn't really met yet, and that's really bothering him. i also sense that he might've fought with one of the members quite recently or some time in the past. it seems like one or both of them have different opinions on something and both are not taking the time to take a step back and try to see things from a different perspective though. i do not think it's a serious argument... it just may be on his mind a lot lately? you got this though, seonghwa. it feels like he's a bit burnt out and might feel a bit overwhelmed, but he'll overcome it. some proper mental rest, not really worrying about what's to come next will probably help him feel a lot less like he's always on the run for the next thing.

jong-ho (should've been yellow) four of wands, the magician, seven of wands he is very very very happy! he is very happy and joyful about the group's success and how far they've made it so far. i see him kinda dancing, chattering with his members, and just really enjoying it. he feels like the group has been able to pave their way and really show their potential and artistry as a group. he is really proud of ateez for all they've done, especially with such a fierce competition in the industry nowadays. he is very hopeful for their future and is looking forward to what other opportunities they have to show their talents!

san the hanged man san feels very neutral? like he's resting right now. resting. well-deserved rest. also thinking of what he wants to do going forward, visualizing things. he's a deep thinker. i don't rlly know what his camera personality is like, but this guy feels very introverted. he needs his own time and space to recharge. he's excited about his team's success though! very happy. but like, rest time... for a moment.

hongjoong six of wands, eight of swords, the fool, ace of wands they gained a lot of fame and recognition! he's so proud of them and for their current successes! i think he was a bit worried about how things will play out for the group. he may also have had some mental struggles. however, i see that he is represented as "the fool" right now- a free-spirited person who follows his heart's desires, his intuition and creativity, and where the air takes him. he has let go of whatever negative thoughts he may have had, and it seems like he has a clear vision of where he wants to head, as well as for the group. he is focused and dedicated.

THE GROUP

six of swords, knight of pentacles, the lovers, queen of swords, nine of pentacles, knight of wands; four of cups, ace of cups, queen of cups, the emperor

something very interesting is that there is this theme of transition and a fresh start. i see this in hongjoong's cards, maybe in mingi's cards, i also see it for the group. i don't exactly know what this may mean, but they're moving on from something.

they're steadily and productively working towards a more honest and open form of communication with a queen of swords it seems. the lovers card shows a woman and a man next to each other, holding hands. i don't feel anything romantic from this, but this is someone who is helping the group. someone with feminine energy who can seem a bit stern, cold, and intimidating. the queen of swords is not someone to mess as she can easily cut through bullsh*t and see what ur intentions are. however, i see some good results through this queen of swords. there is success, there is lots of money/abundance, lots of gold. may be an influential person, an authority figure, a person of power who helped them. with the support of this person, the group feels that they can have a much more care-free(?) mindset, as in they feel like they can overcome any challenge that comes their way, they're excited to go after their dreams and goals.

i also see some kind of collaboration or partnership coming their way. they had many different offers and opportunities, but they were very fixated on one specific opportunity that they want. the progression of four of cups to ace of cups makes me think that they did indeed achieve whatever they wanted to achieve, or get the offer that they wanted, and it's making them very happy! i see them working with a queen of cups and the emperor. the queen of cups is someone who is very nurturing and caring, with a very creative and artistic spirit. i see them creating something, using their ideas and cultivating them into something beautiful. the emperor is a more rigid masculine energy that is the leader of a company, an enterprise, or a franchise. this is going to be a very good/fulfilling opportunity for the group!

[lurkingteapot]

Last Twilight ภาพนายไม่เคยลืม Ep 9

This episode was a LOT. I found myself thinking "wait, if this is episode nine, what's going to happen in episode 11?!" but then I thought, well, if we compare the structure of Last Twilight to Bad Buddy (which I invariably do because those are the two 12-ep-shows of P'Aof's that I've watched), this is the … hit a snag, get past it, hit a LARGER snag part of the story arc, isn't it. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Liveblog:

guys, can you not make a scene at someone else's wedding??

so Night, what, caused the accident?

did Day see something he shouldn't have?

okay this is … like. I see why Night would blame himself, and it's convenient for Day to blame Night, but. It's not Night's fault. It's like … sure, this might not have happened if Night hadn't had to throw up, but that doesn't mean it's Night's fault? When he got in that car, I honestly worried he might've drunkenly thought it'd be funny to hold Day's eyes closed or something, but this? Day, I know you were on a toll road or something, but even so I was yelling at my screen for you to pull over from the second Night made the first retchy noise. And for Day to resent him for getting out of it with his sight intact and with, y'know, character growth? that's … unfortunately realistic but also. Oh Day. Oh Night. Boys.

OH wow so Day has that much insight at least?

he said เด็กเดียว there, right?? gotta rewatch and check

wow Day WOW you've got some things to work through here

the "sorry" bit is food for a LOT of "ways in which siajai and sorry aren't identical" commentary and I once again salute GMM's translation team

OHHH good job apologising

oh so she didn't start out rich and famous? sorry for misjudging, P'Mon

love these not-so-subtle "travel to southern Thailand, we have great food" plugs here

oh not AGAIN with the product placement

the way Day looks, I bet this smells the same

a museum?

an ARTIST so that's why the hair?

Day, you're an ass, you realise right?

I mean it does sorta feel like he's just hanging on to all the resentment towards Night so he doesn't have to deal with the fact that it was random and could've happened in a million different ways?

ahaha see! Long hair = artist!

oh I love the angle they shot this from here

is Pla teaching Mawk to make southern food??

is Mawk gonna move on to actually being a chef, too? is there anything he can't do? (for real though I love that Mawk is getting to see that there's options for him)

are they both gonna move South in the end?

you can SEE him thinking about whether to ask if there'll be a next time

HAH

… so much for three months, huh

I love the touristy stuff in these few eps

the music is creepy af

OH

random white guy a named David

phuak-you GOD I love neopronouns

Cherry Guest, huh

adfasdfads the MANY FIRSTS convo, what a BBS ep 11 parallel (sobbing)

there we gooooo

you're so far apart, boys, c'mon

THAT'S MORE LIKE IT

(I have many thoughts on the way they set up this scene in regards to Day's agency, none of them coherent, and just. Good job folks.)

I LOVE them oh they're cute

Mawk already trying to start something again 😂

I love how they keep making a point in how there's no knowing the ending before it ends

kinda re: point a few minutes back, but it's wonderful how Mawk has … idk, Mawk has seen he has talents and OPTIONS (which is something I don't feel like he really ever felt he had) which allow him to risk his current job in order to take Day to see the last twilight on Mt Khuha

Mawk is so annoyed by the weather's non-cooperation, I love him so much

honestly I love the view as is, but I also get Mawk's disappointment/upset

oh I love this

it feels very final episode-y though which WORRIES me

is he gonna bring this back to not having seen Mawk's body-- yeah

"last picture" that's a theme song call back

oh Mawk, so touched, huh

ilu Jimmy but you're still not the best at pretending to cry, though I guess the smiling through tears is pretty close

annnd that's it, his sight has gone, huh

I know the blocking probably is done for ~reasons but I still wish they'd moved closer to each other here

oh no, the preview REALLY worries me

I'm so glad my hunch that Night didn't actually actively do anything to make Day resent him that much played out as correct. Now for shit to hit the fan next week when their mum gets involved.

[idkaguyorsomething]

Doctor Who Fic Recs

¡The specials are nigh upon us (or maybe the first one will already be out by the time I finish writing this, who knows)! Over the course of 60 years, there’s been quite a few absolute gems that some anonymous, talented souls have put out for our enjoyment. So here’s some of the highlights, scraped together from various corners of the internet:

This one is centered around Nine, after his regeneration. He has to confront his trauma as he goes on a journey through his past, traveling through his memories and meeting his past selves. It goes really deep into a lot of lore surrounding the daleks and Classic Who, so if you don’t know a lot about that this probably isn’t for you. It also came out before the 50th anniversary special, so there’s no War Doctor, and it has its own interpretation of the last moments of the Time War. But if that’s not a dealbreaker, definitely check this one out, because it’s got a fantastic story about regret and identity.

This story is a prequel to both series set on Gallifrey, with some rare Doctor/Master/Rani shipping, a very eldritch approach to Time Lord society, and a really interesting fusion of TARDISes with daemons. If you’re not familiar with the concept of daemons, this story really isn’t a good starting point, plus there are some references to the Big Finish audio stories that are rather important. It’s not exactly a story as much as it is a bunch of fragments set in the same universe exploring a lot of the ideas it introduces. A must-read if you enjoy Doctor Nyarlathotep.

A personal favorite of mine, centering around the unexpected pairing of Martha Jones and Lucy Saxon. It deals with the fallout of a certain couple of Time Lord’s actions during The Year That Never Was and is very short, but manages to squeeze in a lot of emotions. It will make you understand how this pairing could work while doing justice to Martha’s character.

Drop whatever it is you’re doing. Go read this. Now. It is one of the most well-written fics you will ever find, period, and probably the best Academy Era fanfic out there. The author has an excellent grasp on how an unlikely friendship would develop into something more and then break down, making it one of the most compelling and believable explorations of the Doctor and the Master’s relationship before they were the Doctor and the Master. It can get pretty dark (we’re talking self-inflicted regeneration) but if you can stomach those topics then you’ll find something amazingly well-written.

¿Do you wish that we could’ve seen tiny Amelia as a child companion on the TARDIS instead of her adult self? ¿Are you a fan of platonic fluff? ¿Are you in the mood to have your heart explode from a cuteness overload? ¡Then check this one out! The only possible complaint is that it’s too short.

Wherein Rose decides to haul around the dalek from Van Statten’s bunker instead of Adam. ¡Very funny and enjoyable and underrated! It has a dalek named Pedro and Nine being enjoyably grumpy until he decides he can make an exception against hating all daleks just this once. ¿What more could you possibly want?

This one is a short piece about Martha and Ten going to watch a supernova, but what makes it extra special is that it’s a real supernova and the fic was written by an irl astronomer. Their passion for their work really bleeds through into their writing, and it helps to emphasize the sense of wonder and exploration that Doctor Who at its best can bring.

¿Remember Jethro from Midnight? ¿The guy who looked like Merlin? ¿No? You will after reading this.

Mostly crack that doesn’t take itself too seriously and isn’t afraid to poke fun at some of the classic sci-fi setting fanfic cliches. ¡¡Number one shipper TARDIS, sex pollen, and Martha Jones having a good time abound (¿have you figured out which companion is my favorite yet?)!!

https://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=53318 Set during the Day of the Doctor, this little oneshot is just a slight au where we get to see every Doctor (up to that point) play their part in saving Gallifrey. Obviously they couldn’t have done anything like that in the show itself without resorting to dubious CGI necromancy bullshit, but man does it make you wish they could’ve had something similar.

And last but not least, ¡some classic Donna and the Doctor friendship! This is pretty much the distilled essence of everything everyone loved about their dynamic, being sweet, silly, and sad. It leans more on emotions than action or humor, but with the upcoming specials it is well worth a read just to remind yourself of everything they went through.

[hopetorun]

“it’s almost just like how it was before” for the made-up fic title meme!

my first thought for this was actually leon goes to tampa futurefic but the @msmargaretmurry did this in a response for the same meme so i'm going to take this in a different direction.

our story starts in buffalo, new york, on june 24, 2016. draft day. auston matthew goes first overall to toronto, and patrik laine goes second overall to winnipeg. and then, instead of what actually happened that day, it goes the way people thought it would: jesse puljujarvi goes third, to columbus. and edmonton, picking fourth, takes the guy whose nameplate they already have velcroed to an oilers jersey: matthew tkachuk.

so matthew trucks his way up to edmonton, with aspirations of adding "winger for connor mcdavid" to his resume. now i'm gonna level with y'all: the oilers made me very, very mad in the summer of 2016 and hockey in general made me very, very made in the fall of 2016, so i've memory holed a lot of the details of the next couple of years. but luckily i'm not writing this story for real, so i can fudge and slur my way through that part!

matthew's career trajectory in edmonton isn't all that different from in calgary -- he's good pretty much from the jump, and with some ups and downs improves as he gets older (and a little calmer). he does get to add winger for connor mcdavid to his resume, but he ends up sticking mostly on the second line, as one of leon's wingers. there's a lot of reasons for it, but in part it's because it just drives the other teams bananas. annoyingness/60 off the charts. and matthew and leon are both having a blast the whole time.

i don't think they click instantly when matthew shows up in edmonton in 2016, because matthew's a hotshot, high draft pick, legacy, the whole nine yards, and leon's still feeling a little insecure about his place with the oilers. at least matthew's not a center.

so they don't click instantly, but it comes pretty quickly. matthew's a friendly guy, when he's not antagonizing every flames player on the ice (which frankly leon thinks is very funny), and he's smart about hockey, and a fun guy to hang out with.

and so we get a few years of the mcdavid-draisaitl-tkachuk era in edmonton. a lot of goals, and maybe not as much defensive responsibility as everyone wishes, a lot of people on twitter and capfriendly's gm tool getting stressed about the contract math. and they're right to be stressed about the contract math -- that's a lot of high-end offensive talent to have stored up, and it's gonna get pricey.

and then it's the 2021 offseason. matthew's already been a holdout, and he got his deal but everyone knows the next one won't be any easier, and mcdavid and draisaitl have their long-term deals but they're only going to get more expensive. they've been swept two years in a row in the playoffs. the front office wants results, and cap flexibility (that flat cap is already hurting). so matthew gets traded.

now, i don't think he and leon ever dated or anything at this point, but they were kind of dancing around the possibility for a while. another few years, or maybe one good solid playoff run, and it would've happened. (and by it i do mean falling into bed without actually talking about anything, but they would've talked eventually. both of them are too soft and serious about important things.) so for leon, matthew is this possibility. someone he almost got to have. it haunts him a little, when he lets it. and he misses the camaraderie he had with matthew, and how well they clicked on the ice. but that's just the business. he makes new friends and finds new guys to click with on the ice, and sure none of them make his heart beat too fast in the same way but he shouldn't be looking for boyfriends amongst his teammates anyway.

they keep in touch, a bit. it's hard with the grind of the season, and the time difference (matthew's on the east coast now) that doesn't even get any easier in the summers. leon fills up the space matthew took up in his life with other friends. more time with connor. other teammates. a dog. (it's a hassle, without someone living with him, but he's got a very generous neighbor and a big backyard and money to burn on fancy kennels if he wants.)

leon dates someone else, eventually. pretty seriously, living together kind of stuff. it is easier to deal with the dog this way. he learns just how annoying it is to play against matthew, and he tries not to laugh when matthew stares him down. the two of them get dinner with connor when the oilers are in raleigh (hey, we're playing the it almost happened game here anyway) and talk about the oilers circa 2017 experience. none of them win cups, but matthew gets the closest. leon determinedly isn't jealous, and sends him a nice text when the canes wash out in the conference final. again. but you know, it's not like leon misses him daily or anything. just at odd moments, when a play breaks down and he ends up with the puck, and he spins to find matthew on the ice, because matthew would've seen the same thing he did. and matthew's not there. matthew hasn't been there for years.

he doesn't ever ask if matthew's dating anyone, and matthew doesn't volunteer the information. he thinks it'll sting too much to find out, even though he is dating someone, and he hasn't told matthew about it.

matthew finds out, though, at an all-star game down the road. they're both there, and leon's boyfriend is too, and leon doesn't even introduce them. matthew's just saying hi to everyone, the way he does, and leon's boyfriend says leon invited him, and from the look on matthew's face, he doesn't even have to say boyfriend because matthew's got it all figured out. that shouldn't bother leon, and it bothers him a hell of a lot. (matthew's dated people too, but no one seriously enough to do something like this, and leon is right that he'd be hurt if he found out.)

leon signs a contract extension in edmonton. thinks about the possibility of retiring as an oiler. gets dumped, because his boyfriend gets tired of the late nights at home alone. the core of players he was striving for a cup with in edmonton is slowly breaking up. early-ish retirements. trades. the usual stuff. and leon wants to win, and he's starting to think that isn't going to happen in edmonton.

there's two years left on his contract and, well. he's looking, a bit. eyeballing other teams, looking at where he thinks he might be able to help the most. he has a full NTC, now, and the oilers won't be happy if he asks to be moved, but he thinks they'll make it happen. he can be flexible, a bit. he's good enough to command a decent return. connor will forgive him. he'll resent it, the freedom that his presence has given leon to do things like bail on the oilers when the going starts getting tough again, but he'll get over it. the deadline is creeping up now, and the oilers could still make the playoffs but it's looking more and more like they won't, and on the other side of the continent matthew's still -- well, he's not tearing it up like he used to, but he's putting together a decent season on a competitive team. and leon's jealous.

so he finally puts in the request. feels a little guilty but not enough to not do it. this is a business. he wants to win. he's won everything else, individually. maybe they've even won the president's trophy once or twice. but he wants a cup. the cup isn't the first thing he thinks about when all the chips are down and he's going to be matthew's teammate again.

it takes some getting used to, when it actually happens. matthew doesn't just plop back onto leon's wing and learn to read his mind all over again. matthew's an established guy on the team, he's already got a line. leon's playing a bit of wing, a bit of center. leon knows better than to have expected everything to just slot back into place but there was a stupid part of him that kind of wanted it anyway. it was so easy before! and now matthew's got a whole life here and leon's the interloper.

i think from here leon spends a while being in his feelings about it. not wanting to push too hard and upset the balance of this team, because they're winning. they're playing well. it feels good. but then the team's 2c gets hurt and he ends up slotting in, matthew on his wing again and oh, oh, that's the thing they used to have. leon is totally swept up in it, and along with it the crush he used to have on matthew. the thing that always felt like it could happen is still there, simmering under the surface. leon feels it when matthew slams him into the boards in a hug, and he feels it when matthew compliments him in a scrum and he feels it at the bar after the game, drink in hand and matthew leaning in close and grinning too wide.

it's not the same, exactly. they're both comfortably into their thirties now. older. more settled. matthew has a house in raleigh, which he never did in edmonton. even leon, uprooted midseason and in a new area, feels older and more stable than he ever did at 22.

they still don't act on it. matthew thinks leon got over it. leon doesn't want to rock the boat. but leon can't stop himself from pushing a little. touching when they don't need to. knees pressed together on the plane.

matthew does realize leon isn't over it somewhere in here. he's not an idiot. he knew what the vibes were back in edmonton, and he knows that leon's hand on his back at the bar isn't platonic. but leon doesn't push, and matthew's careful about these things. and they're winning, winning so much. winning in a way they weren't when they played together before, and it feels incredible.

gonna go big romance here and say this one ends when they win the cup. neither of them's on the ice but they pile off the bench together when the buzzer sounds, and after they've had their turns with the cup -- it feels even better than leon thought it would -- and after the night has finally wound down, leon grabs matthew by the wrist the way he's wanted to since matthew was 20 years old and so transparently trying to make everyone like him.

matthew comes toward him easily, until they're nearly touching, and leon finally, finally kisses him.

[nel-world]

hi

Scene 1: Reality Check

INT. MICHAEL'S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Jon is buried in papers and sheet music, lost in thought. Michael, exhausted in his suit, enters, setting his briefcase down and heading to the fridge for a drink.

MICHAEL You’re still at it? Working on the musical?

JON Yeah, just trying to nail this one song. Feels like something’s missing.

Michael leans against the counter, sipping his drink.

MICHAEL It’s Friday night, Jon. When was the last time you just… relaxed?

JON (deadpan) I’ll relax when the clock stops ticking.

Michael chuckles but tries to keep the mood light.

MICHAEL Not everything’s a race against time, man. You’re talented, but you’ve been at this forever. What’s your backup plan?

JON You sound like my parents.

Michael sighs, sensing Jon’s frustration.

MICHAEL I’m not here to crush your dreams. But you can’t keep banking on a miracle. It’s okay to have a safety net.

Jon looks at Michael, defiant.

JON I’d rather drown trying than play it safe.

Michael sits next to Jon, offering a silent show of support.

Scene 2: The Apartment Confrontation

INT. MICHAEL'S APARTMENT – LATE NIGHT

Jon bursts in, throwing his jacket on the floor. Michael, finishing a work call, senses Jon’s mood.

MICHAEL (on phone) I’ll send it first thing in the morning. Thanks. (hangs up) Rough day?

JON They cut my song. Spent weeks on it, and they said it didn’t fit. Who are they to decide?

Michael watches Jon, letting him vent.

MICHAEL Jon, that’s the nature of collaboration. Sometimes you’ve got to compromise.

JON Compromise? That’s all I’ve been doing. They want it safe and easy. I’m giving them everything, and it’s never enough.

MICHAEL You’re doing more than you realize.

JON Then why does it feel like I’m getting nowhere? I’m still broke, still struggling. Meanwhile, you’ve got your stable job, fancy apartment…

Michael takes a breath, keeping his cool.

MICHAEL I chose stability. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get your struggle. I see how hard you work.

Jon slumps onto the couch, deflated.

JON I thought something would’ve clicked by now.

MICHAEL It will. But maybe it’s time to find a balance. You don’t have to lose yourself to find success.

Jon looks at Michael, feeling the weight of his words.

JON It feels like I do.

Michael squeezes Jon’s shoulder, grounding him.

MICHAEL You’re not alone in this.

Scene 3: The Big Decision

INT. CAFE – DAY

Jon and Michael sit across from each other. Tension lingers as Michael pitches Jon a job opportunity.

MICHAEL The job’s on the table, Jon. Good pay, benefits, stability.

JON (agitated) I’m not a nine-to-five guy. I can’t just… sell out.

Michael absorbs the hit but remains calm.

MICHAEL This isn’t about selling out. It’s about surviving. You can’t pour from an empty cup.

JON I don’t want your life.

MICHAEL And I don’t want you to. But you’ve got to decide what’s more important: the art or having a life outside of it?

Jon looks away, torn.

MICHAEL (CONT'D) You can chase the dream, but don’t burn your whole life trying to catch it.

Jon takes a deep breath, his decision weighing heavily.

JON I don’t know how to be anything else.

Michael gives a sad smile, understanding Jon’s inner battle.

MICHAEL You don’t have to be. Just don’t forget there’s more to you than just the music.

Scene 4: Michael’s Diagnosis

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – DAY

Jon fidgets in a sterile hospital room. Michael, now visibly weakened, sits in a hospital gown, staring at the floor.

JON Are you okay? What’s going on?

Michael hesitates, finding the words difficult.

MICHAEL I have cancer. Stage three. It’s in my lymph nodes.

Jon’s face pales as he processes the news.

JON But… you’re Michael. You’re strong.

MICHAEL Not this time.

Jon looks away, overwhelmed, wiping his eyes.

JON Is there a treatment plan?

MICHAEL Chemo, radiation—the works. It’s gonna be a fight, but I’ve still got some fight left.

Jon stares out the window, grappling with his emotions.

JON I don’t know what to say.

MICHAEL Just don’t treat me like I’m already gone.

Jon turns, tears in his eyes.

JON I’m not going anywhere. We’ve still got too much left to do.

Michael smiles faintly, grateful for Jon’s resolve.

Scene 5: Uploading the Song

INT. MICHAEL'S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Michael sits at his laptop, weaker but determined. Jon fidgets nervously with a USB stick holding his latest song.

MICHAEL Ready?

JON Not really. But when am I ever ready?

Michael chuckles softly, despite his pain.

MICHAEL Let’s get this thing online. Time to show the world.

Jon watches as Michael clicks through the upload process.

JON What if no one likes it?

Michael stops, looking Jon in the eyes.

MICHAEL It’s not about that. It’s about taking the shot. If one person hears it and feels something… that’s enough.

Jon nods, feeling lighter as the progress bar fills. The song is uploaded. They sit in silence.

JON What now?

MICHAEL We wait. Then we celebrate. You did it.

Jon fights back tears, knowing this moment is more than just about the song.

Scene 6: Late-Night Confession

INT. MICHAEL’S LIVING ROOM – LATE NIGHT

Jon and Michael sit on the couch, surrounded by takeout containers. They listen to Jon’s song playing softly.

MICHAEL You always said you’d make it big before 30. Funny how life turns out.

JON Yeah, and you were supposed to have the perfect job, perfect health.

Michael gazes away, reality sinking in.

MICHAEL We both got a little lost.

Jon sighs, leaning back.

JON I thought there’d be more time. For everything.

Michael squeezes Jon’s shoulder, firm but gentle.

MICHAEL Time’s not guaranteed. But you’ve got now. And you’ve got me.

JON And this stupid song.

Michael laughs, masking the pain.

MICHAEL It’s not stupid. It’s you. And people will hear it.

Jon smiles, letting go of his fears for a moment.

Scene 7: The Last Ride

INT. CAR – NIGHT

Jon and Michael drive through the city, the lights casting shadows on their faces. Michael gazes out the window, contemplative.

MICHAEL I don’t regret any of it. I just wish I had more time.

Jon grips the wheel, tears threatening to spill.

JON You deserved more.

Michael turns, smiling softly.

MICHAEL We all get the time we get. It’s what we do with it that counts.

They pull up to Michael’s apartment. Jon turns off the engine, reluctant to say goodbye.

JON I’m not ready for this to end.

MICHAEL Neither am I. But it’s not over. Not as long as you keep going.

Michael slowly exits the car, giving Jon a final look before heading inside. Jon watches, fighting the loss.

Scene 8: Jon’s Song Goes Viral

INT. JON’S APARTMENT – MORNING

Jon wakes up to his phone buzzing with notifications. His song is going viral. Overwhelmed, he quickly calls Michael.

JON Michael, are you seeing this? People are listening!

Michael’s voice, frail but proud, comes through.

MICHAEL (over the phone) I told you. The world was just waiting for you.

Jon wipes away tears, caught between joy and the weight of Michael’s condition.

JON This is for you.

MICHAEL (over the phone) No, Jon. This is for you. You earned it. Now don’t waste it.

Jon smiles, knowing Michael will always be a part of his journey.