#i could cry about this for hours actually

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I was doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[kxsagi]

Hello! Could I ask something about a foreign reader, maybe European, meeting Michael in Germany, Sae in Madrid and Rin in Japan while on a trip? Speaking in English since they don't know the language and having that immediate connection that neither of them have ever had before. That'd be very cute, and such a dream😫

“𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤”

a/n: love talk by wayv is a FIRE song

made reader both european and american if that’s okay! being american helps explain the english more

translation of each title: “do you speak english?” (german), “more beautiful than the sun” (spanish), “kotoba janakute mo/even without words” (japanese)

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

kaiser michael – "sprichst du english?" 

berlin's streetlights hum like lullabies, the city bleeding into a haze of jazz from some underground bar. you don’t know where you are. literally. google maps is spinning like a roulette wheel and you're pretty sure the bratwurst vendor gave you a fake street name just to mess with you. 

“you look like a lost little tourist,” a voice purrs, rich with amusement. 

you turn to see a tall, golden-haired man leaning against a lamp post, hands in his coat pockets, smirk curled like a sin. 

“you speak english?” 

his eyes light up. “better than you, probably.” 

he says it like he’s challenging you, like he wants to bicker for the next hour over espresso and late-night currywurst. 

you blink. “oh my gosh, thank goodness. i thought i was gonna get kidnapped.” 

“well,” he chuckles, stepping forward with a lazy saunter, “depends on who finds you first.” 

he offers his hand. “michael. kaiser, actually. but you can call me whatever you want, hübsches mädchen.” 

you laugh, hand in his. “i literally have no idea what you just said.” 

“good. it’s more fun that way.” 

and just like that, he walks with you, not behind or in front, but beside, like he already belongs there. he gets you a kebab, points out ridiculous graffiti, and lets you try to pronounce german street names while biting back laughter. 

you don’t even remember what you were looking for in berlin. now it’s just him. 

itoshi sae – "más guapa que el sol" 

you’re melting. madrid in the summer is no joke. and you, brave but dumb, decided to wear jeans. 

as you take refuge in a quiet little café, fanning yourself with a menu, the chair across from you scrapes against the floor. 

“mind if i sit?” an unfamiliar voice in crisp english asks. 

you look up. red hair. unreadable teal eyes. the aura of someone who absolutely hates small talk but will make an exception for you. 

“… uh, sure?” you blink. “do i know you?” 

he just shrugs and sits down, sipping from his water. “you were staring at the menu like it insulted you. figured i’d save you.” 

you snort. “i can’t read anything. my spanish sucks.” 

he lifts a brow. “american?” 

“and european… you say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“it is,” he mutters. but the corner of his mouth quirks like he’s fighting a smile. 

he orders for both of you without asking, and you're weirdly okay with it. later, over chilled wine and tortilla, you learn he’s a football player. kind of famous, actually. sae something. 

“so you're like, a celebrity?” 

“only here,” he says, looking out the window. then softer, “not with you though.” 

you don’t know what it means. maybe he doesn’t either. but when he offers to walk you to your hotel, slowly, like he has nowhere else to be, you let him. 

itoshi rin – “言葉じゃなくても” 

you’re crying in the middle of a tokyo train station. not ugly crying, but overwhelmed, jetlagged, google-translate-is-failing-you crying. 

someone taps your shoulder. you spin around, sniffling, trying to look like you didn’t just almost sob into your iced matcha. 

he’s tall. sharp-eyed. slightly terrifying. but his voice is gentle when he asks, “are you okay?” 

“do you… you speak english?” you manage. 

“a little,” he says. “you’re lost?” 

you nod. 

without a word, he gestures for your phone. you hand it over and he starts typing something into your map app. once he finishes, he gives it back and mutters, “i’ll take you.” 

“you don’t have to–” 

“i want to,” he says. blunt. serious. a little red in the ears. 

on the way, you try to make conversation, and he gives these awkward, short replies, like he wants to say more but doesn’t know how. still, he slows his pace to match yours. he buys you a melon soda when he notices you haven’t had water all day. he hovers protectively when the crowd thickens. 

when you reach your destination, you thank him profusely. he just nods, looks like he wants to say something else… and hands you a tiny slip of paper. 

his number. with a scribbled note underneath: “i could work on my english more. can i practice with you?” 

and suddenly, you’re not so lost anymore. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Is Secretly Lonely (Even When Surrounded by People)

I love writing characters who insist they’re “fine” while clearly radiating the desperate energy of a dog left home alone for eight hours with no enrichment activities.

They laugh too loud at jokes that aren’t funny. And not just a chuckle—like full-blown sitcom audience laughter. Because if they laugh hard enough, maybe no one will notice the hollow echo inside.

They overshare weirdly fast. First conversation? Congrats, you now know about their third-grade trauma and their mom’s weird obsession with Tupperware. It’s like emotional diarrhea: uncontrollable, messy, and a cry for connection they don’t even realize they’re making.

They get way too invested in minor social interactions. The barista remembered their name? That’s the emotional highlight of their month now. They’re writing about it in their journal tonight.

They cling to any group or friend who gives them an ounce of attention. Book club? Bowling league? Interpretive dance class for introverts? They’re signing up just to hear someone say, “See you next week.”

They’re the ultimate “life of the party” but go home feeling like they were never actually seen. Because if you're entertaining enough, nobody looks too closely at the emptiness.

Their texts are weirdly enthusiastic at 2 a.m. "OMG WE HAVE TO HANG OUT!!!!" followed by weeks of silence. It’s not flakiness, it’s a tidal wave of loneliness crashing into a wall of shame.

They constantly post selfies, group photos, “Having so much fun!!” posts… and yet, somehow, you can smell the loneliness through the screen. (If you could bottle that vibe, it would smell like stale wine and unsent texts.)

They stay in bad relationships just to not feel alone. Red flags? They’ve knitted a full quilt out of them. Because someone is better than no one, right? (It’s not.)

They sabotage good relationships because vulnerability is scarier than loneliness. "If I push them away first, they can’t hurt me!" - them, crying alone on a Friday night, claiming they're just "enjoying some me-time."

They have this glazed look when people talk about “close friends.” Like they know what it’s supposed to feel like, but they’re running on Google Image results and secondhand memories from coming-of-age movies.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Not Just a Neighbor (2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: When Simon is home from deployment, all he wants to do is sleep, but noise from the apartment next door keeps him tossing and turning- his cute new neighbor's puppy.

Request submitted by anon. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+ MNDI; eventual smut; language; mostly fluff; mentions of PTSD & anxiety

Series Masterlist

The next time he sees you, he’s coming back from the gym. It’s early in the morning and he sees you out with Sarge as he approaches the building. It’s been about a week since his first encounter with you and he hasn’t been able to think about anything else but you since. 

If he thought he was a goner when he saw you in your pajamas, he didn’t realize what it would do to him seeing you in leggings that fit your legs like a second skin. Leggings, and a form fitting workout jacket is enough to make his brain short circuit as his eyes wander over your curves. 

Sarge no longer has his cone, and you're waiting patiently for him to finish sniffing the tree directly outside the front door so you both can presumably start your walk. Simon immediately notices the bright yellow collar Sarge is wearing. He chuckles when he gets closer and he sees that it says NERVOUS in bold font across the fabric. 

As he walks towards you both, Sarge begins to bark, making your eyes flick up towards the direction Sarge is looking. Your eyes soften as you smile recognizing Ghost immediately. He pushes his hood off of his head and like Sarge recognizes him immediately the barking subsides. 

“Hi neighbor,” you greet, cheerily- despite how early in the morning it is. 

“‘Morning,” his voice his gruff, and it’s when he realizes despite being up for hours he hasn’t actually spoken yet today. His voice was still laced with sleep like he had just woken up. “Sarge,” he says, nodding towards your dog. The gesture makes you giggle, and the sound makes his knees almost weak. 

He made you laugh. He already wants to hear it again. 

“Good workout?” You ask, making conversation. He nods, but quickly realizes he’ll need to say more if he wants to keep you here. 

“Yeah, leg day,” he replies, his own version of trying to drag out the conversation as long as he can manage. It’s not in his nature to be talkative. He just wants to keep talking to you. “You’re up early.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” you joke, “I’m on his schedule now, I’m not the morning person- believe me.” 

He can’t help himself, he lets himself picture it. You bundled up comfy with the blanket tucked under your chin, burrowed in the comfort of the his bed and he kisses you goodbye while he goes to work early in the morning. Maybe a few hours later when you’re awake you’d send him a text, annoyed he let you sleep in again… 

He needed to pull himself together. 

“Did you hear me?” You ask, and he feels panic set in like somehow he’d be caught. 

“Oh, no. Sorry, love,” he says, hurriedly. He doesn’t miss the way you smile at the term of endearment. You don’t seem annoyed by it thankfully, as you brush it off. 

“No that’s okay,” you grin. You take a breath, and he wonders if you’re as nervous talking to him as he is talking to you. “I wanted to know if you got any sleep last night?” 

Honestly, he didn’t and not because of Sarge. He didn’t hear anything when he went back to his apartment last night. He laid on his back and basically stared at the ceiling, because everytime he closed his eyes all he saw was you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I did. Thank you,” he lies. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply and he can tell you’re sincere. 

The little dachshund walks over to Simon, and begins sniffing around him. Despite his legs burning from his workout, he squats down to see if the dog would approach him. Hesitantly, Ghost holds out his hand and Sarge licks it. Witnessing it makes you so happy you could cry. 

“Careful,” you say gently, watching your dog like a hawk. You were bracing yourself to jump and scoop Sarge up in case he starts to act up, but it’s very obvious he adores Simon. It melts your heart. 

He stands up, and somehow Sarge liking him is giving him a confidence boost. He looks back to you, and he watches the way you’re looking at your little dog. The way you care for the little guy makes him like you even more. 

“Listen, um- I was wondering, would you want to get dinner or something… with me?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck- a nervous habit. 

“Oh, Simon- I would love to, honestly. I wish I could say yes.” 

He’s never felt more defeated in his life. 

“I just- I can’t go out anywhere and leave Sarge home. He’s not well trained enough yet. This isn’t an excuse, I swear. I would love to go out with you, but I just can’t- not until he’s able to be left alone.” 

He feels the little spark of hope bubble up in his chest again. You wanted to to go out with him. He looks down at Sarge, the cock block, and he starts to formulate a plan. He needs to make a dog friendly date happen. He can do that, easily. He’d make it work. If Sarge comes as part of the package he’s more than willing to take that on if it means getting a chance with you. 

He spent the remainder of his morning off googling restaurants with dog-friendly patios, trying to figure out which one could accommodate Sarge best. He calls around, speaks to managers, trying to pinpoint the absolute best place to take you. He wanted to have everything researched and ready before asking you again. 

A few hours later, when he finally makes his decision, he’s so eager to tell you that he immediately rushes over to knock on your door. 

“Simon?”

“I found us a place- there’s a restaurant downtown that’s dog friendly, and has a really nice outdoor patio. There’s a corner table that’ll be more quiet and the manager said we could have it, and they’ll even play softer music for us if you think it’s necessary…”

“Sarge is…”

“Special, I know… I filled them in about it, and they said it won’t be a problem. We’ll go in for an early lunch when they aren’t busy and he can just stay right with us.” 

“You really went through all this trouble just for me?” You ask, looking at him in awe. 

“It wasn’t trouble,” he replies, and he means that. Calling a restaurant is nothing- doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he’s willing to do for you. “What do you say?” 

“I’d love to go,” you smile, making his heart ache at how badly he wants to kiss you. 

His eyes linger on your lips, you’re just too tempting. Not when you’re so happy, not when your eyes light up like this. He needs to feel you. He takes a tentative step forward, slowly bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your soft skin. His eyes scan yours, and he sees the way they flicker to his lips and then back to him. 

He leans in and kisses you, gently, like if he’s not careful you’d break. You kiss him back and he knows he’s going to be thinking about this kiss for a long time to come. It’s dizzying in the best of ways, and he swears he feels sparks- something he never believed was real. 

[sweetdispatch]

Hi V! Can I do 2 cheesecake with peanut butter and mint leaves pls?

Labour - N. Hischier

v' bakery pairing: Nico Hischier x fem!reader summary: The long awaited pregnancy was killing you but the worse was about to happened when Nico left you to go on a roadie warning: description of tough labour

When the pregnancy test showed two lines, you broke down in tears. You and Nico tried for a couple months for a baby and finally, you were pregnant. These past months were tough for both of you. You felt like something is wrong with you, that you’re unable to have kids. Nico was always next to you trying to explain to you that those things are not happening quickly but you couldn’t believe him. 

That’s why when the test came out positive, you felt over the moon. When Nico came back from training, you instantly ran into his arms. Tears were spilling from your eyes but he was confused. You didn’t say a word since he walked into the apartment. You just wanted to have him close to you.

“What happened?” Nico asked you. 

“I’m pregnant. I did a test this morning and it came out positive” You told him with tears. 

Nico lifted you up and spun you around. He kissed your lips in gratitude. He was delighted to hear the news because he knew how much nerves it cost you to get pregnant. Both of you felt blessed and couldn’t be more excited to be parents. You’ve been together since high school and got married last summer. Pregnancy was another step in your relationship. 

You were aware that it won’t be an easy task to be pregnant. You were carrying a kid inside of you and this made you feel drained out of energy. What you didn’t expect was that you’ll be in so much pain. You couldn’t move from the bed without back pain. You could barely stay because your feet were swollen. 

Nico’ heart was breaking when he was watching you. He wanted to take the pain from you. Every day he could hear you crying from feeling so helpless. He was always next to you but he knew it’s not much of a help for you. That his words meant nothing compared to the pain you were carrying. 

You hated when Nico had to go on a roadie because that meant you’ll be all by yourself. He was helping you to get up from the bed, he was always making sure you ate and drank enough water because you were unable to do it by yourself. You felt too tired to do anything and if you could, you would spend the whole pregnancy in bed. 

Thankfully, when you were in seventh month, Nico’ mum flew to New Jersey to stay with you for the rest of the pregnancy. She was trying to help you as much as she could but you missed Nico. You felt like he’s the only one who can actually help you. Each night, Nico held you close in his arms and caressed your stomach and back to ease the pain. 

A month before the due date, you were rushed to the hospital. You started bleeding and his mum drove you there. The doctor told you that you’re in labour and the pregnancy is at risk, you froze on the spot. This wasn’t the information you expected to hear. You broke down in tears that were mixed with you screaming in pain. The nurse took you to the delivery room so you could give birth. 

Nico’ mum immediately called him to tell him the news. Nico was on a roadie but when he heard what’s going on, he packed his bag and was ready to leave. Everyone in the team understood the situation and didn’t even try to stop him. Hockey went on the other plan, now he needed to know if everything is alright with you and the baby. 

The hours you spent in labour were traumatic for you. You were in insane pain and they couldn’t give you painkillers because of the possible complications. You felt that you’re not gonna make it. Couple times you were close to passing out there. Your cheeks were wet and your throat was sore. After three long hours, you finally heard the crying of your newborn. You felt overwhelmed and lost consciousness. 

Nico ran into the hospital and saw his mum sitting on the chair, waiting to hear any news about you or the baby. 

“I came as soon as I heard. Where is she? How’s the baby” Nico asked his mum in one breath. 

“She’s in the room but you can’t walk there. She’s unconscious and the kid was taken for more examinations” Nico’ mum explained to him with sadness in her voice. 

“I should be here for her. I should never leave for the roadie” Nico sat next to her with a loud sigh. 

“You didn’t know this would happen” She tried to cheer him up.

“But I should know. I have known her for 10 years and the whole pregnancy was killing her and you know how huge she has pain level” Nico felt his tears spilling from his eyes. “I should have stepped out of hockey when she was pregnant. I should be next to her when she was in labour” Nico felt guilty for leaving you alone in this. 

After an hour, the doctor finally gave Nico an update about what happened. He found out that you passed out because of exhaustion. Thankfully everything was alright with the baby but they needed to run a couple more tests. He also said that you and the baby needed to stay longer in the hospital because of the situation. Nico could feel how all the emotions have worn off and was grateful that it’s okay now. 

The doctor said that Nico can go to the room because you woke up. Slowly, he walked into the room and saw you laying on the bed. You had your eyes open and a soft smile but you looked drained. You were paler than usual. His heart broke at the view of you. Quickly, he sat down on the chair next to the bed and grabbed your hand. 

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you” Nico placed a kiss on your hand. 

“It’s alright, no one could know that our baby will be born before the due date” You said weakly. 

“How are you feeling now? Do you need anything?” Nico asked you. 

“I’m tired. Could you hand me the cup, I’m thirsty and I can feel how dry is my mouth” Nico grabbed the cup with water and handed it to you. You were taking slow sips and he was watching you closely. “How’s the baby?”

“The doctor said that our baby is alright but he’s still being examined” Nico told you. “I’m so happy that you’re alright. I don’t know what I would do with you”

“You won’t get rid of me so easily. I’m here with you for life and even longer” You laughed but it turned into a cough. 

“I see you still got jokes” Nico smiled at you. “I love you baby” He placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too” You weakly smiled at him. You knew that now, everything will be alright.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

What if Ford dies from Bill's torture? And Stan still cursed as a cat gets Dan and the rest to the house? (I love angst) btw there's another happy ending where Ford was barely clinging to life but not dead so he get rescued by the group.

Is it make the dark lord cry hours here? Why's everyone being so sad?

In the terrible scenario where Ford dies, Bill is moving into his permanent flesh puppet and yelling at Fords ghost for having the nerve to die before Bill could kill him on purpose. Fords floating around horrified that Bill has full access to the house and his research, and works with Nikola to go get help from outside before Bill figures out how to tear down the door to the basement and start the apocalypse. Stan is pushing down his horror and devastation to help Ford's ghost out, but he's barely clinging on to that thread.

The confrontation between Bill and the rest of the group is similar in that Dan decks him and he drops, but then he doesn't get back up, because Ford's dead. Instead they watch in horror as Bill pops back in a few minutes later laughing at them, and they're forced to tie him up while chocking back tears. Ford's too weak to appear to them, so Stan goes around and gets all of his ghost summoning things to get the message across.

Then its sad tears hours as everyone's confronted with Ford's ghost, Fiddleford horrified that he abandoned his friend, Carla horrified that Fiddleford prevented her from helping her friend, etc, etc, while Stan's wailing at his feet and pawing at his floating form. Just full teary eyed cat sadness yowling. You know the type.

Worse ending here is Stan doesnt get out of the house to get Dan and the others, and is either locked in the basement counting down the hours until starvation gets him while Ford's ghost watches(or Fiddleford with a buzz saw rescues him) or Bill now has a nice fluffy scarf as he goes around trying to tear down the door to get downstairs, with Fords ghost yelling and trying to do what he can with no body while Stan's numb from Bill touch. This could lead to a potential Bill Wins scenario, depending on how long it'd take him to realize he can bypass the door entirely by going through the floor, and that a corpse doesnt have to worry about surviving the fall. Then Ford lives because his ghost gets shoved back into his body and Bill fixes it, offended that Ford's weak mortal form had the gall to go and die on him without permission. Chances of Cat Man Stan are high, but Bill might also just go straight to Ford torture to force cooperation now that he knows he can shove his soul back in if he pushes the body too far. Then Stan gets to watch his bro get tortured from the side while Bill laughs at his yowling.

Happy end is Ford actually is alive, just banged his head, Bill possessing him accidentally shoved his spirit out, and everyone thought he was dead until Bill was kicked out for good and they realized he was still breathing. Then its a quick trip to the hospital while Carla and Ford work together on figuring out how to shove a spirit back into a body (just gotta zoom back in). Stan spends the entire time on Fords chest, refusing to move. They have to threaten/bribe the hospital staff to let him stay, because every time they try to pull Stan away he yowls like they're killing him.

I think this is one universe where Stan would go back to trying to communicate who he is, just so he can yell at Ford for scaring the life out of him. If Ford does end up perma dead Stan would become a depressed wreck of a cat, just lounging around Ford's house and laying in his bed, refusing to do anything but lay there. This would be a perma cat Stan universe, as he'd stop caring about trying to turn human without Ford there. Just becomes Emma-May's cat after the divorce so he can stick with Shifty (And they would, after Fiddlefords cult era led to their friends death). She can't get rid of him, even if she tries, because he just always comes back (except for when he's sneaking out to wreck Fiddlefords life as majorly as his cat body allows. He'll never forgive him for abandoning Ford after all). If at any point he did become human, the moment he learned how his curse worked he'd go back to living as a cat. Doesn't care about being Stanley after all, the last thing Ford cared about was Nikola, so that's who he is now.

Thanks for making me cry in the middle of the night. Now i'm inflicting this on you all.

[terriblefaun]

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐊𝐨𝐨𝐤 - RAFE/READER

cw. mentions drink, drugs,rafe lowk being a lil softie in this chapter, jj angst, mentions r having a bad home life. SLOW BURN. more set up than story atp. lots of f word! from the uk i cant help it x

3.7k words. part 1/? (had to divide it up cos the whole thing was killing my phone! so lmk if u acc want the next one !! <3) also not proof read! love u xx

It was the third time that morning that JJ had brought it up. You hadn’t hung out properly for ages since you moved and still it was all he could go on about. Pope had been kind enough to jump in at one point, making sure to tell you that he didn't think of you any different. Which you had appreciated, but that was about as brave as anyone got when it came to standing up to JJ or defending you.

Without Kie here you were playing 3:1 and losing bad.

John B, shyly at first and then with a confidence that surprised you, agreed with his best friend. “You are a little different now that you live on the Eight, i mean, for one: you're late all the time-”

“-Cos it takes me forever to get here!”

“-And, like, that kook fit you always wear…”

“My uniform?” You huff, exasperated. It really was pointless to argue but for fuck sake, surely you’d put up with it for long enough? It was summer, you'd come to JB’s for a little escape, a little friendship and a cold beer, but you’ve been here two hours already and all anyone had talked about was that damn kook academy, how it was going to change you- how it had already changed Kie. Like that was the worst thing in the world. 

JJ opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off, “Can you just shut up? Please just fucking shut up about it already. You're going on and on and its driving me fucking crazy, J. Just stop.” 

It was clear this pissed him off, but his face softened from anger to offense, and then finally to a sarcastic smile. “Fine, whatever the princess wants.”

“Oh, you're such a p-” but you stopped yourself with a tired laugh. You didn't want to fight. Not again, not now. You were still exhausted from the last one - the one that ended with Kie crying and walking home alone, despite you going after her. You hadn't heard from her since. 

“What? Pogue? Is that what you were gonna say, huh? I’m such a fucking pogue!”

“Piece of shit, Jayj! I was gonna call you a fucking piece of shit! Cos you are! You can't just be happy for me can you-”

 “Happy?” JJ asks like you really are out of your mind,  like he can't even begin to imagine a silver lining to this situation. 

“Yeah, cos Kie’s finally getting along with her mom again, and for the first time in my life i don't have to worry about making rent payments or where the hell my mom is and i finally have a step dad that doesn't fucking hate me! Can you just think about that for a fucking minute, JJ, can you really not image why that might be of some relief to us? Huh?”

He doesn't say anything, which might actually be worse. 

Your eyes had started to sting with tears and you turned away from your friends to hold your face in your hands. It was hot to the touch and your head hurt. You really didn't want to start crying.

Pope and John B were sat quietly on the sofa like two kids waiting for the parents to stop arguing. Why weren't they saying anything? Is this really how they all felt- like you weren't theirs anymore? Like you had betrayed them somehow? 

You snivelled, sighed and turned to look JJ in the eyes. Despite the tugging at his heart, he refused back down.

 It pissed you off to see him still standing there with his shoulders squared and a hard look on his face. He was so far from the boy you were used to, the soft, funny one you had grown up and felt safe with. How do you even get back to that? Really, you knew the answer was to say sorry, but like hell that was gonna happen. Despite the fact you had nothing to apologise for, you were cursed with the same stubbornness as he was. You were two juuls in a pod, or whatever the saying was.

And then, a thought. A terrible, mean thought.

“You’re just jealous, that's it.”

There's a sudden look on JJ’s face that you've never seen before. It scares you almost enough to back down, but you stay tough.  He laughs.

“Such a fucking kook thing to say i mean, c’mon!” JJ gestures to Pope and JB like they're gonna agree with him- and if given the chance to talk, they might but you don't dare to look over, just in case. “Yeah. Of course I'm jealous of you, princess. Jesus Christ, man, you’re so self absorbed! You fit right in with those dickheads on figure eight, you know that? You and kie, you're right where you belong.”

“You’re such a dick.” You swallow down all that venom you had just a minute ago, it stings, makes your vision blur. 

“Cos’ i’m telling the truth?" He says, "Just go home YN, fuck off back to the eight already ‘cos we don't want you here.”

“JJ-” Finally someone chimed in, though you couldn’t tell who, probably Pope again, but it didn’t matter anyway, right now there was no one else in the world except for you and JJ.

“I don’t want you here.” He says again in a low voice. Then, turning away, mumbles something you probably weren't actually meant to hear. Something sarcastic about your dad, how proud he'd be of how you're turning out.

You gasp. A direct hit, one you never expected he'd go for. The boys look up at you, not having caught it themselves.

But you had heard it. J saw you hear it. And it hurt. And he saw that it hurt. And he didn't seem to mind. He had the sense to look guilty for a split second but then there was that stubbornness again, mean and cold.

You stood there with your mouth open for a minute. Half waiting for him to rush out an apology, to call a time out like this was just a game you could stop playing and forget all about, and you could go back to how things were supposed to be.

JJ said nothing.

Fine. You storm off, slamming the chateau doors behind you and heading straight for your bike. It's a little vintage thing with a basket and ribbons, and you feel just a little ridiculous as you cycle angrily away.  I’ll show you a fucking kook princess. 

 

 Grand exit now complete, the adrenaline of whatever the hell just went down finally wears off halfway through town. Collapsing onto the sidewalk, tangling with your bike as you go down, you let yourself cry.

Not entirely sure how long you let yourself fall apart but time starts moving again when a car pulls up in front of you. The window rolls down and you look up at the sound of Bunny Wailer’s Mellow Mood coming from the speaker. 

 “Need a ride?” The driver shouts over the music.

“Kiwi. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling!”

“Sorry. Don’t cry about it,” she smiles, i am sorry, and nods towards the passenger side, “get in.” 

The warmth of the midday sun had dried your tears pretty quick, but your eyes were red and puffy and gave you away. Oh, YN. Kie mumbles once you're inside, turning the radio down and leaning across to hug you.

“Don’t worry, it’s Jay that's made me cry, not you.” You choke out a wet laugh and pull your hoodie up over your face for a second. “I’ll be fine in a minute, really, i’ll be fine.”

She sighs decidedly, giving you a once over. "Nah, i know what you need.” 

You side eye her, unsure. "Kook party." She explains and you cringe. Sarah, a friend Kie had already made at the academy, had invited her and in turn she was inviting you. As if I'd wanna be there without you.

"C'mon. Big house, free booze, no JJ."

"OK. Sold."

Kiara’s bedroom is likely to be your favourite place on earth, though you never get to spend a lot of time there as it also happens to be one of her least favourites. You don't even know what it is that makes it so great, her bed is soft and plush but too small for two, so sleepovers are always spent uncomfortably squished between her, her plushies, and the wall. And the only CD’s she has are reggae, which you don't mind, and indie rock shit you've never heard of and can't stand.

Maybe it was just because her house was so totally not yours. Maybe that's why you liked it. 

You’re in front of her bathroom mirror, chewing on your bottom lip, brows furrowed and arms crossed when Sarah comes up behinds you to ask what you're thinking. “I think…. I need to go blonde.”

Her eyes light up, “Like Buffy Summers Blonde or-”

“-Baywatch blonde.”

“Baywatch blonde…” she repeated in a whisper, an excited smile on her face. “Dude, yeah. That'd be so hot.”

She let out an excited squeak, and that was that. The make over was immediate. You dyed your hair then and there in Kie's en suit. Then she picked out an outfit while Sarah did you make up. Pamela Anderson or...Jennifer Aniston? she had asked.

"Which ones more kook?" Aniston was decided upon, though with the bikini you'd borrowed from Kie and the short denim skirt and black cami you wore, you ended up a bit more Pamela anyway.

It's gonna be rager, said Sarah, It’s at Alice’s boyfriend’s friend’s beach house, or something like that. Kiara seemed to know all these people already, so you nodded and smiled and pretended you did too.

"I have to go home quick, you know, put a bag together, let my mom know i'm still alive."

"You want us to drop you off?" Sarah had asked, sweet as she was you could tell she wanted to stay playing dress up for a while longer, so you declined.

"Just text me the address, i'll meet you there."

 

To no surprise at all, your mom wasn’t home. You thought best not to leave a note or text her, lest she remember she had a daughter and suddenly decide to parent it. 

You went up to your room on the top floor and put together a bag. Perfume, lip gloss, $50, a rollie and some gum. The essentials. You dug out the half empty tequila bottle you and kie kept tucked away in your pj drawer, and poured out a shot for yourself. Then another. Cheers, you thought, to going full kook. 

9:15 PM and you were out the door, instantly regretting your choice to meet them at the party- having to cycle there on your bicycle in the worlds shortest denim skirt was not the most comfortable experience. But alas, you looked as good as you felt, and it might have been the tequila but you felt pretty fucking good. 

Kiwi where are you??

KIE!!!! im here. they have jello shots where r u

i cant fudnd u guys anyebere

KIARBRA!!!!!!!!!

You'd been at the party for little over an hour, far too drunk already but having a great time. Despite not yet having found Kie or Sarah. You had, however, recognised a few girls from the academy and most of them had recognised you too, despite your new hair and new found friendliness towards them, they knew you. 

Another half an hour of slurred compliments and dizzy dance moves and you begin to feel the alcohol wear off, a tragedy that must be remedied if you're to socialise with these people any longer. How much longer? Where the fuck was Kie?

You’re making your way through the kitchen towards the back yard in hopes of somewhere quiet to call your friend, when a figure steps out in front of you. “You look like a malibu and coke kinda girl, right?” 

He seems nice enough, towering over you but not making you feel trapped. He’s got a polo shirt on, clearly recently ironed, and a big drunk smile on his face. Am I a Malibu girl? You thought, that’s rum, right? What the hell, sure.

“How could you tell?” 

“Sweet girl like yourself, how could it be anything else?”

Sweet. That's something you haven't been called before. It makes you feel a bit soft in the middle, clearly a line, but working on you nonetheless. “Oh, I like you.”

His smile widens, eyes almost closed, and goes to speak again but is interrupted by another mystery boy before he can reply. “Is this guy bothering you?” He says, slow and deep with a cocky smile, one arm slung over the first guys shoulder. He looks at you, leans in close like he’s telling you a secret. “Sorry ‘bout my friend Top here, S’like a puppy, not been properly socialised yet.” 

“Hey thats- I was just offering the new girl a drink.” He says, holding up a red solo cup with what you assume is a malibu and coke inside. 

“Allow me.” Says the second guy, taking the cup from Top’s hand and offering it to you. 

“Thanks-” You laugh, half forgotten by the boys already. You look between them as they go back and forth with each other, a drunk scene clearly played many times before, and take a sip of your drink. God. Yeah, Definitely rum. 

"You shouldn't encourage them." A soft voice says. Where had he come from? had he been here the whole time?

"I'm sorry?"

"They're like strays," he explains, nodding towards the boys, "show 'em a bit of attention and they'll just keep coming back."

You turn to face him completely. He's gorgeous- clearly knows it too- but the spot lights of the kitchen make halos around him. He copies your movement and only then do you realise just how close he's standing.

“Rafe.” He offers after a long moment of you saying nothing. “Rafe Cameron.” 

You stop your drooling and straighten up.

“Cameron?”  Why did that sound familiar? A smug smile creeps onto his face and you watch it drop comically fast as you ask your next question. “Sarah's brother? Oh, shit, have you seen her?” You ask, looking around, but it’s Boy 1 that answers. 

“S’not here,” Top sighs, suddenly drawn back into the conversation. “Something about… baby turtles or something, i don't know.”

“You know my sister.” Rafe says to you, ignoring Top.

“Yeah, well, kind of. Not really. I was supposed to meet her here.” 

“Well…she’s not here,” Rafe tilts his head with a smile and watches you think. Great, so I've been ditched. Double ditched. Bitches. He thinks you look a little offended, but not altogether disappointed.  His little smile grows, plotting. “-but i can take care of you.”

You look up at him in all his 6’3 sun kissed glory. He’s standing close enough that you can smell his aftershave, the bitterness of whatever he’s been drinking, and the faintest smell of sunscreen applied hours ago. The thought of him putting on suncream at all makes you smile. You watch the way his shirt stretches around his bicep as he leans on the counter behind, the way his hand dwarfs the red solo cup it holds, the way his eyes blink slow and steady, lashes kissing his cheeks.

 “Yeah, I bet you can.”

“She said she likes me.” Top chimes in, previous Sarah related heartbreak forgotten. 

“Topper, you're drunk, just… go find Sarah.” Rafe says, grabbing him by the shoulders and pointing him in some other direction. Boy 2 is tugged along behind by some invisible string, and off they go looking for Sarah.

“Let me know if you find her!” You shout after them, Boy 1 turns, salutes in your vague direction, and then disappears in the crowd of other drunk polo shirt wearing kooks. 

Rafe turns to you, shrugging his shoulders with a smile that dimples his cheeks, “Looks like it's just us.”

You click your tongue. “I was actually on my way out.” Why am I playing hard to get? 

“Oh, you don't wanna do that.”

“No?” Tell me to stay and I will. 

“Nah,” he starts, drawing out the words quiet and slow, “You wanna stay here with me allll night.” 

Thank you. But instead you say, “Here? With you? All night?” is a voice thats sweetly mocking. The apples of your cheeks turn pink with a grin. You down the contents of the cup Top had given you, trying your best not to scrunch up your face, “Well you best get me another drink then.” 

He takes the cup from you without breaking eye contact. Was he always so intense with it? Paired with the barely visible but constant grin he’d had this entire time, you worried maybe he could read your mind. Your eyes shot down to his hands again. Please god don't be reading my mind. 

“I’ll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere.” You look up at him through your lashes, giving him your best Jessica Rabbit, which seems to be working. 

“I’ll be right here.”

You turn to leave, pointing quick to the plastic cup, “-No Malibu!”

 The bathroom door was unlocked, which is why you surprised to find it occupied by three girls huddled around the counter. “Oh, sorry-” you turn to leave but have already caught their attention, one reaches out to you in a instant. 

“YN!” She slurs out, looking up at you through lidded eyes. It’s one of the girls youd danced with earlier- Lacey or Lexi or something. Whoever she is, theres a smile on her face that lets you know she’d totally wasted. Not just drunk either.

 “Did I see you talking to The Rafe Cameron out there?” She squeals, drawing the attention of the other two girls. A couple of ‘oh my gods’ are whispered as they huddle around you, desperate for more information.

“I Just-” 

“Is he a good kisser?”

“I Don’t-”

“Are you gonna hook up with him?”

You bark out a laugh. “Fuck, girls, I only just met him!”

“So? Are you?” They continue to pester, unfazed and looking up at you with shining, excitable eyes, like kids on christmas morning.  

You're smiling hard and trying to think of something to say. Fuck it, lets go with honesty. “Maybe, yeah.” 

They squeak again and they grab at you, pulling you towards the bathroom mirror. One girls hand goes straight to your hair, curling a single piece with her finger, neatening it up the best she can. Another reaches for her bag, the clatter of makeup can be heard as she fumbles. She comes at you then with a powder brush. They’re all talking over each other and it's hard to make out exactly what is being said by any of them. I knew a girl that slept with him once/i heard he cant get it up unless you call him mr cameron/really cos amy said- 

It’s then that you see the thin white lines of powder neatly waiting on the black marble counter. Ah, you think, well that makes sense. 

 Rafe is standing outside the bathroom when you open the door, he pushes himself off the wall casually like you haven't just kept him waiting entirely too long. His eyebrows raise as you step out with three girls following very close behind. They're all giggles and lazy grins and so are you. 

“...Are you high?” You bite your lip to keep from smiling.

Tsk tsk tsk. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you get high. I can't take you anywhere.” 

“I wish you would take me somewhere...” You say, confusing yourself, and then “isn't it so hot in here?”

“Right." He laughs, "Outside.” But he’s already reaching for your hand when he says this. He’s gentle, not like the girls in the bathroom had suggested. He’s leading you off towards the big patio doors, red plastic cups forgotten on a side table somewhere behind you. You plod along next to him, doing as you're told.

You couldn't even guess how long you'd been sat out in the garden with him. Forever, maybe. You mumble out a thank you, trying not to sound embarrassed. Mostly you just felt bad for him being on babysitting duty. If only Kie was here.

“S’fine. Happens to most people the first time they try blow.” You don't even attempt to protest, just laugh. Your cool girl exterior was screwed the second he had introduced himself. Your makeover had been great, blonde bombshell of your dreams, unfortunately you were still yourself underneath it all. Which isn't to say that you were insecure, or shy, just that you had always folded far too easily for a pretty face. And Rafe had a very pretty face. 

And to his credit, or maybe to yours, he didn’t seem any less interested in you now that you were both sobering up, significantly less cool and mysterious but still beautiful. 

You're lying on the grass when he asks, “So…are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Ha! Looking up at him from where he stands over you, you smile sweetly, like you hadn't just spent ten minutes trying not to vomit on his shoes, like you're meeting him for the very first time, “YN.”

Rafe  repeats your name quietly to himself like he’s trying to figure something out. “Do I know you?”

You smile, “I don't think so. Not really.” to be fair, he and jj happened to rarely pick fights when you were around, and he was older than you by maybe two or three years, you weren't sure, so it's unlikely your paths would have crossed outside that.

“Mhm. not really, huh? Do I get a hint?”

“No.”

He sighs, thinking like you gave him a clue anyway. “You definitely live on the island?”

“All my life!” You say, accidentally playing along. Sobering, but not sober. 

“I don't know…” He bends down next to you, one hand reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, it lingers there and you try your best not to lean into it, fail miserably, and look up at him. “I think i’d remember this face.” 

You blush, he probably notices but you tilt your head back and close your eyes. Embarrassed, yes, playing it cool, maybe. You bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Apparently not.” 

He laughs. Damn, Definitely noticed the blush. “Seriously, how can I not have met you before?”

While this was fun, you were drunk. And when you were drunk there was always a silly voice in the back of your head telling you sad things. Right now it was telling you how disappointed  he was going to be when he found out who you were- or rather, what you were. A pogue. “I don't wanna play anymore.” 

“No?” He asks, a little condescending, like he was talking to a child, but there was something about it that you liked. You shake your head ever so slightly, no. 

“Want to go home?” The question surprises you. Were they your only options, play nicely or get sent home? No, you shake your head again. 

“So then do as you’re told.” He says softly, testing the waters. He stands, taking your hand and you let him pull you up with him. There's a moment where you're pressed against his chest, and he’s looking down at you, his eyes dark under the moonlight, where you think he might kiss you. And maybe he would have if you’d have been good. 

For the first time in your life you desperately want to be good. 

“Let’s go.” It seems you're being let off with a warning. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as Rafe leads you down the side of the house and into the front yard, unlocking his car. 

[idiopath-fic-smile]

any chance of something whump-like for IDOAG? (inspired by me being SO brave and working on a grant report until very late at night)

congrats on yr bravery!

(to review, this ficlet is out of gratitude for my pilot of a musical audio drama about a rock band that secretly solves monster-related problems reaching 30% of its funding goal. we're actually at over 50% right now and i have one prompt in the wings but i'll need another today, so if there's anything you want to see, throw me an ask!)

October

By the time he hits “Print” on the co-op computer in the common room, Grantaire’s vision is going softly gray at the edges, and his stomach roils at the thought of coffee or breakfast.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Grantaire.

“What’s the matter?” says Jehan, materializing at Grantaire’s elbow. Well, probably Jehan had walked there; that sounds like something Jehan would do. Grantaire’s awareness is coming in ungainly lurches, like a poorly animated cartoon brontosaurus.

The printer chugs away, slowly spitting out the first page of the history essay Grantaire had started five hours ago. It is now 8 a.m. The paper is warm to the touch, in a way that makes Grantaire think of food again. His intestines clench.

“My dumbass body,” says Grantaire at last.

“Ah,” says Jehan. “When they figure out a way to download our consciousnesses into Terminator-style robots without physical weakness or flaw, I will be first in line.” A pause, and then, charitably, “You can be second, if you’d like.”

“Cool,” mutters Grantaire. He sways a little on the desk chair. The printer is only on page two.

“Hey, Jehan,” someone says. Grantaire swivels towards the door and immediately regrets it. His brain takes another few unsteady seconds to catch up with his body, and that’s when he sees Enjolras and Combeferre standing together, bright-eyed and perfect in the early morning light. They’re both wearing sweaters, and holding reusable coffee cups. They look like an advertisement for L.L. Bean, for the very concept of being a cute gay couple in Autumn. Grantaire feels like a bridge troll.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Combeferre adds. “Are you okay?”

The printer belches out what sounds like page three.

Last year, Grantaire had a system for writing papers like this. The system involved doing a shot for every page he finished. If he was really stuck, every paragraph. Obviously, this is not an option at Amis House, and so Grantaire had compromised, made sleep deprivation his drug of choice. It had seemed like a good idea at 3 a.m.—a phrase so forlorn it could be a country song, he thinks, scratching the back of his neck as the printer shudders and churns. He needs a shower.

“Why are printers absolute, uh, hot garbage?” he says out loud.

Enjolras opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I read an article about this,” says Combeferre. “The conclusions were complicated. I can send it to you?”

It’s such a perfectly kind and normal response, Grantaire could cry. He blinks hard. The printer finally regurgitates the final page of his essay.

“Yeah,” he manages, “sure, that would be great. Sorry, I’ve gotta run.”

Grantaire gathers the papers, checks to make sure they’re in the right order, and staples them together. Ka-chunk. The stapler is impossibly loud.

“There’s ginger tea bags in the kitchen,” Jehan offers quietly, and Grantaire nods because it’s easier than explaining that the problem isn’t his digestive system, it’s his entire being. He needs someone to wipe down the surface of his eyes, take a squeegee to his brain. He needs his soul dunked in warm sudsy water and then wrung out to dry. That would fix him, he thinks.

It’s too bad he’s not holding onto his thoughts very clearly, because he’s pretty sure there’s another country song in there somewhere. He snorts.

“I can make you some tea to go if you’d like,” says Combeferre, and it’s too much, it’s too warm, it’s too close to what Grantaire doesn’t even let himself think about wanting.

“That’s okay,” says Grantaire. “See you.” And he books it out of the room before he can get a glimpse of the pity on Combeferre’s handsome face.

[book-nerd-emi]

Vent Poem kinda thing idk. It is but it’s more of a letter. to my moots here. ig. IDKKK

when i was writing this i had very specific people in mind so ill tag them but if you are a moot and you come across this, this is for you too.

Tags: @balladofareader , @wish-i-were-heather , @shattered-glass-roses , @sweetreveriee , @meangirlsbway , @letmeliveinelfhame and @sleepy-boything-shit

To those people that I love,

To those people I write messages to and then delete, fearing what you'll think.

Here are the words that I can never seem to type to you otherwise.

Here are the words that I needed to say but could never figure out how to.

Here are the words that have been stuck in my fingers, begging desperately to be typed

Here are the words that were never said but desperately need to be.

I love you.

That’s the main one.

I love you.

I love you like the moon and stars make a beautiful night sky.

I love you like the sun goes up and down so surely every day.

I love you like the fictional men we gush over love their women.

I love you like I love the dogs we own.

I love you like it hurts too.

And yet it hurts to type sometimes, so I don’t.

And it becomes the cycle of running from what hurts me.

The cycle starts with that 3 word, 8 letter phrase.

And then it keeps going.

I love you

Then,

I wish I were there

Then,

You’re the light of my life.

Then,

I wish I could forever be by your side.

Then,

I want you.

All these words written when my clock reads 3 am.

And I watch.

3:01, then 3:02, then 3;03

And at some point it gets to be 4:00, then 4:01

And somewhere along the line, before the clock hits 5:00,

The words are erased, forever gone like a leaf on the wind.

Only for me, my phone and the hours to see.

I love you, and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I am scared to send simple words.

But theyre not simple.

They are the gate to my soul.

And desperately I want to give you the key.

I desperately want to live free, no gates surrounding the kingdom anymore.

And I want to hold parties and galas and gossip with you and share my deepest secrets.

But I can’t.

And for that I am sorry.

I’ve had many traitors in this kingdom.

This kingdom has had to leave and come back to the same places,

Packing everything up only to come back a couple days later.

Never staying in one place enough to invite neighboring countries.

And all of this to say,

I’m sorry if I’m distant.

I’m sorry if I always am happy, because I’m not.

I’m sorry that I lie about how I am.

I’m sorry that I feel like I have to lie, no matter how much you tell me that you are here.

I’m sorry for the person I’ve become, because she isn’t pretty or great with people.

The person I’ve become is not someone I am super in love with.

And maybe one day we’ll look back on this and laugh or cry

Say “Wow look at her! If only she knew..”

Or make fun of how cringey I am.

Maybe one day we will.

But today, just listen to what I have to say.

The person I am is unstable,

She’s insecure.

She’s scared.

She’s anxious.

She’s stressed.

She doesn’t really like people.

She’s scared of the word “no”, even though it is a simple 2 letter word.

She doesn’t like reaching out for help, even when she is on the cold bathroom floor.

The floor that holds her deepest regrets and secrets; her lowest moments are spent there.

She actually hates asking for help; it means she has to admit that her problems are real.

She’d rather go day by day, ignoring them like they aren’t real, pretending she is fine.

She’d rather bottle everything up, say “I’ll deal with that when ___ is over”.

But then one thing turns into another test, or performance and then all of a sudden..

There’s nothing else to blame except her own procrastination and the fact that she’s scared.

She can’t really remember a time where she wasn’t like this.

When she wasn’t traumatized or scared or imaging running away to her friends house.

When she was in love with the night and somehow also scared of it.

The night is dark, and it is beautiful, until the night gets too dark.

The moment when you can’t see the walls anymore, and when closing your eyes makes it worse.

When you sit in your bed looking down at where your hands should be, feeling them shake

As you just sit there.

Unable

To

Do

Anything.

And for all of this, I am sorry.

I am so sorry that this is who I am behind the masks.

And maybe this was too dark.

And I’m sorry for that too.

I am happy too!

I’m happy when I talk to you.

Those moments, specifically in the early hours of morning,

When I have to cover my mouth with my hand,

Laughing with my eyes watering.

Or when I smile from ear to ear like an idiot.

I do love you.

I really really do.

And I’m very sad that this is how I have to tell you.

But sometimes words written speak louder than words spoken.

Maybe I did this as healing.

But as I finish this,

I realize how this could make you see me different.

And I don’t want you too. Really. Please don’t.

I don’t think I could live if you saw me different.

So please don’t.

I think I said this more for me than you.

But.

Don’t see me different.

I still am that girl you know and love.

And will forever be her.

But just know this poem is her too.

[theprophetsaid]

Oh, sure, I know Queen. Here's a nifty, not-at-all-devastating fact for you: Brian just wanted Freddie to be loved. It's everywhere.

It's in his dislike for Don't Stop Me Now, a song that—in Brian's mind—represented drug use and intense partying that was leading Freddie away from the band, toward people who didn't care about his wellbeing. It's in Brian saying he regrets not looking after Freddie better.

It's in his writing Save Me to give Freddie an outlet for his heartbreak, but also subtly tell him, "Hey, you're a loving partner. You deserve one in return."

It's in Brian helping Freddie write It's a Hard Life, with expressing his heartbreak once again. It's in Brian watching the video for that song and interpreting the setting as a depiction of Freddie's emotionally unfulfilling personal life during the Münich era.

It's in Brian stressing that Freddie was always in serious, monogamous relationships, searching for the right person. It's in Brian defending Freddie's relationship with Jim and calling it loving.

It's in Brian having a soft spot for Don't Try So Hard, a song representing Freddie finally securing his dream relationship.

BRIAN JUST WANTED HIM TO BE LOVED.

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[gunlicker13]

glasses storchie...

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(

[tohruies]

hi hi mrs yao !!!! christmas is coming up, are you going to celebrate anythinf with xiangli ? :33 btw, since miss coco doesnt have a tree, here's a little something to say thank you for being one of my lovely moots 🥺

oh! 😁 hi hello mr puppetgear! 😁 christmas celebrations with xiangli you ask! 😁 well actually! 😁 you see, i was th— *dies upon seeing the image you’ve attached to this ask* 😳😲🤯😱😱😱😵💀🪦

[lolipoptheclown]

I'm probably not gonna respond to people for the next few hours uh. I'm not. Doing too great jsjsjs

[moon-jellie]

Liveblogging from mandatory resume workshop!: I need to be sedated