#i was screaming your name through the radio project

[purseowner4thequalityanimation]

SMT Boardgame Kickstarter Smells Like Suspicious Fish

There's an SMT boardgame. Curb your enthusiasm, you shouldn't back it. And if you did, lower your pledge to like a buck until they clear things up, because as it stands it seems like an incredibly suspect product.

Checking through the Kickstarter comments and Japanese Tweets about the boardgame makes the entire thing seem poorly planned at best. I'll summarize as best I can;

The designer is incredibly infamous in the boardgame community

Naoki Matsunaga, a self-described "board game sommelier", is the designer. You'll find tweets lamenting that "the board game sommelier is involved". Why is he so hated? This thread goes into detail: co_boze on twitter. Part of it is they bashed Werewolf over one game they saw of it, another is they took on a kind of public-face role for boardgames appearing on late night TV shows to talk about them in ways that annoyed boardgamers. They seem to have designed a boardgame based on "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" which ripped off Sid Sackson's 'I'm the Boss". But it's what co_boze talks about next that's really bizarre. The game was apparently banned from most board game cafes and playing spaces. Seminars where people could play the game were hosted, but the venues that hosted these seminars all closed down.

If you keep looking through comments, you start finding claims that his company does multi-level marketing (ie pyramid schemes). To be honest, I don't know if this is true. But even if it isn't, it is really not hard to find people who know of this guy and would really really really REALLY prefer he was not involved.

"Oh fuck, it's THIS guy" is not a reaction that inspires confidence

2. Questionable development and presentation issues.

A regular collaborator with Atlus recently tweeted "The use of AI in Atlus works or derivative works is stictly prohibited." He responded to a reply asking if this was about a board game.

The staff running the SMT BG Kickstarter later clarified the actual -game- wouldn't use AI graphics... but from the looks of it, the promotional materials do.

Dig that... generic metal pipe aesthetic. Nothing screams MegaTen like black plumbing to nowhere.

In totally unrelated news, a board game manufacturer recently tweeted that a Kickstarter used their name without permission, and they're not sure why.

Quote tweets on the post would suggest it was the SMT board game. The comment they are loosely referring to is this:

In a follow-up post, they do specify "The product figures will be made of PVC." and "We will be manufacturing the games in partnership with a factory in China that has a proven track record... " "Figure director Kimura Yuzuru has over 10 years of experience..." and other boring development stuff that I have no issue with. What I do have issue with is how they can say things like they're "considering" which manufacturer to use and namedropping other companies that they're unrelated with. (While I was typing this post, they posted an update that clarified the CMON issue and literally nothing else: here.)

The boardgame is being presented with machine translated English printed on the same cards as the Japanese. But the actual game will have a translator check everything.

they hire translators to localize all game content

Additionally, there was a week long radio silence on the Kickstarter. For reference, Kickstarters are normally very active with the project planners dropping updates, responding to feedback and clearing up any concerns.

Some of the concerns were "How does the game actually play?", a question that would be best answered by dropping a rulebook for people to look at, or better yet showing them an entire run of the game. The SMT BG Kickstarter has boldly chosen neither. Devs have commented the game is on Version 11 and plays well, which makes it strange that they can't share any of it with anyone else.

Actually, when you compare this to how most Kickstarters are run, it becomes very clear the SMT BG Kickstarter is, uh, kinda failing in all possible regards. The first Backer Goal is "Jack Frost Dice" at 2000 backers (not funds raised, BACKERS). Despite getting 300%(!!!) of the initial pledge needed, there are no bonuses or unlocks.

Mind, this lack of information comes after they already delayed the start to supposedly improve Backer Goals and other aspects.

There aren't a shortage of issues - it's ICREA's first boardgame (but not their first tango with SMT; they made the SMT30th Logo, for instance.) The timeline seems totally wack. The staff have been incredibly slow to respond. Cards with tiny font and two languages printed on them. Etc, etc. Maybe individually these issues wouldn't be too concerning. But all of them combined make the product seem incompetently run at best, and at worst an actual scam.

I'm hardly a big influencer in the SMT scene (my biggest contribution is when that fucking succubus gif gets 36k likes on Twitter every 5 months) but I haven't seen any English speaking sources discuss this in detail, when there really should be at least some noise about all of this. Still. if just one of you end up saving 600 bucks on what ends up being a trashfire carcrash project because of this post, then that'll have made the past 30 minutes of typing this shit worth it.

[cutie4me]

Best Soukoku Fanfics That Bring Immense Nostalgia!

Someone on YouTube asked for recommendations for Soukoku fics so how could I give up such an opportunity to share some of my all time favourites?! Some of them will make you cry. Some of them will make you smile. But most importantly, the immense wave of nostalgia you’ll feel after reading some of these fics are surreal! I swear, sometimes I wish I’d forget about these fics just so I could rediscover and read them all over again! All these amazing works are on AO3 so please check them out and support the authors! I’ll continue to update this each time I find a new SKK fanfic!

“Overturn even the heavens and the earth” by sssoukoku

Chuuya uses corruption but Dazai’s too late to save him, or is he?

“My skull crown” by YunaYamiMouto

Mori is dead so Dazai has to go back to PM and take the throne as the new PM boss.

“Baby Executive” by BlowingYourMind

Chuuya gets turned into a child and goes through the life stages growing older under Dazai’s care, Dazai manages to develop empathy and a widespread of new emotions around each new stage of Chuuya. (Cross posted on Wattpad!)

“I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter

I’ve not read this yet but it’s really popular and has a lot of positive reviews from what I’ve heard. It’s a rockstar/band AU but it’s super long, probably the longest one here.

“The God and his Vessel” by Churroburrito

Arahabaki lives in Chuuya and they can interact and sometime Arahabaki can come out to talk to people. Arahabaki is surprisingly sweet and overprotective of Chuuya, quite like an older brother. (I absolutely adore Arahabaki and Chuuya’s dynamic in this fic!)

“Silly delusions” by Grinch1234

Arahabaki and Chuuya are one person and Arahabaki is a God stuck in a human’s body confused with how humanity works. He tries on many occasions to convince Dazai that he is a god to only one time in which Dazai actually believes him.

“I’ll always come for Chuuya” by toucheslikethesun

Dazai and Chuuya back in PM and Dazai tries to distance himself with Chuuya cuz of his feelings to the point Chuuya loses trust in him and thinks Dazai’s grown bored of him because of his new friend, Odasaku.

“We Are Never Ever, Ever Getting Back Together (Right?)” by sabiEMr

ADA and PM do an exchange thing where Chuuya works at ADA for a while and Atsushi works at PM. Chuuya tried to get over his relationship with his ex Dazai but it’s not really ideal when you’re now stuck with your ex at his workplace.

“Unexpected” by lemoncandy751

Soukoku get paired together for a project and they hate each other… except when they start to fall for each other. Well that was unexpected!

“It takes two, to create a whole” by X_DRAMA_QUEEN_X

Roommates/College AU. Dazai’s a player and Chuuya gets stuck being his roommate and they absolutely despise each other with a burning passion. Chuuya gets a little too close to Fyodor and doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Is it Dazai playing the mind games to make Chuuya fall for him or is it Fyodor? (It’s over on Wattpad as well!)

“If we can’t run together, why did we from the start?” by amythecinnabunny

Immortal Dazai x multiple reincarnation of Chuuya. Dazai loves each of them differently and learns to find and fall for each Chuuya reincarnation again and again! (I cried too much with the angsty ending of this. Lots of character deaths).

“Inseparable” by milwritescausewhynot

Highschool AU where Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for 12 years and are practically inseparable! They love to pull pranks on each other but when a certain prank of Dazai’s is taken too far that it puts Chuuya’s life at risk they must face the consequences of being apart for each other’s safety (due to Dazai’s guilt) yet still yearning for each other.

“Pretty Little Thing” by wallows_4

Chuuya, an assassin, is assigned a job to kill the Prince of a very wealthy and successful kingdom. Chuuya walks in thinking this will be easy when no threats are present, but the next thing he knows everything is dark. When he wakes up again, he is "interrogated" by three idiots. And the stupid prince is insistent on him being his personal pet!

“Of Libraries and Liberties” by Grinch1234

Chuuya Nakahara is the escaped government experiment known as A5158 seeking refuge as the librarian of his own little library sanctuary. Osamu Dazai is the notorious boss of the Port Mafia and by some illogical miracle, they manage to cross paths.

“Still, Still, Still” by icedlightroast

Actor/popstar Dazai x Rockstar Chuuya idustrial rivals AU! After a public drunken tweet confession professing his true feelings for his rival, Chuuya has no choice but to play the ploy of fake dating his rival, Dazai, to help this mess he’s made in his career. Except Dazai is a completely incompetent asshole who Chuuya can’t help but hate himself for falling for. Besides, there’s more to Dazai that meets the eye.

“Untainted Memories” by serenathea

BEAST! Chuuya shares his memories and emotions with the original Chuuya, and Dazai has to fix the mess and pain he has created.

“I can’t dare to dream about you anymore” by kiroiimye

High school AU where Dazai and Chuuya have been best friends and next-door neighbors since childhood, never seen apart despite their differing, respective lifestyles as the genius class president and the school’s beloved soccer star. Everything is perfect, except for the fact that Chuuya’s been in love with Dazai since forever and Dazai has a girlfriend.

“Always Yours” by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Kingdom + Omegaverse AU where Dazai has been betrothed to Chuuya since they were both children—an arrangement that never particularly interested him—until their wedding night, when he sees the omega’s face for the first time. (EXPLICIT Rating for NSFW scenes but you can skip those if you wish)

“The Shepard and His Shadow” by LynyrdLionheart

Everyone knows the monster in the woods is why the village suffers a lack of resources. It's been that way for centuries. Then Dazai meets the monster, and everything he knew turns out to be a lie.

“The Life We Could've Lived” by Xena_Lemon

A very confused Dazai wakes up in a Highschool AU instead of his usual Agency dorm room. And strangely enough, Chuuya’s the only one who seems to be from his world (him and the mysterious girl who keeps watching them).

“Four Years Ago, Four Years Later” by Nightingale231

Chuuya knows before Dazai, does, really, that the younger man will run. Before anything - even before Mori and the home he has carved for himself in the Port Mafia - he will take Dazai's side where it matters. He hates the mackerel, he does; yet he wants Dazai to follow the goals that Odasaku set for him, because he… (loves him).

“Silver Claws, Silver Tongue” by CandiWolfe

In which Chuuya gets turned into a cat whilst on a mission and (unwillingly) seeks the misfortune of Dazai’s help to not only temporarily nullify the ability but to track down the bastard who dared turn him into a wretched feline. Except doing so is easier said than done. Especially when they’re from a whole new foreign organisation.

“How To Woo Your Husband in Seven Days” by moonlitsorrows

When Dazai accidentally performs a grave accident that angers his precious chibi husband and forces him out of their shared apartment and out onto the streets, he tries his hand at his backup operation of “How to Woo your husband in seven days” with seven articulate plans in hopes that it would finally convince Chuuya to invite him back home. Except each plan just seems to fail and give the redhead an even bigger blooming headache. Plan 7 was the last straw. Maybe Chuuya should finally invest in some long awaited (and deserved) divorce papers after such a hellish week of putting up with that stupid mackerel of a husband’s BS.

“Another Love” by infernaa

Dazai desperately wanted to get rid of everything dark and ugly in his life. Even if it meant leaving his love for Chuuya behind. (Slight Sigma x Dazai).

“When Will You Confess?” by Chuchu_hua

Dazai and Chuuya have been best friends since childhood. One day, Dazai gets himself a girlfriend and Chuuya feels jealous. He then realises he has feelings for his best friend, but doesn’t want to confess. One night under the stars plus the influence of wine becomes one heated make out session. The two continue to have random make out sessions, but don’t think to put a label on their relationship. One school dance is what it took for Dazai to grow a pair and finally admit his feelings out loud.

“Empire of Dirt” by arkastadt

Artist Dazai's bored and lives in a mansion, Mechanic Chuuya's the mysterious garden boy working for his family, and fate brings them together over and over again only to rip them apart. (Super angsty major character death! You have been warned! EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW).

“They said the eyes are the windows to the soul.” by Aprusalve

5+1 fic of Kyouka as she observed Soukoku and tried to guess their relationship and one time she finally decided to ask.

“catch me once, catch me twice” by seedus

Chuuya gets stuck in an ability loop where he’s basically wiped out of existence and Dazai decides to become the Demon Prodigy once more to hunt down the ability user responsible for daring to target his dog and bring him back.

“Something More Than A One Night Stand” by ShireHorses

It was supposed to be a one night stand and nothing more. The last thing Dazai expected was to catch feelings for Chuuya. Much less hurt him so badly by saying the night they spent had meant nothing. It hadn’t mattered when Dazai had said that to all the previous women he’d slept with so why did it pain him so much to see Chuuya cry and act so cold? (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scenes).

“build a temple in me” by oursorrows

Dazai wants to surprise his husband, Chuuya, on their one year anniversary, and he can't help falling in love all over again. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene).

“Tempus Fugit” by Imabukuhoe

Teenage Soukoku time travel to a their future are in for the shock of their life as they witness many (good) things they never expected to happen in their lives- and that they’re gay for each other but we don’t talk about that just yet. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene! Cross posted on Wattpad as well! It’s angsty midway through but with a happy ending!).

“No Longer Human” by Wolf___Spirit

When a stranger starts stealing people's abilities, the ADA and the Port Mafia team up to figure it out. However, something goes wrong and Dazai loses his ability in the process. The big problem? His ability not only nullified the abilities of others, but also his own emotions. And now, for the first time in his life, Dazai has emotions, chaotic and in turmoil. In the midst of this identity crisis, Dazai sets out to explore the world with Chuuya as his grumpy bodyguard, only to discover that he has never felt so...alive. And then they find out that if they don't find a way to give him back his ability, Dazai will die within two weeks. In a race against time, chaos ensues.

“Twisted Ties” by Cutie_4Me

Serial Killer Chuuya tries to hunt down his stalker who's been stalking him by breaking into his apartment only to be met with an unexpected and (un)pleasant surprise. (Yes- I’m shamelessly promoting my own fic)

"Backstage Pass" by the_most_unhappy

When world-famous violinist Dazai Osamu announces his early retirement, a part of him is sure he will never love music again. He’s in his twenties, but he’s already tired of everything. Meanwhile, up-and-coming frontman Nakahara Chuuya is everything Dazai is not: reckless, smug, and a rockstar. They’re total opposites. They could never fall in love, right? (Implied Sexual Content But Nothing Explicit)

"More like a crash" by Jickas

Chuuya loses his memory and Dazai decides this will be a great opportunity to mess with him. But what happens when he goes a little too far and old feelings begin to resurface?

"Everything or Nothing" by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

College AU where Chuuya finds out that the boy he drunkenly made out with the night of orientation is his new roommate. His arrogant, smug, very straight roommate. And the boys are each convinced the other is trying to ruin their life by making them go absolutely insane. But of course, things don't go as planned and they somehow ended up with the typical fuck buddies arrangement. Feelings become more complex and they both soon find that the other is hiding something, a secret that could very much rupture everything in their relationship. (EXPLICIT Rated for multiple NSFW scenes and sexual exploration).

^Based off the song 'Everything or Nothing' by Picture This.

"Lost in Translation (Found in Love)" by archerwrites

Dazai is convinced (forced) to join his friends for a year spent in Paris, and he doesn't know a word of French. Chuuya is just hoping to get through school without any strange encounters, and he doesn't know a word of Japanese. They collide (literally) and the situation devolves from there. They figure it out. Falling in love in Paris is a very romantic cliche, after all. Even if there's a language barrier between them.

“Teenage Dream” by Badwolf36

Dazai sees Chuuya looking at a high school, unsure how he feels that he never got the chance to go since the Port Mafia hired tutors. Dazai, despite mocking him, sort of feels the same. Which is how they end up on a high school rooftop in stolen uniforms, eating melon bread during class hours, and it’s the happiest either of them has been in a long time, even if neither of them will admit it.

“Music To My Ears” by bluemango0406

Dazai is having a hard time coming up with a new piece that has a strict deadline. Lucky for Dazai, his husband, Chuuya, knows exactly what to do to help Dazai out- by getting himself fucked on a piano. (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene!).

“at the sight of you” by taintedlight

Dazai Osamu swears that Nakahara Chuuya is only his friend-with-benefits, until he accidentally stays the night and wakes up to the breathtaking sight of Chuuya in the morning, and all of a sudden Chuuya is more than just his fuck buddy. (IMPLIED SEXUAL CONTENT).

“Our little fantasy worlds” by Izu (soaringivy)

14 year old Soukoku find out they both like writing stories. They also find out they both like reading each other's stories (and that they have feelings for each other too).

“Pay For It” by SevenSnowflakes

Dazai comes up with an ingenious plan to pay for Chuuya's extravagant birthday dinner involving an unsuspecting Atsushi. Will Chuuya find out the truth of how Dazai just so manages to sneak himself out of this one? (EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW scene!).

“We Met Again” by Redd (Blurryface1304)

In which, following the events of BEAST, Chūya finds the book and, with the help of Odasaku, writes an alternate universe where he meets Dazai under more 'normal' circumstances.

“Just Know I loved You All Along” by Kryptonian_in_Winterfell

In which Dazai has anterograde amnesia after an accident and wakes up in a stranger’s bed, with no recollection of almost 6 years of his past but apparently this stranger is his husband. At least he finds his stranger husband cute.

“The art of deceiving you” by Alheenaa

What if Dazai accidentally kissed Chuuya during their first encounter, nullifying his gravity control? And since then, he has always lied to him, claiming that his ability only activates through a kiss and not simply by touching him. Chuuya never doubted it because Dazai always went to kiss him whenever he wanted to deactivate his ability.

“More like a crash” by Jickas

Where Chuuya loses his memory and Dazai decides this will be a great opportunity to mess with him. But what happens when he goes a little too far?

“(take me back to) the night we met” by morbidly_dazed & straysolace

Dazai and Chuuya decided to celebrate their anniversary in a different way this year to spice things up a bit but they end up getting way too emotional.

“Lost All Judgement” by todxrxki

After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

“sleepless nights” by huahuapain

Chuuya can't sleep so he thinks about his existence as a result but luckily Dazai is there to help him fall asleep.

“We bloomed in darkness, we'll flourish in the light” by chxxrychuu

After the death of the Flags, Chuuya leaves the Mafia. Soon, Dazai follows behind after Odasaku's death. What happens when the two meet at the Armed Detective Agency?

“Shadows at the Corner of our Eyes” by ayyartee

Role reversal AU where Dazai never left the Mafia and taken over as boss and Chuuya left instead and ended up in the agency.

“so if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow” by prettysicknasty

This was far from the first time Dazai had to spend time in a mental institution. The inpatient facility was more like a second home at this point. He wasn't expecting anything different from usual when he was admitted, but when a fiery redheaded roommate is thrown into his usually dull and monochrome life, suddenly it doesn't seem so boring anymore. (Mental Institution AU).

“A Lesson In Thorns” by arkastadt

AU in which king of the sheep Chuuya has to marry port mafia boss Dazai to get one of his people out of the mafia’s clutches, only many things don’t go as planned and Chuuya ends up falling for Dazai hard whilst getting destroyed in the process. (Super angsty temporary major character death! EXPLICIT Rated for NSFW).

“Between The Lines” by localoser

After years of no contact, Fashion designer Chuuya Nakahara finds himself on the doorstep of his greatest enemy and, foremost, first love, new arising bestselling author Dazai, with a rather interesting book in his hands about their past.

“open secret” by sunbaemint

All the times when Chuuya tries to bribe everyone in the ADA or PM who accidentally finds out about his relationship with Dazai, and the one time when he doesn't have to.

“The (not so) perfect pair” by Silaswastaken

In another universe where soulmates exist and are identified by marks in the form of whatever injury your partner has- Chuuya Nakahara is about to turn 16, and his best friend Dazai has been endlessly teasing him over the prospect of a mark. However, when he wakes up on his birthday covered in light blue lines he is unsure what to do, or how to approach identifying his soulmate, and his best friend has been acting in increasingly concerning ways since being told about the marks. OR: What do you do when your covered in the evidence of your soulmates self harm, and your bandaged best friend (who you are definitely NOT in love with) seems to be breaking at the seams?

[wonwooslibrary]

svt as boyfriends ♡ jeonghan edition

member: yoon jeonghan genre: fluff, bullet points, established relationship word count: 668 summary: jeonghan's boyfriend things <3 warnings: none! author's note: i totally forgot to write this oops but heeeey it's done and it's jeonghan's turn! school has been a lot so i'm sorry that I haven't been posting as much </3 I'm trying to write more in my free time so we'll see :O

I feel like Jeonghan would be the “silent boyfriend”

Jeonghan gives the perfect college boyfriend vibes and I love that for him idk

Quality Time 

Jeonghan slays so hard at quality time

As I said, Jeonghan gives college bf vibes and it’s totally because of his love of quality time! 

When you are doing work, he’d totally agree to sit with you somewhere on campus or in a local cafe to study with you and help you memorize terms for your next exam! 

If you don’t go to school, he’d totally help you with your work projects too!!!

If you don’t have work projects either, he’d just be there for you if you are having a rough day, just as someone to lean on and to listen to you talk <3 

He’s so caring I love him

He would also definitely love to go on night walks with you when it’s late! He would totally find a spot where y’all can see the stars and take you there so you can stargaze and share some snacks 

Words of Affirmation 

Jeonghan is totally a “sweetie” or “baby” kind of guy and you cannot change my mind about it at all 

I can imagine Jeonghan coming home from a long practice or something and finding you in the living room. He’d sit next to you on the couch and lean against you and be all like, “Hi baby, how was your day?” 

(I’d actually scream pls) 

He would always say sweet things to you like “I missed you, baby” or “I love spending time with you” aaaaaa 

Jeonghan is a compliment machine so never think he would keep his thoughts to himself 

“Sweetie, I love the outfit you wore the other day! It looked perfect on you” 

(sobbing) 

Physical Touch

Jeonghan obsessed with little or light touches 

Loves holding hands when you’re waiting in line for something, or resting his hand on your knee when you’re sitting together on public transport 

And of course don’t forget about the back hugs when you’re doing something like dishes, brushing your teeth or literally just standing and texting your friend back

Head pats !!! Loves just patting your head and combing through your hair slightly

Y’all would be the couple that I strive to be a part of in my dreams 

Just imagine Jeonghan being a cuddly bf :( 

Acts of Service 

Helping you brush and do your hair!!! He definitely knows how to braid so imagine all the cool stuff he could do 

And if you have short hair, don’t fear: he’s got the butterfly clips all prepared just to be silly 

Definitely helps you with chores when you are busy or need to just take a break from existing 

Likes driving you places, even if you are a better driver and also enjoy driving 

He just likes making sure you get places safely and also don’t have to stress yourself out from how bad the traffic can be 

He also just likes letting you be in control of his radio 

Gift Giving 

He would totally go to your favorite cafe or bakery in the morning and get your favorite treat and bring it back while you’re still sleeping so when you wake up, you get something amazing from him !!!

Spoils you all the time but instead of it being jewelry or something expensive, he just gets you small trinkets 

Totally buys you pins for your bag when he goes literally anywhere 

Also loves to get you little decorations for your place: including stuffed animals, one being an extremely soft lamb that you decided to name Mareep, like the Pokemon

Now, for something like holidays and your birthday, he would get something more sentimental, like matching bracelets or something!!! 

He would want to get something for the both of you that he can still wear during practice, photoshoots and when he’s filming literally anything

Even if the audience doesn’t know what it symbolizes, he would know and that's very soft boyfriend of him <3

[zolica-ao3]

Enjoy a new chapter! <3

He is expecting some questions about whether it was a skill issue or bad luck, the same question he has been asked by the media after his other DNFs. But they seem to be way more interested in his mysterious biker savior.

“I would like to ask another question about your motorcyclist.” HIS motorcyclist. Oh goodness… “Who was he? Did he give you a name?”

Lando feels the protective side of him rear its head again. “I know his first name. Which I don’t like to reveal as he seemed very private.”

“Where was he from?”

“That’s classified,” Lando says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. A chuckle goes through the room.

The backpack to my lucky charm by Zolica Formula 1 RPF | Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri | Ongoing | 4/? | 16,989 Words

Lando is fuming with anger. It happened again. AGAIN. That’s the sixth DNF in a row. Lando screams with fury. His helmet muffles the sound for the marshals who are running up to him.

His engineer Will radios him again. “Lando, are you okay?” He presses the radio button on his steering wheel harshly. “I’m fine,” he sneers.

He's done. He’s over it. He needs to get the fuck away. From the track, from everything, right now!

---

In which Lando walks away from a race in complete frustration, only to get lost in the woods. A kind biker with an Australian accent finds him under a bridge. The Brit tries not to crush on Oscar, the hot motorcyclist who takes him for a scenic drive through the Belgian countryside.

[averytiredhuman]

Jealousy is a bitch Florence Pugh x f!reader

*I'm not sure if I like how this one turned out, also I'm sorry life has been hectic the last few months*

The rhythmic tapping of Y/N’s blunt fingertips on the wooden table was becoming something that began knocking on the back of Florence’s already pounding head, she brought her warm to-go cup to her lips, sipping the hot drink she hummed in satisfaction. “I’m so sorry for the delay, here you are ma’am.” The barista placed a tall to-go cup filled with iced coffee, Florence’s eyes scanned the young Barista’s body, her body was leaning into Y/N’s space. Her hand lingered a little too long on the cup for her liking, and the smile she gave her also didn’t sit well with her. “Don’t worry Angela, I’ll see you next week.” The young woman gave the rising star another overly friendly smile before she left, the glare that followed her went unnoticed by Y/N as she moved to grab her things, “Was that necessary?” Y/N looks at her girlfriend, a light frown on her lips, she moves in front of Florence in order to open the door for her, “What are you talking about?” Before Florence could reply to her, flashing lights and the snapping of camera shutters stopped her, the constant screaming of her name and Y/N’s name had Florence ready to scream until her head pops off. “Y/N! What is your latest project?” Y/N simply gave them a smile, lifted her left hand as a greeting, gripped Florence's left in her right and started to lead them towards their car, Y/N’s body shielded Florence's body. “Please stay safe guys, and get out of the road please.” Florence had a soft look in her eye as she saw her girlfriend's protectiveness towards her. 

The car had been silent, void of any sound even the radio had been switched off, the drive to their home had been fast for Y/N but seemed to still be ongoing for Florence, “Are we going to talk about the fact that you have been way too quiet the last couple of days, and that comment earlier?” Y/N’s voice held an air of comfort that only made Florence feel a warmth in her chest but also feel a bitter green monster claw at the back of her head as she thought of the week before, at a get-together for Y/N’s latest movie’s cast, that’s when Florence noticed the odd behaviour of the leading role, a young up and coming actress that was taking a chance by flirting with the director and screenwriter, Florence admits she hasn’t been handling the situation well, but what should she be doing when all she wants to do is slam the young girl’s face into a brick wall. “Earth to little chef?” The hand that waved in front of her face lowered to her jaw, making the British woman look at her, “Florence, what’s going on?” Florence sighs, it has to be serious if she neglected to call her little chef, a nickname that stuck since they met. “I’ll tell you when we get home.” A smile played on Y/N’s lips, “Well, let’s get inside then.”

As soon as the glass front door closes behind Y/N, she began to tidy the shoes by her door, a habit she picked up after Florence’s chaotic but wonderful presence came into her life, she went through her home-coming routine; step one was easy if Florence was with her, she goes in first. Step two is to tidy the shoes that had been kicked in all directions by the aforementioned woman. Step three is to remove her jacket and hang it on the coat hanger by her door. The Final step is to lock the door behind her and move to the kitchen, where Florence stood her empty to-go cup moving between her hands.

“Right, so that thing that you want to tell me?” Florence looks up, her eyes trailing their way up her body, all the way from the scuffed shoes to the few streaks of hair falling from her hair-do. “You’re the most amazing and beautiful thing that happened in my life.” The sentence had Y/N worried, “Little chef, what’s, what’s going on?” She moved closer to Florence, her right hand stretched out towards her girlfriend, “I can’t lose you.” The words had left her before she could stop them, “You won’t lose me, I’m scared of losing you.” Florence replied, Y/N gave her a smile that had the British woman’s leg almost give out, “It seems I’ve been a bit jealous.” Y/N laughs, her arms draping around Florence, “The Barista?” Y/N felt the actress shake her head, “No, the lead role of your new movie.” Raking her head Y/N thought of all interactions she had with the actress, “Katrina? You know she’s married, right?”

This made Florence look up at her, “Really?” Y/N nods, her eyes follow her fingers as they tuck a few strands of Florence’s hair behind her ear, “Very nice young man, his name is Todd, a totally normal bank teller.” Y/N feels the weight lift from her girlfriend’s shoulders, “I could have sworn I saw her flirting with you last week at the party.” This made the young director frown, her memory working overtime to figure out what she was talking about. The moment that a laugh crawled from the bottom of Y/N’s belly all the way out of her throat, Florence wanted to slap the woman, “Why are you laughing?” Y/N shakes her head and drags the girl to the couch, her phone already pulled from her back pocket, “She’s pregnant, and wanted me to be the first to know in the crew, she wasn’t flirting, she was being hush-hush, until now.” Opening her Instagram, she tapped the magnifying glass, and typed in Katrina’s Instagram. 

Florence’s eyes widen, the very first thing she saw was a sonogram, tapping the picture, Y/N reads the caption to her, “We wrapped filming earlier today, I can’t wait to share this wonderful project with you all, I would like to thank everyone on the crew that made this experience such a wonderful one, to @Director_Y/N and her filming company @MuroviFilms for allowing me the chance to work with you, we had a small cast and crew party last week where I told Y/N about my pregnancy, she made the final week of filming as comfortable and as stress-free as possible. She’s an amazing woman, who would constantly brag about her partner, and I would love to work with her again.” Y/N looks at her girlfriend, “Katrina goes on to thank the crew, she even tagged you in the pictures.”

She turns her phone to her,  “Little Chef, you have nothing to worry about, I am loyal to you, and you alone.” She grips her face lightly and pulls her closer, “I should change your name, it’s not little chef, it's Little Green Monster.”

[wbuckybarnes]

skk singer au, p2

tw: death, abuse, dazai-typical suicide and self harm mentions(?) slight inspiration from i was screaming your name through the radio by electricsplatter. definitely recommended DAZAI dazai, originally shuuji tsushima, would be signed under the port records as a child (around 10 or 11) due to his parents. because of his understanding in writing, reading, and singing music, he would quickly be placed as an executive at the ripe age of fifteen. he would be pressured by mori and manipulated into doing a lot of the work. dazai's parents signed him to the records because they weren't in a stage to take care of him, nor did they really want him. mori would take advantage of his mental health and do what most managers did: be forceful of the music that dazai produced and the shows. although being considered a prodigy, before the single of double black, he only recorded one EP of five songs. he only did a few shows, since he didn't like singing the songs and pretending with so many people in front of him, despite the popularity. because of the abuse he received from mori and his parents, he would project it on akutagawa. he would be harsh and always criticize him. at about seventeen, he would meet ango and oda. ango would be the one keeping all the contracts for the port records, while oda would be a simple lyricist for the smaller artists of the record. oda would be cut out from the record because of the emotional attachment dazai had to him. it would be about oda getting cut out of the records would be a turning point for dazai. he would finally understand that the port records wasn't a good place for him. despite his contract extending until twenty, he leaves the place, laying low until his contract officially ended. after that, he'd sign with the armed entertainment agency. he would initially just do paperwork and be a lyricist for kunikida. after a month or so, he starts recording singles and albums. he quickly becomes popular, and although only having three albums, earned lots of money on the tour he had. SOUKOKU their relationship would have tons of ups and downs. since they are both famous singers, they aren't looking for anything to stir up the people watching them. chuuya would feel somewhat betrayed that dazai left the port records, but would understand that it was a toxic environment for him. to him, the record company felt more empty without him. their relationship would take a turn when dazai went to one of chuuya's concerts at nineteen, when he was supposed to be 'laying low'. chuuya realizes that dazai still exists and hasn't killed himself or anything, and that sets him off. ("not a single text? not even one, dazai?") following this, they'd continue to bicker and fight. their relationship would receive publicity. the only time where they finally get it resolved is when dazai adds a love song labeled with his name on a new album, which makes the streams and famousness skyrocket, as well as conclude their feelings.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

DC

A Brief Interview by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

When Damian finds a small child with an expensive camera on a rooftop in the middle of Gotham, he decides to follow in his father’s footsteps and take the boy home. After all, why should Bruce be the only one who gets to add to the family?

Damian and Tim age swap fluff.

Percy Jackson

the annabeth project by pjoseries (divineauthor)

Time kneels to no one, but Percy will take his chances.

—•—

Annabeth is lost in time. Percy finds his way to her, but not without a few familiar faces helping him along the way

Clone Wars

if you’re on a mission, you’ve got my permission by allowaykirk

"And you don’t mind being asked to…” Cody tries to find a tactful way to say dangle yourself in front of this courier like a tantalizing piece of bantha meat on a stick and comes up lacking.

“Your concern is admirable, Cody,” Kenobi says, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “But I assure you, between this and heavy artillery fire, I’ll take the mission where no unnecessary blood has to be shed.”

A very Jedi answer. But then a corner of Kenobi’s mouth twitches up, his eyes glittering in the club’s low, sultry lighting. “Besides, there’s a reason the Council has a tendency to assign me these sorts of missions.”

-

5 times Obi-Wan Kenobi was a slut in the name of the Republic, and the 1 time romance swept him off his feet.

Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-Kun!

In Initia Res by vi_o

It's been quite a while since the last time a human summoned Sullivan. But, hey, Sullivan's been kind of bored lately, so he's not complaining!

At least, he's not complaining until the idiots who summoned him explain what they actually want.

What kind of sentient pond scum tries to sell their entire CHILD for 10,000,000 yen?

BNHA

passing through the dark by delectum

After many years of teaching upcoming heroes in training, Aizawa has a way of knowing when his students are in trouble and first year student Keigo Takami is practically screaming for help.

(phone) call for help by RejectsCanon

Touya clutches at the phone in his hands like the lifeline it is. If Touya played his cards right, this could be their chance to escape. No more hurt and pain and tears and fear. If Touya did this right they could be safe.

This was do or die.

It rings once. Then twice. Then a click.

“Hellooo, listener! You’re on air! What’s on your mind tonight?”

Or, Touya wants nothing more than to get him and his siblings out of their house and away from their father. To do this, he makes a last-ditch attempt and calls into Present Mic's radio station.

[gttoomh]

No More Distractions

I've had this idea stuck in my head for the past week. A mortal girl who grew up with Loki as her patron god. He would speak to her through her mind and astral project to visit her. Then he goes radio silent after the events of THOR and a year later she's recruited by Shield to help take him down upon his return. The story starts at the gala Loki attends to get the dude's eye in Avengers.

I just wrote this to get it out of my head, so here you go Tumblr. You can have it too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was beautiful. Different than I’d imagined, but beautiful nonetheless. I’d heard his voice in my mind a million times… listened to his teasing tone… felt his mind dance through my thoughts. Standing in front of him now felt like a dream. 

I sigh softly, the buzz of the comm in my ear followed by Steve’s voice.

“All you need to do is distract him. Don’t give anything away. Make it seem like this is just a coincidence.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. As if that was the easiest thing in the world. As if he would ever fall for such a half-baked plan. I’d known this man since I was twelve. My patron god Loki. He was my confidant… my friend… my…

I shake the thought from my mind, slowly weaving my way through the crowd of dancers. I don’t know why he’s here. Shield has put me on a need-to-know basis. Twelve hours ago I was a nobody. Working my way through my boring life one day at a time. Now I’m here… with the weight of the world on my shoulders as a group of heroes thinks I can bring a god to his knees. Fools.

I take in a deep breath as I step in front of him, catching his eye almost immediately. A look of disgust crosses his face… as if I was nothing more than a spider to be crushed under his boot. I can’t help but quirk a smile.

“Step away mortal. Before I make you pray to your worthless god.”

A small laugh leaves my lips and I shake my head.

“I’d only be praying to you. You Look different than I thought you would.”

He scans me, eyes trailing from my feet back to my face, curiosity striking him. I offer a half smile in return.

“You sound the same though.”

He scoffs, the firm expression returning quickly. 

“I have no use for you. Leave before my mercy fades.”

I hum softly, clicking my tongue and shaking my head in mock disappointment.

“Have you really forgotten me already? It’s only been a year since we last spoke. I was worried, you know. I thought you’d left me for good.”

His brow furrows and it’s a moment later I feel him probing into my mind. I let him and his face softens.

“Pet…”

I roll my eyes at the name… something he’s insisted on calling me since I was a child. At first, it was meant to annoy me. Though, Over the years affection has wormed its way into his tune, though he’d never admit it.

“Sometimes I think you’ve actually forgotten my name.”

His token smirk returns to his face and he shrugs.

“Why would I need to know you by any other name? You’re my pet after all.”

I try my best to suppress the smile fighting its way to the surface but fail miserably. He seems proud of himself, though I don’t know if it’s because he made me laugh or because he’s teasing me.

“How did you find me, pet?”

I hesitate, Steve’s voice ringing in my ear as he gives me some half-ass story to spout. I ignore him, letting out a deep sigh instead.

“Shield. They want me to distract you from… whatever it is you’re doing here.”

I wince as the rest of the Avengers begin shouting into the comms, screaming at me to stand down or shut up completely.

“They’re not particularly happy I told you that.”

Loki’s eyes narrow and reaches his hand up to my left ear, hovering next to it while using his magic to pull the comm from its place and crushing it in his hand.

“Idiots. They should know better than to try and turn what’s mine against me.”

I choose to ignore the comment, though my cheeks turn a soft pink.

“I guess they didn’t take into account I would be more loyal to you.”

He brushes his hands off, what's left of the comm falling to the floor.

“I suppose not. Regardless, you should leave, pet. It isn’t safe for you here. You should have denied them completely at such an idiotic request.”

I breathe out, nodding my head and looking down at my hands.

“I know… but when they told me you were here, I couldn’t help myself. It’s been a year. You said goodbye and then radio silence. I just… needed to know you were alive.”

Loki scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You believe your god to be so weak? Ridiculous.”

My eyes return to his, a smile falling across my face and I let out the smallest laugh.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m just being dramatic I guess.”

He nods in agreement, staring me down. Despite the hard expression on his face, I can see the softness in his eyes. My head turns slowly, eyes finding the band across the room and I frown. There's something familiar about the song they’re playing.

“This sounds like…”

I glance up at him, knowing he understands what I mean. An old song. It’s not the exact same… but it’s close. An Asgadian tune he taught me just a few years back. Amusement spreads across his face as he realizes.

“Do you remember the steps?”

It’s my turn to scoff and roll my eyes. As if I could forget. The god spent months drilling the dance into my head, making sure I had every movement down perfectly. I hold up my right hand, palm facing him. It’s an invitation and I can’t help but hope he accepts. He hesitates for only a moment before raising his own to mimic mine, our palms close enough to feel the heat from one another, but never touching. The soft music continues to play as we circle each other, switching hands and spinning around as the steps request. My eyes never leave him, our bodies never touching even as the last few notes of the song play. I step towards him, both my palms inches away from his own. Our noses almost brush, my eyes finding his as the room slowly goes silent. He stares at me for a moment, both of us perfectly content to remain just as we are.

“Songs over, pet. No more distractions.”

I purse my lips closing my eyes as I try to will him not to move with my mind.

“Five more minutes?”

I hear a soft chuckle slip from him, followed by lips pressing gently against my forehead. In the next moment, the atmosphere changes. I hear a bustling street and feel a cold chill on my skin. When I open my eyes, I’m standing outside, The gala in front of me. And Loki is nowhere to be found.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Might make another part to this, but I dunno. Let me know if it's worth it too, lol.

[oddlylongtelephonecord]

I wanna dump my list of skk fic recs so I have a list of all my favorite ones and I can finally close out of some of my 30 ao3 tabs.

1. (I’m sure you all saw this one coming so I’m going to get it out of the way first) I will admit, I didn’t love the last chapter or two. But the rest of this is an absolute masterpiece. It’s one of the best characterizations of skk I’ve seen in these really popular fics.

2. Kyoka pov, ft. chuuya’s breakdown after dazai left. It’s been a while since I read it, but I didn’t keep it open in a tab for over a year for no reason.

3. This is by far my favorite one tbh. Dazai and Chuuya at 15, 16, 17, and 18, and how they grew into and out of each other. It crushed my soul. Let it crush yours too.

4. I’ll be so honest it’s need forever since I read this one BUT I remember it being one that felt like it changed the trajectory of my life and flipped my worldview upside down. Like maybe I’m being dramatic, but again, there’s a reason I refused to close the tab.

5. this one easily ties with 3 for my favorite actually. Shows every time Chuuya uses corruption and how Dazai handles Chuuya’s near-death experiences (spoiler alert: dazai doesn’t take it well)

6. this is the only unfinished one on here I think, but it’s pretty much exactly what it says in the title. Follows Dazai and Chuuya as they try to deal with the fact that Dazai does in fact feel emotions

7. By the same author as above, outsider pov fic (kunikida) dazai has a minor breakdown + dazai and chuuya arguing in french, this one is also unfinished but it doesn’t end on a cliffhanger so that’s nice

I’ll def keep adding to this as I find new fics that I enjoy enough to save (a very rare occurrence, my standards are about as far from low as you can get. It’s kind of obnoxious, but you know what they say, c’est la vie)

[alastor-simp-page]

The Deal/Chains Prompt Charlastor - A little peek

I feel so bad. I wasn't able to finish it in time but I gotta put something out. I'm scrambling to finish it. Yippee! It's definitely interesting...I'm trying out a new writing style.

They're a bit OOC but I was inspired. And well, you all voted for Charlie owning Alastor's soul so that's what I'm trying to craft. This is for sure steering into dubious territory.

You walked into the room as anyone does. With such a simple action as that, I can glean enough information to know what I’m walking into. Gait, pace, smile or lack of, the way your chest rises and falls. Your eyes looked everywhere but me. Curious. You were the one to ask for me after all. And here you were, rubbing your bare arm and practically stumbling over your feet. 

Wearing a dress shirt with suspenders? Quite a curious thing for a lady of your stature. The way your hair falls over your shoulder tells me you had your nails digging into your scalp not even seconds ago. 

I suppose being the Princess of Hell was no small feat. And meeting the Radio Demon? No wonder you’re a wreck. A beautiful mess if that’s what I could call you? 

I stand, as it's the gentlemanly thing to do and put my arm out for you. I grin, “Why, hello there, darling. You must be Princess Charlotte! Correct?” You simply smile up at me, that sort of nervous one where the smile doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

“Yep, yep!” You say and quickly take my hand. Your hand is soft and warm, something that would melt in my grip if I grasped it too long. You let go far too soon, letting my hand fall back to my side. “But I go by Charlie. Just Charlie now,” You insist. I arch a brow. A name either meant to deny her parents wishes or to establish some sort of dominance in the hierarchy with a male name. I don’t pry, it's rude, after all! 

The fire in the fireplace roars in agony, tinting your blonde waves in a crimson glow, the same hue of those naive eyes. “So…um,” You kick your feet, something to distract you from your words. I understand, darling. My finger swirls around the sphere of my radio cane. An unfortunate habit I’ve contracted. “My Dad set up this meeting and well, I’m sure you know what it's about, right?”

Not simply your Dad…the King of Hell, the Little Guy downstairs as those upstairs liked to call him. Of course, I knew what it was about. It didn’t take a genius to ask around with that ever so charming (and sinister) smile of mine. Your little passion project: that ridiculous hotel. Redeeming the damned! There’s a reason why Purgatory was disbanded. 

I decided not to tell you that. See if you slip up or leave a few details out. I’m sure you will or you may blabber on for an eternity. “No, I have not, Charlie” is what I answered. 

You let out a little squeal and start pawing through your bag. Oh dear, this may have been a mistake. My ears perk up at that sound unwillingly, those blasted things. However that little squeal, that little sound, it's so enticing. I wonder how many sounds I can entice out of you by the time I’m done with you? Don’t you think so, dear Charlie? Make you scream? Cry? Moan my name? 

No, no, no. I’m getting quite too far ahead of myself. I haven’t even seen what you want. What our relationship pans out to be! Hah! Not that it isn’t hard to guess: help. Something a darling little damsel in distress needs I suppose?

You started to ramble on, “So…the Happy Hotel is all about redeeming sinners and I really…” I’m half listening to you. The rest of my senses devoted to the way you practically danced as you talked. The way you swirled and twirled, gripping the papers in your grasp, pictures drawn from the likes of a 4 year old high on Coca-Cola. It was your drawings, I knew, crudely crafted and having the right to be hung in a modern art museum. Still adorable nonetheless. 

However I’m sure no drawings, no art pieces, and no paintings could ever fully illustrate you. The artist would never pick the right color for the rose of your cheeks nor capture the flow of your hair. And certainly never capture that bubble of happiness you became. 

You cared. Care, love, cherish, what alien words in a world such as Hell. And no more, the daughter of Sin itself. Spawn of the Devil and of the treacherous first woman: Lilith. You wanted to help sinners. The worst of the worst. It was almost laughable, downright absurd. You? Daughter of the deviled goat man who offered the apple. Leading to sin taking a hold of the world? Guilt must be gnawing at your soul, the weight of your father’s actions falling onto your shoulders, the burden of family. Or simply because you cared? Because you wanted to help the worst of the worst have a chance to knock on the pearly gates? You’re a strange one, dear.

“So! What do you think, Alastor,” You ask. My name rolls off your tongue like it's etched there, like it belongs there. I rather like it.

I roll back my shoulders, hands twisting my bowtie into place. “It doesn’t matter what I think, dear.” It truly doesn’t. “Your father asked me to offer my services to you. So…do you require them?” Please say you do. 

That bubbly demeanor of yours drops and flips your smile into a frown. “Well, I need to know if you believe in me or not.” You say. Fair enough.

I stand and cross around the coffee table. Your crimson eyes widen at the movement. I aim to surprise, I suppose. I plop myself down beside you and you simply stare at me, shifting an inch. There’s no need to be afraid of me, darling. Well, I suppose it's fair.  

“Darling, what I’ve seen so far is a woman who deeply believes in her dream.” I mince my words, cutting them up in tasty pieces for you to devour. “There’s nothing more powerful than a person who cares. Truly cares about their cause. About their passion. And you seem to do just that.” I tap you on the shoulder. A small touch, nothing too much from stranger to stranger. I can see you’re listening, intently. Oh, you poor dear. Your eyes are wide, surprised. Has no one believed in you before? “Of course, I believe in you, Charlie!” I land it home, driving the stake in deep.

Oh, I can just see it through your glass porcelain face. You want someone to believe in you, don’t you? The way your rosy cheeks deepen in color tells me all I need. Hah, you’re desperate, aren’t you? Letting the Radio Demon of all people to encourage you?

“Thanks…” you say sheepishly. You’re bursting with joy. I know you are. You’re simply too ashamed to admit it. I can see it in the way you shift, look away, and how your chest heaves. You’re excited. Someone! Finally someone! You must think. 

“Again, I’ll offer my services again. Your father wanted you to meet with me for…well, my popularity with my radio station, correct? Get the word out to folks?” I tell you. It is what your father had told me quite stiffly. I guess it must have been your idea, no doubt. 

You rub your neck. You’re…unsure? I tilt my head. What are you about to do, dear? “Well, I said that at first but meeting you…I have a different idea.” I grin. You’re an interesting gal, aren’t you? Changing things up? Perhaps you’re less predictable than I previously thought.

“And what is that?” I lean in close and you lean away. My, my, my, you’re still a skittery little thing, aren’t you, darling? 

“I think you’re a nice guy but my Dad doesn’t really like you at all. And well, he only trusts someone if they're on a leash,” You say. Oh dear. This is going in a direction that I would not go in. A leash? That only meant one thing and it wasn’t something I was willing to bargain for today.

“You are aware there’s little trust if one must be put on a leash for there to be trust,” I say. It’s true. A leash is a walking prison. Move from place to place, try as you will to stretch it and it will still yank you back.

You murmur to yourself, “I know…” However your eyes sparkle. “But I think you’re going to like my offer! A deal if you will!”

Deal? Now that’s what I wanted to hear! My specialty! My hands weave together, cracking a knuckle one by one. You stare. You’re unsure. That seems to be a theme which always etches your face. The way your eyes crinkle and how your lips twitch. 

I have you just where I want you. I stab my cane into the floor, you flinch, and I rub my digit on the sphere where my good old mic blinks idly. “So, what are your terms, dear?” Words I plan to switch into: what are my terms. 

Something flashes within your crimson eyes. Something beyond that naive little princess you are. I couldn’t catch it in time, it slipped just as quickly from my grasp. What was that? Perhaps nothing. I hope nothing.

You stare back. I can feel the pressure of your gaze seemingly pressing into the space between my eyes like the cold barrel of a rifle. You’re getting bolder by the minute aren’t you? You clear your throat and fold your hands neatly in your lap. How princess-y of you.

“My terms are that…” Your eyes dart away. Good. You’re nervous again. Just how I like you. “...you can assist me on a much more personal level if…” Well, go on! I’m listening, darling! We may have all eternity but all this stalling is getting rather out of hand. “...my Dad said I can only make you my hotelier if I own your soul,” You say.

(Subject to change)

[sicksadgames]

GHOULBOYS - Where ghosts are real, or not I guess.

GHOULBOYS is a one-shot horror/comedy TTRPG for 3 players. It's about amateur paranormal investigators hunting for ghosts in supposedly haunted locales, interpreting evidence and bullshitting with their friends. I made this one! I love ghost things! Let's talk about them! But first...

Will we finally answer the question... are ghosts real?

Inspired by shows and games like Ghost Files, Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural, Phasmophobia and Most Haunted, you'll play as one of three classes:

The BELIEVER, trying to uncover evidence that the paranormal is real, and detail the nature of the supposed haunting.

The SCEPTIC, who believes that everything has a reasonable explanation, and the idea of ghosts is kinda funny. 

The PRODUCER, who’s recording this whole thing, and looking out for what the other two might miss.

It's a GMless game where you and your two friends fuck around in abandoned buildings with spirit boxes, motion sensors, and turn the gain up on your microphone incredibly loudly to hear what might, maybe have someone saying half a word.

If that sounds cool, it's $5 until the end of the month!

My friends it is time to peer closely at a blurry photo

YES IT'S TIME FOR MORE SELF INDULGENCE BELOW THE CUT.

(Potential) Spoilers for: Ghostwatch and The Blair Witch Project.

Bro bro bro did you see that bro BRO

When I was a teen posessed by the grim specter of an idea known as "Thinking I was a guy", I used to get very stoned and sit in cars with my friends and drive around at night. Being stoned with The Lads was a good way of pretending I wasn't possessed, I guess.

One time we drove to a supposedly haunted stretch of road; the story was that a woman who lived nearby had gone out onto the road late at night and been hit by a car and killed. If you drove along that road at the time of her death, you might see her, wearing the nightgown she died in.

After about an hour of driving up and down the road, we were about to give up. The driver swung into a driveway to turn the car around, and out of the pitch blackness, I saw it. White, twisted, grasping. It was just a flash, but I know what I saw. I screamed, my friends screamed, the tires of the car screamed as they span griplessly on the tarmac for that endless split second before it pulled away.

Yes of course it was a fucking tree. But for at least 5 minutes, we all believed I'd seen her. As plain as day, a dead woman in a nightgown had grasped at me on the other side of the windscreen through the darkness. The real fear lasted seconds. The adrenaline lasted a few minutes. The laughs lasted for a while afterwards.

I don't believe in ghosts. But the idea of them has the power to make us conjure them. We stare at the fuzzy frozen frame of video and think we can see a form, a face. We listen to the overpowering static hum of a shotgun mic pointed into a hallway and swear we hear a voice. We peer into the darkness, and our brains connect the dots we've decided are there. We want to be scared, especially when we can laugh about it afterwards.

It's just the Pipes

If you know the Orson Welles' War of the Worlds radio broadcast, Ghostwatch pulls a similar trick. It's 1992, you've sat down to watch a live TV show doing a "scientific investigation" into a haunted suburban home with Big Name TV News Guy Michael Parkinson, Big Name TV "Robot Wars" Guy Craig Charles, and a bunch of other Big Name TV people I don't really know.

The house is supposedly possessed by a malevolent evil spirit who the homeowners kids call Pipes. They hear banging noises at night, their mom tells them "It's just the pipes." Watch along at home, phone in using the number on your screens with your ghost stories, and you know, just in case you maybe see anything on the footage that we might miss.

It's staged, of course, and staged incredibly. It's very fucking creepy. Kitchy, mundane 90's TV gives way slowly to creeping dread that never seems to stop creeping, eventually arriving at a terminus of full on Blair Witch surrealness. It drew so many complaints from people whose children were turned to traumatised wrecks that it was banned from being broadcast for 10 years.

Probably because the newscaster they saw on TV every day turned, in the course of about half an hour, from this

To this

There's not really many clips on youtube but trust me, it's good. It's slow. Give it a chance, you should watch it.

Josh? Is that you down there?

There's so many jokes about The Blair Witch Project, but that's not because it's bad. I mean, it IS kind of bad, and that's the point. Heather, Josh and Mike are just amateur film makers making a documentary on a shoestring budget, about the mystery of the Blair Witch, the details of which matter little to what happens next. The jokes are attempts by people trying to break the hold the film has on them. But it holds on tight.

It works so well because it's so sparse. The minimal, natural sets, the handheld footage, the we're-not-even-really-acting-I'm-actually-kinda-just-creeped-out performances. The characters talk like convincingly kinda shitty people, deal with getting lost like real people, argue like convincingly scared people. It explains nothing about the greater mystery, cares not for any attempt to make sense of what's going on, all it wants to do is slowly drag you to it's stark, screaming conclusion.

Like many successful horror films, it got a bunch of sequels which I've not seen, and don't care to. It doesn't need them.

Ok but what about real ghosts

There's something about a weird dollar store Trent Reznor and his bros crawling around a tourist spot that makes Ghost Adventures so fun to watch. Trant Reznot is out here shouting at ghosts with his whole chest like "I HEARD YOU DON'T LIKE BIG LIGHTS SHINING IN YOUR FACE HUH", and it's great. When the often questionable "activity" occurs, it's rarely actually spooky in any way, but the deadly serious way with which they describe the mote of light (read: dust particle) moving across the footage that it's endearing.

These shows (Most Haunted, 28 Days Haunted, et al) tend towards having a pseudo "intellectual" angle. Ghost Adventures doesn't care, it's listening to Tool in it's car outside the high school, passing you a joint and saying "Isn't it fucked up that people die, but like, aren't gone, man?" I can't tell if it doesn't take itself too seriously, or if it just doesn't really know how to be serious, but it's good.

Hey there demons, it's me... ya boi

I watched so much god damn Buzzfeed Unsolved through Covid. I watched it until the early hours of the morning, until I'd successfully creeped myself out to the point where I had to run from the living room to the bedroom in the dark to avoid the Texarkana Phantom Killer that my brain had successfully materialised just behind the back of my head.

Somehow Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural - it's sister show focused on.. well, supernatural stuff, and it's successor Ghost Files manages to be both scary, whilst also simultaneously very stupid and funny.

Both Shane and Ryan are always ready to be scared, but they're also both ready to laugh. They have a very endearing camaraderie too, like two kids in class trying to get the each other told off by the teacher, and despite the semi serious presentation, unlike Ghost Adventures they're not precious about trying to make sure you're scared. It invites you laugh and be afraid in equal measure, and it feels natural, especially in the early episodes. If Ryan is freaking out about the Waverly Hills Hospital body chute, it's because.. well.. watch the video? I would absolutely not go down there.

This tension between laughing and screaming drives the show. The balance between spooky-funny and spooky-scary is a delicate one. Ryan and Shane are great at knowing when to tip that balance, one way or the other.

It's easily the single biggest influence on Ghoulboys (I mean, of course it is?) because of this. When playing, you're always caught in this in-between moment that the Ghoulboys themselves do so well. Waiting for something to fall over, the spirit box to speak, the SLS scanner to show a fleeting figure. Whether it's scary or silly, your brain is waiting for it, ready to draw the shapes of ghosts we want to see.

Thank you for coming to my Ghost TED Talk

Man ghost stuff is so good, real or fake. I just wanted to make a funny game that occasionally made you raise your eyebrows and look at each other like "Oh, shit..." and had lots of stupid ghost hunting equipment, and I think it worked out. Thanks for reading.

Again, if you want to check out Ghoulboys, it's $5 until the end of the month. Take a look! There's a video of me and some friends playing it!

[snugglesquiggle]

Tines of the Devil's Fork

Storm-veiled stars, frozen city ruins, knives in the sky. Railgun finished early, Uzi hunts.

here's something short and experimental. what if uzi repaired her railgun with Something Else?

i'd appreciate kudos and comments, but this is short enough i can put it all here on tumblr

i.

Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, shined all sorts of colors. Blue, yellow, red. Beneath the streetlamps, acid-tinged snow-flakes glittered, bright and scattered the same way, but they were only white. Crap replacement.

Uzi keeps eyes on the sky; she was savvy, knew to stay on-guard. Two scavengers chit-chat beside her, eyes on facial animations instead. But they listened as she’d ranted railgun electromagnetics and anime choreography. Seemed interested. She thought of Doll, back when they were sleepover-sisters. Crap replacement.

No time for angst, just action. Uzi holds her railgun, and thinks of Khan.

ii.

Shadows scowl and loom. Spooky streets. Uzi knew spooky all her life. In Doll’s sleepovers they played dare-games in closet darkness. Rumors said if you shut out all light, you sometimes felt watched. Doll did every time. Uzi too.

Dark is nice, sharpens senses. Uzi’d thought her railgun needed a glowing green spare part. A macguffin. Then she brought a copper-wrapped tuning fork to a room with no lights. Completion sung to her, and the railgun felt done.

Just needs a target.

Till then, it’s scavenging.

An apartment block stands, no lights powered, but copper’s in the walls.

iii.

Crack. Quin sledghammers wall-plaster. Pipes burst, water gushing out. Cracking piñatas, copper wire candy.

Streetlamps flicker outside. The wind stops, choked breath. Transformer fails — whole block in overcast night. One lamp left, shines a vigil.

Knife-whisper. When you see yellow, he’s already dead.

Neck cut, life gushing out. Cracking piñatas like color-inverted eggs. Quin-candy.

No angst, just action.

Anime choreography. Duck under wing-sweep, copper wire lasso, gotcha.

Acid burbles — vocalsynth fries — name’s Marina.

The railgun sings. Point-blank. Core bursts, scream-roars, blood gushing out. Street’s lit anew, green light like lightning.

Still no wind.

iv.

Uzi is cold-hot. Alone like a glacier. Angry like a simmering volcano.

Fatal Error beneath bowl-cut and pinstripe suit.

Fatal Error beneath blue-dyed fringe and crop-top.

Plug a wire, mount file storage like an external hard-drive, Uzi is looking for momentos, funeral fodder or catharsis to carry back. Searching just makes her feel hot.

She looks to the victory-defeat.

Materal Collection: initialization failed, retrying... beneath afro and sweater vest.

They don’t even die like us.

Kick and smash and kick and smash and it’s action but it’s nothing.

She’s smaller even when it’s dead.

v.

Digging through murder drone carcass, those bones and sacs, you still find electronics. Like a radio — buzzing.

Wind again, ice scratching her cheek. Electromagnetic humming — on-edge. Above glittering snowfall, that yellow glint. X marks your death.

Frickin’ cooldowns! No railgun. Detatched murder-claw? Crap replacement.

Cloud-crash, snow debris. No pouncing? Idiot ball?

“Yeesh. R got cooked by a toaster?” Wary, circling.

Shotgun-barrel jabs. “You reckon it bears the devil’s fork?” Still, focused.

“Hate seein’ a fork stuck in a toaster.”

Uzi blurts, “That’s right. My corpse-meal!”

Wary, focused – then blink. Quick as death, gone as wind.

vi.

Uzi’s frame rattled. Like digital adrenaline. Robot hormones.

Murder drones fled. She bluffed, they believed. She looked back, met eye with red error.

Better act the part, could be watching.

You wanted to carry back part of them. You wanted catharsis.

Murder drones probably don’t even taste like us. Right?

Intrusive thoughts didn’t make sense.

Uzi felt cold-hot. Ice makes stones crack. Electric voltage fries circuits. Uzi felt broken-growing. Hormones.

That was just angst. This is action. Hands cupped, plastic goblet for king’s wine. Queen’s royal jelly.

Railgun whines red overheat. Cool hands cradle it. She walks away.

vii.

Snow crested Uzi’s beanie, above icicle-feathers like an inverse crown. Her rime is undisturbed. Winds went still; clouds ran dry of false stars.

Digging through her bat-wing backback, you find extraneous electronics. MP3 player. Nightcore? Anime OPs? Not hitting. Corrupted file, howling static. That’s it.

Uzi groans loud in night, frame rattling. No one to talk to. Angst-abyss. She’s melting glaciers, she’s dormant volcanos.

Her feet crack like sledgehammers against ice-slick roads.

She’s remembering two smiling scavengers she’d left Outpost-3 with. Then thinking of Doll. Thinking of Khan.

Of her mother.

Her railgun cooled quiet.

viii.

The world’s different outside of Outpost-3. A different key, her core beating new tempos, orchestral remix.

Uzi knows how. Khan read door blueprints like bedtime stories. Never explained why Door Two, just what it was: a faraday cage. Canceling that fundamental noise of the light and iron: electromagnetism.

Murder drones use it to hunt: communication, triangulation, disruption.

Uzi runs a finger down the railgun’s barrel. Guess I use it to hunt, too.

In that dark room, watched and sung to, Uzi felt completion and it attracted her.

If she’d felt repulsed? Now she understands why.

Time to change keys.

ix.

Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, had four points. That’s how Light diffracted through lenses; squishy human eyes saw differently. They’re all messed up.

What do stars look like to murder drones? They don’t even die like us. Probably don’t see like us either.

That carcass was squishy inside. Muscles in place of servos. Crap replacement.

Last bridge back home is perilously slick. Last gust of wind tugs her hoodie. And she slips. Last moment, she ledge-grabs — with both hands.

Railgun tumbling down. One hand holding secure, the other’s thrown to reach out in a futile, dramatic gesture.

x.

Three prongs of purple code erupt in miracle-glow between splayed fingers.

It’s mirrored ten meters abyssward, cradling the fruit of months brainstorming, months tinkering, months hoping. The railgun that sung to her (in the same tonality murder drones hummed.)

Her replacement for — what?

It rises like snow never could. When it’s inches away, she stares at the symbol.

The devil’s fork.

Did she hate seeing it? Stepping off the bridge, her electricity hummed in the gun she cradled. She sees Door Three, and a rift high above.

Stars still shine, yellow and blue-red — three-pointed and ever-shifting.

[foibles-fables]

For the soft cozy fic prompt: Control, Jesse/Emily, 15-Bed warm. They need some cozy times with all the chaos they’ve been through

I wrote this weird stream-of-consciousness thing on the plane today--hope you enjoy!!

EDIT: Posted to AO3 today!

--

Jesse’s nightmares are hazed in red. They come rushing in with a hollow fear that punches a swift and heavy-dense hole straight through her sternum.

Stars blown away, none left to guide her. Just emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, and a looking glass. It’s all a matter of perception. Glancing sidelong (never head-on, too much, recoil) presents an image—a face that matches hers by a measure of half, bare scalp and calm-frenzy scarlet eyes and a sharp smile that twists and twists as he stares her down.

The mirror is a poster. Peel it back and see the same. Their names are etched in concatenation with a designation that follows: P[6/7/6/7/6/7]. The numeral is not text but it compels, it vacillates. Like a seizure. Like a film projection, distorted.

This was by chance. This was by design. Two lives and two outcomes. Snap your fingers to transmute.

That's all it'll take.

And when Jesse opens her mouth to whisper, to scream, to bid it to stop, she’s drowned by a discordant babel of affirmation in voices that are all her own.

I want to listen. I want to dream. I want to smile. I want to hurt.

I don’t want to be.

There’s a soul-deep glimmer of warning behind her closed eyes—they snap open stinging as Jesse wakes with a start, wakes without a sound. Laid out flat on her back and soaked in cold shiver-sweat, she spins into substance from the periphery and inward, halting around the through-and-through void gaping at her chest. When she breathes it's shallow and ragged, uncontrolled, and all the air she takes won’t fill it in. Her hand aches. First finger feels bone-sore from the Service Weapon’s trigger. She chose this.

She chose this but it's not here. It's not here. Find something else to reach for.

Find it before they find you.

"Jesse?"

Her name, spoken on its own, sounds broken-off. Vestigial. One of two parts, half of the not-hers dream-name, left to exist alone.

But her name is also a gentle and groggy question spoken by a husking voice that soothes. In comes a surge of context. Naked. Bare skin against scratchy linens, water stains on the ceiling, motes of dust floating with enviable aimlessness through curtain-cracked sunlight. The ring of an untouched bell chimes over crackling radio music.

One hand and a light-switch cord, three pulls—one hand holding another’s with purpose, fingers laced.

"Jesse."

Less of a question.

She scrapes up the capacity to turn her head and finds Emily lying beside her in the motel bed, watching, gaze drowsy but intent. Her blue eyes pale to silver in the slats of perpetual daylight strewn across bedding, across exposed skin. Emily's is as bare as her own. The sheets pool at her waist. No HRA—the Hiss haven’t touched this place and Polaris’s protection isn't needed.

Or maybe her protection has just—extended.

Jesse looks at Emily and considers this and her throat goes dry.

But she also breathes. Deep and satisfying.

"Hey," she croaks on the labored exhale, still finding her voice. "Sorry, did I—was I, uh, making noise?"

"A little." Emily touches her, hidden from view: a stroke of her thumb on the inside of Jesse's wrist. "Are you alright?"

What follows is a lie, but only just. "Yeah. Yeah, I—woke up and didn't know where I was, for a second."

The corners of Emily’s mouth quirk into a tiny smile, and Jesse knows what’s coming.

“To be fair,” she says, all eagerness, Head of Research minus the clipboard (she holds Jesse’s hand in a loose grip instead), “we don’t really know where we are. In dimensional euclidean terms, at least.”

The Oceanview Motel and Casino is a Place of Power in ways beyond the obvious and the obscure. A dreamscape that offers a moment of reprieve in transit. A liminal sanctuary for this new ritual they’re establishing when the shifting gets to them: visit together, share each other, be.

Jesse gets another breath. Her skin thrums with remembering and she wants to be closer—wants to reach and cling and bury her fingers to the knuckle in the roots of Emily’s short-cropped hair.

“Just kind of feels like Nevada to me,” she says instead, squinting against the sunlight while keeping her gaze fixed on Emily’s long lashes. Doesn’t want to know what she might see if she looks away.

“Could be.” Emily’s fingertips trace up to the curve of Jesse’s bicep. Dream-logic as physical contact. It’s calming in a way Jesse hasn’t let herself grow used to, but she’s trying. “We’ll learn. For now, though, it’s kind of exciting. That for all that we’ve seen, there’s still so much left to fathom.” Her grin broadens, brightens, cracking the corners of her eyes. Jesse’s pulse kick-starts, erratic. Polaris, knowing, resonates smugly, if smug is a thing extradimensional sentient frequencies can be. “Don’t you think?”

Emily has a way of seeing what’s there. All the rest falls away—all of the complications, all of the tangles, all of the clouded context.

And Emily has always seen Jesse. Chalk that up to synchronicity too.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, wanting to be a part of that so badly she aches. “Yeah.”

Emily’s smile softens. “You look so tired.” A palm, then, smoothing across Jesse’s neck, her cheek. A bodily tether in all of this liminality. “Turn over? We can stay here a little longer, if you’d like.”

There are no words and there is no lack of understanding. Jesse capitulates—turns on her side, facing away. Bed-warm and soft and so quiet, Emily moves closer to curl against her back. Her hand flattens against the valley between Jesse’s bare breasts. The space between Jesse’s shoulder blades feels like it was made for the press of Emily’s mouth.

Somehow Emily transcends her own limits. Fills empty spaces. Maybe that’s just another reason why Jesse was led here.

They both breathe with the rhythm of sleep. Jesse's empty hand splays out over Emily's.

Jesse chose and Jesse chooses. Over and over, she chooses.

Jesse wants to be.

Jesse is glad to be here.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Au where they’re in producing companies. Skk centric. Slowest burn

Author: @electricsplatter

Submitter: @fyoliars

Note from submitter: THIS IS SUCH A GOOD FIC I THINK ABOUT IT EVERY SINGLE DAYYY

[sulliedsorrow]

i was screaming your name through the radio really is the greatest fic of all time because although it’s a different au the author was able to so perfectly replicate the dynamic between dazai and chuuya and give them a satisfactory ending.

like there’s a reason i keep going back to it and i keep referring to their characterisations. asagiri leaves so much up in the air about the mafia, about their partnership, about their growing trust in each other, about their years apart, about their reaction to reuniting, about how they go on from here. but the fic did. it’s so great

anyways read it if you haven’t yet it’s a masterpiece https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133044/chapters/52828462

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones (Interlude): Aubrey Hall

Hi friends!

Here to share the first interlude chapter for this fic!

Interlude 1: Aubrey Hall

August 2nd, 2010

Monday

“Shotgun!”

“In your fucking dreams.”

Mere seconds before Eloise can wrap her fingers around the handle, Colin steps in front and leans his entire backside against the passenger door. 

“Hey —”

“Children in the back,” he says, nodding his head towards the door to his left. 

“Children?’” she scoffs. “You are two years older than me. And for what I lack in age, I more than make up for in intelligence and maturity.” 

Again, Colin shrugs. 

“Age before brains — or whatever it is you kids say these days.” 

Exasperated, Eloise turns to their older brother. 

“Ben?” 

While clearly amused by the situation, Benedict does not want to get involved in it. He shrugs in an even more dramatic fashion than Colin had a moment ago. Before anyone can get another word in, he opens his own door and slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Pen?”

The last thing Penelope wants to do is get involved. She mouths “Sorry,” and takes her seat behind Benedict. 

After a miffed moment of consideration, Eloise determines that her brother has grown too tall and too sturdy for her to physically extricate from his spot (without resorting to scratching or biting, of course). Begrudgingly, she takes the high road. Rolling her eyes and sliding into her usual spot next to Penelope. 

“This whole family is against me,” she grumbles to no one in particular. Her mood doesn’t lift until they get out of the city. 

This is the fourth summer in a row that Penelope is accompanying the Bridgertons on their summer trip to Aubrey Hall. It started when she and Eloise were twelve; Eloise had threatened to throw a screaming fit all the way to Kent if she was unable to bring her best friend along for the ride. Violet had not appreciated her daughter’s dramatics, but obliged nonetheless. 

By now, Penelope is used to car rides like this one. She’s used to Eloise’s little utterances and jabs. She’s used to Benedict’s giddy laughter and quick comebacks. She’s used to the way Colin smiles and bounces his knee and hums along to the radio, all while the sun seems to point through the window and shine on him and him alone. She’s used to sitting in the backseat and feeling as though she’s observing them all from somewhere far in the distance. 

She likes car rides like this.

Right now, the three siblings are discussing their croquet strategies for the annual family tournament. Penelope is looking out the window, watching as the trees go by — until she hears her name called out. 

Colin is glancing at her from over his shoulder in the passenger seat. He has an expectant look on his face. Clearly, Penelope’s attention had been lost somewhere in the treeline, because she has no idea what it is that he is expecting from her. 

“Hmm?”

“Which mallett do you plan on wielding?”

“Oh. Um… None, I suppose.”

“Sitting out the game another year, Pen?” Eloise asks, a dissatisfied crease in her brow. 

Absolutely.

Under most circumstances, Penelope finds croquet to be a rather tedious and boring game. But whenever the Bridgerton siblings get involved… 

Stressful and unpleasant would be more accurate words to employ. 

Her main reason for not wanting to play in the tournament is simply that it is far more enjoyable as an onlooker than it is as a participant. However, she doesn’t think that answer would go down very well with her current audience, so she only voices a secondary reason aloud. 

“Are there not only eight mallets to choose from? I wouldn’t want to intrude and leave someone else without a stick.”

“We can always share,” Colin tells her.

“In fairness to Penelope’s point,” Benedict interjects, “our family does not have much of a reputation for sharing.” 

“I meant that I can share with her, dimwit.”

“I don’t seem to recall you being very good at sharing, either.” Eloise laughs maniacally. “Or am I misremembering an incident between you and Daphne and a certain box of Christmas cookies.”

Colin unbuckles his seatbelt just so he can turn around far enough to look his little sister in the eye as he sneers at her. 

“You do misremember. If I recall correctly, you —”

“Your recollection has about as much credibility as your penchant for sharing. I, on the other hand, would be happy to share with my best —” 

“Oh come off it, El. In the last game, you nearly took poor Gregory’s eye out. Do you —” 

“It’s not my fault he didn’t duck.”

“— really think Pen wants to share a mallet with —”

“Will you two knock it off?” Benedict would sound stern, if not for the laugh caught in the back of his throat as he scolds them. “Wait two minutes and we’ll all be free from this vehicle. You two can ignore each other from opposite ends of the estate — or get into a proper fist fight on solid ground. Up to you.” 

Moving her head to the left about an inch, Penelope peers into the spot between Colin and Benedict’s heads. Sure enough, there it is. The estate that has been in the Bridgerton family for hundreds of years. The palace on the hill. The gardens and the ponds. The intricately trimmed hedges and the ivy-lined stone. The living quarters that could fit hundreds, but typically only houses a handful of people once or twice a year. 

Aubrey Hall, in all its glory. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Tuesday

It’s a warm, albeit slightly damp afternoon in the country. Penelope is spending it in the sunroom with Eloise. (And Gregory and Hyacinth, who are obnoxiously ignoring each other in the opposite corner.) 

She’s sitting on the couch by the window, her best friend perched on the opposite end. They both have books in their laps, but the farther Penelope gets into hers, the harder it becomes for her attention to stay put. Her eyes keep drifting upwards. To the scenery outside, to the robin egg blue window frames, to the centuries-old lamp on her left — to anywhere except the book in her hands. 

Eventually, her eyes randomly settle on a potted miniature orange tree on the other side of the room; it grows fuzzy in her vision as her mind continues to wander. 

Like most people in this world, there are things missing from Penelope’s life that she longs for greatly. Small things, like a puppy — or that powder blue sundress she saw in a window on Dover Street. Bigger things, like a louder voice or a few additional inches of height. Monumental, fundamental things, which Penelope would do absolutely anything, just to be able to say were hers.

Living her entire life in such close proximity to a family like the Bridgertons — a family that loves each member so fully, so unconditionally — one might expect Penelope to be consumed by envy at the ripe age of fifteen. But she isn’t. She can’t. 

It’s difficult to be envious of a family that seems so willing to extend that love to outsiders — even if it is only temporary. Even if it’s always a few steps removed. Even if it’s never real.

“Penelope dear.” 

Nails digging into the deckled edges of her book, Penelope turns her gaze towards the doorway. Violet is standing there with a soft, expectant look on her face. 

“I just wanted to double check — you take your tea with milk and honey, correct?” 

“Yes!” She quickly stands from her spot and places the book down. “I can assist you with afternoon tea.”

“Oh, thank you dear,” says Violet, a soft smile still hanging on her lips. “But you sit, I can handle the rest.” 

Already stepping closer, Penelope glances over to the copy of Little Women she had left behind. 

“I could use the distraction. I just keep reading the same line over and over again.” Which is true. 

I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world.

One final moment of pleasant doubt crosses Violet’s face, before ultimately accepting the offer. 

There are two kettles on in the kitchen, and about a dozen teabags scattered around the counter next to the stove. On the island lies a silver tray and an assortment of food. Penelope attends to the latter as Violet readies the tea. 

She barely lifts a finger before the older woman calls over her shoulder, “Are you excited for the school year to start up again?” 

The question catches Penelope a little off guard. 

Parents usually ask the opposite question. They ask about summer. They assume summer is the topic a teenager would wish to discuss — especially now, when the holiday is still fresh and the school year feels like a lifetime away. 

Belatedly, she answers, “Yes. I’m really excited to start co-editing the paper with Eloise.”

“Well, that’s certainly something to be excited about. Although,” she laughs, “I fear my daughter is too busy fretting over your end-of-year exams to enjoy anything in the meantime.”

Penelope feels her lips unwittingly twist together. Though she may enjoy and appreciate her schooling, she isn’t completely mad — she’ll never smile at the mention of the GCSEs.

Violet laughs again, soft and warm. “I know they can be daunting, but I’ve had four children sit their exams and they all survived. I have no doubt you girls will be just fine.” 

In response, Penelope can only smile and nod (and think about just how not fine both of her sisters did on theirs).

When the tea kettles start to whine and Violet turns back around, Penelope turns her attention back to the arrangement in front of her — fresh-baked biscuits, honey, jam, clotted cream, milk and sugar. She places them on the platter in front of her, tins and jars in the middle, biscuits going ‘round. She stacks each one with careful fingers, fearing the perfectly circular crusts will flake off beneath her thumb. 

Biscuit after biscuit after biscuit after —

“Penelope dear.” 

Her head whips around at the sound of her name. Violet is leaning against the counter again, tea seeping behind her. There’s a cautious smile on her face. 

“Is something on your mind?” 

Yes. Always.

In truth, Penelope’s mind has never been a particularly quiet place. Growing up, her primary school teachers would describe her as “thoughtful” on report cards and in conferences with her parents — which had seemed like an odd attribution to her at the time. After all, everyone is always thinking about something; her capacity for thought is no different than anyone else’s. 

It wasn’t until she got a bit older that she finally started to get it. With time, her proclivity to over-analyze and over-worry and over-think about her every action, opinion, and impulse only grew. With such a constant, tangled web of thoughts hanging in the back of her mind at every moment of the day…

With time, it’s become obvious. That not everyone is quite as full of thoughts as she is. That, while seemingly intended as a positive attribution from her teachers, being “thoughtful” isn’t always a good thing. Or, at the very least, not always an easy thing.

But while Penelope generally considers Violet an easy person to talk to (easier than with her own mother, at least), there are some truths that she simply cannot bring herself to voice aloud. To say one word would risk untangling the entire web, and no one has time for that. 

“Um… No, I —”

“Pen! There you are!”

Once again, she whips around at the sound of her name. Not that she needed to, to know who had called it. 

Colin is walking into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, typical charming smile on his face. 

“I didn’t realise I was missing,” she tells him, her voice coming out the tiniest bit flustered. 

He doesn’t say anything in response to that. He simply walks around the island to stand beside her. When he lands there, he playfully bumps his hip against hers — which, due to a recent growth spurt on his end (and a stagnation on hers), lands closer to her rib cage than her hip bone. 

“Preparing tea?” he asks, picking up a single sugar cube from the dish in front of them and plopping it into his mouth. 

“Yes. Still take yours with four sugars?”

Biting back a laugh as he continues chewing, Colin shrugs. “I suppose I could limit myself to three this afternoon.” 

“A noble sacrifice,” Penelope teases. 

His eyes suddenly point away from her, looking over to the spot where his mum was standing just a moment ago. Violet must have walked into the pantry or somewhere else down the hall, because she is nowhere to be seen. 

“You missed all the fun outside,” he whispers, leaning in a bit closer. 

“F — fun?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Daphne’s off to Cheltenham in a few weeks. Ben, Ant, and I couldn't let her leave home without a few self-defence lessons.” 

“Self-defence?” she echoes again, evidently losing all conversational skills past that of a parrot. 

“Yeah. You know, making sure she knows how to throw a punch or kick someone where it really hurts. Thank god Benedict volunteered to be her test dummy, or else I might have been showing up to Eton next term with a black eye.”

Penelope’s mouth drops open into an astounded gasp, picturing Daphne’s fist colliding with Benedict’s face. 

“Oh my —”

“Colin,” Violet interrupts, suddenly reappearing from wherever it was that she disappeared to. She has a look on her face that tells Penelope she caught at least some of Colin’s last few words. “What are you talking ab—”

“Nothing, mum.” With his face the picture of innocence, he picks up another sugar cube, throws it into the air, and promptly catches it in his mouth. “Just helping Pen with tea.” 

“Well, that’s very… nice of you.” Penelope has never heard Violet sound so sarcastic before. Clearly, her son’s attempt at charming misdirection had no effect. “And Daphne? Your brothers? Will they be joining us for afternoon tea as well?”

“How would I know?”

Face settled into a faux-pleasant smile, Violet’s eyes turn to Penelope again. 

“I’ll take the tea out. Penelope dear, can you do me a favour and keep my son out of trouble in the meantime?”

Automatically, Penelope’s head turns up and to the side. To the boy who occupies such a vast space of her tangled up mind at any given moment of the day. He’s looking down at her, blue eyes peeking through brown curls. 

In truth, Penelope doesn’t think she can keep Colin out of trouble, if trouble is what he wants. She doesn’t think there’s a single thing she can convince Colin of that he hasn’t already made up his mind about. 

Cheeks suddenly a light shade of pink, she turns her gaze back to Violet. 

“I’ll do my best.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Wednesday

It’s hot today. It’s the type of hot that feels sticky against your skin. The type of hot that infects your brain as much as it does your body. The type of hot that draws your footsteps towards the nearest body of cold water. 

At Aubrey Hall, there are several bodies of water to choose from. 

Almost everyone is in and around the pool situated in the back garden — which also just so happens to be situated directly under the sun at this time of day. After spending approximately an hour in the water, Penelope is now sitting off to the side under the safety of a big blue umbrella. Her hair and bathing suit are still damp. Her skin still prickles like it’s burning. Her oversized sunglasses sit as close to her skull as physically possible. There’s a book in her hands, but her eyes won’t let her get through a single line before they inevitably start to wander. 

Colin is still in the water, surrounded by the majority of his siblings. He’s throwing Gregory an inflatable basketball. He’s picking up Hyacinth and throwing her three feet in the air. He’s splashing Eloise. He’s wading through the water. He’s laughing. He’s running a hand through his hair, his bicep growing taught with the motion.

It’s unfair, Penelope thinks, forcing her eyes downward again, how Colin can live under the sun and never sweat beneath its heat. How the sunlight follows him wherever he moves, eternally shining down on him in glorious reflection. How in a space brimming with other people, the light appears to fall on him and him alone. 

After reading the same line for the sixth time in a row, Penelope abandons her dreams of lazily enjoying a book by the pool. She stands from her spot, throws on a white cotton dress, and tucks her copy of Sense & Sensibility under her armpit. 

At Aubrey Hall, there are several bodies of water to choose from on hot days like this, so Penelope ventures deeper into the estate. As she steps forward, she cannot help but think about the things that have changed since this summer and last — since the last time she walked down this very path.

Last summer, she wasn’t alone — she was walking arm and arm with Eloise while Colin and Benedict trailed closely behind. Last summer, Colin was about to leave for Eton and Penelope could think of nothing else but his leaving and whether or not their friendship would survive it. Last summer, she knew her feelings for him were growing stronger with each passing day, and she knew that momentum would not halt once he was out of her view. 

Last summer, Penelope was two cup sizes smaller. Last summer, Colin was two inches shorter. 

Last summer, her footsteps did not seem so predestined for the shadows. Last summer, she had not been so keenly aware of the way in which the light reflects off of Colin.

Last summer, she felt like a kid. This summer, she feels like a kid with a lot more shit swimming around her brain and body. 

Last summer —

Her footsteps (and her train collision of thoughts) stop short when she reaches her intended destination. It’s a small swimming pond, shaded by elm trees and outfitted with a little wooden dock. Positioning herself on the edge, Penelope lets her feet dangle into the tepid water. Then, she looks down. 

Free from any visual distractions, she almost makes it through an entire chapter uninterrupted. Almost. 

She knows it’s him long before she turns her head to confirm, but when she does…

Colin is walking down the path by himself. He’s wearing sandals and his navy blue swim trunks. And nothing else. 

Once he gets close enough, Penelope says, “Hi.” Or, she tries to; the word comes out more like a soundless breath of air.

He plops down beside her with a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

“Sorry. I, uh…” She closes the book that was previously sitting open in her lap and displays it for Colin to see. “I was having trouble focusing back there. Thought I would enjoy the quiet for a few minutes.”

“You want me to fuck off?” he asks, a hint of cheekiness to his voice as he smirks and nods his head towards the path from which he came. 

The quickness with which she answers “No” is a bit embarrassing, even for her. But Colin doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe even notice. 

“Alright.” He leans back from his sitting position to lay against the dock beside her. “You go back to your book. I’ll lay here and enjoy the silence.”

Penelope, who would do just about anything Colin asks her to, does as she’s told and reopens her book. But as determined as she is to keep her eyes focused on the text, she can’t stop herself from continually glancing sideways. She can’t prevent her mind from lingering on the smell of him — the soap and the sweat and the chlorine all radiating off his body. She can’t help but curse the few inches of distance that separate their bodies. And then, when he has the gall to drift off to sleep on a goddamn wooden deck, she can’t hear anything except those soft, even breaths. 

Through all of it, she desperately tries to read — to continue forward. But yet again, she’s stuck reading the same line over and over and over again.

If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy.

If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy.

If I could but know his heart, 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Thursday

It rained today. All day. 

It’s the type of rainy day that makes you forget that the sky was ever blue — that the sun still exists somewhere high above you, out of sight from where you stand on the ground. 

Everyone spent the day inside. Around 3:00, Daphne suggested that they all watch a movie together to pass the time. By 4:00, she and most of the other Bridgertons had abandoned that plan. 

They had drawn cards in order to determine who would pick the movie. Eight-year-old Hyacinth had drawn a Queen, and was thus named the winner. Inspired by the current weather, she had plucked Singin’ in the Rain out of the box of DVDs. 

No one was particularly enthused by her choice. Not even Hyacinth, who has since fallen asleep and is now curled up in the armchair in the corner of the room. 

Sixty-eight minutes into the movie, the only people still present, awake, and watching it are Colin and Penelope. Well, they’re awake and present — to say they’re “watching” the movie is a bit of a stretch. Penelope’s attention is mainly focused on the notebook in her hands. Colin’s is mainly on his phone. It isn't until the music picks up again and Gene Kelly starts dancing around in the rain that he focuses his attention on the TV. 

From his spot on the other end of the couch, Colin nudges Penelope’s knee with his foot. 

“When was the last time you ran around in the rain like that?” 

Looking up from her notebook, Penelope glances back and forth between Colin’s expectant face and the TV screen. Gene Kelly continues to dance around, skipping in puddles and twirling around lamp posts. 

“Never.” 

“Never?” he echoes, brows furrowed. 

Once again, Penelope’s eyes dart back and forth between Colin and the fantastical scene playing out on the screen. Then, she shrugs. She’s not quite sure where his confusion is coming from.

“Do you have a habit of singing and dancing in the rain, Colin?” 

“No.” He quickly throws a glance over his shoulder to confirm that Hyacinth is still asleep in the armchair. “But come on,” he continues, his voice a bit lower than it was before. “There wasn’t a single time in your childhood that you ran out in the rain and let loose?”

Penelope barely considers the question. She could wrack her brain for hours, searching for a memory of a time when she had “let loose” and would come up empty. 

“No.” 

Just as Colin opens his mouth to say something else, she continues. 

“Does anyone really do this,” she uses a ballpoint pen to point to the TV screen, “outside of fictional characters who just so happen to live inside a musical?” 

Colin laughs. 

“Well, not this exactly. I never expected little Penelope Featherington to have broken out into song on a street corner. But come on — at some point, you must have had the desire to dance around in the rain.” 

You don’t know what I desire, she wants to say, but doesn’t. 

“No,” she says instead. “Dancing in the rain is just silly.” 

Colin’s jaw drops in exaggerated horror. 

“How is it —”

“Dancing without music is silly. In a movie, dancing in the rain might make for a good musical sequence, but in reality, there is very rarely music accompanying a torrential downpour. Save for a poorly timed outdoor wedding, I can’t think of many scenarios in which I would want to dance in the rain.” 

Still looking a bit horrified, Colin crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

“I would argue that dancing in the rain is one of the few times when one would want to dance without music.” 

“You can’t dance without music,” she insists, crossing her own arms.

“Yes you can! If you have feet and rain — which, in case you forgot, we have plenty of in England — you can dance in the rain.” 

“Why would you want —”

“Because it’s fun, Pen,” he interrupts — evidently a bit too loudly. Hyacinth darts her head up from the side of the armchair. 

“Where is everyone?” she asks dazedly, rubbing a fist across her eyes. 

Colin sighs, throwing Penelope one last over-exaggerated eye roll before turning his attention towards his sister.

“Nowhere, Hy. You’re still dreaming.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Friday

It’s raining again. Penelope watches streams of water rolling down the window beside her, ignoring the book in her lap. She’s also trying desperately to ignore the scene unfolding a few metres away from her in the center of the room, but that proves to be a more difficult task.

The annual croquet tournament was meant to be held this morning, but when the rain didn’t let up by noon, the siblings dispersed to different ends of the property to entertain themselves by other means. Currently, Colin and Eloise are in the library on the east wing, engaging in another family favourite pastime: argument. 

Penelope has lost track of what it is they’re arguing about. It had started with Eloise attempting to offer Colin unsolicited advice on his croquet technique, then Colin offered his own advice on Eloise’s “perpetual lateness,” then the Christmas cookie incident got brought up again, then —

Suffice to say, Penelope has since lost the plot. But whatever it is that they’re currently arguing over doesn’t even matter. After sitting in on so many of these sorts of encounters over the years, Penelope has come to accept that the Bridgerton siblings simply love to argue. It’s like a sport for them — one just as blood thirsty as a casual game of croquet. 

Sinking deeper into her chair by the window, Penelope casts her eyes downward and lifts her index finger to the page, tracing it across every word until her mind starts to actually register what it is that she is reading. She nearly makes it through the chapter before her ears unconsciously perk up at the sound of something all too familiar. 

“Penelope is my best friend. Your need to encroach on everything I hold dear is ridiculous. I suggest —”

“Oh, come off it Eloise. At least I don’t speak about Pen like she’s a piece of property I own. And —” 

“I do no such thing!”

“— we both know who she prefers to spend her time with. Of course I’m her —”

“Bullshit.”

“— best friend.”

As they continue down this path, Penelope tears her eyes away from her book and towards her supposed best friends. 

This debate started up a few years ago (around the time that she and Eloise started secondary school) and hasn’t let up since. While some might think this a complimentary position for Penelope to be in, in reality, she has always found it quite exhausting. 

From the beginning, she has taken the stance that she usually takes when thrown into the middle of a Bridgerton argument: neutrality. In her experience, that tends to lead to the least amount of bloodshed. 

But while Penelope may insist upon not taking sides in this particular debate, the answer in her mind and in her heart is far more decisive. 

In truth, Penelope has always seen Eloise as her best friend — not Colin. Not because the two of them were closer first. Not because she cares for Eloise any more or less than she does Colin. No, Penelope’s feelings for Eloise are simply uncomplicated. 

In truth, to call Colin her best friend is difficult for Penelope. The term is just so final. Best friend — there’s nothing that comes after that. To call him that feels like an admittance that a friend is all she’ll ever be to him. Even if she always — always wants more. 

“Pen?” 

Penelope blinks several times before focusing her attention back on reality. She’s not 100% sure which of them had called her name, but Colin and Eloise are both looking at her expectantly. 

“Sorry — what?”

“We’re gonna go into town — to that ice cream shop with the cows out front,” Eloise says. “You coming?”

Penelope nods, throws her book to the side, and stands fromthe chair. She smooths out her skirt and looks over to her friends. They’re still staring up at her from their spots on the rug. 

“Of, uh — of course.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Saturday

Having spent her entire adolescence in London, there are many things Penelope has to adjust to while on these brief trips out to the country. The hardest to adjust to, she has found, is just how peaceful it all is. 

In the country, the loudest noise you’ll hear on a Saturday morning isn’t a horn blaring or a disgruntled drunk stumbling home from a late night. It’s birds. 

Every other day this week, Penelope had been jolted awake by the unexpectedly deafening sound of a dawn chorus. Most mornings, she had been able to turn over in bed and get another hour or two of sleep in. This morning was different, though; her eyes were already open and alert by the time the birds began their song. 

Thirty-seven minutes after her wake up call, Penelope now walks along a bizarrely peaceful path on the edge of the property. She looks up, to a pair of bluebirds dancing in the wind. She looks down, to the grass silently being crushed beneath her trainers. She looks to the side, towards a pond so still that its tepid surface looks as though it’s been frozen over. 

That is, until Colin skips a pebble across it. 

When exiting Eloise’s bedroom door this morning, Penelope had planned on taking a quick trip around the ponds alone. But when she found Colin in the kitchen eating a “pre-breakfast,” suddenly it became a walk for two. 

“Why were you up so early?” Colin (a perpetual early bird) asks her now. He does not miss a step as he doubles over and picks up another pebble from the path beneath them. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Is Eloise’s snoring really that loud?” 

“No.” She laughs. “Well, yes. But I’ve gotten used to it over the years.” 

And that’s true. Penelope has long since overcome her inability to sleep through disruption. (Save for the birds that have been tormenting her this past week.) 

“Just your usual bout of insomnia, then?” 

“Yup.” 

Also true. And an increasingly common occurrence in her life. 

“Is something on your mind?” 

“No.” 

Less than true. Colin looks as though he’s about to press her further, but before he can, she searches her mind for something to blame for her restlessness. Anything other than her own overworked mind.

“I think the quiet here is starting to unnerve me.” She laughs quietly, a forced breath of nonchalance. “I’m so used to falling asleep and waking up to the sounds of traffic and yelling. The birds chirping in the morning are starting to feel a bit…” 

“Antagonistic?” Colin finishes when her voice trails off, looking up to the sky with a slight grimace on his face. 

She laughs again, softer and more genuine now. 

“Yeah.”

“I know what you mean.” Colin reaches down for another pebble, but doesn’t immediately dispel it like he did the others. He turns it over and over in his palm as he continues speaking. “I’m used to how Aubrey Hall sounds by now, but Eton took some getting used to.” 

His mention of “Eton” causes Penelope’s ears to perk up. 

After growing up in posh all-boy schools in London, Colin had left the city to attend Eton College for his A-Levels last fall. When he did, for the first time in Penelope’s life, Colin Bridgerton had not lived across the street from her. To Penelope, this change had felt monumental (to phrase it nicely). But to him…

Well, she doesn’t exactly know how he feels on the subject. He never seems to want to talk about it — with her, at least. 

“What does it sound like?” she asks him. “At Eton, I mean.” 

“Uh… Well it’s quiet, mostly. But loud in its own ways. I think it’s because the halls are so archaic and winding — noises carry differently there than they do here or at home.” 

“Are you excited to go back?” she asks when he doesn’t expand any further. 

“I…” He chuckles, then finally gets rid of the pebble in his hand. “I would prefer not to discuss the school year during my summer holiday.” 

“Fair enough,” she mutters, shrugging her shoulders in acceptance of the brevity of this particular conversation. In its absence, a familiar quiet falls between them. (Save for the wind and the birds and the twigs snapping beneath their feet.)

Unconsciously, Penelope’s fingers pull at the hem of her skirt. It was probably not the best choice for an early morning walk around the ponds, but in fairness, she thought the air would be a bit warmer by now. 

As the quiet continues, Penelope’s eyes dart all around, pointing everywhere, except to the person walking directly beside her. She looks down, noting how the whites of her converse are starting to turn brown. She looks up, curious about the colour of the sky, but unable to make out much between the trees. She looks to the side, to the nearest pond; she watches as the still surface begins to sputter.

“We should head back,” she murmurs, voice soft as she feels the first few drops of rain hit her bottom lip. Colin nods his head, then alters his footsteps accordingly. 

The very moment that they step out of the cover of trees and into the open field, Penelope wonders if it was the right call to make. Her head swivels back and forth, from the wooded area behind them to the house ahead. The latter is about an acre of land away, but looks much farther from her current position. 

Before she can make a decision, Penelope’s eyes settle on Colin. She does so looking for some sort of guidance forward. The only problem is that he isn’t looking at the woods or the house. 

He’s looking at the sky.

He’s smiling. 

“Should we —” Penelope starts, but stops after realising her tentative words aren’t quite audible above the rainfall.

Colin finally looks down, moving his attention away from the sky and directly onto Penelope. With a smile still plastered on his face, he tells her, “I think this is what some people would call a sign.”

“What —”

“Ready to let loose, Featherington?” 

He extends his hand towards her, though Penelope cannot even begin to fathom why. Then it hits her. 

There wasn’t a single time in your childhood that you ran out in the rain and let loose?

“No,” she answers for the second time that week. Which may be a new record for her. 

“Oh, come on Pe—”

“This is silly.” 

With a huff, she lightly slaps away his offered hand. Realising she needs to make this decision on her own, she starts walking in the direction of the house. Unfortunately, Colin’s footsteps are quicker than hers; he gets in front of her, blocking her path forward within seconds. 

“How is it ‘silly?’” 

There are many extensive, reasonable answers Penelope could give in response to his question. But due to the rain beating down on them — quick and gaining speed by the second — she defaults to brevity. 

“No music.” 

“I thought we already refuted that point.”

“Colin —”

“But if music is really so important to you, I could always sing.” 

No. No no no no no no no.

Penelope feels her eyes go wide and her body go rigid as her brain briefly short circuits. In some universe, she could maybe — just maybe — handle dancing in the rain with Colin without having her heart explode. But there is simply no chance in any universe she could survive him serenading her while doing so.

“No,” she says again. Definitely a record. 

“Pen —”

“No singing. That’s far too silly.” 

“Okay, okay, okay…” A goofy, albeit expectantly charming smile graces his lips. “Fair enough — no singing. Out loud, at least.”

“What are —”

“Just sing a song in your head. I’ll sing one in mine.” 

Again, there are a million questions and objections she could voice aloud. The one she lands on is: “What song?”

“Whatever you want. It’s your head.”

“But what if we sing different songs and our footsteps are all mixed up?”

“Then the world will end.” Colin tilts his head back as he laughs. “Nothing! Nothing will happen — other than a bit of fun.”

Once again, Colin offers her his hand. And god — for all her consternation on this ridiculous, utterly absurd offer, she can’t bring herself to deny him any longer. 

Unsurprisingly, the dance begins with an awkward start. Their hands interlock with gripping fingers, continually adjusting to the rain slipping between them. All other points of their bodies remain separate; their arms form an oval shape as their feet pick up speed. 

At first, they swing around each other like two little kids playing Ring a Ring o’ Roses. And while Colin laughs like this is the most fun he’s had in years, Penelope can’t help but bite at her lip; she feels even more exposed and awkward and utterly silly than she had expected. Just when she thinks they’ll follow the nursery rhyme and fall into the muddy ground beneath them, Colin alters their movements.

Dropping one hand, he raises the other to twirl her around — twice. By the second time, she actually has a smile on her face. 

“This isn’t too bad, is it?” 

“Oh! Uh, no — I —” 

She doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence before Colin spins her around again, this time out and away from his own body. When her arm extends fully and she’s as far away from him as she can get with their hands gripped together, she once again fears that her feet will give out from underneath her and send her crashing downwards. But just as the Earth tilts and she feels herself falling, Colin pulls her back in. 

Her right shoulder hits his sternum with a bang — hard enough that she fears either one of them could leave this encounter with a bruise. “Sorry!” she yelps, but suspects that Colin can’t hear her over the rain still pouring down around them. 

She moves her feet just enough to extract herself from Colin’s center. She then finds his left hand and interlocks it with her right so they’re in a similar position to where they had started. This time though, their arms hang lower and their bodies aren’t so far apart. 

As a low rumble of thunder starts beating in the distance, the two of them continue dancing. Their movements feel less awkward to her now, but just as silly. Which, Penelope finally realises, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. 

Feeling lighter and freer than she has all morning, Penelope’s head tilts backwards with laughter. Unfortunately, such lightness is short-lived, for Colin misinterprets her unconscious movement as an attempt to dip backwards. 

Following her unintentional lead, Colin’s left hand leaves her grasp and shoots to her lower back. The movement inadvertently pulls her pelvis right up against his leg. 

“Fuck!” she yelps, too caught off guard to stop herself. This time, Colin can easily hear her above the raging storm.

“Pen, are you o—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence. 

Caught off guard not just by Penelope’s expletive, but also by the way her body went rigid in his arms and against his middle, Colin loses track of his own footsteps. His left foot trips over his right ankle. He barely manages to let go of her before tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. 

Still frozen in the position he had just held her in, Penelope can only watch as he falls into a particularly muddy patch of grass. His entire right side is instantly caked in mud. 

“Oh my god!” she finally manages to get out. “Colin!” 

She gets down on his level just as he rolls onto his back. As he opens his eyes and looks up at her, she expects them to squint in annoyance — the fall was her fault, after all. At the very least, she expects them to go wide, in shock or in pain. 

What she does not expect is for them to crinkle. For his entire face to light up with humour as his head falls back even deeper into the mud and he starts laughing. 

 Laughing. 

“Colin?” she repeats, tentatively this time; she fears he might be suffering from a concussion. 

“That’s what I get for trying to show off,” he mutters, still laughing. Still laying in the mud. 

Mouth opening and closing several times, Penelope takes in the state of him. Every inch of his back and right side — from the tip of his white trainer to the crown of his head — is coated in a murky brown sludge. 

“I — I’m sorry,” she finally manages to say. 

“For what?” He finally sits up, wiping his hands against the little bit of clean fabric left of his shorts. “I didn’t expect you to catch me before I hit the ground. No offence, but I think that could have only resulted in both of us covered in muck.”

She opens her mouth again, but before she can say anything, lightning strikes directly over their heads. A deafening boom follows less than a second later. 

Though not at all a religious person, Penelope has to assume that flash of light was a message sent directly from God, telling her to keep her mouth shut. 

What could she have said, anyway?

Sorry. I can’t get that close to you without losing control of all bodily functioning. 

“I think that’s a sign to cut our dance short,” Colin announces. When he fruitlessly wipes at his brow and peels his legs from the Earth, Penelope lets out a semi-forced laugh. 

“Was the mud caked all over your body not enough of a reason?”

Now standing above her, he shrugs. 

“Eh. It’s just a bit of mess,” he says. “The rain will clean me off before we get back to the house.” 

With that, he extends his hand down to her. And god — how could she not take it? 

They run back to the house together, feet sinking deeper and deeper into the grass as they go. Just as they land on solid ground, Colin halts both of their footsteps by placing a hand around her elbow. 

“I forgot to ask,” he starts, his voice warm but still raised. They’re technically out of the rain and under the cover of the back terrace, but the storm is so loud that they may as well be in the middle of it. “What song were you singing?”

“What?” she asks, genuinely not sure if she heard him right. 

“When we were dancing — what song were you singing in your head?”

Like a lightning bolt, it hits her all at once that Colin was right. That she did not, in fact, need music to dance in the rain and have a bit of fun. 

She didn’t sing a song in her head before, but he’s looking at her so expectantly with that goddamn smile on his face… 

She can’t bring herself to admit the truth, so she says the first thing that pops into her head. 

“Yellow. You know, that song by Coldplay.” 

Tearing her eyes away from his, Penelope looks down to her dress — a chequered yellow and white sundress that flows down to her knees. It’s one of the few unsolicited pieces of clothing from her mother that she actually likes. Loves, even. 

Though it hadn’t been her intention when looking down, Penelope can’t help but take in the state of her attire. Every inch of her is dripping with rain. And though it’s nothing compared to what Colin’s sporting now, there’s mud speckled all over her. Her dress is probably ruined, but truthfully, she couldn’t care less. 

Turning her attention back to the blue eyes already fixed on hers, Penelope laughs. 

“Funny how that song always gets stuck in my head.”

Colin laughs too. She can’t quite make out what he says next, but she thinks she hears the word “good” somewhere in all that noise. 

He turns away from her slightly, body pointed towards the nearest entrance into the house. But before he can step away, Penelope taps him on the elbow. 

“What song were you singing?” 

Though his lips part immediately, he does not answer her question right away. Just when Penelope wonders if he forgot the answer, he leans in closer.

“Your song was better,” he insists. “That’s the song.” 

Before she can muster up a single word in response to that, Colin turns and walks towards the door, his backside very much still painted brown. Penelope stays behind for a moment, feeling stuck in her place on the edge of the terrace, heart beating in her ears and raindrops pelting into her sideways. 

 ꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Sunday

“Do you think time moves faster in the country?” 

Penelope looks over and up, catching a glimpse of Colin’s face in the sun. It’s unusually sunny this morning — not a cloud in the sky. 

“Don’t people usually say the opposite? That the days are longer in the country than in the city.” 

“Yeah, I know that’s what ‘people’ say,” he mutters, rolling his eyes down at her with a smile still pressed into his cheeks. “But doesn’t it feel like we just got here?”

While her feet continue forward, Penelope looks over her shoulder, towards the building not so far in the distance behind them. 

Aubrey Hall was built in the 17th century and has remained relatively untouched ever since. Thus, any 21st century cars have to be parked in the garage hidden behind a cluster of trees, about a quarter-mile away from the home. Eloise and Benedict are making the trek with them, walking about five paces behind them. (Although the pair seem so engrossed in conversation that they may as well be a hundred steps behind.)

Turning back to Colin…

“Isn’t that how all vacations go? Each day feels long, but then when you look back it’s like the whole week was a blur.” 

He considers this a moment. 

“That’s very apt, Pen.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mumbles. “That’s just another thing people say. Honestly, I don’t have that much experience with vacations, other than a few trips to see my family in Ireland. And here, of course.” 

Looking up towards the sky, Colin sighs. 

“Yeah, I don’t have much experience with those, either. I’ve never travelled much farther than here.”

All at once, it strikes Penelope how true and how surprising his statement is. Since they were children, Colin has talked at great length about the places he dreams of travelling to one day. Paris, Vienna, Athens, New York, Venice… 

The list is long, to say the least. But at seventeen, the number of countries Colin has visited is rather brief. For most teenagers, she would attribute that disparity to limitations in money or freedom — but neither of those are in short supply in the Bridgerton household. 

“Why is that?” 

Colin quickly throws a glance over his shoulder before answering, “Dunno. Probably has to do with the guilt that comes with owning such a massive estate. I mean, it barely gets used as it is. To spend our holidays somewhere else would just be… wasteful.” 

Penelope also looks over her shoulder. She steals one last glance at said massive estate before turning the corner that leads to the hidden garage. 

“It is a rather nice place to spend your time,” she remarks. “But there are a lot of amazing places out there in the world. Aubrey Hall will always be here to return to.”

It takes Colin a moment to respond to that. Though his footsteps continue forward, he turns his attention down and to the side. To her. His eyes squint softly in those last few fleeting seconds before he voices his response.

“Very apt, Pen.” 

Though not a religious person, Penelope thanks God that Colin’s eyes flick forward just as a blush bursts up her skin and paints her cheeks bright pink. She opens her mouth, feeling a sudden urge — a need to say something to fill the air between them. But before she can, someone else’s voice fills it for her. 

“Shotgun!”

She turns her head just in time to catch Eloise running up from behind them; her eyes are fixed on the car sitting a few metres away. When Penelope turns back to Colin, she expects to see him manoeuvring himself in front of his sister, just as he did when she pulled this same trick earlier in the week. 

(Knowing the Bridgertons, she half-expects him to stick his foot out and trip her.) 

But no. Colin’s footsteps remain even as Eloise rushes past. When Penelope throws him a questioning glance, he smirks. 

“Sometimes, you have to let her get a win in,” he explains. “Otherwise, we’ll all pay.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Penelope mutters, doing her best to conceal the smirk forming on her own lips. Before either of them can say anything else, she quickens her pace and closes what little distance is left between herself and the car. 

Mere seconds after she takes her spot behind the driver’s seat, Colin slides into the spot beside her. When their eyes catch, Penelope remembers what they were discussing before Eloise had interrupted them. 

Leaning over the middle seat by a few inches, Penelope asks in a hushed tone: “If you had to jump on a plane right now and spend a week-long holiday anywhere in the world, where would you go?” 

Colin smiles before answering, “Greece.” He raises one eyebrow before asking, “Where would you go?”

“Paris,” she says, not realising how true her answer is until about a second after it leaves her lips. 

Both of Colin’s eyebrows lift. He looks like he’s about to ask another question, but before he can, the ignition kicks on and Eloise turns the radio all the way up. 

During the remainder of the trip home, Penelope resists the urge to dwell on the events of the past week — to recall how Colin looked beneath the sun or how he felt in the rain. She also resists the urge to fester on the future — on the upcoming school year and the absence of Colin from her life again. 

She does her best to focus only on the now. On the music. On the treeline. On her friends. On Colin, sitting beside her, humming a tune and bobbing his knee and smiling in that way that will always make her stomach flutter. 

Now is good.