#i would not need to know how to change a tire or check my oil

[alarming-prism]

everything i've ever learned about cars has been against my will

[preqwells]

cw: 18+, afab, fingering, p in v, read part 1 of mechanic konig here

mechanic! konig would definitely become clingy after what you thought was your one-night stand.

staying true to his word, your new lovely mechanic named könig followed through with teaching you the basics of a car. how to check the dipstick that was in your oil tank so you'd know when you needed an oil change, checking the tire pressure so you didn't find yourself in a situation you didn't want to end up in-- he was thorough, diligent-- he found himself caring more than usual as he explained these things to you. "so, when it gets to this mark?" you softly inquired, pressing your fingernail to the mark you assumed he had pointed to. "no, maus-- here. if you base it off where you just pointed, well… good luck." he mumbled, a tinge of amusement in his tone. he kept his thick digit on the dipstick, slick oil making his index finger glisten under the sun. you attempted to train your brain to think of anything but what it wanted to think, honestly. you let out another sheepish chuckle, nodding obediently at any pointers he was kind enough to give you.

call it luck or fate, but könig didn't have the serpentine belt you so desperately needed to have installed in your car to get to work tomorrow. könig felt a hint of excitement-- this meant you needed a ride home, right? könig was kind enough to offer you a ride… well, an actual ride which you vehemently refused at first. you had never been one to ask favors of others, certainly not a stranger you just met even if your conscience screamed at you to do otherwise. "i can't-- i can't cover any additional costs…" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes fell to the ground out of embarrassment. your helplessness was cute-- the pout that tugged at the fullness of your lips, your shy demeanor-- how had he gone so long without seeing such a sweetheart around town? "nein, it won't cut into what you already owe me. it'll be cheaper taking a ride from me than getting an uber, anyways." he insisted, catching onto the way you previously mentioned cutting back on expenses. you couldn't argue with him-- or more like, you didn't want to.

during the car ride home, könig would sneak glances at you-- whether it be at red lights or when he turned the corner. he couldn't help the way his eyes would roam your figure, and you even caught glimpses of his lingering gaze. you weren't stupid, and neither was he-- the tension was palpable, almost tangible. he guided you to your door, his hand splayed across the small of your back, thick digits bracing you. "um… well, thanks-- for everything." you quickly got out, wanting the interaction to be over so you wouldn't make a fool out of yourself. everything felt so intimate-- the way he touched you, stole glances at you-- it felt out of character for you since you had only known him maybe for half the day. könig remained quiet for a moment, drinking in every reaction you had. your head tilted upward, looking up at him through your lashes as he kept your gaze. the atmosphere suddenly felt thick, intense. "no problem. couldn't let you go home without knowing you were safe." his voice dropped an octave, his head dipping lower to insert himself in your personal bubble. your breath hitched as you nodded, opening the door as his forearms leaned against the doorframe, the heavy tools on his belt exposing a sliver of skin along with a tuft of hair right above his groin.

"well… i'm safe." "are you?" "mhm." "how're you gonna get back to my shop tomorrow?"

your brain short-circuited at the heady mix of the bluntness of his words and his stature, your mouth slightly agape. he let out a low chuckle before his index finger found the belt loop of your pants, pulling you into his space. you mumbled out a weak 'i dunno'-- that answer wasn't good enough for him. "… i could stay the night… won't cut into what you already owe me, maus." he reiterated his earlier point, the boldness of his words coated in mirth. his face was brought closer to your own, his black lashes hanging low over his eyes. your hands found purchase on his biceps before his lips brushed against yours, putting a silence to any lingering tension from earlier as your eyes fluttered closed. he put every ounce of being into the kiss-- hell, he wished you could've broken your serpentine belt earlier if it meant a pretty thing like you could've stepped into his shop sooner than you did. he backed you into your apartment, his hand closing the door hurriedly. "fuck-- you just had to walk into my shop, didn't you?" he gruffed out between kisses, annoyed at the feeling of how quickly he already found himself half-hard.

you parted your lips to squeak out a half-hearted apology before könig used this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, coaxing a sweet moan from you which elicited a wicked grin from könig. könig led you into your bedroom, gently placing you at the head of the bed as his teeth nipped at every area of skin he could think of-- your neck, your collarbone, underneath your breast when he managed to get your shirt off. the whines and whimpers that escaped you only urged him to continue, didn't you know? stupid of you, really-- to think you weren't going to end the night with his fingers readying you to split you open on his heavy cock. his head lolled back when he did eventually find his length rubbing snugly against the slickness of your walls, your eyes blinking away tears from the initial stretch. he quickly caught wind of this as he halted his movements, arching down as his lips pressed against your cheek.

"s'okay, maus-- know i'm kind of a fit, eh? just tell me when it's okay to move." he cooed to which you quickly nodded, exhaling a sigh you didn't know you were holding. as you signaled for him to start moving, his thrusts were almost borderline calculated, precise-- you didn't seem to be complaining about it from the string of moans you were letting out, anyway. it didn't take long for his thrusts to grow sloppy, a mix of your wetness and the sound of skin slapping together filling the room. the way you keened, your brows knitted so closely together from pleasure, your lips swollen and red from the earlier make-out session-- yeah, this is where könig needed to be; buried deep into your drooling pussy.

the night came to an end as did your time with könig-- hell, you could barely remember falling asleep. you went to sleep with the thought that you'd wake up to an empty bed, trying to conjure ways for it not to be so awkward when you did eventually go to pick up a car. you'd never really had a one-night stand before-- how do you even face someone who was practically balls-deep in you the night before? what you didn't expect when morning came was the soft kisses that rained upon your cheek, waking you out of a well-deserved sleep. your eyes slowly opened, scanning the room and taking in the sight of yourself under the covers. you were… clean? no traces of stickiness between your legs, no sweat sticking to your skin. your head turned to the side to be greeted with the sight of könig with bed-head, his hair twisted in every way imaginable. your eyebrows furrowed together out of confusion-- you were fully expecting him to leave. könig caught on quickly to your confusion, his elbow propped up on the mattress as his palm rested on the side of his cheek. he returned your look of confusion as if daring you to say something.

"what? we have to go pick up your car today, don't we?"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: So this is an idea I had for a while but I just know I wouldn't get to do it full length for chapters but I hope it's fun.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the green landscape pass outside the window. The tow truck rattles, almost to a concerning degree, as it chuffs down the winding country road. The driver, a man who calls himself Vol, sings along loudly to the radio as you make yourself small in the passenger seat.

This isn’t how you saw your road trip going. You don’t understand why something always has to go wrong. Even with your utmost efforts, there’s always some hitch.

You go over it all in your head. An oil change, standard check-up, some adjustments. All that on a nearly new model and you still ended up stranded. A flat tire but you don’t have a spare. The man promises one back at his shop. 

Whatever it costs, you don’t care. You’re annoyed at the time spent on this ridiculous mishap. It does seem to occur often that each time you attempt to do something for yourself, that there must be some disaster. It’s why you haven’t tried anything of the sort in years.

You look in the mirror and see the edge of your car strapped to the bed of the truck. You should’ve done the train. The view along the cross country rail is allegedly quite resplendent but you didn’t like the idea of having to abide by a schedule not your own. Once again, your stubbornness nips you in the rear.

The man slaps the steering wheel along to the beat of the music. You don’t mind the song, it’s considered a classic of the genre, but does it need to be so loud? You cross your arms and huff, the noise of your displeasure drowned out by the crackling speakers.

Country houses stand on hills and fields sprawl with freshly sowed fields. You try to imagine a life here, away from the bustling furor of the city. That thought makes your chest want to collapse. You couldn’t do it. You are urban to the core.

As you come to the heart of the village, the houses are placed closer but not clustered. Only along the sparse row of their ‘downtown’ do buildings dare to touch. It’s after five and the shops are all closed for the day.

“Garage is just behind Mary’s place,” the man turns down the radio, “we’ll get a better look at the damage.” He assures you, peeking at you in the rear view, “these old country roads aren’t meant for speeding.”

“I wasn’t…” you cut yourself off. You won’t argue. You just want a new tire, “right, thank you.”

He chuckles, nonplussed by your curtness. He steers around another long bend in the road. Why must everything be so tedious and slow? He shuttles up to a bright red structure that resembles a barn. Across the moniker, hand painted nonetheless, is the name Volstagg’s. He flips the stick to park and kills the engine.

“Here,” he proclaims, pausing as his eyes pinpoint through the windshield, “ah, of course.”

He clicks his seat belt and lets it repel. He swings open the door so violently it shakes the entire vehicle. You furrow your brow as he hops down and hollers. What on earth is he doing?

“...working. What d’you want?” Is all you catch through his chortling grit.

“Good to see you too, friend,” another voice counters, even deeper and smooth like silk. Great, another of the village folk.

You undo your seat belt and check your reflection in the side mirror. You open the door and plant your heel on the little metal step below the door. You let yourself down but stumble at the still jarring height of the truck cabin. You cling to the door as you gain your balance.

You shut it with a creak and a clang. Your soles mulch in the dusty gravel as you follow the voices. You clear your throat, facing the men chattering on the other side of the truck. You bring your hands to your hips in a show of your irritation.

“Hullo,” you sneer, “my tire, sir.”

The bearded redhead, Vol, and his companion, a blond even taller and blonder, look over at you with curious expressions. Their faces tint from surprised to amused. You want to roll your eyes. Your stature rarely affords you dignity.

“Yes, ma’am,” the redhead shows his large palm apologetically, “forgive me,” he faces the other man, “as you see, I have work to do.”

“So I see,” the other man drawls, his gaze stuck on you, “you are visiting Hammer Ford?” 

You curl your lip, “never. Passing through,” you turn and stride away, towards the front of the building as Vol gets back in his truck. 

The blond jogs in front of the high bumper, waving at the driver, as he crosses over to you. You keep your back to him as you strut up the edge of the dirt lot. You try to ignore him as you watch the mechanic angle around to bring your car along the front of the garage, steering the bed towards the doors.

“Passing through. On your way to…?”

“None of your concern,” you sniff, “I only need a new tire and I’ll be gone.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. This is a lovely village. Quaint. You might like it here,” he muses, “a woman like yourself, you might find it novel.”

“A woman like me?” You challenge, facing him at last, well, facing his torso. You look up, “how am I like, sir?”

“Well, from the city presumably,” he tosses back as if mocking your tone, “city folk tend to endear themselves to the quiet here.”

“Mmm,” you accept with a purse of your lips, “I’ll be off as soon as my tire is fixed. I have more important places to be.”

“Fair,” he shrugs, “you do seem rather… important.” He emphasizes the last word, echoing your own statement. You squint and turn away again. You’ll be gone soon enough.

“Vol,” he spins with a holler, bounding off to bother the other man as he works at placing the loading ramps against the truck bed, “before I go…”

His voice trails off as he claps the other man’s shoulder, his volume dropping notably. You slowly drag your heels towards them, receiving another glimpse from the blond’s sea blue eyes. He smirks before he releases his comrade from his bearlike grasp.

“Good day, lady,” he bows his head in exaggerated gallantry, “not to worry, Volstagg always takes special care of the pretty ones.”

[pinguwrites]

Forever Yours | Jackson Rippner (Kinktober 2023 | Day 31 — Jackson Rippner + ghostface!reader)

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jackson rippner x reader

summary | In this college au, Halloween is nearing its corner, only for the festive mood to be cut short when your classmate is brutally killed. As the series of murders continues, Jackson Rippner finds himself the next target, oblivious to the fact that his hunter is you, his girlfriend, the ghostface.

word count | 5k

Warnings: smut, rough sex - SM, jackson's insecure, kinda sub!jackson, reader and jackson are sick and crazy, mention of parental abuse, masturbation, brief mention of animal death/abuse (hinted)

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

"You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings. You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything" — Closer, Nine Inch Nails

Jackson Rippner was trying to become more romantic for you, an endeavor that started about a week ago after he noticed you liked passionate men. It was a simple conversation about fictional crushes — you know, the ones you have as a kid when he realized all the men you had pointed out were terribly lovey-dovey and all sentimental-like. A few origami roses here and there, some thoughtful gifts, maybe some poetic letters, and he was sure that he could outcompete all of them. He was the only man you needed, the only man you could ever want.

He knew how it sounded — pathetic. Since when was he the type to change himself for a girl? He was no Romeo or Jack Dawson, and he certainly didn’t want to be. He wasn’t a simpering fool, chasing after a pretty girl like it was his life’s mission, but as it turned out, he was for you. And if you liked your men romantic, then Jackson would be romantic.

Starting off with whatever this was: a package of your favorite stuff. Two books you mentioned wanting to get but couldn’t spare the money for, which Jackson just knew he had to buy, even though it would piss off his father — he was always stingy with money — but he figured it was fine as long as it came out of his own pocket. Some bath bombs he made from scratch, swiping the ingredients from around the house. He used a cedar wood scent for the essential oil, as it was the closest smell he could get to his cologne, and made three bombs, wrapped them in plastic, and put them alongside the books in the bag.

It was nothing big, but it was perfect. You were going to love it. You had to love it. How could you not?

He closed the bag and placed it on his desk, ready to go to sleep, when the landline downstairs rang. It was probably telemarketers, but it could also be his parents, who were out on date night. He decided to go head down and check anyways. 

He headed downstairs and picked up the phone, but the voice on the other end caught him off guard. “Hey,” a woman said, but it didn’t sound natural. It sounded like there was a voice modulator, the ones that criminals used in those crime shows you forced him to watch.

“Hey?” Jackson responded, confused, and a little irritated.

“I know who you are.”

Jackson tried to focus on the sound of the voice. Maybe he could pick out who it was if he listened close enough, but it was a fruitless effort. It was female, but too common to tell.

“You’re the one calling me,” he said, tone laced with amusement, “I should assume so.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“A creep? A weirdo?” Jackson laughed. “A stalker? I dunno. Take your pick.”

It was quiet. For a moment, he thought the woman hung up, but then she spoke again, “A lover. I’m a lover, Jackson.”

“Good for you.” He was tired, and didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Now, how about you either stop acting mysterious and tell me what you want, or I cut the call.”

“Someone’s going to die tonight, Jackson,”  the woman said. Oddly enough, Jackson felt a twinge of excitement at her words. It was oddly thrilling, and adrenaline inducing to hear such a thing. It was at this point he realized with himself that this woman was just messing with him, because who would admit to premeditated murder? 

“I hope it’s that girl from my English class. What’s her name? Ah, fuck, I forgot. She’s the annoying one—all emotion. Screams every time the lights go out. You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her.”

So, she’s been on campus, Jackson thought. Following me, maybe. I can’t believe it! 

“It’s not her, though. But who knows, maybe she’ll be next. Would you like that?”

“Doll, I really don’t care. Do me a favor, and don’t call me again.”

He put the phone down and went back upstairs. What a fucking psycho. He was too tired to deal with this shit. After a night of wrapping gifts, all he wanted was to rest. But still, even as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about that call. A gut feeling told him not to dismiss it as a prank, but before he could contemplate it any further, he fell asleep.

+++

Jackson drove his car to Westwood’s campus, towards the west side of the college where he knew you were going to be. You had a 2 PM class on Thursday, and right about now was when it ended. He usually picked you up, driving afterwards to a diner, or sometimes to a random spot where you could both be alone and make out in.

As he watched the students pile out of the building, he spotted you, near the back of the crowd, having a conversation with your good friend Lisa. He narrowed his eyes once he saw what you were wearing — a dark, plaid miniskirt with a black crop top. Even from this distance he could see the curved outline of your breasts, and imagined the view from behind, but as you got closer, he noticed the look on your face — concerned, nervous. In fact, he noticed the look on everyones face. They were whispering amongst each other in hushed voices, unlike most days when they were loud and rowdy. 

You waved goodbye to Lisa, then headed over to the car, getting into the shotgun seat. In a quick movement, you gave Jackson a kiss on the cheek, then leaned back with a heavy sigh. “Did you hear?” you asked.

“About what?” He was a little worried, but knowing you it was probably because you got a B on a test or some other stupid bullshit. He started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, exiting onto the main road.

“You know,” you said, not leading much on. “The girl.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I can’t understand you when you speak all cryptic like this.”

“Sorry — I just thought you knew. She went missing, just last night or something.”

Jackson froze. “What?”

“Well, not missing.” Your voice was a little awkward, as if you were uncomfortable talking about it. “Lisa told me she’s dead. At least, that’s what she heard. But you know, the police haven’t come out with a report and I haven’t looked at the news yet.”

Jackson couldn’t believe it. His mind went to last night, and the mysterious call he got. Did the murder have anything to do with that? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Would it be interfering with an investigation if he didn't tell the police?

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone holding a hint of concern.

Jackson wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell you. It was probably just nothing, but still, he didn’t want to keep any secrets. It was Relationships 101, communication, even though he was shit poor at it. 

“I got a call last night,” he said, as nonchalant as he could. “It was this woman. Her voice was masked, so I couldn’t recognize it. She, uh, told me that someone was going to die.”

You huffed. “Are you being serious?”

“Yeah.”

You swatted his shoulder, making him chuckle. “You have to go to police, Jackson! They can track down the call and find out who it is — maybe she’s the murderer. Haven’t you thought of that?”

“I did,” Jackson said. Seeing the look on your face, he relented. “Alright. I’ll go to the station after I drop you off, happy?”

You shook your head. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want to leave you alone. What if you’re being targeted, hmm? What if you’re next?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Stop overreacting. You can come, but you’re just gonna get bored.”

You were fine with that, so it seemed.

He drove to the police station, noticing the presence of reporters. He managed to slip you both past them, though he suspected that the only reason he got through was because they weren’t interested in them.

He went up to the front desk and told the lady he needed to report something. She nodded and brought out a paper to record, when she realized exactly what Jackson was reporting and decided to call the lead detective on the case.

It took a while, but eventually called Jackson and you over to Detective’s Reisert’s office, settling you both down in a pair of chairs.

It was a series of routine questions. When did the phone call happen? What was said? Who was in the house at the time? Why didn’t you tell anyone? What did the voice sound like? 

At some point, you were ushered out of the room. It was silly, because it’s not like you had anything to do with this, but then Reisert asked: Who do you think it was? Is it possible you knew this person? Why were you called?

“She knows who I am,” Jackson answered. “I mentioned English,” Jackson didn’t specify exactly why he brought it up, “and this girl in my class, and she said she knew her. She could’ve been lying, though, I never told her a name.”

“And what do you think she meant by saying she was a lover? Do you think it’s possible this is someone who has a crush on you?”

Jackson laughed. “Probably.” He didn’t know many men or women who didn’t have a crush on him at some point.

“Someone who doesn’t like your girlfriend?”

Jackson’s mood got cold. The idea hadn’t even passed his mind. If this mysterious woman was the killer, and did have a crush on him, then of course, you were a threat. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and it was clear Detective Reisert could sense it, because he placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry about it. Those are all the questions I have. You’re free to go.”

Jackson shrugged him off, not leaving. “Who was the victim?” he asked.

The detective hesitated. “Miya Reinhart. She’s currently missing, but we’re doing everything in our power to find her,” he said, getting up from his seat. “We’ll investigate the phone call and see if we can find out where it came from. If it’s anything worth checking out, we’ll call you back in.”

He ushered Jackson out the door. You were patiently waiting in the lobby, hands interocked, nervously glancing around. Why did some bitch have to die? he thought. Now I’m going to have to deal with all of this.

As he approached you, the name Miya Reinhart ringed in his head. He could’ve sworn he knew who it was. Maybe someone in one of his classes, a friend of a friend? It wasn’t until you both started walking out the door did it click in his head.

“It’s Miya, right?” he said, looking over at you. “The curvesetter?”

You groaned at the mention of her. “She thinks she’s so smart, it’s a wonder she has any friends at all. You know, just the other day —” you fell silent, taking in the look on his face. Slowly, your eyes filled with guilt “. . . Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You nodded your head, licking your lips. You opened your mouth to speak, but ended up not saying anything at all. Maybe it was for the better.

Jackson put his arm around you. He drove to your house, a two-story with a nice front lawn and backyard, pretty flowers and sprinkles that ran through the night. He parked in your driveway, hesitating for a moment, before deciding to hell with it and reach into the backseat, pulling out the little bag of presents he made for you.

“I don’t want you to be thinking about anything bad,” he started, handing you the gift. “I got you a little something, maybe it’ll take your mind off of things.”

You opened it up. Inside was a bath bomb, colored red, and two books. Horror books. Stephen King novels.

You paused for a moment. Jackson got a little nervous and glanced over at you, wondering if you liked it or not, but when he saw the little smile on your face, he relaxed.

"Thank you, Jackson," you said genuinely, closing the bag. "You didn't have to get something for me."

He shrugged. "You're my girl." He didn't say anything more after that. There wasn't anything else to add. That was all the reasoning he needed.

+++

Jackson liked to think he had a reasonably good friend group. There were four, not including him — Daniel, a football player who got here on a full scholarship ride; Aneria, a relatively calm girl who liked basic things like the mall and stripped blue jeans; Lisa, your ride-or-die, not much more needed to be said other than the fact that you two were so close he was almost concerned you were gay; and then, of course, you yourself. He wasn’t entirely sure how this group of people came to be, but the basics were — Daniel and Jackson were friends, you and Lisa were friends, Daniel had a crush on Aneria who was loosely friends with Lisa, and so Lisa agreed to try and bring them closer together, and lo and behold, everyone came together like ingredients in a cake.

Jackson’s eventual investigations revealed that Aneria did not like Daniel back, and so the entire thing was a waste except for the fact that he met you, but it wasn’t like he was booting himself out of this group anytime soon. 

“She’s been scared recently,” Daniel told Jackson one day as they were both smoking outside behind a dingy restaurant. “Because of the murder, you know?”

Ah, right. The police report came out the morning after Jackson went to the police station. Miya Reinhart’s body was found in the woods near her house. Police were apparently investigating some promising leads, but at the moment they had nothing more to say.

“And how does that benefit you?” Jackson wondered, taking in a slow puff.

“She’ll want protection,” Daniel said as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been driving her back to her dorm recently, she doesn’t want to go by herself, nor do her parents. They like me, dude. Parents plus my masculine energy should be more than enough.”

“Masculine energy?” Jackson said with a scoff and chuckle. “Sure, dude. Just ask her out.”

“It’s not that easy. I mean, how’d you ask your girl out?”

Jackson leaned his head against the brick wall. “She wooed me.”

Daniel thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. I should be asking her for advice, not you.”

“That’s probably right.”

“You know, I’m planning a party next weekend. Halloween-themed.” Daniel got up from his position and dusted off all the dirt from his pants. “You gonna come?” He lent out his hand.

“Yeah, ‘course.” 

Jackson let himself get pulled up to his feet. They started walking down the street and back to the general vicinity of where both their neighborhoods lay.

“It’s a costume party, obviously. And I’m thinking I should make Halloween-themed treats, the type that moms make when we’re kids, you know?”

Jackson never experienced that. As a child, his Halloweens were his mom trying to do something nice for the family, then getting drunk and upset after his father never showed up. After a certain point, Jackson stopped anticipating any type of celebration and his mom stopped making an attempt. 

“It’s a little childish — but who cares? You can get the drinks, right?” Daniel continued.

Jackson nodded, hands in his pocket. “Yeah, and food, too. How many people are gonna be there?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t want this one to be big. I was thinking just us five and, like, a plus-one.”

That was more than fine with Jackson. In all honesty, he didn’t like Daniel’s big parties, the ones where everyone he ever talked to was invited, where he had to clean the house out because Daniel was too crossfaded to move a muscle. 

At least he had something to look forward to this week.

+++

“I told you someone was going to get murdered.” 

Jackson sucked in a breath. He had an awful feeling when he picked up the phone — he should have known it would be her again. His eyes darted nervously around the room, paranoid — across the walls and the crevices of the room, the windows and the opened crack of the closet door.

It was almost enticing. It was like a game, in a sick, cruel way. Who was she? A tormenter, a killer. Criminal.

“What do you want?” Jackson asked, stern.

 “You.”

The audacity! he thought. “I have a girlfriend,” he responded simply, wondering whether this was the right time to call the police. He almost didn’t want to. He wanted to see how far this would go, but he knew that was stupid.

He was still wondering whether this whole thing was a prank or not. It was possible that this was a huge coincidence, and with the murder they were simply taking advantage of a bad situation. 

“Maybe she’ll be next.” 

Jackson’s heart thumped in his chest, so loud he could feel the beat throughout his entire body. He felt his body chill, goosebumps along his arms. No. This was not a prank anymore. 

“Listen here you bitch,” he spat into the receiver, “you hurt her in anyway I’ll find you and gut you like a common whore. You understand?” 

She laughed, no — giggled.

“You’re so protective. What a man.” 

Jackson was about to end the call and call the police but then she added, “But it doesn’t matter. You’re too late.” 

He could feel his breathing waver, shaking. In fear or anger, he didn’t know — probably both.

“What do you mean? What have you done to her?” 

The call ended.

“Fuck!”

Jackson threw the telephone into the wall, watching as it broke apart and left a dent. Upstairs, he could hear his mom call out his name in worry, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was already putting on his shoes, sprinting out of the house and towards his car. Without abandon, he started the engine and sped down the street towards your place. It would take a good ten minutes. Your parents house wasn’t as close to Westwood as his was. The whole time he couldn’t stop thinking, What if you were already dead?

His palms were sweaty, and he was driving recklessly. There were few cars on the road. He he was subject to honking more than once, and it was out of sheer luck that he avoided being pulled over by a cop car.

When he finally arrived, he rushed up to your front door and rapped, frustrated when there wasn’t an immediate response. Where the fuck were your parents?

He thought about going over to the side of your house and climbing to your window like he used to do when you first started dating, but the door opened and to his great relief it was you standing there, unharmed and looking rather confused.

But still. He couldn’t take any chances.

“Jackson?” you said, surprised. “What are you — ”

Jackson pushed his way inside and locked the door, wrapping his arms around your figure, letting your head rest against his chest as he used your comfort to calm his heart. It felt like the world was not functioning the way it was supposed to — everything was so fast and heavy but muted, like he was in a dream. A disturbing, horrible dream.

When you pulled away, you opened your mouth to speak, but he placed his finger against your lips, shushing you.

“Are all the windows locked?” he asked, his breathing steadying.

“Um.” You thought for a moment. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Jackson sighed, wanting to pinch your side for being so careless. How many times had he told you to keep all house openings locked?

He went to every window on the first floor, while you followed behind, barraging him with questions. What happened? Why are you here? Is something wrong?

He placed his hands on the side of your arms. “Call the police, okay, doll?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Just do it, I’ll explain after I check upstairs.”

“Babe, just tell me now.”

Jackson moved past you, but you grabbed his hand and dug your nails into his palm. “Tell me,” you said softly, but your tone indicated that you weren’t playing.

He paused. After taking a deep breath so he could speak properly without running out of air, he spilled everything. When he finished, you reacted in a way he didn’t expect, but was grateful for— calm and collected, albeit worried.

He went upstairs to lock the rest of the windows. He heard your faint voice talk to the police downstairs, explaining the situation. When he made it to your bedroom, however, he noticed something odd. There was a pile of dirty laundry in the corner. Once he made sure that all the openings on this floor were locked, he removed one of the shirts, which had small red spots. Like a splatter.

He sniffed it, against his better judgement, and recoiled at the scent. It was most certainly blood. The iron was unmistakable. 

“What are you doing?”

He turned around like a deer caught in headlights.

Jackson held up the shirt. “What is this?”

“N-nothing,” you stammered. “Lady stuff.”

“Like what?” He narrowed his eyes. “Periods?”

With a faint blush, you nodded. He rolled his eyes, wishing that this type of conversation wasn’t so embarrasing.

“Give it to me,” you pleaded. “I was just in the process of cleaning that when you came. I don’t want the police to see this.”

Jackson gave the shirt back to you. What you wanted to say was — ‘I don’t want a bunch of old men to see this.’ 

+++

“One more time, let’s go through what happened when you came here,” Detective Reisert said. “When you told her — your girlfriend — what had happened, would you say she was frightened? Panicked?”

Jackson sighed. He was sitting on your couch with the police as they canvassed your home. You were being interviewed in the dining room, and your parents were on their way back from the work convention they were supposedly at. There was a swath of news reporters outside your house, as well as confused neighbors. All the curtians and blinds were shut closed, to give you guys at least a bit of privacy, but the nosie and flashing lights were just as distracting as the sight of them.

“I mean, yeah,” Jackson said. “But it’s not like she was having a panic attack. I don’t see why you’re interested in her reaction. I need to know whether she’s safe or not! What happened to the phone call? Did you trace it or — ”

“It’s from a burner account,” Reisert said. “The person who did this was smart. But we’ll find them.”

Jackson was not satisfied. “I want security. For her.”

“We’ll have someone protecting her twenty-four by seven. What I want to know is why she was so calm.”

Jackson couldn’t believe this. “Because she was. She’s just like that. I mean, her cat died a few months ago and she didn’t even shed a tear.”

“Didn’t even shed a tear,” he repeated slowly. “That’s odd. How’d the cat die?”

It was then that Jackson realized what the detective was implying. “She didn’t do this, if that’s what you think.”

“Everyone’s a suspect, son.”

“I’m not your son!”

Reisert paused. “You’re right. Where is your father, by the way?”

“Not important.”

“I think it is. I think it’s a parents responsibility to raise their child properly. To tell them not to say things like, ‘I’ll gut you like a common whore’. That is what you said, right?”

“She was threatening my girlfriend,” Jackson snapped.

“Of course, of course. What about the stain on her clothes? The blood?”

Jackson wished he had never mentioned that at all. “It’s from her period.”

“And what did it look like?”

“I dunno, red.”

“. . . Those are all the questions I have.”

Detective Reisert got up from his seat and gave a polite smile.

Jackson rubbed his temples, finding this whole situation to be absolutely insane.

When he passed by the dining room, he overheard you and some others officers talking. It’s not like it was a crime to eavesdrop. This wasn’t a police station, he could stand wherever he wanted.

“It was a period stain,” you said with an exasperated tone.

“On your shirt?”

“Yes, I was . . . I was doing something, and I didn’t have a towel, you know? I don’t want to explain this, I shouldn’t have to! It’s personal.”

“Can we see the shirt?”

“It’s upstairs, but I already cleaned it.”

“With what?”

“Hydrogen peroxide. I-It’s not weird, I’ve been doing it since I was eleven. Ask my mom when she comes back, she’s the one who taught me.”

“We will. Thank you for your time.”

You got up, the chair rubbing against the hardwood floor. You walked over to Jackson with tears in your eyes. He immediately pulled you into a hug, guiding you away from everyone else and towards a more secluded area.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay.” He rubbed your back, soothing. If only Detective Reisert could see you now. Look what his team had done to her. “Let it all out.”

“I wanna go upstairs,” you cried, grasping onto his shirt. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you.”

They went to the guest room, as your bedroom was being occupied. He laid you down on the bed and wrapped a blanket around you two, letting you sob into his jacket. It was wet now, which he didn’t like, but he wasn’t about to stop you or move your head.

As he soothed you, he thought about everything that was going on. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, to him and his girlfriend of all people. And the thought of you being targeted . . . 

They were still like that for a while. Your parents came back home and made a big fuss, rightfully. They never liked Jackson that much, so after thanking him with a half-assed smile they asked him to leave the house. There was no way Jackson was going to leave you after this, but the police officer who was being stationed at your house insisted as well, so reluctantly, he agreed and headed back home. He kept you on call the entire night, even when you were sleeping. He needed to hear you, even if it was just your breathing. He needed to make sure you were alright. 

+++

“That’s absolutely crazy,” Aneria said, walking side by side with Jackson. They were both heading to their next class which they both shared. They always walked together. Usually Jackson would drop her off and go on his own way, but he’d been missing too many classes and he didn’t want to get in trouble with the school. If that happened they would contact his father, and his father would just give him the fist.

“Yeah,” Jackson agreed, kicking a small pebble across the sidewalk. You were staying at home for the time being. You had taken a few days off, and while he knew you were protected, he still couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

“What exactly happened?” Aneria asked, brushing back her blonde hair. “I mean, I heard rumors that they think it might be . . . you know . . .”

“Might be what?” Jackson snapped, turning to look at her. He didn’t mean to lose his patience, but he was in a bad mood. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m just pissed. Tell me.”

Aneria hesitated, then spoke, “That it might be her this whole time.”

Jackson paused in his tracks and turned to look at Aneria. “It’s not. It’s not, why would she do that?”

“I’m not saying I think it’s her, I’m just letting you know how people are feeling,” Aneria said with a shrug. “Also,” she added nervously, “I’m looking out for you.”

She placed a hand on Jackson’s arm. He felt mildly uncomfortable.

“I’m worried about you. Some psycho is stalking you. She’s murdered people, and I — I’m worried about you. So is James, even though he might not say it.”

Jackson shrugged her hand off. “I’m flattered.”

Aneria didn’t say anything more after that. When they got to class, a few people were looking at him with pitiful stares, and after the lecture was finished, the professor pulled him aside to ask if he was okay. Jackson said he was, which was a lie, but he was not about to pour out his heart and feelings to the old man who used to yell at him for not doing his work. 

+++

———

(This is where I stopped writing 😬)

The next part is a short scene where Jackson reminisces about old times and how he met you. Back in highschool you were a good student, but also a preppy bitch and he didn’t really like you. But somehow you won over his heart and instead of going to some fancy college like you thought he would, you ended up staying with him in community college, which he suspects is the reason your parents don’t like him so much.

He also talks about the fact that he’s never had sex with you, and is actually a virgin. He’s nervous about the intimacy.

+++

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jackson chastised, pulling you away from the rest of the crowd and into his arms.

They were at a football game.  

So basically this a small scene where Jackson and the rest of the crew except Lisa and Aneria are at this football game. The next day they realize someone else was murdered, and the police clear you up as a suspect because of your alibi.

In another scene, you try to have sex with Jackson, but he pushes you off. You get a little annoyed and decide to just call it a day, because you’re under the assumption that he has slept with people before, he just doesn’t want to sleep with you.

The police start looking into more clues related to Jackson. They think this is the work of some yandere/stalker, and they think it might be Aneria for a hot moment because she so obviously has a crush on Jackson. They end up dropping that train of thought.

At the Halloween party, Aneria makes a move on Jackson, inviting him into a bedroom upstairs. But you stop her by stabbing her through the heart. Jackson is shocked and also incredibly turned on. You rape him. He struggles at first but eventually gives in and fucks you back. It was supposed to be a blood kink, knife play sort of scene that was really rough and crazy on both sides.

Jackson doesn’t understand fully though, because you weren’t there during the time of one of the murders. You tell him not to worry about it. You suggest running away to some other state or maybe a foreign country. Jackson is ready to leave it all behind.

As you get in the car before anyone notices something is wrong, Jackson notices Lisa in the driver’s seat. She’s been your accomplice this whole time, and she was the one who murdered someone at a football game. You both drive into the night and are never heard from again. 

________________

Taglist in case anyone's still interested: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008 @wild-rose-35 @nela-cutie @slut4thebroken @flwrs4aust @httpxgray

[lt-taylor7]

i have a headcanon about Javi Rivera

He knows NOTHING about the actual car aspect of the storm par truck. (The Lion) if anything goes wrong with the actual tech part? Nah he’s fine he has no problem. But god forbid it goes unbalanced, or the oil change light comes on? He’s got no idea what to do.

(not proofread, bad grammar, GN reader, just a blurb that got too long)

that’s where you come in, a small local shop owner, one of the only in Oklahoma with a four post hoist. He had no idea what that means but he knows you specializes in heavy weight vehicles, and at a good price for its quality. So here he was, pulling the rig into the front of your shop, rushing in with a hand through his hair.

“can I help you?” You ask with a small laugh at his frantic state, washing some oil off your hands with an already dirty rag. He looks up at you, unsure as to what to say frantically searching for his words. “My truck- it’s custom- the tires.” You put a hand up and cut him off, “Javi Rivera, The big ram right?” You ask, remembering the booked consultation. He let out a relieved sigh, “yeah.” He said, his shoulders visibly dropping. A nervous hand through his hair again, “it needs an oil change and I was thinking of putting it on all season tires but I wasn’t sure if it would fit the truck well, or if I can even change them without rotations-“ he rambled, this time you let him go until he let out a large sigh and looked at you, “sorry it’s just, I’m not good with the actual truck aspect of the rig.” You smiled, “people come in here alot worse then you don’t worry. So your trucks just on summer tires? Oil change is no problem but those might cost you a pretty penny depending what your looking for.” You explained, picking up a sales book from behind your counter, flipping through until you found tires in stock, finding a few larger tires.

it took a while but the rig was finally up on the hoist, you could see Javi looking through the reception window into the shop as you walked past, you opened it, “wanna come in? I can tell the rig means a lot. She’s in safe hands.” You say, holding the door for him as he nervously steps in, unsure of where to sit or stare. You worked quickly as you mounted the tires into new rims, before tossing each tire into the balancer, he watched your work in awe. “How did you do that so quickly?” He asked as you lifted a tire under each arm. “Been doin’ it since high school, pretty much muscle memory.” You say with a shrug as you drop the tires under the truck, bringing the other two over.

There wasn’t any talking as you quickly pulled off the old tires, quickly labeling them with chalk, before lifting the new ones on. Waiting to torque them until it was on the ground. “That’s all it takes to change a tire?” Javi asks as you walk over to a large cabinet, searching for the oil you needed. “Yeah, then I torque them once it’s on the ground.” You said as you got under the truck again, sliding a catch pan under the rig, Pulling off the cap, letting it drain.

—-

it wasn’t long before the rig was back on the ground, You torqued the tires before jumping into the drivers seat, just barely turning the key. “What are you doing?” Javi asked as he came over to the side of the door. “Gotta run through the safety checklist after every oil change, just to make sure everything is in working order.” You explained as you looked at the reflection to make sure all the back lights were working as well, and the wipers. You checked off everything before signing off and putting on a new oil change sticker. “So your gonna need some blinker fluid but other then that she’s good to go.” You said as you pulled the keys from the ignition. “Blinker fluid?” He asked, “I’ve never had to replace that, Is there any kind?” His response made you laugh, “Javi, Blinker fluid doesn’t exist.” You said still laughing as a hand laid on his shoulder, Shooting warmth through his bloodstream. “Oh- yeah yeah right I knew that.” He said nervously.

(I miss my mechanic job so much)

[get-caitjinxed]

Passed your page like 7 times bc I didn't know you changed your profile

Anyway came to ask what do you think the characters smell like? I'm trying to write and I suck with imagery/writing in general so you know trying to add to it. Smell is one of the senses I hadn't written but wtf does Caitlyn Kirramen smell like????? like flowers? Clean????? Bit of sweat???? I can't 😭

Also if you have writing tips you'd share please do 🙏

hehe sorry about that lol! i was getting tired of the other one, i'll try not to change it again 🙇‍♂️

this is the part where i have to admit that i'm terminally single and i don't have a great understanding of what other people smell like 😭 i don't think i'd even be good at describing how i smell? but in caitlyn's case i def think she would wear some kind of subtle perfume - nothing too extreme or too sweet, but just enough that you would be like "oh shit, she smells good". possibly smthn floral? 🤔 and then depending on the situation, you could go for some kind of fresh laundry smell bc i assume she keeps her uniform (and the rest of her clothes) as clean as possible. but also gunpowder! if she's been shooting, ofc. and if she's been running around in a fight, sure, sweat, maybe a little blood, etc. if you're going for the hextech rifle, i feel like i see a lot of people describe the scent from that as being a sort of ozone-y smell that lingers after a burst of energy

and if you're writing her with jinx, maybe she carries around a bit of residual grease/oil/paint/metallic smell 😏

my overall tip for this would probably be to go do some research on perfurmes ig? this is some advice i should also take myself. gotta become a real jeremy fragrance type

AS FOR OTHER WRITING TIPS... i'll just rapid fire off a few:

when you're writing dialogue, try saying it to yourself out loud if it feels weird. your own voice might not match the character you're writing, but this is mostly to check and see if it sounds natural at all (sometimes i will literally talk to myself out loud and do voices if i'm thinking up a scene)

don't be afraid to interrupt dialogue (even mid sentence) to describe what a character is doing as they speak (or even how another character is reacting to something)! em dashes and ellipses are your friends

if you've written out something and it's just not working, don't be afraid to delete several paragraphs and dial it back. there are so many times were i get balls deep into a scene and go "this is NOT it" and delete everything i just wrote

less of a writing tip and more for brainstorming: when i'm stuck and i can't think of where to take a story next, or how to write out a specific plot beat, i just go for a walk and listen to music! this has been my brainstorming process since i was like 10 years old lmao and it's always worked well for me. sometimes you gotta step away from the word document and do something else for a while

your writing is always better than you think it is! i will post stuff and be like "wow this is garbage" and then have folks come along and tell me it's the best thing they've ever seen. you are your own biggest critic, so try not to be too hard on yourself!

also to anyone who is newer to writing or just starting out, write whatever the fuck you want! actually this applies to any experienced writers as well. don't feel like you need to write fics for other people! 90% of what i write is extremely self-indulgent and the other 10% is for my friends bc i know they'll like it. if you try to pander to your audience, you'll just make yourself miserable and you won't enjoy what you're doing. i'm churning out so much fic bc i genuinely just love writing caitjinx 🥺 everything i do is for me first

[ms-demeanor]

Hello Ms Demeaner! May I ask you about old cars? I have a 26-year old suv (i know, not that old), that I love dearly but it is the smelliest car on the block. I've been told the entire engine bay is coated in oil which I guess is a fire hazard? But I've also been told that doing those engine (steam cleanings? Degreasings?) on old cars could strip the engine bay of everything holding it together, and I can't really afford to buy a new engine/everything since I need that car to get to work.

Was I told correctly about the engine cleanings? Is that even a concern for cars just under 30? Do you have any advice on how to help cars not have so many toxic fumes? Thank you 💚

Okay so a basic engine cleaning shouldn't hurt your car in any way if you take proper precautions like covering up fuseboxes and stuff, and this is something that most cars should actually have done fairly frequently even if they're quite new, so I would tentatively recommend either trying to clean out the engine compartment yourself or seeing if there is a trustworthy local company that does this (this is not something I'd hire out to someone with no experience, look for the people in your life who work on their own cars or look for a reliable mechanic who offers this service or a car detailer who specifically works on engine compartments).

Here is a very detailed step-by-step guide to cleaning your engine compartment. If you want to try it yourself make sure that you can identify all of the parts of your engine that should be covered in your particular vehicle - you may want to invest in getting a used Chilton's or Hayne's Manual from ebay - and if you are very new to working on cars I'd say ask a friend who is good with cars to supervise (though I recommend doing this yourself! Learning how to work on cars is good even if it's as simple as cleaning out the engine compartment!)

HOWEVER

Because I don't know your car and can't kick the tires and investigate I'm not sure what the type of smell you're dealing with is or what could be causing it. Are you running rich? Is there a leak? Is there something slowly burning? There are lots of things that can make a car smelly and they are varying levels of problems.

If you haven't had your car in for a tune-up lately it may be time to save up for a full service at a trusted mechanic to see if they can identify any problems that are causing the smell. Someone should check on the life of your belts, the age of the filters, and do the general 100k mile maintenance if you haven't done that yourself and your car has that many miles on it. You should do that regardless of whether or not you clean the engine compartment (and so should everyone; if you own an older car search "my car model + 100k/150k maintenance" and see what parts need to be inspected that don't get checked at every oil change).

Good luck!

[takami-takami]

Trigger warning: restrictive eating (medical), calorie numbers, weight, emeto. LONG SRY

I will say though. Now that it's gastroparesis awareness month! My story with gastroparesis.

Today, I ate a meal with my family. I ate rice, chicken without oil, and baked empanadas with ground chicken in them. And even though my mom had to cook me a separate plate that wasn't deep fried like everyone else's, I feel so at peace.

Today when I was at the doctor's office getting a physical form signed for school, my doctor turned to me and smiled and said, "I'm not telling them about your gastroparesis for stomach issues. You know where you are. Stable!" And I genuinely lit up and nodded.

There was a good period of my life where I was only eating 600-800 calories a day. I slept propped up to aid motility, I woke up every morning with pain and would wake up in the middle of the night. I had shakes and tremors when I took my medicine. I was tired, cold, underweight. I developed agoraphobia because I was so terrified of getting sick outside and not having my room to go run and hide in.

I had anxiety attacks about my food getting contaminated, and I yelled at people who touched or moved my food like a starved animal. Like, I genuinely felt like one.

I remember when I found the first nutrition shake I could keep down. After drinking one per day, I noticed I didn't drag my feet down the steps anymore. I actually did a little skip. And I felt so much joy and told everybody I knew, I can skip again! I could dance to music for a short amount of time again!

I remember how devastated and scared I was when Orgain changed the recipe to appeal to diet culture instead of health. I went right back to that dark place.

But I pushed myself, and once I noticed my volume intake limit increasing, I knew I had to start varying my diet because my gp was improving. So I dealt with refeeding, and it was hard. But I did it!

Over the past three years, I have slowly gotten better and better, more able to tolerate more volume and more foods. I stopped my SSRI antidepressant at the advice of my GI, and that definitely helped over the past year and a half. I also healed more from my trauma, which I do genuinely think helped me as well.

Now I weigh enough to donate blood again! I went to Japan and ate at restaurants! I get crepes with my sibling and the blueberries make me a little sick but I eat them anyway because I'm not so afraid anymore! I can go out with people to eat! I can eat with my family!!!!!!

Now, I just avoid high fat, high fiber foods and don't eat raw, unblended veggies/fruit. And I'm genuinely fine. I can literally check the nutrition label and EAT THAT NEW FOOD? RIGHT THERE? AS LONG AS IT'S LOW FAT/FIBER? THAT'S CRAZY!!!!! THAT'S CRAZY.

I'm just so happy. I have no idea how I managed back then, because I'm so fucking happy now. I'm genuinely happy, and I'm not in pain every day. Now I only experience pain if I eat something I'm not supposed to. That's so crazy. Genuinely.

I am very grateful. I have never felt something more soul-crushing than gastroparesis. It's a terrible diagnosis, and no one wants to study it because it's rare and a cure isn't "profitable". But it is a very, very painful diagnosis, and the suffering is real.

I'm just happy to be okay again. We genuinely need to find a cure because no one should have to live like that.

[patibato]

[Bitter Sweet Sixteen] 002-A11 - Future Era Africa

Nanaki: Can I look inside? I want to check its condition.

Muneuji: Of course.

Momiji: (What is it… they're huddled up and whispering…)

(They took something out of that pouch…?)

Muneuji: -… Who's there!

Nanaki: Shit…!

Momiji: (Ah… they hid it. No helping it I guess…)

Sorry! I didn't mean to watch you.

Muneuji: A-aah. Right, you aren't the type of person who'd do that. I know that.

Nanaki: Y-yeah, yeah. It's just by chance. Really… by chance. Right, Kaguya-kun?

Muneuji: Right. It's… by chance.

Momiji: What on earth were you looking at? That's a surprisingly cute pouch.

Nanaki: Ah, no, this is… haha…

Muneuji: It's… nothing particularly worth explaining.

Momiji: (…This situation seems weird somehow. They're being unusually flustered-)

(Huh!?)

(Aa~h! So it's that! They are going through puberty… they must have brought something a bit indecent with them.)

Nanaki: …

Muneuji: …

Momiji: (Of course, they wouldn't want someone of the opposite sex to meddle in it. It's embarrassing.)*

(This is one of those times I have to be an understanding adult…)

Sorry. It's fine if you don't want to say. Every boy has a secret or two.

Nanaki: Huh? What do you-

Momiji: A~h, it's fine! I get it! Y'know?

Muneuji: I see. I appreciate your understanding.

Nanaki: No, I don't think they understand at all…

Momiji: I'll go throw out the trash and head back to my room now! Don't worry, I won't interrupt! See you tomorrow!

*footsteps*

Nanaki: Aa~ah… they definitely misunderstood something. They were weirdly considerate.

Muneuji: How do you suppose?

Nanaki: Aah, it's nothing. Don't worry about it.

…Adults are annoying in a lot of ways, basically.

Gannosuke: Good morning, everyone! Today is your first day of hospitality training. And so-

Getting right to it, I'd first like to ascertain your spirit!

Momiji: …What does that mean, exactly?

Gannosuke: You students are still new to hospitality… I know that. The only weapon you have are the Eyelashes of God…

Akuta: What're the eyelashes of god?

Muneuji: It would take too long to explain, but apparently they're a sacred treasure I possess.

Gannosuke: The anguish of the have-nots… that's where "spirit" is important! We must have the backbone! To perform hospitality! The courage!

Show me that feeling first! Depending on the outcome, the contents of your training may change at any time!

Momiji: Alright, everyone, let's do our best…!

*omotenashi battle*

Gannosuke: Stop there!

Momiji: Haa, haa… thank you for your guidance!

Gannosuke: There's no time to rest. Next is training on-site! Now, go!

Momiji: (Th-this is more spartan than I thought…!)

Gannosuke: Now, break time!

Ushio: Haa, haa… tired…

Akuta: I'm sOOOOoo beat! Wanna eat something sweet… need some white sugar or brown sugar or banana sugar or something…

Nanaki: I could go for a cafe au lait. Lots of sugar, and… maybe a light roast today.

Muneuji: My favourite food is chocolate.

Kiroku: …Some… flashy and pretty… sweets, or something.

Akuta: Aaugh, anything would be fine. As long as it's sweet.

Gannosuke: I thought you'd be saying that, so I arranged a brunch for us - crepes and coffee!

Momiji: Wow, it looks delicious! Thank you! Okay, let's have a strategy meeting while we eat!

All Five: Thanks for the food!

Ushio: … …

Akuta: So good! I can feel my tiredness melting away~! The delicious ingredients are spreading through my organs~!

Momiji: I feel that! The crepes also have a slightly different taste to usual…

Ushio: … It's the olives.

Momiji: Huh?

Gannosuke: Familiar with it, are you? That's right. These are my personal recommendation, crepes with lemon olive oil.

Momiji: I see… so using olives accentuates the flavour!

Gannosuke: Correct. Olives are a local specialty of Shodoshima. A rare taste you won't find anywhere else - delicious, aren't they?

Ushio: …

Gannosuke: You're the only one who noticed the olives. Are they good?

Ushio: … …

Gannosuke: … Good grief, not an honest one are you.

Momiji: (He's chowing down more than anyone else, so it's pretty clear.)

---

After that, we discussed all kinds of things, and ultimately decided how to split the work for the Summer Festival.

Kiroku-kun is painting paper lanterns to decorate the venue. Nanaki-kun is operating the music to match the two thousand fireworks being set off.

Ushio-kun will set up a food stall in an area where there aren't many, Akuta-kun's in charge of taking videos, and Muneuji-kun will be helping out with general management.

And like that-

---

Momiji: Good work on your first day of training. This afternoon, I think you should choose your activities yourselves.

I want each of you to deepen your own understanding of Shodoshima, have a proper look around and expand your viewpoints.

We've already got GPS set up. Make sure you don't forget to submit your activity schedule and keep in touch regularly.

And with that- let's disperse for now!

Akuta: Yeah, free reign!! We're freeee!! So~ What movie do you guys wanna watch tonight?

Nanaki: Oi oi, are you thinking of coming over again today?

Momiji: Akuta-kun, did you stay in Nanaki-kun and Kiroku-kun's room yesterday?

Nanaki: Yeah. He suddenly barged in saying "let's watch a movie~"

Kiroku: …

Nanaki: We ended up sleeping in a pile together. I'm a bit short on sleep thanks to that. …Right?

Kiroku: Mhm…

Muneuji: Even though he managed to win the single room for himself. Isotake's an odd one.

Ushio: I think it's less that he's odd, and more that he got lonely by himself.

There's plenty of people like that. Guys who ultimately sustain their own existence through being around others.

Or maybe he's simply the type who can't sleep by himself. Needs his mama to sleep with him. Ahahaha.

Momiji: C-come on now, Ushio-kun…!

Akuta: Too bad! I can sleep like a baby by myself. But doing stuff like normal is boooriiing, so I went to sleep over!

Buuut if we're talking about it, ever since Oden Class, Nanaki needs his goat plushie to-

Nanaki: Ah! You! Isotake-ku- Akutaaa!

Akuta: Ugh…… gh……! H… hurtsh…!

Momiji: What a magnificent rear naked choke… By the way, what's Oden Class?

Nanaki: It's nothing. I met Akuta in kindergarten… we were both in the Oden Class. …Though we went our separate ways from part-way through elementary to middle school.

Akuta: Gibugibu…! Gonna die…!

Nanaki: Anyway, that's why. Nothing more worth talking about, just a trifling story.

Momiji: I-I see. Um… Akuta-kun's face is starting to turn purple…

Nanaki: … Right, I'll release him.

Akuta: Cough… cough cough… cough! What was that for, hey~! Swear I saw a flower field for a moment. My first near death experience!

Momiji: He's smiling…

Kiroku: ……He's sturdy… huh.

Akuta: Well, it's fine! Getting back on track~ As friends of the Oden Class, let's watch a movie together today.

Nanaki: Sigh… no helping it. What are you up for?

Akuta: How about "Future Era Africa"!?

Nanaki: … That won't do.

Momiji: (Ah, Nanaki-kun seems…)

Akuta: Whaaat. Why~?

Nanaki: Because I promised to watch that one with someone else.

Right… it was already shown, huh.

Akuta: Yes it was~ So like, if the screening period is over, isn't that promise overdue?

Nanaki: …

…I guess, I know. That that's true.

Either way, I'm not watching it. Later then.

*footsteps*

Momiji: Ah, wait, Nanaki-kun-!

*Reiterating the "wherever possible" part of my gender (or in this case, body) neutral MC translation. …I actually considered using the male MC dialogue here, since it technically is gender neutral, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not fond of Momiji and would feel bad about doing so. For what it's worth, here's what Kaede says:

Kaede: (I've also had the experience of messing about, passing around videos like that at night when on trips with my friends.)

(Alright… this is where I have to show that I understand to not interrupt bonding between men.)

I get it! Watching stuff like that with your friends is fun. It's a charm of travelling, talking about your crushes in the night and whatnot.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

[harrisonbrainrot]

S/o that also has similar car mechanic aspirations as Modern!Han?

Possibly could be a hobby or interest of theirs but then don't specifically work in that field, yet when they're free they help out Han in his little personal car/motorcycle projects.

Like s/o teasing and being sarcastic towards han saying hes doing something wrong or using wrong item and him getting annoyed or something. Or just even being helpful by passing tools and parts, or holding things.

Thoughts?

I do have thots on this because I come from a line of mechanics, so here it goes:

At first it starts out as just wanting to spend time with Han while your relationship is new and fresh. Which meant a lot of time spent in his garage, music blasting, him smoking, and Chewie lounging on the cool floor. It slowly turned into a game of twenty questions every time you were in there. 'What does that do?', 'how do you know that's broken?', 'my car makes a clunking noise but it drives just fine.' Han is always amused by your questions, answering them like you were five given the fact that your knowledge was minimal at best. Then that turned into little lessons. How to change and rotate tires. How to change oil. How to check and change your fluids. Flush your lines. Change your brakes. Soon enough, your car is in the garage and he's teaching you how to fix your own.

'Hold the light right there. No, over a little more, over. Okay, stop. Jesus christ, girl..' is a common occurrence. It takes some adjustment, he's completely used to doing this on his own. He knows how to do this all on his own, he doesn't need help. However, he's not going to deny a pretty little thing her wish to get her hands dirty. Learning to hold the light right and pay attention to what he was doing was lesson one, without even knowing it.

'These are your spark plugs, they use electricity to spark the fuel. They basically.. make your car go. If there's somethin' wrong there, car no go. Got it?'

'Car no go, got it.'

'Atta girl.'

It didn't take long before you were handing him tools when he requested them, holding the nuts and bolts, reaching smaller hands into tight to fit spaces on the engine. He couldn't deny that he was thrilled that you were actually into this. He was proud he had taught you what you knew. It didn't take long before he could step back and watch you repair or replace something. He felt his chest tighten with admiration. Your grease stained hands and arms, the smudges on your face, wearing one of his old, tattered shirts. It made him glow with pride. He'd wrap himself around you, grinning into your neck. 'My lil mechanic, look at you. You're doin' so good, sweetheart.' Which would make you almost combust. You were so eager to learn and please him. He loved that about you, your ability to wiggle and worm your way into his heart and life and make him happy.

It didn't take long for you to be able to blindly hand him a tool while you had your nose stuck in one of his old car magazines. He'd stop and stare, watching your eyes as you read. It made him grin like a madman. He'd nudge your foot with his boot until you glanced up. 'Whatcha readin'? Any good?' And you'd flush slightly, paying attention to the pages again with a small nod.

'You know what I'm reading, you know it's good.'

'Yeah, sure.. but I wanna hear ya say it.'

That always earns an eye roll. 'It's so good, baby. Real riveting stuff.' He'd moan softly, tossing his head back as if he was fucking you.

'Don't care the context, hearin' that always gets me goin'...' you'd scoff and kick his leg. He was always trying to find a way to sprinkle his dirty thoughts in as many casual settings as he could. He loved it. He loved you. He knew it. He told you as often as he could. 'Love ya, girl.'

'Love you, too.. stinky.'

'Hey! Stinky? Who, me?' He'd point at himself, a frown and pinched brow directed at you.

'You smell like a guy who has been stuck in an engine in a hot garage all day... wait, that's what you've been doing.'

'Shut up..'

[unforth]

I started to write this as a reply to @vex-verlain but realized it should be it's own post.

To be clear, this is about @end-otw-racism and why I support this movement (even if I don't agree with all their proposals).

I am profoundly anti-censorship. It has been one of my biggest personal issues my entire adult life. I will absolutely defend the speech rights even of people I think are utterly reprehensible, even the rights of people who want me and my family dead. I think their speech has a right to exist, full stop.

But.

Being anti-censorship in no way means being anti-moderation. I often see people who are pro-ship, anti-anti, or "too old to use a name for telling yall you're clowning" say that AO3 is supposed to be a safe space for WRITERS, not READERS, and that to me is one of the big ways that the current harassment and moderation policies are badly failing writers of color. There's no way to 100% protect all writers, period, on AO3, and to me it seems like a no-brainer that if the goal is "protect all speech, avoid all censorship, minimize harm to real people," the only way to accomplish all those goals it to have a really robust, well-moderated system that prioritizes reducing harassment - ALL harassment - without looking the other way on certain topics just because they're harder and thornier to sort through. A way to section the groups that are oil and water away from each other, through blocking, powerful filters, comment options, etc (some strategies we do have now, btw! They HAVE been adding functionality in this direction, but it's clearly not enough.)

Currently, protecting people who write bigoted shit is causing active harm to fans of color. We see the impacts of this harm constantly; I personally have seen many, many Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans driven out of white danmei fandom circles for all sorts of reasons, and if yall are in fandoms that often have bipoc in them I'm sure you've seen the same (and if you are in a fandom that doesn't have many bipoc it might be wise to take a moment and consider why it doesn't.)

I just really want more people to take a step back and ask themselves why they think an anti-censorship position necessitates an anti-moderation stance, and also why they think being pro-moderation is the same as being pro-censorship.

I defend the rights of bigoted shit to exist.

What I don't defend is the right of the people who create that stuff to weaponize it against vulnerable people.

Regarding AO3, I personally support a solution that involves some way of sectioning off the bigoted shit. I'm not sure exactly how that would work but I think some kind of major archive warning is a solid start. Also maybe a way of flagging authors who are frequent offenders. And to be clear...it's not my job or responsibility to know exactly how to accomplish this. I'm no expert. That's why I'm supporting a movement that explicitly says AO3/OTW SHOULD HIRE AN EXPERT. And I know it would be expensive...and I know many, many of us would donate to a funds drive to raise the money to cover that expense.

I've seen too many friends get profoundly hurt, and I'm so tired of (overwhelmingly white) fandom circles pearl clutching over this not being an issue, that the real problem is that this will lead to censorship of (checks notes) Nazi shit, spitefic, and the other dregs of fanfiction (which, again, has a right to exist! But God why are so many of y'all favoring IT over ALL THE FIC THAT WILL NOW NEVER EXIST BECAUSE BIPOC GET BULLIED OUT OF WRITING IT.)

It's clearly an issue.

And we have to speak up and demand better or it will continue to be an issue.

Please, please listen to the bipoc who've managed to not be driven out of fandom and understand that *things need to change,* which means, for us white folks:

1. A lot of listening to the people who've been harmed

2. Using our voices to amplify theirs

3. Standing up to bigotry we see in our fandom communities

4. Shutting up when they ask us to shut up

5. Checking our own behavior and doing our best not to be part of the problem, and, if and when we go awry, owning it with maturity and apologizing and doing our best to make amends and not repeat our mistakes

...and probably more but those are the first things to come to mind.

Please stop siding with people who've decided they are entitled to spew vile shit, stop prioritizing their writerly protection over the safety of equally valid writers who also deserve protection and are being targeted and hurt. All you do by siding with the assholes is amplify their voices while silencing bipoc and create a space that protects bigots. Is that REALLY the hill you want to fight on?

None of us know it all. We can all learn to do better. I'm personally here to learn, and listen, and improve.

And I'm here to shout from the rooftops that we can be anti-censorship and pro-moderation.

I am, and you should be too.

[partyanimal167]

The Mechanic- Kidd x F!Reader

Finally seeing more Kid during Wano, so I might as well write about him. Tbh, I was going to wait until I got my motorcycle license to write this idea but...I don't know when that's going to happen. I be so busy in the kitchen 😅 lol.

Anyway, first time writing a full piece with Kid, so let me know how this. Thanks so much for reading.

CW: black fem reader in mind, modern au, fluff, bubbly reader

Kid will begrudgingly admit it that he did not expect well...you when pulled your bike up for an oil change. You were new in town and had been looking all over the internet for a place to take your precious baby for a tune-up especially after having to leave your mechanic of three years.

He was fiddling with his own bike when he heard your engine cut off. He stood up and looked boredly as you parked and stood up to take your helmet off. Your hair was pushed back and covered in a silk scarf--preventing helmet hair. You looked a little bit nervous as you looked around before making eye contact. You gave him a small smile. "Hi, uh, I have an oil change appointment for Y/N."

He grunted before scribbling your name on a clipboard. "Put your number here." He didn't blther to wipe his hands and got a grease smudge on the paper and pen. You didn't seem to mind though. Kid checked you out a bit when you filled out a couple other forms. You seemed too...sweet...and innocent. There weren't a lot of biker babes in this area, but you definitely didn't fit the stereotype. Your bike was white and you had cat ear attachments on your helmet. Your riding gloves had heart-shaped cut. Your keys jingled, and there were probably three too many lanyards and charm attachments. Certainly those hit your leg when you rode. Kid assumed that you were a newbie who begged to get a motorcycle and would probably drop the hobby after the summer was over. He saw it a lot with all sorts of people (though typically older men who were trying to end a midlife crisis).

"Alright, you can go sit inside. Shouldn't take me too long." he grumbled after you handed the clipboard back. He placed the pen behind his ear.

"Okay! Thanks, take good care of her!" you giggled before heading inside.

Kid rolled his eyes. He was so tired of hearing that from people. He stood over by your bike and glanced at the odometer. His eyes shot wide for a sec. That was...definitely a lot more miles than he expected. You were definitely riding around for years now and probably during the colder months too. He gave a small grin. He'd give you a little more credit.

...

Instead it was another young man who wore a black leather jacket and certainly had an arrogant air about him. His eyes found yours, and he immediately grinned wolfishly. "Oh what a sweet thing you are. What are you doing here in a place like this?"

You rocked in your chair slightly as you looked around the shop space. It was small, and there wasn't a lot of décor really. There were some framed articles about the quality of service and pictures of an older gentleman when the shop had first opened. A bell rung from the door opening, and you turned expecting to see the mechanic from earlier.

You immediately knew where this conversation was going to go. Not many people expected a woman to be riding even during this day and age especially when you weren't always parading around in some fake rockabilly aesthetic. You've gotten your gender wrongfully assumed more times than you can count and had a few unpleasant interactions at the gas station.

You sighed and gave your best fake smile. "Just getting my bike looked at."

He grinned down at you. "Oh really? You should check out my ride some time. I can give you some pointers on driving and stuff."

You wanted to gagged at his offer. "I'm good."

"No need to be shy. There's a lot to learn. You can even practice on mine. I-,"

The bell rung again, and you were happy that the mechanic was back. You looked at the name patch on his shirt: Kid. He still had grease smudges on his face and sweat gathered where his goggles rested. "She's all done." Kid said before walking around to the counter. You stood in front--thankful to end the conversation. "Sweet. I'll-,"

"I'll take care of it, boss. What did the girl need? A simple oil change?" the dude injected himself chuckling while pulling out his wallet.

You didn't turn, but your body froze and you fidgeted with your hands a little. Kid looked at your for a moment before turning his attention to the guy. He shrugged. "Nah. Actually, I just had to replace her tires and engine--whole accident and all." He stared at the computer screen and typed on a few keys. "Definitely a couple grand or so..." Kid trailed off.

The man's face paled, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Uh well...I'll be back...but uh, don't go waiting for me too long." he then rushed out of the shop.

You chuckled, relieved that the man was gone. "Thanks," you reached to take off your backpack.

"Broke bitch," Kid grumbled. He hated guys who tried to show off and act like they knew what they were talking about just because they watched a couple of YouTube videos. Kid held out his hand. "And uh, don't worry about. First one's on the house."

You tilted your head. "Oh really? How nice. I was nervous when I first got here, but I've heard really good things about this place. Thanks so much!" you beamed.

Kid's face reddened slightly, and he shook his head. "I'm just keeping this place together with my old man wandering around in retirement."

You nodded your head. "Well I'm sure you're doing a great job."

Kid paused for a bit before grabbing a random piece of paper and scribbling on it. "Uh, your bike's in really good shape, and 's better than most I come across. There's a bike show a county over happening next week. You should check it out. Show her off and stuff."

You looked over the paper. "Oh how cool! I've been meaning to see if there's any nearby. I'll definitely check it out!" you folded the paper and placed in your pocket. "Will you be going?"

"Huh?"

You laughed brightly. "Well you're the one who told me about it. We should go together! I don't know that many people here, and it'd be nice to hang with an expert."

Kid scratched his head while leaning a bit. "Uh...sure." he plucked out a card from a drawer. "This has my cell on it. Just give me a call." he then handed your keys over. "Be safe out there."

"I will! Thanks, Kid. I look forward to our date!" you then walked out the shop and out of his sight.

Kid stared out the window where you just were. ....A date? He blushed.

~~~

And scene. I definitely like a Kid who stands up to assholes especially cocky ones. Sweaty buff Kid is a sight to imagine. I just know he's putting in work all day and in his element.

Thanks for reading!

(This girl here was all over me while writing this)

[sodaabaa]

stolen tires, chapter five

jason returns to gotham after the world believed him to be dead. heavily inspired by the film, under the red hood.

tw: mentions of death, angst, self loathing, grief, abuse

"Well that was close." Roy said, mock wiping sweat off his brow. 

I rolled my eyes and turned to Koriand'r. 

"So what were you saying before we got so rudely interrupted by Mr. Bruce Wayne?" I said. 

I was shaken over the fact that he had walked up to us. I hadn't seen Bruce in over five years and I honestly don't know how I feel. The moment he walked in I felt as though I would start yelling at him or crying. Either way I had emotions bottled up inside me with nowhere to go.

"Right, I was thinking of forming a team of our own. I left the titans a while ago and Roy isn't Oliver's sidekick anymore so I thought we could make a little trio of misfits and fight crime together. It doesn't even have to be based in Gotham. There's so many place we could go." She explained.

I had to admit, this was a good idea. The three of us could make a well oiled team. I saw the possibilities but for right now my focus was on Bruce. I would have to decide some other time. 

"Are you in Jason?" Roy asked.

The two looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I couldn't let them down but I also didn't want to make a decision I would regret later on so I said, "Give me a day or so to make up my mind, this is a serious commitment and last time I checked Roy, you're not so good with commitment." 

Roy chuckled and said, "You've got forty-eight hours to decide, otherwise... BANG! You're dead." 

I laughed along with him and Kori smiled at us and said, "Well I've got to go. I'm meeting up with Dick." 

After Kori left, Roy and I had a drink and then left the club. We said our goodbyes and I made my way to my car while Roy went to his. My car was parked out back behind the club in near a narrow alley. I walked to the parking in the back and heard a crash. I jogged in the direction the sound came from and saw my car's tires being removed by a boy who looked about thirteen with shaggy hair and torn clothes hanging off his body. He was on his knees, wrench in one hand and the other was holding onto the tire. He was stealing the tires of my car. I had to get these tires. They were in perfect condition and clearly looked expensive. I was rushing to unscrew the tires from the sleek, black car. It was a beautiful car and I almost felt bad for dismembering it but I needed the money these tires would provide me with. I might even be able to afford a new pair of shoes! Before I could finish taking off the second tire, I heard footsteps and someone clearing their throat. I froze. Shit. I had been caught. I turned around to see a tall, dark figure. It was him. It was the Batman. Out of all the tires I could steal, I somehow came across his car and his tires! Just my luck. 

"Care to explain what you think you're doing?" He said. His voice was just as intimidating as his height. 

"U-um. Sorry, Batman sir. My parents, my parents are dead and I need money and food." I stuttered. Was he going to kill me? Wait, he doesn't kill. I was at least safe from that fate.  "Come with me. I might be able to help with that." He said. So I followed. 

"Sorry mister. I needed the money and food those tires could give me. Can you spare some change mister?" I heard.

I looked down at the kid and felt a twinge of pain. He was just like me. I crouched down and pulled out my wallet. I took out three hundred dollar bills and some loose change. It was all I had with me. I didn't need it half as much as he did.

"Here you go kid, spend it wisely. I was just like you once. I did the same thing, stole tires for a living. Be strong and you'll make it through." I said, smiling I handed him the money and gave him a pat on the shoulders. He looked at me with a look of gratefulness and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. Instead, with the money clutched in his fist, he threw his arms around my torso and hugged me. I hesitated but gave into the hug, wrapping my own arms around his frail figure. He pulled away, smiled at me and turned around and ran off into the alley. I stood in the alley for a moment, wondering what had just happened. I shook my head and crouched down to restore the tires and make my way home.

When I arrived home, I plopped down on my couch. I sat there and took a breath for a second, rewinding everything that had happened so far and planning out everything I was going to do. I sighed and went to freshen up a bit before tracking the shipment that was supposed to arrive at the docks later.  "The shipment is a robot. Why would Kord Industries send a robot, and that an amazo robot to Gotham? It would be better off in Metropolis where there's actual superhumans. I mean isn't that the whole point of an amazo in the first place? Suck up all the abilities of a superhuman? Do you think there's metahumans here? Or maybe they're trying to take Batman's 'powers'." Roy said.  Since we found out what the shipment is we've been trying to figure out what it could possibly be doing in Gotham. We were keeping watch of the docks over a rooftop trying to hide from plainsight at the same time. Because of Roy Bruce knows where I'm going to be tonight so I'm trying to be a bit more stealthy. 

"Four armed hostiles at twelve." I said. 

There were four armed men. Two were sitting on the dock and the other two were keeping watch and walking in lines back and forth. 

"Shoot an exploding arrow towards the dock to get rid of them." I told Roy. 

He looked at me smiling through his mask and was already pulling back his bow with the exploding arrow. 

I counted down and he shot the arrow. The men were most likely dead but who were we to care, they were probably part of Black Mask's operations. This whole thing was probably funded by him. Roy and I were getting ready to jump of the rooftop when a batarang was thrown our direction. The batarang scraped my arm and left a small scratch. It landed in the wall right in between us. I looked back to see the Bat himself and his little sidekick Nightwing. 

"Look who decided to show up, the Bat and his trusty sidekick Robin." I spat.

"Sidekick?! I'll have you know that I am no longer anyone's sidekick bucket head." He retorted. 

I couldn't help but laugh at his remark. Dick really thought he wasn't a sidekick anymore just because he wore a new suit. 

"Who are you?" Bruce grunted 

"He speaks!" I said back. 

This whole time he had been quiet, no doubt he was trying to figure out who I am. 

"I asked you once, I'm not going to ask again." 

"Yeah I'm totally gonna tell you who I am right away. No, I want you to go crazy over this. There's no doubt you're already obsessing over trying to figure out who I am. I want you to be a clueless. And they call you the world's greatest detective. Yeah right." I scoffed.

He glared and made his way forward but by the time he took one step forward I took two back, Roy and I fell backwards off the roof, he shot a grappling arrow to the right and I shot my grappling hook towards the left. We split up to make it harder to track both of us. I ran as fast I could towards the closest building with Bruce right on my tail. I jumped up onto a wall and grabbed onto anything I could, window sills most commonly. I scaled the walls but being over two hundred pounds of muscle I had some trouble, as did he. I made it up to the rooftop and ran across, jumping onto the next and using my grappling hook occasionally to provide backup in case I lose footing. Bruce threw a nylon cord around my ankle but before it could wrap around too tightly I pulled out my knife and sliced through it in one swift motion. I kept running across rooftops and I saw a motorbike below me. I had to do it. I closed my eyes, took a breath and jumped down, landing on my side causing the impact to knock the wind out of me. Quickly recovering I scrambled to get up and ran to the bike and hopped on. I revved the engine and just as Bruce made it down I yelled, 

"You haven't lost your touch Bru-" I was cut off by a bus driving between us. By the time the bus left I was already gone and Bruce was left in the dust.

[circular-bircular]

Clearing The Air About Sophie

I mean, since she posted something, and since I still get regular asks about her, and since we’ve had a whole grudge and personal feud thing going on for (months? years? time is an illusion to those of us with trauma based amnesia), I do kind of want to respond. Going to put it under a cut for all those uninterested in Sophiecourse.

Side note: This isn’t for Sophie. Like she says on her post, this isn’t an olive branch. It’s just… Getting thoughts and feelings out.

TL;DR: I actually agree with what she said about my personality flaws, I know them and work on them in therapy! I don’t hate Sophie, and I don’t really hate anyone else for that matter. I believe everyone needs chances to grow and change – transphobic, fakeclaiming assholes too. I’m tired of people punching at the mods of SAS who try their best and are pro-endo. I’m tired of people lumping me in with anti-endos when I really do not hang out that much with them. I’m tired of hearing the term “hate-group” thrown around because it has a very different definition than what’s being used and also I am white and privileged I should not be the voice on this! I’m tired of people yelling about SN when I’m not even in that server any longer. And, most of all, I’m tired of people dragging this drama on continuously in the public eye. Let it fucking rest, and please let this be the final essay I have to write about the topic.

Firstly, I want to address: A lot of what Sophie says is absolutely correct. I am loyal to a fault. I have allowed myself to get into a lot of situations that are incredibly fucking harmful, all in the name of being loyal to either a cause or a friendship.

This has led to me being set so far back in my recover lately that I’ve flinched at my partner touching me, split a new part in August of this year, and started obsessively stalking blogs again in the desperate need to know everything, just to appease anyone who might be curious.

I also agree that I mean… I really don’t hate Sophie. I hate a lot of her actions, and a lot of her takes, but I don’t hate her. I simply don’t hate people. It isn’t in my nature. I have a very intense dislike for her, but as she said – coke and mentos. I would likely go “oil and water,” but I think coke and mentos fits more, given my propensity for exploding. Trauma does shake one up.

Secondly: I want to address some of the negatives she’s said that I disagree with, or I feel her personal grudges might be impacting too much.

That’s how I see SAS, who will adopt labels like “syscourse enraged” or “pro syscourse conversation” on Tumblr, while their partner heads over to r/systemscringe to tell the anti-endos that SAS is “100% anti-endo” so they can get that sweet r/systemscringe demographic. SAS’s stance is whatever they think will convince the most people to listen to them.

I would greatly appreciate if people were to stop lumping SAS under that anti-endo label as well, as me and the person they’re actually referring to (Dude) agree on many things (and yes, disagree as well, as is only healthy in a fucking friendship). People so frequently ignore the things SAS has posted about endogenic systems that acknowledges their existence, while simultaneously condemning the entire mod team for the actions of… [checks] a singlet on reddit?

I would not be friends with the mods of SAS if their beliefs fundamentally opposed mine. If any of them were regularly fakeclaimers, harassers, or doxxers, I would be blasting them on each of my blogs that I could, with screenshotted proof (as I tend to do). The fact is, none of them are anti-endo. The one I would say fits closest to that label is Mod Signal, who’s opinions on endos seems to simply be, “god, I don’t want to fucking talk about that, can I PLEASE talk about the etymology of the word dissociative and the intersection of POC and medical spaces?” (Signal, you can correct me if I’m wrong on that, I just feel that’s the vibes).

The fact of the matter is, SAS – every mod there – is a traumatized individual who has made countless mistakes. I disagree with a lot of what Mod Dude has done and said, but not in such a way that it makes me ignore the words being said. He genuinely wants people to live their best lives and recover, while also groaning and laughing at the frankly ridiculous ableism in the world. And he calls that out, and points it out, and tries to clarify.

I don’t find that bad. There’s a reason why we’re friends.

Say, for instance, your friend is under fire for fakeclaiming and transphobia, and your response is to come up with a list of things the victim said to deserve it.

Sigh.

I am no longer a moderator at the Survivor’s Network. At the time of the post Sophie is referring to here, where the user fakeclaimed her with vicious transphobia, I wasn’t online, nor active in the server – I was busy that day, and couldn’t be attentive. I’ve raked myself over the coals endlessly about not being present 24/7 to discuss every last take coming from individuals in that server due to this obsession tumblr has had that any take from SN was clearly supported by everyone there.

It wasn’t.

I nearly left that day, and only stuck around because (as Sophie herself said) I am intensely loyal. And the individual took a step back, and when they came back, some new fire needed putting out. They had lost all memory of the post in question – and I had as well. It’s unfortunate.

When the post resurfaced, the user in question was guilt stricken and absolutely mortified that they had done that. This does not excuse the behavior. They could identify which part had gotten triggered enough to say that, and what led to them being triggered from her blog. This does not excuse the behavior. They wrote an apology to the server, as their actions now (somehow, someway) reflected on every individual in the server, and (more importantly, and accurately) apologized for how their actions might be making the server members feel unsafe. This does not excuse the behavior.

The “making excuses” she lists is the list of things I wrote out while in an incredibly triggered state where I tried to provide context for what could make an individual state such heinous, disgusting things about another person. Because I do not hate others. Not even transphobic, fakeclaiming assholes. They are all simply people, and I understood why this happened. I did not defend the action, but I defended the person. He didn’t deserve hatred; he deserved the chance to redeem himself.

Perhaps I’m too kind. But I believe everyone deserves chances to change. And given that he immediately privated the post (but not deleted, so that if people had questions, he still had the post to show them so he could prove his transgressions), stepped back massively from syscourse, and started discussing more about the self care he was doing to become a less hateful person, I believed he was making that change.

When the place this individual made alongside my friends came under fire for things that were complete fabrications and lies, I included that list in the document detailing each and every allegation. For transparency. Just like the document stated. I also wrote that piece while, once again, triggered and dissociated out of my mind. I was fully in my headspace, as a new part who did not even know her name, and having just abandoned everyone I knew and loved from Survivor’s Network.

I am no longer friends with that individual. Please do not lump me in with that space any longer, as they deserve better than syscourse drama in a space that is dedicated to growth and healing.

I will say this again, for those who did not hear: I do not, and never will, condone transphobia or fakeclaiming of others, regardless of your beliefs about them. Everyone deserves a baseline of respect. No matter their beliefs about anyone else, they deserve basic respect.

I have been harassed endlessly for that belief. It genuinely hurts the amount of times I’ve been accused now of defending transphobia, bullying, harassment, and fakeclaiming (not just from Sophie, but from various hate anons I’ve blocked or the countless plural servers I am no longer allowed to venture into due to being banned for “my actions” when they weren’t mine to begin with). I am not that person, and I’m so tired of being painted that way due to my desire to give people second chances.

Ugh. Anyways.

(Again though, this is only my opinion as an outside observer. And there could very likely be private conversations about their friends’ conduct I don’t see because it would be handled in DMs.)

This is fully accurate, and I wanted to highlight this for everyone in syscourse.

The majority of my syscourse takes place on discord. I’m always hovering between around 7 and 12 system servers that I’m present in at any given time. I’ve always used online spaces as a dissociative crutch to try and help myself focus on something while also dissociating, without losing myself entirely. According to my phone, while I get the most notifications from Tumblr (825 daily, on average), I spend around an hour a day on Discord at least. (Fun Fact: Since leaving SN, I now spend an average of 4 hours on my phone, which is down from 5-7 hours daily! Progress!) Discord is also the first thing I open each day, and I read through all of the servers I usually check for.

I conduct a lot of conversation in private. I don’t feel that the majority of this sort of… business… should be on a public forum like Tumblr. Honestly, I’ve frequently lamented about the fact that Sophie isn’t on Discord much (I’ve been in servers where she was banned due to inactivity) because I feel like I have such better communication there. There’s more time to have a back and forth, rather than these essay long posts that drain my energy and take me days to write (usually).

I do call people out in DMs. I have ticketed a lot of spaces I’m in to discuss with mods the actions of other users, to clarify for myself if I am being triggered, if I’m squicked out, or if I am in the right and they are acting inappropriately. I have blocked many individuals on Discord.

What you see on Tumblr is one of two things: carefully filtered, but edited for passion and attempting to sound as clear as possible, or not filtered in the slightest while highly charged. This post is one of the latter ones, believe it or not. The length of the post doesn’t change the feeling behind it!

The fact is, I can only really call out pro-endos… here. Because I am banned from so many pro-endo spaces… for… calling out. Pro-endos. And discussing their posts in servers that are condemned (wrongfully) of being collections of people in hate groups. Therefore supporting hate groups.

See the issue? It’s a never ending cycle.

I’m trying to join more endogenic oriented spaces currently, but… we’ll see. I find them incredibly stressful for my system, due to past experiences and the increasing need of people to find the “label” that fits others, but. We’ll see.

I’ll still use scare quotes when mentioning their syscourse alignment because I find them to often be out of touch with the endogenic community and our interests.

See above. It’s incredibly difficult to view and understand the endogenic community when each one immediately declares you a fakeclaiming bigot who supports hate groups…

I think because of their friendship with anti-endos, they still want to try to appease both sides as much as possible.

I want to write more about this at the end of the post, but believe it or not… I’m really not friends with many anti-endos. I think I can name 2 off the top of my head who actually do not believe in endogenic systems. And of those two, I only share a server with one.

I don’t believe there’s a world where endogenic systems and anti-endos can both find total acceptance

Hmm.

You know?

I don’t really disagree with this point as much as some may believe.

I actually do want the entire world, one day (or at least, the relevant people in the world) to agree that endogenic systems exist. I fully want anti-endo, as a label, to go away, and I want people to open their eyes and fucking understand what endogenic systems are actually about.

I do not believe there will be a world where anti-endos will continue to be a norm, and I think those who insist on crying about how there’s “people faking having a disorder” need to actually… you know… look. At the evidence we have so far (which is not much, I will admit, but is still there) and at the experiences people are having (which is far more telling and vast). I do not believe that there will be a world where anti-endos and endos can fully co-exist with everyone feeling safe and happy together.

I also do not think that is bad.

There is no such thing as a completely safe, tolerant space. Regardless of someone’s wishes or beliefs, we cannot all be together. We cannot all believe the same things. My heavy Christian upbringing has led to even my own system being at odds with its spiritual beliefs; I am a demonic protector who regularly talks to an angelic part, who both keep an eye on our demonic persecutor, and all three of us have different religious beliefs.

We cannot believe the same things. We will disagree.

That does not mean we cannot work together, cooperate, and exist in the same spaces. I think we need to learn how to, actually, in order for the more ideal “no more anti-endos” future to come to be. If anti-endos are not accepted as people, are not welcomed in by kind endogenic or pro-endos (like I was), then how would they ever learn?

Not that people need to risk their safety like that. I would never want that. But for those individuals who can handle that burden… I feel it is needed.

But this is all beside the point. That’s a good syscourse post for another day.

Circ doesn’t like me calling anti-endos a hate group because, in my (again, outside) opinion, they’re friends with anti-endos and don’t see how the people they’re friends with could possibly be part of a hate group.

I do not like people referring to anti-endos as a hate group due to them not fitting the definition of a hate group. I don’t like it because my POC friends (both neutral, pro-endo, and unaligned) have felt spoken over by others who insist that the actions of anti-endos are somehow comparable to the actions of groups like Nazis and the KKK.

Just a quick google search:

Anti-endos are not a cohesive organization or group, and does not have equal goals across the board. I believe extremist anti-endos could potentially fall under the label of having a goal, but they are disorganized. “The group itself must have some hate-based purpose.” Most anti-endos I have had both the pleasure and displeasure of knowing… just want to be left alone. And for those who do not want that, I call them out regularly on tumblr.

What leaders? What official statements? Again, this is vastly different from groups with an actual creed or motto, groups who are a real crisis in today’s life. Some asshole on tumblr who is rambling about “The People Faking A Disorder!!1!!” is not systematically oppressing endogenic systems. They are not killing them in the streets, or dragging them behind cars via rope (an event I will not be forgetting soon as a queer individual).

Okay, if we use this definition, I could see it. I could see someone calling anti-endos a social group that practices hostility. But that is assuming that every individual who uses the label anti-endo agrees with everyone else in that social group. Which is not the case.

There’s three options, all of which, I could only loosely tie to the term hate-group.

Regardless: It is not my fucking place. I am so incredibly privileged. While I live in fear to hold my partner’s hand in public, queer rights have come leaps and bounds from where they used to be, particularly in the incredibly democratic state I live in. There are individuals who are being killed daily for their race, gender, sexuality, religion, nationality, ethnicity – any element of identity – and I do not have that same sort of fear. It is not nearly as much of a reality for me as it is for others.

That’s why I uplift and repeat those calls that POC around me say. Those POC, again, are not anti-endos. They are pro-endo, predominately. I’ve also had many “endo uninterested” friends, to quote a few.

I do not like calling anti-endos a hate group because I do not believe they are one.

(Not saying this is the only reason they dislike me, obviously. I’m certain they can find lots of other reasons. But it does seem a recurrent theme that these are the topics that make them the most heated.)

There are many more reasons, you are correct! I do believe that there are some that make me far more heated. I just also don’t think saying them here would be any benefit. I’ve already aired out my issues with you on my completely privated side blog, which nobody can see.

That doesn’t need to be public, and hopefully never will be.

And of course, the SN document which included many outright lies or just massively twisted my past statements.

I tried to display everything I saw from Sophie’s blog as I saw it at the time, based on how the individual who fakeclaimed her read them. This is how they were viewed. That isn’t a lie – that’s how they were interpreted.

Also – I was not the only person who wrote that document. I abandoned that document before finishing it, tossing it to the very few current moderators who were left after working on it for a straight week. I cannot, at this point in time, recall what I wrote on it. For all I know, they bastardized what was written and changed every last word.

(They wouldn’t do that. They cared about getting the truth out as clearly as possible. Everything that was on that document should be the fullest, clearest interpretation of events from our perspectives. Nonetheless – I have no recollection of the details that were written anymore, beyond I think some of the section titles, and the allegations that were directed directly toward me).

I’m so tired of people saying I’m lying about what I read. I’m sorry, now, that I didn’t go back through again while on my vacation in August to link to each and every claim I made, to provide the context of the posts. I’m also glad I prioritized my mental health.

Particularly: if I read things that badly, it’s very clear I was far too triggered to be handling those topics in the first place.

And good lord, yes, everything you said at the end, though I’ll address the reverse as I know I have a wider anti-endo audience on my blog:

Do not fucking send hatred to Sophie. Do not go rallying against her. This is what I said on my callout post about her over a year ago, now. Do not interact with Sophie.

That isn’t about her. It’s about you. (At the time, it might have been about her – I abandoned MotCR for a reason. I was a dick back then, and while I stand by the call to action, I actually don’t necessarily stand by that post any longer. But I very rarely delete posts, so people can hold me accountable).

Sophie’s content often triggers those of us with trauma related to many topics – endogenic systems, tulpamancy, racism, spirituality, hallucinations, religion, and many other topics. She discusses those topics in conjunction with endogenic systems.

Someone who triggers you by talking about something that triggers you is not worthy of harassment. Nobody is worthy of harassment.

Someone you feel is spreading misinformation is not worthy of harassment. Nobody is worthy of harassment.

Stop fucking bringing me up to her! Stop bringing her up to me! I’ve said it so many times! I’ve begged her not to post asks about me in the past, but it’s just. Unavoidable when we share the same spaces, at this point, for us not to see each other’s posts. And when I see things, I address them, because that’s the point of a discourse space.

But you all are only harming everyone by trying to “defend” those you care about. Including those you care about! Have faith that the individuals you are trying to support can support themselves. Dragging my name into people’s inboxes to try and support me only continues drama that I would rather be left well enough alone, buried deep in the amnesic recesses of my mind.

Normalizing hatred toward Sophie will normalize pro-endos sending hate to those they view as Not One Of Them. This has happened before and will happen again if it becomes the norm. Pro-endos have been harassed to deletion and even death. Anti-endos have experienced the same.

Stop fucking doing it.

…

And for the last point, as an aside at the end, I have a genuine question.

How many anti-endo friends do you people think I actually have?

When I mention my anti-endo friends, I typically mean… like… 5. Max. And that number has severely dwindled, both due to the fact that I’ve made a lot more people open to endogenic plurality, and due to the fact that I’ve cut many individuals off.

I do not have many anti-endo friends. And of those friends I have, we don’t really discuss any syscourse. I have, I believe, one anti-endo friend at this point whom I share a server with. We discuss very little as we are both fairly inactive in that server. I believe the most recent discussion was “is it morally okay to steal from a big super market” (yes) and “what should I get for christmas this year” (thanks for the suggestion on the diamond painting, I’m kinda looking forward to it if I get it!)

The majority of anti-endos don’t like me. They don’t interact with me. Those that do often find themselves no longer identifying as anti-endo, or already didn’t blast their syscourse stance everywhere in the first place.

The anti-endos I do associate with are the kind that simply want a space away from Endogenic systems. They admit endos exist. They simply don’t want endos around them, and find that the anti-endo label is a quick and easy way to get endos to stay far away. (Huh, it all circles back to that “we should be more accepting of others, regardless of label” idea…)

Look. At the end of the day, one thing remains true: me and Sophie do not need to get along. She will continue arguing against the takes I make that she disagrees with, and I will continue arguing against hers. Honestly, that is far, far healthier than what was happening when I was trying desperately to avoid mentioning her at all. I feel now that I can actually engage in the discussions happening. There’s a lot of reasons for that -- the biggest I think being that I really could not give a rats ass about this topic anymore. I don’t care about what she posts.

The majority of what she posts nowadays are either vagueposts or takes about plurality, which I think is fine and dandy. It’s not my territory, and if I have problems or thoughts, I’ll typically post them on my own. Which I have been! Remarkably, our takes can often exist in conjunction.

Me and Sophie are not at war with each other. It’s more “you stay in your corner and I’ll stay in mine.”

Please let us keep it that way?

[bitter-limelight]

This was supposed to be a day 1 prompt but I absolutely forgot I had it WHOOPS

More tidbits from a Regency AU

---

First snow at the manner was coming quick, and this was the first time Daniel saw the preparations from this side of its great walls. Growing up the son of the stable hand, winter meant stacking gay along barn walls, breaking ice in the troughs each day, changing the blankets over the horses, being send to help the groundskeeper clear off large banks of snow should the master of the house need to leave. Hard work for anyone let alone a boy as slight as Daniel, a boy as prone to fits of delusion and screaming and forgetting where he was,  but now everything was different.

It had been only four months since Marius had ordered Daniel inside, 4 months since he'd found him nearly nude by the banks of the river, shirking his job and his father's crop to steal berries by the cool water. Four months since Daniel learned to tend Marius at his side as his personal valet, and not much under four months since he'd found Marius in his room and in his bed. Four months since his life changed entirely, and despite the chill in the air,  he had never felt so warm. On the inside anyway; on the outside he was feeling the winter snap as much as anyone. 

He watched the groundsmen carrying in straps of split firewood and begin to fill the bins by each hearth with them- it was among Daniels job to direct which rooms would be shuttered for the season and used only when necessary and which needed to be ready for show. Light, airy summer curtains were changed out for heavy lines velvet drapes, in the masters customary deep red, and the carpet covers of the same color were being brought out to protect the pale rugs from fireplace soot. Daniel himself has spend the day in his Masters private rooms taking care of these tasks, wiring out his warmest wools and furs on the balcony to rid them of storage must, laying new blankets on the beds. He oversaw the ordering weeks ago of candles and oil  as the days grew short but the houses needs did not dwindle, and he made sure the lanterns were cleaned from residue and sparkling like new. Finally he was checking windows for any cracks or splits in the wood. He found none; Marius kepts his staff well paid and they in turn kept the home in good repair. 

On the horizon the sun lowered, and all afternoon the sky had hung heavy with the threat of snow. The cook was convinced it wouldn't be cold enough; a slushing, miserable rain, she said, maybe a freeze after midnight, but not snow yet. Daniel found himself a little disappointed by this; it was only two weeks out from Christmas and he wanted it to show already, damn it. 

Daniel and most of the others worked clear through supper, losing track of time easily in a world that grew dark well before 5pm, and he swore to himself as the mantle clock in Marius' room chimed 8. Marius wouldn't be long now, not this time of night when he had been up at 5 that morning to ride into town. He kept watch out the window for his horse, smiling when he saw his master arrive, and set the water in the fire to hear for his bath. 

Ten minutes later Marius was at their door, and Daniel was immediately in his arms. 

“Haven't even gotten the door closed yet, my love,” laughed Marius, the rumble in his voice tired but so obviously happy to be home with his boy. Daniel smiled, pulling him inside and closing the white panels doors behind them. 

“As though you haven't kissed me in the kitchen just feet away from being caught,” he teased, standing up tall to kiss Marous full and hungry. “How was your visit?”

“Dull and exhausting as ever,” groaned Marius as Daniel began to undress him, sliding his jacket off his broad chest and shoulders. “Another man who hopes I would take an interest in wedding his daughter.”

“Well you are quite a talk, you know, my Lord, being 40 and unwed,” Daniel pointed out. Marius huffed.

“You know it is not the company of young women I prefer, Daniel.”

“No, only young boys,” he laughed, poking fun at the 21 year difference in their age. Daniel was grown, but so had been Marius when Daniel was even toddleing, something he both gently teased him for but which also drove him wild. He loved the lines at Marius' blue eyes and the wrinkle between his brows when he was concentrating, the gray streaming back from his temples through his blonde curls. Daniel couldn't get enough of him, and took pleasure in touching him as he undid the buttons of his waistcoat, then undid his tie and collar. His lord was a well built man, and he made no move to hide his admiration as he opened his shirt and trailed his hands down the firm curves of his chest and over the hair of his stomach. 

Marius sighed appreciatively as Daniel reached the front of his breeches, his interest showing despite his tiredness. “Well? What are you waiting for, boy? Undress me, bathe me.”

“With pleasure my lord,” Daniel whispered back, and off came Marius’ pants, his drawers, his stockings, and Daniel was proud of the roaring fire he had going, strong enough that Marius didn't shiver despite standing bare in his room. “Come.”

The bath was hot under Daniels work, several kettles of boiling water added to cold from the pump to make a wonderful place for Marius to rest. His gratitude was evident as he stepped in, the warmth soothing muscles sore from a long ride and a longer day.

Daniel drew a chair up and set to work immediately, taking a shaving of soap to begin down his lovers well muscled back. “It's to snow tonight,” said Daniel, lavishing his hands over his shoulders and neck as well.

“Don't worry my love, I will keep you warm,” said Marius, and Daniel flicked the back of his ear. Marius was nonplussed, and laughed. “Well what sort of master would I be if I could not keep my lover safe from the show and the cold and the frost?”

“Frost is beautiful at least,” said Daniel for black of anything else to say- flirtation was still new to him, and felt forbidden, even in the safety of their rooms. “The patterns of it across the windows always looked like lace to me. And now here I wear lace that is spun just as delicate.”

Marius leaned back in the tub so Daniel could wash his chest, and smiled. “And you wear it as beautiful as every bough of the trees and every crystal cut window pane,” he swore to Daniel, who could only blush as the chill creeped in closer outside. 

[theonyxranger]

if youre comfortable/have the time, what would you say r the top three things for a car owner to know about their car?

Okay, I thought about this for a bit because that's not as easy a thing to answer as you might expect, even if everything I'm about to say seems fairly obvious.

1. Learn how to check your fluids.

All non-electric vehicles have a variety of fluids that are used in different ways. If you have access to your owner's manual, you can use that to easily find and check your fluid levels. If not, a quick google search of your year/make/model will give you those answers as they're all vehicle specific. The most important ones are going to be oil, coolant, and brake fluid.

Checking your oil is usually very simple. If you've driven the vehicle within the last ten minutes or so, simply locate the oil dipstick in your engine bay with your engine OFF (usually a bright color, often labeled OIL) and pull it out. Wipe off the excess oil, stick it back it all the way, pull it back out and see where on the dipstick the oil stops. As long as the level is between the minimum and maximum marks on the dipstick, often marked with cross hatching, you do not* need to add any oil. If it looks dark or smells burnt, you may be due for an oil change.

*we'll come back to this.

Brake fluid and coolant are often in clear reservoirs visible in the engine bay. Both typically have MAX and MIN markers on the reservoir and, like your oil, so long as the level is between those two marks you do not need to add any fluid.

However! (This is where we come back to what I said before) if you notice your fluids are low and you ARE concerned, it's never a bad idea to start checking more often to make sure the level isn't dropping. If it is, add some and take your car in for an inspection!

2. Learn how your car is supposed to sound/feel when everything is working as it should

This won't be as long as the last one, I promise.

One of the most common causes for mechanical failure, in my experience, is ignorance. If you don't notice, or know, that your vehicle isn't behaving/braking/turning/sounding the way it's supposed to, why would you have any reason to take it in for inspection? Why would you expect to go for an oil change and find out your brakes are grinding? Or your tires are worn bald? Or your struts are blown?

If you know your car well enough to recognize when something changes, or isn't quite right, you're far more likely to catch it before it becomes a safety hazard (or savings hazard.)

3. Know your vehicle's limits

This one may seem like an odd one, but hear me out:

Your car can only do so much. At the end of the day, its one job is to get you where you need to go safely and reliably, and it's designed to do that in a specific way under a specific range of conditions.

If you take care of it, it'll take care of you. But a 2011 toyota corolla isn't going to do that in 13 inches of snow with a windchill of -5. A 2007 mazda mx5 isn't going to do that in a downpour with 30+ mph winds. A 2014 honda odyssey isn't going to do that in a panic-brake scenario with a uhaul trailer hitch and trailer hooked up and brakes that haven't been replaced in 50,000 miles on 9-year-old factory tires.

I know this was probably a lot more than you were looking for and it definitely wasn't coherent, but it took a solid 40 minutes for me to figure out what to say here and I hope it helps