#jess writes

[notsocooljess]

“Whatever”

this is a little drabble/outtake for a fic that i’m currently working on but can’t really seem to find a place for it to fit in with the storyline.

katniss and peeta try to define their relationship a year after peeta returns back to district 12 following the war.

“Haymitch referred to me as your ‘whatever it is that I am’ today,” I say as I nestle my head into the center of Peeta’s chest, getting ready to sleep.

“Did he?” He asks as he wraps his arms around me, and I nod. He hesitates a moment before asking, “Well, what do you want to be?”

I furrow my brow and ask, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I could be your ‘friend,’” Peeta starts, and already I hear the teasing thick in his voice, “but I think we kiss and sleep in the same bed way too often for that one. I mean, how many friends do you know who share a house?” He looks at me with a grin, and I respond with an eye roll and a smile of my own.

“I could be your ‘boyfriend,’ but it feels like we’ve been through a little bit too much for that one, right?”

“Go on,” I say, never wanting him to stop talking when he’s able to run on with a joke like this.

“We could go with ‘partner,’ but it’s a bit too reminiscent of ‘ally’ for my taste,” he states, and I nod. There’s no further explanation needed.

“I could be your ‘husband.’ I mean, we both know more than half the country still thinks we’re already married, but I wouldn’t want that because,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “believe it or not, I have a keen ability to make really good bread, and I will be damned if people think I had a toasting without the perfect loaf,” he continues. At this point, I’m really laughing while he smiles down at me.

“Or, I could be your ‘lover,’ which might actually be the most accurate title.”

“Why, because we were ‘star-crossed lovers’?” I ask drolly.

“No, because ‘lovers’ implies we’re having a lot of sex.” In response, I smack his arm while he guffaws.

“Alright, alright,” he begins while wiping away his tears from laughing too hard, “well that’s all I can think of. You got anything?”

I look up at him. His blue eyes are shining brighter in the moonlight with the help of his happy tears, and as his eyes find mine again, an easy softness covers his features. He is perfect.

“So one day you’re gonna give me a toasting with the perfect loaf?” I ask. A smile spreads across his lips.

“The absolute best one. A perfect golden brown crust that’s crispy and buttery and herby. The inside will be nice and soft.”

“Will there be fruit and nuts?”

“If that’s what you want.”

I smile. “Then how about after that happens, you can be my husband. But until then, we know that I am yours and you are mine and we are whatever it is that we are.”

He smiles back at me, and I blush, because after a year of doing whatever it is that this is, I will never get used to how much I love it.

“I love you, my whatever,” he says, holding back a laugh as he goes to kiss me on the cheek.

“I love you, too, my whatever,” I say, unable to stifle my chuckle like he could his.

We hold each other close as the crisp autumn air fills the room. My eyes are just starting to drift closed when Peeta asks, “So, I guess this means ‘lovers’ is totally off the table then, right?”

[betterthanthemovies]

sapphic romance haul!!! 🥰

[drewstarky]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist 

Chapter Three

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Detective!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

A/n: hello friends! I'm sorry I haven't posted in forever!!! its going to be a busy summer for me as its my last year in my acting program, and I have professional Shakespeare shows coming up (auditions and rehearsals) soon. I really hope to be active but im not sure how active I will be but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Add yourself to the Taglist

In all of Anthony’s life, he wanted people to love him. He wasn’t sure why but the praise of others and the showering of adoration towards him just gave him the feeling of being loved. Maybe it was because that’s what his life was missing, love. 

The current problem with wanting to be even just admired, was that you wouldn’t speak to him, unless absolutely necessary or with someone else in the room. He couldn’t pin point what had changed, but it put him in a grouchy mood. 

He had even snapped at George and Lucy at one point, because of it, which he felt bad about.

He just couldn’t understand why you would all of a sudden you just seem to loathe the mere presence of him. 

That was until he saw you having a conversation with none other than Quill Kipps in the library. That made Lockwood want to explode. He did his best to keep his composure, but how could he? Especially when someone he cared for was talking to his rival. 

You had laughed at something he said, before Anthony made his way over. 

“Tony! I see you have a new agent in training on your hands.” Kipps seemingly tries to antagonize him, “I thought you had enough troubles trying to keep your agency afloat, Being such a small and insignificant one.” 

Lockwood grits his teeth, and his fist goes into a ball, clenching it so tightly. 

“Anyway, my offer still stands.” He says directed towards Y/n in a overly confident tone before making his leave.

Anthony tightens his jaw even more if that was even possible to do so.

You shake your head while smiling, as Kipps leaves and Anthony notices. 

“When’d you get so chummy with Kipps?” He asks with an intensity that you can only describe as uncomfortable.

You ignore his prompted stare down, and shift over a book, and open it to start your next reading.

He keeps staring waiting for you answer.

“When did you get so controlling with who I talk to? Last time I checked you were my boss, not my boyfriend.” You say not even meeting his gaze, ignoring the way saying boyfriend made your body tingle.

He looks genuinely shocked, and hurt, when you spew the words with venom at him, wth a fiery anger, but you had to hate him, or else you’d hate everyone else around you. The problem was that hating everyone wasn't an option you wanted to explore, so your anger had to be directed towards Anthony Lockwood. That was or else it would consume you.

George walks towards the two, carefully, as if he could be the detonator to explode one of the two colleges of his on each other.

“I uh, found the paper in the archives we were looking for, Y/n.” He says before carefully setting it down on the table the two of you were working at.

George had noticed the tension in the house between Lockwood and Y/n, he knew Lucy could feel it too, as she kept trying to get Lockwood and Y/n to avoid each other as much as possible as she tried to figure out what triggered all this, for lack of a better term, teenage angst in the house. 

Well it felt like more than just teenage angst. It felt like a rage radiating off of the two directed towards each other, as if they were two old miserable manifestations bickering like an old couple while trying to murder everyone in the way that ticked them off.

Yeah that was more of the level of tension that was going on, especially when Lucy or himself got caught in the crossfire of the two. He actually didn’t hate Y/n, he had gotten to tolerate her during their times in the archives, but he couldn’t get a good reading of why she acted the way she did towards them, but mostly Lockwood. He was so curious of what was making her tick, or ticked off, pun intended.

Even Lockwood was making things feel off. He had been pissed almost every single day these past couple of weeks, and had even bursted with anger towards himself and Lucy.

George started to think of all the ways he could figure out what was wrong, and deiced to let Lucy in on his plot when he got home, to figure out what the hell these two had tasted to be so bitter to everyone.

George had come out of dreamland to find Y/n and Lockwood bickering.

“At least I talked to someone who wasn’t a stuck up prick for once!” Y/n almost yells.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong, love, you did talk to the stuck up prick, he just left with what’s left of his dignity, from the last time he was here!” Lockwood raises her one.

“Guys, Guys!” Lucy comes rushing In to break it up, “Maybe let’s try to not get kicked out of the archives? Y/n let’s uh, go get lunch, there’s this place I've been meaning to take you to.” 

Y/n gives Anthony one last glare before, picking up her jacket and heading out with Lucy.

“Well, that was awkward…” George mumbles faintly, before giving Lockwood a disappointed look before getting back to work.

“Urgh! He such a pompous ass!” You rant to Lucy, in between shoving pizza in your mouth. 

“Lockwood can be… selfish. But it’s really more because he wants the us and the whole agency to benefit… trust me I know it all too well.” She tries to console you, and you can see the genuine hurt in her eyes from it. 

If he could hurt Lucy, and get others hurt, even killed… who knows what the guy could do to you. Maybe the Job Kipps offered you wasn’t such a bad idea. 

It especially felt good to know it would make Lockwood infuriated. Maybe this was a chance to get a back at Lockwood a bit. Not to the degree you wanted, but it was something.

You make small talk with Lucy while eating, coming up with a plan in your head of how to piss him off the most.

To say Lockwood was pissed was a total understatement. He was enraged.

George and Lucy even seemed to tiptoed around Lockwood as of recently, and Lockwood felt nothing but isolated, and that led him to be able to sit and stew in his anger even longer. 

The both of you seemed to avoid each other physically, which made Lockwood all the more furious. The only time you’d see each other was for training, which George and Lucy had taken over most of that, and cases.

Today you had to train with your rapier again, and that was the main thing Lockwood oversaw.

“C’mon again!” He yells, as you missed one of the practice targets. 

You glare daggers into his direction, as he seemly does the same. 

“I would be a lot better if I didn’t have the constant screaming in my ear.” You mumble sarcastically.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that? Maybe you could actually try this time?” He says before smirking and leaning back to where he was sitting seeming satisfied with ticking you off.

“I’d like to see you do better.” You taunt stalking towards him, “The best I’ve seen in action was the Fittes team at a case I was working.”

He clenches his jaw, looking at you with an intense fire behind his eyes. 

“You’re more show than skill.” You smirk as his face turns even more sour. He gets up and moves right into your personal space. 

“Really? If you think I’m all show, then lets put it to the test, Love.” He pulls his rapier out and backs you into the wall.

You visibly gulp, not because of his challenge, but the sheer proximity of how close his face was to yours. 

He stares into your eyes, with his full of an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. He had a anger but there was something else behind it. 

He shakes his head and scoffs, turning around walking away.

That made your whole body burn with fury. You knew he was one of the best from stories you had heard, but boy did that make you want to try harder to be better. 

“Like I said, all show.” You mumble loud enough for him to hear. 

He stops on the spot, turning around about to say something, and before he can Lucy is running down the stairs with a small stack of letters in her hand. 

“Hey, Y/n You’ve got mail.” 

You give Lockwood a victory smirk, and he gives you a glare saying ‘this isn’t over’.

“Thanks, Lucy.” You take the mail form her, before looking it over, until stopping on one letter in particular. 

“Crap…” you mumble to yourself, opening it quickly. 

Lockwood and Lucy seem intrigued to know what had gotten the rise out of you.

You skim over the letter, or well, the invitation. Your grandparents wanted to see you, and you knew that they rarely did unless it had to do with their agenda. 

You started to feel ill, hoping it was you actually getting sick to get out of it, instead of the idea of visiting them. 

“What is it?” Lockwood asks slightly worried as you lean to grab the wall. 

You want to throw the letter out, but you hand it to Lucy, “You can read it amongst yourselves, if you wish, Especially since I think I’m going to need you to accompany me.”

They give each other a look, as you head upstairs and They both follow you up quickly, if not seconds later. 

George seems intrigued to what is going on, and comes out of the sitting room area, with his usual cleaning gear on, and duster in his hand. 

Lucy starts reading aloud, “Y/n Y/l/n and Lockwood & co, You are formally invited to The Saunders Ball, this Friday. Please wear formal wear and please arrive early to meet and dine with The Saunders.”

“How in the bloody hell do you know the Saunders?!” Lockwood almost yells.

George pipes up, “And why would one of the oldest of richest families in London want dinner with with us?”

“Blood Relation, to me, unfortunately.” You say, wishing this wasn’t their reaction. 

Lucy and Lockwood sit there with their mouths ajar, while George looks like he’s going through every probability in his mind.

“Look, there’s no need to come. I can face my grandparents myself-“

“There’s no way were passing this up. It’s an opportunity for the company to find more clients.” Lockwood pipes up.

Your jaw clenches as try you to smile to pretend to be pleased that he wants to come. 

“Great. does everyone have formal wear? Or do we have to go shopping?”

Lucy shakes her head no, and you give a light smile, before grabbing her hand.

“Let’s go then, my treat.” You say before running out the door with Lucy. 

Lockwood gives one last glance at the door, before standing up.

“C’mon George, Lets go find out all we can about the Saunders.”

Lockwood wouldn’t try to dive into your history if he could help it, but he needed to know anything he could about who’s doors he was about to step into and how to best be prepared to gain new clients. 

Lucy had told you a bit about her past life, how she didn’t come from much, and her old employer, and briefly what happened to her best friend Norrie.

“Hey Lu?” You grab her attention with the nickname you called her in your nightly talks, “Im sorry.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, looking directly at you as you walked down the street of the shops. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this. It’s something my Mum left in the past when she left home from my grandparents. I’ve never really lived rich my mother just came from money.” You sigh as you continue to explain, “We really lived off of my Dad’s pay, and my mother worked part time in a flower shop. It- it’s not really important what they did. But my grandparents- well they only ever summon me if they want something.”

Lucy gives a sympathetic look, with almost an understanding. 

“My grandparents hated my dad, because the took their only daughter away, to live a ‘life of poverty’ and my dad, ‘he couldn’t provide’. Ah, it’s so messed up! Then my parents had me, and all they ever wanted was me to become their ‘Perfect grandchild of the Saunders’ but I never was that, or could be that.” You ramble it all out.

“I’m sorry y/n” she replies, “For all that family rubbish. I- I know the struggle of family too well.” She mentions with an understanding you’ve never felt. 

You felt so heard. You felt so seen even though your pasts couldn’t have been more different. It was so touching.

“Thank you. For being my friend.” You blurt out, as she gives you a genuine smile. 

“C’mon let's check out this shop!” You say while dragging her in and you both giggle. 

Lockwood was tapping his fingers against the table. He was getting George to pull article after article about your grandparents. After Fairfax, Lockwood couldn’t just walk into this blindly, especially at the reaction that Y/n had at the mere invitation of dinner with them. 

The archives seemed to have little to no information so far, other than that they were old money for being a huge lavender supply over the years and that they had a similar social circle to Fairfax; rich and socialites. Their only link to each other was Marissa Fittes and Penelope Fittes.

Lockwood sighed, as he hoped this wouldn’t turn into another Fairfax situation. At this point in time, he didn’t think he could really trust y/n anymore. 

But maybe that was the problem between himself and y/n, that she couldn’t trust him. He never had thought about it that way. He had told Lucy and George about his past, but not y/n, so maybe that’s why she didn’t share much about herself. 

Maybe it was time Lockwood let himself go of this rampant disease of the feeling of resentment. At least to a small degree, just so they all could survive dinner and the ball with one of London's most powerful and influential families. 

It was finally the day to head to dinner and the ball with your grandparents, and you were just pretending to have it all together, but underneath you were an earthquake of nerves waiting to start to rumble. 

You were curling Lucy’s hair with an curling iron, trying to distract yourself from the whole situation. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have on.” You mention breaking the almost silence as the record player played a soft tune in the back of the room.

She grabs it, fiddling with it, “Thanks, Lockwood gave it to me, for the Fittes ball.” You freeze for a second, trying to hold your face still in the same way it was. 

You were partly shocked she even mentioned it, because that was the night your father had died at the hands of him.  You were Devastated but wasn’t the only emotion you were feeling, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest when she said Lockwood gave it to her. You hated yourself even more for falling into this trap of his charms. 

You were trying to hold a small smile, ads you finished Lucy’s hair. Your eyes started to water slightly, and as you tried to hold your tears in, there was a knock at the door. 

“Luce, Y/n, are you two ready yet?” Lockwood asks from the other side.

“You’re done Lu.” You say before turning around before the tears started to come out and started to go get your dress on. 

“I’m coming out, Y/n just has to put her dress on.” Lucy explains.

“Okay.” He repsonds.

Lucy slips out, and you here her shoes click against the stairs as she walks down. 

You wipe away your tears and start to pull your dress on before hearing your name being called.

 “Y/n?” 

“Yes Lockwood?” You reply.

You start to struggled with he zipper on your dress, as Lockwood starts to speak, “I just wanted to say that I’m- Y/n/n are you okay?” He asks as you made a loud sound as you crashed into the vanity. 

“Uh yeah I just can’t- I can’t get this stupid zipper.” You sigh in defeat, “Can you come in and help me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He says as he opens the door. His breath is taken away as If his lungs were ghost touched. You were leaning against the vanity, with a beautiful red dress on. 

“I know it’s pathetic but that the last case we had this week hurt my shoulder, so you don’t have to say it.” You mention looking away, before meeting his gaze. 

Was he… admiring you? You couldn’t tell for the few seconds he looked at you, before his expression changed as he moved towards you.

“It was my fault, on that case. I should have prepared you more so don’t worry about it. I’m just glad the dresser that hit you in the shoulder didn’t hurt you more.” He said, “That was quick moving, your getting out of the way before it squashed you.“ 

That was almost a compliment and an admittance of fault. What was going on with him? He motions for you to turn around and you do. As he moves your hair out of the way, a shiver runs down your spine, and goose bumps arise on your skin. 

You try to distract yourself at the feeling of his close proximity to you by cracking a joke, “Yeah well, now I can’t zip myself up, or get out of this stupid gown. Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for this choice of attire I truly adore feeling trapped.” 

He laughs a small almost silent laugh, as he grabs the zipper and slowly zips it up. It was agonizingly slow. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this to spite you, or because he was feeling the same weird feelings that you were. 

You shook off the second thought, it had to be to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t have second thoughts on this no matter how warm it made your body feel. 

You swear you heard him take a shaky breath in before he finished and you turned to face him. You were really close to his face, and you could see the way his eyes looked almost puppy dog like. His eyes trailed your whole face for a few seconds before he took a small step back.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm, before you both descended the stairs, heading out to the car to take you to the infamous Saunders ball. You only hoped that your grandparents didn’t pull some bullshit like they usually did with you. 

You had no idea what was in store for you and your team, and that’s what was killing you. The not knowing.

Taglist:

@waitingforthesunrise @sleep-i-ness @rinisfruity14 @uku-lelevillain

[gracegrove]

TW 70s era use of the word "queer"

Neil Hargrove doing a very working-class thing by volun-telling Billy that he will be spending his summer as a 14-year-old doing hard manual labor on a job site with some random ass uncle he didn't even know he had until one morning over dry Cheerios.

Neil drops him off at Uncle Matt's in Anaheim with a backpack and a duffel bag. See ya in September. "Don't cause your uncle any trouble," he warned with a thick grip on the shoulder before he took off for the interstate.

Billy stared at the man with hard eyes, his arms crossed in defiance. "You're not my real Uncle..."

The man chortled, ash sprinkling from the thick cigar chomped in his teeth. "Ya think so, tough guy?" He chuckled some more, waving for Billy to come inside.

Uncle Matt was a large man, as wide as he was tall. The furniture groaned when he sat down, casually kicking off his work boots and shrugging out of his suspenders as he picked up the can of beer from the side table.

"So Willy..." "It's Billy." Uncle Matt gave him a toothy grin. "Billy," he corrected, "Ya ever work a day in yer life?"

Billy sat on the corner of the couch, as the man took a long sip from his Coors. "Kinda. I mow lawns n' stuff."

Matt chuckled, "Ya ain't gonna be mowing no fucking lawns here! This is gonna be hardass work kid. Best get some sleep now..."

Billy rolled his eyes and headed off to the bedroom he was given.

After the first month, Billy and Uncle Matt fell into a routine. Matt's wind-up alarm clock was grating and shrill enough to wake Billy before Matt got two extra snores in at sunrise. The pair shared toast, eggs, and Folger's instant before heading out to the job site.

Billy's hands had gotten rough and calloused. Blistered and scabbed over more times than he could count.

"Hey Billy!" Matt called out over the ending shift horn. Billy slung the hammer in his grip onto the loop of his jeans and began climbing down the ladder. "Yah?"

"We're gonna have some company over tonight for dinner. My bookkeeper, Dan. So play nice." Billy smiled wryly. "I always play nice."

Things seemed a bit odd when dinnertime began rolling around. Uncle Matt was combing and carefully parting his hair in the mirror and was that the stench of aftershave on his beard?

Also for the first time in his life, Billy discovered what a tablecloth looked like as Matt carefully smoothed it across the dining room table. Billy crinkled his nose in suspicion, "Dan's a woman."

Matt barked out a laughed. "You're a hoot kid! Wait till Dan hears that!"

The doorbell rang and Matt stood up straight, smoothing his shirt. "Billy, can you set the plates out while I get the door?" Billy squinted at him, as the man hurried out of the room.

Peeking his head around the corner Billy snuck a glance at their guest.

Dan was not what Billy was expecting and he certainly wasn't a woman either. Dan was an average man of average height. He had shaggy brown hair and a thick mustache to boot. His face was set with round thick-rimmed glasses. What was so special about Dan that they had to have dinner with him?

The men hugged at the door, the embrace uncharacteristic of how Billy believed men should act around each other. They regarded each other warmly. "I'm so glad you came," Matt said quietly. "Me too. I've missed you."

Scurrying back, Billy quickly set the table and sat down, his heart thundering. He suddenly felt like he shouldn't be here. Like he was now a part of a horrible secret.

"Billy, this is Dan." Matt introduced as they entered the room. Billy awkwardly rose from his chair, weakly shaking his hand. "H-hey."

"Why don't you two have a seat and I'll fetch the chow, huh?" Matt said happily, a hand on Dan's shoulder.

"Oh, I'll help!" Billy forcibly stated, rushing into the kitchen.

Matt raised an eyebrow, "Ok..."

In the kitchen, Billy was nervously wringing his hands around a hot pad as Matt entered. "Are you a queer?" he blurted out, regretting it in an instant.

Matt set down the crockery he had set to take in. "I am Billy. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Billy twisted the hot pad back and forth in his hands, "I... – I don't know. It's like..." He was struggling, his nose scrunching and his eyes watering up. "You're... you're not supposed to."

Uncle Matt ripped a paper towel off the rack and handed it to Billy. "It's okay tough guy, you don't gotta figure it all out right now. If you wanna have dinner in your room you can."

Billy shook his head, blowing his nose loudly. "But you made all this, and... you're real nice, and... –"

"... a damned queer." Matt added with a deadpan delivery. "Just don't tell your father, he'd have a heart attack."

Billy laughed.

"Now c'mon. Chow's gettin' cold."

[slagginbitch]

scenario:

through the unmedicated adhd haze i manage to post one fic a year. i check kudos and hits obsessively for a few days and then try to put it out of my mind. mostly. sometimes i succeed.

one day in my email i see i've gotten a comment that isn't from a close friend. i break out in a cold sweat, hoping they liked it but telling myself not to take it too hard if they didn't.

with trepidation i navigate to ao3

and find one of the sweetest comments i've ever received.

it makes me day. my week. maybe even my month. i'm going to reread this comment anytime i need a pick-me-up.

while replying i try not to cry. i feel revived.

[frostbeees]

will you know me?

2023 wrappedmas day four • song: Georgia by Phoebe Bridgers

ao3 · masterpost

Nolan hasn’t seen or talked to Nick since that night almost ten years ago now.

As Nolan’s driving down the winding Michigan backroads, he thinks maybe this was a mistake. He gets the invite every year, the annual friends and family weekend at the Hughes’ Lakehouse, and for the past ten years, he’s either made up some bullshit excuse not to go or he’s been out of the country. It’s worked for him. He hasn’t had to see any of the bridges he’s burned or the broken hearts he left behind. And he’s especially been able to avoid the one person that both of those things apply to. 

But the thing is he’s grown. Or at least he thinks so. He probably hasn’t. He’s probably the same ol’ shithead that he’s been since he hit puberty all those years ago. But he’s definitely not the same fuckup who decided to “confess his love” to his best friend on the night of said best friend’s wedding so that has to count for something. 

And even if he was, he’s past that. Nolan hasn’t seen or talked to Nick since that night almost ten years ago now. He deleted all of his social media, blocked numbers in his phone, got right with God (and then decided fuck that specifically), and figured his shit out. He just never got to the "making amends" part of it all, which maybe in hindsight is why he should have ignored the invite once again.

He finally gets to the house and navigates the sprawling driveway littered with other parked cars both shiny and new, probably belonging to the guys still in the show, and others more like his, dented and chipped paint, guys who clearly couldn’t hang with the big dogs. He finds an open spot and parks his truck, turns it off, and takes a few minutes to do the breathing exercises his therapist taught him. They don’t really do the trick this time as anxiety still simmers beneath his skin but he did them more for the routine of it than anything else. 

It’s easier once he’s inside, familiar faces lighting up when they see him. Daps all around. Nolan comes across quite a few unfamiliar faces as well as he makes his way through the entryway and into the rest of the house. A couple of kids even -for fuck's sake he's old- just little tykes darting between the legs of innocent bystanders. He has no idea who they belong to but they look suspiciously like even littler Hugheses (not surprising) except for the little girl with dark, thick hair and high cheekbones that are a familiar blotchy red color from exertion. 

Nolan makes small talk with the Duke boys and Luke who are all posted up in the kitchen. They thankfully hand him a beer without him asking and he throws a salute back their way as he sneaks out the backdoor and onto the deck. 

He’s not admitting defeat yet but it is quieter out here, less overstimulating. Nolan’s stopped to talk to Zegras and Drysdale, still somehow attached at the hip even after being separated in a nasty trade deal. He’s always liked Z. He’s insane, mind still moving a mile a millisecond but he also knows how to bring a person down which is a relief. They move on eventually, Z claiming the need to find food to "keep Jimmy happy or else". He doesn’t elaborate on what the ‘or else’ means though.

Nolan’s alone for the first time since arriving at the party and he takes a minute to just lean over the railing, beer dangling in his fingers as he takes in the lake behind the house. The ambient noise of the boats on the water and the people at the party is enough to distract him from a body sidling up against him and when he glances over, he’s shocked, to say the least.  

“Long time, no see sport,” Nick says, voice careful and flat even if his face is as cheery as ever. And he’s right. It’s been a long time. 

“Hey chief,” Nolan replies, just like their old script went. 

They spend the evening catching up, eventually moving from the deck railing to some Adirondack chairs down on the beach. They occasionally get interrupted by a stray kid running down the shoreline to show off whatever gross thing they found in the water or one of the dogs bringing them a ball to toss. But they hit all the basics. Nick’s injury that finally made him retire, his new job in Columbus teaching youth hockey. Nolan’s retirement after a year of bouncing around teams that didn’t really want him, bumming around his hometown much to the dismay of his parents. They dance around the obvious subject until the sun starts to set and Nolan’s had enough beer to give him a nice, confident buzz.

“So how’s Ken–,” Nolan glances down at Nick’s ring finger which he’s now realizing is startling bare. Not even a tan line to indicate recent wearing of a ring. “Oh.”

“Ah yeah,” Nick says with a stretch. “Kendra moved out a couple of years ago now. Took the dog and left a note saying something about me never really loving her or whatever. She was probably right. Hard to love someone when you’re not over someone else.”

Nolan gives an understanding hum but Nick keeps going. “What about you? You manage to settle down with someone?”

“Nah.” The old Nolan would make some sort of joke, something about not wanting to be tied down, needing to be free. The new Nolan is different, apparently. “Hard to do when you want someone you can’t have.”

When he finally looks away from the water, Nick’s looking up at him with the most earnest expression, which is saying a lot for a man who could get mixed up with a sad puppy in a lineup. He’s not really sure what to do with it so he does the next best thing.

“You wanna?” Nolan waggles his eyebrows, making his intent super clear. He nods towards the shed down by the water. “For old time's sake?”

Nick’s quiet for a few minutes. Which– Isn’t a no, but also isn’t a yes to Nolan’s proposition.

“What if we try something new?” Nick asks and Nolan is confused. They’ve done basically everything from drunken blowies in a frat basement to sweet, drawn-out morning sex. There’s nothing sexual they didn’t check off the list in college. And anything they haven’t managed to try definitely can’t be done in a shitty shed. “Let me take you on a date? A real date.”

Nolan huffs out a laugh mostly out of surprise but also to cover up whatever his face must be doing right now. 

“Yeah, okay old man. Let’s do it right this time.”

[jrooc]

Final Chapter Live - Staring at The Sun

The final chapter of my canon-divergent story SATS is live on a03. Just a simple story filled with some fluff, angst and smut.

Start from the beginning here. 🥇

Read the Epilogue here. 🎬

Or just listen to the playlist 🎶

Thanks to my beta @bawlbrayker for all the support ❤️

Summary: It's 8 months after Ian and Mickey got back together. They're happy. Or are they? Relationships are falling a part around them and someone new in their lives creates problems and stirs up old trauma.

*This is a follow up to my other story but you don't have to read it to follow along.

** Also for all my Debbie stans out there - there's a Debbie storyline fix-it in here too

[jesstasticvoyage]

I'm just writing a little something. I haven't decided if I plan to continue it, but I figured why not post it here. It's been a hot minute since I've posted my writing on this blog.

It's written from the perspective of Billy from Daisy Jones & The Six.

Nicotine-stained fingers drummed against his knee, the fabric worn to the point he was able to feel the heat of his skin radiate through. A song itched for release, rattling inside his anxious mind. The way it danced and teased Billy, taunting him with creative familiarity, yet he couldn't put those fucking words to paper.

God, it used to come easy all those years back. The muse pulsed through him at a fevered intensity, a blissful coke-fueled high he chased down and harnessed. To the extent that intense ferocity caused his aching fingers to beg for reprieve. How they ached after hours of writing, strumming, and picking just the right chords.

Fuck. How he longs for those days. How he took them for granted.

Billy thought he was there, dancing along the cusp of a creative break from a hellish, prolonged dry spell. His thinking to awaken that long-slumbering muse was to flip through pages of an old photo album. The pages creaked as he went, and the familiar intoxicating familiarity stirred within. Yet, as soon as it awakened, it immediately snoozed, instantly pissing him off. With a frustrated voice, Billy said. “It’s never going to be the same, will Cami?” A photograph, yellowed at the edges in the beat-up album, stared back at him. A self-portrait of his late wife smiled at him through a mirror’s reflection. A flowy dress, one she’d worn to the point Billy could remember how nice the material felt as his calloused fingers ran through it. It’s been years since his goodbye to the love of his life. His Aurora. She stood by him through the good, bad, and the bullshit. Through all the things which threatened to crack the foundation, they’ve worked hard to rebuild after his continual fuck ups. As cliche as the saying is, Billy feels part of him died along with Cami.

Billy snapped the album shut harder than intended and ran arthritic fingers through his thick, wavy hair. His old guitar sat beside him on the couch, desperate for his familiar touch. Billy knows he’ll pick it up and strum until a few songs from his Dunne Brothers’ days come through. The songs fans requested he upload it to TikTok along with a couple from when Daisy was in the group. The thing was, Billy wanted to wow those fans with something new. Original. This song speaks of love lived and lost through the cruelty of time. No matter how long Cami’s been gone, her ghost caresses his soul and encourages him to move forward. That strong desire to do so sits on his cracked heart, and no matter how hard Billy tries to stitch the broken pieces together, he just finds it’s too fucking hard without her.

A drink sounds good right about now.

[notsocooljess]

the least he can do

After making some progress on managing Peeta's behavior and improving his memory since he was rescued from the Capitol, Peeta's doctors think it's time to introduce him to individuals that have connections to his time in the Games. Haymitch agrees to help them out. Given everything that's happened, it's the least he can do.

originally posted for the Fandoms United for Helene Relief collection.

find it on ao3 now

[betterthanthemovies]

book mail! 💌

[drewstarky]

Detecting The Haunted

Pairing : Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Ex-detective!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, death, blood, gore, basically things that are in the Lockwood and co series (individual chapters will have more specific warnings)

Summary: Y/n a now ex-detective, had always been warned by her father never to become an agent. But in desperate times and having to take desperate measures, Lockwood and co convinces her to stay due to them seemingly being her only current option, even though she has to live with the one and only, Anthony bloody Lockwood who she can't seem to get past loathing.

Main Masterlist

Chapters

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

[gracegrove]

Change

🙃 a little snip bc I had to find a new therapist

_____

"You have no goals, Billy," the therapist stated from behind his desk, "I cannot help you if you have no goals."

Crossing his arms, Billy leaned back into the stiff office chair. "I have goals... you just don't like them."

The therapist looked at him with shrewd eyes. "You have no short-term goals. Ones to improve your mental health..."

"Getting outta this shithole of a town will improve my mental health."

"That's a long-term goal."

"Whatever."

The therapist set his notepad aside. "Look, Billy, I genuinely want to help you, but until you're willing to put some work in there's nothing for us to do."

Billy scoffed, rising to his feet. "Some help you are." He quit the room with the door slamming behind him.

"Fuck 'em," Billy told himself as he drove out of the business lot.

This was stupid. He had goals. He knew exactly what he wanted and how to work for it. He wouldn't let some poindexter in a tweed suit tell him what he was or wasn't capable of.

Weeks passed and things remained the same. Work, drink, smoke, repeat. Billy's mood was foul. Over the past week, Max started avoiding him and Steve started driving by to pick her up.

Digging around in the refrigerator, a lit cigarette in his mouth Billy grumbled as he set to making his lunch for the next day. Bread, pickles, mustard... where's the bologna? Where's the goddamned bologna?

Not pulling his head from inside the fridge Billy asked aloud, "Where'd the meat go?"

Susan looked up from the table, "What?"

"The bologna," Billy stated, poking his head out the door, "where is it?"

"I used the last of it for yesterday's lunches."

Grinding his teeth, Billy chewed into his cigarette, the filter threads spreading across his tongue. "How'm I supposed to make a damn sandwich with no meat?"

Susan looked at him wordlessly.

"Chill out, it's just some cold cuts," Max piped in from the living room, "just buy a burger or something."

Billy slammed the fridge shut, "I shouldn't have to spend my money when you could eat less!"

Max got up from the couch heading toward the kitchen, "Girl's gotta eat..."

Billy met her in the small hall space and breathed smoke into her face. "You wanna eat so bad, go make your own money."

"You need help!" Max snapped.

Billy slammed his fist against the trailer wall startling Max, before he stalked off to his room.

Collapsing onto his bed, he ashed his desiccated cigarette on the dirty plate sitting on his nightstand.

"I fucking need something," he thought to himself.

Which is why he was now here, sitting in this waiting room. Staring blankly at the saltwater fish tank with three fish and a bubbling treasure chest.

"Billy?" A squat woman with large coke bottle glasses was in the doorway.

"Yeah, that's me."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Come on in."

[jesspendley]

The arrival of fall typically makes me desperately productive. Like I can feel winter coming and the new year hot on my tail and I have to run to make the remainder of this year worthy. Worthy of what exactly is a deeper question to answer (of you, of me, of all of the things sacrificed that I could have been doing in lieu of all of this) but it’s a driver.

I’m self-aware enough to know that this is most likely a result of my executive dysfunction stretched to a macro scale but I always liked to think of it as an instinct. Another special little something that the universe gave me in exchange for…I don’t know—the ability to do math in my head. Or eat the fresh produce in the fridge before it goes bad. Or message someone back in a reasonable amount of time. The universe does not give or take in equal measure so it could be a lot of things. Continued on Substack

[gins-potter]

Now that you’re just about 52 (whole cow congrats) chapters into your Winx rewrite, what kind of writing process do you have for each chapter? Do you take notes or the scripts on the ep, have them playing in the background?

The differences between writing a rather faithful rewrite and a full on fanfic seems so interesting!

However you done it, it’s been working great, this huge milestone is well deserved!

Ha ha wow, 52 seems like so many 😅

So, my process, well I write all the notes for the volume before I even start writing proper. I did a full watch through and made notes of each scene, what I would change, emotional beats, pieces of dialogue sometimes, just real stream of consciousness stuff pretty much. I write them all first so I have a really good idea about what the fic as a whole will look like and can go back and change anything in the notes if I have to. I didn't do this for volume 1, i wrote notes chapter by chapter hence why I had to do fairly heavily editing afterwards that I won't have to do for volume 2 because it ended up much more cohesively.

Then when writing each chapter I always have my laptop set up sort of in a triple split. So on the right half of my screen I have scrivener open and the top half of the program is my working doc, and the bottom half is a table with the 4kids script, the rai script, and my notes all side by side. The left side is the 4kids episode open to refer to if I need to as I write. This window is also where I usually have ao3 open with volume 1 and 2 to refer to, where I do all my googling etc.etc.

I don't play the episode all the time, i usually just do a quick watch of a scene just to see if there's any physical beats that aren't in the scripts or my notes that I want to include. My fic is definitely a hybrid, and I'll pick bits and pieces of dialogue out of both dubs to use.

I hope all this makes sense ha ha

[frostbeees]

just wait 'til i give you a sign

2023 wrappedmas day seven • song: be my mistake by the 1975

ao3 • masterpost

Brendan goes through his postgame routine and doesn’t miss a step despite not being able to focus on anything. Anything that isn’t Thom, that is. He cools down on the bike, takes his shower, grabs his postgame pre-packaged meal, and falls into his normal seat on the bus back to the hotel. 

He does not wait outside the home team locker room at Tech CU. He doesn’t glance down the hallways around the visitor’s locker room to see if anyone (Thom) is waiting for him. 

Once he’s back at the hotel he pulls on just a pair of sweats, game day suit shrugged off and meticulously hung in the closet. He takes a call from his dad although he doesn’t really participate, just lets his dad talk at him about the game while he scrolls through Insta. He regrets the decision immediately, though, as the first story he opens is a blurry shot of Thom and fucking Eklund. Thom’s face is barely recognizable as it’s buried in Eklund’s neck but Brendan can make out the tattoo behind his ear. 

“Sorry Dad, I’m about to pass out,” Brendan lies. “Can we catch up tomorrow?”

“Of course, love you.”

“Love you too,” Brendan says as he disconnects the call. 

He should go to bed. He should plug his phone in over on the desk where he can’t reach it easily and do something stupid. He also never should have fucked things up with Thom but here he is and there Thom is with his new fucking– whatever they are. 

But Brendan doesn’t do the smart thing. He shoots off a simple “1137, come over?” text to Corms and waits. He doesn’t get a response right away but a few minutes later he hears a soft knock at his door. 

He doesn’t say anything as he answers the door but Lukas doesn’t either as he pushes past Brendan and pulls off his hoodie, discarding it somewhere on the other side of the bed. His shorts go next as Brendan flips the security lock on the door and follows suit, dropping his sweats and climbing into bed. 

“What do you want?” Lukas finally asks as he pushes Brendan down against the pillows and throws a leg over his thighs, situating himself in Brendan’s lap. Brendan doesn’t think about how he fits there so well just like Thom used to. 

There are only two thin pieces of fabric keeping them from being fully skin-to-skin and Brendan’s dick definitely takes quick interest. But even as his dick is chubbing up in his underwear, he can’t bring himself to ask for it. 

He wouldn’t have had to ask Thom. 

Thom would have climbed on top of him and put Brendan’s hands in his hair which probably smelled like the specialty shampoo he ordered in bulk. He would have rolled Brendan over and opened him up, soft and slow with his mouth first and then his fingers before sliding in and filling him up in a way that left Brendan seeing stars. 

Lukas is tentative, staring down with his big brown eyes and shiny lower lip. Brendan wants it, wants him to lean down and kiss him hard and mean, mark him up a little, make him hurt and get out of his own head. But he doesn’t want to ask.

“Can we just sleep? I didn’t want to be alone.” Brendan’s telling a half-truth but Lukas doesn’t call him on it, just eases off Brendan’s thighs and lays down next to him, front pressed against Brendan’s back. “You can fuck me in the morning though.”

[thesitharts]

Come get y’all juice

@zipquips @d3epfriedangels @hotshot9 @smoooothbrain @alexeithegoat @commanderbengiskywalker @gen-has-green-vibes