#just imagine what would happen if for once I could finally prove to myself that I can live my own life the way I want to

[strohller27]

.

[miyamizuna]

Is it that sweet? I guess so~

Haikyuu boys as lyrics from "Espresso" by Sabrina Carpenter part 1 | part 2 ft. miya atsumu, kuroo tetsuro, semi eita

I can’t relate, to desperation (miya atsumu)

Being the MSBY social media manager means work- especially when it comes to Miya Atsumu. It seems like every other week he gets himself. caught up in controversy. Whether it be him being too touchy with an already-married older actress, or even being spotted on dates with multiple female idols. It’s your job to defend his already poor internet reputation. 

“Y/n~ c’mon now, one date is all I'm askin’! Throw me a bone here!” He pleads for the 5th time today. He was sure to be persistent after the many rejections before.

“Miya, how many times do I have to tell you no?” You sigh as you reject him once more to add onto the tally of 56 rejections over the course of a year. 

Sure he was attractive, what normal person would say no to a 6’1” professional volleyball player? Sadly you know firsthand about his player activities. You understand it though, a young early twenties male is bound to act like this. though the severity of actions vary on a case-to-case basis; he happens to be on the far end of the spectrum. 

“Besides, it’s unprofessional to have a relationship between the two of us. I’m your manager.” You explain to him hoping finally you’d be able to get the message through his thick skull.

“Professional or not, who cares! give me a chance to prove myself! C’mon I've been good recently, no contreveries!” He explains trying to persuade your thoughts.

“If you call being spotted with a married woman in a fancy restaurant ‘good behaviour’, I don’t know what to tell you.” You frown as you avert your eyes from him, back to your laptop, typing out a public apology for Atsumu’s recent events.

With a frown, he steps forward and closes your laptop whilst leaning over your desk. His figure obviously towering over your sitting self. 

“Enough of that, It wouldn’t be the same as those famous women who only want me to have an affair. It’s different with you.” He explains with sincerity as if this time he actually means what he says.

You look up at him with a smirk and now with crossing arms, leaning back on your office chair. “Oh really? Maybe when you give me an easier time with your little affairs, I’ll consider it.”

That's when his face lights up and puts on a stupid grin and leans in closer to your ear. i’m

 “Oh you bet.” He whispers seductively in your ear before pulling away and walking to the door of the office. 

“Well, see ya around Y/n, ya better hold up yer end of this.” He tells you before walking out of your office.

God this man. He's so… desperate for attention!

and I got this one boy, he won’t stop calling (kuroo tetsuro)

42 missed calls. Are you fucking kidding me? You had met this hot guy today at the cafe you work at, he was a tall man in a business suit, kind of built as you could see some of his triceps through the dress shirt, a really classy guy overall, though odd his hair didn’t match the aesthetic. You left your number on his cup just for the slight off chance he wasn’t in a relationship. Clearly, he’s not in one.

You decided to call him back, afterall you were busy with the cafe with the 8 hour shift you had just worked. Now lying on your stomach first, your leg hanging off the bed, you hit the call button.

“Hello?” a male voice says after only one ring. 

“Uhm, Hi. You left 42 calls on my phone.” You informed him as if he wasn’t already aware of what he did.

“Oh yeah, I did do that~” He teases through the phone. “So what’s your name, coffee girl?” 

“It’s L/N Y/N, and you?” You ask with a semi-interested tone returning the energy of his voice.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsuro. Y/n is a pretty name ya know” He flirts through the phone. 

You can just imagine his silly smirk, the same exact one as when he saw the cafe when he read your number, and then the “call me <3” written under it. 

“So I take it you’re not taken as you’re calling me” You suggest as you twirl your hair and kick your legs, god you feel like a teenage girl.

“Nah, I’m not taken. Haven’t really had a girlfriend before, closest was talking stages.” he explains you hear the ruffling of papers in the background. 

So that explains the 42 calls. Takes a man's guts to admit that.

“You don’t exactly know what you’re doing, don’t you~” You tease as you hear a sigh from the end of the phone.

“Well no- I do know what I’m doing! Just I wanted to get to know you- soon!” He fumbles words trying to explain himself which brings a laugh out of you.

“Suuuure…” 

There’s now a long awkward pause in the conversation. In which both of you don’t exactly know what to ask each other next.  

“Soo- Are you a full-time worker at that cafe?” He suddenly asks, speaking up to fill the silence.

“Well no, I’m still in college. I’m going there for an English degree. How about you? You seem like you got a pretty good job.” You explain, then follow up with a question about himself. 

“Well darling, I’m a sports promoter, specifically for volleyball. I work for the Japanese Volleyball Association.” He informs you with a proud tone. 

This does pique your interest, not every day do you meet a guy who works for a sporting association who happens to walk inside a hole-in-the-wall café.

“Well shit, that's cool! Did you play in high school or something?” You ask now, flipping over onto your back to a more comfortable position.

“I did- made it to nationals during my last year.” He answers with a cocky tone. There is more shuffling of papers in the background, maybe he’s still at work-

“Kuroo! We need the papers finalised by tonight!” A voice from the background of his end says with a very demanding tone. Causing him to groan into the phone.

“Well you certainly heard my boss…” He sighs. “Call you back cutie. We still need to finalise our date.” He tells you before hanging up the phone not even leaving time for you to respond to his statement.

“huh…? DATE?” You shout to the void that is your room. 

Man, this guy is confident. Both him personally, and you being too willing to give this man a chance. You know one thing though. You’re definitely going to come back to 42 calls again.

I'm working late bc I’m a singer (semi eita)

Oh, Semi Eita, the lead singer and guitarist of his little band. The foundation of what his band is about all stems from him. His rock style is unique, flashy if you call it. He always felt the need to stand out from others. You know that best as his significant other. Since high school, he’s always been a show-off or tried to be. Because of his show-off nature, he was benched on the volleyball team in his 3rd year. 

Now here he is, slumped over on his office desk at one in the damn morning, struggling to come up with meaning to his new song. 

“You know, Eita, This song must really got you stumped. You haven’t stayed up writing this late in forever.” You smirk leaning on the doorframe to his office. You both know that you’re right.

Eita usually has a set schedule; sleeps at 11 pm, unlike his teen days when he’ll pull all-nighters for fun. He sighs and turns his office chair around. 

“Well, I guess you can say that.” He replies as he tiredly smiles at you. 

You walk over to his desk, the wood planks creek in the silence of night, and lean over his shoulder to look at the song. 

“So what’s this song about?” You ask him while reading the lyrics. 

“A boy who fell in love with a girl and sees her with rose-tinted glasses.” He explains as he taps the pen on the paper every few seconds, clearly in thought.

“Well is she a good person, or a bad person.” You ask, sitting yourself at the corner of his desk. 

He sits at his desk long in thought. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know.” He admits and he runs a hand through his hair, the other hand twirling the pen around.

“Well when you think of this girl, who do you think of?” You ask him whilst  playing with the drawer of his desk that sits above you. 

as he sits there in thought, an idea suddenly pops into his head. There is one girl in particular that comes into his head.

“I think of you.” He lets out with a grin as he ruffles your hair, causing you to let put a laugh

“Me, huh? You really love me that much huh..?” You grin in response to his actions, with a proud tone of voice.

“I guess I do huh?” He smiles at your proud self. “I’ll write about you being the girl who I view in rose-tinted glasses,” He says as she writes down his ideas on the paper, making light scribble noises.

That's just when you get up and try dragging him away from the desk. 

“You know its bed time right?” You tease and you put him in a headlock and ruffle his hair.

“I’ll be there soon! Just, let me finish noting these ideas down!” He protests and he doesn’t look away from the page despite what you’re doing to him.

You sigh in response and let go of him. Walking to the door in the process. 

“Don’t stay up too late. We both know how grumpy you get without your beauty sleep.” You tell him in response to his protests. Finding a good opportunity to tease him in the process.

As you walk out of the room, all you can hear is a grumble in response. All for the fact he knows you’re right.

©miyamizuna 2024 do not repost

espresso is my spotify number 1 rn

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

okay but. imagine cowboy!reader is actually very educated. pro-LGBTQ, pro-choice, BLM, acab. very big speaker and doesn't take shit. BUT everyone thinks he isn't gonna educated and such until they're on a case dealing with like a trans kid and he's the first one to step up and comfort the kid and such. man im in the rabbit hole.

Allergies (Not Really)

No no no no no but the way I've started one where something of this theme happens (I don't want to give too much away aha)

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: transphobia, sad reader :( (i teared up a little ngl - it's not sad, he's just sad), guns, bullet wound, fighting, briefly mentions some murders to set the scene a bit, someone calls reader a redneck

Also I just want to say that the relationship between Mia and (Y/N) is completely platonic, maybe familial (a bit older brother-y or fatherly) not anything else. Just because I'm panicking because they spend a lot of time joking about and I wanna make that clear.

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax

Your blood boils when you hear the case, an unsub has been targeting young families (parents and three kids all under the age of sixteen). The last family had a survivor, a twelve-year-old transgender girl named Mia, who was currently in the hospital being treated for a variety of injuries.

Your jaw clenches as you read the hospital report, whilst it wasn't too long (thankfully), you knew she would still have a lot to work through mentally.

"You alright over there, Eastwood?" Morgan asks.

"Just angers me, is all," You answer, not feeling the need to elaborate, feeling the source of your anger being fairly self-explanatory. You miss the concerned look Rossi and Hotch share. 

A few hours later, the jet landed, once everyone was situated at the police station, you turned to the team.

"I'm gonna head to the hospital, make sure Mia's okay," You said.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Rossi’s the one that says it, but you can see everyone's thinking the same thing. 

"Wha- Why wouldn't it be?... Oh I see," You say as the penny finally drops and it clicks, "Y'all think 'cause I'm from the South I'm against her bein' herself?" You sigh softly, rubbing the back of your neck, "Have I not proved myself yet?"

No one says anything for a moment, shocked by the hurt that flashes in your eyes, before they can, you pick your hat back up, settling it on your head, "I'm headin' to the hospital,” You mumble, leaving the room before anyone can say anything.

When you leave the room, you rub your eyes with the back of your hand. 'Not crying,' You try and convince yourself, 'allergies.' You trying to ignore the fact you know, 100%, that you don't have any allergies. 

You get into one of the SUV's and begin making your way to the hospital, ignoring your phone as it lit up with various concerned messages.

The receptionist was a nice woman and was quick to show you to Mia's room (after staring at you hungrily for a few minutes). You gave a small knock before walking in.

"Are you here to tell me I'm too young to know myself as well?" 

You furrow your eyebrows, "No, who told you that?" 

"One of the nurses," She answers with a shrug. 

"You know which one?" 

"The guy with brown hair," She shrugs as she answers, "It's fine though, happens all the time." 

"I personally don't think y'all are too young to realise who you are," You said with a shrug, "I think anyone who thinks that is trynna hide their bias by invalidatin' your identity."

Mia looks at you for a moment, "I like you." She states, "I thought you were going to be against it." 

"I've been gettin' that a lot today, it would seem," You mumble before your head snaps to the door, relaxing when it's just JJ. "Anyway, I'm (Y/N), this is my colleague, Agent Jareau. Mia, you a'right if we ask you a few questions?" 

"Sure,"

"Could you run us through what happened that night?"

"Mum and dad were cooking. We were all sitting at the table doing our homework, and someone knocked on the door." Mia began, "They asked me to open the door, and he grabbed me and put a gun to my head. He shot my dad, then-"

You gave her a small, encouraging smile, "You're doin' great,"

"Did you get a look at the person that did this?" JJ asked, when Mia nodded, she continued, "What did they look like?"

Your eyes widen in worry as the heart machine next to Mia picks up, as does her breathing. You pull yourself together and turn your attention to her, "Mia? Mia, hey," Your voice is soft as you kneel next to her, "You need to take some deep breaths for me sweetheart,"

"Can't-"

You nod at her, "Yes, yes you can," You encourage, "Deep breaths, in, one, two, three, four, five, and out. That was good, keep going," 

It takes a moment, but her breathing evens out and she appeared to be less anxious, "There we go," You grin, "Told ya," 

"Okay, Texas," Your jaw drops slightly, the joke catching you off guard. 

"That's not fair, I can't even say anythin' back without bullin' a child," 

"Ha ha." She responds, you throw your hands up in the air, smiling when she laughs at you. 

JJ rolls her eyes slightly at you with a small smile as the doctor walks in with a few nurses for a routine checkup. Your eyebrows furrow when you see a male nurse with brown hair. Your eyes flick to the name badge, 'Darren', assuming this is the same nurse, you make a mental note of his name.

"We'll be just outside, a'right?"

Her hand shoots out, clinging onto your sleeve, "No! Don't leave!" She looks at you slightly hesitantly, "Please?"

"Hey, hey, it's a'right, I'll stay here," You answer, eyes flicking down to her for a moment before turning to JJ.

"Hotch wants me to go with Morgan to the scene," JJ said, "You good here? I'll let him know,"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good here and thanks," You give a small smile.

When the doctor and nurses left, you turned to Mia, "That nurse you mentioned earlier? The brown-haired one? Was he in the room just now?" 

Mia nodded, "Yeah,"

"Had a name badge on, name Darren?" Mia nodded once more. "Alright, I'll be back in a moment,"

"Where are you going?"

"I just want a quick word with this Darren fella," You shrug, seeing the look on Mia's face you roll your eyes slightly, "Don't you worry your little head about it, I'm not gonna hurt him or anythin'."

"Okay..." She said.

"Is that a'right?"

Mia shrugged, "Sure." You nodded before exiting the room.

Furrowing your eyes when you came face to face with Rossi, "Howdy, I'm just popping out for a few," You said. 

Rossi nodded, walking into the room after you had left. "I'm Agent Rossi," He said, "I work with (Y/N),"

"The cowboy?"

"Yeah, the cowboy," Rossi huffs a small laugh as he sits in his seat. "Have the staff here been treating you okay?"

Mia shrugs, "Yeah," She answers, "There was one nurse but I think Texas has gone to sort him out or something. He might beat him up."

Rossi smiles slightly, "Texas?" 

"Yeah, the cowboy," She said, "I think he's frustrated that everyone keeps assuming he's going to be against me being trans... I'd be frustrated too, I think," She added after a moment's thought. 

You leave Mia, now feeling slightly better that Rossi will be there whilst you're gone. Spotting your target, you speed up.

"Excuse me! Nurse?" The man turns towards you, Darren. "I just wanted to have a word with you about Mia?"

You watch as Darren shifts uncomfortably. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to say that perhaps telling someone they're too young to understand 'emselves probably doesn't make 'em feel a whole lotta good about 'emselves."

Darren looks you up and down slightly as he takes a few steps towards you. "And what exactly do you know?" He scoffs, "I'm surprised a redneck such as yourself can read and write."

"That's some nice deflection there," You said sarcastically, trying not to let it show how much the stereotypes flung into your face hurt. "Just... don't be a dick. If you don't understand somethin', look it up. I'm sure you can read. So perhaps do your research before you project onto a twelve year old girl." With that, you give a forced smile before turning on your heels and head back to Mia's room.

"Welp, that outta have done it," You give a lopsided grin, "A'right Rossi?" 

"I'm fine Kid, you okay?" 

"Yes sir," You answered, "I might grab myself a drink, y'all want anything?"

Mia laughs, "Y'all?"

"Rossi, Imma need your assistance, I'm getting bullied by a twelve year old," 

"Sorry, Kiddo, can't help you there." He chuckled, "I will ask that you grab me a coffee though."

"Coming right up!" 

Hours later, she's sat up on the bed whilst you're sat on a chair (a rather uncomfortable one) next to the bed, Rossi having left an hour ago, both of your gazes focused on a small, empty glass bottle that stood on the overbed tables. Each armed with a small piece of string as a makeshift lasso. 

"You're not a very good cowboy, are you?" Mia observes as you miss once more. 

"Hey, I haven't done this in a while," 

"How longs a while? Never?" She asked, throwing the lasso perfectly once more. 

"I'll have you know its been, okay so it's been like ten years, a'right? You were two last time I had to lasso something," 

"Wow, you're old." 

"I had no idea twelve year olds were so mean, you're about to make a grown man cry,"

Mia gave a laugh, you quickly joining in. You flung the lasso half-heartedly, eyes widening as it hit its target perfectly. "Yeehaw!" 

"Yeehaw? Seriously? You're so lame." You jaw dropped once more. You both jumped as gunshots echoed throughout the hospital, you sat up straight, immediately turning to Mia.

"Mia, I need you to take this," You handed your phone over to her, "The pass code is 1999, okay? You need to phone Hotch. Lock the door behind me, go into the bathroom and lock that door too, okay?"

Mia looked up at you with wide, scared eyes, "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'm gonna be absolutely fine, a'right?" When she nodded, you gave her a smile, "Don't open this door until I tell you to, or Hotch phones and says to okay?" 

You shut the door, not moving until you heard it lock in place. When you heard the soft click, you nodded to yourself as you began to make your way towards sound.

Seeing a nurse, you jogged up to her, "Ma'am, try and get everyone into their rooms, tell them not to come out, okay?" The nurse nods and runs off. You continue cautiously towards the sound of gunshots, revolver clutched in your hands.

When you find him, he's holding a person close to his chest, what with that and the people running past you, you don't have a clear shot. You meeting eyes with the wide yes of the hostage against his chest, you look at her, giving a small nod as you inch closer. 

When the moment's right, she ducks her head, pulls her elbow back, before slamming it into the guy's ribs. As he curls over, she wiggles out of her grasp, joining the others in fleeing. With a sigh, you brace yourself before charging at the man, tackling him to the floor.

It takes a moment for the unsub to recover, in that time you've delivered a few blows to his face, both of your guns falling during the tackle. He's quick to flip you over, he aims for the torso first, delivering a handful of well-aimed punches. Next, he takes a fist of your hair, slamming your head into the floor. Once, twice, three times before you get the momentum needed to push him off you.

You staggered up, paying no mind to the pain in your head throbbing in beat with your pulse, the blood on the side of you head that's slowly dripping into your eye, or the ache that's spread through your abdomen. You had to either distract this guy until the team got here or knock him out. Either way, you weren't about to let yourself pass out and let this bastard hurt Mia.

As you're breathing deeply through the pain, the unsub has stood, he (however) is not as chivalrous, so he takes the moment make his way over to you. He grabs your shoulders as he pulls his knee to your groin, pushing you to the floor as you double over in pain. Happy with having the advantage, he continues to aim cheap blows to your sides.

Despite this, you stumble up once more, you keeping your left arm wrapped close to your ribs on your right. They were definitely bruised as a minimum. You duck the punch sent your way, wincing slightly as it pulls on your arm and ribs. Both of your eyes lock on the gun at the same time as the pair of you dive for it. He reaches it first, gripping it tightly in his hands as you immediately go for it, to loosen his grip, anything you can think of.

There's a bang and you grunt as a bullet enters the top of your left arm, adding insult to injury. Okay, so disarming him didn't really work.

"FBI!" You sigh in relief as the unsub is pulled away from you, letting your head fall against the cold floor with your eyes closed - trying to get a grip on the pain. You listen as they cuff the bastard before dragging him out of the hospital. You let your eyes flutter open as you begin to push yourself off of the floor. 

"I'm fine," You mumbled, shrugging Hotch's hands off you, "I'm fine, check on Mia."

"Morgan, stay with (Y/N)."

When Hotch is gone, you turn to Morgan, "I'm fine, go help Hotch."

"Sorry, got my order," Morgan said with a shrug. You don't answer, as much as you don't want to admit it, the pain was really starting you affect your headspace. You felt like you couldn't think. "Come on, let's get you checked out." 

You shook your head, "No, I need to check on Mia first," You mumbled, giving a low groan as you pushed yourself up. 

"Alright, lead the way," Morgan said. You don't answer, simply forcing one foot in front of the other until you're back at Mia's room.

"Is he okay?!" You hear Mia's question through the door.

"He's okay," You hear Hotch reassuring her.

"Then where is he?! He said he'd be here as soon as he could!" Mia's panic causes your eyebrows to furrow, "Oh god, he's dead, isn't he?"

You push the door open, trying to look as put together as possible for Mia, not wanting her to panic. "I'm very much alive, thank you very much," You say.

"I thought he killed you!" She exclaims, rushing towards you. You groan when Mia flings her arms around you, burying her head in your chest and she immediately steps back, seeing the blood her eyes widen. "Holy shit he shot you?!"

"Hey, language," 

"Sorry Texas," She grins, and you roll your eyes. 

"Texas?" Morgan grins, "Oh, that is so sticking around,"

You groan slightly, "Seriously?"

"Seriously." 

You turn to Mia, "Thanks kid," You say sarcastically.

"No problem, old man." Your jaw drops once more.

"I don't know if my ego can take all these insults," 

"I don't know what y'all are talkin' about I would never do such a thing to y'all," She says, trying her best to do an impersonation, giggling slightly at the look of disbelief on your face. 

"That- Now that was just a bridge too far-" You barely get the sentence out before you're huffing a laugh (and then wincing because of said laugh).

"Alright, come on, Texas," Derek smirks, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Let's go get you checked out."

You weren’t too injured (thankfully), minus the bullet wound, it was mostly just bruises. Eventually, you were all stitched up and laid in a hospital bed - which you hated, but Hotch had glared at you when you went to protest. 

A soft knock echoed through the door before it opened, a blonde woman poking her head round. You frowned slightly, not recognising her.

"Hi, I'm Mia's aunt," The woman says and you straighten up (ignoring the discomfort).

"Ma'am," You said with a nod.

"I just wanted to say thank you," 

"What for?" You furrowed your eyebrows as she raised hers, motioning to your current state. "Ma'am I was just doing my job."

"Well, either way, thank you." 

You give a small smile, "No worries, Ma'am."

“I’m going to be her guardian now that-” Mia’s aunt paused, taking a deep breath to compose herself before she continued, “After everything and I really appreciate what you did for her.”

You give her a small smile, “Of course, Ma’am.”

She gives you one last smile as she leaves the room, “Oh, agent?” You look at her, “Is it alright if I bring Mia in? We’re about to head off and she wanted to say goodbye.”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah, of course,” 

When the door closes, you push yourself the best you can, the door opens a few minutes later and Mia walks in.

“How y’all healin’?”

“First, I wouldn’t say y’all if it’s just one person,” You said, rolling your eyes, “Second, I’m doin’ a’right,”

“You missed like seven letters in that sentence,” She laughs, you huff a small laugh, forcing a wince down.

“It’s an art form,” You reply. "Your aunt seems nice,"

“She is, I’m going to live with her,” Mia says, smiling, “She lives in California. I can’t wait, apparently my uncle’s been getting a room ready for me,”

“That’s great,” You smiled. "How are you feeling in yourself?" 

"I'm okay," Mia said with a shrug, "I know it's going to be a while until I'm back to one hundred percent, but I'm willing to put in the work."

"Smart kid," You said, "You'll be okay." 

"Oh, Aunty Meg you should have been there earlier! Texas was all like 'how are y'all doin'?' And he made lassos but he was absolutely useless with one and the last time he used one was when I was two and…"

Mia's voice faded as you looked at the hat on the table for a moment, lightly taking it in your own hands, brushing over the material lightly with the pad of your thumb. It was one of your favourite hats. You looked up, seeing the grin on Mia's face as she did her best cowboy impressions, you smiled. "Hey, I think you'll find, every southerner - impersonator or not - needs their very own hat," You said, reaching over to place it on her head. "Perfect, a true southerner!"

"Well I'll be damned!" Mia exclaimed, tilting the hat slightly. 

"Come on, we need to make a move," Mia's aunt said. "I think Uncle Jack's getting restless waiting for us,"

Mia nodded, reaching up and taking the hat off before handing it over to you. You shook your head. 

"Nah, you keep it kiddo, I've got hundreds." You give her a smile. 

Mia walked forward, clinging onto you as she buried her head in your chest, you ignored the dull ache that flared up in your chest as you hugged her back, "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, kiddo," You say, lifting one hand to wipe at your eyes. 

"Are you crying?" Mia asked softly. 

"No." You answered, "I've got allergies."

You wait for Mia to let go before you do, you gave her a small smile, "See you later, a'right?" She nodded, quickly wiping her eyes. 

"See you later Texas," 

The door shut quietly behind the two of them and you were enveloped once more in silence.

Whilst everyone was wrapping up the case, you were sitting in a hospital bed, bored out of your skull. With a sigh, you pushed yourself up, sneaking past the nurses and doctors as you made your way outside, wanting some fresh air. 

You sat yourself down opposite the hospital in the grass, letting yourself pluck a blade of grass from the ground, running it through your fingers as you lost yourself in your thoughts. 

You kept your eyes trained on the grass as Hotch sat down next to you. The pair of you sitting in silence for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“‘M fine, sir,” The answer rolls off your tongue. “Nothing to worry about,”

“If you want to get something off your chest, you can always talk to me,” 

“I know, Hotch,” You said, “I just… struggle with the whole talkin’ about how you’re feelin’,”

Hotch nods in understanding, for someone who doesn’t talk about it, you sure do end up giving a lot away. You both sit in silence.

"I know people think I'm stupid," You mumble, staring intently at the blade of grass between your fingers as you spoke, "I know I have that Southern drawl," You exaggerate your accent slightly before continuing, "That I don't exactly talk like y'all. I know some just see me as some redneck, but I can hold my own. I ain't stupid. And I certainly ain't no bigot."

"I know, we all know that." Hotch replies.

"But you didn't." You pointed out before sighing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter..."

"We were concerned because there was no way could have known."

"You could've just trusted me," You said, “I have, in no way, given any of y’all a reason to believe that I am against anyone in that community. And I get it, I do, it just… stings, is all.”

Hotch doesn’t speak, unsure of what to actually say. Because he did jump to conclusions, they all did.

"I think if she didn't have any family I would have adopted her, or at least tried to, anway," Your eyebrows are furrowed, gaze deepening at the blade of grass as you tore it apart in your hands. "But, hey, she's happy, that's the main thing and her aunt seems like a lovely woman."

With that, you push yourself off of the grass, ignoring the ache that shoots through your body. Leaving Hotch sat on the curb with a frown as you limped back into the hospital for one final check-up before your flight.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “Fuckin’ allergies.”

[kingofthering]

motogp riders as hockey players

This has been a long time in the making but we are finally here. Promised myself I would take care of MotoGP after doing F1 two years ago and I landed on some stuff. Probably couldn't have finished this without the help of @moonshynecybin, @vanillow and every other person who had opinions on this in my polls and ask box.

I am not known to know how to make choices. I struggled to make some of those decisions (it's a miracle they didn't all end up on the wing). Also I've kind of been in a hockey break the last couple of years so the real players comparisons weren't coming to me as easily as they did for F1, sorry.

Would love to hear your opinions (don't be mean about my choices or I will cry) (okay bye).

2024 grid

Aleix Espargaro : I rewrote this one so many times because to me Aleix could play any position but everyone sees him as a goalie and I will agree on that. Big Flower vibes except Aleix was drafted in the 5th round and arrived in the NHL and started establishing himself later. At some point his team’s captain leave and they don’t name a new one (team just has 3 or 4 As like it happens sometimes) and Aleix already had one of those As but he's nicknamed Capitán anyway. Has a rookie leaving with him pretty much every year.

Alex Marquez : Defense baby, very evident to me. He blocks a lot of shots (part of the best PK of the league and all) and always gets into fights to defend Marc.

Alex Rins : Calm, defensive d-man. Moves teams a bit but never needs long to be given an A.

Augusto Fernandez : I am sorry I know so little about Augusto this is a little bit of a struggle. We’ll do center that mostly manage the 3rd line.

Brad Binder : Also someone I struggled to pinpoint so I tried thinking about hockey players he reminded me of and the first guy that came to me was Morgan Reilly. Then I thought of guys with little brothers that are a little more feisty and brain supplied me with Quinn Hughes so that’s probably a sign to go defense.

Enea Bastianini : Top 5 pick. Winger that lost the Calder fight to Jorge Martin (did you know that they technically were born only 30 days apart because I just realized when checking their draft class). Kind of a little shit on the ice but so good at what he does. Will bitch about having to speak English at any occasion. The media adores him anyway.

Fabio Di Giannantonio : 3rd round pick that arrives in the league 3 years post draft. Feels a little scrappy to me despite the fact that he has the softest of voices in interviews. Position? Hm. Also a toss-up. I’ll go defense. PP2.

Fabio Quartararo : First round pick that everyone criticizes until he proves everyone wrong by winning the Cader the season right after the draft. Winger, very talented, almost wins the Art Ross in his second season before struggling in the last quarter. Calder Trophy winner. The comparisons to Marc go crazy that first year (Fabio is star struck the first time they're face to face on the ice, thank god they're not dealing with FOs).

Franco Morbidelli : I think he’ll forever be a little enigma to me but I want to say goalie. Makes attempts for goalie goals every now and then. Succeeds at least once.

Jack Miller : 4th liner center that would deserve to go up and down between the AHL and the NHL but alas, he’s no longer on his ELC :) Definitely talks too much (both in and out of the ice), gets into a lot of fights, doesn’t win that many of them.

Joan Mir : The one that everyone predicted would be first overall but he wasn’t (Shane Wright vibes, sorry) (I’ve seen both Slaf & Pecco with my own eyes and they indeed have a big size difference so we’ll end the comparison here). Oh, and that’s a center baby.

Johann Zarco : Genuinely can’t even imagine him on ice skates. Maybe defense.

Jorge Martin : Center. Gets drafted lower than he expected but does beat Enea to get the Calder despite a big injury in his rookie year. Lives at Aleix place when he arrives in the league, spends so much time with the kids, etc etc

Luca Marini : My instinct was defense (while being aware of my ‘taller guys go play defense’ bias) and I have seen some arguments about putting him at center. I think putting him on the offensive line puts even more pressure on him re: being Valentino’s brother and I do like d-man Luca. Can’t imagine his beautiful face marred by a puck/stick/elbow bruise (or god forbid a broken tooth) but hm, we’ll ignore that.

Marc Marquez : Speedy crafty winger. True mix of Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid (yes they’re both centers, I know, I do not care) (if we wanna name actual wingers, Callie also said Travis Konecny and Johnny Gaudreau and I approve very much). Boy wonder that the media has been following forever. Angel face that does get into fights sometimes (Alex has to defend him so much because he’s tiny and good so obviously big guys come after him). 1st overall. Calder winner. Art Ross winner. Hart winner. You can’t really win the Stanley Cup on your rookie season when you’re first overall but he wins it early on anyway (think Sid in 2009, Kane/Toews in 2010).

Marco Bezzecchi : Winger. Connects with Pecco so well. Gets into fights and trash talks a little too much while having his mouthguard out of his mouth more often than in (think Matthew Tkachuk). Always plays it up for the camera when their photos are being taken when arriving at the arenas (and loves to have fun with some of his fits).

Maverick Viñales : Another one I could see in various positions. Definitely a first overall that had huge hopes put on his shoulders during his first years and then things faltered a little (bunch of trades, struggling to find his place within teams, etc). Fighter that went calmer with age. Since I can’t have an Aleix/Maverick d-pair, I think I’m gonna keep him at center.

Miguel Oliveira : I think solid center. Takes care of the second line. Probably has an A.

Pecco Bagnaia : Center and it’s not negociable in any world. Could be a 1st overall that disappoints a bunch of people by not getting the Calder. Very clinical play. Could see him as a two-ways forward (Anze Kopitar is coming to mind). Played college hockey with Bezz & Cele (was living with Bezz but Cele was at the house all of the time anyway, already in that first year where he was assigned to the dorms) (inspiration here being my beloved 2021-2022 UMich team).

Pedro Acosta : Winger. 1st overall. Calder trophy winner. Gets compared to Marc a lot and is so tired of it. Trash talks so much when he’s on the ice and on the bench (and in the penalty box). Was the very last rookie to live with Aleix, the last year before Aleix’s retirement. Scores a Michigan goal somewhere in his first 10 games in the NHL.

Raul Fernandez : I kind of want a brothers d-pair so I’m going to go defense for the Fernandez brothers. Arrives in the league the second year after his draft despite being drafted halfway through round 2.

Takaaki Nakagami : I can see him as a center, captain of his team at Worlds/Olympics. Has the best fits for rink arrivals (sorry Bezz).

retired riders

Valentino Rossi : So. Listen. Valentino is obviously a legend of the sport, maybe of Gretzky’s level. Obviously a 1st overall. Won the Calder. Won the Art Ross & the Hart on several occasions. Several Cups and one Conn Smythe trophy. You get the picture. Now, he’s a forward, we all know that. I posted a poll about his position and literally got a 50/50 split between center and winger. My initial gut feeling was center and then several of you gave arguments for wing and talking with Maddie led me to the changing positions at some point / playing both options (like all the guys who have double availabilities when you do fantasy hockey, real life example could be Leon Draisaitl occasionally). Anyway. I’m gonna be a little stubborn there and stay with center (although I was very delighted when my brain came with the idea of Jorge Lorenzo having to center both Vale & Marc). The intensity of those blue eyes at the dot? 70% faceoffs wins ratio ✨ Additionally, not much of a fighter (not until he bulks up please) but he definitely has a mouth on him when he’s in the mood. Very loud. He wins the best shootout goal + celly thing at the ASG at minimum 3 times in a row.

Jorge Lorenzo : Center and not taking any criticism on that one. Very good at faceoffs. Definitely challenges Valentino for his spot on the first line when he first gets in the league and yet, they connect extraordinarily well on the PP. Moves teams a bunch toward the end of his career and retire early because of an injury. 

Dani Pedrosa : First place my brain went was ‘he’s so tiny please let him go on a wing’. It also allows him to be centered by Jorge when they play together during World Juniors and they’re soooo good (despite the rivalry that obviously also exists in there, don’t worry). I will say, I could see him centering with Nicklas Backstrom vibes as well.

Andrea Dovizioso : Winger. Second rounder who wins the Memorial Cup during his juniors career (with the London Knights, because I said so). Does get into fights, especially where Marc is concerned.

Casey Stoner : Center. Valentino is very bad at faceoffs against him, it's a thing. Casey is named captain of an ASG team in like his second year being invited (Valentino is obviously captain of the other team). Starts taking the game ban over going to the ASG at some point (Ovi who). Has a concussion that takes him out for over half a season, struggles to come back and eventually retires. Also, very canonically, the biggest fisher of them all.

[moralesmilesanhour]

okay okay, i have had this one thought in my head about a platonic gender-neutral (or male/masc-leaning) reader fic. this is for either miles (more so 42 than 1610 bc i can imagine his face of exasperation). imagine just being his dumbass friend, like yeah your smart enough to be in visions, but goddamn!! you leave your braincells in your school locker once the final bell rings. your self preservation instincts are questionable at best and the only reason you're not dead yet bc you're proving that quote "you can't kill stupid" as a true fact. at least you bring homemade food over everytime you visit his home and his mom likes you, so you're not completely hopeless in life. (i've had this rotating in my brain for days and still haven't written it myself) -☁

a/n: I went the masc route with this one with a sprinkle of gender envy if u squint

You thought doing homework on a rooftop would be a nice change of scenery.

Dangling off of the rooftop? Not so much.

A tiny group of pigeons had been hanging out near the edge, and you had the idea to try and feed them with the bag of sunflower seeds you'd brought with you. Carefully, you step forward toward the flock, until some unknown force of nature causes you to trip over your own feet and sends you careening over the edge.

Somehow, you manage to grab hold of the railing of the fire escape just below, but your palms are sweaty. You heave as you use all of your upper body strength to hold yourself up while desperately trying not to look down.

It's not enough.

Just as you lose your grip, a strong arm catches you. It's covered in purple leather, ending in a familiar clawed hand.

"Again?" Asks an amused modulated voice as wind rushes past your ears.

"You make it sound like a daily occurrence."

You feel a jolt as the masked figure swings and lands in front of an alleyway before putting you down. As you adjust your crooked glasses, the mask whirs and splits in two before receding, revealing the smirking, deep brown face of your friend, Miles.

"What happened this time?"

His voice is low and nearly too soft to hear, a stark contrast to the tinny high pitch of your own. No amount of lowering your larynx or whispering could ever get it like that. Part of you wishes you could steal it sometimes, or borrow his voice modulator, at least.

If only.

"Tripped," you answer, rubbing your upper arm as a side effect of the claws' tight grip. "Dunno how you always manage to catch me."

"Easy," Miles explains as he unzips his black duffel bag. "I see that ratty ass gray hoodie you always got on and swing right over."

With a whir and a clank, he removes the claw on his right hand, then his left, tossing them into the bag.

"How does carryin' those around like that not damage them?" you blurt out suddenly. Miles snorts.

"You gonna fix 'em for me, genius?"

"No."

"Thought so."

Finally, he removed the grappling hook strapped to his back and tied his jacket around his waist.

You say his catchphrase before he does: "Let's bounce!"

This earns you a burst of laughter from Miles as you make your way out of the alley.

"What, I say it wrong?"

"No, it's just..." he catches his breath and claps you on the shoulder as he passes by. "You make it sound so friendly."

"Whatever, man."

-

"Yo, pay attention, dude!"

You feel Miles' hand yank you backwards by your hoodie as a car horn blares past you. Once you look up from your phone, your eyes widen.

"Oh, shit."

The car had barely missed you.

The streetlight across from you finally turned white, and the two of you crossed. Miles keeps glancing back at you until the short journey to the opposite sidewalk is completed.

He stops, crossing his arms. "How many times are you gonna almost-die today? Lemme know so I can adjust my schedule."

"Until someone finally finishes the job," you joke before remembering something. "Ah fuck, I hope the brownies survived."

You swing your book bag off of your shoulder and kneel to open it, revealing a small Tupperware container filled with home-made brownies stacked on top of your textbooks. Thankfully, there is only a bit of chocolate smudged on the sides; the pastries themselves remain (mostly) intact.

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You know taking the textbooks home is optional, right?"

Zipping your bag closed, you reply with a shrug,"I like re-writing my notes. I need to access the source material."

"I need to access the source material," Miles mimics you in a nasally voice before strolling past you. "If I were a worse person, I'd shove yo' ass in a locker."

You laugh, breaking into a jog to catch up to him with your 'source material' weighing you down.

"Just for that, I'm telling your mom the brownies are just for her-shit!"

A piece of cracked and lifted cement trips you up and scuffs your sneakers. Your hands shoot out to break your fall, planting themselves onto the ground. Your glasses aren't so lucky.

"Aw, man, I just got these!" You frowned as you dusted off your khaki shorts with one hand, holding your glasses in the other.

One of the frames now has a crack right down the middle.

"That's tough, buddy," Miles remarks.

He had spun around as soon as he heard you yell in case of another near-death experience, but was now trying desperately to hold back laughter that escaped through his nose as he walked backwards towards his destination.

"It's not funny!"

"It's a little funny. You're like a Looney Tunes character."

You laugh, "If an anvil falls on my head, it's your fault."

[linnitheo]

Racing hearts

Max Verstappen x Y/N Fanfiction

Y/N POV

The roar of the engines was deafening as the cars flew past, the vibration of the circuit reaching the soles of my shoes, even though I was standing far from the track itself. The stands were packed, fans cheering as their favorite drivers raced by, but my eyes were fixed on just one car—Number 1, Max Verstappen.

It still felt surreal. I wasn’t just another fan admiring him from a distance anymore. A few months ago, I could have never imagined my life would change so much, and in such a whirlwind fashion. Now here I was, standing in the paddock as his girlfriend.

How did this even happen?

Flashback, six months earlier:

It had all started when I went to a Formula 1 race in Monaco. I was attending with my best friend, a journalist covering the event. Being around the paddock wasn’t new to her, but it was a whole new world for me. The exclusive vibe, the glamour, the loud roar of engines—it was intoxicating. Then, during the practice session, Max Verstappen had come over to where we were standing, exchanged a few polite words with my friend, and offered a smile that had taken my breath away.

Later that evening, at a post-race event, I found myself standing near the bar, awkwardly nursing a drink. Max had approached, and for a moment, I thought he was mistaking me for someone else.

“You were at the paddock earlier,” he said, his blue eyes piercing and confident. “You’re friends with that journalist?”

“Yeah, she covers the races,” I had replied, trying not to sound too starstruck.

We exchanged small talk, which quickly turned into longer conversations. Before I knew it, we were talking about everything from travel to racing, to how strange it was for someone like me, who didn’t know much about motorsport, to be so enthralled by it all.

By the end of that evening, he’d asked for my number.

Present Day, Y/N POV

The last few months had been a whirlwind of jet-setting between races, trying to balance my life with his. It wasn’t easy dating one of the most famous drivers on the grid. There were media obligations, travel schedules, and the constant fear of him getting hurt on track. But when Max was with me, none of that mattered.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I turned to see Max walking toward me, wearing his Red Bull Racing uniform. His hair was tousled from his helmet, but his face lit up with a wide smile. Despite the race weekend intensity, Max always made time for me, something I loved about him.

“You nervous for today?” I teased, knowing full well that Max didn’t get nervous anymore.

He laughed, “Me? Nah. But you? Maybe.”

“I’m fine,” I smirked. “But you better win.”

He gave me a quick, playful kiss on the lips, before stepping back, looking down at me with that intense gaze of his. "I always do better when you’re watching."

Max POV

The lights went out, and I immediately jumped into the action, the sound of engines screaming around me. There’s always that moment, right after the start, where you can feel the tension between every driver. It’s electric, like we’re all holding our breath, waiting for someone to make the first move.

I didn’t hesitate. From third on the grid, I launched the car forward, squeezing between the Ferrari and the Mercedes. I knew Charles and Lewis would be tough to overtake, but I had something to prove today.

And not just to the fans or the team, but to Y/N. Ever since she entered my life, she gave me this strange sense of calm, like no matter what happened on track, I’d be okay once I was with her. But today, I wanted to show her what I could really do.

Lap after lap, I kept pushing harder, chasing down the front-runners. The radio chatter was constant, my engineer reminding me of tire wear, strategy, and the gaps behind me. But all I could think about was Y/N’s face when I crossed the finish line first.

Coming out of the final corner, I saw the checkered flag waving, and with a final burst of speed, I crossed the line.

P1.

The roar from the crowd was deafening, but all I could think about was getting out of the car and finding her.

Y/N POV

Watching Max cross the finish line first sent a wave of excitement through me. The crowd around me erupted in cheers, but I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my own heartbeat. I ran toward the paddock, past security, and into the arms of Max as soon as he stepped out of the car.

He pulled me in tight, sweat and all, and kissed me with a passion that made the rest of the world disappear. I didn’t care about the cameras flashing around us, or the team celebrating behind us.

“You did it!” I exclaimed breathlessly.

“We did it,” he replied, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “You keep me grounded. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

For a moment, everything was perfect.

Max POV

But things rarely stay perfect for long in my world.

Later that night, we were driving back to the hotel when I noticed a car following us. It had been trailing us since we left the circuit, weaving through the streets of the city like it was trying to keep pace.

“Max… is that car—”

“I see it,” I cut her off, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

I could feel the tension rising. My life had always come with a certain level of risk. Racing at over 300 kilometers per hour on a track is one thing, but this… this was different.

Y/N’s eyes were wide with concern, but she trusted me. "Stay calm," I said, my voice low, trying to reassure her.

Suddenly, the car behind us sped up, getting uncomfortably close. I knew it wasn’t a fan or paparazzi; something felt off. I swerved into a side street, but they followed, their intentions becoming clearer.

“Max…” Y/N’s voice cracked with fear.

Without hesitating, I floored the gas, weaving through the narrow streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur. My heart pounded, but my instincts kicked in, just like they did on the track. I had to get us out of this.

The car behind us tried to keep up, but I knew these streets better. I took a sharp turn, pulling us into an alleyway and killed the engine. I motioned for Y/N to stay quiet as we watched the car speed past, missing us entirely.

My chest was heaving, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Slowly, I turned to Y/N, who was still gripping the seat.

“You okay?”

She nodded, but I could see the fear in her eyes. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. But I knew one thing for sure—I would do anything to keep her safe.

Y/N POV

The next few days were tense. Max and his team tightened security around us, but it was hard to shake the feeling that we were being watched. Something had changed. Max had enemies on the track, sure, but this was personal.

Despite the fear, we stayed together, closer than ever. We had dinner in a quiet restaurant one night, hidden from the public eye. Max kept his hand on mine the entire time, his touch a reminder that no matter what was happening outside, we were stronger together.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he said quietly over the candlelight.

“I’m not scared,” I lied. I was terrified, but I couldn’t let him see it.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

I blinked, taken aback. He’d never said that before. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But I knew, deep down, I felt the same way.

“I love you too, Max.”

In that moment, I realized something. Life with Max Verstappen would never be easy. There would always be danger, always be risks. But I was ready for it—because I loved him.

Max POV

As I held her hand, the world outside the restaurant felt far away. I knew this wouldn’t be the last time we’d face danger. My life was fast, chaotic, and unpredictable, but Y/N was the one constant that made it all worth it.

“I’m going to win the championship for you,” I said, squeezing her hand.

She smiled, but it wasn’t just her smile that gave me strength. It was the look in her eyes that told me she believed in me, in us.

Racing had always been my life, but now… she was my reason to race.

And nothing, no danger, no enemy, was going to take that away from me.

End

[nofomogirl]

What we know and don't know after Good Omens S2

Honestly, it's mostly what we don't know.

This was originally meant to be an intro to Before the Beginning (part 1.5.) - a post in my series of posts discussing what we learn from the opening scene of S2 - but I've decided to make it its own thing after all.

I just enjoy reminding myself and others what we know for sure and what is just a theory or a headcanon. So here I go.

#1 The Fall

I've already written about the Fall shortly after S2 aired: Implications of Metatron's offer

My points still stand, except now that I think about it I might have put too much stock in Metatron's words. I think they prove less than I was willing to believe back then, as it's not difficult to imagine they might have all been a bluff.

In short: we don't know what the Fall is and how it actually works.

All that we know is that it happened once, and in the process, part of the angels were transformed and became demons.

The rest is just a long list of questions.

#2 Crowley's Fall

We're not much wiser when it comes to the circumstances of one specific Anthony J. Crowley's Fall.

Let's look at the very few facts we have:

In S1 Crowley claims that "he didn't really fall, he just sauntered vaguely downwards", "he only ever asked questions [and] it was all it took to be a demon", and "he didn't mean to fall, he just hung around the wrong people".

Neil Gaiman suggested more than once that Crowley isn't the most reliable narrator when it comes to his own Fall, and while he's not as bad as Heaven believes, he's also not as good as he thinks.

In Job's minisode, when Aziraphale is on the brink of questioning God's sense of justice ("Yes. But..."), Crowley tells him that was how it started for him too.

We learned from Furfur that Crowley actively took part in the dubious battle on the plains of Heaven just before the Fall.

In the finale, Metatron isn't the slightest bit surprised Crowley didn't take his offer and comments he "always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions too."

What does it all tell us? Nothing specific, except that perhaps we were a bit too quick to take Crowley's word that he hasn't done anything that would warrant any kind of punishment.

Questioning God's way of doing things was just how it STARTED for him. Asking damn fool questions was something he did TOO.

In short - we have no idea what really happened.

#3 Memory erasure

It's one of those popular headcanons that have been around at least since S1 and got canonically confirmed in S2.

We now know it's something that exists.

And that's where our knowledge ends.

Everything we really saw in the show was Gabriel getting sentenced to having his memories of being Gabriel removed. Then he very quickly moved his whole self to the fly to save it and we don't actually get to see what the result would be if Heaven did it. Would he be the same returned-to-factory-settings goofball or would he be given some memories to fill the blank spaces?

Is it actually possible to plant false memories in someone's head or can you only delete them?

Are memories really erased or just made inaccessible? Gabriel could still force himself to access some of his old memories. Was it because that's how it works and everybody could do it theoretically or was it because the memory-erasing procedure wasn't performed properly in his case?

We know it can be done remotely, but what is the range?

How precise and selective can it be? Gabriel was meant to forget everything. Perhaps that's the only way and you cannot pick and choose what one remembers or not.

We do not know.

#4 Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship

In S2 we have learned that they knew each other before the Fall. But all we saw was one meeting that appeared to be the first one to boot, judging by the fact that Aziraphale introduced himself.

We don't really know if they met again after that, how well they got to know each other, and how close they became.

It's not impossible, that when Aziraphale insists he knew the angel Crowley was, he's not even right about that...

#5 Aziraphale's and Crowley's memories

Last but not least, whatever Aziraphale and Crowley knew initially and whatever events they were part of or witnessed, we have no way of knowing what memories they've kept AND if they're even aware one or both of them might be missing something.

There may be important things that only one of them remembers but since I doubt they've ever compared notes, he operates under the wrong assumption that the other is aware of it too.

Anything is possible, really.

I've seen many convincing theories regarding all of the above and plenty of delightful headcanons. I'm just listing it to keep in mind all the questions remain open.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Twenty-four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

She wished she could have had Tom’s confidence and calm. She went inside the Baron’s office while he waited outside and her legs nearly collapsed from under her. Then again, she typically had this reaction to being “summoned” even if everything was going well. But this time, the Baron was significantly more civil in person than he’d been over the phone.

When she closed the door behind her, dressed in her office-best, she found the old man sitting behind his desk as always with two cups of coffee on a silver plate. He invited her to take a seat and asked her how she had been.

“Oh, fine,” she said automatically. “Everything’s going well, business as usual, except for, you know…”

“Yes. About that. When was the last time you saw Ambrogio?”

“I don’t remember… I rarely went downstairs and he never came up, so… I suppose it was at the last auction when I went down to see if he needed anything.”

“And Riddle saw him a few days ago?”

“Yes.”

“And did anything unusual happen these past few days?”

She sipped at the hot coffee as ideas came and went. One stuck in particular: Tom asking her to bring the broom downstairs to clean away the dust. Dust in which she’d found a key and several old buttons. She was so afraid of the implication that she distracted herself by deflecting to something else completely.

“Other than Donatien calling… no.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Malfoy’s secretary.”

The Baron thought from behind his stapled fingers. His overgrown eyebrows frowned in a fury pointing vaguely at her, but seeing through her. She only had the coffee cup to hide behind.

“Someone will have to lead the auction,” he said at last. “I can’t find anyone to replace Ambrogio on short notice.”

She wasn’t sure he was even speaking to her anymore so she just nodded.

“I don’t want to rely on Riddle. He is still too new. But he has worked most closely with Ambrogio…”

His foggy gaze finally focused on her and she could not imagine what to say. Did he expect her to try to sell herself for this new service? To say she was a better choice than Tom? She had come to love the books but not the work, and was beyond being pitted against her colleagues for a promotion. So she merely nodded once again and took another sip.

“Could I rely on you to do it?”

There it was… Just as Tom said. Sadly, it was spoiled by the way the Baron asked it — as if all the niceties, his hospitality that day, had led to this, and what they had was not a real conversation but a path they walked together to a predictable conclusion. She’d expected him to be less like some corporate manager from General Electric, but she now felt silly to have hoped so.

“You could, of course,” she answered cautiously. “It all depends.”

“On what?”

“I would need adequate compensation. You won’t be paying Ambrogio anymore, after all, so there should be funds in the budget to spare.”

“You understand, this would just be a temporary role,” he smiled, his full lips pulling back over his sparse grey teeth.

“Exactly,” she smiled, having already been prepared by Tom for this eventuality. Her nervousness was gone and in its place was anger at how right Tom was about people. How common the Baron was. “I also want a one-week vacation for myself and Tom.”

He paused for a moment and his expression soured. He seemed to be thinking, and her intuition told her he was “giving her a chance” to change her mind, but he was too proud to ask her to.

Finally, he said: “Please ask Tom to come in for a moment.”

II

“Two weeks of vacation. And double my pay.”

III

“So, ahem, are you still interested in the offer, my dear?”

“Am I to understand you will accept my terms?”

“That would be quite difficult. We are only a small business, as you know.”

“Oh. That is very unfortunate.”

IV

She could barely contain her grin when she stepped out of his office the second time. Just before the door closed the Baron summoned Berit to come in and draft an addendum to her contract. Tom, on the other hand, seemed the furthest from surprised. He stood up, shoved a hand casually in his pocket, and went to hold the door for her.

She waited until they were outside to ask him, “What did you say?”

“Was he upset when he called you back in?” he asked with a lazy grin.

“He looked rather… discouraged.”

“Which leads to the question of: what did you say?”

“I asked for a raise and one week off, like you suggested.”

“Wonderful,” said Tom, taking her hand and wrapping it around his arm as they strolled down the street. “Then I suppose we’re off to Paris.”

V

By the next day’s afternoon, she had signed the addendum for a temporary increase in roles and privileges. It was limited to a term of two months, subject to extension, and by evening she and Tom were done applying for a visa to travel on to France. It would take two weeks for them to be ready, but if they left right afterwards they would be back just in time for the auction.

VI

Tom was done with his suitcase within a few minutes of returning home from work with the new visa in his pocket, and then joined her at her flat to “help”. All he really did was lie down on the bed and look at her.

“And you’re sure we’ll still find train tickets?”

“Of course we will. It’s not vacation season, after all. Unless they’re celebrating All Hallows Eve in Paris of all places.”

“Well, they do have all those lovely catacombs.”

“They do indeed,” he grinned.

“I want to see them,” she said dreamily, plopping down beside him to fold one of her shirts.

“Then we will see them.”

“And I want to go to the Delamain bookshop.”

“Of course.”

“And the Notre Dame!” she continued, getting up to twirl on the way to the suitcase. “And we must see as much of the Louvre as we can. And go at least once to the Café de Flore.”

She had exhausted herself by the time she was done packing and it was up to Tom to cook them dinner. He was grateful that she was lying down in her room because he could finally cook again with magic.

She wouldn’t let him leave at the end of the night. Tom had never thought that muggle women had magic of their own, but she didn’t even need to say something to get him to stay. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him down with her, and after a lazy evening nap they got up just to change into their night clothes: for her, a long white cotton nightgown, for Tom, his underclothes.

She complained just once about how cold he was before she snuggled closer to warm him up herself.

VII

“Did I lock the flat?”

“Yes, twice.”

“And I have all my papers with me…”

“I saw you put them in your purse.”

“Passport, check, visa, check, wallet, check…”

“Don’t worry, everything is where it should be.”

“And we locked the store?”

“Yesterday evening, yes.”

“That exchange rate was brutal. I hope we bought enough Franks.”

“You do realise it’s a little too late to be worrying when we’re already on the train, yes?”

“But worrying is how I express excitement!”

Tom shook his head and turned to look out the window at the slowly rolling fields. They were getting closer to the mountains and the view grew ever more dramatic. The glass was fogged around the edges. From the corner of her eye, he saw her lean her head against the pane, lost in thought as much as he was. He read in her a slow dripping exhaustion, like a mistress leaving behind a needy pet. She could hardly get away from everything even in the act of leaving the country. It was underpinned by guilt, a feeling Tom wasn’t well acquainted with, and fear, something he avoided — all of it related to her work, her sense of responsibility, and a personality predisposed to fretting about everything.

“You’re not regretting it,” he frowned. “Are you?”

She looked at him, her expression still and sullen. He could see the white wintry sky and the passing countryside reflected in her eyes.

“I’m not,” she said defensively.

“Good. Because we’re going to spend a whole week there and not bother with Casa Ur.”

She chuckled. “Sometimes you scare me, do you know that? It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

Tom stuttered for a moment. He hadn’t thought he was being so obvious. Luckily, there was one retort he had that would distract her.

“So you’re saying I’m right? You are regretting going on vacation?”

She laughed and Tom was not sure whether it was directed at him but he frowned anyway. She pulled her coat around herself more tightly and frowned back in mockery of his expression.

“Am I ruining your holiday?” she asked.

“You’re ruining your own.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “it’s mine to ruin.”

“I wonder whether you really mean that.”

“Why?”

“When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself?”

“Why, only last night,” she answered with an easy smile, her foot reaching out to daintily brush against his own.

Oblivious to her flirtation, Tom scoffed, mentally going through their night together to find something worthy of that answer.

“Why?” he asked after giving up.

“We went to sleep together.”

“Yes, but that was all.”

“Yes, Tom,” she said, “that was enough for me.”

He crossed his arms petulantly. “You know that’s not what I meant, though.”

“Why not? So what if it is enough for me?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. You should count yourself quite lucky for what you’ve managed to accomplish. Not even lucky, in fact —”

“I know,” she sighed.

“— Deserving.”

“I know…”

“You should grab it with both hands.”

He couldn’t tell her what a pain it was to work for Borgin and Burke, to have his days wasted on two mean, middling wizards with more gold sickness than a dragon and the temperance of a worm, and get in return for his pains the promise of just another day of more. Of course, Tom could leave whenever he wanted, but not before getting what he was after.

He hated how her mind was torn in two about this. She’d said a few times before that she wanted to go to Paris and now that they were on their way all she thought about was work, and how guilty she felt leaving it behind for a few days. He hated, hated, hated it.

“I love you too, Tom,” she sighed.

VIII

It was like a nightmarish redoing of his trip to Italy, only in reverse. Hours and hours of a shaky, noisy train, and he was just as exhausted at the end of it — as was his travelling companion. But together, everything came more easily to them. Keeping track of where they were and where the train had stopped, getting to the hotel, signing in… France looked so different from Italy, and very different from England too. It really felt like an escape, like reality could no longer reach them.

The first night passed in a blur. If he dreamed of anything, he could not remember. He woke up slowly and reluctantly with his arms around her and his face pressed to her back. He grumbled at the ignominy of holding onto a woman like a childhood toy, turned over, sighed, and as soon as he stretched he felt all his bones ache. Even flying on a broom was preferable to muggle transportation…

She woke up soon after he did and burrowed deeper in the sheets, complaining of feeling very cold.

“Because of me?” Tom asked.

She grumbled.

The sun rose over the silver Paris rooftops. Small chimneys chugged their smoke into the cold November air and a light fog hid everything else in the far distance. Tom sipped on a small and oversweetened cup of coffee while he waited for his travelling companion to be done with the shower. Something pulled at his insides at the thought of calling her just that. His companion. She seemed sometimes like an ally, a partner in crime, and there was no ignoring that she saw the two of them as lovers — even after he threatened to leave, even after she refused to join him. And they had made love a few times already. Perhaps she had a point.

“Toooom,” came her muffled sing-song voice. “I’m ready!”

Of course from Tom’s perspective, every sweet moment between them happened for a reason — even if that reason was marred with inevitable failure. That alone was poor encouragement to maintain the relationship with her, whatever its nature. Then again, they had so many other forays into intimacy that he could not explain to himself, and in fact, were the last thing he expected. If he were a braver man, he would’ve admitted to himself that he was confused. His mind pulled one way, his heart — what was left of it — another.

After all the personal humiliations at the hands of haggard witches that he’d put himself through just to get Burke an extra sale or procure a new artefact, putting his body to work and quieting his mind while he braved through it had become his main strategy. And yet as he stood beneath the unsteady and hot spray of a late morning shower he sensed the impatience that buzzed beneath his skin — to go back to her, to hold her, to kiss… He felt his heart beat loud enough to hear. He felt his body come alive. This was unlike any other job he’d been on and he loved and hated every bit of it.

When he stepped back out, his body wet and dripping down the white towel at his waist, he caught the sight of her sitting neatly by the window, a stocking half-rolled up her leg, and he couldn’t help but go right to her and taste her lips again.

IX

They were lost in Paris. The usual attractions were easy to find, and they spent an hour just walking by the Sienne, but in their aimless pace and through their conversation — which inevitably turned to work, gossip, the Baron, speculations about Oso that were heartily encouraged by an amused Tom — they lost track of both time and the space around them.

“Oh, we’re nowhere near the Café de Flore, are we?” she said as she turned around. Her coat danced around her legs with the wind.

“Is that where you wanted to go next?”

“No, I wanted to see Notre Dame.”

“Oh, we passed that quite a while ago. Wasn’t paying attention, I suppose.”

“Well, the Île de la Cité is over there… Oh, you’re right, we passed it. But then this must be the Pont des Arts! The Louvre is on the other side!”

“Do you want to go there now?”

She thought for a moment. “They won’t have croissants, so no,” she said with a curl of her nose.

She pulled out the map from her purse, well-worn and folded into a compact little square, and consulted it for the first time that day.

It was Tom’s second trip to Paris, although his previous stay was brief and half-forgotten, so in many ways, it was for him as if seeing it for the first time too. Seeing it alongside his so-far-favourite muggle in passing and from the corner of his eye while they walked without aim and conversed freely gave him the sense of being a fugitive. It was surreal after so many years of working without a break… He was more appreciative now, as he saw some new trace of beauty in an ancient façade or a carefully planted row of trees or a fine iron fence, of the qualities of muggle culture and achievement. And he was more than anything intoxicated by the notion of staying there forever, free and wandering, surrounded by quiet beauty, never looking back…

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, taking his cold hand in hers.

“Pardon?”

“I found the café,” she grinned. “It’s down that street if we just turn left. But where do you want to go? All we’ve talked about so far are my plans.”

They started walking again, soon reaching the end of the street, and then turned south on Rue Bonaparte.

“Would you believe I haven’t decided yet?” said Tom. He couldn’t really tell her he had to find the wizarding part of the city, the entrance to the Place Cachée. It was, after all, the main reason he was there.

“No,” she giggled, “I wouldn’t believe it for a second.”

X

“You’ve been very distracted.” It was a statement she regretted making as soon as she did, but she was curious enough to see it through now that it was out.

The Café de Flore was busy with a quiet buzz even in the middle of the weekday. Among students and pensioners, she and Tom might have looked a little out of place, but they isolated themselves as much as they could in a little corner in the back. They thawed themselves after their autumnal walk and filled their table with tea and coffee and croissants and pudding.

Tom had been awfully contemplative all day — even more than usual. He looked at her through his dark lashes and in his gaze, she could almost hear his voice.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, his sharp features fogged by the steam of a cup of oolong tea.

“No,” she said after thinking about it for a moment. “I suppose I am just jealous. I wish you would take me with you when you go so far away…”

Tom chuckled. “I am here. I am too much here, in fact. Perhaps that is the issue you so cleverly detected.”

“Explain.”

“Well, I must return to England sooner or later. You know this.”

“All too well,” she said with a secret smile.

“And our job now is in Italy. And yet here we are in France.”

“Too much travelling… You’re not used to it.”

Tom thought about it and frowned. He seemed to dislike the conclusion right away.

“No,” he said with a strain in his voice. “I’ve spent the longest time settled either here or there, and only really travelled when…”

“When?”

“When going off to school, or coming back from it.”

She giggled. It was strange to hear of Tom’s unease about new places, especially since it was a feeling she was more familiar with.

“It can make you sick of everything, travelling all the time. Changing countries, and cultures, and customs, and… always being at odds with the world around you.”

“Happens to you often, does it?”

“Yes, in fact. And I want it to end. I want to go somewhere and feel at home for once.”

If Tom read anything in what she said, he didn’t name it, but she found something new in the way he looked at her. Perhaps it was… compassion. Sympathy. It was certainly not an expression he often tended to have so she remained quite mystified by what went on behind those cold, dark eyes. And then, as smoothly as a breeze through grass, he reached out for her hand and took it, covering her curled-up fingers on the table. She smiled instinctively at the touch. She was usually the one to reach out to him so his initiating something was a rare treat indeed.

“It’s difficult to find a satisfying way to live, I suppose,” he said. “But it is just another challenge. Nothing more.”

She got the sense as he said it that Tom aimed to conquer all the sorts of challenges she found insurmountable in life.

XI

They ended up spending an hour at the café. Life passed by as slowly as it did in Rome, but rather than having about it the rumble of a block of stone rolling down a mountain, here it flowed like a river or a slowly lapping sea. The air was sweet with freshly baked pastries and sharp with black coffee, and the illusion of a cloud of flowers passed them by with each stranger’s perfume. Tom felt quite disarmed. Maybe it was yesterday’s exhaustion from the train ride and the hassle and the fussing at the border, or perhaps it was the feeling of escape that came from being somewhere new, outside the power of old Burke and Mr. Malfoy… Or maybe it was just being there with her, half-guilt ridden and incredulous of their escape like two children who had run away from home.

They left the café on a whim sometime at noon and walked all the way back to the bridge. From there, they went onward to the Louvre.

Starved but uncaring they gawked at paintings, at statues, at the ceiling, at the floor. They held hands when the crowds got too thick and forgot to let each other go. They didn’t speak a word for hours. They didn’t need to.

They had reached an understanding at the café. Something passed through and between the words that was beyond the words themselves. Tom didn’t need to tell her that he had conquered death, that he was technically an immortal twice over, that he craved life and hated it in equal measure. That he felt trapped by this cycle, by his blood, his past, his future, by his magic, by his job, and would rid himself of all of it only to keep sharing more of himself with her. Just as she didn’t need to say that she hated her life as well and all of the certainties and uncertainties it heaped upon her. She didn’t need to say in so many words that she was quite unhappy even when she was with him. She didn’t need to say that she saw no escape. Tom knew only too well that feeling of being trapped — at Wool’s, at Burke’s, and in a way even now… He wished they could be fugitives together.

As evening fell they went to see the Catacombs. She was far more comfortable there than Tom expected and he was delighted to see this part of her — fascinated, unafraid, and quick to delve in the unknown. She had the same sparkle in her eyes as when they went to the museum in Rome and he found himself watching her more than the columns of bones. She passed through shadows like a nymph and turned to look at him with tired and beguiling eyes over her should, and if he had the power to he would have made everyone around them disappear and be alone with her, delving further and further into the death labyrinth, forever.

[meenawrites]

Spider Modern AU cause I can't help myself

I've seen so many people doing this and I love so much so I shall be participating as well. I'll also be doing other characters but this post is dedicated to Spider rn. I should really be working on my finals rn but here I am.

Spider is 100% a theater kid. Like no question about it. This kid can sing, he can dance, he can do gymnastics. He's the theatre troupe's pride and joy honestly, he's always pulling big stunts that wow the audience. This also ties into his love of storytelling in general so of course he's a theatre kid. Which ALSO means a lot of his playlist is musical songs cause.. ya know, obviously. I'd imagine Kiri actually secretly gave him access to her Spotify so he'd got access to premium (secret meaning everybody but Neytiri knows tbh). 

I think Spider actually does pretty well academically. He's a fast learner and his brain absorbs things like a sponge so once he understands a concept, it's all A's for him. It kind of pisses Kiri off how smart he is without trying sometimes, but she's also super proud of him for proving his haters (and her mom) wrong. 

This kid is the Anti-Bully of the school. He sees anyone bullying anyone and he's already aiming a punch at their face. Because of that, he's kind of seen as the protector of underclassmen and targets in general so he's pretty well liked generally, except for by the traditionally popular kids. Also not super popular with parents cause all that really sticks in their heads is violent Tarzan kid. He kind of stops with the physical violence once Kiri expresses her worry for him and how she doesn't want him to just blindly resort to violence all the time. But then he starts making comments to bullies that piss them off equally so there's no real winning for him here lol.

I think Spider likes working with his hands a lot so on top of acting in theatre, he also comes up with and constructs a lot of things for set and they always look incredible. 

Also, inspired by @be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie 's latest post, he joins the cheer team in solidarity with Lo'ak because he wants to get close to Tsireya. Refer to her post for more detail on that, I reblogged it if that helps. 

Despite being a year older than both Neteyam and Kiri, Spider and Neteyam actually share a lot of classes because Neteyam is a star student and skipped a grade. Kiri could probably also skip a grade if she wanted to, but her head's a little too in the clouds during classtime for any of her teachers to recommend it, even if she does get good grades. 

Spider still has his hair long, though I'm not sure if he would let it just endlessly keep growing or he would trim it here and there to his shoulders just to manage the curls a bit. I imagine his hair grows pretty fast so maybe once a year he chops it back to his shoulders and in like three months it's already almost to his elbows. He's gotten pretty good at braiding though, so when he can't be bothered to put effort into maintaining his curls, he just brushes his hair violently and braids it all in like dutch braids or other complicated hairstyles. The girls' soccer team probably starts recruiting him to braid their hair before games (based on my own experience lmao).

On a more serious note with his home situation... I think as a kid he was probably passed through multiple foster homes and all of them kind of said that he's too much for them. Then he ends up with the McCoskers and while they're not ideal they never say anything like that or try to get rid of him (yes they neglect him but seeing how he was treated before and they're not kicking him out, he's okay with them just giving him a place to stay). At least I'd imagine until maybe something big happens like he overworks himself or something and who notices other than the new family in town? The Tonowari family. And then they swoop in and are like 'mine now' and Spider's just like what? Unconditional love? A home where they notice I'm gone? Where I don't have to find my own food? What is this?

BUT IF TRUDY LIVED: so I imagine as a kid he'd still maybe be passed through the foster system a little, but Trudy is invested in his well-being, she's just still convinced there's some couple out there who'd be better for Spider overall until she sees all of them rejecting this perfect kid and she's like screw it and screw my own problems, I'll work through them for this kid but I'm taking him. And he's a happy boy thank you very much, loves his mama to death. 

I'll probably have stuff to add eventually but take this for now. 

[malemacrofics]



Ever since Bolin forced Zaheer to "put a sock in it". I've imagined what it would be like to be a pet or toy to that big, himbo lug.

The Side Effects of Spirit-Bending

Content: Gentle Giant, Underwear Entrapment, Cum Eating, Forgetful Giant, Musk, Bolin's just doing his best tbh

A/N: Probably the smuttiest thing I've written yet, I'm not gonna lie. But I am happy with how it came out! Hope you guys like it and, as always, requests are open even if I am kinda slow to get around to them. Also, if you guys have any macro headcanons or blurbs you wanna share, please do! I love talking macro, haha

I wasn’t sure what had happened, if I’m being honest with myself. I am (was?) part of the ground forces attacking Republic City with Kuvira. Her gargantuan machine marched alongside my regiment. My team had been briefed on all the things that might have happened. Everything from the Avatar throwing boulders large enough to fit in my apartment, or the Beifong family joining the fight and attempting to drop entire buildings on the machine. Even that, admittedly handsome, earthbender turning the streets to lava in an attempt to trap the mech was all in the briefing. However, the large purple mushroom cloud that erupted in the middle of the city once the mech fell? Or the resulting energy and shock waves that raced outwards from the epicenter? Those were new. I doubt any briefing could have prepared me for that.

I was one of the unfortunate sods to be close to the epicenter. Everything was basked in a strange, unnatural purple light for a few seconds. The light was quickly followed by an immense burst of heat and force that knocked me horizontal onto the road. Finally, in my last moments before I lost consciousness, I could feel immense amounts of electricity coursing through my body. Almost as though I had stuck my tongue into an electrical outlet. When I finally came too and everything wasn’t surrounded by a constant haze, I looked around to survey my situation.

There were relatively large pieces of debris surrounding me, and the roadway beneath me seemed to suffer a few cracks. However, the buildings on either side of me still reached high into the sky, in fact they seemed higher than they did moments ago. You did just probably suffer some kind of hit to the head. I reminded myself, trying to remain logical despite the rising panic I felt. At least I wasn’t trapped under some debris. I could feel slightly rumbling behind me, however I assured myself it was either an aftershock of whatever caused that shockwave, or a far off building collapsing under its own weight. Now wasn’t the time to get too caught up in worry of what ifs. At least, it wouldn’t have been the time for the panic if not for the massive shadow that began to loom over me. I quickly turned only to see a giant, large enough to eclipse the sun.

I had attempted to bend a nearby rock and blast it towards the giant’s leg, only for it to immediately grab its shin and yell out due to the sudden pain. However, as the giant bent over, and its face got closer to me, I could see who it was, clear as day. It was that lava bender from earlier. However, just as I was able to more clearly make out his face, his eyes fell on me with sudden recognition. I could see his large, green eyes quickly pass through emotions ranging from anger at the pebble I launched his way, to confusion at what I was, before settling on concern. The giant reached out a hand for me. My attempts to evade proved fruitless due to the sheer difference in size between us, as he was able to easily wrap his fingers around me before bringing me up before his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, little guy. I don’t want to hurt you! What happened?” He asked

“Let go of me, you big lug!” I responded, trying to thrash against his grip.

“Hey, I genuinely mean you no harm.” He said, opening his hand so I could stand on his palm, “See?”

I warily stood up before eyeing him suspiciously. “So, what do you want?”

“What happened to you? You’re like… five inches tall! Are you a spirit or something?”

“I’m not a spirit. And what do you mean, five inches tall?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, little dude, but you’re standing on my hand. Look around, everything’s giant compared to you!”

I took a look at my surroundings for the first time since the blast, and his words finally set in. The debris I was surrounded by wasn’t actually large. To a normal sized person, it would’ve looked like fist-sized rocks. I must have had a look of concern on my face, as the giant earthbender piped up. “Hey, little guy, don’t panic! Once this is all over, I’ll try to help you get back to normal, alright? My name’s Bolin, by the way.”

Hearing his giant voice grounded me back in our reality. “Right, thank you, Bolin. My name’s Arik. What do we do now?”

Before Bolin could answer, a voice behind him called out “Bolin! Where’s Korra?”

Bolin’s eyes went wide with concern yet again as he frantically tried shoving me into his pocket, only to find his pants lacking them. Then, I could see an idea cross his mind as he mouthed “Sorry” to me before pulling open the waistband of his pants. I didn’t have enough time to grasp what he was doing until I was unceremoniously dropped in and the waistband closed. I fell for only a few seconds until I hit something warm.

I had no light in my new environment, but considering what had happened, It didn’t take much effort to figure out what had happened. I was now face to, well, dick with Bolin. My entire body pinned between his member and the fabric of his underwear. My nose filled with the scent of his musk. I attempted to wriggle free from the confines, only to be met with the giant dick to slowly harden. As it got harder, I found myself with less and less space. Deciding it was better to at least be able to move somewhat, I stopped trying to free myself and instead just wait. Hopefully I wouldn’t be in here long.

—--

Bolin had an exhausting day. He and the rest of Team Avatar, as well as the air nomads, had to deal with Kuvira’s invasion of Republic City, which ended with Korra managing to bend a beam of spirit energy from almost point blank range. And if that weren’t enough, the sheer amount of that energy managed to rip another portal into the spirit realm. After all was said and done, Bolin just wanted to lay down and relax for a little bit. Luckily, Tenzin was more than willing to let him use a guest room on Air Temple Island.

Bolin opened the paper door and saw the room he’d be staying in for the night. A bed pushed against the corner with a wardrobe in the neighboring corner, and between them a large, hexagonal window to let in plenty of wind. He collapsed on the bed, initially face first before turning onto his back. All he really wanted to do was fall asleep, but after the day he was coated in so much sweat he knew he should shower first. But before he could begin to get back up and head into the shower, he could feel his blood begin to rush towards his manhood and feel it begin to harden. He placed his palm on his bulge and began playing with it through the fabric. “What the hell,” Bolin thought to himself, “I deserve it after the day I had.”

As he finished his thought, he pulled down the waistband of his pants and boxers and put his dick in his hand.

—--

Arik felt like the day might never end. He could feel each footstep Bolin took, causing his surroundings to constantly shift. It wasn’t terrible until Bolin began walking up and down some slope. The fabric and skin around him began to shift until he was pinned under looser skin, which Arik quickly identified as Bolin’s testicles. Their wiry hair coiled around his limbs until he was plastered to their surface, and his face now inches away from the tip of Bolin’s penis. As Arik tried to free himself from the hairs, Bolin’s dick would harden again, but with his new position, all he could do was watch as it also leaked small amounts of precum, coating Arik’s face, even forcing him to attempt to eat it if he still wanted to be able to breath. Ironically, the part of this whole experience Arik hated the most wasn’t being trapped against a sweaty crotch, but it was feeling his own dick harden at the experience. At least Arik could take solace in the fact he already had a crush on Bolin after seeing him in those moving pictures a few years back.

Eventually, Bolin began to move more slowly, and he heard some talk through the fabric of Bolin asking someone to stay on Air Temple Island. As Arik was feeling more excited at the prospects of getting out of Bolin’s boxers, he was met with a massive force pushing him closer to the giant earthbender. He was completely pinned against the fabric. Once the pressure alleviated, he attempted to untangle himself one final time in hopes of getting out. Once again, all he did was cause the giant member to grow harder. However, before it could leak any more precum on him, Arik saw light as the waistband of the boxers were moved. However, his hopes were quickly dashed as he watched Bolin grab his own dick in his hands before trying to jack off. Arik wriggled more out of rage, doing anything he could to free himself, but only causing faint moans to come from Bolin.

I finally managed to free one of my arms, using it to free the rest of my limbs. As soon as I freed myself, I began to climb the massive balls I was pinned under for the better part of the day. I finally stood tall at the base of Bolin’s penis. His eyes were closed as he continued to jerk himself off, and I knew he wouldn’t hear me at this distance. I summoned the rest of my energy to begin running along his torso. At first, the run wasn’t terrible. His muscular build granted me enough traction that I wasn’t too worried about slipping, despite the… activity he was currently doing. However, as I began to reach his mountainous pecs, I felt a massive force hit me from behind, throwing me down onto the earthbender’s skin. A white, salty liquid covered my body, and in only a few moments more drops of it hit where I was, all the while I could hear Bolin moan in pleasure. After I picked myself up and wiped off my eyes, Bolin’s eyes fell on me. He quickly grabbed me before sitting up. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry Arik! I completely forgot you were down there!” He apologized. “You’re like, totally covered with my cum now huh? How about we shower and I can try to make it up to you, sound good little guy?”

I simply nodded, as any attempt to open my mouth caused the earthbender’s cum to enter my mouth, forcing me again to swallow it. Bolin stood up and entered the bathroom attached to his guest room. He disrobed after placing me on the counter of the sink. I could see his full body in all its majesty, from strong arms and muscular torso, to his thick cock and tree-like legs. He was built like an adonis. He reached behind me and slowly turned on the sink, just enough to let the waterfall in a single stream rather than a few pitiful drops. He let me climb back onto his palm so I could more easily climb into the basin. He even used his finger nail to cut me off a little chunk of soap to wash myself up with. Meanwhile, he turned on the water for the actual shower and entered. I wasn’t able to see him in any detail through the frosted glass. However, once he was done, he looked just as stunning as the remaining water coursed over his skin. He walked over to the sink and turned off the water. He quickly dried himself off with a towel and wrapped it around his waist before grabbing a small cloth, likely for people to dry off their hands after washing them, and gave it to me to dry myself off with.

Once I was done, he let me climb back onto his palm and took me back into the main room. He placed me onto the table beside the bed, before walking over to the wardrobe and looking through the extra clothes in there. He finally settled on an outfit, it’s orange, yellow, and red fabric making it clear it was an air nomad ensemble, however it still looked natural on him. “I doubt there’s anything in here that’ll fit you, little guy.” Bolin said in an apologetic tone. Before I could even try to reassure him, he turned on his heel and faced me “But don’t worry! I have an idea. Just stay right there, alright?”

Bolin quickly left the room after finishing his thought, only to return a few minutes later, a bundle of fabric being held in one hand, and what looked like a few cookies in the other. He set it all on the bedside table right next to me. “I figured Tenzen’s kids might still have their doll clothes, and I was right!” Bolin said, proud of himself. “Any of these suit you?”

Bolin then began rummaging through the pile of doll’s clothes. There were an assortment of clothes, many reflecting clothes of the different nations. Finally, I settled on an outfit that somewhat resembled Earth Kingdom fashion, with deep greens contrasted with brilliant gold. Unfortunately the pants were a little big for me, but Bolin quickly fixed that by pulling a thread from a shirt I didn’t like and tying it around my waist like a belt. “You look so cute like that, Arik!”

“T-thanks” I sputtered, a blush quickly coming to my cheeks as I looked away from Bolin’s face. I was then nudged by one of his fingers, atop it a small piece of a cookie he had brought back for me. I didn’t want it initially, until I felt my stomach rumble and remembered that the only thing I’ve eaten all day came from Bolin in a more… intimate manner. In the end, I graciously took the crumb and sat closer to the edge of the bedside table. Bolin and I talked for the rest of the night, him trying to get to know me better. Eventually, as we were preparing to go to bed, he said to me “I promise, starting tomorrow I’ll talk to Korra to try to get this fixed.”

“Bolin, can I be honest with you?” I asked, slightly nervous about his response.

“Yeah, of course, little guy! Glad to see you beginning to trust me more.” He responded with a small chuckle.

“I don’t know how much I want to go back to normal…”

“What do you mean? You want to stay like this forever?” “I don’t know about forever, but after getting this tiny and being found by you, things have been kind of… nice, I guess.”

“Even after I accidentally hit you with my cum?” “Weirdly enough, yeah. I had a massive crush seeing you as Nuktuk, and now getting to be taken care of by you? I don’t know, it’s kinda nice. Even if I did spend most of the day against your sweaty crotch.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it was kind of nice getting to take care of you. And I promise it’s not normally that sweaty.” He said, with another small chuckle to himself. “But I want you to know, if at any time you want to grow back, I’ll talk to Korra and see what we can do. But until then, how about you be my little pet?” “Deal.”

With that, Bolin stripped down to just a pair of boxers and laid on the bed, pulling the covers over him. “So, Arik, where do you wanna sleep? Wanna try laying on my chest, hearing my heartbeat? Or maybe you wanna go back into my boxers? Bolin Jr. is already beginning to miss you.” Bolin said. And sure enough, you turned around and began to see a small bulge growing under the blanket. “No pressure, though” Bolin reassured you.

A/N: Sorry for the vague ending, but wanted you guys as readers to decide where to sleep for the night, lol.

[hiccupfound]

On Hermione killing Draco in Jagged

i’ve always wanted to give my explanation for this, but i fell out of fandom before i got the chance. tonight i was scrolling on my fandom tumblr, trying to find a gif to show my brother and sister in law, and i passed a jagger excerpt. one thing led to another, and i ended up reading the chapter after draco came back. (ch 30 i think?)

i know that some people were truly outraged on my choice to have draco murdered. a lot of people claimed it was out of character, and there’s a good amount of evidence for that, sure, but i think there’s a fair amount of evidence to show that it’s just as much in character as well.

originally, draco was supposed to live. originally, drarry was going to be end game. originally, abraxas was never supposed to come back to 1998, but sometimes you write the narrative and sometimes it writes itself. jagged was the story that taught me that maybe i’m not an outline type of author, because the final product deviated from the original idea so much that it was more frustrating than helpful.

admittedly, very much of the writing in jagged was therapeutic for me. a lot of hermione’s inner dialogue, self hatred, and “selflessness” are things i either see in myself or wish i could be. she’s far from a perfect character, but she’s powerful, level headed and smart. she doesn’t have many weaknesses revealed, not even when we spend half the story in her point of view. tom makes note of that several times when we get to his pov— that he has hermione on this pedestal, that she seems like some sort of impenetrable force.

but at the end of the day— hermione has dealt with extremely traumatizing situations that she had spent the better part of a year repressing. not only that, she was thrown back into 1998 quite suddenly, and even though we don’t see it in tom’s pov, it’s not hard to imagine how triggering that must be. hermione can put on a mask of indifference but at the end of the day that’s all it is— a mask.

i knew very early on that i was choosing the route of a dark order. the order has always been dark (its war, there’s really no moral high ground, despite what harry was brainwashed into thinking).

i felt very particular about how i wanted to pull this off. i didn’t want it to seem sudden or out of the blue. i also didn’t necessarily want “dark” to mean evil, because i feel like in jagged each and every character can be made out to be evil if you break down their actions in different lights. (this is a completely different essay)

draco’s betrayal was always a very dark spot for hermione. it brought on torture that she wore as proof of his disloyalty in her skin everyday. regardless of his actions or his orders, she thought this for years. she built resentment on it. is it logical for this resentment to play a part in her decision once she knows the truth? absolutely not. but that’s the thing, the moment draco steps into grimmauld place, logic has taken a backseat in hermione’s brain. she’s riding purely on emotions. she knows this, and yes, she has the wherewithal to recollect herself if she wanted to. but she doesn’t. it’s like she told remus. draco is her line.

second, hermione would have never, ever watched draco be tortured. damn the plan, damn the betrayal. she would have died to stop it. she would have gotten them both killed, probably. the point is, she couldn’t have lived with herself if she stood for hours and watched it happen. and with that knowledge, and knowing the pain she suffered through and that draco was able to stomach watching it the entire time… well, it was enough for her to not want him around anymore.

also, this was a last stitch effort for remus to prove his loyalty to her. i didn’t realize it at the time, but hermione and remus’s relationship mirrors jude’s and her step father’s from the cruel prince quite a bit. if you haven’t read it, (what are you waiting for?) the main thing you need to know is that they have an endlessly complicated, painful relationship wherein the love they have for each other is not stronger than their need to fight for what they believe is the greater good.

hermione viewed remus like a father, but that wasn’t a one sided relationship. remus loved hermione endlessly like he would his own child.

yet he still took a “calculated” risk. she was tortured and almost killed because of a decision he made. a decision he never planned on telling her about.

remus says he would do it again. and hermione knows it’s the truth, and in some ways she respects him for it. she’ll always be a soldier at heart. but it also solidifies his spot in her life as someone that will never, ever be family to her again. because hermione wouldn’t risk remus’s life for anything.

so she uses draco as leverage. remus sees draco as mostly innocent. his life lies in remus’s hands. he has to choose. hermione’s side, or draco’s life. it’s vindictive, yes, but hermione has just spent the past 4 years using manipulation to get what she wants. as a reader, it’s not a side of her we get to see a lot (aside from when she’s torturing michael, which admittedly, was meant to be foreshadow to this exact moment)

as an author i could have done a better job throwing in more unpredictable or emotional behavior on her part. but at the time, i really wanted this to be a turning point, not just for the order, but for hermione herself. this is kind of her first selfish decision in a long time. the first time she chooses something simply because it’s what she wants. as readers you may say, “her selfish act was to take a life?!” and to that i say, yes. yes it was.

i wanted hermione to be irrational just because. i wanted her to take her power and abuse it a little. we read stories about strong female characters with endless powers who fight and win big wars just to settle at the end in the name of morality or being the better person.

i didn’t want hermione to settle. i wanted hermione angry because she deserved to be.

of course there are arguments against why she didn’t, and of course logicially killing draco wasn’t the decision that made sense. but that’s the thing, hermione is a flawed character. she doesn’t (and won’t) make all her decisions based on logic.

women deserve to be angry. women don’t need to forgive.

jagged hermione doesn’t need to explain why she wanted draco dead, but as an author, i wanted to.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Playing the Best Version of Myself

I’m not intending to permanently turn this blog series into a “Sophie listens to podcasts and talks about the Starcruiser” thing, but… this week I found myself once again listening to a podcast episode about Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. It was The No Proscenium Podcast this time, and the episode was titled “Last Call at the Sublight Lounge.” One of the panelists, Kathryn, said the following about Halcyon passengers:

“I believe that a lot of the people on the ship were roleplaying that idealized version of themselves… Maybe you’re braver, bolder, more confident, more willing to stand up for what you believe in. Maybe it’s a version of yourself that you want to wish into being, but you’ve never had a chance to articulate it before.”

Funnily enough, this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard someone express this idea about the Starcruiser. On the final night of the show, I met up with a bunch of the performers after closing time. Emotions were running high, understandably, but a lot of those emotions were positive. There was so much love and gratitude in that space – for each other, and for what we had created and accomplished. Everyone kept talking about how much we’d grown because of the Starcruiser. Late in the evening, one of the performers attributed that growth to how we’d created a space where everyone who participated, everyone who came to play, could come be “the best version of yourself” – and playing as the best version of yourself changes you forever.

It gave me pause, when that performer said it, and I’m thinking about it further after hearing Kathryn bring it up again – because when I entered the Starcruiser as a guest, I didn’t think I was playing the best or idealized version of myself. I fully intended to not be myself. Sophie Katz knew too much about the Halcyon and its characters. I spent six months running around that ship, making sure that everyone else knew everything they needed to know about where to be, why they were there, and what to do while they were there. The beats of the whole two-day show are imprinted on my brain. So I thought that in order to have fun, and to avoid ruining anyone else’s fun with metagaming, I had to separate my guest-self from my writer-self.

Shira Alderaani Khesed was a character I made up almost two years ago. I wrote a poem about the destruction of Alderaan in Star Wars, and afterwards I fleshed out the character behind that first-person perspective. She was a woman without a homeworld, the daughter of Alderaanians who just happened to be off planet on their honeymoon when the Empire destroyed their lives. And as far as I could tell before my voyage, playing Shira would be about as far from acting as my real self as I could get without outright sacrificing my morals. Shira was a mechanic; she’d never had the good fortune to be able to pursue art as a career. She was cynical and cowardly, weighed down by the trauma she’d inherited and unable to imagine a better future – in direct contrast to my real-world optimism. She didn’t have a family or community to support her; her late parents kept her intentionally ignorant of her culture, believing that would protect her from her people’s genocide – unlike my real-life parents, wonderful and alive, who raised me to take pride in my culture. I wouldn’t have called Shira my ideal self; I certainly wouldn’t wish to be her or live her life!

I thought I’d successfully separated my real self from my Starcruiser-self.

But the performers on my voyage were quick to prove me wrong.

I mentioned last week that some of the performers dropped hints that they knew me. Gaya said I looked familiar. Raithe said he knew I understood what was going on better than anyone. Lenka outright added a bit to my backstory, saying she remembered how I helped repair the ship before this voyage.

There’s another example of this that I should mention now.

Captain Keevan’s path did not cross much with mine, but at one point late on the first day, I was standing with a friend in the lower concourse when the captain came out of the dining room. She approached us and asked how we were doing, mentioning she’d heard that I’d had some issues with Sammie the mechanic. I responded in character, explaining that Sammie had asked me to do something that I wasn’t comfortable with (lying to First Order Stormtroopers, which from Shira’s cautious-and-cynical point of view was a good way to get killed).

The captain told me that I shouldn’t have to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Half joking, I looked at my friend and said, “Does that mean telling my friends to not sing anti-First Order fight songs?” (Which, yes, is another thing that happened. Video evidence here. Sophie loved that scene; Shira did not.)

“Well,” said Captain Keevan, “something like that could be a useful distraction, at times. I find that some people work well on the front lines, and their actions make it possible for others to do the important work they need to do in the background.”

“I do well in the background,” I said.

And she smiled and replied, “And I know you’re good at keeping things on schedule.”

As she walked away, I realized something about Shira. I’d thought that by making her a mechanic, I was making her unlike me. I’m not a hands-on hard-science building-things sort of person. I’d even been a bit nervous that someone might ask me something technical that I wouldn’t be able to answer.

But as Lenka had pointed out, as a mechanic, Shira was someone who had helped prepare the ship for this voyage. And as Captain Keevan had pointed out, Shira was someone who worked well in the background, supporting the people who were visible on the front lines.

In other words, Shira was the me I aspire to be, as a professional creative writer – not the person in the spotlight, but the person who makes it possible for other people to do well in the spotlight. The person who builds the world, who takes care of the details in the background, and who, if I’m doing my job right, goes unnoticed. You don’t notice a mechanic unless something breaks; when things go smoothly, you praise the captain. Similarly, you don’t notice a writer unless the dialogue is bad; when shows make you laugh and cry, you praise the actors and directors. That’s how it is. That’s the space I work well in and take pride in. Sure, I want people to know what I can do, and I want to get credit when I do a good job – so that I can continue to do this work that I love and make a living with it. I don’t dream about being a big flashy hero with crowds chanting my name. I want to be quietly essential.

I realized that Shira had an opportunity here – to learn to be that quiet, essential background player.

And as the show progressed, moments kept coming up that developed her story in that direction. When Lt. Croy ordered that a restraining bolt be put on beloved droid SK-620, Shira whispered to Sammie that he needed to go through it, despite the boos of the crowd, to keep the ship safe. The next day, Shira helped lure Lt. Croy and the stormtroopers downstairs to give Lenka and Saja Fen a chance to rescue SK. During the heist, Shira didn’t get one of the many “noisy distraction” jobs; instead, Raithe secretly passed Shira the gem, and she stood far away from the action, quietly keeping it safe while Captain Keevan ordered Raithe to turn out his pockets. Moment by moment, act by act, decision by decision, Shira was learning how much of an impact she could have on the galaxy from the background, even if – perhaps even because – most people didn’t know she was there doing the work that needed to be done.

Everything culminated in a scene that caught me off guard just as much in reality as in character. Shira wound up in the middle of the atrium, with a whole crowd of people’s eyes on her, telling Lt. Croy a series of objectively terrible lies.

It would be impossible for me to exaggerate how uncomfortable I am with improv. I’m fine with public speaking – I’m honestly pretty good at it – but I always prepare a lot in advance. If you’ve ever heard me say something cool, it’s because I spent at least ten minutes beforehand planning it out. I did not plan for this moment. And so, in that moment, even though I objectively knew that no real-world harm would come to me, my fear and Shira’s were one and the same. All I wanted to do was run away.

But I didn’t run away. I kept talking – babbling, really – because I had to keep Croy’s attention on me, so he wouldn’t turn around and see Raithe sneaking up to the mezzanine to steal the coaxium. Because that’s what Shira would have done, after everything she’d been through on that ship. She would play her part. She would make it possible for other people to do the more obviously important and visible job. And, as soon as the job was done and it was safe to do so, she would run away… straight towards Raithe, who promptly handed her the suitcase of coaxium. He knew he could trust her with it.

And me? I want to be trusted. I want to be someone that people can rely on. I may not literally want to be Shira Alderaani Khesed, but I want to have the kind of impact she had on the story unfolding around her, just by being me, hard at work in the background. Building worlds, preparing experiences, and keeping everyone around me on schedule. Relied on and appreciated by the people who matter most. Quietly essential to a life-changing experience, and given the chance to be so again, and again, and again. That’s the best version of me.

You wanna know the best part? Those two days I spent as Shira was not the only chance I had to be that best version of me. I now understand that the role that Shira played on the Halcyon was the role I played with Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. I see it now more clearly than ever before. We don’t often get the chance to see ourselves so clearly, and I am so grateful to this cast for helping me see. They gave me such a gift. They gave everyone who set foot on that ship the gift of getting to be – and to learn that we are – our best selves.

I know what I can do for others – for a creative team, for an audience, for the world. I want nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again.

Let’s do it again, together.

[munsonownsmyass]

Michael Kinsella x reader

Authors note: I have been through the emotional ringer lately and after listening to a Hozier song today, I just felt I needed to put this down on paper.

Sometimes life is hard, but it's important not to lose hope.

Thank you to @e-dubbc11 for ensuring me that the first thing I've written in almost two months aren't shit. Love you hun ❤️

Warnings: Angsty, bad self image, a hopeless romantic feeling anything but love, hopeful endings, a smidge of fluff.

Words: 1.1K

I never really thought I was worth anything and so far, life hasn’t really showed me anything to prove me wrong. This is not a sob story where I go into detail about how my parents didn’t have time for me or how I didn’t have any friends growing up. I won’t force you to sit through pages upon pages of me telling you about my countless wrecked relationships, how I’ve been ghosted more than a haunted house or about all the times I’ve thought to myself ‘This is it. I’ve found it.’, just to be proven wrong again. To once again have my heart shattered.

I know deep down that the problem might be me. I mean, all these things do have me in common. Maybe I’m just not worth it? Maybe I should just move to a cabin in the woods, get a bunch of dogs and live happily ever after as an author, alone and content… Given that my books could even sell, that is…

You see, my problem is that I’ve always believed in true love. Happily ever after. That one day I’d look into the eyes of another and find the missing piece of my soul and finally feel like I belong somewhere for the first time in my life. But I’m starting to believe that true love only exists in fairytales and that it’s never going to happen to me. I remain hopeful, but I wouldn’t bet any money on me finding my one true love.

You know that one person you’d want to look at every night before you go to sleep and can’t wait to see again in the morning as the sun shines through the blinds, falling perfectly on their face. Don’t we all want that all-consuming ‘can’t live without each other’ love? I certainly do and I remain hopeful… Or I try to.

Cause what is life without hope? Would it even be worth getting up in the morning? I go to bed some nights not sure if I even want to wake up the next day, but I still wake each morning, lying to myself that it will get better. That today might be the day that everything changes.

Okay, before I start sounding like I’m a depressed little person, I would want to say you’ve caught me at a bad time. Just got ditched again after thinking he was the right guy. I had already started mentally moving into a little cottage where we could grow old together, but alas… I was again proven that some men are just dicks or that I’m the problem… And I really don’t want to think about the last one.

So yes. Right now, I could curse every single man to hell, but who am I kidding? Give me 5 minutes and I will look into the eyes of a new stranger and fall a little again. As Hozier sings ‘I fall in love just a little bit every day with someone new’, cause I’m weird like that. I always see the best in people, and I always imagine how they might be like, what kind of music they might listen and if they are a cat or dog person.

This is my fault, I’m sure. If I really have to think about it. I fall too easily. So I’ll try to stop. This time I’ve promised myself I will not even look at another guy again. I’m better of alone.

---

So… It only lasted two days. I actually did manage to not even respond to that random dude who sled into the dm’s on my social media or the flirty guy at the counter as I hand him his coffee. I remained strong until he came in.

He’d been coming into the coffee shop for two months now, always the same solemn expression on his face. He’s always lost in thought, like there’s a million things going on in his mind. Whenever he comes in, I want to ask him what he’s thinking. What have caused him to have those haunted eyes so full of unspoken emotions. But I never do.

Today his pattern changes. He comes in, gives me that slight smile as he places his order and waits patiently for it go get done, but instead of going, he sits down in the corner. He’s always so quick to leave again, like he doesn’t want anyone to see him, yet today he sits there by the window, looking out.

He looks lost somehow, like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Like life hasn’t exactly treated him kindly either. He looks… almost like me. I know I should leave him alone, but I wonder if a small act of kindness from a stranger could lift that veil of sadness. If maybe I could make him smile. I bet he has a beautiful smile.

Damn. I’m doing it again. I should have learned by now not to fall so easily. Cursing under my breath, I try to work and not look at him, which proves hard. He is just so beautiful. Those expressive hazel eyes, his plump lips encircled by that full beard and the tattoos on his arms. And he probably has a nice body under that shirt, considering how it clings to- No… I got to stop this. This is the kind of thinking that always gets me in trouble.

As he gets up from his seat, I already start looking forward to the next time he comes in. Maybe he’ll stay again the next time? Maybe even stay a little longer, so I could conjure up some courage to talk to him? But to my surprise, he doesn’t walk to the door, but comes back to the counter.

“I-” He starts but stops again. His eyes find mine and I feel my heart skip a beat, like it always does when he looks at me. “I’ve been trying to get the courage to ask you out for over a month now.”

The small smile grows into a nervous one, but all I can think is what this man has to be nervous about. Surely, he must know I’d say yes in a heartbeat. Which was almost exactly what I blurt out. Thankfully it makes him smile wider and I was right. A very beautiful smile indeed. ´

“Fine, then. Tomorrow at 8.” He says with a smile and for the first time, it reaches his eyes. The small wrinkles and the shine in his hazel orbs make it impossible not to smile too.

“Tomorrow.” I confirm with a giggle, barely able to speak without stumbling over my words. On his way out he turns to me, giving me a little wave with the smile still adorning his beautiful face. Once he is out the door, it takes several minutes before my breathing is back to normal and my heart is done making backflips.

I have a date. A date with Michael. And in that moment, I don’t even care if he turns out like the others and leaves me broken. But something tells me he isn’t like the others. That this time it will be different, because… We have to keep hoping, right?

Maybe I could fall again… Just a little bit?

Tagging: @mindidjarin @itwasthereaminuteago @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @mattmurdocksscars @theradioactivespidergwen @chvoswxtch @pedrito-friskito @yarrystyleeza @murdock-and-the-sea @saintmurd0ck @boliv-jenta

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 4 excerpt — kiribaku, do you still want to be a hero? read full story here

“Why are you a hero?”

Two boys, brilliant blond and rambunctious red, sit in an empty study room filled to the brim with all the world’s complex anxieties. For once, the tension in the air cannot be cut with the press of nitroglycerin hands or diamond-tipped fingers. 

Eijirou stares at his own lap where softly clasped hands hold each other, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the smooth skin of knuckles Katsuki has spent the last three months learning the shape of.  

“I guess…” Eijirou starts, “I thought, if I could recreate the feeling I got when Ashido saved me, for someone else, I would do it a thousand times over,” Ever-kind red eyes look up to seek Katsuki’s own softening carmine, “There’s something that happens when you’re frozen, and you think you’re about to die — that you should die, for being so weak, for being stupid enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time… And then, at the last second, a hero swoops you out of the way and saves the day.” 

The corner of Eijirou’s lips tips up in a half-smile. 

Katsuki wonders if Eijirou is picturing that small, dark-haired boy Katsuki has only seen pictures of. Sometimes, Katsuki wishes he had known Eijirou back then, has dreamed of being in Ashido Mina’s place and swooping the young boy out of harm's way to kiss frightened tears off soft cheeks and be the hero in Kirishima Eijirou’s story. Other times, Katsuki is so fucking glad he didn’t go to the same middle school as Eijirou because Katsuki knows he’d more likely be the reason to make Eijirou want to die in the first place.

“I think it restored my faith in myself, and in this society,” Eijirou continues wistfully, “Proved to me that there are good people with wills stronger than my own, who are willing to put their lives on the line for some random person they barely know — it made me want to live. Or, gave me something to live for.”

Katsuki knows the story, and is thankful to every imaginative heaven above, to Ashido Mina tenfold, for saving the boy that dares to sit next to him. He cannot imagine a world without Kirishima Eijirou, a world without sturdy thighs pressing into his own, lifting him up with a too-sharp grin and hardened fists, ‘I will be your unshakeable chariot.’  

Their lunch remains untouched.

“Do you still feel that way, after Aizawa-sensei’s lecture?” Katsuki has to ask.

Clasped hands tuck under Ejirou’s chin, sharp elbows digging into those very thighs Katsuki yearns for too much, “I actually feel a bit embarrassed,” And Katsuki can tell, Eijirou has a habit of curling his hulking form into something small when his insecurities leak through the cracks of his Unbreakable, “World’s not nearly as black and white as I thought. Never thought the duties of a hero could actually… What’s the word? ‘Contribute’? To the problem.”

“Yeah, that’s the right word.” 

Eijirou’s knee nudges his own, the warmth of a body Katsuki’s learning to love boring onto him for a short moment, “What about you, how are you feeling?” — ‘Cold,’ Katuski wants to say when Eijirou shifts slightly away, “If there’s anyone at this school who’s more passionate about becoming a hero, it’s you.”

Katsuki sniffs, “You mean, more passionate about being the best.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Katsuki scoffs as he turns his body to face Eijirou head-on, “We just sat through an hour discussing that in class.”

Eijirou shrugs, and his chin lolls over his knuckles in a tilt.

“Yeah, but,” He finally straightens up to meet Katsuki’s defensive stare, “I’m asking you, personally. What’s wrong with wanting to be the best?”

“Ugh, ‘the best,’” Katsuki feels so much disgust for the word that used to drive him, “Remember when you used to cheer me on for sayin’ that shit?”

“Remember when you used to be happier saying it?” 

And Katsuki — well, he feels like he’ll never understand the relaxed line of Eijirou’s shoulders when they’re like this. Katsuki is a nasty force to be met with hunched spines and averted eyes. He is a taunting, walking bomb who’s most likely to push down a person already familiar with the ground, rather than offer a guiding hand to teach about the sky.

Kirishima Eijirou is everything Bakugou Katsuki is not, and yet, every day, Eijirou offers his very human hand and Katsuki is too greedy not to take it.

“I am…” Katsuki struggles for a moment, before letting out a big sigh from his still-growing lungs, “Confused. I feel stupid,” His voice cracks on the last word.

Short, red eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

For once, it is Katsuki’s heart that explodes, and not his hands.

“Because how did I not know any of this!? How do we, as a whole fucking society, have all this data, and still operate within the same system in the same, exact fucking way? I mean, isn’t that the whole point of research? To find the problem and work towards a solution!” 

There’s tension at the root of his scalp, and Katsuki doesn’t realize it comes from his own gripping hands.

“What kind of lazy, bastard politicians do we have! Or, is it on us heroes to do something about it? And if so — why the hell do we only know how to physically fight!”

Katsuki’s lungs feel too small for his body. He feels like an underdeveloped kindling with gasoline drenched in every twig holding too big of a fire he cannot hold.

“I mean, yeah, yeah, we practice proper rescue etiquette, and how to be fuckin’ nice to a scared shitless child, but…” Something wet smears from his temple to his cheeks, and Katsuki does not know if it’s from the sweat of his dragging hands or the suspicious stinging in his eyes. 

He goes still as he thinks about all the sleep he’s lost since his kidnapping, and stares at the vast nothing beyond Eijirou’s shoulder.

“What about when they go home? What happens that night, when that same child won’t go to bed without screaming? When their head just replays the moment they almost died, over and over and over again — and they’re just supposed to, what?” He’s on autopilot, all flinging hands and helpless shrugs, “Go back to school, pretend they’re paying attention, and then just — what, do their homework?”

He looks back at Eijirou, “Come to terms with the fact that the world isn’t going to stop long enough for them to ‘move on,’ like everybody wants?”

Eijirou’s eyes mold with sympathy. Katsuki thinks the boy is too good for this rotten, uncaring world. Eijirou’s open heart is going to get him hurt — ‘doesn’t he get it?’

“And what about us, Eijirou?” Katuski feels like he’s pleading, “We just put our lives on the line for problems that will never fucking end, for a problem that’ll never get fucking solved, rinse and repeat until our own bodies break down with the amount of shit we’re hit with? By villains who are basically, according to fucking science, created by us? What kind of endless fucking machine is this! What is the fucking point! What was the fucking point of all of it!”

Eijirou looks at the trembling boy in front of him — a boy, not a hero because that’s what Bakugou Katsuki deserves to be before the glittering false gold of their school’s, their society’s, best — and he cannot help the tears that well up in his eyes. Eijirou has witnessed Katsuki scared, prideful, mean, kind, hopeful — but he has never seen Katsuki weighed down by so much doubt. 

Quietly, gently, Eijirou asks, “Do you still want to be a hero?”

The chuckle Katsuki lets out is empty, and Eijirou’s breath gets stuck in his throat at Katsuki’s cynical stare, “What even is a hero, anymore.”

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[edrelapsebitch]

An allegory about having Ana -

I don't like my room. It has ugly coloured walls and decorations everywhere, the floor is flooded with my clothes and shoes and rubbish. The mirror on my far wall reflects all the clutter my room holds. I didn't ever think too much about my room until I met Anna and I think I quite liked my room before I met Anna. Anna said she'd be my friend and she'd always help me but Anna tricked me. She swore that she’d always do the best for me but now here she stood making me stay here, making me sick. Anna had stolen me and I wanted her to let me go but slowly now Anna had become a part of me, Anna was my identity so how could she go.

Now Anna's thoughts were my thoughts, they consumed me and held me, they wrapped around my brain like bees in a hive, swarming around ready to sting anything that interrupted our thoughts. I started to see things the way Anna saw them . Anna hated my old room. She told me it was ugly and that being in an ugly room made me ugly too, so she told me she'd help me fix it, Anna promised that when she was done it would be the prettiest room ever but she couldn't help me if i didn't try. Anna told me that if I had a nicer room, I would be prettier as well and this made me happy to hear , I was not pretty but Anna said I would be. Anna tells me the reason i'm not pretty is because i haven't tried hard enough, she said she could tell the moment she met me i was lazy and didn't try . Anna said she hated people like me but that I could be better . I see the image in my head, the room is smaller, the room is pretty and I'll be pretty too, I will be happy with how it looks . Once I get there I can stop, stop trying harder to have a nicer room, stop trying harder to be prettier. Anna had promised.

One day Anna took it too far and I told her I was done. I wanted my room back how it used to be even if it was ugly but Anna told me that's not what I wanted deep down and why waste all my efforts and everything I had sacrificed just because I felt like giving up. Anna was all I had left now and so I did what she said . I promised her I would try harder to do what she told me to do so my room would be pretty because after all Anna was my friend and she only wanted what was best for me, Anna cared. Anna told me it would be easier to make my room look how I imagined if I made myself hate this room even more. She made me stop looking out the window even though that was my favourite thing to do or at least it had been, I think. I stopped liking what I used to and spent my days focused on making my room better. In my reflection I saw it, me and Anna's dream room . My room would be everlastingly pretty and everything I wanted and it would prove that all my hard work had finally paid off, Anna would be proud of me. Anna told me to stop imagining it and just try harder to make it happen, she started to scare me .

Anna used to whisper her thoughts into my ear but now Anna screamed and yelled, and if I broke one of the rules she had set for the room then Anna became cruel, though after a while once i had fixed my mistake and got back on track, anna would apologise and I would forgive her because after all anna was all i had left, she says that she cares about me but i’m not so sure now.

Anna took away the paintings on the wall, she stripped off the pretty colourful paint and covered it with dull lifeless black wallpaper and she boarded up my window with wood , the room looked pale and blank and Anna told me that that's what the prettiest rooms looked like, Anna had taught me that pretty looks sick. I was no longer sure that I wanted the room Anna was creating for me but I couldn't make her stop and I'm not sure I wanted to. In the back of my head I knew that Anna was no longer making my room the type of pretty she had described to me when I first met her. No. Now my room doesn't look like my room anymore. It had been stripped of its personality and the things that made it mine, its layers removed , all the things that made my room what it was Anna took away. I started to hate Anna but Anna made me feel in control, i felt like i never had control over anything in my life until i met anna.

The room was dusty and dark, it was hard to see everything was blurry but anna said this was what made the room pretty. She told me that nice things are worth the sacrifice. I asked Anna when the room would finally be pretty enough. I don't know how long I can stay in this room anymore. She just told me that there was no point in giving up now, not when the room was starting to finally look good, the room didn't look good anymore though but anna couldn't see that .

Anna made it harder to live in the room by the day, i felt as if I had trapped myself in this room and Anna, who now consumed my every thought, loved that I felt this way. It made her feel powerful and Anna's feelings were my feelings too. Anna was like a leech sucking the blood from the room and I was a part of Anna so I was no better than her, me and Anna are the same. Anna often woke me up by opening and closing my rooms door , she’d wake me to tell me about the rumours she had heard, ‘they all think your room is ugly’, ‘i heard that the girls next door thinks you don't try hard enough to make your room look nice’ , ‘you know there not wrong right?’. Anna's words made me feel sick but I knew they were true.

I felt nothing as the weeks went on and I let Anna take the last items out of the room until there was really nothing left. I sat in the dark day after day, anna watched me in the corner and for the first time since the day i had met anna she smiled, it was a long smile that stretched across her face, anna only got happier as each day passed and the room got sadder. Anna said sad things were pretty and I guess this is what she meant when she said she would make my room prettier.

I hate my room. It is dark and empty. There is no me in this room only anna, i am not anna. Anna tells me i need her but i know the truth is that she needs me more. I look at anna and she looks back at me, her smile fades quickly. I stand up and the room starts to spin in the darkness, i walk past anna who is standing by the door and i walk straight out. I can see the world and im No longer stuck in the little dark empty room. I know anna will always be there in the little dark room in the back of my head. she’ll try to whisper to me but i will not let her shout.

[thaliaisalesbian]

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 9: and the last thing you wanted

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Steve knows when he wakes up that Nancy and Jonathan stayed.

Nancy’s curled into his good side, and she and Jonathan are holding hands across his body.

It’s hard not to want to fall asleep again, or at least pretend until they get up and leave for school.

They don’t want him. Not even as a friend.

This is just… pity. Or something. They feel bad because he’s hurt, they don't actually care about him. And why would they? He was a terrible boyfriend, apparently, and just shitty to Jonathan. They don't have any reason to like him; it’s not like he's given them any.

'Then why have they hardly left your side since you woke up?’ Maybe they think they owe him, maybe it’s to keep the kids out, but he’s not entirely stupid. It’s not because of him.

(He can't let himself hope. Maybe they’ll tell him he's wrong… or maybe he’s exactly right and things will go back to normal soon.)

He can’t get out of bed without waking one of them up, and he doesn’t want to talk right now.

So he’ll pretend for a little longer, go back to sleep and imagine that maybe this is something he could have.

It’s easily the middle of the day when he finally sits up, alone in the bed. His jaw is aching, so he must have been trying not to scream in his sleep.

He ignores the pulsing hurt that seems to spiral from his heart down through his wounded side when he realizes that the spots to either side of him have long since gone cold.

They have school, and they wouldn’t want to stay here for him all day anyway.

Irene might be here—he always seems to sleep through her visits, though. Probably for the best; he knows that Joyce has changed out the catheter once or twice, but it’s usually Irene who does it and he'd rather not be awake for that.

El, then? She's usually here.

Or maybe Hopper took her back to the cabin. He should be fine on his own now, right? The fever broke, and sure he’s still a little unsteady on his feet but he can handle it. Especially with the IV pole to lean on.

He’ll go back to his house today, probably. Going back to school will be a little harder, but he’ll figure something out. He always has before.

He still has to find out what Hopper told the school happened, so he can stick with that story.

He pauses to catch his breath, leaning against the wall, before he tries to go into the more open living room and kitchen on his own.

“Do you think he’s awake yet?”

“He’s recovering, Nance, he’s going to sleep a lot. It’s normal.”

Nancy and Jonathan? Why are they here? Why did they stay?

“Steve!” Nancy’s in one of his sweatshirts, his swim one from sophomore year, with his name on the back. “You’re awake!”

Steve shoves that to the back of his mind. She grabbed clothes for him, it was just in that pile.

(He's ignoring that Nancy would have had to look for that sweatshirt—he hasn't worn it in a year at least and it was no doubt buried under everything else.)

He’s probably going to get that a lot this week.

“Yeah,” Steve looks between her and Jonathan. “What about school?”

“We’ve got passes for the rest of the week,” Jonathan says. “Hopper told them you were kidnapped and having concussion and other recovery issues. He and Mom are working today through Saturday.”

Oh. So that’s why they’re here. Because Joyce or Hopper can’t be.

“Are you okay to stand?” Nancy’s hovering, and she’s not usually someone who hovers. With Mike and Holly, maybe, but certainly never him.

He untangles his legs from the blanket and stands to prove he is.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Jonathan ducks under his good arm and takes some of his weight.

“We’ve got more soup.” He offers. “Or I could make grilled cheese.”

Grilled cheese sounds like something he’ll throw up right now.

No thanks.

“Soup is fine.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe if he still had a fever this would be easier. At least when he’s got a fever, he’s got an excuse for not saying anything.

Nancy turns on the TV; one of those daytime shows he’s never paid much attention to.

He doesn’t ask what they were doing, or why Nancy’s wearing his sweatshirt, or where El is, or even just to change the channel.

Steve doesn’t know where he stands with them right now and it’s weird. Usually, it’s not this hard; he knows the script when he’s dropping off or picking up the kids and that’s easy enough.

He can't figure out why they’re being so nice about it all. No one else is here.

 They don't have to pretend.

(Steve refuses to let himself think that they're not pretending, or feeling guilty. Not after what they said, even if he wasn’t supposed to hear it.)

He doesn’t want to say or do the wrong thing, though, and make the niceness go away. He wants to keep it while he can.

It's better just not to say anything, especially because he has no idea what the wrong thing might be.

finish on ao3 or continue reading

Jonathan keeps an ear trained on the living room as he reheats the soup. Steve had been more unsteady on his feet than he’d likely wanted to admit, his face nearly grey when he stood up. Steve hasn’t said anything, but Jonathan knows it has to hurt. Steve doesn’t seem willing to admit that, though—he can understand not wanting to let on in front of the kids, but he seems to think he still needs to hide it around them.

Nothing but the TV.

He brings three bowls out, so it’s not him and Nancy watching Steve eat in silence.

This is already awkward enough.

“You don’t have to stay with me.” Steve doesn’t look up at them, staring into his bowl. He hasn’t had more than a few spoonfuls. He’d gone weeks without proper food, of course he can’t get through a whole bowl of soup quickly. “I’ll be okay. I can probably go back to my house today, anyway.”

“No!” Nancy looks like she’s going to start lecturing. “Steve, you’ve got twenty stitches in your side, you can hardly walk, you’re not going back there alone.”

“I’ll manage, I’ve done it before. Broke my ankle playing basketball freshman year and handled the stairs alright with crutches.”

“By yourself?” Jonathan can’t even picture his mom making him do the dishes while on crutches.

“Yeah. Why would my parents come home for something as small as a broken ankle?”

“Steve.”

“It’s fine, Nance—Nancy—it was three years ago.”

“Steve." She repeats, like she can change his mind.

“Can we go for a drive?” Steve sets the bowl aside. “I won’t try to leave or anything, but I want to do something.”

“I guess that’s okay.” Jonathan says, before Nancy can shut the idea down. “I’ll drive, we’ll put one of your tapes in.”

“Jonathan, what? Why would you agree to that?”

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t get bored sitting in a house all day.” Even though he knows that that’s not what’s going on here; it’s close to lunchtime for the kids at school and he suspects Steve knows that. It’s a nice enough day that they’ll probably be eating outside, and if Steve wants to drive by and see that they’re okay he’s not going to argue with him about it.

Or maybe Steve wants to see Hawkins free of vines and black goop, and driving around town will help him more than staying inside.

Either way, Jonathan’s not about to deny him something as simple as sitting in a car.

“Steve, you’re still hurt, it’s not safe.”

“I’ll be sitting in a car, Nancy. I won’t even be driving.”

“Jonathan, what would your mom say?” She turns to him, trying to get her on his side, and he knows she’s just worried about Steve, but making him stay here isn’t going to help anything. 

“She probably wouldn’t mind, as long as we’re careful.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can guarantee that at least one of those kids forgot their lunch.”

Steve perks up a little at the mention of the kids, and he sees the moment Nancy realizes what’s really going on.

“I bet it would be nice for El if we brought her something to the cabin, too.” She suggests. “She and Hopper have spent so much time here lately I doubt they have the fridge stocked much.”

“We could pick up groceries?” Steve’s sitting a little straighter now, even though it looks like it hurts. “I try to do a weekly run because Hopper is busy and I like to teach El to cook different meals.”

“A small one, maybe.” Jonathan agrees. Letting Steve take care of the kids—even if he's not supposed to be doing anything—is probably the best thing they can do for him right now.

“You’re not going to let me cook, are you?”

“Not standing, anyway.”

It’s not as awkward as it was just an hour ago when Jonathan pulls Steve’s good arm across his shoulders, taking as much of his weight as Steve will let him.

Nancy watches Steve in the rearview mirror. He’s hummed along to a few songs, nothing like the way he used to sing while he drove, loud and outrageous just to make her laugh. He’d wanted to be alone in the backseat.

His knuckles are white clutching onto the extra lunches they’d made. She’d made, while Jonathan had helped Steve change and clean up a little.

They go to the middle school first. Steve doesn’t even have to roll down his window and shout to get the kids’ attention from where they’re eating on the curb, because they know Jonathan’s car as soon as they see it.

“Steve!” Dustin crams in first, shoving Steve against the door, ignoring his wince, or maybe just not catching it. “Are you supposed to be here? Are you okay?”

“Move it, nerd!” Max pokes at Dustin until he lets her get close to Steve, too. “He wanted to see me, we all know I’m his favorite.” Lucas climbs in after her, but he just sits on the seat quietly. 

“No, I am!” She’s afraid she’s going to have to step in for a minute, but Steve dissolves the fight before it really starts.

“I don’t have favorites, shitheads.” He tosses Will one of the bags out the window; at least he and Mike aren’t fighting to get in the car too. Then she’d really have to step in and rescue Steve.

“Just don’t tell them that you’re my favorite, kiddo.” He stages-whispers to Will, and Dustin falls back into Max dramatically. She rolls her eyes and shoves him off towards Lucas.

“No! Steve! I’m supposed to be your favorite! I met you first!”

“And I’m the one who helped you with the bus!” Max pushes Dustin a little harder, that time.

“Well, he helps me with basketball, so I think I win.” Lucas doesn’t even try not to look smug, and god, Nancy never thought she’d see the day where her kid brother’s friends are fighting over who Steve Harrington likes more.

Mike rolls his eyes at all of them, but he’s always had a thing about Steve, so she’s not too worried about that.

“How long do you have before class?” Jonathan asks Will. 

“What? We’re not going back to class! We can spend the day with Steve, right? And go to the arcade or something?”

“No, we can’t. Steve can’t go to the arcade, he’s hurt.” Max elbows Dustin maybe a little too hard. 

“You’re going back to class.” Steve fixes them all with a look she’s only ever seen on her mom and Joyce Byers before. “I just wanted to—”

“Come check on us?” Will finishes quietly. “Thanks, Steve.” He reaches through the window to hug Steve as best he can. “Come on, guys, we don’t want to be late to class. Thanks for lunch.” He hugs Jonathan through the front window, too, and waves at her. Mike doesn’t bother, following him immediately. 

Max takes the other two bags, and Nancy pretends not to see Steve tugging her braid gently and kissing her head.

It’s not like Billy Hargrove is the shining example of a wonderful older brother, after all. They’ve never gotten the full story about that night out of the kids or Steve. At least, she hasn’t. Maybe Joyce and Hopper know more. 

Lucas and Max have to pull Dustin out of the car to get him to leave, and then all three of them watch as they drive away.

None of them speak until Jonathan puts the car in park again. Nancy wants to ask Steve why he keeps looking at them the way he does. It reminds her of the days after Tina’s party, when sometimes she’d catch him looking at her with a tired kind of sadness.

Like he was just waiting for her to decide when she’d leave.

“You’re not going in, Steve, Nancy will and you and I will stay out here.” Jonathan clicks the locks on the car door when they park. Steve could pull it up easily and get out anyway, but he doesn’t. He’s pale, and not entirely focused.

“Okay.” She glances at Jonathan, but he seems determined to see this through, even if Steve looks like he’s drained now.

Maybe they’ll talk. Maybe Jonathan will be able to get Steve to say something, anything, and they’ll be able to figure things out.

“Tell my mom what we’re doing, would you?” Jonathan leans over to whisper in her ear. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” 

Nancy nods, kissing him quickly. She doesn’t want Steve to know they’re talking about him like this, even though if he were paying attention he’d know anyway.

She’s got a list, from Steve. He hadn’t been able to write it down, so she’d had to do it for him.

“Nancy!” The store is empty, so Joyce hurries over when she walks in. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. Steve wanted to go for a drive and we checked up on the kids at school. He wants to go see El now, and wants to bring her something.”

“That’s sweet of you, to drive him around.” Joyce visibly relaxes when she realizes nothing is going on. Nothing bad, at least. “How has he been?”

“Jonathan’s been helping him walk, and he’s been a lot quieter than usual.” She double checks the list as they walk the store. “I think checking up on the kids made him feel a little better. If it were up to him, I don’t think they’d leave his sight.”

“I was the same with Will, at first.” She laughs a little. “You should talk to him.”

“I know.” She wants to, but she doesn’t know how to bring it up.

‘Hey, Steve, I’m kind of actually a little bit in love with you, and Jonathan, and Jonathan loves you too, and we both want to date you.’ seems like it would be a little overwhelming.

But between how he’s been acting and the look in his eyes, she doesn’t think he’d believe her.

She's pretty sure he still thinks they hate him.

It all feels overwhelming, even for her, and she’s usually pretty decent at handling this stuff.

Okay, not really, but she would like to think she’s gotten a little better.

“I hope you’re not letting Steve cook.”

“Jonathan’s already told him he has to sit on a stool.” Joyce shakes her head.

“Have you told Hopper about this?”

That’s what she’d been forgetting.

“I’m sure he won’t mind.” Joyce is quick to assure her. “Steve is at the cabin most days as it is. That’s the last of your list, dear.”

“Thanks, Joyce.” She manages to fit all of the bags on her arms. “I’ll see you tonight, probably.”

“Don’t plan on it; El is likely to want to keep Steve for the night and don’t think Hopper and I haven’t noticed how you and Jonathan haven’t left him unless we make you.”

Yeah, they have been pretty obvious about it.

“And, Nancy,” Joyce starts, “You can’t let this linger. I know none of you are ready to talk about whatever issues you’ve had lately, but sometimes there isn’t a right time to have a conversation, there’s just a time.”

Joyce is right. Nancy doesn’t know how she knows, because she hasn’t said anything and she’s sure Jonathan and Steve haven’t, either.

That doesn’t matter, because she’s right. They'll have to talk soon. They’ll have to find out what, exactly, Steve overheard and what he thinks they meant and correct it. But she doesn’t want to hold that conversation when he’s practically bedridden, not if she can help it.

No one had ever told her that growing up would be this complicated.

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