#late seasons masterpiece

[zestyleaf]

ALEX HIRSCH IN THE NEW BIGTOP BURGER?!?

[simptasia]

i’m no stranger to media i love being made by awful people (star trek and doctor who have a long history of this...) but still. i’m in shock

[blazed-fowl]

I binge watched Wayne and goddam i have yet another show I will deeply mourn for not having season 2

[sharky-teeth]

top dean/bottom sam fics that perfectly exemplify why bottom sam is the best (the list got kind of super long because i'm just too passionate about this topic):

take the things you love by hathfrozen: i think everybody and their grandma knows this one but i had to include it, this is our gospel. literally changed my life.

mommy dearest by tradwifesam: if you don't like feminization, read this and see the vision.

Softly, as a morning sunrise by LaughableLament: one of my go-to authors for fun and short PWPs.

Noise Complaint by formalizing: a lesson on how to make a thousand words count!

Coast On Through by philalethia: this actually contains switching, but when i tell you it has some of the best samdean scenes ever...

Feel About the Same Most Every Day: pining that you can feel in your bones.

Like a Machine by ani_coolgirl: camboy!sam perfection.

Untouchable for Life by Sintari: another one for my camboy!sam enthusiasts.

Undertow by Molly: starts out angsty and ends with psychic sex vibes, what's not to love?

Birthday Boy by DickBaggins: sam's ass is dean's birthday present, need i say more?

Keeping it Clean by themegalosaurus: swesson filth <3

this thing, for which we break by orbiting_saturn: intense and intimate, as PWP as it comes.

Sweltering by WhoopsOK: brothers with benefits done right. slutty sam as a treat!

weecest:

With A Bit Of Spit And Luck by elsi: in my top 5 weecest of all time, which is saying something because the competition is crazy.

Bulletproof by road_rhythm: gunplay! incredible characterization, if you have a kink for guilty dean who's unable to stop himself, and pushy sammy, this is the one.

Heart of Worms by Ninni: very moody, and beautifully written.

Petulant by formalizing: another short read that hits all the right spots and leaves you wanting more.

and all is right in Dean's world by ladygizarme: loved dean's characterization here, he left me feeling unsettled.

for those like me who need some jokes with your p*rn:

The Koala Conundrum by De_Nugis: (mentions of switching) to this day, one of the most unique & refreshing stories i've read, an absolute masterpiece.

the one with aphrodisiac: this one managed to be hilarious and hot in equal measure, an amazing feat.

Incidentally, It Was Christmas by ani_coolgirl: one of my favorite fics of the year! ani's humor is impeccable! if you also believe in the sam-sexual dean truth, this is a must read.

Tongue-Tied by ADeedWithoutaName: cursed!dean unable to speak, and sam speaking for both of them, you know where this goes...

Dicks in a Box by fictionallemons: buried alive and how do sam and dean decide to spend their time? it ain't cuddling!

Versatile, Tender and Delicious by themegalosaurus: improper use of a zucchini. read and find out.

for my omega sam lovers:

Five Weeks & its sequel Three Weeks Too Late by rei_c: probably my favorite wincest a/b/o of all time! i could've read 100k of this universe, loved the details put into it.

A Blind Fool's Luck by hellhoundsprey: this is also a favorite! i remember the tension in this fic had me dizzy. this author has an incredible way with descriptions, vivid and unique writing style.

Phantom Pain by hellhoundsprey: weecest! love their dynamic here so much, great blending of a/b/o traits while keeping them in character.

Clover by hellhoundsprey: perfectly done late seasons getting together! with the right amount of schmoop. clearly this author is very dear to me lol

know the feeling by sammyatstanford: this is the longest work in this list, around 40k words, and so worth it! really enjoyed the worldbuilding.

now to my favorite flavor (bottom sam with a side of delicious angst):

Lesser Evils by Dyed_Red: [non-con] not for everyone, but definitely for me. if you love samdean at odds and suffering, this will push all the right buttons. life-changing fic.

Is It Tomorrow (Or Just the End of Time) by elsi: the angst here is so glorious. from beginning to end it's angst, angst, then more angst. there is no resolution to their issues, and i love that.

Collision Course by lovetincture: one of the most believable first time stories i've read, spot on characterization and raw descriptions. didn't shy away from the ugly side of incest.

You can run away with me any time you want by Trojie: sam leaving for stanford fic! oh this one hurts like a motherfucker. there's a line in here that's so beautiful, it lives in my brain.

his skin barely keeping him inside by hathfrozen: another banger by hathfrozen, i have a weak spot for first time in a long time stories.

No such thing as Forgiveness by hellhoundsprey: lawyer!sam getting his life sent off track when big brother comes back to the picture... the unhealthy dynamic here is to die for.

Blood sacrifice sex magic type of thing by Goshen: sam performing ritual sex to cure his demon brother... as he should.

Worship Not These False Idols by killabeez: ruby fucking sam while pretending to be dean. as amazing as it sounds.

Circles of Light by WhoopsOK: there is a "Magical Healing Ass" tag. enough said

end of list! i tried to only include works with less than 10k hits here, so someone might find something they haven't read before. i didn't include warnings, so definitely check out the tags first. all these fics are seriously amazing, i hope more people will read these gems <3

[youunravelme]

nothing happened in the way i wanted part 1

author's note: okay so let it be known that my FAV emily henry book is happy place (if you want a deep dive into my personality, if you want to know the inner workings of my mind, read the book) SO with that being said, this fic was inspired by that masterpiece. plus i've fallen down a matt rabbit hole as of late. just a warning, this is a LONG ass fic (74 pages and 30.3k words, not a brag, i kinda regret that it's this long bc my brain hurts) so pace yourselves okay? thank you for being the kindest people ever!! this is finished, but tumblr said what i wrote is too long. so i'm posting it in parts lolol.

summary: a year has passed and you are no closer to understanding why matt ended things and you have every plan of avoiding that thought until he comes back in town for the offseason, then suddenly he's everywhere.

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: ANGST, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, mention of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drinking, depression, panic attacks, let me know if i missed something!

after

despite being back in st. louis for six months, summer still felt like it came too fast. your thighs started sticking to the seats from sweat about three weeks ago. summer used to be your favorite season because it meant you had unlimited access to the love of your life, you weren’t sharing him with his teammates or his crazy schedule.

but he wasn’t yours anymore. matthew hadn’t been yours in six months and some change.

the second you entered your parents’ home, you tossed your keys into the bowl and slid your shoes off. it’d been six months since you moved home, and it still didn’t feel like a space where you belonged. you walked into the living room without so much as a hello from either of your parents, both of whom were posted up on the couch. they weren’t talking to each other, just letting the noise from the news fill the room instead of conversation.

“hey,” you greeted, plopping down in the recliner.

“how was work?” your mom asked.

you shrugged, not quite having the words to convey how mundane it had been. you were working on restoring a piece for this rich couple who lived in the same neighborhood as the tkachuks. it wasn’t in too bad of shape, given the fact that you were the one entrusted to work on it. if it was actually something incredibly complicated, your boss would’ve found someone else more experienced to do it.

when you entered art restoration and conservation, you thought it would be mindless. art had always been an escape for you, a chance to remove yourself from your racing thoughts. you thought that by entering the art conservation field, you could add onto something, enhance the beauty that was lost over the years of damage, instead of creating something from your own experiences.

but no one told you how hard it would be after your breakup, that you would have to learn how to pour bottles of chemical solvent into a glass when your eyes were blurring with tears. no one said anything about how you would spend hours hunched over, fixing the problems in paintings that only served to remind you that while you could mend a masterpiece, you were unable to stop and patch up the problems in your relationship. no one spoke about how you would inevitably relate to the paintings that came to you in shambles, the only difference being that clients would pay thousands of dollars for their paintings to be restored to their former glory, your ex let you fall apart alone in a city where you had no friends outside of the ones you’d made through him.

but how could you communicate that to your mother? to your father? both of whom stayed in an unhappy marriage for the sake of optics? how could you tell them that it’s been months and you were still no more over your ex than the day it ended? how could they understand you? they stayed together out of convenience, out of a fear of ending their marriage only to never find someone else.

it had been six months since your relationship ended, and you were no closer to understanding why.

“just a mundane day,” was all you said instead. “nothing to write home about.”

both of your parents hummed.

“did you have dinner already?” you asked.

“was gonna order pizza,” your dad said.

your mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. “no alan, we had plans to see chantal and keith tonight for dinner.”

you wanted to throw up.

you weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe some loyalty from your parents? though, they weren’t fully privy to all the information about the demise of your relationship with matt, so maybe you couldn’t expect them to stop hanging out with his parents, especially when said parents were such great people.

“oh,” was all you could say.

“you’re more than welcome to order takeout and watch a movie,” your mom commented, like you needed permission to make yourself at home when you were actively living there. “i’m sure ronald would appreciate your company.”

you glanced at the tabby cat who was perched on his cat tree. personally, you had no issue with ronald, but he liked your mom and your mom only. though on occasion, he would allow your dad to pet him. 

“i’ll figure something out,” you said.

your mom hummed before she stood up to go get ready while your father stayed on the couch. it was only another ten minutes before he got up to change quickly, and another five before they left the house without so much as a goodbye.

before

you were incredibly aware that you didn’t quite fit in. your mom drove you to school in a beat up 1997 toyota camry which looked incredibly out of place among the bmws and audis. your mom offered to walk you in, but she was wearing her scrubs from her night shift and her face looked tired, so you declined the offer and got out of the car yourself.

it shouldn’t have been as daunting as it was, but your old school wasn’t as prestigious as this one. your previous schools in cedar rapids had been public schools. no one was wearing a uniform, and most of the backpacks worn came from the same walmart in your old neighborhood. 

but your parents had decided they wanted a better education for you, even if neither of them had the money to fork out thousands of dollars for a private school. your mom’s parents, however, were loaded. they were more than willing to fork out a small fortune for your schooling under the conditions of your family uprooting your lives to missouri. you were too young to realize what a sacrifice that was, you didn’t notice the snide comments your grandparents made about your father’s choice of career or your mother’s choice in husband.

you didn’t see your grandparents any more than you usually did since you’d moved to missouri two weeks ago. they’d been out of town on a trip to rome up until three days ago and hadn’t reached out to have dinner or hang out at all.

not that you cared at the age of nine, you were more focused on unpacking your room. but now that you were standing in front of the giant school alone, you felt like you should’ve been more concerned with how nice your school supplies were.

a kind woman greeted you at the entrance of the school. she smiled and introduced herself, though you couldn’t hear her over the roaring in your ears. she stood next to a blond haired blue eyed boy who was your height.

“are your parents here?” you weren’t sure how you heard her over the noise in your head.

you shook your head. “my mom had to go home and my dad is at work.”

the woman blinked. “is today your first day?”

“mom, it’s everyone’s first day of school,” the boy groaned.

“i wasn’t talking to you, matthew,” she said, though her eyes never left your own.

“i just moved here,” was all you said, albeit a bit quietly. 

“well, you can walk in with us.” She placed a warm hand on your back and ushered you inside next to her son.

you took notice of her nicer clothing compared to your mom’s scrubs or your dad’s tattered khakis, though the woman’s clothing wasn’t as ostentatious as other parents’.

“do you know your teacher’s name?” the woman asked.

you nodded and showed her the crumpled paper in your hand. the night before, you were wracked with nerves and wrote your teacher’s on a blank sheet of paper and doodled around it. even at nine years old, you were concerned that you’d somehow forget. you couldn’t be more grateful for it now.

the woman’s face lit up. “oh how lucky! matthew look! you’re in the same class.”

matthew for his part, tried to look happy about it, but his eyes kept wandering to the hallways, like he was looking for people he knew. you felt bad for even being in this situation. you missed your friends from iowa and the light up shoes you used to wear before you were given a uniform.

matthew’s mom pointed out the classroom that was supposed to be yours and walked both you and matthew into the room. unlike her son, who immediately found his friends to do elaborate handshakes with, you stayed by her side. she was a stranger, sure, but she was more comforting that the classroom of fifteen other nine and ten year olds.

the woman sighed and bent down a little to look you in the eyes. “it’s gonna be a good day, sweetheart,” she said. “mr. terry is a great teacher, he’s really kind.” you weren’t sure how she would know that, but you weren’t going to call her a liar. “and if you need anything, ask matthew. he’s been going here since kindergarten, okay?”

you nodded.

mr. terry walked over and introduced himself. he had dark skin and a bright smile, showing you to your seat. your name was on a card with fun stickers on it. next to your seat, you saw matthew’s name. now it wasn’t necessarily an unpopular name, there were three matthews in your third grade class, so you weren’t holding out hope that it was going to be the matthew you walked into class with. but two minutes later, he was plopping down into the seat to your left.

matthew looked almost startled to see you sitting next to him, but when the shock wore off he gave you a crooked smile and stuck his hand out. “i’m matt,” he said, like you two didn’t walk into class together.

you shook his hand anyway and gave him a shy smile and told him your name, just in case he didn’t see it written on your desk.

if it was even possible, his smile widened. “pretty name,” he said.

after

you’d watched a movie and half of another one by the time your parents walked through the front door. ronald jumped off the couch to greet your mother while he ignored your father.

“oh,” your dad said. “you’re still up.”

“i’m about to go to bed,” you replied, though you didn’t move from the couch.

“dinner was great,” your mom commented. “chantal and keith said to tell you hello.”

your gut twisted at the mention of their names. you loved his family, you really did, but the mention of the family that was almost yours stung when you looked at how your parents acted like roommates on the best of days.

you remembered summer days spent in the tkachuks’ backyard, watching as matt and brady chased each other while taryn tried her best to keep up. you remembered your dad picking you up from their house, and how you begged the entire ride home for a little brother or sister. he looked at your through the rearview mirror and said “we already achieved perfection, why mess that up?”

but you were grown now. you saw how their marriage barely survived raising you, and they were probably being smart by not risking your upbringing just to have another child.

you bid your parents goodnight and headed up the stairs to your childhood bedroom. it looked less like the office it was converted into when you moved out originally. you didn’t fault your parents for taking advantage of your absence, you, like many people your age, had zero intentions of ever moving back in until an unfortunate set of circumstances happened to you.

and that’s what life had felt like lately:

unfortunate.

unfortunate shit just happening to you.

it wasn't late by any means, but you were surprised when your phone vibrated with a text message. maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t really befriended anyone since moving back that had you flinching at the shock of someone other than your parents (or grandparents) texting you.

you unlocked your phone and opened the message, sighing when you read its contents.

emma:

hey girl! just checking in to see if you’re still good for this weekend? no worries if you can’t make it!

you dropped the phone on your stomach and groaned into your hands as soon as they made contact with your face.

years of dating matthew meant you’d grown closer to brady and taryn and by proxy, brady’s fiancée, emma. you’d already committed to being a bridesmaid and bought the dress before your relationship with matt ended. when emma found out, she called immediately and gave you an out, said she wouldn’t take it personal, that she understood if it would be too hard.

but you remembered the countless conversations had about planning your weddings while the both of you watched the loves of your lives try not to kill each other from your spots on the back porch. and you could hear it in her voice, how much it meant to her that you would be there even if she didn’t want to push it on you. it didn’t matter that only one of you was getting the wedding you planned. the bets made on who’d get married first were obsolete now.

you wanted to text her back and say you were busy, but you hadn’t seen her much since her and brady came back in town. when the senators’ season ended in april, he and emma spent some time with her family and attended the playoff games for the panthers. now that the panthers’ season ended two weeks ago, all of the tkachuks were back in town which used to excite you.

now it just filled you with dread.

no, it’s not like you lived in the same tax bracket as matt’s family. you didn’t go to the same grocery stores unless you were tagging along. no, there was a comfortable distance between your neighborhoods and st. louis was filled with two million other people that the odds of running into him were slim.

but your anxiety preferred zero odds rather than a slight chance, and it made the logic that was once screaming at you sound like a small whisper.

you sucked it up anyway, though. seeing emma and the other bridesmaids was better than staying in your room and staring at the ceiling.

you:

i’ll be there! can’t wait!!!

and maybe you used too many exclamation points. maybe you were trying too hard to prove something no one would believe if they took longer than a split second glance at your face. you were a horrible liar, that hadn’t changed. you were just hoping by the time the weekend came around, you’d be too busy to focus on any of the pain.

before

the summer after keith retired, the tkachuks took you and your family on vacation with them to turks and caicos. your parents were stressed initially about the trip, but you were filled with nothing but excitement at leaving the landlocked state you called home.

missouri had slowly wormed its way into your heart. when your family moved, there was never a thought in your mind that you would ever come to love it like you did with cedar rapids. there was no way you’d ever consider this place your home. but then you met the tkachuks.

it’d been nearly three years since you’d first sat in that seat next to your best friend in mr. terry’s fourth grade class. now, you were splashing around in the waves with matt and brady while your parents looked from the shore.

school had been different the past two years, with matthew going to an all boys school after fifth grade while you stayed. it took some adjusting to being without him the entire school day. you didn’t want to think of yourself as codependent, or clingy, but mat was your best friend. it was an adjustment, having to make new friends in the same school.

now that wasn’t to say that you never saw matt. after your initial introductions, chantal offered to take you to and from school if your mom or dad dropped you off at their house in the morning. both of your parents jumped at the idea. your mother, who worked as a night shift ICU nurse, reveled in being able to go home and go straight to sleep. your father, whose job as an electrician required him to be on job sites early in the morning, didn’t mind it either, he had to be up early anyway.

and sure, you had to wake up earlier than you used to, but you got to eat breakfast and pretend like you were a tkachuk most days of the week (with the exception of the days your mom was off). keith would ruffle your hair as he passed you in the kitchen. taryn would race matthew for the seat next to yours.

the tkachuks felt more like your family than your own some days.

especially now when your parents went on a date that keith and chantal paid for while they stayed back at the beach house with you and their children. 

all six of you were seated around the coffee table with the game of life laid out in front of you. the evening started out with a game of uno, but that game got out of hand quickly. it took brady reversing the order and hitting matt with a draw four before your best friend lunged over the table to tackle his brother. while keith broke up the boys, chantal cleaned up uno and instructed you and taryn to pick out the least competitive game you could find.

which is how you ended up playing the game of life.

even though life had to be the least competitive game you knew, matt and brady still managed to argue over it, even going as far to rant about how unfair it was that they had to pay for home insurance. keith and chantal had just chuckled and told them to enjoy childhood while it lasted.

you found yourself smiling and laughing along.

you weren’t quite sure who won, or how anyone ever really wins the game of life, but the moment mattered more. taryn went upstairs with keith to get ready for bed while brady helped his mom in the kitchen pop a bag of popcorn. you and matthew were responsible for cleaning up the game.

“are you having fun?” he asked.

your smile was so wide, it hurt your cheeks. “i’m having the best time. this is by far the best vacation i’ve been on.”

“really?” he smiled.

you nodded emphatically. “most of my family vacations have been spent with my grandparents.”

matt grimaced, already aware of the testy relationship your mom had with her own parents. “when’s the last time you saw them?”

you had to think for a moment, while your grandparents technically lived in st. louis, they were often out of town or ignoring your family’s existence altogether. with the exception of the last saturday of every month, when you and your parents were practically obligated to eat dinner with them. you didn’t notice their judgmental comments when you were younger and mesmerized by the giant dollhouse they bought for you.

but you were older now. you knew that there were terms and conditions attached to the cellphone they bought for you on your twelfth birthday. you heard the disdain in their voices when they talked down to your father and mother for their life choices. you weren’t an idiot, you understood that every compliment they gave you was a way for them to make your parents feel inferior in comparison.

you weren’t a child to them, you were a pawn in a game you never asked to play.

“we saw them about a month ago?” you shrugged. “they’re on vacation until halfway through august.”

matt hummed. “i think we’re gonna visit mom’s parents before school starts back again.”

to your credit, you did your best to look happy for him, even if it meant that you wouldn’t see him for a week and a half. you had other friends in town! in fact, you befriended a girl named simone when you started middle school. maybe you could call her when you get back to st. louis?

evidently, your little act wasn’t convincing enough. matt nudged your shoulder with his. “you’ll be fine,” he said. “you’re probably annoyed from how much time we’ve spent together this summer. you need a break.”

you couldn’t help but smile. “i could never get tired of you, matty.”

he blinked, almost at a loss for words, it felt like. but you should’ve known better, because he was holding up his pinky a beat later. “you promise?”

you locked your fingers together. “promise.”

after

it’s just emma and her friends and taryn, you thought. you already know all of these people. there’s no reason to be stressed out.

which, to be fair, your inner monologue was right. you had absolutely no reason to be standing in front of your closet debating what to wear for as long as you had. 

before you could stop yourself, you were hitting emma’s contact and putting your phone on speaker. the dial tone rang out through the room while you waited for her to pick up. you were seconds away from ending the call when her phone sounded through the receiver.

“hey! what’s up?”

you exhaled. “i don’t know what to wear tonight.”

emma said your name through a laugh. “we’re not going anywhere fancy, i swear. it’s just dinner and then we’re going to a bar.”

you frowned. “so taryn’s not joining us after dinner?”

“no, she has other plans after dinner anyway. she said she was meeting up with some friends from high school.” as if she could see the hesitance on your face, emma spoke up again. “but you know all the other girls, it’s not like you’ll be hanging out with strangers.”

and she was right, you were in a groupchat with the other bridesmaids and found all of them to be quite pleasant.

“look, if you’re still stressed about what to wear, just wear jeans.”

“okay, but how nice is this restaurant?” you were rummaging through your closet. “because i’ve worn jeans to restaurants that weren’t supposed to be fancy and i found myself criminally underdressed.”

“yeah well, i’m better at communicating than matt is.” a gasp sounded through the receiver, like emma had just realized what she said. “oh my god, i’m so sorry—”

“it’s fine, you’re not wrong,” you said, forcing out a laugh even as your heart painfully squeezed in your chest.

“i really didn’t mean to,” she sighed. “i’m sorry, that was rude of me to bring up.”

you shook your head even though she couldn’t see you. “it’s fine, emma, i swear,” you said even though there were tears pricking in your eyes. “i’ll have to face the music eventually.”

“still, it was insensitive of me to say that.”

you cleared your throat. “don’t worry about it, i’m a big girl.” you pulled the phone away from your face so you could sniffle for a second without drawing any unnecessary attention. “so jean shorts tonight?” you asked.

there was a brief silence before you heard emma’s soft sigh over the phone. “that sounds perfect.”

before

matthew kissed you for the first time when you were hanging out with mutual friends after school in eighth grade. you’d been dreaming about that moment for years ever since sixth grade when you realized matt was handsome and the flutters in your stomach weren’t just from nerves anymore.

both of you were at your friend morgan’s house sitting in her basement. she happened to live in the same neighborhood as matt. so after school, you rode home with the tkachuks like you always did and then walked to her house.

morgan was the first of your friends to get a boyfriend and she wasn’t shy about telling everyone. it was easy to be jealous of her. while you hadn’t known her as long, your other friends had made it clear she’d garnered male attention since preschool. so there was no surprise that she’d announced at school earlier that week that she was dating someone from matt’s school.

hence the party in the basement.

morgan was the one who suggested truth or dare. she had all ten of you circle up on the carpet and sit criss crossed. you were keenly aware of how matt’s knee was touching your own, you could feel the heat even through your jeans. he was leaning back on his hands, with his right hand directly behind your back,in your delusions, you let yourself pretend he was doing it to be closer to you.

“alright!” morgan cheered. “who wants to start?”

no one said a word.

you made the mistake of looking around when you caught morgan’s eye. at the sight of a growing smirk on her lips, you quickly diverted your gaze.

“c'mon, no one wants to go first?” she hummed. “fine, i’ll go. babe,” she started calling thomas babe a week ago. “ask me, truth or dare?”

the only word you could use to describe the look on thomas’ face was besotted. without hesitating, he asked her the question, smiling when she grinned back at him. morgan chose dare, because she wasn’t “boring and lame.”

thomas dared her to kiss him. there was a collective groan when she leaned over and kissed her boyfriend. the second she pulled back, morgan’s eyes flitted over the rest of the group, looking like a tiger about to pounce. the two of you made eye contact and the corner of her lips raised in a smirk that was gone as quick as it came.

you prepared yourself for the worst, recalling how you let it slip that you have a crush on matt. and morgan, while she wasn’t intentionally cruel, had all but shrieked when you told her. so you didn’t think she’d out you to be mean, you wouldn’t put it past her to attempt matchmaking.

but her eyes skipped right over you and focused on simone. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” simone replied.

morgan rolled her eyes. “nerd,” but she cracked a smile anyway.

the game went on pretty effortlessly, you even got brave enough to do a dare (thankfully morgan never got the opportunity to ask you). it ended with morgan asking matthew. the smirk she had earlier, appeared as she made eye contact with you before setting her sights on your best friend.

“truth or dare?” she asked.

you immediately knew which option he was picking, matt never backed down from a challenge and had been choosing dare all night.

“matthew, i dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.”

your stomach dropped as did your gaze. you couldn’t look anyone in the eye, you didn’t want to see matt kiss another girl, you couldn’t. you wouldn’t do it.

a moment passed when you realized matt hadn’t moved an inch. he was still leaning on his hands, with one stretched behind you. all it took was a quick glance at matt to see him already staring back at you.

“no,” he said, eyes still locked on your face.

morgan blinked. “what?”

it was only then that his eyes left your face to look morgan dead in the eye. “nope. i won’t do it.”

she guffawed. “but you have to!”

matt shrugged. “i don’t want to.”

“but you lose if you don’t!”

he shrugged yet again. “oh well.”

your head snapped up to look at him in confusion. “matt,” you nudged him.

“we gotta go anyway,” he said, before he stood up and reached out to you. you took his hand, albeit hesitantly before he dragged you up the stairs and out of the house onto the street.

a cool breeze was blowing which inadvertently caused you to shiver. matt, who still hadn’t let go of your hand, tugged you further into his side. your heart sank when he dropped your hand, only for it to skyrocket when he threw his arm around you.

“why didn’t you do the dare?” you asked. the curiosity was killing you, even if you believed the real answer would be even worse than not knowing.

matt shrugged like he had been all night. “i didn’t feel like it.”

you blinked at him, staring at his profile while he guided the two of you back to his house. “you’re literally the most competitive person i know. you’ve never intentionally lost a game. last week brady dared you to drink that gallon of milk and run a mile, which, if i must remind you, you threw up not even halfway through.”

matt laughed. “that was funny. but what’s your point?”

“my point is that kissing someone is way less work than running a mile and throwing up. so what’s up?”

he wouldn’t look at you, his gaze fell to the ground where he kicked a rock. “didn’t want it to happen like that.”

you blinked at him, refusing to move your gaze from his profile. “didn’t want what to happen like that? it’s just a kiss.”

he shook his head and stopped walking, grabbing your wrist when you kept moving. matt tugged your arm so you’d turn around and look at him. “it wouldn’t be just a kiss,” he said.

“would it mean more?” you asked, but he didn’t say anything. “matt?” your heart was beating against your chest. your hands shook at the idea of him wanting to kiss someone. you went through the list of people in that room. it wasn’t morgan, he’d told you weeks ago that he didn’t like her like that when you asked. could it be simone? she looked like a goddess on a bad day. her dark skin was flawless and free of blemishes and her faux locs were always perfectly styled. she didn’t even wear makeup on a regular basis.

oh god. did he like simone?

your gut twisted at the idea, of him falling in love with the closest friend you had at school. you could learn to be happy for them, simone was great and matt would adore her if she agreed to go out with him.

you snapped back into it when you felt matt’s thumb rub across your pulse. “matt, would it mean more?”

he shrugged again, still not looking at you, just the part where your hands were joined. “would it be a problem if it did?”

now it was your turn to be confused. “why would my opinion matter? i’m not the one you’d be kissing.”

matt blinked at you once, then twice. “you can’t be serious,” he said.

“what do you mean?”

“you can’t be that blind. there’s no way.”

“matt, what are you talking about?”

he dropped your hand to run both of his over his face and groaned. “there's no way you don’t know.”

“know what?”

matt fixed you with an intense look, one that had you squirming in your shoes a little. in all your years of friendship, you weren’t sure he'd ever stared at you that way before. a hockey game? sure, but you?

“matt what—”

“i like you,” he said as plain as day, like he didn’t just flip your world on its axis.

you blinked, you were pretty sure you stopped breathing. “what?” you whispered.

matt stepped closer to you, close enough that your shoes were touching. “i like you.”

“so why didn’t you kiss me when morgan dared you to?”

“i didn’t want it to happen like that,” he admitted. “didn’t wanna kiss you in front of everybody.”

you could feel the heat travel up your neck and to your cheeks. “and what about now? would you kiss me now?”

“would you let me?”

words failed you, you could only nod. matt hesitated for a moment before pressing his lips to yours. it was clumsy and awkward, and in the middle of the sidewalk two blocks away from his house.

but it was perfect.

after

you ubered to the restaurant before emma could suggest meeting at the tkachuk house. every single one of the bridesmaids knew you and matt were no longer together, all of them banding around you and offering support from thousands of miles away. so you didn’t think any of them would even hint at meeting at the tkachuk residence if they were as considerate as you believed them to be, but you wanted to avoid the sympathetic looks that would be thrown your way.

most of the bridesmaids were there by the time you arrived, the only exception being taryn. the entire table greeted you with bright white smiles, emma stood to give you a hug that you enthusiastically returned.

it felt great to be back in the company of people your age. despite being back in st. louis for quite some time, you still had yet to make any more friends outside of emma and taryn, both of whom you didn’t see that often because of who they were relationally attached to.

unfortunately, you’d lost contact with many of your friends from high school because of the distance. if you could go back, you’d slap yourself in the face for thinking matt was going to stick around longer than simone or morgan.

but how were you to know he would leave and wouldn’t want you to follow him?

you swallowed that question down and took a seat at the table. you sat next to a brunette named stacey, the other seat on your right was left for taryn, you assumed. there were already two bottles of wine sitting in a bucket of ice on the table. part of you considered pouring yourself a glass immediately, but you remembered the plans were dinner first, bar later. so you settled for water.

it was only a matter of maybe ten minutes before taryn was led to your table. you stood up with the rest of the girls and waited your turn to hug her. taryn saved you for last, smiling bright and wide when the two of you finally made eye contact. you squeezed each other tightly as you hugged, unspoken words being communicated.

“now, before anyone looks at the menu, i just wanted to let you know, it’s on brady tonight.” emma held up her hand as mouths began to protest across the table. “he insisted, and we won’t be taking no for an answer.”

and maybe you should’ve protested a little harder to look more sincere, but your job wasn’t paying you well enough to afford a 70 dollar steak and drinks.

the table breaks up into mini conversations while everyone was looking over the menu. you were doing the same when an elbow nudged you from the right. you glanced over at taryn who wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she wanted your attention, it was something you’d always admired about her.

“long time, no see,” she said. but before you could respond, she spoke up again. “how have you been?”

you shrugged and moved your eyes back to the menu to look busy. “nothing has been going on really, just working.” you cleared your throat and hesitantly made eye contact again. “and you? what have you been up to?”

taryn shifted in her seat, a tell you knew was coming. you weren’t a stranger to where she’d been the past few weeks, you still followed her on instagram, you followed all of the tkachuks on instagram, even matt. so you knew she’d just gotten back after the panthers lost in game five of the finals.

you nudged her with your shoulder and gave her a small smile. “it’s okay, i’m not gonna burst into tears if you mention him.”

taryn smiled. “i’m exhausted, we were traveling everywhere for matt it felt like. it was cutting into my workouts.”

your jaw clenched at the mention of his name, mainly to distract you from feeling the ache in your chest, but you kept a pleasant look on your face anyway. “you still have the rest of the summer for your workouts, though. summer’s barely started.”

taryn nodded but she didn’t say anything for a moment. you started to shift in your seat when she reached a hand out and squeezed your own. “i miss you,” she said sincerely. “it hasn’t been the same without you around.”

“taryn...”

“you know, you’re still in, like, most of our family photos hanging on the wall. mom and dad haven’t taken them down.”

you weren’t sure if that made you happy or brought you pain.

“i begged them not to, you’re in too many memories for us to just forget you.” she cleared her throat and looked back at her menu, giving you a break from the sincere staredown the two of you were having. “they ask about you all the time, but they didn’t want to impose, mom especially. said she’d understand if you never wanted to see them again.”

you tried reading the menu through blurry eyes and pinched your lips together so no one would see them tremble. “i’ve been meaning to get coffee with your mom,” you said, though you both knew it was a lie. you’d made yourself scarce for a reason.

“she’d be happy to see you again, she just didn’t want to overstep.”

you nodded, still not looking at the girl you fully believed would be your sister one day. “i’ll text her.”

the waiter came by moments later to take your orders. thankfully, the tears had cleared up out of your eyes. as soon as you’d cleared your throat, you were telling the server your order without your voice shaking.

you bore the grief well, you thought. you laughed when everyone else did, smiled when appropriate, and asked follow up questions. socializing wasn’t hard, years of galas and charity events as matt’s plus one had trained you well for moments like these, so long as you avoided the eyes of taryn and emma, both of whom knew you better than anyone else at the table.

emma paid with brady’s card like she’d promised earlier. unfortunately for you, that’s when the anxiety started to come back. taryn was leaving after dinner, too young to go to the bars with the rest of you, and according to what emma had told you, she had plans with friends.

the group left together, with taryn waving goodbye as the rest of you headed to a bar three blocks away. your hands were shaking, so you shoved them in your pockets to hide the trembling.

it’d get better once you got a few drinks in you, you told yourself. you’d loosen up soon enough.

emma opened a tab with brady’s card and you immediately started going in. the group started with a round of shots, but you were quickly ordering more than just tequila. it was only a matter of time before your vision started lagging and your brain began buffering to keep up with what was happening.

you were on the dance floor, grinding against a stranger, who thankfully, was keeping their hands to themselves, when emma tugged your arm, giggling. “everyone else has left. and i think it’s time for us to go,” she slurred, a giant smile on her face.

you allowed yourself to be tugged away from the stranger. “how do you know?” you asked, fumbling over your words like trying to catch a bar of soap with wet hands.

emma smiled and pointed at the bar where brady was, you assumed, closing out the tab. seeing him in the flesh had your heart stuttering. the anxiety was kicking back in, hitting harder than it did when you were sober. you hadn’t seen brady since november, or was it december? the months had blurred together just like that one scene from new moon.

but now you were seeing him in the flesh, and he was getting closer as emma tugged you over to where he was. brady was just slipping his card back in his wallet when the two of you got to him. he looked up and smiled at his fianceé before he even realized you were standing there. the lovesick smile dropped but it was quickly replaced with shock before it was transformed into a smile you could’ve painted from memory.

“hey!” he said just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “i didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

if you were sober, you’d see that statement as a warning, preparation for what was to come. you would’ve noticed the way his eyes kept darting to the entrance of the bar, but you didn’t. you were just happy to see him for the first time in a while, feeling the semblance of home you’d been missing for months.

if you were sober, you would’ve remembered that brady and his brother were a package deal. you would’ve known that the nights brady wasn’t spending with emma, he was spending with your ex, and when emma had inevitably texted (or brady offered) her fiancé to pick her up, that he was more than likely already out with his brother celebrating his upcoming nuptials.

if you were sober, you would’ve noticed him walk through the door because your eyes were always drawn to him. you would’ve known it was him by the smell of his cologne, instead of waiting for him to slap his brother on the shoulder in greeting.

if you were sober, you would’ve made a break for it the second he started approaching you, emma, and brady.

but you were drunk off your ass, and all you could do was stand there like a dumbfounded idiot while matthew brendan tkachuk glanced around the room.

brady shifted on his feet a little, bracing for the moment you both knew was coming. the moment where matt saw you for the first time since november 29, when he played calgary. you’d imagine to brady, it felt like watching a car accident happen in real time. to you though, you were the accident. you were the one getting hit by a bus going full speed. you were rooted to the spot, taking in every feature of matt’s face that you’d missed over the last six months, waiting for him to see you.

if you were sober, you would’ve run away by now, knowing that being that close to him would do nothing for you.

but it was too late now.

matt finally glanced at emma, then brady, until his eyes landed on you. the smile on his lips from the song that was bumping through the speakers dropped almost immediately. he recoiled, took a small step back, almost as if he was shocked to see you there at all.

you felt like an idiot.

you weren’t sure how long the two of you stared at each other before you took a deep breath and stared at your shoes.

your hands were shaking again.

you shoved them in your pockets again.

matt’s eyes darted to your shorts at the movement, his eyes scrunched together in what looked like concern, but you brushed that thought off before you could convince yourself he still cared. but you could feel his stare on you, even as you looked around and avoided eye contact. you felt like an ant, with matt’s gaze being the magnifying glass that was burning you with a beam of sunlight.

“do you have a ride home?” brady asked. your head whipped back around to look at him and emma.

you shrugged, already feeling more sober than you were two minutes ago. “was gonna uber.”

matt scoffed. “not happening.”

out of nowhere anger bubbled out of your chest and out of your mouth. “excuse me?”

matt fixed you with a hard stare, one you didn’t shy away from. “you’re not ubering home on a friday night drunk as hell. it’s not happening.”

“i think you lost the right to make my decisions six months ago.” you refused to say his name, refused to know what it felt like to have it back on your tongue even though your heart was crying out to utter those two syllables again.

brady interjected before the disagreement could escalate. “i just wanna make sure you get home safe,” he said. “can i drive you home?”

you glanced at the man you used to know like a little brother. you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the concern.

and maybe it was the love for brady and emma that had you accepting. or maybe it was the alcohol. you nodded your head and let emma lock arms with you as you were led out by the tkachuk brothers.

you found yourself in the backseat where you used to hold hands with matt when you went on double dates with brady and emma. the two of you used to tease the younger couple when they did literally anything romantic. if brady so much as grabbed emma’s hand, the two of you were gagging in the backseat “choking on their pda” all while knowing brady and emma have caught you in more compromising positions before.

but it wasn’t like that this time around.

you slid into your usual seat in the back before emma could offer up shotgun to you. maybe if you were more selfish, you’d accept, but you weren’t going to let your friend sit away from her fiancé when you could just suck it up.

the space between you and matt felt too suffocatingly small and yet it still felt like you were on two opposite sides of the globe. you thought about taking a risk and throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle, but there was still a wedding you were both in. you needed to figure out how to tolerate being around him if you didn’t want to cause a scene later in the summer.

you just had to make it to the end of july, then you could go back and pretend like december 16th never happened, like the past nine years of your life never happened. like you never fell in love with your best friend, like you never met him and his mother in fourth grade, like your parents never moved you to st. louis. like there weren’t traces of your failed relationship in every scrapbook in your parents’ house, like he wasn’t tied to every significant moment of your childhood.

you felt like the bundle of christmas lights that you’d sworn you put back in an orderly fashion the previous year, only to pull them out and realize you had an entire project on your hands to detangle them all.

except in the end, none of the lights worked anyway.

you could hardly remember a time where your life wasn’t deeply intertwined with matthew’s. you thought it’d lead to something, to marriage, to raising kids together, to celebrating his retirement, buying a home close to his family, and growing fat and old together.

you hated the idea that you went down that road only for it to be a dead end.

brady pulled up outside your house. you were unbuckling your seat belt and throwing the door open before he’d even put the car in park. you were doing your best to get to the front porch before anything else happened, but as hard as you tried, you were still a little too drunk. you were stumbling up the driveway and to the front door, all the while trying to figure out which key was the key to your house.

a car door slammed in the distance before footsteps followed.

you knew the sound like you knew the sound of your mother’s sadness. you would’ve recognized his footfalls anywhere.

in your haste and anxiety, you dropped your keys. you squatted down and nearly tipped over at the rush to your head. matt’s hand shot out before you could grab the keys while his other hand grabbed your elbow and pulled you into a standing position. he led you to the front door and with ease, found your house key. he unlocked the door but didn’t move to open it. you could feel his stare on the side of your face, but you refused to look back.

his touch on your skin felt like it was burning, and part of you wanted to rip your arm out of his grasp, but you couldn’t.

you just—

couldn't.

matt said your name quietly, but you just shook your head, willing the tears to go away. he didn’t get to see you cry, didn’t get to know that his actions had absolutely wrecked you. he tried again, but you inhaled and jerked your arm out of his reach before you opened your front door, grabbed your keys, and shut it in his face.

you barely made it into your bathroom before you threw up.

before

you were bouncing on your toes at the airport. matt’s plane landed fifteen minutes ago, and you were anxiously waiting for him to round the corner.

matt’s first year with the ntdp made your relationship a little difficult, though, you thought it would be harder than it was. modern technology definitely made it easier on you. matt would call you just about every other night, and if he couldn’t, matt was texting you whenever he had the freetime.

the last time you saw each other was when you and the tkachuks spent your spring break in ann arbor to visit, and that had been over a month ago. thankfully, you’d managed to convince your mom to let you check out of school early to wait for him.

“someone’s excited,” taryn teased, bumping her shoulder into your side. 

“honey leave her alone,” chantal chided. “we’re all excited.”

“i’m not,” brady grumbled. not even a beat later, keith was slapping the back of his head.

moments later, matt walked around the corner with his bags in hand. you fought every urge to run to him, deciding he probably wanted to greet his family first. and he did, you watched as he hugged his mom and dad first, moving the taryn, before punching brady in the shoulder.

you were nervously playing with the hem of your school issued plaid skirt as you looked on, suddenly feeling out of place. but it didn’t linger because in a blink of an eye, matt’s arms were wrapping around your waist and tugging you into his chest.

a sigh escaped your lips, one you didn’t even know was held hostage in your chest. maybe you were being dramatic (you were almost 16, after all), but it felt like the part of you that was missing was just returned.

“missed you,” he mumbled into your neck.

you couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips.

matt didn’t let go of you, even when everyone started walking towards the car where keith parked. your hand was tightly grasped in his own, forcing brady to carry the other bag matt couldn’t. to make up for it, you offered to sit in the back of keith’s escalade so brady could have more leg room. matt ended up grumbling about it, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let you sit in the back next to taryn when he hadn’t seen you in weeks.

“i ruined my perfect attendance streak for you,” you said as you traced the veins of his hands.

matt smirked. “i messed up little miss perfect’s squeaky clean record? how will you ever get into college now?”

you ripped your hand from his and shoved his shoulder, barely restraining yourself from cussing him out. “shut up,” was what you settled for because while taryn and brady had most definitely heard their fair share of curse words, you didn’t want to be the one on the receiving end of chantal’s disapproving look, even if it meant keith would be fighting for his life to hold back laughter.

all four of you, keith and chantal excluded, all but scrambled out of the car when it pulled into the garage. you and matt grabbed both of his bags before bum rushing into the house and up the stairs to his room.

“leave the door open!” chantal called from the first floor.

you didn’t need to see his face to know matt was rolling his eyes.

“i’m tempted to ignore her and just slam and lock the door,” he grumbled.

you dropped the bag you were holding and guffawed. “you wouldn’t. you love your mom.”

matt dropped his bag and immediately took the opportunity to grab you by the waist. “and i love you.”

you almost giggled, but you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself so you beamed instead. the first time he said those words was a few months ago over facetime and it still made you giddy as it did then.

matt pressed his forehead against yours. “you’re not gonna say it back?” he asked.

you blinked, still smiling. “what?”

“you're not gonna say you love me back?”

you shrugged, knowing it would get under his skin. you knew the consequences. “hm,” you hummed. “do i need to?”

matt rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might’ve gotten stuck in the back of his head. “quit being smart.”

and maybe you should’ve given up, maybe you should’ve let it go and say those three little words you’d said countless times before. but teasing him was way too much fun to pass up when you hadn’t seen him in months. so you pursed your lips and hummed again. “i seem to recall you saying you liked how smart i am. something about being the beauty and the brains?”

and out of nowhere, taryn popped her head in. “well matt for sure wasn’t going to be the beauty, and he’s never been the brains,” she smirked.

matt let go of you and marched over to the door, all but slamming it in her face.

“matthew brendan tkachuk! that door better be open!” chantal’s voice carried up the stairs had you lunging across the room and whipping open the door in a hurry.

“sorry mrs. tkachuk!” you called out before turning around and glaring at your boyfriend. “you’re a menace.”

matthew smirked and pulled you close enough that you were chest to chest. “but you love me.”

“i love you so much.”

after

the hangover you had the next morning was probably the worst you ever remember having. well, until you remembered the night matt broke up with you, that was the worst one.

you turned over in bed, picked up your phone, and saw multiple texts from emma and brady alike, both ranging from “it was great to see you” to “i’m so sorry about last night.” you groaned and dropped your phone back on the nightstand.

last night, when you thought about it, hurt more than it should’ve. you saw him for the first time in the flesh and it looked like he was fine, like he didn’t completely upend your life six months ago when he ended things. part of you wondered if he could see through you, through the illusion of your happiness and to the core where you were just as fractured as you were december 17th. 

the rest of the weekend continued with you doing little to nothing but eating and binging trashy reality tv shows. when your alarm went off on monday morning, you contemplated calling off, but got dressed instead.

“you look like hell,” was the first thing frankie, your mentor and boss, said to you. because of the nature of your relationship, you felt comfortable flipping him off, even as he passed you a cup of coffee. “rough night?” he asked after watching you take a hefty sip of the hot beverage.

“rough weekend,” you grumbled.

frankie gave you a small smile and patted you on the back as the two of you walked to the workspace. “wanna talk about it?”

you recognized performative kindness when you saw it. while you firmly believed frankie cared about you and your wellbeing, you also knew he didn’t want to hear the sob story of how you ran into your ex drunk at a bar, at least, not at 8am. so you shook your head.

“i looked at some of your work on the bradshaw family’s piece so far, and i was impressed. i do have some notes, but for the most part, you’ve been doing a great job.”

you did your best to smile gratefully, but you weren’t sure it translated. “i really appreciate your guidance on this, and the trust you have to let me work on some of these projects.”

“you’re very talented,” he said. “you ever thought about creating something for yourself or someone else?”

there wasn’t a word to describe the noise that came out of your mouth. was it a nervous laugh? a squeak maybe? you didn’t know, and neither did frankie.

“what?” he asked. “why is that so scary?”

you shrugged as the two of you made it to the workspace. normally, you would start by pulling out the supplies you needed to begin working on the bradshaw piece, but if frankie met you at the door, it was because he wanted to have an impromptu meeting first.

“i feel like i’m good at fixing things,” you said. “maybe not creating something from thin air.”

“you have so much talent,” frankie replied. “i hate to see it wasted on fixing and preserving someone else’s work when you could be doing both. it could be your art that people hang in their houses and pay thousands of dollars to preserve.”

you nodded, but kept your eyes on the table, studying the wood grain and tracing the pattern with your finger.

“i don’t think i’m capable of that anymore.”

frankie reached over and squeezed your shoulder. “just think on it, okay? couldn’t hurt to just think on it.” he walked out a moment later, giving you space and time to queue up music and get started on the day.

you opened spotify and pressed the play button on your liked songs without even thinking about it. not even two seconds later, you regretted your decision. the soft tones and beats of frank ocean’s thinkin bout you echoed through the room and slammed against your chest. you immediately switched the song and found a classical playlist to listen to instead.

but the tune wouldn’t get out of your head.

not two minutes later.

not thirty minutes later.

not after your full eight hour shift spent hunched over your workstation.

not even on the drive home.

frank ocean’s voice permeated every fiber of your being.

it was simone who first showed you the song in high school. you remembered liking the melody enough, but you didn’t get the lyrics. and why would you? you were in love with your best friend who loved you back. even though you were fourteen and too young to even think about marriage, you knew matthew was going to be the person you ended up with. it was him or no one.

and now it was no one.

now, you listened to the song play over and over in your head, the lyrics resonating with you deeper than ever before.

you pulled into your driveway, completely unaware of what cars were parked in the street. they’d never mattered to you before. why would they now?

you sat in your car for a few minutes, taking a deep breath while you worked up the courage to go inside. when you finally got a grip on your emotions, you opened your door and grabbed your bag. you were too busy fumbling with your keys to notice anything amiss until you were on your porch and a pair of shoes came into sight.

“hey.”

it took everything in you not to scream. you dropped your keys and nearly dropped your bag. matthew stood on your front porch with his hands in the pockets in his shorts like he was innocent of any pain or suffering he’d caused you. he was in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and you hated yourself a little bit for thinking he’s attractive like that.

“what’re you doing here?” you hated how hoarse your voice sounded, like a low quality audio recording where things sounded muffled and broken.

“your dad wouldn’t let me in.”

“good.”

matt sighed and ran a hand down his face. “can we not do this?”

“not do what?” you asked. “not act like you ended things for no damn reason?”

“if you—”

“we dated for nearly ten years and you decided to end it over a five minute phone call. and you still think you’re entitled to my time?” and maybe you should’ve been kinder, maybe you should’ve been more civil. but you hadn’t seen or heard from him in months (until a few nights ago) and he just turned up out of the blue? expecting you to do what? forgive him? move on?

matthew said your name delicately, but not in the way he used to, like saying your name was a luxury he was honored to have. no, he said it like you were going to break, like you were fragile, like he wasn’t the sole cause of your pain. “please—”

the anger was draining out of you quicker. you were exhausted between work, and frank ocean’s stupid song, and the other night. 

“what do you want?” your voice cracked on the last word. “wanna ruin my life a little bit more? put the final nail in the coffin?”

“no,” he shook his head fervently. matthew took a step towards you and looked something close to devastated when you stepped back. but it didn’t make sense, he ended it, he had no right to look or feel that way. “i just wanna talk.”

“six months,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice clear. “you had six months to say something. what could you possibly have to say now that you couldn’t then?”

“i know we didn’t end on the best of terms—” he started, but it was cut off by your scoff. you turned your head away and used your palm to wipe at your eyes before you crossed your arms over your chest. “—but i don’t think we should let this ruin brady and emma’s summer. we’re gonna see a lot of each other and i don’t want things to be tense around them.”

you took a minute to really look at him. blonde frizzy curls, blue eyes that wouldn’t leave your face. he hadn’t changed one bit.

one summer, you’d attempted to count the number of freckles on his shoulders. you got up to 87 before you gave up.

and yet you felt like you were standing in front of a stranger.

there were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you’d dreamt of screaming at him, but now that he was here, in front of you, asking something of you, you felt drained, tired. you used to crave his presence, now it felt like a leech.

you loved him, but he was sucking the life out of you.

so you nodded. you nodded and said “okay,” before you walked inside your front door and left your heart on the porch.

you pressed your back against the door and slid to the ground, pulling your knees to your chest. there was no telling when you started crying, or when your dad joined you on the floor, hugging you as close to his chest as he could.

“why wasn’t i enough?” you sobbed into your knees.

your dad petted your hair before he pressed a kiss there. “you’re more than enough, honey. but you can’t make anyone love you if they’re not willing to.”

“he used to!” you wailed. “he used to love me!” then, in a smaller voice, “what changed?”

a beat of silence, then your father’s somber, quiet voice. “maybe he did.”

before

“so what are your plans for after high school?” ms. meyer, your high school guidance counselor sat across from you at her desk. her stare was kind, but unwavering.

you’d already applied to notre dame, knowing that’s where matt committed. so when you answered, it was confident. it had been your plan since matt said yes to the school. “i’m going to notre dame and majoring in art history.”

“do you have any back up schools?”

you nodded. “ucla and the art institute of chicago.”

ms. meyer pursed her lips. “you know all of those places are highly competitive, right?”

“my transcripts and resume are impressive and I did really well on the SAT and ACT. i think i’ll be able to get in.” and you were, you were pretty confident as they come when it came to academics. any school would’ve been lucky to have you, that much you believed.

ms. meyer nodded. “i understand ucla and the art institute, both of those schools have incredible arts programs, but why notre dame? it doesn’t seem to fit with your aspirations.”

“oh,” you laughed under your breath. “that’s where my boyfriend is going.”

your guidance counselor blinked. “you’re incredibly smart and gifted, i’d hate to see that talent wasted when you could be developing it elsewhere. what do you want?”

“i want to be with matthew.”

ms. meyer sighed and gave you a sympathetic smile, you weren’t sure why though. you’d never been more sure of anything. “honey, can i be honest with you?” she didn’t wait for your response. “you have so much talent, so much to offer, i’ve seen many girls come in here, putting off aspirations for their significant others only for that relationship not to last.”

“i know we’re young,” you started, already feeling the heat rise up in your chest. she didn’t know anything about you personally, she didn’t know about you and matt. “but we’re gonna make it, i swear.”

ms. meyer nodded. “of course you are.” she cleared her throat and adjusted the papers in front of her. “so, notre dame...”

after

you weren't exactly sure what compelled you to do it, but at dinner a few nights ago, your mom had asked about what happened to simone, your friend from middle and high school. so you reached out, though it made you feel like you were contacting someone to join your mlm.

it legitimately surprised you when simone replied to your facebook message. the two of you made plans to get coffee on saturday.

and now it was saturday.

you weren’t getting coffee until 9:30, but you were awake and staring at your ceiling at 7. you’d done the due diligence of stalking simone’s profile, so you knew she was married with two kids who looked just like her. she worked as a data analyst for kroger and her husband was a public defender. she met her husband in college and they got married shortly after they graduated from grad and law school respectively. 

if you were a better woman, you’d admit you were jealous. jealous that she got what she wanted in the end. but when you put that aside, you still felt overwhelming happiness at her station in life, regardless of how yours turned out.

you kept scrolling through her social media until it was eventually time for you to get up. you stayed to facebook, not even wanting to bother with going on instagram and accidentally stumbling across one of the tkachuks’ posts.

it was 9:10 when you finally finished getting dressed and ready. you came down the stairs and threw a goodbye over your shoulder before grabbing your crossbody bag and your keys and running out the door.

despite your sprinting and nearly running red lights, you were still five minutes late. you came into the coffee shop, gasping for air after sprinting down the sidewalk from your parking spot.

the second you entered the business, simone’s hand lifted and she smiled brightly, calling you over almost immediately. she stood to greet you, and like no time had passed, pulled you in for a hug.

“it’s so good to see you,” she said. “wasn’t sure if you still liked an iced chai latte, but i got one for you.”

“oh my god, yes,” you gasped before taking a seat and taking a sip of the beverage.

she kept smiling, which made you feel lighthearted for once. most people kept looking at you with pitying eyes, but simone saw you for more than the grief of the last six months. she had to know about it, she just had to, but you thanked her for not bringing it up in the first minute of your conversation.

“how’s work going?”

you shrugged. “it’s mostly tedious, but it’s been fine. what about you? working for kroger? that’s a huge deal.”

simone shook her head. “it’s just a means to an end, a way i can pay for my family’s lifestyle.”

“but are you passionate about what you do?”

she shrugged lightly. “it’s a job, it’s not my life. not everyone is going to work a job that fulfills them. my husband? he loves being a public defender, and he’s good at it. me though, as fun as analyzing data all day sounds and as helpful as it is, getting to have a job that doesn’t come home with me is probably my favorite part of it.”

you nodded along like you understood. and maybe you didn’t do a good enough job at being convincing because simone sighed.

“i wanted to wait to ask this, but i can’t hold it in any longer. how’re you holding up?”

it took you several seconds to answer her question. your mouth open and closed multiple times. “i— i don't know.” you sank back into your seat and picked at your cuticles. “it’s been a shitty few months,” you admitted. “you’d think i’d be over it by now.

simone shook her head and leaned in, arms braced on the table. “you two were together for a decade, what’s a few months in comparison to that?”

you shrugged. “i saw him the other night, when i went out drinking with the other bridesmaids. it was like, i don't know, i got dunked in an ice bath or something. he looked completely unaffected and i couldn’t breathe.”

simone whispered your name.

“but i’m fine!” you asserted. “i’m trying to be.”

simone nodded. “so what do you do now?”

you could’ve kissed her feet for the change in topic. “i’m working in the art restoration and conservation field.”

simone blinked. “you’re restoring art? do you like it?”

you shrugged. “most days, it can get repetitive, but that’s what i like.”

your friend sighed and fixed you with a soft, sympathetic look. “but is that what you want to do for the rest of your life? restoring someone else’s art? doing something repetitive? you are so talented, i hate to see you wasting that talent restoring someone else’s work.”

“it’s not a waste! it’s incredibly difficult and some things deserve to be preserved.”

“but some new things deserve to be created.” simone leaned in closer, her forearms braced on the table. “i think it would do you some good to start creating something again, even if it’s shitty. and you think you aren’t ready, just try something new. a new bar, a new hobby, a new man, something new.”

your stomach twisted at the thought of going on a date with someone other than matt, but simone was right. it had been six months and he seemed to be doing fine, it was your turn to start moving on, to find yourself again.

so you nodded. “we should do this more often,” you said. “i’ve missed you.”

simone smiled. “i’ve missed you too, i’m glad you’re home.”

you talked for another hour about everything the two of you had missed over the years of you being elsewhere before she had to leave and relieve the nanny at home. simone hugged you goodbye and texted you her new number before she left the coffee shop. 

the drive home was quiet because you were pondering the things she’d said. you weren’t sure you were ready for making your own art, you sure as hell weren’t ready to go on a date. but maybe you should try.

maybe you were ready to put yourself first for once.

before

the biggest argument you’d had with matt was after you found out he wasn’t playing at notre dame at all, he was going to play for calgary.

you felt so stupid for committing to that school when you should’ve known your boyfriend was talented enough to skip it altogether. maybe you should’ve taken a gap year, then you wouldn’t have to be doing even more long distance in two different countries.

the two of you never argued, or maybe never was too strong of a word. you hardly ever had a disagreement if you thought about it long enough. most of the time, you suppressed the disappointment and the anger, shoving it to the side because you were surely being dramatic.

but now you were standing off to the side, waiting for your name to be called to cross the stage at your high school graduation, and you wished you’d said something to convince matthew to delay settling into his new calgary apartment with one of his teammates.

but you swallowed your disappointment and pride and just dealt with the fact that he wouldn’t be there.

it was fine.

just high school.

you were snapped out of your reverie when your name was called. you smiled and walked across the stage. when you dreamt of this exact moment, you always thought you’d walk with grace, that all noise would cease to exist as you honed in on the sheet of paper you’d spent the last 13 years working towards.

but it wasn’t like that.

because you heard one specific voice above all the others. as your principal handed you the diploma, your eyes searched the crowd and saw him.

matthew standing up and yelling with his family next to him. he had a sign, the words you couldn’t read because there were tears forming in your water line. he was pointing at you and kept yelling and clapping, hooting and hollering like it was his full time job. your parents were smiling, though they were seated, and your grandparents were stone faced clapping like they were at the masters tournament.

so you kept your eyes on him, even as you walked back to your seat. you might have stumbled, tripped even, but all you could see, all you could feel was him.

you were back in your seat by the time the person calling out the names spoke again.

“please hold your applause until the end.”

you could hear his scoff, even from your seat.

your leg bounced for the rest of the graduation ceremony. you didn’t even register the turning of your tassel. you just couldn’t wait for it to be over so you could be in matt’s arms.

as soon as the ceremony concluded, matt was shoving his way past families, nearly taking out an elderly gentleman in his quest to get to you. on the other hand, you were being pushed to move farther away from him as the procession of students filed out of the gym. you kept looking over your shoulder to find him, but it looked like brady had caught up to him, wrangling his older brother to follow the crowds outside.

“outside!” brady pointed.

you nodded.

as soon as you got through the gym doors, you were booking it outside into the sunlight. it blinded you momentarily, but you whipped your phone out seconds later to see if matt had texted you where he’d be. you pulled up his contact and were seconds away from calling him when arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you up into the air.

a squeal left your lips until he set you down a moment later. you spun around in his arms and before you could say anything, matthew was kissing you like no one else was around.

when the two of you finally needed air, you pulled away. “i thought you were in calgary!”

matthew scoffed though there was a large smile on his lips. “you thought i’d miss my favorite girl’s graduation? calgary can wait, your high school graduation only happens once.”

“i’m glad you’re here,” you whispered. 

“me too, baby.”

unfortunately, matt pulled away so you could hug your parents and even your grandparents who were standing off to the side. taryn and brady pulled you into a group hug afterwards, with taryn going on a tangent about all the fun things the two of you would have to do before you left for school.

but brady was taking your graduation cap off your head to ruffle your hair as matt grabbed your purse and took your car keys out. keith and chantal were offering to pay for a celebratory lunch while your grandparents gave an irish goodbye. your parents were smiling, you were tucked into matt’s side, and brady and taryn were bickering and—

everything was perfect.

you wanted to freeze that moment, that sensation in your chest, take the saccharine feeling and bottle it up and store it on your bookshelf. 

and if you could’ve, you would’ve savored the sensation of matt’s lips pressed to your temple while both of your dads discussed the best route to get to the restaurant.

but you had no idea how the future would turn out.

you thought matt was forever.

after

you were on a double date, or at least, hyping yourself up to go into the bar and meet up with simone, her husband, and a friend of theirs. you didn’t want to be a bitch, but you also didn’t want to send yourself into a panic attack. simone had suggested just entertaining something with someone, didn’t even have to be serious, it could just be sex.

you could do that, right?

just casual sex?

the thought was nauseating. you’d only slept with matthew, no one knew your body like he did and—

you stopped yourself before you could go down that rabbit hole.

your hands shook as you stepped out of your car and locked it. maybe you should’ve gotten an uber, but then again, you weren’t really planning on drinking like that. you were hoping you’d still be sober enough to go home.

the music in the bar shockingly wasn’t as loud as you expected. it wasn’t the bass bumping, ass grinding bar like the ones matt used to take you to after games. even still, your palms started sweating as you looked around. you spotted simone’s natural hair across the room and made your way towards her. 

her husband, stephen, stood to greet you first, followed by simone, then lastly your date. a guy named andrew who was a partner at his firm, the youngest on his team.

his handshake was firm, but there were no calluses on his palm. his hair was slicked back with what you guessed was a pomade.

he was so unlike matthew it was alarming.

but maybe it was for the best.

you smiled and took your seat next to simone, you sipped on the water in front of you.

“we didn’t want to order drinks without you just yet.”

“thank you,” you mumbled just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“it’s nice to finally meet you,” andrew started. “simone spoke highly of you. she said you’ve been friends since middle school.”

you felt bad because simone didn’t really say much to you about him. if you were a gambler, you’d assume it was because she didn’t want you to back out. you barely even knew him and you were already comparing him to matt.

which wasn’t fair, you knew that. andrew deserved to be a human without the baggage of your last and only relationship determining how you viewed him.

you would try, at the very least for simone. at the very most, you’d try for yourself.

“nice to meet you too. i heard you’re a partner at your law firm? how is that going?”

oh god. you were so bad at this. asking about work on a friday night?

but he smiled. his teeth were perfectly straight and white. you'd bet your last dollar that he'd never needed braces, not like you did.

you hated yourself for thinking of the gap between matthew’s teeth.

“it’s going well,” he said. “lot of work, but i managed to get enough done this week that my friday was free. i wanted to meet the ‘best artist on planet earth,’ according to simone.”

“oh i don’t know about that,” you flushed.

simone scoffed. “don’t downplay yourself.” she turned to look at andrew. “you should see the art she created in high school as a teenager. it was so impressive.”

“what medium do you like working with the most?” he asked.

“mostly acrylic.”

andrew’s eyes lit up. “do you have any photos of your art? i’d love to see your work.”

you shook your head, feeling a little embarrassed at all the attention. “i don’t really paint like that anymore. i work in art conservation now, not a whole lot of time to create something new.”

“that’s such a unique career! what does your average day look like?” andrew leaned forward a little and took a sip of his water.

you told him a little bit about what you did. about how you spent hours hunched over a painting and fixing the smallest problems in hopes it would satisfy the client.

“you must’ve gone to some prestigious art school for that. if you don’t mind me asking, where did you go to college?”

your spine stiffened. “university of calgary.”

and just like you anticipated, his face twisted in confusion. there was no logical reason you should’ve gone out of the country for a regular school. it would be one thing if you went to an art institute, but you didn’t.

“why calgary?” he asked. “seems a bit random, if you don’t mind me asking.”

you shifted in your seat and wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat in a sorry attempt to get the lump out, that you spoke. “it’s a long story,” you said. “thought i had a future in calgary.”

andrew, to his credit, knew when to not ask questions and changed the subject immediately.

the rest of the night passed in a blur. you were only halfway present, your mind reeling at how you wasted those years in calgary waiting for a man who would dump you as soon as he moved to a warmer state.

he, quite literally, left you in the cold.

andrew offered to walk you to your car, an offer you accepted because it was dark and st. louis.

“i had a great time tonight,” he said. “it was really nice to meet you. you’re even better than simone and stephen said.”

you gave him a small smile. “it was nice to meet you too.”

andrew shifted on his feet. for a moment, he didn’t look the part of the youngest partner at his law firm, he looked like a boy. “i was hoping maybe you’d want to do this again? maybe get some dinner?”

your throat felt like someone had force fed you cotton balls. but then you thought about how pathetic your life had been the last six months, how pathetic it was going to be when you flew to new jersey to be in the same bridal party as your ex.

you refused to be pathetic any longer.

which is probably why you smiled (albeit shakily) and said yes.

before

you were bouncing on your toes in the hallway as you waited for matt. it was a brutal game, and he spent a good portion of it in the penalty box, mostly for minor things, but one incident was for fighting. which wasn’t atypical, but you’d never seen him that keyed up before.

and given his reputation, there were any number of things that could’ve caused the fight itself. two weeks ago, matt had fought someone for being too forceful with one of his teammates, which after years of watching the game, was on par with the sport and your boyfriend.

because he fought so much, you weren’t necessarily surprised whenever he did. sure, you flinched when he was punched, knowing how badly it would bruise, praying to whatever higher power existed that he would still have all his teeth. but usually, matt wasn’t trying to fight everyone on the ice at all times.

tonight was different.

safe to say, you were a little anxious waiting for him to come out.

you weren’t exactly sure about what was said on the ice to get him so riled up. the worst you’d seen was when someone on the other team said something about taryn. you used to think that was the angriest you ever saw him. and it was.

until tonight.

you could feel the energy rolling off of him in waves as he exited the locker room. usually, after a win, matt is relaxed and easy going, but despite the victory from tonight, he was tense and pent up, frustrated even.

“hey,” you said, meeting him halfway.

matthew didn’t respond, just dropped his bag and wrapped you up in a hug, tucking his head into the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“you okay?” you asked.

he nodded. he squeezed your waist once before letting go, taking your hand instead. “ready to go?”

the car ride was silent minus the music matthew had playing through the aux. his hand rested on your thigh, though the grip was particularly tighter than normal, especially after a win. part of you wanted to ask, the other part not wanting to spoil the rest of the night with your curiosity.

but this was the man you loved. and it hurt you to see him this upset.

normally, you would’ve left well enough alone, but you were going back to notre dame in two days and didn’t want to spend the rest of your time walking on eggshells around him. you couldn’t help him if you didn’t know what was wrong.

“what happened?” you asked when the car came to a stop at a light.

“nothing,” he grunted.

“your team won and you’re still grumpy, matthew. so tell me, what happened? i want to help you.”

“there’s nothing to help.”

“matthew,” you groaned. “i’m only here for two days, can you just be honest with me? i don’t wanna waste the rest of my trip with you being upset when i can help you—”

“then go back to indiana!” he all but yelled, ripping his hand off your thigh so he could shove it through his disheveled hair.

your jaw dropped. in all the years you’d known matt, he'd never talked to you that way. and you weren’t starting a bad habit by letting him think he could ever do it again. you unbuckled your seat belt and grabbed your bag. you tugged on the handle of the door. “i’ll see you at home,” you said.

matt scoffed. “don’t be dramatic.”

“i’m not being ‘dramatic,’ matthew. you’re being an asshole.” you braced yourself for the cold as the door opened and let in a cold breeze.

matthew called your name, but you ignored him and slammed the car door shut. it was a little petty, considering how matt had berated his siblings over the same thing.

a car honked, probably because the light had turned green and matt was still sitting at the light, looking at you.

a cold wind blew and for a moment, you thought about hopping back in the car with matt, but he was pulling away and your pride wasn’t ready to take a hit just yet.

his car sped away until, with an efficiency you only wish you had, he parallel parked in a spot just up the road.

“get in the car,” he called, slamming his car door shut. “it’s too cold for you to be proving a point.”

“and what point am i trying to prove, matthew?” you asked over your shoulder.

you kept walking.

“would you please stop walking and just get back in the car?”

you kept walking.

a hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, you might’ve shrieked had it not been gentle, had you not recognized the scent of matt’s cologne.

gently, he turned you around.

“baby, just get in the car. you don’t even have to talk to me. don't even have to look at me if you don’t want to. i’ll sleep on the couch or something, but it’s not safe for you to be walking home alone.” he ran his thumb back and forth over your pulse point in a soothing manner.

you kept your eyes on his hand. “what happened during the game?

he sighed, shoulders sagging like they were tired from carrying the weight of the world. “they were talking shit.”

you blinked. “and that’s different....how?”

with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. “they were talking shit about you. saying you deserved better and shit.”

“matthew, you know that’s not true—”

“they called you names.” his voice was dark, angrier than you'd ever heard before. “things i’m not comfortable repeating.”

a shiver went down your spine, for matt to be that upset made you uncomfortable. you didn’t want to think about what they said, you didn’t want to dwell on it any longer.

“well,” you said, voice feeling small and weak in your throat. “well, we know it’s not true, so it doesn’t matter.” you tried to make your way back to the car, but matt’s grip on your wrist stopped you.

“but it does matter,” he insisted. “what they said, i get it wasn't true, you and i both know that. but i’m not gonna let anyone talk shit about you, i don’t care who they are.”

your eyes finally met his own and in the blue you saw determination and conviction there. you started towards him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“i love you, matty.”

he kissed the top of your head. “love you more.”

after

“where are you going?” your mom asked from the couch.

your dad looked up from his james patterson book to squint at your outfit: a square neck black dress. “are you going out?” he chimed in.

you felt sheepish, like the fifteen year old girl going on her first solo date, no parents picking her up because matt just got his license. “remember that guy i went on a double date with?”

“with simone and her husband?” you mom asked.

you nodded. “we’re going out again, just us tonight.”

your mother gave you a small smile while you dad kept staring. “have fun, sweetheart.”

your dad, however, put his book down and looked at you above the rim of his glasses. “are you gonna be okay?”

“alan, this will be good for her!”

but your dad’s eyes never left your face. “you’ll call if you need something?”

“andrew’s a good guy, dad.” or at least, you were assuming so. you’d only met the guy one other time and he seemed alright.

but you could see the look in your father’s eyes, you could hear what he wasn’t saying.

so was matthew.

you swallowed and nodded at your parents. your phone pinged with a notification that your uber was outside. “i’ll be back.”

the drive to the bar was silent. usually, you wouldn’t have taken an uber, but you were unsure how drunk you would get tonight. the date could go well, it could be everything you wanted, even if all you wanted was matthew. 

but you were prepared for the worst. you were prepared to drink until you couldn’t see straight just to get through the night.

andrew was a nice guy, but he wasn’t who you wanted.

and you hated yourself for it.

the uber pulled up to the bar. and simply because he didn’t kidnap or talk to you, you gave the driver five stars.

andrew was waiting at a high top table for you, a glass of water ready to go. you waved at him and carefully made your way across the room, avoiding people and drinks and people with drinks.

“hey,” he greeted.

you gave him a small smile. “hi.”

“was traffic bad on your way here? i wasn’t sure, given that it’s friday and what not.”

you shook your head. “not too bad.” 

c’mon, think of something. say something. anything.

“crazy busy tonight, huh?” you wanted to facepalm. that was what you came up with? all the words in the world and that was what you—

“yeah,” andrew cut off your mental tirade. “i think some famous guys are here tonight, heard murmurs of it.”

you nearly broke out into a cold sweat. “d-do you know who?”

andrew shrugged. “i didn’t ask, i just heard someone talking about it when i was getting a drink.” then, like he finally realized, he snapped. “do you want anything? i can grab it for you.”

you gave him your drink order with a smile. he tapped the table with his knuckles before promising he'd be right back.

you traced the grain of the table with your finger, allowing it to feel the grooves and water stains left from other customers. it felt awkward, sitting by yourself with no one to talk to. andrew said he'd be back, but the bar was busy, it could be ten, fifteen minutes before he'd come back.

your phone buzzed.

simone: 

how’s it going?

you smiled despite yourself. 

you:

he’s nice. he went to get me a drink.

you put your phone down to look around the bar. it was busier than normal, or at least, what you thought was normal.

you were scrolling through your social media feeds when andrew finally came back. he had your drink in hand with a smile on his face.

“sorry, the line took forever,” he said.

you glanced at the bar to see a small crowd of people. “doesn’t surprise me,” you said. “friday’s are usually busy.”

“yeah especially when there’s two hockey players in town. heard someone at the bar talking about it, thought you might wanna know. simone said you were a fan?”

your stomach dropped to your feet. you took a hefty sip of your drink to avoid andrew seeing a frown on your face. there was a chance that it was a blues player still in town, but your gut knew better. if you were a betting woman, you'd bet your last dollar on it being brady and matt.

you wanted to throw up.

instead, you chugged the drink.

“whoa, you okay?” andrew’s eyes widened a little, maybe in concern, but there was something about the smirk on his face that said otherwise.

you gave him a shaky smile. “just fine. can i get another drink?”

he smiled immediately and got up to get you another.

and another.

and another.

your vision was blurring a little when you tried to cut yourself off, even as andrew was sliding another glass in front of you. you threw the drink back again, not even blinking at it.

matt and brady could be here. it was too soon to see them again, you weren't prepared to see them again. maybe if you drank enough, you’d black out and forget all about tonight.

but then andrew was grabbing your elbow, he was leading you towards the door, encroaching upon your personal space. his lips were on your neck, whispers of what he had planned for you.

your skin crawled, you wanted him off of you, but your arms were sluggish, you were tripping over your feet and he was the only thing holding you up.

“no,” you slurred. “lemme go.”

but he either didn’t hear you or was ignoring you because he kept dragging you to the door.

then the panic set in.

it felt like it came out of nowhere, but maybe the surmounting panic was always there like a loyal friend. you tried squirming out of his grip, shoving at his chest, but the panic was building the longer he held onto you. your head was shaking furiously, your mouth doing its best to protest, but it was like the alcohol made your tongue heavy.

“lemme go—” you tried shoving one more time before you heard a shout in the distance. 

“hey!” you weren’t aware of the people around you being shoved to the side, you were unaware of the rage surrounding you. you were unaware until andrew was ripped away and you were being shoved into another body.

“matt hey—”

brady. you were right, brady was here.

god you loved brady.

“brady?” you slurred, smiling lazily up at him. “you’re here! why’re you here?”

with one arm, brady kept you pressed to him, but he wasn’t acknowledging you. his eyes were focused on his brother holding the collar of your date.

oh. your date.

there was no rhyme or reason for the feeling of horror that washed over you when you realized what almost happened before matt and brady showed up.

you were gonna throw up.

or pass out.

you weren’t sure when you started hyperventilating, but it felt like the walls were closing in. was the music always this loud? was matt always that loud when yelling? you wouldn’t know, he hardly ever yelled at you—

“hey,” brady’s gentle voice sounded it your ear, but it was like you were hearing it from underwater. “hey, breathe, it’s okay. you’re safe now.”

the funny thing about hyperventilating is no one wants to be hyperventilating. it’s similar to worrying in that telling someone to stop worrying is ineffective. brady telling you to breathe wasn’t helping because it wasn’t like you wanted to be light headed and struggling to get oxygen.

your mind was just racing with the thoughts of what almost happened.

were your hands shaking? or was the world just rocky? was it the alcohol? why did andrew give you so much? was he planning on—

oh god.

oh god.

“matt!” brady’s voice again sounding like a deep echo in a cave, one you could barely hear. “matt, i think he got the point, she needs you.”

did you?

but it didn’t matter what you thought, because you were being gently pulled into a pair of arms you would’ve recognized anywhere. you could be deaf, blind, and mute, you could’ve had your nose plugged so you couldn’t smell his aftershave and you still would’ve known it was matt. his arms were the only ones that felt like home.

maybe it was the way your head tucked under his chin perfectly, or the way you could hold your own hand when you wrapped your arms around his waist. maybe it was the way matt tried to fit you into his ribcage whenever he hugged you.

“hey,” his voice was quiet, hoarse from the yelling probably. “you’re okay, i’ve got you. nothing’s gonna hurt you, not while i’m here.” his lips were on the top of your head, mumbling the words into your hair.

“he—he was gonna—”

matt was shushing you, running a hand up and down your back. “do you wanna go outside? get some fresh air?” you nodded against his chest, a place you used to lay your head on at night.

matt walked you outside, brady not far behind. he was supporting most of your weight. you were still incredibly drunk even if the event that just happened sobered you up a little.

your hands were still shaking, your knees a little weak, though you weren’t sure what the original cause of that was. if it was from alcohol, the sleazy date, or just being held by your ex, you weren’t sure.

what a year tonight has been.

your heartbeat slowed down as you listened to matt’s. his hand continued to rub your back in long lines.

“you’re okay,” he continued to say. “i’m not gonna leave you. you’re safe right here, baby.”

your heart soared at the pet name until gravity kicked in and you were right back where you started.

rock bottom.

you pushed away from matt, now that your heart rate had decreased. you stumbled a bit from the lack of stability, but you managed to right yourself before matt could get his hands on you to help you balance.

“you okay?” he asked.

“no,” you mumbled, shaking your head despite the world feeling like it was spinning too fast already. “no. i’m not okay.”

matt took a step towards you, it was like watching a film in slow motion, seeing his face fall as you immediately took a step back.

“baby i—”

“stop! stop calling me that!” you yelled even as your words slurred, throwing your hands up in the air before pulling at your hair. “you—you don’t get to call me that, not anymore. and you certainly don’t get to ride in like some white knight coming to my rescue either!”

“what’re you—” he cut himself off before running a hand down his face. “he was going to hurt you, i wasn’t going to let that happen!”

maybe it was the alcohol that made you more honest than normal. “why? you don’t seem to care what happens anyway?”

“what the hell are you talking about? i would never let someone hurt you, not if i can stop it.”

“but you had no problem hurting me? leaving me in a country alone?”

matt’s jaw dropped. “you can’t seriously be comparing the two. he—he almost—he had every intention of—” but he kept cutting himself off. and by the looks of his clenched fists, it was hurting him more just thinking about it.

and he was right, what almost happened with andrew and what actually happened at the hands of matt were two different things, but it hurt more from matt, the man who swore he’d be at your side, to love you through it all. he’d dropped you like a bad habit and was expecting everything to be normal again? like you hadn’t spent over half your life completely in love with him?

you sighed, your shoulders sagged, all fight evaporating your body once more. “thanks for help, i’ll see you around.” you turned on your heel and nearly ran into brady, whom you forgot was even there.

“let me drive you home,” brady said. “‘s the least i could do.”

brady at least let you sit shotgun this time, with matt in the back. and when he pulled up to your house, matt was the one to walk you to the door like he had many times before.

“can we talk?” he asked. “sometime this week? or next? or whenever you're free?”

you looked at him, really looked at him. his hands shook at his sides and you longed to hold them in your own to steady them like he did for you earlier. “why’re you doing this to me? why can’t you just leave me be?”

matt stared at you before he pressed his lips together. he looked off to the side almost like he was looking at brady waiting in the car or a scrap of self control, or maybe just the right words to say. “i don’t think i’m capable of letting you go.”

your voice caught on the words in your throat. “i need you to try, matt. because i can’t keep doing this. you can’t call me baby when i’m not your baby anymore.”

he nodded. “just one conversation, i promise.”

you should say no. you should just let it go, but you didn’t think you could deny matt anything if he really asked for it. “okay,” you said. “just one conversation.”

[schemmentigfs]

Blue Faces, Red Tempers.

Summary: Melissa gets a taste of her own medicine when your son pranks her by painting her face blue before your weekly dinner with the abbott crew.

just a lil crack to celebrate season four that premieres tomorrow. 🤍 (not revised!)

The house was unusually quiet, the early morning sun barely filtering through the curtains. You were already up, moving quietly around the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise. The scent of freshly chopped vegetables and simmering sauce filled the air as you prepared for tonight’s dinner.

Your work family—Janine, Gregory, Jacob, Barbara, Ava, and Mr. Johnson—were all set to come over for the traditional weekly dinner. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, a night of laughter and relaxation. You just hoped that everything would go smoothly, especially since Nicholas had a habit of turning calm moments into chaotic ones.

Melissa, of course, was still asleep. She had pulled a late night with lesson plans and was finally getting some much-needed rest. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess against the pillow, and she was sprawled out on her side, snoring softly. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments in the Schemmenti household.

At least, it was until Nicholas found his way into the bedroom.

You were too focused on stirring the sauce to notice his quiet footsteps sneaking past you. A few minutes later, you heard him giggling from down the hall, and that was when you knew—something was definitely up.

“Sweetheart?” you called out, your voice echoing softly through the house as you wiped your hands with a towel, the remnants of dinner still lingering on your fingers. When no response came, you felt a hint of concern tug at your heart, so you sighed softly and headed upstairs, your footsteps light on the wooden steps.

As you reached the top of the stairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounded like a warning. You paused for a moment outside the bedroom door, taking a deep breath to brace yourself for whatever awaited you inside.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a sight that was both hilarious and slightly terrifying. There lay Melissa, dead asleep, and nestled under the covers completely oblivious to the tiny artist hovering over her with a small tube of blue face paint in hand.

Your son stood at the edge of the bed, his hands clutching the object firmly. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration as he prepared to embark on his artistic mission.

A rush of laughter bubbled up in your throat, but you quickly stifled it, not wanting to startle either of them. “Nicholas Alexander Schemmenti!” you scolded calmy, trying to keep your tone light, but the amusement and concern made it difficult. “What are you doing?”

“Mommy looks like she needs some paint!”

You couldn’t help but shake your head at the sight. It was both adorable and slightly terrifying to see your daughter with a paintbrush in one hand and her imagination running wild. You stepped further into the room, prepared to intervene if the chaos escalated any further.

Nicholas was being incredibly meticulous for a newly three-year-old, his tiny fingers streaking and smudging the paint all over your wife’s face while humming to himself. He had gone for bold strokes across Melissa’s cheeks and forehead, creating a bizarrely abstract yet charming masterpiece. The older woman didn’t stir once during the entire process. Not even when Nicholas decided to add a final touch—a big blue dot on the tip of her nose.

Leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, you couldn't stop laughing with your hands over your mouth and your eyes wide. But then, you realized what kind of storm would brew when Melissa woke up. Still, the sight was too precious to ruin, so you grabbed your phone and snapped a quick photo for posterity. She wouldn't mind later, would she?

You had to stifle a snort as you watched the redhead boy beam at his creation, feeling nothing but pride at his artistic endeavor. For a moment, you contemplated waking her up gently and explaining the situation. But… you decided to let your wife get a test of her own medicine, since she was a practical joker and never got what she really deserved.

Instead, you made a quick decision. You hastily removed any mirrors from the bedroom and the bathroom Melissa normally used. If you were going to let this play out, you were going to commit. You just needed to keep her unaware for as long as possible—at least until the crew arrived.

“Come on, Nick,” you whispered, ushering him out of the room before Melissa stirred. “Let Mommy sleep.”

Nicholas looked up at you with wide eyes, smiling as if he had just completed the Mona Lisa. “She looks pretty,” he whispered back holding your hand.

You ruffled his messy curls, trying not to laugh. “Yes, she does, bud.”

—

By mid-afternoon, Melissa finally woke up, still blissfully unaware of her new ridiculous blue face. You had managed to keep her distracted for most of the day, and she hadn’t once noticed that all of the mirrors were mysteriously missing. She wandered into the living room, still groggy, yawning loudly as she scratched the back of her head.

“Hon, why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” she grumbled, leaning against the counter. “I overslept.”

“You needed it,” you said, forcing a straight face as you chopped more vegetables. Her green eyes still looked heavy and glossy with sleep, and you could tell she was trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Melissa scowled a bit, rubbing at her face absentmindedly—smearing the blue paint even further across her cheek. You had to turn away quickly, pretending to fuss over the stove as a laugh bubbled in your throat. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “So, what time’s everyone comin’ over?”

“Should be here in about an hour,” you answered, working hard to suppress your amusement. “Everything’s almost ready.”

She nodded, yawning again as she headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna freshen up, babe,” she called over her shoulder. You immediately panicked, moving quickly to intercept her.

“No, wait! Maybe…don’t go in the bathroom yet,” you rambled, waving her off casually. “I, uh, spilled something in there, and it’s a bit of a mess.”

Melissa turned and raised an eyebrow at you. “What? You spill somethin’?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It’s a bit of a disaster. Let me clean it up first.”

She narrowed her eyes, but shrugged. “Alright, whatever. But you owe me a coffee tomorrow for letting me sleep in so late.”

You let out a relieved breath as she moved to the kitchen, completely bypassing any reflective surfaces. For the next hour, you managed to keep her busy while finishing up dinner, all the while making sure she had no opportunity to discover what had been done to her face.

The doorbell rang a little after five, and soon enough, the Abbott crew trickled in. Janine and Gregory were first, followed closely by Jacob and Barbara. Ava and Mr. Johnson, true to form, came last, with the principal dramatically announcing her entrance like she was arriving at the Met Gala.

Your wife, unaware of the blue mess still decorating her face, greeted everyone with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She was grumbling about how you’d let her sleep too long and how she hadn’t had enough time to properly wake up. Everyone else, however, could hardly look her in the eye without their faces twitching in suppressed laughter and shock.

“Hey, Schemmenti!” Ava called from across the room, smirking as she eyed the eldest. “Looking real fresh today. Did you do something different?”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed as she glanced over at her. “What’re you talkin’ about, Coleman?”

Ava smirked but shrugged casually, shooting a look at the others. Janine, Jacob, and Barbara were all biting their lips, trying their hardest not to laugh. Even Gregory was barely holding it together, his eyes shifting nervously and in an awkward manner as if he was afraid of bursting out in laughter and facing Melissa’s wrath.

“Nothing, nothing,” Janine said quickly, her voice squeaky with barely restrained giggles. “You just seem… refreshed.”

The second grade teacher grunted, raising a brow. “Uh-huh. Sure, lowercase.”

You silently wrapped an arm around your wife’s waist, fighting back a chuckle. She looked absolutely ridiculous, but surprisingly adorable.“Be nice to Janine, baby.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Barbara broke the silence, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she tried to hide her amusement. “Shall we eat?”

“Yeah!” The entire crew chimed in unison, laughter bubbling up as they eagerly gathered around the table, ready to dive into dinner despite Melissa’s bizarre appearance.

Dinner was set up on the dining table, and everyone gathered around, trying their hardest to act normal. Melissa sat at the head of the table, completely oblivious to the paint still streaked across her face. You were honestly amazed at how long you’d managed to keep this going.

As everyone dug into the meal, the conversation was light and casual. But beneath the surface, the tension of suppressed laughter was palpable. Everyone kept sneaking glances at Melissa, their shoulders shaking from the effort of not losing it entirely. She seemed to sense that something was off, her sharp eyes darting around the room, trying to figure out what was so funny.

You could see the gears in her head turning. She nudged you, and you gave her an innocent smile.

“You’re too quiet,” she whispered. “What’re you hiding from me?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying the night, honey.”

You shot a wink at Nicholas, who was happily sitting at Melissa’s side, munching on his mac and cheese like he hadn’t turned the dinner into a comedic spectacle.

Finally, in the middle of a conversation about some ridiculous thing Ava had said at development day, Nicholas climbed out of his high chair and wandered over to his mother. He tugged on her sleeve, a big innocent grin on his face.

“Mommy,” Nicholas said in a loud whisper. “You’re blue!”

Melissa blinked down at her, her expression deadpan. “Huh?! What’re you talkin’ about, kiddo?”

“You’re blue!” the boy spoke again, giggling and pointing at her face.

For a split second, she just stared at her son, completely confused. Then, she looked up at the table, and that’s when the dam finally broke.

It started with Jacob, who snorted so loudly that his drink nearly came out of his nose. Janine was next, practically falling out of her chair with laughter. Barbara tried to maintain her composure but failed, her laugh spilling out as she covered her mouth. Gregory chuckled quietly, while Ava leaned back in her chair, smirking like she had been waiting for this moment all night.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Melissa asked, her voice dripping with irritation. Her eyes flicked from one person to the next, her brow furrowed in confusion.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Lissa… baby… Nick… he painted your face while you were asleep.”

There was a moment of silence as your wife processed your words. Then, her eyes widened. “What?!”

She shot up from the table, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to get to the nearest reflective surface. She stormed down the hall and into the bathroom, where you had finally replaced the mirror. A second later, a loud, horrified yell echoed through the house and the whole neighborhood.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” The redhead shouted. “I look like a damn Smurf!”

Everyone at the dinner table dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, even Mr. Johnson letting out a rare chuckle. You covered your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles as Melissa stormed back into the dining room, her face freshly scrubbed but still faintly tinted blue in some spots.

She pointed at you, clearly annoyed. “You think this is funny, huh?”

You bit your lip, nodding as you approached her. “A little,” you admitted. “But you still look cute.”

She shot you a deadly glance, the look on her face practically screaming. Why didn’t you stop him? You just shrugged.

Melissa sat down at the wooden chair with a huff, her cheeks still faintly tinted blue despite her efforts to scrub it all off. She reached for her glass of wine, taking a long sip while glaring at everyone, especially Ava, who seemed the most entertained.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, shaking her head as she looked down. “One more damn laugh outta any of you, and I’ll—”

Before she could finish, another round of giggles erupted, this time from Janine, who was struggling to contain herself. Jacob, too, was snickering, his face turning red as he tried to take a sip of water. Barbara, who was usually the calm and composed one, couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Alright, that’s it!” Melissa slammed her hand down on the table, making everyone jump. She turned to Nicholas, who was sitting beside her, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused. Leaning over, the older woman gently placed her hands over his ears, covering them with care. “Okay, bambino, cover your ears for a second, okay? Mommy’s gotta say somethin’ to the idiots at the table.”

The toddler giggled, thinking it was a game, and nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Mommy!” he chirped, his small hands coming up to cover his own ears under Melissa’s.

With Nick’s ears safely blocked, Melissa turned back to the group, her green eyes narrowing as she leaned in, her voice low and dripping with mock-threat. “You guys wanna keep laughin’? Keep it up. See what happens. I swear I’ll make your lives a living hell. Janine, I’ll volunteer you for every damn committee at Abbott. PTA? All you. Science fair? Hope you like buildin’ volcanoes.”

Janine immediately stopped laughing, her eyes wide as she waved her hands in defense. “Wait—Melissa, no! I—”

“Too late, Teagues,” she growled, pointing a finger at her. “You started this.”

“And you, Hill,” Melissa turned her gaze to the next target, her voice even more menacing, “I’ll throw every tech problem your way. Oh, the projector’s broken again? Guess who’s fixin’ it. All of ‘em. Every. Single. One. Even if they ain’t broken, I’ll say they are.”

Jacob’s laughter died in his throat, replaced with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, okay, message received,” the social studies teacher said, raising his hands in surrender. “No more laughing. Promise.”

“And Gregory,” Melissa said, her eyes locking onto him next. “You wanna keep smilin’ over there, huh? I’ll personally make sure you’re stuck with Ava in her damn bunker away from Janine.”

Gregory’s smirk quickly faded as Ava cackled across the table, leaning back in her chair like she had won some kind of victory. “That’s right,” she said smugly. “Ain’t nobody wants to stay with me in my bunker. Not even you, Gregory.”

The man’s face twisted into a grimace. “I-I wasn’t laughing that hard, Melissa. Really. Just… a little smile.”

“If you say so.” She narrowed her eyes, not convinced.

Finally, she turned to Ava, her annoyance reaching its peak. “And you, Ava,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re already walkin’ on thin ice, so I don’t even gotta threaten you. You just wait—next time you leave the school for more than ten minutes, I’m tellin’ everyone about that talk you had with the man who came to inspect our school. You know the one I’m talkin’ about.”

Ava’s cocky grin faltered, her eyes widening in panic as she leaned forward. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” your wife said with a devilish grin.

At that, everyone went silent. The only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and the faint hum of the refrigerator as Melissa sat back in her chair, looking satisfied with herself. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her regain control of the situation. Even with a face still tinged blue, Melissa Ann Caterina Schementi was a force to be reckoned with.

[iovebarca]

hello hello:) i love your fics! how about a fic where gavi and the reader go on vacation together (like the maledives) and just spend sunny days by the beach, relaxing in each others arms after a stressful season? maybe they go to a fancy dinner in the evenings or something like that, just fluff of a cute romantic couple on holiday:) thank youuu🫶🏼

Sun-Kissed Serenity - Pablo Gavi

Authors note: only 2 exams left! and i listened to the song SAND by SABA while writing this, such an underrated eurovision song!

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me

WC: 800 ish

Summary: In the serene paradise of the Maldives, Pablo and the reader find solace from the stresses of his football season with Barcelona.

send me requests! or just anything if you want to talk:))

The gentle lull of the turquoise waves washes over you as you recline on the pristine white sands of the Maldives, the sun painting golden hues across the horizon. Beside you, Pablo's presence is a comforting anchor, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders as you both bask in the warmth of each other's company.

It's been a long-awaited vacation—a much-needed respite from the whirlwind of stress and pressure that Pablo endured during the football season with Barcelona, compounded by the setback of his recent injury. But here, in this idyllic paradise, time seems to stand still, allowing you both to leave your worries behind and simply embrace the serenity of the moment.

"You know," Pablo murmurs, his voice soft with contentment, "I don't think I've ever felt more at peace than I do right now."

You turn to him with a gentle smile, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. "I'm glad we could escape here together," you say, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. "You deserve this, Pablo. You've worked so hard."

Pablo's expression softens at your words, gratitude shining in his eyes. "And having you here with me makes it all the more special," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

As the days unfold, you and Pablo spend your time lazily exploring the island, indulging in leisurely walks along the shoreline and exhilarating snorkeling adventures in the crystal-clear waters. Each evening, you dress up in your finest attire and venture out to enjoy romantic dinners under the stars, savoring the exquisite flavors of the Maldivian cuisine and the intimate moments shared between just the two of you.

But it's the quiet moments spent in each other's arms that you treasure the most—the whispered conversations beneath the canopy of palm trees, the stolen kisses as the sun dips below the horizon, the simple joy of being together in a world all your own.

Pablo had spent the afternoon building sandcastles on the beach. With childlike enthusiasm, Pablo had dug trenches and piled sand, his laughter echoing across the shoreline as he sculpted his masterpiece. He had created quite the castle, if you say so yourself.

"You're still a kid at heart, aren't you?" you teased, a fond smile playing on your lips as you watched him adding the finishing touches to his artwork.

Pablo looked up from his sandy creation, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, shut up," he retorted, a playful grin spreading across his face. "You know you love me."

And indeed, you did love him—with all your heart and soul. It was moments like these—simple, carefree, and filled with laughter—that made you fall deeper in love with him each and every day.

As the night falls over the Maldives, painting the sky in a canvas of deep blues and purples, Pablo suggests a spontaneous late-night swim beneath the shimmering moonlight. Eager for the adventure, you both slip into your swimsuits and make your way to the deserted stretch of beach.

The warm embrace of the ocean welcomes you as you wade into the gentle waves, the water cool and refreshing against your skin. Pablo's laughter rings out in the night air as he splashes you playfully, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Come on, mi amor," he urges, his smile infectious. "Race you to the buoy!"

With a playful grin, you accept the challenge, kicking off from the shore and propelling yourself through the water with all your might. Pablo's laughter fills your ears as he swims beside you, the thrill of competition mingling with the exhilarating rush of freedom.

But as you reach the buoy, the mood shifts, and the playful banter gives way to something deeper—a quiet intimacy that binds you together in the stillness of the night. You tread water side by side, the only sound the gentle rhythm of your breathing and the soft lapping of the waves against the shore.

In the moonlight, Pablo's features are illuminated with a soft glow, his eyes reflecting the depths of his love for you. Without a word, he reaches out, drawing you into his arms with a tenderness that steals your breath away.

And there, beneath the canopy of stars, you share a moment of pure magic—a moment that transcends time and space, a moment that speaks volumes without the need for words.

As you found yourselves immersed in the tranquil waters of the ocean, you couldn't help but reflect on the playful antics of earlier in the day. With Pablo by your side, every moment was an adventure, every memory a treasure to hold close to your heart.

[rebelumbrella46]

Let’s just be honest—The Umbrella Academy was essentially cancelled after Season 3, but given the massive fandom, Netflix gave them the chance to wrap up the story with a final season. It’s similar to what happened with Shadowhunters—it was cancelled, but after the outcry from fans, they were given two more episodes to tie things up.

For me, the first two seasons were masterpieces. They truly became my comfort show and introduced me to my comfort characters. This might sound cheesy, but it’s true—when the first season aired, I was going through a rough time in my life, and I held on to this show like my life depended on it. Season 2 arrived amidst the pandemic, and it was a light in the darkness for me as well. Even with the massive success of Season 2, I think Netflix hesitated to greenlight another season. I remember waiting for an announcement, and it felt like it took forever.

Season 3 was filmed during the pandemic, and if I recall correctly, Netflix cut the budget for visual effects. So, the season didn’t quite live up to the expectations set by Season 2. Regardless of its flaws, I enjoyed it, but I would have enjoyed it more if the writing hadn’t been so sloppy and, at times, cheesy.

But this last season? It feels like fanservice—and not even good fanservice. For example, the Lila and Five thing? The enhanced powers? The Jennifer Incident? All of it fell flat. Klaus’s storyline this season was basically what I wanted to see in Season 3, but it was delivered too late and added nothing meaningful to the plot.

But was the main plot really supposed to be about Jennifer? Who cares about introducing a new character in the final season instead of focusing on saying goodbye to the beloved main characters?

The subplots were boring. Klaus’s storyline was fanservice, but it felt like they just threw us a bone to appease years of fans asking for Klaus to get his comic powers. And it was insulting. Ben and Jennifer in love? Unrealistic and boring. The train station? Who came up with that cheap idea? I thought it would be a place built by Reggie, but there was no explanation at all.

The apocalypse no longer feels exciting or even important. There’s no sense of urgency anymore.

The family dynamics—the strongest part of this show—felt odd and weak. Pairing Viktor with Reginald was boring. Lila and Diego’s drama? Nonsense. And what was the point of Claire? I thought she would be the main conflict of the season, with everyone banding together to save a character we’ve known since Season 1, who has emotional ties to every Umbrella.

And where were the villains? To make it as interesting as Seasons 1 and 2, you need a great antagonist. Like Hazel and Cha-Cha, The Handler, Reginald, or even an antihero like the Sparrows, Harlan, or the Commission. Why not make Abigail the greatest threat? Or bring back some of the former villains?

What about resolving old family drama, so that if the show’s end was going to be the family sacrificing themselves, they could all go in peace?

Instead, they didn’t address Allison’s betrayal at all. They created a huge rift between Five and Diego. Nothing for Klaus and Ben. No Umbrella Ben. No Sloane. Why is Lila even here anymore? Why didn’t she just ditch out like Ray and leave Diego with the kids to be a single dad? That would’ve made more sense coming from Lila than from Ray, to be honest.

For me, the writers, producers, and directors knew this show was cancelled, so they didn’t even try anymore. For me, the ending of season 3 was meant to be the ending of the show.

I watched Game of Thrones after it ended, so I didn’t experience the same level of rage, disappointment, and betrayal that fans felt. But now, I do.

[manias-wordcount]

HEAR ME OUT!!!! Wriothesley from Genshin with an S/O that gets easily depressed from the lack of sunlight in the fortress.

Honestly from there, go crazy! At this point, after seeing the MASTERPIECE you made from my previous Maruki request, I trust you with all my boys💖

-🧃anon (if you don't have one already) (if you do I'll think of a new one next time I make an ask)

Mourning Sun (Wriothesley x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝘂𝗻 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗻 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗴𝗼𝗱, 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

��𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

It’s nearly mid-afternoon when he returns to your shared bedroom. And you’re in the exact position he left you in early, early this morning. It makes him frown.

  He’s due for a meeting relatively soon. And there are a few things he needs to take care of before the afternoon shifts are completed, so he has to be quick about this visit. Still, that doesn’t stop him from taking near-silent and utterly slow steps as he crosses the room to see you, a cup of your favorite flavor of freshly brewed tea in his hand. You’re still curled up in a ball, blankets tucked all around you except for your uncovered head. Your eyes are closed gently, and your breathing is steady and even as you doze quietly. You’re as beautiful as you’ve always been, but this sight always makes him worry. He wonders if you've woken up at all since he last saw you.

  A quick glance at the bedside table where your brunch lies, cold and untouched, tells him exactly everything he needs to know.

  “Sweetheart,” Wriothesley murmurs as he places a hand on your shoulder to shake you awake. You make a small sound. Something so sweet and sleepy it makes his heart soften. But he knows better than to let you carry on like this. So he tries again, shaking your shoulder a little more forcefully and speaking to you a bit louder than before. “Sweetheart, it’s time for you to get up, alright?”

  “Mmm,” You make a non-committal sound underneath your breath, but at the very least, he spots you starting to stretch your legs and uncurl yourself from beneath the blankets. Though he can’t help but notice the slight shiver in your body as you start to straighten out. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Every time he leaves the bed, really. Is the bedroom too cold for you? Should he invest in another heater? More blankets? It’s going to become winter soon, and even the Fortress of Meropide manages to feel the seasons as the nights grow longer and the wind blows harder. He’ll have to work out something soon to address this problem. For your sake. “W-Wriothesley?”

  At the sound of your voice, the man in question is broken out of his thoughts. He turns his attention back to you in enough time to see you struggling to sit up in the bed. Your hair is a bit of a mess, and you still look exhausted despite getting well over the typical eight hours of sleep necessary for most people to survive. He tries not to let his worried expression show, and for the most part, it doesn’t. Though he’s not confident you’d even be able to understand the emotion behind his eyes given the way you’re too busy rubbing at yours and blinking them slowly as you struggle to adjust to the dimming light in the room. 

  Still, he holds back his sighs and his frowns whenever he’s met with this familiar sight. Because above all else, he just doesn’t want you to think that it’s your fault. And it isn’t. If there’s anyone to blame it’s him. It has to be him.

  For loving you too much to let you go.

  “Hi sweetheart,” He greets you again, a small encouraging smile on his face. He takes a seat on the side of the bed and almost instantly, you’re scooting a little closer to the edge to be near him. Once you’re settled, your body leans into his a little bit. There’s a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and plenty covering your lower body as you sit up in the bed. But he can feel your body mend into his through the fabric as he transfers the cup of tea into your hands. You light up slightly at the sight, and there’s a small smile on your face now as well. It’s no longer steaming in the mug, but you still lightly blow at the liquid on the very top so as to not accidentally burn your tongue. But it doesn’t take too long for you to place the mug to your lips and to tilt your head. You must have been so thirsty. Wriothesley should have come to visit you sooner. “You should eat something, too. It’s already the afternoon.”

  You don’t respond for a little bit, too busy sipping down at your tea with greedy little gulps. So Wriothesley takes the time to look at you. Really look at you. Not a passing glance he gives you when he’s seeking a quick little serotonin boost throughout his day. Not one of those long looks of admiration that he gives you when all he can see is the beauty and perfection of your form. But a look at the true, true version of you as it appears in front of him. And it takes him only mere seconds to spot just how sickly you seem. 

  Your skin doesn’t have the same shine to it that it used to. There are bags under your eyes despite all the sleep you do whenever he’s not around to entertain you. You’re well-fed here- Wriothesley makes sure all the meals you receive are to your liking- but there’s still a weak and fragile look about you. Should he call Sigewinne to come in for a check-in again? The thought has crossed his mind more than once after he noticed just how much you’ve been sleeping and losing interest in all the new books he brings down for you. But deep down inside, he knows the reason you’re like this. He knows it all too well.

  You haven’t taken well to life in the Fortress of Meropide. 

  If he’s being honest with himself, you belong on the surface. You belong where you can receive as much sunlight and warmth and bright colors whenever you want. But he fell in love on one rare day when had to attend to matters outside the Fortress. He just saw you from afar and with one small look, he fell for you. And you fell for him too. But he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his role as the Administrator of the Fortress to live a life so foreign to him after spending years and years beneath the surface. It felt like all he had ever known since his arrival. But you were willing to make that sacrifice. You were willing to stay in the Fortress of Meropide and live a life by his side. Even though he wasn’t willing to do the same.

  “Thank you for the tea!” You tell him as you pull the cup back from your lips. Your voice is cheery, and there’s a smile on your face- one that’s bright and big and happy. But you still look so tired. So ready to curl up and go back to sleep the second he leaves. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. He knows, he knows, he knows. But part of him just hopes that if he wished the problem away enough, you’d be okay. That you wouldn’t have to struggle like this if could just snap his fingers and make a little magic happen. But the other part of him? The more sensible, logical, sympathetic side of him? The side that would do absolutely anything to keep you by his side? “And I meant to eat sooner. But I just got really sleepy all of a sudden, and wanted to take a quick nap before-”

  “I’ll take you outside soon.”

  That part of him knows exactly what he has to do to make things right.

  When he speaks the words into existence, you instantly freeze. A long silence follows as you’re both unsure of what to do. Of what to say. You’ve never asked about leaving the Fortress before. And he knows you want to. He knows you need to at this point. And not sure for an hour or two. You need a couple of days at least outdoors. Enjoying the sun. Breathing in the fresh air. Existing in a world that isn’t covered head to toe with metal walls and pipes. 

  But you never asked. You just didn’t. And you won’t. You never request anything other than a couple of letters to your family and friends on the surface being delivered here or there. You know Wriothesley is a busy man. One who can’t just drop everything for a little vacation because he’s feeling down or wants a break. But this is completely different. Because he wouldn’t do this for himself. 

  But he would absolutely do it for you.

  “I’ll take you outside soon.” He repeats himself, a little more quietly this time. His eyes are gazing forward and bearing into your own. He moves his hand and places it on your blanket thigh and squeezes it gently. He owes you the whole world. Because that’s exactly what you are to him- his world. “I promise.”

  But he needs to start taking better care of it. He needs to start taking better care of you.

  Because your depression is obvious, even if you try to hide it. He’s known it this entire time, but it’s been hard to admit it when he knows that this decline in your overall well-being wouldn’t exist without his selfishness. He doesn’t know much about the you who existed outside of his swift courtship. But he always noticed the decline in your health and personality and presence. From the first few weeks of your arrival to now, you’re a different person. Less energy. A little quieter. No longer interested in the things you used to like. A little more melancholy. A little less you. 

  You’re still the person he fell in love with. But you’re also the person he failed to protect. The person he failed to provide for. Because when you said you would go with him, he promised that he’d make you happy. He promised that he’d make the Fortress your home. Someplace where you could thrive. But will that ever happen? Will he ever succeed? He doesn’t know. It’s his first time taking a sunflower away from the sun. There’s more he knows he has to do. But at the very least…

  “Okay, Wriothesley…I’d like that, please.”

    …he can start with this. 

[chericos]

SHUT UP AND DRIVE CHAPTER ONE: gear up

masterlist. || 2.2k

The scent of gasoline filled the garage. Sunlight streams through the oversized glass doors, pooling onto the polished concrete floor and glinting off the sleek frame of your car. Your pride and joy—a beast of a machine with a matte black finish and deep pink accents—sits waiting for your attention. Tools are scattered across the workbench nearby, a chaotic mix of wrenches, sockets, and screwdrivers, each coated in a fine sheen of oil.  

Hunched over the open engine bay, you work with the kind of precision that comes from both necessity and obsession. Your hands move deftly, tightening a bolt here, testing the throttle there. The faint purr of the engine vibrates through your chest, grounding you in the present for the first time in weeks. For a fleeting moment, excitement stirs in you. It’s familiar. Comforting.  

The peace doesn’t last.  

“You know, hiding in the garage isn’t going to fix everything.”  

The sharp voice startles you, and you glance toward the open doorway. Utahime stands there, clipboard in hand and exasperation etched across her face. Her sharp, professional outfit—a deep navy blazer and pinstripe slacks combo—looks wildly out of place against the gritty backdrop of the garage.  

Without looking up from your work, you twist the wrench tighter and mutter, “I’m not hiding. I’m working.”  

Utahime steps inside, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Hiding. Working. Same thing at this point,” she says, her tone dry. “You haven’t been to a single event since the... incident.”  

The word makes you freeze, it barely lasts a second, but it was just long enough for her to notice. Gritting your teeth, you keep your focus on the engine. “Can we not call it that? It’s not Voldemort.”  

“Fine,” she snaps, crossing her arms. “What do you want me to call it? The breakup heard ’round the racing world? The reason you’re trending on Twitter every other day? Because that’s what it is to everyone else.”  

Setting your wrench down with a clang, you finally meet her gaze. “I’ll show up. I always do.”  

“Oh, really?” she says, arching a brow. “Because last I checked, showing up means more than tinkering with your car like it’s a safety blanket.”  

“It’s called preparation,” you counter, the bite in your voice sharper than you intended.  

“Preparation for what?” Utahime throws her hands up in exasperation. “To stay in here forever?” Her tone softens as she lets out a sigh, but the frustration lingers. “You’ve been cooped up here for weeks. You can’t half-ass this season like last time. Le Mans isn’t just a race; it’s the race. No more late-night runs for thrills, no more headlines about your ‘personal life.’ Focus.” Racing isn’t just about the car. It’s about you. Your mindset, your presence. And right now, the scouts for Le Mans are seeing someone who’s gone completely radio silent.”  

You groaned, reaching for the rag to wipe your hands, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I am focused. Just because I’m not making dramatic speeches about it doesn’t mean I’m slacking off. And just because I’m not broadcasting my every move doesn't mean I’m “radio silent,” 

Utahime arched a skeptical brow, glancing over her clipboard. “First qualifiers are next weekend. Maki’s already clocked two practice runs, and Nobara’s been studying every corner of the Le Mans track like it’s her SAT. Meanwhile, you’ve been—what? Fixing your car?”  

“Hey, Camie is more than a car. She’s a masterpiece, and now she’s offended. We’re focused, stop worrying.”

“Focused,” Utahime repeated, her skepticism dripping from her voice. “Focused would mean you’re out on the track, working on your times, not holed up in your fortress of solitude.  

“Maybe I like my solitude,” you mutter, tossing the rag onto the workbench, a pout making its way onto your face.  

“And maybe it’s not doing you any favors,” she fires back. “Look, I get it. The whole thing with Megumi—”  

“Don’t.” Your tone is sharp, cutting her off mid-sentence. The room feels heavier now, the words hanging unspoken between you. “This isn’t about him.”  

Utahime’s expression softens, but she doesn’t back down. “Whether you want it to be or not, everyone else has made it about him. About you and him. If you don’t remind them why you’re you, you’re going to lose control of the narrative. And worse? You’re going to lose that Le Mans spot to him.”  

Now that… that hit. You clench your jaw, glaring down at the open hood of your car as if it might offer some magical solution.  

“I’m not going to lose to him,” you finally say, your voice low but firm.  

“Then prove it,” Utahime challenges, stepping closer. “Because Megumi’s out there training like his life depends on it. He’s not distracted by social media, drama, or whatever it is you’re doing in here. He’s racing. And you? You’re stalling.”  

Her words sting more than you care to admit, and for a moment, silence blankets the garage. The hum of the engine seems distant now, overshadowed by the weight of her honesty.  

Finally, you sigh and slam the hood of your car shut. “Fine. I’ll hit the simulators later. Happy?”  

“Ecstatic,” she deadpans, though there’s the faintest hint of relief in her expression. “But don’t just hit the simulators. Go upstairs. Talk to your team. They’ve been trying to drag you out of this funk for weeks.”  

You smirk faintly at her choice of words. “I don’t do funks.”  

“Call it whatever you want.” She gives you one last pointed look before turning to leave. “Just show up. That’s all I’m asking.”  

As her footsteps fade, the silence of the garage settles in once again. The car gleams under the sunlight, a testament to your meticulous care—but it isn’t enough. Utahime’s right. Racing isn’t just about the car.  

Grabbing your (empty) water bottle, you take a deep breath and head toward the house. It’s time to face the world, whether you like it or not. And you were going to show them that you’re better than ever.

You push open the door to your house, stepping into the chaos you call home. The sharp scent of motor oil clings faintly to your jacket, but it’s quickly replaced by the clean, crisp scent of the indoors. The foyer opens up into a spacious living area with polished marble floors that gleam in the soft sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The stark white walls are adorned with framed posters of old racing events, rock concerts, and abstract art, all splashed with animal prints and neon pink. At the center of the room sits a large black leather couch, adorned with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over one arm and mismatched pillows shaped like skulls and roses.

The coffee table is littered with evidence of your late-night antics—half-empty energy drinks, stray playing cards, and a small stack of glossy magazines featuring you and your teammates in various articles. In the corner, a tall, potted snake plant struggles to survive, its leaves curling as though begging for more attentive care.

The open-concept kitchen flows seamlessly into the living room, with gleaming black marble countertops and pendant lights hanging from above, their matte black and tarnished gold fixtures adding a touch of flair. A pink neon sign reading "Eat Fast, Drive Faster" hangs over the stove, casting a soft glow across the room. The place is clean—for now—but the faint smell of burnt toast lingers, evidence of Nobara’s recent cooking attempt.

The grunge charm extends to the little details: a shelf near the staircase crammed with trophies and medals, the pride of the team, and a mishmash of knick-knacks—a chipped pink skull figurine, a tiny replica of your car, and a Polaroid of the team from your first big win, framed in black. 

As you step further into the house, the faint thrum of bass from Nobara’s room upstairs mixes with the sound of simulated engines roaring from the game room. Somewhere, Panda’s deep laugh echoes, followed by the unmistakable crash of something heavy hitting the floor.

“Who broke something this time?” you call out, kicking off your boots by the door and hanging your jacket on the hook labeled ‘Speed Demon’—a label you swear you didn’t put up.

In the kitchen, Maki is sitting at the counter, sharpening one of her knives with a whetstone. She glances up as you walk in, her expression as sharp as the blade in her hands. “Just your ego, probably,” she says with a smirk.

“Still babying that car of yours?” she teased as you walked in.  

“Better than babying a weapon collection,” you shot back, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “What’s the deal with the knives anyway? Planning on taking out the competition?”  

“Just prepared for anything,” Maki said with a smirk. “You could learn a thing or two about that.”  

You smirk, walking away from the fridge. “You’re hilarious. Keep working on that. Maybe one day you’ll have fans like mine.”

“I don’t think I want any of those. I’ve got a blade and a flawless record.”

“Good for you, Miss Terminator,” you shoot back before making your way to the living room. It’s alive with energy, the heart of your chaotic little universe. You settle onto the black leather couch, its cold surface softened by the worn-in comfort of the pink throw blanket and a plush skull pillow you hug to your chest. Nobara is sprawled across the opposite end of the couch, her legs dangling lazily over the armrest as she scrolls through Twitter. Panda is cross-legged on the shaggy pink rug, fiddling with a miniature die-cast model of your car, occasionally making it "zoom" across the table to annoy Nobara.

Maki—finally leaving the kitchen—has claimed the pink velvet armchair in the corner, her posture rigid and imposing as she continues sharpening her knife. 

“Did you see what people are saying about you and Megumi?” Nobara says, looking up from her phone with a grin. “Twitter’s on fire about you two. Apparently, someone spotted him at the circuit yesterday, and now everyone’s debating who fumbled who again.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “Can we not? I’m tired of hearing about him.”

“Oh, come on!” Nobara teases, tossing her phone onto the coffee table. “You have to care a little. The people want to know: did you dump him because he couldn’t handle your vibe, or did he dump you because he realized he peaked?”

Panda snorts his laugh so loud it startles Maki, who glares at him. “I’m Team Megumi fumbled,” Panda announces, raising his hand (paw) like it's a vote. “The guy’s too moody to handle someone like you. You’re all speed and chaos. He’s... whatever the opposite of fun is.”

“Broody?” Nobara suggests.

“Exactly.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for the support, Panda. Super helpful. It’s totally not like you know the whole situation firsthand.”

“But,” Panda adds with a mischievous grin, “you did ghost him at that after-party last year. So maybe it’s mutual fumbling?”

“That party doesn’t count,” you retort, throwing the skull pillow at him. “I had better things to do than listen to him complain in the corner all night.”

“Like what?” Nobara smirks, dodging the pillow Panda tossed her way.

“Win a race, maybe?” you reply. “Something he didn’t do that night, by the way.”

Maki lets out a sharp laugh from her chair, finally looking up from her knife. “You’re all idiots. Who cares about whatever high Twitter wants to get off on? Just get over it and focus on the qualifiers.”

“Thank you, Maki, the only voice of reason,” you say, raising your water bottle in a mock toast.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Maki responds. “You’ve barely touched the simulators, and from what I hear, Megumi’s been practically living at the circuit. If you don’t get serious, he’ll wipe the floor with you.”

The room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound is the faint bassline of Nobara’s playlist drifting from the speaker.

“I’m not worried about Megumi,” you say finally, your voice steady. “He can train all he wants. I’m still faster.”

Nobara raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. Instead, she leans back, stretching her arms over her head. “Alright, enough yapping. Let’s hit the simulators. If we’re serious about this season, we need to start acting like it. And Y/n, if you’re not on that track tomorrow, I’m dragging you there myself.”  

You give her a halfhearted grin. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I’m calling dibs on the first run.”

“Dream on,” you say, standing up and tossing the skull pillow back onto the couch. “If anyone’s going first, it’s me.”

“Oh, so now you’re serious?” Nobara teases, following you toward the stairs.

“Always was,” you shoot back with a smirk.

The energy shifts as the team heads upstairs to the simulator room. The playful banter fades and it's replaced by the sharp focus that comes with a race. Even with the change in vibe, the camaraderie is there—an unspoken reminder that, no matter what happens on the track, you’ve got each other’s backs. There’s only one thing left to do.

It’s time to gear up.

break room!

I still suck at dialogue... but there is SLIGHT improvement (I think)

anyway! the break room is just gonna be the teams' hobbies!

maki has a knife collection, she guards them like they're hr birthed children. no one knows what she uses them for...

nobara runs a youtube channel, she mainly does blogs around the house but sometimes she streams game nights

panda has an insane amount of pokemon cards. he has pushed people on the streets while trying to find them on pokemon go (yes this is based on one of my friends)

megumi was definitely only at the circuit trying to get over it

get ready to turn on the ignition

taglist!

@brideads @sweettenderheart @sh0ot1ngst4r @bertqut1 @favbisexualh0e @Fushiguruzzzz @anonymity222 @harryzcherry @Janneeeexdxc @veevei @lightshowerrr @jasminasblog22 @gumims @samshine03 @yeehawnana @starrysho @1l-ynn @dovellici

if your tag isn't working please fix your settings or you will be removed!

also please comment if I can use you as a twt user!

[leahsgirl]

dramatic much | ella toone x female reader

veryyy short ella blurb to get back out there. no warnings.

sorry for my disappearance - writers block got the complete best of me and i hate every draft i make.

—

ella busied herself in the kitchen, occasionally stopping stirring the sauce in the pan to re-read the recipe on her phone.

some may say she’s been a little too aspirational in opting to make a three course meal for herself and you, considering she can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong. but with her being away so much with with international duty and pre-season duties lately and little time for just the pair of you - she wanted to do something special.

in all fairness, everything was going to plan. she prepped the veg in advance, seasoned the chicken, and is yet to call alessia to come and save her (and the meal).

but nothing is ever easy in the world of ella toone, so as the brunette was jamming along to one of her notorious spotify playlist as well as peeling potatoes; she accidentally managed to slice her finger.

“fuckin’ el” she retracted her hand back in a jolt, watching in horror as blood pumped out of the small but painful cut.

she’s pretty sure this is the end, any minute now and she’s going to die from a haemorrhage which is why in a swift motion - like any self respecting adult would do - she whipped out her phone from her back pocket.

“hey babe.”

“how far away from home are you?”

“about five mins-ish, why?”

“i’m gonna die man! you need to hurry up.”

“what do you mean, what have you-“

but ella hung up and there you was; heart rate through the roof as you sat driving your car. it didn’t take long for you to get back though, probably breaking a few speed limits here and there.

“ella?” calling out as soon as you entered the premises.

“in the kitchen!”

you find the girl hunched over the counter-top, about thirty pieces (not an understatement) of kitchen roll wrapped around her hand. “what have you done?”

“bloody sliced my finger open.” you see the half peeled vegetables on the chopping board and piece two and two together, letting out an airy laugh “let me have a look.”

ella propped herself up onto the counter as you gently unravelled the tissue paper to reveal… a small cut. barely a nick, really, but enough to have your dramatic girlfriend convinced she was at death’s door. “oh my god you are such a hypochondriac.” 

“mate it was like a blood bath in here i nearly died.” the mancunian defended herself as you hummed along amused, searching for the first aid kit.

“it’s your fault too.” she vindicated.

“of course it is.” you said with a grin, playing along “what did i do?”

“if i wasn’t cutting potato’s for this meal i was making for you, then it wouldn’t of happened.” she huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“or maybe you and the kitchen just aren’t meant to be.” you opened a sachet of antiseptic wipes and motioned for her hand. “but i love the thought and effort.” you kissed her lips while slying cleaning the wound.

“shit shit shit!” the brunette pulled back and immediately went to wave her hand to stop the stinging “what you do that for?!”

“would your dramatic ass let me do it if i had told you? the answer is no.” you smiled sweetly at her and put a plaster over the cut. “there. all better.”

“wait you forgot something.” looking expectantly at you as you cleared away the rubbish. “what?”

“kiss it better?” you laughed at the childish behaviour but gave in, conceding a quick peck on her finger. “i’ve never known anyone as dramatic as you, ella toone.”

“good thing you love me isn’t it?” she hopped off the kitchen surface and smacked your butt.

“mhm. now go get changed so i can put that shirt in the wash.” pointing to the scattered red marks on the material.

“fine, but i’m stealing your hoodie.” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom.

_

well what was supposed to be ella’s culinary masterpiece ended up being your handiwork. after convincing the girl she’d done enough damage for one night, you took over in the kitchen, following the recipe she found. to your surprise, the meal turned out pretty tasty. ella hovered around you the entire time, watching your every move like an eager student, offering unhelpful advice and distracting you with cheeky kisses. not that you minded—it was nice to see her so invested, even if it meant she spent more time fussing over her finger than actually helping

with dinner over and dishes abandoned in the sink, the pair of you was settled on the sofa, scouring the tv for literally anything to watch. ella was cuddled into your side, messing with the remote as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“why don’t we see what’s on netflix? i think there’s some new shows out.”

“ugh there’s nothing good on netflix anymore.” the brunette moaned.

“you’re so hard to please sometimes y’know.” you teased as you took the remote off her and put on a movie both of you liked, one that you watched together more times than you can count “happy?”

ella nodded, “i’ll go grab some snacks.” she manoeuvred off you and the couch, bending down to steal a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the brief contact leaving you grinning. you watched her disappear into the kitchen, hearing the familiar clatter of cupboards opening and the rustle of packaging as she gathered your favorites.

she was back after a couple of minutes, hands now full with a bowl of popcorn, a bar of chocolate and two cans of pop. “here you go m’lady.” she said with a mock bow, gracefully placing the bowl on your lap and handing you one of the drinks. “thanks babe.”

she went to the other couch and picked up the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak and making her way back to her personal pillow (you).

“ah! shit shit shit!” the older girl was now hopping around holding her foot.

“literally what’s just happened?” you look on in disbelief because realistically how many accidents can this girl get herself into.

“stubbed my bastard toe.” ella hissed through gritted teeth “think i’ve broke it, swear I heard a crack”

“oh for fucks s-“

[dee-writes-angst]

FALL (Chapter Three)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY after falling down a flight of stairs, you are forced to realize that you aren't alone and that it's time to start healing.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, nosy Rhys, Amren (she's a warning), and injuries

AUTHORS NOTE I kind of hate this a lot, but here is the third part of the Season's series, Fall. Hope you enjoy! <3

Autumn descends upon the world like a tender-hearted healer, enveloping all in its embrace of warmth and renewal. The air takes on a crisp clarity, carrying with it the subtle scent of earth and fallen leaves, a fragrance that whispers of new beginnings. Trees, once adorned in the lush greens of summer, now don their autumnal attire, each leaf a masterpiece of vibrant hues—amber, crimson, and gold—painting the landscape in a tapestry of healing colors.

As daylight wanes, the sun bathes the world in a soft, golden glow, casting long shadows that dance gracefully upon the earth. The breeze, gentle yet invigorating, rustles through the trees, a comforting melody that speaks of resilience and growth. With each step, fallen leaves crinkle beneath our feet, a soothing reminder of the cycle of life and the beauty found in letting go.

In the fall, nature herself undergoes a profound transformation, shedding the old to make way for the new. Trees release their leaves in a graceful dance of surrender, preparing for a period of rest and rejuvenation. Yet, even in this quietude, there is a vibrant energy that pulses through the air, a reminder that healing is not a passive act, but a journey of growth and renewal.

As I found myself immersing in the healing embrace of autumn, I was invited to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the beauty of transformation. Like the earth itself, I was reminded of my innate capacity to heal, to grow, and to emerge stronger and more vibrant than before. In the gentle caress of the autumn breeze, I found solace, strength, and the promise of new beginnings.

(Early September, House of Wind)

Morning light spilled through the windows of the House of Wind, painting the stairwell in hues of gold and amber. Each step I took down the winding staircase echoed softly, the sound muffled by the quiet of the early hour. Shadows danced along the walls, elongated and wavering, as if unsure of their own existence in the gentle glow of dawn.

As I descended, a flicker of movement caught my eye—a subtle shift in the darkness that should not have been there. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look, dread coiling in the pit of my stomach. The shadows seemed to solidify, taking shape in the form of a figure I knew all too well. It was Lyris, his smirk cruel and taunting, his blade gleaming with malice in the dim light.

Panic surged through me, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn't real, I told myself, but the terror it invoked was. Before I could react, before I could rationalize, my foot missed the next step. There was no time to regain my balance, no wings to unfurl and catch me. I reached out desperately, fingers grasping for the banister, but it was too late.

The world tilted violently as I fell, the sharp pain of impact shooting up my spine as I collided with the unforgiving stairs. Each jolt sent waves of agony coursing through me, my body bouncing helplessly until I finally came to a crumpled stop at the bottom of the staircase. Dazed and disoriented, I tried to gather my bearings, the pain a sharp, throbbing ache in every limb.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, growing louder with each passing second. Then, Azriel was there, his face a mask of concern as he knelt beside me. "Don't move," he said softly, his hands hovering over me with a hesitant touch. "We need to get you to the healer."

"I'm okay," I lied, attempting to push myself up despite the searing pain that shot through me. The room spun sickeningly, and I winced, sinking back down with a pained gasp.

"No, you're not," Azriel insisted, his voice firm but gentle. He assessed me quickly, his expression grave. "We need to get you off these stairs. Can you stand?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, frustration and pain mingling into a bitter concoction. "I don't… I can't…" I faltered, unable to voice the depth of my vulnerability.

"It's okay. I've got you." Azriel's arms enveloped me, lifting me gently from the cold, hard floor. I buried my face against his chest, seeking solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat amidst the chaos of my own.

As we moved, the memory of the fall replayed in my mind—the hallucination of Lyris, the terror of losing my footing. I had lost more than just my wings that day; I had lost a piece of myself. How was I supposed to heal when my own mind betrayed me with such vivid, haunting illusions?

Azriel's presence was a silent promise of protection, his concern a soothing balm to my fractured psyche. I clung to it, to him, as we made our way to the healer's chambers, the shadows of the stairwell receding into the background as we stepped into the light of a new day. I would allow myself to let him seep in my darkness for a moment. I would be selfish for just this moment and then it would be back to struggling alone, to protecting them, him.

Madja's room was filled with the subtle scent of lavender and sage, a calming ambiance that did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The healer's hands were warm and gentle as she applied salves to the bruises that marbled my skin, her touch careful around the tender areas where my wings once were.

"You're healing well physically," Madja said softly, her voice soothing. "But healing the mind… that takes time, and often more than just my skills." She offered me a small, understanding smile, though her eyes were stern, hinting at the depth of her concern.

Before I could respond, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside. His expression was unreadable, shadows swirling slightly at his feet���a sure sign of his inner turmoil. Madja excused herself with a knowing look, leaving us alone.

I shifted on the cot, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I faced him. "Azriel," I began, but my voice cracked, betraying my nervousness.

He moved closer, his movements graceful and deliberate. Stopping at the edge of the cot, he knelt so he was eye level with me, his gaze intense. "I've been patient," he said, his voice low and strained. "I've given you space, but we can't keep avoiding this conversation."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I don't know if I'm ready," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before gently brushing a stray hair back from my face. "I know you're hurting. And I know I can't understand everything you're going through. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to go through this alone."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. "It's not just the pain, Azriel. It's the fear," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "Every shadow, every noise—it takes me back to that moment. And I feel so powerless."

His expression softened, the shadows receding slightly as if in response to my distress. "I wish I could take that fear away," he murmured. "But since I can't, I'll stand with you against it. Every step of the way, until you feel strong again."

"How do you do it?" I asked, searching his face. "How do you live with your own shadows?"

A sad smile tugged at his lips. "By knowing which shadows are mine to control, and which are simply part of the world. And by having people I love to light the way when it gets too dark."

"What if I'm not strong enough?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy shroud. Despite my efforts to steel myself against the pain, I couldn't help but curl into myself, feeling small and vulnerable in the face of my own fears. "What if I never get over this and—" I choked back my tears once more, the fear gnawing at my insides too overwhelming to voice aloud.

Azriel's heart clenched at my words, the rawness of my pain mirroring his own. With aching tenderness, he reached out, his hand hovering over mine, a silent beacon of comfort in the darkness. "You are strong," he said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. "Stronger than you realize. But even the strongest among us have moments of doubt, moments when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear."

My eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, sought solace in his unwavering gaze. "And if you never get over this… if the shadows linger longer than you'd like, know that you are not alone. We'll face them together, every step of the way."

The weight of my fear trembled through my shoulders; the depth of my anguish palpable in the air. "But what if I pull you all into it too?" I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "What if my darkness becomes yours?"

Azriel's heart ached at the thought, but he refused to let me drown in my despair. "Your darkness is not a burden," he said, his voice steady, unwavering. "It's a part of you, just as much as your light. And I would walk through the darkest of nights if it meant I could stand beside you."

He reached for my hand, his touch gentle yet firm, anchoring me to the present moment. "Let me help you carry this weight," he urged, his eyes locking with mine. "Let us carry it together."

For a moment, there was only silence—a heavy, pregnant pause that hung between us, charged with unspoken emotions. And then, with a shaky breath, I nodded, my grip tightening around his hand as if anchoring myself to his steadfast presence.

In that moment, as we sat together in the quiet sanctuary of Madja's room, surrounded by the gentle scent of herbs and healing, Azriel felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. No matter how dark the path ahead, no matter how daunting the shadows that loomed on the horizon, we would face them together. And with love as our guiding light, we would find our way back to the warmth of the sun.

(Mid-October, River House)

The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as I gathered the courage to speak, surrounded by the Inner Circle whose presence felt both comforting and daunting. Cassian's warm gaze, Nesta's softened expression, Rhys and Feyre's silent solidarity, Amren's unreadable yet somehow reassuring presence, and Mor's gentle smile—all of them were a testament to the depth of their care.

With Azriel standing at my side, his silent support a steady anchor in the storm of my emotions, I began to speak. My voice, though laced with uncertainty, carried the weight of my sincerity as I addressed them.

"I want to apologize," I began, each word heavy with meaning as I met their eyes, one by one. "For the distance I've kept, for the walls I've built around myself. I've been… cold, and for that, I'm truly sorry.

A hushed tension hung in the air, anticipation mingling with apprehension as they waited for me to continue. But instead of judgment or reproach, I found only understanding in their expressions—compassion and empathy reflected in their unwavering gazes.

"I'm ready to try," I confessed, the admission a revelation in itself. "To try again.. To heal."

Cassian's hand found mine, his touch grounding and reassuring as he squeezed gently. "We're here for you," he declared, his voice a solemn vow. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Nesta's usually sharp gaze softened, her features etched with genuine concern. "We've missed you," she admitted, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability. "But we understand. And we'll stand by you, no matter what."

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a silent glance, their unity a beacon of strength amidst the uncertainty. "You're not alone," Rhys affirmed, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll face this together, as a family."

Amren nodded curtly, her demeanor as inscrutable as ever, yet there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes. "Don't make a habit of apologizing," she quipped dryly, a subtle reassurance in her words.

Mor's smile was gentle, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me. "We love you," she said simply, her words a promise of unwavering support.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I absorbed their words, the weight of their acceptance washing over me like a tidal wave. In that moment, surrounded by the love and understanding of my chosen family, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me yet.

With Azriel's hand firmly clasped in mine, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the arduous journey ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road to recovery would be fraught with challenges. But with the unwavering support of those who loved me, I knew I could face whatever lay ahead.

Night after night, the nightmares clawed their way into my sleep, tearing through the fragile fabric of my dreams with merciless intensity. Each time, I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding in my chest, lungs gasping for air as if I'd been drowning in the darkness of my own mind.

Azriel had been there from the beginning, his quiet presence a steadfast anchor in the storm of my nightmares. At first, he would come at the sound of my screams, offering comfort and reassurance until the tremors subsided and sleep reclaimed me once more. But as the nights stretched on and the nightmares showed no signs of abating, his visits became more frequent, his presence a comforting constant in the ever-shifting landscape of my dreams.

I would wake to find him sitting beside my bed, his gaze watchful and protective as he kept vigil over my troubled sleep. His presence was a balm to my fractured mind, a beacon of light in the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume me.

At first, I protested his presence, insisting that he had better things to do than waste his nights sitting by my bedside. But he brushed off my protests with a quiet determination, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that spoke volumes. He didn't need words to convey the truth—that he would stay for as long as I needed him, no matter the cost.

And so, night after night, I would wake to find him there, his presence a silent reassurance that I was not alone in my suffering. With each passing night, his visits became longer, his presence more palpable until it felt as though he had practically moved into my room.

I would wake to the soft sound of his breathing, the warmth of his presence a comforting weight beside me. His steady heartbeat echoed in the silence of the night, a rhythmic cadence that anchored me to the present moment.

In those quiet hours before dawn, with the weight of his presence beside me, I found solace in the knowledge that I was not alone. No matter how dark the night, no matter how terrifying the nightmares that plagued my sleep, Azriel was there, a silent guardian watching over me until the first light of dawn chased the shadows away. And for that, I was endlessly grateful.

(Late October, River House)

As Azriel sat across from Rhysand, the weight of the conversation about you felt even heavier upon his shoulders. His mind flickered back to the recent events—the trauma you had endured, the pain etched into your every expression, and the way you had leaned on him for support during your darkest moments.

"I've noticed the way you look at her, Az," Rhys's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "And I can't help but wonder… Are you two… a thing?"

Azriel's gaze softened with a mix of fondness and concern as he thought of you. "I… I care about her deeply," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. "Especially now, after everything she's been through."

Rhys nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding. "I know you've been by her side through it all, Az. And I'm grateful for that. How is she holding up?"

The concern in Rhys's voice mirrored Azriel's own worries. Your recovery had been slow and arduous, marked by moments of progress followed by setbacks. Azriel had been there every step of the way, offering his support and comfort whenever you needed it most.

"She's… she's trying her best," Azriel replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But the kidnapping still weighs heavily on her. Some days are better than others."

Rhys reached out a hand, placing it reassuringly on Azriel's shoulder. "You're doing everything you can for her, Az. And she knows that. Just keep being there for her, okay?"

Azriel nodded, gratitude swelling within him for Rhys's words of encouragement. Despite the challenges they faced, he was determined to stand by your side, offering you whatever solace and support he could provide.

As they parted ways, Azriel's thoughts remained with you—the strength you had shown in the face of adversity, the resilience that burned bright within you. And though he knew that your path to recovery would be a long and difficult one, he vowed to walk it with you every step of the way, for you had become more than just someone he cared about—you were his guiding light in the darkness, his reason to hope for a brighter tomorrow.

(Late November, Velaris)

Stepping beyond the familiar walls of the House of Wind felt like a liberation, a triumph over the shadows that had threatened to consume me. As I walked alongside Feyre and Mor, the streets of Velaris buzzed with life, each step forward a testament to the strength I had found within myself.

Beside me, Azriel's concern was evident, his worry etched in the furrow of his brow and the gentle pressure of his hand in mine. But this time, I was determined to show him—and myself—that I was stronger than the nightmares that haunted me.

"Don't worry, Az," I said with a reassuring smile, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'm ready for this. Feyre and Mor are with me."

Feyre and Mor nodded in agreement; their expressions filled with confidence. "We've got your back," Feyre said with a reassuring smile. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Their words filled me with a sense of reassurance, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this journey. With their support, I felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As we walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through me. The sun warmed my skin, the wind tousled my hair, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I felt truly alive.

But amidst the excitement, a part of me couldn't shake the worry that lingered in Azriel's eyes. I knew he cared about me deeply, and the thought of causing him any more pain weighed heavily on my heart.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly, his concern palpable. "We can turn back if you're not feeling well."

I met his gaze with determination, my resolve unwavering. "I'm more than ready, Az," I replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I've spent too long hiding away. It's time for me to start living again."

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[ajearthlinggg]

exposing you based on your fav will wood/wwatt song (my longest post)

A lot of these have nothing to do with the song. They're basically headcannons lmao. My Blake Jennings is showing

No instrumental chnt except Rhumba sorry

i started this in June enjoy

EIAL

6up 5oh copout: its low hanging fruit to say you hate cops, and I'm taking it. You hate cops.

Skeleton Appreciation whatever the fuck: Covid RUINED you

Front Street: you like Heathers

Aikido!: how's that obsessiveness and inability to let go going?

White Knuckle Jerk: you also like nu metal for the same reason. (Its incredibly horny)

Cover This Song: same as Aikido but only with your exes omg do not text them they are assholes

Thermodynamic Lawyer: PLEASE take time to calm down when you get overstimulated I promise if you don't do anything abt it you will have such a terrible mental breakdown

Red Moon: YOU LISTEN TO MALE MANIPULATOR MUSIC STOP TRYING TO HIDE IT YOU CANT BE IN THE RADIOHEAD CLOSET FOREVER

Lysergide daydream: I honestly do not like this song at all so you get a pass (don't kill me)

The First Step: you're usually quiet but you know how to SCREAM.

Jimmy Mushroom: you're usually quiet but- I'm just kidding. You're always quiet

Chemical Overreaction: you're usually quiet but if- I'm just kidding. You are never quiet

Everything is a lot/dte: insomnia. I dont know why,but insomnia

Self-ish

self/ish: closet theatre kid

2012: fast talker to a not comprehendible level

Cotard Solution: turn off the v-sauce it is 2 am

Mr. Capgras: turn off the 🌽 it is 2 am

The Song With Five Names: you have incredible taste. You can't describe that taste, but hey, its incredible

Hand me my shovel: you were the only talented kid in your elementary music class

Dr. Sunshine is Dead: you love the smell of cigarettes

TNA

Suburbia overture: BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD

222: your English teacher loves you (you're so goddamn gay)

Laplace's Angel: your English teacher hates you. How do I know? Because you can't pronounce anything (its la-plass-es not la-place-is)

i/me/myself: you have to beat off the fake fan allegations with a stick everyday

Wbtta: hey queen. How are those hyperfixations going

Outliars and hyppocrates: you spell the title wrong every. damn. time.

bbw: same as 2012 but holy shit triple it.

Marsha, thankk you: dyslexia and ADHD

Love, me normally: I get it. I'm not even gonna expose you. You already have it bad enough

Momento Mori: you are just SO quirky! (knives whisper things to you when you hold them)

Icimi

Tomcat Disposables: you'd shove photos of your pets in your friends faces even if they were dangling off a bridge

Becoming the last names: you either have wonderful parents in a happy relationship or your parents have been divorced for years and you will never relate to this song

Cicada Days: stop using self deprecating humor around the wrong people PLEASE

Euthanasia: this song is a masterpiece I have nothing to say about you.

Falling Up: WONDERFUL TASTE. AMAZING CHOICE. NO RECOLLECTION OF YOUR CHILDHOOD.

That's enough: you love Alex g you just don't know it yet

Um its kind of a lot: you either already love Scott pilgrim or it will happen. Its a canon event

Half decade hangover: omg twinn!! I have an addictive personality, too!

(I feel like this is a good time to say don't take these too seriously)

You liked this: ...what?

The main character: you can't relate to the song, you hate yourself

Sdrr: IF I SEE ONE MORE PERSON TAKING THIS SONG SUPER SERIOUSLY IM GONNA LOSE MY SHIT YDHZJABXV

Bfb: ur just a silly lil guy

Willard!: you're a therian. There is no human explanation to this.

white noise: you love pink floyd you just don't know it yet

Atkf: HOW TF DID I FORGET THIS ONE anyways you get bad habits (nail biting, staying up too late. Etc)

CHNT

Yes to err: you are still waiting for chnt season 2 BC you want to see what happens with Adam

Your body, my temple: I have a strong feeling you have a tummy ache right now

Venetian Blind Man: you love nobody sexually you just don't know it yet (this is a very ace choice idk why)

Rhumba of Death: you LOVE Halloween

When Somebody Needs You: Tyler the Creator is probably your favorite rapper

Live

Trww

Self/ish: You can't sleep if your room has the SLIGHTEST amount of light in it

10-4 6-up: unlike the original, you don't just hate cops, you hate anybody who can tell you what to do (your teachers are probably just trying to do their job. please)

Cotards Solution: you can't sleep without background noise

Dr Sunshine Lives!: You never get sick physically (mentally on the other hand...)

Where do you get off: omg the horniest of the horny. Gerard Way on stage levels of horny. Nine Inch Nails levels of horny. (Or you really like Umbrella Academy idk why)

Aikido: you can't relate to it. You hate everybody

Take a break grab some water this is getting long

Thermodynamic Lawyer: you have gotten kicked out of restaurants because of how loud you are

Front Street: WE GET IT. IT'S BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL.

Wasting away again: I am so sorry holy shit

Hand me my (x), I'm (y): you suck at algebra

The First Step: you wish you could do the AUGHHHHHHHH

2012: severe social anxiety

Mr capgras: literally the opposite of 2012 (live)

Chemical Overreaction: you know so many random fun facts

Fibrodysplasia: I'm not even gonna talk about your mental issues because I will be banned from this app (which is pretty much impossible)

Icid

Cicada Days: you also get a pass fuck I'm so sorry

The main character okay you ACTUALLY can relate to it

Icimi: OMG I LOVE YOU

atkf: you cry every day even if you aren't sad

Becoming the last names: please don't become a Disney adult

Vampire ref: LISTEN TO MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF AND IK YOU LOVE HOT VAMPIRE MUSIC

Half decade hangover: oh my god talk to somebody it'll be okay I'm so sorry

Tsw5n: you love the way he says "what the fuck"

Euthanasia: once again, ANOTHER PASS. IM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU'RE OKAY

Jimmy Mushrooms: You. Me. Marriage. Now.

Laplaces Angel: you listen to LitWTC

i/me/myself: you were trying to separate yourself from the normal i/me/myself fans

The first step: idk why but you REALLY like lemonade

skeleton appreciation day: you can NOT play any instrument

tomcat disposables: you love concept albums

White noise: unlike cotards, you need to sleep in SILENCE

Love me normally: arctic monkeys. that's all I have to say. idk what about them but, yeah

misanthrapologist: GAY QUEER LGBT HOMOSEXUAL FRUITY ZESTY ROMANTICALLY ATTRACTED TO PEOPLE OF THE SAME GENDER

Falling up: wonderful taste once again please don't become a Disney adult

thats enough let's get you home: you say "YIPPIE!!" a lot

And if I did: god made you shy because he knew if you weren't you would be unstoppable

[cmdrfupa]

Calm Chaos

Metalhead!Choso x Reader

a/n: Let the parasites win with this one. Metal head Cho is simply just another flavor I'm enjoying right now.

Wc: 3.8k

Pt. 2 here

cw: language, boorish man behavior, Reader is condescendingly called princess.

 Calliope

The soft rustle of wind swept through the streets. It carried the scent of damp leaves and the sharp bite of late autumn air. The street trees outside the coffee shop were a mix of orange, red, and a few stubborn greens. They clung on before the chill of autumn claimed them all. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that promised rain but held off just long enough to make you keep glancing up.

Choso sat at his usual table. He wore an illegible name band shirt, dark, worn jeans, and old boots propped against the table leg. Tattoos crawled up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt and peeking out at his neck. Black headphones over his ears. If you were close enough, you'd hear the muted sounds of thrashing guitars. His notebook sat in front of him, half-filled with scrawled lyrics and music notes, though at the moment he wasn’t writing—he was people-watching.

The cozy shop was warm. It smelled of brewing coffee and baked goods. A low murmur of conversation added to the comfort. This was a stark contrast to the gloomy weather outside. It was late afternoon, another day passing. The café buzzed with students, writers, and anyone seeking a brief escape.

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he scanned the café's patrons. Most were lost in their phones or half-assed chats about weekend plans and autumn break. But his gaze lingered on the door as it opened, the bell jingling lightly.

The kind of person who looked like they had just stepped out of some book club. There you were wearing a dusty orange cardigan over a simple, neutral dress. It fluttered as you moved. Your well-worn boots surprised him as you ordered. You had a beloved book in one hand and a tote in the other.  

He’d seen you here before. A regular, it seemed. Every time you came in, you ordered the same thing. It was some tea thing with seasonal syrup, probably pumpkin spice. It was whatever people like you drank. You always found a quiet, sunlit table by the window. There, you spent hours reading or writing in a neat journal. He confidently pegged you as an intellectual type, for sure. The type who had a color-coded planner. And, knew the word count of your favorite novels. He could practically hear the gears turning in your head.

Today, though, you seemed a little more frazzled than usual. The hefty book slipped from your grip as you tried to juggle your order, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled right into his table. Choso smirked as your drink wobbled out of your hand, knocking over his and just barely missing his notebook but dangerously close as it spread across the wooden table.

“Careful there,” he drawled, watching as you struggled to regain your balance. “Would’ve had hell to pay if you spilled that pumpkin spice creation all over me. Or worse—ruin my masterpiece.”

You glanced down, eyes wide in surprise, and saw the coffee dangerously close to his notebook. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!” you sputtered, fumbling to pull the cup back up as he grabbed his notebook to avoid it being soaked. A barista brought a rag and Choso began to clean off the table.

He leaned back once he was done, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he watched you fluster. “Guess it’s my lucky day,” he continued, his voice dripping with teasing. “What are you planning to do about this mess you caused, princess?”

You blinked at him, clearly unsure how to take the comment. Your cheeks warmed slightly, but you straightened up, trying to compose yourself. “I… can buy you a coffee,” you offered quickly, then added, “And I’m not a princess.”

Choso grinned, leaning forward just enough to make you a bit uncomfortable. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, nodding at your outfit, his tone playful. “Cardigan, pumpkin spice bullshit and all—definitely princess material.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly annoyed now, but there was something else in your expression too—a curiosity. “It was masala chai. And I’ll take that as a compliment,” you declared coolly, straightening your cardigan as if it were armor. “So, what’s your masterpiece, exactly?”

Choso tapped the edge of his notebook with a finger. "Lyrics," his voice dipping into a low, almost mocking tone, “could be a little too… heavy for you," eyes daring yours to engage further. “This isn’t that pop goes punk Fall Out Boy shit.”

To his surprise, you tilted your head and gave him a small, defiant smile. “I highly doubt it.” 

_________

You ordered a masala chai for yourself and a cold brew for Choso. Then, you sat across from him. 

“Drinks should be out soon.” You craned your neck in an attempt to look at his journal. “Sorry again.”

Choso looked out from under his brow line, tilting his head towards you. “Uh huh… what are you doing?”

“You told me I could look at your lyrics.”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

"Well, you challenged me. Saying they were too dark for me. Which is false."

A devilish grin grew, and he put his pen down. “Now why on earth would I let the pretty princess of apple-picking look at my lyrics?”

“Because I bought you a new coffee.”

“Yes. After spilling mine and almost ruining my shit. So what now?"

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But don't start getting sad when I don’t invite you over to sit with me at the best table.” 

“The table that’s now occupied by the couple that's a tongue swipe away from fucking over there?” He pointed to the table near the large window you usually sat at. From just a glance around the cafe, tables were filled.

The barista brought your drinks, and you realized you were stuck if you wanted a table.

Like you were praying into the void, you closed your eyes before smiling. “Fine. But don’t talk to me. I want to finish the next 4 chapters in peace.”

Choso lets you get set up. Your book is open to page 257. A bookmark with Badtz-Maru, Pandaba, and Hana-Maru sits on a beach. You put your phone on the table to keep up with the time and sip your chai, beginning to read. 

“I didn’t say you could sit with me,” Choso murmured, expressionless. “I want to be alone.”

“There is nowhere else, the fuck?” 

“Tough shit, Princess.”

You scoffed, closing your book as you huffed, gathering your things. “So fucking rude.” 

Choso laughed and stood up. He threw his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing his journal with one hand and his coffee with the other. "Relax, Princess Apple. I’m leaving."

You hadn’t noticed how broad he was until he was standing. The steel-toed boots he wore added maybe 3 inches to an already gargantuan man. "Oh…"

“And now you owe me again. Amazing how that works, Your Highness.”

He gave you a wink before walking out of the café. You watched as he walked across the street into the late autumn evening. 

The next day, the weather had turned even colder, with a drizzle coating the streets. Inside the coffee shop, it was warm and bustling as usual. The steam from the hot coffee and the muggy day outside fogged the windows. The air was filled with the comforting scent of roasted beans and cinnamon.

Choso stood at the counter, leaning slightly as he waited for his order to be called. His dark hair was down, framing his face in long, loose waves. His patch-laden leather jacket hung open over a faded band tee. The tattoos on his neck and collarbone were barely visible under the worn material. He tapped his fingers on the counter. The metal rings on his fingers glinted in the dim light. He was in no rush but didn't plan to stay long either.

His mind was on the gig his band had lined up for the next night. It wasn't anything huge, just a venue they frequented. But the thought of the setlist, which they might use on tour, had been taking up space in his head all morning. As the barista handed him his coffee, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.

“I didn’t expect to see you here two days in a row.”

He turned to find you again. A few feet away, there you stood bundled up in a soft, dark blue and purple checkered cardigan. It was over a simple shirt and slightly distressed jeans this time.

Choso’s smirk returned instantly, his eyes flicking over you for a moment. “I had a feeling the people's princess would be here again. Glad I was right.” He picked up his coffee, checking the name before taking a sip.

You gave him a small, knowing smile as you approached the counter to place your order. “Right, well, I’m starting to think you live here.”

Choso took a sip from his coffee, glancing at you over the rim of his cup. He felt hesitation bubbling up. It was odd for someone who never hesitated. ‘Just invite them. Don’t make it weird.’

“Actually…” he started, leaning a little on the counter next to you as you waited for your drink. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night. My band, that is.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but trying to play it cool. “A show?”

“Yeah. It’s at this venue called D’s Garage about 2 blocks from here. It’s nothing big,” he said casually like it wasn’t a big deal. He angled his body toward you; how he held your gaze just a little longer than usual suggested otherwise. “You should come. If you’re not too busy annoying anyone else.” His voice had a familiar teasing tone, light and playful. But a flicker of genuine interest lay beneath it.

You blinked, momentarily taken off guard by the invitation. “To a metal show?” You seemed dumbfounded by the mere thought. 

Choso shrugged, his smirk widening. “Why not? You said you could handle heavy shit.  Time to prove it.”

“Look.  I’ve listened to metal before, so this isn’t some new thing for me.” You paused, pushing up your glasses as if weighing your options. “I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to headbang or anything.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, pleased with her response. “We’ll see. It might be hard to resist once I get on stage.”

Your drink arrived. He grabbed it and handed it to you. You glanced at him as you looked for a place to sit. “I’ll see you there then. Thank you.” 

Before you could turn away, Choso added one last playful jab. “Don’t be late. I want the princess to have the perfect spot. And It might be too loud for someone like you to handle without a bit of warm-up.”

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but fight the smile that tugged at your lips. “I think I can handle it.”

“Starts at 8, but we should be on around 10 or so. And I’m CK. But call me Choso.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night, CK.”

Choso watched as you went to the small table near the window, sipping his coffee with a satisfied smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited you—maybe it was because you seemed like such an outsider in his world, and something about that intrigued him. Or maybe it was just fun to see how flustered you got when he pushed your buttons.

Either way, he was looking forward to seeing your face again.

________

“Why did I say yes?” The usual conversation that should’ve been inside your head was now being held out loud. Sipping your chai, you let the warmth calm your nerves. You weren’t sure if it was the challenge in his voice or the way his smirk lingered in the air like a dare. Part of you wanted to prove him wrong—that you weren’t just some princess with a book who couldn’t handle a little chaos. But there was something more. Something about him that intrigued you, that made you want to see what he was like in his world.

He was a mystery—tattoos, in a band, a metal band no less. His playful banter and lightheartedness sharply contrasted with your life. Always logical, grounded, and comfortable in the routines and pursuits that would stimulate you. Choso, on the other hand, seemed like the kind of person who thrived on unpredictability. It was a tension that made you both nervous and curious at the same time.

“Is he even going to see me? What if I get punched in the face?” You continued walking as your imagination ran wild with what the show might be like. Would he be completely different? Less picking and being in the zone focused on playing and the crowd. “Should I stand in the back? Eh. But if I stand too close I might look like a dumbass. It would be more fun, though. Hm.” 

You shook your head as your apartment building came into view. You stood on the sidewalk. Your recent journal entries were happening. You had wanted to step out of your comfort zone. This was the turning point you needed to shake things up. 

D’s was exactly as you pictured. Tucked away in a brick building that would otherwise be ignored during the day but hard to miss by its flickering blood-red signage that cast a jagged light on the damp sidewalk. 

The inside was dimly lit. A faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with some floral cleaner. 

“Ah. Smells like home.” Shoko smiled as she stepped in behind you. A band was already playing. They yelled about cranial discharge leaking to the floor. You turned to face your smiling friend. “This should be fun.” 

Flyers and posters of past and future shows littered the walls as you walked deeper into the building. The air was thick. You saw a group, swinging their arms and stomping hard. They were pushing other showgoers around. “The hell are they doing?”

Shoko smiled as she ushered you both towards the bar. “Your first-class ticket for when I'm doing rounds at the ER. Come on, let’s get a drink.” 

You sat on one of the bar stools while Shoko ordered you both a beer. You wouldn’t call it nervous. But it was not relaxed. The band finished their set and the group of fist-throwing crowd members settled down, dispersing until the next band got on stage. 

"So, this Choso guy. Did he tell you his band name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Shoko raised her brow. “Did you ask what he played?”

“Uh. No? That probably would have been smart.”

You laughed as Shoko shook her head, passing you your beer. “The person who has to pay attention to detail for work couldn’t even get the details on a guy she’s coming to watch perform.”

“I’m not just here for him! I’m here for the experience. Something new!”

“Yeah yeah. Well, when I invited you out to a punk show, you declined, so I’m not trying to hear about this new experience nonsense.” You kept laughing as Shoko playfully nudged you. 

She chose to wear a band T-shirt, dark pants, and her low-profile skate shoes. With her hair pulled back, only letting her side-swept bangs frame her face, Shoko was blending in effortlessly. 

And you look like you stepped out of a cardigan's quarterly shopping magazine. 

Lost in conversation, you hadn’t realized the next band had set up until you heard a voice over the mic. Introducing a band called “Blood on Your Hands” before he hopped off the stage. 

The harsh sound of a screech sent the crowd into a frenzy. Heavy, almost a good itch to the brain.

Rapid, aggressive riffs ripped through the sound system. The machine-gun drumming caught your ear. Your eyes went to the back of the stage. 

Choso. 

This wasn’t late afternoon cold brew Choso. This was a foaming-at-the-mouth, zoned-out machine. His large arms moved erratically as he played with full energy. 

“It’s him!” You jumped up, pulling Shoko with you. You walked around the barrier of the crowd against the wall to get a better look. 

His heavy foot hit the double drum pedals so fast, you couldn't keep up. But you knew he was playing with no restraint. And damn, did he look good doing it. 

The veins in his arms bulged with each meeting between the drumstick and the cymbal stack. Thankful, he chose a shirt with cut-out sleeves and sides. It showed his pierced nipple and fully tattooed sides. You gawked at the way the shirt stuck to his abdomen.

Some of his hair stuck to his forehead as bulging biceps glistened with sweat. He noticed you during the second song but knew if he kept looking, he’d surely fuck up. 

In the final song, he sang harsh, growling, obscene backing vocals. The audience chanted back.

“DESTRUCTION BEFORE DEATH! MAKE THEM BLEED."

You laughed at the crazed look in his eye until he stood up. The crowd cheered and yelled as they wrapped up their set and his eyes landed on you. Choso gave that mischievous smile before winking at you. He pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face and you could’ve sworn you heard the heavenly trumpets. A fucking six-pack? With a hard gulp, your eyes traveled up until you saw his pecs then his face where he caught you red-handed. He pointed towards the exit and flashed 10 up. You nodded in agreement. “Let's go outside. He said wait for him.”

____

Ten minutes turned to twenty, then twenty to thirty. The temperature dropped by at least 8 noticeable degrees, and you’d waited long enough. “Let’s just go. It’s getting chilly, and it’s been half an hour.”

You walked towards Shoko as she put out her cigarette. She was bummed for you that he forgot you were waiting outside. “Sorry babe. Probably got wrapped up in talking or breaking down the stage. It happens.”

“I guess. But I can at least say I came to the show. That’s good enough.” Arm in arm, you began your walk back to your place. 

  "Hey, Princess Peach.” A familiar voice called out to you. “You leaving me already?” 

“Thirty minutes? You said ten.”

Choso let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he walked over. “Yeah, well... bass amps don’t load themselves, you know?” He stopped in front of you. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wait an hour.”

“Lucky, am I?” you shot back, but there was no edge to your voice. If anything, it was half amused, half exasperated, and Choso could sense it.

“Definitely,” he said, the playful tone back in his voice. “Most people don’t get an encore performance of my charm.”

He walked over, trying to play it off like he hadn’t just made you wait longer than promised. “But really, I'm sorry about the wait. Band life,” he said, his voice casual but just a little strained. “I thought I told the guys to handle the loading, but, you know, can’t trust them with anything.”

He was kicking himself for taking so long, but part of him was glad to see you still waiting. Your amused smile loosened the knot in his chest just a little. 

Choso looked over at Shoko and nodded, “Is this the princess's escort for the night? 

“Ieiri, the princess's lady-in-waiting.” She teased and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m gonna step over there and smoke. Let me know when you’re ready.” She smiled and took a few paces to give you some privacy. 

  “So did you have fun? Or did we scare you off?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to keep the conversation light while his heart raced a little faster than he liked to admit.

“I had fun.” You responded, surprising him with how easily your words came. "A bit intense, but... but I can see why you like it.” 

Choso blinked. He wasn’t used to people from outside his world understanding why he was so into it. Most people assumed metal was just noise or something to be tolerated. But the way you said it—like you got it—threw him off balance. “Yeah? Didn’t think it would be your scene.”

You tilted your head slightly, a challenge in your eyes. “You shouldn’t be surprised. Every princess has to be well-rounded, Choso.” 

Choso chuckled. His usual confidence returned. But, a twist in his stomach reminded him why he was here. He had to ask you—before he lost his nerve.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice lowered as he smiled. “Actually, since you don’t think I’m too awful entertainment-wise, we could hang out again sometime.”

Your expression was curious but calm. "Hang out?"

Pushing through the wall of nerves in his chest, he swallowed. “Yeah. Like grab dinner or something. Just the two of us. No amps, no bright lights, no mosh pit.” His eyes flickered to yours. “A proper date.”

  For a moment, you just stood watching him with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. Choso tried to keep his cool, but internally, he was bracing for whatever answer you gave. He wasn’t used to feeling this unsure. Normally, he didn’t care either way—if someone said yes, cool. If not, whatever. But with you... a yes would probably have him on the moon until he saw you again; he cared. A lot more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

“Hmm,” you said, drawing out the silence just long enough to make him sweat a little. You tilted your head, letting him wonder for a beat before a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “A proper date, huh?”

“Yeah,” Choso said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite mask the underlying hope in his voice. “I promise I won’t make you sit through another metal show... unless you’re into that sort of thing now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think one show is enough for now.”

Choso grinned, feeling the tight knot in his chest start to loosen again. “So... that’s a yes?”

Nodding, your smile widened, “That’s a yes.”

  He couldn’t help the little rush of relief and excitement that coursed through him. His smirk grew, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a warmth that was rare for him. “Alright. I’ll pick a good spot. Somewhere quieter. For your sake.”

“I appreciate that,” you muttered, still smiling as you looked at him. “But no more thirty-minute waits.”

Choso chuckled, leaning in just slightly, his playful edge back in full force. “No promises, princess."

props to @/saradika- graphics for dividers!

[metalandmagi]

A list of underrated Christmas movies for everyone who is getting tired of watching the same things every year:

This year, I wanted to make a list of a few Christmas movies that I feel are a bit underrated and under-appreciated, because I’m tired of seeing the same things all the time. If anyone has any suggestions for their own lesser known holiday movies, please feel free to include them!

Arthur Christmas: An animated movie that should be a classic, but it was unfortunately lost to time because it had a horrible marketing campaign that made it look like complete shit. Well, I’m here to tell you that it’s not complete shit. It’s actually fucking amazing.

Arthur, the clumsy son of the current Santa Claus is known for being a lovable idiot who tends to ruin everything he touches, but when a little girl’s present is accidentally left behind one Christmas, Arthur, an elf named Bryony, and his grandfather (a previous Santa…so grandsanta) embark on a chaotic mission around the world to deliver the missing present. Every character in this movie is so fucking funny and empathetic at the same time. Arthur embodies the true meaning of Christmas in everything he does. Bryony is just…on another level entirely. Arthur’s brother Steve (a strategic genius who wants to use his new technology to ensure his place as the next Santa) is a perfect antagonist that the audience still feels sympathy for. They all just have such a fun dynamic, and it’s a crime that more people haven’t seen this.

Spirited: A fairly new addition to the Christmas movie ranks, since it came out in 2022 (but it was on AppleTV+ so no one watched it). Spirited is a modern, musical version of A Christmas Carol like you’ve never seen before (starring Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds, who are an amazing combination in anything). If you’re tired of seeing endless retellings of Dickens' story, just watch this. It’s hilarious, heartfelt, and it brings a whole new perspective to the story in a way that I’m not going to spoil. And the songs go so hard it’s insane.

Happiest Season: A rom-com in which a woman named Abby desperately wants to propose to her girlfriend Harper over the holidays during Harper’s family Christmas party…only to realize that Harper’s extremely rich and conservative family doesn’t know she’s gay. Fun rom-com shenanigans ensue. Did I mention Abby is played by Kristen Stewart, and Harper is played by Mackenzie Davis? Also Aubrey Plaza, Alison Brie, and that guy from Schitt’s Creek everyone loves are in it.

This could easily have been a completely different movie if the cast wasn't so funny and didn’t have such good chemistry. It starts out as a standard holiday rom-com, but I was tearing up by the end of this the first time I watched it. If you’ve ever felt like you’ve been hiding your true self from your family or if you’ve felt like you’ve never been good enough for them, I think you’ll see a lot to relate to in this. 

Violent Night: Another new addition to the ever-expanding list of Christmas movies, this aptly named action thriller also came out in 2022, and I feel like no one has spoken about it since, which is a crime because IT WAS SO MUCH FUCKING FUN!

When a grizzled, down on the world Santa (played by David Harbour) gets stuck in a rich family’s house while it’s being overrun by mercenaries, he has to Die Hard his way out and save the hostages (or at least the ones who are worth saving) before it’s too late. This was such a fun surprise, because violent action thrillers are so hit and miss for me personally. David Harbour is great. It’s just under 2 hours of watching shitty people get their comeuppance in unique ways. I’m so offended that it only has a 6.7/10 on IMDB, because this is a great movie to watch with a group of friends and some age appropriate beverages. Yeah, it’s not a masterpiece, and maybe my standards are low, but I had a great time with this.

Tokyo Godfathers: An anime Christmas classic directed by Satoshi Kon in which 3 homeless people (a former drag queen, a runaway teen, and a grumpy alcoholic) find a baby in a dumpster and try to reunite it with its family. This was the movie that tricked me into thinking Satoshi Kon’s other works would be just as comedic and wholesome as this one. It’s got humor. It’s got heart. It’s got twists and turns that will keep you guessing in the classic Satoshi Kon fashion. And the English dub is just as good as the sub, so you can’t go wrong either way.

Neo Yokio- Pink Christmas: Speaking of anime…I’ve talked about this one before, but I have to mention it again because it’s a staple for me every year. Pink Christmas is the Christmas special for the…anime (and I use that word in the loosest way possible) Neo Yokio…aka the one starring (and possibly made by?) Jaden Smith.

For anyone who’s never heard of it, Neo Yokio is a series on Netflix that is the closest thing to a professionally made Abridged Series we’ll ever have. The “plot” of the series revolves around Kaz, a pink haired guy who fights demons and does increasingly absurd rich people things with his robot mecha butler named Charles. The Christmas special involves Charles telling Kaz a Christmas story about the city’s Secret Santa competition for all the ultra rich people.

Look, there’s no good way to describe this one, but trust me when I say you don’t have to watch Neo Yokio to understand it, since even people who do watch Neo Yokio don’t understand it. In fact, I think it will be even funnier if you don’t watch Neo Yokio at all before watching Pink Christmas (but I encourage everyone to watch the series too, just because it’s more of the same insanity.)

Every line in it is pure comedic gold, not because it’s truly funny, but because it’s absurd and ridiculous in a way only Jaden Smith can be. I quote it incessantly while eating a Toblerone every year. 

Cabin Pressure at Christmas: Molokai: Okay, it’s not a movie or even a TV special, but I love Cabin Pressure so much that I had to include this too. Cabin Pressure is a comedy radio show (not a podcast, an actual radio show) that aired on BBC Radio 4 in the early 2000s about an airline crew for the world’s shittiest airplane. 

For anyone who watched season 2 of Good Omens, you might recognize the name John Finnemore as one of the writers. Well, Cabin Pressure is made by (and stars) the same person. The Christmas episode is one of my favorites of the series, and you 100% don’t need to listen to the entire series to enjoy it. It captures the humor and despair of being stuck with your co-workers on Christmas eve, but it keeps up the spirit regardless. This is another one I quote incessantly, and the whole show has become hardwired into my personality. PLEASE FIND A WAY TO LISTEN TO CABIN PRESSURE! I’m pretty sure the whole series is available on iTunes as an audiobook.

As honorable mentions, I want to include Rise of the Guardians and Klaus, because even though they have a fair amount of popularity, I still feel like people could appreciate them more. And sure, Rise of the Guardians might be more of an Easter movie, but it still includes Santa as a character, and he’s amazing. 

That's all for now. Sorry these are all specifically Christmas themed, but if anyone has movie suggestions for other winter holidays, please throw them in!

[anonziesssz]

Pumpkin Lattes & Autumn Glances.

✦- Authors Note: Posting a Blue Lock fic after this 🙈

✦- pairings: Yuki Tsunoda x reader.

✦- summary: Yuki Tsunoda Takes the reader to a cafe and teases them

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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It's a perfect autumn afternoon, with the streets colored in warm hues of amber and crimson, with golden leaves drifting down to cover the cobblestone path outside. Yuki holds the door open for you, pink coloration on his cheeks as he gets the chill in the air, smiling softly at the corners of his mouth.

Inside, the café is comforting and inviting, the scents of cinnamon and coffee filtering through the air. There are old posters on the walls, strings of fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and, somewhere way in the back, a soft humming of jazz music. You slide into a small table by the window-the kind where you can watch the world walk by outside-and it feels like you stepped into a warm bubble off a cold outside.

So, the pumpkin spice latte here? A masterpiece. Not too sweet, not too spicy. Perfectly balanced." Yuki says with such great authority

"Didn't know you were such a latte connoisseur."

"Hey, it's a big deal." Yuki grins, leaning in, and for a second, the two of you just look at each other, caught in that quiet, unspoken moment.

Your drinks arrive just then, in oversized, excellently crafted mugs. Yuki takes a huge sip, barely waiting for it to cool down. Immediately he scrunches up his face and pulls back from the cup.

"Ah! Hot, hot, hot-too hot. But worth it." Yuki fans his mouth, laughing at himself while you chuckle along with him.

He pulls his phone out and snaps a quick photo of you in under a second.

"Caught you. Looking cute." He says

"Hey! Warn me next time."

Yuki (texting you under the table):

tooltips But then I'd miss all the best parts, like the way you look when you laugh <3

You feel a warm flush rise to your cheeks, and you sneak a glance at him, catching his soft happy smile as he waits for your reply.

You (texting back):You know, for all your teasing, you look kinda cute with that scarf all bundled up like that.

Yuki (still texting):Oh, so you like the scarf look? Noted for all future dates. ????

You laugh, and your smiles melt into your cups as you take another sip of lattes. It's rich, it's warm, with just the right amount of spice to remind you of everything you love about fall.

Outside the window, the street bustles with people, but somehow, you seem to be both in a world of your own as your conversations flow as effortlessly as the falling leaves while you chat about everything and nothing.

After a while, Yuki turns towards the window, his gaze pensive.

"Personally, it's really felt like my favorite season lately." He catches your eye with a soft, upturned smile. "Kinda makes everything feel… softer, you know? Like the world's giving us a little break."

"Yeah… And it's cozy. Like, we could sit here for hours and just watch the world go by."

Yuki just texts back, his fingers flying across the screen:

We really could. Just me and you. Bottomless lattes. We could act like no one else exists.

You read his message, the warmth settling further in your chest. And you text him back.

You:

Deal. But only if you promise to keep ordering lattes, and pretending they're not too hot for you.

He chuckles, peering over the rim of his cup with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Deal. And every time I burn my mouth, you owe me one more date. Think you can handle that?"

"Oh, easily. I'll bring aloe vera for you next time." You answer

"You're thoughtful, aren't you? But I wouldn't mind a kiss as a cure either."

You both laugh, but his words hang between you, filling the silence with a little spark of something more.

Yuki lifts his phone again-this time, holding it up for a selfie. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you both smile as the camera clicks. He looks down at the photo, nodding approvingly.

"Great, this is going to my wallpaper. Can't believe I finally found someone who tolerates my love for pumpkin lattes."

"Hey, someone has to keep you humble." You chuckle

You both keep sipping your drinks, sending each other silly comments via text despite sitting only a few inches apart. Every now and then, Yuki bumps his knee against yours or leans over to steal a bite of your pastry, his face lighting up at every tiny, simple joy of the afternoon.

The café around you feels like it bathes you in a golden glow; with Yuki there, it feels like this moment, just the two of them present, wrapped in the warmth and laughter of autumn-might be one you could remember forever.

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