#please jere have mercy

[nakedhousewifejere]

Guys, we already died by what Jere was wearing for this gala.

Imagine his outfit for this president thing next month 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳

[lavonq]

Sweet lord save me and have mercy

[peri-peri-sauce]

Us right now: 🤡

Bro is posting on main and he completely forgot about the OnlyFans

I bet he's laughing at us while lying on a pile of bills right now 💀

[212-apricity]

1999, part four - final part!

oh my gosh. final part and what a surprise, she's a long one again💀💀ive loved writing this silly little series so so much and i love all of you very very much🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽please give me requests on what to write next bc my mind is completely blank rn, all i can think of is the cold war and bolsheviks from my history revison and i dont think they would make v good fics🤡🤡

lmk what you think of this part and your fav moments, enjoy!!

warnings: tiny angst, mostly fluff, swearing

conrad fisher masterlist

masterlist

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conrad’s pov

Since Y/n is unable to hold a phone herself, I'm tasked with a lot, but I didn't fully realize the worry of her family until she had me working through each task with her.

No wonder she’s overwhelmed. The number of texts from Laurel, Mom, Belly, Jere and Steven she has to sift through in a given hour would drive anyone insane.

Or maybe I'm just going crazy by sitting this close to her. The smell of her coconut soap is permanently ingrained into my memory as she sits flush against me, pointing at different texts with her uninjured hand.

I can tell her nerves grow stronger as the Uber near the hospital.

Her knees bounce up and down as she dictates message after message I need to send, confusing me more and more with every word.

The work doesn't stop there. After we check in, a nurse hands us a clipboard filled with pages of information that need to be filled out. Y/n stares at it like it might catch on fire at any moment.

"Here." I pass it to her.

Her eyes shift toward the exit. "Will you help me please? I can't write like this." Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper.

"Okay. Tell me your answers and I'll write them down."

Her throat bobs as she scans the first line. It takes her far longer than necessary to read the first question.

"Do you mind reading the questions aloud for me? I'm too stressed to concentrate right now." Her overcompensating smile irritates me.

"Are you sure? Some of the questions are probably personal."

Don't be a dick. Just do what she says.

"I don't care.”

The rigid way she sits in her chair says the complete opposite.

She seems to be one minute away from breaking down, so I concede. I sigh as I grab the pen and get started on the first question. The paperwork doesn't take us as long as I anticipated, so Y/n and I sit together in silence. She stares at the exit longingly.

The way her eyes dart around the room as she gnaws on her bottom lip makes me feel merciful enough to save her from the anxiety eating her up inside.

“If it's any consolation, I hate hospitals too."

Her head swings toward the direction of my voice.

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Haven't been to one since…"

"I know." she says as she sees my chest heaves as I remember the millions of times we’ve been here before.

I keep my eyes focused on the soundless television playing in one corner.

Her good hand clasps onto mine and gives it a squeeze. I'm grateful she understands me enough not to ask any other questions. The idea of offering another raw part of myself feels like a betrayal of the years I've spent carefully developing a certain kind of persona.

"I hate them too." Her voice cracks.

"Why?"

She stares down at her swollen hand. “My dad…” She pauses, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze like she gave me. "Let's just say mom ended up in the ER a couple of times for being clumsy."

I take a deep breath to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "And did you have issues with being clumsy?" If she says yes, I swear to God two men will end up floating in the Chicago River tonight.

She shakes her head rather aggressively. "No. No." My rapid heart rate can be heard through my ears. "If you were, you can tell me." While I can't promise I won't do anything about it, I can promise to make him hurt. A lot. With sulfuric acid or something, those pre-med studies are starting to come in handy now.

The overwhelming sense of protectiveness hits me hard, and I don't shy away from it. There is nothing I hate more than men who use their fists against innocent women and children.

"It never got to that point. Suze made sure of it." she says with a small smile.

"How?"

"She caught onto the signs and interfered before things got bad. Used her savings from my grandpa's life insurance policy to help Mom get a divorce and start a new life." A tear slips down her face, and I can't stand the sight of it.

I brush it away with the pad of my thumb, but the damp trail still lingers. A driving force inside of me wants to erase the sad look on her face. "Did her plan also happen to include a jug of sulfuric acid?"

She forces out a laugh. "I think concrete shoes were more in style back then."

I fake shudder. "Remind me to never make mom angry again."

"Forget her, you'd have to deal with me." She holds up her injured hand like a war trophy.

"I'm absolutely terrified."

"Miss Y/n?" a nurse calls out.

Y/n doesn't move at the sound of her name.

"That's you." I place my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze.

She sucks in a deep breath as she stares down at my hand.

Her chair nearly tumbles behind her as she bolts out of the seat, throwing her one good hand up in the air. "I'm here!"

The nurse leads us through the emergency room bay.

Individual beds line the wall, each area divided by a paper curtain.

The empty bed meant for Y/n is unacceptable. Between the person retching behind one partition and the individual on the other side hacking up their lung, I refuse to let her be seen here.

"I'd like my…my friend, to be taken care of in a private suite," I speak up. I know I sound snotty right now but honestly, I’ll be damned if I let her already horrible hospital experience get any worse.

The nurse grimaces as her gaze licks across my body. "This is a hospital. Not the Ritz. Take a seat and wait for the doctor like everyone else."

Y/n hops on the bed without any complaint, and I'm tempted to grab her and go elsewhere. The nurse doesn't seem the least bit bothered by all the noise happening around us as she checks Y/n’s vitals and asks some routine questions.

Y/n answers each one while chewing her bottom lip raw. This atmosphere couldn't put anyone at ease, least of all her.

The nurse hangs the clipboard at the foot of the bed, and I decide to try again.

"I'll pay whatever it takes to have her seen somewhere quieter. Money is no object."

The nurse only replies by shutting the paper curtain in my face.

Y/n laughs while I stare at the curtain, dumbfounded to be treated like this.

"You find this funny?"

She nods, her eyes alight for the first time all night. "Did you see her face when you said money is no object? I think if she didn't put the clipboard away, she would have slapped your face with it."

"It's not my fault she isn't accustomed to how things are done in the real world."

"Wake up baby. You're living in the real world." She waves around our room.

"It's terrifying." I say, looking away so she couldn’t see the blush that appeared on my face at the nickname.

"Come here. I'II make it better." Y/n pats the bed.

Doubtful, but I'm a glutton for giving her what she wants lately. Paper crinkles as I sit next to her. I take up most of the bed, giving her little room to get away from me. My thigh brushes against hers. She tries to scoot away, but there isn't enough space.

“Isn’t this cozy?" she quips.

I give her a small smile before she asks, “Hey! Let me see your tattoo.”

God I’d forgotten all about them. I move the collar of my shirt to show the two small ivy leaves we’d gotten. She gasps and gently touches my skin, “Oh my gosh it’s so pretty Connie.” she stares at it for a moment before I ask to see hers.

She lifts up her shirt on the side, exposing her ribcage and the two matching leaves.

“I can’t believe you agreed to get a Taylor Swift referenced tattoo with me Con.” she says as I admire the tattoo for a bit.

I smile until saying, “Hey I might be quiet and mopey but at least I have good taste in music.”

She softly smiles at me before eyeing the IV bag with horror before checking out the exit.

"What’s wrong?”

She leans closer to me and whispers, "Is now a bad time to admit I pass out whenever someone tries to stick a needle in me?"

My lips lift at the corners. I don't know why I find the idea hilarious, given her ability to watch eight consecutive hours of true crime documentaries without so much as flinching.

"You're afraid of needles?"

She sputters. "No. I'm not afraid. It just happens to be a bodily reaction I can't control."

“That's good then because the nurse needs to set you up with that IV when she comes back."

“No! Don't tell me that! I thought she was one of the good ones.”

I nod, pressing my lips together to prevent myself from laughing.

"She lied to me!" She bolts from the seat and would have tripped over her own heels if I didn't reach out and catch her.

*Careful." I place her back on the bed and decide to stand guard in case she gets any ideas to flee the scene.

Her eyes fit from me to the gap between two curtains, as if she is thinking how she can get past me.

"I'm joking.”

She scans my face for the truth before she slaps my shoulder with her good hand. "Asshole! I believed you!"

Laughter explodes out of me like a bomb, stunning her.

“Did you just laugh?”

"No."

“Yes." Someone calls out from the other side of the curtain.

“Now, do you mind shutting up? Some of us are trying to get some sleep over here after having our stomach pumped."

Fuck this place and the people in here. "We're leaving."

"Not so fast. You can't leave before I check you out." The doctor strolls in and points at the bed with his clipboard.

Y/n remains tight-lipped as the doctor checks her chart. He asks her some questions about how she got hurt, all while staring me up and down like I'm the person she was trying to injure. She is taken away for a few scans, and my breathing doesn't return to normal until the nurse brings her back.

That should be my first sign that things are getting out of hand on my end. I'm inching closer to an emotional minefield without any kind of map, only one wrong step away from exploding.

The doctor checks the scans. "It looks like you have a boxer's fracture."

Her face brightens. "That sounds badass."

I glare at her. "Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I wouldn't count today as a victory by any means."

The doctor's eyes lighten. "Next time, avoid any initial contact on the fourth and fifth knuckles."

"Please don't encourage her."

The doctor shakes his head with a laugh before giving Y/n a detailed set of instructions regarding the healing time. I'm skeptical about the whole visit and, given the setting, doubtful about the level of care. I'll be damned if Y/n sustains permanent injuries because of Dean. My chest tightens at the idea.

“Great Thanks, Doc!" She hops off the bed, but I hold my arm out, stopping her

"I’d like a second opinion." The command bursts out of me without any rhyme or reason. Deep down, I know a boxer's fracture isn't the worst thing that could have happened. But things aren't right in my head where Y/n is concerned. At least not anymore.

Both of the doctor's eyebrows arch. "For a small fracture?"

"Don't mind him. He tends to be a bit overbearing." She shoots me a look as if I'm the crazy one out of the two of us.

"Okay..." the doctor says.

Maybe I am losing it because why else would I care?

You hate it when she cries.

You wouldn't mind murdering someone who hurt her.

You took her to the hospital even though you despise them with every fibre of your being.

The signs all point to one thing: our situation is quickly crumbling, and I'm the only one to blame.

Y/n interrupts my thoughts. "I'll be sure to wear the brace for a few weeks and avoid any kind of activities that could aggravate the injury."

"Perfect. And don't forget to schedule a follow-up visit with your physician. "The doctor gives me one last look before handing Y/n the discharge paperwork. "Nice meeting you."

"Will you help me with this?" She holds out the clipboard with her left hand as the doctor leaves.

I grab it from her and fill it out.

She checks the time on her phone. "Well, at least that didn't take as long as I thought it would. I'm sure you're dying to get back home."

That's the scary thing. I didn't think about anything or anyone once during our entire time here because making sure she was taken care of was my only concern. I've spent the past seventeen years of my life thinking solely about my future, and all it took was one girl to make me completely forget about my responsibilities for a few hours.

As if that doesn't scare me enough, it only takes one glance at her makeshift brace to make my blood burn hot under my skin. I know exactly why her injury angers me more than anything else.

It's the same reason I feel the urge to push Jere away from her whenever he gets too close or the way I unexplainably need to see her whenever she is out of my sight for longer than a few hours.

You’re in love with her.

Fuck.

                ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

y/n’s pov

We’re in an Uber on the way home, sitting in comfortable silence until Conrad breaks it.

“Why’d you get with Dean anyway?” My stomach doubles over.

Comfortable silence is so overrated.

I sigh. I’ve been dreading this question for ages now.

“I don’t know.” I answer vaguely.

Conrad gives me a puzzled look, “What do you mean you don't know? You must’ve had a reason.”

His restlessness gets me more agitated.

“I don’t know Conrad. I don’t know why I got with him, I don’t know why I was waiting on you for so long either.” I look out the window as the car stops in front of the house.

“What? What do you mean?” he says as I get out the car and speed up to the front door, taking the keys out of my pocket and refusing to carry on with this conversation anymore.

Conrad keeps yelling after me as he follows me upstairs to my room, both of us trying to ignore everyone else who joined Conrad and are trying to ask their own questions.

I slam my door shut and collapse on my bed hearing Conrad trying to calm everyone down and telling them everything that's happened until he asks them all to give me some space for now.

I cry in the silence as I hear everyone leaving from outside the door until it opens.

“Hey.”

Steven. Thank God.

“Steve…” I say sniffling.

He looks at me with a sad smile before sitting on the bed with me and taking me in his arms.

“Con told us everything,” he says after a few minutes of holding me, “did you really get a boxer's fracture?”

I laugh in tears before showing him my hand and saying, “You should see the other guy.”

Steven and I laugh together before going back to the silence as he hugs me.

“He really cares about you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t. He hates me. I yelled at him and now I’m crying here on my bed like an idiot.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Steven looks down at me.

I shake my head before saying, “He asked why I got with Dean.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad.”

“No it’s not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Because I’ve been waiting for Conrad for so long and I’m just sick and tired of always being there to help him get over his breakups when he’d be so much better off with me. I know I sound selfish and none of my reasons are justified but I just thought that after everything we’ve been through together, he’d maybe like me just a little bit.”

Steven hugs me again and softly says, “He does.”

After that almost everyone but Conrad came in to check up on me and make sure I was okay, making me feel even more guilty about being all emotional like this. It’s not until Susannah’s holding me and whispering sweet nothings that my eyes start to feel heavy.

I think I fell asleep after that, I don’t remember much except waking up to the sun shining its very unwelcome face in my eyes.

I step out of my room after freshening up and I’m about to make my way to the kitchen for food until I’m stopped by something in the hallway.

Or should I say someone.

“Conrad,” I bend down and stroke his hair out of his face, “Conrad wake up.” I say gently.

He stirs for a minute before sitting up and taking my hands in his.

“Have you been out here all night?” I ask.

“Yes.” he says in a raspy voice.

God that voice would make my knees give out if I wasn’t already on the floor with him.

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

I sigh before he interrupts me, “Listen, I heard everything you said to Steven last night and I know I shouldn’t have and I was eavesdropping but I’m sorry it was by accident. And I know I don’t deserve any more of your time…I’ve already wasted a lot of it but just hear me out for ten minutes.”

“No.” I try to get out of his grasp.

“Stop fighting and give me ten minutes.”

“No way.”

“Nine then.”

“Five.”

“Eight and a half.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

I pause, knowing that he won’t let me go anywhere before I hear him out.

“You don’t deserve seven seconds, let alone seven minutes of my time.”

“How about seven words then?”

I laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I am falling in love with you.”

I blink up at him. Either I am still sleeping or I must have not heard him correctly because there is no way Conrad Fisher just admitted that he is falling in love with me.

Absolutely no fucking way.

Right?

I squeeze my eyes shut as if that can erase the words from my memory.

"You're joking.

"I'm not."

"This is just another part of your game." I try to push him away, but he doesn't budge.

"It stopped being a game for me a long time ago."

"You're lying."

His brows pull together. "Ask me why I hate when people touch my bookshelf."

"Are you serious right now? What does that have to do with any of this?" I think back to his bookshelf he won’t let any of the others go near but loves to let me organise and re-organise each year.

"Because I did it for you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I read somewhere online that organising objects like books and things is good for people with anxiety, because then they can feel in control of something and know exactly what to expect especially if things are the same as they've predicted all the time. You love reading too, so I changed it. Bought all the books you like to read so that you’d stay and read with me more often. I forced everyone else out of my room and especially away from that bookshelf. All because I wanted to help you."

Emotions clog my throat, preventing my ability to reply.

What can I possibly say that could compare to that?

Conrad doesn't give me an option as he continues. "Want to know why I kept this plant you got me?" he says pointing to the small green cactus with “Don’t be a prick” written on the pot that we could see looking into his room from the hallway.

I nod.

"Because it was the first time someone got me a present that made me laugh."

If hearts could melt into puddles, mine would be liquified right about now.

I take a deep breath.

Remember what he did.

“Con that doesn't change anything you still ignored me for a whole year. Every time I tried to call you or text you, you’d just leave me on read or decline, and now you’re telling me you love me? Who does that?"

"Someone who doesn't understand the first thing about loving someone, but is willing to try if you give me a chance."

"You want me to give you a chance after everything? Do you think I'm stupid?"

He winces, and a bit of my anger fades away at his vulnerability.

"Intelligence has nothing to do with this."

"Easy for you to say when you're not the one who feels like a fool."

"Really? Because based on your reaction today, I'm feeling pretty damn foolish for ever admitting that I'm falling in love with you." He gets up off the floor, leaving me feeling chilled to the bone.

"Con..." I reach out, but he takes a step back.

My eyes sting from his rejection. It hurts.

“I’m not asking you to love me back. I don't expect that and I'm not sure if I ever will because I'm the furthest thing for lovable. I'm selfish, and rude, and don't know the first thing about being in a proper relationship with someone. But that doesn't mean I’m not willing to try for you if you let me."

How am I supposed to be angry at him when he thinks he is unlovable?

A pain rips through my chest at the thought of him talking about himself this way.

I get up off the floor and walk straight into his chest. His arms quickly wrap themselves around my waist, holding me even tighter.

"Just because you make selfish choices doesn't mean you're a selfish person. At least not completely."

This boy had been there for Belly, Steven, me and Jere for years without any kind of payback, especially when Susannah was going through her cancer and despite feeling an immense amount of pain himself, he shoved all his emotions aside so that he could be there for us. For me. If that isn't a selfless sacrifice, I don't know what is.

"Your logic is half-baked at best."

"So is yours, seeing as you called yourself unlovable."

His body tenses. "I'm stating facts."

"I don't know what bullshit your father told you over the years, but it's not true. Your brother loves you."

"He’s obligated to."

"No one is obligated to love someone else. Blood or not."

He takes a deep breath. "You're right."

I smile up at him. "I could get used to hearing those words."

He reaches up and cups my cheek. "Give me a chance and I'll tell you them every single day."

I sigh and look away. "I don't know.”

"Tell me what's stopping you."

"You don't do relationships."

“Good thing our feelings lead us here rather than our minds, and mine are willing to try then."

I avoid his penetrating gaze. "What if my feelings are telling me to run?”

“It's cute you think you can outrun me, but I'll give you a head start just to make things interesting." he smiles down at me.

"Do you always have an answer for everything?"

"Not for the one that matters most." The way he looks at me stirs up something deep inside of me.

Longing. I want to give him a chance, regardless of the potential fallout.

You might get hurt.

I might, but I might miss out on something special because I’m too afraid of the what ifs. I'm done being that person. Even if it means getting hurt, I'd rather try and fail than never try at all.

I stand on the tips of my toes and press my lips against his.

He holds me tight against his chest, as if he is afraid of letting me go.

I pull away, only to clasp onto his chin. "This could be a disaster, but I'm willing to try."

He shuts me up by pushing his lips against mine, sealing our new deal. The way he kisses me is different than any time before. He cups my face with the palms of his hands as his lips mold against mine, teasing me until I feel dizzy. His thumb brushes across my cheek back and forth, and heat rushes down my spine straight to my belly. He makes me feel cherished. Protected.

Loved in a way that makes me never want to come back down to reality.

I could spend forever being kissed like this and still feel like it isn't enough. While Conrad might not be the best with words, his kiss says it all.

He is falling in love with me. And I’m falling in love with him. No translation necessary.

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ahh i cant believe its finished omg😔💔...

anyways, onto the next one😍🙏

again please lmk what you think of this and please give me requests on what to do next!!

[hotcat37]

Prompt 4 for käsh promise i'll be kind AU 🔥🔥🔥

4: "Stay. Please, stay."

CW for light gore!!

Blood is rushing through Jere's ears. It's an uncomfortably loud noise. Impossible to ignore. He wishes he could reach inside his own head and turn it off. He longs for silence. But as Jere takes a step closer towards the light, yet another noise emerges from within the shed. Even louder than the blood in Jere's ears.

Crying.

The sobs are hoarse and pained, sounding closer to coughing than to crying. Jere already knows what he'll find if he turns around. Knows he shouldn't. But he can't help himself. He turns his head to stare right into eerily pale blue eyes.

Tommy is lying on the floor like a puppet with cut off strings. Jere broke his leg earlier and now the Estonian is trying to find a crawling position that doesn't cause the bone to pierce further through his flesh. His exhausted eyes struggle to even produce tears, only thin tear tracks visible on Tommy's face. Nausea swirls in Jere's empty gut at the sight of the other man in this position.

It should feel vindicating but Jere only feels sick.

"Jere....." Tommy sobs out, pleading, begging for the younger man's attention. "Jere, please.....don't go."

Jere's eyes fleet towards the open doorway. Towards the sunlight. These past days have aged him 40 years. He feels bone aching exhaustion settle in his weak body.

"Stay.....please." The injured man tries again when Jere doesn't respond. His voice cracks as he chokes out more pleas. "Jere, please j-just.....stay."

Jere stares blankly at the man he absolutely adored not so long ago. Tommy looks so.....pathetic like this. Jere doesn't recognize him anymore. Not as the sweet, funny Tommy he fell for. And not even as the sadistic and obsessed Tommy he's grown used to while in captivity.

He's more like a sick animal now. Begging for Jere to save him. But Tommy was a bad dog. He bit too much. The merciful thing for Jere would be to put him down.

"Fuck you, Tommy."

[ron456]

BMC Fanfictionnnn

Wrote this fanfiction cuz' I just really wanted to see a fanfiction of Michael teaching Jeremy how to drive. I know, I know, technicallyyyy Michael would be too young to teach Jeremy how to drive but just LET ME HAVE THIS. IT'S A FUN CONCEPT. Anyways, this probably takes place the summer before their senior year but yeah. Might edit this fic more later but Imma just let it be for rn. I wrote this in one day. Please have mercy 😭. Anyways, enjoyyyyy-

(side note: They say "okay" so much but I just couldn't think of any other way they would say this stuff. And I took out a lot of "okays" cuz' I started out with a lot more. 😭😭Idk man. Just look past it ig 😭)

“Okay! Here we are!” Michael said as he pulled into an empty parking lot. It had taken Jeremy a little longer to get his permit. Mostly because the thought of driving just slightly terrified him. But now, here he was. Sitting in the passenger seat of a P.T. Cruiser. About to have his first driving lesson with Michael.

Michael turned to Jeremy with a grin. “Ya ready?”

Jeremy sighed nervously. “No.” He kept his gaze down as he rubbed his hands up and down his jeans.

Michael put a hand on Jeremy’s leg. “You got this, man. I got you.”

Jeremy looked up at Michael fearfully. “What if we crash? What if I crash?”

Michael looked back at Jeremy sincerely. “Hey, you’re not gonna crash. That’s what the brake’s for. You got this, okay?”

Jeremy looked down again and let out a noise that was something between a hum of agreement and a groan of dread. 

Michael laughed a little at that. “Okay.”

Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and went to open the car door so that he and Jeremy could switch sides. Jeremy did the same.

“Alllllright!” Michael said as he settled in the passenger seat. “First of all, we gotta buckle up.”

They both buckled their seatbelts.

Michael turned to Jeremy. “Great! Okay, now, hold your foot down on the brake and switch the gear shift to drive.”

Jeremy did so very carefully, then turned to look at Michael.

Michael smiled back at him. “Awesome! Now, here comes the fun part. The driving.”

Jeremy swallowed while holding a crushing grip on the wheel.

“Don’t worry. You got this, bud.” Michael assured him. “Just start with taking your foot off the brake just a little.”

Jeremy looked straight ahead and did so. 

As the car slowly started rolling forward, Michael continued, “Now, you’re gonna wanna take your foot off the brake and press on the accelerator just a little.”

Jeremy put his foot on the accelerator and the car went from rolling to zooming forward. 

Michael panicked slightly and reached for the ceiling handle. “Woah, okay! Not that much! Press the brake, dude!”

Jeremy, equally panicked, slammed on the brake. 

The boys both swung forward and back from the sudden stop. 

Jeremy was still staring straight ahead but now with wide eyes.

Michael laughed nervously. “Okay, so, uh, don’t do that. The accelerator’s really sensitive-” he smiled as the dumb joke came to his head. “-like me. Heh heh. So, uh, just barely press your foot down, man.”

Jeremy nodded excessively. “Okay.” He did so and the car started moving at a steady pace.

“Yes! You’re doing it, Jere!” He flapped his hand excitedly with a grin. “Just keep going straight till’ we get to that turn there. And when you stop, just ease your foot onto the brake as you get there. Don’t slam it.”

Jeremy kept driving then slowly stopped the car right before the turn. “Was that good?” He eyed Michael.

“That was great! You’re doing so good, Jere!”

Jeremy smiled nervously.

“Okay, now, turning…” Michael let his hands fall to his lap.

“Mhm.” Jeremy said to acknowledge he was listening to Michael without looking at him.

Michael continued “You just gotta turn the wheel where ya wanna go and then the wheel will just slide back into place after. And make sure you don’t go too fast, for right now. Just lift your foot off the brake and then turn.”

Jeremy turned smoothly. 

“Great! Now, just keep moving straight and get ready for that turn down there.”

Jeremy kept driving forward but as the next turn came up, he tipped the wheel too far to the left and was now heading for a curb. “Shit! Fuck!” He tried to turn the wheel the other way.

“Brake!” Michael exclaimed as his hand flew up to the handle again. 

Jeremy slammed the brake and the boys, once again, swung forward then back.

They both just sat there for a moment. The car was now up on a curb. Michael released his grip on the handle and let his hand fall into his lap.

Jeremy looked over to the passenger seat with teary eyes. His words came out in one breath. “Michael, I’m so sorry. This was stupid. I can’t drive. I don’t-”

Michael cut him off softly. “Dude, it’s okay! The car’s alright. We’re alright. Everything’s good!”

Jeremy stayed silent.

“You alright?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m okay.” Jeremy said shakily. His breathing started to slow. 

“Okay.” Michael said calmly. “I’ll help you out, man.” He looked to Jeremy who looked forward, tightened his grip on the wheel, and nodded.

“Okay, so you’ve got your foot on the brake. Just keep it there and put the gear shift to reverse.” Michael instructed.

Jeremy did so and then looked at Michael expectedly.

Michael smiled. “Now take your foot off the brake and just let the car roll back”

Jeremy nodded again and did what Michael said.

“Brake here.” Michael said calmly.

Jeremy braked.

Michael continued. “Now put it back in drive, straighten out the car and just keep going forward.” Jeremy did and Michael smiled. “Yeah! You got it, dude!”

Jeremy weakly smiled, his eyes still ahead.

After driving forward for a little longer, Michael turned to Jeremy. “You wanna stop here?”

Jeremy slowed down the car until it came to a stop. He turned to Michael “... Yeah.”

Michael smiled. “Alright.”

Jeremy put the car in park and the boys both unbuckled their seatbelts before walking out of the car and switching sides.

Michael turned to Jeremy from the driver's seat and held out his fist. “You did good, dude.”

Jeremy smiled tiredly and returned the fist-bump. “Thanks, man.”

[frikatilhi]

does the person who brought the cardboard bojan know just what that unleashed 😭

Well they're here, judge for yourself... Wipe to see the video of him gently picking it up from the floor and placing it on the sofa

Yeah but seriously, Jere didn't have to do all this. Like. Please. Have some mercy.

[jedibinx]

Jere hockey fic please his legs please woof woof bark

"oh god I know I KNOW those legs are something sculpted by the greatest of all time like lord have mercy on me. I'm not writing one at the moment but have you been introduced to this by @mitochondriencocktail ? "Put Me Together, Thread a Needle" an amazing fic.

[ritz-writes]

okay im gonna pass out after this BUT LETS GOO

With a quick glance around the car, you pull off a number and make a wish.

OOO wishing time wishing time!

The cover is a nondescript light brown moleskin (because moleskin feels SO nice), the only clue of its contents on the front, written in red script: AO3 Favourites: Good Omens Edition.

:O :D

(vital, you see, got to make sure it’s nice, complete, and accurate)

hehehe

“What is it that you’re reading?”

😬

There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes the decision for you. Well. He asked. Whatever happens next, it’s his fault.

welllll since u asked so nicely aziraphale <3

“How lovely!” Aziraphale says, “What kind of stories do you have in there?” “Smutty fanfiction.”

PAHA. not even a hint of hesitation i love it

“I…beg your pardon?” He asks in his I’d-be-clutching-pearls-if-I-had-them voice.

i am cackling

“Well,” You say, “Good Omens is my favourite thing--” “-- The story about me and Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupts.

I AM CACKLING

“Oh my god,” she looks at you across Sardis, glee and amusement lighting up her face, “You made a book of your favourite Aziraphale-Crowley porn!?”

PFTTT

You notice that Crowley has stopped laughing. He and Aziraphale are staring straight ahead now, and the tips of their ears are going red.

i am loving this omfg

“Wow,” she manages between fits of laughter, “I wonder what that looks like!” Okay, well with that kind of encouragement how can you not elaborate?

ELABORATE--?

Every kink and position you can imagine. In canon, canon divergent and – ” “FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE,” Thunders Aziraphale from the front seat, “WOULD YOU STOP PLEASE.”

ASDFGFDS

You go quiet. Which bothers you because you hadn’t quite finished. You bounce your knee for a second before adding quietly: “And crossovers.” There. Now you’re done. Aziraphale groans in frustration from the front seat.

i think aziraphales thought process is suddenly filled with smth along the lines of "just how badly do i want to save the world again?"

At some point during the conversation the music had stopped altogether, and now the car is just full of a horrible smothering silence.

oh god i can feel the awkwardness

You’re starting to regret bringing this up, until you notice Anathema’s hand, reaching across Sardis, making gimme motions. With a glance up at the front seat, you hand the book across to Anathema, who immediately opens it and starts flipping through it, Sardis leaning over her shoulder.

:0 >:D

Her eyes and mouth are wide as she mouths “OH MY GOD.” Sardis mirrors mock-horror.

ASDFGHGFDS

You decide to leave the Plot-What-Plot stories out of this for now. When you’re making progress in an argument, it’s important to quit when you’re ahead.

smart move

Under the cover of music, you lean over and say quietly to Anathema (and Sardis) “Wait till I show you the comics.”

omfg--

VOTING TIMEE

ohh this kid is committing some kind of crime for sure. i can see him doing it with his "friends" (probably equally shitty rich kids) and them totally just leaving him behind in favor of getting away faster. and poor jere-bear suddenly finding himself at the mercy of 3 celestial beings, 1 witch, and 1 thrown-out-of-their-universal-norm entity. tho i know he'll still be a lil shit about it like "do u know who my parents are bleh bleh bleh." heres to hoping the team can teach him some manners

wonderful work as always <3

Fanatic Intervention Part 22!!

And we're back to Team Ineffable!

Since the winning vote from the Fanfiction question was to include smut, Younglings beware. I don't mention anything specific, other than a vague line about some trolls. I will link the fic for those who want it. That's as bad as it gets. You're still good to read this on the bus if you're the kind of person who worries about the old ladies sitting behind you (pro tip, if they're reading smut off your phone over your shoulder, they're enjoying it).

Next installment we're meeting Jeremy!!

Okay, let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

******************************************

The five of you have been on the road for a few hours now, and honestly it’s been very uneventful (disappointing, I know). In the last five hours, the peak of Interesting Happenings was Aziraphale wondering if the Shuffle was working properly on the playlist, because he was certain they hadn’t put nearly so much Taylor Swift on it. But the song quickly switched to Moonlight Sonata, so Aziraphale stopped complaining. That’s it. You sort of vaguely notice that that music has drifted back to Taylor Swift, but it’s all basically white noise at this point.

It is for this reason that you pull out your Miracle Enabler, and decide that you may as well get started since you have the time. With a quick glance around the car, you pull off a number and make a wish.

No one questions the book for another hour. It’s about the size of a graphic novel, slightly bigger than you would have liked, but aside from that it’s exactly what you wanted. The cover is a nondescript light brown moleskin (because moleskin feels SO nice), the only clue of its contents on the front, written in red script: AO3 Favourites: Good Omens Edition. Making the book was step one, and step two is reading the entire thing (vital, you see, got to make sure it’s nice, complete, and accurate). So far, it’s perfect. A tip-top piece of Miracle Making, if you do say so yourself.

“Oh!” Aziraphale says from the front seat, “I didn’t realize you brought a book!” Of course he’s the first one to notice. You wonder if you’re blushing at all because you’re pretty sure you know the next question he’s going to ask. “What is it that you’re reading?”

Yup. Nailed it.

For a moment you hesitate. Should you? Well, there was nothing to be ashamed of really. He’d probably read Lady Chatterly’s Lover and had it signed by the author.

“Oh come now,” the angel presses, “There’s no reason to worry, you’ve seen my bookshop after all.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes the decision for you. Well. He asked. Whatever happens next, it’s his fault.

“Well,” You say, “I was starting to miss some of my favourite stories from back home, so I made them into a book.” You hold up the volume, showing the cover.

“How lovely!” Aziraphale says, “What kind of stories do you have in there?”

“Smutty fanfiction.”

Crowley and Sardis both start laughing (Crowley’s going to regret that in a minute, you think), Anathema has put down her phone and is smiling as she tries to contain laughter herself. Aziraphale isn’t laughing.

“I...beg your pardon?” He asks in his I’d-be-clutching-pearls-if-I-had-them voice.

“Well,” You say, “Good Omens is my favourite thing--”

“-- The story about me and Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupts.

“Yeah,” You say, “That one. It’s my favourite thing, and a lot of other people’s too, so a lot of them write fanfiction about it. Like...stories about you and Crowley in...alternative situations and realities.”

Neither Aziraphale or Crowley have figured out where you’re going with this yet, but Anathema has, and she can’t seem to contain herself any longer.

“Oh my god,” she looks at you across Sardis, glee and amusement lighting up her face, “You made a book of your favourite Aziraphale-Crowley porn!?”

You notice that Crowley has stopped laughing. He and Aziraphale are staring straight ahead now, and the tips of their ears are going red.

“Pretty much, yeah,” You say in answer to Anathema. She cackles in response.

“Wow,” she manages between fits of laughter, “I wonder what that looks like!”

Okay, well with that kind of encouragement how can you not elaborate?

“Oh,” You say, “I can tell you exactly what that looks like. In every version you can think of. I have them as is, I have them as fairies, trolls, merfolk, aliens, mixed species, humans, some experimentation of celestial forms, and reversed. I have them as men, women, mixed, fluid, doppelgangers, current time, through history, future, on beds and ceilings and in public bathrooms. Every kink and position you can imagine. In canon, canon divergent and – ”

“FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE,” Thunders Aziraphale from the front seat, “WOULD YOU STOP PLEASE.”

You go quiet. Which bothers you because you hadn’t quite finished. You bounce your knee for a second before adding quietly:

“And crossovers.” There. Now you’re done. Aziraphale groans in frustration from the front seat. For a moment you sit there, book closed, hands in your lap. At some point during the conversation the music had stopped altogether, and now the car is just full of a horrible smothering silence. You’re starting to regret bringing this up, until you notice Anathema’s hand, reaching across Sardis, making gimme motions. With a glance up at the front seat, you hand the book across to Anathema, who immediately opens it and starts flipping through it, Sardis leaning over her shoulder.

“Oi!” Crowley calls. He’s staring at you through the rearview mirror. Huh, you didn’t think he actually used the rearview mirror. You learn something new every day apparently.

“Look,” You say, “It’s important.”

Aziraphale scoffs.

“No really,” You pull out the Miracle Enabler and wave it around, “I’ve been thinking about this thing. And I’m thinking hey, there might be a very real chance that we end up in a boss fight kind of situation. And I was thinking that I should probably know exactly what I can do with this thing before I’m standing on a battle field.” You take out a folded piece of paper, and hand it to Aziraphale. He takes it and unfolds the list written on motel stationary.

“Hm,” He says, putting his glasses on his nose.

Movement in your peripheral vision distracts you. Anathema is waving at you. She’s found that some of the stories are illustrated, and she’s landed on “Boon of the Blue Moon,” specifically the illustration that shows Troll!Aziraphale and Troll!Crowley in a very interesting position that’s only achievable for trolls with long tails, or acrobats who occasionally work from home. Her eyes and mouth are wide as she mouths “OH MY GOD.” Sardis mirrors mock-horror.

It takes all of your self control to hold in your laughter and try to wave them away. If Aziraphale sees this right now, he might actually smite you. And Crowley would probably help him. (And yeah, okay, you still have four lives left, but let’s not use up one of them on friendly fire if we can help it.)

“Make something that doesn’t exist,” Aziraphale reads aloud, “Make a common object, what’s this Matrix- Kung Fu mean?”

“It’s like...shorthand for giving myself a talent or skill that I never actually learned.”

“Ah,” He replies, folding the list again and handing it back, “I just don’t understand why you needed to start with...erm...”

“Smut,” You finish. The blush is creeping across his face, and you figure that saving him from saying the word out loud is the decent thing to do. Aziraphale nods as he removes his glasses and places them back in his pocket.

“Um yes, that.”

“Well some of them are really beautiful. I mean the sheer talent of these people. There are some stories in there that are so lovely they actually made me cry. And let me tell you, there are an awful lot of critically-acclaimed ‘proper’ works that haven’t evoked emotion for me the way that these have. It’s not just about the sex.” You decide to leave the Plot-What-Plot stories out of this for now. When you’re making progress in an argument, it’s important to quit when you’re ahead.

Aziraphale considers this for a moment, before the car’s audio turns back on, blaring Taylor Swift’s Love Story.

Under the cover of music, you lean over and say quietly to Anathema (and Sardis) “Wait till I show you the comics.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[nakedhousewifejere]

He took the hat ive bought for him!! I repeat he took the hat Ive bought for him!!

[nakedhousewifejere]

Omg he is sooooo beautiful 🥹🥹🥹🥹