#stormies headcanons;

[x0stormie0x]

If yo're still taking questions, how would Lightning and Jackson reveal their relationship, or what if they got caught by paparazzis when they're on a date?

(Love your stories btw, they are the bomb and your arts made me smile so hard ❤)

Awwwhh thank you so much anon!! That's so sweet of you to say 🥹🥹 so sorry this took a bit to get too! :] on with the question!

- Big racing day, probably the finals or a Piston-Cup type event. So there would be a lot of people and heavily aired.

- Lightning and Cruz swap mentor roles every race (sometimes they race together, but on this particular day, Lightning was in the stands)

- He loves to route for Jackson, even when he works for Cruz, he'd be happy seeing either of them win.

- Jackson wasn't having a particularly great day as his agent had called him to explain that if he didn't win this race he'd be cut for a whole season. So Storm naturally had a lot of pressure.

- Paparazzi was always suspicious about them, and they normally would have to hide in eachothers trailer to talk to one another.

- but on this particular day, they talked out in the open. Jackson had been having a panic attack, due to the fact that his job was now on the line. And Lightning tried to talk to him, guide him through it.

- A singular paparazzi had caught them, and after the two broke they stopped to ask Lightning questions as to why he had been talking to Storm.

- "He was upset, even if he's my rival, its still upsetting too see a fellow racers mental health down".

- Paparazzi thought nothing of it. Not that they hadn't eventually wanted to tell the world but, they wanted to do it at a good time.

- Race had started and things were not off too a good start, Lightning and Jackson felt their worries grow since Jackson was in 4th.

- Cruz eventually catches on to Lightnings constant pondering and unresponsive moments. She had asked him what was wrong but he didn't really reply.

- Jackson ended up winning the race, and the two were shocked and relieved beyond compare. So much so that as soon as Jackson crossed the finish line, he slammed his breaks, getting out of the car.

- His team and everyone else were confused, normally after wins he'd wave to the fans or blow some smoke, but this time he was running to someone. Lightning..

- It was so quick, so immediate, but he ran to Lightning, jumping into his arms as he caught him. Lightning was grinning like a nerd, and Jackson was in tears. The two couldn't help it, and they shared the most passionate kiss.

- The crowd and paparazzi went WILD. As well as the lovers teams. Some people booed, but it was nothing in comparison to the amounts of cheers.

- Ray and Gale were happily smiling at eachother, even though they pretty much knew.

- Needless too say? It was unplanned, but it turned out so much better then they had imagined.

- For a few months they got slurs and hate speech thrown at them, but they helped eachother grow past it. They just enjoyed the love from their fans, and often got referred too as 'LightningStorm' by their fans!!

Tysm for the ask!! <33 I'm still taking asks so don't feel shy too spam me questions!! <33 I love answering them!

[wikate]

Trix power 👁️❄️🌪️

[betweenstorms]

It struck you one evening, somewhere in the midst of a quiet shower, the realisation that you had never seen your boyfriend listen to music. Simon Riley was a man carved from stillness, his silence so tangible it felt like an extension of him, as if he commanded it the way others commanded words. As if quiet itself belonged to him.

For you, music was as constant as breath, filling the spaces of your life. It hummed through the kitchen as you cooked, danced in the clink of dishes and drifted through the rooms with every fold of laundry. When Simon was home from deployment, he never complained about it, never reached for the volume knob or asked you to turn it off. He’d said he didn’t mind, that you could listen to whatever you wanted.

He lived in the quiet, and you lived in the sound, and somehow, those worlds had learned to overlap. But he’d never shown a preference, never reached for a song the way you did. Still, the thought nagged at you—what did Simon Riley listen to, if he listened to anything at all?

And then, one rainy morning, your answer arrived.

You had slept in, wrapped in the warmth of blankets, the steady patter of rain on the window lulling you into those extra minutes of rest. The world outside was only a distant hum, as if time had slowed down just for you. When you finally stirred, stretching lazily in the grey light, you pushed yourself from bed, the coolness of the room waking your senses.

And then you paused.

In the tender light of morning, he stood—Simon, his figure framed by the soft, pale glow. At the stove, his broad shoulders curved beneath the black sweatshirt, a presence as unyielding as stone. Even with his back to you, he commanded the room effortlessly, the quiet weight of him impossible to ignore. His arms, thick with muscle, spoke of strength honed in battle, yet he moved with a surprising grace, each motion deliberate, unhurried. But it wasn’t the quiet power of his form or the sight of him cooking that made you stop.

It was the sound of his voice.

Low, hoarse and gravelly, almost too quiet to catch, Simon was murmuring the lyrics of a song under his breath, so nonchalantly it nearly made you laugh.

“And just like the rain You cast the dust into nothing And wash out the salt from my hands?”

There was something so deadpan and painfully out of tune about the way his voice grumbled through the lyrics, it was almost comical. And yet, it was also extremely sweet.

In the quiet of the morning, there he was, humming along to a song you knew well—your favourite song, as though it had seeped into him without you ever knowing.

“So touch me again I feel my shadow dissolving Will you cleanse me with pleasure?”

You stood in the doorway, grinning to yourself, watching as he moved through the space, his stillness now softened by the gentle rhythm of the rain. You hadn’t known Simon even liked music, let alone your music, and the sight of him—the infamous Ghost—murmuring Sleep Token lyrics under his breath, made your heart swell.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[x0stormie0x]

And he shall stay that way ☺️👍

He's basically the equivalent of "Looks like could kill you, is a cinnamon roll"

I feel like he's a big softy once you get to know him and he warms up to you, Storm Chasing pretty much sums that up for you.

He's just a lil guy with trust issues that gets defensive.

Jackson Storm in canon: a jerk with no personality beyond being a jerk and looking like a pack of 5 gum

Jackson Storm in fanfics: adorable cinnamon roll with tragic backstory

[skylaryozora]

I mean, you gotta spice up your arc right?

[stormyelliotwritez]

DATING WADE AND LOGAN AS M!READER HEADCANONS PT 2

i love these idiots so much so heres some hurt/comfort among other things

wade likes to take you out on dates and logan doesn’t always come because loud spaces freak him out but they make sure to always take you out together at least once a fortnight

logan reads the newspaper at the table in the morning and its calmest he’ll be all day so its opportune time for you or wade to ramble to your hearts content

they both get very impatient when you take longer doing stuff than you said you would such as going to the shops and you need to message them to reassure them you’re okay

theyre both so so traumatized so hugs and venting is a regular thing at night

logan gets really bad nightmares and so sometimes he’ll spoon wade instead of you because wade will survive getting stabbed in the middle of the night but wade makes sure to give you extra cuddles

they love love love showering with you though logan hates any strong smelling shampoo or body wash or anything and Wade’s very close to slipping at all times so showers are fun

wade likes finding you little trinkets like a bottle cap from a bottle of beer logan smashed over someones head on a mission or a pen from a bad guys office

logan’s guilty pleasure is watching crappy tv and he’ll give you puppy dog eyes until you come and sit with him

you guys have a weighted blanket on your bed to ground logan and wade and you if u want

logan buys a record player for the apartment and wade buys a bunch of pop records for it while logan buys dad rock

logan has a carabiner with his keys on it and if hes in a particularly jealous mood, he’ll attach it to your belt loop so you stay with him (i saw a steddie headcanon like this and its occupied my mind)

i will probably make more specific ones of these like dating them on your period or autistic reader or something

[malleefies]

I've seen other people hc how Jon has these little bouts of making a very Rhaegary melancholic expression and Ned internally panics every time it happens.

[kifkay]

Winx memes once again

[ur-fairy-of-mimicry]

New headcanons!!!

Sky has dimples. They are only visible whenever he laughs.

Lady—Sky's pet dog—was a present from Princess Krystal, the princess of planet Lynphea.

Stella has two moles on her right shoulder and one on her left breast.

Brandon has a cleft chin. He inherited this gene from his father. Brandon also has huge scars on his face, results from being slashed by a dagger to defend his prince.

Out of everyone, it is Brandon who gets awful nightmares the most.

Riven has a huge scar on his left bicep. He got this when he was being belittled by older kids in his younger years, one of them slashing his arm with a stick. He also has a small scar on his bottom lip.

Timmy has nearsightedness, therefore the existence of his glasses. His glasses are not ordinary, however. They can be quite handy in certain situations since it is made by technology.

Timmy also knows how to play Cat's Cradle. His usual playmate in this game is Helia.

Flora is allergic to bunnies. Because of this, she avoids Kiko at all times. Flora's allergic reaction is sneezing.

Tecna is farsighted, therefore she cannot read or see things clearly that are near her eyes. However, she does not like wearing glasses as she prefer lenses.

Helia often suffers through what artists usually do. And in writing poetries, he loves writing angst (what a mood).

Musa can speak Cantonese. Despite not knowing languages in Earth, the people in planet Melody can somehow speak both Cantonese and Mandarin.

Although constantly being healed, Icy has frostbites due to her powers. They sometimes backfire, resulting to frostbites on her fingers.

Darcy actually loves to watch Rom-coms, but it eventually turns into a guilty pleasure.

Stormy is the youngest out of the triplets, so she tends to act the most immature and demanding of them all. Still, the sisters don't seem to mind.

[the-travelling-bitch]

Ness who is very obsessed with you and ties you down to give you an unbearing amount of worship/ pleasure ? :3 my brain is rotting

omg ness,, we need more of him

[fem! reader, no pronouns used]

Ness is normally such a compliant, good boy for you, going along with whatever you need from him. Want him to eat you out for hours? He’s on his knees for you. You feel like using his dick as your personal dildo? He’ll lie perfectly still as you take what you need from his body.

But lately Ness has been feeling like you’re neglecting yourself. Don’t you see how perfect you are? Are you not aware of the ass, tits and thighs you have on you? How there’s not nearly enough attention drawn to your beautiful face, your arms, your legs, your collarbones, your entire being?

Your boyfriend really loves you, so you can’t blame him for using the strength he built as an athlete for flipping you down on your shared bed and tying your hands to the headboard. All the while, a lovesick smile decorates his face and stays on while he drinks in your widened eyes and the way you writhe to gain any sort of friction.

As he kisses down your body, starting by mouthing and panting into your neck before licking a path down your sternum, Ness really can’t use all your squirming. Can’t you tell he’s trying to make you feel good? So please lay still, baby.

When you can’t stop the twitching of your knees as the pro player teases your folds, first with his fingers and then with his tongue, he thinks it might be time to try your new ropes to bind your feet to the bed posts as well.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Ness muses as he studies your ethereal body splayed out in all its glory for him, his wandering hands squeezing to his heart’s content, never resting in one place for too long. “I’m doing this because I love you, I’ll make you feel so good. Just trust me darling.”

And you do. So you let him kiss all over your skin, leave marks wherever he deems fit, drive his calloused fingers right into your most sensitive spots as orgasm after orgasm washes over you.

By the time you feel Ness’ hard cock slide into you, your vision is hazy as your head lolls from right to left and back before your boyfriend holds your chin between his deft fingers and connects your lips, effectively swallowing every moan and incoherent sentence.

As his hips built a rhythm against yours, you can’t help but dumbly arch into his touch, nipples sore from all his pinching and pulling, chest and thighs thoroughly marked and nerves buzzing with attention. Even after Ness empties the first load into you, you are well aware that this isn’t the end.

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking me so well… so tight for me,” he groans. “Bet you’ll look even more breathtaking when you’re fucked out and dripping my cum….”

[elsa-fogen]

Who do you think would be good partners/Love interests for the trix? It doesnt matter if the partners are male or female.

For Stormy: friend-partner. Someone to have fun with, who'd go with her explode shit in the middle of the night

For Darcy: someone she finds interesting. She's also big romantic (but will deny it lol) so she would be happy to recieve some small gifts.

Both of them need someone they'd feel comfortable around and loved.

As for Icy... she has the whole list of criteria for her future partner in her head.

He or she must be healthy, as well as their relatives. No genetic diseases in the family.

He or she must be powerful, and should not be an outlier in their family. Like, if the person has powerful magic, but the rest of their family are weak, it's a no. If the person is weak but their family was always strong - is better, but still doubtable.

He or she must be good looking - the most loose criterion, she didn't figure her "type" as other would say. Also, she must know how her or his relatives look. Genetics and stuff.

He or she should not have curses on their family (tho if this is the only criterion that is missing, she'll try to help with lifting these curses).

Coming from all the previous, he or she must know at least 6 previous generations of their family.

He or she must be wealthy - this one actually is not that necessary, but is certainly a point "for"

As you can see, no criteria for personality or feelings...

Icy IS planning on having a family with at least 2 children, but doesn't want to deal with child birth herself, so she'd prefer a woman to be her partner (because magic and stuff, 2 women can have kids). Also, she wants best for her sisters and will check their partners for compliance with the criteria too (and if they don't she'll try to break them up)

Feelings and "love" are not an excuse or criterion for her. She doesn't realise that other people do feel affection for real and not faking it, like her.

[estcaligo]

Stormy nights 🤫

[merriclo]

I want to know your LU headcanons!

ohHO i will absolutely tell you tysm for asking!! i’ve been wanting to talk abt them for ages but just never got around to it ig ahjdkcka

Time’s actually like 32 and is just really committed to the bit of being ancient

Sky is horrific at making new friends. he grew up with the same small group of people, so he never learned how to make friends with complete strangers because there simply wasn’t the need to. so, when he first starts traveling with the chain, he makes little wooden charms for them because he isn’t entirely sure how else to get close with them. Zelda always enjoyed his woodcarvings, so maybe they will too??

as a result, the entire chain has little trinkets made by Sky. on Legend’s bag there’s charms hanging off the straps, and Twilight wears his as necklaces (both because it looks cool as fuck and it helps the shadow crystal stand out less). yes Wind has specifically commissioned him to make something for Aryll

yeah yeah bunny Legend but consider: the mermaid suit (which I like to think is more of a curse bc get fished pink man <3) giving him some marine animal qualities as well. no matter what tho that bitch is an Ariel kinnie, they’re collecting all the shiny shit they can find

Sky is obsessed with doing puzzles the Right and Proper way, meanwhile Wild cheeses absolutely everything he can

Wind believes in all of those classic pirate superstitions

the witches in Legend’s era adore him. Grandma Syrup dotes on him, Maple is like a teasing older sister, and Irene is like a teasing younger sister. this is where he learned most of his magic skills from, and he takes all potentially enchanted or cursed items to them to check out. he’ll never admit it, but Legend finds lots of comfort in all of them, as they’re one of the few people who’ve stayed in his life this long.

Wild’s a pretty good medic!! during his adventure, he very quickly realized how dangerous infection is, so they learned about a lot of home remedies and medicinal herbs, as well as how to tend to a wound from other travelers at stables and inns. he didn’t really get a choice in learning, considering how he probably got stung or bit by painful insects or accidentally brushed up against painful plants a lot during the early days of their adventure, and thus showed up to stables covered in rashes and hives and such, causing every decent person in the area to flock to them and try to help. their Hyrule is very sweet, okay?

they’re not the only one who’s well acquainted with medicinal herbs, though! while I think all of them would have a basic understanding, Time, Hyrule, Warriors, and Wind would know a lot. dw i’m elaborating

Time quite literally grew up in the forest, was raised by a tree, and had actual forest spirits for siblings—he knows his plants. he and Saria would peel willow bark and collect dandelions together

I like to think that Hyrule being half-fae makes him very sensitive to all magic-based auras, including that of plants, so they’re very good at picking out the healing herbs, even if they’re not quite sure what they’re called

listen ok hear me out about Warriors. young Time was appalled that he knew jackshit about nature and forcefully taught him. also, before modern medicine, medicinal plants were used all the fucking time on the battle field. yarrow, an herb that stops bleeding and prevents infection, is called soldiers’ woundwort because of this. i mention this because he was probably concerned about the health and safety of his troops, so he learned what the medics were doing and using.

Wind grew up on a small, tight-knit island, realistically they would’ve had to have learned how to use the things around them to their fullest advantage. that being said, his knowledge is sort of useless outside of his own era, aside from what he was taught in the war. ok i’m done talking about medicinal herbs now i promise sorry it’s a hobby of mine ahhsjdka

Legend’s terrified of dogs. in Link’s Awakening, the dogs are literally balls on chains with huge mouths full of sharp teeth (basically just Chain Chomps). if you want to get angsty with it: it comes from guard dogs being sent after him on his first adventure. he became a lot less scared to more he spent time with BowBow (the ball and chain dog) but, when he woke up, he got the belief that he could only be safe around a dog in his dreams. he’s pretty damn uncomfortable around Wolfie at first, but after lots of time and learning to trust Twilight, he’s able to slowly overcome his fear. sort of. mostly just with Wolfie. he still hates staying at stables in Wild’s Hyrule.

if Wild doesn’t want to explain/source something he’ll just say it came to him via divine intervention. Sky believes it every single time

I was thinking about Legend’s story a while ago and realized it was kind of similar to Joan of Arc’s so take that as you will. idk if this even counts as a headcanon but i’m putting it here

Warriors and Twilight are really close friends because they both understand the struggles of wrangling dirt worshipping nature freaks. anytime Twilight (lovingly) complains about Wild, Wars will counter with whatever asinine feral child antics young Time got up to and suddenly Twi will feel very blessed and lucky

whenever Four sees someone with their hair in a high ponytail he subconsciously thinks they’re very smart and respectable because Dot always wears her hair in a high ponytail

Hyrule is completely fine with not sleeping on a bedroll. they like the dirt, actually. let them sleep in the dirt.

Legend uses apples in his red potions, both to increase their potency and to make them taste better. he also learned how to enchant apples to be healing on their own so sometimes when someone’s hurt he’ll just shove an apple in their face

uhh so ik this is a lot but this isn’t even close to of all my headcanons so yeah there’s that lmao

[betweenstorms]

Part One of Where We Part (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Before he was Ghost, he was Simon Riley.

A quiet boy with eyes too old for his young face, always watching, always listening, always alone.

You had known him for as long as you could remember.

He was the lanky boy next door, the one with too much burden in his eyes, the one who never talked about the bruises or the shouting that came from his house at night. Even as kids, there was something about him that set him apart, something that made you want to protect him, even though he never let you. But you’d always notice the new bruises on his arms, the way his hazel eyes would darken whenever Tommy, his younger brother dragged him into trouble and the way he seemed to flinch at loud noises, at sudden movements.

Tommy Riley was loud, rude, and as wild as a storm untethered.

He was a real troublemaker, you never trusted his cruel grin and his rude words, never felt safe near the sharp edges of his temper. He thrived on chaos, a force of destruction that couldn’t be tamed, while Simon stood in his shadow, as if he existed solely as an apology—for his brother’s recklessness, for his family’s dysfunctionality and even for his own existence.

You were the neighbour’s only child, the one who never quite understood why Simon kept so much distance between you.

Something about him tugged at you—a quiet pull that made you want to reach into the cold and offer him the warmth of your world. You felt a strange protectiveness over him, as if it was your duty as someone older than him, some unspoken responsibility you carried without question. Through your school years, you kept watch over him, whether he knew it or not. When the students mocked him you were there, standing up for him, silencing the cruel whispers, even when it cost you friendships. The rumours about the Rileys circled like vultures, but you shut them down, defending a boy who never asked for it, who seemed more annoyed by your efforts than grateful.

You weren’t friends, after all, not really.

He never showed any sign that he wanted your help. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself. Something deep inside told you it was the right thing to do, even if Simon would never see it.

However, your parents, like most of the neighbourhood, kept their distance from the Rileys. It wasn’t something openly discussed, only whispered behind cupped hands at the local market, murmured in the pews of the church, or exchanged in knowing glances at school gates. Yet those looks exchanged between the adults made it clear—people didn’t want to get involved. The Rileys were trouble, everyone said, and it was best to leave them to their own devices.

You were forbidden from playing with Simon or Tommy, even though they were the only children near your age on the street.

It was an unspoken rule, one you didn’t quite understand as a kid but followed anyway, wishing things could be different. You were young then, far too young and innocent to grasp the weight of the shadows that lingered in the Riley household.

You didn’t know why Mr. Riley’s shouts echoed through the night, why Mrs. Riley wore bruises like secret confessions beneath her smile, why Simon’s silence felt heavy, like a wound too deep to heal. Their world felt so different from yours, a place of suffering you couldn’t quite touch. But as the years slipped by, as childhood faded into adolescence, the picture began to sharpen. With it, your protectiveness over Simon deepened, as the reality of what his father was doing became impossible to ignore. Understanding bloomed where innocence once was, and with it, the weight of knowing.

You couldn’t fathom how your parents, with their kind hearts and warm smiles, could do nothing.

How they could turn their backs on Mrs. Riley, her frail form draped in sorrow, and her two children, who so clearly needed help. You didn’t understand why they never returned Mrs. Riley’s weak greetings, why they closed themselves off from her suffering. It baffled you how they could step over Tommy, sprawled on their porch, drunk or worse, as if he were just another mess to be swept away.

But what haunted you most was their indifference to Simon—the boy your age, thin as a whisper, burdened with bruises no child should carry. How could they look at him and not see? How could they not feel the silent plea in his eyes? Where was their empathy for a child, for a boy who wore his misery like a second skin?

Oh, Simon.

His hazel eyes stayed with you, always, like shadows that linger long after the sun sets. There was something far too ancient in them, like he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t yet grown into his own skin. They held a weariness that made you wonder what horrors had carved their marks so deeply into him. The whispers followed him everywhere, rumours circling like vultures over carrion. You didn’t know where they came from, Tommy’s careless tongue, or maybe the other nosy students who relished the cruelty of gossip, but they stained everything, leaving you wondering what was real.

You heard that Mr. Riley brought all kinds of dangerous animals into their home, taunting Simon with them, forcing him to kiss a snake, like it was some twisted game, some kind of sick power move. And then there were the stories of his father dragging him to those grim concerts, where violence blurred into spectacle.

They said he’d made Simon laugh at the overdose of a prostitute, made him witness things no child should ever see. You didn’t know if it was all true, but it didn’t matter. The shadow of those stories lingered over him, heavy and unshakable, and you could see it in the way the boy carried himself, in the haunted quiet of his presence.

There was a summer day, thick with heat and sorrow, that still clung to you like a forgotten song.

You had just turned nineteen that July, on the cusp of leaving behind the life you knew, ready to escape to the vastness of London and its promise of university, independence, and everything adulthood might hold. It was one of those warm, languid August evenings, where the sky blushed pink and gold, and the air was alive with the buzz of cicadas and the scent of overripe grass. You were out with your dear friends from high school, celebrating the end of an era. There was laughter, careless and sweet, the kind that only comes after a few too many drinks. A can of cheap beer was cradled in your hand as you leaned back in the passenger seat of your friend’s car, music pulsing around you like a heartbeat as you drove aimlessly through the familiar streets of your suburban neighbourhood.

The night felt like a farewell, a last taste of youth before everything shifted into the unknown. You giggled at something absurd, head dizzy and spinning, when suddenly, through the haze of the moment, you saw him.

Simon Riley.

There was something achingly bittersweet in seeing him there, swallowed by the dusk, his figure hunched as always.

Something inside you shifted, a strange ache that mingled with the buzz of the celebration—a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow that you couldn’t quite place. The guilt of childhoods lived on parallel tracks, always near, but never close enough.

Maybe it was the booze loosening your thoughts, making everything softer and hazier, or maybe it was the looming departure that made everything feel both fleeting and too permanent at once.

“Slow down,” you blurted out, your voice almost drowned out by the music. Your friend gave you a puzzled look, but complied, easing the car to a crawl. 

Simon walked on, dull eyes cast down like he had grown used to the world pretending not to see him.

“Riley,” you called out, your voice weak and unsure. “Fancy a ride?”

Your friends hissed, their voices sharp with confusion and disbelief. “What are you doin’?” one of them asked, eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Girl, you’re mental!” another laughed, but their words were just background noise to you.

Your gaze stayed locked on Simon Riley, unwavering, even as embarrassment burned at the back of your neck.

For a moment, it felt as though time stretched impossibly thin, the space between you and him suspended in something fragile and delicate. And then, slowly, Simon stopped.

His hazel eyes caught yours beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

He furrowed his brows when he recognized you, the corners of his lips tightening in that way that told you he was already annoyed.

You flashed him a drunken smile, but it was crooked, empty, a weak imitation of your usual confidence. You leaned your chin on your palm, trying to ignore the sudden flood of emotions rising in your chest. You studied him, trying to find traces of the boy you once knew under the young man he’d become.

“So?” You asked, feeling exposed, a little too vulnerable under his gaze. Embarrassment and sadness twined together like vines around your ribs, squeezing tightly.

Simon’s response was cold, clipped, dismissive. “Don’t need a ride.”

His voice was deeper, rougher than you remembered, gruff with the weight of years that had passed since you last spoke. Had it really been that long? Long enough that you had forgotten what he even sounded like?

“Oh, you sure? We're headin’ that way anyway,” you hummed, trying to keep your tone light, though something in you was desperate, like this fleeting encounter needed to mean more than it did. But Simon just scoffed, a sound that cut through the night like a blade.

He turned away, resuming his walk down the pavement.

Your friends erupted into giggles, snickering at the awkwardness of the situation, their teasing only deepening the strange ache in your chest. But you tuned them out. With a sigh, you made up your mind. Fueled by guilt, nostalgia, and a bit of reckless drunkenness, you reached for the door handle.

“See y'all tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping out of the car before any of them could protest. One of your friends called, but you didn’t look back and didn't offer any explanation.

Without another thought, you hurried after Simon, your footsteps quickening as if you could somehow close the long years of distance in a single stride.

He didn’t stop for you.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you caught up, breathing rapidly, walking beside him. Meanwhile, the car pulled away, loud music fading into the distance, leaving you two in suffocating silence. His head was bent low, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, but you kept your eyes on him—on his broad shoulders that seemed too tense compared to yours.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke.

The night pressed down on you, the air too warm for comfort. Your face was flushed, whether from the alcohol coursing through your veins or the embarrassment of trailing after Simon, you couldn’t be sure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the awkwardness between you building with every inch you walked together, the distance between you palpable even though you two were side by side.

It was hard to keep your balance, the world around you tilting ever so slightly with each step. You stumbled once, your foot catching the edge of the pavement, and cursed under your breath as you regained your footing. You could have sworn you heard Simon sigh, a quiet, annoyed sound, barely more than a breath, but it stung nonetheless.

“So,” you chuckled awkwardly, desperate to fill the growing silence. Your voice sounded too loud, too false against the quiet of the neighbourhood. “Workin’ late, huh? Mum told me you got a job at the butcher’s. The one near the market, right?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed ahead. For a fleeting second, you thought that he might ignore you entirely. But then, in that low, gravelly tone, he muttered, “Yeah. S’what I do.”

His response was clipped, offering no room for conversation, but you pressed on, ignoring the tension tightening around you like a noose. “Must be rough, that. The long shifts, I mean. Can’t be easy workin’ with knives and saws all day.”

Simon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“It pays the bills,” he muttered, his voice flat. There was no hint of the boy you once knew, just a hardened young man who had learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

The conversation died again, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement. You swallowed hard, guilt rising again like a tide, mingling with the familiar ache of melancholy that always seemed to creep in when you thought of him.

Simon Riley had always been on the edge of your life, a shadow lingering just out of reach. You had never really known him, not truly. He was a figure cast in half-light, always present but never close enough to collide with. You had always watched him from afar, tried to stand up for him when the world became too cruel, but what had any of it meant? He never asked for your help, never even hinted that he needed it. So why bother now?

Simon hadn’t asked for your company—he never had.

And now, standing next to him, you felt that distance more acutely than ever. His silence was loud, louder than anything he could have said, and it left you feeling small, foolish.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, the distant hum of the city the only sound filling the void. The warm summer night, which had felt so light and carefree only moments ago, now seemed oppressive, weighing down on your shoulders like an invisible burden. Before you could open your mouth to say something uncomfortable again, Simon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with irritation.

“You don’t need to do this.”

You blinked, the alcohol making your thoughts slow to catch up. “Do what?”

Simon glanced at you, his hazel eyes dark and distant, a flicker of something hard lingering just beneath the surface.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pity. Guilt. Or whatever it is that’s makin’ you follow me right now.”

Pity? Guilt? That wasn’t what this was—was it? No, of course not. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that you weren’t here out of some misguided sense of obligation. But the look on his face stopped you. It was a look of exhaustion, of someone who had heard this all before, someone who had learned not to trust the intentions of others.

“I’m not—” you started, your voice shaky, but he cut you off again.

“I know you’re leavin’,” Simon murmured, his tone dry, as if stating an obvious fact. “Heard your folks talkin’ about it. You’re off to London, right? So, whatever this is, don’t bother.”

The embarrassment burned hot and heavy in your chest, spreading to your cheeks and ears.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to—” you began again, your voice softer, almost pleading.

Simon shook his head, his expression hardening. “Don’t. I don’t need your bloody charity, alright? I mean it. I don’t need your… whatever the fuck this is.”

The words struck you like a fist to the chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

You halted in your tracks, and to your surprise, he did the same. The space between you felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of all the years that had passed, thick with everything unsaid. You bit down on your lower lip, your gaze lifting slowly, hesitantly, to meet his.

He towered over you now, though once you’d been the taller one. Despite the age gap, the few years between you, despite the fact that you were older than him, Simon seemed like someone who had long since outgrown you, both physically and mentally.

Funny, how time had stretched and twisted between you both, long enough to turn everything unfamiliar. It had been so long, too long, hadn’t it? Since you’d last spoken to him properly. Long enough that you couldn’t quite place when the shift had happened, when Simon had become a stranger to you, a distant figure in your memory rather than the boy next door.

“I don’t wanna leave like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your feet, your voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Your hands itched with nervous energy, and you scratched your elbow awkwardly, trying to anchor yourself. “I know we weren’t exactly friends, but that doesn’t mean I never cared. About you, I mean. And I—” you paused, the words tangling on your tongue, too clumsy, too inadequate for the heaviness in your chest. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter now.”

Simon sighed again.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes like he was too tired for this, too tired for you. The way he looked at you, it was like you were the one out of place, like he was the older one, the wiser one. There was something in his gaze that cut deeper than any words ever could, something that said he didn’t know what to do with you. Not now, not then, maybe not ever.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared, as if deciding whether it was even worth responding.

“The only advice I can give you,” he said, each word deliberate, like he was choosing them with care, “is to live your life. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if we’re lucky, we’ll never have to think about each other ever again.”

The deadpan delivery should’ve stung, should’ve hurt more than it did, instead, you found yourself chuckling softly, soft and bitter at the same time. The absurdity of it, of this whole encounter, made you want to cry and laugh in equal measure. Somehow, he’d managed to diffuse the tension in the most Simon way possible.

But still, it felt like it had always been there, hadn’t it? Unsaid words, missed chances, a history that never was.

You looked up at him, your lips twitching into a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your idea of a pep talk?” you said, trying to make light of the ache that had settled deep in your bones.

Simon tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable hazel eyes. “Not really my strong suit, is it?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

“No, not at all.”

He looked at you, his eyes still guarded, as though he was searching for something in your expression that he couldn’t quite find. Yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t return the smile either. Instead, he shrugged with a kind of finality that made your heart sink.

Simon nodded towards the road ahead.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

The offer was simple, but it carried an underlying meaning, like it was both a farewell and an acknowledgment that, despite everything, you had once meant something to him, even if only in passing.

There was something about his detachment, his unwillingness to engage with the past, that hurt more than you expected. Maybe you had wanted some closure, some understanding from him, a sign that what you felt wasn’t one-sided all these years. But Simon wasn’t offering that. He wasn’t offering anything at all.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t even protest that you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need his protection. Instead, you forced a weak smile onto your face and started walking, hoping the darkness would hide the tears pricking at your eyes. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder now, echoing against the stillness of the night, as if you were both walking away from something you couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, not too long ago, I used to walk you home after church on Sundays. When your mum went to the market. Remember?”

Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but then he hummed, a low, almost noncommittal sound. He wasn’t the boy who needed walking home anymore, and you weren’t the one who could offer him safety.

The walk was silent. But what had you expected? That he’d thank you for some half-hearted attempt at connection after all these years? That he’d open up, that there would be a cathartic moment where you’d both acknowledge the traumatic childhood you shared with him and walk away with some semblance of peace?

Still, it was strange, walking side by side with someone who felt like a stranger, yet also someone you had known your entire life.

The short walk to your parents' house felt longer than it should have. As you approached the familiar gate, the scent of roses hit you, your mother’s prized bush blooming full and red next to the fence.

Simon stopped just outside your childhood home, as if some invisible boundary had been set between him and you. His eyes glanced at the rose bush, then back at you, his expression unreadable, that same distant mask he had worn for years.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure why you felt the need to lower it. It wasn’t likely that your parents would be waiting behind the curtains, watching this uncomfortable farewell.

They never cared much for Simon anyway.

His face was unreadable, shadowed by the dim light that illuminated the porch, but you could see his hazel eyes flicker as they scanned your features, taking you in like he was committing this moment to memory. And for a fleeting second, it was as if you weren’t standing on the cusp of goodbye, as if you were still those two awkward kids, stuck in a world neither of you could quite escape.

You did the same. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, his sandy blonde hair, his broad shoulders, the faint stubble along his jawline that he hadn’t had when you last saw him. There was something fragile about this moment, a shared understanding that neither of you would speak of, but it was there all the same.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the fear of rejection stop you, you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. The contact was sudden, your body instinctively pulling him into a hug that neither of you expected.

It was an impulsive decision, a desperate, clumsy attempt to offer some comfort, to bridge the gap between the boy you once knew and the man standing before you. You pulled him into you, your blushed face pressing against his hard chest. For a heartbeat, he froze, stiff beneath your touch, and you immediately regretted it.

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering guilt, the sense that you had never done enough, never said enough. But as soon as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, the solidness of him, you realised your mistake. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye Simon wanted. You pulled away quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your heart racing.

“Take care, Si,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t dare look at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you turned on your heel, practically fleeing up the path to your front door, leaving him standing there beneath the roses—roses that were as red as your cheeks, blooming in the quiet of the night.

[lonelybiscuits]

Stormy: Omg they’re so in love

Duman: it’s crazy how we matched them so easily

Icy and Ogron : *AGGRESSIVE FIGHTING NOISES *

[skylaryozora]

ICY KEEP YOUR INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS TO YOURSELF FFS