#they looked so so so SO!!!! good together this season

[okwonyo]

CUFFING SEASON 𓂃 gymrat!enhypen 𓈒

𝗜𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗭𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗘 ✶ ────── 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒. 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒.

엔하이픈 & fem!rea 14OO fluff established relationship cautions kissing skinship ˊᯅˋ altero

❛ 姫　❜ thanks to danipie for the heeseung prompt and tam for jakes >< plus to jenn, tam and pockemonz for being my emotional support 🎀

reblogs⠀⠀ꢾ꣒⠀ feedbacks please

HEESEUNG ｡｡ ever since you moved in together, your boyfriend likes to walk around with a tank top embracing his upper body, showcasing his biceps and making you daydream about his chest.

frankly, this habit of his isn’t new to you— back when you lived in different apartments, he would always open the door while dressed in that sort of clothes.

you admired his arms for a while during the long times whereas you were together. gaze dragging over his hands to reach his biceps, you always wondered if the ribbon you put in your hair could fit around his big muscles.

“do you think it’d fit?” the ribbon is held between your index finger and your thumb as you question your boyfriend.

he looks at his biceps then at the pink hair accessory in your hand. seeing the sheer happiness on your face, he smiles “we can always try, sweetheart.”

wiping the grin off his face as he watches you wrap the thing around his flexed bicep is impossible. it is fun and you find it irresistibly hot— wrapping his arm is like marking him as yours. and you both love it.

JAY ｡｡ honestly, you think you are dreaming even now, deep in doze still, when you step into the kitchen and are met with a heaven-sent view in front of you.

with a mouth agape and eyes growing wide, you admire the back of your boyfriend. you want to thank whoever created gyms and thank your fortune for making your boyfriend such an addict.

his muscular and defined back shines, stares back at you as he is focused on making breakfast. the laces of the pink apron he wears on top of his naked torso wraps his waist perfectly.

it feels like heaven when your cheek collapses on his hot naked skin. you hug his waist like a teddy bear— almost melting into his skin. and god, he smells too good.

it’s dreamy when he kisses the top of your head, “good morning, baby,” he greets you, but you are too enamored by the vision of his broad shoulders a few moments ago to respond just yet.

you only hum, thinking that today will be a great day.

JAKE ｡｡ your phone rings as you are making yourself lunch. upon picking it up, a breathy voice reaches you through the phone. given the hour of the day, you don’t need to double check to know who it is.

“hi, princess, you good?” he greets you and you can hear the grin in his tone. a groan comes quick after— proving his current physical effort and confirming that he is at the gym, as he always is.

“yes, i’m good, jake,” the deep breath you take makes you able to respond after a few seconds. the next question is automatic, “how are you?”

“’m good, babe, i’m on the lat pulldown machine right now.” it would have been better, way better, if he hadn’t said that. or if he never showed you what a lat pulldown looks like.

but he did, and you cannot wipe the image of him sitting, his wide shoulders flexing alongside his back as he pulls the lat down. it makes you feel dizzy, him groaning again doesn’t help.

due to your silence, he continues. his voice is whiny, your knees get weaker, “i’ll finish my set quickly and take you on a date, alright?”

imagining him at the gym makes your whole behind fragile. your voice is locked in your throat and you tongue won’t move. but you’d let that man take you anywhere he’d like— the frail sounds of agreement you make are a confirmation of it.

SUNGHOON ｡｡ “stop moving around,” he commands, rather gently. his smile is too big for his words to be an order, he is so close to you that you can’t stop giggling. but you do stop moving.

the man’s beauty hits you one more time as your eyes focus on him. your boyfriend has his hands either side of your torso, next to your arms while you lay down on the floor.

he lower himself slowly, his lips brush over yours ever so gently, a quick kiss before he pushes on his arms and gets in his initial position. he is the one who got that idea, claiming that it’ll motivate him more.

it is in the privacy of your living room that he does another push up, his chest presses against yours when he lowers himself. this time, the kiss linger a little more than the last one.

you should have known that this exercise wouldn’t last long. it takes him less than three pushups to start focusing on your lips a little too much. “you know what? nevermind.”

his weight drops on you, a little ‘oof’ escapes from his mouth and a gentle ‘sorry, darling’ does the same from his. you kiss him back quickly when his mouth gets on yours.

SUNOO ｡｡ when you first met, his gym journey wasn’t as long as it is currently. therefore, you were used to his old, already quite muscular build. when he started going more regularly to the point where it was almost everyday, the changes weren’t very obvious to you.

of course, you knew he was getting more buffed every passing day but you didn’t realize how much until now. when your head is resting on his chest, covered by the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

it takes you a bit to realize how firm his chest feels under your resting head. you stay still for a moment, then your eyebrows furrow as you rub your cheek against his chest.

his arms tighten around your form, and you realize that his pecks are not the only parts that got more muscular. his chest vibrates as he laughs, “what are you doing?”

taken out of your examination, your gaze shoots up. it’s absurd how his natural cute face is on top of that kind of build. “since when are you hulk?”

JUNGWON ｡｡ during the time when he isn’t getting on your nerves or teasing you, he spends his energy on lifting weights at the gym and working on his muscles.

therefore, you know how well his body is built. you can tell, honestly, whenever you surreptitiously peek at him while he takes off his shirt to put on a hoodie instead. his big shoulders and small waist looks back at you, his beceps flex as he folds the clothing piece.

his muscles might be one of his greatest assets, to both send you into a spiral and irritate you the most. because being manhandled everywhere by your boyfriend creates an eruption of butterflies in your stomach but not being able to fight back makes you want to bite him.

“leave me alone!” you laugh when he lifts you off the floor in a swift mention. you are unable to move your arms as he jailed them in his embrace when he rushed to you.

the man quite literally throws you on your shared bed, making your body bounce against the mattress. you are breathless from both laughing, running away from him— even more when you find him on top of you.

you try to push him away when he leans closer. well, not really trying, because you don’t put any strength in the process. he ends up getting his kiss at the end, and he is quite content about it.

RIKI ｡｡ after occupying your room more than you do, even when you are not here, it is natural for him to have a place in your dressing where he can put his clothes.

the first time you thought about it, there wasn’t any big deal or issue related to it. it is the natural course of things, and you love that he is always there with you.

but it gets harder for you when he actually changes. when he takes off his shirt right before your eyes, letting you have a look of the creation he worked hard to have.

embarrassment becomes a prominent emotion in your head whenever you catch yourself staring at his defined abs. it is torture, you cannot yake your eyes off of them.

only a short amount of time passes before he notices it. soon enough , your boyfriend is smirking at you with his shirt in his hand, “like what you see?”

it’s a shame that you actually do. rather very much than not.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[mapis-putellas]

𝑰𝒏 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

The moment Alexia steps off the set, you can tell she’s in a mood.

Her shoulders are tight, her jaw is clenched, and the slight crease between her brows is a dead giveaway. She walks straight past you without a word, not even sparing a glance in your direction.

You bite back a smile.

“Baby,” you call, jogging a few steps to catch up with her.

She doesn’t stop walking. “No me hables.”

That only makes you grin wider.

You fall into step beside her, watching as she all but rips the lanyard from around her neck and shoves it into her pocket.

“What happened?” you ask, even though you already know.

She mutters something under her breath that you don’t quite catch.

“Alexia.”

She sighs sharply through her nose. “Me hicieron hacer una entrevista en inglés.”

-

Alexia sits stiffly in the chair, hands clasped together in her lap, her knee bouncing ever so slightly. The bright studio lights make her blink more than usual, and she shifts uncomfortably as the camera operator counts down from three.

She wishes she’d had more time to prepare.

She’d known today was media day. That part was fine. What she hadn’t known was that they were going to throw an English interview at her, completely unplanned, with no script, no warning -nothing.

“Alexia, thank you for being here,” the interviewer, a young British woman, says with a warm smile.

Alexia nods, pressing her lips together. “Yes. Thank you.”

She winces internally. Too robotic. Too forced. She can already feel the heat creeping up the back of her neck.

The interviewer doesn’t seem to notice, though. She just keeps going.

“So, first of all, congratulations on such a great season. How are you feeling?”

Alexia inhales, nodding as she searches for the right words. “I feel…good. Um. Happy with…the team, the, uh…” She gestures vaguely with her hands, trying to recall the word.

“Performances?” the interviewer offers gently.

Alexia nods quickly. “Yes. Performances.” It’s clunky, and she knows it, but she pushes forward.

“We…work very hard, uh, every day. It’s not…easy, but we-” She pauses, trying to structure the sentence in her head. “We, uh, fight for… win? Winning?”

The interviewer nods encouragingly. “Yes, for the win.”

Alexia exhales through her nose. “Yes. We fight for the win.”

She glances off-camera briefly, looking for an escape. There isn’t one.

The interviewer moves on. “You’ve been captain for quite some time now. What does leadership mean to you?”

Alexia hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t know the answer -she does- but trying to articulate it in English is an entirely different challenge. She frowns slightly, her mind racing.

“Um… it is…” She clears her throat, frustrated with herself. “Not just… talking, or… or yelling. It is… to show with, um…” She taps a finger against her knee. “How you are?”

“By example?”

She exhales in relief. “Yes. By example.”

She shakes her head, feeling the frustration building. She knows she’s not saying things the way she wants to. In Spanish, she could give a perfect answer -nuanced, thoughtful, meaningful. But here? She feels like she sounds like a child.

She pushes through the rest of the interview, nodding and forcing out short, simple answers. By the time it’s finally over, she’s barely holding back her annoyance.

The interviewer smiles, seemingly oblivious to Alexia’s internal agony. “Thank you so much for your time, Alexia.”

Alexia nods stiffly. “Yes. Thank you.”

As soon as the cameras cut, she exhales sharply, raking a hand through her hair.

She hates this feeling. She stands quickly, muttering something to herself as she storms off set.

-

You nod slowly. “And?”

She waves a hand in the air, exasperated. “And nada.”

“But you’re grumpy.”

“Porque no lo esperaba.”

You hum in understanding. Alexia likes her routines. She thrives on knowing exactly what to expect, and when something disrupts that -well. You’re witnessing the aftermath.

“I bet you did great,” you say.

Alexia gives you a flat look.

You laugh, bumping your shoulder against hers. “I’m serious.”

She exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. “Me trabé dos veces.”

You reach out, gently tugging on the sleeve of her jersey. “That’s not so bad.”

She scoffs. “Para ti, no.”

You squeeze her arm. “For everyone. No one expects you to be perfect, baby.”

Alexia doesn’t respond, but you can tell she’s still stewing over it.

You glance around, noting that most of the team is still tied up with their own media obligations. It’s the perfect opportunity to steal her away for a little bit.

“Come on,” you say, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the exit.

She resists at first. “¿A dónde vamos?”

“To fix your mood.”

She huffs, but she lets you drag her along anyway.

You find an empty corner outside, away from the cameras, away from the noise. The late afternoon sun is warm against your skin, and there’s a slight breeze that carries the scent of freshly cut grass.

Alexia leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, watching you warily. “¿Qué quieres hacer?”

You step closer, reaching up to brush your fingers along her jaw. “I want you to stop being mean to yourself.

Her lips press into a thin line.

You tilt your head, studying her. “You know what I think?”

She sighs. “¿Qué?”

“I think you’re the most incredible person I know. I think you’re brilliant at everything you do, including speaking English. And I think it’s really cute when you get flustered over small things.”

Her ears turn pink.

You smile, shifting your hand to the back of her neck. “Baby, it’s okay to mess up sometimes.”

She looks away. “No me gusta.”

“I know. But you have to be kinder to yourself.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, then finally, she exhales, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Lo intento.”

You grin, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a soft sound as you tuck her against you, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist, hands looped at the small of your back.

“There she is,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her neck as you cup the back of her head.

She buries her face in your shoulder. “Eres molesta.”

“You love me.”

She sighs dramatically. “Sí.”

You chuckle, swaying with her slightly.

After a beat, she pulls back just enough to look at you. “Me llevas a casa después de esto?”

You nod. “Of course.”

She kisses you, soft and slow, and just like that -her bad mood is forgotten.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

california gurls - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader's beach partying gets interrupted by the fbi... she finds a way to make it fun when she realizes a cute doctor is around and so is her jeep

genre: smut wc: 2133 warnings: early seasons spencer, subbish!spencer, he whimpers, reader wears a bikini, mentioned rapist and murderer, mentions of harassment, reader has been with asshole men, reader has a jeep, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is on birth control, brief nipple play a/n: based off california gurls by katy perry!!

California is absolutely a cliché. Sunkissed skin, bikinis, Daisy Dukes. The golden coast holds parties–like this one–scantily clad girls and slurring morons that look exactly how every other frat boy looks. Here you are, representing that very image. With your red bikini and sand-covered feet, you’re the epitome of a California girl.

In the corner of your eye are palm trees, under which are several tanning ladies. Boys are practically drooling, necks craned to get a peek. Speakers play pop that seems to move everyone–including you. Bodies splash in sparkling blue, hips rock to the rhythm. The music booms. That is until it comes to an abrupt stop.

You look over to see a group of men in sunglasses approaching, one of them evidently responsible for the music-murdering due to his apologetic shrug. He’s obviously not that sorry. Male voices seem offended by it.

The one that turned off the fun stands tall, a black man that–if you didn’t know any better–you’d say was from around here. Another is shorter and older. The one you find most interesting, however, is tall and scrawny, with hair curling around his ears and a permanent nervous smile. To be completely honest, it’s cute. If you could see beneath his sunglasses, you’re sure you’d find overwhelmed eyes bouncing between each tanned body.

The big one–the black one–lifts credentials from his belt.

“Listen, we’re with the FBI. There’s been a string of rapes and murders in the area and we have reason to believe that the UnSub has been here. He might even be one of you.”

Someone–you’re not sure who–raises a hand and asks, “UnSub?”

“Unknown Subject. Bad guy. Perp. You get the idea.” He takes off his eyewear and hooks it in his shirt. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. This here is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and,” he points to the cute one, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Dr. Spencer Reid awkwardly waves before crossing his arms, lips pressed in a tight line. You wonder what kind of doctor he is and if you should pretend to faint.

“We’ll be asking you questions one by one,” Rossi explains.

Quickly, without even a moment to think, you’re split into groups. One for each agent. To your absolute joy, you’re waiting your turn to get evaluated by the only one labeled doctor. You get closer and can hear the helpless way he asks his questions. With the girls, it’s awkward like he doesn’t know how to talk to girls wearing so little. With the guys, he seems to be keeping a distance. He analyses them–for good reason–but he also seems nervous because he knows the type. He knows the difference between them. To be more precise, he knows how they treat guys like him.

You’re the last in the long line.

When you get to Spencer, you’re pleased when his eyes flick over you before he swallows.

“Hey,” he starts with a tight grin, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” You tell him your name. He smiles that same awkward smile.

“Uh, right, so… the guy we’re looking for is socially skilled, arrogant, easily aggravated, and will most likely be bold with the way he talks to women, becoming hostile when turned down.”

It’s not in the least appropriate but, in-between gawking at him, you laugh. “Unfortunately, that sounds like every guy out here.”

His perfect brown eyebrows pull together. “Really?”

You nod. Now, up close, your eyes trace his figure, taking in the grey shirt, blue tie and the gun on his hip. It’s weirdly attractive. You wonder when you started being attracted to authority.

“I guess guys around here aren’t gentlemen,” you shrug.

“And girls actually date them?”

Something about the shock in his eyes and the scowl on his lips makes you swoon. “Guess so.”

“What about–uh–harassment? Is there any of that?” Spencer looks down at you.

Shrugging, you sigh, “sometimes. Usually just frat boys. Nothing extreme. Sometimes the gross ones might try too hard. We’ve all been there.”

His lips part and he nods at your answer. Surprisingly, those pretty brown eyes trickle down your body, mapping out each and every curve with a purpose, as if to memorize. The idea of him locking you away only to take back out when he’s alone turns you on more than you’d care to admit. It’s flattering to think you’re that interesting.

It could also be wishful thinking.

But that could be tested.

More specifically, that could be tested by one sentence. That sentence being, “do you want to go to my car? It’s cooler in there. You know?”

After what could only ever be described as a brain short-circuit, Spencer clears his throat and hums a squeaky, “yeah.”

A delighted smile forms on your face as you nod, taking a few steps back to your Jeep. You unlock it, opening the door and leaning over to put the key in the ignition. Spencer’s eyes fall on your ass in the tight, red fabric. You hear him clear his throat behind you before you straighten up. But he’s much closer to you than anticipated.

Chest-to-chest, you look up at him, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot not because of the sun. A rough swallow and then a quick glance to your breasts proves that maybe the attraction isn’t unrequited. He wets his lips and you’re sure you can’t hold back.

Inappropriately, sloppily, and with force, your lips crash together. You hold yourself up only with your hands on the back of his head. And it’s not like you expected any less with lips like his, but he’s an amazing kisser. It’s messy, sure, but it’s hot, your teeth clumsily clacking together every time your mouths open. Only, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as he wants to be.

“This isn’t–” he huffs into your mouth, hands finding your shoulders. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Although you know it’s true–he’s supposed to be questioning you not sticking his tongue down your throat–you really don’t care. “Why not?”

“I–I’m not here to–” He takes a frustrated breath. “I’m not here for this… reason.”

You almost wish he wasn’t so perfect but it kind of made it better. When your lips press against his this time, he moans and you’re right back where you started. You think he doesn’t really want to say no. He just knows he should.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and doe-like. Like a little girl capable of begging for a lollipop, you frown. “Please?”

A rough gulp. An exhale. A nod.

Lips reconnect and you’re soon enough in the front seat, on his lap, fingers curling in his gelled hair and cheeks bright red. The door haphazardly shut, you hold onto the handle for balance. Your hips start moving in circles as his tongue dives into your mouth. The prettiest whine falls from him as his hands finally move to your bare waist. One of those hands drift down to the string of your bottoms.

He breaks the kiss and his sickeningly deer-like eyes find yours. “C–Can I?” Spencer mutters carefully. His eyes shine, sparkles of lust floating over the hazel.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily. Bobbing your head, you lean back as little as you can while still giving him room. But, what you weren’t expecting was him not taking off the fabric. Instead of untying the string and letting it fall down to show off your already wet center, he slides the inadequate polyester to the side, revealing your core.

The way his steady–but honestly heavy–breathing hitches and turns whiny makes you clench. Like handling the finest porcelain, his index and middle finger drag between your folds before reaching a settlement on your ready clit.

A long, pleased sigh leaves you as your hips resume their messy pattern of rocking. He can’t choose between watching you slide across his fingers or your lips part in ecstasy. The feeling of him touching you is heaven but you want something else. At this very moment, you’d crawl, bare, to the ends of the earth for him to please you the way you want.

Oddly steady fingers find his belt. The clanging it makes flips your stomach. You pull his pants down just enough to reach into his purple boxers. A whimper slips out of his mouth as you take him out.

He’s big, pale and pink at the tip. Thin but the perfect length, however. His nails dig into your waist.

You press your forehead against his and slide your hand up and down his length. “I don’t have–uh–any condoms in here but I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

Spencer’s lips part, an uneven whimper leaving them. “I’m clean, too.”

You release him and position yourself. The tip of his cock brushes through you before you set him at your entrance. His grip on your waist never lets up as you start to lower.

An embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you. You take him to the hilt. Inch by inch until he’s reaching so deep you can’t think. To hide how disgustingly far you’re being stretched, your mouth meets his messily. He takes in your bottom lip and devours it. It’s when you can’t stop yourself that you pull back and put your heads together.

You lift yourself up until only the last inch of him is still inside. You’re sure you’ll have perfect indents left on your skin from his fingernails. You slam your hips back down quicker than you should.

His panicked voice rings high-pitched in the hot car, “i–it’s been a while, I might not last–”

Part of you is glad because you know you won’t either. “That’s okay. That’s–that’s really okay,” you pant.

You revel in the way he whimpers with each movement of your hips. You revel in how pink his cheeks are and the way his eyes can’t stay off your chest no matter how hard they try. You revel even more in how wide they go when you pull the string of your top and let it fall. One of his hands you take, bringing it up. He rolls the sensitive flesh between his fingers as you start a rhythm.

You’re unrelenting, body moving quick because you can’t get enough of how good it feels to have him so deep. It’s bad for you to be feeling him twitch inside you. It makes you lightheaded.

Spencer’s neediness comes in the form of him thrusting up to meet you every time. With one rough thrust, his cock hits your innermost point forcefully and you whine, bringing his lips back to yours. Tongues sloppily collide with no grace. Moans are exchanged while you roll your hips back and forth. In a momentary rush of confidence, his hands move to your hips.

And then your ass.

He’s uncertain why he would do such a thing because now he’s fighting back his orgasm, his length throbbing against your cervix.

Luckily, you’re in the same place. Your walls flutter each time he brushes your sweet spot. Each time he mutters an expletive.

It seems he’s the one to break first, however.

“I don’t think I can–”

You mumble breathlessly, “me, neither, it’s okay.”

Sweat runs down your chest as you pant out desperate moans with each intake of needed oxygen. That knot builds in your gut–a feeling that’s rarely due to a man. You suppose he’s a separate being than the regular assholes around. When his fingers find your clit again, you’re sure. Spencer’s whimpering turns into heavy exhales and you take that as your cue to swiftly tell him not to pull out.

Droopy eyes meet his before you firmly mutter, “inside.”

He sighs shakily and nods.

A few more times of his cock hitting your cervix has both of your orgasms hurtling towards you. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder. His hips slam into yours and you’re coming instantly. Your walls clench around him, triggering his own release effortlessly. His cum drips down your thighs, creating a sure mess.

Words–swears–that make no sense fall from your swollen and parted lips.

“Oh, my God,” Spencer whispers–mostly to himself.

Eyes blown wide and legs cramping, you concur with a soft, “yeah.”

Hesitantly and with great despair, he mutters, “I should really get back to my team…” What follows is a guilty gulp.

You nod and maneuver yourself off of him. You ignore the irritating sensation of the emptiness after being so full. The only thing wrong is that, in moving, you accidentally honk the horn with your ass. Twice.

Half mortified and half amused, you giggle. Your cheeks flush red.

You believe it’s appropriate to assume that his team definitely knows what–or rather who–he spent his paid time doing.

[moonstruckme]

my queen of comfort 🙇🏻‍♀️

can i pls request a marauders with reader who has seasonal depression and it gets bad especially during the winters??? thank u 🫶

Thanks for being patient with me lovely <3

cw: depression, no harmful thoughts but general apathy and lethargy

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 995 words

It’s warm in your bed. Almost too warm. The backs of your knees and the place where your arm is folded against your side feel uncomfortably heated. But Sirius kisses the back of your neck when he wakes, and you wouldn’t move for anything. 

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market today,” he says, voice sticky with sleep.

You look out the crack in the curtains covering your bedroom window. “It’s so cold out, though.” 

“So we’ll bundle up. You can put your hands in my pockets if you don’t feel like wearing your gloves.” His nose bumps your nape as he kisses you again. “It’ll be very romantic. The woman who sells the apple tarts said she’d be back this week, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m okay.” 

“You won’t let me get my girl a sweet? I thought you really liked those.” 

“I do, just.” Just. It feels like it’s all you say lately, like all you do is make excuses. Just, just, just. “It doesn’t seem worth it. It’s really gross outside.” 

Sirius’ arm comes around your waist. He doesn’t contradict you. It’s dreary and gray out your window, drizzling rain that bites like ice when it lands on your skin. You’d rather lose track of the day lying here with him, let it slip through your fingers and not think very hard about what it means that you have. Sirius’ fingers playing with yours make this all the more appealing. 

“What if we went to the cinema?” he asks. “That comedy film is showing this weekend.” 

“Didn’t James want to see that one?” 

“Think so, yeah.” 

“You should take him.” 

“I don’t want to take James.” Your joined hands press to your hip, a gentle request for you to turn around. But you don’t want to look at him, and Sirius doesn’t make you. He squeezes your fingers instead. “I want to take you.” 

That’s the important bit. Sirius doesn’t care about the farmer’s market, or even really about the film. You know he only wants you to get up, to go anywhere and do anything at all, and you feel like shit for resisting him. You shouldn’t, either. You know how sadness can sink its talons in the longer it holds you. 

“I’m sorry. Yeah, let’s go.” 

“Don’t be sorry, lovely girl,” he chides fondly. “We don’t have to go if you won’t enjoy it. What do you want to do?” 

You try to muster something for him, you really do, but after a handful of hapless moments you can only be honest. 

“I don’t think I want anything.” 

“That’s okay.” Sirius drops a kiss on your shoulder. “Hey, could you look at me? Please?” 

You roll over, miserable and made more miserable by the aching tenderness in your boyfriend’s expression. This new spot on the bed is colder than where you’d been, but Sirius’ knee bumps against yours, his palm slipping beneath your head on the pillow. He doesn’t hesitate to touch you. Doesn't treat you like you’re breakable or wrong or contagious. His hand flattens under your cheek and warms your skin like he can bleed goodness into you. 

“It’s okay,” he says again, softly. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sirius tsks. “Now what for?” 

“Making things so hard,” you murmur. You’re trying not to disturb his palm with your mouth movements. 

“Sweetheart, nothing’s hard when I’m with you. I just want to be with you. We can just sit here and talk all day if you want.” 

“I don’t think I’m very nice to talk to right now.” 

“What does that matter? I know I’m awful to talk to half the time. We can be morbid bellyachers together.” 

With some effort, you lift one corner of your mouth. Sirius kisses it rewardingly. 

“You are a delight to talk to, by the way. Always.” 

“A delight?” you whisper. 

“Mhm.” 

There’s a piece of his hair that’s arching over his face, all sprightly and mussed about by the pillowcase. You’re close enough that it moves when you breathe. You blow, and it tickles Sirius’ nose. He smiles. 

“I don’t think I want to talk,” you admit. 

“That’s okay.” 

“I know I’m not fun to be around right now. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make everything miserable.” You look at the dip of his cupid’s bow rather than his eyes. “I love you.” 

It feels important to say. Even when you’re dropping it in his lap awkwardly, like a plea. 

Sirius tilts his head until his eyes meet yours. Dark lashes and silver pools, like moonlight glancing off water. “I love you,” he says, so sincere it burns. “I have another idea.” 

You hum. 

“We watch a film here instead. Or a show, whatever. But first, you tell me how to make french toast so we can have some for breakfast.” 

“You don’t want me to make it?” You don’t want to, but you’d try for him. 

“I want to do something for you.” He kisses you, soft and sweet. He tastes like sleep. “But you’re allowed to help if you like.” 

Allowed amuses you, though you don’t smile. Sirius’ eyes glint like he can tell just the same. 

“You do lots of things for me,” you say. 

“Good. I’d like to continue adding to the tally; it’s how I keep my edge.” 

You look at Sirius, thinking of how much you must love him for it to ache this deeply. Thinking of how he loves you, and how unfair it seems. He keeps doing it even when you give him every reason not to. 

Sirius can tell you’ve slipped away. He strokes his thumb over your cheek. “So, what do you say, gorgeous?” 

You don’t really want to eat french toast. You think you’d swallow battery acid if he made it for you, though. “It sounds nice.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay, let’s go then, yeah? I’m starving.” 

You give Sirius your hands when he reaches for them, and you let him pull you up.

[emiqip]

apocalyptic ponyo au!! ft. shockweaves little menaces. @keferon

One week had passed since Skids saw the ocean swallow their city whole. 

It happened during one of those lazy days in the Dead End: with the cold season drawing near, few people roamed the dirty narrow alleys, more preoccupied scavenging for a place to settle down and spend the winter. He and his sort-of-not-really-adopted bunch of siblings had the luck to find an old gazebo made of sheets of rusted metal, basically a five star abode especially when your main concerns where a) not getting pissed on by the sky and b) find an actual place able to hold ten scruffy kids.

And even with nothing, life was good- or as good as it can get. Not having to fend and fight on the streets for yourself, having someone to bicker and argue with for the stupidest little things but still knowing everyone will have your back until the very end. The nights spent huddled together for warmth while Thundercracker, being the only one who knew how to read, dramatically re-enacting the scenes from a fairy-tale book and when storms so loud the walls of their shelter shook hit the city, you could pick out the soft humming of Damus, lulling the younger kids back to sleep. 

Yeah, life wasn't anywhere near perfect but it was enough.

But now...

The partially sunken landscape could suck all hope from one's soul. The once lively and bustling city was now a wet husk of rubble and toppled buildings. Abandoned vehicles and all sorts of trash floated on the surface, littering the water for miles. He was honestly impressed at how fast it all went down- them barely making it out only thanks to their shitty shelter, that served as a make-shift raft until they eventually reached a patch of dry concrete.

They've been walking for a few hours now, trudging between shallow water and debris, never daring to test their luck and trying to swim- they all got a taste of what lurked in the deepest parts during their little trip on their rackety raft and came to a general consensus to give those areas a very wide berth and not risk their lives more than they were already.

With a last distrustful look aimed at the water, he re-adjusted the heavy weight of the shotgun strapped on his right shoulder and walked away from shore, joining the others at their new alcove. 

 \\\

Finding a place to truly call their main base of operation was surprisingly easy- the mess of destroyed and eroded buildings that titanic wave left behind made for a pretty cushy place if you ignored the smell of seaweed and moist drywall. 

They were separated from the main patch of dry land and the chance of encountering any survivors was nearly slim to none- not that he was complaining or anything, less the possibility of meeting any hostile adults and being stripped of what little resources they had. From the wrecked remains of the city they managed to find quite a few useful things, but sadly not enough for ten kids. The food was especially low, the only way was fishing and catching it themselves but they had already established it as a big fat No. 

As the evening was slowly closing in, everyone was working to start their nightly routine. The oldest kids were in charge of the fire, which usually entailed watching TC read the partially wet copy of "Little Survivalist" to a very much not interested Trailbreaker and Windcharger. At the mouth of their shelter Soundwave was meticulously arranging their sleeping mats, while Skywarp sorted their blankets. Skids was chosen to stand guard today and soon after Damus would join him to keep watch on the others while they slept. 

Main while Bluestreak and the twins where- uhm. Where were they actually?

"Yo, 'Warp! Have you seen the little goblins?" Skids approached the teen, still intent in choosing the softest blanket for himself- aft. 

"Ah-what? Uhh, i think they wanted to explore the area but it wasn't my turn babysitting them so..." The other shrugged, returning to his task. 

"I swear if they come back with another mutated crab I'm going to lose it." 

"Naaw, everyone loved Bob, why do you have to be such a grump?"

"Well, if 'Bob' had the courtesy to try and not pinch me while I was slee-" 

A shrill scream broke their conversation. 

In a second all of them were at their feet or reaching for their nearest weapon as they watched the small shapes of the twins quickly getting closer. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were sprinting towards them at full speed, and when they arrived they almost toppled Skids over, while still screaming and shouting frenetically. 

Witnessing this, Damus came swiftly forward to try and assess the situation. 

"C'mon guys, deep breaths- what's going on?" The oldest tried to sooth. 

"BLUE IS DEAD! THAT THING GOT HIM AND IT'S MY FAULT" Sideswipe screeched snatching both of Damus sleeves like a lifeline. 

"Whoa- hey 'Sides-" 

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD! But me and Sunny wanted to take a closer look- But turns out it was napping! And we tried to run but Blue fell and he hurt himself and that thing sNATCH HIM UP!! HE'S DEAD AND- AND IT'S MY FAULT!!"

After that the thirteen year old broke into a storm of unconsolable blubbering sobs- they all looked at each other in the eyes: 'Sides and Sunny were known for two things, being unsufferable little shits and that they never cried. Even when sad or scared they were used to put on their brave faces and endure like how they were taught. 

So a crying or upset twin meant trouble. 

Damus, understanding this quickly shifted his behavior and started barking orders to the others: he, Trailbreaker and Skids would go and find Blue the rest were to remain at the shelter and prepare in case they needed to flee as fast as possible. 

With that they braced their weapons and ran into the direction the twins came. 

\\\

He felt his heart beating in his throat as they ran towards whatever had attacked the youngest children. He couldn't help but picture small innocent Blue, laying on the shore motionless, a pool of blood beneath him- NO! Blue was okay! He had to be! And they were going to make sure of that. No one was keeping him from getting his littlest brother to safety. 

When they reached the shore, the smell of blood didn't greet them like they were all secretly dreading- but something else did. 

Something much, much worse. 

Bluestreak had always been a talkative little bugger- one of his siblings would sometimes even catch him talking to himself or inanimate objects when none of them were around. He always held conversations all by himself, jumping from topic to topic without catching a breath. 

However Blue wasn't really the type of kid to talk to strangers without getting shy and ducking behind one of the others for safety. 

Apparently, following little Blue logic- GIANT FISHMEN don't count as strangers.

"...and so I thought it would be cool, you know? but then 'Sides told me that I would get worms but I don't mind worms! They can be cute if you aren't a little baby who gets scared of everything and TC reads to me a lot so I know I won't get worms but I'm still very careful you never know..." The young boy happily ranted away as he sat snugly under the fish- man? argh! The mermaids giant flippers. 

The huge being wasn't bother at all by the little morsel chatting away at him- on the contrary, it looked fond of Blue as he let the kid talk. Skids almost pulled the trigger as he looked as the fishman slightly moved his massive head to nuzzle Blue in a show of complete affection. (if Skids strained his ears he could almost hear the soft vibrations the giant fish was producing) 

Only then, as he was giggling like mad, did Bluestreak notice them as he lifted his left hand and waved frantically at them. 

"HI GUYS!! LOOK WHO I FOUND!! SAY HI TO SIR. PANCAKE!!" 

He felt Trailbraker sagging beside him as his weapon almost slipped from his grip. 

"...what the actual fuck."

///

pt.2 :P

[rainydayathogwarts]

hey! first want to say congrats on 3k i love your fics sm and you deserve it!! 🫶🏽

so i saw your 3k celebration could i please request Harry Potter x Fem!Reader. is it okay if i choose two seasons? 😭

autumn x spring tysm! there are so little for Harry so js want to say ty again

More than anything - harry potter

summary: keeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriend wc: 1.1k+ i'm sorry, this turned out angsty too. i didn't mean it, it just happened.

Harry Potter was not the man you expected to be romantically involved in, but it was difficult not to be when he was so attractive and would not stop shooting you these gorgeous smiles from across the room. This romantic involvement though? Difficult when your parents are on the same team as the man who wants him dead. “Stop being so obvious.” Pansy hissed in your ear, sending a sharp kick to your leg under the table. You yelped, eyes going wide and you instantly dropped the smile from your face, looking back down at your food. Pansy was right. There were moles everywhere, and if any of them realised that you were dating the boy who lived, you were fucked.

You glanced up once more, eyes meeting Harry’s, and you watched as he stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on you before walking out of the great hall. “What’s going on with the pair of you?” Asked Draco, sat directly facing you. Both you and Pansy went silent, noticing how he, Theo, and Mattheo stared straight at you. You glanced at each other, and you swallowed a mouthful of food before turning your attention back to the three boys. “I have a crush on this Hufflepuff guy.” You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, watching the three boys twist their torsos in unison to get a good look at the Hufflepuff table. “Which one?” Theo asked, craning his neck. “Yeah, they’re all ugly.” Added Mattheo.

You huffed, and took that as a perfect time to exit, with one last comment “You boys are mean.” As you walked away, you saw Mattheo throw his hands up in surrender. “Well, she must really like him.” You sped up your pace, taking the first staircase up as you made your way to the astronomy tower.

“Took you a while.” Commented Harry, a smile on his face when he finally laid his eyes on you. You panted, falling into his open arms for a hug. “I had to tell the boys I like a Hufflepuff kid because I — oh these fucking stairs — I was being too obvious.” Your arms snaked around Harry’s torso, and you felt his chest move as he chuckled. “At least you have Pansy to keep you in check. I felt that kick from where I was sitting.” You laughed whole-heartedly, looking up at Harry with a smile on your face. Harry leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. When you broke the kiss, Harry noticed the sad look in your eyes. He sighed, moving one hand to rest on your cheek lovingly. “It’s a shame things just keep getting harder every year.”

Harry smiled sadly, pulling you back into the hug. You were right. When you had first formed your friendship in fourth year, things weren’t too bad. You could sit together in the library, studying with him and his friends. People shot you the occasional look, but none of your friends ever said anything about the friendship you'd formed with the golden trio. Political ties hadn’t been formed yet. In fifth year, you joined Dumbledore’s army. Sneaking around give you a thrill, and at least you could share you secrets with Pansy. Harry would often come to your dorm using his invisibility cloak, and he’d spend the night with you, whispering loving words to each other and gossiping with your best friend, who endlessly made fun of you but secretly admired your loving relationship.

But after the battle at the ministry? You couldn’t risk anything. When the death eaters made their presence known, you had run away, hiding behind thick rows of prophecy orbs and firing a curse that had hit your own father in the face, freeing Hermione from his violent grip. Unfortunately, that had attracted attention from the death eaters, and you had to run before you father could find out where your loyalties rested.

That night was the first night you and Harry realised the war would make your relationship harder than you thought. Many nights like those followed, including this one.

“Come sit down with me.” Harry mumbled, tugging you towards the edge of the tower. You both sat down, swinging your legs over the edge. You leaned your head on Harry’s shoulder, and thought out loud. “Do you think things will be different after the war?” Harry’s laugh surprised you, but he quickly explained himself. “Love, the second I kill that noseless freak I am finding you and kissing you no matter who is watching. Anyone who has a problem with us can fuck off.” You smiled, your eyes tearing up with guilt.

“I wish I could help.” Harry swung his legs up so he could shift to face you, and you mimicked his movements, now sitting face to face. “You have been helping. Remember when you taught everyone that wicked curse in the DA last year?” You laughed at Harry’s poor attempt to cheer you up, wiping at your cheeks when teardrops rolled down your face. “And don’t you remember how you sent Professor McGonagall an owl over the summer, telling her about everything Voldemort was saying in meetings? Who else could have done that?” You shrugged your shoulders, still feeling useless. “That could have gotten you killed.” You raised your gaze to meet Harry’s, and the boy mimicked your earlier movements, catching your tears with his thumb before softly kissing you.

“And when the war is over, we’ll buy a house at Godric’s Hollow. You’ll become a healer and I’ll be an auror, and if I ever come home hurt, you’ll take care of me.”

“I’ll take care of you whether you’re hurt or not, Harry James Potter.” Harry smiled at your words, grasping both your hands.

“But then we’ll take a a couple years off work because you’ll be pregnant and I can’t miss a second of our baby’s first year. And then we’ll have a couple more kids, and obviously I’l have to be there for them too.”

You laughed, “What, you think we’ll get by without working for the rest of our lives?” Harry shrugged. “I’m Harry Potter. I killed Voldemort. I can do anything I want.” You grabbed the front of Harry’s jumper, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. This time you didn’t pull away for a while, letting Harry keep you close to him by the hand on the back of your head. You felt Harry’s smile against your lips, and you giggled, pushing your boyfriend away from you by the chest. You didn’t stay apart too long though because you were on your knees in an instant, moving closer to him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. Harry uncrossed his legs, letting you straddle his lap, his hands on your hips. He swallowed thickly, feeling your lips hovering over his. “You’re confident we’ll win against them?”

“More than anything.”

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader having crushes on each other for 10 minutes

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

super cute idea based on a request and taking place before drew and y/n became a couple

when they were dancing behind the scenes…

The country club set was done up for Midsummer, the OBX cast scattered about in their finest attire for the elegant event. Between takes, Madelyn and Madison filmed a video touring around the set.

“We have this super nice bottle of champagne…” Madison said as Madelyn filmed her picking up a large and expensive bottle of alcohol. Madison jokingly raised it to her lips before sitting it back down on the table, Madelyn and her continuing their tour. As they stepped off the patio, they ended up in the middle of the dancefloor. There was no real music playing, extras chatting in their little groups, but two people in particular didn’t seem to care about the lack of music: y/n and Drew.

In the middle of all the actors, the two of them were spinning around and laughing. Drew grasped onto y/n’s waist with one hand, holding her hand lightly in the other as they sang some song they’d been listening to all morning,

“And this is the dancefloor, where y/n and Drew are… I think they’re dancing— I’m not really sure.” Madelyn said, furrowing her brow as Madelyn zoomed the camera in further with a giggle. Drew and y/n broke apart, breaking into the robot together and laughing until they gasped for air. The two of them collapsed into each other, grasping onto each other's arms in an attempt to keep their laughing forms upright.

when they answered interview questions like this…

The two of them sat on Zoom in opposite rooms of their shared apartments. Following the success of Outer Banks season one, countless outlets were vying to interview the young cast that was quickly rising to fame.

“So, out of everyone in the cast, who would you want to be stranded on a boat with?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, y/n.” Drew said quickly, barely taking even a minute to think about it. Y/n’s eyes widened, trying her best to hide the flustered expression on her face.

“Yeah, I would pick y/n because she’s funny and resourceful. The two most important things when it comes to surviving.” Drew said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on y/n’s video on his screen. He smiled gently, causing y/n to smile as well.

“I think I would pick Drew.” Y/n grinned. “He’s a good fisherman and he just seems like he knows how to survive in the middle of the ocean.”

At y/n’s response, Drew’s smile grew impossibly larger, a blushed pink rising to his cheeks.

when the cast teased drew…

Chase and Austin lounged on the couch in their apartment, watching as the comments on the live stream flew past.

“‘Where is Drew’?” Austin read. “That’s the question, guys, he said he was gonna be here 15 minutes ago.”

“He’s probably busy talking to y/n.” Chase muttered, causing Austin to try his best to stifle his laugh just as Drew walked in the front door.

“There he is! Starkey, the people have been waiting for you for ages!” Austin said, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he angled the camera towards Drew. He quickly kicked off his shoes before crossing the room.

“Sorry, sorry, I had to pick something up for y/n.” Drew said, stepping over the back of the couch before wedging himself between Austin and Chase. The two men leaned around Drew, catching each other's eyes with a cock of their eyebrows, casting knowing glances just in front of the oblivious Drew.

when the cast teased y/n…

“You guys have quite the hot cast, both in terms of popularity and in the looks department.” The interviewer said, raising her brows as the OBX girls broke into giggles over the video call. “What’s it like being surrounded by hot people every day?”

“It’s great, I mean… look at everyone. Definitely easy on the eyes.” Madelyn said, gesturing to the computer as Madison and y/n laughed again.

“With that being said, there’s gotta be some crushes amongst the cast, right?” The interviewer continued further. Y/n could feel her cheeks warm up, blinking quickly as she tried to focus on the totally fun and lighthearted question and not a question that nearly made her heart skip.

“We have our theories…” Madison nodded, biting back a smile.

“Oh yeah we definitely have theories.” Madison doubled down, giggling to herself. Y/n furrowed her brows slightly, trying her best to remember what “theory” the two of them were exactly referring to.

“We have theories?” Y/n asked, eyeing the camera suspiciously as Madison and Madelyn simply laughed in response.

“Well Madison and I think someone has a crush on you,” Madelyn teased. “But that’s for us to know and you to find out.”

when y/n made a cake for drew’s birthday…

The entire OBX cast sat around y/n and Drew’s kitchen table, freshly moved into their new apartment together. Drew sat at the head, a cheesy blue party hat resting atop his mop of hair. The talking that was filling the room quickly died down before breaking out into song as y/n stepped into frame.

In her hands sat a cake smeared in white and green frosting, topped with a dash of sprinkles and flickering candles. Their friends continued to sing around them, the words to “Happy Birthday” falling on deaf ears as Drew watched y/n walk towards him. His attention graced the cake for only a second before they focused on y/n, a concentrated expression on her face as she carefully carried the cake towards him. The flames of the candle cast beautiful shadows on her skin, highlighting each curve of her face.

Once she finally sat the cake down in front of Drew, her eyes flicked up to look at him. She hadn’t been expecting to meet Drew’s eyes, and let out a slight gasp before her lips fell into a wide grin. As the last notes of “Happy Birthday” played out, the cast burst into applause and hollers. Drew turned to his cake, blowing out the candles before turning his attention immediately back to y/n.

“Happy Birthday, Drew.” Y/n said quietly, patting his shoulder gently. Drew smiled up at her, a wide cheesy grin making its way across his face.

tagged: @slaylorrsliftt

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Seasons of the Year

Autumn is the nerdy girl in your book club. Pigtails, pleated skirts, too thick glasses. Whenever she's forced to speak up in class, she almost always stutters. Getting softer with each word until the teacher finally has mercy on her and let's her trail off. She has few friends, mostly other slightly dorky kids who band together because otherwise they'd all be stuck eating alone. You don't really notice her at first.

But then you read Jane Eyre and for once she isn't shy at all. She tells your whole book club all about the symbolism, the themes, how she doesn't fully consider it a gothic novel but that it definitely has gothic elements. Her cheeks are just a little flushed, her hands darting around when she talks. She's pretty, you realise slowly. When she isn't folded over herself or scurrying through the hall like she doesn't want to be caught.

Afterwards, you strike up a conversation with her. She's all shy again, not really meeting your eyes.

"My dad's got a whole collection of classics. Special edition prints, with these hand painted edges," you tell her. "Why don't you stop by and you can borrow some?"

She narrows her eyes at you like she thinks you're making fun of her. "Maybe. If I have time."

She doesn't drop by. When you see her in the halls after that, you always stop to greet her. But she looks so uncomfortable that you never get to have a conversation. Always running off with her head bent so far down that you wonder how she sees anything past the tips of her shoes.

After a few weeks of half finished sentences and always keeping her books clutched to her chest, you're about ready to give up. To take the hint that she doesn't want to be your friend.

But then... she starts seeking you out. Tentative at first. Waiting outside your class and only saying hello if you're alone. Changing her route so that it takes her past your locker. Sitting just a little closer to you at lunch, almost always two tables away so you're in her line of sight.

Maybe she realises you aren't setting up some elaborate prank by talking to her. Your hurried hellos become actual conversations. She starts walking you to class every morning. When you again invite her over to borrow some books, she actually shows up.

Standing on your doorstep with the trees flaring yellow and orange behind her, her hair pushed out of her face with a red Alice band.

"Hi."

You lead her up to your room and she perches on the edge of your bed like she's scared to touch it. Scared to be in your space.

You were in the middle of sorting through your makeup before she showed up and now you look over at her with a twinkle in your eye.

"Will you let me do your makeup? Please?"

Her eyes go all wide behind her glasses. "Uh I don't know...I don't really wear that stuff..."

You sit in front of her, your kit spread on your lap. "Come on! You'll look so good. You've got such a great bone structure, it's practically a crime to not try some bronzer."

"I guess..."

You carefully reach up and take off her glasses. She flinches. "Shh, relax. It doesn't hurt."

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with your finger. When you smooth primer over her skin, she subconsciously tilts her face into your palm.

"That feels nice..."

Her eye makeup is the trickiest part. She flinches every time you bring the eyeliner even close to her. Eventually, you slip your free hand around the nape of her neck. She freezes just long enough for you to add some wings. Her ears turn a bright red and she ducks away from you, stuttering.

"Ah sorry. Were my hands too cold?"

"N-no. No, your hands are...perfect."

You end up so close to her face that when she finally opens her eyes after mascara and lashes, she gasps. You run your thumb across her cheekbone to clear away a little spilled eye shadow.

"All done."

Even after you step away, it's takes her a few seconds to move.

"Do you like it?"

"I look so different."

You stand behind her in front of the mirror and rest your chin on her shoulder. "That's the magic of makeup! It's a good different. And besides, we're matching."

"Oh." She touches her fingers to her lips and looks down at the lipstick smeared on her fingertips. "I didn't notice. I...I really like it."

You pull away and grin at her. "Aren't you glad you let me do it?"

"Yeah," she says, still staring at her fingers. "Really glad."

When your lipstick and then your lip balm go missing, you don't even notice. What was it the kids used to say back in elementary? That if your lips touch where someone else's did, it counts as a kiss?

Autumn walks home through the falling leaves and wonders if you realise you're her first kiss.

Winter is the student council president. Confident, clever, a guy everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Oh, but he's cold too. Doesn't have any real friends, only achievements. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. But being respected and being liked are not at all the same thing.

You wonder if he ever gets lonely. You walk past the student council office during lunch one day and see him at his computer, a half eaten apple forgotten at his elbow. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. He's on the fast track to an ivy league and a career in finance. In a few years, he's going to be richer than you could ever hope to be. He takes home every performance award in every subject.

You shouldn't feel sorry for him. But you do.

"Hey, you got a minute?" You lightly rap on the doorframe and he turns to face you, not at all ruffled by your sudden appearance.

"Sure. You're y/n, right? I think we had algebra together a few years ago."

"Yep. Before you started taking AP classes and leaving all us peasants in the dust."

You're not surprised he knows you, despite never being introduced or even having a conversation before.

You grin at him. "Is an apple really the only lunch you're having? You've got to keep your energy up if you want to protect your title as smartest guy in school."

He frowns at his apple. The parts he's bitten are already starting to brown.

"I'm not that hungry."

You lean in the door frame and cross your arms. "I'm supposed to let our student present starve? If I let that happen, who's going to be around to defend our debate title? Stand up to the tyranny of the chess club?"

He scoffs and uses the tip of his pen to nudge the apple into the waste paper basket.

"Come eat lunch with me. I've been wanting to join some clubs and you can tell me what looks best on a college application. You can call it community service if you want," you offer.

That gets you a slightly raised brow. The most expressive you've seen him yet.

"What are they even offering today? I don't really stop at the cafeteria."

"Oh, you're in luck," you say. "Mashed potatoes and gravy. And it's only slightly congealed this time."

"Yum." Still, he stands up to follow you. He's much taller than you realised, and when he picks up his backpack his muscles flex in a way that tells you he isn't afraid of hitting the gym. Again, unsurprising. Except for his lunch, he seems the type to have his life in perfect balance.

When you finally sit down in the cafeteria, it isn't long before the other kids notice him. You're scarcely two bites into your lunch when the student magazine editor starts asking him about the budget for next semester. When that's settled, the chess team are next in line to complain about the state of their boards and to ask pretty please for some new pieces. It's only when the bell rings that they finally leave him alone. His lunch sits untouched in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shrugs and shoots you a half smile. "Thanks anyway. This was...nice."

It's only when he's gone that you start to wonder if anyone else has ever seen him smile.

You start taking him lunch in the office a few days a week. Mostly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Not exactly the pinnacle of good eating, but anything is better than nothing, right?

You always end up on his desk, ankles crossed while he reclines in his computer chair, chin tilted up slightly to meet your eyes. It's casual, easy. He's funny, in a deadpan kind of way. You end up learning a ton about college admissions, about extra credit, about Ivy League rankings.

When applications open, he's the first person you go to when you need help. Eventually, he just sighs and plucks your half finished essay from your backpack.

"Just let me handle it, jeez."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you!" You stand on your toes and pull him into a hug. "You have no idea how stressed I've been."

He freezes. And then slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

" 'Course," he mutters into the crown of your head. "I'd be happy to."

The thing about Winter as a season is that it can be so insidiously misleading. You assume the greatest danger is the ice, the cold. You don't realise that most deaths are from broken gas lines, from excess alcohol, from persistent coughs. You prepare yourself for all the wrong dangers.

You assume that if Winter wants something, he'll pursue it outright. You don't notice that your college applications are only being sent to places he's applied to as well. You don't notice the way he sneaks your name into the records for the debate team, the chess club, volunteering hours - a blatant forgery just so you have a better chance of being accepted at the institutions where he wants you.

You don't notice the way he always comes up to you when other guys are talking to you, dragging you away with a tight smile and an excuse about scheduling issues or needing your help with the budget.

You don't notice him falling for you until it's far, far too late.

Spring is the ultra cool, earthy girl in your art class. Always sporting a full afro or long goddess braids. Effortlessly chic, with gold jewellery in her hair no matter how busy school seems to get.

She moves through everything at her own pace. Not part of a clique but never alone either.

You've always known each other a little. Had a few classes together over the years, shared lunch once or twice. But life is hectic and your paths don't always cross as much as you'd like. So when you end up in art class hoping for extra credits, you're more than a little glad to see her.

She's talented. Her portfolio has art schools all across the country drooling, practically on their knees to offer her a full ride.

It would be easy to get jealous, and you have no doubt that more than a few of your classmates are. But you? You're just glad to see talent being appreciated.

It's a beautiful spring day when she comes up behind you and offers to give you some private lessons. Your hands are covered in charcoal, there's streaks of black on your cheeks and despite your efforts, your canvas is an unartistic mess.

You smile at her like she's heaven sent.

"Would you really? I know art is subjective and all, but I'm afraid everyone thinks I'm objectively bad."

She tilts your head at your canvas, beads in her braids clinking.

"Not as bad you think. I can see what you're trying to do. You just don't have enough technique yet."

When you meet her after school, the classroom is gold and hazy with the late afternoon sun. She makes you sit at her easel and leans on the back of your chair.

"Draw some perspective lines for me."

You try to, but by the third line her hands are already coming up to guide yours.

"No. Always try and stick to your vanishing point. Like this."

Her voice is low in your ear and you can smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery that makes you want to bury your face in her hair.

"See?"

"Mm-hmm. Easier when it's so direct."

"Good."

She stays right by your chair for the rest of the lesson, occasionally leaning down to adjust your grip. When the day is done, your hair smells like her perfume and your fingers ache from work well done.

She doesn't seem like the type to have a boyfriend. Maybe you're being unfair, but you just can't see it. She's so nonchalant, so very much herself, that the antics of teenage boys seem so very beneath her. She must like someone though, because a few weeks after she starts tutoring you, you get a glimpse of her latest piece. A sketch of her leaning down to kiss someone, their face obscured by the fall of her hair.

If it were anyone else, you would tease them relentlessly about it. Who do you got a crush on so bad that you want to draw them?

Not her though. You respect her art too much to make light of it like that. And when her portfolio starts filling up with love poems, with tributes, with re-interpretations of Le Printemps and Le Sommeil... Well, you pretend not to notice.

It's only at the very end of the year that you start to really wonder who it's all about. When you finish your final piece - the best canvas to date, the one you and her poured hours of work into - she leans down and presses her lips against your signature. It leaves behind a lipstick print in a deep, gorgeous red. Somehow brings the whole piece together.

"I love it," you tell her, eyes on your art.

"So do I," she says, eyes on you.

Summer is the tanned, laughing jock who's always filling up the hall with his voice. Friendly, likeable. Just about everyone has a crush on him.

Not a bully, though he has the size and strength for it. Helpful, in his big, well meaning way.

His future is clear for everyone to see. Working in his dad's construction company until its time to take over, marrying a girl just as pretty and golden as him, becoming the kind of father that other kids look at and long for. It's a good life. It suits him. Days filled with sunshine and love and laughter. He deserves it.

So when he asks you to tutor him, you assume he doesn't want anything more than a better grade. Books and calculators spread out on the bleachers after practice, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air, summer sun warm and gold over the football field. If you were more his type, you'd call it romantic.

As it is, you just appreciate the good weather and the good company. When his teammates joke that he's tanking his grades on purpose just to spend time with you, you laugh and say you're sure he's got better things to do with his time that that.

It takes a few months, but his grades do improve. And when you go through the homework together, it's clear that he understands what he's doing.

"Well champ, seems my work here is done. You're ahead of the class, you understand the methods and your papers have all come back with Bs and above."

You shrug, smile at him. "You're free to go. Have your afternoons back."

"What?" He frowns at you, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "No. The year isn't over yet."

You laugh, a little flattered that he seems so upset to see you go. "I know. But you don't need me anymore. Just practice the problems I marked out for you and you'll be just fine."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. You stand, sling your backpack over your shoulder. It's just you and him left on the bleachers, the empty football field a behemoth between you and the school building.

When you're halfway across, he catches up with you. Grabs your backpack and stops you in your tracks.

"What about English? I really need some help with the novel. And my chemistry is a mess. Seriously, we can't stop now. You can't just...leave me like that."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded almost panicked.

"I think Jackson from homeroom is your best bet with chemistry. Oh, and I'll send you my English notes. I did a whole section on themes and stuff."

He frowns again. "No. No. I don't want any of that. I want you."

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, despite the late afternoon sun being full on your back. Was he always so much bigger than you? How didn't you notice it before?

"Hey, listen. I know you're worried. But we've put in tons of effort. You know your stuff. When exam season rolls around, you'll be just fine."

You try and walk away but he's still holding onto your bag.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want money," you say, irritated and offended both. "I never wanted to be paid for any of this. You're a great guy. I'm happy to help you out."

"Then stay."

Why is he being so persistent? His hold on your backpack tightens when you don't immediately answer.

"Please."

That decides you. How can you say no when a nice guy is practically begging? You're not a monster.

You sigh. "Fine. But only until after homecoming, 'kay?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you go when I'm done. Promise."

In the last light of a long summer day, you make the mistake of believing him. 

[anonymous-dee]

My Top 5 Scum Villain Ships

5.CumPlane

There’s just something so silly about them. I love the way they bicker and banter, and you can’t deny the obvious shitpost potential of them both coming from the real world.

I fucking love the memes where they’re speaking in brainrot to each other and all the other peak lords are like 🤨❓

4. MoShang

They make me so mad fr. I stand with SQH as a child of divorce so yk, I can’t be too upset with him. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THEIR ABANDONMENT TRAUMAS LOVE TO CLASH CONSTANTLY AND IT’S SO DJFJDJF 🍽️ I hate it so much *desperately filling my plate with fics and fan art and headcanons and—*

3. JiuYuan / ScumCum

Another ship w the sillies. One of my favorite dynamics with JiuYuan is Shen Yuan being like “ugh” but then realizing how broken Shen Jiu is and then going “sigh, I can fix him…” and then he DOES fix him and it’s sweet and cute and perfect.

And yk, I think it’s so important for Shen Jiu to experience kindness and gentle touch and actual love, and it’s like YEAH I love the drama of QiJiu and LiuJiu, but with QiJiu it doesn’t hit the same because in order for it to work in a /gen way, Yue Qingyuan has to have his redemption arc and regain Shen Jiu’s broken trust.

I still do ship LiuJiu ans QiJiu, but ScumCum is just more wholesome in my eyes.

With Shen Yuan, there was no original betrayal, he just comes out of the transmigration oven with warm hands and healing vibes. For the most part.

I like that they are both also similar in a hater way too. If you think about it, they’re both 100% capable of going on the BEST RANTS and being a hater and I just KNOW they have the BEST debriefs after seeing the others do questionable things in public. Yk, they give each other the 👀 “are u seeing this shit” look knowing fully well they are both gonna have a 2 hour mutual ted talk about the absolute audacity.

You also gotta love the dynamic of Tsundere (soft) and Tsundere (will kill a bitch). Because on one hand Shen Yuan has to have his gay awakening so he’s in denial for a hot minute. And then you have Shen Jiu who’s ALSO in denial—probably also in the closet bc he has to overcome his mental block of fearing/despising all men before he can become open to the idea of allowing one man.

#not all men #actually yes, all men #just not that one in particular #yeah him, the fucking twink in the back

And then you can easily end up with a dynamic where both of them realize their feelings and it turns into

SJ: god shen yuan is so fucking annoying (wasn’t allowed to kill someone)

NPC: yeah I hate that guy

SJ: what the FUCK did you just fucking say

I love them thanks.

2. BingLiuShen

**CREDIT BOTH OF THESE BEAUTIFUL ART PIECES TO SAIRUSB AND CHECK OUT THEIR PAGE THEIR ART IS AMAZING**

Slot number 2 goes to BingLiuShen. Everyone repeat after me: SHEN QINGQIU HAS TWO HANDS!

I think the most interesting part about any Poly ship is the multitude of dynamics; it’s more than just SQQ x LQG x LBH. It’s also BingQiu. It’s also LiuShen. It’s also…uh, BingLiu(?) for the life of me I cannot remember if that’s their ship name, BUT ANYWAY.

Each of these individual dynamics has its own individual charm that gets explored once you start overlapping them together. You have the base with some delicious seasoning if you will.

Not gonna lie, it was a 100% tag team effort between SairusB and Celardor that initially sold me on BingLiuShen.

I love Luo Binghe being a menace, Shen Qingqiu being ‘:3’, and Liu Qingge being shy and not used to romance at all. Not that any of them really are, but I love how many ways you can play around with this specific concept, which I will elaborate on more in the next part of the post.

(Anyone who knows me, you know who I’m putting in the number 1 slot)

Everyone please read Sharing is Caring / Love in Another Shape by Celardor on ao3 that fic literaly altered by brain chemistry and it’s so fucking good please believe me PLEASE

1. LiuShen

**CREDIT THIS BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK TO VELINXI, THE ARTIST FOR THE ENGLISH VERSION OF SVSSS**

My beloveds. My silly little guys. My pretty scrimblos. My mipys. Ft. the art that got me to See The Vision™️ for the first time.

Love that we get LiuShen art in the official artstyle btw, I will never shut up about it bc Velinxi’s art is so gorgeous and I cherish everything she draws so so so dearly.

LiuShen is so special to me. I’ve talked about it several times before on my blog but I just love their dynamic so much. Somehow despite both being tsunderes (well, idk if I count SQQ as a FULL tsundere, but still) they end up being so soft with one another it’s so fucking wholesome.

As much as I do enjoy BingQiu, I say as it did not make the top 5 list LMFAO I absolutely love how many ways there are to write LiuShen. Given that SQQ is ship silly putty already, it really does provide the opportunity for endless fun.

There are fics where both of them are self aware of how they feel, there are fics where neither of them are. There are fics where one of them realzies they like the other and have no shame about it. And BOTH are equally as entertaining. I love ‘:3 Liu shidi is pretty I wanna touch him’ fics just as much as I love ‘>:( I’m gonna bring Shen Yuan courting gifts and challenge him to a fight to express my devotion’ ones.

And then you have the fics where one of them is oblivious and accidentally ends up married to the other—I’ve seen it go both ways and it’s perfect every time I swear to god.

Props to Celardor AGAIN because I think they perfectly balance the tsundere and soft vibes between the two. The fic “Sharing is Caring” goes beyond just the silly wife plot it starts out as. It deadass goes from “teehee silly wife plot” to “let’s actually explore the dynamic and the world and the plot beyond just this silly adventure”

Celardor said “I think I see potential here” and both parts of the fic series amount to 254,349 words AND COUNTING BC PART 2 ISN’T DONE YET.

Okay this isn’t a fic review this is a SHIP review so setting Celardor’s fic hesitantly aside, it’s sort of hard for me to explain how much they make me happy but I just love the blushy x blushy dynamic so much LET THEM BE SHY AND SOFT TO EACH OTHER AAAAH

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

What is your favorite SVSSS ship?

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s6 episode 19 thoughts

well. no need to dwell on the last episode any longer than we have to.

i want something cozy tonight. 

so, arthur dales has a brother? very interesting! and his brother knows about aliens, huh? i look forward to hearing the tale of an alien who plays baseball.

post-episode thoughts: while i have some concerns over the ethics of making a Very Real and Horrifying racist terrorist organization have a little green alien as a member- and i still am unpacking that as a choice- this episode was a gem. it was at once an excellent standalone episode that introduced us to characters we will likely never meet again, made us their friends, and left us with that emotional impact, AND brought us closer to the characters we have known and loved for many seasons now. and i think that is the ultimate goal this kind of episode can aim to accomplish. especially when you compare it with how it felt to watch fellow travelers, an earlier attempt at exploring this sort of thing- to me, that one just fell flat, where as this one was sparkling. the tale of ex and dales will probably haunt me for a very long time. which is an incredibly positive endorsement.

it ALSO introduced us to layers of nuance for our series Big Bad Evil Villains, which is extraordinary, AND gave us the giggliest scully we have ever seen. and there is something SO wonderful about scully giggling as she teases and is teased by mulder.

i will have more to say on this later, in greater detail, down below. but yeah. good episode! very good episode!

we open in roswell, an ancestral homeland to alien nerds. baseball is going on. how did this fellow named moose manage to land a baseball into a cactus? honestly quite impressive. the others are being told to back up- a fellow named exley is up.

oh, he’s cuteeee. and he hits a foul, but it seems the ball just sort of…. bounced back. from the darkness. an outfielder grabs it with a baffled expression. 

again, moose throws a ball into the cactus. i’m getting worried about the cactus population in this town.

LMAO, the guys on the team are trying to tell him how to throw the ball. “leave the cactus alone, son!”

the yankees have been calling ex, according to the catcher, but he says he’s happy out here in the cactus leagues. he doesn’t want to be famous, even if he’d be the first black man in the american leagues.

woohoo, moose FINALLY throws a good ball, and ex hits a homer!!! it’s his 61st home run this year!!

his teammates lift him up on their shoulders to celebrate. but he sees something in the distance….

IS THAT THE KKK? oh my god, it seems to be. and they are fully saying slurs. which is you know, what they do, but it is jarring coming from a TV screen.

the other team tries to get in their way, but they say they only want ex- no one else.

moose starts tossing balls at them, knocking ‘em off of their horses, and then when they fall off, the other guys grab the guns. get them!

OH! the other team’s captain rips one of the klan member’s hoods off… and it’s a baby alien??!!!??!!

i mean, maybe he is fully grown, but he LOOKS like a baby.

aliens in the KKK…….. this has wild implications.

so what are they going to do with this alien?!?! the good baseball guys, i mean??

intro time…. t’was shortened.

AHAHA!! they changed the intro text “in the big inning” <- haha! baseball pun! okay!!! so this will probably also have lore importance. we haven't had a changed intro text in a while!!

mulder has the dodgers game on in the corner of the office (does he like the dodgers and the yankees? are the dodgers playing the yankees?) while scully lugs in a big old box. why does she have a big box!! where did she get more archival material this time?!

it’s not a box, it’s a book! a huge book!!

oh, scully wants to go outside!! she steps up on his shelf to peek out the window that i honestly never noticed they had before. “mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. have you ever entertained the idea of trying to find life on this planet?” “i have seen the life on this planet, scully, and that is exactly why i am looking elsewhere” <-BAHAHAHAHA

that is so funny, lmao. he says this as he flips through a massive book. is it full of newspapers??

let’s see what is in the office, beyond scully standing on the counter with a paper bag. i see a basketball, a mug shaped like an alien head, a bunch of books, some photos. still no actual x files! i would have thought they’d find the secret backup stash THAT DEFINITELY exists by now.

LMAO, SHE WHIPS OUT AN ICE CREAM CONE FROM HER PAPER BAG!! and he asks if she has enough to share with the class- lmao- BUT IT’S *NOT* AN ICE CREAM CONE, it’s some no fat rice-based abomination!!! which causes mulder to tell her she knows how to live it up.

bold move, though- he has walked right into her trap as she says, well, YOU are spending this BEAUTIFUL saturday stealing books from the FBI library to look for new mexican obituaries.

“looking for anomalies, scully” <- NERD!!! nerd. nerd. and she’s a nerd for joining him. but i guess that’s what having a friend and also a crush makes you do. you spend your beautiful saturdays with your beautiful partner. in the basement. pining.

and they’re flirting as they throw cliches at each other, but he GETS UP AND STEALS HER FAKE ICE CREAM!!!! SO EVIL!!!!!! but i’m giggling. giggling SO bad.

it smears all over the FBI library book (he’s going to have to PAY for that!! where do you even GET another book of roswell, new mexico newspapers from decades ago?!)

OH! SHE’S LAUGHING!!!! SHE’S LAUGHING AT HIM!!!! “mulder!!! you cheat!! i can’t believe that you’ve been reading about baseball this whole time” <- OH MY GOSH…. HER SMILE??? 

“i’m reading the box scores, scully. you’d like it, it’s like the Pythagorean theorem for jocks.” 

OHHHH, he’s such a nerd, as he talks about how the numbers distill the action, how they bring him peace:

“it’s like the numbers talk to me. they comfort me, they tell me that even though lots of things can change, some things do remain the same. it’s-“ “boring” (she says, with a brilliant smile)

bahaha, oh, he looks so taken aback with her saying that, but it’s all part of a scully scheme, i’m sure. because she follows it up with “can i ask you a personal question?” which is always a wild thing to say. “did your mother ever tell you to go outside and play?” she says, biting back a smile.

WHY IS SHE ASKING ABOUT HIS CHILDHOOD OH MY GOD....... SHE LOVES HIIIIIM!!!

but he does not answer this question!! because he spots arthur dales in the newspaper??? so he fakes a sneeze and RIPS THE PAGE OUT WHILE SHE GASPS, LMAOOOO

“you just defaced property of the US government… you rebel” she says as he walks away, and some guy named vin scully is narrating the baseball scores. 

oh, she is down bad. we’re so used to seeing him down bad, but she’s the one with that honor today.

i’m smiling stupidly right now, bahaha. my cheeks hurt.

mulder takes the paper to arthur dales. he knocks on the door, and when someone answers, he says he is very sorry sir, but he’s looking for arthur dales. but this man says that HE is arthur dales. 

“arthur dales is my brother. my name also happens to be arthur dales” <- OH!!! LMAO, BAHAHA the most confusing explanation possible. right, right, of course. 

WE HAD A SISTER NAMED ARTHUR TOO, BAHAHAAAAA. AND a goldfish. consistency is key.

but he knows his name is “agent mulder” somehow… hmm. i wonder if they talked about him.

so the other arthur that we met before moved down to florida. yes, this i do recall. i guess i thought that maybe he moved back after the hurricane, but must be this didn't happen.

“my brother told me all about you. he said you were the biggest jackass in the bureau since he retired. yeah, we’re big fans. sometimes we’d stay awake hours at night, just talking about you” <- BAHAHAHHAAAAA, oh this guy's trouble

and then he slams the door in mulder's face. so mulder shouts from outside that he has a photo of his brother- or maybe him- in roswell. and this arthur (arthur 2) says it is him; he was a cop there. and in the photo, he is standing next to negro league legend josh exley, who disappeared after hitting 60 home runs. (baseball stats nerd and fanboy mulder is very endearing to me) “61!”, arthur corrects from inside. 

(author's note: after having seen the episode, that little correction is making me emo... 💔)

but mulder wants to know who is standing with them in the old photo- he believes that person to be an alien bounty hunter!

BAHAHA, he says of course mulder doesn’t care about baseball. well, i do, he says! quiz time with arthur 2: how many home runs did mickey mantle hit? he pauses to think.

163, he says, which is the wrong answer, and arthur slams the door again on him. BUT BEFORE HE CAN, mulder clarifies! 163 righty, 373 lefty, 536 total. yeah. he knows his stuff!!!!!

(i'm imagining him as a kid with his baseball card collection... i KNOW his ass was NOT playing around when it came to opening up those packs. bro for SURE had them in a little organized binder)

arthur 2 offers some wisdom: “what you fail to understand in your joyless myopia is that baseball is the key to life- the rosetta stone, if you will. if you just understood baseball better, all your other questions, your-you- the, uh, the aliens, the conspiracies- they would all, in their way, be answered by the baseball gods” <- i see. i’m taking notes here. 

mulder says that yes sir, that may be true, but this alien bounty hunter may connect to a current alien conspiracy going on in our government! arthur 2 thinks this is silly.

“do you believe that love can make a man shape-shift?” “i guess… women change men all the time” “i’m not talking about women” <-LMAOOOO, HE TOLD ON HIMSELF, I’M HOWLINGGGG 

(tell us how loving scully has changed you, mulder. go on, i'm listening!)

“i’m talking about love; passion. like the passion you have for proving extraterrestrial life”

mulder wants to talk aliens. why wouldn’t either arthur tell anyone about colonization, if they'd known it was going to happen for 50 YEARS?!? no one would have believed him, he says. mulder insists he would have, but arthur 2 says he wasn’t… ripe.

BAHAHAHA, he’s RIPE, okay? he’s so ripe he’s ROTTEN! and he will defend his claim to ripeness, damn it!

maybe you ought to spend more time focusing on the mystery of the heart, says dales. which is what i’m ALWAYS saying. and if you give his bank a dime, he will tell you a story about baseball and aliens and bounty hunters. mulder says this makes him feel like a child, which arthur 2 says is perfect, because baseball keeps you forever young. but he obliges, and places a dime in the bank.

OH! let us journey back in time. young arthur 2 is holding a bounty sign, not of the alien variety… but rather, it offers $500 for killing josh exley. “keep baseball white”, it says. that is very jarring to see.

arthur approaches exley, who asks if he has broken any laws. and his friend says yes, he stole- 50 bases this year! hahahaha, baseball jokes

dales explains that he cannot stand to see someone from his town targeted for murder. “and i really don’t have an opinion on negroes, or jews, or communists, or even canadians and vegetarians, for that matter”

<- wow… arthur 2 was most open-minded white man in the 40’s ❤️

ex chooses to have arthur come along with him on the bus instead of staying there with him- there is baseball to be played. and dales is mumbling in french. the teammates are teasing him, and he teases back. it seems like a nice little road trip, if you ignore the reason why their paths crossed in the first place.

they are sleeping during a storm, but some thunder wakes up dales. however, when he looks back at ex, he sees that his reflection in the window is that of an alien?? he wakes him up. “what’s the matter, arthur?", ex asks; "you look like you ain’t never seen a black man before”

back to present times, mulder and arthur 2 share hot dogs. and mulder thinks that his story is funny. “you seriously want me to believe that josh exley, maybe one of the greatest ballplayers of all times, was an alien?” “they’re all aliens, agent mulder- all the great ones” <- oh! that’s a plot twist.

mulder lists off famous baseball players, and arthur 2 confirms that yes, they all are.

a knock at the door. i thought it would be scully, but it’s a child bringing dales “his medicine”, and he makes mulder tip him. 

mulder thinks that maybe he’s speaking in metaphors about the alien thing, but dales says he doesn’t have time for that. metaphors are for the youth. i am learning so much from him.

LMAOOOO, MULDER HANDS THE CHILD A CRISP DOLLAR BILL AS A TIP, AND HE SAYS “you’re a regular rockefeller, ain’t you?” <-BAHAHAAAA

jump back in time to 1947. some kids are watching ex play, arguing over if his record is better than babe's or not since ex is not technically in the major leagues. it's a heated discussion. all the team players grab some chew tobacco, and when ex hands some to dales, he places a big wad in his mouth... and throws up, BAHAHA

but dales is quickly back on his feet, watching as two men in the crowd pull out a gun when ex comes up to bat!!! he tackles him to keep him safe…

but the men are squirting water guns!!! so they did that whole meet cute close proximity thing for nothing. ex still thanks him. 

ex comes up to bat for real now, and he gets beaned right in the head!! his teammates gather around and ask if he knows where he is, and he starts speaking in a very strange language!! will he revert to alien form??

eventually, he can speak in english again, and he answers that he is from a town in georgia. his teammates pull him back up. but dales noticed that when his head landed on the baseball glove, his green blood burnt a hole in the leather!!!!

dales calls the town in georgia that ex says he is from to do a background check. and someone from that town says that he knows who josh exley is- he was a 6 year old boy who vanished 5 years ago!! so he would be 11. and that’s all they have. 

AHHHH!!! when the other policeman from georgia sets down the phone, it’s the alien bounty hunter!!! the one we know from our times!!!! he asks where dales is calling from!! and dales tells him!!

back at the game, one of the little boys tells ex that the yankee scouts are here, and then all of a sudden his performance tanks. he must want to remain undetected. the scouts get fed up and leave. and the minute they do, he lands a beautiful homerun.

after, dales asks why he tanked the game today. and he says he knows he isn’t actually josh exley, because that name belongs to a missing small child. he knows he’s hiding something.

“while you’re out chasing secrets, make sure you’re chasing the right ones”, ex warns him... ominous……

dales wakes up in a motel to a clatter, pulling out his pistol. he sees ex practicing his swing and he sneaks into his room. where he catches him in alien mode!!! and they both scream!!!

dales promptly faints. and comes to to see ex still in alien mode- then faints again. and again. he says that he is ex. and that is what he really looks like. he is trying to not be insulted by the reaction he is getting to his natural face.

he shapeshifts into a white woman and asks if that would be easier for dales to handle. AND THEN CRAWLS INTO HIS LAP???

when one of his teammates opens the door, he only sees dales with a woman in his lap <- LMFAOOO.

back on the bus, they’re talking in code. “so why did you leave your family in, uh… georgia?” “my people guard their privacy zealously. they don’t like for us to intermingle with your people; their philosophy is, we stick to ourselves; you stick to yourselves- everybody’s happy”

“so what happened?” “well, you know what happened” “you fell in love with an earth woman” (ex laughs, and bumps dales on the shoulder) “no. i saw a baseball game”

he says that his race doesn’t laugh. they don't even smile. but when he saw the game being played, the laughter rose out of him. he says it was the first unnecessary thing he’d done in his life, and it meant everything to him. and he couldn’t go home. 

his friends call him up to sing along with him. 

cutscene back to mulder and dales, who have plenty of chinese takeout containers between them. as well as a pizza. mulder’s still finding the whole thing hard to believe. 

back to 1947. we see the alien bounty hunter waiting for the roswell grays bus!!! no!!

dales gets a call from the guy he asked to test out the chemical on the glove- he thinks it must be a joke, because it’s from a life-form that doesn’t seem to be carbon-based! so he called the FBI and washington, which dales says he was not supposed to do!!! 

exley comes down to explain what happened to the glove (and the lab guy recognizes him as the best player this side of the bronx!) 

he tells him he got it from mars- actually, just to the left of mars- and then starts attacking him. he kills the guy!!!

oh!!! but it was the alien bounty hunter!!! and not really ex. okay. i was going to say... that speech dales just gave about him being a man of great character seems incompatible with him being a murderer.

dales rushes to the real ex, saying that a man down at the precinct swears on his life that he saw him kill a man. but he knows he’s no murderer. so he says he has to leave town. 

ex gestures for him to pick up a glove, and they engage in some deep talk while playing catch. he says his relative told him he should come home. dales is surprised he still thinks of them as family. but that’s not how aliens are. 

“you know the big thing that separates us from you? we got rhythm” 

they both laugh, but sirens approach. ex says he had better go. he asks dales to tell his kids how he played the game. and he says dales has a pretty good arm on him. and then he runs away. 

dales is being interrogated by some cowboy cops in hats, who are asking him where ex is. he says ex told him he was going home. which brings us back to the game we began with. 

OHHH, the line about "them all looking alike" is diabolical. the cowboy cop is trying to tell dales he could be an accomplice to murder if he doesn't fess up to knowing where ex is. and if he hands him over, he can be a cop as long as he wants. dales refuses. so the cops say he’s finished. 

back to the game we started the episode with, where the KKK showed up and then the alien fell off the horse. everyone flees from the alien on the ground. it’s the alien bounty hunter!!! approaching ex with his goop needle.

he says it’s the right thing to do. what would he know about the right thing to do, asks the alien bounty hunter. he risked the project for a game!!!

the shapeshifting from alien to human and back is very funny. sorry. 

bounty hunter says to show his true face. and ex says this is his true face!!!

but as dales arrives, he puts the needle into his neck. and the bounty hunter rides off.

he’s dying, and ex tells him to get away, our blood is like acid to your people! but dales says it’s just blood. it’s just blood. and he laughs before dying- look at that. just blood. dales holds him close. 

back in the present day, dales is crying, recalling holding him, and the song he sang with ex and his teammates.

bro. i’m sad. they had a deep connection...

we have a jump in time.

mulder is wearing a gray’s jersey, hitting some balls around, even though it appears to be late at night.

OH! scully is here. “so, uh, i get this message marked 'urgent' on my answering service from one fox mantle, telling me to come down to the park for a very special, very early or very late birthday present. and, mulder… i don’t see any nicely wrapped presents laying around. so, what gives?” 

BAHAHA, does he STILL not remember her birthday?!? or is he simply incredibly committed to the bit at this point!!

LMAOOOOOO, HE PAID THE KID FROM BEFORE TO PUT THE BALLS IN THE MACHINE, I’M CRYING!!!

he asks if she has ever hit a baseball- and she says no; she supposes she's had more important things to do. so he is going to show her.

he puts his arms around her, grabbing the bat. i don't think their faces could be any closer if they tried.

his hands on her hips……………. my brain is short-circuiting. the silly way he's talking to the bat. 

HER PUTTING HER HANDS IN THE MIDDLE?????

“all right, what you may find is: you concentrate on hitting that little ball, the rest of the world just fades away- all your everyday, nagging concerns.” 

OH MY GOD, HER FUCKING GIGGLE. i’m going to SCREAM.

“the ticking of your biological clock. how you probably couldn’t afford that nice new suede coat on a g-woman’s salary. how you threw away a promising career in medicine to hunt aliens with a crack pot- albeit brilliant- partner. getting into the heart of a global conspiracy. your obscenely overdue triple-x bill. (she looks at him after that last one) oh, i-i’m sorry, scully, those last two problems are mine, not yours”

“shut up, mulder. i’m playing baseball”

okay. hold on. i reached the end. but i have to watch that again.

her laughing at him talking on behalf of the bat… he's pressed right up against her, and says “not a bad piece of ash, huh? the bat. i’m talking about the bat” (CRINGING!!!!)…. the hand rearranging…… her SMILE. AND SHE KEEPS SMILING.

and we end with the song ex and his team were singing.

hey….. hi. 

(collapses my head into my hands)

yeah…. yeah <3

wow….

he noticed her new coat...

i’ve seen the baseball scene in gifs before, but it was WAY better than any gifs could have shown. no offense to gif makers. i just couldn't hear the dialogue or her giggling. little did i know.

oh, so they’re in the stage of both knowing they have feelings for each other, and so they’re just gonna be open with it now. that’s fascinating. much to analyze……..

much to ponder…

the story with dales and ex made me so sad. they had such great chemistry. him sitting there in the present day, crying as he recalled holding his body… man. it broke my heart. it was a real love story. and so often those do end in tears. but clearly dales held his memory close throughout all of those years. and he did what he said he would- told others about how he could play ball.

and this episode managed to do a very good thing: make you sympathize with the big bad villain species. clearly, they are not all the colonists. and i think that is very important world building for our overarching plot, especially when we tend to speak of these species in broad strokes and have mostly only seen them commit heinous acts. with very few exceptions. there was the one shape-shifting alien that healed those people, and then the other one who tried his best to protect their human mothers. all the others we have seen have been... less savory.

now, not sure if utilizing the KKK for your fantasy alien plot is… what we would describe as being in good taste. i’d be interested to hear other people’s thoughts on that decision, but every time i look up an episode on wikipedia and read the reactions section, i manage to get spoiled. without fail. so i must once again rely on asking the people, humbly, what they thought.

man… ex just wanted to play baseball. 

okay, and for the record, i was definitely not imagining the tension between ex and dales. there was no real reason for ex to shapeshift into a woman and crawl into his lap like that. none. 

i rarely find myself caring about the plot exposition episodes- i was very staunchly a hater of the roy cohn turns people into spiders episode that even brought us arthur 1 in the first place- so i am incredibly pleased at how well this episode stood alone. and while it could have been its own thing- just a short film about an alien and a negro league team- we got it interspersed with great character development for our agents. while of course i would have preferred to have even more agent time, what we did receive was splendid. it was saccharine. my tooth is practically aching. i can’t believe that ice cream stealing and baseball instructing didn’t come out of a fanfiction. 

now, the overarching message. is this a turning point of hope- one for a world of unity between all races, human and alien? will any of this well-developed lore actually be continued in future mytharc episodes? or will we go right back to only dealing with the evil shapeshifters and lose all nuance slash hope? or is this perhaps introducing us gently to the idea of the resistance being assisted BY the shape-shifting aliens? will the plan for colonization be thwarted by a ragtag alliance of humans, shapeshifters, and whatever sort of species the ones who blinded themselves are?

we could wonder about it all day. but right now, i want to live in that dreamy land of msr baseball time.

i really do love to see mulder nerd tf out. just see him be a silly little guy. and scully thinks it's funny. and she was HAVING FUN playing with him in the park like kids!! they love each other so much!! they're so close to admitting it!! i can tell!

how it must feel for things to change between them despite knowing each other for so long... and now that sneaking suspicion "of is he just teasing, or does he really like me like that?" is answered... the giddiness and innocence associated with that, even though they have been through so much together in the past; now it's recast in a different light...

man. so much to think about. a very, very good episode.

[sayusims]

Jinshi and Maomao relationship detail

At first, when watching The Apothecary Diaries, I didn't really want Jinshi and Maomao to be together. I mean, I wanted them to be, but since Jinshi was obviously so much more in love than Maomao, I did not think that it would seriously work out. However, I’ve changed my mind. As I haven’t actually read the light novels yet, some of the information I’m going to use is based on what others have said, and I can’t really confirm 100% if it is true, but since these are discussed somewhat in the community, I feel like they are.

My top reason for thinking they are good together is the fact that they pay extra attention to and look at each other more than others. In Jinshi’s case, he is known for being immensely pretty, but because this is the only thing people look at when it comes to him, it causes him to have an inferiority complex about all of the other skills that he does possess. It also does not help that he is surrounded by anomalies of people who have super strength or are insanely smart, so he feels hopelessly average in comparison. Because of this, when he met Maomao, he thought that she would be the same—someone captivated by his beauty who does not see the real him—but it was the complete opposite. His beauty does not hold worth to her. While she obviously finds him attractive and is probably still attracted to his physical body, his worth to her comes almost solely from his personality. The times in the anime that we see best that she is VERY slowly falling in love are times when she mentions him behaving differently or behaving more like himself instead of the persona he puts on daily. She does find Jinshi annoying a lot, but she likes it when he is more youthful and less eunuch-like.

When it comes to Maomao, I remember that in an episode of the anime, Maomao mentioned how she knows she is hard to read. While Jinshi cannot read her, he still tries. Jinshi never backs down or gets put off when he doesn’t understand her apparent logic; he mostly just trusts her and her judgment. He is incredibly patient with her and honestly does not try to rush things (it is KILLING ME). He is extremely worried about her well-being and making the choice that she wants, not what he wants. It is like when he dismissed her from her job in the first part of season 1. He dismissed her even though he had the power to obviously just not do it but also to just kind of make her work even if she thought it was miserable in the rear palace, because I fear that’s what at least half of the men back then would have done. But even though at this time he had a rabid crush on her and knew he was going to be miserable like he was with his toys when he was younger, he did it since he thought that was what she wanted. Another thing Jinshi notices a lot is her injuries. After, I assume, the third time of someone noticing someone else constantly getting hurt but still either waiting to get help or just not getting it at all, most people would give up. Most people would not jump off a wall and carry them bridal style to the infirmary the sixth time, but Jinshi still did, and he did it with urgency. Every time she gets hurt now, he is always panicking and doing the most he can to help, even if it's most times him just screaming. He never gets tired of her and always wants to be around her at almost every moment.

I want to get the manga volumes and the light novel so badly, but I literally have a 50-bullet-point to-read list that just keeps growing because I’ve been stuck on Crime and Punishment for the last two months. But if anyone has some show ideas (they don't have to be anime) that I can yap about and make my brain work overtime, that would be very helpful.

[pampushky]

cling to his chest

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 6 - 2.9k words

Woooooo done with this chapter sorry it's late shorter, but stocked with some good lore shit! as I am wriitng this, my dog is throwing a tantrum that i'm not in bed yet.

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Late-Mid March 2006. Selangor, Malaysia

An hour after qualifying, you’re asleep on Nico while he quietly talks with Fernando. You’re drooling on him, your mouth parted to reveal your missing milk teeth, the big gap where you’ve lost your two front teeth. It’s looking to be a promising day for the young, German omega, and he’s preening under Fernando’s praise and attention. You shift a bit in your nap, making a high-pitched whine as you do so, mouth opened in a yawn. Both Omegas coo at the sight of you yawning, looking so adorable as you snuggle into Nico further. 

“Oh, little mouse, you’re so perfect.” Nico purrs, as you fall deeper into your nap. Niki is off at Ferrari, working with Micheal and Felipe for their complaints about the car. It had been a less than stellar season for them. As much as he adored you, doting on you with every breath he took, he still had a job to do. So he would leave you with the Prime Omega as your guardian for that time, or another German driver if he couldn’t take you with him.

The first race you’d attended had been the previous one, the opener for the season. The Bahrain GP. It was almost bad enough that it had been the one year anniversary of your dam’s death. You hadn’t realized that, actually. You were only five, and while the concept of time’s passage was something you could understand, it could still be a bit wonky for you to truly grasp. You still asked for your Dam in the first few months, laying in your hospital bed. That had been the first thing you asked of Niki. Asking where your mother was. 

Had you been bad? Was that why she didn’t want you anymore? Or was it your Gran? Gran never seemed to like you. Did Gran tell your Momma to give you up?

All of these said with tears in your eyes, so certain that you’d been abandoned, no memories of how your Dam had pushed you under the bed to save you. That her last act had been saving you. 

Oh, how that had broken Niki’s heart, and then Micheal’s when he’d learned. 

You still asked for her. Still whimpered for her, when in your deepest sleep. Hugging the little bunny with her scent close. But now you’re snuggled into Nico’s embrace as he carries you to the pack home— a large motorhome for the grid that came to every race. If the pack didn’t all sleep in a specialized suite, they slept in the motorhome. 

Just as Nico and Fernando pass the threshold of the motorhome, you stir, waking up and crooning softly. You squirm in his arms, stretching out and looking around sleepily, little ears twitching. Jenson starts to laugh, seeing how you squirm in Nico’s arms, and even Kimi cracks a rare smile, offering to take you. You stare suspiciously at the Finn, and after a moment’s pause, let out a shrill squeal to be put down. 

“Words, use your words.” Nico chides, looking unamused when a flailing hand smacks into his cheek. “Okay, yes, I’ll put you down.”

When you’re put down, you continue to stare at Kimi. Kimi stares back. A test of wills seems to occur just within the entrance of the motorhome, not even within the nesting room. This was pretty standard for your behavior. The spoiled and beloved pup of the F1 pack. Adored beyond measure by every single member of it— except, seemingly, Kimi. 

Which was actually quite incorrect. Kimi, if anything, spoiled you the most. He was the closest thing to Niki, actually, in your mind. Quiet and serious, with the same death stare as Niki. It was quite adorable, really, to see all three of you together, staring at something that had annoyed one of you. 

“Kimi.” You state bluntly. Arms out and held expectantly, as if you want to be picked up. 

“Use your words.” Kimi folds his arms. You stamp your foot, making you slightly off balance with your bad leg holding all your weight. The Finn darts forward, eyes wide with panic when you wobble a little. Your hands dart out to balance yourself. Fernando’s breath catches, and Nico’s eyebrows almost look like they’re crawling up his forehead. You steady yourself, as the three drivers hold their breath. 

“M’okay,” You mumble, arms still out. Kimi scoops you up, hugging you tight, while Fernando fuses over you. Nico has a hand to his chest, taking in a deep breath. Robert Kubica pokes his head out of the door to the main room, brows furrowed as he takes in the scene. “Didn’t fall!”

“What happened?” Robert asks, as you squirm in Kimi’s arms. 

“She was being a brat,” Nico sighs, wilting slightly. “And stamped on the wrong foot.”

“Ah, balance issues. David watched her do that the other day.” 

“Did not!” You hiss, puffing out your cheeks. The southern twang that had mostly disappeared thickens your voice again. “He didn’ see nuthin’!”’

“At least you’re using your words now,” Nico ruffles your hair, as you get set down again. Shuffling to the pack room to nest with the other pack members who are present. When Niki, Felipe, and Micheal enter the room, they’re met with the adorable sight of you in the middle of the nest, positively preening as Fernando grooms you in his canine form, licking your face and making sure your hair is smoothed to your head. You beam up at the trio, grinning widely. 

6 Days to First Race, 2024. London, England. 

Sleep had been refusing your company as of late. 

You’re not entirely sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s more of an annoyance. Logan and Oscar dote on you constantly, when you finally get back from Abu Dhabi. Worried about the reaction you’d had to Will, and overall the public attention heaped on you. It’s meant to be nice, to show how much they care about you, but it feels stifling at times.

Your ceiling has the little glow-in-the-dark stars that you’d had in your room as a child. You vaguely recall a memory of Mattias sitting on top of Lukas’s shoulders to try and balance so he could place them like constellations on your ceiling. 

They were uneven and a bit wonky. But they were made from a place of love, to try and make you feel comfortable in your new room. They had been painstakingly arranged by Marlene and Niki, and you could smell it on the sheets and quilts heaped on top of the mattress. It was the softest thing you’d ever laid on, and you felt as though you were going to sink into it and drown in the sheets. This had resulted in you crying out and latching onto Niki for help, wailing and grabbing at his arm so he could pull you from the nest. 

The bed was too soft, and much too large for you. In the end, you’d slept sharing the bed with your Sire and littermates for two months, whimpering and crying when one of them was away. 

Now, you were laid in your own nest, on your back, looking up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling aren’t as wonky. They’re too accurate and clean. Put up by Logan, bless him and his efforts to make you feel safe and at home in your new apartment. 

“Maus, are you in there?” 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, you think as you shift in your nest, making a sleepy growl at the American as he nudges the door open. Heaped on your plate is a frankly giant pile of white rice and crispy, perfectly fried pork with a barbeque sauce that makes your mouth water. 

Damn Oscar and his resources, getting the names and recipes of your favorite meal and somehow being able to cook them perfectly for you. You can practically smell how proud of Oscar that Logan is, preening as he sets the plate on the nightstand on the side of your nest. The food is tempting you. 

Rice and pork. That’s the one thing you could remember about your mother’s cooking. Rice was cheap and bountiful, and pork was a less expensive cut of meat due to the farms in the area. Pork and steamed rice, with the pork pounded thin, coated in breadcrumbs, and friend in a cast iron pan while you were held on her hip. It would get coated in a tangy barbeque sauce that still made your mouth water— even to this day. 

You need to eat. This you know. Your sulking will get you nowhere, and you will do nothing if you just continue to grumble about your rotten luck with teams and the people around you. 

The scent continues to waft in your nose. Logan chuffs grumpily when you continue to just lounge in your nest, reaching over to cuff your ear like a grumpy littermate, which is accurate to your relationship with him. Always bickering with each other, even before you were both promoted.

Oscar pokes his head in the room, the perfect omega, with his doey eyes and unblemished skin. You can’t help it but feel a bit jealous of him. He’d always been a natural at everything, and now it just seemed to be being rubbed in your face. Especially with how easily he made food for you, and took care of you after everything. Unwittingly, you croon at him, allowing the other omega to enter your nest. Oscar does so happily, chirping for you and smiling in a way that would surprise the media with just how emotive he is. 

He’s a completely different person in private, every bit the perfect and beautiful omega as he smoothes your hair to your head gently, scenting you. He’s only a little older than you are, but it feels like a lifetime more. Always put together, always organized, with a plan in place. Oscar knew that Logan was his mate the moment he met him, when they were still pups, racing karts against each other. Oscar didn’t care when he presented as an omega first, and everyone assumed that Logan would be an omega. He was his mate, that was it. 

Now, as he takes care of you, during the pseudo-heat triggered by the way Will had reacted to you, with Logan watching over you. Oscar huffs at Logan, and the Alpha relents, making a soft chirping noise before leaving, closing the door behind him. Trying to urge you to sleep, pulling the phone from your hands as you mindlessly scroll. 

“Silly rodent,” Oscar teases, no venom in his words, only affection. “Still on TikToK?”

“It’s always that damn phone,” you deadpan, wordlessly. Teasing. Mocking how the older pack members treated the three of you as pups still, even when you’d all presented years before. And in your case, a decade before, a month after you’d turned seven. Still freakishly early, but not as freakishly early as four and a half. The doctors had taken you off the presentation-blocking meds for the sake of your liver. 

“Liberals, and whatever your Dam’s side would say,” Oscar lets you curl further into him. Feeling the slight roughness of the scarred side of your face on his cheek. “You’re clingier than normal.” 

“Sorry,” but you don’t move your face away. “False heats. You know.” 

“I know.”

The silence is comforting. Just the two of you, laying in the nest you’d made the moment you’d gotten back to London. False heats were an unfortunately common event with your… unique circumstances. To you, they were hell. Normally, an omega would have a true heat once every three months. But with you, and the strong suppressants and scent blockers you were on, you had a true heat once a year, meant to keep you from becoming infertile.

As annoying as it was to be prevented a treatment that totally stopped your heats  because of some hypothetical situation that was likely to never come true (you’d seen how pups shied away from you, and how many people struggled to not flinch when you turn to look at them, without the usual, skin-leveling makeup that hid the worst of your scarring). 

Besides, true heats had always been terrible for you. More uncomfortable than anything pleasurable, like they’d always been shown to be— days of passion between an omega and their mate, heartfelt whispers of having pups— what a lie. 

What was romantic about you having a fever while also having the chills, curled up in your nest and sweating. Cramping, unable to eat anything without throwing up— you’d happily forget that and never experience it again after your last true heat. 

When he had attempted to force a bond with you, he’d attempted to use a heat inducer on you, which was one of two ways to force a heat to occur. To use a heat inducer was risky. They were volatile at best, being measured in milligrams and even smaller, and never anything more than twenty milligrams at the absolute most. He had managed to get you with around thirty, and had planned to use double that, had you not fought him so much when he had initially tried. Had it not been for your mangled leg, the same one that had stopped you from running away from him, it would have triggered your heat within the hour. 

Instead, it took three, which was enough for you to get to a locked heat room, while your Sire dealt with the legal side of things. 

According to Lukas, Niki had nearly ripped James Vowles head from his body when the team principal had asked if you would still be willing to act as a race engineer at Williams if he was dismissed. That’s when things had started to get a bit ugly between Logan and Williams. You were out of it at that point, and for some reason, the FIA thought it would be a good idea to try and question you then. 

Micheal nearly came to Abu Dhabi himself when he’d learned about that little tidbit. 

But the fury of Prime Alpha, regardless of if he was in power or not, was something to be taken as lightly as the FIA had tried to. (And besides, it wasn’t as if the current FIA president could fine Niki—  he wasn’t even a consulting member of a team anymore! To try and ban him from any race would be equally as impossible— especially with a reputation like the Niki Lauda.)

But why had Will acted in such a way? You were blunt, yes, but that’s why you’d been hired and why he’d been let go. Clearly, what he’d been doing wasn’t working. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to talk about anything.” You mumble. Rolling so that your back was to Oscar. 

“I’m here if you do.”

“I know you are.” 

“I just don’t….” Oscar trails off, his voice uncertain. Something left unsaid and waiting for you to answer, to let him say what he wants. 

“Don’t what?” You sound grumpier than you mean to. “Hide things?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Oscar huffs. He sounds like he’s wincing. And maybe you feel a little bad about it. But just because he’s older doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like a pup. “I just… worry. Especially with—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t but,”

“The ‘but’ part of that implies you’re about to say something,” You groan, rubbing your face. “And it’s gonna be something I’ll be annoyed at, right?” You roll over to look at him. Scowling. 

Oscar looks like he’s just tried a lemon for the first time, with the face he’s making. Cheeks pink. Eyes darting anywhere but yours. 

“Don’t get mad,” He starts. 

“Oh for fucks sake,”

“Zak and Andrea wanted me to keep an eye on you. They’re both worried you’re about to quit, because of everything that’s happened in the first month.”

Oh. 

That’s not what you expected. So you reach over and pinch Oscar’s nose, making him whine like a pup being lectured for eating too much sugar. 

“Snitch.” Your scowl gets more pronounced. Oscar whines, bowing his head. “I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“But they have a right to be worried!”

You try to ignore how he technically has a good point. The past two and a half months have not been…. Ideal, yes, but you were on the up-and-up! Sure, Lando being a prick and the Will incident had been annoying, but you were fine. You’d seen tougher. You’d been through worse. You’d worked at Williams with Nicholas Latifi. It could not get any worse than that. 

Maybe it wasn’t perfect. That was fine. You didn’t need it to be perfect. You just needed it to be anything else. 

“Whatever, I’m fine,” You lay on your back. Oscar makes an annoyed huffing noise, but doesn’t say anything else. SIlence lapses once again. Awkward. Tiring. Not as comfortable. So you do what you normally do. Check your social media, scrolling through your burners on everything but your LinkedIn. 

Which makes you gasp. 

Because you’re still awake at 12:27am, London time, which is also 1:27am, Monaco time. And Lando, for whatever reason, as of two minutes ago, has viewed your page. 

tags: @charlesgirl16 @boo8008 @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @vellicora @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda @actuallyazriel @noam-rosier-icr

[silver-the-pendejo]

The Legend of Tacos Dorados

Mexican Reader x Linked Universe Reader uses They/Them pronouns Dedicated to: @dia-oro Words: 677 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Wild’s house in Hateno was small but cozy, its wooden countertops well-worn from years of use. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen as the aroma of seasoned potatoes filled the air. Y/N worked with practiced ease, mashing the potatoes and preparing the tortillas, fully focused on the meal at hand.

Leaning against the doorframe, Twilight watched with his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. “So, let me get this straight,” he said. “You know how to cook?

Y/N scoffed, glancing at him over their shoulder. “Of course, I know how to cook.”

Twilight smirked. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Wild, standing beside them at the counter, let out a snicker but quickly covered his mouth when Y/N shot him a glare. “You trust his cooking,” they pointed out, gesturing toward Wild. “Why not mine?”

“Wild’s food is tasty,” Twilight admitted, choosing his words carefully. “But your’s? we haven’t seen you cook”

Y/N rolled their eyes, turning back to their task. “Well, you’ll see soon enough. These tacos dorados are gonna change your life.”

Wild, eager as always, bounced slightly on his heels. “Can I help?”

Y/N handed him a wooden spoon. “Mash these potatoes a little more, but don’t make them too smooth. We want some texture.”

As he got to work, the rest of the Chain slowly began gravitating toward the kitchen, drawn in by the irresistible aroma. Warriors and Sky stood near the table, arms crossed as they observed. Hyrule and Wind, meanwhile, lurked suspiciously close to the cheese.

Sky tilted his head. “Won’t frying the tacos make them too greasy?”

“Not if you do it right,” Y/N answered, grabbing a tortilla and spooning some of the mashed potatoes inside. With practiced ease, they folded it in half and pressed the edges together before carefully placing it into the hot pan. The moment it touched the oil, a satisfying sizzle filled the kitchen, and the tortilla began turning a beautiful golden brown.

The smell alone made Hyrule whine. “Can we eat yet?”

Y/N smacked his hand away just as he reached for some cheese. “Patience.”

Legend, watching with arms crossed, let out a skeptical hum. “This had better be good.”

Y/N didn’t even turn around as they flipped the taco, perfectly crisped on one side. “If you don’t like it, I’ll eat yours. No problem.”

Wild laughed as he finished mashing the potatoes, wiping his hands on a cloth. “They've got a point, you know.”

Twilight, who had been sniffing the air, finally admitted, “Alright. That does smell real good.”

One by one, the golden tacos were pulled from the pan, placed on a plate lined with paper towels. Soon, a towering stack sat before them, accompanied by fresh lettuce, crumbled cheese, sour cream, and the salsa he had made earlier.

“Alright, dig in!” Y/N announced, stepping back just in time to avoid being trampled.

Wind was the first to take a bite, his eyes widening almost comically. “Whoa! These are amazing!”

Hyrule shoved an entire taco into his mouth and groaned. “Why haven’t you made these before?”

Time hummed in approval, while Warriors and Sky exchanged nods of agreement. Even Legend, who had been the most doubtful, was on his third taco before he muttered, “Okay, fine. You win. These are incredible.”

Y/N smirked, arms crossed. “Told you.”

Twilight, still chewing, chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to take this recipe home.”

Wild, already halfway through his second taco, looked up at Y/N with shining eyes. “Can we make these all the time?”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “Only when we are in Inn’s and places to rest.”

Wild grinned. “Sure.”

The kitchen filled with laughter, the warmth of shared food and good company making the moment even better. As Y/N leaned back against the counter, they caught Wild looking at them with a bright, grateful expression.

And honestly? Nothing made tacos dorados taste better than sharing them with the people who felt like home. ------------------------------------

shorter than normal but I didn't had a lot of ideas for this so enjoy :D

LU Masterlist

[tortillamastersblog]

Rock Bottom | Vada Cavell

Pairing: Vada Cavell x reader

Warnings: school shooting, mentions of gunshot wounds, PTSD, nightmares, ANGST

Summary: After getting hurt in the shooting, you try to recover while also taking care of Vada, but she pushes you away until you can’t take it anymore.

Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

I kill the engine of my motorcycle as soon as I pull into a parking spot right in front of the school and take off my helmet, running my fingers through my hair.

I’m a little later than usual, but I’m still on time, so it’s fine. I get off my bike and move to follow the stream of students trickling into the school, but I stop a second later when I hear a familiar laugh.

A smile immediately blooms on my face as I turn around to see Nick and Vada goofing around with Starbucks cups in their hands, making their way toward the school.

“And then when you—” she hops and makes a fart noise with her mouth, “—it could be, like, you’re texting your boss.”

Confused, I frown slightly, wondering what in the world they could possibly be talking about, but I don’t stop smiling. They’re always like this, talking about the most random shit.

“Yeah! Texting your boss,” Nick agrees, flicking some of his shiny hair out of his face. “I love it. We love it.”

“Gotta keep it fancy.” Vada giggles, and then her eyes land on me. She skips over with a bright smile. “Hey!”

“Hi! Good morning. You seem to be in a good mood,” I observe, closing my eyes for a second as she pulls me down by the collar of my shirt to peck my lips.

“Mhmm. We went to Starbucks!” she beams, lifting her half-empty iced coffee for emphasis.

I laugh softly and smile at Nick when he joins us. “I can see that.”

“You want some?” she asks. I nod, taking her cup and sipping from it. It’s a little sweeter than I usually prefer my coffee, but it’s still good, so I take another sip before handing it back.

“We also got some cake pops, but we already ate them in the car,” she adds with an apologetic smile. I just shrug it off and take her free hand, lacing our fingers together.

“It’s fine. Were they at least any good?” I ask as the three of us walk into the school just as the first bell rings.

Nick nods and rolls his eyes dramatically. “So good.”

I laugh softly and shake my head fondly as we quickly make our way to our lockers, grabbing our things before heading to class.

Nick has math first, while Vada and I have geography, so we split at the stairs—Nick whining playfully at the prospect of leaving us, while Vada waves him off before grabbing onto my arm and leaning against me as we walk to class.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, looking up at me with sparkling eyes after taking another sip of coffee. It’s honestly adorable how short she is, especially in the baggy clothes she always wears.

I shrug. “My parents have date night, so not much. Why?”

“Well…” She squeezes my arm and stops right in front of our classroom, forcing a couple of students to grumble as they move around us to get inside. “My dad’s making lasagna, and he was wondering if you wanted to come over again.”

“Your dad wants me to come over?” I smile teasingly and brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, yeah. And me too, of course. And Millie… and my mom. They all kind of love you ever since you stayed with us for Christmas,” she says, amusement and a hint of embarrassment dancing in her eyes, which makes me chuckle.

It’s true. Ever since Christmas, which I spent with them while my parents were away in Shanghai for a meeting at their law firm, they’ve loved having me around. Millie keeps texting me about the camera stand I got her so she can film her YouTube videos, and both Mr. and Mrs. Cavell keep thanking me for the basketball season tickets I got them through my parents' firm.

“In that case, how could I possibly refuse?” I press a chaste kiss to her hairline. “But I have practice after school, so I won’t be able to come over right away.”

“That’s fine.” She beams and touches my chin fondly before the tardy bell forces us to move and step into the classroom.

We find two empty seats at the front of the room and pull out our things while Ms. Foster tells the other students to settle down.

The lesson begins, and even though I listen and take notes, I keep stealing glances at Vada. I love the way her eyes shine with curiosity as she listens, and I love it even more when she asks questions I never would have thought of. She’s so smart and funny, and it’s honestly a mystery how she ended up with me.

The first time we talked was two years ago when she ran into me in the cafeteria, making me spill my juice all over myself. After that, we made small talk in the hallway until we were paired for a chemistry project. By the end of it, I somehow found the courage to ask her out, even though I almost had a nervous breakdown because of it, and she said yes. Now, we have been together for over a year and a half.

She always comes to my track meets, and I always go to Barnes & Noble with her, carrying her books while she browses the shelves. Of course, we do other things too, like cooking together or going bowling with our friends, but what matters most is that we show up for each other.

Vada’s phone buzzing on her table snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance at her when it buzzes again, and she looks at the screen with a frown.

“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.

She looks up and shakes her head before turning her phone toward me.

Millie (8:49 AM)

911

Call me.

I frown too and tilt my head toward the door, silently telling her to go and call her. She nods and raises her hand, waiting for Ms. Foster to notice before asking to go to the bathroom. As she leaves, she throws one last look in my direction.

I shoot her an encouraging smile and watch her go, hoping Millie is okay before trying to focus back on the lesson.

It’s adorable how well the two of them get along, and it’s clear how much Millie looks up to Vada. Sometimes, I wish I had siblings, but then again, I’m over at the Cavells’ so often that Millie is basically my sister too. She constantly ropes me into helping her film YouTube videos or makes me take her to Starbucks. She’s a cute kid, and Vada loves her, so I love her too.

A couple of minutes pass, and I start to wonder why Vada has been gone so long. But before I can dwell on it any further, the door flies open.

And then all hell breaks loose.

I flinch as the sting of antiseptic sears through my ear, sending pain shooting down my neck and across the entire left side of my face.

What’s going on?

I blink rapidly, only now realizing that I’m no longer at school.

Where am I?

There’s beeping. Voices shouting. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

I’m in a hospital.

I’m in the hospital.

How—Why—I don’t—

“Darling, oh my God!”

My mother’s voice pulls me from the haze, and I barely register the nurse who was just standing beside me as she steps back, pulling off her gloves.

Then my parents rush to my side—deathly pale, horror-stricken, still in their office clothes, so starkly different from the scrubs around them.

“Are you—Are you okay?” My dad’s voice shakes as he cups my face, his fingers trembling against my cheek as he inspects the bandage wrapped around my head.

My mom grabs my limp hands, squeezing them between hers. Her grip is so tight, it almost hurts.

“I don’t…” I trail off, suddenly dizzy, lightheaded.

Only now do I realize that my left ear is ringing. A sharp, relentless whine.

I swallow dryly, my throat thick. My mind is blank, disoriented. I don’t understand how I got here.

“What happened?” I whisper.

My parents share a look, silent but heavy with concern, before my mom finally speaks, her voice wavering. “There was a shooting, darling. You… You were… your ear.”

My ear?

I pull my hand free from hers and raise it to my left ear.

The moment I touch the bandage, pain jolts through me like a live wire. And then suddenly—

The door flies open.

There’s a loud bang.

It feels like someone punched me in the side of my head

I fall to the floor.

My ears are ringing.

Something hot and sticky drips down the side of my neck.

“Sweetheart?”

I flinch and my eyes snap open. My parents are staring at me, their faces wet with tears.

“You’ve been shot,” my dad says, his voice breaking. “That bastard… He— you—”

He chokes on a sob, and my mom’s grip on my hands tightens as tear slips down her cheek.

Shot.

I’ve been shot.

There was a shooting.

My mind is racing, but at the same time, it feels like I can’t think at all. It’s like my brain is fogged up, refusing to process what happened.

No matter how hard I try to remember, I can’t.

“What?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, but my dad repeats himself, telling me there’s been a shooting and that I almost died.

I almost died.

A lot of others did die.

No, that can’t be. That can’t—

“Vada,” I breathe, suddenly remembering how she looked back at me right before leaving the classroom. “Where’s Vada? Is she okay? Is she okay?!”

I go to stand up, but my mom immediately presses a hand to my shoulder, keeping me down.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as she says something, but nothing really registers until I finally catch:

“…talked to her mom… she’s fine. She’s at home and she’s fine.”

Fine.

She’s fine.

I need to see her.

I need to see her now.

“I— I need to see her,” I say, my breath coming too fast, my ear throbbing in sync with my pulse. “I need to— I need to—”

“Alright.” My dad’s hand lands on my knee, grounding me just enough to meet his gaze. “We’ll go see her, but first, we need to get you discharged.”

I nod frantically, my chest tightening.

There was a shooting. I’ve been shot. I almost died.

But Vada is fine.

She’s fine.

After what feels like forever, the same nurse who stitched me up returns. She hands my parents discharge papers and gives them a bottle of painkillers to take home.

She instructs them on how to look for signs of infection and warns that I might have temporary tinnitus in my left ear, but that it should go away once the shock wears off.

Then she sends us on our way.

Outside, my parents help me toward the car, and my mom makes me pull on a clean shirt from my gym bag before we drive off to Vada’s.

The car feels too small, too quiet, and too loud all at once.

My parents keep talking, their voices muffled, like I’m hearing them through a wall.

“Does your ear hurt? The nurse said you should take something when we get home.”

“We still need to call your uncle—he’s been trying to reach us since he saw the news.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

I stare out the window, watching buildings blur past. I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to think about the last thing I remember.

I vaguely hum in response, not sure which question I’m even answering.

“Honey?” My mom reaches behind her from the passenger seat and squeezes my knee gently.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

They don’t press, but I feel their worried glances through the rearview mirror.

Then, finally, we pull onto the Cavells’ street.

Before the car even fully stops, I take off my seatbelt and push the door open.

“Slow down!” My dad shouts as I stumble out of the car, my legs unsteady beneath me.

“Sweetheart, wait!” My mom’s voice follows, but I barely hear them.

All I can focus on is Vada.

I half-stumble, half-run toward the front door, my breath coming hard and fast.

She’s fine, they said.

But I need to see for myself.

I reach the porch and bang on the door, my hands shaking.

"Y/N," Vada's mom breathes when she opens the door. “Oh, God.”

She pulls me into a hug and I let her despite my burning need to see Vada.

“Are you— Do you— How are you feeling?” she stammers.

“I’m okay,” I croak. “I just— Vada…”

She pulls back and cups my cheeks for a moment, looking me over with tears in her eyes. “Of course,” she sniffles. “Go.”

"Thank you," I whisper, slipping past her just as my parents reach the front door.

Being close with Vada’s parents, they immediately pull each other into silent, grief-stricken hugs, murmuring about what happened.

I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I single-mindedly make my way to Vada’s room, so focused on reaching her that I don’t notice the bathroom door swinging open next to me until I stumble straight into Millie.

“S-Sorry,” I stammer, my chest tightening when I see the way her eyes widen at the sight of me.

"Y/N…” she breathes, her gaze darting to the bandage wrapped around my head.

Before I can react, she throws her arms around my waist, holding on tight.

"I'm okay," I say automatically even though I'm really not. Not even close. But I don’t know how to feel right now. I just need to see Vada.

Millie nods against my chest, still clinging to me, before slowly pulling back. She watches me, searching for some kind of reaction or reassurance, so I force a small smile and pull her in for another hug, holding her just a little longer this time.

"I promise I'm okay," I murmur, even though it feels like a lie. How's...How's Vada?"

Millie exhales shakily, shifting on her feet. "I don’t know," she admits. "She’s… quiet. She just took a bath. I’ve never seen her like this, Y/N."

The burn in my chest deepens.

I need to see her.

I nod, and luckily, Millie seems to understand.

She sighs, then steps aside and whispers, "Just go. See for yourself."

I murmur a quiet, "Thank you," and move past her, hearing our parents still murmuring in the living room as I finally reach Vada's door.

I raise my hand, knocking softly before carefully pushing it open.

The room is dimly lit by the fairy lights strung behind the headboard of the bed, their soft glow casting warm shadows along the walls, and a candle flickers on her desk, the scent faint but lingering.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Vada always listens to music whenever she can, but now… there’s nothing.

Just silence.

Awful, suffocating silence.

My heart tightens when I finally spot her. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back turned to me, wrapped only in a towel.

Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, probably to keep it dry during her bath, but a few damp strands cling to the back of her neck. As I step closer, I notice the goosebumps along her bare skin.

“Vada?” My voice is quiet because I don't want to startle her, but she flinches anyway, her shoulders jerking slightly. She doesn’t turn around though.

I move closer, walking around the bed until I’m kneeling in front of her.

She's staring at the wall with a vacant look in her eyes. It scares me, so I slowly reach out, brushing my fingers against her knee. The warmth of my touch seems to pull her back, and her gaze shifts until she finally sees me.

Recognition floods her expression, but she still doesn’t say anything.

Her eyes flicker to the bandage around my head and to my left ear, and she stares at it for a long moment before her lips part in a silent gasp.

Her eyes fill with tears and she whimpers, and before I can react, a sob tears out of her.

It racks her entire body, her shoulders trembling violently as she breaks and I rise immediately, pulling her into my chest, my arms wrapping tightly around her as she cries quietly.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and blink rapidly when my own eyes start to sting.

I can’t believe what happened.

I can’t believe we’re here right now. We should be at school!

I hold Vada against me, feeling her clutch at my shirt and pulling me closer.

But then, she shivers, and I pull back, looking down to see that her lips are turning slightly blue.

She’s freezing.

“Let’s get you dressed, my love,” I whisper, cupping her face and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She doesn’t argue as I carefully untangle her arms from around me. I turn toward her closet, rummaging through it with one hand while pressing the other against my temple as my ear throbs.

A wave of dizziness hits me, but I push through it, focusing on her instead.

I settle on a pair of faded gray sweatpants and one of my shirts she stole ages ago before turning back around and pulling her to her feet, her movements slow and unsteady.

“Okay?” I ask gently, giving her towel a soft tug.

She nods, barely, the vacant look in her eyes returning. It makes my stomach turn, but I exhale softly and undo the towel, helping her into the warm clothes as quickly as possible.

Once she’s dressed, I wrap my arms around her again, burying my face in her hair as I let out a shaky breath.

She’s okay.

For a moment, we stand there in the middle of her room, wrapped in silence. Then, I gently guide her into bed and move the covers over us.

She doesn’t resist. Instead, she turns onto her side, pressing her back against my chest as I sling my arm around her waist, holding her close.

Then she laces our fingers together, pulling my hand up until it’s tucked under her chin before scooting back even more until there’s literally no space left between us.

She sniffs once, a final exhale escaping her lips and then her breathing evens out.

She’s asleep. She's okay and she's asleep.

I feel my own eyelids drooping as I try to stay awake after everything that’s happened, wanting to make sure she’s really okay. But exhaustion and the aftereffects of shock get the better of me, and before I know it, I fall asleep as well.

I jolt awake when Vada sits up with a strangled cry, her breath coming fast and uneven as she looks around frantically.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I sit up too, though much slower than she did, and wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her close. I press a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You’re okay.”

She nods slowly, her breathing still ragged, but she closes her eyes and grips my forearms tightly where they rest around her stomach.

All night, she had nightmares. It broke my heart, but it also meant I barely got any sleep myself. I tried to stay awake as much as I could, watching over her so I’d be there when she woke up, but in between, I fell into a light, restless sleep.

I didn’t dream, which is probably why I didn’t have any nightmares.

Now, though, I’m exhausted, and my ear hurts worse than ever.

Vada prefers sleeping on her left side, which meant I had to sleep on mine too while holding her. Lying on my injured ear for hours must have irritated it, because now the pain is so intense, I can barely feel the left side of my face.

Even blinking makes my eye ache.

But I don’t move to grab the painkillers my parents left for me last night.

They had peeked into the room about an hour after Vada first fell asleep, quietly waking me to ask if I wanted to go home. I just shook my head and held Vada tighter.

They were hesitant to leave me at first, but then Vada’s mom stepped into the room.

She looked almost relieved when she saw Vada curled up against me. She reassured my parents that it would be okay if I stayed the night, and they finally left after she told me to come get her if I needed anything.

Vada slept through the entire conversation, which made me relax a little.

But two hours later, just as I finally drifted into another light sleep, she had her first nightmare.

“It’s okay,” I whisper again, pressing a kiss to her temple and rubbing my thumbs over her stomach. “It was just a dream.”

Vada shudders and slowly turns around in my arms. The dim morning light seeps into the room through her giant windows, casting long, golden streaks across the floor.

It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.

How ironic.

“I know, it’s just…” she trails off, her gaze darting to my ear.

She frowns, then raises a hand to my jaw and gently tilts my head to the right, studying whatever she just saw.

“Your ear,” she rasps.

I lift a hand to touch it, but the second my fingers graze the bandage, a sharp electric pain shoots through my face, making me flinch hard.

I hiss and pull my hand back, screwing my eyes shut as I try to push the pain away.

“It’s bleeding,” she says.

Before I can react, she pulls me out of bed and leads me into the bathroom, telling me to sit on the edge of the tub.

I want to protest, to tell her the nurse said some bleeding is normal, but she’s out the door before I can say anything.

As soon as she’s gone, exhaustion washes over me again, and the dizziness returns full force.

I want to check the mirror, to see what she saw, but I’m too tired, so I stay seated and wait.

I wait only a minute before Vada returns with her mom, still dressed in pajamas. Her short blonde hair is tied back into a tiny ponytail, and she wears her glasses, blinking sleepily as she steps into the bathroom.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good at all,” she murmurs when she sees me. She brushes some hair out of my face fondly before asking if she can take off the bandage to check my ear.

I nod, too tired to speak, and let her unwrap the bandage while Vada stands back, arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, her gaze distant and unfocused.

Even though her mom is careful, I grit my teeth when she pulls the gauze away.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she says softly.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, though my stomach sinks when I see the blood-soaked bandage as she tosses it into the trash can beside the bathtub.

She turns my head slightly, inspecting the wound before clicking her tongue and pulling out a first-aid kit from under the sink.

“Looks like some of your stitches ripped,” she says with an apologetic look. “I’ll put on a new bandage, but you should go to the hospital to get it checked out. Do you want me to call your parents?”

The thought of going to the hospital again and waking my parents this early in the morning makes my chest tighten, but I nod, letting her carefully rebandage my ear.

I know she or Vada’s dad would drive me themselves without hesitation, but I also know my parents would be upset if I didn’t tell them, so I let her call once she’s done.

At some point while she was redressing my wound, Vada left.

I frown at the empty space where she was standing, but before I can dwell on it, she returns with a glass of water and my painkillers.

She hands them over wordlessly and I thank her with a weak smile and a mumbled, "Thanks."

She doesn’t reply. She just nods before taking the empty glass and leaving again.

I don't want to be alone, I don't want her to leave, so I get up and follow her into the kitchen, where her mom is just hanging up the phone.

“Your parents are on their way, honey,” she tells me, squeezing my shoulder gently before ushering me into the living room. “Go sit on the couch and rest until they get here.”

Vada follows and sits beside me, watching me with an unreadable expression.

I hesitate before reaching for her hand, interlacing our fingers in her lap.

“Staring is rude, my love,” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

Vada barely reacts. She just hums softly and forces a small, tired smile, before resting her head on my shoulder.

I know we’re both under a lot of stress, but I expected more of a reaction from her. She always laughs at my jokes. Always.

But I understand why she’s not laughing now.

We sit in silence, the house still dark except for the dim glow of the kitchen light. Millie and Vada’s dad are still asleep.

Then, I hear a car pull into the driveway.

Vada’s mom stands immediately to greet my parents before they can ring the doorbell while I push myself up as well, my legs shaking with exhaustion.

Vada notices. “You good?”

I nod, though I don’t feel good at all. I still keep my hand in hers as we walk to the front door together.

My parents rush to me the moment they see me, concern written all over their faces, but before they can pull me outside, I turn back to Vada, cupping her face gently.

I bend down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you. I’ll talk to you later?”

She barely reacts but gives a quiet “Mhmm. Love you too,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as I kiss her forehead again.

Then my parents coax me outside.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” my mom asks in the car, pulling onto the road while my dad calls the hospital to tell them we’re coming.

“Tired,” I say honestly, though I feel so much more than that. I’m in pain, my brain is still foggy, and I can’t stop worrying about Vada.

She’s been so quiet since this morning.

And I can tell she’s pulling away.

My mom glances at me in the rearview mirror. “That’s… yeah, that’s understandable.”

I can hear the worry in her voice, she and my dad are both worried about me, but I don’t know what to tell them. And I don’t know what they could possibly say to make me feel better.

There’s nothing they can do.

Still, it’s nice that they’re trying.

Despite not being home for Christmas this year, they’ve always been the best and most supportive parents.

They never miss a track meet. They take off work for my birthday and they’ve always made me feel like I can talk to them about anything without fear of getting in trouble.

“Are you in any pain?” my dad asks once he hangs up the phone, turning in his seat to look at me.

“A little, yeah,” I admit. “But I took some painkillers before you picked me up, so it should get better soon.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

He keeps watching me for a moment before nodding, but I turn back to the window.

It’s awkward how quiet it is, but right now, I’m too tired to care. I have nothing to say.

I drift in and out of consciousness, barely aware of my surroundings. I know I’m home, in my bedroom, and for the first time since the shooting, I’m not in pain.

I don’t really remember how I got here. The last thing I recall is being at the hospital, but as the hours drag by and I slip between sleep and wakefulness, fragments of memory return.

A nurse stitched me up again.

While we waited for my discharge papers, I asked my parents what exactly happened.

They shared a look before my dad handed me his phone, showing me news footage.

One shooter. Twelve kids dead. One of them was on my track team.

After that, I don’t remember much. Just the tightness in my chest and the overwhelming certainty that I was about to die.

I remember gasping for air.

I remember a prick in my arm.

And then, nothing.

I continue drifting until I finally wake up at the sound of a knock on my door.

Groggily, I turn over and switch on my bedside lamp just as the door opens. My dad steps inside, carrying a tray.

He’s still wearing his suit from work, though his tie is loosened and the top buttons of his shirt are undone.

“Hey,” he says when he sees I’m awake. “How are you feeling? I— I made you some mac and cheese in case you’re hungry.”

A genuine, if tired, smile tugs at my lips. “Better now. Thanks. I… yeah, I could eat.”

He straightens up like he wasn’t expecting that, then hurries to my side and places the tray on my lap before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Okay, here. Um, I also made you some tea. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect, thanks.” I send him another small smile and take a bite, only now realizing how hungry I am. “Where’s Mom?”

“There was an emergency at the office, but she’ll be back soon,” he explains, patting my leg over the comforter.

“Oh, no, I hope it’s nothing bad.” I try to keep the conversation light, but my dad just waves it off.

“No, don’t worry. It’s nothing.” He hesitates, then clears his throat. “Listen… at the hospital—”

My chest tightens.

“—you kind of had a panic attack. The doctor had to sedate you.”

I blink. “Sedate me?”

“Yeah… You’ve been asleep for almost twenty hours.”

Oh.

“You could barely breathe,” he continues, voice soft. “We were afraid you would—”

I lift a hand, cutting him off before he spirals. “It’s okay, Dad.” I offer a small, tentative smile and take a sip of tea. “Best sleep I ever got.”

He exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Don’t joke about that.”

I chuckle, even though my ear throbs a little. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, until I remember something. “Sorry for ruining your and Mom’s date night, by the way.”

“What?!” He scoffs and lightly smacks my leg over the comforter. “Why would you say that? It’s just date night. You could have died.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah, but still. You both were looking forward to it. You even had a reservation at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

My dad shrugs, smiling just a little sheepishly. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you.”

A little embarrassed, I look down at my food, smiling too.

The conversation drifts into quiet as I finish eating and then, once I’m done, I take a quick shower while my dad goes downstairs to do the dishes.

My mom comes home shortly after, checking on me before I climb back into bed. I’m exhausted again because the sedative still lingers in my system, and I barely slept at Vada’s.

Speaking of Vada…

Once I’m settled under the blankets, I pull out my phone and text her, ignoring the flood of unread messages from classmates asking if I’m okay.

You (9:12 PM) Hey, I’m sorry I’m only reaching out now. I’ve been asleep most of the day. How are you? What did you do today?

It takes a couple of minutes for her to reply, longer than usual, and it makes me worry because she's usually glued to her phone, but then she answers, and that worry fades.

Vada <3 (9:14 PM) it’s okay

how r u feeling now?

i went and saw nick earlier he asked about you

Her replies are a little shorter than usual, but I brush it off. I shift under the sheets, making sure I’m not lying on my ear before replying.

You (9:15 PM) Better now, but I’m still tired.

That’s good! How’s he? I hope you had a good time.

Again, there’s a delay in her answer, but once again, I think nothing of it.

Vada <3 (9:18 PM) that’s good

get some more rest

nick’s okay we talked about what happened and he’s thinking of starting a petition or something to make sure it doesn’t happen again

You (9:18 PM) I will.

Oh really? That’s great.

My thumbs hover over the screen because I know I want to say something else, but I don’t know what.

A moment later, Vada beats me to it and when I read what she says, my stomach sinks a little.

Vada <3 (9:18 PM) i know, he really might be onto something

you should get some more rest, baby

i’ll talk to you tomorrow

I swallow dryly, not really knowing how to feel before replying.

You (9:19 PM) Yeah, you’re right.

Talk to you tomorrow.

I love you.

The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, disappearing and reappearing several times before her reply finally comes through.

Vada <3 (9:20 PM) love you too

It’s simple, and I know she means it, but if I’m honest, I was expecting more.

I stare at my screen for a little while, waiting for her to maybe send something else, but she doesn't. I turn off my phone with a sinking feeling, and switch off my bedside lamp before rolling over to get some more sleep.

It has been four days since the shooting, and I am slowly but surely feeling better. The dizziness is gone, and the tinnitus has faded, but I am still exhausted because now, I am starting to have nightmares.

Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat, making my parents rush into my room to calm me down. I usually dream about the shooting, but not about what happened to me. Instead, I dream about Vada—how she is hiding in the bathroom or how she gets hurt right in front of me.

It leaves me breathless and shaking, so I take a cold shower each time to wake myself up and wash away the memory of the dream.

My parents told me I could stay home from school as long as I needed, which I am grateful for. The moment I brought up the idea of seeing a therapist, they immediately agreed, pulling some strings through their connections at work until they got me an appointment with one of the best therapists in LA.

That was yesterday. We did not talk much about the shooting yet, but we went over my panic attack at the hospital. Even though it was draining, it still made me feel better afterward. Talking about everything is exhausting, but I know it is going to help me in the long run.

I also finally answered all the texts I had ignored, letting people know I was fine and that I would be at Brody’s funeral. He was the guy on my track team who was killed. I knew him pretty well, though we were not exactly friends. Still, my teammates and I organized the flower arrangements for his service, which will be held tomorrow.

Over the past few days, I have been texting and calling Vada, but we have not seen each other since that first night. I have been too tired most of the time, and she was told to go back to school.

It aches, knowing she is there while I can stay home, but what hurts even more is how distant she has been.

She answers my texts and calls, but her responses are short. When I asked if I should come over last night, she told me not to because I might overwork myself.

She also keeps saying she is helping Nick organize a protest, but when I texted Nick two days ago, he said he had not seen Vada since the day after the shooting.

It makes me worry, but not because I think she might be cheating. I know she would never do that. What worries me is that she is lying, trying to keep me from realizing how much she is pulling away.

She has become a shell of the person she used to be. Millie noticed it too. She called me this morning, crying about how Vada keeps pushing her away.

I reassured her that Vada was just processing everything, and somehow, she managed to convince me to come over and make slime with her for her YouTube channel.

That is what I am doing now.

I sit in the dining room, holding the camera while Millie chats excitedly about what she is doing. Their mom watches from the kitchen, checking on us every so often with a small smile.

I thought Vada might be here too. I even hoped I could surprise her by showing up. But she is not.

Her mom said she was at Nick’s, but I know she does not believe it either as she keeps glancing at her phone and checking the time on the oven while Sunday morning inches toward eleven o’clock, and Nick is at his protest.

"Blue or red?" Millie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I adjust my grip on the camera and straighten up. "What?"

She grins and holds up two small tubes of dye. "The slime. Blue or red?"

"Uh, red." I watch as she mixes the color into the slime, my mind still elsewhere, when Vada’s mom suddenly rushes past us toward the front door.

"Where have you been?!" Her voice is filled with relief and anger, and I immediately know who she is talking to. "You’ve been gone all night! We were worried sick about you! If you’re going to spend the night at a friend’s house, just tell us!"

"Mom." Vada groans, storming past her and through the dining room without realizing I’m here.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Her mom follows after her. "Come back here, young lady. We’re not done talking yet. Where were you? And why do you smell like a minibar? Have you been drinking?"

Vada whines, and I hear her stop in the kitchen.

Millie and I share a look. I turn off the camera, sensing the tension thickening in the house. "Maybe we should give them some privacy. How about you show me the morning routine you filmed today?"

She hesitates before nodding and getting up, ready to lead me to her room.

Their voices continue rising behind us as we walk away, but I try to ignore it. It’s none of my business, no matter how much I worry about Vada.

Then, I stop dead in my tracks.

"No, Mom! I didn’t sleep with her, it was just a kiss! We got drunk and—"

My blood turns ice cold.

"You got drunk?" Her mom's voice cuts in, completely skipping over the kiss part. "Please tell me you didn’t get drunk under some bridge or something. Do you know what could have happened if—"

"We didn’t get drunk under a bridge!" Vada snaps. "We were at her place. She has this huge house, and her parents are never home, and—"

I don’t hear the rest.

I can’t hear the rest.

She kissed someone.

She kissed someone else.

From what I’ve just heard, I can only assume it was Mia.

Mia Reed.

Nick told me Vada had been texting her since the shooting because they hid in the bathroom together, but I had no idea they were hanging out.

So this is where she has been every time she lied about being with Nick.

Millie turns to me, her face pale, panic in her eyes. She looks at me, waiting for some kind of reaction, but I can’t move.

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

Footsteps approach. My head snaps up, and then Vada steps into the hallway.

She is still arguing with her mom until she sees me.

She stops immediately.

Her face falls, the color draining from her skin as she realizes I heard everything.

"Vada, no, you can’t—" Her mom stops behind her, also noticing me and Millie.

She blinks, clearly having forgotten we were even here.

I don’t care. I can’t care.

I just stare at Vada, and she stares back at me.

It feels like my entire world just shifted, like the ground has cracked beneath my feet, but I am still standing. My hands start shaking. My heart pounds in my chest.

No.

She didn’t.

How could she?

Why would she?

"Y/N..." Vada breathes, her voice low and scratchy. She takes a step toward me, reaching out, even though she’s still several feet away.

Her voice snaps me out of my trance, and suddenly, my eyes burn with tears.

I look away, staring at the floor, trying to keep it together. When I meet her eyes again, all I see is guilt. Regret.

She takes another step forward, about to say something, but I speak before she can.

"I… should go."

"Y/N…" she tries again, but I shake my head.

I turn to Millie, who looks like she’s about to cry. She has always looked up to her sister, and now she has to witness all of this.

I swallow hard and force my voice to stay steady. "I’ll see you soon, yeah?"

Millie hesitates, glancing between me, her mom, and Vada before nodding with a small frown.

"Okay then…" I try to smile, but it barely comes through.

I turn around, not daring to meet Vada’s eyes when I brush past her.

Her mom gives me a pitiful look, but I don’t acknowledge it. My mind is already slipping into numbness as I make my way to the front door.

I slip on my shoes, the silence in the house suffocating, then open the door and step outside.

I make it to my car, hands still shaking as I unlock it, but freeze when I hear her voice again.

"Y/N, wait!"

I don’t.

She rushes down the porch steps, but I get in the car, pull the door shut, and reverse out of the driveway before she can reach me.

I can barely see the road.

My hands won’t stop trembling, my chest feels tight, and I know I can’t drive home like this.

After rounding the block, I pull over to the curb and kill the engine.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring blankly ahead.

Then, without warning, the weight of everything crashes down, and I completely break down.

So this is what rock bottom feels like. Just when I thought things were looking up a little.

_______________________________________________

💔

[sonkitty]

S2 Right Profile Sideburns Collection

This collection is bigger than the previous season 1 group I made for various reasons.

For starters, season 1 present day is consistent in shortness anyway.

The first picture in the first group is from Before the Beginning because that scene is trying to draw our attention to the sideburns having been longer at that time for Crowley.

Even though I included that scene that is not the present day, all of others in this group are from the season 2 present day. The minisodes are excluded on purpose.

It helps to see the season 2 present day shifts first before factoring in the minisodes.

These shots are are only scaled up or down and cropped. I did not mess with the brightness or the colors beyond the settings I use on my preferred video player app.

At the moment, these images are shown in the presented order on screen during the story. I might make another set based on trying to group the lengths together, similar to past posts by @embracing-the-ineffable (Let's bust a popular myth! and a follow-up, OK, I love this theory...).

Another one of the reasons I thought it worth doing so for the presented order is that it's really important that the longer sideburns still lengthened more between the argument scene in the bookshop and when Crowley was standing at the door to his car in S2E6. That played a really big factor into how I eventually saw and found The Door Trick.

And another reason is because I wanted to look more closely at certain parts. For example, the sideburns might actually slightly lengthen during the apology dance in S2E1. And whether they do or don't, I wanted a really good look at them before and after the miracle to hide Gabriel was performed.

I'm kinda letting my instincts on the play take me wherever, so I'm not sure yet if these things are going to be for other posts later and/or eventual YouTube videos. If I really do make something leading up to explaining the Tied Hands, these pictures are far from necessary, but they are a good exercise and frame of reference for me anyway.

Feel free to save and use as your reference too, just be nice and credit if you ever post or share these images elsewhere, please.

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

[dukeofdelirium]

the way that mileven shippers attack byler shippers for simply believing that it has a chance of becoming canon in the final season is crazy to me.

it is NOT delusional to believe that a gay ship could happen. we deserve to enjoy good gay romances in media just like anyone else. calling us names makes you a homophobe, sorry about it. if you think were weird or insane for rooting for a gay ship, you’re just a hateful person idc. and it is NOT crazy to think that a character that has two canonical love interests might end up with the second one as opposed to the one said character started out with.

so many stories have love triangles like this. Mike canonically has issues with his girlfriend and can’t voice that he loves her romantically without being essentially forced to do so. we don’t get to SEE why Mike can’t do this. but in this very same season, his best friend is canonically confirmed to be gay and in love with him (for the entire show)? and the entire season, Mike is then paired up with this second love interest as opposed to his girlfriend????

how does anyone view Byler as “shipper delusion” ?? It’s not delusional to think Mike and Will are going to end up together at all. they’ve had 4 seasons of build up, they have explicitly been shown to have a different bond compared to other male friends in the same show, there is so much gay coding and subtext, Mike has shown time and time again how much he genuinely cares for Will and it has ALWAYS been depicted in a drastically different way compared to how he treats his other male friends, Mike has never shown romantic interest in any female character aside from Eleven (who was literally said to look like a boy and more specifically like Will in season 1), etc.

the whole reason Mike and El still have a relationship at this moment canonically is because Will LIED and pretended his own feelings for Mike were El’s. he lied and then pressured Mike to tell El he loved her, thinking he was doing something good for a friend and because he is self sabotaging. if Will hadn’t done that, would Mike and El even be a thing at all post season 4? I highly doubt it.

and the second that Mike finds out that Will lied, and that his entire “I love you” to El was said on the grounds of a lie, that all of those feelings he thought were El’s are actually Will’s, I have to ask antis… WHAT do you think is actually going to happen? what do y’all genuinely think is going to happen the second Mike finds out about the lie?

because the thing is: he WILL find out. this has been narratively set up and it hasn’t been resolved. it literally has to be resolved to conclude the storyline. and no offense, but I have a very VERY hard time believing said storyline will be concluded with Mike finding out about the lie, and then rejecting Will.

you don’t write rejection storylines like this. you don’t write unrequited love like this.